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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years ago

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Desiderium

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter One

A JSE Fanfic

Hey! Hey! New AU! :D I’m really excited for it! As you can probably tell from the title, this is a fantasy-themed one. Taking place in the kingdom known as Glasúil, where magic and strange creatures are common, a man called Chase lives a simple life in a mountain village with his family. But of course, something just has to happen, and, well...you’ll see next chapter ;) Feel free to ask me anything about this AU, even though it’s still in its early stages I have a lot of ideas that I’m eager to share!

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The forest floor was blanketed in a layer of fallen leaves, red and orange and yellow matching the colors of those still on the tree branches. Bushes and shrubs made the terrain difficult for most people. But a single rabbit hopped across the ground, unhindered by the underbrush and making no sound on the crunchy fallen leaves. It stopped by a small bush, sniffed its leaves, and started to nibble on them.

Thwip! An arrow suddenly appeared next to the rabbit. It had barely landed when the rabbit was already running, darting off quickly. “Wait, no! No!” Someone shouted. A man appeared, shooting to his feet from where he’d been hiding behind a nearby bush. He nocked another arrow and let it loose, but it missed by a mile, landing in the trunk of a nearby tree. The rabbit was already gone.

“Damn it,” Chase cursed, looking down at his arm. That last shot had been sloppy; if he wasn’t wearing his arm guard, the bow string could’ve really hurt him. He tightened the guard straps and went to collect the arrows from where they’d landed. The one that hit the tree had its point chipped a bit. “Damn it,” he said again, whispering this time. If he kept chipping arrows, he’d have to buy more, and they couldn’t afford that right now.

Maybe he’d missed because it was starting to get dark. Chase looked through the branches of the trees towards the sky. He could see the rosy hint of a sunset in the distance. Well, if that wasn’t a sign that it was time to head back, he didn’t know what was. He’d already checked the snares he’d set up yesterday and set up new ones; there was nothing more to do. Disappointed, he turned back and headed east, towards town. Hopefully tomorrow he’d find more in the forest than three squirrels and a rabbit that he failed to shoot.

The trees soon thinned. Chase walked down a familiar slope of land and quickly saw the familiar buildings at the edge of town. Well, it wasn’t really a town. It was too small for that. It was actually a village, but people called it Hilltown, and so naturally it was shortened to just town. People said things like “Hey I’m heading back to town,” or “The millers live on the edge of town.” That might be confusing in a more urban setting, where there were more cities and towns close together, but they lived in the mountains. The village was the only “town” for miles.

Chase slipped in between two buildings and officially entered the village. These buildings were made of wood, and a bit rickety due to being built on sloping ground. When the village was founded, it was first built on a relatively flat area. But as it slowly grew, it had to creep upwards onto the incline that led up to the forest. The way the buildings continued onto the slope was the reason people started calling it Hilltown, though Chase had never been fond of the name.

“Hey! Is that you, Chase?”

“Huh?” Chase stopped, and looked around. He quickly spotted the source of the call: an older man, with a black beard streaked with gray, standing in the doorway of a house. “Hi, Kieran. How’re you doing?”

“Doing fine, boy,” Kieran said good-naturedly. “Come back from hunting so soon?”

“Well it is sunset. Do you expect me to shoot in the dark?” Chase commented, raising an eyebrow.

Kieran chuckled. “So...did you shoot any beaver today?”

“No, Kieran, there are no beavers in the mountains,” Chase sighed. The older man had been living here for three years, and he couldn’t seem to grasp that.

“Ah, if you say so,” Kieran waved away. “If you ever do catch one—”

“—I can bring the pelt to you, I know,” Chase finished. And again, he’d been offering that same proposal for three years.

“That’s the spirit! I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Be seeing you.”

Chase headed onward. As the ground started to level out, the buildings became sturdier, with more made of stone bricks, and grew closer together. The streets weren’t paved, but they were cleared, dusty paths well-trod. A few people were out, though not as many as there would have been earlier in the day. Mostly small kids running around and a few people taking turns getting water at the well in the center of the town. Chase waved at them, and they nodded back. One of them, Terrance the tailor, called out “How’re you doing?” and Chase answered, “Doing fine!”

Shortly after passing by the well, he came across the tallest building in town, and was once again stopped by someone calling his name. “Mister Chase!”

He stopped and turned to face the building: the temple. The couple that ran it were standing outside the doorway. One of them, Mother Aoife, was waving at him. “Hello, Mother. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, well, can I ask you a question?” Mother Aoife said. She gestured at the entrance. “Do you think we’d have room for another holy symbol up there?”

“Uh...” Chase took a step back. The doorway to the temple had two symbols on either side of it, showing that members of either faith could practice inside. To the left was a blue candle, almost as long as a person’s arm, burning and dripping wax. To the right were two interlocking circles the size of someone’s head: one gold-ish with small triangles around the edge, one silver-ish with a line down the center. “I mean...I guess you could put one above the door.”

“No, we can’t do that!” Mother Aoife said. “That would imply that one faith is higher than the others.”

“Right. Then, I’m guessing it would be the same if you put a symbol in the space beneath one of the other two?”

“Exactly.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Pastor Cait frowned. She was the other leader at the temple, and was Mother Aoife’s wife. They’d actually held two ceremonies, one for each of their respective faiths. That day had been one of the most active days Hilltown had seen in the past ten years. “Besides, nobody in town follows the Forger.”

“But it is becoming popular with those down in the flatlands of Glasúil,” Mother Aoife insisted. “What if someone comes to visit and spread the faith?”

“Well, neither of us even know anything about the Forge, anyway,” Pastor Cait pointed out.

“We could always find someone.”

“That runs into the problem of nobody in town following the Forger.”

“Um...is that all you wanted me for?” Chase asked awkwardly.

“Oh no, I just thought I’d ask you first,” Mother Aoife said. “Stacia stopped by. She said to tell you that she was leaving early and would be home when you were done hunting.”

“Really? That’s strange.” Stacia usually worked all day, and with the fall harvest coming up, she’d probably be out on the farms from sunrise to sunset. “Why?”

“She said something about Quentin,” Mother Aoife said, frowning as she tried to remember. “I think he might’ve been getting sick? There was something wrong.”

Chase felt his heart drop, leaving his chest cold. “Why didn’t you start with that?!”

“Well, I—” Mother Aoife’s explanation was wasted. Chase was already running.

It wasn’t too far from here. He sprinted down the street, not bothering to look at any of the people he passed by, heading for the other edge of town. The buildings started to spread out again, small patches of vegetable gardens dotting the rows of low stone houses. He kept running until he reached his own, recognizing the garden of radishes outside and the rough chalk drawings on the stones outside, drawn by children. Without waiting, he threw open the wooden door and rushed inside.

“Dad?” Amabel, his daughter, was sitting on the edge of the rough wooden table, carefully trying to tie the end of a string into a loop.

“Hi, Amy. Where’s your mother and brother?” Chase asked.

“Bedroom,” Amabel said, pointing at the doorway, blocked off by a hanging length of cloth.

“Thanks.” Chase ruffled her red hair as he walked past, not wasting any time and ducking underneath the cloth. “What happened? Is it bad?!”

Stacia looked up, clearly surprised. “Chase? What do you mean what happened?”

“Mother Aoife, down at the temple, she said that you said something happened with Quentin a-and that you were leaving early because of it,” Chase hurried through the explanation. “Is everything okay?!”

“Did she...well I guess it would sound bad if that’s all she said,” Stacia muttered. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Hi Dad!” Quentin was lying in the big double-bed that Chase and Stacia usually shared, propped up against the wooden frame. Their thick winter quilt was wrapped around him, his little face and dark curls being the only thing to poke out of the patchwork cloth.

“He fell in the water trough for Rainer’s sheep when I looked away,” Stacia explained, sighing. “Got pretty wet.”

“There was a goat staring at me!” Quentin said. He didn’t seem any worse for wear.

“It’ll probably be fine, but considering his...constitution, I-I thought it’d be best if I took the rest of the day off to keep an eye on him.” Stacia pulled the blanket up over Quentin’s head, much to his delight.

All the tension immediately drained from Chase’s body. He stumbled against the wall, losing his balance in the flood of relief. “Oh thank the elders,” he breathed.

Stacia stood up. She walked over to the bedroom window—the only one in their cottage to have glass—and made sure it was firmly closed. Then she turned to face Chase. “Did you...did you get back to town early and decide to check on us?”

“No, I just got back, I ran all the way here,” Chase said, catching his breath for the first time.

“Oh.” Stacia glanced at the arrows in his quiver, then at the three squirrels he had slung over his back. “Sorry, I guess I just thought, since you didn’t seem to find that much—”

“It’s fall, Stacy, animals are starting to hibernate,” Chase said, rubbing his eyes.

“Right. I always forget that.” Stacia nodded.

“How are things going at the farm?”

“Alright. Busy. You know, Jane told me that down in the flatlands, where it’s warmer, they grow potatoes through the winter. Which makes sense, but it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Yea, pretty strange.” Chase stood up straight. “Well, I’m going to go take care of these squirrels.”

“Oh!” Stacia’s eyes widened. “Wait, before you do, do you remember that you’re going to start teaching Amabel shooting on Hunt’s Day?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Chase assured her. “I already have a great spot marked out.”

Stacia let out a breath. “Good. With everything today, I almost forgot until now.”

“Well, clearly Amabel didn’t forget. I saw her trying to make a bow string in the main room.” Chase smiled. “It looked pretty good, for her first time doing it on her own.”

“Wonderful.” Stacia turned back to Quentin, who was picking at the seams of the quilt. “Now go take care of those squirrels. Are you going to make dinner or should I?”

“Uh. You seem busy, I’ll do it,” Chase offered. “Right after the squirrels.”

It was well into the night by the time everyone was settled down. Quentin was fine, he hadn’t caught a cold, which was a huge relief. He’d been born a bit weaker than other children, and didn’t have as much energy as them. He often fell ill, and it was always a worry to Chase and Stacia. Amabel was heartier, but she was a quiet child. She often wandered about on her own, and was very familiar with the layout of Hilltown and the potato farms on the edge of the village, where many people worked, including Stacia. At ten years old, it was about time for her to start taking up more serious chores, and she’d asked Chase to take her hunting more than once. Of course, she had to learn to shoot first, and luckily for her, he was ready to teach her soon.

They had mutton for dinner, which they’d traded for with Rainer. Chase had managed to shoot down a bird last week, and the farmer had gladly traded a sheep for that. Now they were all sitting, taking the time to rest. Stacia was sitting in the rocking chair, patching up a hole in one of her tunics, while Amabel and Quentin were sitting by the stone fireplace, both of them now under the winter quilt.

“Don’t get too close, kids,” Chase called from his position near the window, where he was drawing their curtains closed. “A spark could fly and catch that fabric on fire.”

“It’s fine,” Amabel said, pulling the blanket closer and wrapping it around her and Quentin’s legs. “Dad, we need new curtains, those are old.”

“I know, Amy,” Chase muttered, glancing at the threadbare fabric. “But we can’t get any right now, so we’re keeping these until they fall apart.”

“Hmm.” Amabel hummed. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can we have a story?”

At that suggestion, Quentin perked up. “A story! Yes!”

Chase’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, I guess we could have one.”

Stacia looked up. “It’s late. And you need your sleep, Quentin, just in case.”

“It’ll be a short one, then,” Chase said. He walked over and sat down in one of the three rickety wooden chairs by the table. The kids spun around so their backs were to the fireplace and scooted a bit closer, though not out of range for the heat of the fire. “Where do you want your story to be from tonight? Down in the flatlands? Maybe along the coast or in the ocean? Or even in Suilthair, where the king lives?”

“What about...here?” Amabel suggested. “In the mountains?”

“Hmm...” Chase stroked his chin, fingers running along his beard hair. “You know what? I think I could work with that.”

Quentin cheered. Amabel stayed quiet, but she leaned forward, ready to hear. Stacia sighed quietly, continuing to patch, but occasionally glanced upwards, showing she was listening as well.

“Do you know what our mountain range is called in the flatlands? It’s just home to us, but to them, we live in the Dragon’s Teeth.” Chase paused for Quentin to gasp. “It’s called that for two reasons. One, because of how high and pointy they are, looking a bit like teeth. Two, because years and years ago, before people moved up into the mountains, dragons lived here.”

“What?!” Quentin whispered. “Big dragons?! Like in the warrior story?”

“Even bigger! Because up in the mountains they had a ton of space to grow into. They lived in caves, and each dragon had its own mountain.” Chase smiled. “Of course, there aren’t any dragons anymore. At least, not in our kingdom. Who knows? Maybe there are more across the seas. But dragons were very magical, and a whole bunch of other magical creatures gathered around the spaces where they used to live, sucking up all the leftover magic.”

“Do wizards get their magic from dragons?” Amabel asked.

Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Our family’s not that magical, so I never learned that. Maybe you could find that out one day.”

Amabel nodded, her little eyes determined to answer this question someday.

“But even though there aren’t any dragons anymore, there are a lot of other creatures. You know what I always say to do if something bad happens in town?”

“Run to the forest,” the kids said in unison.

“Exactly.” Chase nodded. “Mom and I will come find you. And if nothing’s happened by the next sunset, you come back to town on your own.” That last part was added at Stacia’s request, since she was concerned about food and woodland animals. “You know all the rules about avoiding wolves and bears, but...there are magical things in the forest. So I have three more rules for you: if a deer has golden antlers, don’t bother it. If you see a horse out on its own, don’t touch it. And if you hear a woman crying, don’t go after it.”

Quentin nodded, but Amabel tilted her head to the side. “Why? And that last one, what if it’s Mom?”

“Well, you could recognize Mom’s voice,” Chase said. “I mean if it sounds like a strange woman. Because that might not be a woman at all. That could be a banshee. They won’t mean you any harm on their own, but if they see you, they’ll try to tell you about coming tragedies. Sounds like a good warning, right? Except that hearing this warning makes the tragedy more likely to happen. So you should stay away. One time, while I was out hunting about, um...ten years ago, before you were born. I was out with Micheal down the bend, we heard someone crying. I decided to walk away, but Micheal chased after it, and when he came back he said he found a banshee. And the next morning, very suddenly, his mother died.”

“Oh no,” Quentin breathed. “What about the other two?”

“A deer with golden antlers probably isn’t a deer at all. It could be the Elder Horned One in disguise. If you disturb him, you could find yourself whisked away to join his hunters. And a horse out on its own definitely isn’t a horse at all. It’s actually a kelpie. And if you touch a kelpie, you’ll get stuck to it. It’ll run into the nearest water and drag you under, and you won’t be able to let go.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for the night,” Stacia said, standing up. “Amabel, Quentin, you’re all washed up?”

“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison.

“Good. Off to bed with you.” Stacia hurried the kids over to the corner, where the small bed the two of them shared was tucked against the wall. “We’ll be seeing you in the morning,” she said, pulling back the blankets and tucking them in once the kids were under.

Chase wandered over. “Good night, Quen. Good night, Amy.” He gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

“Good night Dad,” Amabel said. Quentin was already yawning, face buried in the pillow. “Good night Mom.”

“Good night,” Stacia said, giving her and Quentin a kiss as well.

With that, the two adults retreated to the separate bedroom, quickly getting ready for bed. “You ended that story abruptly,” Chase commented.

“Well you did say they were going to get drowned by a kelpie,” Stacia pointed out.

“No, I said that they wouldn’t be if they didn’t touch it. It was a cautionary tale.”

“Still, not the best to hear at night.” Stacia ran a comb through her hair. “And also, I don’t think we should tell them to go into the forest anymore. Not without an adult there.”

“Really?” Chase frowned. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, come on, Stacy. I know it is, but you can’t tell me you didn’t run around the forest when you were their age. I know I did, and I walked out. Michael did. Terrance did. Wendy and Emilia did.”

“Things are different now,” Stacia said slowly. She shifted uneasily on her feet, then glanced out the window, as if making sure nobody was outside. “Look, you know Rose, Aodhan’s wife?”

“No, but I definitely know Aodhan, he runs the potato farms.”

“Well, Rose is married to him. The past week, she’s been working with us for the harvest, and...she says there are...new things in the forest.”

Chase paused. He’d been about to blow out the candle in the sconce by the door, but something about the way Stacia said that made him pause. “Like...what?”

“Townsfolk have been seeing the figures of...people,” Stacia whispered. “But not your regular, everyday people. These ones carry weapons, a-and they wear...masks. Masks shaped like animal faces. They move quickly and silently, and some think that they’re spirits of some kind.”

“I’ve...never heard of spirits wearing animal masks,” Chase said in a low voice.

“Neither have I. But here’s the thing: Rose doesn’t believe those rumors.” Stacia paused. “Did you know there’s trouble down in the flatlands? People are...unhappy. With how the king is running things.”

“What? That’s strange,” Chase muttered. “I remember hearing that he’s the best king Glasúil ever had.” Though now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since he’d heard something like that.

“Well, it’s trouble either way to have people thinking that about a king,” Stacia said firmly. “And Rose thinks that these spirits in masks are just people running around the forest, hiding out, being rebels. And that’s dangerous, Chase. Animals and magic behave by certain rules you can expect, but people...you just don’t know with them.”

“I guess you’re right,” Chase muttered. He paused, then blew out the candle and headed back towards bed. “Well, I haven’t seen any of these masked spirits. And I’m in the forest every day. So it’s probably nothing to worry about yet.”

“That forest is big, Chase,” Stacia said, clearly worried despite his reassurance. “You’ve probably only explored a tiny part of it, and the same goes for anyone else in town.”

That was true. Even in his farthest hunting trips, he’d only gone far enough to find his way back to Hilltown relatively quickly. “I still say it’ll be fine,” he reiterated. “I don’t see why any rebels would bother us, even if they were out there.” He climbed into bed. “If I see something weird when I’m out tomorrow, I’ll reconsider it. Besides, it’s not good to think about things like this before bed, as you pointed out to the kids.”

Stacia sighed, and got into bed as well, pulling the blankets up. “I just...don’t want anything to happen to them.”

Chase nodded. “I don’t either,” he agreed softly. Then he took a deep breath. “Good night, Stacy.”

“Good night, Chase.” Stacia leaned over and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving the room dark except for the moonlight coming through the window.

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The next morning went the same as every other morning. The family had breakfast, either Stacia or Chase went out to manage the garden while the other took care of the kids—today it was Chase for the former and Stacia for the latter, though they switched every other day—then Stacia got ready to go to the farms and Chase got ready to go hunting. As always, the kids went with Stacia, wandering around within eyesight and earshot of her while she worked. Though Chase could tell Amabel was eager to start going into the more dangerous forest with her dad, judging by the way she kept looking at her miniature bow, still unstrung. He ruffled her hair and reminded her that Hunt’s Day was just two days away, then headed off, waving goodbye to Stacia and the kids.

Passing through town was the same as ever as well. Some people were lined up at the well, as they always seemed to be. It looked as though the temple was unchanged, so clearly Mother Aoife and Pastor Cait had resolved their issue. Kieran waved goodbye as Chase walked past, and reminded him to look for beavers to shoot.

And from there...the day was largely uneventful. Which was not good. Hunting was always a lot of waiting and wandering and being quiet, occasionally interrupted by action as you aimed and shot at an animal. But in the fall like this, that last bit of action was becoming rarer. And it didn’t help that it was really starting to get cold. Chase could see his breath in the air in front of him, and he kept pulling his felt hat down over his head. It was old, and almost nobody else in town had one like it, but he kept it because it had a handy brim for blocking the sun. It was also good for cold days like these, when he hadn’t grabbed his jacket because he mistakenly believed it would be as warm today as it was yesterday.

The sun passed overhead. Chase stopped around midday to have a lunch of bread and jerky, then moved on. He stopped by his usual snares, but found that nothing had stumbled into them. Not even a few squirrels like the day before. Growing frustrated, and more than a little desperate, he wandered farther into the forest, but still found nothing. This was bad. Sure, they had a stockpile of preserved meat and jerky from his hunts during the summer, but that would run out eventually. And what if Quentin got sick, and needed something more hearty than dried, stringy meat? What would they do then?

It was starting to get late when he saw it. Just a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Chase stiffened, and slowly turned. There, right in between two trees, fully in view of him...was a deer. Its coat was dark brown, almost black, and it was grazing peacefully, not paying him the least bit of attention. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen a deer. That was a bit unusual, really. But it didn’t matter anymore. There was one here now. Slowly, he drew his bow.

The deer raised its head and started to walk away. Carefully, Chase followed it. He stepped carefully, making sure there were no twigs or crunchy fallen leaves before putting his foot down. After a while, the deer stopped again, grazing for a bit. Chase made sure he was in a good position, then raised his bow and reached towards the quiver on his hip. Then the deer started walking away again.

Chase followed it, for longer than he probably should have. The shadows grew more slanted, then started to take over, but he kept following the deer. Every time he got into a good position to shoot and started to grab an arrow, it moved on. After a while, it felt like a game. A game of...chase. He almost laughed when the thought occurred to him, but stopped just in time to catch the sound.

It was well into dusk when the deer wandered into a small circular clearing. Chase stopped, still hidden by the trees, and gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. Once the sun went behind the mountains in autumn, the temperature dropped rapidly. But it wouldn’t be long now. He had to get this deer. They needed it. And now it was just standing there, ears twitching. Chase raised the bow again, and this time when he reached for an arrow, he pulled it out and slowly nocked it, steadying his stance to take aim.

But then...no, something was different. The deer’s antlers...had they gotten bigger? More...curvy? Chase paused, puzzled. Then he took a closer look.

The antlers were...glinting. He was sure they were ordinary bone before, but now they looked almost...golden.

Gasping, Chase instantly let go of his bow and arrow. They landed in the undergrowth with soft thumps.

The deer’s ears stopped twitching. But instead of running away, it turned around. And it looked at him. And there was something different about its dark, dark eyes. Different from other deer eyes, from other animal eyes, that Chase had seen before.

He slowly raised his hands. “I—I didn’t kn—”

The deer looked away from him, turnin to the side, staring off into the distance. Then it broke into a run in the opposite direction, hooves making no sound on the forest floor.

For a long, long while, Chase just stood there, shivering, breath pluming in the air. Had that...really happened? Or had he just imagined it because he’d been out in the cold for so long? After some time, he bent over and picked up his bow and the arrow he’d dropped, putting them away. Well, it was also dark. He could’ve been just...seeing things in the moonlight. And speaking of moonlight, he should really be heading home by now. He was late. Now...which way was it?

He’d wandered a long way following that deer. It was dark and he wasn’t as familiar with this part of the forest as he was with areas closer to home. So by the time he found his way back, it was definitely night, no longer twilight. Stacia and the kids must be so worried. Chase picked up the pace.

Wait...if it was night, then why was there an orange glow in the distance? It was well past sunset. Chase squinted, and in a split second, he realized a few things: First, the glow was coming from the direction of Hilltown. Second, even if it was sunset, the forest was west of town, and therefore the town wouldn’t be between him and the sunset. Third, he was getting closer to the glow. Closer in a way that just didn’t happen with a setting sun. His heart froze. And he burst into a flat run, easily clearing the edge of the forest.

The village was on fire.

Chase just stood and gaped for a moment, feeling the heat from here. The wooden buildings that ran up the sloping ground were all ablaze. He could see dark shapes in the streets, and the figures of people running around, with—horses? A lot of horses. There were only about four in the whole town, and this was definitely more than that.

Snapping out of the daze, he ran, but in his haste, lost footing on the uneven ground and fell, tumbling head over heels for a bit before he managed to stop himself. “Ow...” he groaned, lifting himself up and coming face to face with the flames. Quickly, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to a safe distance.

Now that he was closer, he could definitely make out what was happening. The dark shapes on the ground between the burning buildings...were bodies. He couldn’t recognize anyone, but then again, he couldn’t bring himself to look for any longer than necessary. And there were strangers wandering around. Some on foot, some on horses, but all wearing chain mail armor underneath dark tunics. Chase stared at them, wide-eyed. The strangers were shouting. To each other? To their horses? To anyone left? It was hard to tell.

But they hadn’t noticed Chase. Quickly getting to his feet, he started running around the edge of town. He had to get home! At this time of night, Stacia would be there, Quentin and Amabel would be there—were they okay?! They had to be okay! He didn’t know what he would do if—He wouldn’t forgive himself if he was away and missed being able to help them.

Going around town was a lot slower than going through it, but everything—everything—was on fire. Even the stone buildings! How was that possible?! If the stone buildings were on fire, their cottage could—he pushed himself to run faster.

He couldn’t avoid it anymore. He had to run into the town to get home. But the smoke—even from here, his eyes were watering. So he took his hat off and pressed it to his face, filtering it before he could breathe it in. And he plunged into the raging flames. Even staying in the center of the path, the heat was almost unbearable. But Stacia—Quentin, Amabel—

The cottage. Their home. It was also on fire. The old curtains were ash, the vegetable garden was a raging inferno. “Stacia!” Chase shouted. “Stacy! Quentin! Amabel! Stacy! Quen! Amy! Where are you?!”

Voices. Chase turned and saw some of those strangers nearby, one on a horse. And...he hadn’t noticed this before, but there was a symbol on the back of their dark tunics. A shield, black and blue striped, with a green circle in the center, a black dot in the center of that. The symbol was—it was—the symbol for their kingdom, the kingdom of Glasúil. Chase had never seen it in person, but everyone grew up learning of that insignia. And they also learned that, while local militia may wear a simplified green ring on their clothes, only soldiers working directly for the royal family were allowed to wear the full crest.

Chase recalled this fact dimly, but it didn’t really register. One of the strangers—the soldiers—started to turn around. And gasping, coughing a bit, Chase turned and ran right back out of town, never stopping until he was well clear of the last few houses, out onto the potato fields. In the distance, he saw the house of Aodhan and Rose, the farm owners. It was also on fire.

What was he supposed to do now?! Stacia, and the kids...were they...? No, no they couldn’t be.

The forest.

He’d told the kids to run into the forest if there was ever any danger in town. And sure, Stacia was concerned about rebels in the woods and those strange masked figures, but in the face of this? Maybe she would do the same. Well...it was all he could think of. The only straw he could grasp. Stumbling, Chase turned around and ran back the way he came.

The trees enveloped him in a strange sense of calm, a world removed from the blazing horrors of the burning town. He stumbled for a moment, tripping over some brush, then ran faster. “Stacia! Quentin! Amabel!” he yelled. Even with the distant light from the flaming ruins of the village, the trees above blocked out most of the light, leaving him in shadows. His eyes darted about for any movement. “Where are you?! Can you hear me?”

Abandoning all his hunter’s instincts telling him to stay quiet, he ran through the woods, staggering over brush and rocks that he couldn’t see in the darkness. “Can you hear me?! Answer me! Stacy! Quen! Amy!” Chase’s cries pierced through the silence. There was no sign of them. Maybe they’d gone farther. Thinking that, he plunged deeper into the trees.

Things quickly became unfamiliar. Whether it was because of the distance or because of the darkness, he couldn’t say. But the strangeness only spurred him on. What if his family was lost out here? Alone in the woods? He’d taught the kids something about foraging for food, but not enough, not in this situation. And Stacia was a farmer, not a hunter or a forester. He had to find them. He had to—

Chase noticed the lack of ground beneath his foot a split second after stepping forward. Then he fell. Luckily, it wasn’t off a cliff, but he did land with a loud splash! as he fell into some shallow water. Pebbles and rocks bit into this arms as he extended them out to brace for impact. He sat up, spluttering, now completely soaked. What was this, a stream? A pond? He couldn’t quite see in the dark, but he did know one thing: there were no streams or ponds near the town, and certainly not in the parts of the forest he knew.

Securing his hat, he stood up. His bow and quiver knocked against his side, and he then realized that the fall had caused most of his arrows to fall out. Well...that wouldn’t be good in the future. But he couldn’t see where they’d fallen into the water, and there was no time. He pressed onward.

The trees were close together, heavy branches blocking out the sun. Chase kept his arms out in front of him, to make sure he didn’t run into a trunk. If he couldn’t even see the trees, he definitely wouldn’t be able to see a person. And they wouldn’t be able to see him. “Stacia! Kids! A-are you out h-here?” He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. It was cold before, and now it was later, and he was wet, making it positively freezing. “Stacy! K-kids! Are you here?!” But he kept going.

The rush of emotion was starting to fade. He was getting tired. Maybe if he took a rest...no! No, what could be happening to them while he rested?! And besides, he’d be easy prey for any predators out here if he slept. He staggered forward. The forest was practically pitch black, but he kept shouting, his voice growing hoarse, and hoping to hear a reply.

The underbrush must be thicker here, because he kept tripping up. He fell down twice, but pulled himself to his feet and went onward. His hands were shaking...shivering. “S...Sta-asha. Quen...Quentnn…Ammbel,” he mumbled. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Where was he? Shouldn’t he...shouldn’t he have found some town by now? No, the forest went on for...for acres. He knew this. How could he forget...“Plea...pl’se...say y’r here...I...wher...?”

He couldn’t...couldn’t stop now. He needed to find them. Couldn’t...leave them. On their own. He kept pressing onward. It was getting so hard...he had to use the trees for support sometimes. Stop to take a break. But not to give up. “Can’...give up...St-stace...Quen...Am...ple-please...”

And once again, he stepped somewhere without support. But now he couldn’t even register it. He just knew he was falling, rolling down, down a hill. Coming to a stop when he hit...something. A tree? Those felt like...roots, beneath him. His arm moved a bit, trying to grab something to pull himself up. Fingers drifted across a bark-covered surface, but couldn’t...couldn’t grab. So his arm fell back down. Maybe...he should rest for just a few minutes.

But after just a few seconds of staying still, he heard a strange rustling sound. Raising his head weakly, he saw...a strange sight indeed. People. No, not quite people. Human bodies, dressed in dark clothes...but with white-feathered bird faces where heads should be. Four or five of them...Wait. No, not bird heads. Bird masks. Masks made out of some sort of white material. Hadn’t...hadn’t he heard something about masks recently?

The masked figures drew closer. Chase stared up at them. He was so...so tired. He wouldn’t be able to run even if the thought had managed to...to get through.

One of them knelt down next to him, pulling off a glove. They pressed a pair of fingers to his neck, and he shivered. He wasn’t cold anymore. Or he was, but this bird person’s hands were colder.

They stood up again, and turned to the others. He heard the sound of voices, but his head couldn’t process the words. What were they...were they hear to...help? Or...?

He was too tired to think about it. He let his head fall back to the forest floor.

The last thing Chase felt before losing consciousness was the sudden lift of someone picking him up.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #brigid writes fanfiction #fantasymasksau

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 4 years ago

Note

Ah thank you for answering my Stommy ask i loved it a lot. Can i get some more Stommy.

Okay so like what if Tommy finally sees what Steve's doing with the kids amd the mindflayer and acts like he's down to help and he is he wants to help steve.

But at the same time he has a bit of a breakdown infront of everyone and his whole bad boy persona drops and he's scared he didn't expect this, he didn't believe in anything like this before and he doesn't understand how steve does it.

Can i get some Johnathan being sympathetic to Tommy and sort coming to an understanding with him, and they get eachother, (i like to think that Tommy isn't rich like steve and is more like the byers than everyone thought. Like he comes from a broken home and all the fancy clothes he gets from steve)

Ooo and some tommy and johnathan being like ugh "rich people"

Will and Tommy moment though where will is like :O and Tommy takes him under his wing like Steve did with Dustin

Whoa this is long. Im so sorry. I hope you have a good day.

stommy for sure. thanks, hun!

===

He didn’t expect it to happen. He never really did, he would get a call from Hopper or Joyce or Dustin usually. Cancel everything and go play near death whack-a-mole for a few hours. He’s gotten real good at it at this point. Tommy was suspicious, started asking questions.

“Where are you going off to?” he’d shown up at the Harrington house. Steve wouldn’t let him in, his bag of monster hunting supplies and his stained nail bat poking out prominently. “Or do you have someone in there with you?” Tommy moved his head around to search behind Steve’s shoulders.

“No, Tom,” Steve put his hands up, “Some stuff just came up. An emergency.”

“Is your mother in the hospital? Is your father back home and he’s sending you out for errands so he can invite his side chick over—“

Steve leaned against the doorway, unamused, “—Come on, Tom, that’s not funny.”

But Tommy didn’t stop, “—Is Dustin sick? What’s so important that you had to cancel twice on me this week? Huh!” Steve closed his eyes for a brief moment, collecting his bearings. He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“Look,” he slowly took Tommy’s hand, the other watching with clear suspicion. “I would much rather stay in with you and watch your stupid drama movies.” The other’s face twisted a little but he listened. “Hopper needs me right now, important, top secret, emergency.” He squeezed Tommy’s fingers a little with every accentuated word. “It’s best that you don’t know, you’re safer that way.” He had hoped that would get Tommy to back off. Wishful thinking.

Tommy shook his head and crossed his arms defiantly, “I’m coming with you for sure now. You don’t get to keep things like this from me now. No secrets.” Steve opened his mouth but Tommy pinched his arm, interrupting him. “No secrets! Okay? You don’t get to go risk yourself, or whatever you’re implying, and leave me in the dark!” Tommy stomped his foot and Steve had the mind to assume he’d been paying attention to all his sisters way of dealing with their own boyfriends. Tommy cupped both sides of his cheeks when Steve sighed. “I am your boyfriend,” he made Steve look at him. Tommy looked concerned, face wrinkled and cheeks pale. “I deserve to know.”

His shoulders sank as he gave in, ��You’re not going to like it. Probably won’t even believe it.”

Tommy glared, “Try me.”

Steve went back into the house and grabbed his bag. Tommy quickly noticed the bat, obvious about it with his wide eyes not meeting Steve’s own and instead on the spikes peaking out over his shoulder. He didn’t ask yet though. Instead, he followed Steve all the way to the BMW and then got in the passenger side.

Steve looked over at Tommy sitting rigidly before starting the ignition. There were intense lines between his eyebrows and his lips were being abused by him biting them. He started gnawing on his fingernails when Steve made a decision.

He stepped out quick and Tommy startled, “Where are you going now?”

Steve leaned back in, antsy, “I’m going to get you a weapon.” Tommy looked like he desperately wanted to ask, Steve waited, but Tommy just sat back with his leg bouncing. He sighed again and Tommy glanced over at the noise. “You don’t have to come. It’d be better if you just stayed here until I get back.” Tommy folded his arms, leg still going up and down due to the weight of his hand not lessening it.

“Like hell I am,” he grumbled, “Go get me something if it’s so necessary.” Steve’s shoulders and ankles were tense and locked a little in place. This wasn’t going to end well even if Tommy believe him. He wasn’t supposed to add anyone else to the group. All he had as an excuse was Tommy’s unrelenting behavior and how immediate and stressed Hopper had sounded when he called. The excuse that maybe more help was necessary.

So Steve went to the shed and found a chain. A long iron chain that his father had used to hold the fence gate between theirs and the neighbors’ yards shut. He went back to the car with it in hand. When he sat back down Tommy stared wonderingly at it. Steve dropped it in his lap, the sound heavy as it slipped slowly to the car floor and clanked together.

“Can you still lasso?” he asked quietly. Didn’t want to trigger Tommy into some spell of hysterics.

Tommy swallowed and his eyes grew even more serious than before, “Yeah, yeah I can still lasso.”

Steve looked from the chain to Tommy’s face a few times, “Can you do to the same with that as you can a rope if we need you to?” He’d seen Tommy lasso, done some himself in the summers on the Hagan farm. Their small farm that housed loads of milk cows. It was a nice escape, mostly outdoors and their house was rundown only a little. Obviously warn from love and family and sweet time. Something real against the Harrington’s artificial capsule.

Tommy nodded again, “I can make it work.” When Steve didn’t catch Tommy’s eye for another minute or so, he started out to the Byers’ house. He could tell Tommy was trying to pay attention to the route but he kept messing with the chain. Steve knew he was forming it around to form the lasso correctly. Had seen Tommy sit on a bale of hay and mess with a rope the same way.

They pulled up to the dusty driveway and Tommy finally looked up with recognization, “Who exactly is involved in all this?”

Steve parked and neither of them moved, “Well, we’ve got all the Byers, Mike and Nancy Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin, and Hopper”

Tommy glared over at him and opened his door, “What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?”

Steve only smiled thinly and he stepped out to grab his bag from the backseat before heading up to the door. Hopper was smoking and watched him as Tommy slowly gathered his chain.

“What did you do now?” Hopper didn’t sound surprised.

Steve could only shrug, “He insisted.”

Hopper took a drawn out puff, “Well you should have resisted.”

Steve turned his neck to glimpse as Tommy closing the car door, “You trying resisting a Hagan and then get back to me.”

Hopper raised a brow and flicked the ash off the filter, “Just keep him by you and make sure he doesn’t get hurt. I don’t want to have to explain to his parents.”

Steve rubbed his upper arm as Tommy walked up to his side, “Why would I get hurt? And what’s wrong with my parents?” he ordered defensively.

Hopper sighed and squished the cherry out in an outdoor ashtray balanced on the porch railing, “Nothing, kid. Your father just doesn’t like me.”

Tommy muttered something Steve only just barely caught, “You just can’t leave an innocent drunk man alone on a Friday night.”

“What’s that?” Hopper’s eyes narrowed. Tommy folded his arms and didn’t respond, only shook his head once.

Steve looked between the two. He knew Tommy’s father liked to drink sometimes. Mostly after a long day working on harvesting hay bales and tending to their cows. Knew his mother and Tommy’s sisters hated when he did. Tommy didn’t know how to feel, got mad at Steve when he tried to sympathize. A few of their fights had ended in Tommy throwing the fact that Steve’s father was never really around back in his face. Yelling he wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t. Not the same way.

“What’s the code?” he asked to break the heavy tensions, to at least try. Instead a new sort of shadow surrounded them.

“Orange,” Hopper took his hat off and rubbed his forehead, “Looks like more strays are picking off cattle at night. We need to go catch them.”

Tommy perked up, “Cattle? So you do know what’s been picking our calves off?” he shouted. “What is it? Why are you hiding it from the town? Us farmers!” He was livid and when Steve touched his arm to comfort, it was whacked away. He stepped back, a bit betrayed. The adrenaline in Tommy must have picked up already. He only acted like this when he was wound up tight and angry. Hopper was silent for a long moment as Tommy huffed his breaths in and out, upset.

He turned around to the house and said, “You’re about to find out,” before the door opened and closed.

“What is going on, Harrington?” Tommy asked, desperate now. Desperate for answers he hadn’t asked for. Made Steve annoyed that he allowed himself to get pent up again. Out of control of himself, the opposite of what they’d been working on. He took Tommy’s hands gently, at least thankful for Tommy allowing that much.

“I need you to take a few deep breaths, Sweetheart,” he used his calm tone. Used it for the kids when they got too scared sometimes. “This isn’t going to get any easier, so if you want to step out, do it now.” He waited and Tommy didn’t move, didn’t really do anything besides stare at him. “Is that a no?”

“I’m not leaving,” Tommy stated stubbornly.

“No one would think any less of you,” Steve said deeply, “We all wish we didn’t have to deal with this shit. You can go back home, you wouldn’t be able to tell people about this. The government will confiscate you otherwise.”

Tommy scoffed, “So my father isn’t some crazy conspiracy theorist.” Steve didn’t answer, didn’t really want to, didn’t think he needed to.

“It’s scary, Tom.”

Tommy puffed out his chest, “I don’t care. I’m staying with you and that’s final.”

The door opened and Dustin started yelling, “Son of a bitch, why is he here, Steve? Get your ass in here, we need to start planning!” Steve turned and Dustin started attempting to drag him up the porch. “We’ve got target on three different farms tonight.” He stopped and Steve almost tripped on the last stop. He asked Tommy, “Dont you live on one?”

Tommy’s shoulders rose, “What’s it to you?” Dustin glanced at Steve, who was giving a warning glance, shrugged his shoulders and headed inside again.

Steve grabbed the door and held it open for Tommy, “Come on then!” Tommy ran up and into the house, the warm waft of heat blown into their faces. Joyce met them first, Dustin rushing back into the other room.

She eyes Tommy worriedly, “Did you tell him anything yet?” Steve shook his head. She wasn’t mad, she instead waved then in more, “Well then we have quite a bit to catch you up then, huh?” she smiled welcoming. Walked them in through to where everyone was already staring over a map of Hawkins. Red circles around what Steve assumed were the farms being threatened.

Nancy’s face twisted, “What’s up with this?” she gestured to Tommy and his chain clutched in his fist.

“He wants in,” Steve shrugged and stepped forward to look at the map between Hopper and Dustin, “Not like we couldn’t use the help.”

Nancy scowled, “We can manage.”

“Yeah,” Mike butted in.

Steve glared at her, “Let it go, Nance. He’s here and that’s it, please.” She looked at Johnathan but John looked at Tommy just as openly as his mother had.

“You know how to throw that?” he looked at the dark chain links.

Tommy nodded and pointed to the west circle, “That’s my farm. Well, my dad’s.” He looked sheepish, like he was admitting something.

“Cool,” Steve heard Will whisper.

Johnathan smiled more just as Nancy’s frown deepened, “Didn’t know you were in the lower levels like us.” Tommy frowned and Nancy scolded John with a slap to the arm. “It’s just cool is all,” he defended himself from her onslaught.

Tommy grew confused, “Cool?”

John nodded, “Tuff,” he grinned. Tommy smirked and eased down, comfortably joining Steve by his side.

“So do I get the backstory or what?” Everyone else looked at Hopper.

The man rolled his eyes but relented, “Keep up,” he pointed at Tommy gruffly. The boy nodded and Steve planted a grounding hand on his shoulder. “When Will went missing he was actually trapped in a different dimension. There’s El, who isn’t here right now, she was an experiment.” His voice with filled with distaste. “ She has powers, telekinesis. She’s resting right now so she can—“

“Which is stupid,” Mike snapped, “She’s not ready—“ Lucas and Dustin elbowed him to shut him up.

Hopper didn’t even look at the kids, “She’s getting ready to fight the bigger problem, the mindflayer. Something that likes possessing people. Watch out for that,” he tipped his hat back. “But there are big dogs from that other dimension sneaking in like your average coyote onto farms. So we have to go out and clean them out.” Steve eyed Tommy’s face which was stoney. Hopper turned back to the table and map when he fingered Tommy had at least taken all of what he said in through his ears to process eventually. “We’re hitting it by groups. Joyce and I will go to Merrill’s. Nancy, Johnathan, Will, and Mike are going to Tinnerman’s. Steve, Tommy, Dustin, and Lucas are at Hagan’s. Got that?” he looked around. When no one disagreed he backed away.

Steve took his bag off and set it on top of the map, “You still have that tire iron?” he asked Dustin as he took out his lighter.

“Yep,” the kid nodded, “Still behind the house, I’ll go get it,” he ran off.

Steve only had to look at Lucas for an answer, “Got my pockets full of rocks and marbles this time.”

Steve smiled small but assuring, “Good.”

Everyone walked off to retrieve their own weapons or start their own vehicles. Except Steve and Tommy. Tommy was pale and his eyes were greyish.

“Hey,” Steve rubbed a thumb across his freckled cheek, “What’s going on in your head?” he whispered.

Tommy looked up and took in a shaky breath, “I’m ready to kill some monsters?” The questioning tone didn’t surprise Steve, the words did though. He didn’t ask, didn’t want to over work Tommy’s mind already. Not when they still had a long night ahead.

===

The Hagan property was the smallest of the three Hawkins farms. Fencing behind them that was meant to keep cattle on grounds, then a big barn, then the Hagan house. But it wasn’t meant to be called “small” either. The cattle were safe in the barn as long as they all stayed attentive and ready to kill off any demodog invaders. Simple, all in a days work. But Tommy was shaking like a leaf and Steve heard rustling from their right.

He stepped ahead a few steps just as Dustin and Lucas yelled out at the shadow creeping out of the trees. Tommy cursed loudly, so much so Steve feared Tommy’s mother would wake from it all the way in the house. He swung his bat to stabilize himself and then went to town on the thing’s neck, back, and head. It went down quick and others started coming out more and more. Lucas slung-shot his own ammunition and Dustin kept them back with Steve’s lighter and a can of hairspray.

“Can you get that one, Tom?” he shouted over the growls of a new dog as one ran past him to the fence.

It was a pretty quick success all things considering. The carcasses laid around Steve in wide diameter, gunk sprung all over the grass and tree bark. But as silence carried no more sounds carried out from the darkness.

He faced the group, Dustin parking things back into Steve bag and pulling out water bottles. Lucas was trying to wipe the sweat from his face.

Then Steve caught sight of Tommy standing still. Too still. He panicked.

“Tom?” he whisper yelled as he ran up to him. Grabbed his arms and then his head, “Tommy, are you alright?” Tommy’s pale face reflected streaks of luminescent tracks in the moonlight. His eyes looked frozen wide. “Hey,” he wiped away the tears with his thumbs and made Tommy make eye contact. Which seems to blow him out of his stupor. He started breathing sporadically. Steve hugged him and started breathing in and out exaggeratedly. “Match me, Sweetheart,” he whispered. Breathed in and waited as Tommy matched it. Exhaled and patiently listened.

By the time Tommy was lax against him, exhausted and adrenaline all gone, Steve had decided they were done. He snapped his fingers to grab Lucas and Dustin’s attention.

“Yo, call Hopper and see what they’re up to, please,” he threw one of Tommy’s arms over his shoulders. Started leading them back to his car a little ways away. Tommy wouldn’t speak, Steve had the mind to assume he was in shock. Knew the feeling himself. But the amount Tommy was still partially immobile on his own was concerning. “Can you signal to me how your feeling, Tommy? What can I do for you?” he asked as he opened the car door and worked his boyfriend into the passenger seat. He knelt on the wet road, his jeans getting damp at the knees.

Tommy finally made eye contact on his own and pressed his lips together, “That was scary.” Steve nodded understandingly. Tommy continued, “This is fucked,” he sat back and forcibly enclosed Steve hand in between his own. Steve distantly heard Dustin yapping to someone on the walkie talkie. “How do you all do it?” he asked exasperatedly. He deflated and shook his head, lost, “How do you do it all? You were amazing back there, didn’t hesitate or flinch.”

Steve smiled and leaned up to give Tommy a kiss to the cheek, “No one is going to be upset with you Tommy. We don’t even have to mention it. The important thing is,” he stepped back, “That we’re all safe and the dogs are done with.”

“But—“

“We won’t hold it against you,” he promised and Tommy closed his mouth slowly. Nodding in agreement a little reluctantly.

Dustin was messing with the dials on the walkie when he left Tommy there, “I’m gonna go clean the mess up, you two get in the car and wait.

Lucas stepped up though, “I’ll help.” Steve gave him a look but he persisted, “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, “I guess you’d be better help than Dustin.”

“Hey!” the other scolded.

Lucas flicked him, “Please, you gag every time the goo gets on you.”

“I wonder why!” Dustin called back as he got into the car with Tommy.

===

It was a few weeks later and Tommy was a little more comfortable in the Party and their occasional missions to take out other dimensional monsters. Tommy was good with the chain when he wasn’t completely petrified. Caught and wrangled multiple dogs out of the way on occasions. Sure he stopped out a few time but they didn’t fight him about it. Knew he knew what he couldn’t handle.

He was teaching Will a thing or two now. They each sat on logs in the Byers’ backyard with ropes in their hands and on their laps. Steve watched as he leaned against the back door doorframe with Joyce. Johnathan had tried to follow along but had quickly knotted his bad. Had encouraged them both instead as Tommy directed Will step by step.

Then, Steve joined them as they worked on tossing and capturing low tree branches. Tommy lassoed them all and Steve got some. But Will grew his skills fast apparently because he was right behind Tommy, grasping all the practicing targets with concentrated ease.

Tommy fist bumped the kid and Steve used his height to pull the rope back down, “Good job, Byers!”

“I was actually good at it,” Will beamed proudly. Tommy slung an arm over Wills shoulders and headed towards the house as Joyce called for dinner.

“You know, you should come take Steve’s place on the farm over the summer.” Will bounced on the souls of his feet a bit at the excitement and giggled when Steve scoffed dramatically.

“I’m just rusty.”

Tommy chuckled, “Come on, Byers One and Byers Two, let’s leave the Rich Boy to clean up.” Will laughed and followed him loyally.

Johnathan stood with a definite nod, “Agreed.” Steve stopped to watch them race to the house like they were all young boys.

Tommy fit in just fine.

#steve harrington #tommy hagan #stommy #stranger things #will byers #jim hopper #johnathan byers #i’ll edit this more later but here!#hope it’s alright. i was unsure on how to end it but i didn’t want to keep you waiting even longer #:) <3

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stygiantarot · 5 years ago

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Samhain and House Spirits

I’ve posted a lot of stuff on how to enjoy this holiday with spells and with the dead but now I’d like to focus on some things you can do to celebrate the holiday with your house’s spirit(s).

Cook and bake with the scents and textures of the season. Spice, harvest fruits, root veggies, and of course all those lovely gourds. Let the flavors float in the air as you cook; full of love and prosperity. Set aside a portion as an offering.

Create an Autumn floor and counter wash. Clean with it.

Carve a special pumpkin that you leave inside and offer to the house spirit. Decorate it with Autumn leaves, late season flowers, and other blessings from outside to bring those in for your spirit.

Watch a movie that portrays a home positively (i.e. not a malicious haunted house). I personally recommend Spirited Away for a gentle option and Haunter for a more spooky one.

Collect change in a bowl lined with nuts and seeds as a tribute to the health and safety your home gives you.

Put up special curtains, set out special tablecloths for the season. Bonus points for sewing or attaching sachets of herbs or sigils to the ends

Open your curtains or even your windows for a bit to let in the Autumn sunlight and air.

Make a special bonding ritual out of cleaning and charging/warding all the door and window frames in your home. They are the liminal spaces your home offers and this is the season of liminal energy.

Start an indoor winter herb garden. Bringing the green inside during the darker months is rewarding for you and your house spirit.

Read or sing aloud at night. Chase the shadows together in each other’s company.

Make an extra cup of tea, coffee, or hot chocolate to share in the chilly mornings or evenings. Add extra flavor with spice or syrups.

Paint or draw your home adorned with Autumn colors, decor, atmosphere.

Organize your spice and baking supplies cabinet!

Hang your favorite sweaters up over a closet or room door to mingle with the house spirits energy.

Take time with your favorite divination tool in the wee hours of the night and communicate with your house spirit. How are they feeling? Is there anything you can help with? Is there anything special they’d like from you? Do they have any advice?

Host a Dumb Supper; introduce your invited guests to your house spirit.

Have a picnic in your living room (or another non-dining space). Pick a special blanket to use and dedicate it to the house spirit. Give them their own plate during the picnic!

Hang seasonal windchimes or wreaths

#witchcraft #witchy #house spirits #home spirits #spirit work #Samhain #Halloween #Autumn witchcraft #hearthcraft #hearth witchcraft #hearth witch #locale spirits #witchblr #death witch #stygian original

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juliandev0rak · 4 years ago

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Hometown 🤠🐴

One: Hometown – what was the place they called “home” like? What were the people like? Did your OC like it there or did they leave the first chance they got?

echoes of the past event

@arcana-echoes

Camellia Giardini, they/them Western Venterre 14 years before the events of The Arcana

Words: 1554

Warnings: none

It’s another dusty August day on the Giardini Ranch, the heat making waves and casting a haze over the fields. The sound of cattle lowing in the distance and cicadas buzzing makes the afternoon feel sleepy and although there’s still a lot of work to do before the day is over, nobody feels much like doing it.

Perched in a large oak tree sits Camellia, nose stuck in a book as usual. They’re far enough from the fields to avoid their family, but close enough to find their way back when it starts to get dark. Their horse Miele is grazing a few feet away, both of them enjoying a break after a morning out in the sun. At eleven years old Camellia is expected to be helping on the ranch, herding the cattle and harvesting alongside their older siblings.

Normally, someone would have gone looking for Cam by now, with the harvest quickly approaching all hands are needed. But it had been decided that afternoon that it’s better for everyone if Cam stays out of the way during the busy season, they do more harm than good when they try to help.

Camellia can barely stay in their saddle, much less try to open and close gates or be of any use with the cattle. Even simple tasks like harvesting apples or picking vegetables are ruined by Cam’s wandering mind and Miele, who is never far from their side, who has an insatiable appetite and ends up eating more than Cam can even pick.

Their older siblings, Cassia, Calix, Calla, and Calanthe, seem to have no problem following in their family’s footsteps, each of them seeming at home on horseback and suited to the task of farm work. Even Cam’s younger siblings, Canna, Clio, Crisanta, and Clema who is only three, manage to make themselves useful harvesting or helping Ma in the kitchen.

It’s only Camellia who seems to have no place here, always knocking things over or forgetting to close the stable doors.

It’s always,

“Out of my way, Camellia!”

“Move aside, Cam!”

“To your left! No your other left! Camellia, what are we going to do with you!”

Everywhere they go, Cam leaves chaos in their wake. They try to be careful, to watch where they walk and to listen to instructions, but they can’t seem to do anything right. That’s why they’re sitting in a tree alone in the middle of a busy work day, it’s better this way.

The one thing Cam seems to be good at is reading, and luckily their family home has a library that nobody else seems to care about. The book they’re currently reading is about alchemy, a topic which seems to have been a special interest of Cam’s great great grandfather Carlo who had built the house.

The library is where Cam spends most of their free time. It’s not a huge collection, but it’s well stocked with farmer’s almanacs and books about magic, so at least they have something to read. Their family doesn’t venture into the old wing of the house much, preferring to spend their time in the kitchen or living areas which are better heated and have more ventilation. But Cam doesn’t mind the dust or the cold, they just like having a room to themself.

Bedrooms are hard to come by in the old house and Cam shares a room with both Calla and Calanthe. While Calla is nearly sixteen and the nicest of their siblings, Calanthe is thirteen and intent on making Cam’s life as difficult as possible. The rest of their siblings act similarly, teasing them for everything and exposing Cam’s every mistake to their parents. Calla is the only one who encourages Cam to study and develop their interests, the only one who tries to understand them.

Aside from reading, Cam’s biggest interest is in magic, though they tend to think of it more as a science than a supernatural force. Even at a young age, Cam knows there are some things that can’t quite be explained, and that magic is a way to look for those explanations.

Camellia’s Ma has a bit of magic herself, able to dry clothes at the touch of a hand, heal minor wounds, and the like, but she’s never had an interest in exploring it further. When Cam had begun to show similar signs of magical talent their parents hadn’t thought much of it besides hoping it might help Cam improve at their chores.

So Camellia has taken things into their own hands, trying to practice and hone their skills as much as possible with only the few books they can find in the library as a guide. Their siblings make fun of them for trying and failing at magic just as they do with everything else, but Cam isn’t ready to give up.

Just yesterday they’d been practicing and had accidentally set their mother’s prized lemon tree on fire. They’d been too proud of their fire conjuring to notice that it was burning uncontrollably, and luckily Cassia had been nearby with a bucket of water. Cam had been scolded endlessly for their irresponsibility, and it had carried over to this morning when they’d accidentally let the cattle out of their gate with the flick of a hand, nearly causing a stampede.

That was when their father had decided to give Cam the next few weeks off, better to have them out of the way where they can’t cause more trouble. They’d overheard their parents talking at lunch about sending Camellia away where they could be “put to better use”. Cam had run out of the house immediately, not wanting to hear how much their family wanted to get rid of them.

They’d jumped on their horse and made their way to the oak tree, the only place to get some peace and quiet with eight siblings always around. It’s been many hours since then and Cam’s stomach is rumbling from missing lunch, they’re considering venturing back home when they hear a voice from the distance calling their name. It’s their older sister Calla.

“Cammy, come down from the tree.” She calls, her apron is covered in flour so Cam knows she’s been sent from the kitchen to find them.

“Why should I! Maybe I’ll live here now, everyone would like that better.” Cam says angrily, suddenly feeling like they might cry but not wanting to do it in front of their sister.

“Oh Cam, you know Ma and Pa didn’t mean it when they said they’d send you away.” Calla frowns, the expression not looking right on her usually happy face “And if they did I’d talk sense into them.”

“I don’t belong here, I hate cows.” Cam mutters. Calla laughs at that, not unkindly, and reaches the bottom of the tree.

“I don’t like them much either, but there’s plenty of other things to do.” She says, “When you’re older you can do the bookkeeping, and help Ma at the market, I bet you’d be good at that! And I know Cassia and Calix hate doing it, I’m sure they'd be happy to spend more time outside.”

“I don’t want to do the bookkeeping, I want to do magic.” Cam sighs, swinging their leg down from the branch they’re perched on.

“And you’re good at it! Maybe we can find you a teacher someday.” Calla smiles, ever the optimist. “Isn’t Aunt Angela a witch?”

“That’s just a rumor, Pa doesn’t like her so he calls her that, remember?” Cam laughs, thinking about their mother’s sister who had disappeared mysteriously a few years earlier. She’s somewhat of an enigma to the family, none of the children really know much about her aside from the cards she sends on birthdays and holidays.

“Well maybe it isn’t, Ma has magic after all. What if her sister does too!” Calla grins, “She lives in the city somewhere, maybe you should visit.”

“Now you’re trying to get rid of me.” Cam says, only half joking.

“Cam, I would never, you know I’d miss you too much if you went away.” Calla says sincerely, offering her hand up to help Cam. “Now come down! We made ricciarelli.”

“But it’s not the holidays?” Cam questions, the family usually reserves cookie making for winter time when everyone is stuck indoors.

“You looked like you could use some sweets, I convinced Ma to make them as a harvest treat.” Calla smiles, her blue eyes, the same color as Cam’s, shining.

If there’s anything to motivate Cam it’s sweets. They finally decide to jump down from the tree, grabbing Calla’s offered hand for help. As they put Miele back in the stables, Cam can’t help but think about what Calla said about finding a magic teacher.

It seems too good to be true, and they don’t know if they believe their Aunt Angela is really a witch. Still, Cam has to hope that someday they’ll be able to find a place to belong. Hopefully a place with less cows and siblings.

As they walk back to the house, Cam takes in the rolling hills and old growth trees around them in the golden light of sunset. The countryside is beautiful, and although Cam doesn’t like living here, they have to admit that at least the scenery’s nice.

#arcana eotp #apprentice cam #rip to me trying to remember all of cam's siblings

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ranishoo · 3 years ago

Note

7 for leslie and devlon do it you wont

oh fuck yeah

7. First words vs last words

First words:

Leslie felt sore. She felt hot. The ground was shifting around her. Her eyes were closed, yet light still poured in, tinting her vision red. Until it went dark again. But she was still awake, wasn't she? She tried to open her eyes, but they were far too heavy.

Fingers pressed against her neck and the weight she previously felt was gone in an instant, replaced by pure adrenaline. She shot upright with a yelp, her forehead meeting something solid that sent her back down to the ground, groaning and clutching her head. And someone else was groaning too.

Leslie opened her eyes, having to rub and blink them many times to fight the bright sunlight and a strange irritation, to find herself looking at a man sitting not too far from her. He was tall, lean but well-built, with dark skin and long dark hair, with what looked to be a side shave, or maybe a long mohawk? He too was rubbing a hand on his forehead.

"Oh god," Leslie began, "did I hit you? I-" She stopped, noticing for the first time where she was. What she was sitting on. What she had rubbed out of her eyes. Sand.

Sand?

All around her was pits of sand, dry patches of dirt and dead brush, and what might be the oldest looking ruins she'd ever seen. What the fuck? She'd just been in the Felsan foothills, surrounded by trees and rocks; what was she doing here? What was going on, and who was that man?

Leslie turned her attention back to the stranger, only to notice he had recovered and stood up, walking back over to her. He said something to her, but she couldn't make out what. She gave him a confused look, and he paused for a moment before repeating himself. Was he speaking Kett? Some of the words sounded familiar, but she couldn't fully comprehend their meaning.

The man scratched his head for a moment, and Leslie noticed two large fangs protruding from his lips. A vampire? No, he was in broad daylight, that would be stupid. Maybe a galik, then? She couldn't see his eyes, the slitted draconic pupils usually a dead giveaway, so she couldn't tell for sure.

"Ah..." the man started, his tenor voice hesitant and slow. "You... alright?"

So he knew a bit of Domian. It didn't seem like much, but at least it was something. Leslie still hoped he'd been speaking Kett before, and that she just hadn't understood through his accent; she at least knew a few phrases and random words in the language, so even if he barely knew Domian she might be able to ask him some questions.

The man cleared his throat.

"Oh! Um, yes? Sort of? Uh... sorry, where am I?" She attempted to stand, but her legs protested with possibly the worst cramps she'd ever felt, and she promptly landed back on the sand, writhing in pain.

Her eyes pinched shut, Leslie heard the man frantically calling in his language as he rushed toward her. Then in Domian, "Alright? Alright?"

It took her a moment to collect herself, but she remembered to stretch out her legs and gritted her teeth, working the cramp out. "I... yeah, yeah I am." Still on the ground, she held out a hand to shake his and gave him a pained smile. "I'm Leslie."

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly baffled. Then, slowly, he took her hand and cautiously helped her to her feet. Alright, not what she'd intended, but that was fine. She looked up at him, meeting his bright golden eyes partially obscured by the hair he had yet to brush out of the way. Slitted, just like a dragon.

"I am Delvon."

Last words:

Lucas clung to his arm as Delvon hoisted the saddlebag onto his horse, lifting the boy off his feet for just a moment. "Please don't go, Papa!" He looked at the child, his brown and gold eyes looking like that of a dog watching you eat a juicy steak. That boy had mastered the art of begging, and it took all of Delvon's strength not to scoop him up and bring him inside, foregoing the journey altogether.

He sighed. "Would you prefer I stay home and not hunt, and we go hungry for the winter?"

The boy groaned. "You could at least bring me along, I'm old enough now! Look!" He held up his tag, showing the snake fang to his father. It was galik tradition for a child to keep the fang from their first solo hunt and turn it into a necklace, a badge of pride and a sign that they were beginning the journey to adulthood. Over Lucas' life, Delvon would have the privilege to add more to the tag as his son developed his skills, and he could already tell he'd have to go searching for purple and red beads to mark the boy's prowess in vinum and impes magic. Clearly a trait he got from his mother, as Delvon still struggled on the rare occurrence when he did use his magic.

Sighing again, Delvon ruffled Lucas' curly brown hair with his free hand, a smile teasing his lips. "You have to stay home and protect the farm, remember? Mama and Kala can't do it all by themselves."

Lucas let go of his father's arm and crossed his own, pouting. "Mama could protect the farm all by herself! She's told me all about her adventures; she could keep the farm safe with both her hands tied behind her back."

The smile was still on Delvon's face, but it turned a bit more stern now. "Alright, then you're staying home to help with the harvest. The frost is coming soon, remember?"

Another groan from the boy, resigned this time. "Fine," he grumbled, "but next year I get to go hunting with you and Uncle."

Delvon rolled his eyes. "I make no promises, but I'll think about it. Now, where's your mother?"

Lucas pointed toward the house, where he'd left the door wide open when he chased after his father. Delvon started toward it, sighing. When would that boy learn that the purpose of their hearth wasn't to heat the outdoors? He stepped into the house, waiting for the boy to scramble past him before he shut the door, welcoming the warmth of his home after just a few short minutes out in the chilly morning air.

Leslie was in the kitchen, looking like she had barely just woken up as she nursed a mug of tea and attempted to keep her eyes from falling shut. She looked up from the drink to see Delvon in the doorway and she smiled, laugh lines crinkling to make her face look all the more beautiful. Her red hair was pulled back into a barely contained ponytail, curls flying everywhere to give her a frazzled look. Delvon walked over and smoothed her unruly locks, kissing the top of her head as he did.

'Somebody's a sap this morning,' he sensed her thinking, and he looked at her face to see her smirking at him.

"Perhaps I am," he shrugged, planting a quick kiss on her lips. 'Keep an eye on Lucas when I leave,' he thought, 'I think he might try to follow me this time.'

'He's been failing at that for the past two years,' Leslie replied, hiding a chuckle lest Lucas hear and ask what they're "mind-talking" about. That boy needed to come up with a better term for it; not that she had one, but it took all her willpower not to roll her eyes whenever he said the word. They'd explained tethering to both Lucas and Kala, and while Kala seemed to understand just fine, Leslie wondered if Lucas quite got the concept.

'He'll get it eventually,' Delvon said, interrupting her as he took a sip of her tea, 'he's just young.'

'For now,' she replied, taking the mug back, 'but how are you gonna feel when he gets older than you?'

She said it in jest, but the words gave Delvon pause. He had thought about this before; while he was full galik, they were only half, and they aged much faster than he did. In only sixty years they'd almost reached teenagehood, something that had taken Delvon well over two hundred years. Not to mention Leslie, who wasn't a galik at all. She was in her eighties, although she didn't look it. They wondered if it was the dwarf blood or her strong connection with magic that kept her looking half her age, but neither could figure it out.

Delvon knew what he had been signing up for when he married her; he knew he would outlive her by at least a thousand years, and he had accepted that. But it didn't make it easier to see the signs of age show on her, however slow they may appear. And to see his children grow up so quickly, while he'd seemingly not aged throughout their entire lifetime. He didn't know how he'd handle the years to come, when he was by their deathbeds, still a young man, and it terrified him. What would he do after they were gone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his cheek. "Hey," Leslie softly said, "you know I love you, right?"

Delvon closed his eyes and placed his own hand on top of hers, pressing his cheek into her palm. He allowed the sensation of his love and care to flow through their link, letting it wash over his wife. She shared hers with him in return, and the two stood there for a quiet moment, eyes closed as they basked in each other's affection.

As soon as the moment had started, it was over, and Delvon opened his eyes, slightly dazed. Leslie's eyes were similarly glazed over, and the two made eye contact for a moment before laughing. The overwhelming sensation they'd just shared left them both a bit stunned, and neither had really gotten used to that feeling.

A knock on the door interrupted them, setting their dog off. Sawyer rushed to the door, barking his head off, his tail wagging frantically. He knew who was on the other side.

"Settle down, boy!" Delvon called fruitlessly, more for his own benefit than anything else. Nothing could stop that damn dog from barking.

Leslie placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "You off, then?"

"It would seem so."

"You better bring us back lots of game, you hear? Oh, and preferably some animal with good bones; we need new tools."

The man snorted. "Alright, necromancer, I'll find you your precious bones."

She smacked him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. And no getting gored by a buck or a boar or anything. I've already had to patch you up enough for one lifetime; I don't wanna do it again."

Once again, Delvon kissed her on the head, taking his sword off the shelf they'd built high above the children's heads. "I promise I won't get stabbed if you promise you won't let the kids poke your eyes out with the rake."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise."

"I love you!"

"Love you too, Del."

Delvon opened the front door, smiling as he saw his brother on the other side. Sawyer rushed out to sniff Rochil's feet, his entire body squirming from excitement, and the three of them walked toward the horses. When Delvon mounted, he turned back to look at his home, seeing his wife standing in the doorway, waving to him. He saw Lucas peek his head out from behind his mother, and from a window upstairs he could see the tired face of Kala watching out the window as she waved goodbye. Delvon raised a hand to them and Rochil shortly followed. Then the two tapped their horses with their heels, setting on down the road, Sawyer trotting alongside them.

#idk how to do a read more on mobile so yall get to deal with this rifp #and you better believe some tragic shit goes down while delvon is off hunting :)#ask #kurgy #oc: leslie mclough #oc: delvon #writing #oc writing #my writing

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Text

Taste of Home (Indruck)

Prompt for the 13th was: strange harvest

Most days, Duck isn’t too worried about the dirt on his hands or the bits of leaves that stick to his clothes. Most days, he’s not about to meet with a reclusive, wealthy donor to the Kepler Botanical Gardens who has specifically requested Duck be present.

When he enters the meeting room, Thacker is waiting for him along with a tall, pale-haired man sporting red glasses.

“Ah, here’s Duck now.” Thacker smiles.

“Sorry, uh, thought we weren’t meeting until-”

“-One. You’re correct, I have a habit of getting a bit, ah, ahead of things t times.” The man offers a wide smile that’s polite but also gives Duck the heebie-jeebies.

“Duck, this here is Mr. Cold. He’s one of the garden’s longest standin supporters. He’s got a project for us, and asked that you be the one in charge of it.”

“I was quite impressed with your work on the native plant section, and I’m told you headed the transplant and maintenance of the tree specimens in the New Zealand section, which is no mean feat.”

“Thanks, I’m real proud of both. What do you have in mind? Is it an exhibit?”

“A private collection. Come, let me show you.” Mr. Cold unrolls a set of plans as Duck shoots a glance at Thacker.

“Didn’t know we did that sort thing.”

“We do for Mr.Cold. Whelp, I gotta go lead a tour. Mr. Cold, I leave you in Duck’s capable hands.”

He joins the taller man in front of the plans; they’re for a garden within a greenhouse, the structure as angular and distinct as the man requesting it. He knows the greenhouse hs Cold’s name above it, is usually used as a teaching space

“I imagine you think me rather selfish for requesting to use your space in such a way.” Mr. Cold doesn’t look up from where he’s making final notes on the paper, as if the answer is a foregone conclusion.

“Think it’s kinda strange, but I ain’t about to rule on it bein selfish until you tell me what I’m actually doin.”

“I have several species of trees, flowers, and shrubs that I need grown. They are, ah, rather difficult to cultivate anywhere other than their native home, and I am not a skilled gardener at the best of times. Hence my seeking out someone who, I presume, has not killed multiple succulents in the last two months.” The man looks a little ashamed, then clears his throat, “the plants I am asking you to grow are the only specimens of their kind on earth.”

“How’d you get them, then?” Duck tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but this feels more and more like some rich guy made an impulse purchase of something that should be in a seed bank or species ark somewhere.

“I brought small specimens over from my home, which is where they grow. But I couldn’t keep them alive, and they were already rare. Last I heard they were all wiped out by an, ah, an illness. I stored seeds from my specimens in hopes of one day regrowing them.”

Duck looks at the diagram closely; the plant’s are actually sketched in, not just noted by name and the number of eraser marks suggest Mr. Cold spent a long time planning out exactly where each one went.

“You’re askin us to do all this because you’re homesick?”

“Yes. I have been away from home for a long, long time. The Kepler gardens have been a refuge for me. Lately I’ve been drawn to the woodland and prairie type sections.”

“I helped with a lot of those.”

Mr. Cold turns to him with a smile, “I know. That is another reason I requested you. But, before we go any further, I must make something clear; these specimens they mean...they are so, so precious to me. And secrecy is a must, for reasons I can only half explain. They would be solely under your care and protection. If that is not a responsibility you wish to take, I understand entirely.”

Behind the red glasses, Duck can just see a glint of hope.

“Think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Wonderful” Mr. Cold claps his hands together, “in that case, there is not a moment to lose. Here, this is everything you need.” He produces a briefcase, inside which sits ten packets of seeds and three pits, bout the size of an avocado pit.”

“All the information I have on ideal growing conditions is in the attached notebook, and the seeds are labeled. If you have any questions, ny at all, my phone number is in there s well.”

He pauses, smiles, and murmurs to himself, “it's been awhile since I gave anyone my phone number.”

Duck opts to ignore the stealthy glance at his arms and carefully takes the case, “Thanks, this’ll all be real helpful.

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

He doesn’t see his new patron (as Juno calls Mr. Cold) for a week. When he does, he’s on his belly, checking for any sign of sprouts in the greenhouse.

“How goes the growing?” Mr. Cold asks from the direction of Duck’s feet.

The gardener rolls over and sits up, “Not much to report, just trying to keep an eye on ‘em so I don’t miss anythin important.”

Mr. Cold offers his hand, helping Duck up, “I appreciate the care you’re taking, Duck. I hope it isn’t cutting into your other work too badly.”

“Had to move somethings around, but that's just the nature of this kind of work.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “Pun intended?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Oh. Your, h, your lunch time is coming up right? I was wondering if you would let me take you to lunch as an, ah, extra thank you?” He’s spinning a small ring on his finger, the shyness almost charming, and Duck felt neutral at best about the sandwich he brought today.

“Sure, thanks.”

Mr. Cold grins, “Oh good. Where would you like to go? I hear the crystal palace has a lovely lunch.”

“The fancy Japanese place? Pretty sure they got a dress code.”

“Brush off the dirt and you look completely respectable.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “I was talkin about you.”

They both stare down at the classy but still very clear pajama pants Mr. Cold is wearing.

“Fair point. How do you feel about Indian food?”

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

Duck’s stepped into some sort of painting. And here he thought he was just wandering into the birch grove.

Indrid (“”I really prefer that name”) is laying on his back on a bench. Sun streams between the branches, falling across his face, making it all angle and shadow in ways Duck wants to sit and study. His silver hair is ruffling in the breeze, and his glasses are pushed up his forehead. Eyes shut and hands folded on his stomach, he reminds Duck of the paintings in fairytales of someone waiting for true loves kiss.

He’s worried he might be the one to give it.

They’re having lunch once a week at least now, the awkwardness of the first time melting away as Duck got going on a tangent about dandelions only to find Indrid, elbows on the table and chin in his hands, listening to him so intently he blushed on reflex. Then he was giggling as Indrid pulled a custom-made curly straw out of a small tin in order to drink his Mango lassi. And then Indrid had laughed at his laugh and it all fell into place, the conversation so easy it’s as if they’d know each other for years.

Then there were the frequent visits by Indrid to the greenhouse to check on the progress. Which, if Duck does say so himself, if pretty fucking good. The plants are thriving, reaching for the light, and the trees are already flowering in deep blue stars, the speed with which they reached adulthood fascinating to him. Sometimes Indrid just comes to see the gardens, but always seeks Duck out to say hello and smile that increasingly charming smile at him.

But the biggest change has come with Indrid asking if Duck would be interested in designing a small garden for him

“Something very simple and manageable. Hardy too.”

“Any plant preferences?”

“No, I trust your judgement entirely, though you may have to help me with their maintenance the first few weeks, if that is alright.”

Duck would have done it even if Indrid wasn't paying him. He liked sitting in the living room, surrounded by strange art and crumpled papers, showing Indrid how to tend houseplants. And when they sit on the back porch, each dirt-smudged and grass stained, Indrid sipping soda while Duck nursed a single beer, the other man kept beaming at the new, small patch of garden, Duck’s heart wanted to burst from his chest and flutter around.

Last night, he stayed late for dinner, and as he was checking over the houseplants…

“I’m fond of this one. It’s sturdy and makes me smile, much like you.” Indrid murmurs as he steps beside him.

Duck slides a smile his way “Dunno, partial to this snake plant we chose; unique and kinda tall, just like you.”

It’s the worlds weakest flirtation, but as Indrid steps away his fingers tease Duck’s lower back, “I wonder if they can cross-pollinate.��

All of this is why Duck decides to leave Indrid be. Because playing prince charming to one of the gardens donors could backfire and shatter his whole career if he reads things wrong.

The path takes him past Indrid, and he steps lightly. But just as he passes Indrid's head, cool fingers find his own.

“How is my favorite flora expert today?” Indrid purrs, eyes still shut.

“Good. Uh. Yeah, good. How’d you know-”

“It was you? I have my ways.” Indrid grins, squeezing his hand once before letting go, “are we still on for lunch tomorrow? I can bring you that soup you like.”

“That’d be great.” Duck hesitates, reaches down and ruffles Indrid’s hair. The other man sighs, rubs his face against Ducks palm.

“I can't wait.”

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

It takes him until ten pm to remember he left his phone in the greenhouse. Which would not be a problem, except he’s supposed to take a call early tomorrow from Jane, the first time in months they’ve been able to talk.

Plus, he’s been having an excellent text conversation with Indrid until his last rounds, sending him pictures of the plants in the greenhouse, which all look ready to bloom in the next day, and the strange fruit on the trees; speckled gold and white, and smelling faintly of marshmallow. Indrid’s reply texts were filled with excitement (and a great deal of praise, which Duck is thoroughly enjoying). He wants to keep that going as soon as he can.

He finds his phone on the workbench, looks up just in time to see glowing red eyes reflected in the glass.

Something’s in the greenhouse with him. Which should be impossible, because only two people have the keys.

Turning, he scans the plants and spots a large, dark shape holding very still behind the trees. Which would work better if said trees were not so thin.

“I am aware this is not a good hiding place.”

Duck gasps, not expecting it to talk, then steps back when the creature emerges. It towers over him, antennae twitching and wings rustling slightly. His mind puts all the pieces together, and he understands only half of them.

“Why the fuck is the mothman breakin into my greenhouse.”

The antenna flatten slightly, “I am not breaking in. Do you see any broken glass?”

“No, but I got one key, and the only other person with one ain’t here. And put those down, they ain’t yours.” Duck reaches for the two fruits, each clasped between a pair of clawed hands, only for Mothman to raise his arms.

“They are, in fact, mine. If you would stop trying to knock me over I can explain.”

“Uh uh, first you gotta put down Indrid’s things, then you can explain.”

The creature chirrs, annoyed, and points at its neck, “His things? Such as this key perhaps?”

Duck stops moving, staring at the key before rising his gaze to the mothmans face and meeting his eyes for the first time.

“What the fuck? Indrid, what the fuck?”

A sheepish chirp, “There was not a good way to tell you I am a famous cryptid. At least, I did not feel there was one. I was worried you would be afraid of me if you knew.”

“Feelin a little too confused to be afraid. Did, did I just grow a mothman garden instead of a butterfly garden?”

The laugh is unmistakably Indrid, “In a way. I was telling the truth when I said these were from my home, but my need for them went beyond homesickness. Every twenty five years, my kind are compelled to eat these. It is not fatal if we don’t, but we suffer a very unpleasant illness for several weeks if we do not. I resigned myself to that sickness until I began visiting these gardens, and saw there were people who might be able to help me. My own powers, including foresight, cannot replace a green thumb. Your green thumb went beyond anything I could ever have hoped for. This” he gestures to the trees with their glittering fruit, the flowers blooming in a rainbow of glowing star-shapes, “Duck I, I haven't seen a sight like this in close to a hundred years.”

Duck holds his breath as Indrid steps towards him, bending to rest his downy forehead against Ducks.

“Thank you, Duck Newton. Thank you for giving me a taste of home.”

The human reaches up to touch a black, fuzzy cheek, “Does this mean you gotta leave or somethin, now that I know your secret identity?”

“Not unless you are planning to tell everyone you’ve been acting as the Mothman’s personal gardener.”

“Nah, rather tell ‘em about the cute fella I’m takin to dinner tomorrow.”

Indrid blinks, “You...you do not find this alarming?”

“I mean, you’re big and a little terrifyin, but you’re still Indrid. And it means a lot that you actually stayed and told me who you were, instead of just flyin off.”

There’s a deep purr as Indrid says, “In that case, may I invite you to dinner at my house, Duck Newton? I can even share some of this strange harvest with you.”

Duck grins, drawing his fingers long Indrids arm, “That your way of tellin me they’re an aphrodisiac?”

Indrid nuzzles his cheek and pulls him close, “I guess we’ll find out.”

#indruck #promptober #indrid cold/duck newton #awkward flirting

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therainbowwillow · 4 years ago

Text

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/641354616733401088/therainbowwillow

Epilogue!

Here it is, the last part of this fic. And here is a sappy note from the author: Thank you all so, so much for reading my first-ever fanfic I’ve posted here! As I said in the very first parts, the hardest part of writing (for me) is posting what I write! To publish your art (written or drawn or sung, etc) is to show a part of yourself to the world and it is intimidating. The support you readers have given me has encouraged me to finish (me? finishing something?) this fic and has inspired me to keep posting my writing on here! Thanks a million for joining me on this trainwreck of a fanfiction.

Premise/last time (my last synopsis? AH!): Orpheus’s song succeeds. Hermes’s prophecy is fulfilled when Orpheus discovers his new immortality, at the hand of Hades. Persephone is allowed to choose where she spends her time, in Hadestown or up above. Eurydice and Orpheus look forward to their future, a lot longer than they had expected. Achilles and Patroclus are given a second chance at life and guaranteed a spot in Elysium. Hyacinthus stays with Apollo. Hermes is unemployed and tired but at least his son is alive.

It hadn’t taken Orpheus and Eurydice more than a minute to decide they wanted to go home. The Olympians had murmured amongst themselves. Gods, they had said, who do not have any desire to remain on Olympus? Sure, it wasn’t unheard of to live away from the city. But to visit only for hours? That wasn’t common.

Hermes had understood in an instant. They had come to plead for their lives and they’d left with much more than they’d bargained for. They longed for normalcy. They’d said their good-byes to Apollo and Hyacinthus, shining with his newfound immortality. The journey home had felt short, Hermes had been half-conscious for most of it. Persephone and Hestia helped him down the ramp, leaving Olympus behind him.

The train ride had been silent. Orpheus and Eurydice had sat side by side, hand in hand, never looking away from his bedside.

The flowers in the meadow turned their heads to Orpheus, God of Song, as he passed, though no notes touched his lips. Persephone helped Hermes inside and they’d slept.

When he’d finally woken, Hermes found Orpheus and Eurydice outside his window, laying together in the meadow. They sat beneath a tree and Orpheus strummed his lyre, humming the notes of a new song, flowers blooming around him, warm raindrops against his cheeks. Hermes watched them from his bed, to weary to stand.

The sun, perhaps curious at the sound of Orpheus’s music burned off the clouds and a rainbow stretched across the sky. Eurydice was the first to notice. It was a novel sight after years without a spring. She pointed it out to Orpheus, who watched it, wide-eyed, and then switched to singing about the colors above him.

...

Today, almost exactly a year after their original return, Orpheus and Eurydice would be married, in the light of spring. Orpheus stands beside his wife, sipping a glass of nectar. Eurydice frantically adjusts her veil. Orpheus sets down his drink and takes her hands in his. “Hey. You look great, love. What’s wrong?” he asks her.

“It’s just... we never could’ve done this before...” she sighs. “We could never have paid for all this. And now...”

“We won’t lose it this time,” he promises.

“I know. It’s hard to forget that we did once.”

He nods in understanding. “Let’s enjoy it while we can, lover. Sure, winter will be cold, summer will be hot, but it’s spring now!” He places his hands on her waist and sways back and forth. Eurydice smiles. She grabs his hands and spins him under her arms.

“It’s spring,” she agrees.

The guest list looks exactly as they’d agreed it would on the first train ride home. Hermes received the first invitation, as he still lived with the soon-to-be newlyweds. Persephone, residing nearby with her mother and son, received the second. Hyacinthus and Apollo were in attendance, and Achilles and Patroclus. Hera had blessed the wedding and Aphrodite had agreed wholeheartedly. In some stroke of madness or courage, Orpheus had sent a letter to Hades, inviting him to stop by. He hadn’t received a reply.

Written inside the cards was indeed Eurydice’s poem, to which she had objected after the letters had been sent. Still, she’d slept with a copy of the invitation under her pillow for months.

The set-up had been easy enough. A few notes of coaxing and, as promised, the trees had laid their wedding tables. Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, had given them a wedding arch of pure light. Persephone and Demeter had provided a feast and Hermes had delivered most of their invitations.

Apollo walks Orpheus down the isle. He trembles with anxiety. Hermes hands Eurydice off to him and he clutches her hand, beneath their arch of light. “I’m gonna forget what I’m supposed to say,” he whispers.

She squeezes his hand. “Orpheus, you aren’t gonna forget.” He nods, hoping she’s right.

And she is, of course. “I can’t promise you fair sky above,” he vows, “Can’t promise you kind road below. But I’ll walk beside you, love. Any way the wind blows. Walk beside me.”

“Any way the wind blows,” she swears. “I will.”

Their kiss is long and filled with love. Eurydice’s fingertips brush against the thin scar across her lover’s palm. The tiny gash that had decided their forever.

The rest of the night is marked by music. Apollo is supposed to be the one performing, but Orpheus can’t help himself. Eurydice joins in, singing beside him, and soon the crowd is cheering for the newlyweds’ song. If Apollo is jealous, he doesn’t show it.

At Orpheus’s allowance, he leaves his position on stage and spins out a beautiful dance with Hyacinthus. Apollo notices his lover has grown his hair out. He has it tied back in a wreath of purple hyacinths, revealing the gash over his eye, the mark of his death he’d always kept so desperately hidden. Apollo brushes his finger over the scar. Hyacinthus looks away. “Hey, I like it,” Apollo says.

“I wasn’t sure about it. I... I used to wear my hair like this. You know... before? I thought maybe-”

“I love it.” Apollo silences him with a kiss.

The wedding celebrations carry on long into the night. Hermes looks on as Eurydice and Orpheus share their final dance of the day. Somehow, by some miracle, their tale had turned out this time.

“Hermes,” Orpheus takes a seat beside him, as Eurydice prepares a snack inside. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Hermes pulls his son into his arms. “I wish I could’ve done more,” he says. He opens Orpheus’s palm, examining his scar. “I wish it every day.”

Orpheus shakes his head. “You couldn’t have done more. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. You saved my life. Endured Hades’s wrath in my place.”

“And you saved me in turn. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

“I wish... you hadn’t gone through so much for me,” Orpheus whispers

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Orpheus,” he says, honestly. They sit in silence for a moment.

“Do you still feel it?” Orpheus asks, suddenly.

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What?”

“His wrath.”

“Do you?” Hermes inquires.

“I never felt it the way you did. It would always... end. A few seconds of agony and it would all be over,” he says.

“That’s not an answer.”

He hesitates a moment. “I do,” Orpheus admits. “Aches and pains, bad dreams, however it manifests, I can always tell.”

Hermes nods his sympathy. “I understand.”

“You were worse. You... you were asleep for days, weakened for weeks. And when you woke... you looked older, so tired. I was afraid for you,” Orpheus tells him.

“Finding you in that cell, Orpheus... that’s how I felt. I wish I could take all of that pain away from you,” Hermes says.

“I’ll manage,” Orpheus promises. “However long it takes.”

“I know you will.”

Eurydice returns with a plate of fruit and glasses of nectar. She hands one to her husband and the other to her father-in-law. “Happy zero-th anniversary, Orpheus!”

He blushes a deep gold. “We’re married!” He remembers. “It still hasn’t sunk in yet!”

Eurydice looks up at the full moon overhead. The scent of cherry blossom is on the air. She sits beside Orpheus and rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re here,” she tells him, softly.

“I am too.”

————————————————————-

Achilles and Patroclus established their residence in the countryside. In thanks for their protection of her daughter, Demeter provided bountiful harvests, year after year. They sat beneath their fig orchard and watched the stars, rejecting offers of glory in trade for the peace and quiet they longed for.

Decades passed and like all good things, their quiet lives came to an end. Achilles was the first to return to Hadestown. He fell ill in late winter. Patroclus never once left his side, providing food and drink and finally strong medicine until his lover breathed his final breath.

Patroclus watched the pyre go up in flames. He collected the ashes in a golden urn, half filled. His nights were cold and lonely and the harvest felt tedious. He watched the stars alone each night, just as he had promised he would. Finally, his time came.

...

He wakes, feeling unrefreshed. He pulls the cover back over himself and closes his eyes again. “Patroclus,” voice from behind him calls. A dream, he knows. He’d had plenty before. He shuts his eyes tighter.

“Patroclus,” Achilles says again. “Mind looking at me? It’s been a while. I missed you.”

Patroclus rolls over. His lover stands before him, young and healthy in a small bedroom. “Achilles?” he mutters. “This isn’t real.”

He prepares to turn away. Achilles takes his hand. His eyes widen at the touch. “No, Patroclus. You’re here!”

“Where ‘here’? Achilles, what is this?” he asks.

“Welcome to Elysium!” Achilles exclaims, taking a seat beside him. “Hades kept his promise.”

Patroclus blinks. “I’m... dead?”

Achilles nods. “Yes. Now we get to stay here. For real this time. I made Hades swear it, on the River Styx.” He brushes the hair out of Patroclus’s eyes. “If you’d like, I can show you around, but I’d rather you rest first. Dying is tiring work.”

Patroclus sits upright. “Achilles... I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I was afraid when Persephone brought you in that something was wrong. She told me that it was common, for shades who died in their sleep to stay asleep for days, even weeks,” he explains. “It wasn’t particularly comforting. I’m glad you’re awake.”

“I didn’t have coins to cross the Styx!” Patroclus realizes.

“I paid your fare.”

“What? How? You weren’t on the banks with me.”

Achilles shrugs. “Persephone told me she’d seen you so I worked on the factory assembly lines for a few days until I could afford to bring you over. I bet she would’ve done it anyway if I hadn’t scrounged together the change.”

“Thank you,” he says, gratefully.

“It wasn’t too bad. I hadn’t worked for years. Kind of refreshing, honestly.”

“Years?” Patroclus asks, alarmed.

“No one in Elysium works all that often. In the rest of Hadestown, most shades work part-time, with two weeks’ vacation to Elysium annually, plus weekends,” Achilles says. “And... oh, I shouldn’t tell you until you’re ready to see for yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Patroclus insists. “Please tell me.”

“The sky. It’s not the overworld, but it has its own beauty. It’s quite impressive, and it isn’t even finished. I guess if you’d like we could-”

“Yes!” Patroclus exclaims. “I watched the stars. Every night. It wasn’t the same without you, my love.”

Achilles helps him to his feet and guides him through the house. Through the door of their cozy bedroom, down a short hallway, they step down a flight of stairs and out the front door. It opens to a landscape of rolling hills under otherworldly green lights. The stars are swirls in the sky, illuminated in strange colors. “Stars?” he whispers in awe.

“Hades stopped trying to recreate the overworld. He made it... something else. It worked, clearly. Come, sit.” He shows Patroclus to a well-used patch of grass beneath a fruit tree and lowers his lover to the ground.

Patroclus twirls a blade of grass between his fingers. “This is real,” he observes.

“Orpheus’s song does reach down here. And Persephone keeps everything growing, especially this time of year, springtime in the underground. When she’s with Hades, it’s like summer. Underworld summer. Patroclus, I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it really is-”

“It’s incredible.” Patroclus’s lips touch Achilles’s and neither man pulls away, not for an eternity.

----(Decades prior to the deaths of Achilles and Patroclus)----

It had taken Persephone over two years to make her decision. She’d felt bad to keep her husband waiting all this time, but living up on top was bliss after all those long winters. It was summer of the third year when she finally returned.

...

Hermes arrives at her new residence, this one closer to Hadestown, looking awful. For a moment she fears the worst. That her husband had torn up the world all over again. But what he tells her is more frightening.

“Persephone, this summer’s been too long,” he announces. “Orpheus is powerful, but not this good. He’s been singing day and night to keep the weather in check. Singing for months There’s a spring and a fall and a winter, but it won’t last long. Next year, I’m afraid the crops will burn or-”

Horror fills her. “Is he alright?” She asks. “I knew it was getting hotter, but I never thought...”

Hermes sighs. “I’ve seen worse. But it’s wearing on him. He’s too tired to get out of bed these days. Eurydice’s there to help, of course, but he can’t do this forever, Seph. Not even a god can remain eternally awake.”

“I’ll go,” she agrees.

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m asking. Your mother can control the seasons. With her help-”

“No, I’m leaving. I’ve made my choice. Tell your poor boy I’ll come by one last time. Let him stop singing.”

Hermes accepts this. They walk up the railroad track in silence.

He gently opens the door of his and Orpheus’s residence. He hears Eurydice, giving words of encouragement.

“It’s been months,” Orpheus says, his voice raspy with strain. “I dunno how long I can stay up. Even gods sleep.”

“I know, lover. But you’ve done so well. Don’t give up now.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “Just... a few more weeks, right? No,” he corrects himself, “Months. It’ll be fall soon. Then winter, then spring.”

“Spring is break time.”

“I know. It’s only... it’s two seasons away.”

Hermes hears her miserable sigh. “You’ve been brave, Orpheus, to keep fighting.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I know.”

He gives a little yelp of pain.

“Sorry. I should’ve changed these hours ago.”

Hermes opens the door. Orpheus looks up from his bloodied fingers. He smiles. “Hey Hermes! I’m sorry, I have nothing for us to eat. The song stopped producing a few days ago and I’m struggling with the lyre now that my fingers... well... It’ll be harvest soon. It won’t be ambrosia, but it’ll have to do.”

“No.” Persephone sits beside him. “It won’t have to do. We can fix this. I’m going back to Hadestown. I won’t be long. Spring always returns.”

“You don’t have to do this!” Orpheus exclaims, “My song will be enough until it’s spring again. Don’t go back. Please.”

“I miss him, Orpheus. I do. I’m going... home.” It feels strange to call Hadestown ‘home’. It was most often known to Persephone as ‘hell on earth.’

“Only if this is what you want, Persephone,” he says.

“I do. Please get some rest. Starting now.”

He smiles wearily as he leans back against his pillows. “Thank you.”

“I love you, kiddo. I’ll see you when you bring back the springtime next year,” she promises.

He gives a little nod and he’s asleep, almost the second his head hits the pillow.

Hermes helps Persephone onto the train. Charon drives now, rather than himself. “Take care of Orpheus for me, will you? And give this to Dionysus.” She hands him a envelope. “He can come visit whenever he likes.”

“I will. If you need anything, just send a message.”

“See ya next spring!” She waves as the train pulls out of the station.

...

She remembers Orpheus, almost lifeless, collapsed in a booth just like the one she sits in now. Only three years. It feels like a century. How much he’s been through, she thinks. How much he’s changed. He isn’t the young man who’d collapsed at her feet in Hades’s throne room all those years ago. She has no doubt in her mind that he would’ve sung ‘til spring if she hadn’t gone.

The routine of the train ride is something of a comfort. She watches the scenery fly by outside her window. Green fields, nearly ripe for harvest. All thanks to Orpheus.

The train grinds to a halt. She steps into Hadestown, beyond the wall for the first time in so long. Bluish lights illuminate the stone walls of the city from above. The shadows cast by the buildings aren’t so harsh as they had once been. She raises an eyebrow.

She follows the streets down into the heart of Hadestown, hell on Earth. A young couple passes her, hand in hand.

“Hey, miss?” A woman calls. She turns. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new here?” the girl asks.

“I- no. Not really.” Persephone looks up at the city skyline. Her husband’a tower is no where in sight. “Where’s the tower?”

“The tower?” The woman looks confused for a second. “Oh yeah! I’ve heard the stories! They took it down during the revolution. You want a glass of wine, miss? If not, the bar’s always open if-”

“Hush,” Persephone cuts her off. “If we’re discovered, there won’t be anywhere left.”

The woman’s brow furrows. “Discovered by who? Mister Hades frequents our establishment.”

“We can’t be talking about the same man,” she says, astounded.

“You sure you don’t want a drink? I’m new here, so maybe someone will know more than me.”

Persephone nods, numbly. The woman leads her down the same street she’d walked a hundred times. Instead of a thin, secluded allyway, the entrance to her old bar is well-lit and wide open. It’s exterior is painted with a mural of carnations. She steps inside and is recognized almost instantly.

“Lady Persephone!” The bartender calls. “We’ve missed you down here!”

“Ampelos,” she recognizes the young man, a lover of her son, Dionysus, and the best bartender around. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has! We didn’t think you’d come back!”

“Yet here I am. Where’s the tower, my friend? Or the throne hall, I suppose.” She inquires. “I should find my husband.”

“I’m sure Hades will stop by soon enough. Dionysus’s spring wine.” He hands her a glass. “Hades kept the recipe.”

“There’s no vineyards down below,” she corrects him. “How much are you smuggling?”

“None.” He shrugs. “Orpheus’s song changed a lot.”

“Did my husband put you up to this?”

“No,” he answers. “It’s been different since the revolution. We’re still rebuilding, so there’s plenty to do, but having our memories back is nice. So are the shorter shifts. Five day weeks, nine-to-four. The weekends, we do as we like and our two weeks’ annual vacation time can be spent whenever we please. Pay isn’t half bad, though we’re campaigning for more currently, hence the flower. It’s the symbol of our revolution.”

She blinks in disbelief. “Funny.”

“No, I’m not joking,” he protests. “Things have changed.”

Persephone shakes her head. “Not Hades. Hades is unmovable. He gave us a chance because that song made him soft. Nothing more.”

“You’re wrong. He didn’t come this far alone, true. It took a lot of willpower and good minds to convince him to let go of his iron grip on Hadestown, but we did it,” he explains.

The bell chimes at the door. Persephone freezes in fear at the sight of her husband. She’d dreamt it a hundred times, that he’d take away her last safe haven. “Hades,” she pleads.

He stares at her. “Persephone?” He waits for someone to laugh, tell him it had all been a joke. No one does. He moves closer. He doesn’t dare to touch her. He sees her eyes well with tears. “A glass of wine, Ampelos,” he commands.

Her lips part. “You know him?”

Ampelos shrugs. “Like I said. He’s a regular.”

“Hades...”

He cracks a smile. “I suppose I do drink more than I once did. I hoped you wouldn’t judge, Seph- sorry, Persephone,” he corrects himself.

She takes his hands. “Hades... you let us go. You let them go. It’s true?”

He nods. “I promised you change.”

“I didn’t think...”

“I don’t blame you. Persephone... why did you return?”

“The weather became hotter and hotter the longer I stayed. I couldn’t let the world die for me,” she says. “And Hades? I... I missed you.

“You made your choice?” His voice hasn’t lost its old commanding tone.

She closes her eyes and exhales. “I have. I made a promise too. I told them up on the surface I’d be back by spring.”

“I told you I wouldn’t keep you here,” he says, almost irritated. “But I understand your doubts.” Hades sips his wine.

“I’ll stay,” she promises.

“For me or for them?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admits.

He nods. “Will you walk with me?”

Persephone takes his hand and leaves the bar behind her. The streets are cleaner, the air is easier on her lungs. The city is lit by beams of blue light, dazzling the buildings in colorful rays. Carnations are painted on some of the walls, leftover from the riots. “I stopped trying to make it look like it does up above,” Hades informs her.

“I noticed.”

“Do you like it?” He stops to ask her.

“Yes.”

“The shades seem to prefer it too,” he adds.

“They’re happy, Hades,” she tells him.

“I feared they only kept up the ruse around me to save their skins.”

“No. It’s genuine. They smile. They laugh. I never thought I’d see the day,” she remarks.

They continue walking, past the crumbled remains of factories and newly opened restaurants. “Where are we going, Hades?” Persephone finally asks.

He shrugs. “Where do you want to go?”

She’s surprised at her own request. “Home,” she says.

“It’s gone,” he responds, bluntly. “The tower fell before I returned.”

“Then take me to wherever you’re staying.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” she asks.

“I have no home. I held off. You were never happy in the tower. I wanted you to choose where we should reside.”

“I don’t understand,” Persephone says. “You don’t have a home on the surface. You live here year round. Why should my six months matter more than your twelve?”

“You’re my wife.”

“And I’m telling you to pick a place. So do it.”

He guides her down the street in silence, away from the center of town. She recognizes the route he’s taking, remembers the last time she’d come this way. It had been no leisurely stroll then. She instinctively reaches for her pocket, retracting her hand when she remembers she’d left her flask on the surface.

The tightly packed streets open to an empty field, a single dilapidated building at the far edge. Persephone carefully steps over the glass ruins of her now-fallen greenhouses. She rests her hand upon the door of the last building that stands. She exhales and pushes it open.

The scent of flowers strikes her. Her jaw drops. The garden blooms before her, as if she’s on the surface. As if the vines cannot tell that the sun is a million miles out of reach.

“Hades...” she whispers, rapt.

“It will improve in your care,” he says.

“You did this?”

“I did my best,” he tells her, modestly. “Orpheus’s song does reach us.” He pinches a dead leaf between his fingers. “But it’s been quiet lately.”

She takes a seat on a bench in the center of the garden and pats the spot beside her. Hades joins her. “Last time I was here, I used these vines to strangle the man you sent to attack me,” she reminds him. “After he shot Orpheus, that is. I was too late. As always,” she scoffs. Hades says nothing. “No, you look at me, husband.” He turns towards her. “You’re trying. But it ain’t easy to forgive.”

He nods in quiet understanding. “What happened to him once I left?”

She shrugs. “Hermes could tell you more than I could. I spent time with the three of them when things got rough, just after we got home from Olympus. It took Orpheus a long time to get back on his feet, even with the help of your ambrosia.”

She sighs, remembering those long, long weeks. “He’d sleep all day and wake up screaming. Some nights, he wouldn’t speak to us; he wouldn’t tell us what was wrong. He’d just cry and cry until he lost his voice or I gave him something to knock him out. It was unbearable. But we bore it, Eurydice and I, while Hermes slept. Eventually he improved, but even now, some days are harder than others.”

“Whatever you did to him, it never went away,” she accuses him. “The same for Hermes. You couldn’t tell by looking at them, not anymore. But sometimes... sometimes I know it wears on them.”

Hades stares at the vines at his feet. “I would take it all back if I could,” he says, quietly.

“I know you would. I wish I could relieve their burdens, more than you know.”

“You have burdens of your own,” he reminds her. “The weight of their strife is mine to carry.”

She wonders if he wants her to refute him. “Yes, it is,” she simply agrees. “No amount of apologies, no amount of reform will ever take away that pain.” She stands and turns her back on him.

He reaches for her hand. She lets him take it. “I know. I’m not asking you to forgive. I know you cannot forget. But we have another chance, Persephone.”

“I don’t know what I want, Hades.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises.

#hadestown #hadestown fanfic #hadestown au #like i said its hardly an au lol #oh well #at least my warm up is done #its eighteen parts long #end me #therainbowwrites

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whatkikiwrote · 4 years ago

Photo

Jen is a character out of an unwritten book. Fairy Michael said it best, "That girl is from another planet." The girl with the spider legs. I say is because a person like Jen doesn't just leave this planet when they die, it'll take awhile before a sparkle like hers dissipates. She was fire, fun and one of the most hilarious people I'd ever met. She was smart as a whip and great company. Jen and I were the girls dating the Hungarians. Thomas and Sam were attached at the hip, which meant for better or worse, so were Jen and I.

The four of us lived a few months together in a rusty shipping container until the rainy season hit and we were practically flooded out. That was November 2015. The rain in Big Sur fell especially hard that year, breaking California out of it's drought. We were always together in the beginning. Jen would wake at dawn to work her morning shift at Ripplewood and Sam was always ready to walk her to work. If you were unfortunate enough to be in the Ripplewood parking lot around 6am, you'd encounter them with their tongues down each other's throat. Sam and Jen were always making out. I remember once my parents came to visit from Boston, so we took them to the aquarium and my dad joked that Sam and Jen missed the whole thing because they were too busy engulfed in each other.

Living in the shipping container in late October provided minimal heat and sometimes the night temperatures dropped below freezing, so we spent a lot of our time at the pub. To stay warm Sam, Jen and I spent hundreds of hours in the soft glow of the pub's fireplace, while Thomas worked in the kitchen. The pub was located in the same parking lot as our little container, so we would joke it was the living room. I'm sure I'm not the first to say that about the Maiden, and if you were lucky to have spent an evening there, you understand how special it was. A little cozy corner community of people off the beaten Highway one path.

To bide our time I wrote. And drank.

Harassed the bartenders.

Sam read countless books. But Jen could never sit still. She would pick up a book she was interested in, read a few pages and then start another one. She'd get bored, order a beer from Spencer or, if it was Friday night, from Heavy Metal Chris. She'd roll a cigarette on the bar, go outside by the barrel to smoke and every time I’d glance out the window at her, she would be hugging someone new. Lots of times she'd spot a friend in the parking lot, jump in their car, leave her stuff inside and come back hours later to her beer and purse, right where she'd left them. You don't deserve that kind of community love unless you work for it and Jen certainly did. She was always around and if I needed her in a pinch, I only had to use the “Big Sur telephone”, "Hey everyone!” I’d call into the open doors of the pub, If you see Jen, tell her I'm looking for her." "Which Jen?" Someone would ask. "The one with the long legs." I’d reply. "Crossed eye Jen?" That was another thing about us. We both had occasionally lazy eyes.

In November Thomas and I moved into our Kia Forte and Sam and Jen moved into her Jetta. We didn't see them as much. Sam and Jen stayed in the valley, sleeping at The Grange while Thomas and I drove down to the south coast and spend our time off surfing at Sand dollar. I remember once we took Sam and Jen out to surf. I let her borrow my board and watched in horror like a worried mother as she flipped and flopped and smashed her and my board over and over again until she realized she could use just use it as a boogie board. I can still remember the endless joy on her face, even today, years later, holed up in a giant downtown apartment, far far away from the Pacific. That cute squinty smile. She wouldn't give me my board back for the rest of the day, no matter how much I pleaded.

In late December Thomas and I decided to move to Monterey. The day we signed our lease I drove to LA to get the rest of my stuff I had left behind when I abruptly decided to follow my heart and move to Big Sur. When I came home to Monterey, the apartment had been completely decorated. It looked like a homeless hippie had vomited all over our walls and, I guess she kinda did. Jen welcomed me with her big goofy googly eyed smile and offered me a plate of burnt cookies. That wasn't the only time Jen decorated my apartment or cooked for us .Once she made a stew of eggs, beans, greens and any condiment and spice she could find in the fridge and cabinet, including the fish sauce. We all took bites to be nice and then fed our portions to the dogs when she wasn't looking. Poor dogs.

Jen and Sam lost their jobs that winter and survived off of Chips Ahoy. They'd sleep over regularly to do laundry, take showers, smoke giant bong rips. We’d get massively stoned and lounge around listening to music while braiding each other's hair. We always had some new abalone or jade or money or doobie or gossip to share. Our collective favorite drink was a latte with a double shot of Bailey's so when they would sleep over, as a thank you, Jen would always make us Bailey's coffee in the morning. One thing Jen was exceptional at, other than being a phenomenal friend and muse, was making lattes.

Once Jen hosted a dinner party at Coast Gallery, where Henry Miller’s famed water colors hang on the walls. It was just the four of us and Geologist Steve, who was living there at the time. Jen welcomed us at Steve’s door as if it were her own home. The small apartment had access to the latte machine in the commercial kitchen and together we drank at least 10 if not more coffees. She had made little foam hearts in every cup.

High on caffeine we walked out to the balcony where the cafe serve sandwiches and drinks and looked out at the moon shinning off the ocean. There were few clouds in the sky as the marine layer had dispersed and clearly we could see shooting stars falling around us. Thomas took me by my hand and we started to waltz, as we circled around, I caught a glimpse of Sam and Jen, tongues down each other’s throats. It’s silly how when you are young you believe a moment can last forever.

Jen and I were like sisters. We didn't always get along in the beginning and we'd go long spans of time not seeing each other, but we always had the other's back. If I needed a job, she'd find one for me. If she needed to talk, we'd find each other. Once I took her to that dive bar in Seaside every Big Sur local has been to. I forgot the name. It was noon on a Tuesday and the place was packed. We spent too much money on booze and too much time complaining to each other about the difficulties of being us. After a very short lived game of pool, we decided it was time to leave, but as I reached to open the door, a man blocked my exit and said, "Where do you think you're going?" I stood motionless, freaked out, but Jen just swatted him away and walked out of the dark into the daylight without a blink.

Eventually she and Sam made a deal with some deeply loved locals and ended up building their own little shack on a mountainside. Jen found a book on gardening and designed her own, at one point she dug out her own stairway down to the garden. Sam and Jen’s only other source of entertainment was a keyboard piano. When Thomas and I would come to visit, Jen and I would play duets. We were shit at it, but that didn't matter. Jen and Sam were living in a dream world. They forged for seaweed at the beach and dried it. They found a colony of bees and tried to harvest the honey. Two of their four walls were made of glass. They watched and documented the Sobranes Fire from their bed. One day as the fire raged, we climbed on their roof and drank Bailey's coffee from their makeshift kitchen: a tarp, a cooler and a small propane stove

.It's been 3 years since I've seen Jen. Thomas and I ran out of money and options after the Pub closed, so we decided with heavy hearts to move to the other side, my side, of the country. She and Sam broke up about a year after we moved. A poor choice, a painful ending, a breakup I wonder if I could have stopped, had I been there.

Despite the distance, I still shared photos with her, of the dogs, of our wedding, our first born little girl. And Jen has never left us, it wasn't even a week ago Thomas and I were sharing memories about her. I still have the pieces of jade we traded, but I'm realizing now that she's gone, how little of her I still keep. My apartment used to be where she kept her books, her clothes, some memories. Typically when a person you love dies, there's a funeral to attend, a gathering of friends to mourn with, but all I have is Thomas and somehow we'll have to tell Sam. How do you tell someone the greatest love of your life is dead? I'm sure it'll be a few more hours until I find out the details of her passing, a few more hours until the shock wears off and I find myself mourning my friend while playing with my children, doing the dishes or driving in the car.

Everyone has their own idea about what happens after we die. Thomas thinks we live on only in memories and DNA, I think a bit more spiritually than that. Anyway, what we think doesn’t matter. Wherever Jen is, besides in all our hearts, I know she's having a hell of an adventure and I hope someday we can ride those waves again at Asilimar.

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hiddendreamer67 · 5 years ago

Note

“What do you want me to say?” with my homie Quill Thornton

Quill is off on one of many trading expeditions, and he comes across the legend of the ‘brownie’- a little creature that lives in human homes. Immediately Quill grows curious about these secretive beings.

Or, part 1 of Quill accidentally makes a new best friend.

——————————————————————————————-

“There you are, Mr. Harrington.” Quill nodded to himself, unloading the last crate of furs. “40 of ‘em to my count, but by all means don’t take me at my word.”

“Oh, you’re too modest, Quill.” Harrington gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’re all there, you haven’t done me dirty yet. And I must say, I appreciate ‘ya making the trek this far north.”

“Aw, it’s nothing, honest!” Quill assured him. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“And a hearty good job of it, too.” Mr. Harrington peered at the horizon, where the sun was steadily sinking, the sunbeams all but fading completely. “Seems the day has a way of slipping away from us. Tell you what, how about you stay the night? I’d rather you were well-rested for the journey ahead.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, sir.” Quill politely declined. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, son!” Harrington wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “No trouble at all, you can just wheel your cart into the spare barn at the back of the lot. We can set you up with a few blankets from the house, I can even send Alice out with ‘em, so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Quill gave an uncomfortable laugh. It was a common occurrence for common folk to try and set him up with their daughters, and while Quill was flattered on principle it was hardly proper to play with their emotions. Quill wasn’t ready to settle down and court a lady, not when the open road was still calling his name. He loved helping around the homestead and supporting his family, but whenever he thought about a homestead of his own Quill couldn’t picture it. Not now, at any rate.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Quill shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you thinking I’m making advances on your daughter. But I will take the barn, if you’re certain.”

“I’m certain.” Harrington left no room for debate, guiding Quill around the house. He pointed to an older structure, just beyond the first field. “You see there? Should be unlocked, just slide the bolt.”

That seemed a bit careless, but Quill wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded in thanks, guiding Velvet the Mare back towards the stable. Quill unlatched the entryway, peering in to see the moon peeking through the rafters. A few cattle gazed back at him with a bored expression from their pens.

“Evening, ladies.” Quill chucked, unlatching Velvet and guiding her into a spare stall at the end of the way. The cart fit neatly between the rows with room to spare, and Quill got situated with a few blankets of his own. He was well-prepped for travel, having left home with the intention of being gone a few weeks.

Quill paused, hearing a shuffling in the rafters. Huh. It seemed the Harringtons must have mice in their barn. A quick glance around revealed there was no farm cat present, but no matter. Quill didn’t mind mice so long as they weren’t causing a problem. Hopefully they’d stay out of his food stores.

Satisfied with his work, Quill crawled into his cart and fell asleep. The night passed with no remarkable incident, and indeed Quill woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested for someone who spent the night in a cart.

A knocking came at the barn door, and a moment later a young familiar face peered in. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Alice greeted, coming inside. A bucket was held in her hand. “Did the girls give you any trouble?”

“Hmm?” Quill glanced again at the cows, who all seemed to perk up at Alice’s appearance. “Oh, no. We had a lovely evening together.”

“With words like that you’ll make a woman jealous.” Alice teased, opening the gate to have access to the first cow. “Don’t mind me, it’s time for their daily milking. Else Bell here wouldn’t be so pleasant, would you, girl?” A slow blink was the only response. Alice chuckled, carefully getting settled in on a stool.

“Do you need a hand?” Quill offered. “I would certainly be willing, especially after your father was so kind as to open his home to me.”

“The barn’s hardly our home.” Alice gave him a smile. “And you needn’t worry yourself about helping lil’ ol’ me with my morning chores, I won’t be a moment.”

“All the same, it feels rude to leave you to your task alone.” Quill admitted. “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do to repay your family’s kindness?”

“Oh, you’re already a right joy and delight, Quill Thornton.” Alice assured him. “You keeping those trade lines open for us is more than enough, at least in father’s eyes. Go on, get Velvet all settled in, you’ll want to get a move on while the day is bright.”

“If you’re certain.” Quill finally relented, heading to Velvet’s stall with only a slight guilt in his heart. He opened the gate, surprised to see Velvet had been groomed. “Now wait a moment, did you sneak in here last night?”

“Hmm?” Alice frowned. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Quill, but-”

“No, no!” Quill hastily corrected. “It’s just- Velvet. Her mane’s been brushed.” The proud creature gave a happy whinny, clearly happy to be noticed.

“No, it wasn’t me.” Alice was thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe it was the spirits.”

At first, Quill thought she must be teasing him again, but peering over the stall walls Alice appeared to be serious. “Come again?”

“The brownies?” Alice offered, looking at him as though he were the mad one. “Our farm has at least one or two for certain. They must have taken a liking to you and your horse.”

Quill frowned, feeling as though he was missing some very important information. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with those. What exactly is a ‘brownie’?”

“What, you don’t have brownies down south?” Alice looked surprised. “Why, everyone around here would be lost without them! They’re little household creatures that will help you with chores and the like. Sometimes they’ll give gifts, too. You have to leave out food for them so they’ll stay, and you mustn’t offend them, but if they like you enough they’ll stay and bless the harvest.”

“And how big are these little brownies?” Quill asked, leading Velvet slowly out of the stall.

Alice hummed, contemplative. “About the size of a palm, I’d say. It’s hard to tell; not many people have seen a brownie. If you try and watch them at their work they’ll be offended.”

At this, Quill couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “See, now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“Am not!” Alice looked offended at his statement, tossing down a rag she had been using to clean up Bell.

“My apologies, m’lady, it’s just- well, look.” Quill gestured to Velvet. “You’re telling me a lil’ thing like that was able to give Velvet a good brushing? Why half the time even I can’t get her to cooperate.”

“They’re magic.” Alice insisted, standing up to move on to Poblano. “And don’t you go spouting off and scaring ours away now, Quill. I’m certain you’ve got your own collection of unexplained events back home, brownies or no.”

Well, thinking back to the recent magical events occurring in the forest behind his house, Quill couldn’t exactly disagree.

“You’re right, Alice.” Quill relented, leading Velvet to the cart and beginning to hook it up. “I apologize for any offense I caused.”

Alice snorted, glancing at the rafters. “I’m not the one who will be looking for an apology.”

Quill paused, wondering for a moment if this was truly happening. It was. He turned to the rafters as well, trying to figure out what exactly to say. “I apologize for any offense!” Quill announced loudly. “I imagine you’re quite real, for if you’re not I imagine I’d look quite ridiculous right now.” He was silent for just a moment, feeling foolish for expecting a response. “…I think I’m going to take my leave now.”

Alice burst out laughing, her hands around her waist as she fought for breath. “Quill Thornton, you really have the darndest way of addressing the magic folk.”

Quill turned a bit red, turning to her with an exasperated expression. “It runs in the family, I suppose.”

“That’s- that’s not how you apologize to a brownie.” Alice said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you want me to say?” Quill asked, wishing he could be mad at her but finding her mirth contagious.

“You don’t say anything.” Alice stood with a smile, wiping a tear from her eye. “You give a gift.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Quill tilted his head, only used to the dangerous tales of trickery associated with the fae back home.

“…what?” Alice looked at him as though he were alien. “What’s so dangerous about leaving out some milk?”

“I suppose you’ve never met a fae.” Quill glanced around. “I don’t suppose I could barter for any milk, in that case?”

Alice nodded. “You’ll want some honey as well. There should be some in the house, I imagine mother would be more than willing to make a trade, especially if she knows it’s for our brownies. She’s quite fond of them.”

Still not fully understanding what all the fuss was about but not wanting to offend one of his consistent trade partners, Quill found himself standing on Harrington’s doorstep ready to ask for some milk and honey. Before he could get a word out, however, Harrington ushered him in.

“Ah, Quill, I’ve got a spot of bad news for you.” Mr. Harrington’s expression was a bit grim. “Last night, a tree toppled over the southern path. The bridge is blocked.”

Quill internalized a groan. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m afraid not, son.” Harrington scratched at his beard. “Just got wind of it myself. The thing’s massive, a wonder it didn’t do more damage. The men are heading down to chop it to pieces, but it looks to be a few days before anyone’s going anywhere.”

A few days? Quill let out a frustrated sigh, knowing there was nothing to be done about it but hating to be tardy when his family was counting on him.

“Hey.” Mr. Harrington put a hand on his shoulder. “Quill, I owe you an apology. If I hadn’t insisted on you spending the evening here, you’d be well on your way.”

“There was no way of you knowing.” Quill easily forgave him. “I can’t fault you for your hospitality.”

“Then allow me to offer it for a few nights more.” Harrington decided. “The barn is yours until the path is clear.”

“Sir, that’s a generous offer.” Quill smiled in gratitude. “I’d be most grateful, but I must insist I do something for you in return.”

“Go help the others down by the bridge clearing the way.” Harrington instructed. “I’m sure they’d want me to send an able-bodied man, and then I can still attend to my own duties. That’ll be help a’plenty.”

Quill decided this to be a fair enough trade, returning Velvet back to the barn. She gave a soft whinny, clearly not eager to be locked up all day, and Alice offered to watch her in the pastures while Quill got to work. Once that affair was settled, Quill headed down the path, a borrowed lumber axe in hand. He got to work under the instruction of a large burly man who might’ve been part tree himself for his imposing stature and aged complexion. It was hard work, and even after working diligently all day Quill tried not to feel disheartened when they had barely made a dent.

“How was it?” Alice asked, waiting outside the barn for him.

“It has to be done.” Quill gave a small shrug. “What’s that for?”

“This?” Alice glanced down at the bowl of milk and honey in her hands. “It’s for the brownie, remember? Did you really forget already?”

Oh. To be perfectly honest, yes he had. “Of course I didn’t.” Quill assured her, taking the bowl.

“Set it out where they’ll see it.” Alice instructed. “They like a hearth, but since it’s the barn, perhaps the workbench will do.”

“Naturally.” Quill, despite being exhausted, gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Alice.” Satisfied with the gratitude, Alice returned the smile and trekked back to the house.

Quill sighed, heading into the barn where Velvet was already placed in the stall. He set the milk and honey mixture on the workbench as Alice had mentioned. “This is for you.” Quill called out, once again feeling a bit silly as he got comfortable in the cart. He didn’t change out of his work clothes, feeling too tired to do so. That, and once the idea of being watched was planted in his head Quill just didn’t feel right changing. He chuckled, staring up at the rafters. “Guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet.” He paused. “I hope I’m not terrible company.”

Quill listened for a while, imagining he saw a small shadow running along the ceiling. He tried to track the figure’s movements, but in a blink the shadow disappeared entirely. He sighed.

“I also hope I’m not just seeing things.” Quill brushed his hair back. “Sorry, I’ve been told I talk people’s ears off when I’m tired, and today was quite exhausting.” Quill bit back a yawn, sparing a glance at the worktable. “I assume you’ll find the milk and honey to your liking, if that is what you drink. I’ve never tried it myself, but I imagine it’d be quite sweet…”

Quill blinked, rubbing at his eyes. At this point it was obvious he was just talking to himself, or rather any mythical guests were not keen to indulge him in conversation. He settled into his blankets and tried not to be so disappointed.

With how tired he felt, Quill was surprised when he didn’t immediately fall asleep. It seemed that his curiosity outranked his exhaustion. Without meaning to Quill found himself lying awake far into the night, waiting for … something.

And then, it happened.

It started with the same shuffling from the night before. A whoosh followed, as if a pulley failed and the bucket was plummeting rapidly. Quill braced for the sound of a crash, but all that came was a nearly inaudible thud.

Did he dare to peek? Had Alice warned against that? Perhaps there had been a clause about not spying, but Quill had come so far now, and it was hardly his barn in the first place. Surely the brownie would understand.

Thus decided, Quill opened his eyes, staying absolutely still as he adjusted to the darkness. It seemed he had neglected to close the barn door all the way as some moonlight came pouring in, illuminating the workbench. The milk and honey mixture sat in the center of the glow. And there, standing over the edge was a tiny humanoid figure, surely no taller than a few inches, dressed all in makeshift rags and furs. From here, Quill couldn’t make out any more details.

“…Oh.” Quill whispered, unable to stop himself in his awe.

The creature jumped, staring at him with wide terrified eyes. It dropped its hands, milk dribbling back into the dish.

“Oh, go on!” Quill assured, sitting up and startling it into taking several steps back. “Oh, ah, sorry. It’s for you.”

Despite Quill’s reassurance, it made no move towards the bowl, and its eyes were darting around now like a prey animal desperate for escape. Quill winced, not used to having the upper hand on a magical entity. He knew a thing or two about frightened animals, though.

“I know you’re not supposed to be seen.” Quill admitted. “But I don’t actually live here, so… I think you should be fine. Please don’t leave, Alice will surely have my hide. Unless there’s more of you here helping out. You are a brownie, aren’t you?”

Quill paused, realizing he didn’t actually know if the creature could understand his words. It certainly wasn’t eager to tell Quill anything, that much was clear as it folded further in on itself.

“Oh dear.” Quill sighed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, lil’ fella. I was just curious. Alice was singing your praises all morning. And you did a right good job with Velvet, I don’t know how or if that was even you but she and I both appreciate that.” Quill jabbed his thumb back towards Velvet’s pen. “That’s Velvet, by the way. She’s my horse. Well, not my horse, she’s on loan on account of business. You know how it is.”

Based on the blank look on the brownie’s face, they did not, in fact, “know how it is”. That being said, when Quill mentioned Velvet it could have been his hopeful imagination but the brownie looked a little less like he was going to throw himself off the workbench at any moment.

Quill shifted, itching to get up and go investigate. “Alright, I’m gonna stand up now, okay?”

That got a reaction. The brownie hastily threw its head back and forth, very clearly shaking in a ‘NO’ gesture.

“No?” Quill blinked, surprised by the response. “So you can understand me, can’t you?”

The brownie didn’t respond, and Quill tried not to take it personally.

“My name’s Quill.” Quill introduced himself. “What’s your name? Er, I mean, what may I call you?” Still no response. “What, cat got your tongue?”

At the mention of ‘cat’, the brownie jumped about a foot into the air, and Quill hissed in sympathy. “Oof, sorry, poor choice of words. I’m not used to dealing with little folk. Well, littler folk, I suppose most people tend to be shorter than me…” Quill rubbed the back of his neck. “Boy, I sure am running my mouth a lot, aren’t I?”

Slowly, the brownie gave a tentative nod, and Quill chuckled at the sight. He couldn’t tell with the shadows cast by the brownie’s hood, but Quill imagined the brownie was smiling along with him.

Unfortunately, the magic of the moment couldn’t last forever. Quill hid a yawn behind his hand, once again reminded of his lack of sleep. The brownie began to shift from foot to foot, looking ready to dart off at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t want to keep you from your work.” Quill relented, realizing that he had to let the little fella go. “Will I see you again? I’m stuck here ‘til the road clears.”

The unrelenting stare of the brownie offered no insight. Instead, it made a small shooing gesture with its hand, and Quill realized it wasn’t going anywhere until Quill at least pretended to go back to sleep.

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe’.” Quill answered himself, laying back in the cart and closing his eyes. Immediately he heard the telltale erratic shuffling of the borrower racing about, but this time he didn’t peek. “Goodnight, little brownie.”

———————————————–

Welcome to the world my mute brownie, currently unnamed! Aren’t they a gem? Real excited for them to get closer w/ Quill, though I ran outta steam with this go at it so I’m waiting for some more prompts for these two. (I’ll reblog another list in a min.)

Oh shoutout to @delimeful for helping me name the animals. XD So far I only showed the tame cow names but they’re all peppers.

And lil’ bit of worldbuilding for those interested because I find it interesting, this takes place pre-Cam (or at least Quill knowing about Cam) but post the forest becoming magical & dangerous. And also this northern town is near the giant lands, hence why the tree blocking the path is so incredibly massive and hard to deal with.

#g/t #gt #giant/tiny #brownies #brownie #borrowers #borrower #basically magic borrowers #but only a lil' magic #original characters #writing #writer #writblr #Quill #flower fae #mute borrower #...they do need a name #huh #OCs

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 7: The 4077 Rides Again

It'd tookened his Ma a fair bit of convincing to get Radar to leave the farm and go to Dr. Winchester's wedding.

He'd'a still sent in the quilt square, of course. Cuz it means a lot to Max and to Hawkeye and to the rest of the MASH folks. And he don't like letting his friends down. But he really weren't sure about actually going to the wedding.

Partways cuz he ain't left home for further away than Patricia's hometown of Lancaster since he got back from Korea. And he knows – best he can, anyway, it ain't like he's got a feeling about it or nothin – that everything's gonna be ok while he's gone. Park Sung's more'n able to look after things for a weekend and the wedding's set between planting and harvest so there ain't much to be done around the place but rooting out weeds and looking after the animals. But still, Radar don't like leaving 'em in a lurch.

But the other part – which he don't really like thinking on, even though he'd been sure to tell Patricia and his Ma, just in case things went bad and they came home early – is that Dr. Winchester don't really like him all that much. Thinks Radar's too far beneath him to be worth considering. And Radar's used to being overlooked – he ain't the smartest or the handsomest or the best at anything, really. And plenty of the commissioned officers had been like that – rude and mean and thoughtless. But that don't mean it don't still hurt. And it don't mean he wants to spend a whole weekend getting looked down on like that by Dr. Winchester again.

Truth to tell, Radar'd been shocked to get an invitation at all – and written on the fanciest paper he's ever seen, with little flowers worked in it – nice enough to put in a picture frame and hang on the wall, and being used for writing on! But there'd been his name, wrote out in real pretty handwriting and under it a little note in the same writing saying how much Mrs. Dr. Winchester wanted to meet him.

But nothing from Dr. Winchester.

So it just feels like maybe he don't know Radar's coming, is all. And that maybe he and Patricia'll get there and Dr. Winchester'll be real mad and condescending and mean like he gets and they'll get throwed outta there.

Which would be too bad, cuz Radar's really looking forward to seeing all the folks from the 4077 who'll be there too – an it won't be everybody of course, cuz Dr. Winchester weren't there for the first half of the war, an he don't care for some of the folks from the 4077 even more than he don't care for Radar. But Hawkeye'll be there and Trapper and BJ and maybe even Max, who Radar's really missed – the one person who'd never ragged on him for being short or a kid or homesick or nothing. Though Dr. Winchester don't like Max any more than he'd liked Radar, so it ain't likely.

But his Ma'd just said “nothing ventured means nothing gained” in response to Radar's worries. And that's true enough. He wouldn't be where he is with Patricia if'n he hadn't'a talked to her that day in Kimpo and then wrote to her once he got back home. And he wouldn't have Park Soon's help here at the farm if'n he hadn't'a wrote to Hawkeye about the farm – and then told the truth of the matter when they'd found him out in his lies. And he could'a saved a whole mess of time if'n he'd'a just wrote the truth in the first place – been honest with his friends from the start, even though it'd been embarrassing to admit he were struggling.

His Ma'd been right, of course, so he and Patrica'd headed up to Ottumwa and got the bus out East. And that'd been all right, as things go. It's a good thing he and Patricia like seeing a lot of each other, though, boy, cuz it'd tookened near to a whole day to get where they were going – and the bus'd broke down once and it was almost like being back on an army transport – minus being shelled.

But now they're in Boston in the lobby of a real fancy hotel – the kind of place Radar ain't sure they ain't gonna get kicked outta, invitation or no. He feels like a real rube, standing there rubbernecking at all the gold and fancy chandeliers and all the folks dressed up real nice just to set in the lobby. But then he sees Max and Soon Li up by the check-in desk and when he comes up to 'em, Max smiles real big and hugs Radar and starts shooting the breeze like it ain't been no time at all since they'd seen each other. And Radar figures things oughtta work out all right after all. And he is really looking forward to seeing the rest of his friends from Korea.

Trapper and Hawkeye and all their house-guests cram into a cab over to Back Bay and the poncy hotel Charles's wedding reception is at. And they're a little early – mostly so the ladies have time to change into the fancy duds called for in the dress code – and ain't that a kicker, having a little printed card of what you can and can't wear included in the invitation instead of just saying to dress nice or whatever. But maybe that's normal for posh weddings, Trapper wouldn't know. All he knows is that he's glad the guys' instructions just say black tie.

At any rate, it's good they get there early cuz there's a little bit of a SNAFU when they try to check in cuz the concierge don't wanna accept their invitations as legitimate at first. But Margaret strong arms him into letting them in with the power of righteous indignation and the threat of a shiner. So they collect their keys and split off to their rooms – well, Sidney and Steve and Millie do, he and Hawkeye and the gals don't gotta split very far. Since ostensibly Hawkeye's taking Margaret to this shindig and Trapper's bringing Kat they've got a suite made up of a couple bedrooms, a bathroom, and even a little living room to divide up how they want.

“Charles must not have wanted to make any assumptions about the sleeping arrangements,” Hawkeye says lightly. “Either that or Marjory set all this up.”

“It could have been Charles, I suppose.” Margaret sounds pretty doubtful, though. “I mean, he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes. Though I doubt he knows the truth of the situation – he's probably just concerned about how it would look having unmarried couples sneaking into each others' rooms.”

The concierge had very pointedly informed Steve and Millie that they were in a room with two twin beds – not that that's much of a deterrent, in Trapper's experience. After you've fucked in an army cot, a twin bed is positively roomy. And Charles or Marjory or whoever set this up probably knows that. But it's all gotta look right on paper - hence their little setup.

“Yeah,” adds Kat. “We wouldn't want to give any of those little old rich ladies the impression that people have sex for fun.”

“Heaven forbid,” Trapper says in his best impression of his pearl clutching former mother-in-law.

“Fortunately for Charles's reputation as a pillar of Boston high society, my days of sneaking into the nurses' tent are long over.” Hawkeye gives Trapper an unbearably smarmy look and Trapper chucks one of the stupid little throw pillows at him.

Margaret and Kat roll their eyes at them and leave the line of fire to finish getting ready. Hawkeye and Trapper grin at each other – they've just been given implicit permission to fuck around like dumb kids for a while and they're gonna take full advantage of it. It might be the last chance at fun for the whole night, given what a wedding reception run by the illustrious Winchester family is bound to be like.

But before they can start an all out pillow fight, there's a knock at the door.

“Max! Soon Li!” Hawkeye exclaims, tearing the door open. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I come bearing gifts – or one gift specifically. I figured everyone'd wanna put their cards in with the quilt before we put it on the gift table. And I heard a rumor you got all this extra real estate, so I figured you wouldn't mind hosting.” Max looks around as she sets the quilt – wrapped in hideously gaudy wrapping paper – on the side table. “Radar wasn't kidding about your hotel room being palatial. I'm pretty sure it's bigger than my whole fucking apartment.”

“Just one of the many perks of having rich friends and a socially unacceptable relationship,” Hawkeye says glibly. “But we're happy to babysit the quilt – it'll give us a chance to catch up with everyone as they wander through. I'm assuming you and Radar told everyone else where to find us.”

“Speaking of catching up,” Trapper interjects as he goes from formally introducing himself to Soon Li to greeting Max - more interested in giving her a great big hug than the inner workings of all things Radar. “It's real nice seeing you again, Max,” he says into the top of her head – and then he pulls back and gives her a once over, “Kinda weird seeing you in men's civvies, though.”

Soon Li nods. “Men's clothes are so ugly. Like a flour sack.”

“To be fair, this looks like some quality tailoring. Just not the Max Klinger I remember.”

Trapper walks around her, taking in all the angles, seeming bemused. And that's right. Trapper wasn't there for the end of the war when Max had started wearing army issue fatigues and men's clothing. Partly it was trying to live up to the new rank and new responsibilities – people just tended to trust her more in “normal” clothing – and she was willing to sacrifice to make sure the 4077 ran smoothly. And partly it was the blue discharges being handed out like candy as part of Eisenhower's campaign bid. Why exactly the folks at home cared about that over things like being able to pay the bills and put food on the table, she still doesn't know.

But Max wanted out on a psycho – the respectable way – and not a blue discharge. So the uniform and the wacky costumes had replaced the Klinger collection. At least on the surface.

Max laughs. “Don't worry, I'm wearing a delightful little seafoam camisole and panty set underneath. Still the Max Klinger you know and love.”

“Oh yeah?” And now Trapper's looming behind Max, hands on her hips, tall and broad and full of the flirtatious intensity she remembers from Korea.

The kind of flirtation that says “I'm only joking - unless you're interested, and then I'm completely serious.” The kind of flirtation you had to use for situations like these. But it's also the kind of flirtation that won't be upset at Max's refusal.

So she just turns and pushes Trapper away playfully. “Stop it you lech. I'm a married woman now.”

“And Soon Li's one hell of a lucky gal,” is Trapper's easy response. And he winks at her across the room. So his complete inability to get jealous hasn't changed from Korea – good to know.

“Flattery won't get you a private fashion show,” Max teases. “But it may get you a discount on any future lingerie purchases.” She turns to Hawkeye, who'd been watching all this unfold with a sort of amused fondness. “Maybe something in powder blue lace?” It would look lovely against his skin tone and really bring out his eyes.

“Fuck.” Trapper sounds like he's been punched in the gut and had all the air knocked out of him. “You don't play fair at all, Max.”

She pats Trapper's cheek in gentle mockery. “I never have – and I don't see any reason to start now. Besides, someone has to keep my new tailoring business afloat.”

“Yes, Max, you must keep me in the station to which I've become accustomed,” Soon Li says with a laugh.

Trapper slaps Max on the back. “Good thing you make the big bucks, then, huh?”

“It's got to be lucrative, being Toledo's only Mob affiliated tailor,” Hawkeye jokes. Which may or may not actually be true, Max doesn't know.

She winks at him. “Watch out. You're consorting with a known criminal.”

“Better to be in bed with the mob than the cops,” Trapper says with a shrug. “At least their quota's just in dollars not arrested degenerates.”

“It's true,” Max says with a slightly bitter laugh.

Cuz it is. Uncle Habib's Mob affiliation is the reason Max is in business at all – bribes and the threat of Mob retaliation keeps the cops from looking too close. And as long as Max provides a veneer of honest commerce to the operation, the Mob doesn't look at her clients – or herself - too close either.

“Allah be praised for good old fashioned back-alley enterprise.”

“And naked greed,” Trapper adds.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at nudity being your conversation topic of choice,” Sidney says as he and Father Mulcahy join the rapidly growing little party in their hotel room.

“Padre!” Hawkeye rushes up to him and kisses him exuberantly on the cheek. “It's been forever since we've seen you – what gives? You get sick of poker?”

“I hope not,” Trapper interjects. “I'm pretty sure a game'll break out at some point tonight.”

“And since you're here, we'll be able to write off our losses as a charitable donation to the orphan's fund,” Hawkeye adds with a laugh.

After a beat, the Padre laughs as well. “Don't you worry, I brought along a deck of cards and a collection plate. Though I've been doing more work with Deaf youths than orphans, now.”

Hawkeye and Trapper both seem to notice the pause – and they have some sort of silent conversation about it if the subtle facial expressions and hand gestures are any indication.

Francis touches the stem of his hearing aides. And his friends must have noticed these as well – they are certainly obtrusive. He knows Sidney has. Though he hasn't said anything, just making sure to enunciate clearly and speak facing Francis.

Or perhaps the hearing aids just feel large and clunky and obvious. He's still getting used to wearing them, after all. And they don't quite feel natural yet the way his glasses do.

He'd had surgery after coming back from Korea – promised as a miracle cure for his type of hearing damage. Apparently shelling had done a number on many young men and doctors were scrambling to find a way to reverse the damage. And Francis has seen his fair share of miracles in Korea, particularly of the medical variety, so he'd agreed to undergo the procedure at the prompting of the Philadelphia diocese, who were eager to have him go back to his old role of hearing confessions and leading youth group at the local Catholic Youth Center – both of which required he be able to, well, hear.

But the Lord often works in mysterious ways, as he'd kept telling himself during the worst of the Korean war. So when the surgery didn't work, it was obvious to Francis that he is meant to be deaf. And when they'd offered to try again with a second operation, he'd told them not to bother and spent the time recovering from surgery by learning sign language. Which is good because the healing scars behind his ears had prevented him from wearing hearing aids for several weeks and even now the aids are uncomfortable enough that he doesn't wear them all the time. Plus, they don't really restore all of his hearing – he still mostly depends on being able to read lips. And his friends obviously noticed that fact.

But all Hawkeye says is, “Certainly a noble cause – and one I'm more than happy to donate my disposable income towards.”

And he says all this while signing along.

“Where did you learn that?” Francis blurts out. No one other than BJ knew he was deaf – and he'd promised not to tell anyone.

And Trapper and Max and Sidney look just as surprised as he is. So it can't have been BJ spilling the proverbial beans.

Hawkeye shrugs. “My grandpa taught me. All the old fishermen used to use sign language on the lobster boats – easier than trying to yell at one another over a storm. And apparently it got to be common enough that everyone around town used it. Up until Alexander Graham Bell showed up and convinced everyone it would encourage Deaf people to have families together and lead to a decay in the moral fabric of America, anyway.”

“Good thing you've never cared about decaying moral fabric,” Trapper says with a sly smile.

And Max chimes in with, “Sounds to me like he probably just wanted to sell more telephones. What a scam artist.”

And then they're all laughing and joking around like they used to, with Francis right there in the middle of it. It feels like no time at all has passed – like Francis is still in Korea and it's terrible and wonderful and it feels like home the way the Philadelphia neighborhood where he grew up and came back to administer over used to feel like. And he sinks back into the feeling of friendship and belonging the same way he sinks into the plush sofa he'd been pushed into by Hawkeye. Who always did like taking care of his friends.

Friends who keep filtering in and out of the hotel room – stopping in to drop off their cards to go along with the quilt, or just to say hi, or to sit and chat a while. The room gets a little crowded and Francis feels slightly, well, pressed. And Hawkeye looks like he's getting a little claustrophobic. So when Margaret and Trapper's date emerge from one of the bedrooms, he makes is way over to where Hawkeye's standing with Colonel and Mrs. Potter and says, “I'm going down to the reception now,” just to gauge where Hawkeye's standing.

“You want me to come with you?” And Hawkeye seems very eager to be out of the overcrowded room. And he's always looking for a way to help others. Even when he won't admit to needing help himself.

So Francis nods. “If you don't mind acting as translator for a while tonight. My sister the Sister couldn't make it – and I'm afraid crowds make things more difficult.”

“Sure thing Padre.” Hawkeye throws an arm over Francis's shoulders, indicates to Trapper that he's leaving, and starts directing them out the door. “Though you should know I mostly used sign language to pass notes in class – so sorry if most of my vocabulary involves insulting algebra.”

Francis laughs – partly from Hawkeye's disclaimer and partly because he can vaguely hear Trapper telling everyone in the hotel room to get the hell out, he's not the one running the reception. So they – plus Margaret, once she's done saying her goodbyes to Trapper's date and some of the other nurses - lead something of a stampede down to the ballroom. But it's more spread out than things in the hotel room had been, so that's a blessing.

With the hotel room cleared out, Trapper does an inventory of all the cards they've accumulated in a towering stack next to the quilt.

“Looks like we're just missing BJ,” Max says from where she's looking over his elbow. “He always did have a kinda California attitude about showing up on time.” Unlike her, who, as a good daughter of the Midwest, always showed up at least fifteen minutes early to appointments.

Trapper checks his watch. “We've still got a bit before the shindig's supposed to officially start. And rich people like to be fashionably late anyway.” He turns to Kat. “But if you want to head down now, I figure Max can take it from here.”

Max throws herself at him like some heroine from a bad romance novel. “Trapper! How could you! I am but a poor and delicate maiden. This heavy gift is too much for my frail arms to bear. Please! Won't some strapping young man help me with this task?” She feels up his arms. “Preferably one with real big biceps.”

Trapper blushes – and part of it may be that everyone's laughing at Max's ridiculous statement – but part of it could be that Max is still sort of thrown over as much of him as she can reach. It would probably work better if she was in heels, to be honest. But it's not her fault he's so tall and she's in flats.

“C'mon, Max, quit trying to snow me. It ain't gonna work.” He's doing his best to keep an aloof expression, but Max can see where the cracks are starting to form. And she's always been good at applying pressure in just the right way to get what she wants. And Trapper's a pretty easy mark, anyway, since he genuinely likes her and all.

“But Trapper, Hawkeye got you to fight that one guy just by saying you had a cute body. Is that it? Do I gotta start complimenting you?” She bats her eyelashes coquettishly. “You're so strong, and handsome, and-”

“Ok, ok, cut it out. I'll deliver the damn gift. Just stop doing that.”

Terminal embarrassment works pretty good too, it turns out.

Max flounces over to Soon Li, secure in the knowledge that the quilt isn't her responsibility anymore. “C'mon, sweetheart, let's get outta here.” And then over her shoulder, “Thanks again for being such a good friend, Trapper!”

He flips her off, but she and Soon Li are free and clear, and Trapper will get over it. Eventually. She might owe him for a while – but it's worth it.

With just Kat and Sidney left, and it getting later and later, Trapper turns to them and says, “You guys may as well get out of here, too. There's no point in us all being late.”

Kat shrugs. “Sure, I'll let Sidney take over as my date. It's no skin off my teeth. But you forgot to pin me, Trap.” She points meaningfully to her lapel.

Trapper wiggles his eyebrows lecherously and goes to get the corsage.

“Violets?” Kat arches an eyebrow at Trapper as he pins it to her dress. “Real cute, McIntyre.”

“Hey, you just told me your dress was purple, is all.”

“Lavender, actually.” She grins.

“All right, now who's being cute?” Trapper asks teasingly.

Kat just sticks her tongue out at him and things devolve into something of a scuffle. Sidney sits on the back of the couch, egging Kat on when she gets Trapper in a headlock – and that's when BJ decides to finally show up. She and Trapper step away from one another, coughing awkwardly, and try to straighten out their fancy clothes.

“I think that's our cue to leave,” Sidney says into the unbroken silence.

BJ just stands there looking taken aback. And the woman who must be Peg looks like she's trying not to laugh. But it's probably better to hotfoot it out of there – so Kat readily takes Sidney's arm and they kind of edge past BJ and Peg and out the door.

“You here to put your card with the quilt?” Trapper asks when it becomes apparent that BJ isn't going to say anything or move from where he's still standing in the doorway.

And that seems to spark him into action – which is good, cuz by now they're officially late to the reception. And since they hadn't been invited to the actual wedding wedding, just the reception, Trapper wants to make the most of it.

Not that he's gonna complain about not having to sit through some endless protestant Mass just to watch his friends make out.

Fine, he's a little sad he didn't get to go. But the reception – if BJ ever hurries it up so he can get to it –oughtta be good, seeing as they're pretty much treating it as a 4077 reunion being held on the Winchester's dime. And there's a lot worse ways to spend a weekend. Like standing here in a hotel room while BJ fumbles through his pockets for a card that his wife has meanwhile pulled out of her purse.

And it don't look like things are gonna get any less awkward anytime soon. So Trapper grabs the present from the side table, with all the cards kinda piled on top. And Peg puts their card on the pile and then gently chivies her husband out the door so Trapper can lock up. And it's probably pretty rude to just leave them there in the hallway without waiting so they can all walk down to the reception together – but Trapper just wants this errand over with so he can go sit with his friends some more. And Peg and BJ seem to be having a moment together anyway, so he sets out alone.

He's gonna kill Max for leaving him to wrangle the gift without her.

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 7

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differential-form · 4 years ago

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It's time to end the myth of emotional self-sufficiency

There’s something much more dangerous out there than the next big flu. It’s a virus, and it will shorten your life. But it’s not a tiny microbe; it’s a meme. It’s the prevailing myth of emotional self-sufficiency. You know this myth—it proclaims that people who need people are pathological, that a deep longing for relationship is sick, and that caring for and about others is co-dependent. It says you should be able to meet all your own needs, and that if you loved yourself enough you wouldn’t need anyone else—so if you’re wanting love, there’s something deficient about you. It’s the myth that shames you for feeling lonely. It’s the myth that has people in my therapy office whispering, “I really want a partner. But I know that’s wrong.” I am so tired of battling this myth alone. I need you with me on this. And here’s why. Humans did not evolve to live alone. It’s not our natural state. We evolved in closely knit bands of about 30 to 40 people. Out there on the plains, or in the forest, or wherever we were, we depended on each other. We hunted and gathered in groups, we sat together around communal fires, we shared food and stories, we slept snuggled up against the cold. It was safer to be part of the pack. You couldn’t survive long alone. Some of the unpleasantness of loneliness is that millions of years of evolution triggers a trace of ancient fear when we’re alone— the outliers are the ones that get picked off by leopards and lions. So, I need you. And you need me. We need each other. It’s in our DNA. We are relational beings We were born to be relational. Day-old deer can run and jump, but humans are helpless when we’re born. For the first months of our lives, we rely so totally on our mothers that attachment researchers say it makes no sense to talk about two separate people. The baby is entirely regulated by the mother. Good attunement by mother to baby builds trust and love. Enough trust and love creates what’s called secure attachment—the inner confidence that you are loved and will be responded to. Secure attachment creates confidence in exploring the world. Securely attached toddlers run off to explore, and then look back at mother, checking that she’s still there. Sometimes they run back, for ‘emotional refueling’ in the form of a loving glance or a kind word. Then they run off again, feeling safe and happy in the world. The myth is that somewhere along the line we grow out of this. But in fact we continue to be regulated by each other. Holding the hand of the one you love calms your heart rate and reduces your cortisol. Research shows that men live longer if they’re married, and women live longer if they have a network of close friends. Think about that—our need for relationship is literally a life and death issue. Our need for touch is another. Loving, caring physical touch causes us to secrete oxytocin, often called the bonding hormone—it makes us feel calm, safe, and happy. Just 40 seconds of being hugged by someone you like causes oxytocin release. But you can’t hug yourself, at least, not very successfully. You need to get it from someone else. Try it. Hug someone and count—you’ll feel the relaxation response switch in. That feeling of closeness with someone else will literally lengthen your life if you get enough of it. Far from being self-sufficient, we physically need each other. It’s a mammal thing In his book, ‘Outliers’, Malcolm Gladwell describes the town of Roseto, in Pennsylvania, which was settled by immigrants from Italy, and which has an extremely low rate of heart disease. It’s not because of diet, and it’s not because of exercise, or genes, or any of the other obvious potential causes. It turns out that the people of Roseto are abnormally healthy because they live together in extended families, and spend a lot of time socializing with each other and visiting with their neighbors. It’s the human contact that makes the difference. Human contact is literally essential for the health of your heart. Is that surprising? Only if you’re infected by a meme that tells you to deny your fundamental nature as a mammal. Ethologists are producing more and more data now that shows that all mammals are programmed for altruism and love. Our previous view of the world as a jungle full of selfish creatures fighting for survival is giving way to one of the world as a tightly knit tapestry of reciprocal relationships. In the early part of the twentieth century we were told that since aggressive chimps dominated by alpha males and their chest-beating ways were our closest relatives, their behavior proved that humans too were wired for aggression and domination. Then, as society shifted, and we became capable of seeing something other than aggression and domination ourselves, we ‘found’ the bonobos—pygmy chimps who live peacefully in matrilineal groups, happily spending their time sharing food and sex. So now we know that at least some of our closest relatives exist in polyamorous, sensual bliss! Lately even rats have been found to be capable of altruism. An experiment showed that a free rat will take the time to free a trapped one, and even save that other rat some of its food. I’d bet if those scientists went one stage further, they’d find that both the freed rat and the one that tripped the latch feel pretty damn good about it. It’s ridiculous to think we don’t need each other. In fact, the opposite is true—the more you give and take love, care, attention and contact with others, the happier and healthier you will be. So humans are naturally relational why has this meme taken such a hold? How did a meme based on avoidance become such a fervently held belief? This meme is all about fear We become avoidant because of fear. Sometimes people have been mean to us in the past and we carry the scars of that trauma—which makes us turn away from love because it has become twinned with the fear of betrayal. The far end of that avoidance response is the supreme isolation of schizoid personality disorder, or the lonely fearfulness of avoidant personality disorder. The near end is believing in the desirability of ‘meeting all of one’s own needs’. All of us have been betrayed at some point. So all of us harbor a little fear connected to the vulnerability of opening ourselves to love, and therefore this meme is seductive. But there’s another reason why it has taken hold, even though it’s one that goes against what makes us most healthy and happy. Primates live in bands, and those bands have hierarchies. The alphas get the girls (or the guy) and the best food. The betas are less highly ranked, but still ‘in’. Further down the scale the pickings are thinner, and you may not get to breed. Further down than that and you’re on the edge, glancing behind you for leopards while you scavenge for what you can get. The fear of being out on the edge leaves you dangerously open to infection by a toxic meme that’s gone viral, like the one I’m talking about. Here’s why. There are two ways to get to the top, depending on what type of society you live in. One is to be more aggressive than everyone else—that used to work, and still does in societies run by war lords (or chimps), for example. The other way is by affiliation—being appealing and friendly, and getting everyone to like you. In the modern Western dating world, affiliation is essential in bagging you a coveted position in the pack. And you don’t succeed in that venture by standing up against a major myth —particularly one about relationships—and saying, “nope, I don’t agree”. That would mark you as weird, wrong, dangerous to be associated with. Unless a significant proportion of your group is secretly thinking the same thing. And I think you are. Because at the deep level of feeling, you know this meme is wrong. Don’t isolate, inoculate. The solution is not to open less to other people. The solution is to open more. The idea that we can—and should—provide for ourselves in every area of our lives, is one that has been sold to us. It’s part of the ideology of the consumer society. We are increasingly reduced--reduced, not empowered—to buying as services the things that used to unfold from natural human relationships: home health care, baby-sitting, massage therapy, spiritual counseling, sexual fulfillment, entertainment, and so on. All these things used to be available to us for free, because we lived with and among other people. Community gatherings met layered sets of needs, in a rich texture of transactions. Markets, barn raisings, harvest times, village dances, and weekly church services, for example, provided opportunities for sharing information, trading, making friends, getting help, courtship, and entertainment. Now we’ve lost that collectivity, and most transactions have become one-dimensional. Even cafes and bars are no longer meeting places—they’re full of isolated individuals staring down at screens, updating their status on Facebook. But god forbid anyone talk to their neighbor—it’s become a weird thing to do, an impingement, something that creates unease. Fight the meme, my friends. We don’t need more self-reliance. Or more narcissistic focusing on ourselves. What we’re blocked in is our relationality: our readiness to receive and our willingness to give. We’ve become so infected with the values of the consumer society that we think we should only give if we’re going to get, and that we should try to get the most return for the least investment. God forbid we love someone more than they love us. Or give our love for free. We think we should provide for ourselves, because otherwise we’d be relying on someone else. And that means taking a risk without any guarantee. We’d rather hoard our own resources, and be all right, Jack. This is the attitude to life that has people in my office feeling both lonely as hell, and ashamed of it—they’ve been told it’s wrong to need people, and they’re scared that their normal attachment instincts are sick. Instead of going inward and trying to meet your own needs, go outward and build yourself a robust network of relationships, a community of like-minded souls that you can laugh with, cry with, listen to, care for and love—the type of network that makes people in Roseto live longer. Then when the inevitable betrayals, bereavements and disappointments happen, you won’t be alone. You’ll have support. Because the truth is, no-one makes it alone. And no-one—unless they’re the sole survivor of a plane crash in a jungle—should even try. Innoculate yourself from the virus by smiling at people, saying hello, getting involved, keeping in contact, leaning into differences, sticking with a friend who’s in hard times, offering to help, forgiving your lover, sending a card, giving a hug, picking up the crying kid, calling your mother. People need people. You’re perfectly normal. Rachel Vaughan MA, MFT

#Humans #Society #Myths #Codependency #Self-sufficiency #Health #Relationships #Love #Mammals #Science #Interdependency #Dependency #World

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years ago

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Feera (Gnoll)

Rating: Mature Relationships: Male Gnoll/Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Gnoll, Monster Boyfriend, Male Reader, First Person Perspective Content Warnings: Blood, Period Mention, Children Mention, Pregnancy Mention, Buried Alive, Stabbing, Surgery, Stitches, Grevious Bodily Injury, Slit Throat, Accidental Injury, Infidelity, Unhappy Marriage, Attempted Murder, Attempted Murder by Spouse, Attempted Murder by Spouse's Mistress Words: 5258

While protecting their crops from a flash flood, Feera catches a whiff of human blood and finds a woman clinging to life in the forest. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

A sudden downpour had sent the family scrambling to secure coverings over the crops. It was looking like flash flood weather, and we had to get the rain barrels and gulleys set up around the perimeter of the field to deal with the excess run off before it washed out the rows and our entire harvest was lost.

Rain was a good source of clean drinking water for when the surface of the river froze over in the winter, so whenever there was a deluge like this one, we collected as much of it as we could and kept it in the old cave, which protected it from freezing.

My brother, Kurra, and I had just finished setting out the last one, completely drenched and shivering, when I caught it, a faint whiff of blood.

“Kurra,” I said, lifting my head and sniffing the air. “Smell that?”

Kurra paused and mimicked me. “Is that blood?” He asked.

“Smells like it. Human.”

He shrugged, eager to get back to the house and lay in front of the fire. “Maybe one of the girls started their monthly courses.”

I shook my wet head. “You know that smells different. This is… this smells like a wound. Like deep blood, near the heart.” I got down on all fours and prepared to sprint. “Come on, let’s find it.”

Kurra sighed and got down on all fours as well, and we took off between the trees.

My kind are notorious for our speed and stamina when running, so in no time at all we had covered miles of distance and stumbled into a thicket that reeked of blood on the very edge of Asker’s territory, which was not small in the least.

“I don’t see anything,” Kurra said.

“Sniff around, there’s something here,” I said, searching the ground. “There’s so much blood, I can’t smell anything else.”

“Yeah, I think I found it,” He said, lifting his paw. Red seeped up from under the soil in the impression of his paw print. The ground he stood on had been recently disturbed; it was a blank span of earth with no vegetation growing on it.

“Dig,” I said, scooping the soil and throwing it between my back legs. Kurra followed suit. As we dug deeper, the blood was wetter, fresher, and I stopped once I realize one of my claws had gone through the flesh of an arm. Panicked, I used the sides of my paws to scoop away the dirt to uncover what had been buried there. I was startled to uncover a young human woman.

“It’s a girl!” Kurra said in shock. “Is she alive?”

“Help me lift her!” I said, and we pulled her from what was to be her grave. I pressed my ear to her chest. “She lives! There’s a heartbeat, but it’s faint. Run! Get Mama!”

Kurra sprinted off like a loosed arrow and I tried to shield the poor woman from the rain with my body. She was bleeding from several wounds to her chest and stomach, not to mention the clawing I had just given her arm, as well as an ugly, ragged gash on her neck that she had her hand wrapped around, keeping the dirt and water from getting in.

I looked over my shoulder anxiously, wondering what was taking so long, when she grabbed the fur of my chest weakly, tangling it in her blood covered fingers. Looking back, I saw her eyes open, looking at me with a pained expression.

“He… help…” She rasped, her voice ragged from the injury to her throat. She gulped and gurgled wetly. “Please… he killed me… they killed me…”

I grabbed her hand. “Don’t try to talk. Just hold on, lass. Help is coming. Just hang in there.”

“Feera!” I heard my mother call over the rain. The large shadow of my father’s wings fell over me and the young woman. “What’s happened?” She asked as she climbed down from his back.

“Someone buried a woman out here!” I called back. “She’s not dead but she’s in bad shape. Been stabbed, it looks like.”

“Hurry, get her back to the house. We need to get her cleaned up and assess the damage. We may not be able to save her, but we can damn sure try.”

I nodded, carefully lifting the woman into my arms. She cried out in pain as I moved her, carrying her bridal style, and I dashed back toward the house.

Inside, Yala and Caeli were heating water, sterilizing tools, and preparing healing herbs and other medical supplies. Mother was the best healer we knew, and Lymera studied with her all the time. Between them, they might have a chance and saving the girl’s life.

I was directed to take her into the washing room, which we used to clean off all the dirt and muck from the field and hunting instead of dirtying the river. This room had a gulley pipe that took all the dirty water back outside and around to the outhouse; Cetzu’s invention.

Feera pushed two of the benches together to make a short table, and I laid the girl onto it. She was breathing in short, ragged gasps, shivering from the cold and loss of blood, while more blood dripped freely onto the floor.

“Mother, quickly!” I shouted.

The women of the family filed into the room like army ants and shooed me out as Yala began to cut the ragged, filthy, blood-soaked gown off of the woman’s body. Mother grabbed me and told me with a grim face to bring a long knife and more firewood.

“We need to cauterize the wounds, or she’s going to bleed to death before we can help her,” She told me. “Hurry, son!”

I rushed to get the biggest knife I could find and handed it to her through the door.

“What’s going on?” Cetzu asked as he entered the house. Reed and the centaur boys were on the covered front porch, looking in through the open windows, still dripping from being out in the rain.

“Someone buried a woman alive on the edge of Asker’s territory,” Kurra replied. “There’s no telling how long she was laid there. She may be too far gone, but Mama and the girls are doing what they can.”

“That’s horrifying,” Birch said in disgust, shuddering involuntarily. “Who would do something so evil?”

“I think she knows who did it,” I replied grimly. “While I was waiting for Mother, she said something like ‘he killed me’ or ‘they killed me.’ I think she knows her attackers.”

“Well, I hope she’s able to tell us, at least,” Kurra said. “So we can hunt the bastards down.”

“Slow down, there, son,” Declan said. “The rain is letting up. Why don’t you and your brother go back to where you found her and see if you can find anything that could give us clues as to who she is or where she came from. We need more information before we act.” He gestured at the taur boys. “Take them with you. You need as many eyes as possible.”

“Yes, Papa,” I grumbled. We could use their help, sure, but they’d slow us down. Tuars of most races could run fast, but the four legged ones, like Birch, Yew, and Reed, didn’t have the same stamina as gnolls and tired quickly. We’d have to go at a slower pace to accommodate them.

We took off back toward the site where we’d found the young woman just as the rain stopped. As the house disappeared behind us, her anguished screams of agony as Mother began cauterizing the wounds followed us into the darkening forest.

We made it back to the site of the burial much more slowly than before, and night was falling. Kurra and I could see just fine in the dark, but the taurs were as blind as humans at night. They at least had a better sense of smell than humans.

“Oh, gods, this place reeks of blood,” Reed said, choking a little. Not surprising; both he and the centaurs were obligate vegetarians. They literally didn’t have the stomach for blood.

“Ugh!” I growled. “We should have brought Cetzu or Toklo. They’d have been more help than you lot!”

“Oi!” Yew retorted. “Papa told us to come, so deal with it! Besides, Cetzu can’t come this far! Asker doesn’t like how he smells. And Toklo took Sayo and Asahi fishing! So you’re stuck with us!”

“Yew, shut up,” Kurra said. “I found something.”

I looked to him and saw he was pulling a bag out of the grave in which we’d found the woman. It was a woman’s large leather travel bag with a wide, woven strap with embroidered flowers on it, though the colors were hard to tell since it was caked in soil.

I took it from him and examined the strap, wiping the dirt off as best I could. There, under a little bee, the name Erisandra was embroidered in what looked like red.

“We’ve got a name, at least. Erisandra,” I said. “Let’s get back to the house. We’ll look through this and see if we can find some clue as to where she lives.”

Back home, the woman we now knew was named Erisandra had been cleaned and stitched. Mother had prepared a poultice of honey, echinachea, and goldenseal while Lymera attempted to get her to drink to replenish her body’s fluids. Mother was not confident about the woman’s chance of survival. The next few days would be telling, but if she got an infection, there was no hope.

Mother called me into the washing room and asked me to carefully move her to one of the small guest rooms on the ground floor. She was nude and still wet from the washing of the filth from her body. Her many injuries were wrapped in bandages and she was covered in a thin sheet. Free of the blood and dirt, I could see that she was fair complected with freckles on her nose and shoulders, and had blonde hair that was jaggedly cut off at the ear. She was thin, perhaps malnourished, and looked to be tall; taller than any of my human family. She’d have come to my chin if we were both standing at our full height.

Once she was moved and resting with Lymera, Soraya, and Yala tending to her, Mother, Caeli, and I cleaned out her bag and laid out it’s contents on the dining table. It was mostly clothes and small personal items, nothing that would give us any indication of which village she had come from or who her would-be killer or killers could have been.

“Well, there’s nothing of use here,” Mother said. “Let’s pack it all back up, just in case by some miracle she survives to take possession of it.”

I picked up one of the folded gowns and was about to place it back inside the bag when I felt a stiffness in between the fabric. Carefully, I extracted a small red book.

I couldn’t tell you what in my mind made me decide to take the book. I can’t begin to understand why I silently hid it in the fur of my underarm while no one was watching and continued to pack up the bag as instructed as if I hadn’t just stolen something personal from a dying woman. But it was an impulse I couldn’t ignore.

That evening, me and the two-legged boys went to our room and lay down in our usual pile of bodies. Cetzu, Kurra, Toklo, Asahi, and I always nested together for warmth. I lay curled around Asahi for hours, unable to fall asleep, when I finally placed my fox-like little brother on Cetzu’s stomach without waking him and sat up.

The book kept revolving around in my head. I had hidden it on my bookshelf and my eye kept wandering to it. I gave up on sleep and got to my feet, snatching the book from the shelf and going back downstairs to the quiet ground floor.

The fire in the hearth was still smoldering, so I blew it back to life and lit a few candles to read by. I sat at the dinner table and opened the cover to realize it was a diary.

I knew I shouldn’t have read it. These sorts of things are intensely private. I could have justified that it was for the purpose of learning who she was and where she was from, but I knew better. The curiosity was just too much for me to bear.

Mother always said my curiosity would get me bitten in the ass one day. Today might have been that day.

July 25

Mother has given me this diary as a wedding gift, to document my happy life as a new bride, but will I be happy, I wonder?

The wedding is tomorrow. I like Rory, and we’ve been friends for a long time, but I’m not sure I love him nor that he loves me. He asked me to marry him and I accepted, but mostly because it would benefit the both of us to do so. He needs a wife to run his household and I need a husband to take care of me. Mother is ill and cannot work and Father passed last harvest. The house we live in is owned by my uncle, so I will need a new home when poor Mother dies. Rory himself has been on his own since he was fifteen, but his parents left him their house. He’s well off and has had a maid tend the place, but he insists that a wife would do the job better. I can’t say I disagree.

We are friends, and this is a good opportunity for both of us, I know that. But to be honest, I’ve always dreamed of falling in love. I know that’s not possible for everyone, but I had hoped.

It’s no matter. We will be good to each other. That’s what’s important.

July 27

I’m a married woman now. The wedding was lovely. The wedding night was… less so. Mother prepared me, but it was still unpleasant. She assures me it’ll be easier in time.

Falling into a routine was much less difficult. Rory works most of the day, and I can do my own work in the house without him underfoot. He comes home, we share a meal, talk of our day, and go to bed. It’s comfortable and familiar, much like living with Mother, except for the… wifely duties. I’m sure I’ll get used to that eventually.

September 24

I think I’m falling for Rory. He brought me flowers yesterday for no reason at all. And he hadn’t picked them somewhere, he’d actually bought them! He comes home at lunch time just so he can talk with me. This feels different than friendship. I find myself enjoying being intimate with him now. He’s more attentive to me and talks of children. Oh, I’d love to give him a son!

It’s exactly what I wanted, if not exactly in the order I expected, but that’s no issue now. We’re in love and it’s wonderful.

The passages were dated nearly three years prior and carried on in the same vein for about a year: how happy she was, how in love they were, how good he was to her. I smiled. It was sweet, in a girlish way. I wondered if all women thought like this. My sisters were all different outwardly, but who could guess a woman’s private thoughts?

Halfway into the second year, however, the tone shifted suddenly.

February 11

Rory has been distant lately. We haven’t made love in weeks. I wonder if he’s angry that I haven’t become pregnant yet. I’ve asked him, but he says he’s not upset with me, that he’s just busy with work and tired. There has been an expansion in town, so I’m sure he has been working very hard with the other men to build the new houses and roads. I just feel a space between us now. I hope it passes soon.

April 3

Rory’s been acting strangely. He’s evasive and cold. He barely speaks to me anymore and he stays out late. I’ve tried to make myself as appealing to him as I can, but he won’t touch me.

What have I done to push him away? Is it because there’s no child yet? Am I a bad wife? I wish he would talk to me and tell me what it is I’m doing wrong so I could change it, but he says nothing. In fact, frequently he shushes me and tells me to stop bothering him with silly questions. He’s never spoken to me like that before.

Mother is getting worse and I’m hesitant to bring my woes to her. My friends tell me I should just be thankful he doesn’t beat me and that I have a roof over my head and food in my mouth. Perhaps they’re right, but… I want what we had a year ago. We were so happy. What did I do wrong?

I felt a pang of pity for her. The entries got more and more woeful as time progressed. She wrote of feeling trapped and alone, how no one she talked to understood why she was complaining so she just stopped talking to them altogether, which made her feel even more isolated. She talked of how despondent she felt, and how she had no appetite and slept poorly every night, about how she must be ugly and stupid and not good enough.

The passages that began three months ago became alarming.

March 29

He only comes home to eat and sleep now, otherwise I don’t see him at all. Rory turned up today around lunchtime after having been missing for two days. I was worried sick, but he told me to stop over-reacting. He claimed he got lost in the forest, though he reeked of ale.

I’ve gone so far as to ask his friends about where he was, but they tell me nothing. He was angry that I had done so and left the house again for another three days. He’s been drinking more and more lately, and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know where he goes or where he’s getting the ale, since the tavern has yet to be built.

What is happening to him?

The next few pages were smudged with tears.

May 17

There’s another woman. I should have guessed. I caught them in the act earlier this evening in the woods when I went to gather mushrooms for his dinner. He came home and acted as if nothing happened. He had the nerve to sleep in the same bed as me. I want to kick him out of the house, but it’s his house. I cannot go to my mother, as she now lives with a friend who is caring for her in her final days. I have nowhere to go.

The next, and last, entry was dated three days ago.

June 18

Mother has passed. She left me a will that said she was worried for me and saving money. She left me quite enough to start over somewhere else, enough perhaps to buy my own little cottage and live by myself without having to rely on a man.

I have not told Rory about the money or that I’m leaving him. He’s home so little these days, I doubt he’d notice that I’m gone.

I don’t have much in the way of possessions here, just my clothes, a few trinkets, and this diary. Erasing myself from Rory’s life will be no trouble at all. Hopefully I can find happiness elsewhere. He and his whore can live in the house that I kept for him. Let them rot in it.

The rest of the pages were blank. I got up from the table and peeked into her room. She lay quiet and breathing softly, though there was still a ragged thread running through it that sounded painful. Her bag was laying next to her bunk and I grabbed it, taking it back to the dining room.

Upon searching it a second time, I found no money whatsoever. What an absolute cock. If I ever met this Rory fellow, I’d rip his throat out with my teeth. I replaced the diary in the bag and put it back in the room next to her bed. I went back to my own room and lay down alone, away from my brothers with a curious and sudden aversion to touch. I didn’t sleep.

Weeks passed before Erisandra was strong enough to do anything on her own, even feed or clean herself. She seemed in a daze through most of it and didn’t react to most things. She struggled to eat around the wound in her neck and only answered basic questions with a nod or shake of the head. Mother told us that she was in shock and that she needed time. The fact that she was alive at all was something to be grateful for.

Caeli had cut her hair so that it wasn’t so choppy, but it was extremely short. It must have been a glorious mane when it was long. Her wounds healed slowly, but after about two weeks, we were confident enough that they wouldn’t reopen spontaneously and the bandages were left off.

The damage was terrible to look at, and it hurt her to move, but Mother made her get up at least once a day to walk the porch a few times, to get air and circulate her blood. She said that clots were a problem for people who lay still for long periods of time. Standing up and moving about for a little while helped prevent them.

One morning, as I exchanged her empty water pitcher with a full one, I heard a raspy voice say, “Am I dead?”

I turned, and she was looking right at me, her eyes unclouded.

“No, you’re not dead,” I replied. “But you came close to it. Is your name Erisandra?”

“Yes,” She said. “How’d you know?”

“It’s on your bag,” I said, pointing to it.

“Oh, right,” She murmured. “I go by Eris, though.”

“I’m Feera.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“My brother and I dug you up from the ground,” I replied.

“I don’t remember that,” She said. “I’ve seen you before, in my village.”

“What is your village called?”

“The elders haven’t decided on a name for it yet. It’s still relatively new. Most of it is still being built. But we’re close to the Willowshield stronghold, if that helps.”

“Ah, yes, I do remember that place. My brother and I delivered some supplies there once or twice. It did look newly settled. Progress must be slow going, if the tavern hasn’t even been built yet. That’s usually one of the first things to get built.”

“What?” She asked in confusion.

“Oh…” I grimaced. “I, uh… I read your diary. Forgive me, but we were trying to find some clue about who you were and where you came from. It seemed like the best chance we had.”

Liar.

“Ah, I see,” She said quietly. She turned to look out of the window and her gaze became distant.

Diffidently, I asked her, “Did he do this?”

She didn’t answer immediately, and when she did, her voice was quiet.

“He said we were going to start over, that he was sorry, that he would never see that bitch again. He was going to go to sell his house and we’d go to another town and build or buy a new one. I hadn’t told him about the money, so I thought he meant it. I thought he loved me and wanted me to stay with him. I was willing to give him another chance. He told me not to bring to much with me, since we’d be staying with his family at first. That once we had our new place, we could go back and get the rest. We rode on his horse for a day and a half before he turned off the road and into the woods. Where she was waiting for us.”

“The other woman?” I asked, and Eris nodded.

“He pushed me off the horse and she grabbed me, pinning me to the ground while he searched my bag for the money. Then, she attacked me with a knife while he watched. She even chopped off all my hair.” She reached up and tugged on a short strand. “I don’t even know how he found out about my inheritance, unless…”

I gulped in guilt. “Unless he read your diary.”

She sighed and covered her face in her hands. “I’m such a fool. A fool for believing he had changed. I should have just left when I got the money, but I was waiting for the right time.” She laid her hands back down on the bed and looked back at me, a strange expression on her face, as if she were still trying to parse out if I was real or not. “I swear this all feels like a dream.”

“I’m certain it does,” I replied gently. “How much can you remember from your stay here?”

“It’s hazy. I think I’ve been drifting in and out of awareness. I’ve seen all manner of strange creature while I lay here.”

I chuckled. “That’s to be expected. Do you know where you are?”

She shook her head.

“Has word gotten to your town of the farm run by humans and non-humans? A family of misfits?”

“I thought that was a tall tale,” She said.

“No tales here, Miss, unless you count mine,” I said, swishing my tail back and forth. She smiled weakly. It was something. “Anyway, I should stop bothering you. I’ll let you rest and tell Mama your lucid. Don’t worry, lass. You’re safe now.”

Laying back, her smile withered and she stared at the ceiling.

Mother was please to hear that she was at last regaining something of her former mental state, and made her a bowl of fruit with fresh grains, hoping she could stomach more than the gruel she’d been eating for the past few weeks. Peeking in, Eris seemed to be thrilled at the new dish.

Eris was well enough to sit with us at the adult table during dinner, while the older children ate on the porch as normal, and she relayed her story to the rest of the family to their disgust and disbelief. After she was finished telling her tale, we discussed what should be done.

“We should hunt the bastard down,” I growled angrily. Kurra yipped in agreement. “Him and his bitch.”

“We’re not fit to judge their guilt or innocence,” Reed said. “This is a human issue. It doesn’t involve non-humans. We should, at most, inform the town elders of what happened and let them decide on the best course of action.”

“Humans are unreliable,” Birch disagreed. He backpedaled when his human family members made noises of dissent. “Present company excluded, of course. I’m just saying, if we left it to the humans, nothing would be done about it.”

“I think I’d have to agree,” Yala said, feeding her youngest child from her own plate. He was a cervitaur hybrid, having two legs rather than four like his father and older sister, and was sitting in a raised chair. “Everyone in my village knew my mother was hurting me and no one did anything. ‘A family matter,’ they all said. ‘None of our business.’ It’s only their business when someone dies.”

Reed absentmindedly stroked his wife’s hair.

“But someone almost did die,” Cetzu replied. “Would they not care about that?”

“Cetzu, the only humans you’ve ever known are Mama and your sisters, and the few humans who stop here to trade. The human world is much crueler than you know,” Birch told him.

“Hey, I know plenty about how cruel humans can be,” He replied neutrally. “Did not my own original human parents leave me to die?”

“Your fae parents did as well,” Caeli argued. “Humans aren’t the only race that is cruel.”

“We’re not arguing that,” Birch said. “We’re discussing whether or not humans can be trusted to make the right decision in matters like these.”

Caeli and Yala seemed to take offense to this notion and opened their mouths to retort when I held up my paws.

“Wait, everyone stop,” I said. “Why don’t we asked Eris what she wants to do and make a decision based on that?”

That silenced everyone, and they looked to Eris, who seemed surprised.

“I…” She swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath. “I would like to see him punished. The both of them. But I share your concern about whether or not my village’s elders will take the accusations seriously or not. If they do, there would be a trial, and there’s every possibility could get off free as birds. What would I do then?”

“A compromise, then,” Kurra suggested. “We bring it to the elders, and let them make a decision. If their decision is to dismiss it, or they take it seriously and the trial goes badly, then we’ll fix it ourselves. We give the humans a chance to do the right thing. If they can’t be trusted to do so, then we’ll do it for them.”

There was a murmur around the table. Everyone seemed pleased with this idea.

“Mother, Father, you’ve been quiet until now, but as always, you have final say. What are your thoughts?” I asked.

Mother and Father looked at each other for a long, silent minute. They had been together for so long now, that it seemed they could communicate without words.

“When we started this place,” My father said. “When we began taking in children and and giving shelter to the mistreated, it was with the understanding that we would protect those who needed protecting. We decided that, while we wouldn’t declare war over every slight against us, we would make sure those who hurt us paid the price for it. This young woman is now under our protection, and as such, she is now part of the family, which makes her enemies our enemies.”

Mother nodded. “Vengeance and justice are two sides of the same coin. This plan is a good one. We will contact the village elders and give them testimony once Eris has healed enough to travel. If they don’t take her seriously, or should the trial fail, we will take matters into our own hands.” She looked at Eris questioningly. “Does this sound agreeable to you, dear?”

Eris nodded immediately. “Yes, I agree. Thank you for your help. It means so much to me.”

“Think nothing of it, darling,” Mother said. “You’re family now, and family looks after it’s own. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

Later, while everyone had laid down for the night, I again found that sleep eluded me. Was Rory still in the village? Would he have run, or perhaps he told the villagers that Eris left him? There was only one way to find out.

I got up and stretched my legs, like I always did before a long run. It was time to pay Rory a visit.

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monstrousaffections1 · 5 years ago

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Around Tele Mountain Chapter 1

She gnashed her teeth and shrieked in frustration, hands slipping into her jaws and prying her teeth open as they shoveled that disgusting yellow slop into her mouth. No! No! No! She gagged and coughed trying to do anything not to swallow the GuangGuang. Tinky just hissed and shoved his fingers past her lips, she struggled against Dipsy’s grip but the green one held tight. She started to sob in desperation as she was forced to suck on the nectar coated fingers.

Tinky stood at the end of the line with Laa-Laa and Po as the young ones awaited their daily work assignments.

Ebat was at the front of the line, he was a young black telle who would be a member of the council once he came of age, due to his intellect and charismatic charm. After him there was Tula, she was proactive and playful, farmer in training.

Stone and Feather were best friends, Stone had lost his eyes in an attack from the Wilder Ones. But he made up for it with his strength and sheer size, Feather was ambitious but a bit of a dreamer, she liked to collect strange objects such as shiny pebbles or bird feathers. They worked together best as scouts.

Which also Tinky’s occupation, being a capable young male who was near full maturity. His nest-mate Dipsy often tagged along just for something to do…. Wait a minute! Where was Dipsy? God if he had slept in again!

He groaned inwardly realizing that his friend was going to get them both a tardy again. Tinky would hit him for this later. Laa-Laa giggled and took hold of Tinky’s arm cuddling close as the cold dawn breeze made them all shiver.

“He’s very late.” She whispered.

Laa-Laa was by personality standards, most grown up. She often fussed over her friends, constantly making sure they were safe and clean. It was because of this trait she was given the role of babysitting the cubs. She had a strange beauty about her too, something that most of the girls didn’t have. Tinky thought it must have been something to do with her high cheek bones or unusual green eyes.

Po smirked and gave a small chuckle. She was fierce little thing, but hoped for more than she was capable of. Desperately she wanted to be part of the scouting but she was too little, being a runt, the elders thought it was better if she was under the practice of farming instead of something so dangerous.

“I could beat him out of bed for you?” She asked hopefully, wanting something fun to do. Tinky laughed at the thought but shook his head and gently boxed the little one’s ears.

“No, if he wants be stuck on compost duty then let him be late”.

One of the elders addressed the group of yearlings. Giving them their instructions.

They lived, played and worked in the fields. Made their houses out of mud, each home consisted of two rooms, one for eating and one for sleeping. The homes were more or less communal, friends often nesting together. Unless they found a partner, then they would build their own home, one where they could have cubs. When cubs became yearlings, they left their parents and nested with friends. The layout of the village was a circle, houses were built close together, in a way it was almost like a large maze. Filled with long alleyways, sharp turns and dead ends. If you unfamiliar with it you could easily get lost.

Beyond the village were the fields. One half of the year filled with grass so long you couldn’t even see over, filed with flowers and fruits which was what they ate. The other half of the year covered with snow, the grass dead and their food scarce. At the South of the fields, the grass ended and the forest began. The forest was a rather dangerous place, filled with beasts the size of a mud house! No one went into the forest, even the plants wanted to eat you.

In the middle of the fields was a large lake that flowed down from the mountains that came from the North, they were large numerous mountains, rocky at the base but the further up you got the colder it became. Eventually at the halfway point it was constantly snowing up there. For generations the elders told the cubs legends and stories of the mountains, making sure they knew never to go there for that was where the Wilder Ones lived. Their larger cousins were not like the Field Teles, they towered over them in height and were far stronger. The Wilders were not social like the Fields, preferring the stay alone rather than live in large colonies. If they did live in a group it would be a small group, most likely of three or four.

They told the cubs that if the Wilder Ones caught you, they’d cook you alive over fire and eat you whole. So it was safe to say that no one went into the mountains.

Tinky took arms with spear and shield not waiting for his lazy friend left for patrols of mountain boarders.

Po sighed in disappointment. Sulking as she followed Tula into the fields, it wasn’t fare! She was a lot more capable than anyone else in the village! Why should she be stuck as a farmer just because of her size? Honestly Po could take a beastie. She could! She knew she could….

But nether-the-less she began to pack the basket with fruits and flowers. This was a chore that only needed doing once a week, there were enough farmers to collect enough for everyone. Once harvested it was sorted between all the houses where it would be stored up. For the cubs who had not yet grown their teeth the fruit would be ground up, mixed together with water and left in the sun for a few hours. After a while the mixture would become sticky and thick, the type of stuff that stuck to your fingers and was a pain to wash off, but easy for little ones to eat.

“Don’t look glum.” Po’s fur bristled as she glared at Tula, it wasn’t anyone else’s business what she was feeling.

“I’ll look however I want thanks.” She shot back folding her arms and looking away from the larger female.

“Listen, it’s not your fault your little, but you really do have to understand that at your size you simply can’t protect yourself or anyone else from danger. Your too small.”

Ouch. The words stung and made Po’s heart contract, so she complied with the other females and made herself useful. Fruits and Flowers don’t pick themselves after all.

Laa-Laa laughed warmly as the little cubs played with toys she had brought with her. It was most enjoyable to take care of children. She found their company to be refreshing compared to that of yearlings or adults. They were free, not having to worry about anything, they could be what ever they wanted. Not bound by one life or full of the stresses of keeping up with the life inside the maze village.

The cubs could run as far as they wanted, could lose themselves in their games forget all the troubles of what was really happening in the real word. Laa-laa would sometimes find herself envying them, wishing nothing more than to let herself fade away into her own world the same way they could. Just like she use to….. but that was before, it was unwise to let yourself live in dreams or else you’d be brought back by the harshness of a reality that turns on those who let themselves wonder.

Oh NO!! Dipsy raced through the village. He had slept in again! He didn’t even have time to eat. Late, late, late. His mind filled with possible excuses most of them too far-fetched to be believed. But by the sun he had to give them something other than over sleeping.

This was not good! Why hadn’t Laa-laa woken him? Shooting into the auditorium he snatched up a spear and shield. Quick as his feet could carry him he-

“Dipsy.” Oh come on. He skidded to a stop, hackles raised and flinched at being caught. Sighing he turned around to face the apprentice who was currently crafting a map.

“Yesss… Ebat.” Dipsy struggled with the words, he was in trouble. The black tele didn’t even look at him but rather smirked for a second before letting his expression fall back to one of concentration.

“You were late, did you sleep in again? Of course, you did”

Dipsy rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah I’m late ok, now if you excuse me I really gotta go!” He moved for the door.

“You won’t be needing those” Ebat said blatantly, gesturing to the spear absentmindedly.

“You’re assigned for the graves.”

“Oh what!?”

“Yes, Yes. Exciting, I am so happy for you but run along now you are disturbing my work”

Dipsy groaned and dropped his weapon leaving it for Ebat to pick up as he trudged grumpily to the edge of the village.

She climbed down the rocks with haste, constantly looking over her shoulder. Ears twitched and she crouched down, frozen. Nothing. She continued on her journey, her heart was still racing fast in her chest. Adrenaline fueling her veins. Her fur stood on end, and her pupils closed up. Taking a jump, she landed on a bolder. Tensing she whipped around and stared back the way she came.

A low wailing came from the wind, long and mournful as if crying out the pain she could not voice. Slipping down the boulder she quickly jogged downhill, careful not trip or fall. She was careful never to let body touch the rock unless it captures her scent. The ground was becoming less rocky and more like soil. Her breathing grew ragged, this was not familiar. Who knew what lived here.

She crouched down again and this time she began to move on all fours. She slipped further and further into uncharted territory.

Po hoisted the basket up onto her shoulders and joined the line as they walked back to the village single file. The baskets packed full and some even overflowing. It had been a successful harvest; the fields were rich with flavor. She strained to see above the grass, it had gotten rather tall lately. The girls chatted and gossiped about things that Po would never understand. Who was improving at cooking, who they are nesting with, how annoying it was to have to pick up after the boys. Who they wanted for a partner.

The same old conversations that almost occurred every day, with the occasional refreshment of how big their cubs were getting. Po rolled her eyes, looking to the mountains. She stopped. Her ears twitched and stood on end.

“Quit!” She hissed to the other girls. Their needless chatter silenced and then they heard it too. The sound of something running towards them through the tall grass. Po pushed to the front of the line and unsheathed her claws, fur puffing up. Screaming a battle cry she ran straight into the path of whatever it was meeting it head on.

Only to be knocked flat on her back as whatever it was collided with her. The rest of the girls screamed and a high pitched animalistic shriek brought Po back to her senses and she leapt to her feet. For a moment the little red one was confused.

For there growling and shrieking like a wild animal was a white furred girl. Po gnashed her teeth and hissed, challenging the stranger. The girl met her eyes for a moment.

Before charging forward and shoved Po aside and running fast through the grass.

Tula helped Po to her feet, who tried to ignore the fact she had just been knocked down twice in row.

“She’s heading to the village!” One of the girls exclaimed.

Po raced after the wilder thing.

Dipsy quietly stood by the hole in the ground. Blocking out the elder’s voice just pretending he was listening. The graves was at the edge of the village, and was the most boring job to be assigned to, at least in Dipsy’s point of view anyway. But heck some people might like it, if you liked digging holes all day. He had already fallen in twice and it was before noon. At least none of them actually had a corpse in them yet, that would have been really unfortunate.

A white blur speeded past, just missing him and……. Make that three times.

Po leapt over the grave and Dipsy hastily climbed out.

What the heck was that? Shaking off dirt he joined Po in the chase after the white whatever it was.

It was fast, faster than most of them. Gaining on Po, Dipsy looked to the small red one and she looked right back. They were having a silent conversation, one that was only picked up with eyes and not ears.

It went something like this.

What is it?

It's a Wilder One.

It can't be, It's not big enough.

Well what else could it be!

Fare point.

Dipsy pushed himself ahead attempting to attain ground on the white creature. Cursing inwardly as she disappeared into the Entrance of the Maze Village.

Into the mud houses she ran, hoping to lose her pursuers in the confusion. She took a left turn, right, left, left, right, right, left. The turns appeared so fast that she often knocked into objects which fell and sometimes broke upon impact. Cries of alarm sounded from inside the strange structures, others tried to block her way but she shoved past them or took another direction.

Looking over her shoulder she saw the red one and the green one still on her tail. Taking a turn she silently screamed as she came to a dead end, not knowing what else to do she climbed up onto a basket and clawed her way onto the roof of a mud house.

Taking a run and jump she leapt onto a second roof. As she leapt to the third a pair of hand grabbed her ankles and she was pulled down, missing the landing as her chest collided with the edge of the roof, a scream of pain left her mouth but was cut off as her chin met the same fate. Now on the ground she quickly wriggled out of her attacker's grip and ran ahead, three of four others had joined in the chase.

She dodged snatching hands and leapt over a wall, landing in a different part of the maze. She whimpered stressfully, she had to get out of here. Knowing full well she couldn't keep this up forever. She had to hide. Running aimlessly until she saw the biggest building in the village. In through the window she looked around frantically for a moment, the sound of others got closer and so she ran up the stairs, passing several different floors. As she reached the roof she went to escape but collided with another body.

They both scrambled to their feet and for a moment stared at each other. She flattened her ears and her fur stood on end, Ebat slowly raised his hands in a non threatening manor and took a careful step back. Footsteps running up the stairs made her panic.

She ran past the black tele and to the edge of the roof. A group of scouts stopped a few meters in front of her. She was cornered. Taking a breath, she took a step backwards.

Ebat and the scouts rushed forward, a fall at that height would kill her! A screech of outrage echoed off the walls.

Stone had caught the wild thing before she could hit the ground. She struggled in his grip, trying to scratch and bite but he held her at arm’s length, remaining silent despite the damage to his arms.

Tinky scratched the back of his head as he strolled back into the village, ready to turn in his weapons and spend the rest of his day doing recreational activates now that his shift was over. But before he could even reach the Auditorium he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the scouts carrying a screaming and struggling girl through the village.

Po and Dipsy approached him looking quite out of breath. Looking back and forth between the girl and his friends he instead just rooted for looking to the sky with a befuddled expression.

"What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing. We've just been protecting the village, what about you? Sleeping under a tree?" challenged Po.

The elders all gathered in the Auditorium as the moon rose in the sky. All of them concerned on the matter that everyone had a strong opinion of, what to do about the wilder one. Many voices raised and many arguments strung the question with answers that might be considered questionable to one person’s ears, or considered reasonable if you shared another point of view.

Torches were lit and the Maze Village glowed luminously with fire light. Tinky sat out the front of his house sharpening a stick to a point. They had locked her in one of the empty mud houses, it had been stuff of nightmares. Screams and sounds of things getting broken echoed through the locked windows. After a few hours the wild thing had settled down but the quite was even more frightening than the screams.

Dipsy washed his hands in a bucket of water from the well and moved to lean against the wall beside his friend. Folding his arms, he clicked his tongue at the recollection of the day.

“What do you think should be done?”

Tinky stopped mid carve and looked up at the green one. Dipsy didn’t normally ask these kind of questions, at least not seriously anyway.

Tinky sighed, Dipsy knew what he thought. What he wanted to hear was his own opinion. Because he wasn’t able to voice it himself. They had always been able to tell what each other was thinking, ever since they were cubs.

“I think they should kill her.” Tinky said and went back to his stick.

Dipsy clenched his fists and bit his lip. He didn’t like to think about taking another life but when it seemed as though there was no other option he always turned to his friend for strength.

The older one smiled.

“Well, she frightened the farmers, assaulted Po, knocked you into hole in the ground, broke our stuff, gave everyone a heart attack and could have killed Ebat.”

Dipsy laughed, his normal self, breaking through his somber mood.

“Not like he would be much of a loss!”

“Heh, I guess your right.” They stared at each other for a moment before snorting into laughter at the thought.

“I don’t think that’s funny guys.”

Laa-Laa stood in the door way holding a bowl of GuanGuangs.

Dipsy rolled his eyes and stole a fruit, taking a few decent sized bites before chucking it to Tinky who had his turn of the meal.

“And what do you think the Elders should do then?” He asked wiping juice from his mouth.

Laa-Laa wrinkled her nose a little before eating her own fruits, little bites being careful not to get the sticky pulp on her yellow fur.

“I think they should let her go, it was you and Po who chased her into the village in the first place anyway.”

“Where is Po anyhow?” Tinky inquired, flicking his ears. She was never late for dinner.

“Ebat said she was called by the Elders since she was the first to see the Wilder One.” Dipsy offered as he began to lick his paws clean.

“I thought you hated Ebat?”

Dipsy froze.

“I DO hate Ebat!”

She opened her eyes and stared as the door opened, a black silhouette blocking the moonlight. She moved back and pressed herself against the corner but remained in a sitting position. Everything hurt now that the adrenaline had worn out and she remembered how much pain she had been.

The silhouette came inside and closed the door. Now that she saw him quickly she recognized him as the black tele she ran into on top of the big building. She puffed out her fur and snarled low and threatening. What did he want.

He raised his hands in a reassuring manor and got down to his knees. Seeing he was no threat she pulled her knees up to her chest and watched him as he went about his business collecting all the sharp pieces of smashed pottery and torn fabrics.

He didn’t pay her any sort of mind and pretty much pretended she wasn’t there.

Pausing he set everything down in a pile and picked up a fallen GuangGuang fruit. It was now he acknowledged her.

She tensed up as the male knelt down and held out the fruit to her. For a moment she glanced between him and the food. Before snorting and turning away from him.

This time he didn’t move away but sat down a bit away from her.

“Not hungry? You haven’t eaten anything for a few hours.” He gave her a smile, trying to seem friendly.

She stared at him for a moment before turning right around so she faced the wall.

The black tele frowned as he caught sight of a red stain concealed under the white fur of her side. Sighing he rolled the fruit over to her side before picking up the mess and leaving, locking the door behind him.

Po leaned against the table, watching with no amusement as the Elders continued to bicker amongst themselves. The fire pit lit the room aflame and pints of water sat unfinished. It was comical really. Some of them yelled that they beast was obviously dangerous and should be put down. Others yelled that they should keep it and try to civilize it.

One extremely ancient looking elder didn’t bother joining in with the politics and instead voted just for sleeping with his head down on the table, having eaten too much GuangGuang fruit.

Po didn’t see the point of her even being hear if they weren’t going to talk to her. The only Elder who was still stable and calm was old Bishan, who just sat there patiently waiting for everyone else to shut up.

And as Ebat silently entered the room and sidled in next to him, Bishan cleared his throat loudly and the others drew to a standstill.

Silently the elders moved to their seats, the firelight crackling against wood the only sound. Bishan stood and moved with his usual limp to the front of the room. As he moved Po scrutinized an old scar running up his side. He was a scout when he was younger, the best scout in the history of the Maze Village.

He didn’t just look for signs of Wilder Ones, he fought them. That was something no one else was brave enough to do. His scars were the only thanks he ever got, Po looked up to him a lot.

When Bishan spoke his voice was that of an old warrior who has had many experience, it was always best to listen to him.

“As we know, earlier today a Wilder One came into the village. Po since you were the one who seen her first, tell us what happened.”

Slowly she got up and joined the elder at the front of the room and retold the tale. She felt proud of herself, if they realized how bravely she chased the Wilder One, how she tried to engage it in battle. Perhaps they’d let her be a scout. Perhaps Bishan would teach her to fight them, like he had done.

She would protect the village. Die with honor and be remembered as a warrior.

As the story foreclosed the elders looked amongst each other. Quite worried.

A old female looked to Po and smiled appraisingly.

“Thank you Po, you may go home now.”

The little red one’s heart and hopes sank to bottom of her stomach. Silently she left the auditorium filled with disappointment.

Po slunk back down the alleyways, head down and moping as she kicked a stone along the path. It wasn’t fair! It was her who kept the farmers safe. She was the reason they even caught the Wilder One in the first place. She showed bravery and courage. So why was she always overlooked?

Entering the mud house she stared for a moment as her friends slept among the blankets. Laa-Laa had her head rested on Dipsy’s chest as the male’s arm cradled her shoulders holding her close to him. Po wrinkled her nose and wondered when those two were going to get a home. It was clear they wanted each other.

Tinky stirred as Po squeezed in between him and Dipsy. He gave her a tired smile but she just frowned at him and rolled over the other way. He almost laughed, she needn’t say more. It was obvious why she was upset. Sliding an arm around her waist he pressed his muzzle into the back of her head and licked her ears.

She was tired of always been underestimated cause of her size, he knew she thought she was meant for so much more than what they had planned for her. She may be brave, resilient and determined but he knew she wouldn’t last long in an actual battle. But Tinky never told her this, he let her think she was stronger than she was.

After a few minutes of comforting licks, she turned around and pressed up against him burying her face into his chest fur. Tinky tightened his hold as her body began to tremble slightly. He knew she’d fall asleep soon, and when she woke she’ll have forgotten her moment of weakness.

The meeting was about to fall to a close, they had decided that perhaps it was best if the allowed the poor creature to die. Ebat tapped his fingers against the table, thinking silently. He had been in the room with the white beast and she hadn’t tried to harm him. So he wondered if it was unfair to kill without proper reason. In fact she had seemed more scared of them than any of them had been of her. And she was wounded, she had tried to hide it but Ebat clearly saw the blood on her ribs.

Honestly he wasn’t even sure if she was a Wilder One. But because of the way of things….. it was no secret that there were the occasional loners who lived outside of the village, some of them losing their mind and believing themselves to be animals. So it was as Ebat thought, shouldn’t they help those who need help?

Bishan went to leave but the young black tele grabbed his arm, getting his attention.

“Wait, Elder Bishan… may I address the council? I believe I may have some information that just might sway your opinions.” Ebat gave a smile, trying to win over the old warrior.

“Boy, you may be a philosopher but I don’t think you yet have enough experience or wisdom to make a proper judgement of these things.” Bishan said gruffly and ruffled the yearling’s fur.

Ebat couldn’t form any words…

“Let him speak.” Said Taa-Vee, she was a rather old female who in her youth had been the first to turn to the stars for answers instead of relying soly on the sun. She was his mentor when he was younger. Teaching the cub how to chart the night sky and make constellations and use these to shape their maps of their world.

Ebat swallowed thickly, he didn’t know how they would react to his theory.

“For along time we have wondered if there were any other villages out there besides the loners, we have always assumed that we were the only ones. But that is because the loners are those we already know, those of us that were once a part of our village.”

“And what’s your point boy?” Bishan inquired, wanting to know where this was going.

“Well, the girl that we caught today couldn’t have been a Wilder One, I mean, Bishan you’ve seen the Wilder Ones up close. Doesn’t she seem a bit on the small side?”

The sleeping elder suddenly woke and lifted a hand.

“He’s right you know…. Say Bishan, how big did you say they were…” Before slumping back down onto the table, asleep again. The other elders whispered in agreement.

The old brown Bishan nodded slightly, remembering as he rubbed a rather long scar on his shoulder.

“Most of them are only a few feet taller than us, but twice as wide and thick with muscle.” He said, finally agreeing.

“See, that girl can’t be a Wilder One, she’s too small. But I believe that it’s possible she might be a loner, but wouldn’t we already know who she is if that was the case?” Ebat was quick to point out.

Bishan’s eyes seemed to light up, finally seeing what the yearling was insinuating.

“It is my belief that she could possibly be part of another village or some sort of clan. Think, a whole other civilization hidden from our knowledge! Wouldn’t it be good to at least find out if there are others besides ourselves?”

As he finished Ebat knew he had won. At least for now, they wouldn’t harm the creature.

Taa-Vee seemed to consider this before she told him that they would further discuss the possibility and decide what would be done from there before dismissing him, insisting that the young male get some sleep.

The cubs laughed loudly as they followed their mothers to the river, it was a big day for them. It was the first time they would go to the large embodiment of water and they wondered what adventures would await them, possibly fish! The elders told them stories about fish, how they sometimes came up river to get away from the beasties of the deep dark wood.

Tinky’s mother told him that it was best to remain quite when at the river, for that was where most of the Wilder One attacks happened. But of course, cubs don’t really listen to their mothers when some new and exciting such as this happened.

His excitement faded into awe when the long grass shortened and eventually came to a stop, the river was humongous! It stretched from the Mountain and traveled past their Fields and eventually into the Forest, and across the river you could barely see, but Tinky thought he could see land. Far, far way.

He screamed as he was pushed forward and landed with a splash into the water, growling he looked up and glowered at another cub. Grabbing the green boy’s wrist he pulled him into the water and dunked him under.

Dipsy yelped as he went under and shot back up grabbing the older cub’s head and climbed on top of him forcing him into the water. Only to squeal indignantly as Tinky came back up and pounced on him, tickling his ribs.

Laa-Laa watched unimpressed as the boys wrestled in the river. She stood close to her mother who held her hand and helped the cub wade through the river reeds. Something shimmered in the water, giving off a shine of light.

Reaching down the little yellow cub pulled the object out of the water, it was a whitish pink shell! Admiring the pretty thing, she tugged on her mother’s fur to share the discovery. The older female explained that once, a long time ago that this shell was in fact a living thing, something that either used this shell as a home or was the shell.

Laa-Laa was confused, how could something so pretty like this ever had been a living thing? It simply didn’t make sense.

Tinky pulled Dipsy back towards him as the other struggled desperately but the older continued his relentless assault. The green cub screamed as he suffered another tickle attack when suddenly he was forced under the water, Tinky on having lost all sense of balance and had fallen forwards. They both thrashed desperately trying to resurface but it seemed that something was pinning Tinky underwater and Dipsy was getting crushed by the weight of the other.

Eventually whatever it was, was thrown off by all the struggling. They both rose from the water coughing and gasping for air. A loud laughing made them look around as they saw an unusually small sized, red cub completely unaware that she had nearly drowned them.

Laa-Laa sighed as she felt earth in her fingers, having got up early. She lay in the middle of the fields. Looking up at the blueish purple sky, the golden light of the dawn shimmering against the long grass. She felt weightless and distant. She always woke up before anyone else. Honestly, she couldn’t say why but she thought it might have been because she was the only one alive until the rest of the day unfolded itself.

She could let herself fade away just like the morning fog. In her mind she wasn’t laying in the grass fields anymore, she was laying among wild flowers. The type that grew out of the ground. Like it said in the Ancient Scrolls. She’d never seen them but she imagined that they were beautiful and filled with color, she wondered if they existed. She liked to think they did. After all. The Ancient Scrolls spoke of many things they had no proof of.

The wind blew and petals began to fly into the peach colored sky. Laa-Laa breathed deeply and took in the strange scent. She reached out and caught one. Holding it to her chest she closed her eyes as the wind gently kissed her fur.

“Laa-Laa!”

The yellow female jerked out of her day dream with a wheeze, clutching her chest in fright. She gave Feather an annoyed glance. The lilac female smiled apologetically having forgotten that waking Laa-Laa so suddenly while she was dreaming was dangerous. The yellow one got to her feet and brushed off the dirt.

“So, what is their decision?” Laa-Laa inquired as they walked back to the village. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Feather sighed dramatically, looking to the sky and pulling on her ears.

“Their going to let her go.”

“That’s good…”

“No. Their going to let her go but they are sending us to follow her.”

Laa-Laa’s eyes widened. What!

Tinky joined Stone and Feather as they took arms. It was time to go. The elders had given them very clear instructions, follow the feral thing and find out if there are more of them. The village was oddly quite as everyone remained inside their houses. Not knowing how the feral thing would act once she was let out.

He hoped she wouldn’t try to kill anyone.

Ebat watched from the window of his house as the scouts began to group up. He was glad that he was able to save her. He doubted that she would do anything to harm them, if his theories were correct then she shouldn’t waste any time in trying to run home. He wondered if perhaps she lived far from them, perhaps over the mountain. It was possible the scouts wouldn’t be home for weeks or even months. Either way he would be eager to document everything.

Po sat at the edge of the roof of the auditorium. A slight frown tugging at her face. When Bishan had asked scouts to volunteer for the task she had immediately raised her hand jumping up and down eagerly. No one even looked at her as usual. Dipsy stood behind her holding his shovel. He smiled as the little red one pouted. To be honest he was kind of envious of Tinky, it wasn’t every day you got to go on an adventure after all. But he wasn’t a scout and it was likely to be a very dangerous journey.

“Oh stop pouting!” The green one tried and ruffled her head. Po glowered and snapped at his fingers.

“Hey, I know what will cheer your up, how about we go and…”

“Go and follow them at a distance and go on a adventure of a life time!” Po exclaimed jumping to her feet and darting past the green one.

“Wait what!! No! That’s not what I said!!” Dipsy exclaimed chasing after the little red one before she could get herself into trouble.

She got to her feet as the door opened. She flicked her ears back and wrinkled her nose baring her canines. The male seemed to stare at her for a moment despite not being able to see. He had a thick bandage around his head, covering his eyes. He was larger than the others, by about a foot and he looked like he was strong, very strong.

“Come on.” He said and stepped to the side allowing her room to leave. She tilted her head a bit, and slowly crept to the door. She paused in the doorway squinting her eyes as the sudden light hit her face. She looked about timidly. As her gaze fell upon the large male, she left the mud house and stepped into the streets.

Looking around she saw two others standing a little bit away, but close enough. Taking a breath, she shuddered, fur fluffing up before flattening itself back down. The lager male began to walk down a street but stopped and looked back to her. Her claws unsheathed a little but she forced herself to relax. Cautiously she began to follow him, aware as the other two crept along behind her.

It surprised her at how easily he was able to navigate the maze, even with sight she had gotten lost when she first ran through here. Eventually they came to the entrance of the Maze Village. The blind male stopped here. As he stepped to the side, he held his paw to sweep over the Fields.

“You’re free to go.” He said simply. A large smile spread over her face and she seemed to jump a little. Quickly she darted past him and into the grass but then stopped.

Tinky’s face contorted in confusion. He expected her to take off as soon as she got out of the village. He was impressed with how Stone had been able to lead her without any need for restraint. But what he didn’t understand was why she was hesitating to leave. He shared a glance with Feather who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Looking to the Mountains she seemed to make a whining noise, ears falling low on her head and her hand raised to her ribs. Resting there for a moment before she huffed and looked to the forest. Another low whine came from her throat and she suddenly ran for the forest.

They watched as she disappeared into the long grass and waited for a for half a minute. It was then they followed her path.

As she ran through the fields, she could feel the life under her feet. The stir of the air in her fur as she allowed herself to embrace her newly acquired freedom. Glad to be rid from her captors she sighed as a weight dropped off her shoulders. She ran as far as she could, going as fast as she could, pushing herself to her limit wanting to just use her legs as much as possible. Eventually she skidded to a stop, panting slightly.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and felt each individual blade of grass in her fingers. Felt the life of the thousand ants as they climbed to the top of the grass to soak in the rays of sun. Satisfied, she began to walk down the invisible path. The trees seemed a lot larger now that she was closer to them. Much taller as well. It was hear the grass came to an end.

She stared beyond, watching and waiting for any signs of possible dangers. The sound of birds and calls of animals made her relax, and she entered the jungle. Soon disappearing among the trees, ferns and a wide range of other flora.

Tinky shared a glance with his fellow scouts and watched from the grass as the feral girl leaves the light and step into the dark of the forest.

Once they were sure she would be far enough away they left the sheltering Fields and followed her into the forest.

His jaw slightly hanged open as he took in the strange new world, he had seen the forest drawn in the pictures of the Ancient Scrolls but this was something else entirely. Colour filled everything, flowers of all different varieties covered almost every tree, and it was so bright, dark but bright somehow at the same time. Strange plants grew out of the ground. And leaves had turned brown and crunched under each step. Long vines hung down from branches and were hard to navigate. It was most purely spectacular.

A buzzing sound made him draw his spear and hold it at the ready.

Feather gasped and pointed in amazement.

“Oh wow!” A strange creature hovered there it’s wings beating so fast it was almost impossible to see. It seemed to study them for a little bit before shooting off through the branches.

Stone pressed his hand against a tree and hummed in thought, feeling as a incredibly large insect crawled onto his hand and up his arm, these animals were unlike what they were use to, even Stone with his unseeing eyes could see that.

“Ebat would love this.” He said simply and walked forward a little bit, and put his paws to the ground feeling the soil.

“She went this way”

They traveled Southwards, through the world of many colors. The further they went the more alien the forest became. Pink moss grew out of black trees and had a strange glow to it. Unusually large insects often scurried from under their feet. Eventually it became clear that the feral girl had taken this path, Feather noticed by the way the plants had been parted, pushed over and sometimes broken.

Tinky breathed deeply and took in the many scents, tree bark, rain, decay… blood. Bingo.

Giving the others a nod, he took the lead. Crouching down he crept up ahead. The ferns became thicker as he went up the hill, the dead leaves were moved aside. As though they had been swept out of the way just like the mothers swept to sand out of their houses. Further up the hill there was a large tree that had fallen over, now having decayed all through the inside it would be the perfect spot for a place to hide.

As he approached he silently laid down on his stomach and crawled along the ground. He was right beside the log. Pressing himself against it he put his ear to the wood and listened. She was on the inside, he could hear her as she shuffled about, making a nest by the sound of it. Quietly creeping back down the hill, he gave Feather a smile.

“She’s on the inside, we’ll go back a bit further into those bushes so she doesn’t see us.”

“It depends on the wind.” Stone added, looking straight ahead. Feather nodded in agreement.

“He’s right, if it goes up hill we’ll have to change our position.” She said helpfully and Tinky grimaced, embarrassed at having forgotten.

“Fare point, fare point. Ok so at the moment the wind is at our advantage, but if it changes we’ll circle around to the side. Even if it goes up she won’t smell us.”

Her fears folded with the leaves, no longer present as she began to make her nest in the safety of the log. It would be alright now. She wouldn’t be found, just stay in the forest, stay in the forest. It would be warm in hear, shielding from the cold dark nights that lay ahead. Honestly, she considered herself lucky to even be alive at the moment. Considering how likely it was that those Field Tele would have killed her.

She pulled the leaves and put them in place, making a small pile. Not really a comfortable bed but it would work for a few nights. At least it was safe in hear- she felt something crawling over her feet.

Freezing up she forced herself to look down and her fur bristled and stood on end, what the heck was that? Eyes widening a tiny shriek caught itself in her throat as the thing looked up at her and seemed to blink with several different eyes. It may have taken her five minutes to get into that log. Well, it only took her five seconds to get out.

As she broke through the cobwebs and the sunlight blinded her vision temporarily her foot caught on a root tripping her up. Flipping over onto her back she scurried backwards as the creature followed her out. As it reared up she could see how frightening it was.

The largest insect she had ever seen, five or six feet tall, towering above her as it reared back waving hundreds of legs, mandibles gnashing menacingly. She scrambled to her feet and withdrew from the path of the giant centipede.

Seeing no challenger, the old log monster dropped down and suddenly, appeared quite small. Her heart beat slowing down she moved to the side, as it’s eyes seemed to follow her. The log was out of bounds, that much was clear.

Crouching down she crept closer, curious. As the centipede moved suddenly, she darted back. It turned towards her and seemed to wriggle its antenna curiously. She smiled and moved forward again, poking the insect in the head before shooting back with a chirp. The beast clicked it’s mandibles and turned away heading back to the log.

She tilted her head slightly, catching sight of something not quite right. One of the centipede’s plates was lifted, not by much, but enough to be noticeable. Trailing after the creature she found the reason; a sharp stick had been lodged under the plate. The feral girl grimaced as she imagined how painful that would be.

Sneaking up behind she made a rash decision and grabbed the giant splinter, she tightened her grip and pulled. If the centipede could of screamed, it would have. It reared up threateningly, towering over her with full intention to kill. She screamed and curled into a ball, bracing for the worst. The insect seemed to pause, it wriggled itself a bit before dropping back down and clicked happily.

The feral girl sighed in relief as the log monster scurried around her in circles gratefully.

Tinky yawned as he sat in the darkness. Night had finally come to the forest after a long day of remaining out of sight. Hiding in bushes wasn’t as fun as it had been when they were kids. They hadn’t made a fire but she had. Honestly, he was surprised the feral one even knew how. Being well, you know, feral.

He rubbed his eyes in an effort to stay awake, he hadn’t thought it would be this easy to fall asleep. Sighing he leaned his head back against a tree with another yawn. Looking over at Stone it was impossible to tell if he was asleep or awake, as he was unable to see his eyes. Feather looked like she was on the brink of sleep, leaning against Stone and barley able to keep her eyes open. Pulling his face Tinky groaned inwardly. If he had known he wouldn’t get any sleep he wouldn’t have volunteered for this. Why did he volunteer again? Right. Cause no one else wanted to do it. Well… besides the other two anyway.

Stone shifted uncomfortably. His ears twitched as he slowly sat up straight. Feather whined, annoyed at the loss of her pillow. The larger raised a finger to his lips. Quiet. Stone slowly got to his knees and gently pushed his hands into the ground, curling his fingers slightly into the soil. He could feel something, something that came through the ground and sent and odd feeling up through his fingers and into his paws. It was large. Large and heavy, dangerous.

She laid in the earth, the light of the fire reflecting on the trees. The overhanging canopy shielded her from the moons light, except for the delicate shimmers that managed to sneak through gaps in the leaves. The two lights merged. Gold and silver intertwined with each other. The night creatures cried, screamed and sang. She closed her eyes and listened to the voices of the forest, allowing them to fill her with wonder. She could hear every whisper, every laugh. The sound of everything around her. Life, death. Birth and growth. Each flowed into and out of each other in perfect unity. The voices in the trees silenced. Her ears slowly rotated and she pushed her fingers into ground. Something was there.

Slowly she moved to her knees. She could feel it better now, it was close. Too close. In fact, it was right over there. In the shadowed undergrowth, just by the intertwining trees. She remained still, her fingers slowly spread into the earth and she closed her eyes. The feeling curled into her hand and spread up into her chest, from there creeping over her whole body. Her head shot back out of pure reflex and she gasped as the feeling left her body. She knew what it was. She tensed herself, ready to bolt. A pair of yellow eyes shone in the darkness. Her claws unsheathed, her fur rising.

Tinky was on his feet the second the first scream pierced the night air. Quickly he raced up the hill, Feather and Stone right behind him. They stopped by the log and peered over silently. Tinky couldn’t move, not even to duck down. It was a Wilder One.

She screamed and fought, struggling to get out from under him. Clawing at the earth and his flesh in a futile attempt of escape. He snapped at her neck ferociously, grabbing at her wrists as he knelt over her. She kicked at the ground as her adrenaline fueled her to fight and flight. She was screaming in small frightened shrieks. As he pinned her wrists to the forest floor, she gave a wailing cry when his teeth wrapped around her throat.

Feather grabbed Stone’s arm helplessly, what could they do? What should they do? She was torn, help or hide. She drew her spear and went to leap over the log but Stone caught the scruff of her neck and pulled her back down. What!? Why not! Why shouldn’t they try to save her? Feather was furious. Stone never hesitated. Not in battle, certainly not when aide was needed. So why was this different?

“We have to do something; he’s going to kill her!” She hissed at them. Outraged at the two males’ reluctance. Tinky pulled at his head fur, torn between his impulse to rush in and protect the female and his instinct run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Eventually his desire to protect won out.

“We have to help her.”

Stone’s fur suddenly rose.

“Don’t look down.”

They looked down. A simultaneous shriek caught in their throats as the giant centipede scurried over their feet and darted past them.

With a growl she sunk her teeth into his muzzle, biting down as hard as she could. The Wilder One tore away from her. He gave a savage snarl as he spat out a mouth full of blood. Then his paw was on her face, claws dangerously pricking her skin. She knew how easily he could kill her, how he could tear apart her face with one swipe. She whined, preparing for the worst but gasped as the old log monster reared up behind the big black beast. A hundred legs waving as it lunged forward drilling its mandibles into the Wilder One’s neck.

The whole forest awoke to the sound of an excruciating scream. The Wilder One tried to flee from the gnashing jaws, but the centipede wrapped its body around him. It’s legs inflicting as much damage as its teeth.

Tinky rushed forward and snatched her arms, hoisting her to her feet. Gripping her wrist tightly he pulled the feral one along as the four of them ran through the dark forest, away from the butchering battle taking place behind them.

Eventually the screams faded and the firelight diminished in the distance. They kept running. The forest seemed thicker, the trees tore at their fur, and vines tangled and tripped them. A loud cry of a night creature sent them further into the dark.

The feral one dug her heels into the ground. Tinky turned to face her as her hand slipped from his. He stopped as he finally saw her. Her face contorted into that of accusation. He swallowed, a sliver of moonlight leaked through the trees and shone down, illuminating her white fur. Her blue eyes studying him intently.

“Tinky?” Stone asked. The purple one turned to his friend.

“Why you follow after me.” The three of them stared at the white one.

“You can talk?” Feather asked, astonished. The feral one did not look amused.

“Why. You. Follow. Me.” She said again. Slower this time, ears flicking in annoyance.

“We wanted to see where you came from. If there were others like you,” Stone said simply. His face and tone were steady with the same composure he displayed every day.

She seemed to understand then as her stance relaxed and she nodded, looking through them.

“You no mean others like me. You mean others like you.” She smiled then, almost friendly, but her eyes held a pitying gleam that Tinky found a bit off putting.

“Are there?” He asked. Trying to put authority into his voice. He did not like being condescended. Not by the Elders, not by the adults, and certainly not by a feral girl living like a wild animal.

“Not that I’ve seen with my eyes.” The three scouts shared a disappointed glance. This entire trip had been a waste of time. The feral one turned to leave.

“Wait. You live out here?” Feather asked, stepping forward suddenly. The white beauty looked at them cautiously before shaking her head.

“Then where do you live.” It was Stone who spoke this time.

“… Mountains.” She said after some hesitance. This time her answer left them dumbfounded and confused. How could she survive in the Mountains with all the Wilder Ones up there?

“Then why did you come down here?” Tinky asked.

“He chased me down. I was running from him.” She looked around nervously. As if expecting the big black one to burst out of the darkness at any moment.

“Come back with us. It’s safer in the village,” Tinky had never been brave enough to try and hit Stone, but by the sun he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to at this moment.

“I don’t think the Elders would like that” He proclaimed, trying to get his comrades to see reason. Feather rolled her eyes.

“Well we can’t come back empty handed saying that there are in fact, no one else out hear. And we know that because she told us so!” She declared, spreading her arms to emphasize. Then she added.

“And we can’t leave her out here, not if he’s looking for her.”

Tinky sighed and pulled his face in exasperation. There was no room to argue, and he didn’t have the heart to leave anyone for dead. She would have to return to the village with them.

“Oh alright fine!” He turned to the white female.

“What’s your name anyway?” She only blinked; her face held no emotion. She was the strangest and most beautiful creature they had ever seen. So what was it about her that made Tinky’s fur stand on end?

“Snow. My name is Snow.”

#teletubbies #Slendytubbies

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imnotcameraready · 6 years ago

Text

If Villains Baked Cookies — Ch 1

A/N: hey!! since a few people asked about it, and I had some ideas floating around already, I’m making the story from this post into a longer Thing™. I can’t promise regular updates or anything, since writers block is very good at beating me down, and since I’m very much in the middle of semester at uni, but I CAN promise that I’ll be thinking about this story near constantly. chapter 2′s already in the works lol

also gonna tag @rebelrewriter since you asked about if this would b coming out! i hope you like it ^^

read it here on AO3!

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, a curse, cursing, violent threats (no actual violence in this one) — also to note is that this is written as dialogue! it’s all dialogue! all of it!!

Words: 2842

Pairings: some real light platonic moceit? other than that, uh, none. none in this whole story. its just Big FamILY time

Characters: Patton patton and more patton, Deceit, a bit of Virgil, mentions of Logan and Roman

hope you enjoy!

If Patton Hart were considering all of the factors, then he’d be able to trace all of these problems back to gardening. He hadn’t been raised a farmer — his parents had him apprenticed to a healer, which he thoroughly enjoyed, but found much more stressful than he could enjoy. And the grief after having a patient die on his table…. At the ripe old age of 22, he decided to retire from healing and moved out to a smaller village, near the kingdom’s outskirts, and began a farm.

He hadn’t expected it to be so challenging. The village he moved to was a farming village, with his closest neighbors being a few hours’ horseride away, and a royal liason coming to collect the village’s surplus foods every fortnight.

There was a blacksmith, doctor, tavern, city hall, and a small cell block in the village’s center. A few blocks away (closer to Patton’s actual house than the village) was a library, but he hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit it since he’d moved in. In fact, he never saw the lights on, either, and no one ever talked about it.

Farming was hard. The animals listened to him, thankfully, but nothing would ever grow. And he could only live off of animal products for so long (and god knows he would never kill them). Responses from those in the village ranged from sympathetically helpful to sarcastic rudeness, but all pointed toward the soil in his land plot being less than ideal for crop growing. Or something. There were a lot of reasons and Patton had stopped keeping track.

Other people in his little village were farming, though, so he thought that there was something wrong with his methods. Maybe he was using too much water? Maybe he should purchase a different type of fertilizer?

Patton was more of a people person, so his first instinct was to ask his neighbors for help.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure why he thought they would help. His neighbors had been passive-aggressively bullying him for a month, since he arrived. They laughed at him, scorned him for thinking arming may be easy, and refused to help.

Don’t think about them, Patton. They’re not long gone by now. Assholes.

He knew that. But Patton’s a nostalgic guy. And stop swearing! We have children in the house, now.

His second instinct was to go to the library. Sure, he didn’t know if it was open or even functioning, but any sort of help would be welcome, even just one book on farming.

When he went to the library (it was a spur of the moment decision) it was dark.

Patton lifted his lantern a little higher, casting light on the entirety of the high-ceiling-ed room. The library had two floors, as could be seen from the outside, but inside he noted that the second floor had an open balcony down to the first floor. There were a cluster of tables in the center of the room but every wall on both floors was covered in bookshelves, from ceiling to floor. Along with that, there were mismatched shelves between the center and walls, nearly as tall as the walls themselves, all full of books.

There must be something in here that could help, he’d thought, so Patton began looking.

Books were never his strong suit, but he did his best with searching for the right topics. Even just any key words. He scoured the shelves for two days and found….nothing. No books related to farming at all.

On the third day, because Patton was stubborn as an ox, he finally found something on the second floor. Tucked away in the lower-most corner of the farthest shelf against the wall to the left was a book titled “Gardening with Snakes.”

Despite not knowing much about farming, Patton was fairly certain from the beginning that snakes had little to nothing to do with gardening. He knew some snakes lived in gardens —

I don’t happen to do a lot of gardening.

This isn’t about you, yet, shush.

It was late in the day when he found the book, too, so Patton deemed it best to take the book home for reading.

A few pages in and it was clear that this was a book about using magic to garden.

Patton hadn’t considered using magic. As far as he knew, the only people in the kingdom who used magic worked directly with the royal family, and someone had to pass rigorous ritualistic tests to be considered for an apprenticeship.

But here this book was, almost like a “Magic for Fools,” something even he could digest despite not having any experience with the subject. And it looked like most of the magic in the book was actually aimed at gardening. There were spells on improving soil fertility, how to bless water to heal ones’ crops, how to protect farm animals from illnesses….

Patton was absolutely charmed.

Ugh….

It may have been an unconventional means of farming, but he’d lowered his standards for “conventional” fairly far. At this point Patton was ready to try anything.

So, within mere days, this book had him spellbound.

I don’t hate you.

I know you love me.

The first round of crops, using a simple-seeming soil fertility spell, grew wonderfully. The corn stocks were strong and sturdy, and in only one month they had shot up to his height. His spinach actually gave crop in only 2 weeks!

Patton celebrated all night and had a wonderfully fresh salad with a cheese-based sauce.

He didn’t know enough about gardening to know that his corn had grown at half the speed it would regularly, or that his spinach had grown thrice as fast. How would he? The whole point of his plight was that he didn’t know anything about gardening.

And, after the corn began producing after only three months and during the winter, his neighbors began to whisper.

He continued to study the gardening magic book, however, and began planting more crops completely out of season, and yet they grew. The wheat grew tall, the spinach produced plentifully, the green beans thrived….sometimes while covered in snow. There must be some form of witchcraft involved, the neighbors whispered.

And as soon as Patton realized he had a surplus, he began to bring his crops into the market at a nearby town. There was no way he could sell them at the high prices his neighbors would — he was always distraught when he went to the market and found himself a dollar coin or two short of even a loaf of bread. So he slashed his own prices. What need did he have for money, other than the occasional gifts and coins to send to his parents, or for paying for services every so often? People need to eat!

People flocked to his booth, drawn by his low prices and charming personality.

Patton, you’ve never been a people person.

Oh, I have been?

I thought you weren’t doing a story point of view thing.

Fiddlesticks! Don’t make fun of me, Dee, you made me break it!

Anyway.

His neighbors were once again aghast. Within a few weeks, they were up in arms. Not only was Patton drawing customers away from them, he was attracting the attention of the crown.

Now, unknown to Patton at this time, the royal family was well aware of the famine threatening to sweep the country. Access to food was scarce, so much so that most farmers in the nation were gaining less crops every harvest, therefore selling them at higher prices.

In order to secure a surplus of foods for the royal family, the King had ordered for 76% of all crops to be brought to the capital, at a slashed fee. It was like highway robbery!

It wasn’t highway robbery.

I’ve been trying to clarify my metaphors, Dee, it makes Logan feel better. Anyway, the King would send a collector every two weeks, and Patton knew that, but he didn’t realize how much was being taken.

First his neighbors confronted him about his prices. Of course, Patton felt bad for his neighbors, but he also pleaded with them to lower their own prices. People shouldn’t have to save up for a week to buy only one loaf of bread! The food is in plenty, and everyone needs to eat!

Then they warned him. He didn’t know what to think. They’d just been threatening him, threatening to burn down his barn, kill his animals, burn his crops….now they wanted him to be safe?

They said the King would come to his doorstep. Not actually the King but a liason, a squire or some sort of lord or something, to make sure Patton fell in line with the King’s “policy.” And if Patton didn’t, then the King would make sure his farm died with him.

Of course, Patton was more than a little worried either way. He didn’t think being a farmer would make him on the run from the law, but what can you do? He didn’t expect these sorts of problems to just

Crop up.

Ugh. I’m not leaving.

Fine, fine, no more puns! Stay!

One more pun and I’m not going to get Logan to finish the story. I fully care that he doesn’t know what happens.

Alright….

He noted it, dully, and continued with his farming. But, true to what his neighbors said, there was a proceeding of lords who visited his house the very next day.

They told him about the patriotism he’d be donating the food to, how it was for the good of the country. But Patton was good at seeing through lies at this point. But more on that in a bit!

He didn’t know how he knew they were lying, but he knew. So he said no. No, he wouldn’t be giving the King any of the surplus food. All of it should be given to the people, because if the King was getting food from everyone else, then he should be having plenty! And how much was he going to be paying for it? The King had a lot of money. Why should he get such a steep discount compared to the market price?

It didn't make sense to Patton, so he said no. And the lords threatened him with everything his neighbors warned him with. They said the King would retaliate.

So, in a moment that Patton didn’t understand for a while, he responded “I sure hope he does.”

That is the dumbest thing I have ever done. I’ve done a lot of dumb things, but I still think this takes the cake!

Oh, finally giving up on the narration?

You know what, Dee. I think I will. I think everyone should hear me scream about my life from my own voice, with my own name, because DANG NABIT it was hard!

You’re not valid, but it is not fun to listen to you refer to yourself in the third person.

Well….thanks, Dee. Alright. I’ll keep it up then!

That was also not the dumbest thing you’ve done, I disagree.

It was dumb, but you helped. D’you want to explain that or should I?

I think I would tell it better.

Okay, okay, I’ll explain. So, rolling back a bit to the magic book. The magic book Patton found was actually related to a specific deity. Not a negative or positive one, but just a deity of illusions and growth. Because of the growth part, he was one of the many small-time deities who were called upon in help for the harvest.

Since magic had been hoarded amongst the upper-class, very specific deities were picked to be worshipped and, well, taught about to the people. Patton didn’t even know about the deity his book was based around.

At first, he thought it was fake, but the more he used the book’s knowledge in his farming, the more he attracted the deity’s attention. It was the first time a human had called upon his specific teachings in hundreds of years. And then he had to watch this human be threatened by people who were supposedly representing his best interests.

That night, the deity showed himself to Patton. He said he’d been intrigued. Well. Technically he said he hadn’t been intrigued.

This deity, since he was the deity of illusions first and foremost, lied in every sentence. He’d actually been cursed to, by another god! At first it was confusing, but that was just how he spoke, ya know? Nothing he could do about that, and nothing Patton could do!

He said he’d been intrigued by Patton’s use of his magic, because it’d been outlawed years and years ago. Patton, surprised, offered the deity a drink and some dinner.

That wasn’t adorable. A human has always offered me food and beverage.

Look, Deceit! I’d never been faced with a god before! How was I supposed to know what to do?

Fair enough. Please stop.

We had dinner, the deity and….Patton. And they discussed.

Patton wasn’t particularly interested in learning more magic, but the deity promised to teach him all he knew about gardening. But to earn that, the deity also had to teach him other forms of magic. Patton had heard the kingdom’s histories with magic, how the kingdom villainized all mischievous forms of magic in favor of more powerful or controllable forms, but this deity claimed that the kingdom did this by casting away and levying laws against certain other magics and, ergo, certain other gods.

Do you want to explain this part?

Me? Um, well, I think I could definitely do a good job of being understood. And because the story is not yours, I fully believe I could do it justice in telling it. Plus I just want to say it.

Well, alrighty then! Another thing about this deity is that he was lonely. That’s putting it kinda blunt. This deity in particular was mad, mad that he’d been abandoned, mad that he’d been locked away, so he had an ulterior plan. If he could corrupt this one human farmer and make him carry out his bidding, then this god could level the kingdom and kill everyone who put him in ethereal exile!

But he was more lonely than he was letting himself admit, and so was the human. So when the deity showed up every night to teach the human magic, the human would cook up a dinner with whatever foods they had on hand. Soon the tutoring lessons stretched longer, and then the deity just started….gosh, was there even a grace period before you just started living at my house?

I believe there was. I completely remember when I began staying at your house, but after you built me a whole room, well, how could I refuse?

That’s true, I guess! And you cooked a little, too!

Aren’t I just the best house guest?

Good use of sarcasm.

I hate loopholes in the lying curse.

Loopholes are the best! Alright, so then….wait, where was I?

I don’t remember, you weren’t talking about the first King’s messenger.

Oh, right! After Patton took that threat in accidental stride, the messenger….probably went back to the castle and told the King! And I imagine he was furious, because within a week, uh….

Gosh, yeah, that did happen….

Do you want me to tell this part?

Well….

I won’t tell it—

“Hey, Patton?”

Ah—yes, Virgil?

“Um, Logan, uh-he messed up a spell and, um. Roman’s stuck in a wall.”

....He’s….he’s stuck in a wall?

“Yeah, uh, Logan was practicing a portal spell and Roman followed him through it, the portal, but L said he didn’t know, so, uh. It closed. And Roman’s stuck in the wall now, and the extra concrete’s sitting on the ground outside the wall and he’s kinda screaming at Logan. Lo can’t figure out how to get him out, either.”

I….Well, let’s go. Deceit, can you finish telling the story?

“Telling the story? Ah, shit, did I—shoot, I meant shoot. Did I interrupt something?”

Nothing too big! Dee was going to take over for me, anyway! I just figured I should talk about how our big ole’ family came together! Like an oral history?

“.....Yeah.”

And I don’t really want Logan, um, accidentally closing the rest of the portal while Roman’s halfway through it. That would be….wall-ful.

“....”

….

You’re right, that wasn’t my best.

“Pat, I think Roman’s crying by now, and that pun’s about to make me start crying.”

I cannot take over, Patton, you don’t need to deal with that. Tell Logan he’s not an idiot for trying a portal spell this early in his magic career.

He’s not an idiot! He’s still learning!

Yes, indeed, because you also nearly killed yourself while learning.

Hah! You know I did! So that was a truth! Loop those holes, Dee, loop ‘em!

“Patton, can we go?”

You’re right, Virge, you’re right — let’s go.

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