#strange magic tiny people in jars au

[abutterflyscribbles]

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 12

shout out to @elf-kid2 for helping me edit this chapter <3

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten/Eleven/Ao3

“Are you gonna sit on your throne when they come in?”

“What? Why?”

“Because if you're not, I am.”

“Stay off my throne.”

“If I don't sit on the throne I need to figure out a good impressive pose to take when they come in. And it's hard to stand out in here.” Marianne gestured at the high ceiling and skylight.

“Why do you feel the need to pose?”

“Why do you?”

Bog looked startled. “I'm not—I'm not posing!”

“Don't be embarrassed. You're very good at it.”

“I would like you to stop, please.”

“I don't know if I can.”

The fairies and elves were about to enter, bringing with them her lying scumbag of an ex and the king of the fairies who might possibly be her birth father. It would take duct-tape to keep Marianne still and quiet with all that strolling towards her over the horizon.

“Is the sword acceptable?” Bog asked, giving up.

“Yes. Good. Great. Amazing. You really know the way to a girl's heart: well-balanced blades with a lethal edge.” She slid it a few inches out of its sheath and then back in. “It always surprises me that it doesn't sound like it does in the movies. I can't help it. It's embedded in the foundations of my being.”

“I think I understood the first two sentences.”

“Those were probably the only relevant ones anyway.”

“Tough girl, could I make a request?”

“Sure, sure, what's up?”

“Take a moment and breathe.”

Marianne didn't want to breathe. If she let herself take a full breath she would have enough air to fuel a scream. Or maybe she would bolt. Intellectually she knew she wouldn't get anywhere fast but her primal instincts were telling her it was the only sane option.

“This might be an awkward request considering our last conversation, but . . . could you hold my hand?”

Bog looked panicked and bewildered.

“Okay, sorry, that was weird. Weird request. Made things weird. Sorry.”

The goblins were thronging around the throne, coalescing into a semi-organized mob. No defined formations but it looked as if they wouldn't step on each other when a brawl broke out. Almost everyone's eyes were fixed on the throne room entrance, waiting for the fairies to be escorted in.

A smaller goblin wandered onto the steps looking lost. Bog kicked it sharply. “Look after the gaps in the north side!” he snapped as it flew into the crowd. Marianne thought she might have seen it bounce when it hit the floor. She definitely saw it throw a vague salute and scurry away, enthusiastic now that it had purpose. It's life appeared, to Marianne, to be rough but beautifully straightforward.

“Here.” Bog snapped again, this time at Marianne. She looked at his offered hand, confused. Bog made an impatient beckoning motion. She realized he was letting her hold his hand. She took it. He pulled away. Embarrassment at misunderstanding Bog's gesture barely got a chance to heat up Marianne's cheeks before Bog said, “No, your other hand. On my right, or you won't be able to draw your sword.”

“Oh.” Marianne moved to his other side and cautiously raised her hand again. He took it and linked her arm with his like they were acting out parts in some sort of period drama. It did look more official, Marianne supposed. Less like she was clinging to him. “Thanks.”

Bog twitched his shoulders restlessly. “A good enough pose, then?”

“Arm in arm with the Bog King at the back of his goblin hoard? Not bad at all. If only there were discordant bass rifts building up in the background, that'd complete it.”

“I'll make a note for the next occasion.”

“Oh. I forgot that you actually know what electric guitars are. There’s a story there I’d love to hear.”

“I can imagine what you’d say about it. Half-imagine, that is, unless I replace every third sentence if gibberish.”

Marianne made a face at him. She made another face at Dawn who was smirking at Marianne and Bog’s exchange. Marianne didn’t mind the smirk too much. It was better than the tight worried look Dawn had had since they got the announcement of the fairies’ imminent arrival.

Shuffling and growling gave away the moment of arrival before a goblin could scurry up with official word. Bog banged his staff on the floor and the growling was cut off. “Let them in.” he ordered. Marianne thought her grip on Bog’s arm might crack it open like a lobster. She moved to let go and grip the hilt of her sword instead.

“Don’t ruin the pose.” Bog muttered.

Marianne found it very difficult not to giggle and could not suppress a smile at all.

The smile dropped off again with the entrance of a troop of elves. Aside from stalks of grass carried like banners or pendents none of them were visibly armed, which made her frown. A quick glance at Dawn showed Marianne that the princess was frowning too.

The fairies that marched in behind the elves were armed and covered from head to toe in  armor like Roland’s, aside from being silver and presence of helmets. Naturally Roland would never have worn a helmet and denied onlookers a chance of beholding his glorious visage.

At the back of the procession sleek yellow curls bounced into view. It was Roland, of course, head and shoulders above the rest of the fairies because he was . . .

Marianne forgot to be nervous, taking an exaggerated double-take. “Is that . . .” Marianne looked up at Bog, but realized he was the wrong person to ask. She turned to Dawn, “Is that—the squirrel steed, um, usual?”

“Chipper? Yes, why?”

“Chipper?!” Marianne’s voice shot up into a squeak. Roland was riding a squirrel of all things and the squirrel’s name was Chipper. Maybe it made sense at the fairy scale of things but Marianne had not expected anything of the sort and it was all the more ridiculous for the unexpectedness. “I can’t believe Roland is a Disney princess.”

“I wish you came with a translation key,” Bog muttered, but the jibe was half-hearted. He was focusing all his murderous intent on Roland.

Equally unexpected, and ten times as impressive in Marianne’s opinion, was the lizard that strolled in behind Disney princess Roland and his woodland creature companion. Maybe it was the saddle, maybe it was the disney vibe, but the squirrel looked as harmless as a squirrel of usual size—or scale. The lizard did not. It was huge, magnificent, and terrifying, probably the relative size of a dragon if dragons where a real thing. It certainly had the teeth for the part.

Sunny and another elf were riding on the lizard it like it was no big thing. The goblins murmured in an appreciative tone at the sight of them. Looked like catching a ride on a lizard, unlike a squirrel, was not usual. Sunny hadn’t just had it stashed somewhere beforehand either, considering Dawn’s open-mouthed astonishment at the sight of her best friend’s sweet ride.

“Okay, the kid gets point for style,” Marianne muttered, tearing her eyes away to locate something far more terrifying than any mere gigantic lizard. The innocuous pink bottle must have been somewhere nearby or Roland wouldn’t have made his entrance. Marianne squinted at the lizard, scanning for horrible pink sparkles and silently begging for Sunny to have the love potion and not Roland. The antidote wasn’t ready, the love potion was still a potent threat.

Finally Marianne spotted the bottle. Roland had it.

Marianne unsheathed her sword.

Bog didn’t stop her.

“Your bog kingness,” Roland unsheathed his smile, sharp as Marianne’s blade, and aimed it at Bog. He almost immediately dropped it. His eyes went huge, taking in the sight of Marianne standing arm-in-arm with the king of the Dark Forest. In fact, Roland gaped most unbecomingly, mouth hanging wordlessly open. The sight brought a pleased smirk to Marianne’s face.

Sadly, Roland recovered, coughing to give himself a moment to collect himself then slapping the smile back on his face and adding some extra shine to make up for the lapse.

Bog dragged his staff into a better fighting stance, sending chipped fragments of the floor flying. He was grinding his teeth again, too, quite audibly. Oh, what a mood, Marianne thought, eyes still on the potion, what an absolute mood the Bog King was. She adjusted the grip on her sword and reluctantly unhooked her arm from Bog’s so she could take a step forward.

Dawn flitted in front of Bog and Marianne and shook her head. Both of them gestured pointedly at Roland and the love potion. Dawn shook her head again and said softly. “Diplomacy first, remember?”

“I can diplomatically return his headless carcass to the fields once I reclaim the potion.” Bog hissed, but following Dawn’s lead and keeping his voice low.

Dawn shoved her hand out, fingers spread, “Five minutes! Please, five minutes!”

“Then I can send him to the choir invisible?” Marianne asked, feeling that she was going to strain something from keeping her voice soft and level when she wanted to scream a battle cry and go for Roland’s throat.

“The what?” Bog asked in a resigned way.

“Shuffle him off the mortal coil, send him underground to push up daisies—oh it’s so hard when nobody gets your references. Look, I wanna--” Marianne drew her thumb across her throat in a slicing motion.

“Er,” Dawn hesitated, “We can . . . discuss that in five minutes? Pretty please?”

“Fine.” Bog snapped, not immune Dawn’s big blue puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.” Marianne said, admitting to herself she wasn’t immune to the eyes either. She lowered her sword to her side but did not sheathe it.

Bog swung his staff around to point at Roland and raised his voice back up to a boom. “Speak.”

“I’ve come for the princesses-esses--,” Roland coughed again, “I’ve come for the princesses.”

“Princesses?” Bog articulated the word with deliberate clarity. “We’ve only been graced by the visit of one princess. One princess who has not declared herself ready to leave. Your highness?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn.

“I’m afraid our business here is not yet complete,” Dawn said, pink in the face but admirably haughty. “I believe I sent word to inform father of this. Has he not received my official royal message?”

Marianne surmised from the twitch of Roland’s eye that tampering with royal mail was a big no-no. Twitch or no, Roland’s smile was rock-solid now and smug with indulgence. “Your highness,” Roland said with all the condescension that could be crammed into two words, “I did run into a goblin carrying a letter but I was unsure of its intentions, wandering around in the fairy kingdom with a message purportedly from yourself. I couldn’t let it stir up trouble with false information.”

“You twit!” Dawn squeaked.

“Yeah!” Sunny said from the back of the lizard, “He stole the message! He didn’t even know what it was until he took it! And we were barely outside the border of the forest there was no reason to pick on the messenger!”

Dawn beamed at Sunny for a moment before putting on a stern face and turning back to Roland. “This is a serious accusation, Roland. It’s up to the king to decide if an official communication is authentic or not. You should have done everything you could to aid in the delivery and accelerate the process of authentication.”

“The elf doesn’t understand these things, finding a goblin on our side of the border in the current circumstances—”

“The current circumstances do not permit any disregard for official proceedings. You admitted yourself you took the message without cause, independent of Sunny’s accusations.”

“Now, now, darlin’—“

“However, this matter is not our priority at the moment. In addition to the message I see you are in possession of property of the Dark Forest: the love potion. Did you come by it in the same manner as you did the message?”

Marianne wanted to applaud. Dawn could really play the dignified royal princess to perfection if she cared to. Not only that, she gave Bog the perfect cue to step back into the conversation.

“The matter of how he obtained the love potion should be discussed after he hands it over, yes?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn. Dawn nodded emphatically.

There was a strained quality to Roland’s smile now. “Not at all—ah, that is, neither were obtained in any way except--”

“He stole it from us!” Sunny piped up, “Kinda. The imp grabbed it from us and Roland grabbed it from the imp. It was Pare and I who got it back.”

“Really?” Dawn asked, delighted.

“Yeah, well, we were lucky,” Sunny rubbed the back of his neck, looking pleased and sheepish under the focus of Dawn’s sparkling delight.

“I don’t care how it was obtained,” Bog said, “not at this very moment anyway. I just want it returned. Now.”

“I feel the same,” Roland said with a poor imitation of sympathy, “I simply want to have the princesses safely returned and escort them home, as per the king’s request.”

“The princess said no.” Marianne snapped.

Dawn nodded, “Until daddy—father—sends a representative to take my place it’s my responsibility to look after the citizens of the fields that have been afflicted by the love potion.”

“And here I am!” Roland flourished his hand. “Present and representing!”

“In possession of stolen goods,” Bog snarled, pointing at the love potion sparkling from Roland’s side-saddle. “Hand it over, representative.”

Roland looked hurt. “Now, I’ve been very polite, considering you kidnapped our princesses--”

“Who’s kidnapped?” Dawn demanded.

“Who’s a princess?” Marianne snapped.

“Oh, Marianne, darlin’, let me handle this and I’ll explain it all after. I’ve got such a surprise for you, now, shhh.”

“Did he just shush me? He just shushed me. Bog, he just shushed me,”

“He did. The fool.”

“Tsk,” Roland shook his head, just enough to make his hair artfully bounce. “You’ve both been ensnared by goblin magic. Never fear, I’ll retrieve you safely soon enough. Your bogness, this is what you want?” Roland held up the bottle of love potion.

Everyone in the room tensed. Marianne’s eyes were fastened to the stopper on the bottle. One flick and it would be off and the glitter would spread unchecked. Bog was gnashing his teeth severely enough to make a dentist cry and was just short of frothing at the mouth. Somehow he still spared the breath to tell Marianne, “He’s too far away to use it.”

“I will gladly trade this troublesome bottle for the princesses—ah, for the two ladies you have in your possession. Let them go and it’s all yours.” He swished the potion around inside the bottle.

The elves had been watching all of this with fascination, swiveling back and forth to follow the conversation, their grass stalk banners fluttering back and forth with them. Most goblins were lurking around Roland’s dangling feet or climbing the soft rotted walls to find a better vantage point to watch or, perhaps, pounce. The few fairies that accompanied Roland just looked uncomfortable. All of them drew back sharply when Roland started gently swirling the potion around. In the breath of quiet the lovesick prisoners made themselves heard again. Roland winked at Marianne. “Don’t worry, buttercup, I’ve got this handled.”

“Is that a threat?” Marianne muttered through gritted teeth.

“A simple exchange,” Roland continued.

“If I needed to be exchanged I would have arranged it myself,” Dawn huffed, “Bog doesn’t need to bargain for his own property!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s been five minutes,” Marianne said, softly enough for only Dawn and Bog to hear. Dawn responded with a ‘yikes!’ expression. Bog sank a little further into his defensive crouch, ready to spring, wings vibrating. The goblins picked up on the silent cue and tension spread across the room like the calm before a storm. The elves seemed to sense something too because they were surreptitiously edging their way to stand near Sunny’s lizard.

“Objections?” Bog asked Dawn.

“Why do I feel like you’re not really asking?” Dawn replied, looking to be on the cusp of accepting Roland’s death as inevitable. Poor kid, Marianne thought. She was standing against both sides of the fight, the only one who actually wanted things to end peacefully even though it was plain to see peace was never an option.

“BK, BK!” a goblin scurried from the entrance, bouncing off Chipper in its rush, “Berries in the fork mores west!” Bog stopped crouching and fell into a slump. He mouthed something that might have been, ‘why me?’. Everyone else forgot to be nervous, foreheads wrinkled as they muttered the goblin’s message, trying to find sense in it, if there was any to find.

“Is that a code?” Marianne asked, unintentionally relaxing. Even her wings, which technically didn’t exist at the moment, drooped from the disappearing tension.

“It’s an aggravation.” he replied.

To the benefit of Bog’s rising blood pressure a second goblin popped up, shouting, “More fairies, sire! More fairies in the dark forest!”

A fanfare cut through the ensuing uproar and more armored fairies flitted in through the entrance followed by a . . . a . . . it was one of those chairs, the sort of thing you saw in movies about decadent ancient times where royalty was schlepped around in them. Paladins. Placards. Something. Anyway one was being flown into the castle. Marianne scrubbed her eyes with her knuckles. She was so tired. When would this ever end? How many more fairies would cram themselves into the castle before it burst at the seams and crumbled into dust?

The chair was set down and the passenger, a round man in armor, was up and out of the chair the second it touched the ground, stumbling a little before regaining their balance. “Sweetheart!” he called, “You’re alright!”

“Daddy?!” Dawn’s feet came off the floor in surprise.

Marianne’s chest did a weird squeezing thing and her stomach clenched itself into knots. Dawn’s dad. The fairy king. The lost princess’s father. Somehow Marianne’s free hand found Bog’s and squeezed it as hard as her chest was squeezing her heart.

“You’re really alright?” the king had waded through elves and goblins to dash up to his daughter and grab her hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dawn said with a touch of sulkiness.

The king didn’t seem to notice. He was a heavy, gray-haired man wearing armor in the same style as Roland’s only rounder to accommodate a wider waistline. Marianne wondered if it was rude to wonder if he couldn’t fly under his own power because he was too heavy. The few fairies she’d seen were all skinny, even the armored ones. She herself was skinnier as well as tiny, she remembered. The harmless thought made her chest constrict again.

“My little girl!” the fairy king caught Dawn in a crushing hug.

“Daddy! I’m a representative.”

“They didn’t hurt you? Do anything to you?” the fairy king demanded.

“Wow.” Marianne said, “Rude.”

“Lacking courtesy, indeed.” Bog agreed. Both he and Marianne were watching Roland out of the corner of their eye. Roland looked displeased at the sudden change in circumstances.

“Why should I be courteous to the one who kidnapped my daughter!” the fairy king pushed Dawn behind him and spread out his wings to shield her.

Bog snorted. “I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried, Dagda. If anyone besides her is to be blamed then blame the love potion that caused her afflicted people to have need of her help.”

“They have other prisoners, sire,” Roland explained helpfully, having followed in the king’s wake to keep himself in the conversation.

Bog snorted. “They are held for their protection while they’re under sway of the potion! I take back what I said about blaming the potion. Blame the instigator, your polished up little would-be hero, Ronald!”

“Roland.” Marianne said without thinking. Bog’s answering smirk told her he knew perfectly well what Roland’s name was. It was extremely difficult not step on Bog’s performance by bursting into laughter. That problem faded when Marianne saw that the fairy king was looking at her with a puzzled expression, completely distracted from whatever defense he had been about to put forth for Roland. The horrible scarf of truth that had slipped from her eyes and pulled tight on her throat was flickering in the wind, attracting the king’s attention. She could see the words forming on his lips: “Have we met?”

“Not that I remember.” Marianne said promptly. Nearly simultaneously, actually. It was absolutely true though. She had no memory of this worried looking man who had a similar expression to Dawn when he was troubled. It was easy to compare, with Dawn peeking around his wing looking very troubled indeed.

“Enough!” with a sweeping gesture Bog redirected everyone’s attention to himself, though he had to let Marianne’s hand go to do so, “I’ve mushrooms in love with fairies and brownies in love with frogs, my kingdom is in chaos, and the source of it all is right here,” he jabbed a claw at Roland, “and here,” he jabbed at Sunny. “Unless we want fields and forest both in utter chaos you will return the potion to me now.”

“Now, now,” Roland waved his hand, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just go around pointing fingers and spouting unsubstantiated accusations. The best thing to do would be get the princesses home and sort this all out peacefully.”

“Very true, Roland.” the fairy king nodded. Then frowned.” Princesses?”

“Ah,” Roland beamed, resorting to smiles when caught off script, “There’s some—I have some—there’s this interesting thing—Marianne, darlin’, I’d hoped to break this to you gently--”

“Stop.” Marianne ordered. “Stop!”

“Now, buttercup--”

Marianne knocked his hand aside with the hilt of her sword when he reached out to her. The fairy king was staring at her with a deep frown. “Marianne?” he almost whispered.

“Yes—no! Not--!” Marianne stammered.

“Leave her alone!” Bog growled, “She’s one of mine and not yours to question, Dagda.”

“But, who is she--?”

“It’s done, it’s done!” Griselda pattered into the room, Sugar Plum’s cage in hand, “She says the antidote is ready!”

“Antidote?” Roland looked disconcerted.

“You said her name was Marianne?” the fairy king persisted.

“Dad, leave her alone!” Dawn tugged on his wing, “That’s something for later.”

“Hello, hello!” Plum said within her cage, “Isn’t this a fine audience. Oh, and my, don’t you look nice in your wrinkle, dear! Those are difficult to make, I’ll have you know, but a teensy bit easier for changelings since they’re already a little out of place. Still! I hope you appreciate—“

“The antidote! Hand it over!” Bog cut in.

“Changeling?” the fairy king’s face had a look that Marianne was horribly sure meant that some sort of understanding was forming.

“Antidote?” Roland repeated, slightly louder.

“Yes, antidote! Now hand it over you sparkly trickster or I’ll force it out of you!” Griselda shook the cage as if perhaps the antidote would fall out.

“Heeey!” Plum drifted dizzily around inside her blue globe, “Give a girl a minute, can’t you? Rushing magic is no joke.”

Bog snatched up the cage by its stick. “Antidote,” he growled, “now.”

“Okay, fine! It’s . . . a riddle!” Plum threw her arms wide like she was cheering.

“A—a riddle—but what was all the stuff for?!”

“Oh, you know, in prison it’s kind of hard to shop!”

“A riddle?” Roland was starting to relax and Marianne felt a chill.

“Spit it out, then,” Marianne hissed.

“Hold your squirrels, princess, don’t rush me!”

Marianne was very much in a rush and everything was going far too slow, except the thoughts whirling behind the fairy king’s hopeful eyes and the words that might slip off Roland’s silver tongue any moment. Truth or not she wasn’t ready to handle it here and now. She grabbed the stick herself and shook it twice as hard as Griselda had. “Now! Please!”

“Fine, fine, fine! The antidote is the one thing more powerful than the potion! Geez! You people have no sense of presentation.”

There was silence except a cricket chirping. Marianne saw a goblin nudge the cricket to make it shut up.

“That’s—that’s it?” Bog asked, “All that and you dish out some poor excuse for a riddle? Argh! It doesn’t even matter,” Bog grabbed Plum’s cage and tossed it back to Griselda who caught it and gave it another vicious shake, “Once I have the potion this will be contained and we can pry the answers out of you at our leisure.”

“Stronger than the potion?” Marianne pondered, flexing her arm, “Does that mean I can just punch the love out of it?”

Bog made a noise that might have been a strangled snort of amusement. “Powerful, she said powerful.”

“Now, now,” Roland called their full attention back to himself, “As I was saying, your majesty, on my recent trip I made the most extraordinary discovery—”

Marianne’s sword and Bog’s staff swung toward Roland. “Shut up,” Marianne said, feeling like she was clutching uselessly the crumbling shingles at the edge of a roof, fighting against the fall she knew was coming no matter what she did.

“Dad, don’t listen to him!” Dawn tugged hard on her father’s arm, “I can tell you what’s going on, just listen!”

“I just want to tell everyone how I fell in love with a beautiful girl and that we are the perfect match.” Roland smiled a smile so earnest and loving that Marianne felt physically repulsed. He was trying to charm her. He had been trying to charm everyone since he had arrived, she realized, but the goblins seemed to be resistant to his strain of manipulation. Even Griselda, who was ready to see romance wherever it was or could be, had her generous mouth twisted in displeasure.

The fairy king did not seem to have the same resistance, or at least not as much, because he was listening to Roland intently.

But Marianne’s assumptions were disproved when the fairy king looked coolly at Roland and said, “Oh? And not too long ago you were madly in love with Dawn.”

“Hearts change,” Roland said solemnly, “People change, we grow, we realize what was once our greatest desire no longer suits, we discover true love and everything before that is just washed away. No, my darlin’, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

“Talk about true love after you put down the potion,” Marianne scoffed with more bravado than she felt. Her sword was trembling, fatigue was bearing down on her and she wasn’t sure how long she could fight it.

“Aw, my l’il princess—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Marianne screamed and raised her sword, but Roland was quicker, better rested, and parried her blade, knocking it out of her hand and grabbing her shoulder. The metal joints of his armored hand pinch the hellebore and started to the shred the petals. A patch of it tore off when Marianne twisted herself free and dived for her sword. The dive went a little too well and she couldn’t stop it, the floor rising up to meet her face.

There was a clang, the ‘oof’ of someone getting the wind knocked out of them, and the floor stopped with a jerk. Bog had caught her around the waist. She was hauled up and pressed against Bog’s carapace while he looked down at her with a searching, worried look that she hated much less than the fairy king’s. “Are you alright?”

“That is a loaded question, your crunchiness.” Marianne resisted closing her eyes, hugging Bog, and pretending everything else in the world didn’t exist. It was an incredibly appealing thought. “Do you want the physical or mental workup?”

“Ah, you’re fine.”

The wrinkle was ruined. Marianne could tell by the uncomfortable feeling of Bog’s arm crumpling the wings crammed under the wrinkle. Their sudden weight was what had accelerated her dive. She shoved Bog away—not too hard—and stripped the wrinkle off while looking around for Roland. He was being helped up off the floor by two fairies in silver armor, out of play for the moment, to Marianne’s relief. It gave her a little breathing room.

The fairy king gasped.

Oh. Right. Marianne looked down at the ruined wrinkle. Dawn had said her mother had purple wings. Purple wings like the ones that had recently attached themselves to Marianne’s back.

“Marianne?” the king asked softly.

“Dad, don’t!” Dawn said, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just—”

The fairy king ignored her. “Marianne? My—my little girl?”

Marianne’s heart crumpled up like tissue paper. The king looked so painfully hopeful that she didn’t want to just slap that hope away. That was what was crumpling her heart, forcing it into the wrong shape, this expectation for her to be someone she didn’t want to be.

Pink exploded in her face.

Marianne coughed, but it was only instinct. Aside from the smell of primroses and a light tickling sensation on her face the splash of love potion was barely a physical presence. A wave of euphoria swept through her, washing away all her fatigue and worries, or glossing over them anyway, with a manic excitement.

“Buttercup,” a familiar and cajoling drawl came from directly in front of her and she felt a thrill of . . . something. The pink sparkles still dazzled her and she couldn’t even make out shapes in the glitter. “Hey, my darlin’ buttercup,”

The voice, yes, just in front of her, maybe even reaching out toward her. She turned in the direction of the sweet cajoling, listened for the sound of metal armor, tickled and thrilled all over in sparkling pink waves and the golden ribbons that the voice looped around her crumpled tissue paper heart.

But the strangling truth that had choked her and wrapped around her heart wouldn’t let the ribbons tighten or the pink stick to her. The terrible strangling truth helped her now, told her how much she loathed that voice, and gave her the chance to draw back her arm and send her fist toward the sticky sweet sound of Roland’s voice.

Jarring pain to her knuckles let her know she had struck true.

With the same hand she grabbed at the air to her side, the side Bog had stood on when they posed together in front of the throne.

Her hand met his.

The pink faded, a warm, somewhat sweaty hand covering most of her face. From the explosion of pink to Bog’s hand shielding her face there had been no more than a few seconds.

“Tough girl?” Bog asked hesitantly.

“Roland is a skunk.” She said, figuring it was the easiest why to declare where her feelings stood. She swore she heard the castle groan, pushed outward by the collective relieved sigh from the room. “Where is he?”

“Being sat on by Brutus,” Bog replied.

“Oh, I want to see that.”

“There’s still no antidote!”

“Calm your carapace, prickles, I’m not brain-dead yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet. Ugh, I know I’m not in love, my hand hurts too much for me to be in love. I think I got his jaw, did I get his jaw?”

“You did.” Bog assured her.

“Nice. I guess . . . I need a blindfold?”

“Give me a second, lovey,” Griselda said, rustling about nearby, “I’ll make something out of this wrinkle. Though I wouldn’t mind if you took a little peek at my boy.”

“Mother.” Unexpectedly Bog sounded much more aghast than embarrassed.

Something whirred inside Marianne’s tired brain. It was a dumb little whir and chunk of fatigued cogs and gears on the edge of busting right out of her head. The truth had saved her from looking in Roland’s eyes. It had stopped her from giving into his golden charm. Yes, she was getting a very dumb idea.

Impulsively Marianne shoved his hand aside and looked straight up and into Bog’s eyes.

He physically recoiled, averting his eyes.

“Too late, baby-blues.” Marianne stood on tip-toe to get closer to his face.

Bog looked at her out of the very corner of his eye, “You—you don’t want to . . .?”

“Sing love songs? Kiss you?”

“K-kiss--?!” Bog choked. Marianne felt tickling in her stomach and a thrill up her spine, seeing the mighty Bog King blush and stutter.

Marianne shook her head. “Nope.”

“That’s . . . good. Good.”

“At least,” Marianne smirked, “No more than before.”

[ikkosu]

Throwing this at you ikko, because I am obsessed with Pinks fairy’s in Archie’s Knightformers au, butttt, Pharma the freaky little man finding a fairy that can’t run or fly because their wings broken<3 and he uses old test subjects wings to fix theirs despite their disgust to it, partnered with him keeping them as his little pet/experiment.

(Also my friend sent me more pics to use as reaction <3 so I am blessing you with a cat)

compookie!!

rubs hand evilly ohohoh I've been plagued with knightformer pharma and his evil little smile. He's definitely getting his own little fae too.

Quick incomprehensive ramble about my husband, for a moment (sorry prowl) Knightformers / Faeformers are by :

@archie-sunshine and @pinkanonwrites (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(oofm gets a little bit violent at the end)

I'd say before Pharma went bonkers, his methods are a little less unethical. Like Prowl, he won't care much for these playful cretins. They're adorable, yes. Very soft, too. He can see why First Aid and Ambulon are always so keen on squishing their plush cheeks.

Unfortunately, as much as he tries to find them tolerable, one fae in particular switched his colorcoded books to different shelves can you believe that?

How utterly vulgar. He ought to put them in a Jar and send them to Nyon where Rodimus or whatever lives. That'll do the fine job of shutting them up.

Even more strange, this fae prefers to bother him, of all people. Always pottering along with their tiny feet. The wisp flutter of their wigs as they hover close, tugging on his hat, and cloak. Hiding behind pillars, peeking out then giggling when he notices them.

He'd imagine they go for humans like First Aid or Ambulon, since they are far more gentle with their words than he is to them

The annoyance to that particular fae, though, doesn't last too long.

It was a busy day at the hospital. Darkness veiled the night. He's working the night shift again and everyone had gone to their quarters. The halls are empty. It feels a little isolating but he'll have to make do.

After a small dreadful nap on his desk that left his throat sore and back.pained — Pharma wakes up with something warm over his back. He sits up straight and the something his back billows and pool to the ground. A — he pinches the material between his fingers, eyebrows cocked — blanket?

And the sprinkled dust of glitter on one end drew a smile to that face.

"Good, little cretin."

Pharma and fae aren't particularly close after, but he does acknowledge the fae and does, a little bit, grow more tolerant of them. In the gardens, where he'd go out for fresh air and a semblance for peace, fae would perch on his shoulder as he reads his book. Their tiny legs would swing aimlessly as their eyes peering over to read.

He's not sure the little thing understands but when he'd flip a page a little too early, he's halted by their itty hands and a trill. Pharma waits little, couldn't resist raising a finger and scratching the back of their ears, before turning the page after.

He couldnt retract his finger since fae is already nuzzling against it. So he keeps it there for as long as he remembers ( he couldn't perform surgery and had First Aid take over because of how sore his hand was).

Post-delphi Pharma, though. Yikes, okay. Everything is in shambles. Tarn comes and goes, and as he goes, chaos runs rampant and dances along every crook and cranny of Delphi like a forest fire.

Pharma isn't spared, either.

Fae, and the many others, find themselves scuttling away to a nearby forest. Their friend, a fae with green streaks to their wings, breedles to them about a new hideout in the caves.

Fae nods and follows along, before the group breaks off unceremoniously when a panther had caught on to their little group.

Fae persists to a different path. In doing so, unluckily encounters a bandit when they were trying to flee. It's not your usual, pillaging, loot lover bandit — these were the ones who snatch faeries and strip them of their magic dust.

A lot of fae's have been caught recently and the growing numbers are not one to mess with.

And, a quick scuffle between the two, led to fae hitting the floor hard. They squeak weakly, pawing the ground, trying and failing to flutter their wings. But it hurts. Thair back hurts. Their body hurts

Distraught, the shadow closes in on them, eyes of the bandit white half-moons of mirth as hands almost curl around fae's body—

And a sickening splat resounds after.

Fae opens their eyes and sees a different man looming. It's Pharma, eyes half lidded as he stares over the crook of his nose, down at the body in front of him — not the fae.

One side of his cheek had blood smeared across and over his hand, curls a crimson mottled axe. Fae doesn't want to see what's left of the body and looks away with a small shuddered trill, arms covering their faces.

This isn't the Pharma they knew..

Crass as he were — Pharma would never be so grotesquely vulgar as this.

The medic regards the little cretin for a moment, likely assessing the damage of their wings. He notices there's a stutter in the movements. Muscles, strained. Arms, limp.

Then, with another look to the body, silently, pharma grabs the fae with his free hand — blatantly ignoring their startled trills and their little kicks — and starts heading back to Delphi.

Everything was quiet. The hallways were quiet. The evening air was quiet. Even the gardens they so often mingle about — were dreadfully stale.

Pharma lays the fae down on the table, who scuttles to the edge in a fit of panic.

"I did tell the man to go after the least energetic ones." He murmered and pinches their ankle to stop their movements

Fae kicks at his fingers. He doesn't budge. Instead, he brings out wires from a drawer and starts coiling them into rings.

"Seems like he doesn't very much like listening to my orders." The wires were cold to their wrists then more cooler around ankles. "He's got what's coming, poor fellow. But that's done, now. I don't have to pay him, anymore. He's done enough—"

Fae let's out a squeal and thrashes around.

"Oh, don't give me that look, cretin. You'd think I'd spare your kind after the potential results you could give me?" He says lowly and clamps his entire hand on their body.

The table rattles..Fae shudders and weakly trills, pawing away at his palm. Tears sting their cheeks.

"But no worries." He leans closer. A small smile. "I'm fond of you, I'll give you that. That's only if the gift I'm planning to give you is of your taste. Look around, cretin. A new wing i've culled — just for you. You can choose as many as you like."

And fae swivels around, heart lurching in their chest. They've realized there were jars all around, perched in the shelves and were filled with faes...

Limp shadows. No longer bright. No longer breathing.

A particular jar caught their eye. They were wings. The miniscule body is a mere silhouette under the dim light. And, streaks of green dances across the glint of the wings.

[abutterflyobsession]

Since it’s been over a year since I updated Tiny People In Jars AU I’ll just do some advertising to refresh your memory or introduce you to it before I post the new chapter later on today.

the official title of this fic is:

Bog and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day    

Marianne is trying to have a peaceful breakdown alone in her family’s little summer house when a very strange insect gets caught in the fly paper and Marianne in turn is caught in political drama over the theft of a love potion.

And Bog ends up in a jar.

If for nothing else read it because Bog ends up stuck in a jar.

read on tumblr

read on ao3

[luxlightly]

Tiny People in Jars AU Mood/aesthetic board

[shivae]

Poor Bog, stuck in a terrarium, wings broken, at the mercy of human girls... and now bugnapped by an idiot faux web personality!

“He’s going to his parents’ house,” stated Marianne, licking her lips with determination as she veered around a corner so fast the Seltos briefly went up on two wheels.

“Be nice to my car!” Sunny whimpered, cringing against the door.

“Marianne’s a good driver!” Dawn called out from the backseat, clinging to her seatbelt.

“You can say that about demolition drivers!” yelped Sunny, giving Marianne a panicked look. “I can’t afford another car, and I don’t walk everywhere like you do!”

“We have a car,” stated Dawn. “You know we do… it’s just in the shop.”

“My car doesn’t want to join it,” groaned Sunny as Marianne turned another corner far too fast. “What is going on? You can tell me.”

“Did you see the video I posted?” Dawn bounced in the backseat as the car struck a pothole.

Sunny groaned, slapping a hand to his face. “That’s why I came over! I wanted to see what it was! I was in the middle of errands and stopped because it looked so awesome and real. I wanted to see how you faked it.”

“Yes, well, he’s real, and he’s a buggy looking man who said his name was Bog,” Dawn began rattling out the story as Marianne concentrated on driving. “He was hurt, and I put him in a terrarium to keep him safe, and Roland came over, and he took him!”

“I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think the world should see him!’ Marianne scowled, running a red light, much to Sunny’s continued horror. “I just have this feeling that whatever he is, should remain secret and not end up in the spotlight.”

“Bog wasn’t happy about being in the terrarium,” whined Dawn sadly. “I don’t want anyone hurting him. He flew into a window and fell into my big aloe vera.”

“I know what Roland’s going to do,” groaned Marianne, running a yellow light awfully close to turning red. “He’s going to go onto his SelfieStick channel and show Bog to all his followers. Dawn, do you have your phone?”

“Yes!” Dawn replied, reaching into the deep hip pocket on her sweat pants.

“Great, go to Roland’s channel. He’s an idiot, and he will broadcast while driving.” Marianne slowed down abruptly, passing a police cruiser. Sunny slunk down further in his seat with a whimper.

A low whining noise came from Dawn as the video began. The only sound heard was Roland’s triumphant voice and the wheels of their car as Marianne sped up. “Can I see?” Sunny reached back for the phone, hitting replay on the video teaser. He stared at the screen, the small being in the shaky still and sighed, his brow furrowing in dismay.

“He’s real? This Bog?” Sunny handed the phone back to Dawn, who bobbed her head, her face contorted in despair.

“He’s hurt,” Dawn whispered, clutching her phone as she turned the sound down to watch the video again. “This was all an awful accident, and I should have let him go. I should have taken him outside and let him go instead of thinking I could help.” Dawn’s lower lip trembled, and the tears came, flooding over her face as she sobbed. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have posted the videos or the pictures! I shouldn’t have put him in a terrarium! I should have let him go! I just wanted to help!”

“Dawn!” Marianne snapped. “We’re going to get him away from Roland and let him go, okay? We’ll take care of this. It wasn’t your fault. You just thought you were helping an injured animal.”

“I’ll help,” stated Suny, giving Dawn an encouraging smile. “Whatever he is, he doesn’t deserve to end up in a cage in some laboratory.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” Marianne smiled at him as they rounded another bend, the sound of screeching brakes filling the air. Sunny grimaced, turning his attention to the side window.

*** Continued on A03 ***

[luxlestrange]

Tiny people in jars AU🦋

[abutterflysketches]

Tiny People in Jars AU WIP

Bog’s human glamour isn’t exactly fine-tuned, hence the questionable fingernails and the suspiciously pointed ears.

I had to redo this just so I could have all of Bog’s facial features angled in the same direction.

In the original it isn’t clear if his head is tilted--and if so which direction--or if he’s looking straight on

[shy-fairy-levele3]

Bog King is a university professor with a degree in Entomology. During Summer vacation, and after a terrible breakup Bog finds himself drawn to his family's fields where he had spent his childhood and discovered his love of insects. He is shocked to discover, after all these years, what he had always assumed to be butterflies were in fact Fairies!

Fairy Princess Marianne finds herself falling in love with a human. 

[cedar-king]

For all of those who like to read my story “Stand by You”, I have finally found a way on how to start the next chapter, finally. That caused me quite the headache. xwX Hopefully I can finish it this year. On the same post I want to apologize that I’m very inactive in the writing department in general. I know I don’t have to, but I feel better and I want to reassure you guys I didn’t abandoned it. Working hours are just not so nice and I’m always sleepy in my free-time or do other stuff. So I doubt I will actively come back to writing until summer next year when I finished my apprenticeship. (And hopefully will get accepted into an university.) Ideas are swirling in my head like crazy and I wish I could get them out. xD

[veggieheist]

Witch!AU Reylo is always a good time 🤩🙌✨🔥

More art on my Instagram✨

Story blurb down below!👇

Rated T

cn // witches , witchcraft , kidnapping , fear of assault

✨🍄✨

Kylo Ren stood in the cool shade of a tree, leaning against the wide trunk nonchalantly, ignoring the other people gathered there to take advantage of the respite from the heat. In the branches above him a mourning dove cooed, a soft sound among the chatter of people and the buzz of the cicadas.

In his hand was a piece of ashwood, small chunks carved out by the whittling knife in his other. He took care with his work, but his sharp eyes lifted every so often, focusing on the girl selling wares from her wagon across the dirt road from the tree. The heat did not seem to affect her much, her tanned skin evidence of her love for the sun.

Kylo watched her over the course of the day. She smiled at passersby, spoke matter-of-factly to those seeking tonics for ailments, laughed with a woman who seemed to enjoy telling local gossip to a new ear, and now seemed very unaffected by the flirtations of a young man. 

Kylo’s eyes narrowed, his hands stilling. The boy was persistent, and she was getting irritated. When the boy tried to reach for her hand, Kylo watched as she let him, pulling close enough for her to whisper something in his ear. Kylo’s skin tingled as the magic wove through the air. The boy staggered back, a dazed look on his face, and then wandered away.

A repelling spell. Kylo scoffed. Smart. But not very smart to do something like that out here, in the open, where anyone could see. The girl’s eyes darted about, looking for the alerted gaze of someone who may have noticed her act of forbidden magic, but there was only one audience member to her indiscretion, and he had his hood up, enchanted to ward off any notice. He was as if part of the shadows; unassuming and forgettable. Her eyes slid over him as expected, and Kylo smirked, returning to his whittling. 

She was the reason he was stood here, sweltering in his black robes and armor. She was a witch, even though she tried to hide it behind her simple tonics and herbs. He’d been tracking her for days, and finally caught up with her here. 

He was on a mission from his master to capture her, and even though he knew not what the purpose was--she was hardly trained, seeming only to be able to harness the bare minimum of power afforded to their kind--but Kylo was not going to question it. 

In the shade of the tree, Kylo wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his position against the rough bark of the trunk. In his hands the knife moved through the wood object, its shape taking form.

It wouldn’t be difficult to snatch her. He already had a plan; all he had to do now was wait. 

--O*O--

Rey finished gathering up her wares from the table she had set up outside her wagon home, bringing them up the steps to place in the cabinet designed to neatly hold them. It had been a lucrative day, so there weren’t as many going in as she had taken out, and she patted her coin purse with a smile before hiding it. 

She folded the table next to bring it inside as well, setting it back up in front of the bench seat along the right wall. Her wagon was a modest home, but cozy. Her bed was along the back wall, a nest filled with blankets and pillows, an array colorful beads on hanging strings glittered from the waning sunlight coming in through a small window. 

The left side wall contained more cabinets with dishware and food, jars with herbs and preserves, and a small woodfire stove. The right side wall had more cabinets still, although these ones were kept locked. Inside were books, old scrolls, and grimoires, but also some amulets and dangerous items not meant to be handled by innocent humans. 

Rey couldn’t afford to be caught, so she hid them behind concealing charms and repelling spells. No one would search those cabinets because they would seem far too boring to garner any attention. 

She’d already had a close call earlier in the day, when an inquisitive constable had approached her table. He’d carried a large cross hung from his neck, and a sharp look to his eyes. She’d smiled broadly at him, hoping he couldn’t see the anxiety making her sweat. It’s just the heat, she would have said if he’d asked. 

“‘Tonics and tinctures,’ eh? You a witch?” He’d crudely asked, not even trying to be tactful. 

“My great great grandmother was one, sir,” she answered, a lie, probably, since she didn’t know her family, “but all I have is a penchant for medicines. I have a signed letter from a priest, Christening me as a Holy Hand.” 

Most people like her did that--connected themselves to a church to avoid being burned at the stake. They were less likely to be looked at with contempt if it seemed like they were doing God’s work. 

Rey just needed money to get away. To go anywhere. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but so far she hadn’t found it. 

The constable had looked over her letter with a critical eye, but ultimately gave it back and continued on his way with a gruff, “Don’t stay too long.”

It was a warning she would heed. She’d be on the road by first light in the morning. 

Rey brought feed and water to her Clydesdale, murmuring softly to him as he munched. “On to the next town in the morning, Bibi.” Then she whispered a spell to strengthen him and climbed the steps back up into her home. Being a Clydesdale, Bibi was the only kind of horse able to pull her wooden camper by himself, but she still tried to help with whatever magic she could manage. 

Rey shut the wooden door and made a simple meal of bread and vegetable soup, eating at the table silently. By the dying light from the three windows about the cabin, Rey knew it was time to draw the curtains and ready for bed. The lamps filled the small home with warm light, and she was just reaching to untie her corset when a knock came on the door. 

Rey frowned, going to it. There was a latch to open a small window and see who was calling, but it was still difficult to make out the shadowy features of the hooded man standing outside. 

“I’m closed for the evening,” she said. “If you need something I can help you in the morning.”

She closed the latch before the man could answer, a wave of cold gooseflesh making her shiver. The visitor was silent, and she wondered if he’d walked away after a moment of not detecting any sound. She moved to her small closet again when the door latch clicked and swung open.

Rey stood straight, alarmed, sure that she’d locked it. 

“I’m closed,” she said with more conviction, the words for her repelling spell on the tip of her tongue. 

The man who entered her humble dwelling had to duck to get through the small door frame, and his head nearly brushed against the roof. He was broad, dressed in black, and as he entered Rey saw the flash of red gems embedded in the hilt of his sword at his hip.

She sucked in a breath. An inquisitor? Here? Had the constable sent for one?

But no, he didn’t carry any sign of the cross, nor did he have the stench of smoke that seemed to permeate an inquisitor as if their souls were made of ash.

This man had a darkness about him, but he was no witch burner. 

He removed his hood and suddenly Rey felt like her eyes could focus again. She frowned, blinking. Strange. He was handsome, with dark hair in waves to his shoulders, a large nose somehow more elegant than ugly, and piercing eyes the color of whiskey. He seemed to not care that she had already told him twice she was not open.

Rey swallowed but steeled herself. She’d warded off enough men in her life to be able to take this one on easily. 

His eyes went from scanning her to roaming around her living space. She couldn’t help to feel judged, and it made her scowl.

“If you need something, I can help you in the morning,” she said, voice hard. “Please leave.”

He finally looked back at her. Somehow he seemed to fill the entire wagon up with his presence, even though he was still standing in front of the door. That it was open helped Rey feel less trapped.

“I’m looking for something,” he said, ignoring her again. “A kind of herb. Willow’s Needle.”

Rey shook her head. “Willow’s Needle is a forbidden herb, used only by witches. I’m one of the Holy Hand, I don’t do witchcraft. Here,” she found the priest's letter and held it out for him. She tried to control the shaking of her hand. “It’s signed by Father Michael from--”

There was a gust of wind from the open door, blowing the letter from her hand and extinguishing all but one lamp that hung above her bed. The door swung shut, enclosing them together.

Rey stepped back, her heart thundering. The man stood still, staring at her with dark eyes. 

“Are you here to kill me?” She asked, thinking of the knives kept in the drawer by the stove. The man was closer, but Rey knew that even if she could get one it would be no match for his sword. And even then, she had a feeling this man was far deadlier than the piece of sharpened metal at his side.

“No,” he said, taking a slow step forward. He was like an encroaching black cloud, and for all the magic Rey knew she had under her fingertips, she was finding herself far too overwhelmed by his presence to think straight enough to use it. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her quietly, within arms reach now. “I feel it too.”

“Feel what?” Rey whispered. 

His lips quirked up on one side.

“Magic.”

His hands rose and Rey took an alarmed step back, gathering strength to try and throw him with a spell, but she stopped. Lights began to sparkle to life as he whispered into his cupped hands, a dazzling display of power that Rey hadn’t witnessed in years. Not since she was a child, before she was taught to keep hidden. 

Her curtains were closed so one would see this forbidden show except her, but it still felt like she shouldn’t even be looking. What if someone saw? What if they accused her of it?

The man lowered his hands to show her his creation, and Rey stepped closer, entranced, warmed by the light. She gave a delighted gasp at the tiny bird made of magic nestled in his gloved palms, and she glanced up to see a much softer expression as he watched her in turn. Rey looked back at the bird, shy in the face of this nameless man’s attention. This rare male witch.

All at once it didn’t matter that he had barged into her home and frightened her. He was like her, and maybe that meant he was lonely too. Maybe he was here to find a traveling partner. Someone to be himself with. 

Rey’s heart ached to be truly seen by someone who wouldn’t be afraid of her.

She’d instinctively held her arms to her chest in a shield when he’d advanced, but now one hand unclenched, wanting to show she wasn’t afraid, that she accepted his magic. The little bird chirped a twinkling song, and Rey smiled, wanting to see if it was as soft as it looked. 

“Go on,” the man murmured, as if he could hear her thoughts. “You can take it.”

Rey smiled and accepted the warm illusion into her own palms. It was a very convincing mirage, one she had never been able to conjure herself. She looked up again, but the man’s face was closed again, his eyes sharp, and all at once Rey felt the illusion evaporate. As soon as the small wooden carving of a bird touched her skin, her whole body froze. 

She couldn’t move. Only her eyes widened in horror at her error. Ashwood.

“It’s a paralysis charm,” he explained as her dread rose. “Carved into the wood. A simple thing, really. Any witch worth her salt would have been able to detect it.” He stepped close, all warmth gone, his cold eyes calculating as they scanned her frozen form once again.

“I don’t know why my master would want a weak vagrant like you, but I suppose you’ll have your uses.”

Rey could only whimper at the implication, and she wished she could move and fight back. But her hands had seized around the bird figurine as if in a cramp, and she knew she would not become unfrozen until it was no longer in her grasp.

The dark witch-man bent and easily picked her up into his arms, her body pliant but still out of her control. He took the few steps to her bed and settled her down in the pillows. Her eyes watched him fearfully, the worst thoughts of his intentions flitting across her mind, a desperation beginning to bloom in her breast that nearly had her whining in an attempt to beg him not to defile her.

But he actually pulled the edge of her skirts down to cover her exposed calves, and then straightened, not giving her unguarded body a second glance.

“You should try to sleep,” he told her. “Fretting won’t do you any good, and the spell won’t go away until the bird does.” 

And then he turned and left, the wood creaking beneath his heavy boots, the door clicking shut behind him. Rey heard the lock latch into place, and then the sounds of heavy hoofs, and straps being moved. The wagon lurched as Bibi was attached to his leads, unfamiliar with the man doing it. Rey willed the horse to stomp him, to run away and find help for her, but she felt a wall in her mind. 

Whoever this witch-man was, he was far more powerful a person than Rey had ever encountered before. 

She heard boots climbing to the perch near the window by her bed, and then the flick of reins. The next time the wagon lurched, it stayed in motion, the whole cabin swaying and jostling from the unpaved road. 

Rey had no idea where she was being taken, or by whom, but she knew if she was going to survive this kidnapping she was going to have to use all of her wits she could muster. 

Anything less and she was sure to succumb to whatever dark agenda awaited her at the end of this journey. 

✨🍄✨

[owl-quill]

“I told you two it was a bad idea,” Senesh said for maybe the hundreth time since Pare had returned from the human world empty-handed and out of breath.

Pare ignored him. He agreed, but had let Sunny talk him into going for a first run before sunset. And now the little guy was possibly dead.

Looking from the gate, a patch of air that looked like a thin film of iridescent fog, to the other direction, where they’d sent a runner for help, Pare bit his lip. The Princess Marianne had been here, and ordered them to not follow before going to rescue Sunny herself. How much trouble would they be in if the Princess didn’t come back?

The next time he turned to the Fortress, a few pieces of the sunset sky seemed to be hurtling right towards him. The missile resolved itself to the shape of Princess Dawn, light blue dress and peach-coloured wings and, just then, wide, scared eyes. “Where’s Sunny is it true he was taken?!”

“Yes”

“Marianne?”

“Went to fetch him.” Pare pointed towards the gate.

Princess Dawn righted herself and squared her shoulders, taking a few breaths, each deeper and slower than the one before. That looked reassuring.

“I’ll help!”

“Princess, w–” Before Pare could finish, there was merely a ripple in the gate left of her. He dropped the hand that had gestured in her direction. “Oh dear.”

“So. They’re our princesses. Shouldn’t we go help?”

“They’re Royals, and one of ‘em gave us an order to stay here. royal orders are royal orders.”

“There comes the guard, let’s hear what they say.”

Dawn caught herself once she had crossed the gate. She was not familiar with the area, and nearly collided with a wooden fence. At its base there was a small hole where the ground was lower. A paw bigger than Dawn’s head appeared and scratches away more of the dry soil, prompting Dawn to a barely concealed squeak. Before she lost her nerve, she strained her wings to carry her straight up, over the fence and into the garden.

“Sunny? Sunny?” Dawn wanted to scream, but whispered instead, fluttering through the hedge and looking for any sign of him.

“Thang! Thang, come back here!”

Dawn ducked behind the broad leaves of a maple tree and tried to get closer to the source of that voice without being seen. It helped that she was well over the human’s eye level. Presumed human’s, anyway. Dawn hadn’t known humans came with blue hair.

He human walked back towards the hole in the fence - and the gate!

Dawn fluttered to and fro in a panic, undecided between trying to find Sunny and going back and warning folks or doing something, but before she decided on a course of action, the human came back, a hairy little beast in tow.

“Come on in, you bothered enough small creatures today,” she said to it.

Dawn went through with her idea as soon as it occurred: she flew up behind the human and held on to her hair. It was strangely coarse and scratchy, and it reeked, but despite of that Dawn furled her wings as tightly as she could and crawled into one of the huge, exaggerated curls. She bit her lip to keep quiet when the human raised a hand to her hair, but the human barely touched it.

Holding on to a thin strand of hair, as if that made the swaying any better, Dawn watched the scenery receeding behind them, trying not to wonder if that had been a good idea. They passed the little clump of forest, and orderly vegetable beds, and a veranda, before they went inside the human house.

“Bog, I got them!” The human closed the door behind her.

Dawn swallowed. She would have to find another way out. After finding Sunny.

“Thanks, Aura,” a deeper voice sounded from another room. That person kept talking more quietly, the words become more intellegible as Aura stepped through a doorway. “So, we’re finished for today, right?”

“Right.”

Dawn recognised that voice. She threw herself out of her hiding spot and flew up, yelling “Marianne!?” She just screamed in surprise when something pulled her back down and she fell on top of Aura’s head. A strand of air had wrapped itself around her ankle.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?”

“Hold still!” the other human snapped.

Aura did stop moving, but shot back, “Answer my question!”

Marianne appeared in Dawn’s field of vision, sword put away. That was reassuring.

“You’ve got a fairy stuck in your hair.”

“Really?” Aura sounded far too delighted. “Ohhh, can you take a photo?”

“No!” yelled two fairies in unison. And Dawn thought there was a third voice.

“Aw. Right, the Masquerade. Poo.”

“Marianne, what’s going on?”

“Everything’s all right, apart from you being stuck. What were you thinking, just rushing in here?” Marianne sure sounded peeved, like she had any reason to.

“I was following you!”

“Ugh, just let’s get you out of this.”

“Need any help?”

Dawn looked up at the other human. Way up. How tall did those crazy people grow?

“Thanks, I think I have it,” answered Marianne, who was fiddling with the hair wrapped around Dawn’s ankle.

Still baffled by the whole situation, Dawn waved at the taller human. “Um. Hi!”

“Hi.” Reading such a big face should have been easy, but it wasn’t.

“Dawn? Is that you? Is that Dawn?”

“Sunny?” Dawn beat her wings, and thanks to Marianne’s efforts slipped free of the strangely tacky hair.

Ignoring her sister, and the humans she was talking to (Marianne made a disgusted noise. “What did you do to your hair?” “Dye and hairspray?”), Dawn circled briefly before she spotted Sunny and made a beeline for him, ending with her alighting on the table and picking him up for a hug. “Sunny! Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine, well, mostly, but–”

“What were you thinking, going off like that?! There’s a protocol for a reason!”

The elf’s ears drooped. “I just wanted to help.”

“It’s not helpful when you get killed! Got that?” Dawn was close to tears.

“OK, right, I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Oh, they’re such a cute couple,” Aura cooed.

Marianne rolled her eyes. If only the two of them would notice, maybe something could be done about it. Maybe. She sailed down to Aura’s shoulder and spoke quietly. “Fairy princess and elf commoner would be tricky to make work. There are even people wrinkling their noses at Sunny being our friend.”

“Oh! Some people… ugh”

“Hm.” Marianne raised her voice. “We should get back before anybody else shows up to rescue us.”

“Right!” Dawn grabbed Sunny’s hands and took off, visibly straining.

Sunny gave a startled yelp when they dropped a few centimetres before Dawn’s wings caught the air again, followed by a yelp when Bog scooped them out of the air.

“I think I can take you. Higher carrying capacity, as long as no-one expects me to fly.”

Dawn stood in his palm while Sunny stayed seated, and brushed off her dress. She looked up at Bog with a bright smile. “Thank you!”

Marianne concealed a sigh. They should not give the humans any more information about the gate, but this was the most practical solution. “All right, then. Let’s go!”

[abutterflyscribbles]

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 11

*shows up to class a year late with new antidepressants* Thank you for your patience. If you like this story plz reblog and comment!

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten/Ao3

Marianne was known in her family for giving in to impulse. 'Known' as in 'infamous' and 'notorious'. Her brothers had build up an extensive vocabulary about it over the years. Her mother usually just said something along the lines of: “Please next time think twice about punching a goat for nipping your brother's hand.”

In her own defense Marianne usually spotted the flaw in her plans about halfway through enacting them. Unfortunately momentum would have built up too strongly to stop at that point, but it was the split-second rethinking that counted. Another point of defense was that the outcome of her heedless actions were sometimes not bad at all. For instance, she gave a lot more compliments and hugs than she would have if she gave herself time to think.

But sometimes . . . sometimes there was really no defense for her idiocy.

She had run through the standard list of justifications at least twice that day already. It had been a long day. She was hungover. She had been zapped with a shrink ray. It had really been the absolute worst day of her life up to date and she very much hoped that no day after would come close to beating the record that had been set. Marianne had been having so many feelings and all of them were bad. When a good feeling flitted by she grabbed at it with both hands.

It was a mistake.

A horrible mistake.

Even considering her impulsive nature Marianne couldn't understand why she had done it. How she could have even brought herself to consider it. The warmth buoying up her heavy heart turned to a chill and her skin crawled with it. Her lips had brushed rough, dirty knuckles . . . too close to deadly black claws that could rip valleys into her skin . . . Her head was bent underneath that face . . . that face . . .

Marianne was afraid.

She was disgusted.

She'd kissed his hand.

That she was even touching . . . a goblin! A thing! Some sort of insect that scuttled around in the dark, in the dirt. The king of this whole, horrible kingdom tucked in a mucky little corner of her backyard like the beginning of rot. Everything it touched would decay with it . . . she was touching it . . . she had chosen to come close, wanted to. She couldn't think why.

Marianne's hand was the one shaking now. Shaking too hard to let go of his hand. Its hand. It wasn't a human hand. It wasn't a person's hand. She'd put herself at the mercy of this thing that could lash out at her like a frightened animal. The wings seized up under the wrinkle, urging her to fly away before it struck.

The hand twitched underneath Marianne's.

The tiny movement broke the tight wire of tension holding her still.

Marianne screamed.

She shoved Bog away and he smacked his head on the back of his throne.

The horror and disgust disappeared like the dark when someone snaps on a lamp. Bog ceased to be an inhuman terror and instead looked almost comically bewildered.

“You . . . you charmed me!” Marianne said. She was shaking all over. Her skin was crawling, like it had when Bog dolled himself up as a cicada to demonstrate how glamor worked, but a hundred thousand times worse.

Bog cradled his hand to his chest and looked aghast.

“If you didn't want me to--” Marianne stopped before her voice could crack. More feelings. She was just wallowing in feelings today, she'd like to take a break. Of course Bog wouldn't want her within ten yards of him. She was just a doctor's signature away from being officially certifiable. Being locked up would have been a relief. She couldn't do anything stupid in a nice comfy padded room.

“There are easier ways to let a girl down.” She said with forced cheerfulness, starting to pace up and down the dais. “My bad. Got my signals crossed. Is there a penalty for getting too familiar with the king of the goblins? All offenders tossed in the bog--?”

Bog's face remained a shocked blank. He didn't seem to be hearing a word Marianne was saying. She wished he would just flip a table or kick over a chair, anything but having him keep staring at her in the weird way. Regret and embarrassment circled back into anger.

“I mean . . . what the heck, Bog? I've had enough of people messing around in my head lately I don't need you going all creepy-crawly cicada on me, you dumb stump. Use your words. Say 'no'. Tell me I'm a crazy human that you can't wait to see the back of, just . . . say something!”

“I had no one to teach me glamor.”

Marianne stopped pacing. The hushed, tentative non sequitur paired with Bog's pale, blank face . . . it almost added up to a sort of air of . . . fear. “I'm . . . sorry?” She prompted, squinting at him uncertainly.

Bog made a valiant effort to look smaller. He was so low in his seat Marianne thought he might slip right off it. “I—the rules, the workings, I had to puzzle it out with no instruction. There was no one who had particular skill, just the instinctive use . . . My control is not always . . . perfect . . .”

“Not catching your drift, your creepy-crawly-ness.”

“You . . . startled me.”

“I startled you?”

Bog mustered up a scowl. He looked a little sulky. “You overstep, with your teasing.”

“Teasing?!”

“It was instinct! I wasn't charming you--”

“You can say that again!”

“Truly, I am sorry, but why would you do that?”

Bog had stood up and circled Marianne to descend a step or two so he didn't have to stoop so far to not look her in the eye. She barely kept herself from pinching his stupid, spiky chin and making him look at her. Hot and cold waves of embarrassment flushed her face and made her toes curl up inside her boots. Bog had been the one nice thing in the whole miserable day and she had gone and ruined it.

“Why shouldn't I?” Marianne folded her arms.

Bog fluttered his hand toward his face in a helpless little gesture. “Because . . . because look at me!”

“You've got pretty eyes.” Marianne muttered, knowing she sounded very sulky. She wondered if it was too soon to hiding a corner and cry again. She'd sworn off love, romance, the whole shebang, only to fall for the first set of sympathetic eyes to get stuck in the fly paper. Was this rebounding? She'd never broken off a relationship as dramatically as she had with Roland. Was she flirting now just to prove she didn't care?

Bog went very pink and confused in the face. “Stop—stop playing with me!”

“Look, just say you're not interested, thanks for asking, have a nice day.”

“I--” Bog dragged his hand down his face. He mumbled something that might have been a plea for the sweet release of death.

Bog and Marianne fidgeted in awkward silence for awhile.

“You could have just said you weren't interested.” Marianne muttered again.

“I don't understand you. Not the slightest bit.”

“It's your fault for being stupidly nice and having illegally attractive eyes and profile. I . . . I have no filter left. This day has worn me right down to a nub of manic, uninhibited chaos.”

“Very apt.”

“So lemme just go ahead and say that you have been an absolute rock for me in this insane, world-changing, life-altering day, and how could a girl not fall for that, a little bit?”

Bog hunched his shoulders and twiddled his fingers. He didn't seem to have an immediate response.

Marianne went on, figuring she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “I like you. As a person. The rest—I don't know. Maybe I'm having so many emotions I'm getting them confused. And we're right in the middle of all this political drama and nobody needs my issues flung over everything any more than they already are. Besides, I got the message: you aren't interested. Understandable. Sorry to have troubled you. End of subject, shake hands and part as friends.”

Bog continued to fidget and looked like he was so awkward he was in pain. Marianne could relate to that. She'd run out of things to say that weren't lamer, less coherent repeats of everything she had said before. It didn't look like Bog would be chipping in any time soon either. It would have been a great time for something to burst in and break the tension with some urgent new subject of conversation. But fate wasn't smiling on either of them right then and the painful awkward gap in the conversation stretched on.

It had come to the point that Marianne was carefully considering the option of laying down on the floor and passing out for the rest of the night to avoid any further inconvenient feelings when, finally, a gaggle of goblins burst into the throne room. They were hooting and squawking in alarm. Bog and Marianne turned to them with great relief.

“The fairy army is at the bridge!” one of them said while the rest shouted variations on the same theme.

“Not the whole army.” Dawn flitted over the goblins, “it doesn't look bigger than a scouting force and most of them are elves.”

“Is Sunny back?” Marianne asked.

“No, I didn't see him.” Dawn landed, drooping. “No one has seen him.”

“So much for diplomacy,” Bog sighed, kicking away the broken practice stick and going to fetch his staff.

“Hold on, hold on!” Dawn flitted around in front of him, “No jumping to conclusions! It's small enough to just be an escort. That's not hostile, that's just royal.”

“Who's leading it?” Bog asked, curving out of the way of Dawn's earnest face.

Dawn twisted her fingers together. “. . . Roland.”

Bog growled.

“Where's a sword?” Marianne asked, “I need one that's not wooden and broken. Stout clubs are also acceptable.”

Dawn persisted. “Daddy doesn't know Roland is a two-timing toadstool! Not many people would want to go into the Dark Forest at night so if Roland volunteered there's really no reason why dad wouldn't let him. Diplomacy first, decapitation later, okay?”

“Fine.” Bog and Marianne said in unison.

“But if I see one pink sparkle--” Marianne said.

“If he's got the love potion--” Bog said.

“Then unless he immediately makes it clear he's returning it to you, Boggy, he's breaking your laws and you're justified to do whatever you see fit.” Dawn reassured him.

“How's the antidote coming?” Marianne asked when Griselda pattered by from a corner of the throne room that Marianne was fairly sure didn't have a door. She had a sudden fear that Griselda had been spying on them from the duel onward.

“Pah! Plum is still stalling! I'll wring it out of her, though, don't you worry. I hope my boy hasn't been being too rude to you this evening. He's shy.”

Marianne was then absolutely certain Griselda had been spying on them. It was the raspy whispered aside that confirmed it. It was just short of a nudge and a wink. Marianne bared her teeth in a strained smile. There really wasn't anything she could say without screaming.

Everything got busy at once and the walls were alive with goblins swarming through passages up above that Marianne hadn't been able to see earlier. She leaned on the throne and watched, feeling nervous. She still didn't know if the love potion was in play.

“Hey.”

Marianne started, surprised to find Bog at her elbow. She was sure he had just been across the room shouting at someone. But she hadn't been paying particular attention. She was too caught up in her worries and remains of embarrassment. “Yeah?”

Bog was looking less awkward. Probably because half his mind was on the kingly art of war and couldn't be devoted to being annoyed at manic fairy antics. “If he has the potion he won't get a chance to use it. Okay?”

It was a relief to see that she hadn't annoyed Bog past caring about her. “You're a rock star, Bog. I mean, thanks. I still want a sword, though.”

“I can accommodate that request. As well, I . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I . . . I never said I wasn't interested.”

Bog did a graceful little hop into the air and whizzed off to shout at the goblins some more, leaving Marianne behind to try and pick her jaw up off the floor while she blushed red right to the new tips of her ears.

[m34gs]

The Boy in the Clock

Based on prompt 28: clock, from the March Prompts list posted by @creativepromptsforwriting (link to post here!)

Ryuji Suguro, Rin Okumura, Tatsuma Suguro. Blue Exorcist AU. Tw: mentions of alcoholism, addiction.

Fanfic beneath the cut.

When Ryuji was a child, he loved to watch the clock on the wall. It wasn't very big, but the detailing around the edges was beautiful and covered in a soft blue paint. The numbers on the face were neat and elegant, and its hands were slender and pretty. But Ryuji's favourite part were the doors sitting just under the face of the clock, with a little ledge. The doors were a deep blue with gold designs swirling across them. And every hour, on the hour, the clock would chime, the doors would swing open and out would slide a tiny figurine of a boy. It was the figurine that always grasped Ryuji's attention. He loved to watch the boy come out, spin around, and go back into the clock he lived in.

On one particularly overcast day, Ryuji was once again watching the clock on the wall of their family's living room. His father walked in, humming to himself, cheeks pink with what Ryuji thought at the time was mirth, but realized later was something entirely otherwise.

"Ryuji! What are you doing, my boy?" his father asked in a jovial tone. He sat next to his son and followed his boy's gaze.

"Uhh," Ryuji stalled and his cheeks flushed, feeling a bit childish in his answer, "I was...watching the clock..." But instead of ridiculing him, his father nodded sagely.

"Ahhhh, that clock. Yes, it is a very special clock," his father mused, his grin slipping and his face looking distant. Ryuji pursed his lips and looked back at the clock on the wall.

"Um. Yeah. It's very pretty," he mumbled.

"More than just pretty," his father replied, giving a quick glance around. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Ryuji. Ryuji tore his gaze from the clock and leaned toward his father slightly, his interest piqued. "That clock is a magic clock." Ryuji tilted his head.

"Magic...how?" he asked. His father grinned again.

"At midnight, time stops. And the boy you see there? He comes to life," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. Ryuji blinked once. Twice. He pulled back and frowned.

"But, that's impossible!" Ryuji protested. His father's grin morphed into a smug smile.

"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Guess you'll have to find out on your own."

***

Ryuji sighed as he entered his home. It was warm and inviting, all thanks to his mother. He had no idea where his father was now, or how drunk he was. His father wasn't an awful drunk. In fact, he was still his pleasant self, albeit a little less mature. But no one took him seriously like that.

"I'm home," Ryuji called as he kicked off his shoes. His mother returned the greeting as he walked past the kitchen. Ryuji headed upstairs to change into more comfortable clothing and get started on his homework. High school was intense.

Supper was a lonely affair; just him and his mother. An empty plate sat in a spot for his father, who had yet to come home. Ryuji quickly finished his plate and helped his mother clean up. Then he dragged himself upstairs to finish his homework.

His eyes skimmed over numbers and words, pen tapping on the desk and leg bouncing. Until his pen flew out of his fingers. The motion jarred Ryuji out of his studying trance and he blinked his dry and bleary eyes. He stretched his arms over his head and groaned before checking his watch. Eleven-fifty-five. Ryuji winced. He really hadn't meant to stay up past ten.

Ryuji sighed and ran a hand through his streak of blond hair. His mouth was dry and he considered getting a glass of water before going to bed. He weighed the pros and cons, and decided that as long as he was quiet the risk of waking his mother was minimal.

Ryuji crept down the stairs slowly. He paused at the bottom and listened. The house was silent except for the gentle buzzing of the fridge and furnace and the soft ticking of the living room clock. Ryuji started forward again, only to stop when his eyes caught sight of a large lump on the floor of their living room. He froze, eyes wide and not quite adjusted to the dark. Ryuji held his breath, not daring to move...until the lump let out a familiar snore. Ryuji's body relaxed instantly and he groaned inwardly. Of course his old man would pass out before making it to the master bedroom. He shook his head as he slipped into the room. He observed his father's sleeping form, hands on his hips. He was so lost in thought, the sudden chime of the clock behind him startled him. Ryuji jumped slightly and whirled around.

He relaxed a little when he saw the cause of the noise, and a small smile crept onto his face. With a soft, amused sigh, Ryuji shook his head again. His father's words from long ago echoed in his mind; this was a magic clock, with a boy that came to life at midnight. Ryuji scoffed slightly. Yeah. Right.

It was as Ryuji thought that, that the doors sprung open. Ryuji watched, waiting for the appearance of the small figurine he'd grown so familiar with. He was so focused on the doors, he hadn't noticed the absence of ticking, the pausing of the second hand. But the boy didn't appear. With a frown, Ryuji walked over to the clock. He was eye level with the doors, and he narrowed his eyes to peer inside.

A wild blur shot out of the doors and there was a tiny shrieking noise. Ryuji backed up, but stumbled over his own feet and landed on his butt. Eyes wide, he stared up at the clock. His mind absently wondered if he was dreaming. Because there, standing on the little ledge in front of the doors, was the boy figurine. Only it wasn't a figurine. It was a moving boy, about three inches tall. The boy glanced around rapidly and ran a hand through his hair that should not have been real hair and yet it was.

Ryuji stared up at him, mouth open. He thought it couldn't get any weirder, when the boy spoke. "Tatsuma! Oi, oi, Tatsuma! Did you forget again, Tatsuma?" the boy called. Then his eyes landed on Ryuji. With a gasp, the boy pointed at Ryuji. "You!" Ryuji jerked back slightly. "What have you done with Tatsuma?!"

Ryuji blinked. He swallowed and opened his mouth, closed it, glanced at his father's sleeping form, and then tried to speak again. "Uh-um...I..." He gestured to his father. "Um. He's. Sleeping?" The boy followed Ryuji's finger and looked at his father on the floor. He tilted his head for a moment, and then his posture deflated slightly.

"Oh." The boy's shoulders sagged. "I guess he fell asleep again." Ryuji felt a stab of pity for this strange boy, who for some reason seemed eager to speak with Ryuji's father. Ryuji chewed on his lip and fidgeted.

"Uh. If...do you need something? Maybe I could...help?" he offered. He wasn't sure exactly why he felt a bit of a connection to the boy, but maybe it was because they were both let down by Tatsuma tonight. The boy shifted his attention back to Ryuji. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet.

"Oh. Um. Thanks. But, it's not anything big really. He just...he's the only one who ever talks to me," he answered. Ryuji looked at his father. Typical, old man, he thought. Of course you'd let down the person who depends on you for their only source of socializing. He frowned.

"Well..." Ryuji started slowly and looked back up. "I could talk to you tonight...if you like? Um. I have some time." The boy brightened.

"Really? You mean it? It's ok?" he asked eagerly. Ryuji nodded slowly.

"Uh, yeah. I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't," he replied. He stood up slowly so he was at the same level as the tiny boy. Looking at him, Ryuji thought he looked not much older than Ryuji currently was.

"Oh wow! Thank you!!" The boy grinned up at him. "My name is Rin! What's yours?" He stretched out his hand as if to shake Ryuji's.

"I'm Ryuji." Ryuji stared at the outstretched hand before reaching up with his finger and placing it in Rin's palm. Rin's grin widened and he shook Ryuji's finger. "Uh. Would you like some help down from there?" Rin nodded and Ryuji offered the palm of his hand. The boy climbed into it and knelt on his palm. Ryuji stepped back a bit before sinking to the floor, holding his new acquaintance in front of him.

"So, how do you know Tatsuma, Ryuji?" Rin asked eagerly. This close, Ryuji could see his eyes were a sparkling blue, and the moonlight seemed to dance in them like it did on lake water.

Ryuji sighed. "Well, he's my dad." Rin's eyes widened.

"No way! Really?? That's so cool!"

Ryuji pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. "I don't really know if it's 'cool'. He's...a pretty lousy dad." Rin tilted his head, his grin disappearing.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"He shows up drunk most nights. That's why he's asleep right now. He passed out. He isn't violent or anything, but no one takes him seriously. He just gets...ridiculous and goofy. And I just wish...I just wish he'd just be...there, you know? Like, I wish he would smarten up and...and...be a dad." Rin listened quietly while Ryuji ranted. "I used to think he was so cool. But, he doesn't even work anymore. Mom is the one who runs the home, which isn't bad, but he doesn't even help. And he never is here to talk to me."

When Ryuji was done ranting, the two of them sat in silence for a little bit. Finally, Rin spoke. "Have you talked to him about this? I mean, like...make him sit down and listen to you?" He glanced into Ryuji's eyes, and then away quickly. "I-I mean...it's just...you only have one of him. It would be awful if the two of you couldn't work it out together." Ryuji ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought.

"I mean. I'd be willing, I guess. But he'd have to put in effort, too."

Rin nodded. "Yeah. That makes sense."

Ryuji sighed and gave Rin a small smile. "Thanks for listening." Rin grinned up at him.

"No problem! I like talking to people, but this is the only time I can do it."

Ryuji hummed thoughtfully. "Well. Maybe I could come and see you some more. I mean. I can't do it every night. But, like, weekends?" Rin's eyes widened and he almost started vibrating with excitement.

"Really?! You could?!?"

Ryuji nodded with a soft smile. "Yeah, I could."

Rin gave an excited shout. It was not overly loud, given his size, but it still made both of them jump a little. They both glanced over at Tatsuma, but the man remained sleeping on the floor. Ryuji met Rin's eyes again, and he couldn't help but beam at the excited look on the other boy's face. "That would be so great!"

The boys spent the rest of their time just getting to know each other. They asked some of the most basic questions; what is your favourite colour? What foods do you like? And then some more fun questions: If you could be any animal in the world, what would you be?

Ryuji was surprised when he felt a genuine pang of sadness when Rin said he had to go back to his clock. But he helped his new friend up to the little ledge and waved goodbye as Rin entered the doors. The doors swung shut behind him and Ryuji sighed. He glanced up at the clock's face...to see that it was still midnight? Ryuji blinked and rubbed his eyes. The hands still pointed to midnight. With a frown, he left the living room and slipped into the kitchen. The clock above the stove read midnight as well. He looked down at his watch. Midnight.

"What in the hell?..." he mumbled. And then he remembered his father's words: "At midnight, time stops. And the boy you see there? He comes to life." Ryuji shook his head. "So, everything he said was true," he murmured. With a sigh, he got himself a glass of water and gulped it down. He walked past the mound that was his father sleeping on the floor and up to his room. When in his room, Ryuji paused. He hesitated, at war with himself. "Dammit," he growled finally and he opened his closet. He grabbed a blanket and pillow and crept back downstairs with a frown on his face. He was quick, and none-too-gentle as he arranged his father's head on the pillow and draped the blanket over him. Ryuji crossed his arms and surveyed his work. With a nod, he said "In the morning, we're gonna talk. And you aren't gonna be able to sneak away." He knew his father couldn't hear him right now, but he said it anyway. Then Ryuji turned on his heel and returned to his room.

He missed the bleary blinking as his father opened his eyes, catching the movement of Ryuji returning upstairs. Tatsuma looked up at the clock. After midnight, he realized. I missed Rin. Darn. But as he snuggled under the warm blanket, he wondered if maybe that wasn't for the better. It had been a long time since Ryuji had given him a blanket. A small pain stabbed his heart as he longed for the past days when his son looked at him with awe instead of disgust.

Maybe things need to change, he thought as he closed his eyes once more.

[abutterflyobsession]

oh wow hey guys

I sat down today

and wrote a chapter of Tiny People in Jars AU

[zeoumren]

The skeletons, the swamp and the song bird(undertale  drabble)

I am not gonna post this to Ao3 (probably) but I wanted to  write something about the boys™ ( y’know San’s Red and Skull because they spark joy) and I ended up making...a swamp monster Au? hey, you know what sure. I'm chill. 

So please enjoy this little drabble 

Sans is half blue spotted salamander 

Red is half Marine  iguana

And our boy skull is an unholy amalgam of  giant leeches  that makes him look  like he has tentacles. c: 

It had been another indescribably shitty day.

You were not a pessimist but the dark circles under your eyes had something to say about your lifestyle. 

It was shit, plain and simple. You had a hard time separating your real life from your work life and that lead to more stress, less sleep and a pissy boss telling you to get your act together before coming back to the venue.

A sigh left you as you sat hunched over on a stump in the forest clearing. 

This was your quiet place, you came here to sing and practice routines.

You were an entertainer and it was hard not to keep your mask on, you pretended all the time to be someone...something you were not it was hard when someone asked you about yourself because you didn't know who you were off the stage anymore.

So yeah, life was kinda shit right now so you threw yourself into what you normally did when you hiked up here, into the humid underbrush of a forest no one wanted to come to, legends of creatures eating full-grown men whole and actual real dangers surrounded this place, but you didn’t much care anymore.

After all, the ones who were more dangerous were outside the forest.

Taking off a ball cap and letting your hair tumble free you wipe your brow free of sweat and kick your legs as you sit.

Most of the forest was loud, full if chattering and nattering of birds and other creatures, but this space that just dropped off into a bog, was quiet.

You liked to come here in the wee hours of the morning and watch the fog roll off the algae-green water, it made for the perfect ambience to a forlorn song or a crooning that let all your own heartbreak loose.

But today, in the evening after being told your routine was shit and you were one slip up from being let go and replaced by someone new, who you had no grievance with, but it was the principal of the matter, you had worked so hard to get to sing and perform for crowds and now….you were having it dangled above your head.

You grit your teeth and for the first time since you ever came here you let out a cry of pure frustration and rage.

The quiet never broke, even through all your angered screaming, then looking between your knees as you sat and into the murky water you buried your head in your hands and wept.

You did not know what to do! It was all too much all at once.

Still, you came back to a familiar song, even with a tearful voice.

"Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird teach me how to sing."

You were able to get a few verses in before the sun began to Dip down below the horizon and you got up from your perch.

No point trying to navigate this quagmire in the gloom.

You took careful steps, keeping to the path you always did when something caught your attention. A pale bluish light hovering in the air, soon being joined by more close by of other colours…you spotted red as well, and a strange, almost grey-blue light. You hummed to yourself, reminded of the fact that this was a bog, and swamp gas igniting was a thing. Still, you stopped and stared, a smile playing at your lips.

"Wow, this is the most beautiful light show I have ever seen! And people say the Fen is haunted. More like hauntingly beautiful!"

You giggle to yourself and don't even notice the lights flare brighter at your statement.

You always loved the Gloom, you just never knew the gloom loved you back.

---

Well….you never thought it could get worse, but even after giving it your all you still ended up being fired. 

So you came to the bog to say your goodbyes. You probably would have to move back into your parent’s town.

"I'm gonna miss this place, not the shitty managers, or the fights...but I always thought the locals were silly to be afraid. This place is so magical and I'm really gonna miss it…" 

It was weird, saying goodbye to a place. But you somehow still ended up crying a little.

And for the first time ever in this clearing, you heard a sound.

A mournful wailing, deep like a foghorn that rattled into your very bones.

It looked like the Bog itself had seemed to shift, the top layer of Jenny green teeth giving way to the sound of mud slurping and water gushing.

You couldn't move, frozen to the spot as you watched in awed terror.

Writhing tentacles that moved like leeches and were just as black moved towards you, you figured this was it, you were dead. You sucked in a breath and screwed your eyes up tight.

You were startled as the wet appendages slowly ran over your cheek. Delicately.

You cracked open an eye and saw there in the water a skull, a giant gaping hole that looked painful gushing water as it rose, one of its eyes was devoid of light and the other…

Was a deep crimson, the colour of blood.

Yet it smiled softly, even with so many teeth.

The tentacles seemed to be coming from it and it made you cock your head to the side as it almost shyly drew closer, hauling more of its body out of the water.

Its torso was also skeletal, and it was gigantic, at least eight feet tall without including its lower half.

You thought of story's of swamp hags dragging people under and looked at this...it seemed to fit some sort of description...it definitely looked like a drowned corpse.

But as it hauled itself out of the water and you saw how it slid over to you in one fluid motion, how its bones melded into strange dark tentacles, how it's eye lit up when it reached a skeletal hand over to pat your hair.

This was surreal, strange in every sense of the word. Your voice caught in your throat as  two other skulls, smaller than the first bobbed in the water, one had white pinpricks of light for eyes like the stars in the sky, the other had sharper teeth and predatory red slits for eye lights.

They shared a look and dipped under the surface, leaving you with the behemoth.

It was so strange having something so giant hold your face and look you over, play with your hair.

You finally found your voice, it wobbled despite your best efforts.

"S-sorry to bother you...I didn't know anyone lived here. Don't worry I will go."

The touching and playing stopped and it said one word that made your stomach drop and your bones freeze.

"N o."

It was soft, but full of a strange emotion you could not understand and you felt your eyes widen in shock as millions of tentacles surrounded you, even if you were to scream it would come out muffled as the world was blotted out by the writhing darkness.

---

The moment you were spat out from the inky prison you were on a shore...a tiny island with a cave in the center.

You were surrounded by the bog and your heart sped up when you saw the water froth and churn.

Out of the murk popped the small skeletal creature...white eyes.

He watched you curiously before sliding up onto the island. His lower body made you actually smile, he looked like some sort of blue newt from the waist down. That was it. You had to have bumped your head and were slowly bleeding out. None of this was possible.

So, since this is probably a weird dream induced by bloodless, you may as well be nice. You smile and wave to the creature who looks shocked and  his skeletal face flushes a bright blue as little wisps of blue light curl around him.

He Pat's his face roughly and scampers off into the cave.

"Bye lil guy." 

The next thing you know you are being tackled and you are staring up at a grinning maw full of sharp teeth and slit red eyes.

"Um...are you going to eat me?"

If you are already dying you may as well just get that question out of the way. The newt skeleton seemed harmless...but this one…

It looked more like one of those lizards that catches fish, it had sharp claws on both its skeletal and reptilian appendages. This was a predator and it could rip you apart...yet you were suprised when it laughed and started ...purring?

It was a gravely sound that you felt in your bones, but it was strangely warm.

"Heh, cute but I'm not gonna even try songbird. Skull would kill me...oh speak of the devil. Goodluck sweetness.~"

He scrambled off of you, but not before licking your cheek with a forked red tongue.

He too wandered off to the cave...it struck you that these creatures could talk, which sent your mind reeling, even as you were picked up by curling black tentacles.

You crossed your arms and looked at the creature holding you.

Skull...right?

"So...are you going to eat me?"

Skull...looked horrified. His one eye light got impossibly small and he surged out of the water, reaching out to hold you...your clothing was no doubt ruined by now and everything felt so surreal. He scooped you up and you were shocked by how warm he was.

"No. Wont. Keep you safe."

You blinked softly.

Huh.

"Can I go home?"

You were squeezed a little tighter and you realized he was bringing you to the cave.

"Keep you safe."

You were placed up high on a rocky shelf that was covered with sweet smelling moss and animal skins. tentacles retreating after softly patting your head. You blinked in the low light.

It...was a little home? The cave had three rocky pools of water and some different shelves and outcroppings. You held in your grasp of wonder as all around you little jars filled with bioluminescent blue mushrooms blinked to life in the growing gloom. 

You may be dead...but you guessed there were worse places to be dead. You looked down and waved at the little newtiton and received a wink from the skelezard.

Skull was winding himself into a ball of tentacles inside the biggest pool while the other two were resting on old animal skins and warming up by a fire that crackled with the smell of roasting fish.

You sighed softly and laid down on the surprisingly soft moss.

You guessed this was fine for now.

It is not like you had anywhere to be and you were safe, unless you were already dead...plus you probably were in shock, nothing felt real right now.

Closing your eyes you heard three separate voices call out to say the same thing.

" Good night songbird" 

---

"How long do you think she will sleep for?"

Sans stifled a yawn as he had stayed up to chat with the others.

It was no fair, he had found you first, someone singing in the early morning just for him. He had hoped to lure you with the will-o-the-wisp's into the water at first but in the end he had let you go. You were just...your song was so sad.

Mournful.

He couldn't bring himself to hurt you, and you came back. A new song each day that felt like it was just for him.

Then Red had to show up and decide he liked your singing too.

And you came once or twice at night so, skull found out too. Skull was dangerous, sans thought for sure you were dead but the behemoth seemed smitten. He liked your happy songs filled with love, your sad songs filled with loss...you sounded like you had lived all these songs.

Then you came to the fen not with a song, but with tears, with frustration and heartbreak.

And yet you had still called their home beautiful...their lights that they put up to cheer you...you called them beautiful too.

And of course it was hard to hold skull back from wanting to take you then.

"I dunno squirt. But Hell. I know she deserves some sleep...she always looks so tired. But she still hikes out here everyday."

Red growled and looked up at your sleeping form.

Their songbird was suffering all this time and they never noticed until now.

It made his instincts flare up. He had to protect you...he had to, you were too fragile to keep out of sight for long.

If he did someone else might hurt you.

You were better off here.

He may be adverse to skulls method of getting you here, but now that you were…

"So, we all agree we are keeping her?"

Sans thought it over and nodded, he may not want to share, but he was stuck in this situation now.

"...I mean...I don't want her to leave, and she is so tiny and thin. We should probably take care of her."

"Protect little bird. Needs to eat more."

Skull was already in full nesting mode with you here. It was weird to see someone so...feral become a purring kitten in your presence.

They all stopped and stared all three skulls snapping up to the shelf when you cooed out a little yawn before rolling over in your sleep. 

"...too cute."

Skull was holding his face and twirling his tentacles into tight knots. He probably wanted to hold you.

"Stars, yeah we gotta keep her. I'll get her more furs for her nest tomorrow."

And now Red was gone too. His mind working on instinct to protect, provide and comfort.

Though sans was not much better. He was already trying to figure out where to catch more humans and extort them for favours so they would give him things for you.

Yes. They all looked at each other and nodded.

The songbird was theirs. The world would never harm them again.

[shivae]

All It Takes

All it takes is one tiny little notion and if it hits the right button, there I go, off into the wild blue yonder, writing 50,000 plus words on one tiny little idea that ruminates ... like I did with When it Raines.  I am up to 15 chapters in less than a week, 27K words... or is it 37?  I locked Scrivener so I’ll leave it alone, because I need to be doing other work, not work on something that didn’t exist two weeks ago. 

Now, oh yes, I want to write Bog getting captured by Dawn in a little jar and dropped into an aquarium, where she wants to keep him as a pet while Marianne tries to rescue him before Roland takes the poor guy and exploits him on Youtube.

I have an issue with hyperfocus as some have witnessed in the past...