#blackberry that hides in brambles

[peppermint-moss]

warrior cat oc design commissions (and 1 coloured sketch) from July!

commission info || ko-fi (tip jar)

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Shinnies?

Gift story to @gullivertravelstowonderland based on their story A Monster of Divinity. I love their story, and a prompt thing I tossed in my discord just... really, REALLY had me hyper fixate on their Flynn/Slayer with it. and got like 10x longer then I thought it would be

Have a smol bean that's a good little nugget seeing the giant Slayer, not know who he is and baffle each other. Oh. And feels. It's me, I like feels and soft things. [This is a doom story so there's under tones of cannon violence, but not completely the focused, as its post Eternal]

.

Big.

That was one of the thoughts that finally rattled free as Iris tilted her head to her right. Then slowly to the left as if that would help her process what she was seeing. She crouched in her hiding spot, trying again to tug off what the bad ones put on her neck and wrists. Her bindings were only half done, it was the reason she got away, and being small.

She was good about being small, and had to learn to stay alive with what was left of her family. Keep away from monsters.

Iris was not so sure if she was seeing a monster as the big thing shifted. It was not boney, like the monsters, or leathery like the really big monsters. Metal, but not any colored metal she was used to seeing. Most plane metals, or the oily rainbow shiny, even coated in white or blue plastic paint.

The girl did not feel that itchy, static feeling in her spine that said monsters were near. At least too near. She was safe to rest and puzzle over what this thing was. Something was familiar about the shape but not quite fitting into place.

Maybe she was more tired than Iris thought. She had been moving and running from one hiding spot to another all night. The girl had not meant to fall asleep in this spot as the reddish gray light of dawn started. After waking up to odd vibrations through the ground, Iris found everything looked different in the light.

The girl could not quite tell if it was because of the difference in nighttime or not. Everything seems scarier at night, normally, but Iris was pretty sure that she saw more bushes and hiding spots in the hazy almost light. She had crawled under an old car…truck. It was a truck, it had a lot of black berries all around it and once she got on the ground and used her backpack to push some brambles, it opened up under. Even had a little spot where she sat now that was light out. She could pick a few berries that were just barely in reach before noticing the odd thing.

Watching the thing, trying to understand what it was, kept Iris from thinking about how hungry she was. The few berries, even the not as ripe blackberries, helped a little with the fact she lost her water bottle in the night. Iris remembered she could not get it free from one of the hiding spots. Needed to leave it behind to go to another hiding place.

She wished she had it, grandpa gave it to her-

The big metal thing moved suddenly.

Iris held her breath in shock, trying not to let out a sound out of a trained habit. Wide eyes watching, trying to sort out if she needed to play dead. Watching the big metal thing, as it was turning to her left, the shape was also changing. 

A foot?

A boot?

Was it a statue? 

Iris took a breath, trying to make sure she did not feel herself make a sound. She felt the ground vibrate as she watched the big metal…foot move again, almost back into the safe spot. As far as Iris knew statues did not move…she hoped they did not.

If this was not a statue, or a monster, what could have a foot that big?

The girl tilted her head, watching how the metal foot moved. It stepped away from the building it was near- Iris blinked. Wondering where that building came from. Had she really been so focused on the metal thing that she didn't notice the better hiding spot?

Buildings were nice, as long as it had no monster traps before you go in. Traps left for monsters could hurt people too, that's what Grandpa said.

Iris tried not to gasp, as she realized there was a second foot now. Watching how they moved. Shapes made a lot more sense with the things being feet.

Was it a robot like those comic books they found?!?

If those were really real, the ones with the red mark were heroes, right? So maybe it could save her grandparents! Checking to see involved getting out of her hiding place. Iris was not sure she was ready for that. 

The (possibly robot) feet were walking around the area. Did the owner hear her?

Iris curled up focusing on trying to not vocalize, to make any sounds. She reflexively looked for her Grandma to double-check. Suddenly struck with the realization once again that her grandparents were missing.

Maybe she was the missing one, because grandpa said to run away.

Iris sniffed as she pulled her legs close to hug them. Trying to hide her face as the girl really wanted to cry, trying desperately to hide it. If she had to play dead with any monsters around, crying would make that harder.

There was an odd sensation then,  feeling a vibration in the air as well as through the ground. It felt different though, like Iris should know what it was. The girl uncurled party to lay down and peer under the shielding blackberry plants. It was not a lot of space but more than some hiding spots, and Iris could see through the thinner parts of the vines. Watching the big feet pulling backwards as the leaves if the blackberries moved in a breeze. 

Iris sneezed unexpectedly at the drifting dust and ash that came off the shielding plants. At the same time a massively… big hand rested on the ground not far. Iris was trying to grasp this new thing as she curled up against the feeling of another sneeze. Unable to stop it she balled up to try and muffle the sound. 

It did not look like a robot hand. 

Iris was not sure if she was disappointed or curious as she sagged. Going limp as she reflexively played dead. She was not sure why playing dead worked with most monsters, just that it did. Better when in a hiding spot. She watched as a second hand was placed on the ground and closed into a massive fist before a knee. Then a big forearm.

…was it a person? The scale, once again, was throwing Iris off so much. A person who was as big as the giant robots? Was that really possible?!

Did that make this giant-robot sized person a stranger?

Her grandparents said to always be careful around strangers. Did this mean whatever this was, was not a hero like the robots with the red mark?

Iris felt so confused, more so when the bigger than big person, maybe stranger was now crouched down, braised on the ground. Just seeing the edge of a head, some dark brown hair.

Definitely not a robot.

Wait, was this big stranger looking for her…?

Iris belatedly realized that as there was a feeling of attention being shifted onto her hiding spot. She squeaked in fright, before putting both hands over her mouth and tried to hold her breath again. Time to play dead, Iris tried really hard as this bigger than big stranger was laying down to peer into her hiding spot. Pressing her face against her hands and struggling to not gasp. To try and breathe really slow and play dead.

She counted to twenty in her head before daring to peek again. Iris squeaked again, finding herself looking at a… face?

Again the size was confusing, it almost seemed like an adult, he was watching under the blackberries and truck. Eerie blue eyes landed on Iris as she lay still on her own side. Watching back with her wide eyes, trying to understand the scale of things. Iris was not so sure she was not dreaming now, or if she woke up. 

There was a low puff of warm air, and a low vibration in the air and ground. The giant stranger-person was slowly shifting, as if laying down and bridging the other hand up a bit more. Closer to Iris’ hiding spot before waving two fingers at her.

Iris hesitantly gave a little wave back, but when the big hand got a little too close, she flinched. The big hand froze just outside of her hiding spot, but the girl was retreating back under the truck to grab and hug her bag. She scraped herself on the blackberries again, but did not seem to really notice as Iris went back to watching.

The girl watched the big hand being rested on the ground. Watched the face that looked at her as if confused. If it was not for the constant, if not lesser, scent of smoke and burning meat and plants in the background, Iris might wonder if she was in a different world. If she had gotten so lost at night and showed up in a different place.

Hugging her backpack tightly, Iris whined softly at that thought. Suddenly all at once missing her grandparents. There was another puff of air from the giant, and Iris sneezed at the stirred up dust. Likely not intended but it helped her focus on the bigger then big stranger… man? 

Iris gave a little wave again, finger spelling out, ‘H-I’

To the girl’s surprise, the giant person shifted to lift his right hand off the ground to finger spell back. ‘H-E-L-L-O’

Iris sat up under the truck, shocked that the bigger than big person could sign that she moved too quickly. Iris clucked her head on the undercarriage and whined again, laying down and rubbed the sore spot. She did not cry though, had to hold that in.

The girl looked back at the bigger than big stranger, debating. ‘Big.’

After a moment and the giant squinting to look into the hiding spot, he grinned. A vibration like thunder seemed to come from his direction, it was fascinating. Iris had felt real thunder a few times, and she stared intently at this stranger as he started to look around at the outside of her hiding spot. Lifting up to peer at the top of the tuck before shifting to try and motion. Paused, clearly trying to sort out how to sign something with both hands while needing one.

He ended up settling back down and slowly finger-spelled at Iris in her spot. ‘S-A-F-E. C-O-M-E O-U-T?’

Iris tilted her head, watching the giant peering back under her spot. For the first time wondering if she had too good of a spot, as it was like he was having trouble seeing Iris. she looked around under the truck, the shadowed space and inched closer to the giant. Then peered at the spot she came from, as well as the entrance to get in her hiding spot.

‘Monster and bad people out. They follow?’ She turned back and tried to sign clearly, closer to the light. Iris hesitated as the girl tried to explain. What if the bad people followed?

The big stranger frowned, his right hand edging closer but paused as Iris noticed and stilled as if about to play dead again. ‘Bad? What bad?’

Iris blinked, surprised, did this stranger not know? Did he get so lost to end up in another world? How could he not know about monsters and the bad people? The girl shifted and hesitantly reached out her left arm, putting her hand and arm in the light. Shaking it to hopefully make the loop of chain rattle on the binding on her wrist, pointing to it before pulling her hands back. Trying to explain as she might have signed too fast. ‘Bad-bad people. They help monsters. Ran away.’

The stranger blinked, his frown deeping before sitting up. Iris missing the scowl forming and darkening his face. She could just watch as he stood back up until only she could see those massive metal feet. Watch them walk around her hiding spot, not turned towards Iris but walking two large circles farther away as he must be looking around. Checking for the bad people?

Iris sneezed again, carefully looking around as the giant was now far away from the truck. She saw a familiar glitter in the grass, the girl starting to sit up. Even if she did not have the special water bottle, or the big straw-like thing… surely it would be safe to get some sips off the top of a puddle?

Not really thinking sense, as it had been so long since she had water, let alone some food. Iris was scooting to a spot that seemed a bit more open, pushing her bag first and wiggled out from under the truck, and out of the thicket of blackberry brambles. The girl squinted at the direct light, feeling odd vibrations again as she looked around, spotted the water again. Iris clung to her bag and fuelled by desperation, she started for the big puddle. It had the ash snow on the surface, but it was water!

The girl was just at the edge of the pool, puddle, her bare feet sank into the wet grass somewhat as the vibration grew stronger. She reached for the water, dropping her bag and hands cupping to scoop up-

It felt like a tree was wrapping around Iris, she yelped as thick bands wrapped all the way around her. Her fingers grazed the surface of the water, before she was being pulled up and back. The girl cried out, needing to drink so much now that she saw it. She whined as the ground seemed to fall away, and a massive hand was coming up from her left, wrapping around her.

Two giant hands were holding her.

Iris whined, not sure what to think of it as she helplessly just watched the ground, and puddle, go farther away and the world rumbled and vibrated from behind. A detached part realized her bag was also left behind on the far away ground. The girl went limp, half training to play dead, to not fight back like with the bigger monsters. Twice a big monster had picked her up, but set her down somewhere as if distracted because she played dead.

She could not help but tug a bit on one of the big digits. Reached for the water, trying to remember how to say it. “Pleeeez?”

There was an odd vibration behind her before warm air washed over her. Different from the heat waves from portals, different from the bigger monsters. Iris felt the… hand holding her losened, the other hovering and then closing in. She did not fight being lifted and moved, turned to look up at the giant stranger.

He really was bigger than big. 

“Pleez?” Iris tried again, pointing roughly at the ground. Seeing the giant shake his head, the girl could not help but whine and tried again to be as clear as she could. “...pleeze?”

This strange… stranger winced, the bigger man looking around and turning. Iris felt the rumbling vibration again, definitely coming from the giant as she was carried with. Taken with? The girl let herself go completely limp, chin and arms resting on the massive finger over her front.

She was really thirsty now that she had seen the water.

The massive hands shifted, Iris not sure what she was supposed to do so she did not resist as she was lifted. Now so high off the ground and level with the giant's face, it was a bit dizzying. He blinked at her, looking worried and that confused Iris as her head was lifted a bit with the knuckle she was resting against. 

It took a second to focus on the face in front of her. “Pleeze?”

The giant winced, and shook his head while glancing at the ground. Wincing again at the soft sound Iris made as she was lowered to his chest level. Only able to be carried by him towards the building. It was odd to feel the grip on… her change, to be held up like a kitten in one hand. One hand holding and supporting Iris as the other dropped away and reached for one of several things on a roof. 

The giant man, with possibly robot feet, was using one hand not to sign again. He was moving several large things Iris’ tired mind could not fully understand. At least until she saw water reflecting light.

Iris squeaked, looking up and for the first time gave a little wiggle. Legs kicking uselessly in the air but she grabbed at the fingers holding her. Her own hands flexing in want as she saw the other large hand setting a container down. Then picking up an odd smaller, maybe bowl between his fingers. 

She could not help but reach out seeing the ‘smaller' container being brought closer to her. The girl was unaware of the excited sound that slipped out. Iris grabbed at the dish as it slowly came into range. Not trying to tug it free, it was a good foot or more wide, and as deep as her hand. Iris held her breath as the container was finally coming into range. The girl got what water she could as it was filled to the brim. 

Gasping for air, Iris lifted her head, clinging tight to the edge of the container. Not wanting it to be taken away as she caught her breath. Then ducked to start drinking again. 

Iris was just starting to feel odd when the water was taken away at her third attempt to drink. She tried to hold onto it but the water was moved away, set on the rooftop. Iris whined at it being taken, kicking at the air in protest. Then the other big hand came back to cup around her. Iris shivered as she was being introduced to heat coming off the bigger than big giant. Still pouting at the water taken away, Iris tucked her head against one of the massive fingers, trying to hide. But it seemed like her only option was to go limp again. 

She was moved, not resisting and after a few confusing moments as she was moved. Iris was pressed against a wall of gray fabric, she grasped it and lifted her head in confusion. It took a second, the clean fabric was… his shirt? Iris was being held against the left side of the giant’s chest. She could feel it really was clean, and she almost started to lean away. The girl knew she had gotten really dirty since her last bathtime a few days ago. Before the bad people came and found her family.

Iris could not let go and instead hid her face against the fabric, feeling the giant person lift his other hand around her. Iris felt so oddly safe at the moment that she tried to hide there while her stomach settled from all that water. 

Maybe it was not so bad to be held by the giant. Iris felt squished for a few moments, the hand holding her shifted to be under the girl. The girl blinked in confusion again, still, but found herself in a cupped hand against the giant’s front. Watching his other hand moved to touch her back with two big fingers.

Iris tucked her head against the living warmth that was just holding her. Not understanding why, or who this was, but he did not seem like a bad stranger now. Not minding at all her back being rubbed, or petted. The girl did not resist as a large thumb shifted to her side, then up and under her left arm. Lifting it as the giant bent his head as if to look at her closely. Warm air passing over, in time with the chest dipping. Iris blinked, belatedly remembering how she showed him the band on her wrists before, but that had been in the hiding spot.

Maybe he had not seen it well?

Hesitantly, Iris slowly let go of her handhold on the fabric of the giant's gray shirt. Gripping his finger tip instead and stretched out her arm. Letting him see the binding in that arm, feeling a different vibration starting in his chest. Different from the rise and fall of him breathing, though almost in time. Different from the heartbeat at the same time.

Iris was shifted, her other arm being nudged by the big fingers. Guessing what was wanted, she slowly let go with that hand too and found herself sitting between the massive hands, more in one palm. Lifted up a bit more, the giant focused not on her face but the bindings the bad people put on her wrists. Iris did not resist but sat calmly, if not passively in the big hand, watching him back.

The eerie blue eyes focused on Iris, realizing she was watching him so intently. He smiled. 

It was not a big smile, and the scars in his face pulled it a little odd. It was still a real smile, and Iris shyly smiled back. Giving this odd giant a little wave, not resisting as one big digit moved slowly to nudge against her chin. Pushing up a bit.

Understanding, Iris grasped the fingertip with both hands and leaned back into his other hand. Lifting her head up to stretch her neck and let him see the binding clasped on her neck. It was a bit uncomfortable, as it was made of metal. Yet, he did not seem to see really well? The giant kept squirting a lot.

He was frowning again, focusing on what was on her neck. Then after what seemed like a long time Iris squeaked as she was moved to be held against his chest again. A little lower but it was warm and smelled clean. Sort of like rain. Iris tried to burrow herself against this safe feeling.

The giant was using a thumb of the covering hand to rub up from her shoulders, over the binding and against the back of Iris’ head. That felt nice, she was happy with the attention. In her position she felt that deeper, almost thunder like vibration again, only this time could feel it with her whole body.

She was distracted from noticing the giant man turning to look around. Missed the flash of teeth of a snarl she could not hear. To her it just felt… nice.

The growling was a deep vibration that felt like what thunder did. It felt like what a moving earth looked like it should. Iris closed her eyes as she focused on the oddly safe feeling she had here, even when the deeper vibration slowed. She felt the massive form moving, but just hid her face and accepted being carried, it was not like Iris was strong enough to make something… someone so big to do anything.

Iris almost dropped into a nap, but lifted her head as the hands holding her were shifting again. She was being lifted again into one hand, and almost did not let go of the fabric in time. Iris squinted herself at the light again, blinking rapidly as she was held wrapped up in a big hand before it lowered and she looked around. Staring at the things set down near her… on a roof?

This was different enough for her to make a confused sound, looking up at the giant man as he set her down beside his things. She was almost disappointed that his hands pulled away, they were warm. Only to light up at being offered the same container as before, grasping and getting a good long drink again until she sat back gasping. Disappointed that it was pulled away and set down some odd feet away. 

Iris was just debating going after but a massive hand moving caught her attention. The girl focused on it, then belatedly realized it was a sign. A little weird seeing it from someone so big. She hesitated and spelled out carefully. ‘What say?’

The giant man slowed a bit and tried again. ‘Who are bad people?’

The girl fidgeted with the bindings on her wrists, hesitating as she tried to think how to explain it to someone that might not know. Then she looked up, pulling her legs to sit with them crossed. ‘They are people that like monsters. They are bad, they hurt others and give good people to monsters. I ran away. Grandma said run so I ran away.’

The big person here looked around, shifting his mass and Iris noticed they were not in the same spot. The big man had stepped over a wall, or fence, there were both that were tall and protected a big… yard? That was what this place was! There were even buttercups!

Movement had Iris paying attention again. Watching the giant sign again. ‘Where are bad people?’

She had to think about it, looking all around from this odd new place. Iris hesitated, her hands flexing in the air to show she was unsure. She swallowed and eyed the water. Then looked up, ‘where was hiding spot? Back of the truck?’

The giant paused and then pointed behind Iris, she looked that way, finding she was looking at the roof. It took a long second, or rather minute for the girl to process first that they were on the other side of the building. She thought about it, starting to sign but stopping. Then slowly started turning back to the bigger than big giant. She started to explain. ‘I found the back of truck? Hid under, but came from that way. Saw a stream, could not get there. Turned from. from…’

Iris frowned, trying to think of the map she saw. Struggling for a moment to explain what was in her mind. ‘I ran… north. Saw a town, didn’t go in. Then I followed a road, saw a stream, and tried to get down. Got lost… found the truck, found you?’

She watched the giant man as he looked over the rooftop. Studying what was there before his attention to her again. ‘What is your name?’

Iris blinked about to sign but paused. Belatedly remembering he was a stranger again, and clearly debating on if it was okay. She took a deep breath and looked up at this big person carefully. Iris made the sign that her family came up for her name, holding her fingers out to sign ‘flower,’ but making the motion for ‘girl.’ Once the giant man copied it, she then finger spelled her name carefully. ‘I-r-i-s. Like the flower! Grandpa said Mommy loved them.’

The giant had an expression Iris did not know how to read. He was watching her intently though. Then spelled out something slowly, watching the girl track his hands. ‘F-l-y-n-n. That's me.’

‘Big mountain.’ Iris could not help it but to point out. Watching the man grin wide at that. Then Iris dared to ask. ‘Why is mountain… why is f-l-y-n so big?’

There was a pause, the giant looked down at himself, then at the girl sitting on the rooftop at his lower chest level. He seemed to be confused before trying to answer. ‘Ate all my veggies.’

Iris stared with wide eyes, she almost just ate veggies! Then sat up and asked, ‘Magic veggies? Or can?’

Did he find a magic can of green beans?

Flynn awkwardly lifted a hand to rub at his neck and shrugged. ‘Something magic. Got big. Try to help.’ 

He was reaching for the water again, holding between two fingers to offer. It was a good distraction as Iris focused on getting another drink. This time she did not try for nearly as much, definitely slowing down. The girl sat up, not gasping for air, resting as the container was not pulled away. She tried another sip but her stomach was full, Iris did not resist the container being pulled away. Looking up at the giant, not resisting or trying to pull away as a massive finger was gently put on her head, sliding down her back.

Iris hesitated but leaned into the touch, any comfort was good at the moment. 

‘F-y.’ Iris paused, and then tried spelling the name again, ‘F-l-y-n, can I have my bag?’

‘Bag?’ the giant paused.

‘I dropped.’ Iris explained, watching the giant… Flynn looked around and back the way he must have walked. Hesitated before resting a hand in front of Iris and leaned to the side. Looking over the rooftop, he spotted the bag. 

Coming back, the bigger than big man started to reach for Iris. Hands starting to cup around her before pausing halfway. The girl just blinked back, not resisting as the tree-strong digits wrapped around her again. The most Iris did was to lift her arms and half drape them over a thumb. Gripping the digit but otherwise just went limp to be picked up. The girl was not resisting as she was held, just blinking at the pause.

She wondered if she was going to be held against the giant again, but he was moving and sitting? Iris was moved, partly turned to see a green covered bench. The large hands opened and with a nudge from the thumb to her back, Iris understood to climb off. She wavered, fully back on her feet again. 

Maybe she drank too much water.

Iris looked up as the big hands pulled away. One tapped the bench before Flynn started to sign. She could not fully understand his expression again. ‘Iris stay here, flower is small, need to know where you are. I'm big. Big feet.’

‘I’m small.’ Iris understood and she climbed up on the bench. Turning to sit and hug her knees to show she would sit, looking hopefully up at the living mountain as he backed up.

Iris watched in awed fascination, able to see Flynn moved as he got up. He was so big and strong looking as he just… stepped over the fence. 

The girl watched for as long as she could, tracking where the giant went until the angle of her and the building… hid him? That was more surprising for her, Iris hesitated before looking up and all around, suddenly remembering that she was in the open now, alone. Watching the sky for a few moments, not able to listen for the flying monsters she had to watch now that she was alone. 

It made Iris nervous, she looked at the building, seeing a door. But she was told to stay here… Iris looked for the giant man, not seeing him still she uncurled and slid off. Not to go to the door but Iris was curled up under the bench and long grass there. She could feel the thudding vibrations again, the steps from the giant? Movement by the fence had her peeking out and watching as Flynn came back.

He froze, stepping in the yard again, looking around before Iris moved under the bench. She waved from her spot and saw the giant man looking for her. He stepped closer, frowning again, Iris worried if she was too good at hiding now. She scooted out as Flynn was kneeling down farther away.

The girl was just wondering why, until the giant man was stretching out. Laying down put his hands and head closer to Iris' level and oddly not as big. One large hand slowly came over, touched her shoulder once Iris was sitting up in the grass in front of the bench. Then opened his hand to show the backpack that looked so tiny.

It was still Iris’ bag, and she squeaked happily, climbing almost up into the wide palm to get it. Scooting back to sit and hugged it, signing ‘thank you�� several times around the bag.

Flynn touched his chin back, moving to prop himself up on elbows. He looked between the bench and the girl, using a fingertip to tap a little bare foot. Once Iris focused back on him, the giant signed carefully. ‘Why hide?’

Iris looked up, then back, ‘Monsters fly. Monsters will grab and eat you if there's no roof. I can't hear them, grandma said I have to stay under things.’

He was mouthing a word, something Iris did not understand. Then Fynn looked back with a frown. ‘Did you see monsters?’

‘Not here,’ Iris shook her head, trying to reassure the living mountain. ‘Monsters with the bad people didn't find hiding spots! But saw monsters before, the flying ones. Not here?’ 

She watched Flynn think, not resisting as a large hand came closer. Letting Iris pat at his fingers while he thought. Letting her be fascinated, realizing she was trusting him to be distracted. After a minute Iris tugged at one finger for attention. 

Once she was sure his attention was back, the girl asked. ‘Do you really help people?’ 

Flynn blinked at Iris, as if puzzled at the question before nodding.

Iris fidgeted with the zipper on her bag and was trying to build up the nerve to ask. ‘Can I ask for help?’ 

Flynn nodded, watching the girl, each movement as she opened the backpack and felt around inside and came up with a small, rectangle cookie tin to her. It was almost miniscule to the giant. Iris opened it and pulled out a picture that had to be folded to fit. Showing Flynn first, or trying to.

After a few seconds Iris set it down, ‘Can you find my grandparents? Bad people still have them. Grandma told me to run, but she was tied up in these.’ 

The girl grasped one of the loose rings on the bindings in her wrists. Then the one on her neck, trying to show that loop. So close, Iris could see the giant man's eyes shifting. The pupils were widening, then his eyes narrowed.

Oh!

Iris almost forgot, flailing her hands and tried again. ‘Can you please help find my grandparents?’ 

How could she forget to ask nicely? 

The girl fretted, as she also remembered what her grandfather said about trading with others. Looking all around and then back to the tin. Brightening up and picked out a few things to hold in her hands and show the giant mountain. Making sure Flynn saw them in her hands before sitting in the lid of the tin.

They were her favorite, prettiest polished rocks, and a silver pendant with the absolutely shiniest stone in the middle. Grandma had given it to her, but if ment getting her grandparents back, Iris offered it. 

‘Grandpa said you have to trade for things.  You can have my treasure. All of them, can you get my grandparents from the bad people?’ Iris tried to explain in a rush, picking up the lid to offer up to the giant.

He stared for a long moment, and Iris worried if her treasure was too small for him. She looked down, set the lid in the grass between them. Then she grabbed her bag to look through it, gasping at finding something she had completely forgotten about inside. Excitedly holding the old can of sweet peaches to the giant to add to the trade. The girl watched, puzzled at the look she was getting. 

Flynn's face was hard to read, the girl waiting until a large finger touched her arms. Iris brightened up and moved to set the can between his fingers. Was that a trade? She looked up, for the first time hopeful since running away.

The giant man turned his hand, caught the can and looked at it. Iris looked down and started to pick up her shinies, about to put them in his hand too, but Flynn moved his hand away. He was starting to get up without the treasures, just the can of peaches closed in his hand. He looked around, stared at the direction of her last hiding spot under the truck before getting up to his feet.

“Ooah…” Iris murmured in awe at seeing Flynn's full height unblocked from the ground level. She watched him carefully step around and to the roof with his things. Watching the giant carefully setting the can beside his things. A bag of his own was reached into and Flynn pulled out the biggest cloth ever. A blanket? It looked fuzzy and blue.

Iris watched the giant pour more water in the container as before. He was moving slowly to come back and kneel by the girl. Setting the container of water by the door and tapped his fingertip on it until the door opened in warnds. His other hand moved to Iris, Flynn shook his head as the shinies were offered again.

‘Too small.’ he signed and then motioned for Iris to get up. She hid the treasures in her bag again, in the tin. Getting up in confusion but followed the large hand guiding the girl to the building. ‘Iris, stay here. Hide inside. No drinking puddles. I'll be back.’ 

Iris looked inside, smelling dust as she clung to her bag. She looked back, worried, maybe a bit scared at the thought of being alone again. 

‘Stay here, so I can look for Grandparents.’ Flynn signed carefully, watching Iris light up again. He smiled again, once she was inside the door offered the blanket like cloth at first. Then a little box between two fingers, a package of granola bars. The annoying kind where the bars were all individually wrapped. Better for little hands, and as Iris was gaping at the food, the giant gently eased the cap of his flask in around the side of the door. 

Food, water, a blanket and a hiding spot he knew only opened into the fenced yard. There was supposedly a working bathroom in this building. The tiny girl would be safe in there-

Thoughts came to a halt as he was starting to pull his hand back. Tiny arms wrapped around two digits, Iris hiding her face against his knuckle and for the first time started to cry. All the scary things, she was now crying at the promise of something good. Not knowing how else to express herself.

The other big hand came around, cupping over Iris, almost fully hiding her from sight. The giant carefully, so carefully rubbed his them over her back. The tiny girl was so delicate… fragile to him. It took a surprising amount of willpower to get her off and back inside. He could not resist gently, so gently touching the top of her head. Just feeling the little fuzz of her roughly cut short hair.

‘Stay here. I will come back. Will look for grandparents.’ he grinned, chuckling as the girl plopped in her spot. Carefully pointed at the door, watched Iris scramble to get back up and close the door. Peeking out before it fully closed. 

The giant Slayer stood back up, reaching to set his things from the roof to the ground. Just in case the girl might need anything inside, Flynn thought it should be easy access. She should be safe there as he stepped over the fence. Making sure he was well out of sight, following the basic direction, now and then seeing signs of someone so small falling in the dark.

The Slayer flexed a hand, pulling one of his one-handed weapons from subspace. No little, innocent eyes able to see him snarl as the giant started to hunt. 

The feeling of someone so tiny sitting in his hands. Either having to trust him, or what it felt like at first that she had just given up fighting? He would find her grandparents, could not bring himself to lie that he could bring them back alive. He would find them though. 

[damadisangue]

Love is a horrible feeling. It is a hunger that devours, a bramble from which blackberries of blood and flesh hang. Alex let herself be captured by its branches, thorns that cut into the skin and the heart. She stretched her arms to the sky, asked for an answer she already knew. And the bramble rose up to the pale curve of her neck, along her back, between her thighs. "Albert." The bramble squeezed her, drawing reddish figures that disappeared on her hips, small pools of blood from which her personal demon drank. She claws at his shoulders, reverses the positions. Alex opens between his legs like a beautiful, pale flower, a hint of white in all that black and red. It really does look like a bramble bush, Alex, and Albert finds himself touching her with unexpected delicacy. But the bramble is a demanding plant, an arrogant and aggressive shrub - ferocious. You can't untangle it, you can't tame it. It grows without asking anyone's permission and snatches away the others' space. Alex sighs, letting out a broken moan - breathless. She arches back, offering him a thin, languid body. "Aleksandra." The bramble is merciless. It is a plant with a thousand roots and can hold you in a deadly embrace at any moment. Infesting, merciless, wild. It erects barriers around their hearts, hides an uncomfortable and unacceptable truth. Alex suddenly lowers herself, bites until she feels him coming inside of her with an almost painful abandon. She traces the contracted line of his jaw with her lips, then seeks out a half-open mouth that still murmurs her name. The bramble intertwines with its flower, squeezes it until she feels it explode under her fingers. Alex's orgasm is a beautiful and hopeless spring.

Another stunning masterpiece from the lovely @madbedlam

[blacktobackmesa]

Will forzen ever join the streamerman series?

forzen of streamoman is hiding in a thicket of blackberry brambles and could not be approached for comment. he has a thick hide to protect him from the thorns

[t00thfull]

to be small, to be hungry

to be a hare in the brambles, there is something deep behind my glaring eyes, a fear beyond words; a fear or a fervor, nobody knows. thorns comb my thick fur; here in my cave i am safe, under blackberry leaves and branches covered in sharp edges. where mice and birds gather to share their tales and secrets to hide from the sun; and by proximity those hungrier than us.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Random OC Facts: Amarantha (Revised and Updated)

This is a combination of two earlier lists, with some adjustments for things that don't work anymore or have since been contradicted, with the addition of some new facts!

Specializes in portraiture, principally because it involves people and capturing their essence in a single image. Faces and silhouettes appear in the margins of most of her papers and letters.

Is not such a good artist that her father will let her illustrate any editions or serializations of his writings. Maybe when she’s older. She has a lot to learn in the meantime. Provides him with fanart nonetheless, which he pins to the wall by his desk.

Keeps a windowbox of plants with the intention of adding Aesthetic to her room but is not good about remembering to tend them. Feels bad about this (does it make her a murderer on some level?) but still forgets anyway.

By no means socially oblivious but has a tendency to publicly drift into rather intense, harsh facial expressions without meaning to.

Good at sizing people up and is often more or less correct. Not so good at questioning or critiquing her own judgments or realizing that sometimes these conclusions have expiration dates--people change.

Her prize possession is a camera Elystan gave her. She develops all her own pictures and knows (more or less) how to hand-tint them for when black and white doesn’t say enough.

Cannot read, work, draw, or do much of anything else while music is playing (sometimes her father has the phonograph going). Sensory overload.

Generally quiet and withdrawn but gets very outspoken about perceived violations of social appropriateness and tact. Probably too outspoken.

Decent seamstress, as long as she doesn’t get too lost in thought and sew armholes shut or jab herself with the machine, both of which happen embarrassingly often. The family purchases most of their clothing ready-made, but she has made a few pieces that she is proud of.

Beta reader of her father’s stories. Good at catching consistency of theme and characterization. Unfortunately neither she nor her father tend to catch inconsistent details, so these often end up going to print, where Amarantha’s mother will discover them too late.

Excellent at comebacks with about a day or two’s delay. Once telegrammed Elystan her retort about a week later, and he had no idea what she was talking about and shrugged it off.

Has a Plan. Do not throw it off. You will break her.

Perfectionist in the most frustrating, least convenient way. Most of her art is perpetually in progress, never quite right enough for her.

Considers herself the brains of the operation in her creative collaboration with Elystan. Will not say so because he thinks the same of himself.

Combats frustration by painting (as opposed to drawing). It doesn't exactly help, but there's something minorly satisfying about slamming paint on a canvas when what you'd really like to do is slam the canvas over someone's head. Most of her paintings (at least at her current stage of life) have a rather frantic quality because of this angry "technique."

Despite her quietness and few friends, is socially well-adjusted. Can navigate small talk well and converse with her father’s business visitors with grown-up gravitas.

…but is still capable of incredibly childish arguments with Elystan, whom she rivals in being dramatic (she’s just better at hiding it than he is).

Once rearranged all her father's books according to color. The effect was beautiful, which was what she was going for, but he was none too pleased at not being able to locate anything anymore, and he made her restore them to the seemingly random order that he had left them and which somehow made total sense to him.

Takes everything far too seriously. Especially herself.

Has made numerous family portraits featuring her Hedge motif, all a little different. Sometimes the Hedge is blackberry brambles. Sometimes it's ivy. Sometimes the leaves have withered. Sometimes it has attracted a flock of picking, pecking birds. Must mean something. She couldn’t say what.

-

Acquired her signature pinned-up braid hairstyle as a means of both keeping her hair out of her way when she draws and deterring hair-pulling. Borrowed the hairpins from her mother’s dressing table, and nobody has thought to ask where she got them.

Has developed a taste for comic opera after her father took her to a few matinees of the productions that were popular in his youth. A lot of the humor goes over her head, but she and Levico enjoy (at home, in their spare time) competing for how much of the patter songs they can accurately recall at the greatest speed.

Has taken it upon herself to be the official supplier of morning tea to her mother whenever she’s home, and takes trouble to make it as nice as possible since she’s sure that no one does thoughtful things for Edmara in Elystan’s household. Uses the good china (even though it’s supposed to be only for guests), folds the napkin artistically, decorates the tray with flowers. The result usually looked better in her head, but she’s Trying.

Has embarrassed herself frequently in the classroom by answering the wrong question when called upon, because she has been reading ahead in the textbook instead of listening.

Has paid several excited visits to the Royal Art Gallery with her father, where they talked over the latest movements and artists. As highly acclaimed as Princess Antavia’s work is, she emphatically does not care for it. How much of this is a reflection on the quality of the art or on some nasty things Antavia’s written about Levico isn’t clear. Either way, Amarantha is sure she can do much better.

Aside from her father’s books, is fondest of a bizarre little fairy tale called Alis’s Travels in Peculiaritie and something called The Princess and Her Goblin, which she picked up once from a relative’s collection on a visit and has never been able to find since–which is a pity, because she didn’t get to finish the last three chapters. Has been dreaming about that ending for the last couple of years.

Wants to move to Dorin, Faysmond whenever she becomes an artist. Saw its architecture on a postcard once and fell in love with it. Is sure the entire population of the city must have a deep connection to Art in the abstract–how could you live in such buildings and not?

Is irritated with the lack of color selection in boxes of colored pencils or paints, has strong opinions about what is actually necessary in these, and can rant on this subject indefinitely if given opportunity.

Daughter of a trained nurse but has hardly any concept of first aid or how to respond in a crisis. And would probably lose her head and panic anyway even if she did know.

Used to want a brother or sister, but her parents, when asked why there was only her, explained that sometimes that’s the way things are. Her theory on the matter is that it’s because her mother couldn’t look after Elystan and a new baby; she’s already too tired. This makes sense to Amarantha, and she is resigned to it.

Part of her application process for the scholarship to Queen Edella's School was to write what basically amounted to a cover to Queen Bethira and submit some samples of her work. It was one of the hardest things Amarantha has ever had to do, given her last encounter with Bethira, and she was sure that her application would get declined.

Is the dedicatee of her father's Morrick Hopeley novel, A Composition in Crime, because of some art-related information she was able to provide him with, which helped work out the plot. The dedication read, "To my daughter, Amarantha, without whose expertise my readers would write me indignant letters about my misrepresentation of the art world."

Always carries three pencils, a small blank notebook, a pencil sharpener, and scissors on her.

Writes to her mother once a week, every week, telling her everything. Everything factual, at least. It tends to be a rather glowing picture of the family doings. Does not know that her mother has kept and reread every single letter, or that Elystan is quite familiar with these letters too.

Her favorite painting is, surprisingly, not one by her favorite artist (Teofila), but one by a modern painter, called "The Cloudburst." At a glance, it appears to be a young woman beneath an umbrella caught in a downpour amid a crowd of people. But upon closer examination, the rain is in fact only falling on her, and no one around her seems to notice that anything is unusual. Amarantha saw this painting at a gallery and had to be dragged away from it; her father managed to find a small print for her, which is framed on her bedroom wall.

[thefoxandthebrush]

This Neck of the Woods

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav (named Tav, platonic)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: one tiny sexual jokes (if you SQUINT), reread for fixes but Gods is it a pain to type on a phone

Summary: Tav finds Astartion after a skirmish and helps treat his wounds, and lets him treat hers too. Takes place in mid-late act 1.

Notes: This is... man THIS is my first ever fanfic I've ever posted, and I'm nervous and really excited to just put this to type. I've had this outlined in a notebook for MONTHS. 

Tav is a druid tiefling named Autumn, a picture of her at the end!

----------------

Crack, shuffle, snap, shuffle, snort.

It was easy to let the instincts of her current wildshape take over, the owlbear's form that she wore happy and healthy and... a little hungry to be honest after the whirlwind of a fight that just ended.

The gaggle of goblins and wargs had caught Autumn and her merry band off guard as they limped their way back to camp, the blood of a gnoll pack they had ambushed still wet on armor and weapon as a small chuckle is passed around thanks to a wisecrack from Karlach. 

It was a surprisingly close fight, something that rubbed the druid the wrong way. She kept to her wildshape partially to be ready just in case of another attack.... but also because she was otherwise embarrassingly injured in her tiefling form. A lucky duo of goblins had found her blindspot and had taken advantage, draining their luck with a  few good hits between two of then before they had been met with a very angry owlbear and her claws.

Gale was safe as was Karlach, Autumn had checked on them just after the final death squeal from the biggest warg wheezed out, and now it was on to find her favorite vampire.

So she was getting a snack on the way... a druid's gotta eat! ESPECIALLY if she was intent on being a nightly snack for one of hee companions like she had been for at least the past two ten-days.

A blackberry bramble lures the druid further from the path the Goblins had attacked them on, dark flesh warm and sweet to her nose and her tongue was already licking her beak.

A sharp intake of breath from behind a non blackberry laden bush snaps Autumn's attention from her plump prize, the muffled swear flitting about in a voice that she would recognize anywhere and at any time.

With more stealth than her feathered stature would suggest she had, Autumn lumbers closer to where she knew the vampire was hiding and announces herself with a trill of a chitter.

Astarion nearly leapt into the canopy above at the sound and his good hand landed with a soft slap of his armor over where his heart would have been thundering if it still had the ability, antagonistic surprise replaced quickly with a practiced pout to his lips.  His eyes flicked from Autumn to over her shoulders, watching shadows and their movements for any sign of another coming attack.

"Darling," he starts to drawl. "You shouldn't go skulking when there's a vampire about."

Crimson on the hand gripping his shoulder catches Autumn's attention, eyes narrowing as she stands on her hind legs and waddles forward towards him. It earns her a scoot back of surprise from Astarion, him probably not expecting a full grown owlbear to come up and loom over him while inspecting what damage she could.

Gold eyes flecked with green lock with Astarion's red, a request for permission to look closer. With a roll of red and a grimace of fangs, his hand comes away from the wound sticky and leaking, and presents it to Autumn. 

Looked like a through and through arrow wound, some of the fletching having caught on the ragged edges of his armor giving it away. With a twist of her head, she also notes a slash to the side of his armor, blood hiding itself in the dark leather much better than the sister wound at his shoulder.

Backside hitting the packed earth under her with a thump, the owlbear chitters and lifts a taloned paw to poke and prod gently to get a better look.

Hrmmm. How was she going to fix this... a healing potion should do the trick seeing as she was fresh tapped of healing magic, Shadowheart's talents useless as she was back at camp at the moment none the wiser.

Had Autumn been paying attention during her careful assessment,  she would have seen the gears turning in Astarion's head and his eventual conclusion.

"You’re hurt, aren't you." A statement, not a question, and one that received a warning growl as his answer before claws click back to work.

The Vampire stays still only long enough for a first draft plan to form in his head, his upper body leaning forward so suddenly it got a squawk of surprise from Autumn. A slender finger darts up and finds its mark on the hard curve of her beak, a blink following the silence. 

"No no. You love to masquerade in that suit of feathers and fur, I know, but you're avoiding your humanoid shape. I can tell DON'T try denying it."

A scowl flits across the owlbear's face as Autumn, now caught red handed, trills her excuse at a man who couldn’t and didn't care to hear the excuse.  Large arms folding in a very humanoid way, she looks away with feigned annoyance. 

A clawed paw rises a moment later along with a defeated huff, a claw swirling around in a silent request for Astarion to turn around and give her some privacy. It's with  softened eyes and his own begrudging sigh that the vampire did as was asked.

With a flash of neon green bordering on white, feather and fur disintegrate as they fall to red ridged skin. A sharp canine dug into her bottom lip as the condition of her body aligned with her nerves, the sword slash to her back coming into a sharp burning focus.

She inhales a hiss of pain, trying her best to keep her wounds as unassuming as possible...

Too bad that back turned to her belonged to a vampire.

Her hands leap out to grab his shoulders without thinking as she sees his head perk and ears wiggle at the scent now drenching the small area, missing by a hair as the Rogue shifts to the side and out of her grasp and instead cuffs her own wrists in his steel grip. 

There's an unamused glint to his raised brow expression, the corners of his lips trying to form into some form of his trademark smirk. "Worrying about me when you're two steps and a stuff breeze away from depriving me of my favorite meal? How very... you." The smile almost appeared with a soft snort and shake of his head, a grunt coming from him as he pushes himself up from the log he had settled on.

It all falls into a hard frown as he finally  leans around ans claps eyes on what was making Autumn wince and gnash her teeth.

"AUTUMN! I can practically SEE your spine through you armor!" Hands released back into her company, Astarion instead latches them to HER shoulders and holds her front and center, the furrow in his brow holding just enough concern that her well trained for this eyes could pick it up between the anger.

"And /I/ was the one being fretted over?  Why the hells didn't you tell one of us?"

Mismatched green eyes narrow again at Astarion,  temper flickering to life at the tone he flung at her despite the meaning under it.

"/I/ wasn't the one who slunk away to lick my wounds, ASTARION." a hand carefully reaches back and touches the edges of the cut, nose scrunching as small shocks of pain shoot into her torso. "I planned to see Shadowheart as soon as we got back." She grumbles, the bluster of her flared temper already leaving her.

"Yes yes, so you say." he hums as he pushes back her mane of hair out of the way to get the best look he could, expression twisting a bit in thought as he assesses how to approach the slice.

Looking over her shoulder and through the twists of her hair, Autumn bites her lips to keep the grin off as she, at first, slowly lowers her inspecting hand down and away... only to channel the last dredges of her healing magic and twists enough for her to lightly slap his injured side.  A pitiful level one healing word, but enough to earn her an annoyed glare of thanks.

Her work done Autumn smirks and turns back around, trying to keep any stretching to her back to a minimum. At first she thinks she moved the wrong way as a zap goes up her spine and through her ribs, a sharp intake of breath drowning a small squeak of pain.

And then she felt his fingers, now much more gentle, move about the perimeter of her wound. /Oh he did that on purpose./

"Star..." She starts the warning through gritted teeth and gets a puff of a laugh behind her for her troubles. 

"A single nudge and you're already squirming  for-HURK" The probably well rehearsed line is cut off mid delivery by Autumn's whole hand being firmly planted square in his face, pointy nose digging into her palm.

The blush that turned her red skin a brighter shade only made the vampire's tinkling laugh fill the small clearing once he swatted the hand away and saw it, that elusive smile now appearing and meeting his eyes.

The druid can't stay mad when she hears and see him in a slightly better mood , her own snort of a laugh breaking the frown that had started to grow on her face.

With a twirling motion to mirror her own from before, Astarion silently tells her to turn and get that armor off. Shrugging, she does as asked, reaching up through the discomfort to work the latches and ties off. While she worked on her leathers Astarion reached around and behind the log he had been on to retrieve his until now hidden pack. With quick hands he has bandages, healing potions, a water skin, and rags ready and waiting for the tiefling.

As Autumn let the collection of leather drop to the ground she shivers at the sudden chill the wet blood on her back gave to the breeze.  Crossing her arms over her chest, the druid looks back just in time to see a grimace on Astarion's face before he had time to hide it.

"That bad?" She finally asks as she turns back and stares ahead.

"Who?" the single syllable holds a whole paragraph of threats to the perpetrator of her wound, his cold hand soothing to the heat that seemed to radiate off the slash.

"Well, they're each in about 5 different pieces and dead now so.... Doesn't matter. What about you?" Autumn shrugs lightly and tries to take on a more chipper tone, fatigue starting to set in on the edges of her words.

"Flanked by a whole group of beasties. A waste of blood but, tsk, what is one to do when you've already got one dagger in the side and 3 more are looking for room and board." He says it so casually,  a flick of one hand sending drops of pink tinged water off a wet cloth he had started to clean her up with.

Brows furrow once again as he sets to his work, jaw clenched only a bit as he stomps down the beast inside urging him to take a nibble while a weakened victim sits before him.

Bird calls and insects fill the void as the vampire continues his work, a soft brush across his booted foot making his eyes glance down towards Autumn's tail. The limb was writing and roiling behind its owner, the tip curling and twisting as if it was a snake in its dying throws.

Without a second thought Astarion adjusts his leg and gives the appendage something to cling on to, a corner of his lips lifting as he feels a squeeze of thanks. 

"You’re distracting me, dear."

"Sorry. Nerves are still a little on edge."

"Do you smell anything?"

"Well, no, but-"

"AH ah. Then /relax/ for a few moments." a hand slides to one of her bare forearms and rubs it a bit to try and sooth the druid. "I don't smell anything,  well besides your delectable self and your owlbear, either. I think our rag tag group of misfits has successfully scared the masses away for the moment."

Autumn snorts loud enough to sound like her owlbear self again but stays still as Astarion works the healing potions into the wound and dabs at the blood, a contented quiet finding the duo until their party comes looking for them.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[rezcowgirl]

I have to write this out. This was one of the most terrifying and hilarious experiences of my life.

I spent Saturday with Aries and my best friend Ali. We went swimming, and afterward, Ali wanted to go for boba and Geocaching. I was up for boba, obviously, but I have never Geocached and I wasn't about to start. But Aries had an old account and wanted to, so it was two against one.

I lost.

Icy bobas in hand, we set out. We all had wet hair and we were not dressed to be out at sunset. Light was fading, so we only had time to do two or three depending on how long it took them to find the caches.

We did two with no upset. Aries and Ali dutifully wrote their names on the little slips of paper and deposited them back into their hiding places and I shivered and tried not to grumble.

We pull up on the third and final one, and it was in this weird industrial park with a dirty river running through it. The hint directed us to this especially unkempt area. It was completely overgrown and there was some abandoned broken junk strewn about, too.

The first Thing was our whole body situation:

We had just polished off iced beverages. We all had wet hair. We had no coats. We were all wearing sandals. Aries had flip-flops, Ali had strappy sandals, and I have these Doc Marten mary-janes that are technically sandals, but I wear them with socks. Aries was in shorts, Ali in a dress, and I was in pants. I was the closest to being hiking-ready.

The second Thing was the details of the landscape:

The place was basically a blackberry bramble with giant prickly thistles everywhere for good measure.

A fun conversation that went: "Huh, I wonder if that's giant hogweed??" "Let's not find out" was had

Also: "Ha ha, the ground is really spongy and unstable."

Reminder: NONE of us were dressed for this kind of treachery.

Third Thing was...the thing?:

"So...that disturbed, mulchy bit of ground is in the shape of a human body?"

It was. It was a raised, disturbed area covered in debris, and it was shaped like a goddamned human body.

However, it didn't smell, so, um, we assume it wasn't.

There is a white pipe we could see a ways in. Because I am the only one remotely close to being able to trudge through to this stupid, wretched pipe sticking out of the ground that we were assuming the cache was hidden in, I carefully push past Ali and tell Aries to stay fucking put.

He did not. He comes up behind us, and we are all standing in a line looking over, getting ready for me to walk across to the spooky white pipe in a godamned mushy, prickly no-mans-land. For a game I don't even play.

But.

We all look down at the same time because we see movement.

And there are fucking WASPS coming up from below the ground, directly between Ali's feet.

Obviously, we screech and fucking stampede out of there, thistles and blackberry thorns forgotten.

When we got back to the car, we were hysterical. We were laughing, but only because no one got stung. It was dusk, so the wasps were slow moving. I think that is the only thing that saved us.

Aries and Ali click to "leave a note for the owner" in the Geocache app.

Ali: Did not find.

Aries: Prickly, ground bees, possible dead body.

I GET TO PICK THE NEXT ACTIVITY.

[hp-fruit-fest]

Another month down, one that provided more yummy fruitiness!

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 749. Werewolf Draco. Established relationship.

Long fingers pluck a blackberry from the bramble bush, and place it onto a pink tongue. Rolling it around his mouth, savouring the sweet-sour taste, before biting it with white, sharp teeth, and it goes pop in his mouth. 

🧺 Read on AO3 🧺

FIC. Draco/Hermione. Rated: E. Words: 4,294. Underage. Rape/non-con. Age difference. Professor Draco. Student/teacher. Dom/sub undertones. Extreme dub-con. Orgasm delay/denial. Praise kink. No Voldemort AU. PWP. Unhealthy relationship. Grooming.

Hermione wanted to writhe and bounce and grind her hips into his until her vision went white and spots formed in her periphery. She wanted to pant and gasp and moan as she combusted, shattering into a million little pieces of bliss while he kept her upright, supporting her always. She wanted to pulse and clench around him, walls fluttering frantically until he painted them white, mixing his fluids with hers and joining her explosive, carnal state of pleasure. She watched it all play out in her mind’s eye, all too tempting and enticing. Professor Malfoy wanted her to sit still. Hermione was enamored by him. She would do anything for him. And right now, he wanted her to warm his cock while he graded essays. She could do that.

🍏 Read on AO3 🍏

FIC. Hermione/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 2,030. Professor Hermione. Fluff. Pining. Meet cute. Seduction by fruit.

Professor Hermione Granger stumbles upon a secret grove of fruit trees on the grounds of Hogwarts and ends up learning more about her former professor (and current colleague) than she ever thought possible.

🥃 Read on AO3 🥃

FIC. Sirius/Remus. Sirius/Remus/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 3,911. Secret relationship. Trans Remus. Humor & smut.

Severus grumbled as he marched to the Portkey Office for his next Order assignment: checking up on Sirius Black. Of course, the bastard had to hide on a tropical island, and Professor Lupin was nowhere to be found, so the task fell to him. He knew Albus was having a little laugh back in his cozy office at Severus' expense. Albus had claimed it would be a lovely holiday with an infuriating sparkle in his eye, making Severus want to hex the imbecilic glasses off his face. However, by the end of the weekend, Severus was considering sending the man an extra large batch of lemon sherbets.

🌴 Read on AO3 🌴

FIC. Sirius/Remus. Rated: E. Words: WIP. AU. PWP.

Remus finds Sirius hiding and working in the coffee belt in South America. Though siesta time is usually meant for rest, these two find something else to do instead.

☕️ Read on AO3 ☕️

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 2: The Sea

Chapter 12

BOOM.

The body tips forward. The head rolls away to the side. Taffeta stands behind them, a feral grin on her face.

I stagger backwards, tripping over something. Maybe my own feet. It doesn’t matter.

Taffeta is after me in a blink, sword raised.

I have no time. I have no hope. My fingers close around my spear. At least I will die armed.

Everything is happening too slowly, too quietly, too clearly.

I drive the point of the spear upwards. It sinks into her stomach, up, under her ribs. Just like Cally. Just like Jilly. Am I from Ten?

I push her away as the cannon sounds again. She falls to the side. I yank my spear out of her chest and run, blindly, toward the river.

Taffeta found us here. She was brave enough to come alone. Or was she? Is Tychus hiding somewhere in the trees? Is he doing the same thing he did when he watched the other three fight by the river, then killed off the survivor? Is he aiming an arrow at my back right now?

I am in the water. I can’t think straight, but I can swim.

I reach the other side in either seconds or hours. I can’t tell. I scramble out of the water and into the trees. I am still carrying my spear. That’s good.

I run until I find myself tangled in brambles. Panicked, I claw myself out of them. I am lost. I am alone. I have nothing but my spear. No food, no water, no drops, no blanket. The clothes I am wearing, my spear, and my wits, though those seem to have largely abandoned me as well.

I collapse, exhausted, clutching the stitch in my side.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I wake up to the anthem playing. Overhead, they show first Taffeta’s picture and then Mako’s. I cover my ears and curl into a ball. I cannot do this.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I do not know if I sleep that night, but when I finally sit up in the morning, I recognize where I am. The brambles that I ran into yesterday, or ten years ago maybe, are the same ones that Mako and I spent the first night in the arena hiding in. They are covered in blackberries.

I have food. I have a hiding place. I have no water.

I don’t care.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I lose all track of time, hidden here in my berry fortress.

The sun is up when a parachute lands just outside the borders of my thicket. I consider leaving it. It might be a trap. It doesn’t matter.

I crawl out, grab the parachute, and pull it back into the bushes with me. I open it. Four bottles of water.

I drink a whole bottle. It brings me back to my senses, however briefly. There are birds chirping and singing all around. The sun is shining, but there are a few puffy clouds in the sky. It smells like rain. And it has been two days since Mako died.

I only know that because I know exactly how dehydration progresses. They drilled it into us at school. Every year. And all the time on fishing boats. And I am experiencing day two symptoms for someone of my height, weight, physical fitness, and exertion levels.

I hold up the now-empty water bottle. There’s got to be a camera that can see me. I’m in the arena, of course there is. “Thank you,” I croak.

I stay with it long enough to hear the anthem. There are no pictures. I wonder if I missed anyone while I was out of it. There is no way to know.

Around me, the birds grow quiet. In the silence that follows, I hear things. The sound of Mako’s head hitting the sand. The sound of the scythe slitting Elsie’s throat. The sound of the arrow burying itself in Merritt’s chest. The choking gurgle when I skewered Taffeta. The splash when Tychus shot the girl from Seven.

I clamp my hands around my ears, but I cannot shut them out. I cannot stop them.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Another parachute comes in the middle of the night. The basket holds a loaf of bread from Four. From home. It is tinged green by the seaweed that gives it its salty flavor. I eat the whole loaf and drink another whole bottle of water. Tomorrow is day twenty-two, and I have no idea how many of us are still alive.

It gets very hot that morning, despite the thick clouds overhead. I wish it would just rain already, but it does not. I drink another bottle of water. I am sweating so much I don’t think I’m retaining any salt or water, both of which I need to survive. Maybe my rich sponsor will keep sending me water and bread from home.

No, I realize, they will not. Not if I keep hiding here and letting the Games go on without me. But I cannot bring myself to leave the bushes. Out there is horrible and dangerous and full of ghosts.

As if the ghosts want to prove my point, they shake the brambles and the trees around me.

But the shaking does not stop there. The very ground is rocking. It’s been a long time since I felt one, but I feel the same terror surging through my veins as all those years ago.

Earthquake.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

There is cracking and rumbling in the distance. Thunder. Then two booms of the cannon and the roar of rushing water. It wasn’t thunder. I have just enough sense to run. The edge of the trees is in sight when the water slams into me.

I am tossed like a rag doll, a tiny ship in a storm, a mouse thrown in the air by a cat. By some great stroke of luck, the water pushes me out of the trees and over the plains. I wonder where the buffalo are. The cannon sounds again. There is only water as far as the eye can see.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

When the rushing water stops, it doesn’t run anywhere. It just sits, leaving the arena flooded. I look all around. There is nothing. Even the hills the dam was built into are gone. And still, there has to be at least one person left other than me.

I think about drowning. I could do it. I could just sink under the water, end it now. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to do it. The water is my home. I stop swimming for long enough to get my shoes off, then push back to the surface. I kick my legs, once, twice, finding a rhythm, making sure there is nothing underneath me that I could stand on. I sweep my arms back and forth. The motion is comforting. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to think about anything.

My mind wanders as I tread water in the middle of the arena. I think about my dad. I don’t know where he is, but he is watching, whether at home, at the office, in the square, somewhere. I hope he knows I love him. I think of Coral and Jade, cheering me on. Coral, who taught me how to do the butterfly stroke, even though it’s slow and inefficient. Jade, who loved to have diving contests off the pier. She tried to do a backflip and a half one day. She didn’t flip far enough and landed flat on her back. Coral and I had to jump in and pull her out. Rizz and the crew, always being there for me, giving more than they got, working to exhaustion every day, but we all loved it. We were family. I have to go home for them, for all of them. I was born and raised on the water.

I can do this.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

If the sun is any inclination, it is about four o’clock. I have heard no cannons. My shoulders ache and my legs are lead. I am so thirsty.

The water is cool and welcoming. It would be so much easier to sink, to die, to drown like all good fishermen. I close my eyes and let the water wash over my face, wrap itself around me, an old friend welcoming me after a long separation. I sink, and the last thing I hear is the cannon.

****

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@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider

[swishyclang]

when I was seven, I thought I could fly.

some background: we lived in a house next to The Field. The Field wasn't its official name, of course, but I have no idea what that was because everyone just called it The Field. it was a patch of council-owned land that filled the valley between our house and the ones on the hill, and we walked across it every day to get to school.

there was a footpath outside our front gate that led down into The Field (though the 'path' part rapidly became more of a dirt track trip hazard just past the garden wall), across The Stream (a pathetic trickle of municipal supply water running along a flat channel between two concrete banks that formed a helpful v shape for me and my siblings to play Zigzags when we weren't running late), and up the steep far side of the valley towards the council estate that backed onto our school. it felt like a miles-long trek when I was seven but in reality the whole thing could probably be crossed in under five minutes.

anyway, we lived right next to The Field. it surrounded our garden on three sides, in fact. to the left of the garden was the path to school. at the bottom was a decrepit patch of trees that had clearly been planted in an (unsuccessful) effort to hide the local emergency electricity generator that backed onto our garden wall. but, most importantly to our story, to the right of the garden was the rest of The Field, which stretched away towards the main road through the town.

this part of The Field was mostly used by dog-walkers, who traversed the other dirt track that ran crosswise through the scrubby grass. it didn't have any good trees for climbing, or any hollows to make dens in, and the banks of The Stream were overgrown and not suitable for Zigzags, so it was of little interest to seven year-old me. there was one thing, though, that drew my and my siblings' attention to that part of The Field every year, and is integral to my flight attempt:

the brambles.

they grew right up against our garden wall, running mostly wild. the council occasionally popped in sometime in the spring to chop the new growth back and stop them taking over that entire half of the field, but they left a solid few metres of bramble thicket every time. our wall wasn't very high - it was dry stone all around, and pretty old - so the brambles stretched freely over the top and hung down to the ground on our side of it like some kind of prickly, tempting curtain. my parents would cut them back at the top of the garden, where they encroached on the path down the side of the house that we used to get to the garden from the driveway, but they were left to their own devices at the bottom.

we'd wait and watch for the flowers every summer, and gorge ourselves on blackberries in the early autumn when we got home from school. we'd routinely show up to dinner with our faces smeared in purple and our fingers dyed to match, and act like it was some kind of secret why we couldn't finish our tea. somehow I don't think our parents were fooled, but we were convinced our forays were Incredibly Subtle and they were kind enough to let us believe it.

all this to say: there was a massive bramble patch on the other side of the garden wall, and our garden wall was not very high, and I was seven years old and thought I could fly.

I think some of you might be able to guess where this is going.

there was a part of the garden wall that had collapsed a little the previous winter, creating a small pile of rubble and a convenient dip in the remaining stones that was just perfect to stand on. the collapse was up near the top of the garden, where my parents would cut the brambles back. they were even more zealous than usual that spring, because they wanted to fix up the wall and obviously it wasn't going to go very well if they had to battle their way through a forest of thorns to do so, so that area was completely bramble free - on our side of the wall, anyway.

then my dad dropped a hammer on his foot, and the wall repairs had to be put off for a while.

I took to climbing that collapsed bit of wall so that I could pretend I was a sailor looking out to sea - the wall being my ship, and the sea being the endless stretch of bramble and Field that ran to the horizon (I wasn't very tall, being seven, so the horizon was a lot closer then). I made up stories about the voyages I was taking on my wall ship, and indulged in all sorts of heroic daydreams.

then, one day in late spring, I had A Thought.

wouldn't it be neat, I thought, if I could fly?

obviously flying would be extremely cool. superman could fly. captain planet could fly. actually there were a lot of stories about people who could fly. okay, so they weren't stories about real people, but it stood to reason that if lots of people were writing about it it was theoretically possible, right? and I was only seven, maybe I just hadn't read enough to know about the real people who could fly? and maybe... just maybe... if I believed hard enough...

I mulled this over for a long time. maybe a whole day, which might as well be Forever when you're seven. I reached several conclusions:

if I could fly, it would be exceptionally, incredibly cool

my teachers would definitely be Very Impressed and might even let me do the afternoon reading in assembly time (I really liked doing The Voices, which were not so much necessary when the afternoon reading was usually a poem or a bible story, but I was a stubborn little shit and I would find a way)

not everyone could fly, therefore:

I would have to believe really, really hard if it was going to work

to kickstart my first flight, I should probably jump off something

to assist in my Experiment, it would be helpful to have a Consequence for failure

because failure is, and always has been, The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen To Me, Ever, it would be better to conduct my Experiment at home, where no one would notice if it didn't work

if I wanted to achieve my dreams of being The Best Afternoon Reader and also the first seven year-old to achieve independent flight, the answer was obvious:

I had to hang out in the garden, wait for my siblings to go inside for snacks, stand on the collapsed bit of wall that my parents still hadn't got around to fixing, face out towards the brambles, believe really, really hard, and...

jump.

...

...

...

...yeah, it went about as well as you expected it to.

[blackberrybrambles]

Oh, I see!

So to Sun and Moon, they are applying a punishment equivalent to the crime. (And to the following you don't need to answer because you've said you want the Blackberries stuff written as a story post but I'm just gonna give some thoughts hehe). So the punishment is one year per Berry, and it involves taking care of the forest, so I'm just wondering if it has to do with the well-being of the nature around them in general, at least what consists of the fae territory. Hmmm, I really wonder about the loss of identity part, and if that serves it's purpose or if that is just the part to pay for the offense and anger caused towards the two fae for getting them in trouble.

And since this is still a x reader story I'm very curious on how the relationships will advance! I'm guessing at first "Briar" will just feel... very hated XD The coldness of the hosts seem to make that clear, even if they are supposed to care for the snatched human now. And if that grab from Sun earlier really did bruise them, they will feel very unsafe for a good while. And lonely. Very lonely.

Also, I do wonder if they will come to regret that pain, or if because they are following their ways as fae, it's just something they will remain firm about. I can see "Briar" growing used to their new life, only for a couple of years to have how much they truly lost sinking in once again and cause them a good bit of grief. I don't know if forgetting about other things like it happened with their name is something that might occur, but the knowledge that they forgot must also be really painful.

So I do wonder how that might go, when some care has been established between the three of them and old pain resurfaces with a vengeance.

Oh, and I'm so curious about Eclipse! Since he comes in after a good while of Briar having been there, and is polite enough to Moon, could he turn into a potential friend for Briar if the relationship with Sun and Moon is just polite still? He wouldn't have a motive to be mad at the reader right? Unless blackberries are so important that all fae would be mad about that regardless XD

More fun questions!

You're right on the money in guessing that the berries, by and large, play part in keeping the Fae territory safe!

As for taking the reader's name (Aka, her identity); that's actually the main part of how they trap her in the Fae Realm. By taking her name and giving her a new one, they basically put an enchantment upon "Briar", assuring that she'll remain trapped in their realm. If she should ever manage to get her name back, she can escape.

And you're right to assume that there's a fair amount of negativity in the relationship, at the start. Particularly from Moon (who we've already seen is quicker to fly off the handle than Sun, who did his best to remain kind and polite all the way up until the Reader attempted to disobey and leave). The way its mapped out, Sun is generally nicer while not hiding the fact that he is angry. But as Briar has already been given their punishment, he is doing his best to keep from being any more cruel than he already has by trapping her in the Fae Realm and forcing her to work. Moon is the one more prone to losing his temper flat out, but outside of some verbal abuse and generally being scary, he never seriously hurts Briar (and if he does do physical harm, its largely unintentional). By and large, it takes YEARS for the anger to soften and for Briar and the Fae to start developing a positive relationship (which is why Blackberry Brambles isn't meant to follow a set linear story, but would, ideally, just consists of stories of them in the realm throughout various points in time). Once that positive relationship starts to develop, everything softens. And she starts to learn things about the Fae that largely wouldn't be made obvious otherwise.

There are definitely moments where Briar will be faced with the fact that she's trapped in this place and the world she once knew is moving on without her. The people she once knew are growing older, or even dying. No one knows where she went. And by the time she's set free, there won't be anyone left who will know her. The instant that she set foot in the Fae Realm, her life was gone. And that's a painful thing to think about.

But once the group are on more positive terms, they do show genuine care for Briar. This isn't to say that they wouldn't have tried to protect her from the start, but the closer they grow emotionally, the more meaningful it is to be comforted.

And Eclipse, by and large, is free game to be befriended or made into a lover. He has no reason to view the Reader in a negative light, and by the time he turns up, its established that she's under protection of Sun and Moon. So even if he had some sort of problem with her (and he doesn't) he'd know better than to act upon his negative feelings. By and large, Eclipse will turn up and be a tense acquaintance for a while before eventually establishing himself as a trustworthy ally.

[bigowo-kinguwu]

The Stoic Gator

trigger warning: bullying, swearing

CHAPTER I

The rush of autumn air bends around his charging body. He possesses little time to consider his next decision as he scrambles down into a charitable bush to hide himself, now huffing and tired. The brambles didn’t bother his thick leathery hide, and the few squished wild blackberries slowly worked their magic to calm his racing heart as their aroma filled his nose. “Where’d that pussy go?!” echoed a harsh voice very nearby. Several legs and feet visible to the young hidden gator search around his refuge. The vines and berries acted as his unsuspected protection, a natural barrier to deter the investigating hands of delinquents previously bullying the now shrouded reptile.

“Ooh, blackberries,” yammered a hungry gray billy goat. He grabbed a berry and was happily enjoying it, before being rudely interrupted by a familiar aggressive voice. “Quit that snackin’, Murphy! We’re lookin’ for Duvall!!!” The black bull dressed in an unkempt brown school uniform punctuated his order by smacking Murphy upside the head, causing him to spit out the chewed berry onto the ground. “Hey! Now you watch who you’re hittin’, Buck!” Murphy then headbutts Buck in the gut with his long sturdy horns. The two get swept up through their wrestling, and begin to lock horns. Back and forth, to and fro, Murphy and Buck get farther and farther away from the bush. The rest of the teens encourage the sudden fight and follow them to watch who would reign victorious this time, as their bouts were as frequent as they idiotic. With this prime opportunity, Henry Alexander Duvall, the hidden gator wearing a considerably more well kept school uniform of the same color, takes his leave.

Now dotted with blackberry stains and splotched with caked mud, Henry makes his way back to the school grounds. On the way, Henry hears the iconic rhythmic drumming of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Curiosity takes hold of him, and Henry goes alongside the beaten trail to finally peer down at the source of the drumming. Down by the river a couple of yards away, Henry spies on a portly Duroc pig sporting a clean flat top haircut. Wearing a black strap of fabric around his forehead, a white tank top, and the same color and style of pants as Henry. The gator squints to the drummer’s left side to see a white dress shirt and a brown jacket with the same emblem on its right chest side: An ornate chapel with a rising sun engulfing the background with the words, “St. Matthew's Institution for Gifted Young Men.” The pig continues to drum on his metal mop bucket with his twin drumsticks giving a beautiful gospel rendition of the first verse. Henry is completely captivated by his voice, and loses his footing as he tumbled down the small hill towards the young pig.

His ears perk up, and he nimbly rolls out of the way as Henry rolls into the river bed. The young teen blinks a couple of times before snorting and laughing hardily. In a Southern accent, he says, “Boy, what is you doin’? When they say rock n’ roll, they don’t mean literally! Although, that is one hell of an entrance, so I gotta give you props for that.” After Henry is thoroughly embarrassed and the young man has his laugh, the kind drummer boy helps him up. Henry begins to wipe the mud from his face, and he hears, “Huh, you’re pretty cute with or without that mud on your face. Good to know.” Henry was shocked by the boy’s comment, and became flustered. In his raspy Cajun accent, he says, “W-what did you jus’ say?” There was a pretty big height difference between the two, Henry stood at about 6’6 while the drummer boy stood at 5’6, and both could get a good look at each other’s eyes.

Henry had golden eyes that shone like a noon summer sun. They darted all around, racked with anxiety and confusion, but eventually found their way to lock into place onto the boy’s gaze. The drummer had eyes of silver, like the grill of a 1971 Cadillac Eldorado Coupe. His stare was steady and squinted with curiosity as he gave each of Henry’s scales the attention and care they each deserved. Henry quickly jerks out his hand as their heads start getting closer, “My name’s Henry! What’s yours?!” A little startled, his floppy ears perk up as he says, “Radcliff, but you can call me Rad,” and he shakes his hand. “Damn, that’s a firm grip you got. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were tryin’ to yank it off.” Henry, now even more self-conscious, lets go and blurts out, “I am so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “It’s all good, man. Chill~,” Rad said as he daps up Henry. “Uh, right.”

They continued to hold hands and lock eyes for what seemed like ages, and each one was more unique and splendid than the last.

Henry finally realized that they had been touching for too long, and abruptly let go again. “You have excellent rhythm and technique. Your singing is top notch, too.” “Shoot, you heard all that,” Rad said with a blush, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh huh, you should join the choir with a voice like that.” “Nah, I get enough of church singing on Sundays. I don’t need to do allat before, during, and after school, either. Jesus is the king, but I think he can get by with at least one day devoted to him.” “Haha, yeah,” Henry chuckled. “Well, what do you plan to do with that talent of yours?” “Well, since you so graciously asked, I-”

“THERE YOU ARE, BOY!!!

In a quick slide, Henry gets in front of his newfound friend and says, “Yep, that’s right, Buck. I’m right here.” “Uuuuh, what’s goin’ on here?” “Nothin’, if you stay quiet,” Henry said, with a sharp whisper. “Get over here, now! We gotta score to settle,” he said, pounding his fist into hand. “Fine,” he sighed. Henry took only a couple of steps forward before the back of his shirt was grabbed suddenly. Henry turns back, “What are you still doin’ here? You need to go, now!” “Saving you some of the trouble, follow my lead.” Having let go, Rad goes to Henry’s side and says to Buck and his goons, “C’mon Buck, 6-on-1 ain’t exactly fair. Now 6-on-2, I like those odds.” “Whatchu say Porky?!” Murphy and the other bullies snicker. “I said, ‘For a low down sorry sumbitch like yourself, gangin’ up on somebody is par for the course, but it ain’t gone happen today!’ THAT’S what I said,” Radcliff finishes by snorting out. 

Some of the bullies oohed at Rad’s burn, but Buck just got angrier and angrier. “Now why’d you go and do that?!” Henry worriedly said. “It’s more fun this way, Buck ‘n Murphy the only ones we really gotta watch out for, and the rest of ‘em are just gonna watch. So, I’m with you. That answers your question?” Henry was confused as he never had anyone stand up for him. Everyone thought because he was a huge carnivore, everyone should worry about not for him; but here was Rad, doing something he had no real business in doing. Henry let those words rest in him, and gave Rad a nod of understanding.

Heads turned towards their opposition, both took up their fists ready for a fight. The now volcanic Buck charged towards them, and as Henry was about to take the first swing . . .

He woke up.

[half-baked-stories]

Sparrow & Thorne (1,670 words)

Has he ever had a blackberry?  She didn’t know, but was keen to find out.

The rumor was that they once grew in plentiful thickets around the castle, so dense and brambled as to discourage even the most determined human on foot.  Over time they were all picked bare, or cut down, and never grew back.

There were loads growing wild in the woods beyond the royal territories, and at this time of year were ripe for picking. Sparrow couldn't eat a whole one herself, of course, they were far too large, but each individual druplet could be separated and savored like a ripe, dripping plum in the hand.

She carried six of them in her little satchel, one for him to try right away and a few others to take home, if inclined. Sparrow was still never quite sure how he’d be towards her on any given day, although lately she detected a slight -- maybe -- softening of his resistance.   A lowering of his walls.

Anyway, it was weeks since he’d last kept an absent hand on his sword-hilt when she visited. That had to count for something.

She had to approach stealthily, in hummingbird darts from branch to branch, positioning behind leaf clusters thick enough to hide her from the keen eyes of the Aerie Guard’s kestrel mounts.  Even then, opportunity was not always with her.  Captain Thorne only patrolled one solitary corner of the palace grounds where she could approach unseen, and he wasn’t always alone.  Sometimes the younger guards joined him on foot -- the greenhorns, he called them -- alert and twitchy in ways that reminded her of fox kits and fledgling owls.  Young predators eager for an easy kill.

Sparrow didn’t care to be caught out by either.

But he was alone today, draped shoulder-to-ankle in the rust-colored cloak of the Queensguard, arms folded beneath it against autumn’s chill. In a few more weeks Sparrow wouldn’t even have enough cover among the trees to safely visit, and she wondered vaguely if he’d miss her visits as much as she would visiting him.

Probably not.  But it felt nice to hope.

She whistled from the branches, a four-note melody that turned his head from his vigil.  He sighed, exasperated but amused, then tucked thumb and forefinger to his lips with a single, low whistle of response.

Sparrow cleared the tree like a dart, landing in a splay-winged crouch at the edge of the flagstone terrace.  Thorne regarded her mildly, head shaking as his arms vanished back beneath the cloak and folded across his chest.

“This can’t continue.”

“Oh, it won’t,” she promised, straightening up, already digging a hand into her satchel.  He looked dubious.

“No?  Finally planning on listening to me, one of these days?”

“No, but it will be winter before too long.  It won’t be safe.”  She palmed a druplet from her bag and offered it out proudly.

“It’s barely safe n…”  He blinked.  “What is this?”

“A blackberry!”  She jogged it at him excitedly.  “Have you ever had one?”

He breathed out, deflating, and took it from her with reluctant wonder.  Even the tight fold of his wings relaxed.

“Hm. Not in many, many years.”

“Eat it,” she encouraged, ducking her head out from the strap of her bag.  “I brought more.”

She could have been trying to poison him.  He was always drilling into the heads of the young guards how little the wild fairies could be trusted.  He sometimes even believed it.  As the seasons and the years crawled by, however, and his tenure grew ever longer, it began to feel more like an old wive’s tale than an ironclad truth.

Were they dangerous?  Certainly.  But no more than any other threat in the wilds beyond the royal woods.  There were blue jays he feared more than any given Outsider, and especially not this one.

He weighed the druplet in his hand, Sparrow beaming at him with such hope.  Poisoning him with a blackberry -- particularly after spending all spring and summer slowly, painstakingly, and to his great dismay befriending him -- felt more farcical than nefarious.

He bit into it, purple juice promptly dribbling into his beard, then fished for a handkerchief to contain the unavoidable mess.  Sparrow held her breath.

“It’s very good,” he agreed soberly, and to her immediate delight..  And it was.  It tasted like late summer, sugar-sweet and tart, a mouthful of nostalgia he’d long forgotten.  Sparrow thrust her entire satchel out at him by the strap.

“I brought more!”

“Where did y…”  A sigh.  He took it, throwing back one side of his cloak to loop it over his shoulder, then tried to polish off the last of the druplet before he could make an entire, sticky mess of himself.  “Thank you.”

“They grow wild, beyond the borders,” she explained, lowering cross-legged to the flagstone.  Her wings spread wide from her back, catching the last warmth of the sun’s rays.  They were cinnamon gold, the mullions divided by black veining, less shimmering and opalescent than those of the upper castes, but still lovely in their own way.  “The birds pick the raspberries clean in an afternoon, it seems like, but they won’t go after the blackberries.  Not the ones that grow deep in the thicket.  I think they don’t like the thorns.”

He grunted, looking down at his hands as he wiped them clean of purple juice.

“But they don’t seem to bother you.”

She shrugged.  “They’re worth the trouble.”

Thorne studied her solemnly, ill at ease in his own feelings.  Sparrow was hard to figure, no longer a girl but still a few paces shy of a woman, wiry and electric with energy in the way of all wild fairies.  He felt something for her -- something more than the annoyance he was duty-bound to feel, anyway -- but couldn’t put a name to it.  He admired her, when he knew he shouldn’t.  He thought about her, when she was too long absent.  More and more often, he worried about her.

The world was unkind, beyond the royal woods.  She lived in the chaos of an untamed, unmapped, unguarded wilderness that few within the patrolled safety of the castle and its territories could even imagine.  She spoke of thwarting hungry birds and fending off legions of ants as everyday challenges of survival, when these were fantastical, make-believe games that children of the upper castes played for fun.

And she was so small.  So innocent, and joyful, and small.

He didn’t like any of the things she made him feel, but neither did he want to rid himself of them.

He tucked his handkerchief away, refolding his arms as he affected a more commanding look.

“How go your preparations for winter?  You must be nearly done, by now.”

“Nearly so,” she agreed, tracing a finger over a grout line between two puzzle-piece fragments of stone.  “I don’t know if I told you, but I finally found a nest.”

His brows lifted, impressed.

“Did you?”

“Yes.  And this one won’t flood, or get stolen by squirrels, or blow down in a storm.  Well… anything’s possible, I suppose, but I’ve tried to fortify it.”

His eyes softened, musing. “Tell me.”

“Not far off the creek,” she said, looking up at him.  “I found a tree hollow no one was using.  A birch, so it’s nothing spacious, but I don’t need much right now.  There’s an abandoned house nearby -- well, there’s nothing left but a little rectangle of stones and a hearth, but it was a house.  I found all sorts of clever things inside that they left behind.”

Thorne’s expression too easily revealed his concern.

“A house? You shouldn’t… listen, if there are Men about--”

“But there aren’t,” she reasoned urgently, having anticipated his objections.  “Not for years -- generations, maybe!  A Man couldn’t even reach it by foot without having to go through a thicket.  Even if one tried, I’d hear them coming from so far away.”

He put away his reservations with a sigh.  Like any of the wildfolk, she had to make her own way, successes and mistakes alike.  Or, anyway, the things he judged as mistakes.  She didn’t have the luxury of castle craftsmen, nor public larders when the months grew cold and lean.  The Outsiders were not without some semblance of a society, but could she count on them in times of need?

When at last she departed from the year’s last visit, would he spend the whole of the winter wondering what became of her?

“Sparrow,” he said carefully, chin lowering to his chest.  “I know you aren’t keen to follow any of my advice, but--”

“Hey!”  A voice hollered from above.  Thorne heard the trilling kree kree kree of a little raptor on the wing, one of the Aerie guards, and his heart stopped cold.

A shadow fell over them, and Sparrow looked up in time to see the bird hovering, wings planed and pumping the air as its rider peered eagerly down from the saddle.

“Wait--!”  Thorne lunged in front of her, thrusting an arm up at the rider “Hold your mount!”

“I’ve got her!” the guard boasted, and the kestrel tucked for a dive.

It all happened too fast.  A domino-fall of split-second tragedies, one after the other, and he was helpless to arrest any from leading to the next.  Sparrow panicked, kicking and scrambling blindly backward, and the kestrel dropped.  Its wings sliced open, talons extended, but it was a hair’s breadth shy of catching her when she took to the air.

Thorne dove out of its way, tailfeathers blindsiding him as it hit the terrace, screeched and slipped and clawed for purchase, then launched after Sparrow like a slingshot stone.

She couldn’t outfly it.  She was quick as an arrow, he’d seen her move like lightning between the trees, but that bird would outpace her the instant it got up to speed.

“Stop!” he bellowed, wings flaring, blurring the air as he lurched to the air after them.  “I said hold your mount!”

[lucygraysboy]

standing outside the barn, leaning against the nearby fence, billy sticks his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and contemplates for a moment. he’s returned to his hometown after being gone for five long years (no phone calls, no stopping by for holidays, not even a postcard) and a very arrogant part of him has been hoping, expecting everything to remain the same as it was on the day he packed up his bags and left. frozen in time. instead the opposite has happened — everyone’s moved on, carried on without him. he’s struck by a deep sense of alienation and even a hint of regret (like he shouldn’t have come here at all), finally realizing that there’s no way he’ll be able to simply pick up right where he left off. the places are familiar, but the faces have changed and many hold a personal grudge against him. after all, the whole town knows that joe’s been living at mrs. baird’s, his stepfather’s still drinking heavily and spending his weekly paychecks at the brothel two towns over, and people don’t like billy’s selfish attitude one bit. not many can sympathize with him, figuring he should have at least come visit once in a blue moon, and so there’s really no one at the birthday party with whom he could just spark up a fun conversation. his own brother doesn’t want to talk to him, so what does he expect from virtual strangers?

and then, suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, just as he’s about to climb into his range rover, a familiar sound draws his attention. lucy gray. he’d recognize this laugh anywhere. it sends a chill down his spine. they must have missed each other at the party. he glances toward the nearby trees, thinking he knows exactly where the sweet sound is coming from — their spot. part of him is dreading the moment he lays eyes on her, but then a different part feels a strange kind of pulling. enchanted, he moves toward the forest, the deep, blue lake hidden just past the tree line, the old cabin where they’d hide from rain and thunderstorms. his glittery dress pants and elegant shoes weren’t necessarily made for long walks through woods, but he doesn’t really care, he just wants to say hello. look at her again, talk to her, see what she’s up to these days. he’s halfway through, stepping over brambles and blackberry bushes, cursing quietly as they scratch the fabric of his pants. it ends up ripping, both his pants and the vines give way at the same time, and makes him miss new york… the white tank top that he’s wearing is great, lets his skin breathe in this sweltering heat, but also leaves his arms completely exposed to bug bites and tree branches. he hates this place. hates the judgmental people. doesn’t really hate his ungrateful little brother but… ugh. fuck them all. he’s just going to say hi to lucy gray and be on his merry way. they don’t want him here anyway.

he manages to make it through the woods, finding the dirt path that leads up to the cabin only to realize… is that a male voice that he’s hearing? it’s not billy taupe, but it sounds strangely familiar while also being so completely foreign. he must have met this man before, but — it hits him like a freight train. pale blue eyes flickering down, finding the old dock and the lonely boat, and… lucy gray with another man. jealousy pricks his heart against all rationality, deep down knowing that she’s no longer his girl, hasn’t been his in five years. besides, he’s not in love with her. why would he care if she’s replaced him, too? still, he feels an overwhelming sense of loss. it’s like going back to virginia. the sight of her so carefree, with someone else taking his place, brings a sharp, bitter sting of sadness while simultaneously filling him with rage. is he so easily replaceable? really? it’s their spot. their secret place. and this man… he’s nothing like billy taupe. he’s just like… what the fuck? there’s so many places that they could go to. why would she take him to their spot?

lucy gray really thought she was happy again these days, since she had been holding a grudge towards billy the day she left that hotel once the roads were finally clear after being stuck with him in a snowstorm– all the way until recently. when she found river, a familiar but unfamiliar face. up until he came to distract her mind and heart forever holding on to billy bonney, someone who changed, and quit listening to her. who decided he was right and easily gave up on her, essentially abandoned her again when he made no effort to understand why he makes her feel so bad. being around river especially made her grow fond of him when she realized... he did listen. he made her feel like she was being seen and heard, unlike the entirety of the issue with billy. he didn't make her feel like she was crazy, when moments stirred similar to arguments with billy but instead he turned them around with jokes and laughs and 'come on, north carolina. tell me what's wrong? i'm all ears, all nostrils, all toenails.'

it was impossible to have any room for any flared anger when he said things like that. she lost all anger, laughed and then easily fell into an explanation of why she was upset because he wanted to listen and they'd sit out on the swings in her yard until dark talking about it. admitting their flaws to each other and owning up to them. he was smart about horses, loved hearing her sing, loved the farm as much as she did...all of it made her heart on fire again while subconsciously ignoring the bad parts to him. just like the hard laughter sounding from her now as they're playing by the lake, squeaking and clawing at his big arms enveloped around her. her short legs lifted off the ground, kicking them in the air, "oh, come on, lucy bird. if you think i won't toss your lil butt right in that water, y'got another thing comin'." river playfully threatens, "i ain't DOUBTIN' you. but i still am firm on my word. i'm the better singer." she's playfully teasing, laughing like there was no tomorrow after they got in this big jokingly debate how he's a terrible singer after she started singing teardrops on my guitar by t.aylor s.wift out of boredom on their walk here from joe's birthday party and he chimed in, purposely like a dying cat.

she loved how small things like that could turn into these funny arguments. laughing because it was the first time she felt happy in years as he picked up his cowboy hat that she knocked off his head purposely, he bent down momentarily while still hanging on to her to pick it up then locked his grip on her again before placing his hat on top of her had. laughing because billy bonney was miles and miles away like he always had been, every year, so devastatingly on his little brother's birthday and all the other important days– so it wasn't like there was any reason in mind to restrain her happiness and a need to keep quiet. the first part of her life was with billy, but the next chapter was with river. she finally had came to terms with it as she grinned and proudly kept his hat on while still giggling and trying to get away. "i'm the better singer," she played, "and i'm just as much from tennessee as YOU are. i was just born in north carolina, how many times do i have to tell you that darlin'?" she brings it up because she knows he's always up for the state debate. "oh, no. you're definitely not..." and there he goes, hilariously like she predicted, "you're north carolina for a reason, north carolina. cause you're a traitor and decided to be born there." the blond teased her, always persistent in playfully aggravating her about this since the second he found out she wasn't technically born a tennessean and he knew lucy gray actually loved it every time.

[lilithsaintcrow]

Blackberry Lesson

Clinging to life, even after ice. Blackberry brambles (and raspberry canes, to a lesser degree) love the climate here. In spring they don’t grow quite so quickly as kudzu, but sometimes it seems that way. In summer they’re banks of green hiding small animals–maybe larger ones, too–and full of wicked claws just aching for a bit of flesh. As the season turns to autumn the berries are ripe, birds…