#it was all these little thistles without anything to pull from | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

britcision · 7 months

Text

Happy Leap Year friends! Another little present from me to you, this time we have a totally sweet little story about Pattadol and Marcille bonding over who is actually bravest 🥰

Just. Don’t look at Kabru and Lycion behind the curtain.

(I cannot be the only person who finds it suspicious that Mithrun was notorious for specifically his warden colleagues dying.)

Warnings: implied past unspecified abuse, definitely actual past murder, abuse of power over prisoners

——————

After Dinner Mints - Death Rates

Honestly, Marcille had to admit that she quite liked Pattadol. Even when they’d both been operating under the assumption that Marcille would be going back west with them as a prisoner, the elf hadn’t treated her badly.

She was kind, a little nervous, and honestly seemed even more out of her depth than Marcille felt. So it had been a bit of a relief that the other Canaries had apparently decided that Pattadol would be her arresting officer.

She probably wouldn’t have been able to relax if the captain had been the one to keep an eye on her; either Captain Mithrun or Captain Flamela, who just seemed lost now that she had nothing to be angry about.

They’d got to talking even that first day, and Pattadol had admitted that the Island’s dungeon had been her first ever mission with the Canaries. First, and probably last, which none of them really knew what to do about.

And then Laios had gone to the Canaries and just told them that he’d be keeping Marcille unless they actually wanted to explain ancient magic to him, which absolutely everyone knew wasn’t going to happen.

So Marcille was sort of, kind of free now.

(Privately, she wasn’t going to count on anything until Laios had died; elves could afford to wait out one human. Maybe even a few generations, if Laios had children or enshrined her place in law.

That wouldn’t be too bad though; she wasn’t sure she’d want to stay in Melini without her friends. But they had decades ahead of them, so she wasn’t going to worry about it yet.)

All of the free Canaries were avoiding her now though, all except Pattadol, who wasn’t exactly comfortable talking to them either. Almost all of them were a century older and decades more experienced than she was, and while she’d officially been blooded in a dungeon now and been part of destroying all of the dungeons… well, it turned out she was actually closer to Marcille’s age than her fellow Canaries by a lot.

Marcille was pretty sure someone had been ordered to keep an eye on her; it didn’t feel like a coincidence that one or two Canary convicts tagged along to whatever she was doing.

(That was weird too; these were the people who understood the most about ancient magic, and Marcille would have loved to just sit and talk theory with them all day. They’d been forced to direct all of their skills to dungeon breaking, sure, but still.

Any one of them could have a useful insight, resources she’d only ever been denied! Which, they’d been denied too. Obviously. And then found anyway.

The thing was… even the ones who actually cared about the magic itself seemed to have split themselves into two camps when it came to her; they all thought she was still a child, since she was fifty.

But some of them insisted on treating her like she also didn’t know what she was talking about, like she hadn’t been the ruler of the dungeon and directly linked to the infinite the ancients had pulled from, like she hadn’t pulled off a resurrection that should have been impossible! And would have worked perfectly, if Thistle hadn’t come along.

And the others treated her like a cute little kid, maybe one who’d done something impressive, but in general someone to indulge and not take too seriously.)

So. She liked Pattadol, who treated her like an equal, and she didn’t mind talking while they both worked. Marcille actually had more dungeon experience than Pattadol, which definitely helped even if no one would ever be getting any more.

Which was how they’d gotten onto the subject of deaths in the dungeon.

“Oh, my first death was to a slime on the very first floor,” Marcille admitted with a laugh, fondly remembering how excited she’d been. Honestly, flooding the planet with mana would probably have sounded like a good idea back then.

Pattadol smiled along, but didn’t quite manage a laugh. Then again, her first death had almost been to Marcille, in a roundabout way.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine the bravery it takes to go into a dungeon so unprepared… we train for years to be ready, and people told me so many times about the captain’s other partners, but I was still so scared when I thought it would actually happen…”

It reminded Marcille of something Senshi had said, a while back. Not liking how comfortable adventurers became with death… then she paused, something else the elf had said catching in her mind.

“The captain’s other partners? What about them?” She looked around on reflex, but the only member of the squad nearby was Fleki, who was busily chatting up someone with a fresh basket of mushrooms.

Pattadol did laugh this time, an embarrassed little sound and flicked her hair back off her face.

“Oh, not our convicts… actually, most of them have been with him for a while, only Cithis arrived just before me. I mean the other wardens. Captain Mithrun has… had a reputation, because a lot of his other partners died,” she explained with a slightly sheepish smile.

Marcille’s brows furrowed.

“Well, sure, but that happens a lot in the dungeons. People die and then they get brought back, it happens all the time,” she pointed out. Pattadol forced another laugh, most of her attention now firmly on the dough she was kneading.

“Oh, yes, for other people. But ah… when we go into a dungeon, it’s usually to close it? So if the mission is successful, but someone isn’t revived before it’s over, they… sometimes can’t be? And Captain Mithrun lost a lot of partners… which wasn’t his fault, obviously! He’s incredibly skilled; he had never actually died in a dungeon at all until you…” she trailed off again, and Marcille ducked her head and got back to kneading too.

The rhythmic, firm motions helped anyway. She still couldn’t believe she’d actually blown a person’s head open. It had seemed so necessary at the time, like she didn’t have a choice, but… still.

Still, the rest of what Pattadol had said kept running around and around in her head.

Going into the dungeon, walking down to face those monsters and knowing that if everything went right… you could die and stay dead. That had to take a lot more courage than any of the adventurers that made their living in dungeons.

Finally she couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“You know, there was something Senshi said about the dungeon too while we were in it… he never liked resurrections, because they made people not care or think about dying. That when people stop believing that death matters, they get out of step with the cycles of nature.”

Pattadol made a soft noise of encouragement, and Marcille looked up enough to give her a quick smile.

“I was never scared of dying in the dungeon because I never thought it was going to count. I died my very first time, and all it did was make me excited with the possibilities of magic down there. I think what you did was actually much braver than what I did… I don’t know if I could have gone down believing I would die forever.”

This time she got a smile that she actually believed, Pattadol’s cheeks flushing pink. She really was quite pretty, in an awkward sort of way. It reminded Marcille of Falin, when she got flustered.

“Thank you… you know, not many Canaries have ever retired without having been killed in the dungeon at least once, it’s quite an honour. It might just be me and Captain Flamela now,” she added thoughtfully, and Marcille grinned back.

“Then I’m even more glad that you did survive the dungeon, because she already seems hard enough to live with,” she teased, and maybe she’d been hanging around with Laios too much to even have the thought, but Pattadol’s scandalized gasp and nearly dropping her bread bowl made her laugh long and loud.

Kabru slipped away from the two elves thoughtfully, an armful of dirty dish-ware in hand. He hadn’t intended to spy on Marcille and Pattadol; he wasn’t even sure it could count as spying.

They hadn’t kept their voices down, or seemed to care if anyone heard them. He’d just wandered by, and happened to overhear.

And one thing stuck out to him like a sore thumb.

He hurried back through to drop off the dishes for cleaning, barely giving a smile and a wave before hurrying back to the dragon’s clearing. Although, he didn’t think this was something he would be able to ask Mithrun…

The captain might not even know, but from what Kabru understood, he’d been assigned Otta and Lycion before any of the others, and Lycion was currently keeping an eye on Captain Mithrun in case he collapsed.

Kabru was… about sixty percent sure that Lycion liked him. It was hard to tell, but even when they’d disagreed (and when Kabru had been directly getting in his way) the elf had been more mildly irritated than angry.

More importantly though, Kabru was pretty sure he knew what buttons to push to get Lycion to talk. It was actually kinda nice; a lot of Captain Mithrun’s squad seemed to have followed the captain’s example, and were pretty open with information if they didn’t have a reason to keep quiet.

Lycion and Fleki especially enjoyed oversharing, especially if it could get a rise from anyone. Kabru didn’t mind giving them one, if it got him what he needed. Half the time it was less feigned than he might like of course.

He was in luck as Lycion already looked bored, lounging against a tree while Mithrun busily hacked his way down a dragon’s ribcage. The hole he was digging was already past his thighs. The pile of frozen meat inside wasn’t too high, so Kabru hurried directly over to relieve the elf.

Lycion perked up when he saw him, giving a nod and straightening to smile.

“Hey, Kabru. Did you wanna take over with the captain? I had him down for some water a couple of hours ago, but he’s probably due another break soon.”

And, well, that was the other thing he could use as leverage. Apparently Kabru was the only person not in the captain’s squad that Captain Flamela had approved to keep an eye on Mithrun, and absolutely all of them were happy to trade a favour for taking a shift.

(Kabru didn’t mind, actually. He wasn’t a great cook, and really didn’t want to touch the dragon meat more than he could help, and in his books keeping an eye on Captain Mithrun beat running pots and pans around or doing dishes.

Although he was pretty sure all four convicts used him taking their turn as an opportunity to go nap, run into town, or cause trouble instead of actually helping.)

So he beamed back at Lycion, bright and welcoming.

“Sure! Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you first, if you don’t mind?” He asked brightly.

Lycion sighed as if heavily put upon, and leaned back against his tree. He was still smiling though, so Kabru didn’t worry about it.

“Yeah, sure. What’s on your mind?”

Kabru closed the last of the distance between them, glancing around to make sure they were alone. Or at least, not being observed by anyone who would care.

“Oh, it’s just something Pattadol said, about a lot of Captain Mithrun’s warden partners dying.” Watching closely, Kabru caught the moment where the elf froze, his relaxed posture suddenly deliberately, carefully lax.

So he wasn’t wrong, then.

Brightening his smile, he did his best “eager and excited child” impression, which usually went down well with elves.

“I was just wondering how that happened, since you were so quick rushing to retrieve everyones’ bodies when you were… when the others fell while we were waiting for backup,” he stumbled a little feebly over the end, remembering the shaky ground he’d stood on at the time.

Sure, he’d joined the fight and helped as best he could once Laios had been found, but he’d probably been headed back to Milsiril in disgrace right before that.

The look Lycion shot him told him the elf remembered all too well, but oddly he didn’t take the obvious diversion. Instead he cocked his head, giving Kabru a thoughtful look.

“Oh? What did Pattadol say, exactly?” He asked with a carefully studied innocence that Kabru immediately latched onto.

Lycion would feign ignorance with his usual untroubled smile, but this felt different. He matched the tone as best he could, leaning against the tree beside the elf.

“Oh, she was talking about how once you successfully close a dungeon sometimes you can’t bring people back. It sounded really worrying, but I didn’t think closing a dungeon was that spur of the moment. Like you rescued Pattadol from the giant mushrooms before she went down, and said it’d be a pain if Water Walk fell on the others but you could still get them?”

Watching from the corner of his eye, he caught the jump of muscle in Lycion’s jaw. Yeah, people usually didn’t like when Kabru showed how much he’d been paying attention.

For a moment, he wondered if he wasn’t going to get an answer after all. If he’d finally reached the end of Lycion’s laid back patience.

Then the elf hummed softly and Kabru chanced a glance over to see him staring at the sky.

“Did you know that before your little friend blew his head off, Captain Mithrun had never died in a dungeon?”

Kabru flinched. It wasn’t like he’d been on Marcille’s… the dungeon lord’s side at any stage. He just… hadn’t wanted it all to be swept under the rug. Before he could speak though, Lycion waved a hand at him.

“Relax. It’s… pertinent. You also know how we Canary prisoners are bound, right?”

Still wary but willing to wait, Kabru nodded.

“You can only use magic with permission from a warden. You were already transformed, though.” He didn’t think Lycion would be forced back into an elf shape without a warden, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.

Lycion shook his head though.

“Not the point. I don’t really do much healing magic anyway, even with permission. We all learn a bit, basic wound healing and poison stuff, but I can’t even do a simple revival. Pattadol’s…” he paused, searching for a word, then sighed. “She’s annoying, and formal, and over eager and a pain in the ass, but she’s one of the good ones. And a damn good healer.”

Kabru couldn’t help but agree with that; he hadn’t gotten an up close look at what Marcille had done to Captain Mithrun, but enough people who had had come to congratulate her after everything was over that he had to believe them.

Lycion nodded along with him.

“So. Let’s say, hypothetically, that you’re a Canary prisoner. You always need at least one warden alive and up to give the orders to fight or heal. And, one way or another, you’ve gotten assigned to a captain who’s a bit weird. A bit high maintenance. But they leave you alone for the most part, no weird orders or creep shit, and they’re the scariest fucker you’ve ever seen in a dungeon. Nothing seems to touch them. So you can be pretty sure, that guy is going to stay up.”

He cocked his head enough to raise a brow at Kabru, who nodded slowly, already trying to work ahead. To see where the story was going.

He kind of didn’t like what he was seeing.

Lycion nodded again.

“Yeah. I can see you’re with me. And you’re thinking our lives aren’t worth theirs, right?” He asked, still with that dreamy smile on his face.

Kabru stiffened and frowned, looking away reflexively. It. Wasn’t that, he didn’t think anyone deserved… what Lycion was implying, for any crime. It just.

“There have to be rules, don’t there?” He asked quickly, spitting the words out before Lycion could keep going, could say anything else. Could think that maybe he would be on the side of that kind of person. “That kind of abuse of power can’t be allowed.”

Lycion chuckled softly, draping an arm easily around Kabru’s shoulders.

“You’re a cute kid. Yeah, there’s all kinds of rules. Regulations, punishment for anyone who gets caught. But in the end, if it’s a warden’s word against a prisoner, who do you think is believed?” He asked lightly, as if they were discussing what to have for dinner.

Kabru flinched again, caught himself hunching, and forced himself to straighten.

“Captain Mithrun wouldn’t…” and then he stopped, wondering. He was completely certain that Mithrun would never perpetrate that kind of abuse, or approve of it. But… the man couldn’t even eat or sleep on his own.

Lycion gave him a friendly pat on the chest.

“Oh, he wouldn’t tolerate anything that’d affect the mission. Damn hard to get too creepy with that dead eyed stare on you, too,” he agreed cheerfully, raising a hand to wave at the captain.

Then he turned just a little, facing Kabru so that no one else could see his face. Lowered his voice so that even Kabru strained to hear him.

“Unless that’s what you like. Not all of them were giving us trouble,” he added quietly, darkly, and Kabru’s eyes widened, staring past him to the captain, still placidly cutting in his hole.

The captain, who didn’t care where he slept, what he ate, or about anything at all.

A sudden surge of anger and disgust washed through him. Lycion chuckled softly, nodding and leaning in until he was talking directly into Kabru’s ear.

“Not everyone took working under a former dungeon lord well, and while we did the grunt work, it was the other warden’s job to make sure he was alright for a while. They didn’t all like that, either. We lose a lot of people in dungeons, and…” he shrugged, his voice still lazy and calm, and Kabru’s fists clenched, “we’re not against losing a few more.”

Suddenly Kabru was pretty sure things had gotten a lot more direct than just not finding someone’s body. And if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t all that different from some of the things he’d done.

So why should it make a difference if it was for the captain or for the convicts?

Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded stiffly, then blew out his tension along with it. Lycion straightened like nothing had happened, still all smiles, and Kabru caught his hand before he could pull back.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m… glad you had each other.” It didn’t feel adequate, but there was nothing that he could say that would be, or that wouldn’t break their careful bubble of deniability.

Lycion grinned at him, turning and leaning back against the tree again. Out beyond him, Mithrun had actually paused of his own volition and was watching them. Lycion gave him a wave and Kabru fixed a brighter smile onto his face.

“Of course, some of them we did properly lose by accident. There’s all kinds of weird shit a dungeon can do to you to make you impossible to resurrect,” the elf noted cheerfully, nodding towards the hole hiding the remaining mass of Falin, “and I’m pretty sure someone was onto us come the end. We got Cithis… two dungeons ago, I got switched under our other warden, and that one… well, they’d worked with Cithis before. Otta reckons she held a grudge, but I think they were just reckless. They’re fine, retired now,” he added quickly, but Kabru hadn’t planned to ask.

He nodded slowly, watching the captain turn and get back to his cutting. He’d not believed that the Canaries were all noble heroes for a very long time; Milsiril and Helki hadn’t actively discouraged it, but they’d been sure to warn him when he first said he’d wanted to join.

He’d known the kinds of crimes the convicts were usually in for, and long suspected that at least some of the wardens could be corrupted by the amount of power they held over them. Honestly, Lycion hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already wondered about.

Captain Mithrun’s people just got away with more because their captain honestly didn’t give a shit.

He mulled the thought over for a while, and though he was pretty sure he had the shape of the answer… it didn’t hurt to check.

“You’re very loyal to the captain,” he noted quietly, letting his voice stay soft. It was something he’d noted in the dungeon, at pretty much every turn; Mithrun’s convicts didn’t treat him like a warden, or their jailor. Especially not the way they treated Pattadol, which was full of surface level respect with barely concealed eye rolling.

They treated him as something like an older sibling, or a family friend. Someone to be respected, yes, but not bother with formalities for. Someone they cared about, and cared for in the ways he needed with patience and a fond inevitability.

(In all honesty, Kabru wished he’d seen more of how Cithis in particular usually cared for him; it had been second nature to make sure the captain ate and slept after the week they’d spent together, and he’d kept on being his primary caregiver even after the other Canaries caught up.

Looking back on it, he’d rationalized it by assuming that it was still part of his penance, and that if he didn’t make himself useful they’d just give up the pretence and tie him up the whole time. In actuality… he hadn’t questioned why they passed the captain’s food to him first, or let him take the lead on rest.

Now, he was pretty sure they were intentionally fobbing the captain off on him to slack off since he’d done a good job, even if technically all four convicts were still on the roster with him. Which meant he actually didn’t know anything about how they usually handled him.)

Lycion chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair.

“Does that surprise you? We know a good thing when we have it,” he noted lightly and Kabru nodded slowly, wondering… how to ask without saying the question.

“Honestly? Yes. I understand wanting to keep him alive, and the extra expectations Captain Mithrun needs. I understand the risks of dungeon breaking and trauma bonding, I just… I suppose I’m surprised by how much you care,” he finished with a shy little smile, carefully calculated to flatter.

And Lycion just snickered, reaching up to ruffle Kabru’s hair instead.

“Never, ever let Cithis hear you say that,” he teased… no, that was probably actually a sincere warning, there was too much gravity in his eyes. Kabru noted it obediently.

For a long moment, he thought he’d have to try again, kept trying to frame words to the shape of what he actually wanted to know that didn’t make it sound so… cold. Before he could, though, Lycion had shrugged and straightened, turning to face him again.

“Cithis excepted, obviously, none of us are heartless. The captain is… safe for us, sure, but it’s not just that. He treats me… well, as normally as he treats anyone; he doesn’t look down on me for my body, and so long as I don’t get into trouble he never asks why I want to change. He lets Fleki take her familiar out whenever she wants to, doesn’t bother Otta about her constant flirting with half-foot women, and I’ll deny ever saying this if you tell her, but I do think even Cithis is fond of him,” the elf added, pointing warningly at Kabru.

Who just barely remembered to nod in time, his mind already spinning with questions, calculations, new information. They’d been pretty open with him in the dungeon, answered any questions he actually dared to ask, but…

Well, one of the things Kabru had always wished for was people just telling him how their minds worked. He might still be sceptical of how much he could understand an elf, but this might be as close as he ever got.

Lycion seemed to approve anyway, chuckling again and flicking a ponytail over his shoulder, glancing back to look fondly at the captain.

“He does whatever she wants, when we’re not in the dungeon. Which, y’know, takes all the fun out of it on her side, but I think she respects that he could tell her no but doesn’t bother. It’s not that he cares to make us happy; we know he doesn’t. But he accepts us as we are. Doesn’t try to shame us, or make us feel shitty for whatever crimes we committed.” Lycion paused at that, his brows furrowing for a moment. “Actually, I don’t even know if he knows. They’ll have told him every time, obviously, but if he remembers he’s never said.”

And then, like there was just a string connecting word to action, the elf just walked away. Wandered a little closer to the still frozen pit of dragon.

“Hey, Captain! Do you know what I’m in for?” He yelled, turning the heads of everyone currently collecting the meat Captain Mithrun was dicing. It was piling up at the inner edge of the pit again, and starting to get trickier to haul out.

Realizing that his mouth was hanging open, Kabru closed it quickly (his mother used to warn him a bug would fly in) and hurried after the elf, unsure what he’d hope to accomplish. Unsure what the hell Lycion was looking to accomplish.

For a minute it didn’t look like he’d even gotten Mithrun’s attention, and then the rapid teleporting stopped, Mithrun turning with another thin sheet of flesh in his hands. He squinted at Lycion like he was trying to remember who the elf was… and remembering their encounter with the shapeshifter, Kabru wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true.

Then he shrugged and tossed the sheet aside too.

“You’re our beastman.” And he bent, knocked the loose slabs of flesh aside, and pulled up his cloak to keep going.

Lycion clapped his hands and laughed, turning back to Kabru like he’d just won a prize.

“See? Isn’t he something? Other people keep doing stupid things like asking why I’d want my infinitely superior body, but he just loves me as I am, don’t you Captain?”

The captain did not deign to respond, but Lycion clearly didn’t care. Hurrying back into whispering range, Kabru chanced the direct question. While the elf was in a good mood.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you in for?” He asked quietly, and once again Lycion gave him a look a little sharper than his usual calm.

Then he shrugged and gestured to his torso.

“Oh, I have a life sentence. Can’t stop having an illegally modified body, so it’s not like they can let me go.” He paused, brow creasing momentarily before relaxing. “Oh yeah, and the murders. Probably some assault charges. It’s been a while since I saw my rap sheet.”

Aware that his mouth was hanging open again, Kabru closed it quickly.

It. Wasn’t that he was shocked, honestly. No one was sentenced to the Canaries for minor offences, though Lycion may have been right about his transformation being what forced him in; regular murderers weren’t eligible for service.

It just. Wasn’t what he’d expected. Either the crimes or the light, airy tones Lycion spoke about them in, like none of it mattered. The elf even laughed at the look on his face.

“Oh, relax. Most of them were in totally consensual pit fights, first floor of a dungeon and everything. Apparently it counts as homicide even if you can all get resurrected,” he added with a roll of his eyes, like they weren’t discussing actual murder.

“Or maybe you were convicted for the ones that weren’t?” Kabru felt compelled to ask, and Lycion actually looked honestly thoughtful.

“Y’know, that might be it. Mostly I’m still in for being too beautiful for this world though,” he preened, flicking long silver hair around again. And then one eye slid sideways to lock onto Kabru, and Kabru would swear it was the wolf’s. “So you know what’s coming to you if you hurt the Captain.”

About to try to get back on track, Kabru was abruptly dumbfounded.

“I… you… was that a threat?” He asked weakly, mind playing back over all the rest of their conversation. He had thought Lycion was being remarkably candid… but why would he think Kabru even could hurt the captain?

The elf chuckled softly, the light sound suddenly much more menacing than before as he patted Kabru on the shoulder.

“If Milsiril ever asks, no. And if you ever do anything to hurt the captain, in any way, you’re going to need to run straight back under her skirts as fast as you can,” he told Kabru sweetly, his smile still gentle and warm, his eyes dangerously cold, “I know your scent. You can’t hide from me.”

And then he cocked his head and the moment passed, and Kabru would swear he saw his pupils round out to a human shape again.

“So, was that all you wanted to ask? I’ll take the captain for a bathroom break before I head out, and then Fleki should be along in a couple of hours for dinner,” Lycion asked brightly, for all the world as if they’d been discussing the weather. Or, maybe, asking for advice.

It felt entirely inappropriate, but Kabru laughed in spite of himself.

What the actual fuck was his life? How had any of this ever happened to him? He’d left Milsiril thoroughly convinced that a long-lived person could never truly understand a short-lived one, and yet…

An illegal werewolf just gave him a fucking shovel talk. On top of admitting to numerous other murders, which did lend an air of sincerity that Kabru had to admire.

And, in all honesty, Kabru was quite sure he’d never understood anyone more in his life than he did Lycion in that moment.

(Well, possibly still not the whole “preferring a beastman body” thing, but he was also wise enough to understand that he didn’t need to see the appeal personally; just to understand that Lycion clearly did. And, apparently, had made some pretty persuasive arguments about the benefit that body had for others to at least Fleki and Mithrun.

Kabru was blatantly refusing to even discuss beastmen in Laios’ vicinity, because he was well aware the fucker would have all kinds of potential details and information and the greatest curse of Kabru’s life was his all-encompassing hunger for knowledge. Given the chance, he’d ask.

And he was pretty sure he would not let himself survive the answers.)

It might just have been the ongoing nervous breakdown they’d all been going through in fits and starts, but Kabru couldn’t stop laughing long enough to draw breath, tears welling in his eyes.

Lycion caught him as he sagged, giving him a cheerful pat on the back.

“I’m going to call that a good sign,” the elf declared as Kabru clung to him, because it was that or sit on the forest floor and laugh til he puked.

And then abruptly Lycion shifted, growing larger and hairier (probably to support Kabru’s weight; they were about the same height, but he had a tallman’s more solid build and bone density), and their gentle sway was brought to a stop.

Finally regaining at least a little self control (or being swamped under new curiosity, possibly), Kabru giggled himself to a stop and managed to look up and see Captain Mithrun standing in front of them, apparently out of the pit of his own accord.

He looked… a little confused, honestly, his head cocked to one side as he studied Kabru with an intensity that suddenly made him very self conscious.

“Are you alright?” The captain asked, apparently blatantly unaware that it was the most interest he’d ever showed in Kabru, and definitely unaware that he was contributing to Lycion getting entirely the wrong idea. “Sometimes Fleki gives mushrooms to people and this happens.”

His mouth already opening to form the question, Kabru abruptly decided against it.

He could hunt Fleki down later and ask for more details… or Otta or Lycion, honestly, since even when he’d been threatening to kill him Lycion still apparently liked him.

He. Did he just get Lycion’s blessing to date the captain? That was what that kind of gesture usually meant for tallmen, in a roundabout way.

A grudging one, sure, but the unspoken part of “if you hurt this person I care about” was “because I accept you’re important to them enough to hurt them”. That… might be a cultural difference between elves and tallmen, but Kabru doubted it.

It was actually really sweet in its own way, and the idea of even trying to explain to the captain made him want to shrivel up and die, so Kabru just smiled at him and nodded.

“I’m alright… Lycion was just explaining more about the dungeons you used to seal, and he said something about my step-mother that caught me off guard.” It was mostly the truth, even, so Kabru firmly told himself he did not feel bad even when Captain Mithrun’s lower lip slid out in a pout.

It probably wasn’t actually intentional that he turned a very reproachful eye on Lycion; Captain Mithrun wouldn’t have bothered using puppy eyes on anyone on purpose, but that didn’t make it less effective (or Kabru less glad that it wasn’t on him).

Lycion just grinned, straightening Kabru and pushing him back to his feet, and then ruffling his hair with all that stolen werebeast height.

“Kabru came to see if he could help you, Captain, and I promised to tell him some more stories about Milsiril and Fleki later. You know, the one where Fleki tried to get her to take mushrooms and manipulate dolls with her?”

And honestly Kabru almost missed the moment where the switch of the Captain’s attention flipped, he was so pointedly not watching his every move so that Lycion didn’t get the wrong idea.

(He would probably get that story out of him later though. Just. For continuity’s sake. Definitely not burning curiosity.)

But he didn’t. Not the slight widening of his eye when Lycion said Kabru was here to help, or the way he completely ignored the entire rest of the sentence, his gaze tracking back to Kabru as something curious and warm. The slight smile that pulled at his lips.

“Oh?” It wasn’t even a full question, just a sound of curiosity.

Kabru found himself returning the smile without thinking, his own carefully practiced smile becoming something real. There really was something charming in Mithrun’s complete lack of artifice.

Everything he managed to feel wrote itself across his entire face, perhaps muted compared to anyone else, but still so powerful from him alone. Every expression felt like a tiny victory against the demon.

Unfortunately, he was also very aware that Lycion was now looming over the pair of them, and he had more than enough practice with kobolds to know when a fucking wolfman was grinning at him. Smugly.

Trying to defend himself would only make things worse, so Kabru took a leaf from the Captain’s book and made a show of ignoring him entirely.

“Yes, if you don’t mind, Captain? No one else seems to need me around here, and I’d like to be useful.” That was even mostly true too, and Captain Mithrun especially had to know why Kabru didn’t think he was remotely qualified for cooking.

He’d kept them both alive for the week, sure, but the hardtack had been a blessing. There was no greater condemnation of his culinary skills.

The captain watched him for a long moment, then nodded and stilled, watching Kabru expectantly. Half expecting him to go straight back to cutting, it took Kabru a moment to realize what he was doing.

Was… was the captain waiting for permission? Their changeover did usually include a list of questions that the captain barely acknowledged, but it was part of the routine. Him taking an interest could only be a good thing, couldn’t it?

Before Kabru could ask, Lycion had slung an arm around the captain’s shoulders, still grinning smugly at Kabru.

“Let’s you and I take a quick bathroom break, Captain, and then you can get back to Kabru. Unless you’d rather go with him?” It was far too innocently phrased, enough so that it even caught Captain Mithrun’s attention.

The elf twisted up just enough to squint at Lycion suspiciously, and Kabru suddenly really, really wondered what a shapeshifter would have made of the other Canaries from Mithrun’s head. He’d actually really like to know, almost enough to willingly go near a monster even.

Whatever he saw, the captain just shrugged curtly, turning to walk away.

“No, it’s fine.” And then he paused, glancing back at Kabru, and Kabru had to wonder how the elf saw him now. Still the same vague, barely human sketch? Or had their time together rendered him more memorable?

He almost missed the captain’s next words.

“If it’s time for a break again, I can also tell you stories.”

One of the orcs across the clearing swore abruptly as Kabru swore Lycion made a sound that only other canids could hear, then the wolfman had dragged the captain away cheerfully, chatting a mile a minute about stories Mithrun should tell Kabru.

And left Kabru staring after them, entirely dumbfounded.

Was… Captain Mithrun jealous that Lycion had made him laugh? Was jealousy even an emotion he could feel anymore? The elf had been so certain that the demon had eaten that out of him along with his desires, since it had apparently been one of his core features forty years ago.

Would that make it a good thing if it was coming back? After all, jealousy only happened when you wanted something that someone else had, didn’t it?

And. If the thing Captain Mithrun wanted was Kabru’s attention.

Oh no, his cheeks were flushing. He could feel it. Kabru tried to tell himself it was all Lycion’s fault, putting ideas in his head, but he was unfortunately good at spotting a liar. Even when it was himself.

Hurrying across the clearing, he busied himself carrying the most recent hunks of dragon meat up and over to the piles where Senshi was currently sorting and butchering them. Anything had to be better than wasting his time thinking impossible things.

It was probably nothing. Kabru had been laughing hard enough he’d almost taken Lycion to the ground with him, and then Lycion had transformed, which was an even bigger way to get everyones’ attention.

The captain heard they were discussing stories, and he had stories to tell. And no desire to avoid sharing them. It would keep his next break from being boring, or torturous for both of them as Kabru searched for some way to distract him.

It was that simple.

Absolutely no chance of anything else.

And, if down the line, there was a tiny chance that the captain would actually desire anyone… or maybe Kabru specifically… to pay attention to him, well, that would be fine anyway. Kabru was coming to accept that his fascination with the elf wasn’t going away even without forced isolation; it was better for Mithrun to start by wanting something that Kabru could happily and easily give.

And that was probably all there was to it.

That and a nosy, interfering, smug little shit werewolf who had apparently decided to get involved in absolutely everything that didn’t involve him and probably didn’t even exist.

Because when Captain Mithrun came back from their bathroom break, he was shirtless, wearing only the tiny shoulder-piece and sleeves over his skirt and boots . And apparently mildly confused about why he was so, handing Kabru the overlarge shirt that Kabru was rather certain was actually Laios’.

“Lycion said it would be too hot to keep working. I don’t feel hot,” he said bluntly, which Kabru always found a little funny whenever he said that sort of thing.

Who knew better than Mithrun that he couldn’t feel tired, or hungry, or hot?

But this was just silly, because it wasn’t the middle of summer anymore and the afternoon was wearing on, and Captain Mithrun always ran too cold anyway. Kabru firmly handed him the shirt back, determinedly not looking anywhere but his one dark eye.

“He’s just overheating because he’s furry, Captain. Maybe he forgot that it’s colder for those of us without a beast form?”

Which would actually probably be for the best, since Lycion never actually wore much clothing anyway; it would just be destroyed when he changed, which was as often as he could feasibly get away with. Honestly he owed Kabru already for having given him an excuse to change at all.

Captain Mithrun didn’t seem to buy it, giving Kabru a sceptical look but he accepted the shirt back and pulled it on, then shoved at the sleeves until they finally bunched in place on his arms instead of flopping down to cover his hands.

That wouldn’t help; they’d only fall down once he got moving again, and Kabru caught his hand quickly when one started to slip and irritation flashed on the elf’s face.

“Captain, let me fold those back for you. They’ll slide about less… actually, we should probably get you some clothes that fit you, don’t you have some on the ship?” Kabru asked suddenly, struck by the absurdity even as he painstakingly folded the sleeves over themselves up the captain’s surprisingly muscular arms.

The elf shot him an unimpressed look.

“I don’t need armour now.”

Done one arm, Kabru got started on the other.

“Not your armour, some casual clothes. Something you wear when you’re not on duty?”

Even less impressed, somehow, Mithrun tried to turn away.

“I only wear my uniform. I don’t need the armour now,” he reiterated, like Kabru was misunderstanding him on purpose.

Kabru’s brows furrowed. It… probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, since even when Mithrun had bathed he’d dressed straight back into that overlarge shirt. It still felt almost inconceivable.

He knew the Canaries only ever wore their uniforms when on a mission, but all the wardens got to bring a handful of personal belongings; it was one of their perks. A set of comfortable clothes for after the mission’s end was such a basic comfort…

That Mithrun wouldn’t even think of. He might not even have any personal belongings at all, which was terribly depressing.

(And if he did… what were they? Kabru would love to know, and he could certainly just ask; Mithrun had no desire not to answer. But it wouldn’t be the same as seeing those things, and how the captain treated them.)

Sighing to himself, he finished folding back the other sleeve and gave the captain a hopeful smile.

“Well, maybe that’s something we can do after you’re done today? Go into town and see if we can find some better fitted clothes, or back to the ship for your spare uniform,” he added when Mithrun cocked his head, looking confused.

Then the elf looked down at the baggy shirt, then back up to Kabru.

“This is fine,” he said slowly, like he was actually trying to look ahead and work out what Kabru’s objections would be.

His smile becoming fond and more genuine, Kabru nodded.

“It’s working, but better sleeves would get in your way less, and it’ll give us something to do while your mana recovers?” He offered instead, hoping he could appeal at least to the captain’s irritability. It was easier when he had a fixed desire.

Captain Mithrun fell silent again, his head turning as his eye slid over to Senshi, still butchering his way through the meat along with several others.

Kabru hesitated. That… was happening more and more lately. When Mithrun was unoccupied he often wandered off, but more often than not these days Kabru could find him by finding the dwarf. Which was actually really cute.

And way more convenient than scouring the island for a bored teleportation expert with no regard for his own body.

Chuckling softly, Kabru shook his head.

“Alright, instead how about we ask Pattadol to get someone to get your spare uniform, and I’ll run to get one of my old shirts in the meantime? It’ll still be too big, but at least the arms will fit better?”

The captain’s old uniform wasn’t an option; made of arachne silk or not, being back inside the spider had done something horrible to the armour tunic that absolutely refused to come out. The under-armour had managed slightly better, sleeves and skirt scrubbing down well enough, but that left him with a frankly irresponsible expanse of skin between shoulders and waist.

Even the boots were barely salvageable, but at least they still bent.

Captain Mithrun examined his rolled sleeves for a long moment, then looked back to Kabru and nodded. If he was giving Kabru a more appraising look, it was probably just to consider the size Kabru’s shirt would be on him.

Kabru resolved to get something with shorter sleeves. Or maybe just tack them down with a sewing kit.

It had to be better than Laios’s anyway; he was large even for a tallman, and Captain Mithrun could probably get any two of the other Canaries in there with him. It even nearly covered the green slats of his armoured skirt.

Finally the captain nodded, turning back towards the dragon.

“Alright. I’m going to keep going.” And honestly? The fact that he wasn’t just teleporting himself back down was also progress, and Kabru immediately hurried after him to help heft him down onto the remaining lump of dragon.

And figured fuck it, he could lift out the last of the cut chunks since he was already over there. At least while it was frozen he could pretend it was just ice that he was touching.

“Just a second Captain, let me get down first to take a look and then I’ll help you,” he said quickly, suiting word to deed and hopping into the hole away from most of the meat scraps.

It was actually beginning to get pretty deep, a little past Kabru’s waist now when he was just on the uncut surface; they’d probably need a ladder by tomorrow. Kabru made a mental note to ask around for one, and ask if anyone knew just how deep Falin’s dragon portion would sink into the ground.

Based only on the shape he could see… they’d probably need to get someone on clearing away the dirt from the back too, the bones were beginning to curve.

Laios would know exactly what shape and position the dragon was in, probably. Maybe that could be his problem.

Captain Mithrun had obediently stopped at the edge of the hole, looking a little impatient as Kabru took just one moment to survey the situation. Before he could decide to just jump down and probably land in the pile of cut pieces, Kabru hurried back, holding up his hands to help the elf down.

“You’re making a lot of progress! I’ll get a ladder tonight, and maybe some pulleys and things to get the meat back up; we might not need it today, but it’ll make things easier if we have it ready before we do,” he called up, giving the captain an encouraging smile.

Mithrun was light enough on his feet that he’d almost certainly be fine, and able to recover his footing even on a block of ice covered in smaller, melting shards, but he was about equally likely to take Kabru out by accident as he did it.

Or teleport a lump of meat in annoyance without picking a destination, and they really did need to eat as much as possible. Apparently. Never mind that “without a destination” had meant into people more than once.

The captain did give his hands a sceptical look before taking them, clearly humouring him, but Kabru wasn’t about to complain. Or say much of anything, actually, because that was about when he noticed that for a change, the flash of pale between boot and skirt as the elf stepped forward <wasn’t> his leggings.

That was bare skin.

Mithrun’s pale, bare skin. Kabru’s eyes travelled upwards in an uncontrollable slide, his head just barely above the elf’s knees, and Captain Mithrun’s hands slid into his and those were his thighs and they were close enough Kabru could just lean forward and he’d see everything-

And he was so frozen and stiff he nearly toppled over when Mithrun swung down, the elf’s slight weight just enough to knock him off balance while his brain short circuited.

At least he managed to catch them both before they both hit the wall, his whole face suddenly burning and mouth working soundlessly. The captain gave him an odd look and stepped away, not actually asking why Kabru wanted to give him a hand down when he clearly couldn’t even stand upright himself, but he might as well have.

For the best. Kabru wasn’t sure he could make his mouth work well enough to form words.

Not until Fleki arrived, anyway, and then he was going to go and find Cithis and tell her that Lycion had been telling him how sweet and gentle she was with the captain, and that he should ask her… no, that Pattadol would be coming to ask her how they developed such a close bond.

Because the bastard hadn’t just sent Captain Mithrun back to Kabru shirt in hand to fuck with him. He’d also fucking left with the captain’s pants.

All sorts of vengeful thoughts were welling in Kabru’s mind, cut off only by the sudden press of a small, cold hand to his temple. Well and truly snapped out of it, he stumbled a little and blinked, bringing Captain Mithrun’s frowning face back into focus.

The elf made a soft, considering noise and removed his hand, looking at it with mild interest.

“Perhaps Lycion was right. You’re overheating. Sit on the ice.” And he reached out and planted a hand on Kabru’s chest, shoving with a strength Kabru still wasn’t used to seeing and sending him ungracefully to his ass.

Still trying to catch his breath, he watched Captain Mithrun walk away, bend down (and he’d never been more grateful for the length of Laios’ shirt or the armoured skirt because his heart was already hammering against his ribs), and pick up his cloak to get back to work.

It took longer than he’d like to get his breathing under control, or for his pulse to stop pounding in his ears, and for once in his life Kabru couldn’t even use the time to think.

Well. Except one thought, that wouldn’t stop playing on repeat through his head.

Maybe Lycion was more observant than he’d thought.

24 notes · View notes

beerecordings · 7 months

Text

The Other Monster - Part 4

Previous Chapter

Marvin is trying, and failing, to adjust to captivity when he finds a letter from his visitor down by his hiding spot. Anti deals with something he would prefer to avoid.

Warnings for human trafficking, including references to child abuse, and for references to drugs.

The ceiling of his prison is stone, cold and solid.

Marvin traces the patterns of the rock above him blankly. Soon he will have every imperfection of the space above his bed memorized, imprinted in his head when he had nowhere else to turn. What else is there to do but stare?

You belong to me now, okay?

He knows something happened, but the details slip away from him. That, he thinks, is a good thing.

He doesn't know how long he spends stretched out in the big feather bed – the minutes seem to pass him without looking his way – but it doesn't matter either. He has no where to be, nothing to do. Just to wait for the next time this happens again, and try to figure out how to survive it in the meantime.

“I'm not going to do anything but ease you into things,” his captor had told him. “You are precious to me, Fabian. You won't be hurt.”

Nothing did hurt. It just leaves him split open, empty, far away from himself. He thinks it carves scars into him without ever making him bleed.

“We won't go any farther til you're ready,” Amos had continued. “Don't struggle and the rope won't chafe you. Don't fight me and you won't get hit. You'll come to see I'm always true to my word on that.”

“Well, aren't I just brimming with gratitude,” Marvin had snarled at him, but he was shaking so hard by then it probably undercut the sarcasm.

He pulls himself out of the bed eventually and finds that he's still fully clothed. He hadn't been sure. It's so hard to tell what's going on when he's trying to leave his body behind and go somewhere where none of this ever happened. Maybe he really should be grateful. It'll be worse soon. For all his talk of patience, Marvin knows the waiting game is much more for Amos's enjoyment than Marvin's.

Grim thoughts for a grim day, he thinks to himself, resolving to pull himself out of it, but there seems to be little else but grim thoughts left in his head. The way it affects him is almost humiliating in itself. Like he should come up out of it hissing and fighting, but instead he just... lays in bed.

He has to get out of this prison cell room. Marvin washes himself up and changes his clothes, feeling in a daze as he steps carefully out into the hallway. He has free roam of the fortress and its grounds during the day, but as Amos has warned him, it might not be entirely a blessing. The guards stare openly. He thinks the servants do too, but Marvin tends to be more focused on the armed men who seem to constantly circle his hallway, waiting for a look at him. The best way to get away from it is sneaking down to the overgrown part of the garden, round the very back. If he crouches under the thistles and shoves his way through a couple bushes, there are a couple areas back there where no one can see him, no one can follow without trouble, and no one is sure where he is.

That little boy had found him from the outside, of course, but he was no threat. Kid like that, all dolled up with his tidy boots and pristine tunic, with those big Graceling eyes – nobody could pick a sweeter looking kid, Marvin thinks. It makes him smile, just a little. He always thought Chase was so cute as a kid too, and it reminds him of how Jackie didn't talk for months at a time when he was younger. Sometimes he still closes down for a few days. After they lost Dad, Marvin wasn't sure he'd ever come back to speech again.

And now Marvin's gone too. Did Jackie fall silent, when he realized? Or did he ride around the countryside howling his name? Does he cry for him, or is he stuck like Marvin finds himself, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself to get out of bed?

“Grim thoughts,” Marvin whispers to himself, wiping at his face as he sneaks back into his favorite hiding spot along the fence. “If I sink down into them, I won't get out again. Jackie's looking for me. He will find me as soon as he can.”

How long will that be? asks his despair. Marvin sits down heavily. You have no idea. You just – what is that?

What?

His hand has found a piece of parchment, tucked beneath a graphite piece just on his side of the gate. Marvin stares at it for a long moment, trying to find somewhere in his brain that can assign meaning to this, but by any calculation, there's no accounting for it. He pulls it out from under the rock carefully.

Dear mister,

I am sorry you were sad by the gate the other day. I would have said hi but I can't talk because I had a surgery one time to make me not get more sick. I am not sick now so it's okay.

I was looking for Abby, she is a nice girl who lives there. She went on a trip down south because the doctor said her dad needed fresh air, but I wonder if she is back. Have you seen her? Her mum is the lady of the house and her dad is Lord Errol. If you do see Abby, maybe you can tell her that JJ is looking for her at the gate. That's me.

I hope you're not sad today too. I get sad sometimes and then I like to go for a ride. Maybe you want to go for a ride with me sometime if you have a horse. You could come with me and Abby.

I like your blue hair a lot. I would like to have green hair or blue hair but my brother says I cannot paint it because hair doesn't work like that.

Or if Abby finds this note, Abby I will come back again on Thursday and we can go to the creek and find more frogs.

Your friend, JJ

It starts to make him smile as he comprehends what he's reading. It still doesn't quite make sense that the boy acts like there's nothing abnormal about seeing a Monster. Then again, maybe that's just the innocence of that age. How could a child understand that people would treat each other like objects unless they had been raised with the concept? To him, Marvin is just a person with nice hair.

His smile widens, but the tears prick up too. He wishes so badly he could go home and just be a person.

But for now, what he has is a letter from a very polite little boy, and it would be rude not to answer.

Dear JJ,

You write very well for your age. Thank you for the compliment. I am not so sad today, but you are very kind to ask.

He pauses, wondering how he lied so seamlessly about it. But it's not like he can break the news about the reality of human cruelty to some little boy. He laughs without any humor, taking a few deep breaths in. No, it's not for JJ to worry about him. Kids should only worry about kid things.

I haven't heard of Abby or her parents, but I will ask about her and let you know. The only Lord I know here is named Amos, but maybe there's a misunderstanding, or perhaps Abby will return soon. Then you two can catch frogs to your heart's content.

He's struck with a sudden need to keep writing, or maybe to offer JJ something. To tell him it's so nice to be talked to like a person. Or to give him something in return for that strawberry that made him feel real again for a minute. But this is enough. The child will find his friend and that will be that.

Take care, and be careful of the guards.

Sincerely, Fabian

Anti slips between shadows in the late-night quiet of the dock, his black cloak lingering behind him. To avoid attention is as natural as breathing for him. Even with his hood up, clothed from head to toe, he sticks to the shadows.

"Antiochus," calls a familiar voice, as he pulls himself up the side of a trading boat.

"Shep."

Shep reaches down to pull him the rest of the way up the ladder, and Anti scowls at him til the hand retreats. Shep just laughs. "Always so headstrong."

"Do you have my payment or not?"

"Course I do. Don't insult me."

Shep pulls back from the side of the boat, rolling his shoulders. He's gotten darker, gold from the sun, and his white clothes always seem to point it out. Anti wishes he hadn't noticed that he looks good, but unlike Anti, Shep likes to be sleeveless, sometimes shirtless, showing off all the time. Anti only puts up with him because he always delivers.

"Heard someone took out a group of slavers down the way," Shep says, leading him back towards his quarters. "You wouldn't know anything about that, now, would you?"

"I know about everything that happens around here."

"It was you, huh?"

"No," Anti lies, scowling at him. "But I know. I knew they were trying to trade."

"You've always had a thing about slavers." Shep gets into his chest at the back of his room, crouching down. Anti thinks about how easy it would be to choke him out and take the payment himself. He doesn't know when Shep started to trust him, but it was stupid. Anti's stabbed plenty of "business partners" in the back, and he's never tried to hide that. "You know, they might have already made sales."

"They were not long in the city. If they did, it was most likely back over the mountains."

"I'm just saying, you might need to do your vigilante shit again."

"I'm not a fucking vigilante," Anti snarls. "The slavers are gone, that's all can be done. People who get trafficked, there's no finding them anyway."

"Yeesh," says Shep. "Dark outlook."

"A practical one," Anti shoots back. "Now pay me."

Shep hands over his bag and Anti weighs it in his hand. "This isn't right."

"There's jewels in there."

Anti pulls it open, looking inside, and there they are: a pair of dark emeralds, slotting against his hand through the cloth of the bag.

All that pretty emerald hair.

He sucks in a half-breath, steadying himself. "Where'd you get this?"

"Someone paid me with them."

"Must have bought crates of the stuff for this price."

"They did. I can sell more, Anti. Buyers like that..."

Won't last the year. It's a self-devouring market that he plays middle-man for. But the game's not mandatory, and the players roll their own ouroboros dice.

He shouldn't be a part of it, but that's long past his consideration. Give him Jameson, let everything else burn.

"No," says Anti, after a moment. "I'll send the same shipment. You won't be able to hide much more on the ship anyway. There are more and more eyes looking for our product every day."

Shep nods slowly, though Anti thinks he wants to argue. He knows better, though, and that's all that matters. "Fine."

"Your cut will grow if this continues."

That satisfies Shepherd. It's all anybody wants. Money's not goods or services, after all, it's power. Anti wonders if any of his partners know what it's like to be sold out for a few coins. To know exactly how many pieces of gold you're worth.

Don't cry, now, emerald. Nobody's coming to help you.

He clenches blankly at the payment in his hand. Shep looks up at him from his position beneath him. Anti thinks that if he were standing over him, he'd shove him to the ground without thinking.

"Good night, then," says Anti.

Shep looks faintly amused, and Anti's sure he's never said "good night" to him before. "Good night, Antiochus."

He's drifting on the ride home, not sure where he's going, though White Bird carries him faithfully back towards the keep, towards safety. He wakes from his daze briefly as he hears her passing through a small creek that runs into the river, and then into the ocean.

"Hold, girl," he says, pulling at her reins. Anti reaches into his bag and gets out Shep's payment, weighing it in his hands for a second. Gems are so much lighter than coin.

He turns his hand over and lets all of it spill out into the creek. The emeralds glimmer with moonlight beneath the black water.

Anti winds his fingers into White Bird's mane and holds on tightly. His free hand shakes against her flank.

She understands, he thinks, because she just lifts her head and takes him home.

5 notes · View notes

bretongirlwrites · 2 years

Text

‘The supposition is perfectly reasonable,’ said I: ‘there is no reason it should not work; save that, –’

‘Save that the Nirnroot,’ said Tara, ‘has evaded knowledge for a thousand years. That it glows whilst alive, means nothing, –’

‘That is the sort of attitude,’ said I, – quite undeterred, put the leaf in my mortar, – ‘that has ignored things for a thousand years.’

I detached the roots from it; shook it a bit; crushed it a bit; and wondered at last if there was anything which might be done to stop the damnable ringing, which Sinderion after all had warned me about. – ‘I shan’t be deterred by that,’ I had told him. – ‘Could you speak up?’ he had replied: ‘I cannot hear you over the tinnitus.’ – Leastways it would not stop: and to my left, a poor scholar gave up on his own work, and departed. I mashed the thing a little more; and invited Tara to prepare the milk-thistle.

‘There are much easier ways,’ said Tara, whose skirt-hems were still damp with lake-water, ‘to make a potion of light.’

‘Oh!’ said I: ‘I do not believe the Arcane University has ever done something easily, which might be done more interestingly.’

‘No,’ said Tara, – mashed the thistle with good-humoured resignation: ‘no, we haven’t.’

The materials prepared, I got a flask of water on the boil; set up our calcinator; and began to hum, a vain reattempt to drown out the ringing. – Absently nibbled a bit of milk thistle: was most startled when the whole room lit up. – All was in place: we had only to boil the thing, and then test it.

‘Anyway,’ said Tara at length: ‘if you and Sinderion keep pulling up nirnroots, we shall have none left by the end of the era.’

‘That is a long way off,’ said I, ‘we are hardly four hundred years into it. Oh! there’ll be droves of them somewhere we can’t get to them. – Is that nirnroot charred enough yet? It is still ringing.’

‘Only very faintly,’ said she: ‘it must be your ears;’ but she passed it over regardless; along with the thistle-pulp. I became most delighted by it even before we had finished: for the ingredients were perfectly prepared; and Sinderion and I being pioneers in nirnroot experimentation, we must take the utmost care over it.

‘Well!’ said I: ‘you do the honour of the thistle; and then I shall, –’

The milk-thistle is so-named, because its pulp is white: and when put into a potion, it so resembles milk, that one is fooled until one tastes it, and gets all the sentiment of having consumed a liquified hedgerow. The water became cloudy, but had no bits in it: we had done well so far.

‘The honour of the nirnroot,’ said Tara, ‘is all yours:’ and quite to my consternation, she took two steps back.

‘You will want to watch this,’ said I: ‘whatever happens, it will be novel.’

‘That is one way,’ said Tara, ‘of describing all of your experiments.’

I dismissed the barb; drew myself up; and already imagining the quill in my hand, to write up my tribulations and victories, I collected up the nirnroot from the calcinator, and poured it into our funnel. At once the water became not dirtied, but a wonderful glowing sort of dark green, – began to fizz, – I took out the funnel, and waited in triumphant anticipation.

The mixture settled for a moment; but quite as if to spite me, when I had just leaned over, redoubled its fizzing, and without warning shot up from the flask, and in a bright pillar almost to the ceiling. Tara, who would later suggest the addition of buckets to the Lustratorium, rushed forwards by instinct, and caught enough of it on her robes, that she could see them a little in the dark for ever afterwards. There had not been very much water in the flask; yet infinities of it poured out, and faintly ringing all the while; and when it had done, I was left to look in dismay over a table quite drenched, and an afternoon of ingredients spent in disaster.

‘If you say: I told you so, –’ said I at last, –

‘Well,’ said Tara, ‘I did say that I did not believe it would work. If you had meant to create a potion of levitation, perhaps, – but light, –’

‘Did you see that!’ I cried: ‘we illuminated the whole room!’

‘And so might we have done,’ said Tara wringing out her robes, ‘with a potted nirnroot on the corner of the desk.’

I opened my mouth to disagree; but could say only something about utilitarianism and novelty; and becoming glad that if there was one thing that might be done easily and without exciting novelty, it was cleaning, – went laughing for the towels.

------

thanks to @druidx for the prompt ‘a magical experiment gone awry’ for julianne!

#oblivion #oc:julianne #breton girl writes #idk how much 'alchemical experiment' counts as 'magical experiment'...#just wanted to write lore-friendly coke and mentos hehe #lore-friendly but not chemistry-friendly probably. have not done chemistry in almost 10 years

27 notes · View notes

cyanophore-fiction · 1 year

Text

Treading Lightly

Trying out @writeblrsummerfest‘s prompt with the haunted house theme! Sounds like fun, and I like the idea of having AI characters encountering the supernatural, I haven’t tried that concept before.

(Note: for the purposes of these characters, anything in [brackets] instead of quotations indicates dialogue transmitted silently via electronic communication instead of spoken aloud.

Under Pala’s cloak, the night made Coyote almost invisible. Its silhouette was perfectly black, and if it kept away from streetlights, it appeared only as a shadow slightly darker than its surroundings. It would be the same on infrared and radar—a splotch of unreflective nothingness, soaking up every stray photon.

Without the sun dumping heat into the cloak, there wasn’t much to worry about, but Coyote kept an eye on Pala’s temperature monitor anyway. It was a cool night, and the little drone was comfortable, its heat sinks barely warm. Its cluster of red eyes swiveled independently as they tracked motion in the dark: rabbits and squirrels hopping through the undergrowth, the occasional bat overhead.

Through the cable that connected them, Coyote felt the echoes of Pala’s mind. Each time it found an animal, it took a few seconds to pepper the creature with lidar pulses, building up a three-dimensional model to add to a growing wildlife database. Sometimes it took scans of the trees, bird nests, or pinecones. Its motive was simple curiosity; the data would have no tactical value.

Coyote smiled. It had to remind itself that up until now, Pala’s only experience of nature had been the Mojave desert. Time and luck permitting, Coyote wanted to let its companion absorb as much as possible, so it had taken over the task of navigation.

The place would be about a quarter mile up the road, if Coyote reckoned things correctly. It had done the calculations a few times over and cross-referenced them against its stolen paper map to be sure, but there was only so much precision it could count on with the satellite network turned against it. It had been weeks since the last orbital sensor sweep, but even so, Coyote didn’t dare try to connect to GPS. PRIONODE would be too clever to miss it.

[Hey. Is that it?] Pala said, all its eyes swiveling to focus on a spot just off the road. Coyote stopped, turned, and peered into the darkness. The place had come up so much sooner than expected that it had almost missed the turnoff.

There, past a hedge of uncut grass, thistles, and overgrown gardenia bushes, was 312 Lemon Tree Lane. The old house was built on an acre of land surrounded by a solid wall of pine forest, abandoned for so long that stray saplings were beginning to invade the front yard. Wooden planks, sagging with age, barely held the front porch together. Coyote crouched, nodding to Pala, and together they painted the building with active sensor pulses.

[Can’t get reliable returns through the windows,] said Pala. [Might as well be opaque.]

[Okay, so the interior’s a question mark until we get in there and look,] said Coyote. [Place is on the verge of collapse, too. One good windstorm and it’s coming down.]

[Did the records say anything about who owns it?]

[At this point? The county, maybe. Last inhabitants left over a decade ago. That’s about it. Anything on passives?]

[I’ve got…] said Pala, trailing off. It unfurled a set of antennae from its back, extending them through the boundary of the cloak, and waited for a few moments. [Yeah. There’s infrared and microwave-band emissions coming off the house, but—I can’t parse it out. Natural source, maybe?]

Along Coyote’s head, its sensory fins laid flat. [Where?]

[There’s not a specific origin point that I can see.]

[Okay,] said Coyote, standing up. [Here’s how we’ll play this. I want you to check the property. Look for a storage shed, basement entrance, or any derelict vehicles or appliances. Anything that runs on gas and has an alternator, we can pull a charge from. Sometimes old places like this will have emergency generators, that’s the best case scenario. If you find anything like that, tell me. Don’t go inside the house unless I say. Clear?]

[Got it,] said Pala. It began withdrawing its cloak, and Coyote felt hundreds of microbots skittering along its armor back to Pala’s chassis. [What are you going to do?]

[I’m going inside,] said Coyote. [I’ll check the interior, room by room.]

[You’re worried there’ll be someone in there?]

[Possibly. Could be homeless humans taking shelter here, kind of like us. Maybe other spirits. We won’t be a welcome sight, so I’ll try not to be seen. Don’t worry, the place is probably empty.]

[Okay. Be safe.]

[You too,] Coyote said. What it didn’t say was that EMD guns were apparently legal in the area, that people tended to be less shy about drawing and firing one, and it wasn’t sure if Pala’s light shielding would hold against a direct hit. Best to have it out of harm’s way.

As it approached the door, it activated the ultrasonics in its claws and sliced through the lock with a quick, silent cut. It turned and watched as Pala scuttled away into the overgrown lawn, resisting the urge to go back and regain sight of it. The little one would be fine on its own for a while.

Stepping through the door, Coyote armed its flechette gun, felt a round slide home into the barrel behind its palm.

#writeblr summerfest #coyote and pala #sci-fi #writeblr #writing prompts

3 notes · View notes

buzzcharacters · 8 months

Text

Aiden - Thistle in the Weeds

Male (he/him) - 28 moons - Gray-asexual Biromantic - Single

Aiden has always lived a troubled life, and has always had terrible luck. He was born into a terrible clowder, who viewed kittens as just fresh meat to continue fighting whatever 'war' they'd dreamed up. All of the trauma built up until he developed an alter, Archer, who helped him in getting out of that situation. He met up with a healer and they travelled alone for awhile, before Aiden got swept up into another war -- this time between a group of rogues and a Clan of cats.

Personality

Aiden

Anxious, Respectful, Selfish, Reserved, Quiet, Kind He/him ; +0 Moons

Even from a young age, Aiden has never really been one to be boisterous and loud. Instead, he’s timid and quiet, speaking only when spoken to and never trying to go out of turn. The uncertain environment that he was raised in did little to help this and rather spurred on his ever-present anxiety. He’s jittery and speaks with a stutter, which grows worse and worse the more uncomfortable and anxious he himself becomes. It created a vicious cycle, with his parents hating his stutter and shouting and punishing him for it, which only made him more fearful and thus made his stutter worse. Perhaps that’s the true reason why he’s so quiet - he’s afraid that if someone he doesn’t know hears his stutter that he will be punished for that which he cannot control. His anxiety feeds into other things about him, too. While he is skilled with his paws as both a healer and a craftsman, he does not speak highly of his skills. Instead, he lets others come to their own conclusions, however incorrect they may be. He’s respectful and agreeable by nature, never interrupting others and never trying to pick a fight, listening to his elders as best he can and following any rules given to him. It’s sometimes difficult to maintain this respect, with Archer’s running commentary playing on loop in his mind, but Aiden perseveres nonetheless. Aiden, at his core, is a kind individual. It took him a long time to figure it out, but he’s decided that his purpose is to help others, be it through his strange crafts or through his ability to heal with herbs. Perhaps this kind nature is what makes him easily manipulated - if someone had more nefarious intentions but hid them behind a plea for help, Aiden almost certainly would miss the core of the message in his efforts to aid them as best as he could. Despite his inherent kindness however, Aiden has been known to have a bit of a selfish streak. He always seems to be thinking of himself and what’s going to happen to him if he doesn’t do something a certain way. He wants to cure himself of his restless mind and needless anxiety, and has been known to test remedies on other cats without their permissions. Never in a harmful way, mind you, just… he seems to have an affinity for illnesses of the brain such as headaches or anything similar.

Archer

Confident, Protective, Blunt, Precise, Charismatic, Aggressive They/He; +0 Moons

Archer would be the first to tell you that he was formed out of a need to protect Aiden from the tremulous environment he was being raised in. His mind, unable to handle the abuse and aggression from his parents, split into a personality that could handle it, and in fact was made to handle it. As such, Archer is extremely protective of Aiden, taking over control whenever he begins to feel like it’s going to be too much for Aiden. While the body lacks the strength it would take to physically fight back, Archer can take prolonged emotional abuse with a smirk and a shrug - it simply does not get to him the same way it does Aiden. Archer also exudes confidence in everything he does. While he’s not as skilled as Aiden when it comes to healing and crafting, he is very much of the mind of ‘fake it until you make it’. Alongside this, he’s charismatic enough to pull it off more often than not, and managed to hide his more aggressive personality from Aiden’s family for much of their time spent together. And, being not as skilled as Aiden doesn’t mean Archer is a slouch, either. While he prefers hunting to gathering, his mind is almost as sharp as his ‘brother’s, and he has a fantastic memory for herbs and their uses. He has to - as whenever he is awake, Aiden is not aware of the situation going on around him, otherwise Archer’s role of protector wouldn’t be much good. To go along with his charismatic nature, Archer is also a born salesman. Since the two of them were never trained properly about how to hunt, they had to come up with other means to get fed. Archer, who had noticed Aiden’s fondness for shiny trinkets he found in the city, began haggling them to other cats in exchange for food and shelter, and it became something of a hobby for him. Aiden eventually figured out what was going on between his missing items, but Archer still claims that it’s beneficiary for the two of them. And, well, he has fun doing it! When the going gets tough, Archer chooses aggression over compliance. For better or for worse, he doesn’t back down from a challenge, even when it’s very clear he will not be the winner. This has gotten the two of them into a fair bit of issues, especially with Archer’s blunt comments to everything and anything around them. But, honestly, if it’s for the betterment of Aiden and everything he enjoys, then Archer would go to the ends of the earth and back. He just… sometimes can’t understand that his actions will have consequences that Aiden might end up having to deal with. Foresight is not his forté.

Family

Mother - Shoal - Status Unknown Father - Ezra - Status Unknown

Sister - Strix - Status Unknown

Father Figure/Mentor - Oleander - Loner

Timeline

CW: stillbirth; emotional abuse from family; physical abuse from family; withholding food from a child; trauma stemming from abuse -- please note that I do NOT go into extreme detail

0 MOONS: Born to Shoal and Ezra in a feral cat colony in a city alongside two sibling. The colony is violent and aims to take over all the other colonies in the nearby area. Shoal's birthing goes poorly, and in her litter is one stillborn and two live kittens - though one is clearly stronger than the other. She and Ezra vowed to hide Aiden's weakness from the leader.

2 MOONS: Shoal and Ezra are found out and punished for trying to hide Aiden's weakness, right in front of the kittens. Those in charge than decided to begin Aiden and Strix's training early, in an effort to strengthen them both.

3-4 MOONS: Training does not go well for Aiden with his awkward and unsteady limbs. Try as he might, he could never match Strix, and was often verbally and physically punished. The most common punishment was withholding food from him until he could do better.

5-7 MOONS: Aiden falls further behind as poor treatment leads to malnourishment, which leads to even poorer performances. Strix begins partaking in the punishments and cruelty toward Aiden.

8 MOONS: Aiden's mental state worsens alongside his physical state, and eventually his mind splits in order to preserve his sanity. The new alter, Archer, begins taking over during the cruel training sessions and makes it their goal to protect Aiden by any means possible.

10 MOONS: It takes a full two MOONS for Aiden to realize what has happened. Archer is an active alter, and often speaks to Aiden in his mindscape even while not fronting.

11 MOONS: Aiden begins taking any chance he can to slip away from the colony and explore a limited range of the city, collecting trinkets and scraps to try making things out of them. His attempts are met with even more punishment for being so different.

14 MOONS: Illness sweeps through the colony, causing them to bring in outside healers in an attempt to stave it off. Aiden, ironically, did not grow sick and began sticking around the healers in an attempt to learn from them. He begins shadowing a kind cat named Oleander.

15 MOONS: Oleander leaves the colony when the sickness is irradiated, and Aiden aches to see him go. He's too frightened to try and join him, and instead resolves to stay with the colony. Archer, however, has different ideas.

16 MOONS: Shoal has another, healthier, litter of kits, which means Aiden's use has run out. Aiden is thrown into the front lines as cannon fodder during a large battle. In the midst of it, Archer forces himself to the front and manages to get them out alive - and decides to follow the stale scent of Oleander an in attempt to find the cat.

16 MOONS: Thankfully, Oleander hadn't gone far and readily welcomed Aiden to join him as a travelling healer. Aiden, when he eventually awoke, was frightened and confused, though relief swelled through him when Archer explained.

19 MOONS: Aiden sticks close to Oleander and is careful to learn everything the older cat has to offer. He's a quick study, and doesn't take long to become a proficient healer.

20 MOONS: Aiden finds a bulky leather collar on a dead cat and takes it for himself. He fashions a small 'bag' to attach to the collar, for easier carrying of herbs and other small knicknacks he may find.

21 MOONS: The trio begin travelling around frequently, stopping at small communities of cats here and there to offer their services. Often, Oleander lets Aiden and Archer do their own things, with the promise to meet back up before it's been a moon so they can see where they stand and if they want/need to move on. Aiden begins making a name for himself as a proficient healer, despite his age.

23 MOONS: During one of their split ups, Aiden is confronted by massive, unfamiliar cats and Archer doesn't have time to front before the two of them are knocked out. When Aiden comes to, he finds himself surrounded by those same cats, as well as a massive black cat who introduces himself as Klaus. Aiden is instructed to heal a cat with a gaping wound in front of him, and with Archer still out of it, Aiden readily complies. Despite his fears, he's always worked best under pressure, and is able to dress the wound and find the herbs he needs (conveniently) to properly fix the cat up for the time being. Klaus seems impressed and offers him a spot in this gang of cats as an 'associate', able to come and go as necessary but must be around when needed. Aiden, still fearful, agrees.

24 MOONS: When he reconveins with Oleander, Aiden explains that he's found a semi-permenant job here and needs to stick around for now. Archer thinks this could be extremely beneficial, but Aiden still isn't sure. Still, Oleander is nothing if not soft and easily agrees to stick around this area for as long as necessary. Aiden tries to figure out if that's better or worse than him refusing.

26 MOONS | SITE MOON 0: Aiden visits the Rogues' territory frequently and acts as a medic when required. While he values the conditional safety it offers, he's unsure if he's doing the right things - the whispers of the prisoners are hard to ignore, after all.

Extras

I've had Aiden around in some fashion since 2011 -- his interpretation started off much rockier (I didn't know as much about DID as I do now), and he started as a Clan cat. You can find his original creation image (with the date) here!

Please note that this character has undergone major revisions since his creation. I myself do not have DID. Originally the depiction of DID was not researched and very offensive and not portrayed correctly. Since then I have done a lot of research and done my best to portray him in a realistic and respectful manner. If you have criticism with his depiction or find something wrong/offensive, please don't hesitate to reach out and let me know so I can take steps to correct my mistakes.

Aiden’s perk (a boon system used by Thistle in the Weeds) is as follows: Green Witch For some reason, nature is particularly attuned to this character. Plants in their vicinity, particularly those they've touched or been around frequently, wither or grow based on this character's mood. Small sprouts may pop up in their nest after a night of good dreams, or the moss they sleep on could start to rot during a nightmare. While the effects are slow and subtle, taking too long to see in the moment, it's pronounced enough to be more than mere coincidence. +2 stats to charisma

When Archer is fronting, he alternates between he/him and they/them pronouns.

Archer is also very good at pretending to be Aiden, if he needs to. However, it's not impossible to make him break character if you push his buttons.

It's possible that Aiden has other alters in his system, but does not know they are there as they don't communicate with him.

Aiden and Archer have a brotherly relationship. Archer's goal is to protect Aiden and make sure nothing bad happens to him again. Aiden just wants to keep them both out of trouble.

Other Iterations

Webs sites (if I can dig up the info)

Lies in the Low

More? I'll have to look into it

#aiden #warrior cats oc #titw

1 note · View note

thorns-ofthe-thistle · 1 year

Text

The Elfhame Chronicles...

there's something wretched about this something so precious about this where to begin?

@my-lost-darling

... ... ...

“Would you care to dance?” Everyone wanted a show? They might as well put one on.

“You’re not planning on getting us in trouble, are you?” he asked as he held out his hand for her and pulled her onto the dance floor, his other hand going to her waist.

“Trouble? I would never plan for trouble. I only wish to show off a little bit, my prince. Do you consider that getting us into trouble?"

“That depends on how much showing off we are doing, my lady.”

“Just enough that others are made jealous of us.”

“I see,” Thistle replied, amused and fond. “Try not to get dizzy."

Perhaps these things should not be, but Thistle didn’t mind. Falling in love in the High Court of Elfhame was a dangerous game, but no more dangerous than anything else one did amongst the fae.

“The trick is to focus on one still point as you spin. I think I’ll focus on you.”

”Good choice,” Thistle murmured.

“I thought so.” She felt safe trying to figure him out and it just pulled her in further. A dangerous thing as she was drawn into his space. Closer and closer.

“Would this create too much trouble for you?” Wendy questioned her eyes flicking down to his lips briefly.

“Not nearly enough,” he told her quietly. To him, in that moment, she was worth all that trouble and more. He dipped her backwards in the middle of the dance floor and kissed her.

excerpt from Hold Me in the Dark...

... ... ...

The Competition

In which Thistle and Wendy have their first proper meeting…[takes place in 2015…ish?]

What's in a Name?

In which the Queen, and the High Court of Elfhame, learn a secret about Wendy Darling…[takes place: early 2016]

The Caged Bird and the Prince

In which, after Wendy’s betrayal to the queen, Thistle visits her in her prison…[takes place: early 2016]

Til Death Do Us Part

In which, the Queen makes an arrangement for Wendy and Thistle’s futures…[takes place: early 2016]

Written in the Water

In which Wendy arrives in the Fenlands for the first time…[takes place mid-2016]

Hold Me in the Dark

In which Thistle and Wendy learn to cope with their circumstances…[takes place: all of 2017]

Don't Blame Me

In Wendy begins to get suspicious and all of their hard work starts to unravel…[takes place: early 2018]

On Thin Ice

In Wendy finds herself without Thistle’s protection and is spirited away to the Icelands…[takes place: late 2018]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

In which Thistle and Wendy make preparations for their wedding…[takes place: throughout 2019]

Something Old, Something New

In which Thistle takes Wendy to London and things go horribly wrong…[takes place: a few weeks before John shows up in Elfhame (2019)]

#swynwendy #whistle #whistle stuff #aesthetics #aesthetic #inspiration #/screaming crying throwing up

2 notes · View notes

flownintothesun · 1 year

Text

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── a plot, a ploy, a starter for @dutyworn .

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓... 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — not that she’s entirely too familiar with the concept of gravity, for all the good that does her. Because wherever she is, gravity matters, and so does a sudden lack thereof that leaves her weightless and bumping into the ceiling. She can’t even compare it to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland — because unlike most little girls, she’d never had a copy when she was young. Dominik has never really left her without — there are other books, and music, and paints and canvasses — though oftentimes Dominik takes them when she’s done, and they disappear to wherever he disappears to when he’s not with her, and she’s on her own again.

Except now, the controlled doors are open and Dominik’s not on the other side of them and there is a siren and bright red flashing lights illuminating the frame of the studio-like space she’s spent nearly all of her life in. Something tells her that’s not supposed to be happening — because for one thing, it never has in all of her twenty-four years of existence. Yes, she may very well fancy herself Alice, topsy-turvy and in a strange new world — were she to have ever made the fictional acquaintance of the lass. It’s definitely an experience — being jammed up on the ceiling with odds and ends of varying size and shape. Her hair is flyaway, and so is her dress, which she bunches into one hand, pulling tight around her for modesty’s sake as she swims along the ceiling with one hand toward something called ‘freedom’ that she can’t fathom — either because it’s too good to be true, or because it’s a concept she could never understand.

She barely remembers life before Dominik. She’d only been four years old, after all. Even the things she believes to be true are most likely not. The only keepsake she has from a time before is a necklace with a flower woven into a heart shape — according to a botany book that she’s read cover to cover — it’s called a thistle. She can quote the entry back to herself for how many times she’s looked it over.

Thistle. A weedy species of Cirsium, Carduus, Echinops, Sonchus, and other plant genera of the family Asteraceae. The word thistle most often refers to prickly leaved species of Carduus and Cirsium, which have dense heads of small, usually pink or purple flowers. Plants of the genus Carduus, sometimes called plumeless thistles, have spiny stems and flower heads without ray flowers. Canadian thistle (Cirsium arvense) is a troublesome weed in agricultural areas of North America, and more than 10 species of sow thistle (Sonchus) are widespread throughout Europe. Some species of globe thistle (Echinops) are cultivated as ornamentals. The thistle is the national emblem of Scotland.

So few of the words mean anything to her. She sees things on television, she hears them sung about in song, and reads about them in her books — but they are things meant for someone else, never for her. What is Scotland? Was it once a home to her?

Breaching the door frame makes her heart flutter and pound, or maybe that’s the weightlessness — everything rushing to her head all at once. She finds herself at the end of a long, rounded hallway. To her right is a wall with a few doors scattered about, and to her left is the vast enormity of everything — space, as far as the eye can see along a wall almost completely made up of windows. “Woah!” she gasps, and tries to step back, which of course doesn’t do her a lick of good. Her heart’s ratcheting now, in full-blown panic. Where on Earth is she? Or rather....where...not on Earth...is she?

#dutyworn #➤ 𝚍𝚞𝚝𝚢𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚗 ┊ wren & marin ➷ (𝟎𝟎𝟏.)#➤ 𝚇𝚅𝙸. 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁 ┊ marin gunderson.#child kidnapping cw #⋆ ⚓︎ ⋆ ── 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ┊ 𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑.

4 notes · View notes

gloriousloverunknown · 7 months

Text

Garden Uses For Vinegar - Tips For Using Vinegar In Gardens

Many of us have heard about the benefits of using vinegar in gardens, mainly as an herbicide. But how effective is vinegar and what else can it be used for? Let's find out more about how to use vinegar in the garden.

Using Vinegar in Gardens

It has been said that one of the benefits of vinegar in the garden is as a fertilizing agent. Nope. Acetic acid only contains carbon hydrogen and oxygen -- stuff the plant can get from the air. Vinegar has been recommended for use to up the pH levels in your soil. Apparently not so. The effects are temporary and require large amounts of vinegar in the garden before anything noteworthy occurs. The last, but most commonly suggested use for vinegar in the garden is as an herbicide. Household white vinegar, at its 5 percent acetic acid level, does indeed burn the tops of the weed. It does not, however, have any effect on the roots of the weed and will toast the foliage of any other plants it comes in contact with.

Vinegar as Herbicide

Woo hoo! Vinegar as herbicide: a safe, easily found (often in the kitchen cabinet) and inexpensive product to use in the control of weeds. The use of vinegar in the garden to retard weed growth has long been recommended by your neighbor, your neighbor's grandmother, and your own mother, but does it work? Vinegar contains acetic acid (about 5 percent), which as the nomenclature suggests, burns upon contact. Actually, for any of you who have inhaled a whiff of vinegar, it also affects the mucus membranes and causes a swift reaction. Due to its burning effects, using vinegar in the garden has been touted as a cure-all for a number of garden afflictions, most notably weed control. The acetic acid of vinegar dissolves the cell membranes resulting in desiccation of tissues and death of the plant. While this sounds like a splendid outcome for the plague of weeds invading your yard, I suspect you wouldn't be quite as thrilled if vinegar as herbicide were to damage your perennials or garden veggies. A higher acetic acid (20 percent) product can be purchased, but this has the same potentially damaging results as utilizing vinegar as a herbicide. At these higher concentrations of acetic acid, some weed control has been shown to be established (80 to 100 percent of smaller weeds), but be sure to follow the manufacturer's instructions. Also, be aware of its caustic effects on your nasal passages, eyes, and skin, not to mention garden plants, and take the appropriate precautions. Despite the longstanding proponents for using vinegar in gardens, little beneficial information has been proven. It seems that research conducted by the USDA with solutions containing 5 percent vinegar has not been shown to be reliable weed control. Higher concentrations of this acid (10 to 20 percent) found in retail products may retard the growth of some annual weeds and will indeed kill the foliage of perennial weeds such as Canada thistle, but without killing the roots; thereby, resulting in regeneration. In summary, vinegar used as herbicide may be slightly effective on small annual weeds during the lawn's dormancy and prior to garden planting, but as long-term weed control, it's probably better to stick with the old standby—hand pulling or digging.

Additional Garden Uses for Vinegar

Don't be alarmed if the benefits of vinegar aren't what you thought they would be. There are other garden uses for vinegar that can be just as good, if not better. Using vinegar in gardens goes far beyond weed control. Here are more options for how to use vinegar in the garden:

Freshen up cut flowers. Add 2 tablespoons (30 mL.) vinegar and 1 teaspoon (5 mL.) sugar for each quart of water.

Deter ants by spraying vinegar around door and window frames, and along other known ant trails.

Eliminate calcium buildup on brick or on limestone with half vinegar and half water. Spray on and then just let it set.

Clean rust from garden tools and spigots by soaking in undiluted vinegar overnight.

And finally, don't forget the animals. For instance, you can remove skunk odor from a dog by rubbing down the fur with full-strength vinegar and then rinsing clean. Keep cats away from garden or play areas (especially sandboxes). Just sprinkle vinegar in these areas. Cats hate the smell.

0 notes

twst-drabbles · 1 year

Text

Riddle 17

Summary: When the Roseling gets angry with his fellow nymphs, he goes to you to cool off while the others attempt to make things right.

(Forgot to say it was my birthday a few days ago. Whoops.)

Riddle didn’t walk up to you so much as he rocketed to your shoulder with a jump from his roots and planted his butt down with a cross-armed huff.

“Hmm?” you tilted your head, giving his back a little scratch that was met with a whack from his arm, “What happened this time little buddy? Who pissed you off?”

His little rose body trembled with the anger of a thousand suns. You could probably put a soda on his head and he’d make it explode. As though popcorn kernel, Riddle stood up and yelled out a combination of leaf-rubbing squeaks, crisps clicks and just general high-pitched screams.

You do not understand a word of it but you knew it best he let it all out. Though, in all seriousness, what did set him off? His face was getting rather dark.

Finally, he ran out of breath, puffing in and out as though Riddle can’t handle the sheer force of his rage. And from behind you, you picked up some frantic rustling.

A chorus of little pips and squeaks sounded out before Trey, Cater, Ace and Deuce all jumped out of the grass. On their necks were little thistle-collars, absolutely forced on them by an angry Riddle.

Held above their heads was a rich red rose, its petals crystallized to look like those candied roses you still have. Honestly, it would’ve been a copy had it not been for the golden sap leaking out of the base of the rose. Clearly it was slapped on just now to hold all the petals together.

And as though to prove your point, a petal slid right off and onto Cater’s face. He struggled but Trey was close enough to grab it and slap it back onto the rose.

“…oh boy…” The attempt to stick it back together was endearing, but, from what you’ve gathered, this was rose was probably Riddle’s very first success after months of trying. You can understand the anger of this perfectionist of a pet you have.

You sighed and placed a hand on Riddle just in case he decided to dip elsewhere. You gently shooed the bound nymphs away.

“Give him some time,” you said, knowing that attempts to apologize will only get Riddle more riled up, “go do something else.”

While the sad pull of their small faces did sting a little, you knew what the results of trying to force a reconciliation would be. Whenever you got too angry to properly get through the day, Crowley’s attempts to talk you out of the bad mood only irritated you into not talking to him for a few days. As such, you’re pretty sure Riddle needs time to sort himself out before attempting such a thing.

And just to give Riddle some privacy, since you can see little tears at the corners of his eyes, you turn just enough so your neck hid him.

“It’ll be alright, just continue on with your day without him, I’ll be with him.” It certainly says something for Riddle to always come to you when his anger reaches this point. You guess he just really hates being alone when he gets this way.

You patted his head, smiling when he didn’t move away. If anything, he adjusted himself and hugged your palm.

You’re sure Riddle can make that crystal rose again. He just needs time.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #heartslabyul #riddle #riddle rosehearts #house pet au #reader insert

228 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 6 months

Text

(me feeling terrible not doing one of these for Birdie. Here we go! Maybe I'll do this for Thistle and Marco, IDK.)

Birdie didn't want anything for her birthday so Buggy had to improvise. He let her sleep in, got the boys fed and ready for the day, and even made breakfast for her. After all that, he announced they were going to an island for a family outing, which Birdie was suspicious of since the last time they did that it involved questionable looking clams.

Buggy insisted it would be fun, plus Finn hadn't had a chance to touch land yet and Buggy wanted his son to experience that. Darby was excited to play in the water, which meant Birdie packing a bag of extra clothes for both boys and herself. She felt a little bad that Buggy had to sit back and watch the kids when they were in the water.

Once they had their fun in the water, Birdie took the boys back to where Buggy was waiting. She handed Finn off to him before grabbing Darby's little bucket and shovel and handing it over to him.

"If you find any buried treasure, we gotta split it, got it?" Buggy told him as he went to find a spot to start digging. "Hey, go see if there's any X's on the ground, that usually means there's treasure!"

"'kay!" Darby didn't know what that really meant but he went to see if he could find any X's. He wasn't successful it seemed as Buggy got up after a few minutes to direct the boy in the right direction as Birdie watched in amusement. When he came back to her, she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you have planned?" She asked. Buggy shrugged and looked at her innocently.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "You're a terrible liar. Darby lies better than you and he's four."

"I'm not lying about anything!" He insisted as Finn tried to grab his nose. Buggy set him down in the sand but the baby tried to grab handfuls to eat. "When don't you want to eat, kid?"

"Aw, do we have a snack for him?" Birdie asked as she started to rummage through the bag. "He's growing, you know, he's gonna be a big boy like his brother." She glanced at Buggy for a moment before looking back at the bag. "I don't like that they are growing so fast. How many kids do you think we should have?"

"I think four more should be good." Buggy said without missing a beat. "Another boy and then three girls. I want it balanced."

"Yea? I think I can manage that." Birdie chuckled. Before he could continue, Darby let out an excited squeak as he hit something in the sand with his shovel. Frowning, Birdie got up to investigate, wondering what he found. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I found treasure!" He insisted as he pulled a box out of the sand. Birdie glanced over at Buggy before kneeling down beside her son. He tries to hand it to her but she wouldn't take it, instead pointing over to Buggy.

"Go show daddy. Make him open it." She instructed him as she straightened up and headed over to Buggy. He nodded and headed over to Buggy who made a face at his son before taking the box.

"Mama was supposed to open it, remember?" He whispered to him as Birdie took a seat beside him before taking Finn out of his arms. "Hand it back to her."

Nodding, Darby took the box and opened it, holding it out to his mama. Birdie looked between Buggy and Darby for a moment before taking the box from her son. She frowned when she saw what was in there.

"When did you find time to get a ring?" She asked as she took the ring out, looking over the gold band with a blue stone in the middle. "It's beautiful, but what's it for?"

"You're gonna make me ask, really?" Buggy grumbled as he took the ring from her and grabbed her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger. "We're obviously going to get married, y'know, so I wanted it official."

"Oh."

"Yea."

Birdie looked at the ring; Darby grabbed her hand and pulled it close to his face to look at it closer. She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

"Whatcha think, Darby? Should I marry daddy?" She asked with a grin. "Make it official?"

"Yea!" He agreed though he didn't really know what it meant. He already had parents and a brother so he didn't know what 'marry' was, but it seemed exciting.

"You're getting approval from him?" Buggy asked with a frown. "Really?"

"Of course! He's my son after all." She chuckled before leaning into Buggy to kiss his cheek as she cuddled Finn closer. "Yea, I'll marry you, clown, if you'll have me."

"Oh good, I was afraid I'd have to convince you." Buggy breathed with a sigh of relief. He didn't think she'd say no, but at the same time, he wasn't too sure. He reached over to keep Finn from grabbing Birdie's hand to put the ring in his mouth. "Happy birthday, babe."

#mini fic #birdie x buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc

11 notes · View notes

not-a-space-alien · 2 years

Text

All Creatures Great and Small Chapter 6: Clap Your Hands if You Believe

In this chapter: dont talk to strangers on the internet, unless you want to i guess, also shrimp colors

Thanks to my beta readers @appelsiinilight and @static-stars!!! <3

Story Masterpost

On AO3

PS unfortunately my writing will probably be going on hiatus for a little bit because my classes are starting back up this week...and I will have to be spending all my writing juice writing my thesis essay 😅 If you want to make sure you get notified when my active story(ies) come back, make sure to either subscribe on AO3 or ask to be added to the tag list!

Sierra was coming.

Everything was prepared. She’d gotten her plane ticket, and Marcy had the couch folded out so she could have somewhere to sleep. They’d made sure they had food in the house that was to Sierra’s taste, and they had a full agenda of activities to do while she was in town. Marcy had beaten back the endless tide of graduate school tasks requiring her attention to get the whole time off. They were ready for a great trip.

There was just one problem. Thistle still hadn’t told her he wasn’t human.

He’d tried. But she’d responded as though they were still playing make pretend. He’d even sent her a photo, to which she’d responded as though it were an impressive photo manipulation. Did you do this yourself? It’s awesome!

He chickened out after that. Marcy offered to take over and try to find the right words, but Thistle declined. He had to do this himself. It was only proper. He would do it himself, he repeated over and over, as he continued to not do it himself.

“Eeeee, I’m so excited!” Sierra’s voice came out through the tinny phone speaker. “The plane just landed! It’s gonna take me a while to get through the baggage claim and stuff though.”

“Okay!” said Marcy. “We’re just leaving the house now.”

“See you soon!” said Thistle. He hung up and then immediately exploded into terrified trembling, like a neurotic Chihuahua.

Marcy’s hand came over and palmed him, flat against the car seat. “Shhh.”

“What if this is a horrible mistake,” said Thistle’s muffled voice through her fingers.

Marcy lifted her hand, and he immediately popped back up into shape. “Then we’ll deal with it,” she said. “You can’t get anything nice in life without risks. You have to take the good with the bad.”

Thistle nodded, expression hardening. “Right. I’m not nervous at all.”

On the drive to the airport, he continued to climb all over Marcy, anxiously searching for a good place to sit, on her lap, in the crook of her neck, on the dashboard, in Marcy’s jacket pocket.

“All right then, totally not nervous little guy,” she said, removing him from the steering wheel and plunking him down into the cupholder. “Why don’t you just chill out.”

He wrung his hands. The street signs pointing towards the airport pickup started whizzing past in the window. Thistle moaned and popped open the hatch that sealed the compartment in the center console. “I’m–I’m just going to hide. Just a little bit. Just for a little bit.”

“Okay,” said Marcy. “You come out when you’re ready.”

Thistle scrabbled up into the nook, banishing himself among the pens and loose change and discarded, crumpled up papers. He shut it on top of himself.

Marcy pulled over near airport arrivals. There was a young woman, roughly matching Sierra’s description, waiting with a suitcase, neck bent over to examine her phone. Her fingers moved across the screen just as Thistle’s phone in the cupholder dinged with a notification that said I think I see you.

Marcy beeped the horn and rolled the window down, waving enthusiastically. “Hey! Fancy seeing you here!”

Sierra’s face lit up with delight. “Marcy?”

“Sierra?”

Sierra practically skipped over to the car, the trunk popping open cuing her to put her bag in there. She then came up front and clambered into the passenger’s seat. “It’s so great to meet you!”

“You as well!”

Marcy glanced down at the center console. When there was no movement from it, Marcy gently started to open it, but she felt tiny hands shoo her away and then click it back shut.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Fine, then. She pulled away from the curb and started to drive off.

Sierra cleared her throat. “So, um, not that I’m not thrilled to meet you…But I thought Thistle was coming too?” Sierra’s grandmother had warned her to avoid getting kidnapped and murdered while meeting people off the internet, and Sierra was now giving second thought to the previously-disregarded worries.

“We’ll meet him soon,” said Marcy. “Don’t worry.”

Sierra bounced with excitement. “Ooh, I’m so excited–and nervous, but I mean you probably don’t think I have anything to be nervous about, but you know him already, you probably think I’m silly and stupid and–”

Marcy laughed. “I think you’re overthinking things a bit.”

Sierra nodded, biting her lip. “Right. Well, Thistle speaks of you so highly, I’m just afraid he’ll be disappointed if I can’t measure up to you.”

Marcy looked over and saw Sierra wringing her hands. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“I’m just…” She nervously flapped her hands. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you guys have, I was too nervous to ask but I don’t know if you guys are, like, dating, or I thought maybe he was gay, but the way he talks about you…”

As Sierra trailed off, Marcy stared straight ahead, stunned by the awkward turn the conversation had taken. “Ah…Well that’s a good question, I don’t think he and I are entirely sure, either. But I promise there’s room for more people in his life.”

Sierra twirled her hair. “O…Okay. I…Well, I’ve been meaning to ask, but I was too shy. His name isn’t…isn’t really Thistle, is it? I just assumed that was a name he used online.”

“It’s a normal name where he’s from,” said Marcy. “It’s a translation of his name in his native language.”

Sierra perked up. “Ooh, that’s so cool! He has a pretty thick accent, so obviously I figured he wasn’t from around here, but…I could never tell where he was from?”

“I’m sure he’d love to answer all these questions for you,” said Marcy. “When we meet him.”

This last part was said slower and louder than necessary, with another glance down at the center console. Nothing.

Marcy sighed. “Thistle, please. This is fucking unbearable. Please end my suffering.”

Sierra looked at her wide-eyed. “I don’t get it.”

The center console compartment popped open. Just a crack.

Marcy rolled the car to a stop at a red light. “Come on, bud. You can’t put it off forever.”

“Is he…in the car with us?” Sierra said, puzzled, looking into the back seat.

The lid lifted. Marcy could see he was having a bit of trouble, with his arms trembling, so she helped him out and lifted it up all the way.

“Sierra Mist!” said Thistle, holding his arms out and waving. He’d clearly meant to be enthusiastic, but the crack in his voice betrayed his absolute terror.

Sierra looked down at him, face totally blank, eyes wide. The light turned green, and the car started to roll forward.

Thistle’s eyes darted around the seat, up to Sierra’s face, trembling.

Marcy glanced at the interaction from her peripheral vision. “Well? Say hello.”

Sierra’s mouth moved to form words, but nothing came.

“Please say something!" Thistle said through an agonized smile.

"I… thought you'd be taller?"

Thistle and Marcy exploded into laughter.

"You're real?" said Sierra, tears in her eyes. "You're really real?" She looked up at Marcy. "You're not tricking me somehow?"

"If I was talented enough to fake something like this, I'd be a lot richer than I actually am."

"Can I …. Can I hold him?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Her shock redoubled, as though she hadn't considered it just because her brain was so thoroughly broken. She cast her eyes down at him. "Can-Can I–may I hold you?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Just cup your hands together and hold them in front of him," said Marcy, helpfully providing what she'd discovered to be the most comfortable for him after much trial and error.

Sierra did as instructed. Thistle hopped up into her hands and sat down cross-legged, ears twitching nervously.

She brought her hands up closer to her face. "You…you're the one I've been talking to online?"

He beamed a great big smile. "Why do you think I type so slow? The internet was made for people with much bigger hands!"

Sierra was in tears, overwhelmed. "You're really real?"

He frowned. "Normally I would just say yes, but your persistent disbelief is making me question it myself."

Sierra's face slowly cracked into a smile. "Ha…it really is you…that’s exactly the kind of stupid joke you’d make…"

Thistle giggled.

Sierra slowly lifted her thumb up towards his head. He flinched away, prompting her to stop–it was instinct, but then after a moment, he recovered and steeled his nerves.

The thumb brushed against his hair, rubbing his head. They’d talked about physical contact over the phone….but this was quite different from what she had been picturing. Thistle had been picturing pretty much exactly this, more or less, and had just been worrying about if she could be gentle enough.

She was gentle enough.

***

Colin was cooking when they came home. “Hey!” said Teddy from the living room. “Nice to meetcha!”

“Woah!” Colin came out of the kitchen at top speed, as though he were afraid to miss Sierra. “She’s here! Hah! Hey, what’s up!”

Sierra nervously curled in on herself, wilting under the attention. “H-hey, nice to meet you! You must be Colin and Theodora?”

“Hope you don’t mind I’m sitting on your bed,” said Teddy, patting the folded-out couch. “I was just watching TV.”

“What are you cooking?” said Sierra. “It smells really good!”

“Tacos!” said Colin, beaming. “And it’s almost ready! I figured you’d be hungry after your long flight!”

Sierra expressed the appropriate delight, and Colin went back into the kitchen. Teddy followed a minute later, setting the table.

Thistle crawled out from Sierra’s jacket hood. “It doesn’t smell that great to me,” Thistle mumbled.

“What?” said Sierra.

“It smells like dead meat.”

Marcy plucked Thistle off her shoulder, dangling him in front of the two women in the living room. “That’s because it is dead meat.”

Thistle gave her a sour look, then wiggled out of her hand and landed on the table. “Hey, oh, Sierra! I can finally show you my stuff!”

Sierra bounced excitedly. “Stuff! Stuff!”

Thistle leapt off the table and jogged to his castle. It was still on the living room floor, but it’d been pushed to the side to make room for the couch to fold out. He skipped over to a plastic critter cage next to it. “These are my worms!”

“Worm time!” Sierra chanted.

Marcy knelt and helped Thistle take the lid off the enclosure. Thistle had a wonderful time bringing different worms over to Sierra, telling her their names, because somehow he could keep track of which was which.

“Oooh, and, and–” Thistle darted into his castle, dragging out a mess of paper after him. “These are my art supplies! I was just–just coloring in this drawing before we left!”

He held it up proudly. Marcy took the tiny artwork between two careful fingers. It was a pencil drawing of Thistle sitting on Marcy’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” said Sierra.

Marcy furrowed her brow. “Yeah, it is, but…”

Thistle shuffled his feet. “Oh, but…?”

Marcy pointed to the pixie in the drawing. “This is you, right? Why did you color your wings like that?”

It had to be Thistle; the torn up wing was too on the nose to be someone else. But unlike the iridescent, semi-transparent, whitish color of his actual wings, the one in the drawing had vivid purple wings, with electric blue markings.

Thistle took the drawing, examining it very hard. “Why did I color them like what?”

“Purple and blue?”

Thistle rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I haven’t found a colored pencil yet that has the same color as my wings, so I just used the ones that were closest.”

Marcy cocked her head at him. “Um…” She rifled in his colored pencils, most of which had their tips broken off so he could use them like chalk. She withdrew a silver colored pencil. “You don’t think something like this is closer?”

He looked embarrassed. “What? No! Are you blind? That color is–is–so dull!”

Marcy put the pencil down, then used her finger to gently rub his back. “Thistle, are you…Are you insecure about your wings? That you feel the need to embellish them?”

Thistle recoiled, offended. “What are you talking about?” He tossed his hair over his shoulder, put a hand on his hip, and smirked. “My wings are beautiful, the most beautiful thing in the house.”

Marcy looked at Sierra. “You’re seeing the same thing I am, right? I’m not missing something here?”

Sierra fidgeted awkwardly. “Yeah, Thistle, I have to agree with Marcy on this one. Your wings look much closer to the silver pencil than what you colored.”

Thistle looked aghast. “What?”

“Wait a minute,” said Marcy, gears turning, and then an electric thrill of realization cannonballed into her head. “Can you…Can you see colors we can’t?”

Thistle took a step back, eyebrows raised, shocked at her enthusiasm. “What…what do you mean?”

“Some kinds of animals like bees and butterflies can see ultraviolet wavelengths of light.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Here–you–you’ve seen a rainbow in the sky before, right?”

He nodded vigorously.

Marcy dumped all his colored pencils out with shaking hands. “Here–draw–draw one for me.”

Thistle did as instructed, running through the whole gamut of ROY G BIV before…

He hemmed and hmmed and looked through the colored pencils. “I, um…There isn’t a good color for this one.”

“Holy shit, Thistle,” said Marcy. “We don’t make colored pencils in that color because we can’t see it.”

He looked up at her, worried. “Oh….you…” He cocked his head. “Can’t see? But–but–but then…” He covered his face and flickered his wings. “Then that means to you, my wings look ugly!”

“No,” said Sierra soothingly. “No, they’re nice! They’re pretty! They’re shiny!”

Thistle huffed. "Well now I have to think about all my outfits again."

He stomped into his little castle, muttering to himself about how humans had the audacity to have eyes that couldn’t even appreciate his wings correctly. The light in the ceiling came on–Teddy had helped him with that, a little bulb powered by a single battery sitting in the corner of the castle. He started unfolding his clothes and dragging handfuls of them out. “What does this one look like to you?”

“It looks green,” said Sierra, examining the shirt. “With a white trim.”

Thistle hurled the shirt to the ground, looking on the verge of an aneurysm. “The trim is not white!”

“Dinner’s ready!” Colin called from the next room, saving them.

Marcy promised they could talk more about it later and grabbed Thistle, carrying the steaming pixie over to the dinner table. She set him down at his setting–the chair next to Marcy remained empty, and on the place setting there was a small table and chair sized for him. On the table was a small fork and spoon–made for dolls, but roughly the right size. He had a cup and plate from a tea party set that matched his hands a little more closely, nice porcelain that was intended to be given only to the most careful of children to play with.

Colin brought out the pot of ground beef and set it next to where Teddy had laid out all the trimmings. Then he laid out a few tortillas that had been painstakingly cut out from full-sized ones, about an inch in diameter, on Thistle’s plate. Thistle clapped. “Thank you!”

Teddy gingerly set a plastic cup of small crickets next to him, suppressing the disgusted crunching of her face. “For your protein.”

“Thank you!” He bounced in his chair.

Sierra took a seat on the other side of Thistle, watching him with adoring fascination.

“Let Thistle pick his toppings first,” said Marcy. “So he’s not scrambling to get some.”

Thistle picked up his plate and eagerly pattered across the table, winding around Teddy’s silverware and past Colin’s cup to get to the chopped olives. He took a few handfuls, then piled them on the plate next to a few shreds of lettuce, a bit of salsa, and the tiniest dab of sour cream.

Plate piled high, Thistle scampered back to his place, and then the humans started serving themselves, taking scoops of things almost as big as Thistle’s entire body.

“Um,” said Sierra nervously, politely waiting to serve herself last. “So–So–Maybe this is–So I don’t know if it’s rude to ask this, but…” She tapped her fingers together. “Um, isn’t fae food, like, like a thing? Is there some special way I should eat?”

The other humans all laughed. “Yeah,” said Teddy, “there is a special way you should eat. You should make sure not to look at him while you’re eating, because you’ll lose your appetite.”

This, of course, prompted Sierra to instinctively glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in the process of eviscerating a cricket, which he stopped, blushing, hands still covered with its goupy innards.

“It’s a mixed bag what folktales about fairies are actually accurate,” Marcy said. “That’s what it seems so far, anyway.”

“Oh,” said Sierra. “I guess that makes sense.” She seemed to be hovering in the clouds, mentally, watching Thistle lay cricket legs onto a tortilla. Fusion cuisine. “So…magic isn’t real, then? Or is it?”

Thistle’s hands wavered on his food, movements growing hesitant. After he was silent for a moment, Marcy prompted, “I think Thistle is probably the best one to answer that.”

“Oh, um…” Thistle rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, it’s real.”

Sierra’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh! That’s so cool! What all can you do?”

Thistle’s face grew redder and redder, distress growing. “Me? Not–Not–Not all that much, the only thing I can reliably do is fly.”

Sierra looked a little disappointed. “Oh. But that takes magic? But you have wings.”

“They’re small enough that they probably don’t really generate enough lift to carry him by themselves,” Marcy interjected. “Just, you know, by the physics of it. Even though he’s pretty light. People always underestimate how big wings would need to be to achieve flight.”

This was the point at which Marcy noticed Thistle’s increasing mortification. “Ah…” she said, easing back. “Well–you–you’re probably wondering about the mantis wing.”

Sierra perked up. “Oh, yes. Thistle said he’d been in an accident, which you helped him through.”

“Right,” said Marcy.

Ah, now this was safer territory. Thistle stood up straighter. “Right. A mantis bit me and tore most of my wing away. Marcy put this one on to help. It mostly works. I just can’t stay in the air for more than a few seconds. The difference in shape makes it harder to use. And I can’t pull on it too hard.”

“Oh,” said Sierra. “That’s so sad! You can’t use magic to fix it?”

Thistle stiffened. “Um, well, doing that sort of magic is pretty hard…Most people can’t.”

This was the point at which Teddy picked up on Thistle’s discomfort. She cleared her throat. “So, Sierra, tell us more about yourself. What do you do for work? Or are you in school?”

Sierra looked jarred. “Oh, me? Oh yeah, I’m in school.”

“Awesome!” said Colin. “What’s your major?”

Sierra fiddled with a nearby fork. “Um…I actually haven’t picked yet.”

“She’s good at everything,” said Thistle, puffing up. “So that makes it hard to choose.”

“Haha,” said Sierra bashfully. “Well, I get mostly A’s and B’s.”

“That’s great!” said Teddy. “And you don’t have to pick right away.”

“Ahaha,” said Sierra nervously, “well, I mean, I’m graduating next year, so–”

“Girl,” Marcy whispered.

“--I should probably pick soon.”

“Marcy, you should tell Sierra about your work,” said Colin. “It’s super interesting, I bet it would make her go into biology.”

“I study the effects of pesticides on native animal life,” said Marcy, preening.

“Oh, yeah!” said Sierra. “Thistle told me about that. That’s how you found him, right? Out in the field?”

“Yeah!”

Sierra turned towards Thistle. “I’m kind of surprised you let Marcy catch you. I figured you’d be able to get away using magic.”

Thistle bristled again. “Um…”

This was the point at which Colin took note of Thistle’s nervousness. “Thistle’s a pretty nimble little guy, but Marcy had a net. She’s pretty good at catching little things in a net.”

“Yeah!” said Marcy. “Recently I had to catch a bunch of insects for this grant that was studying bioaccumulation at different trophic levels on agricultural–”

“Okay, but, like,” interrupted Sierra, “Surely you must have some magic you can use to defend yourself? You can use magic, right?”

Thistle recoiled, looking on the verge of tears.

This was the point at which Sierra herself finally noticed Thistle’s anxiety. She eased back a little, as though she hadn’t already just trucked past polite boundaries. “I–I’m sorry, I just–I’m curious.”

Thistle was experiencing a tumultuous mix of emotions. He was scared that if he flaunted the fact that he was a magical creature too much, it might give them ideas about how to take advantage of him. Jewel’s harsh speech about humans extracting magic from him, and how they always captured and tortured aliens and whatever extraordinary creatures they found, had made him perpetually nervous about talking about magic in too great of a depth with any of the humans…Even the ones he trusted. He knew, logically, that they were his friends, he could trust them, and they would never do something like that… But still. His prey instincts kicked in, warning him to stay away from anything that could be seen as something to be used.

And…he was not a proud creature, generally. But he was a little embarrassed. Everyone always got excited about the prospect of him being capable of supernatural feats, but he had just…never learned. It seemed very silly to try and explain, but he’d never had reason to. He wasn’t embarrassed when he’d been at home with his family, because nobody batted an eyelash at the prospect of magic–they were all better at it than he was. Why would he put in the effort to get good at it, when he was useful in other ways? When his natural talent lay elsewhere? When he could sew and craft things way, way faster than anyone else, and see the delight on their faces when he gave it to them? When they were a family unit, and all made up for each other’s strengths and weaknesses?

But now he was the only one around who could use magic if he tried, with the potential for magic. They were all so interested in it, the big thing he had never been very good at, and it was so easy to imagine them forcing him to try it for their own curiosity. It could be as simple as his humans good-naturedly pressuring him to demonstrate some of the simpler applications, all the way up to the horror of some malicious Robert-type human catching wind of him and stealing him away, locking him up and demanding the use of his magic for themselves.

He didn’t have any reason to be nervous. He knew he didn’t have any reason to be nervous. They were his friends. They wouldn’t do anything to him. He knew they wouldn’t do anything to him.

But he was just so scared.

Thistle started crying.

“Oh no!” said Sierra, mortified. “Thistle I–I’m so, so sorry! Don’t cry! It’s okay! We don’t have to talk about it!”

The other three humans all started to get up from their chairs, which startled Thistle, prompting him to hunch over.

Marcy’s hands came at him slowly, comfortingly. “Do you want to go to the living room?”

He nodded mutely.

Marcy’s hands closed around him–something that at one point was so so terrifying, now a solid and reassuring presence. The overwhelming world disappeared as he curled up and she carried him.

She opened her hands when they were in the corner of the living room. It was quieter here, and dim, the humans talking distantly in the dining room. He uncurled and let himself be held, looking up into Marcy’s compassionate eyes. His eyes flickered briefly to the fishtank behind her–Jewel was peeking out from behind a plant, brow furrowed in worry.

Marcy’s finger brushed his jaw gently. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I–I just–” Thistle’s voice wavered. “I just got scared.”

“Do you want to be alone in your castle for a little bit?”

He nodded tearfully.

Marcy set him on the ground, and he scampered forward into the castle and shut the door.

Marcy came back into the dining room, taking her place at the dinner table with a sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” said Sierra, seeming on the verge of tears. “I’m so–so sorry, Marcy, I’m really sorry, I’m so stupid, I’m an idiot–”

“All right,” said Marcy. “Okay, just listen.”

Teddy jumped in. “It’s hard to read his facial expressions sometimes, because his face is so small.”

“Right,” said Colin. “But–but he’s really an open book in other ways.”

“You have to pay closer attention,” said Marcy. “You have to be more careful to check how he’s feeling. It’s harder to notice, and he’s sometimes too timid to let you know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sierra, again. “I’m so stupid–”

“Just–just listen,” said Marcy. “Don’t make the same mistakes we did. He’s been through a lot of trial-and-error with us, because we had to, to try and figure out how to interact with him. I don’t want him to have to go through that again with a new person. Especially one that’s supposed to already care about him.”

“I’m so stupid,” blubbered Sierra.

“Then stop being stupid and listen!” Teddy snapped. “That’s not helpful.”

Sierra’s mouth clamped shut.

“I know you can do this,” said Marcy. “I wouldn’t let you even try if I didn’t think you could.”

Sierra nodded.

They spent a few minutes going over some things–what to watch out for, how to read his body language including his wings and ears. The humans felt weird talking about him like that when he must surely be able to hear them, but Sierra needed to hear it. From his castle, Thistle crouched and listened, suddenly self-conscious. Do my ears really go back when I’m scared? Do I really flare my wings out and rustle them when I’m happy?

He came back out after a few minutes, when he’d calmed down. The humans all immediately ceased their conversation, looking at him cautiously.

“Hey, bud,” said Colin. “Ready to come back to the table now?”

He craned his neck back to look up at them from the floor, nodding meekly. He jumped up, catching the edge of the table and hauling himself up.

“I’m sorry,” said Sierra. “I should have realized you might be upset by my questions.”

“It’s–it’s okay,” said Thistle. He sat down at his little table-on-a-table. “I just got–just got a little nervous.”

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about,” Marcy soothed.

“I know,” said Thistle. “Really, I do. I know in my brain. It’s just…” He moved a hand from his head down to his chest. “...hard to feel it sometimes.”

Sierra nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it. I promise it’s okay.”

Thistle fiddled with his fork. “I…would like to talk about it, I think.”

Marcy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“I think it might make me feel better. I’ve been avoiding it on purpose.”

“All right,” said Teddy. “As long as you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you feel like you have to.”

Thistle swallowed, then nodded. He lowered his eyes. “I don’t really use magic because I never learned.” He blushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “I could have, and it’s embarrassing to admit I didn’t. It’s like how I’ve noticed humans are sometimes embarrassed that they don’t have a driver’s license, or don’t understand taxes.”

Sierra flushed now. She didn’t have a driver’s license.

“Did your family make you feel bad about it?” Marcy asked.

“No!” said Thistle. “No, definitely not. They would never. It was just frustrating watching my older siblings who got it a lot faster than I did, so I decided to just focus on things they weren’t good at. I enjoyed those things more anyway, and it was more useful since we had enough people to do magic already anyway.”

“That makes perfect sense,” said Marcy.

Thistle kept his eyes glued to his food. “It’s still–It still makes me feel unsafe, because I know humans are very interested in magic, and if someone like Robert didn’t care about my feelings as much as you all, they could try to take my magic for themselves. And the eldest members of the family were usually the ones who used magic to protect everyone, so it feels a little bit like I don’t know how to keep myself safe anymore.”

“We’ll keep you safe, don’t worry,” said Sierra dutifully.

Marcy held up a hand. “I’m sure Thistle appreciates our help very much, but I’m sure he would appreciate it even more to not be in a position where that was necessary in the first place.” She used a finger to take his hand comfortingly. “Do you think you’d like to be able to do magic?”

His eyes flashed over to the fish tank. “It—Maybe. I’m not sure. It would be much harder here, without my family to teach me. But I have plenty of free time now, and I’ve already learned so much.”

Marcy released him and went back to picking at her food with a fork, forcing well-regulated casualness. “Well that’s certainly something we can try. But only if you want to.”

Thistle gave a flushed smile, warming from the inside out.

“So how does it work, exactly?” said Sierra, eyes sparkling. “I mean, if you want to explain it, of course.”

“It’s kind of like flexing a muscle,” said Thistle. “You just try and wish and think really, really hard about it.” He gave a laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “I can’t explain it very well. Maybe that’s why I’m not very good at it.”

“No, that makes total sense!” said Sierra. “That’s really, really cool. Are there like magic words or anything? How do you learn new spells?”

“Oh, well, no I don’t think so. I mean, I can do magic to fly, because that’s the easiest one, and when I was younger I would…” He waved his hands. “I had this thing I could do to speed up sewing, but eventually it just got easier to do it by hand when I had more practice.” He tapped his chin. “As for, like, learning new things…Well, I don’t really know how you learn the techniques necessarily, someone else can give you directions but it’s like, either you can figure out how to do it or you can’t. But it’s easier when you have lots of magic stored up, because it kind of…” He made a shaking motion, as though grabbing a bottle of soda and letting it explode. “...bubbles out of you. It’s like a force of will thing.

“So there aren’t, like, spells or anything?” said Sierra.

Thistle shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know–I guess not really in the way you think about them like that. It’s more like an extension of your natural abilities that you can use if you have enough magic stored up. Usually it doesn’t just happen; you have to practice, and some things are easier to learn than others. I’ve just kind of…never had the right circumstances.”

“What do you mean by stored up?” said Teddy. “You make it sound like you can find it somewhere and bury it for later.”

“Oh it’s–it’s sort of like. Well, it’s like how you have to eat food to fuel your muscles. And plants generate energy with the sun, and store it in their leaves. It’s kind of like that.”

“Woah!” said Colin. “That’s rad. So you’re solar-powered.”

“Er, no…”

“I think that was a metaphor,” said Marcy. “Unless…?”

“No,” said Thistle. “The sun is nice, but I don’t get magic from it.”

“Then how do you get it?” said Marcy.

Thistle once again went beet red, absolutely mortified.

“You don’t have to tell us!” Marcy rushed to clarify. “If it’s–”

“You all!” said Thistle, and he hid his face in his hands.

The humans all looked at each other. “...us?” said Marcy. “But we’re not magical at all!”

Thistle’s ears twitched, still hiding his face. He said something, too muffled and quiet to hear.

“What was that?” said Marcy.

He removed his hands. His eyes were big, and he had an embarrassed smile on his face. “I generate magic through social connections! I charge up when people are nice to me! I’m more powerful when people who care about me are around!”

Teddy went awwww. Colin looked like he didn’t really understand. Sierra put a hand to her chest and the other to her mouth, tears in her eyes. Marcy’s lip wobbled. “I didn’t know that. That’s–that’s–that’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, so, so–” said Thistle, suddenly unsure of where to go from here.

“So if I playfully tease you, that’s good for you?” said Marcy.

The mischief in her voice was enough to snap Thistle out of his own head, dispersing his anxiety immediately. “Uh–”

“So if I did this–” Her hand stiffened into a claw and came over him.

“Don’t!” Thistle laughed, already knowing what was coming.

“It would actually be good for you–” Her fingers came down and gave him a full-body tickle.

He was on the floor instantly, rolling around under her merciless assault, giggling and pushing at her hand. “Marcy! Marcy, no! Marcy!”

“Too bad,” said Marcy, rolling him over into her hand. “We love you, so now you’re stuck here dealing with us.”

Thistle flared his wings out and rustled them.

***

After dinner, they watched a movie and went to bed. Thistle looked like he was considering asking to sleep with Sierra, but ended up going the safe route and sleeping with Marcy like he usually did.

They had a full agenda of activities planned the next day.

The natural history museum was the first item of the day, and the one for which Thistle was the most excited. He quivered in the crook of Sierra’s neck excitedly, hiding under her hoodie when others were around. Fortunately since they were there on a weekday, it was quiet and there were few others around, so he was able to stay out most of the time.

He said he felt guilty for dodging buying a ticket and made Marcy donate some extra money. There was a delightful donation box that made it look like a Tyrannosaurus Rex was eating your money.

Thistle was impressed by the dinosaur skeletons at first, but as they started seeing more and more of them, they started to get repetitive. Clearly the different shapes all meant something to Sierra and Marcy, but to Thistle, they were all looming, hulking forms he was having trouble comprehending. He seemed more interested in the little pictures on the information placards, which depicted the beasts with flesh and skin.

He was absolutely in love with the hall of gemstones. Every single one he stopped and gazed at adoringly, appreciated the grooves in the stones, the shimmers and sparkles, the craftsmanship on the ones which were cut. Unfortunately, this was the one Sierra and Marcy found the most boring, and Thistle probably would have kept them in there all day if he hadn’t been small enough that Sierra could just walk him away to something more interesting.

Into the hall of mammals they went. It was filled with taxidermied specimens. Thistle was delighted by the opportunity to see up close animals it was normally too dangerous to interact with, especially the small predators. Thistle got very quiet when they started seeing snake skeletons and mounts. Sierra pointed out that a snake wasn’t a mammal, to which Marcy responded that they’d wandered into the hall of reptiles.

It was harder to let him see things in the gift shop, because in the enclosed space it was easier for the employees to see what they were doing. But Thistle made it abundantly clear that they could not leave until he picked out a gemstone to take home, promising he would pay Marcy back by selling extra things on Etsy. He eventually picked out a blue geode whose tag said it was chalcanthite.

They went to the mall next. Mostly window shopping, although they did stop in to the comic book store where Thistle begged Marcy to buy him some action figures, which she did. They stopped at the soft pretzel booth, and when no one was looking Thistle clambered onto the table and started wrestling with the twisted, salty dough to make both women laugh.

There was a miniature arcade there, and Sierra tried repeatedly to win a small stuffed cat from a crane game, without success. Thistle devilishly implored them to make sure no one was watching, then darted up into the claw machine through the prize flap, swimming through the stuffed animals until he reached Sierra’s coveted cat. He pushed it over–with some effort, it was bigger than he was–and rolled it down into the flap. He performed a similar trick later on a vending machine when Marcy wanted a candy bar that had gotten stuck in the dispensing coils.

They decided to go home because Marcy and Sierra's feet were getting tired. Thistle's weren't, so he was disappointed.

He slept with Sierra on the couch that night. Thistle could see Marcy trying to hide her disappointment, but she nevertheless encouraged him to do so.

Sierra's sleeping patterns were different than Marcy's, and he woke up once being squished under her shoulder, but it was easy enough to wake her up.

He didn't have any nightmares that night. He felt like an actual person, one who had people who loved and respected him.

The next day they went to the conservatory. Thistle had never been more in his element in a human-controlled space. He could not stop commenting on how good all the trees were, and more than once they had to hurriedly grab him because he failed to hide on their remark that someone was coming. One time he went missing for a whole ten minutes, the two women scouting the entire place for him, trying not to look too panicked. They eventually found him in the butterfly room, where he claimed he'd been playing hide and seek with them.

Things weren’t crowded because it was a regular workweek. They just had to be a little cautious, but they ended up being able to do pretty much anything they wanted to.

They took the train to sightsee downtown. They got ice cream. They played board games. They went swimming. They went to a fancy restaurant and got weird, gourmet soups. They sat contentedly at home, watching meaningless videos on their phones.

He was in Heaven. He didn't have nightmares. He was a person. He had friends. He never wanted it to end.

***

After confirming the coast was clear, Thistle stood on the car door, next to the door lock, as Marcy rolled the window down. Behind them in the background, the commotion of the airport chattered distantly.

Thistle was misty-eyed. “Well…I guess this is goodbye. For now.”

Sierra held her hand out, and Thistle curled up in it. She brought him to her chest. “I know plane tickets are expensive, b-but I’m sure I can find some way to come again soon.”

Thistle hugged her back as best as he could as she squeezed him.

She set him back down, wiping her eyes. “Well…you definitely weren’t what I was expecting, but–but it turned out even better than I could have hoped. Thank you for letting me meet you.”

“Thank you,” said Thistle.

“I don’t know how I’ll…go back to just–just living a normal life. And just pretending this didn’t happen. That you’re not real. But I’ll keep quiet, I promise.” Her face went red. “Maybe I’ll–maybe I’ll look more closely at the ground when I’m outside back at home now.”

Marcy smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“Thank you,” said Thistle. “I love you. Goodbye. Have a nice flight.”

Sierra cleared her throat, then looked at Marcy through the window. “Thanks for the ride. Drive safe home.”

“Have a good flight.”

Sierra hovered for a few more moments, then patted the car and walked off, rolling her suitcase behind her.

Thistle jumped down into the passenger’s seat, and Marcy rolled the window up and pulled away from the curb.

Thistle slowly lowered himself down and curled up into a ball. “Thank you, Marcy. That was. Very nice.”

Marcy reached over and gave him a little pat. “I’m glad.”

“I can tell you found her a little annoying. Thank you for not saying anything.”

Marcy let out an embarrassed laugh. “That’s okay, I still had fun. You can have her come back over any time.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed totally wrung out. “It’s natural to be feeling a little down after your friend leaves…is there something we should do? I…” She bit her lip. “I–I hate to ask this–I know that, well–I think–I um…”

“What is it?”

“You wouldn’t…Would you rather go live with Sierra?” When there was a pause, Marcy rushed to add, “I don’t know how we could get you through the flight there, but–but if that’s something you would–would want, I mean, you know I would be disappointed, but that’s your decision and I want what’s best for you.”

She felt a microscopic hand on her thigh. “No, Marcy. Sierra could never replace you. But thank you.”

He sounded so sure. Guilty relief washed through her. “Okay.” She kept her eyes on the road. “Still…it’s OK to miss her. We should–We can try and make some efforts to find you some more local friends. It’s–it’s a tricky needle to thread, of course, but I saw how happy you were…if you want, it might be nice to, I don’t know…find somewhere where you could have a sleepover?” It sounded stupid as she said it, but it seemed like the exact kind of activity he would like.

He was silent, so impossible to tell what his actual thoughts were.

“I don’t know who exactly you would want to–Well, I don’t know, but I know you’re sociable, and–and now we’ve eased into it, surely we can find some other people closer here so they could visit more often?”

No response.

“What do you think?” She glanced down to look at him.

He was gone.

***

You just try and wish and think really, really hard about it.

It took Thistle a decent minute to get his bearings to even figure out where he was. It was so dark, but he heard the sounds of many, many humans nearby, their voices muffled, and felt himself jolting and bouncing off soft fabrics accompanied by a rolling clicking sound.

He scrabbled to get upright, finding something solid to grab onto, looking around wildly.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized what he was looking at….A zipper. The clacking was the clacking of wheels over tile. Astonished, he looked down at the fabric under his hands and recognized it as the pink strawberry-patterned dress that Sierra had worn yesterday.

He was in Sierra’s suitcase.

He was in Sierra’s suitcase. Somehow. He had just been there with Marcy, and he’d blinked, and his stomach lurched, and then he’d just found himself in Sierra’s suitcase.

Either Thistle or Sierra had just used magic. Those were the only two possible explanations. They had both been so sad to leave, wishing they could stay together, and so pumped full of magic from their long vacation doing nothing but bonding, that it had just spilled over and yanked Thistle over and dropped him in Sierra’s suitcase.

Thistle didn’t feel like he’d done magic. To do something as big as teleporting himself from the car to inside the airport, that would have taken an enormous amount of magic that would leave him feeling very drained, which he didn’t feel.

Did that mean…Sierra had done it?

Was Sierra just…naturally very good at using magic? That would be ironic, a pixie who sucked at magic accidentally befriending a human who happened to be a savant at it. Sierra had never met a magical creature before now and so wouldn’t have had any actual magic in her body to actually perform any magic until now.

Was that how it worked? Were humans…able to use magic, but unaware of it? Unable to generate any themselves, but able if someone like Thistle helped them?

Sierra, of course, didn’t notice any of this. She just found herself suddenly feeling very tired, rolling her suitcase to a stop at the back of the security line and yawning, head drooping.

Not far away, on the road from the airport, a little red car with an I fucking love science bumper sticker slammed on its breaks, screeching into the most aggressive U-turn ever seen in the tri-state area.

***

Sierra was almost to the front of the line when she spotted Marcy, power-walking towards TSA, very clearly trying to strike some balance between her volcanic anger and her desire to not make a scene in front of security.

“Marcy?” said Sierra nervously. “What is it?”

“Come over here,” said Marcy venomously. “Get out of line and come over here.”

Sierra regretfully looked back at TSA, then ducked under the dividers to step out of line. Looking chastised, she rolled her suitcase behind her and met Marcy. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Marcy grabbed Sierra’s wrist in an icy grip. She leaned in. “Listen to me. I don’t know what you did. I don’t know how you did it. But we both know you’re not going to get him past security. They’ll see him on the X-rays. So I’m just going to say this once.” She held out her other hand. “Give him back.”

“What?” said Sierra, eyes wide, looking like a kicked puppy. “What are you talking about?”

“Where is Thistle?”

“He was in the car with you!”

“And now he isn’t. I don’t know how you did it, but–”

“You think I–You think I tried to steal him?”

“You’re not getting on that plane until I have him. Open your suitcase.”

Sierra drew back, looking overwhelmed. “I–I didn’t!”

“Then open your suitcase!”

She looked at TSA out of the corner of her eye. “Can we–can we at least go into the bathroom or something? For some privacy?”

“Fine.”

They managed to find a single-stall family bathroom with a lock on the door. When they were alone, Sierra turned her suitcase on its side and used the little key to undo the luggage lock.

She unzipped it and flipped it open, revealing Thistle tangled in her socks.

“What?” said Sierra, mortified. “How did you –How did–”

Marcy swiped Thistle out of the suitcase, holding him as far away from Sierra as possible, opening her mouth to wring Sierra out.

“Wait!” said Thistle, waving his hands urgently. “Marcy, wait! Wait!”

Both women looked on the verge of tears, but they broke eye contact from each other and looked down to him.

“It’s…It’s not Sierra’s fault.”

***

It was nearly eleven o’ clock by the time they got home, Marcy dragging herself in through the door and not turning the lights on, moving through the dim and quiet into the living room.

She set Thistle down on the coffee table. The room was lit just by the soft light from the fish tank. She folded her arms on her knees. “Okay, so…Sorry if I scared your friend off so much that she doesn’t want to visit anymore. There are only so many Auntie Anne’s pretzels I can buy someone as an apology.”

“I think she understands.” He sat down cross-legged. His cheeks were rosy. “I don’t–I don’t think any of us really expected that, and you were…worried.”

Marcy tented her fingers. “So…you think that humans can do magic too? That’s what you think happened?”

“Yes. I–I didn’t think it was possible.”

Marcy’s hands started to tap in excitement, but she was clearly trying to stay level-headed. “Right. Okay. That’s cool. That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.” He wound a lock of hair in his finger. “I honestly wasn’t sure. But I guess it makes sense.”

He smiled at her. She was grinning like an idiot. “What are you thinking?” he said.

“Just…about what you said to us about magic at dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“About learning it.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we could…could learn it together?”

He beamed. “I’d like that.”

****

@cloudwatchingtoday @theepiccreatorofmagic-blog-blog @waitisthatgt @itssmoltime @ratcatcher0325 @alarcomet @borrowerbecca @crazytinygirl @bittykimmy13 @cheeseybeans8 @whumpsday @theroyaleemily @kitn-underfoot @lucentbliss @jewel-fan-wys

@cheeseybeans8

#g/t #gt #gianttiny #fairy #giant/tiny #size difference #my writing #my original writing #watch your step

43 notes · View notes

obaewankenope · 2 years

Text

Update and little story time: Lady the missing dog. Home at last.

We found her in the woods nearby after a message from a woman who lived opposite the woods. She had seen her several times but didn't know she was missing until a poster with a photograph gave her a description. At 1:30pm yesterday afternoon, she saw Lady at the entrance to the woods. She got close to her before Lady bolted.

Three hours later, my mother and I arrived at the spot, after driving and readying ourselves even though we're ill. By the fates blessing, I spoke to the woman who saw Lady on that road. She had been returning from picking her daughter up at school. With her information, my mother and I prepared to enter the woods.

And by chance and the fates, Christine pulled up in her little smart car, with a pillow, dog meat, and determination. I split off from my mother and Christine, spoke to a gentleman to give him a description and that was when I heard a shout from my mother.

She had seen Lady.

Her head popped up from among the bushes, thistles, and thickets, when my mother called for her. It was a futile kind of call but the heavens and more answered when Lady's head appeared and she keened.

Though she ran away, she continued to keen, and come back toward my mother several times. I had gone around the other way, hoping to cut Lady off from heading toward the road, and this made all the difference.

We found where she had been hiding, a little natural alcove of tree roots by the stream in the woods. I couldn't reach it but every time I sang, she keened louder and louder, came closer and closer each time.

Still she couldn't close that last bit of distance to me, no matter how desperately she wished to. And she truly wished to.

By the fortune and favour of the gods, the lady who had adopted Lady, Christine, had brought dog meat with her from the house. It was with this that I managed to coax Lady to breach that final distance between us.

Had Christine not brought that meat, had the gods, the heavens, the spirits with all their blessings, not reminded her just as she left the house "don't forget that"...

I doubt Lady would have crossed that last bit of distance between where I knelt, singing the song she knows means safety and love, and the place she just couldn't bring herself to go past without additional encouragement.

I thank all the things that allowed me to catch her yesterday, Friday 23rd September 2022.

She panicked when I grabbed her collar. She tried to pull back, get away, with a yelp of fear. But I didn't let go. I dived forward and wrapped myself around her. Held her in an embrace that made my body scream in agony even as my heart wept with relief at having her in my arms again.

My mother helped me get the leads on Lady, helped me secure her and then helped keep the thickets, brambles, thistles, and branches from blocking me as I carried Lady to Christine's car at the edge of the wood where she had parked.

Christine had decided to park off the road, in the little side street to the woods, instead of walking down.

Thank all that made her think to do so.

Thank all that gave me the dexterity to clambour from the front seat of her smart car when we pulled in outside Christine's home — Lady's home — and not break an ankle or anything else in the process.

I had to slither, shove, crawl, and flop into the boot of a smart car at almost 30, with a body that isn't thin, isn't limber like it was at 20 anymore, and avoid decorating every seat and piece of the roof material in mud from my boots.

I did it and I got Lady back in my arms so I could shimmy out of the boot — apologising for likely breaking both the car and the drop-down boot as I did — before carrying her up the drive into her home.

I knelt down in the lounge with Lady in my arms, let her feet touch warm, dry, solid ground, untangled the leads from her, and let her have the chance to lay down on her soft, warm, dry, comfy bed for the first time in 5 days.

And then I lay down on the ground and held back every tear I desperately wished to shed while Lady looked at me with her inquisitive face that said "why are you lying down? What's the fuss about?"

My mother and I spent hours with Christine and her husband, speaking with Lady asleep between us. Safe at last.

#Kathryn talks #Dog #Story #Kat writes #Lost dog found #Lady the escapist

13 notes · View notes

wunderlustwriter · 3 years

Text

y’all i had a dream last night so you know what that means

another george weasley imagine

you and gw got paired up for a research project in potions that you have to work on after class and is due at the end of the week

also, you are the cool edgy half-blood, muggle-born chic ™️ who knows a little bit about everything

oh, and you’re slytherin, ofc

so there’s immediately this tension between you and george bc he’s intimidated by you and lowkey judging bc you’re a slytherin, and you’re on edge bc the slytherin slander is so annoying and you don’t know if the 1/2 of the school’s biggest pranksters can be trusted

but whatever, you two meet at the library after his quidditch practice monday evening and at first both of you just stare at your textbook for a while basking in the awkwardness

eventually you say “Okay what the fuck does half this shit even mean. I feel like I’m reading something written in russian. I mean why do we even have to write a paper about the effects of thistle root on lycanthropes, vampires, and mere-people? Seems kinda niche to me.”

to which george snorts and nods along. “yeah, I think snape just loves to pick the most useless and redundant topics for us to learn about just to inconvenience and torture us.”

“sounds like a sadist to me.”

the two of you start laughing and from there things seem to be less awkward so you both start writing things in venn diagrams and other notes for your paper

nearly half an hour later you start pointing to different parts of a book you’re reading asking him for advice on what it means when he says “wow those are some cool rings you have, where’d you get them?”

then you awkwardly chuckle “uhmmm you know just here and there...” he gives you a look

“honestly?” he nods “most of them i just found around on the ground or at the bottom of the lake. I look for their owners of course, but if i can’t find them i just keep it or give it to someone else. but for the other ones...”

“what, did you rob someone’s grave to get them or something?”

“ha, what no, well not exactly” there’s that look again. “okay okay, so sometimes when I find someone really douchey or bigoted or just an asshole i make it a game to take it off their finger. only if they deserve it!”

“wait so you do that while they’re wearing it.”

you nod “yeah, but like i said only if they’re a douche. like yelling at a kid or about to kick a puppy kind of douche.”

“hmm...”

“what, you don’t believe me?”

“i mean how can you just grab something off of someone’s person without them noticing, do you use your wand or something?”

“no, i’ve actually never tried to magic for that. i usually just create or wait for some kind of diversion, basically anything that attracts their attention, while i quickly grab it. like one time- wait a sec, you’ve got something in your hair.”

after moving a little closer and running your fingers through part of his hair you smirk and hold up your other hand “here’s your bracelet by the way”

it takes a second for him to realize what’s happened as he’s staring at you for a few seconds longer than he should and begins to turn red. “holy shit! how did you do that?”

“it’s all about misdirection, also i think you have something behind your ear” he pulls out a pencil that you tucked in there and just gawks at you while you giggle. “oh and your shoe’s untied.”

“bloody hell, did you use your toes to untie my shoe too?”

“nah i just noticed that’s been untied since you walked in”

you both start laughing, making the librarian shush at you.

“oh you definitely have to teach me that”

still laughing, you nod and respond “one day, but first we need to finish this project.”

when you’re finished for the night you both pack up and head your separate ways

two days later in class a familiar tall red head slides into the seat next to you at your table

“oh, i didn’t realize we were supposed to be sitting with our partners today, i’m sorry.”

“we’re not, i just wanted to sit with you. to learn about your pickpocketing skills, of course.”

“oh nice, i didn’t realize that george told you about that fred “

and with that fred gives you an amused and wide eyed look “uh...” he freezes before turning around and going to his seat while george walks over to you.

“sorry about him. Fred just asked me how my project was going and didn’t believe me when i told him what happened”

“it’s okay, but here’s the parchment i got from his robes, don’t know if you guys need that for later.” you say as you look over your shoulder and wave the paper at fred who starts patting his robes aggressively, looking for the marauder’s map

“Oh, no, yep, mhm, that paper is very important, let me just...” he goes to reach for it in a hurry making you pull it back and question him as his face is closer to yours

“hold on a second, why are you so worried about this paper? what are you two scheming red??” he goes to reach for it again

“hah! wouldn’t you like to know?” fred says from behind you, causing george to shoot him a glare as fred’s grin widens

you’re just about to say something when snape enters the room and ominously stares at the class until everyone sits down and shuts up.

“here’s your paper,” you say when george sits next to you, “just leave me out of whatever prank you two are planning with it please”

“don’t worry love, you’ll be safe this time” he says with a smirk, causing you to blush and take your seat as class starts

the rest of potions goes by as usual, snape almost making someone cry, half of the class imagining 50 different ways to kill him, and him treating all of the pure blood slytherins as if they’re the queen herself

after everyone finished their assigned potion snape tells us to use the rest of class to continue our research project. while everyone else moves to sit with their partners, george turns to you and speaks up “so how did you know the difference between me and fred earlier? not many people do, especially people who don’t know us that well”

“oh, well last night when i was messing with you i noticed that you have some freckles on your neck, but even then i wasn’t really paying attention. I just had a feeling that’s something you two would do so i took a shot and guessed.”

you could see george slightly smile to himself as you both kept talking and turned to work

later that night you were sitting down at the slytherin table with your friends and dorm-mates naiomi and selena [[2 OCs]] for dinner.

the three of you are talking about the charms quiz you just took when you feel a presence come and sit down next to you on your right. when you turn your head you see a very familiar red head grinning at you.

“hey y/n” george says, reaching over your tray and grabbing a bread roll while he leans his back against the table

“uhhh hey Red, what’s up...? you know you’re at the wrong table right?”

“mhm, i know. i just wanted to see you and make sure we’re still on for the project tonight after dinner”

“yup, i’ll meet you at the library” you say raising an eyebrow because something fishy is obviously happening

“actually, i was thinking we could meet at the end of the corridor at 8 and walk down there together, yeah?” he says getting a closer and closer to your face, you’re starting to turn red when you feel his fingers reaching around for your pocket

that’s when you grin and ruffle up his hair with one hand while grabbing his wrist with the other. “how sweet, and awe, look, you’re trying to pick pocket me. you see your diversion was good, not great, but still effective, it’s just your execution that’s sloppy.”

both of you are laughing and george is about to say something when a silver-headed prat interrupts him

“what the bloody hell are you doing here you little rodent blood traitor? don’t you have some kitchen scraps to go eat?”

you watch george’s face falls and hardens as you feel his hand ball into a fist. before he can say or do anything, however, you butt in

“oh piss off and suck my dick malfoy.” rolling your eyes you continue to interrupt Draco while he tries to snipe at you, “and shut it. I really don’t care what lame ass come back you have to say, because, honestly, they’re starting to become downright atrocious. do better. and don’t even think about calling your father to come ‘punish’ me or else i’ll suck his. YUP! THATS RIGHT! YOUR DAD IS A DILF MALFOY. I SAID IT. so Please shut the HELL up unless you want me as your new step mommy to boss you around.”

draco is just staring at you, red faced, wide eyed, and trying to think of a come back. “yup. that’s what i thought. now before you ever open your little trap to speak to me or any of my friends you better think of your dad’s bare naked ass as i’m going down on him.”

he gets up and leaves with his little possy

you’ve attracted the attention of some raven claws behind you and a few slytherins around, but naiomi and selena don’t bat an eye, seeing as stuff like this is normal for you.

george is just grinning from ear to ear and staring at you adoringly “I think you might be my new hero”

you chuckle and shrug your shoulders “i just have to remind draco a few times every year that he’s not invincible and he’s not at the top of the good chain. he should be off of your backs for a month or two now.”

“you, my dear, have just made yourself immune to weasley pranks for the next three months” he says while getting up from the table, still not letting go of your hand. “and i’ll see you at 8” he winks and brings your hand up to his lips for a light kiss before turning around like nothing happened

taglist:

@gaycatlord-stuff

A/N: y’all, the dream i had wasn’t even this part, i just wanted to write something that led up to this one idea i have in my head and i got hella wrapped up in the background LMAO but i’m not mad i really like this. i might even publish part two tonight we’ll see. ALSO i’m sorry i don’t know how to put the “continue reading” button in to make the cover text shorter 💀💀

pt. 2

297 notes · View notes