#the burning bush is a blackberry bush

[whisperthatruns]

The Burning Bush Is a Blackberry Bush

I wrote the poem. And then I rewrote it, and made it worse. I thought time would heal it. Time passed. I did research: Exodus, midrash, my mother. I rewrote the poem. I ate fistfuls of soft berries. Navy lips. Purple lips. Juice bursting out of black balloons. I made it worse. The poem knocked around my mind like unlabeled preserves darkening in the fridge. Outside the page: tableaus of simple beauty. Three different trees in one line of sight---plum, pear, palm. Inside: A hand runs under a faucet, the soap stinging invisible cuts to life. Have you seen a blackberry bush at the exact moment of its blushing, when its tight little spheres bleed the green seeds bloody--- have you walked by shoeless on the way to the lake, the sun lifting the hairs on your cheek, no matter where you turn, something you love coming after you, the bush burning in the stripped light, unripe, alive, surviving---

Sarah Matthes, Town Crier (Persea Books, 2021)

[yourplayersaidwhat]

"So I just run up there and free her from a burning pyre? I… I am a bush!"

"I am a ghost!"

- said when a player is given the task to rescue a witch from the flames by the witch's deceased friend. The player's character is basically a sentient blackberry bush.

[the-californicationist]

The Devil's Summer

Konig/Reader TW: Rape, sexual assault, corpses, murder, violence

I am not being playful when I say that if you find any of these tags disturbing that you should skip this fic. Reading this story is not worth making yourself feel uncomfortable or causing yourself pain. Please take care of yourself first and foremost.

MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

AO3 Link

A tall, foreign stranger comes to town with his masked crew of bandits. They rob the train station and the bank, but the big one… he has his sights set on a different sort of prize: you.

The summer had been like an open mouth, unbreathing, unmoving, but warm and wet and still in its bearing. The bayou lay like a lolling tongue over the swampland, and the sweetness of the azaleas could not make up for the stench of its lazy, murky flow. Bald cypress trees lined the river like rotten teeth, their graying, dull bark holding evidence of the cavities of selfish men, black bullet holes from selfish gunfire. The rope burn on the tall, gnarled bows left scars as if they were old wounds, and they were. Your brother’s innocent body had been the cause for one, and you were glad he wasn’t here to witness them today.  

The Devil didn’t know how hot it could get, but you did. You could barely move in the high noon of the day, and as the cicadas screamed, so you wanted to as well. The air lay on you like an awful hand, pressing you flat with its damp, punishing palm. It kept you from sleep, and it threatened you with steady, unrelenting torment. Your skin grew pink and tight from the ruby-colored sun, gleaming and immutable as it sagged in the cloudless firmament. Like the tangle of Spanish moss that hung in the trees outside, swaying back and forth like strange fruit, your hair clung to your neck, vampiric. 

Your father was dead, much good may it do him, as were most of the other people in your town. Since the early hours of the morning, you’d sat on your aching knees in the wet bank of Bayou Têche, providing sustenance for the mosquitos who feasted on your unguarded flesh. Your hands were bound with wire twine, and it cut into your wrists hard enough for them to bleed. The flies swarmed you, and you’d long since given up trying to fight them off. The man who had come to deliver this day to you and the other few inhabitants of your town was watching your future unfurl before you, as patient as the summer sun. 

He hadn’t shown his face, but you knew he was a white man. Those pale, ice-blue eyes couldn’t have been borne from Creole blood. If you were honest with yourself, something in your chest told you that those eyes weren’t even human. They were situated behind a black, heavy hangman’s hood that covered him from head to neck, and it was stained with blood and all manner of other liquids. The humidity made it cling to his nose and jaw, and you saw the aquiline shape disturb the smoothness of the fabric. 

The hangman wore a large-brimmed cowboy hat on his head constructed of fine, black felt. It was very much out-of-season, meant for a cool dry winter. Despite your suffering, you could imagine and empathize that his head and neck must be near boiling. 

His body was immense. He looked like he was seven feet high, and he was as broad as a door. His heavy musculature moved slowly, teasingly, but you had watched him strike like a water moccasin, deadly accurate and blindingly fast. Atop his demonic draft horse, he looked like he was one of the Hessians that Sister Campbell had described to you in school, when you’d been allowed to go.

The Hessian was a fine shot. He’d killed most of the men in town by his own hand, picking them off like he was elbow-deep in a blackberry bush, choosing the biggest ones first to stain his hands in their sweet juices. Your father had been near the end, no longer a threat in his old age. The white hair of his beard was painted with red stripes, coughed up in those final moments of futility, and the dark skin of his cheek made the colors that much more vibrant. You wished his eyes were closed. You didn’t want him to see what may happen to you now. 

He’d been staring at you for quite some time. Although he hadn’t been the one to tie you up, it was what he wanted. The will of his men and of your small town folded under his brutal control, and now that everyone was dead, he dominated the silence with comfortable ease. 

You watched him swing a long, thick leg over the saddle, lowering himself to the wet ground with a thud. His boots were worn and filthy, not intended for walking through the black bayou waters and shores, and his spurs were sharpened into curled spikes. Each step was a promise. The gun in his hand would be your reward, you were certain of it. 

Imagining all of your hopes and dreams seemed disgusting to you now. The shine of the gun was nothing like the glittering gold ring you’d wanted to wear to your wedding, if you had one. You’d wanted children, a whole litter of them, and you wanted to cook jambalaya for them and dress them in matching flour sacks, all lined up in a row. You wanted to braid their hair in the way your mother had braided yours, secreting away little prayers between each bite, locking them in place with an extra twist. 

You would have none of that. The only thing for you now was this demon. Whatever he wanted had replaced your own desires. You waited for his wanting to find its end. 

The dirty barrel of the gun pressed under your chin, its soot gritty and black against your skin, and your jaw turned up to the blinding sky to look into the coolness of his gaze. He looked like he was smiling at you, which was worse than his fury, and you held back the bile rising in your throat, burning you as hot as a brand. 

“Fils putain,” you snarled without raising your voice, spitting on the gloved hand that had the gun to your neck. 

You watched the spit bubble white across the black leather, his thumb as wide as a root, and you heard it drip into the mud at your knees when it ran in thick rivulets across his knuckles.

He smiled again with his eyes, removed the gun from you to lift his hand to his face. As he did so, he lifted the hood so that you could watch his mouth as he licked your spit from the glove, tasting the sour sting of your bile and vitriol. You saw his pale, ghostly lips, scarred and maligned, peel away from sharp incisors as he laved his tongue across the back of his hand, clad in shining silver like two daggers. The rest of his teeth were bright and straight and ready.

The pain you felt from the butt of his gun was sudden and shattering. The crack of your cheekbone exploded in your face like a collapsing star, white hot and dying. You felt like you were dying. You landed, face down in the mud, vomiting and coughing and crying. There was nothing more meaningful than your sobbing, and your body prioritized it over everything else. 

Your assailant knelt in the muddy bank of the bayou with you, letting his boots dip into the shallow waters where minnows hoped to feed on the larvae that lay sprinkled across the surface like salt in a stock. He had removed his gloves and was cupping your face, gently soothing the wound that he had caused. That pale, bloodless mouth was kissing you, leaving a trail of little, soft contacts over the ruined skin on your face, and the blood from his cut was staining him crimson. He replaced the hood and picked you up off of the ground. 

At first, you couldn’t walk, and all the blood that had been pressed out of your lower extremities was now flooding back in, making your bones ache from the inside out. You stumbled next to him, and he carried you like you were as light as his sidearm. One of his men approached you and spoke to your tall devil in his language, foreign and loud. 

They’d robbed the small train station, killing Mr. Fusilier, and they blew up the track, stopping the sheriff from being able to send for help. Sheriff Guidry was dead, laying in the small graveyard next to the church, and you found it odd that he’d died laid over a headstone. You were sure there was poetry there, but you weren’t smart enough to know what kind. 

Your captor handed you off to one of his men, a thin, wiry man with a large mustache. He smelled like sulfur and tobacco. His grip was weaker than the hangman’s, and there was a coldness to his touch that made you uncomfortable. 

He was taking you back up to your house. You didn’t know whether or not it was worth it to fight him off. He was smaller than the other one, but your cheek still throbbed, fresh and mean. He sat you down at your own kitchen table like it wasn’t yours, like you hadn’t cleaned its worn oak slats every morning since you were old enough to hold a rag. 

Yanking out a chair beside you, he sat, rolling a long cigarette, and leaving the twisted matchstick on the tabletop, marring the grain. You wanted to rail against him, to wail and scream that he was ruining it, that your mother had set all of her meals down in that very spot — crawfish etouffee, filé gumbo, rice and beans — and that you missed her laugh and the way she smelled like white pepper and rosemary oil. 

The cheek that had been hit couldn’t have throbbed any harder, and something twisted within you wished that the large man was still there, wiping away the hurt. 

The one with the mustache spoke in a slow, Texan drawl,

“What’s your name?”

You rolled your eyes up to meet his, hoping that the hate you felt was loaded in them like the bullets in his gun, 

“Eve.”

“Like the Bible?”

You didn’t reply. He grabbed you around your knee and pulled you towards him, your chair screeching across the floor,

“Bitch, I’m talkin’ to you. You think you’re too good for me, huh? Fuckin’ whore.”

You were on the table then, spread out and plated like a red fish, all meat and bones and sauce. He was going to eat you alive, and what could you do about it? Your bound hands bit into each other like the fangs of a snake. You kicked out, hard, but he caught you. 

Then, you felt his hands ripping away the fabric of your cotton dress. There wasn’t much left of it to ruin. You wondered if the button you mended last week on the collar was still intact. You were never as good as buttons as your mother was. 

Dirty fingers dug around between your legs, finding what they wanted to, shoving aside your bloomers and wetting themselves one by one, dipping into you brutally, soaking the pads over and over like a candle was dipped in wax, like a pen into a font of ink, and you hoped it stained him. 

You screamed until he stopped you, planting a smelly hand across your mouth. You bit it, taking his bitter flesh with you. 

“Ah, fuck! Son of a bitch!”

Clutching his wound, he backed away from you. Then, when he raised his eyes, he looked behind you at a horror you could not see. Then, he died on your kitchen floor. The bullet sliced through his dark brown eye and splattered his brain and face all over your kitchen counter. There were two big, flaky biscuits left over from your breakfast that morning, and they looked like someone had slathered them in a rich, fruity compote. 

You wanted to see who had saved you, but you knew already. His huge boots made the table rattle beneath your burning wrists, and you could hear his enraged breathing, dampened by the mask. It was your Hessian.

He stood over you for a moment, looking disturbed by your appearance. You had disappointed him somehow. You were crying, but you didn’t stop for his benefit. It wouldn’t matter anyway, you figured. Might as well give in to the feeling. 

Your body was being lifted, carefully, and carried to your father’s bedroom. It was the nearest to the kitchen, just off of the first hallway. A cross-stitch goose you’d made when you were twelve hung neatly on the wall below the lantern. You remembered the way the threads used to sound when they ran to and fro through the linen. The goose wore a little blue bow, and her beak was the most beautiful goldenrod yellow. 

The giant man lay you on your bed, the blood from your wrists surely ruining your duvet. Was it still your duvet? Did you actually own anything anymore?

The mattress sagged under your weight, and it groaned deeper as it sagged under his. 

He unbound your wrists and took a careful look at them. Then, he peeled away the ripped edge of your dress, shaking his head sadly,

“I am sorry, Liebling. My men should know better than to touch what is mine.”

You let tears and snot run freely down your face. 

“What is your name?”

The same question. And why did it matter? Who gave a shit what your goddamn name was? It wasn’t going to help you. 

“...E-Eve…”

“Eve...” He dragged out the vowels like he had dragged you into the house, slowly and against your will.

“I have been called many names,” he leaned down to your neck to smell your skin, whispering into it, “But, you may call me Kӧnig.” 

When his hands ran up under your dress, they did not fumble, they were not brutal, and yet the pain of them hurt you anyway. He didn’t force you to open, but your body yielded to him nonetheless, wilting for him like a flower in the sun. You became pliant, and your sobs went from desperate to something laden with strife. You had not consented to his touch, and yet your body welcomed him in with open arms, eager to host the traitor at the gate.

He knelt. As he began to lick you between your legs, he smelled your scent, lifting his hood and letting it pool along your belly, cold as his hot mouth made wet contact with your skin. The way he suckled from you reminded you of the calves in the spring, pumping their mouths onto their mothers’ teats and filling their throats with her warm cream, selfish and relentless. His nose tickled the dark curls above your folds, and you wondered if he was being teased by them, if his nostrils could smell your fear and if they misunderstood it as desire. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, pleased, “You are so sweet, my little Eve. So eager for me, hm?”

A growling sob escaped from your throat, and all at once you felt like you would vomit again. He caught your face in his hands before you did, lowering you to the floor and holding your jaw up to face him. Knocking off his hat, he pulled the hood from his face and you saw the gruesomeness there. It wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. Your mother had always told you that the promises of the darkness never amounted to much in the light. You wondered how true that was now. 

“I will show you how eager you make me, Liebling.”

He pulled off the button fly of his cotton britches, and his heavy cock tumbled out of them, rolling into the center of his body, pounding with blood and want. He placed the tip at your lips, and although he could have ignored your volition, he begged you instead, providing you with the illusion of choice. 

“Kiss it for me, Eve. Be a good girl for your Kӧnig, ja?”

You did not comply. You were your mother’s daughter after all. 

He shoved your face onto his length with a calm sort of precision. You didn’t bother to make it easy on him, letting your teeth drag against the velveteen slip of skin, nor did you bite down. You were already dead, and you had decided to act like it. 

“Are you not pleased, Liebe? I will give you what you want then,” he laughed quietly to himself, the curl of his smile broken into shards by his scarring, “Silly me. Playing my little games. I am such a tease.”

He pushed you to the ground, shoving your face into the floorboards, letting you look under your own bed. You saw small piles of dirt and a glittering ornament, lost from the last Christmas you’d had. You felt him preparing you from behind. Although you had not married him, you and an old beau had gotten this far. But, this was something else. The way he stretched you was like an intrusion. Your hip bones ached under his drooling rod, and you could feel the sharp tear of your thin skin. 

“Oh, Scheiße! So tight for me. I want to come in you already, my darling.”

You let him fill you, and you tried to ignore the electric pleasure that he crafted in you, spinning a spell over you and forcing your orgasms with his cock and hand, one after the other, making you tremble beneath him, laughing all the time,

“So pretty. Coming for me just like a dream. Such a good girl, Eve.”

You were out of tears. 

After he was finished with you, he carried you to his horse and put you in the saddle, climbing up behind you and taking the reins. You felt his come and your blood dripping out of you and onto the black leather, wetting you between your thighs, making you slide across the seat, back and forth. 

The hot wind blew in your face as he rode you out of town, and you saw the smoke from all of the burning buildings floating high, high into heaven. And you wondered if God could smell the mesquite bark as it smoldered.

[jadespeedster17]

The Funny Tall Man

Summary: Scar is just trying to take over a mushroom island, he did not agree to being a baby sitter. 

Warnings: Nothing really, this is Fluff and SFW, well unless you count Scar being an evil homewrekcer (literally, he burns homes) and Mother Spore being a mind controlling fae (who low key kidnaps people).

Notes: This is for @sporelings-au and @headless-witch  Tags: @riveraryy and @flooflepuff

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

HEP found itself working hard most days, as the Mycelium was spreading. Scar sighed rubbing his neck and popping it, his ears drooping down. He picked up another paper and read it over sipping on some tea, the rich flavor was nice. Everything was grown locally, everything in his office was grown by him. Giving the place a very lush feel.

Vines hanged down from the ceiling, the air was crisp and clean, the inside made of a hallowed tree. It was the exact opposite of the mushroom villages with air that was thick with spores. The air was near unbreathable by his people, who seemed to have a clear disdain of the Mushroom Sporelings of Mother Spore. 

While Scar himself has no true interest in the island, he had to admit that their encroach onto his territory made him act. Sure the situation had been minor. But Scar wasn’t a push over, and wasn’t going to let the, rather beautiful, Mother Spore think she could just go outside her island. 

He gave pause thinking back to the dear Mother of Sporelings. Beautiful she was, but also wicked. Her mere touch wilted all his plants, his babies, making himself prick with discomfort. Top it off in the past she’s kidnap Woodland Fae of his, and... changed them into these near mindless beings with her spores. Making his insides twist at the thought of it.

Scar wasn’t a fool, while he flirted and teased the mushroom fae, he knew not to let her near him for too long. Not to accept anything from her. Tea was nice, even if they never reached an agreement.

Mother Spore was unwilling to release and give back his people, and Scar as a result would not stop burning houses until he made his point clear. Besides, they were making the air near unbreathable in places too close to his kingdom. 

Signing the paper and putting it out in the out tray neatly the door opened. He looks up as Bdubs comes into the room. “Scar!.” he said, “The garden section is experiencing some wilting.” 

A frown, “Wilting?” Scar echoed bemused, that was rare for his plants to wilt. But as he reached out through the roots he felt the wilting in the area seemed to be spreading. A grimace on his face as he rose and left the room. Heading briskly with his cane clacking on the ground to the garden section.

The Gardens were where he grew most of the food for the main city. Tall fruit trees, small bushes of berries, and vegetables abound in the fields. A place where he was certain Mother was envious of. Perhaps he should make a basket of fresh foods... maybe he could win over the Mother’s favor yet.  Bdubs wanted this was over fast, but Mumbo, his second, wanted a little bloodshed done as possible. Mumbo in fact was the spear head of many political meet ups. Even if they bore little fruit. 

He frowned as he saw one of the blackberry bushes was indeed wilted, as was the strawberry plants, and the blueberries with them. “How in the world?” Scar looked puzzled as he touched the wilted leaves bring them back to their green glow. 

Slowly the plants did heal as his magic poured into them. But Scar noticed one area wasn’t growing at all, as he paused and moved over to the leaves.

“Shhh! He’ll hear us!” “These berries are so good!” “I told you not to touch the bush Ren!”

Pushing them back a squeal was heard as Scar jumped back from a wooden sword to his face. “What in the world!?” Scar yelped as he looked from the sword to an angry red eye glaring at him. 

This one looked familiar, as Scar wracked his brain for info, he remembered seeing this little one with Mother. He looked past the very defiant, somewhat fearful, sporeling to see others huddled together in the bushes. One with ears had a mess of blackberry juice around his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” Scar inquired as he pushed the wooden sword away easily, much to the tall sporlings annoyance. 

“none of your business!” he said in a puffed up brave voice, but Scar easily caught the waver in it. 

“We wanted to meet you!” Another said with him, the little girl with the pink dress and fairy wings said with a bright smile. 

Scar gave a look crossing his arms, “And wilting my berry bushes is how you greet yourselves?” he asked in a firm voice.

Head hung down at that, they looked guilty. “We’re sorry.” the slim child said with a small voice. “They were just so good looking, we don’t have things like this at home.” he said black eyes looking up at Scar.

The slight anger did fade at that, as Scar grimaced to himself, then sighed heavily as he rubbed his face and eyes. “Alright, come out now, so I can heal the plants, and I'll pick you some more berries... just don’t touch anything.” he said to the small kids. Watching as they all clamored out, and the tallest one eyes him with distrust herding them to the middle of the garden. 

Scar shook his head, as he got back to work, healing away the damage done. Smiling softly as he could feel the life returning to the bushes. “Woah.”  A tiny head poked over his shoulder as she stared in awe at how the bushes came back to life. “You can grow plants mister!?” she asked looking at him with wide black eyes.

A nod as Scar started to pick some berries, “Yes, one of my many talents.” he chuckled a bit. “Everything here I grew myself.”

This did get the kids to look around in awe finally taking in how tall the trees were, “We don’t have anything like this at home!” squeaked out the slime boy.

“Unless you count Mother’s tall mushrooms.” the one with horns said with a smile. 

Scar’s smile fell a bit, right, these little guys hadn’t seen anything green save for when they are near his territory. It also seemed they inherited their Mother’s powers of wilting things. 

“I see, well, this is just the section I use to grow fruits, there are place I also grow vegetables, trees for sap, and flowers.” Scar listed off.

“FLOWERS!?” the little girl in pink said in excited, “Can I see!? Please!?” she asked yanking on his tail coat. 

A bit startled by her outburst, Scar stared down at her, then to the children who also looked curious. Well, almost all of them, the one eyed child looked annoyed. “I suppose so, first off though,” he looked at each of them, “Names?”

They each listed off their names, Etho, Stress, Ren, XB, Jevin, and Impulse. 

“Well, my name is Scar... and I guess I can show you the flower gardens, But don’t pick any of them, The flowers are very delicate.” Scar’s voice was firm as they all nodded, eager giggles and jumping up and down. 

Shaking his head and holding back a smile, he had them all hold hands as he lead them along. The flower gardens weren’t that far, and he had no dout they’d be also eager to eat the berries he picked too. Though... “Does your Mother know you guys are here?” Scar asked them with a curious look back at the group.

“Uh... No...?” Ren’s ears flicked down at that. 

“We wanted to see where you go to Funny Tall Man!” Impulse said to him with wide eyes. “We... didn’t expect it to take this long though.”

Alarm bells were in Scar’s head, “When did you guys leave the Mycelium territory?” he asked.

Looking at each other confused, it was Etho who spoke up, “When the sun was rising.”

Scar paled a bit; it was nearing the afternoon now! These children had been out of their Mother’s gaze for over 6 hours! Goodness its no wonder they were hungry and looked tired. 

“Oh dear...” Scar groaned, no doubt Mother Spore was worried sick for them. Look, he might be in a war with her, but he was against using children in a war. Pitching the bridge of his nose, Scar took a breath, he’ll pen a letter to the Goat Father and Mother Spore. This was not going to look well at all, but he also didn’t want to send these kids back to walking on their own! They were lucky they ever found his area and didn’t get lose in the Wildwoods Forest!

Scar’s thoughts were broken as he heard Stress gasp, “Flowers!” she squealed rushing over, Scar quickly stopped her from grabbing on. Shaking his head firmly as she blinked and looked sad but nodded. 

Quickly though, Stress bounced back, “What are these ones called?!” she asked excitedly looking at the pretty purples and pinks.

“Orchids, they are very delicate flowers and very picky flowers too.” Scar told her, “They don’t like to grow for just anything, the conditions have to be right.” he said. Setting up a blanket on the gorund and the basket of fruits for the kids. Which they all quickly moved to sit down as Scar also got some water from the spring nearby. 

It was burning up today, no doubt they were thirsty. He took a breath to keep from fretting, these were Mother’s children, if a hair was harmed on them it’d be his neck. He was looking for a fight, not death. 

Stress ran over to another that Jevin was looking at, “Frogs!” the slime boy said picking up a white frog that squirmed in his grip.

“Yes, I have quiet a few of them.” Scar said then turned, “Ren don’t lick a frog please.” he told the wolf looking sporeling.  Ren froze with his tongue out, and carefully let go of the green frog with a pout. 

“What are these flowers called mister tall man?” Impulse asked looking at the ones in the water that were white.

“Lilies, these ones grow on pads that the frogs can use to stand on.” Scar told them, “See that stem under them, it’s goes all the way down to the bottom of the pond and is rooted into it.” he explained.

He watched as their eyes seemed to be filled with wonder, Stress rushing form the pond over to XB near a large tree, “What’s these!?” she asked pointing to the waxy leave tree with pink and white flowers.

“Magnolias,” Scar told her, “They are ever greens, meaning they don’t shed their leaves in the fall like Mape or Oak tress, but rather shed them year-round, they also come in colors of pink and white.”

XB picked up one of the dead leaves on the ground feeling it’s waxy coating with curious eyes.

Taking his hand, Stress lead Scar over to Etho and these tall yellow flowers, “What are these flowers?” she asked.

“Black Eyed Susans, and the tall ones in the back are Sunflowers.” Scar went over to a small machine near the sunflowers and held out his hand. Out came some seeds that were toasted, “Here.” he handed the two some. “Sunflower seeds are edible.”

Etho looked wary, but did take some, and after seeing Stress try some, he ate a few too. “Their salty.. but crunchy.” he said looking at the rest.

Scar nodded, “They are a good snack, but make sure you drink water as they are rather salty.” he agreed, smiling warmly at Etho. 

“Mister Tall Man?” 

Scar turned, “yes?” he inquired curiously walking over. 

He looked to see Ren pointing to some plants, “These ones don’t have flowers.”

Walking over to Ren, Scar nodded, “Sometimes they do, but not right now. These are herbs. The purple flowered ones are Lavender, the large leave ones that are bumpy is Sage, the dark green ones here is Mint.”

Stress peered at them, “Well what are they used for?” she asked watching Scar pluck off a few leaves and flowers.

“A variety of things, potions, medicine, rituals, even just to make some cooking stuff taste better, or just your house to smell better.” Scar let her smell them even if the tip wilted, “Jellie loves Lavender.”

Giggling Stress sniffed again, “It smells so nice!” she looked very happy as Scar couldn’t help but smile.

They went around looking at whatever caught the kids eyes, Lily of the Valley, Roses, Zinnias, Cosmos. The vining plants of Moon Flowers, Purple Passions, Morning Glories, along with other herbs such as Dill, Thyme, and Rosemary. 

And wrangling them back to take a break and eat something as Scar penned a letter and sent the bird on it’s way to find Mother Spore. The kids were luckily well behaved enough, if Scar had to stop Ren from pouncing on his tail and biting it. they obeyed his rules of don’t touch unless he gives permission. Jevin had fun catching frogs and other creatures, he suppose it was good he couldn’t kill the animals. 

Scar answered any questions they had about plants, within reason, mostly they asked about flowers and herbs. Perhaps it did break his heart a bit that these children had never seen green grass, blue skies, or plants this abundant. Nor could they touch them. 

It made him wonder how anyone could be happy as a Sporeling. Mumbo spoke little of it, even if he still cared for them, it was clear he had no interest in going back. Scar couldn’t say he blamed him, who would want ugly purple grass and only fungus growing around!?

He watched as the children did curl up and started to fall asleep. Etho fought it off for a long time before he cuddled with Ren resting. Scar took a breath, and petted Impulse’s hair watching the sun turn to evening time, and waiting for news from Bdubs on when Mother would come to collect her children.

He can’t say it was a bad day, Scar adores it when people are interested in in awe of his amazing terraforming skills. Even if these children had technically escaped form home and broke into his base. Shaking his head, Scar waited silently.

This was going to be a long talk with Mother Spore, but he would assure her they were fed and well taken care of. And hope she didn’t try to kill his whole garden!

Little did Scar know Mother would be quiet calm about the situation, and might even be curious about flowers herself. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Notes: If you guys want a oneshot of Mother Spore’s reaction and conversation with Mayor Scar then let me know. Other wise take your fluff!

Scar and Grian are both evil idiots in this one, and both had good and bad reasons for wanting this war. 

Up to Witch if it wants this to be canon. 

Anywho cute sporelings whoo! (Sorry it was a little rushed at the end it’s 10pm here XD)

[optimisticstudentangel]

Centaur Simeon

Warning: shameless smut, reader's genitals are not mentioned, size kink, monster cock, centaur fucking, breeding, mating cycles, unprotected sex, shaming, guilt tripping?

Author's note: I might write headcanons about Centaur!Simeon.

Walking through the woods, you just accidentally stumbled upon a handsome guy standing behind the bushes. He was picking berries from the bush, and did not immediately notice a pair of interested eyes that were watching him so closely. You were fascinated by the unusual beauty of the guy, you noticed that he was not wearing clothes. His torso was muscular, he was very good-looking.

"How charming he is," you thought to yourself. You might have approached him to get to know him, but you didn't want to disturb this unearthly idyll so much. It seemed to you that if you get too close to him, you will spoil this beautiful sight, and he will disappear from your field of vision.

The guy finished eating berries from the bush and decided to head to another bush to try blackberries.

"He's not human!" you understood. You almost exclaimed in surprise because of what you saw. To make sure it wasn't a mirage or an illusion, you rubbed your eyes and looked at the guy again. He really wasn't an ordinary person, he was a centaur.

Your body backed away, you didn't want the centaur to notice you. But alas, while you were quietly walking back to watch him from a more far distance, you did not notice the branch and stepped on it, which made a sound that attracted the centaur's attention.

The guy abruptly turned his head to the source of the sound. He didn't look happy, the guy was walking slowly in your direction. Oh, how big he was. Even if the centaur has not approached you yet, you have noticed that there is a big difference in height between you. Your heart started beating faster from fear. His towering figure came closer and closer, from which you began to go down on all fours. You wanted to become invisible so that you could hide from his serious gaze.

"I'm sorry…" you mumbled.

"Are you a hunter?" the centaur asked. The creature that stood in front of you was looking at you, trying to figure out if you were dangerous or not. Realizing that there is no particular threat in you, the guy stopped, leaving a small distance between the two of you, a meter long.

"No! I was just passing by, I'm sorry. Your beauty is so expressive that I couldn't restrain myself and stared at you."

The guy laughed. His expression softened and a smile replaced his anger. He liked your honesty.

"I've never met people like you. You're interesting. I am Simeon," the centaur introduced himself.

From his dazzling smile, butterflies appeared in your stomach. You could have sworn it. "Am I blushing now?" you thought. Most likely yes. Instantly you felt your cheeks start to burn, which means that you are really blushing. To distract yourself from his comely appearance, you decided to lower your gaze, but unfortunately you saw something that made your cheeks turn an even darker shade of red.

"What a big one he has…" - you made a note to yourself. Immediately after this thought, you felt ashamed that you were even thinking about such a thing.

It seems that your new acquaintance also realized this. His smile transformed into something frightening, his expression meant nothing good.

"Where are you looking?" Simeon asked. "Aren't you ashamed? We've only known each other for a few minutes, and you're already looking at my private parts," he shamed you. "I didn't mean to-" You noticed how his cock became erect and that a discharge began to flow from him.

You shifted your gaze from his cock to his face again. "Hmm? Nothing to say? You should feel ashamed for your indecent actions," Simeon reproached you. "To atone for your guilt, you will have to be my personal mate for sex… You see, it's breeding season, and I haven't met a single centaur or, for that matter, a human in this forest. And you just got caught by me, besides, you want it yourself, don't you? So be kind to ease my torments and give me pleasure," said Simeon.

You agreed, partly you yourself wanted to see what a big cock of a strong centaur is capable of.

For starters, you asked him to take a more comfortable position for you. Simeon lay down in a green clearing, his stomach was visible, and you told him to lift his thigh. So you have the view to his thick dick. Of course, letting his penis inside of you without prior preparation would be very painful.

So you just started by jerking him off. With smooth movements up and down, you helped him with the accumulated desire to fuck. The centaur was very sensitive, most likely he did not often have the opportunity to somehow satisfy himself. It was hard for him to restrain his voice, he said hoarsely, "Go on! Don't stop!". His eyes rolled back, and soon, unable to restrain himself, he released the accumulated sperm, which in turn splashed on you and on your clothes. You licked the droplets of his sperm from your hands, their taste was unusual.

"I want to enter you," Simeon said hoarsely.

Damn. You knew you shouldn't rush, but at the same time you wanted his huge cock to tear you to hell.

Taking off your clothes and throwing them near the bushes, you lay down next to Simeon's horse body. You helped him lift his hip and gave him the opportunity to rest his hoof on your back. It was easier for both of you that way.

You slowly began to insert his dick inside yourself, all this was accompanied by your loud moans and sighs. Simeon had to restrain himself so as not to fuck you with his horse cock and tear your narrow insides.

Only a small part of his cock was able to enter you, and even that made you feel full to the end. Before that, you didn't have the opportunity to deal with such a thick penis, and most likely, you won't have such experiments anymore.

"I'm starting to move," Simeon muttered softly. Since you didn't have much free space for movement, he could only come out of you a little and fill a small void again. "That's not enough for me," the centaur growled. That's why you started helping him with your hands.

Looking at the place where his dick and your insides joined, you were convinced that only a quarter of his dick could fit into you. You started jerking off to him again, along with this Simeon tried to push his organ into you as far as possible, from which an unusual combo appeared, which could make him cum again at any second.

"I'm coming right now," the centaur warned you. But he wasn't going to take his dick out of you, instead he stretched your narrow walls to fit his size and stuck his dick as far as possible into you.

"Stop, Simeon!" - but before you could react, you felt a viscous liquid fill your insides. Your belly quickly got bigger because of such a huge amount of sperm.

Half of his seed came out of you because it couldn't physically fit in your belly.

"Oops, I think I overdid it a little," Simeon said with a laugh. With his forehead, he began to rub against your forehead, thus showing affection. "Get some rest, we still have to continue after that" "What?" you asked in surprise. "Hahaha. What did you think? The breeding cycle of centaurs is long. You're going to help me, aren't you? It would be very rude of you to leave me alone in such a difficult period for me!"

What were you not going to do to lighten someone else's heavy burden. But after looking at his eyes, you realized that you can't leave him alone with his unpleasant problem.

[mlmxreader]

Something That Used to be Unsaid | Kili x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Kili

34 “I love you, I really do”

55 “You’ll always be my first choice” ( this sweetness is insecure asf and it show)

64 “You could’ve gotten yourself killed! You idiot!” ❞

: ̗̀➛ There's always been something between you and Kili, although neither of you ever really thought to talk about it.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, mild injury

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Years ago, you and Kili had been sweethearts; so close together that you were practically joined at the hip, constantly together no matter the weather. Any storm, the two of you could toughen it out as long as he had your hand to hold and you had his head on your chest.

Nothing was ever really said, but it never needed to be; you were always together, you never fell apart, even when you got older. You were a natural choice for Thorin's company; strong and intelligent, steady and sturdy. He trusted you, and it helped that Kili insisted on you going as well, even Fili backed him up.

Thorin trusted you, as you had shown yourself to be nothing but reliable and capable - above all else, he needed loyalty and competency. You fit the bill perfectly for it.

Kili would give you his arrows when he wasn't using his bow, as he knew that you refused to fight with anything else; a hunter, you were used to the sprawling woodlands.

When you were younger, Kili always knew where to find you. Halfway up a tree, whistling away and eating wild berries. But those days were over. The trees you once loved were now dead, turned to ash and left to rot and decay with the years.

Lifeless.

The fires had torn through them, even killing the smaller saplings that should have lived for hundreds of years; their bodies were left where they fell. Forgotten and neglected. Bits of limbs crumpled and left on the floor out of reach.

Bushes once full of berries and bursting with life were now left as piles of thick corpses; piled up on top of one another. Nothing was alive in the woodlands that you once loved. The woodlands you once called home.

No spiders sat on their webs between the leaves. No flies buzzed near the rotten and out of season berries. No deer stalked through the tall green grass, making the blades dance in their careful wake. No wolves prowled the nighttime forest floors, their howls a soothing lullaby.

No squirrels scurried up trees to store their winter forages. No bears scratched their large backs on the tree trunks. Nothing was alive anymore. Everything that once called those woodlands home had either perished in the fires, or had been forced to move. In a way, you were lucky.

Thorin and his company took you in immediately, you didn't have to burn with your home; even though there were some nights where you wished you did. At least you still had the company of Kili, though.

At least he was keen to keep you around. You stayed with them, even when everyone was split up.

You stayed with them, and when you arrived at Bilbo Baggins' hobbit hole, you stayed outside; confused, Kili told Fili to give you a moment, and he sat on the small seat outside, his hand on your thigh.

"What is it?" He asked.

You shrugged, clearing your throat as you pulled out your pipe and lit it. Puffing on the tobacco. "What happens when we claim your home?"

Kili hummed. "You'll come live with us."

He said it as if it was the single most obvious thing in the world. As if he was telling you that the sky was blue or that the most common berries in the woods were blackberries.

He said it as if you were almost foolish for asking in the first place, but you just sighed as you shook your head.

"I don't think I will," you told him. "You know as well as I do, the mountain isn't my home."

"But it's mine," he said. "And it's not my home if you're not there, too."

You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully as you scoffed. "Whatever."

But everything was fine after that. You and Kili seemed to go back to your usual way of being.

So close that you practically sat on top of one another when at tables and when stopping to make camp; when he tried to scare Bilbo with tales of orcs, you reminded him of what his uncle had been through a split second before Thorin also laid into him.

It all seemed to be going fine, until you and Kili were sent to scrounge and forage for some berries for the company; neither of you thought anything of it, really.

Sure, there were enough rations to go around, and between you and Kili and Fili, there were plenty of opportunities for hunting with success. But that's where the issue was.

Armed with his bow and arrow, Kili positioned himself at the top of a tree whilst you focused on the actual task. Easily picking the ripe berries and stuffing them into the small bag Thorin had given you.

You didn't even notice Kili had disappeared until you heard a twig snap, followed by the howls of a dozen curses; you didn't get to him in time, watching with a cringing wince as he crashed to the ground.

Landing right on his back. You were at his side immediately, patting his face until he grumbled and looked up at you.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Kili sighed.

"Good," you huffed. "You could've gotten yourself killed! You idiot! What the fuck were you thinking?"

He grinned as he reached up to touch your face, his calloused fingertips so deft and gentle as he hummed. "My hero."

"Oh, fuck off," you scowled, checking his back for bruises and bumps when he managed to sit upright. You noticed him shiver at the cold feeling of your hands. "What?"

"You're cold," he whispered.

"Yeah, because the air's cold," you mumbled, not expecting him to quickly pin you beneath him. You laughed as you rolled your eyes. "Kili! Get off!"

He grinned as he pressed his bodyweight on top of you, his hands grabbing yours as he let you lace your fingers with his. "I love you, I really do."

You paused, gawking and glaring at him as you opened and closed your mouth for a moment; your stare was blank as you tried to process it.

He had never said something like that before, neither of you had. It never needed to be said before, but the way that he looked at you, the softness in his eyes as he gently took your hands in his, allowing his gaze to drop to your lips.

You knew that he meant it more than anything. You knew that he would always be there. You didn't even think about it, leaning up and kissing him so gently; he smiled, letting go of one of your hands so that he could cup your jaw.

"Y'know," you said softly upon pulling away. "You'll always be my first choice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Always."

You looked over when you heard Fili's voice, taking Kili's hands in your own and pulling him up with you, your arm coming to rest around his waist as you hummed and smiled at him.

"Come on," you said softly. "We'll talk more later."

"Alright," he agreed, falling into step beside you as his arm rested across your shoulders. "But I'll hold you to it."

[solarpunknow]

Solarpunk work day

So I've spent the last two days pulling out invasive species! Which, honestly, is very tiring. I'm really glad we have a four-day work week, but even so, I'll be glad to get home and relax. I'm working with Wren and Bobi on this site which, before the mass migrations north, was someone's second (third?) home, and there had been some attempts to incorporate native plants into the landscaping, which is awesome. Unfortunately, who ever had been taking care of this land didn't recognize that Spruge Laurel (Daphne laureola, not a spurge and not a laurel, but a stinky, poisonous daphne) was an invasive species and had actually set up irrigation for some of them.

Now, of course, it's part of the climate immigrant resettlement housing network, and the land around the house is being transformed to be better habitat and to grow food. It's steep, shady, near saltwater (on a fucking cliff in fact, why did rich people think it was such a good idea to build on these crumbling cliff sides anyway? It still has about 30 meters until it gets to the house, but still), with native soils, so it's not a great option for so-called western-style agriculture, but it will grow our native plants quite well.

Pulling out the spurge laurel, and the Himalayan blackberry, and the english ivy, and the vinca, cutting down the english holly, and digging out the italian arum is only the first step. We need to help a healthier ecosystem re-establish. Fortunately, there's already beaked hazelnut, salal, service berries, dewberries, and evergreen huckleberries that are surviving despite the carpet of invasives... and the particular pruning choices made in the past. Who thinks it's a good idea to hedge prune a hazelnut???? As we pull out the ivy and others, we'll be replanting the native woodland strawberry, riceroot, springbank clover, native oxalis, western bleeding heart and western lily of the valley, which in addition to holding the soil in place with either be food for native animals or us. Or, as is the ideal case, both. There's a lot of culturally relevant foods in that paragraph, and it brings me joy to see them becoming a bigger part of the people's diets again. If you want to learn more about them, I suggest reading up on the ethnobotany of the Salish peoples. It's really interesting!

On Thursday we'll be renting a truck and trailer, and taking all the invasive species that we've pulled out to the folks who specialize in composting invasive species. Eventually all this stinky daphne will be a really nice compost for someone's vegetable garden. Which is a welcome and encouraging thought.

That's just this year of course- going forward for quite sometime will be regular invasive species removal, along with harvesting of nuts, berries, and roots, and pruning of the berry bushes. Can't do a controlled burn so close to housing, and it wouldn't work on the English ivy anyway. So manual pulling it is.

[fixfoxnox]

A Promise From Youth

Description: Billa Baggins happens across a young dwarf lost in the Shire. He promises to one day return and marry her. Billa never thought that the promise made by a child would be taken so seriously!

Notes: Sorry COD folks, had to give some love to my returning Hobbit fixation (don't worry, they could never make me hate Gary Roach Sanderson).

Billa was only a tween at the time she met the young dwarf. She’d been alive for hardly forty years but was old enough that her father trusted her to visit the Took side of her family on her own. The trail was nearly burned to the back of her eyelids with how well she knew it at this point. She’d walked it enough with her mother after all. 

This particular visit had only been a short one. A two-day walk for the sole purpose of delivering something to her mother. Belladonna Baggins was staying for nearly a week and had forgotten a gift she’d intended to give to Billa’s grandfather. Her father would have done it himself if it had not been for the incoming of various merchants into the rolling hills of the Shire. He’d been designated to guide them over the few days they’d be around.

So, the task fell to Billana. She’d been overjoyed at the prospect of getting to make the journey on her own. Her own small adventure, the thought made her Tookish side cheer. Even if she was not truly leaving the land that she knew so well, it was still an overnight journey she would make on her own. Small victories were important, she would no doubt make it to Rivendell one day. This was merely…training.

The thought helped her to make the two day trek and the two days back remarkably less boring. To her dismay there had been no trolls or orcs to battle (though her Baggins side had been more than satisfied with that). Her only hope of meeting any creatures along the path other than Hobbits was on her way back. 

She knew at this point that the small traveling market from Bree must have been leaving. It wasn’t out of the possibility that she would run into one of their members along her return home. It was a bit of a fantasy, one that left her well distracted. She dreamed of meeting one of these elves that her mother spoke so highly of or maybe a dwarf if she was lucky. 

It was only the rustling of a blackberry bush along the side of her path that could pull her from her fantasies of adventure. She paused just as suddenly as she’d heard it, seizing up for a moment in fear. It could have been anything, truly. A wolf, a warg, perhaps even one of those giant spiders her mother often spoke of slaying. Her heart picked up speed at that. 

She was a Baggins, of course, and any respectably Baggins would have pretended not to hear a thing and moved on their way, perhaps even ran if they felt truly frightened enough. However, she was also a Took, and, at the age she was, the Took side often won out over the Baggins side. 

So she’d moved very slowly, taking careful steps forward and making sure that her presence was practically undetectable. It was a useful skill that she’d learned. Coming after years of sneaking into the kitchens at night to snatch a cookie right from under her parent’s noses. Of course, many hobbits had the skill, but she did consider herself to be one of the best. 

As she drew closer to the bush, she could hear curious little noises coming from it, noises she was sure she’d never heard a blackberry bush make before. It sounded like smacking, similar to the way a little fauntling might smack their lips together after having a lemon for the first time. Then there was the violent plucking and the shaking of the bush that matched it. Clearly, there was an inexperienced hand yanking the blackberries from the bush.

She gave a small amused huff at the realization. This was no spider or wolf, but more likely just a fauntling who’d found themselves in dire need of a snack. Still, she knew that it would be best to check on the little creature. This far out with no other hobbit to be seen likely meant that the little one had wandered too far and gotten themselves lost. 

It was with that thought that she straightened up fully and folded her arms over her chest, a small smile gracing her lips. “Hello?” She called sweetly. Immediately, all movement from the blackberry bush stopped. “No need to be frightened, it is Miss Billa Baggins, from the Shire. Are you lost little one? So far out here and I don’t see anyone around.”

There was a small rustle that followed her words, but no creature stepped out to meet her. She gave it a few moments before reaching into her pack and pulling out a bit of dried meat she’d brought with her to snack on. Her father had made sure she had plenty of it before she’d left, so there would be no harm in handing some over to tempt a little fauntling from their hiding place. 

“Are you hungry? Those blackberries can’t be terribly filling and I know how sweet they can be. Perhaps you would like a bit of dried meat to go with them? I have some that I could share, but only if you’ll come out.” 

She made sure to keep her voice nice and soft, making it clear to the little one that she meant no harm. Of course, she would never mean any harm to a fauntling, but she knew just how frightening people could seem to one so young. It hadn’t been too terribly long ago that she’d been that little one, young and scared of nigh everything that moved. Her father’s daughter, truly. 

There was a short moment of silence before, ever so slowly, she began to see the peek of lovely brown hair split into small braids. After a few moments longer, she was able to see the little one’s eyes and ears and it was with a startling clarity that she realized the little one was not a fauntling. In fact, he was no hobbit at all. 

She blinked widely at the little dwarf as he fully stepped out from the bush, revealing his small form to Billa’s eyes. Of course, he was still a child, that much was obvious even for one as lacking in knowledge of dwarves as she was. He was simply too small to be anything else. 

Though the little one was not as she’d expected, it did not mean that Billa was going to simply leave him there. He was still a little one all by himself scarfing down blackberries. So, she remained still with the jerky in her hand, letting the little one get close enough to her before she held some out for him to take. 

He moved slowly at first, standing as far away from her as he could while moving. It was quite comedic to see him stretch so far, his eyes watching her carefully for any sign of betrayal. As soon as his fingers touched the jerky, he snatched it from her hand and yanked it back. He only managed a step away before shoving the meat into his mouth and eating like a child starved. 

The sight might have been funny if Billa hadn’t found it so worrying. How long had it been since the little one had eaten? “Slow,” she found herself saying carefully, trying to keep the child from making himself sick with his pace, “there is plenty more where that came from. What is your name little one?”

The little dwarf child did not answer her at first, though he did slow down his eating, looking up at her like a child scolded as he did. It was then that he seemed to finally look at her for the first time, his attention no longer taken by the food that she was offering him. 

In a rather amusing display, Billa watched the little dwarf’s entire face turn a light pink. Though she couldn’t see his ears for his already long hair, she was sure that they must have been red as well. His mouth dropped open just a bit at the sight of her and, after a moment, he managed to whisper in a stunned voice:

“Are you the Lady Yavanna?”

Billa couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the words, her own face going red at the child's unknowing compliment. “While I am honored that you would think so, I cannot say that I am. I assure you, the Lady Yavanna is much prettier than I.” She gave the child a warm smile and held more jerky out to him, “My name is Billa, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Kili,” he greeted her in a small voice, sounding as though he did not believe her words, “at your service.” He accompanied the words with a small bow, something that he’d clearly been taught over and over based on the practiced movements. Billa thought it must have been the cutest thing in the world. 

She allowed him to take the bit of jerky from her hands and watched with satisfaction as he ate this bit slowly, savoring the flavors. “Well, Master Kili,” she gave him a small smile, “what in the world are you doing out here all on your own?”

The words gave him pause, as though he was only now realizing the situation he was in. She watched with mild concern as he began looking around quickly, his head whipping from side to side. Then he started calling out, his jerky forgotten as he began running, calling out words in a language that Billa could not understand. He seemed quite panicked. 

Billa stood shocked for a moment, having not expected the outburst. Then, as if her feet were moving on her own, she took off after him.

She called for him to stop several times, rushing after him through fields, over and under fences, until they were further in the forest around the shire than Billa had ever been. It was only then that Kili seemed to stall, as though hesitating to go any further. It allowed Billa a moment to catch up to him. 

“My goodness,” she huffed, trying to catch her breath, “you are certainly quicker than I expected a dwarf to be, you should be quite proud of yourself. It is no easy feat to outrun a hobbit.” Her words were quite playful, but after a quick glance down to the little one at her feet, she could feel her heart drop. 

Kili was looking up at her with unshed tears in his eyes. He gave a quick sniff, then another, then finally the tears began to fall. He gave a frightening wail, but it worked to knock Billa into action. 

She dropped to her knees next to him and pulled him into her arms, wrapping him in a tight comforting hug. She did her best to soothe him, rubbing a comforting hand over his back and letting him sob into her shoulder as he muttered about being lost and never seeing his family again. 

“Come now,” Billa hummed, “that isn’t true. You’ll see your family again, in fact, I’m sure that they’re looking for you right now.”

Kili gave another sniffle but seemed to calm substantially at her words. “You really think so?” The words were muttered against Billa’s shoulder so pitifully that she felt she could have cried just as well. The poor thing really thought his family wouldn’t come looking for him.

“I am certain of it,” she pulled back to meet his eyes and give him a bright smile. “Why, I bet they’re in the Shire right now looking for you.” She put her hand over her eyes and pretended to look around, squinting curiously. “Kili?” She asked, “Kili? Where have you gotten off too?” She stood then and pretended not to see the little dwarf in front of her, “Why he was just here a moment ago!”

The action had its intended effect, pulling a bubbling laugh from the little dwarf’s mouth, finally ending his tears. He reached forward to tug at Billa’s dress, “I’m right here Miss Boggins!”

Billa gave him a quick playful frown, “That is Miss Baggins to you, little dwarf.” She reached down to tickle under his chin, pulling another laugh from his lips. “Come on now, let us go and see if we can find this family of yours. I can’t imagine they would want to spend a moment longer without such a sweet little one around.”

Kili went a little pink again, looking up to her as though she’d hung the very stars from the sky. She thought it was quite adorable how obvious the little one’s crush on her was. Quite adorable indeed. 

She offered him her hand and, though he was rather shy about it, he was quite quick to accept her offer and, soon enough, the two were making their way back toward the pathway. Billa wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but it was easy enough to follow the trail that they’d torn through the brush. 

“So, tell me about yourself Master Dwarf.” She gave Kili a bright smile, “Are you an expert blacksmith? Perhaps a warrior of daring intrigue.” She made a slicing motion with her hand, pulling another laugh from Kili. 

He shook his head, “I am too little to be a warrior Miss Baggins.”

“Please dear, call me Billa.” 

Kili seemed to nearly vibrate at those words, the smile on his face growing larger. It was a stark contrast to the sobs he’d been giving only moments before. Billa could feel his hand tighten in hers before he answered back, “I still have to choose a craft as well. I could be a blacksmith, my uncle is a blacksmith!”

“Really? Well, I am sure that he is most excellent.”

“He is the best blacksmith, you should see the things that he can make!” Kili hopped excitedly, growing more animated as he continued, “My brother Fili has decided to take on smithing! He gets to start soon, he’s nearly old enough now!”

“And you?” Billa asked curiously, “Are you nearly old enough to start your craft?”

Kili gave a brief huff, “I think so, but Amad says I have to wait until I’m forty. I think it’s silly, I should be allowed to start whenever I’m ready.” He puffed up rather proudly and Billa had to stifle a laugh at his attempt to make himself bigger. 

“Well,” she offered after a moment, “how can you start your craft if you do not know what it is you wish to do?” 

Kili’s face went red again. “Well,” he tucked closer to her, “there are just so many options! How am I supposed to choose.”

“And what are these options, dear?”

“Anything!” He answered back, “I could be a toymaker, but I think I’d get so distracted playing that I’d never get them done. I could be a cook, though I’ve no talent for it. A spymaster, a politician, a woodworker, a jewelry maker, a tailor, a miner, a-”

“A jewelry maker, hmm?” Billa reached up to touch her neck, thinking of the lovely dwarven-made necklace she’d wanted to buy the last she was in Bree. She simply hadn’t had enough money for it, and the craftsmanship was too fine for Billa to agree to pay any less than was deserved. She’d settled for something smaller, though no less beautiful. “Dwarven jewelry is quite fine. I am very fond of it myself.” 

She held her empty hand out, allowing him to see the bracelet around her wrist. Dwarven made and one of her favorite pieces that she owned. Kili’s eyes widened at the sight of it, his mouth falling open just slightly as he glanced back up at her. 

There was a moment of silence before he declared, “Then I’ll be a jewelry maker! I’ll make the most wonderful jewelry in the world just for you Miss Billa!” 

“Oh really?” Billa could not help but give his hand a quick squeeze, “I am very much looking forward to it. I shall wear whatever you make for me with pride.” She reached out to ruffle his hair a bit, “And, if anyone asks, I shall tell them that my jewelry was made by the most incredible dwarf I’ve ever met.”

Kili seemed to skip along excitedly after that, rambling about all the jewelry he would make. When he wasn’t rambling about that, he was grilling Billa about what type of metal and jewels she liked best, what type of designs were her favorite, and if there was anything she’d like specifically. 

Billa took it all in stride, answering his questions with a never-wilting amusement. The little dwarf was really just too cute for her. Were it anyone else and she might have been annoyed with the near interrogations, but for Kili, she was more than happy to answer his questions. And, when he ran out of questions to ask, Billa asked her own. 

She prodded him carefully for information, getting him to tell her who his family was, who he was meant to be with, and so on. She learned that he was traveling with his Uncle, a dwarf named Thorin, and his older brother Fili. Though, from the way she understood it, Fili couldn’t have been anything other than a tween himself. 

Kili was meant to stay put while Thorin thanked the hobbits, likely Billa’s father, for their generosity in allowing them to visit. But he’d seen a rather pretty little butterfly and gone chasing after it. Billa had to hide her laughter when she’d learned about that, but the red that tinted Kili’s cheeks told her she hadn’t done a very good job. It was something she’d expected a fauntling to do, but certainly not a young dwarf. 

The point was that Kili’s family was likely still in the Shire, searching for their lost dwarf. So, that was where Billa took him. All while working to keep him entertained and letting him talk himself up to her, of course. 

She guided him over the rolling hills, past fields of vegetables and fruits, and finally through the thicket of houses built into the sides of the hills. He was clearly quite tired by the time they’d begun to finally near the markets, so Billa had hoisted him onto her hip so she could keep her pace. The young dwarf seemed quite content with the change, quickly burying his face in her shoulder and, soon after, beginning to snore adorably. 

Billa could only shake her head at him, but she never faltered her pace. This, in itself, was a bit of an adventure for her. She’d met a dwarf and was tasked with getting him safely home. Perhaps she was not fighting a dragon to do it, but she was doing it nonetheless. And, eventually, she was rewarded with distant shouts of the name of the dwarf in her arms. It was clear she was heading in the right direction. 

As she got closer and closer to the shouting, the dwarf in her arms began to wake and look around excitedly. “Miss Billa! I hear Uncle calling!”

Billa gave a pleased hum and sent him a smile, “Well look at that. What did I tell you? Seems they were looking for you after all.” Kili gave a little laugh at the words and soon enough was wriggling out of her hold. She had no issue with setting him back on the ground, her arms were beginning to ache from holding him for so long. 

He was off as soon as his feet touched the ground. This time, Billa only walked carefully after him, already able to see various dwarrow in the distance, searching the underbrush for their missing little one. She could hear Kili yell for his uncle Thorin and it was not a moment later that Kili was swept up into hugs and scolding yet relieved words. 

Billa stopped a decent distance away, just watching for a moment. She would have simply continued on her own way home, but she wanted to ensure that the little dwarf would be quite alright and had no further plans to go chasing after butterflies. The poor little thing had been through enough already and eaten most of her jerky to boot! 

She watched the group for several moments, taking in the two dwarrow that had to be the family that Kili mentioned to her. The older man looked much like Kili and was, as Billa assumed, Thorin, his uncle. The other was certainly younger, looking much closer to her age than that of Kili’s. She could assume this was his brother Fili. 

After several moments, Billa felt satisfied that these dwarrow were in fact Kili’s family. That was it, she’d finished her little quest and returned the little one back where he belonged. The thought pulled a satisfied huff from her lips. Very good indeed, though her heart did ache a bit at knowing that she would likely never get to see the little one again. 

She gave herself one last look at the small company before turning to go on her way. She was relatively close to home and all she could think of was writing this down in one of her journals. It would surely be something that she would like to recount to her mother when she returned home. 

She’d barely made it more than a few steps when there were little arms wrapped around her leg and a small voice begging her not to leave. “Can’t you come with me, Miss Billa? I can take care of you!” She turned to smile at the little dwarf wrapped around her leg. However her face did go a touch red when she noticed the little one’s uncle and brother watching from afar. 

“Come now, Kili, you know that I must stay here. I am no dwarf after all.” She gave him a small smile and brushed some of the hair out of his face. “And you are no hobbit. You must go and learn your craft, remember? You promised to make me the most wonderful jewelry in the world one day, didn’t you?” 

Kili seemed to deflate a bit at that. “I suppose I did,” he mumbled. There was a short moment where he did not speak, only held tight to Billa as though to keep her from leaving. Billa allowed him his time, knowing that sooner or later he would let her go and return to his uncle and brother. 

It happened several minutes later. Kili’s nose scrunched up for a moment before a bright and excited look came over his face. “I know!” He seemed to vibrate in place, “One day I’ll marry you, Miss Billa! Then you can come with me and I’ll be a master craftsman.” He puffed up more as Billa laughed. Her face went a bit warm, but she knew that they were only the words of a child trying to settle with something they didn’t want. Still, the thought that he liked her so much he’d declare an intent to marry her right there! Well her mother would get quite a laugh out of it.

“Alright then,” she agreed with a smile. “When you’re a bit older, you come back here and find me and I’ll marry you. Is that agreeable?”

Kili gave a big nod before hopping up to place a quick kiss on her cheek. He was quick to race back to his uncle and brother then, calling excitedly about getting married the whole way. It was a more than amusing sight to Billa, and quite cute to boot. 

She couldn’t help but sigh and shake her head. It really was a shame that she’d never see the silly little dwarf again. Quite a shame indeed.

“Fili!”

“And Kili!

“At your service!”

Billa gaped at the two dwarrow at her doorstep. Of course, she was quite shocked at the two dwarrow on her doorstep, just as she’d been shocked when the other two had arrived prior to them. However, it wasn’t their presence that made her gape at the two, but rather recognition. 

Kili. She recognized him. Though he was much older now, of course, she was as well, there was no mistaking him. He’d grown into a handsome young dwarf, though he still held the same coloring of his youth and, most notably, his smile had not changed. He had a bit of scruff on his chin, something Billa was not quite used to seeing in the shire. No proper hobbit would have a beard, but Billa found it suited the younger man. 

She could feel her ears going red as she watched him, taking in the way that he’d changed. He was taller than her now! Taller and stronger and…by Yavanna what was Billa thinking! She covered her mouth with her hand, scolding herself lightly. Yes, the dwarf was exceedingly attractive now, but it had been years since he’d last met her. There was no doubt in her mind that he would have no memory of her. 

She watched, still unable to do much other than stutter out a greeting as the two dwarrow stood up to look at her with a bright smile. She gripped tight to the door in response, thinking momentarily about trying to shut the door in their faces. There were already quite too many dwarves in her smial, thank you very much. 

Unfortunately for her, Fili was quite eager and quick to press into the home, looking around with eager eyes as he did. Billa could only turn after him, giving several protests about his muddy boots. He didn’t seem to listen, too busy dropping his weapons and coat into her arms, nearly making her tumble to the floor at the weight of them. He’d sauntered off into the kitchen before she could say anything, leaving her to stare after him indignantly. 

“Miss Billa.” 

Billa hardly had time to react to the words before strong arms were taking the weapons and coats from her arms and settling them off beside the door. She would not have known what to say, even if she had been given time to react. Even after the long pause of Kili taking the weapons from her, the only thing she’d managed to stutter out when he turned back to her was a shocked, “You remember me?” 

Kili gave a bright grin at the words. “Of course, I remember you, Amralime. It would be rude of me not to remember the lovely hobbit I am set to marry.” Billa’s face had gone impossibly hotter and, for a moment, she was sure she was going to pass away from the embarrassment of it all. “And, I have kept my promise.”

With those words he dug into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch. He held it out to her, but Billa hesitated for a long moment, unsure if she should accept the gift from the man. Part of her, that little Took part that had been buried inside since the long winter, it told her to take it. It said that even if he was some sort of fae creature, what he would do to her couldn’t be as bad as wasting away in the little smial. 

The Baggins part of her held off, making her hesitate long enough for another knock to come to her door. Sending a curious sort of rage through her and taking her attention directly from Kili. 

“Oh no!” She shouted, marching toward the door, “No, no, no! Find somewhere else! There are far too many dwarves in my home as is! If this is some clot-head’s idea of a joke? It is in very poor taste!” With that, she opened the door and found herself knocked back by the force of a horde of dwarrow falling right through her doorway. And, lo and behold, who was behind them but the very wizard who’d started this in the first place. Billa sent him a long glare, “Gandalf.”

“No, don’t touch that!” Billa spun around, trying to follow behind the dwarf who’d grabbed one of her antique chairs from the study, only she was immediately distracted by another dwarf with entire several wheels of cheese in his arms. “Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive!”

Somewhere from her left, she heard another dwarf offer, “Excessive? He eats them by the block.” And that sent her spinning around once again, continuing her fluttering about as she tried and failed to get the dwarrow to stop raiding her pantry. She’d nearly been knocked over several times at this point, only saved by Kili reaching out to steady her. 

He’d been following her since the moment he’d stepped inside, trying desperately to get her to abandon the other dwarrow and go somewhere to talk more privately with him. Of course, it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t just leave these dwarrow to eat her out of house and home. Though Kili’s constant steadying hand was enough that she was always keenly aware of his presence, try as she might to pretend he wasn’t there making her heart race in her chest. 

She was just as horrified to see Fili walking across her table, uncaring of the food he crushed under his boots, all in the name of passing out ale to the various dwarrow. He even shoved one into Kili’s hands before calling for everyone to drink. For one blissful moment, there was no noise from the dwarrow. It was nice and quiet as everyone, even Kili, chugged their ale in a race of some sort. 

In the end, it was one of the smaller dwarves who won, standing with a mighty burp to proudly exclaim his victory. Billa could have died at the cheering that came after, all with banging against her fine wooden table and the scraping of chairs along the floor. 

She’d stormed out of the room soon after, gathering anything she noticed out of place as she cursed the dwarrow in her home to the high heavens. Though her words for them were nothing in comparison to the vitriol that she was spewing against Gandalf. After all, this entire situation was no doubt due to his trickery. 

“Billa,” she could hear Kili calling after her and, only moments later, he was gently taking her hand to stop her angry march. “Billa, please,” She met the desperate look in his eyes and, though she’d planned to do so with rage, she found herself softening. “A moment of your time, that is all I ask.”

Billa gave a sigh before glaring off to the dining room where she could hear more cheering, “If I could spare a moment, I would. Unfortunately, I must attempt to keep a horde of dwarrow from breaking my mother’s fine porcelain!” She was quick to snatch one of her mother’s doilies from a passing dwarf, a harsh glare sent his way when she realized that he’d been using it as a towel. 

“I promise, they may seem unruly but they’ll do no damage.” Kili stepped closer to her, “I’ve grown up with these men, they’re unruly, but good men.” He gave her a long pleading look, one that had her frustration wavering. She was near to giving in, thinking that she could spare just a few moments and trust Gandalf to keep them from breaking anything. 

“Excuse me, Miss Baggins, but where should I put my plate?”

Billa turned to look at the young dwarf, her attention taken momentarily from the man in front of her. She opened her mouth to tell him that he could just set it in the sink, he seemed nice enough to not face her ire. That was until Fili stepped up beside him, eating a small roll as he spoke. “Here Ori, I’ll take it.”

Before Billa could protest, Fili had taken and launched the plate across the room, to another dwarf who had surely been standing in waiting. All thoughts of leaving the dwarrow alone in her home disappeared. And soon enough she was running around, trying to save her dishes and her mother’s silver as the dwarves sang a rather mocking song about how much she would hate it if they ruined her dishes. 

By the end of it, she was sure her heart was going to beat out of her chest and she’d determined herself justified enough to kill Gandalf when she finally managed to get all of these dwarves out of her home. She’d shoved her way through the group, prepared to see the plates smashed and chipped together from the rough treatment of the dwarrow. Instead, she found herself staring at a neat pile of perfectly fine dishes and silverware. Not a crack, chip, or scratch to be found. 

The dwarves around her were cheering and patting her on the back good-naturedly, all as she stood and stared. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the moment. She supposed she could have trusted Kili and, after this, perhaps it would be alright to sneak away and have a short conversation with him. 

Nothing could ever be so easy, and everything seemed determined to happen one after another. So, it only seemed right that, moments later there would be another knock on the door. This one, however, sent every dwarf quiet, all of their eyes turning to look at the door as Gandalf gravely spoke, “He’s here.”

Billa wasn’t quite a fan of how foreboding that seemed as she found herself swept up in the crowd of dwarrow making their way toward her front door. She didn’t even have time to try and extract herself before Gandalf opened her front door to a stranger! As though he couldn’t have gotten any ruder!

“Gandalf,” Billa recognized this man, but only distantly. “I feared I might never find this place, I was lost twice on the way here. I only found it because of that scratch on the door.”

That spurred Billa to finally shove her way forward, “Scratch on the door!” She was indignant at the very thought, “There is no scratch on that door, I had it painted yesterday!”

“Yes there is, I put it there.”

Billa was sure she must have looked as red as a tomato with the snickers from around the room. Then, quickly, they were silenced. She wasn’t sure why until she heard Thorin speak, his voice speaking to how unimpressed he was with the hobbit in front of him. “So this is the hobbit?” 

Billa turned to face him, feeling suddenly as though she was being scrutinized. For what? She couldn’t be certain. Still, she was a Baggins which meant that she wasn’t going to simply cower away from the majestic bastard staring her down. She wondered briefly if everyone in Kili’s family was as handsome as himself, his brother, and uncle. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the man in front of her with slowly wavering confidence. Thorin began to circle her and just as soon as she’d gained her confidence, she’d lost it. She began to squirm nervously. What if Thorin thought she was unworthy of Kili? Not that she needed to be worthy of Kili, after all, his declaration had been nothing but a child’s request because they knew no better. 

“Tell me, Mistress Baggins, what is your weapon of choice? Axe or sword?” 

Billa blanched at the question, stuttering over herself for an answer. How was she meant to answer that? She was a hobbit and, like all respectable hobbits, she’d never held a true weapon in her life! She didn’t plan to start any time soon. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” She stuttered out, feeling all too indignant at the questions, “though if you must know I do have some skill at,” she trailed off after a moment, realizing suddenly that her joke would likely not be found funny to the man in front of her, “conkers.” 

Thorin stopped at that and turned to face her fully. He gave a small chuckle, “I thought as much. You look more like a grocer than a burglar.” Billa could only manage to hear a bit of laughter from the company and Kili’s own calls of complaints to his uncle’s rudeness, the blood rushing through her ears from embarrassment was too loud. 

Billa did not get a chance to properly speak with Kili until well after she’d passed out, the thought of a fiery dragon and the terrible things he could do to her sending her into a panic. She’d already turned away Gandalf and marched off to her room, muttering about meddling wizards when he finally came to find her. 

To his own measure, he looked reasonably apologetic for the behavior of his uncle and the company of dwarrow that came with him. “Kili,” she greeted him as warmly as she could muster, after all, he hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong. And, she wasn’t one to hold a grudge. 

“Billa,” he squirmed nervously in his place, “might I come in? I’ve been hoping to speak with you all night.”

Billa was indulgent enough and stepped aside to allow him to pass into her room. For a long moment, they didn’t say anything to one another. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but more something that spoke of the need both of them had for it. To, at the very least, have a moment to breathe.

“I must apologize for my uncle and Fili, they did not recognize you until I told them myself who you were.” He shuffled in place for a moment, “I am sure that they will apologize to you on their own. In time, of course.” 

“I am not so certain that I would like their apologies,” Bill felt a bit like her mother at the moment, quick-tempered and unwilling to budge, “If their opinions of me only changed with a reminder of who I am.”

The words seemed to calm Kili a bit, though Billa couldn’t understand why he would be so calm when it came to her claiming her rather blunt feelings about the behavior of his family. She was certainly not behaving in the way of a hobbit. 

“Not to worry, they will still expect you to prove yourself to them before their opinions entirely change,” he gave her a bright grin, “you should have plenty of opportunity on the quest.”

“Prove myself,” Billa stuttered, “the quest! I’ve already told Gandalf that I will not be going, no sir! I am a Baggins, which means that I must stay right where I am!” 

Kili blinked at her for a moment, as though she’d just said the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard. He tilted his head curiously, “How am I meant to court you if you don’t go on the quest?”

Billa thought for a moment that she might faint again. Kili seemed to think the same and took quick initiative to guide her to a seat, providing her a safe moment of rest as he knelt before her. He wore a curious look on his face, one that Billa couldn’t decipher, no matter how hard she looked. 

“Court me?” She finally managed to squeak the words out, but was immediately accosted with another wave of embarrassment and confusion. Kili didn’t seem as bothered by the words, almost as though they were a given considering the situation. 

“Yes?” He seemed to think for a moment before his face brightened, “Oh! Of course, the bead!” 

Before Billa could question him, he’d revealed that small pouch from earlier and held it up for Billa to see. From inside of the pouch, he pulled a small bead, one that was deeply ornate despite its size. Billa was made to hold it, allowed to look at it, and observe the stellar craftsmanship. Small flowers were made into the sides, gorgeous little things. 

“I told you,” Kili moved to sit beside her and Billa let him, saying nothing as he began to braid a small piece of her hair, “that I would become an expert at my craft, then return to marry you. Of course, I know now that before marriage must come our courtship, so I will, rather unfortunately, have to put off the marriage bit for just a bit longer.”

He finished the braid before taking the bead gently from her. She had a moment to watch him as he, ever so gently, clasped the bead into her hair to hold the braid in place. “You were serious.” Billa realized, a small blush covering her face as she came to the realization that the dwarf had done exactly what he said he was, even if he’d been small when he promised it. “You truly intend to court me? You were only a child, Kili, I do not expect you to-”

“I want to,” he answered. There were no doubts in his voice. Then, for a moment he seemed nervous, “Do you not want me to court you?” Billa could see his eyes flicker toward the braid in her hair for just a moment.

She was quick to call to him, “No, no, that’s not it! I find you most agreeable now that you’ve grown and you’ve come all this way it seems rude not to let you have a shot! Not to mention,” she continued to ramble, waving her hands about in an attempt to calm Kili’s nerves. All it really served to do was fry her own. 

She could only manage to quiet herself when Kili captured her hands in his own, pulling them to be still. He was giving her a dazzling smile that had her heart beating rapidly in her chest and her face turning to a light shade of pink. 

“Well then,” Kili gave her hands a small squeeze, “all that is left is to give you your first courting gift. An example of my craft.” He puffed up a bit before handing the bag he’d pulled the bead from over to Billa. “Go on.” 

He gave her a small nudge, but Billa still hesitated for a moment. Was she truly going to allow the dwarf to court her? She understood implicitly that, if she said yes, it meant she’d also be agreeing to go on this quest that Gandalf had been so insistent on needing her for. She knew she wasn’t the burglar that the company would need for such a quest. She’d no idea how to fight or exist out on the road. She knew nothing. It was sure to lead to danger, injury, and potentially even death.

Still, she found herself taking the small bag from Kili. Danger and injury be damned, she was a hobbit of her word and, though she certainly hadn’t expected to be forced to uphold it, she had promised a young dwarf that she would marry him one day. She supposed the quest would simply have to go along with it. 

As gently as she could, Billa extracted a small necklace from the bag. It was nothing too flashy or odd, it was a simple but expertly made chain. Then, at the end was a little pendant. She took a moment to admire the craftwork of the chain before her eyes fell on the pendant itself. It was, rather romantically, shaped like a blackberry. The very reason they’d met. 

She could have cried at the sight of it. It was so sweet, unbelievably sweet, and nothing that any other hobbit would ever have made for her. It made her heart swell and she could hardly even think before she’d lunged forward to wrap her dwarf up in a hug. Kili welcomed her embrace with open arms and a warm laugh. 

“You have certainly outdone yourself, Master Kili, an expert in your craft to be certain.” Her voice came out with a bit of a waver, a wet sort of sob pulling at her throat. 

Kili pulled her tighter and, for a brief moment, buried his face into her hair, “Shall I take this to mean you accept my first gift?”

Billa pulled back at that and held the necklace out to him, “Help me put it on, that should answer your question certainly.” 

He grinned and, with a speed and strength that Billa would think just a bit too much about later, took the necklace and turned her so that she was sitting with her back to him. His hands were gentle, moving curly hair out of his way and brushing so softly against the back of her neck. A shiver pulled down her spine at the feeling and, it was only moments later that she could feel the cool press of silver resting against her neck and chest. 

She touched the necklace gently, as though afraid it may break. She knew it wouldn’t, the craftsmanship was too grand for that. The simple coolness of it against her fingers made her heart flutter again and when Kili wrapped his arms gently around her middle, she felt that same flutter once again. 

“I suppose,” she spoke after a moment, “I should go inform your uncle that I have made the decision to join the company.”

“It can wait,” Kili buried his face in her hair again, “It can wait a moment longer. I have waited years just to have the chance to hold you. I’ll not wait any longer.”

[ephemeral-phosphorescence]

Goblin Stairs,

A Hunger Games fanfic.

Very much inspired by Jackie French novels and the Australian tradition of writing about time going thin and rubbing against itself too much. Basically, the fabric of time rips when Lucy Grey runs away from Snow in the woods, and she accidentally isekais herself into post-mockingjay District 12.

Wordcount is 1,668

Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.

Lucy-Grey’s mama had told her all about fairies. In songs she’d play to scare her little girl on the brightest moon-lit nights, or rhymes she’d laughingly chant as she sent the kids out to play. Fairies, she’d taught them, would take you away. You’d spend what felt like a few seconds with them and while you listened, time would grow thin. It would rub out in strange places, and you’d come back to find your family old and grey.

Of course, Lucy-Grey knew now that it was all just practical warnings. Don’t go off by yourself into the woods. Don’t talk to strangers. Especially don’t take food from strangers. And don’t go off with them, no matter how many beautiful visions they tempt you with. 

God, Lucy-Grey wish she’d listened. Maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation right now if she had. Deep in the woods by herself. Running from him. 

She’d thought he was a fairy, the first time she’d seen him. Standing on the dirty railway platform, in his pretty uniform and glowing golden hair. He sounded like a fairy too, speaking in that strange accent, Coriolanus Snow, every syllable crisp and sweet. And like all fairies that children found in the woods, he tempted her with a pathway home, tempting her with his trinkets. She’d thought maybe a fairy world wouldn’t be so bad, compared to where she was headed. Hoped for a fairy world even, grabbing that unnaturally perfect rose and slipping it into her mouth. 

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Lucy-Grey’s mother hadn’t believed in fairies, surely, but she’d once sounded so serious, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Don’t go off with fairies, my Lucy-Grey. You’ll not come home again if you do, not truly. Not once as it was.”

And as Lucy-Grey ran through the woods, listening to the mockingjays sing teasingly above her, trying to anticipate the direction of the bullets, she felt it. She felt time and air grow thin, like tissue paper. She felt it tear. Another rain of gunfire circled the trees, and she fell, forehead just missing the full impact of a jagged rock.  Her heart beat a thousand drum falls a minute, and in a terrified last ditch attempt, she tried circling back to the path up to twelve. Feeling her boots on the soft dirt, and choking back a sob, she gathered her skirts and almost ran into the stranger. 

Standing by the overgrown path, next to a blackberry bush, a basket of shimmering black fruits in her arm, she looked at Lucy-Grey with a puzzled demeanour. A coal miner, if the burn scars on her neck and hands were anything to go by, and the large leather jacket over her shoulders. 

Finally. Lucy-Grey thought viciously. A real fucking person.

“You’re out far” the woman commented lightly. 

“Please!” Lucy-Grey choked out all in a rush. “Please help me!”

The woman’s entire body changed, tensing up, and she poked her head around Lucy-Grey’s body. Her troubled eyes looking for the source of her distress. There was something about those eyes. Something Lucy-Grey recognised intimately. 

“Bear?” She asked distractedly. Lucy-Grey heard the sound of Coryo’s boots tramping through the grass, trashing the sticks and foliage underfoot. 

“No” She breathed out. “No, it’s my- my man, he went awful angry all of a sudden and he’s firing his gun and I don’t-“ she swallowed. 

In what felt like a whip snap, the woman crossed the distance between them, shielding Lucy Grey behind her back. And in the same moment, had the bow across her back, loaded and aimed in the direction Lucy-Grey came from. 

They waited for a second, the mockingjays chillingly quiet now. 

There was an angry, anguished scream from deep in the woods and the sound of bullet fire that caused them both to flinch. The woman shook her head and grabbed Lucy-Grey’s arm roughly. 

“Come on” she muttered and pulled her up the path in a rough sprint. 

They ran for what felt like hours, up the trail they both seemed to know well. Flying through the trees, their feet gliding over the grasses. And once they were a few hours out from the borders of district twelve, they both allowed themselves to slow, panting heavily. Lucy-Grey fished around in her pack, and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she passed it to the woman, who drank it gratefully. 

“You saved my life” she whispered gratefully. “Really, you did.”

“No trouble” the woman shook her head. “If you hadn’t warned me, I might have stepped into his line of fire. You’re almost a like a good luck charm.”

She felt like the furthest thing from a good-luck charm right now. She felt like a bad omen. Like she might accidentally be setting in motion a string of disastrous consequences for this woman, who’d probably just lead a simple, quiet life up until now, working in the mines and foraging on the days she had off. 

The woman looked at her, with a drawn, almost unreadable expression. 

“My name’s Katniss Everdeen, by the way. And I like your skirt.”

She continued up the path, motioning for the girl to follow behind her. 

“I’m Lucy-Grey Baird” she responded breathlessly. “And thank-you, I sewed this one myself.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that” Katniss responded. “It looks very achievable.”

And before Lucy-grey had time to respond to that, Katniss had pressed her lips together and a look of frustration crossed her face. 

“So, what happened” she continued brusquely. “Did you run off from Ten or somewhere?” 

“No” Lucy said, puzzled at the assumption. “No, we set off from twelve just this morning.”

“You’re from Twelve? Originally, or did you just get here? I mean after the war.”

“I’m Covey” she asserted. “Not from any district, but we had to settle here after the fighting stopped. My people should just be by the meadow.”

“Wonderful” Katniss responded. “I can drop you off there on the way back.” She turned around to look at her and then stopped. “Your head is bleeding.” 

Lucy-Grey put her hand up to her forehead, where she could feel a viscous liquid dripping into her eyes- true, but she’d thought it was sweat. Her fingertips came away red. 

“I tripped” she explained. But Katniss had already torn a section from her shirt, and had bundled it up to press on the wound. “It’s just a scratch, really.” 

“Really?” Katniss frowned. “You seeing okay? No dizziness? No nausea?” 

“Not yet” 

“Alright.” Katniss seemed happy with that, but made her press the fabric to the cut as they continued their way up the path. 

It shouldn’t be too long now, Lucy-grey thought, and despite all the troubles that awaited her, her heart couldn’t help but flutter in relief. 

“So, you went deep into the woods with your man, doing what exactly?” Katniss asked, now herding Lucy in front of her. “Hunting?”

“We were running away.”

“Ah.” And then, a second later. “Why?” 

Not quite sure how to explain all of the drama, especially to what seemed like a chronic recluse, Lucy-Grey finally just muttered. “The mayor is trying to kill me.” 

There was a deep moment of silence as Katniss took that in. She took a second to note a marker, that signalled they weren’t more than twenty minutes from the meadow now. 

“Okay, and you took a gun into the woods?”

“No” Lucy-Grey struggled. “We found the guns in the cabin, and he went off suddenly.” 

“You sure there’s no dizziness?” Katniss asked cautiously. “No, I don’t know . . . shininess?” 

“I’m sure” she answered patiently. 

“Look, I was just in that cabin before I ran into you. There were no guns there. And no signs anyone had been there beside me. It's like you both just appeared.” 

Lucy-Grey gritted her teeth, and continued walking in silence. Katniss let her, occasionally holding branches out of her way, and helping her over creeks and the like. Finally, they’d passed the last boundaries of trees and Lucy-Grey let herself sigh a relived breath. Until . . . 

There was a shininess. She deliberated on telling Katniss for a second, then deciding to it as a problem for Barb Azure. But the shininess, persisted, a web of silver stretching across the boundary. A line of fallen silver chain across the grass and a battalion of rusted poles that had certainly not been there before they left. 

“What.” She murmured confusedly. 

“Fence” Katniss supplied. “Almost there.” 

Lucy-grey felt her feet carry her forward without permission. Up onto the meadow, which should have been a haven of grass and flowers had been turned into a massive mound of dug-up dirt. And beyond that, only darkness. Bleak, black ground only sparsely populated by half-finished constructions. 

“What happened?” She almost whimpered, looking anywhere for a recognisable landmark. Katniss took her shoulders gently, looking into her eyes, looking for signs of a concussion. But she wasn’t addled. There had been something there before. Surely, surely, there had been. 

“Lucy-Grey” Katniss explained evenly. “It was bombed, during the war, do you remember? Bombed to nothing?” 

She twisted wildly out of the grip, refusing to hear it, desperate to understand it. Her mother’s voice came back to her, singing in a silly little tune. 

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;

When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow,

They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lake,

On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wake. 

Lucy-Grey turned around, and vomited neatly onto Katniss Everdeen’s boots. 

[sedehaven]

Route

1.

umber smear winding under broadleaf trees, splashing shadow across the hardpack

earth, blackberry bushes tumble, foliage waterfall, berries shimmer in windshift summer

sun, onion grass swirl, sharp tang on warm wind, tiny purple flowers open to the cornflower sky

frog song echoes low, treebirds take the high notes, cicada thrum, steady footsteps

keep the beat

2.

this old road leads home, sure as the red route from toes and fingers to center

as certain as the path of the burning chariot across the haint blue sky in august

-- S. E. De Haven

[grim-wildwood]

Fruits in Ritual

These kinds of fruits are very common in every household and grocery store, yet many rarely think of the magickal properties of these sweet gifts from nature. Herbs are aromatic and sensual, but thinking outside the box, especially with food items, is a great way to expand your understanding of the craft.

Apples

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Surround the Empress card from the tarot with apple slices (dried or fresh) and leave them on the altar for help with fertility.

Pour a libation of apple juice during your ritual to ask for the gift of insight or to seek help with life decisions.

Add apple peels to a large pot or cauldron of water with cinnamon, allspice, and/or ginger root to infuse your home with romance.

If you cut an apple in half, you will find a pentacle star in the middle. Press spell ingredients into the flesh or use it to symbolize earth on an all-natural altar.

Apple branches make gorgeous wands. Leave yours natural, or decorate it with gemstones, shells, sea glass, feathers, etc.

Burn apple blossom incense to enhance your connection to other realms.

The bitter seeds of an apple make excellent additions to mojo bags, spells, or amulets for protection.

Plant an apple tree in your yard to bless your home for prosperity.

Blackberries

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Blackberry leaves can be used in sachets and spell jars for protection and prosperity.

Blackberries are considered sacred especially to Goddess Brigid.

A blackberry bush forming a natural arch is considered a good omen and a great aid to magickal healing.

One traditional use consists of crossing the brambles to get rid of evil spirits.

The leaves of the blackberries have stomach settling and anti-inflammatory properties.

Eat blackberries or drink their juice before divination.

Blackberry bushes were also used for home protection under the assumption that any malevolent spirits would be compelled to count all the berries, and that would prevent them from entering your home.

Juniper

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Juniper has strong cleansing properties in magic. Traditionally, it was used in burial rites, in protective rituals, and to eliminate evil spirits.

The house can be smudged with smoke from burning juniper needles to cleanse the energy.

Juniper twigs are hung on the front door for protection from people with impure thoughts and from evil spirits. A properly planted juniper, with magick, care, and love, can protect the home from thieves and general bad vibes.

Juniper is widely used to remove unwanted love spells.

Juniper attracts good luck and protects against diseases. Juniper woods are burned, and their pleasant fragrance is suitable as an incense for ritual offerings during the autumn Samhain fire festival at the beginning of the Celtic year to honor the Gods and Lunar Goddess.

If you feel like your body has absorbed so many negativities and need healing, Juniper Berries can be used as an amulet to facilitate much stronger healing.

Juniper Berries can be used in love spells to draw love to your circle or eliminate undesired emotions and suitors.

There is also an opinion that magick wands and staves can be made of juniper. Juniper wands enhance the psychic abilities of the owner as well as protect them from curses and evil spirits.

Pomegranate

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Pomegranate juice can be used as a symbol for blood in a spell.

Pomegranate juice and seeds can be used in love spells as well as protection spells.

Make an ink using pomegranate leaves and vinegar and use it to write fertility, prosperity, and protection spells.

Give pomegranates as a housewarming gift to bestow the blessings of abundance and prosperity on a household.

Hang branches near or above your door to ward off evil.

Drink the juice or eat the seeds while working with the moon. Meditate and ask for guidance, knowledge, or wisdom.

Oranges

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Valencia oranges, associated with the high midsummer season, can be placed on the Litha altar.

Dried orange peel can be included in creativity sachets. For example, try combining dry orange peel and coffee grounds to break through writer’s block.

Oranges are a sun symbol. Use them in sun magick and solar rites.

Leave dried orange peel by the bathroom sink or wherever you get ready in the morning. Oranges have an energizing effect.

Associated with abundance, oranges make the perfect addition to spells of monetary success.

Blend dried orange into ritual incense. Orange peel blends well with a variety of other scents, particularly spicy ones.

During the solar holidays, fill your chalice with orange juice to welcome the sun back at Yule, or bid him farewell on Midsummer.

Combine a few drops of orange essential oil with a natural alcohol base like vodka, put it in a spray bottle, and spritz it over the altar for a lovely energy cleansing.

For the kitchen witch, make some orange marmalade from scratch and bless it for joy.

[aggressivenesswhilecrying]

How cruel could the world be to a poor ol dogboy?

Summery:

Martyn doesn't think he's unreasonable. Not when whatever forces are out there tease him like this. Actually, after all this bullshit, he thinks he's been pretty fuckin reasonable with them!!

At the very least. He wants to feel comfortable with the skin he wears.

(Martyn gets some angry dogkin related species dysmophia and makes something to cope with everything feeling wrong.)

Tw!! Species dysmophia!!

Not beta read or edited

Martyn stands infront of the puddle, pulling at his ears. A sense of frustration bubbling in his chest.

Secret life ended so long ago, it really did. It has to have been a few months by now? 

And yet it still feels so wrong. Everything feels wrong. It's wrong not to have his tail, his ears anymore. It's wrong not to have legs that don't belong to a human. It's weird for him to have gone back to human hands.

It feels beyond wrong to be human. And gods does it make his skin itch.

Martyn brings his shoe down onto the puddle, something ugly curling in his chest that the image of a far too human face looking at him.

Martyn had never really experienced this. That's something he realizes as he walks away, making his way to the small home outside of servers. 

He'd been a German shepherded hybrid in 3rd life. A pitbull in last life. A mangey mutt in double, a golden retriever in limited, and a corgi, wolf hybrid in secret life. And yet. It had never been so profound. It had truly, made him, a dog. It never left him curling his lip and growling quiet warnings. Well it did. Just. Not the in the same way. 

He's always been dog in these games, fiercely loyal, going to whoever can feed him, begging for the attention of who he knows he belongs to, listening to every order. And then he was a stray.

The soft grass squishes under his feet after a recent rainfall. And the shadows of the trees dance around him in beautiful shapes. And he can smell the mix of pine and oak, just barely.

That's another thing he's growing to despise. He feels as if he's gone nose blind. He can't smell nearly as much as before. And that only furthers the anger and the hate to the universe that curls into his chest. It only furthers how wrong he feels in his own body. The body he's had, almost his entire life, feels so wrong. 

The games had always settled an itch in his mind. Maybe it was the bloodshed, the people he only saw in those game, that he loved so much. Or maybe it was because he was always himself in those games. Maybe it was because everything was right again. Maybe he always welcomed the games, because at least then his skin felt right.

Apart of his mind supplies this is probably the exact opposite of what happens to everyone else. Everyone normally wishes for their normal body back.

Upon the horizon, hidden in the woods, a muddy dirt path lading to the doorway, is a small cottage, clay walls, and stone roof, truly built by the hands of a frustrated man. The windows not quite even, and the glass in them not quite flat. The clay walls uneven and the roof seeming to be tilted and built in a rush. 

The blackberry bushes in the front overgrown and snagging Martyn everytime he tries to get in. The man can see the start of his garden in the back, something, anything to keep his mind away from how his skin crawls, and his teeth fit in his mouth too well. 

The door creaks on its hinges as he turns the warm golden doorknob. The smell of burning lavender and mud fills his senses. And once again he longs to have been able to smell it a mile away. 

He can feel the not quite there tail wagging softly as he puts down the notebook he had on the table. Pages filled with observations and plans for the future. 

He stomps his feet off onto the small handmade welcome rug before continuing his journey into his home between worlds.

He takes to wandering to the kitchen with uneven checkered tiles. Martyn never claims himself to be a builder. So it's only fair his home isn't top notch. Especially being how often he sits on the thing he deemed a couch, and let's his nails dig into the fabric of his throw pillows. 

Martyn doesn't spare anything in the house a second thought as he makeshift way to the slightly open door just out of the kitchen. 

With just barely better glass is a greenhouse like room he won't deny that he does grow some plants here, a rather large bamboo plant Martyn has grown fond of, growing in the corner. The stained glass all around, with the rounded ceiling painting it in colors that leaves Martyn breathless everytime he sees it. Just against one of the studier glass walls is a wooden table, large and beckoning, taking up most of the wall. Far too large. Covered in all sorts of tools and items, prices of wood, collection of iron bits and bobs, paint, string, pen, paper, all in a messy assortment. 

The pelt of a rabbit sits there. Along with the wiring frame of a headband with ear like shapes on top.

They aren't real ears. They won't move correctly. But martyn hopes that it helps in just the slightest ways. Made to be bent and shaped.

Martyn, is in no way, a builder, a crafter, OR a Redstone. And he'll be the first person to say it. Scott, grian, Jimmy, and pearl next, and Ren last of course.

Martyn huffs as he stands above the desk, staring at the ears.

He can't magically change his species here. And he doubts the world, watchers, listeners, code, or universe to be kind enough and do him a solid. 

So.

Martyn is just going to brute face his way.

Martyn can feel his jaw shaking, along with every inch in his body, shaking with some sort of excitement. They aren't good. Not at all. In fact, they look like shit, fur going in multiple directions. They don't event really look like dog ears!! No. The shape is is more of odd triangles. Only the tips of the ears ended up bendable. But that's fine!! He's alright with that. They're ears. They are something on his head, to fill in where something much more realistic should be. And that's fine. 

Just looking at the not quite right black rabits fur makes something in martyns chest jump. So with shaking hands and baited breath, he lifts it from the counter, slipping the odd shapped ad not quite right headband onto his head. It doesn't fit right, and he can't feel them, and he's still missing so may things. But it's something. 

It's something. 

Martyn couldn't tell you how fast he left that room, no need to act as if he wasnt excited. He's completely alone on this world. Just him, his angry thoughts, and the sounds of a woodpecker right outside of his house. There's no need to pretend he doesn't leave the door wide open. As he dashes his way to the mirror he knows is in his not quite perfect mirror. The wood of the greenhouse floors turn back into tile, wood, and then to tiles again as he opens the blue painted door. Skipping over the tub,and poorly made water lines, he stumbles to a halt in front of the greenish mirror, looking at the way the blackish ears fit on his head, turning it back and fourth. Gods. They look absolutely awful. Horrid even.

The black contrasts his blonde hair, and the fur goes in all the wrong ways, not flowing quite right. And the shape isn't quite the right shape to be wolf ears.

But it's something it's something that makes pride bubble and spark in his chest, swallowing him hole. It leaves him breathing heavy, with a thumping that he swear is his heart. It leaves him tapping his foot on the still awful flooring. 

His hand comes up, fiddling with the ears, bending the tip of the one on the left, making the actual headband juta little bit harder to see in his blonde hair. And with a step back, it's not quite like all the anger is gone from his chest. But more like this small fix made its place next to it.

And for once in his God forsaken life. Martyn feels like he has some sort of control. If the universe won't magically do it this time, then he will. 

He'll grab his species and mold it like clay. Cuz when you're so fucking mad. And you feel wrong in your own skin. It's only fair to take everything into your own hands.

Martyn has decided in the end. He's whatever he fucking wants to be.

[henbane-and-honeysuckle]

The Hexennacht that wasn't...and other May Day Adventures

An unfortunate spirit attachment issue has kept me from planning and carrying out the full extent of what I wanted to do for Hexennacht. It's been a very draining, stressful, and illness filled month.

So on Sunday I went to a local lake I've been developing a relationship with and attempted to complete my Todaustragen ceremony wherein winter/death is driven out and reborn as spring/summer/life. I've been planning this since February and decided this rite was more accessible to me in my current state than a wild night of witchy hedonism and spirit flight would be. Traditionally this rite is done around the spring equinox or Easter but it was still extremely winter™️ here at that time.

However on Hexennacht it was way too windy for me to actually burn the effigy, the wind snuffed out any attempt at a fire immediately. So I proceeded with the drowning portion of the rite and then let the spirits guide me on what to do next. I was guided to several significant hidden locations along the lakeshore that I'll be returning to for sure.

The following day, May day, I heard about the destruction of a significant prairie remnant just a few hours from where I live. Thousands of years of untilled land and unique flora gone due to random pesticide spraying. I felt moved to explore a local prairie restoration effort just over the border in Iowa to pay my respects. What I meant to be a quick check in on the state of the regrowth there turned into a 3 hour long hike.

The patch of Elder is just starting to develop buds and the Red Dogwood is very present. I intended to obtain some Cottonwood buds or fluff but I think I was too early for the fluff and too late for the buds. The Blackberry bushes have leafed out and the Nettle is absolutely everywhere. Down in the valley, there was a significant presence of Woodland Phlox, a very potent indicator of the local spirits and an appropriate omen for May day.

The hike was much longer than I planned and ended up being quite the ordeal physically and spiritually. I felt tested and teased, turning down paths that didn't lead where I expected them to or were much longer than I expected. With my walking stick in hand and the fierce wind ranging, I felt kinship with and watched by the Old Grey Wanderer. I saw parts of this land I've never witnessed before, despite visiting this location many times. I ended up walking along the very boundaries of the reserve and hiking up the highest point of elevation there.

Eventually I came across a grove of Juniper trees to whom I confessed being rather lost and exhausted, Juniper being a spirit much associated with Right Relations and gift giving, amongst many other things. Shortly afterwards I ended up back at my car grateful to be heading home and quite exhausted but appreciative of this land and this season.

[wilcze-kudly]

More snippets from the weilin roadtrip fic im working on lol

- um, Bolin... is the rice supposed to be doing that?- Wei's voice made Bolin snap his head upwards. One glance at the rice was enough to tell that it was NOT supposed to be doing that. - Oh, oh, crap, nope!- he rushed to the pot, reaching to grab at it. His hands sizzled as he pressed his hands to the heated metal. - OW OW OW OW OWWW! - He howled, the pain so intense he had to take a couple steps away and spin in a circle. Tears sprung to his eyes. He waved his hands in the air, a futile attempt at ridding himself of the searing agony slicing through his palms. - Fuck. - through the blur of tears, Bolin saw Wei use metalbending to safely lift the pot off the fire. - Are you ok? Here, let me see... -Bolin shook his head, holding his hands to his chest. Appearing in Bolin's field of vision, Wei reached out. - Nononono!- whining like the wounded animal he was at the moment, Bolin hid his hands as best he could. - Don't! It hurts!- - hey... it's ok... breathe. You're winding yourself up, dummy.- Wei gently wrapped his deft hands around Bolin's wrists. He pulled them away from Bolin's curled-in form, looking down at his scarlet, swollen palms. -Damn. I know it looks bad, but you'll live. Sit down. - Like a trained dog, Bolin plopped onto the ground. Kneeling next to him, Wei grabbed some tea towels, dipping them in what water was left in the jug. - Stay still for me, okay?- he gingerly wrapped the makeshift compress around Bolin's hands. -There we go... - Bolin whimpered again and Wei shushed him in a cooing, soothing tone. His voice was so soft now. Like the crackling of the fireplace and the babbling of the brook. Unlike anything Bolin had ever heard before. Wei looked up at Bolin. The faintest freckles teased along his cheeks and nose, a hundred kisses from the blazing sun. His eyes- a glimpse of what the meadow surrounding them could've been if spared from the drought. He'd always thought Wei's eyes were sharp, sharper than a dagger wrapped in luxurious, green silk. But now, as Wei carefully searched Bolin's face for traces of pain or discomfort, there was none of that. All Bolin could remember was the warm summer nights when he and Mako slept on a soft bed of moss in the city's park, surrounded by sweetsmelling honeysuckle vines and blackberry bushes, sagging under the lavish weight of their glistening ebony bounty. The best sleep Bolin'd had in his entire time on the streets. Moring had brought shy rays of sunlight and the sweet tartness of berry juice on his tongue. - Let those sit for a couple minutes, okay? - Wei smoothed his thumbs (soft, unmarred by the work that had carved itself into Bolin's) along Bolin's wrists. Just below the aching burns. Pursed lips, furrowed eyebrows, expectant. Awaiting an answer. - o... okay...- Bolin chirped, strangely dazzled. The damp, cool material was soothing upon his hands. It filled his head, balled up and snuffing out hazy thoughts with its blissful relief. The ache was gone. Wei smiled, patting Bolin's shoulder as he stood up and walked away to check on the thoughly ruined rice.

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 3 (aka Beron is a bastard)

The cream stone house was nestled near the edge of a forest. The grounds were encompassed by tall hedges with great trees of the forest bowing over it as if they were peering in. There was only one set of gates at the far end of the property near the paddock for the horses. Orla had two of them that were used to carting patients who were unable to walk.

It was a decent enough size, certainly only a wealthy family could afford such a place if it were in the mortal lands though it was not as vast as the manor Tamlin’s coin had purchased for the Archerons. Nesta liked this home better already. Past the orchard of apple trees, there was a well-tended to garden with beds that were filled with flowers like flames. Yellows and oranges flanked the winding stone path amongst the tall grasses.

Eris led on, his pace gentle. Occasionally, he let out a sharp whistle, pressing his teeth into lip, if one of the smokehounds strayed from the path over Orla’s flowerbeds.

At the end of the path was an arch of twisting vines and honeysuckle flowers. Faintly, Nesta could hear the buzz of a bumblebee as it sought pollen. She heard Eris tut and shake his head.

‘Step back a moment, please.’

The male withdrew a long knife from the sheath on his hip and cut away the overgrown vines that had snaked over the benches, claiming them for their own.

‘Orla doesn’t like to come here anymore, but it’s too pretty to fall to ruin.’

Instead of her arm, Eris took Nesta by the hand this time stepping carefully over the discarded plants and burning them to ashes in his wake.

She thought that he might take the bench next to her to put some distance between them, but the male sat beside her. Despite the warm day, his flames curled in a spiral formation in the brick firepit in front of the two benches. His face was unreadable mostly, but in those amber eyes, Eris sifted through years of memories.

Nesta imagined Orla here with her husband, in this quiet corner of the garden. A place Eris could come to as an escape from life as Beron’s son. How many hours had the three spent here? 

Nesta raised her chin to peer over the rose bushes. She could still make out the roof of the house, but this secret garden had been invisible from the opposite perspective. It was peaceful. A sanctuary from prying eyes.

‘It’s beautiful here.’

Eris gave a slow bob of his head, inhaling the rich scents of the garden. ‘Autumn can feel tedious when it’s all you have, yet the moment I’m out of its grasp, I yearn for home. Do you ever have the same feeling?’

No. Nesta didn’t know how it felt to miss a place. Nowhere had ever felt like a home. Not a place she could belong or a place she wanted to stay. And how badly she did want to set down roots somewhere.

‘I cannot say I do.’

‘Perhaps the Autumn Court will sway you. Spring is a time for re-birth and new beginnings but I’m sure the poets have written something sophisticated about Autumn. Everything has a time to die, all things must end.’ Eris frowned. ‘I’m a terrible poet.’

‘Autumn is my favourite season.’

At her voluntary information, Eris perked up. ‘Why?’

‘Blackberries.’

It felt silly to say it. Winter was dreadful. It came with a bitter cold that no amount of firewood could chase away. She always longed for spring because it brought hope and blue skies. The summer was fine, she supposed, though her allergies had her hiding indoors for most of it. Autumn had always been special. Nesta hoped those long evenings would never end, that winter would never come. She loved the beauty as trees scattered their leaves like unwanted gold. She loved to crunch through piles of them or to collect acorns and conkers. More than anything, Nesta loved the early days of autumn where fat, ripe blackberries hung off brambles so they could stuff their bellies with them without having to spend their last coins on something delicious.

‘Apple and blackberry crumble. With a dollop of clotted cream. I would give my first-born child away for it.’  

‘I’ve never had it.’

Eris gasped dramatically, a hand clutched over his chest. ‘We’ll have it for pudding.’

‘You can cook?’ That was a surprise. Nesta thought the gender roles of the Autumn Court would be rigid, especially for a high lord’s son.

He shook his head hurriedly then said, ‘We’ll ask Orla to make it for pudding – but we can collect the fruit. I’m certain we can manage that.’

The pockets of silence threatened to envelop Nesta again. The bad feelings were returning, that awful grey place where she’d existed before being dragged to the House of Wind where her feelings battled against the roar of emptiness. In the lulls of their conversation, Nesta felt like she was waking from a strange dream. It was as if Illyria never happened, the pregnancy never happened, Hybern had never ruined her.

‘Nesta,’ Eris said gently. ‘I do not expect you to like me and I will not justify my actions because they are done with my court’s interest in mind. That said, it is rare that I ever act without considering every option – then second guessing each one. I suppose what I am trying to say is that when I brought you here, for once in my life, I didn’t think of the consequences. And that’s rare for me.’

One ankle was crossed over his knee. The male was handsome in a way that fitted him. On others, the features might not have meshed well. The milk white skin, amber eyes that reminded Nesta of a hawk, a long, straight nose, and hard angles as if carved from stone. There was no softness to him – yet Nesta had seen smiles from him since she was brought here, the clinical tone banished. He hadn’t sneered or delighted in her misery as she might have expected.

‘We find ourselves now facing a – for lack of a better word – shit storm.’ He tipped his head back, letting the sun wash over his pale face. ‘It’s entirely your choice what we do next. I am meeting with them in a handful of days in the Hewn City. Either we can inform them that you’re safe and well here or we can keep silent.’

Would they even be worried about her? Was it a burden that they no longer had to worry about? Or would they be incensed that she was living beneath Beron’s imposing shadow? Nesta thought of the blades she had Made – their decision to vote on that knowledge had been the flame that helped her descend all ten thousand stairs. They would be sore that they had lost their creature from the Cauldron who did their bidding.

‘I’m not ready to go back.’

Not ready to face Cassian or Rhysand. Even thinking of the former was akin to tearing out her own heart. Nesta took a moment to lament the progress the priestesses had been making. If she didn’t return then likely many of them would recede back to the library. She had been that bridge connecting them from the library to the training ring. Gwyn’s bright, happy face pushed to the forefront of her mind then Emerie’s. Her friends who she’d left behind.

‘You have already done so much for me, but I need to ask for more.’

Anger rippled across Eris’ face. ‘Do not say that. You were forced to traipse after that brute like a dog. He had you sleeping on the hard ground worse than animal. That bastard, Rhysand, threatened to kill his own sister. I didn’t do enough Nesta. When the rivers of Illyria run red then I’ll have done enough.’

There were the glimpses of the male she expected to meet, sharp and cutting, full of hatred. But she could give no defence to Cassian or Rhysand. Couldn’t find it in herself to muster any reasoning why Eris shouldn’t hurt them.

‘Apologies,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘That was crude. Please, whatever you need, it shall be done.’

‘Can a letter be taken to Illyria?’

Through fumbling through Orla’s study, Eris found a pen and paper for Nesta to write to Emerie. It was the safest option, and somehow her friend would get the message to Gwyn. Hastily, she wrote that she was safe and well, not to worry about her, but to continue their training.

Eris asked if he could read it. His brow bunched with distaste. ‘Why aren’t you telling her the truth?’

‘I don’t want to bring trouble to Autumn.’

‘Not that. Why haven’t you told her why you’ve had to leave? What they did to you. You don’t need to protect these people, Nesta. They do not deserve your kindness. Your friends love you. They deserve to know what monsters they live alongside.’

There should have been guilt over her betrayal, but Nesta found that once her hand began to spill the secrets of her heart, she could not stop it. Her hand flew over the paper, covering side after side, right from the beginning of why she was taken to the House of Wind. Not a single stone was left unturned. Nesta could acknowledge that she had done things that were not acceptable, crossed lines, pushed too far. But the others were not innocent. The only secret she kept was her whereabouts – and the unlikely male who had come to rescue.

Eris remained at the table with a dog between his legs, fussing his ears throughout. When Nesta had finished, for a reason she could not name, she offered it for him to read. It was a test of sorts. Nesta had written everything. She measured her breathing as Eris skimmed the loping lines of her letter. He paused near the end, where Nesta had explained how the inner circle had voted on her Made weapons. This was the moment where Nesta expected a cavalry charge to drag her to the Forest House where she’d be at the mercy of Beron Vanserra. Her power could create unstoppable weapons – and that was only a drop of it. But then Eris raised his brow and continued reading until the end.

‘I’ll have to wait until its dark, but I should be able to manage it.’

‘If it’s too dangerous, please don’t. You’ve already risked a lot for me, but I do not want you hurt on my behalf.’

Eris’ stare went through Nesta. It was an unflinching thing that bore down on her, demanding to see all of her.

‘It will be done, Nesta.’ Eris stood, the dog following him as he moved across the red tiled floor of the kitchen. ‘Now, we need to feed you – and I think a cup of tea would be delicious.’

She thought at first he had been talking to the dog until tea was mentioned. Eris would not let her skip a meal. Nesta was beginning to feel unsettled too without the rigor of training then the library. The lack of routine was causing a panic that nibbled at her edges. She had grown too comfortable with the life laid out for her by the inner circle.

Orla had left a little basket of cheese scones covered over by the window with directions to various jars of chutneys if they wished. Neither of them could figure out how to light the stove in Orla’s kitchen for tea.

‘Don’t look at me. I’m a pampered heir. This is my first time in a kitchen,’ Eris said, screwing his eyes into slits as he examined the stove once more as if it might yield its secret now.

‘There’s no guarantee the magic will make you the high lord though. I thought it could choose differently.’

Eris nodded in agreement. ‘That is true. Generally, it does pass to the eldest who will have spent their entire life preparing for it. Maybe the magic knows that I’d be best equipped to inherit it.’

‘But it could be Lucien,’ Nesta hedged, wondering if she’d see the infamous cruel streak of Eris Vanserra at the mention of his exiled brother. She almost wanted to glimpse his temper, to see whether the rumours were true.

Something odd passed over Eris’ face. She couldn’t name the emotion. Not anger. Not irritation. His face faltered, the easy smile flashing like a grimace for a moment, then he said, ‘No. It will not be Lucien.’

Eris shook away whatever cobwebs had clung to him at the talk of Lucien and pressed a palm to his forehead. ‘The trouble with such a vast education is that sometimes common sense can be in short supply. They’re unable to teach such a skill.’

A bead of red flame grew in his palm like a moss until the whole thing was engulfed. Flames trickled over his hand, not burning the skin. With his spare hand, he held the copper kettle above it, boiling the water that way.

‘A very clever trick.’

Eris bowed his head. ‘I have my uses. They are few and far between, but they do exist.’

The self-deprecating humour made Nesta’s lips press into a smile. Eris gasped.

‘That was a smile. It does happen.’

‘It was more of a grimace than anything.’

Eris scoffed at her measly attempt at denial. ‘Babies look as if they’re smiling when really it’s trapped wind. Twenty-four to the fae is practically a baby still. Do you need me to burp you or can you manage?’

Nesta was at a loss for words. Here was the vindictive son of Beron Vanserra who Mor trembled at the mention of. He had cultivated a reputation of violence and cold, cut-throat savagery. But Nesta couldn’t help herself smiling again as he stood teasing her, his amber eyes bright with amusement. The kettle was still held aloft, flames encircling it from below.  

‘You are very…’ Nesta wasn’t sure what word to select.

‘Handsome? Charming?’

‘Strange,’ she settled on.

Eris’ laughter was loud, but genuine. Nesta doubted that anybody had called him that in his long life – and whether she’d find her neck on a chopping block before the day was out. In spite of herself, his laughter made her smile for the first time in days, a true smile.

***

Bit by bit, hour by hour, Eris coaxed life back into Nesta. He had to be soft and gentle – behaviours that were rare enough for him to display – to manage the despicable treatment she’d endured in the Night Court. In the moments where his guard slipped and glimpses of the male he could be with such a select number came out, Nesta seemed to shine. Earning her smiles became a competition for Eris. He wanted to see them all. The shy ones that she hid quickly, the ones that started slow but spread across her face – and the rarest of all, the ones where she laughed and scrunched up her nose.

Once Orla returned home after a day spent seeing to families riddled with fever and sickness, Nesta volunteered to help her cook. Dutifully, she listened and followed instructions. In the moments where a stillness passed over them, Nesta would become forlorn, her lips parting and eyes filling with emptiness. So Eris threw everything he had at her, every terrible play on words to make her scoff, every embarrassing anecdote about him and Orla to make her lips twist into a smile, every trick he’d managed to teach Artyom that served no purpose except to show off.

With the fruit they had picked earlier, Orla obliged them and made a crumble. Once it was finished, Eris found that he didn’t want to leave. Nesta was quiet, offering little to the conversation once Orla had returned, but she listened in with interest. He knew that the female wasn’t even an acquaintance, that he could not compare her character to the glimpses of the past, but Eris knew somehow that Nesta was not right. She was not well. She was not… not happy. And he found it difficult to leave her overnight without probing into her upset and trying to fix it all. Worse still was the fact that he did not know why he felt the desire to bring her happiness. He didn’t know the female. Didn’t need her company or owe her anything. But she had carved herself into his memories the day she stood in front of Prythian’s high lords and made Beron Vanserra still. She had made him listen.

The letter Nesta had written for her Illyrian friend had been an eye opener. It had taken all of his control not to burn the Hewn City to ash the moment he’d finished it. Eris didn’t care about her powers in that moment or what might happen to the court’s exulted high lady. He cared only that Nesta was safe now. She was away from those people and he’d ensure she was taken care of. Well, him and Orla.

For now, Nesta was caught in a limbo where she missed the place but did not want to be part of it. Nesta was wasted in the Night Court. There was more she could do, more she could be, than the same snarling warrior they churned out year after year. When she was ready for the truth, Eris would tell her. The brute did not deserve her. He would always be Rhysand’s dog, his loyal companion. Her sisters did not deserve her. The Night Court did not deserve her. If that was how they treated the sister of the high lady then Eris dreaded to think what life was like for the other females. Nesta would have her safety first then she would grow.

Even if he did not want to, Eris had to say goodbye. He’d neglected a day of paperwork for the first time in his adult life. It was the only time he could remember not picking up a pen or barking an instruction at someone. The webs he weaved required constant observation lest they gather dust or be torn down. Nesta had captured his attention like an unsolvable puzzle. And so Eris said goodbye with the promise that the tutor would arrive in the morning. Nesta had to have that hope of a future to keep her pushing through each sunset. She needed to want to see the dawn.

Under the cover of darkness, Eris fell into the same regime with Ashur, switching positions within the forest before he winnowed to Illyria to deliver the letter.

Windhaven was quiet which was a mercy. Nesta had done her best to describe the location of the shop within the camp, but anybody without wings was noticeable. Eris kept his hood up, head pointed down as he crossed the sloppy mud roads towards the western portion of the camp. Red hair was an Autumn Court trait. He did not need anybody to catch sight of him and whispers to reach the ears of the ruling council.

The shop was dark, expected at the late hour, so Eris didn’t linger. Merely pushed the envelope through the letterbox and slipped back into darkness. He had fulfilled Nesta’s wish – the only thing she could name as a want. It still twisted Eris’ gut. They had eroded her into nothing.

At the return to his rooms at the Forest House, he halted. The guards on duty were not his favoured ones, though of course he was subtle in his favour, but these were his father’s loyal dogs. The door was ajar which meant he had a visitor.

Eris showed no outward signs that this displeased him; he’d learned long ago never to let a single crack show in his armour. His father’s sentries were his birds and spiders, carrying songs and weaving webs on his behalf.

As bold as brass, Beron Vanserra rifled through the paperwork on Eris’ desk. Some might leaf through carefully to leave no traces that they had been there. Not Beron, he ensured his presence was felt. He had to remind all of his court that he had the utmost right to do whatever he pleased whenever he wished.

‘You rearranged a meeting with Wode.’

His father did not turn from the desk that he continued nosing through, no acknowledgement that he cared. The sentries wouldn’t have allowed anybody else to enter save for Eris.

‘The bridge in Altor Hay is undergoing reconstruction. Progress is slow, my lord.’

Beron turned to him then, brown eyes lacking any warmth. ‘It required your eye? I had not known you to be a labourer.’

Eris smiled tightly. ‘It required my encouragement, my lord. The bridge will be in use by the morning.’

It was an easy lie. Altor Hay was a village too far for Beron to care about but it connected two farming towns. As long as their taxes came in on time and in full, he would leave the village alone. Eris had many of his own males there with their families. They were his loyalists; a stronghold in the West close to the border to the Summer Court. Eris helped the rumours that the lesser fae were simple savages to keep his father content, but females that he and Orla assisted could reside there safely or continue onto Summer. If any of his father’s males were sent, the villagers would back up any lie, claiming Eris had been there throughout the day commanding them.

‘Come.’

Beron departed, the sentries flanking him down the corridor with Eris leaving a good distance behind them. They diverted course down a thin corridor that never seemed to warm, the stone always felt damp. Eris’ stomach gave its involuntary lurch once he realised where they were headed.

Down, down, down they went into the cellars running beneath the Forest House. He’d had his first drink here, sneaking down with friends to sip his father’s wine from the vast barrels. First kiss with a timid servant who’d blushed as much as he had when their lips had fumbled together. All of them were dead. Slain on Beron’s orders for minor indiscretions. It was a way to isolate Eris as much as any.

Manacles hung from the ceiling. They were taut under the weight of the male hanging from them. Phelan, the fourth born child of Beron Vanserra, knew better than to react at the sight of his high lord entering. Sentries cut his shirt away, leaving him bare chested for the interrogation.

Beron was sadistic and cruel, but he was efficient too. Eris needed no instruction to retrieve the bullwhip while his father began the interrogation. It was a well-practised dance. Each brother had hurt the others on their father’s orders in a sick determination to prove their obedience to him rather than solidarity with each other. Eris could refuse but Uther would be fetched instead and Eris would find himself hanging beside Phelan for the same treatment.

Each crack of the whip echoed in the underground chamber. Beron only ever spoke during these moments to ask quiet questions – and they were more unnerving that way. It was rare he ever raised his voice. He had no need to.

He questioned his son on the rumours of him cavorting with a lesser fae female. Eris had spread the lie for two reasons; he knew the scandal of Lucien choosing a lesser fae still incensed Beron – and Uther was too over friendly with females. It had been easy to believe. Guilt no longer plagued Eris. Beron had turned them all into villains. Uther likely had slept with lesser fae, likely had hurt them more than pleasured them. None of the Vanserra males were good. Their father had ensured they couldn’t be.

Uther denied it all, no matter how bloody his back was. He could barely speak, barely breathe through the pain, but he still managed to deny Beron’s words. Even Eris’ arm ached from raising the whip above his head and lashing it down upon Uther’s back.

At the signal, the sentries released Uther onto the stone floor. He managed to crawl to his knees and dip his head in submission. The angry lashes bleeding ruby ribbons down his torso.

‘You did well, Phelan. You may go.’

The breaths he took were ragged, but he managed to say, ‘Thank you, my lord.’

The title of high lord was revered by Beron whereas father was reviled. All of his sons knew better than to refer to him as their father lest they wanted to invoke his ire. He was their high lord. The fact that he had sired them was inconsequential.

Servants were called for to scrub the floor clean of the blood despite the late hour. Eris kept his face blank, unfeeling, as they worked. He knew his own investigation was still ongoing; Beron’s eyes flitting to him often. It was his lie that had his brother bleeding and in chains, but Eris didn't like his brother enough to care.

‘Was there proof, my lord?’

Beron shook his head. ‘I wanted to see if he was weak enough to confess simply to end his punishment. For once, my son has proved me wrong.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes

[find-the-devil]

II. I Tend a Garden

Ennis drew open the blinds. By now the sun had risen and warmed the earth. Swirls of heat rose from the dirt and distorted the air in the most minute, nearly imperceptible ways, like dragging a wet paintbrush through a small spot of watercolor paint, pulling the delicate pigment across the paper. Insects clung to the cool windows and mice cowered for shade amongst the garden plants, gorging themselves on watery vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes and the like. This was the patch of farm he left for the wilderness, that he tended to for the animals that belonged to nature. His own food was grown on the other side, facing the cornfield. Blackberry bushes grew on their own by the low shoulder that divided his territory from that of the thousands of green stalks. 

Ennis cracked open a window, letting the chilled air that had clung to his walls join the heat outside. The breeze breathed balmy wind into the room which tousled the curtains. It brought in the scent of wheat and earth and smoke from a fire that had not ravaged but simply burned, impotent upon a stick and unable to claim the field. 

He turned from the window, moving across cherrywood floors with bare feet that padded quietly to the poplar chair, smooth, ivory, like bone in the light, and contrasted against the red wood on which it rested. Robin lied opposite from him, laying with legs propped up by the armrest of the couch, covered by a thin, dusty orange throw, his short grey hair peeking out from underneath, shoes ruined and a pebblish-colored coat that clung to his skin from sweat. The fabric was thin and reached just past his mid-thighs. 

Ennis took the mask set out on the table at his side, next to an untouched glass of water and affixed it to his face as the man began to stir, disturbed by the change in brightness and now vividly aware of the pain in his older joints. He hissed loudly, bending over and clutching his knees, righting himself properly before the man who sat still and observed him, leaning in, hunched and curious and silent. 

“So this is all your shit, then.” Robin spoke loudly, in a mix of disbelief and inconvenience, eyes squinted slightly and brow furrowed in confusion. He gestured vaguely to unfamiliar surroundings, his body regretting the motion instantaneously. The man in front of him gave him one nod, slow and earnest, shifting slightly where he sat, clasping his hands in front of his knees. “You know, people think you’re a ghoul, something occult and eerie. Spiritual types think you’re the Devil.” Robin added. 

“People think I’m you.” the man countered, a simple statement, tilting his head to the side as if prompting something out of the man in front of him. 

“Well, they do now.” Robin sighed, wincing slightly as he leaned back into the soft couch cushions. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one gets that I was by the last body 'cause I was investigating it, as the town’s only detective?” he shook his head in a kind of mirthless disbelief as he stared out of the window above the kitchen sink. 

“You retired. I get the town paper, you know.” Ennis corrected, leaning over to pick up the old newspaper under a discarded cup of coffee. Robin fell silent. He felt unsettled not by the stranger himself, but by his own lack of discomfort. The man was perfectly neighborly, he wore a white mask, affixed to his head with thick black straps, blood still stained the bottoms of his nails and eyes observing him without wasted movement, and considerate having given him not only a place to sleep but a glass of water and a blanket. 

“Yeah, I got real tired of everyone in town having my home number and calling it liberally.” Robin replied, mostly muttering, absently checking the phone in his pocket for missed calls and messages. “Dead.” he said, with a quick gesture to the black screen, mostly for himself.  Fatigue had racked his brain too voraciously for him to consider the implications. 

“You quit just after the first body.” 

“I’d’ve had to bring you in myself, I didn’t know what was doing… that but I had a feeling it was a good deal stronger than me. I was right.” he shrugged, giving a small nod to the man’s defined shoulders and thick arms before turning his attention to the window. “You can find a ‘who’ with one body, but you can only get a ‘why’ from more.”

��Well, then, good thing you found me how you did.” with an untold story of 'different circumstances' behind his words. Ennis stood up, and the red floorboards creaked. He stretched his back and shoulders like a brawler gearing up for a fight, yet instead of a fist Robin was offered an outstretched hand. “I’ll show you the garden. The grass will be light on your feet.”

The back porch looked over the cornfield, it swayed en masse with a breeze he couldn’t feel, moving to an earth rhythm humans weren’t privy to. The coniferous trees that bordered the field held themselves with a stillness unbecoming of the motion below. The stalks were bright green under the afternoon sun that beamed, hot on the soil, and cast the back of Ennis’ house into cooler shade from atop its high perch above. Robin’s senses were struck by a contradictory smell. Wildflowers, many, of different species and colors and aromas growing together from a brownish mass that lay stiff in the dirt, still clad in mucked up overalls. 

“After a while, the earth uses it entirely, all that’s left are the clothes. I wash them, repurpose them…” Ennis offered, leaning down to lift a strap of the body’s clothes with his index, insects crawling onto his arms as he did so. He brushed them off as if without having noticed their presence in the first place. The acrid smell that had intertwined itself with lavender and sweet alyssums emitted from the gaping, fleshy, rotting orifice they’d rooted themselves inside. “The soil handles the blood first, rich in nutrients, hydrating too.” the man continued explaining, patting the dirt close to the body. 

“You’d think you're selling fertilizer.” Rob interjected. 

“That’s what it is. Nature is an autocannibal, detective, she creates life to feed off of it. She’s self-sufficient. I like that.”

“Then what's with the new catch, this one looks…” he trailed off, unsure what qualifier to use. 

“His family told me he’s got a blood condition when I saw them in town. Everyone was having a wake, ‘taken too young’. He lived longer than anyone would’ve thought.”

“Is mother nature a picky eater?” Rob asked, jesting lightly as he adjusted to the scent and leaned in by Ennis to look at the life growing and thriving from the open wound. 

“No, but I am. The thought of eating sickle cell bugged me, can’t explain it.” he returned as he rose to his feet with a grunt and looked over the sunny patch of grass with eyes squinting into slits as the sun shifted in the sky and the shadows stretched in kind. 

“D’you cook the game you catch?” Robin enquired as he suddenly began to sober up to his situation. He checked his phone again. Dead. 

“Not the people. I’m no cannibal, detective. I tend a garden. I eat what comes from it. The meat I hunt is that of fox and deer.” he replied, replacing an errant support next to one of his plants. 

“Would I make a decent planter?” Robin asked, leaning on the side of the house for support as his shin bones shot waves of pain. His expression turned gravely cool, almost taunting with his calm “You know I’m no good for running.” his voice rang deep in his sternum bone.  

“I couldn’t say.” Ennis replied, with a slight grunt as he stood, facing him now with arms crossed in front of his chest. “You’re wiry, fit enough for a guy your age.” 

“I’m going to be your replacement for the new one,” he gestured with uncertainty for where the body would be kept “Wherever he is, once he’s just a pile of flannel?” he inquired again, no fear in his voice, but casual, as if asking for the time. The man in front of him tilted his head to the side, back an inch, sizing him up with his inscrutable eyes, squinting from the light and confusion, shifting the arms folded at his chest. 

“No, detective. You’re free to stay a while, if you’d like. They won’t find you here. They haven’t found me.”  Ennis’ voice turned grim, almost cooling the air, soundless. A swallow flew from tree to tree, the leaves twisting and toiling affixed to their branches, shimmering with an unknown breeze. Birds twittered and spoke to one another, and pollen floated lazily past the garden on a warm current. Clouds drifted like tanker ships far away, from their spacious blue sea in the sky. The sun hung over the house, and light crept closer to the back porch, illuminating blades of grass, turning them a lively green. Stalks some yards away swayed and twitched as a fox unseen ran through them, chasing a hare unknown. 

“When you’re all healed up, come hunting.” Ennis offered, testing the limits of the man’s collected view of a life he knew others saw as vile and evil.  

“I don’t think that’s my kind of passtime, and I’m no good with a rifle.” Rob admitted, sternness to his voice. 

“Our only lawman can’t handle a gun?” The other said, disbelief almost cutting through his cold tone. He shifted his on his feet.  

“The townsfolk who took me in accepted my technical smarts as a forgivable substitute for sharp shooting.” he winced slightly on ‘forgivable’ and paused “Circumstances being that there were no other offers and most people still wanted a detective. Not that they take any of my work to heart, they just chalk it up to the supernatural and tell me it’s out of my hands.” he finished. 

“I don’t kill with a bullet, either, not as… direct.” Ennis spoke factually. Robin sat in the grass, some feet away from the cluster of gardens, four or five of the bodies lined some distance away from the house itself. 

“Why not animals? One deer, or a lot of foxes, are bigger, more room for plant growth and less work." Rob asked. It all seemed like a wasteful system. The man’s ecological motives were not his sole reasons for his methods; madness lay in the works as well, it churned the gears of his reasoning, but his firm, rugged demeanor and stern, confident appearance and a bizarre personability lent a rational sense to his words.  

“I’ll take you on The Hunt. It’s some time away. You’ve gotten blood on your hands, but never like this.”