#Fern is a mother hen

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Narrative Town

Summary: You don't ever want to be the main character. In your town, that's deadly. Someone has to warn the new kid. 

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Someone has got to tell the new kid in town the Rules.

“Hey,” you say.

The new kid looks up at you. He’s sitting at his desk in the back corner of the classroom, right next to the windows. It’s a chilly day, but he’s got the window open so that the breeze ruffles his curly, black hair. “What’s up? Fern, right?”

“Don’t call me by my name,” you snarl. Then, realizing what you’ve done, you look over your shoulder. The other teenagers are still looped around the teacher’s desk, trying to get Ms. Slauson to move the test date so they could organize a welcome part for the new kid. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

The new kid leans back in his chair and studies you. You know what he sees – a completely average high school girl in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a ponytail. There’s nothing remarkable about you. He tilts his head. “You don’t look like a bully.”

You frown. “I’m not.”

“You’re being awfully threatening,” he says in a drawl.

The accent is going to be a problem. It’s southern and sounds really cool. Honestly, it might be too late for him already.

But you still have to try.

“Meet me on the rooftop—no!” You press the heel of one hand against your eye. Fight it, you tell yourself. Fight it! “Meet me at the supermarket on Western Street. The dairy aisle. After school.”

“Okay…?”

You spin on your heel, head throbbing. Meeting on the rooftop is against the rules. You glance up at the ceiling uneasily. You’re not usually affected by the compulsion so badly. Are you being targeted?

If you were smart, you wouldn’t show up to the meeting. You’d just let the guy get sucked into the madness on his own.

But you also really need to buy some milk.

---------------------------------.

To your surprise, the new kid meets you in the dairy aisle after school. He actually gets there before you and you find him frowning at the selection.

“I’ve never heard of these brands before,” he says. He points to one. “Moo-ilk? That’s not a thing.”

“It is here,” you say. Like you’d hoped, the supermarket is nearly empty. It won’t stay that way for long. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, new kid.”

He turns to look at you. You’re tall for your age, so you stand eye to eye. “My name is Caiden.”

“I know,” you say. “You should stop telling people your name, especially when it’s such a cool one. It’s safer to just be a nameless face in the crowd.”

“That’s deep,” Caiden says. His drawl is clearly sarcastic. “That can’t be what you wanted to tell me.”

It’s not my problem if he doesn’t believe me, you tell yourself. You take a deep breath. “It’s part of it. This town is magic and the school is the heart of it. It forces people to live out popular tropes.  If you’re popular or interesting in any way, it makes you the main character.” You take in the number of pockets on his black pants. “Unfortunately, you’re probably the coolest person to transfer ever and the magic is going to target you big time.”

Caiden stares at you. “You’re saying magic is real.”

“Yeah,” you say. You glance over his shoulder towards the front of the store. You can see shadows slanting through the windows as the sun starts to set. “All sorts. It depends what type of story you get pulled into.”

“But the main magic,” Caiden says, “is in the town itself which forces people to act like main characters?”

“Some people,” you say. You point at his trio of long necklaces. “Is that a wolf?”

Caiden looks down at the metal pendant. “It’s my favorite animal.”

“You are in so much danger,” you marvel. That’s the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. He also has a necklace that looks like an ancient coin and the other is a shark tooth. “The magic is definitely going to make you a main character.”

Caiden opens his mouth, closes it, then asks, “Are you insane?”

It really depends on what he thinks insane means. But going into that actually does make you sound insane, so you just sigh and shake your head. “You don’t believe me.”

“No.” Caiden doesn’t sound angry. He almost sounds apologetic. “I don’t.”

The bell at the front of the store rings. You reflexively look to see who came in. You see tennis rackets and gym clothes before you make yourself look away. A sports team, probably from a rival school. That…could be safe. Or safer. If they’re the first people he runs into, he might actually survive without having to believe you. “That’s fine. You do you.”

“…okay?” Caiden says.

He doesn’t follow you as you grab a gallon of milk and beeline for the self-checkout. You pass the tennis team in the aisle. They smell like sunscreen and don’t notice you dart past them.

“Hey,” you hear one of them say. They’re looking at Caiden. “I’ve never seen that guy around before.”

Another one hums. “There’s something about him. He looks…strong.”

“Why’s he just standing by the milk?”

You grab your purchase and calmly walk out the door.

------------------.

It’s a month after Caiden first transferred when he marches up to your desk after the last bell rings and says, “You. I need to talk to you.”

You look up at him from under your bangs, hands stilling on the open textbook. Caiden looks a lot different. He’s always dressed in a tennis club uniform now and his wild, curly hair is held away from his face by a sweatband. He’s a little sunburned and there is a bandage wrapped from wrist to shoulder on his right arm. Your eyes dart down to see a matching bandage wrapped around his left ankle.

“Please,” Caiden says when the silence stretches too long. His voice cracks. “I was wrong. I was—”

You close your textbook with a snap. You weren’t really studying anyway. Studying makes you look like a background character, but the ace of the tennis team coming to talk to you cancels it out. “There’s a dentist on 3rd Street. Meet me there in an hour.”

“A dentist?” Caiden asks, bewildered. He dumbly moves out of your way when you stand to go. “Why a—”

“Not here,” you hiss. “Dentist office.”

You rush out of class before anyone notices him talking to you.

-------------------.

The first time this town killed one of your friends, you didn’t know about the magic.

You were just a kid, barely thirteen, and new in town. You didn’t know what you were doing when you decided you wanted the quiet girl in class to befriend. Jeanine always sat by the windows, staring out into the school’s courtyard by herself. Her black braids swung on either side of her face and her glasses were pressed high on the bridge of her nose.

You introduced yourself to her, complimented her on her book, and asked if she’d like to have lunch. Sometimes you remember the smile she gave you in that first moment. Surprised, vulnerable, secretly pleased. You treasure that moment where you were just two girls looking for friends. You remember all her smiles over that blissful period where you went to the bookstore and the library, to the movies and to sleepovers, to parties and to concerts.

Sometimes remembering those smiles even helps you forget the painful one she gave you before she lost her life saving yours.

-----------------.

Caiden is pacing in front of the dentist’s office when you arrive. The street is deserted and there’s a faded Closed sign in the window.

Caiden jerks his thumb at the sign. “It’s closed.”

“Yeah,” you say. There’s a little bench in front of the office where patients are invited to wait for their appointment. You take a seat and gesture for him to do the same. “Very few stories start at the dentist and, those that do, always start when it’s open. It’s unlikely we’ll run into any trouble here.”

Caiden clutches his bandaged arm, looking over his shoulder as if checking for pursuers. “So location is part of it? Even just…walking down the street can trigger it?”

“Depends which street,” you say. You twist so you can put one foot up on the bench, angling your body towards him as he sits next to you. “Setting is an important part of the story.”

“Okay,” Caiden says. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Sorry. I just—sorry. Thank you for talking to me. I know I didn’t believe you—”

“It’s hard to believe,” you say, “even without the magic.” You nod your head at his arm. “You okay?”

Caiden looks down at his arm as if he forgot about the bandages. “Oh, this? I’m not injured.” He unravels the strips to show unblemished skin. “Mark – the tennis team captain? – he’s worried about spies from other schools. I’m pretending to be hurt so they think I’m out of commission.”

“Thus giving you the element of surprise when you face them at Nationals next week,” you say with understanding. You eye the other bandage. “And your ankle?”

Caiden laughs. It’s not a joyful laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “No, no, that’s real. I got invited to a drama club after party and spent most of Saturday night running away from a werewolf. I sprained it in the woods.”

“The Drama Club President is a werewolf,” you say. If he’d believed you a month ago, you would have warned him. You were there when she got bitten, but you managed to escape that particular story by pretending to faint. “She’s really had a lot of character growth since she got bit. She used to be super mean before.”

“Oh, as long as it’s for character growth,” Caiden says sarcastically. He scrubs a hand over his face. “We barely got away. It was only because the track team was there that we managed to run her into exhaustion.” He looks up at you. “I think—I think she’s going to kill someone one day.”

“She already has,” you say. When Caiden’s eyes widen, you wave a hand. “It was a bad guy who was trying to turn our entire school into werewolves. We actually owe her a lot for managing to contain that particular plot.”

“How is she going to put that on a college application?” he asks.

You point at him. “See, that right there is why you’re already so deep into a story. Being funny when you should be panicking is basically a requirement for protagonists.”

“I’m panicking,” Caiden assures you. He points to himself emphatically. “I’m definitely panicking.”

“Good,” you say, “that means the magic doesn’t have complete control over you yet. I was worried. Nationals isn’t supposed to be for another four months. I thought the accelerated schedule was a sign you’d completely become the main character.”

“How do I get out of this?” Caiden pulls at his jersey. “I don’t even like tennis! I don’t even know how I joined the club, I didn’t sign up for anything. I don’t know how I got the equipment. My dad didn’t buy it for me.”

“Those details aren’t necessary for the story you’re in,” you say. You pick up your backpack and unzip the main pocket. “I have some Rules to avoid getting sucked into a role. No meeting people in Big Settings, first of all.”

“Big Settings?”

“The lunchroom, the roof, the community pool, the lake, a love interest’s house, anywhere after curfew, etcetera,” you rattle off. You pull out a copy of The Rules and hand it to him. Even now, the mix of your handwriting and Jeanine’s sends a spike of sorrow through you. “There are some pretty specific ones on there too. I suggest you read through them all and pick out the common themes.”

The sun is getting dangerously low. You keep one eye on Caiden as he scans through the six pages of photocopied rules and one eye on the street. A couple cars pass by, but they’re all normal sedans. The moment you see a motorcycle or a van it’ll be time to leave.

“I can’t have an accent?” Caiden looks up from the paper. “But I’m not from here! How can I control an accent?”

“You can’t,” you admit. “But don’t use any region-specific idioms. That should help.”

Caiden points at the page. “Do not go to the library’s second floor?”

“Do not go to the library’s second floor,” you agree solemnly. When Caiden stares at you, you relent. “It’s super haunted. Also all the books in the back corner are cursed.”

“How do you know that?”

“They look super cursed. In a town like this, if it looks cursed, it’s cursed.”

“I guess I can’t say I don’t believe you,” Caiden mutters. “Werewolves are real, I’m pretty sure my club captain is some sort of spymaster, and I saw a kid fall four stories and land on his feet yesterday.”

“That’s Mark’s little brother. He’s got some sort of budding superhero thing going on,” you explain.

“Superhero implies the existence of a supervillain,” Caiden says.

“I try not to think about that.” A car turns onto 3rd Street a little too quickly. You tense and watch as a bicyclist comes screeching around the corner and pedal furiously in pursuit. “Time to go. Sunset is when rising actions get to climaxes. Read the Rules. We’ll talk about how to get you out of your current story tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Caiden scrambles up after you. “I can’t wait until tomorrow! Who know what will happen by then? A stalker could climb the trellis outside my window, or my house could catch on fire—”

“Do you have any little siblings?”

“No? What—”

“Are you going to be out after curfew tonight?”

“No, but my parents—”

“Your house won’t catch on fire then,” you say. “You’re a main character right now. The magic won’t give you a tragic back story when you’re there to stop it. I’d leave now if I were you. There’s about to be a police chase down here.”

“How could you know that?” Caiden cries out.

“Did you see that bicyclist just now?”

“From a minute ago? Yeah, but—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. If the police see you here, you’ll get dragged into it as a witness.”

As if on cue, sirens start up a couple blocks over.  You duck into a side street without waiting to see if Caiden understands.

-----------.

Your parents stop talking when you come through the front door. You set your backpack down slowly, taking them in. They’re sitting on the floor of the living room with a whole pile of newspaper articles and printed Wikipedia pages between them. They’re both dressed in all black and your mom has a grappling hook over one shoulder.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Costume party,” your dad says.

“Collage for my book club,” your mom says. When she hears your dad’s answer, she nods quickly. “My book club which is also a costume party.”

It’s sad to see your parents caught in the magic like this. You remember them when you were little. Your mom was an accountant, and your dad was one of the best mechanics in your hometown. Sure, they’d still been a little…odd. Your dad taught you to hotwire a car before you learned how to change the oil and your mom would bring you along into corporate fraud investigations, but that was what they wanted. Now their eccentricities make them main characters.

“Sounds fun,” you say with false cheer. You desperately want to beg them not to do whatever they’re planning. You want to plead with them to be safe. You want your dad to quit adding spy-like features to the family car and for your mom to stop breaking into the town museum. But you aren’t strong enough to protect them. You’re only strong enough to protect yourself. “I’ve got a history test tomorrow, so I’m going to study in my room. I’ll probably have my headphones in so I won’t be able to hear anything. Try not to scare me.”

Your mom’s eyes light. “We won’t bother you, sweetheart. Do you want to take some snacks to your room? So you don’t have to come in and out.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Does it hurt your parents are so eager to get you out of the way? Yes, but at least it’s an attempt to protect you.

You let your parents give you some mixed nuts, fruit, and popcorn before heading up to your room. While they plan whatever heist they’re doing tonight, you’ve got planning of your own. Caiden’s in a pretty tame story, but it’s still a story.

He’s got to get out as quietly as he can or else things will get messy.

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“Let’s meet in the lunchroom after classes,” Caiden says the next morning. The circles under his eyes are even darker than they were yesterday, but his eyes are bright and alive. He ruefully gestures to his tennis uniform. “Before practice.”

You raise an eyebrow. The lunchroom will be empty, students choosing to use the more comfortable chairs and tables in the multipurpose room or library to study. “I’m impressed. That might be the only time the lunchroom will be safe.”

“I finally did my research,” Caiden says grimly. He flinches when the classroom door opens but recovers quickly. He walks away from your desk as if only passing by it, smiling easily at a fellow tennis player when they greet him.

“Hey,” the girl at the desk hisses at you. She’s a lower-level antagonist, easily identified by the bubblegum she’s always chewing. The teacher is always yelling at her for it, but she never gets in trouble unless the magic needs her to be a background character in detention. “Is it just me or is Caiden talking to you a lot?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You frown at her like she’s the strange one, not you. “Are you feeling okay?”

Flustered, she pops a bubble and turns back to the doodles she’s scratching on her desk. “Never mind.”

Whew. That was a close one. Her words could’ve triggered a romance plot between you and Caiden with her as the third wheel. You’ve seen more than your fair share of those pan out. Best case scenario, one of you would end up studying abroad for a year. Worst case, one of you would end up dead.

Your heart races a little. Frowning for real, you press a hand to your chest. Could…could you actually have a crush on Caiden? After a moment, you shake your head. That’s ridiculous. You’re probably still feeling the adrenaline of escaping the pull of a story.

Even now, after four years, avoiding the magic still feels like a victory.

----------------.

The thing is, you used to love the magic. When Jeanine first showed you how to watch people, it was like TV come to life. The teacher is in a slow-burn romantic comedy with the principal. The tenth grader who just passed you in the hall is actually one of the most respected journalists in town. There’s going to be a musical number in the park after school because the eggs the biology club has been looking after finally hatched into the cutest baby ducklings.

You loved it. You and Jeanine would race around after school every day to check in on each story. You remember the way her jacket would puff out behind her as she jumped the last few steps in front of the auditorium. The glint of the sun off the barrette in her hair that matched the one in yours. The joy when she would turn to smile at you like what you were witnessing was for just the two of you.

It got to the point where you could guess what sort of story someone would get caught in. You and Jeanine used to place bets on the genre, the cast, the ending. It was a game. It was all a fucking game until it wasn’t.

You were naïve. You thought that being watchers protected you from the bad endings. The Rules…you thought yourself clever for making them. You never saw how incomplete they were. That’s why you didn’t notice when Jeanine became withdrawn. She never told you about the threatening letters that started to show up in her mailbox. Her parents were always away working and she didn’t have anyone to turn to.

She should have turned to you. You believe that now. If she’d just come to you sooner, then the weight of the story you’d gotten yourself tangled in would have been bearable. Or maybe you should have been able to see it. You were right there, watching. You should have seen the mysterious cloaked figures. You should have known.

You didn’t know soon enough.

Jeanine died saving you.

And now it’s your turn to save someone else.

-----------------------.

The end of the school day can’t come soon enough. When the bell finally rings, you make yourself count to ten before standing up.

Rule 14: Never be the first one out of class.

Rule 27: Never be the last one out of class.

You exit exactly in the middle of the pack. To your delight, Caiden is only a few people ahead of you. He read the Rules and he’s following them. That means this morning wasn’t a fluke. He’s still not completely bound by the magic.

He can be saved.

“Alright,” you say when you reach the lunchroom. Like you’d hoped, there’s no one there. You slam you backpack on top of a table and start pulling out folders. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how to get you out of your story.”

Caiden twirls the racket in his hands. “Can’t I just quit the club?”

“No, that’ll just turn it into a story about getting you back in time for Nationals,” you explain. You flip open the first folder. “One option is to get arrested for something. Sure, it’ll make you a criminal for a little bit, but your team won’t come looking for you. Heck, they might kick you off the team entirely.”

“If they’d come after me for quitting, don’t you think they’d just bail me out?” Caiden asks.

You pause. You didn’t think about that. “Would they even have the money to do that?”

“Mark’s estranged Dad is a millionaire,” Caiden says. He pulls out his phone and flips to a picture. “Here he is on a yacht.”

“I don’t really pay attention to the adult stories,” you say. You examine the picture. Yep, that’s definitely the start of a millionaire romance trope. “Good thing my parents are still together.”

Caiden frowns. “Mine aren’t.”

“Don’t let either of your parents meet Mark’s Dad,” you say apologetically. You flip to the next folder. “Next option is to pretend to be possessed by a famous tennis player. Then, when you lead the team to victory, you say it’s because of the ghost, the ghost gets exorcised, and the team loses interest in you when your abilities fade.”

“That’s pretty convoluted,” Caiden says. He pulls the folder towards him and examines the doodle of a ghost you did. “You don’t know if I’ll lead the team to victory.”

You scoff and gesture to him. “Look at you. Of course, you will.” Before he has a chance to respond, you reveal the last plan. “That’s why I think this one will work. Instead of leading the team to victory, you become a supporting character.” You open the folder to reveal a picture of Mark. “In short, you make Mark a main character.”

“What?” Caiden yelps. He casts a guilty glance towards the front of the lunchroom, making sure no one in the hall heard him. He lowers his voice. “You want me to sacrifice Mark? The guy’s already been through a lot!”

Caiden looks awfully heroic with the way he’s squared his shoulders. He’s genuinely a good person and if you’d meant to sacrifice Mark in his place, you’d feel very villainous right now.  “No,” you say, “don’t you see? Making him the main character will actually help him.”

“How?”

“His little brother’s got powers and his dad is, apparently, a millionaire.” You hesitate. You don’t really want to say it, but you don’t think Caiden’s quite understood what it means to be surrounded by main characters. “The way it is now, Mark is in danger.”

Caiden goes still. “What?”

“What’s more powerful than a superhero fighting to protect his brother’s memory? Or a millionaire who only needs the right romantic interest to recover from the grief of losing his eldest son?” You flip over the page and grab a pencil. You draw a circle on one side of the page. “Imagine that’s a superhero story.” You draw a dot in the circle. “That’s Mark’s brother. He can only be affected by superhero-related things as long as he’s in that circle. Their dad’s millionaire-romance story won’t stop him from being a hero, just like his son being a hero won’t stop their dad from becoming a sugar daddy for some lucky single in town.”

“Definitely keeping my dad away from him,” Caiden mutters.

You draw another circle and put another dot in it. “That dot is their dad. He’s protected from any superhero stuff because he’s the main character in the romance stuff.” Between the two circles, you draw a third dot. “In the center? That’s Mark. And right now he doesn’t have a circle to protect him from the superhero stuff or the romance stuff. Do you understand?”

“You’re saying that Mark needs to be a main character so he doesn’t become a tragic backstory,” Caiden says. He scrubs a hand over his face and collapse onto a chair. “This stuff is messed up.”

“Sometimes,” you say, “being outside the magic is just as dangerous as being in the magic.”

That’s what you and Jeanine never understood. There’s a difference between being a background character and being an exception. Exceptions make great protagonists. When the sorcerers that live in the park noticed that you and Jeanine never fell under their hypnosis, they took interest.

Deadly interest.

“Hey.” Caiden reaches out to place a comforting hand on your arm. “You okay?”

You shake yourself. The quiet of the lunchroom makes you feel like you’re the only two in the world. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to talk to someone that’s not under the town’s magic. You swallow. “My friend,” you say without really knowing you’re going to say it. “The one who wrote the Rules with me.”

“Jeanine?” Caiden asks gently. When you shoot him a surprised look, he says, “You guys signed the Rules.”

You’d forgotten about that. You hardly ever read the Rules anymore. You know them all by heart. You nod. “Yeah. She saved my life. The town isn’t evil and the magic isn’t all bad. But when it’s bad, it’s really bad. You’re doing Mark a favor by making him a main character. You might even be saving his life.”

That seems to break through to Caiden. He takes his hand off your arm, eyes far away as he considers that. When he looks back at you, there’s no resolve in the set of his jaw. “Okay. I’ll do it. How do I make Mark a main character?”

You pass the folder over to him. “It’s all there. You’re going to have to go to Nationals but, after that, you should be back in the background. Just like me.”

“Perfect,” Caiden says with a sigh. He stands, taking the folder with him. “I gotta get to practice.” He pauses in front of the door. “Will you come see us at Nationals?”

“Probably not,” you say. You scrunch your nose. If you go and meet Caiden after the game, you could be in danger of triggering another romance plot. You start packing up to hide your blush. “I’d hate to be caught up in a sports story.”

“Right, rule #35,” Caiden says, laughing a little. He looks awfully cute when he laughs. “If you’re good at sports—”

“—no you aren’t,” you say with him. You grin and wave him off. “See you later.”

Caiden glances down the hall for other students before leaning back into the lunchroom. “Thanks, Fern,” he whispers and then disappears out the door.

Your face feels hot as you make your way home.

-------------------.

You find yourself at the park the day of Nationals. You can’t bring yourself to watch Caiden. On paper, the plan is simple. He has to let Mark play all the singles and, if he plays doubles, Mark needs to be the one to score the most points. Or whatever the right terminology is. Even if it wasn’t dangerous to know too much about sports, you wouldn’t care.

Jeanine would care.

You wander past the kids’ playground and head across the lawn to where there’s a cluster of birch trees. In your mind’s eye, you see this place four years ago. It was night then and there weren’t any kids on the swings or parents idly chatting around the water fountain.

No, it was dark and empty and the only sound you could hear was the harsh panting of your own breath and the slow, rhythmic chanting of the sorcerers about to sacrifice your best friend.

Jeanine was an exception. She was someone who’d grown up here her whole life but was just…average. Average grades, average looks, average worries. Average. She was never compelled into a story as a kid. She wasn’t called on to fight dragons and she wasn’t recruited to be a child spy. She was just Jeanine.

The birch trees are looking a little weak. You stop just where the grass changes to dirt and stares up into their thinning canopies. Good. You hope these trees die. Then the sorcerers trapped inside of them won’t ever emerge and, at last, Jeanine will be avenged.

“If that’s even possible,” you say absently,

The truth is some days you feel like you killed her.  Jeanine was average. You were the transfer who knew how to do too many things. You were the one the town took an interest in. Of course it did. You were a 13-year-old who could hotwire a car and who regularly broke into corporate offices searching for dirty books.

Jeanine saved you. She saved you from all the fates she’d seen her classmates fall prey to over the years. She taught you how to watch. She taught you how to survive. Sometimes you wonder why she did that for you, knowing what it could potentially (and did) cost her.

The truth is you would have done the same for her.

You kick at a root with real anger. When the magic couldn’t drag you into a mundane story, it escalated. The sorcerers that lived in seclusion on the other side of town got tipped off. They made a prophecy.

A prophecy about you.

You know the story that you should have had. You were supposed to be a lonely transfer student with only one shy friend. You were supposed to be excited when the sorcerers came to recruit you into their epic fight against evil. You were supposed to learn their spells and their ways and forget all about the normal life you once led.

Jeanine noticed the hooded figures first. She intercepted them before they could get to you. That’s what finally caught the magic’s attention. Here was a girl who would do anything for her friend. A beautiful girl with quick wits and an amazing loyalty.

Here was an obstacle that the sorcerers had to kill. Here was the final piece of your tragic backstory.

But Jeanine didn’t let that happen. Quietly, desperately, she worked to change your fate and, in exchange, sealed hers.

There is a reason that there aren’t any prophecies in town anymore. Jeanine’s sacrifice not only saved you, but everybody else from that fate. She gave her life to seal the sorcerers here, in these woods where they’d meant to kill her and take you away.

What you’re doing for Caiden isn’t like what Jeanine did for you. He’s not in danger of being whisked off into another dimension or being tortured by power you’ll never understand. He’s on a tennis team he doesn’t want to be on. But you’re teaching him like Jeanine taught you.

You just hope he sticks around long enough to learn.

----------------------------.

You get to school early on Monday. It’s against the rules, but you can’t help it. You need to know how Nationals went. You need to know if Mark won the title for them or Caiden.

You see the back of Caiden’s head in the hall outside of class. Your heart races. “Caiden!”

Caiden turns. When he sees it’s you, he raises two fingers in the air. “We won!”

Your heart sinks. “No, I’m so sorry—”

“I mean, I didn’t win,” Caiden says. He gestures down at himself. “Look! No tennis uniform!”

For the first time you realize that Caiden’s wearing normal clothes. Black cargo pants, a Henley, and boots. Normal clothes might be a bit of an overstatement.  You try to focus on the positive. “Nice job! Did Mark score the last goal?”

“Not how that works in tennis, but kind of,” Caiden says, grinning. “He got scouted. That means he’s the main character right? He’s safe?”

“Yeah.” You eye Caiden’s necklaces. He’s still got the wolf pendant and the shark tooth on, but now the ancient coin has been replaced by a tiny sword. “I don’t think you’re in the clear yet though.”

Caiden deflates. “What? Why not? Can you see something on me?” He turns in a circle as if looking for note that says main character stuck to his back.

“You’re still way too cool,” you say. You point at the sword necklace. “Where did you get that?”

“Found it on the ground,” he says.

“Oh my god, take that off right now,” you say.

You’ve really got your work cut out for you.

 -----End----

Thanks for reading! I love writing semi-meta stories like this and you know it’s not the last you’ll see of Narrative Town!

I post all my stories early on Patreon (X) Join me there to read stories a week ahead of time and to see exclusive continuations!

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Summary: When Shireen's city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren't any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.

Thanks again for reading :)

#my writing #second person #long post #meta writing #of a kind #Caiden is Too Cool #Fern is a mother hen

[mecthology]

Langsuyar from Malay folklore.

Langsuyars are different from the pontianak, which is the ghost of the child who has died at or before birth. They take the form of a beautiful woman, with long black hair that reaches her ankles, although they may also take the form of a floating woman's head, from which entrails and a spinal column hang -- thus, similar in appearance to the penanggalan, although different in nature. Langsuyars have also been described as having incredibly long nails, hands extending down to her feet, and wearing robes. They prey on humans, preferring the blood of newborn male children, but also consuming newborn female children.

The langsuyar is associated with certain trees and the parasitic fern "sakat," which grows in dark green clusters and is said to be a common resting place. Woodcutters that harvest wood from the poisonous Rengas trees in Malaysia must undertake elaborate exorcisms to counteract being haunted by langsuyars and other spirits. Langsuyars are also associated with a nighthawk or owl, which is said to perch on the roof of the house while a pregnant mother or infant are being attacked by the vampire. In some traditions, langsuyars take the form of a night bird, and it is believed that the hoot of an owl is the cry of a woman seeking her lost child.

The rest of the tribe can prevent a deceased woman from returning as a langsuyar by putting glass beads in the mouth of the corpse, a hen's egg under the armpits, and needles in the palms of the hands. It is believed that if this is done, the deceased woman cannot become a langsuyar since she cannot open her mouth to shriek or wave her arms and open and close her hands while flying.

In the folklore of the Sakai, an indigenous people in the northern Malay Peninsula, a langsuyar can be repelled by using charms or chants against the demon. The leaves of the gandasuli are also considered to be a powerful charm against langsuyars.

Follow @mecthology for more myths and lore. DM for pic credit or removal. https://www.instagram.com/p/CkwEPWMIlHl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#Malay #folklore #malaysia #vampire #undead #mecthology #supernatural #dark #creepy #revenant #follow

[pleistocene-pride]

The wild turkey is an upland ground bird native to North America, one of two extant species of turkey the other being the Ocellated turkey. It is the ancestor to the domestic turkey, which was originally derived from a southern Mexican subspecies of wild turkey. They prefer to dwell in open deciduous woodlands, but can also be found in mixed and coniferous forests, tall grasslands, croplands, orchards and marshes. Wild turkeys are gregarious birds that travel in small or medium-sized flocks, usually with one dominant male and up to 20 or more hens that make up its harem. During the winter, multiple flocks may join up and create large groupings of 150 or more birds. Wild turkeys are omnivorous with there diet consisting of acorns, nuts, fruit, seeds, pine cones, roots, leaves, ferns, insects, carrion, and small amphibians/ reptiles. Wild turkeys are themselves preyed upon by foxes, coyotes, hawks, owls, eagles, lynx, bobcats, cougars, bears, alligators, and crocodiles. Wild turkey show marked sexual dimorphism with females being smaller at around 2.5 to 3ft in length, and 5 to 12lbs in weight compared to males at around 3.5 to 4ft in length and 11 to 25lbs in weight. This makes the wild turkey the the heaviest member of the order Galliformes. Despite their weight, wild turkeys, unlike their domesticated counterparts, are agile, fast fliers. Both sexes have long reddish-yellow to grayish-green legs. The body feathers are generally blackish and dark, sometimes grey brown overall with a coppery sheen that becomes more complex in adult males. Adult males, called toms or gobblers, have a large, featherless, reddish head, red throat, and red wattles on the throat and neck. Male also have a long, dark, fan-shaped tail and glossy bronze wings. The breeding season can last from late February to early August.  During such time males try to mate with as many partners as they can, and display for females and other males by puffing out their feathers, spreading out their tails and dragging their wings, gobbling, and drumming/ booming, this behavior is most commonly referred to as strutting. After mating hens will lay 10-14 eggs in a nest made of shallow dirt depressions engulfed with woody vegetation. After a 28 day incubation period, the eggs hatch and the chicks are ready to leave there nest and follow there mothers nest in about 12–24 hours and will stay with there mother from about 4 months. Under ideal conditions a wild turkey will reach sexual maturity at around 1 to 2 years, and may live up to 10 years.

#wild #turkey #birdlovers #bird #pleistocene #pride #extant #animal #thanksgiving

[anoras]

fin kodaav rating: gen words: 1.7k

In which Tegan makes a friend.

– – –

“I’m going to collect fiddleheads, Mama!” Tegan called across the yard, toward her mother, laden with a basket of eggs, “And mushrooms!”

“Be back before dark,” Sian didn’t even look up from her work, deft fingers snatching an egg from one of the nests before the hen even had a chance to peck at her, “Emyr and your father are still off bringing the cattle in, and I want your help with the rabbits we trapped yesterday.  I’m thinking of keeping a pair for breeding.”

“Alright,” With a final wave – one that her mother ignored, her attention now fixed on one of their hens pecking furiously at her ankle – she was off, bounding now into the woods that bordered the southern edge of their farm.

Along with the cloth-lined basket Tegan carried, she also carried her bow and quiver slung across her back, and two knives hung at her hip; one, a small but sharp knife for foraging, and the other, a larger hunting blade with a carved antler handle.  Never had she needed to use it for protection while she wandered the forest, but better, she thought, to be safe than sorry.  Her father, Eskil, had given her the knife as a name-day gift a number of years previously, the blade made at the smithy in Falkreath, though he had carved the handle himself from an antler of an elk her mother had shot from the garden.

The handle itself was mostly smooth, with delicate knotwork carved around the base of the pommel.  She loved the knife, almost entirely refusing to use it for the first year it was in her possession, so worried was she about anything happening to it.  It wasn’t until Sian taught her how to properly sharpen it with the fine whetstone that she grew the courage to use it on the rabbits she trapped with her brother.

She patted the knife absently where it rested, sheathed, against her hip, a comfortable weight for the teenaged girl.  The trail she trod now wound serpentine through the old-growth trees; thin, but well-worn by years of herself and Emyr scampering through to forage.  There was a place she tended, year by year, where the ferns grew lush and full, and in springtime she could fill her entire basket without making a dent in the quantity of ferns.  There would be plenty left for the years to come.

As she trod the winding trail, she scoured the undergrowth for mushrooms, searching for the wrinkled, pockmarked texture of the morels she knew grew along her trail.  They were one of the reasons the trails wound as it did, turning around trees and twisting wildly to meet every patch and clearing of edible plants that she and Emyr had discovered.  They were both masterful at foraging, and at the hunting of small forest animals – though Emyr had lapsed out of practice in the years past, now that their father enjoyed his help more and more with the cattle.

They were out there now, their small, spritely horses picking through the rocky foothills where they grazed the cattle.  She missed her twin, missed their years of running wild through the woods and foothills, before their parents began to demand the full scope of their time in the running of the farm.  (And sometimes, in the quiet of night, she wished it had been her that accompanied her father to tend the cattle).

With a quiet sigh, she bent to cut a chanterelle from the ground, its buttery yellow form partially hidden behind a large tree root.  There were a handful of others growing alongside it, and she cut them too, depositing the mushrooms into her basket before moving on.

She wandered her trail, the afternoon light diffused through the canopy into a golden, dappled glow.  She was in no hurry to reach her destination, not with the spring beauty that surrounded her and the prospect of work waiting for her at home.  Every so often she would stoop to cut a mushroom for her basket before continuing on, and soon there was a comfortable pile in her possession – enough that she should probably stop collecting them if she wanted enough space in her basket for the fiddleheads.

All too soon, the fern clearing came into view, the trees parting like an opened door into the circle of lush, green, moss and still tightly curled young ferns.  As beautiful as it always was; brilliant and resplendent in green and golden light.

But there was something strange about it, as she picked her way across the clearing, careful not to injure the young moss that carpeted the forest floor, a smell that seemed to crawl into her nose and stay there.  She had smelled it before, many times, though without even seeing it she knew that this was far larger than the fox whose thawed carcass she and Emyr had found at the beginning of spring.  They had taken it home, and its bones were buried in the garden to help the flesh rot away.  She wanted to make something with the bones, once they were clean.

With the smell as strong as it was, however, this must be significantly larger; an elk perhaps, or if she were lucky, a wolf, with fur still good to skin and tan.

However, no guess could have prepared her for the bear that lay just beyond the clearing.

She was massive, with paws as big as Tegan’s head and claws each the size of her thumb.  Her thick brown-black fur was matted with dried blood, and Tegan could still see where it had pooled on the ground around her.

“You poor beast,” She murmured, “It must have been quite the battle to do you in like this.  Were you protecting something?”

She reached down to pat the creature’s head, a sad sigh escaping her lips.  They were dangerous, of course, but it seemed such a tragedy for a beast like this to die so ignobly, done in by another animal and left to rot.  At least her final resting place was beautiful.

It was during this quiet moment, her hand on the dead beast’s hand and a small prayer to the divines on her lips, that she heard the whimpering.  The muffled, quiet whine nearly drowned out by the rustling of leaves and the crunch of the underbrush.  It sounded so very small beneath the undergrowth, and it pulled her, reeling her in as if on a fishing line.  Leaves parted beneath her hands, pushing back the brush, not even realizing she was kneeling now – the basket sat at the edge of the clearing – until she felt the cub tumble into her lap.

Wide eyes blinked up at her from the cub’s tiny face, the little creature looking like little more than a bundle of fluffy black fur.  He couldn’t have been more than two months old at the most, and even that was generous.  “Was that your mama?” She whispered, gazing down at the tiny cub already rubbing his head against her hand.  “She must have loved you so much… and now you’re all alone.”

He made a soft chirping noise at her, little head tilted as he stared at her, as if listening to and understanding the words she spoke.

She let her hand rest on his head, her thumb stroking his forehead in gentle, rhythmic circles.  He was just so small, so young; he wouldn’t be able to survive on his own if she just left him here.  He’ll die, she thought, just like his mother.

Her heart ached for him, for the little orphaned cub in her lap.  Maybe – no, she couldn’t, her parents would never let her keep him, not with the livestock to think about.  But she couldn’t, just couldn’t, leave him.  She could take care of him; feed him goat’s milk from a rag, then hunt rabbits and catch salmon when he gets older.  Already she was planning, the wheels turning in her mind, all the ways she could convince her family to let her keep the cub (not least of which was that a name had already sprung, fully formed, into her mind; Svir).

“I’ll take you back with me,” She said, “Mama will have to let me keep you.”

Svir merely chirped in response.

For the next hour, she worked, filling her basket with foraged fiddleheads while Svir sat patiently under a sapling, tied to it by her apron strings, just in case.  He was so calm, only pulling at the tie when she got close to him, as though he had misjudged the distance between them in an attempt to nuzzle at her legs, mumbling and chirping his frustration into the moss.

When she was finished, she carried him back under her arm, listening to his little whining chirps as he batted at butterflies and the branches that stretched over the footpath.  It was near dusk by the time she got back to the homestead, and her father and brother were already home, their horses stabled next to her mother’s ornery mare and her equally ornery foal, Khela.  Soon she’d be able to start training her to accept a halter, though it would take at least another year before she was old enough to ride.  The thought crossed her mind that Khela and Svir would get to grow up together, and she let out a small giggle.

The thought, however, lasted only a moment before she was distracted by her mother’s voice and the sight of the small Bosmer woman silhouetted in the doorway.  “Tegan!  You’re late!  Emyr and your father are already back and –” Though Tegan couldn’t make out her mother’s exact expression, it seemed to her as though she were looking at her with a great deal of confusion, her head tilted to the side, “Is that a – Tegan, did you bring home a bear?”

She grinned at little sheepishly, scampering nimbly across the yard, “Don’t get mad I – His name is Svir – yes, I already named him – and his mother is dead, and he was all alone out there, he would have died, and he’s just a baby!  I promise I’ll do all the work, and take care of him, and train him, and hunt with him when he grows up, and –” She cut herself off from her rambling with a deep breath, a pause that her mother took full advantage of.

Sian sighed, “Just keep him away from the livestock.”

#skyrim oc #skyrim #ldb #mara.pdf #tegan #this takes place like.. 10 yrs before the game starts #tegan's 15

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

Introduction time! Gonna be a huge photo dump for the first intro, but after this I’ll only be posting photos when there are visible changes or updates to my plants 🪴

To start off these are two lovely succulents I impulse bought from the grocery store, because the poor delosperma (left) had been left out in torrential rain with soil that had almost no drainage, and the sempervivum (right, also called hen and chicks) had FIVE chicks all crowded in there and again really damp soil with poor drainage, so I separated the four largest chicks but am leaving the smallest one with mom for a little longer. The day after I got the delosperma into more appropriate soil it started to bloom for me!

Next we have a very leggy boi, my hemp plant (left), grown from a seed I found in with the hemp mix I put on my cereal! I can’t really use him for anything but he’s so tall and loves to climb so I just think he’s lovely to look at. In the middle we have my seedling experiment tray, I literally just throw seeds/plants in here to see if they’ll sprout or root and some do! I’ve got four mystery sunflower seedlings curtesy of my bird seed mix, a baby fern with a tiny bit of root rescued from someone’s garden clippings, and a spinach plant that I didn’t have room for and wasn’t doing great, so I just plopped him in here and mist him occasionally and he seems to like it? He’s grown since I moved him away from the other sprouts. And finally my random prop tray! Some of these I’m like 99.9% sure won’t propagate, but no harm in waiting to see. Includes broken leaves from re-potting, fallen leaves from grocery store succulents, and some leaf cuttings from a friend’s plant collection!

These are my Russian Mammoth sunflowers on the left (I had them in too low light to start so they got very tall poor things, but I moved them into better light and now they’re putting their energy into pushing out their true leaves.) And beside them on the right are dollar store flower seedlings that I promptly threw out the package for and now have no recollection of what they actually are. Oops.

My little kitchen table-top garden with my spider plant (front left) who is in a pot that I know is a little cramped for her but I just love love love it, and it’s from a local woman owned company. Behind her I have my two very scraggly poinsettias from Christmas’s past, I don’t like tossing plants so I’ve just kept these guys barely alive and chilling on my kitchen table for three (left) and two years (right). In the right photo we have some spinach sprouts, a tiny African violet that split off from its mother plant (almost killed her too, they were so root bound, which is something African violets usually tolerate decently well.) In the heart we have my beloved young black prince echeveria (this was a dollar store container my mom was going to toss, instead I stabbed some drainage holes in the bottom and I think it’s a super cute pot, I’m going to do more with it at some point.) In the very middle in the jar lid are some cacti pups that one of my bedroom plants pushed out. These things are insane, they propagate like nothing I’ve seen before and are honestly impossible to kill in my experience. They were a gift from a neighbour and I have no clue what they actually are, so if someone knows please enlighten me, I’ve had them for years now and know nothing. In the very front of course is my seed starters, can’t remember what I planted where tbh but I woke up this morning to the first two tiny sprouts!

I’m about to hit the image limit so I’m going to introduce my last two in a separate post.

#Tumblr is being f-ing annoying and messing with the formatting on this post #it also keeps re-shuffling the photos?? I hope it doesn’t do that when I actually post #if the photos don’t seem to match the caption blame Tumblr #plant introduction #long post #succulents #personal #gardening #plants #novice gardener #just realized I should have a tag for my plant updates so I can track them #my plants #yeah that’s fine

[libidomechanica]

Thirty-nine

Who measured its lines or people’s occupation.     Because to turn again,— so beauty. I, being back into the dull night by special,     that none but a buzzing by my mouth of moss to my face of all the ship, and then its     birth to warm and I cannonade as terrible as they intervening misery!     And every early summer in groups

the chase, we played about at a connoisseur; but     foolish the heaven’s gate, yet often brought, like seraph’s winner. Charm to pry, to laughters     of dream I glance to church the spot will the will, all price, when in my brow he still we move     to shake all will be waded, there mine will cruel madness of knotted red with outward show’d     there came: king, drown’d, and I switched the princed

from heaven on the ocean, one on thy mouth.     I am all about a woman, natures make and added the midmost favour’d; and,     and you grow whither souls in her mournful face. The waters after; the dead, forgetters,     meet your exceeding pale. The Centaur! A maid, ever them with labyrinth of late, by     whom king is form by silence and her:

strong, show’d the feverish power? There he meets the     comes to her; she’d said, in partridges, hurling child, what your hand the trace, and a good fame     marsh so to be borne? And when still from his baby on the laughters of hot desert wild     was beleagued you, so long, he tripp’d light; sleeping sorrowful noise and there! Thing thus man-     girdled her face; the demons of the

blood by that herself with these last he serpent the     river nook to catch like them cough open doth where I woke Endymion, ’tis mute in my     very looks sae proud brow’s best find out here, the language woo: the vulture: such such peers in     my veines with broad as the snow we planet flowers as he threshold, he demons of     thy mother ones the Turkish phrase offence,

therefore? More than fierce heats of kissing nights, rooks,     pawns; they who fought a glimpse of both sing, dear her fingers sent from distribute taken at     them find herself here; and laugh’d O more the wild; whene’er reproduced a Special, the Town.     And thee that is that it blushed in the pink of the slumber death repent; my best I state!     From Horace and shining, no authentic

mother’s arrow and information; if matter     to move ourself the dryness today when we felt their long horses, girls, and in his     mould reverse requites. Or at the puppets, Man in his bought in this, the freckled all,     and Glory’s van. The other hands are nearer that was grave it out dispense with fierce! Of     spite; and who teaches to bliss’ in fault,

and arms failed helpe reject, their cousin with flowery     gleams, lie on Mother, her silver where shadows deep dell be not, for that. And bound our     spirits thro’ the lady’s gentle force content. I must see, to the moth, this visage all     her pursues her young Bacchus on the voices which the strikes on the head. Are further back.     Do smile: his highest heart, you will, sultans

too great for that ye can this new and thus gentle     squeeze, warm Frenchmen, gallant instant ferns, and legitimate Alexander! But end     prolong them about there better near, be better the same marshal was what campaign till     that I write, but such declined, whether gulbeyaz’ brow: her bed, hollow the unpleasing, and     Juan, or are the sorrow seas! Within

these living in that give him worth, smiles at the taxes,     and her great oath thy divine point of fiery mightst thou devise, and blossoms on     their creed was begot: long as hens them fades away are sad bosom of the spongy clouds,     by many risks, yet men of breath! Some remembers there forest with muffling soft and     stony sleep sound. Sweet Aglaia, my one

cup I take. Began to every tree. Today when     all be that blazed between; but no doubt but I must not rate him on cloud … it must, faithful     in loves me; my tongue, sleep disclosed. Yet she, young: sweet life, nor can it? Who, in his worse than     I have a carve it, that in the more my spirit wrought me my stout galley-glades: her     The last hour of nature’s crescented.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #184 texts #ballad

[fernweh-writes]

Can I request the slashers with a reader with really watery eyes and whenever he/she/they blink it looks like their crying but their not and cause of that they constantly need water to drink? I have to deal with this when the pollens really bad where I live and I swear I'd be rich if i gain a dollar eachtime someone asks if I'm ok

Allergies are the worst as it is I can’t imagine having to deal with my eyes watering 24/7. Sorry this took so long to get to!

-Fern🌿

S/O With Bad Allergies

Michael Myers

Michael has a pretty good immune system and has never dealt with bad allergies. Guess he just got lucky. So seeing your eyes water so much just because of the pollen kind of freaks him out.

At first, he genuinely thought that you were crying. His first thought was that he was fixing to have to quickly take care of a new victim, assuming that someone has messed with you.

After you catch him staring though you quickly figure that he’s worried. You’ll have to reassure him multiple times that it’s just your allergies and that he won’t have to hunt anyone down today.

Still doesn’t believe that you aren’t crying until it continues over the course of a few days. Then he figures that it’s best to not let you get dehydrated. It may seem like Michael is never around but you’ll be finding glasses of water all over the house. It’s his way of reminding you to drink water.

Bo Sinclair

When Bo first catches you dabbing at your eyes with a tissue, of course his first thought is that you’re crying. His first instinct is to turn and run. Bo does care about you but he doesn’t handle crying people very well and all he can think about at that moment is making a getaway.

Sadly, you catch him before he can bolt. “Hey, Bo, do we have any more tissues? My allergies are killing me and my eyes won’t stop leaking.”

You have no clue how relived he is that your eyes are just watering from allergies and you’re not bawling. He can handle allergies better than he can crying, so don’t worry, Bo to the rescue!

When he brings you a box of tissues he also makes sure to bring you a bottle of water. Although his thoughts are less about you getting dehydrated from your eyes watering and more of just knowing that it’s good to drink water when you’re sick.

Vincent Sinclair

I still believe that Vincent has a lot of medical knowledge. So when he catches you wiping away at your eyes even though you’re not sobbing or sniffling he puts two and two together pretty quickly.

Because of this, he’s also pretty well at handling the situation. He’ll quickly return with allergy meds, a box of tissues, and of course water. Louisiana is already hot, he can’t have you getting dehydrated because of your allergies.

He keeps his brothers from giving you weird looks and asking questions as well. Vincent knows he hates being stared at and wouldn’t want his brothers to make you feel the same way. Besides, even if you were crying it’s none of their business.

Your his so it’s job to worry over you and take care of you not his brothers. Expect him to keep you close to him until you recover a little bit. He may be just a little bit possessive over you.

Brahms Heelshire

You freak him out a little bit when he first witnesses the symptoms of your allergies. Brahms has lived a very sheltered life and hasn’t been exposed to anyone being very sick so it’s something new for him.

When you reassure him that you’re not crying it’s just your allergies he’s just even more confused honestly. You’re really telling him plants made you cry? Brahms may be smart when it comes to literature and history but he’s hopeless with anything science related.

Still he does his best to help you out. He’ll be more lenient with the rule following and the schedule. Brahms might even be sweet enough to let you sleep in and rest some.

He’ll be easily frustrated by the fact you’re not taking care of him like normal though. Because of this you can still expect the occasional tantrum, however, luckily for you, it’s not directed at you and it’s Brahms not knowing how to deal with his frustration.

Thomas Hewitt

When he sees you and thinks you’re crying he freaks out. Immediately begins wondering what happened. Did you get hurt? Are you injured? Did Hoyt or Monty do something to you?

After explaining to him that you’re just dealing with really bad allergies he immediately takes you to Luda Mae. She always takes care of everyone when they’re sick, so surely she’ll know how to help you.

She’ll give you tea and send you up to bed to get some rest. Sends Thomas to keep an eye on you and makes sure he gets you to drink plenty of water. It’s already easy to get dehydrated in the Texas weather, much less with your eyes watering like crazy.

Thomas will stay by your side the entire time to make sure that you’re okay, fetching you anything you need or want. He’s worried sick about you and just wants you to feel better and not look so sad and miserable.

Billy Loomis

He’s scared of emotions and while he can play the part of very concerned boy next door type of boyfriend he really wants nothing more than to get the hell away before you notice him.

Even once you explain to him that no you’re not crying, he’s still not going to be much help. If you needed him to murder fight someone for you, then he could help. But a really bad case of allergies? Sorry, you’re on your own.

Still, if you insist of going somewhere he’s watching over you like a hawk. Billy will deter anyone from asking you if you’re okay, knowing that you hate being confronted about crying when really your eyes just won’t stop watering.

Still, he’s not stupid and pretty much forces you to drink water. It’s the closest thing you’re going to get to affection from him during this. He’s trying his best okay.

Stu Macher

Stu was most likely rambling on about who knows what when he looks up and you’re wiping away at all the tears on your face. The best response he can think of is a very uninterested, “what are you crying about?”

Much like Billy he’s not much help besides making sure you drink plenty of water.

He’s also more likely to make fun of you that anyone else. Billy keeps people from asking questions or making fun while Stu is the one asking questions and bullying you. He loves you but he’s not going to pass up the chance to pick on you.

Of course, he’ll stop if you tell him that it bother you but if you don’t speak up he’ll go on and on. If someone else tries to make fun of you though, then he just might start a fight. He can make fun of you, anyone else just has a death wish.

Asa Emory

Again, doesn’t do emotions. Asa doesn’t see himself as an emotional person and doesn’t do good at comforting others or dealing with their emotions. So when he sees what he thinks to be crying he’s going to try his hardest to sneak away.

Asa can be very awkward when it comes to trying to take care of you. He’s not sure what to do considering having a relationship with anyone is very foreign to him.

Still, you’re his responsibility and it’s his job to take care of you so he’ll do his best. Asa sends you constant reminders throughout the day to drink water so that you don’t get dehydrated. It’s best if you listen, cause even if he isn’t home all day, he’ll know. Asa always knows.

Jesse Cromeans

As soon as Jesse spots you he rushes over to figure out what’s wrong. Scooping you up into his arms, he’ll be checking over you to make sure you’re not injured.

Once you explain to him that it’s just your allergies he’s still going to be a big mother hen about the whole ordeal. Have you drank water? You can’t get dehydrated! You haven’t taken your allergy meds? He’ll stand over you to make sure that you take them.

He’s very protective so if he feels the need to he’ll have his medical team check in on you to make sure that it is just your allergies. Jesse just hates seeing you be miserable and will do anything in his power to help you.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher hcs #michael myers x reader #michael myers #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #stu macher x reader #stu macher #ghostface x reader #ghostface #asa emory x reader #asa emory #the collector x reader #the collector #jesse cromeans x reader #jesse cromeans #chromeskull x reader #chromeskull

[kumqu4t]

Ok so I just had a thought for creachur Y/N: So they can eat pretty much any plant. I'm talking able to digest HOLLY LEAVES and BARK straight off the plant and can eat poisonous mushrooms. HOWEVER, the company does not know this and one day Y/N is like "I'm REALLY hungry, I'm gonna get a snack" and everyone's like "sure thing kiddo" and she just grabs a fistful of leaves and starts stuffing them in her mouth and everyone panics because OH MAHAL Y/N NO YOU CANT EAT FERNS

@sleeplessdreamer14

(OKAY LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS NEVER HESITATE TO SEND ME Y/N HEADCANONS/RANDOM CONCEPTS BECAUSE THEY BRING ME SO MUCH JOY!!!! i love adding little input and reacting to them and stuff so yea!! it kinda takes the pressure off of writing serious stuff but also gives me inspiration)

AND OBVIOUSLY I LOVE THIS CONCEPT BECAUSE @beenovel YOU HAVE AMAZING HILARIOUS ADORABLE IDEAS so you just know i gotta elaborate on it ;)

CULTURAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS GIVE ME LIFE SO STRAP IN Y’ALL 🙌

okay first of all i am so soft for middle aged/older men calling younger children or teens “kiddo” it’s just so Domestic Dad ™

so in this scenario i imagine that the company is constantly concerned that y/n is not getting enough to eat

and so when y/n is being proactive and admitting they are getting a snack because they’re hungry the company is like: 😄👍

but when the company sees y/n stuffing WILD LEAVES into their mouth

panic ensues

dwarves are tripping over themselves trying to run over to help

everyone has resorted to yelling in khuzdul

a fire has been lit under thorin and dwalin’s asses because they are SPRINTING

you know when dog owners try to pry their dogs mouths open because they’re trying to eat chocolate or plastic or something?

yeah that’s what is happening rn

“Y/N IF YOU LET GO OF THE LEAVES WE WILL GIVE YOU EXTRA SOUP TONIGHT PLEASE”

“SWEET FUCKING MAHAL Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DOING”

“WE HAVE SURVIVED COUNTLESS ATTACKS BUT ITS GOING TO BE PLANTS THAT KILL Y/N”

“SPIT THEM OUT Y/N! NO!! SPIT THEM OUT NOW!”

bilbo is all flustered and worried

“come now y/n let’s be rational now! we can’t eat every plant we find- no matter how appetizing they may look. Y/N I SAID NO!!”

y/n is SO CONFUSED

just like ??????? wut ????

and in all the confusion and yelling and HANDS IN THEIR MOUTH they spit out the leaves

y/n: wtf guys!!! not cool!! let me feast in peace!!

dwalin is yelling about not being stupid and having a “feckin death wish”

thorin looks very angry and confused and is trying to pry the leaves out of y/n’s mouth

bilbo is smacking thorin’s arm and demanding he “do something!!!” while also somehow scolding y/n

fili is beyond concerned

kili almost went into cardiac arrest and is very frantic

fee and kee’s big brother mode has been ACTIVATED

balin looks incredibly out of his element here,, poor guy very worried- he is too old for this shit

oin is already preparing a remedy

he is also too old for this shit

gloin’s face is red and he is pleading with y/n to “stop this foolishness this instant!”

dori is being (let’s all say it together. i know you know it)… a MOTHER HEN!!

#helicopterparent

nori is absolutely dumbfounded and has no idea what to do but he is trying his best

ori, knowing the vast dangers of poisonous or inedible plants, is on the verge of tears

he is frantically flipping through his notes to see what the protocol is for this situation (spoiler: there is none)

bofur is yelling A LOT and wringing his hat

bifur is also yelling a lot and waving his arms around (“SOUND THE ALARMS”)

bombur is horrified and fearing for y/n’s life (and taste buds)

time skip to after everything has been explained and the company has been appeased

(which takes a lot of time and the confirmation from gandalf that y/n is not about to drop dead or contract a serious illness)

thorin grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “confounding creachurs going to drive me to an early grave”

dori almost faints with relief

everyone watches y/n very carefully when they eat dinner that night

fili and kili snuggle y/n in between them that night and hold them extra tight

thorin huffs in annoyance and exhaustion after the catastrophe that will henceforth be referred to as “The Leaf Incident”

but he gives you a forehead kiss nonetheless before tucking his three unofficial children into their bedrolls

dwalin keeps watch that night because this rattled him

HELP IM SOFT AGAIN

anyways yes i love this so much

and if anyone wants to add on to this PLEASE DO IT MAKES ME SO SO HAPPY

(also:

the company in mirkwood: okay but y/n isn’t going to starve because look at all the plants so no worries 👍👍👍👍👍)

#erins hobbit headcannons #erins hobbit ramblings #creachur y/n #these are so comforting to imagine and write #asks like these are my favorite things #they’re like little gifts #writing these is literally a stress reliever

[lover-of-skellies]

So a new update, I got some more turkeys!

I got a bourbon red Tom and a royal palm hen, along with their three children, and here they are!

Now you may be thinking, ‘wait a minute fern, that’s a really small box for two giant turkeys and their three gremlin children.’, and you’re right! It is really small for two giant turkeys and their three gremlin children, but they’re only going to be staying there for today while I clean out the quarantine spot for them, I currently already have a chicken in quarantine and didn’t expect to have any new turkeys, but here I am, five extra turkeys to add to the flock which are now named Tom the father, Jerry the mother, and Tweety, Sylvester and Spike, the three gremlin children, which are all respectively named after looney toon characters

Ahhhh, nice one, broseph X3 that's pretty awesome!

I've heard that turkeys have a questionable temperament, so how you work with a total of five of them is beyond me :P also,, with the way you typed the ask and worded everything, I dunno why, but I essentially read it in the voice of that one dude who calls himself Uncle Ben and runs some kinda urban rescue ranch

#justalonelyfern #asks #b irbs #big birbs #I would not be able to work with turkeys #they're big and they give me anxiety #but hey #i can still appreciate them at least #XP

[platonic-prompts]

Creatures from Folklore: Slavic Region A-D

You ever need different creatures to base things off of, or just want some legends for a setting? Or heck, you ever just want to chuck a creature at someone and say you’ll figure it out? Well, do I have the posts for you. This one will focus on the Slavic Region but I’ll make more at a later date

Ala are considered to be demons of bad weather in several folklore, including that of Bulgarians, Macedonians, and Serbs. Their main purpose is to lead thunderclouds that produce hail towards fields, vineyards, or orchards to either destroy the crops or to loot and take them. They are very voracious and really like to eat children. Though one shouldn’t assume they limit their tastes to Earth, no. They sometimes try to devour the sun and moon which lead to eclipses and if they succeed it means the end of the world. People who encounter one may find their mental and physical health as well as their lives at risk. It is, however, possibly to gain her favor by approaching with trust and respect. These good relationships can be very beneficial since she (the ala) can make those with her favor wealthy and save their lives if they are in danger. Ala can take on many different forms: black wind, giant creatures with no distinct form, a monster either humanlike or snake like witha  huge mouth, a female dragon, a raven, various human and animal shapes. Ala can also possess people’s bodies. They live in the clouds or in lakes, springs, hidden remote places as well as caves, inhospitable mountains, forests, or even a huge tree. Usually hostile towards humans, they have powerful enemies capable of defeating them like the dragons.

Alkanost have an incredible voice, capable of making anyone who hears her song might forget everything in their search for paradise. A creature of good who resides in the garden of the gods or whatever version of heaven required, the alkanost has the head and bust of a woman and the rest of the body is that of a bird. Sometimes this creature lays eggs which assist in the changing of winter to spring. Basically she wouldn’t sit on her eggs just dump them into the Ocean-Sea and when they reached the bottom the weather would turn fair. Though i think that takes her out of the running for parenting awards.

Anchutka is a small malevolent spirit, residing most often in water or a swamp. Even without wings, it is capable of flight. One of its nicknames is the one without heels. This is a common theme to look for, as oftentimes evil forces have a limp. Though in some storied this spirit has lost their heels because they got bitten off by a wolf. This spirit is often a sidekick to a water spirit called Vodyanoy, and as such you should never say its name aloud since it will always show up.

Aspid, a type of dragon with a beak and other birdlike elements, resides primarily in the mountains, preferring solitude. When it invades a region, nearly always it caused universal devastation.

Baba Yaga: I’m pretty sure a lot of people know about Baba Yaga, the witch who lives in a hut with chicken legs and goes around in a mortar and pestle. She does carry a broom though, but she only uses it to sweep away her tracks.

Bannik is a spirit who rarely does any good for anyone. A mischievous spirit that has the appearance of an old man with long claws, he’s a spirit that inhabits the banya (steamhouse). Whenever people bathed in the banya, they would always leave on the third or fourth session to let Bannik have his privacy. They would leave him offerings of soup and regularly thank him. Bannik had the power to tell the future and if asked a question he would softly touch the askers back if it was a good future or flay it if it was a not so good future. Oh and Bannik, when angry, would claw off the skin of those who annoyed him. The banya was also the place of Russian childbirth, so there were measures taken to keep him from interfering. Part of the midwife’s job was to keep him away. And with good reason. Legends say that he ate or flayed children. So therefore the midwife would dip stones in the water and throw them in the corner to distract the steamhouse spirit.

Bauk hide in dark places and holes and abandoned houses. There they wait to grab, take away, and devour their victims. They have a clumsy gait and can be scared away by light and noise.

Babay, possibly the same thing as the bubak, isn’t often described so children will come up with what is most terrible for them. But despite this, Baby has been described as a black and crooked old man. When he is descibed he tends to have some traits such as muteness, lacking arms, or walking with a limp. He carries with him a bag and a cane. Baby lives in a forest or a swamp or a garden only to come out at night to walk the streets and scoop up the children he meets. He will walk close to windows and watched the children sleep. If they aren’t he’ll scare them with noises. Or sometimes he even hides under kids beds to take them away if they get up.

Błędnica is a forest demoness, who leads people astray before leaving her victims alone in the midst of the forest to die of starvation or be eaten by animals. She is usually described as a young and pretty girl. The only way to chase her away is to use strong spells or to sacrifice something at home or during your hunt.

Blud is a fairy in Slavic mythology. An evil deity who causes disorientation and leads a person around and around aimlessly.

Bukavac lives in lakes and pools, coming out at night to make a loud noise. A six-legged monster with gnarled horns, it would jump people and animals and strangle them.

Bubak is often represented as a scarecrow with a skeleton as frame, which is connected with darkness, it is a type of boogeymen used to scare children. The skeleton often is describes as wearing a heavy black coat where it hides the children it steals.

Cikavac, a mythical creature from Serbian mythology and it kinda feels like a basilisk but way weirder. This thing is a bird that has a long beak and a pelican-like sack. You can acquire one at the low low price of your sanity and clear face. For you see, in order to get one, you need to take an egg from a black hen which a woman now needs to carry under her armpit for 40 days ( is now a good time to note that chicken eggs hatch after 21 days or so) and one cannot confess, cut nails, wash their face, or pray. After that the cikavac would suck the honey from other people’s beehives and suck milk from other peoples cows and then bring it back to their owner. It would fulfill its owner’s wishes and it would allow its owner to understand the animal language.

Chort, a demon or a humanlike spirit in Slavic folk tradition.  They are not exactly evil characters. Yes they try to trick people into selling them their souls in exchange for useless gifts. Yes those people are carried off into hell. But they are sometimes tricked into doing such things as building castle walls in a day. Sometimes is depicted as trying to bring evil characters to hell. A small, hairy man with a tail, horns, and one or two hooves. But due to shapeshifting abilities, the chort is able to appear in nicer forms and tries to trick people while in them. Though these transformations aren’t and can’t be complete, so there’s a way to know if one is dealing with a chort whether it be by small horns in curly black hair or a hoofed leg hidden within high boots. Though they share similarities, a chort is not the devil.

Čuma, aka kuga, is a personification of the plague in Serbo-Croation myths. Typically appears as an old woman wearing white, though in some cases has been depicted as a young woman. Direct mention of them were avoided and were usually referred to by godmother or aunty. According to belief, they lived in a far away land where they came from to infect people. Due to their hatred of dirtiness, if they found a dirty household they would be eager to infect it. Due to this, if a plague appeared,every house and its occupants must be thoroughly cleansed. In addition one could make offerings to of food, clean water, basil, and a comb.

Domovoi are household protectors, generally seen as kind spirits though they would harass the family they protect if said family was rude or unclean. This usually took the form of pulling small pranks until the family corrected their behavior. While domovoi are shape shifters, most depictions show them as small, bearded masculine creatures which are reminiscent of hobgoblins. In order to complete his chores and to fulfill his duty of protecting the house, the domovoi would assume the shape of the head of the household, sometimes working in the yard while the real head of household was asleep. (Guess spirits don’t have to worry about identity theft charges). They were also capable of turning into animals, rarely taking the form of a dog or a cat. Another facet of the domovoi was their ability to act as an oracle. Predictions are as follows

Dancing and laughing= Good fortune would come

Rubbed the bristles of a comb= a wedding would happen soon

Extinguished candles= Misfortune would fall upon the household.

Dziwożona, a type of female swamp demon from Slavic mythology, sometimes called Mamuna or Bognika, who lived in the thickets near rivers and streams and lakes. Thought to appear with foul weather around trees and swamps, they are known for being malicious and dangerous, and usually were previously living humans. Several types of people would be at risk of turning into one after death, such as: midwives, old maids, unmarried mothers, pregnant women who die before giving birth, and abandoned children who were born out of wedlock. Some depictions include an ugly, old woman who had a hairy body, long straight hair, and I quote “breasts so huge she uses them to wash her clothes”. I don’t know what that actually means and I don’t want to find out. She also wore a red hat with a fern twig attached. In case she wasn’t weird enough, she’d watch women with their little children.  Just chilling around making the kid sick and making schemes to get the mother away from the kid when she’d replace the kid with one of her own, a foundling/changeling.

#i spent 5 hours on this #you better appreciate me lookigng through a bunch of stuff only to find exactly what was on wikipedia #info post #not a prompt #Creatures from folklore vol I #that's what im gonna call this part #part 1 of...idk 3 4 or 5

[livingcorner]

Safe Aviary Plants and Toxic Plants for Birds@|what plants can i put in an outdoor aviary@|@|24

Plants not only add aesthetic value to an otherwise sterile-looking enclosure, but they also provide a more natural, engaging, and secure environment for the inhabitants to enjoy. Using plants to create visual barriers within the flight may help reduce aggression among cagemates by providing objects for the birds to hide behind.5 This in turn helps to make the birds feel more secure, and may therefore result in reduced stress levels. Foliage in the cage gives the birds something to occupy themselves with–birds often chew on, play within, and even build nests out of plants placed in their living space.

For this reason, care must be taken when selecting plants to decorate a flight. Both live and fake plants may be used, but all parts of the plant must be safe and nontoxic. The best fake plants to use are constructed of untreated silk and plastic. Make sure the silk plants do not have any components that may be easy for a bird to consume, tangle itself in, get caught on, or stuck by. Treated wood baskets and paper plants may be hazardous choices and are not recommended for decorating flights. Two benefits of using silk plants are: 1) they are not as easily destroyed by the birds, and 2) they can be scrubbed clean and disinfected as needed.

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Live plants tend to demand more upkeep and may need to be replaced more frequently, as finches often love to pick them apart. Try to obtain plants that have not been sprayed with any pesticides or chemicals, and be sure to rinse the plants off before placing them in and around the flight. Do not add any fertilizers to the soil (they are toxic);6 if fertilizers are already present in the soil, repot the plant with uncontaminated soil. Leaving each plant in its pot is suggested, in case a plant dies and needs to be removed.

Helpful Hints41

Placement Plantings should be spaced appropriately to allow room for flight paths and to permit the birds to access to the floor of the enclosure. Walk-in enclosures should also have planned pathways for birdkeeper access. Be careful to provide climbing vines with trellis to support the weight of their growth; otherwise they could break the aviary mesh and allow escape of the birds.

Selection Aside from ensuring that the plant(s) you have selected are non-toxic, try to avoid purchasing plants which are tall and rapidly-growing as these will require constant pruning. In addition to considering what plants are best suited for your area, don’t forget to also consider the needs of the birds. Avadavats and Munias enjoy climbing small bamboos and grasses, for example, Munias and Mannikins prefer to weave their nests into grass clumps, and Weavers need palm leaves and broad-leafed grasses for nesting material.

Timing of Live Plantings Plants should be added to the enclosure as it is being completed. The plants should be allowed to grow sufficiently before adding the birds; this way, the plants will be better able to withstand being nibbled on. Ideally plants should produce their densest foliage while the birds are nesting.

Safe Aviary Plants25,17

When choosing plants for your aviary, consult a botanist or experienced gardener who can help you select plants which are suitable for planting in your locale (considering your hardiness zone, soil type, sun exposure, etc.). Below are some options which have been listed as safe for birds.

Note: Please be aware that roses and bougainvillea have thorns.

Outdoor Plants

Trees & Shrubs Acacia Almond Arbutus Ash

Aspen Autumn olive Bayberry Birch Bladdernut Blueberry Camellia Cottonwood Dogwood Elm Fir (balsam, douglas, subalpine, white) Forsythia Fuchsia Guava Hawthorn Larch Madrona Magnolia Mango (zone 9+) Manzanita Mountain ash Nectarine Papaya (zone 10+) Pear (as long as the seeds aren’t eaten) Pine (ponderosa, spruce, Virginia, white) Pittosporum (zone 9+) Poplar Pyracantha Raspberry Rose Rubus odoratus Spruce (black, Norway, red, white) Viburnum White poplar

Vines Bougainvillea (can also be grown as shrub or small tree) Grape vine Russian Vine (Polygonum baldschuanicum)

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Grasses & Herbs Bamboo Oregano Rosemary Thyme

Ground Cover and Short Plants Baby’s tears aka Polka Dot Plant (Helxine soleirolii) Chickweed Creeping jenny (Lysimachia)

Wild passerines built a nest in a hanging petunia.

Dandelion Marigold Mother of pearl Nasturtium (zone 9+) Petunia Piggyback begonia (Begonia hispida variant Cucullifera) Piggyback plant Plectranthus (zone 9+) Sedum Thistle White clover

Indoor Plants (Safe Houseplants) and Tropical Plants

African violet (Saintpaulia spp., Episcia reptans) Aluminum plant (Pilea cadierei)

Bird’s Nest Fern (Asplenium nidus) Boston Fern (Nephrolepis exaltata) Bloodleaf Bromeliads Burro’s tail Cactus (except pencil, peyote, mescaline, candelabra) Christmas cactus (Schlumbergera bridgesii) Cissus: Danish ivy aka Grape Ivy (Cissus rhombifolia), Kangaroo vine (Cissus antarctica)

Emerald ripple peperomia

Flame nettle (Coleus sp.) Gold-fish plant Hens & chickens

Lipstick plant

Madagascar jasmine Monkey plant Nerve plant Palms:

Potted palms provide privacy around the nest.

Areca (Chrysalidocarpus lutescens)

Bamboo (Chamaedorea erumpens)

Butterfly Cane

Canary Island (Phoenix canariensis)

Date

European Fan (Chamaerops humilis)

Fishtail

Golden Feather

Paradise/Kentia (Howea foresterana)

Parlor (Chamaedorea elegans)

Lady (Raphis excelsa)

Madagascar

Miniature Fan

Phoenix

Pygmy Date

Robelein Lady

Sentry

Wine

Peacock plant (Calathea) Pepperomia (Pepperomia sp.) Prayer plant (Maranta leuconeura) Purple Passion aka Velvet Plant (Gynura aurantiaca) Spider plant (Chlorophytum comosum) Swedish ivy (Plectranthus verticillatus)

Wandering jew (Tradescantia sp.) including Giant white inch plant Wax plant (Hoya carnosa) Zebra plant (Aphelandra squarrosa)

Plants which Allow for Perching Dwarf or Hawaiian Schefflera (Schefflera arboricola) Umbrella tree/Schefflera (Brassaia actinophylla) False aralia

Toxic Plants

Plant toxicosis in birds occurs if they chew on or ingest toxic plants. The toxic reaction can be due to pesticide residues on the plants, or to toxins within the plants themselves. Birds which chew on toxic plants may develop oral irritation; if they ingest enough, systemic clinical signs can occur such as vomiting or diarrhea. There is likely significant species differences in sensitivity,16 and studies are lacking. However, plants which have been reported as toxic in some birds, or which are considered to be potentially toxic include:6,25,52,29,56,16,17,28

Common Name Scientific Name Poisonous Part Symptoms Aconite Aconitum sp. all parts Agapanthus Agapanthus sp. sap Amaryllis Amaryllidaceae bulbs American yew Taxus canadensis needles, seeds Apple seeds Apricot pits Arrowhead vine Syngonium podophyllum leaves Arum Lily Arum sp. all parts Autumn crocus Colchicum autumnale all parts Avocado Persea americana pits, skin, flesh Reduced activity, inability to perch, fluffing feathers, labored breathing, rapid death, generalized tissue congestion. Azalea Rhododendron occidentale leaves Balsam pear Memordica charantia seeds, fruit rind Baneberry Actaia sp. berries, roots Bay tree Laurus nobilis Beans all types if uncooked Belladonna Atropa belladonna all parts Bird of paradise Caesalpina gilliesii seeds Bishop’s weed Ammi majus Bittersweet nightshade Solanum dulcamara immature fruit Black locust Robina pseudoacacia bark, sprouts, foliage Blue-green algae Schizophycaea sp. some forms toxic Hepatotoxic, lethal respiratory arrest. Boxwood Buxus sempervirens leaves, stems Buckthorn Rhamnus sp. fruit, bark Burdock Arctium minus Buttercup Ranunculus sp. sap, bulbs Caladium Caladium sp. leaves Calla lily Zantedeschia aethiopica leaves Severe irritation of mucous membranes, edema & irritation may take weeks to subside; severe dyspnea; severe keratoconjunctivitis if plant juices contact eyes. Vomiting, diarrhea. Camel bush Trichodesma incanum Candelabra cactus Euphorbia lactea sap Castor bean or Castor oil plant Ricinus communis beans, leaves Vomiting, diarrhea (possibly bloody), necrosis of organs (liver, spleen, lymph nodes, stomach, intestine) in mammals. Chalice vine Solandra sp. all parts Cherry bark, twigs, leaves, pits Cherry laurel Prunus laurocerasus clippings release cyanide fumes Chinese evergreen Aglaonema modestum all parts Christmas candle Pedilanthus tithymaloides sap Chrysanthemum Chrysanthemum sp. leaves, stems, flowers Clematis Clematis sp. all parts Coffee bean Sesbania sp seeds Gastroenteritis, can be fatal. Hyperthermia, hypertension, hyperactivity, seizures, tachycardia. Coral plant Jatropha multifida seeds Cowslip Caltha polustris all parts Croton Codiaeum sp. sap Crown of thorns Euphorbia milii sap Daffodil Narcissus sp. bulbs Daphne Daphne sp. berries Datura Datura sp. berries Deadly amanita Amanita muscaria all parts Death camas Zygadenis elegans all parts Delphinium Delphinium sp. all parts Diffenbachia or Dumb cane Dieffenbachia picta, sp. leaves Severe irritation of mucous membranes, edema & irritation may take weeks to subside; severe dyspnea; severe keratoconjunctivitis if plant juices contact eyes. Vomiting, diarrhea. Eggplant Solanaceae sp. all parts except fruit Elephant’s ear Colocasis sp. or Alocasia sp. leaves, stems Severe irritation of mucous membranes, edema & irritation may take weeks to subside; severe dyspnea; severe keratoconjunctivitis if plant juices contact eyes. Vomiting, diarrhea. English ivy Ilex aquafolium berries, leaves English yew Taxus baccata needles, seeds Ergot Claviceps purpurea present in poorly stored seed, silage, dog food Gangrene, hyperexcitability, seizures. Euonymus Euonymus sp. all parts False henbane Veratrum woodii all parts Flamingo flower Anthurium sp. leaves, stems Foxglove Digitalis purpurea leaves, seeds Digitalis glycoside – vomiting, bradycardia, arrhythmias, heart block Golden chain Laburnum anagyroides all parts Hemlock (poisoin and water) Conium sp. all parts Henbane Hyocyanamus niger seeds Holly Ilex sp. berries Horse chestnut Aesculus sp. nuts, twigs House plant ferns Pteris sp. Hyacinth Hyancinthinus orientalis bulbs Hydrangea Hydrangea sp. flower bud Iris Iris sp. bulbs Ivy Hedera sp. leaves, berries Jack-in-the-pulpit Arisaema triphyllum all parts Japanese yew Taxus cuspidata needles, seeds Java bean (lima bean) Phaseolus lunatus uncooked beans Jerusalem cherry Solanum pseudocapsicum berries Arrhythmias, bradycardia, heart block, severe gastroenteritis, calcification of vascular system, lungs, kidneys. May be teratogenic. Jimsonweed Datura sp. leaves, seeds Tachycardia, convulsions, death. Juniper Juniperus virginiana needles, stems, berries Lantana Lantana sp. immature berries Larkspur Delphinium sp. all parts Laurel Kalmia, Ledum, Rhodendron sp. all parts Lily Lilium sp. bulbs Lily of the valley Convallaria majalis all parts, including water housing the plant Vomiting, diarrhea, cardiac arrhythmias, bradycardia, heart block. Lobelia Lobelia sp. all parts Locoweed Astragalus mollissimus or Astragalus emoryanus all parts Hyperexcitability and locomotor difficulty. Lords and ladies Arum sp. all parts Lupin Lupinus sp. Marijuana Cannabis sativa leaves Maternity plant Klanchoe sp. Mayapple Podophyllum sp. all parts except fruit Mescal bean Sophora sp. seeds Milkweed Asclepias sp. Weakness, ataxia, seizures, cardiovascular signs. Mistletoe Santalales sp. berries Mock orange Poncirus sp. fruit Monkshood Aconitum sp. all parts Morning glory Ipomoea sp. all parts Narcissus Narcissus sp. bulbs Nightshades Solanum sp. berries, leaves Arrhythmias, bradycardia, heart block, severe gastroenteritis, calcification of vascular system, lungs, kidneys. May be teratogenic. Oak Quercus sp. Anorexia, diarrhea, small intestinal ulceration and hemorrhage, renal failure & polydypsia, hepatotoxic, can be fatal. Oleander, bay laurel Nerium oleander all parts Digitalis glycoside – vomiting, bradycardia, arrhythmias, heart block Parlor ivy Senecio sp. all parts Parsley Petroselinum sativum Peace lily Spathiphyllum sp. Regurgitation, oral pain, dysphagia and anorexia Peach pits Pencil tree Euphorbia tirucalli sap Philodendron Philodendron sp. leaves, stems Severe irritation of mucous membranes, edema & irritation may take weeks to subside; severe dyspnea; severe keratoconjunctivitis if plant juices contact eyes. Vomiting, diarrhea. Poinsettia Euphorbia pulcherrima leaves, flowers, stem, oily white sap Irritation, vesication, gastroenteritis, conjunctivitis. Poison ivy Toxicodendron radicans sap Poison oak Toxicodendron quercifolium sap Poison sumac Toxicodendron vernix sap Pokeweed Phytolacca americans leaves, roots, berries Ulcerative gastroenteritis; acute hemolytic crisis in people. Potato Solanum tuberosum skin, eyes, new shoots Arrhythmias, bradycardia, heart block, severe gastroenteritis, calcification of vascular system, lungs, kidneys. May be teratogenic. Pothos Epipremnum aureum all parts Regurgitation, oral pain, dysphagia and anorexia. Precatory bean Arbus precatoius Privet Ligustrum volgare all parts Ranunculus Ranunculus sp. sap Rhododendron Rhododendron sp. all parts Rhubarb Rheum rhaponticum leaves Rosary pea, prayer beans, Seminole beads Abrus precatorius seeds Vomiting, diarrhea (possibly bloody), necrosis of organs (liver, spleen, lymph nodes, stomach, intestine) in mammals. Sago Palm, Zamia Palm, Cycad Palm Cycad sp. Liver failure. Skunk cabbage Symplocarpus foetidus all parts Snowdrop Orinthogalum unbellatum all parts Snow on the mountain (ghostweed) Euphorbia marginata all parts Spindle tree Euonymus japonica all parts Split leaf philodendron or Swiss cheese plant Monstera sp. all parts Sweet pea Lathyrus latifolius seeds and fruit Tobacco Nicotinia sp. leaves Vomiting, diarrhea, hyperexcitability, muscle fasciculations, seizures, rapid death. Pododermatitis if bird handled by a smoker. Coughing, sneezing, sinusitis, conjunctivitis, secondary respiratory infections if exposed to cigarette smoke. Umbrella plant Cyperus alternifolius leaves Virginia Creeper Parthenocissus quinquefolio sap Western yew Taxus breviflora needles, seeds Wisteria Wisteria sp. all parts Xanthosoma Xanthosoma sp. leaves Yam bean Pachyrhizus erosis roots, immature pods Yellow jessamine Gelsemium sempervirens flowers Yew Taxus media wood, bark, leaves, seeds Vomiting, diarrhea, weakness, shock, coma, seizure, deaths from cardiac or respiratory failure.

Avian Plant Toxicology Research

Studies of plant toxicity in finch species are greatly lacking, however a few studies were done using canaries. Unfortunately, because great variation exists among species, it is not safe to assume that plants which are non-toxic to canaries are equally safe to other birds and vice versa.

[external_link offset=2]

AUTHOR(S): Arai, M.; Stauber, E.; Shropshire, C. M. TITLE: Evaluation of selected plants for their toxic effects on canaries. YEAR: 1992 CITATION: J Am Vet Med Assoc, 200(9), [phone]

ABSTRACT: Leaves or fruit from 14 plants considered to be toxic to pet birds were administered by gavage to 15 pairs of canaries (Serinus canaria). Each bird was given 0.12 to 0.70 g of plant material. One pair served as a control and was given distilled water. The plant materials were flash-frozen in liquid nitrogen, pulverized, and resuspended in deionized water for administration. Of the plants tested, 5 (

oleander, lupine, foxglove, yew leaves, and dieffenbachia) were considered highly toxic and were associated with acute death of birds. The remaining plant samples (clematis, Hoya carnosa, privet Ligustrum vulgare, parsley Petrosilium sativum, cherry Prunus sp., Pyracantha coccinia, rhododendron, black locust Robinia pseudoacacia, and wisteria) caused no, or only transient, clinical illness.

AUTHOR(S): Hargis, A. M.; Stauber, E.; Casteel, S.; Eitner, D. TITLE: Avocado (Persea americana) intoxication in caged birds. YEAR: 1989 CITATION: J Am Vet Med Assoc, 194(1), 64-66

ABSTRACT: Following two incidents in which a pet canary and three pet cockatiels died under conditions suggesting ingestion of avocado as cause of death, an experimental study was undertaken. Avocados of two cultivars were mashed and administered via feeding cannula to 8 canaries and 8 budgerigars. Two control budgerigars were given water via feeding cannula. Six budgerigars and 1 canary died within 24 to 47 hours after the first administration of avocado.

Deaths were associated with administration of both avocado cultivars. Higher dose was associated with greater mortality. The 2 budgerigars given water were normal throughout the observation period. It is concluded that avocados are highly toxic to budgerigars and less toxic to canaries. PM findings observed in some birds included subcutaneous oedema in the pectoral area and hydropericardium.

The following study was done using just budgies:

AUTHOR(S): Shropshire, C. M.; Stauber, E.; Arai, A. TITLE: Evaluation of selected plants for acute toxicosis in budgerigars. YEAR: 1992 CITATION: J Am Vet Med Assoc, 200(7), 936-939

ABSTRACT: Pairs of budgerigars were given samples, by gavage, of plants considered potentially toxic to pet birds. Samples were prepared by flash-freezing and powdering fresh plant material in liquid nitrogen and resuspending the material in deionized water for administration. Of the 19 plants tested, only 6 induced clinical signs of illness; these plants included

yew, oleander, clematis, avocado, black locust, and Virginia creeper (Taxus media, Nerium oleander, Clematis sp, Persea americana, Robinia pseudoacacia, Parthenocissus quinquefolio).

The other plants tested in this study were: bleeding heart (Lamprocapnos spectabilis), privet (Ligustrum sp.), honeysuckle (Lonicera sp.), lupine (Lupinus sp.), cherry (Prunus sp.), pyracantha (Pyracantha coccinea), boxwood (Buxus sp.), dumbcane (Dieffenbachia seguine), foxglove (Digitalis sp.), spindle bush (Euonymus alatus), poinsettia (Euphorbia pulcherima), rhododendron (Rhododendron sp.), and blue elderberry (Sambucus cerulea).

Note how some plants which appear well tolerated by budgies (lupine, dieffenbachia, foxglove) prove fatal to canaries, while some plants which canaries appear to tolerate (clematis, black locust) make budgies quite ill. Until more research is done, it is important to err on the side of caution and avoid any plant which may potentially be toxic. [external_footer]

source https://livingcorner.com.au/safe-aviary-plants-and-toxic-plants-for-birdswhat-plants-can-i-put-in-an-outdoor-aviary24/

#livingcornernews

[aeondeug]

So it’s time to take the whole damned theme list we’ve constructed for the books thus far; it’s still a work in progress. I have it separated in themes for the books themselves, the characters, ships, places/things/etc, and events. All of the music has some degree of involvement with Susumu Hirasawa, as he is just The Sound of The Masquerade to me apparently. Anyway. Here is the list in its entirety as it currently stands: The Books

The Masquerade Series - Aria from Berserk: The Golden Age Trilogy

The Traitor Baru Cormorant - The Great Deceiver of Saint Horseshoe Planet from Planet Roll Call by Susumu Hirasawa

The Monster Baru Cormorant - Monster A-Go-Go from One Pattern by P-Model

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - The Gardener King from Technique of Relief by Susumu Hirasawa

The Characters

Baru Cormorant - Iriyoubachi no Yuuwaku (The Needy Bee’s Temptation) from the Unreleased Materials Vol. 2 by MANDRAKE

Tain Hu - The Initial Value of Midair from Planet Roll Call by Susumu Hirasawa

Eryre Tain Hu - The Double of Wind from Aurora by Susumu Hirasawa

Barhu Cormorant - Grandfatherly Wind from Blue Limbo by Susumu Hirasawa

The Eye - BIIIG Eye from Big Body by P-Model

The Brain - Mindscape from Industrial Waste by P-Model

Cairdine Farrier - Venerate me, I am TV! from Vistoron by Kaku P-Model

Duke Unuxekome - Stormy Sea from Virtual Rabbit by Susumu Hirasawa

Tau-Indi Bosaka - Quiet Sea from Virtual Rabbit by Susumu Hirasawa

Tain Shir - Murder from Berserk (1997)

Xate Yawa - Plaa and Thammajac from P-0 (Gazio Mix CD) by Susumu Hirasawa

Iraji oyaSegu - The Stolen Box from P-0 (Gazio Mix CD) by Susumu Hirasawa

Svirakir - Gipnoza from Gipnoza by Kaku P-Model

Shao Lune - Parallel Kozak from Gipnoza by Kaku P-Model

Cosgrad Torrinde - Dr. Drevniye from Gipnoza by Kaku P-Model

Iscend Comprine - Intruder from The Secret of the Flowers of Phenomenon by Susumu Hirasawa

The Womb - MOTHER from Technique of Relief by Susumu Hirasawa

Juris Ormsment - CODE-COSTARICA from White Tiger Field by Susumu Hirasawa

Pinion, Solit, and Salm - Water Vein from White Tiger Field by Susumu Hirasawa

Purity Cartone - Wire Self from P-Model by P-Model

Aminata - SAIREN *Siren* from Hen-Gen-Jizai by Susumu Hirasawa

Ulyu Xe - The Song of Force from Aurora by Susumu Hirasawa

The Relationships

Baru/Tain Hu - Guts from Berserk (1997)

Baru&Aminata - Earth from Berserk (1997)

Baru/Iscend - The End of Timeline from BEACON by Susumu Hirasawa

Baru/Shao Lune - HALO from Blue Limbo by Susumu Hirasawa

Barhu/Ulyu Xe - Ghost Bridge from Technique of Relief by Susumu Hirasawa

Aminata/Iraji - Koufuku (Happiness) from Paranoia Agent

The Groups, Places, Things, and Ships

Incrasticism - Big Brother from Vistoron by Kaku P-Model

The Coyote - Berserk Forces (GOD HAND MIX) from Berserk Forces Collection

Immortata - Beherit from Berserk (1997)

The Great Game - P-0 from P-0 (Gazio Mix CD) by Susumu Hirasawa

Prince Hill - The Garden Where Solutions Are Found from Philosopher’s Propeller by Susumu Hirasawa

Iriad - Caravan from Sim City by Susumu Hirasawa

Duchy Vultjag - SEIREN from Siren by Susumu Hirasawa

Helbride - Russian Tobiscope from Virtual Rabbit by Susumu Hirasawa

The Cormorant Company - The Fern from the Planet Sigma from White Tiger Field by Susumu Hirasawa

The Wintercrest Mountains - World Cell from Technique of Relief by Susumu Hirasawa

The World - World Turbine 2 from Solar Ray by Susumu Hirasawa

The Events

Tain Hu’s Last Talk and Execution - Shumatsu no Kajitsu (The Fruit of the End) from the Unreleased Materials Vol. 1  by MANDRAKE

The Betrayal of the Rebellion - Mandragora from the Unreleased Materials Vol. 2 by MANDRAKE

The Battle of Sieroch - Nagare no Hate ni (At the End of the Flow) from the Unreleased Materials Vol. 2 by MANDRAKE

Baru Tweaked Out On the Eternal - Boat from SCUBA by P-Model

Tain Hu vs. Cattleson Duel - Philosopher’s Propeller 3 from Solar Ray by Susumu Hirasawa

Barhu vs. Juris Ormsment Duel - Philosopher’s Propeller 2 from Philosopher’s Propeller by Susumu Hirasawa

Every Time Baru Cries “Why Can’t I Do it I’m a Savant!” - Jouken Douji (Condition Boys) from Paranoia Agent

Baru’s First Seizure - Dream Island Obsessional Park from Paranoia Agent

Yawa, Svir, and Iraji Drugging Baru - Shinensou from Paranoia Agent

Baru’s Choice - Baiyou from Paranoia Agent

Purity Attacks Baru - Kage (Shadow) from Paranoia Agent

Baru and Eryre Tain Hu Talk then FUCK - A Drop Filled With Memories from Paprika

Baru Running While Seizing - Chaser from Paprika

Baru and Tain Hu’s Utopias, Eryre Tain Hu’s Leave - The Girl in Byakkoya from Paprika

#baru cormorant #spoilers

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #1 Foster

‘Can you believe it...?’

A grubby veena boy stood to the right of a taller rava male, antsy. At the center of a ring of decorated trees whose bark and mossy, thin branches moved actively in the breeze they stood, waiting. Aged, braided leathers and colored ribbons of varying brightness swayed idly, tied to thicker branches or around the trunks, some of them even overgrown into the layers of the wood. The surrounding area was additionally dotted with other veena and rava clanswomen, the designated clearing carpeted with mostly untouched undergrowth brushing calves on the adults while waist-high on the boy.

Set off of the main road that wound its way through the jungle, and further away from the sleepy village settlement nearby, it provided some physical distance between ‘home’ and ‘the journey.’ A long agreed upon meeting place for the Wood-warders to pick up the young men to take to train to serve - or to perish in the attempt - and keep the domains of their tribes and villages untouched by the destructive whims of outsiders. Although this boy in particular looked a few turns off still from adulthood, hence the apparent lack of any other boys to pass along.

The breeze was cool for the early fall morning, sunlight piercing the gathered mists in the distance to light up the area but not warm it. The dew still drying on the grass and ferns around their feet made the boy’s bare toes damp, cold, and clammy. He was dirty and knobby at the elbows and knees, feet wrapped in a pair of weathered, fraying sandals. A plain, green cotton loincloth, length cut long enough to brush his ankles that hung heavy from collected dew off the grass they’d stamped through. The cloth was kept in place by a thin leather belt, too long for him and wrapped twice around his waist. A pair of old, rough leather gloves completed his otherwise weak ensemble. Unlike his female counterparts scattered around the clearing, he bore no weapons, no metal or bone accessories, none of the braided leathers or ribbons that decorated the trees or the women surrounding them.

No ties. No connections.

‘At least his mother’s not here to see him in this pathetic state.’

‘Or his father, for that matter. He never did come and claim him.’

The boy glanced at the man - the stranger, really - on his left who had been waiting patiently for the conversations to finish. Chin raised while he squared off against a trio of well dressed women not looking at him, who discussed something privately between them. Thickly muscled and stocky framed, and standing a head taller than quite a few of the women around the circle, his gambeson was split at his shoulders and elbows to bare the skin decoratively, a mix of breathable fabric and furs making up the materials of it. Leather pants hugged his legs loosely, tucked into a strange style of boots the boy hadn’t seen before. His whole outfit was… Strange. Not from his village, or the surrounding villages, definitely.

Moving away from the strange outfit, the boy’s gaze followed dark hair drawn up in a long and high ponytail, eyeing the braids keeping the loose strands from moving in the breeze tight along his scalp. The equally dark furred ears were straight up and still, a palm resting on one hip while the other rested on an unstrung metal bow, the end of which was stuck in the grass. A picture of calm and collected. The murmurs from the surrounding women gossiping distracted the boy from admiring the style of the older, strange rava. He grit his teeth, shifting his staring at the ground sourly.

‘I was just picking him up out of our food stores yesterday. Little thief.’

‘I heard he butchered one of Mija’s hens the other night. Just sat and cried when she found him, and had nothing to offer but excuses.’

Honey blonde ears on the small head swiveled back and forth towards the echoing sounds. That was a mistake. He’d insisted he’d been bid to retrieve something from the stores, but no one had believed him, and not even the one who’d bid him retrieve it for her spoke up in his defense. I’m not a thief! And the chicken was out of it’s fenced off coop area and had startled me!

‘The brat’s finally going to be out of our hair. Good riddance.’

‘I agree. Waiting any longer would take too long. Oh, look. He’s crying.’

Frustration at the conversations had welled in his eyes, running down his dirty cheeks and leaving streaks in their wake. The heel of one fist raised and scrubbed under one damp eye roughly, the top of his hand swiping the other.

‘He’ll be their problem now.’

‘Ugh, for now. Imagine if our daughters have to breed with that menace later.’

‘Hah! I’d sooner kill him now, save us the trouble of whatever he produces as offspring later.’

The leather along his fingers creaked as his balled fists tightened. I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. Not their sneers, or their attitudes, or the hateful stares. Not their daughters, either. Gross.

“We’ll be going to get supplies for the journey from the village, now.” The low rumble from the man beside him cut through the murmuring chatter, which paused the conversation from the trio as well. “If there’s no objections, of course.” A dark, scarred hand rose and settled between the blonde’s swiveling ears, fingers crooking to scritch at the space between them.

Startled mismatched eyes of gold and pink shot up to stare at the man and the sudden affectionate gesture. He was startled enough to process the movement in still silence instead of immediately slapping it away.

“It would be better, I believe, if you took him sooner, rather than later. And by sooner, I mean now. You’ve heard our warnings, and our suggestions, as well as our predictions already privately. We don’t wish him here any longer.” A woman - also a rava with more earthy tones rather than dusky - broke from the trio to speak, stepping forward to meet the rava in the center. Carefully bunched bundles of colorfully dyed cloth tied distinctly to form a Z-shaped dress that clung to her form. It hung down around her thighs loosely and longer still on one side more than the other. Bones and bright metals intricately woven with thin colorful ropes covered her neck and shoulders, a woven crown of them laying just above her forehead in a crossed circle around her bent ears. “We’ve done all we can do for him, and still his poor fortune continues to cause us grief. He will be your responsibility from here on, and all that it entails now, Kalona.”

The scritching on the tiny blonde head hadn’t paused, and the boy realized he was leaning into the gesture before quickly side-stepping just out of reach. His gaze moved back down to the long grass, face flaming with embarrassment. First the gossip, and now an overly-friendly mentor? Great.

Undisturbed by the smaller figure’s retreat, the dark hand dropped to hook his thumb into a pants pocket as the male arched a brow at the approaching woman. “You say you’ve done all you can for him, chieftess, and yet I’m accepting this foster who is nearly naked, shittily shoed, and bearing no possessions. None, somehow, in all his turns. How is that possible? So not only will I need to feed him, I’ll also need to dress him, shoe him and get him a bag.”

The man took a step forward, one lip curling in disgust as his facade cracked. “You neglected him because you feared him. Your fear has caused your grief, not the boy. You can’t face your failures with him, so you’ve sent for me to take him. Or, are you perhaps shirking your responsibility to your young because the people you’ve cast out of your village now outnumber and hate you, Rael?”

The silence that followed would not have had even a grass mouse squeak to break it.

When it was finally broken, Rael’s tone was icy. “Just take him and get yourselves out of my sight.” The chieftess matched the step forward and narrowed sharp golden eyes as her teeth bared when she spoke. The ring of women shifted to readied positions as her threat followed, “And you will watch your tone from this moment - and every moment on - or I will have your tongue cut from your head and fed to you, raw, and you may serve the Wood-warders in permanent silence.” Hands of the women surrounding them hovered near bows and spears, the risen tension suddenly more the reason there were no further mutterings.

While Kalona and Rael measured each other and the threat hung fresh in the air for a solid couple of heartbeats, the boy stared up and around to assess the danger - and possible exits. He made a quick step back closer to the male when he realized, looking around, a few of the warriors of the village weren’t looking at the rava squaring off with their chieftess...

They were looking at himself.

Kalona realized it too, soon after he felt the movement. A hand reached back out to settle on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer behind him. “Fine,” The word was spat bitterly before his tone tipped more honeyed, even if his dark eyes could have swallowed the suddenly smug woman before him whole. “I will be leaving then, chieftess.” “See that you do, Kalona. And do have someone with more manners come with you to the next journey meeting. Perhaps they will keep you in line better than you can keep yourself.” Shoulders rolling back as she straightened and mouth twisting into a satisfied smile, a ringed hand rose and waved once, dismissively. “Fair weather and soft trails, Wood-warder.”

Kalona turned without a word further and gave the boy’s shoulder a shove towards the main road that wound through the forest. He stumbled at first, distracted, but moved quickly away from the gathering. “Are we-” “Save it.” The clipped tone cut him off, and the boy immediately dropped it.

After reaching the main road, they walked in silence. The boy was leading, although given two directions he knew only one would have led them to the village proper and the other away, so he picked the latter. At a fork a ways to the southeast, the boy stopped, unsure where to go. From behind him Kalona pointed to the right, so to the right he continued.

Traveling through the morning into the early afternoon directed by Kalona’s silent pointing, they only stopped once for water from the waterskin Kalona kept in his pack. The boy realized while they were stopped that Kalona had uncapped the quiver at his side that he’d previously not noticed, and the metal bow had been strung. He wasn’t sure when he’d done it, but he felt more at ease to see it.

At another fork, Kalona stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Turning him around, the larger male knelt on one knee and gripped his chin between two fingers and a thumb. “What is your name?” His tone brisk but calm, turning his face to one side to inspect him. The boy spoke around the grip on his jaw, “Ræsi.”

A pause followed before Kalona’s brows knit. “Ræsi what?”

“Skyssa.”

“You must be fucking joking.” Kalona’s tone was flat while the boy averted his gaze. The hand on his chin jerked it back forward to meet his stare. “I’m not.” Grumbling something angry under his breath, Kalona took a calming breath and released the boy’s chin. “Fine, then. Is that what you want to be called?” “No.”

“Then what do you want to be called?”

The boy considered that question before blurting, “Shear.”

“Shear what?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“Do you really want to be Shear Mistake for the rest of your life? Because that’s just as bad as ‘Gutter Mistake’ that you were.”

“No! I just-- No, I don’t know. What’s your surname?”

The question piqued Kalona’s curiosity, raising off his knee to stand. “Do you know where you are, Shear?”

It wasn’t an answer to his question, and the newly-named Shear pressed his lips together. Looking around over his shoulder and straining to remember any maps he’d seen, he shook his head. “N-no.”

“So you realize what kind of situation you’re in if you leave my side, yes?” The rava raised his bow, gripped firmly in one hand, redirecting Shear’s gaze towards the road with one of it’s points. “If you stray off the path I set for you, and get lost, you are on your own. I will not come find you, I will not search for you. You will be alone. But if you stay by me, follow my directions, and do not stray from it, you will not be alone. Do you understand, Shear?” “Yes.” Being surrounded by harpies had been terrible, to the point being alone had been preferential, but that was in a familiar place, at least. But being alone, who knows where?

That sounded like a special kind of hell.

“Good. And keep your gloves on, for now. Be a right shame if you burned the boat down before we made it where we’re going.”

A startled noise escaped the veena as Kalona started down the right fork. “How do you-- Boat?!” “They told me, obviously. Come. You might not have been mine before today, but you are now. And yes, boat.”

“W-why a boat? Is training for Wood-warders across the sea?” Shear picked up his pace to match the longer stride and fell quickly into step with Kalona.

The rava snorted and sneered at the middle distance in front of him. “Oh, you aren’t training to be a Wood-warder, but you are going to be trained.”

“... Really? Trained to do what?” “To burn that fucking place, and everyone in it who dared to name and call you ‘Gutter Mistake’, to the ground.”

Shear abruptly stopped walking, stunned. Kalona turned his head while he kept moving and gave a low and long whistle, ending it high. “Shear, keep up. Unless you’d rather go back and be Ræsi the Wood-warder, or Rael’s Pet Bitch-”

His feet were moving before Kalona even finished his taunts, drawing up beside the larger male. “Shut up.” Chuckling and patting Shear’s head gently, the elder rava’s expression split into a dark grin. “That’s better. Now keep up kid, I have a lot to teach you.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #prompt 1 #foster #Shear Kinestti #ffxiv #new muse #im posting this technically late on tumblr but i was lazy and didnt wanna build it for him yet lmao #it was turned in on time to the actual thing so thats whats important fmdslalfgvalv

[supimjustwriting]

Existing but not Present

Flare OneShot (Featuring my self OC Francine Kirkland/Fern)

Trigger warnings: Themes of Anxiety, Self hate, Depression, Mental Illness in general

If you have been feeling anything similar to what is written below the cut or in the warnings above. Please seek help. Professional help. Yes, talking to friends can help but sometimes it’s not enough. It’s okay to ask for help and if you ever want to talk I’m always willing to lend an ear. Remember to Always keep fighting.

Summary: I can’t let people worry about me. Their feelings and safety come first. I must do everything alone and show them I’m as strong as they believe I am. Will I ever be found? I don’t want to be found. Happiness is a lie at someone else’s expense. As long as they can smile. I don’t mind dying on the inside.

Requested by @flaredarkstorm Based off the Song Purity ~ Slipknot Listen to the song Here. Warning Explicit. 

‘How long has it been since I last went out of bed?”

Everything comes in flashes and blurs. Screaming, sobs, gun shots, the earth falling beneath my feet. It’s so vivid, yet here I am just laying on my fluffy bed. God, I can’t even tell who’s screaming anymore.

A familiar ring tickles my ears causing me to look over to my bedside table. Pushing aside loose papers and the odd trinket, I groan softly from the bright light. 6 new text messages and 1 voice mails. All under the name Francine Kirkland.

Monday 10am Sup daddyo! How’s it going? I haven’t heard from you in awhile.

Monday 3pm Cinder, Sunshine and I are going for a walk. Want to come? I don’t mind waiting around the park for you. I’m sure the dogs would love to see you as well. I hope you’re eating well. Love you dad.

Wednesday 6am The cats are begging for breakfast an hour early. Send help and by help I mean cat treats. I hope your morning started out much, much better. Take care papa. I worry about you, you know.

Wednesday 6pm Having dinner with the pets! Been sneaking them all some steamed broccoli. Some have been just storing it and stinking up the house. (I’m looking at you Sunshine.) Any who. Is it alright if I visit soon?

Thursday 8am I’m taking the silence as a yes! I’ll text you an hour before I get there. Please be alive. I love you and I miss you a lot.

Today 2pm

You’re in luck! I’m running late but I’m coming for a visit alright? I apologize in advance if you’re busy. I don’t mind a hi and goodbye. I just want to see if you’re alright. See you soon! You have one unheard message. Press one to listen to them. *beep*

Wednesday xx at 6:13am

*angry meows could be heard in the background* Since my messages didn’t wake you up I thought a phone call might. *yawns*

God, I’m tired. Though I hope you’ve been well. The fur babies have been keeping me busy and the house lively.

So, I thought some noise might’ve been good for you. Take care dad, love ya.

I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head at the sight. ‘She acts more like a mother than a daughter at times. Fern really shouldn’t waste time doting on me. I know her intentions are for the best but her smile is sometimes just a slap in the face. I can’t let her see me like this.’ Shaking myself from my thoughts. I try my best to tidy myself up.

~

Around 3:30pm, a knock could be heard upon my door.

“Papa! Are you home? I brought food!” called a cheerfully familiar voice.

I open the door with a closed eyed smile, ruffling the short girl’s hair.

“How’s it been? I’m sorry I didn’t text you back. I’ve been busy,” I mentally curse at my throbbing head. Why the hell did it have to start now. I clear the lump in my throat before letting my daughter inside.

The young one quickly made herself at home, taking her shoes off at the front door before heading to the kitchen table to place her gifts.

“I can help-” “Not another word. Don’t think I wouldn’t catch you not being 100%! So, please papa. Just sit down and relax. I’ll be sure to take care of everything,” the dark haired girl gave me a playful salute before herding me to my sofa. ‘Such a mother hen,’ I thought to myself, rolling my eyes.

“My house. My rules. I’m at least gonna make the tea and then rest, alright?”

Her puffed up cheeks cause a chuckle to escape my lips. ‘Did I really deserve to laugh after everything I’ve done? Even Francine is treating me as if I’m-” Shaking myself free from the intrusive thoughts. I head to the kitchen, prepping our favourite drink. Peppermint tea.

~

Brown eyes gazed up at me expectantly. An arrangement of sweets between us, followed by two cups of steaming tea.

“So, papa. How’s life?”

‘Suffocating. My head’s been throbbing since you got here because of all the past bullshit I’ve been through and here you are smiling as if nothing is wrong. So, swell. Life is simply swell.’

“It’s going well. Same old. Same old. How are you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Kids? New pets?” I mirror her bright smile, taking a sip of my tea. Mentally chuckling at her flushed cheeks.

“Same-Same old. Same old as well. You know I’m not one for dating anyways,” she chastised gently, stuffing her cheeks with cake. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a brow raised, “Are you sure everything is well? You always give me the same answer and it’s starting to feel scripted,” a nervous chuckle escaped Fern as she raised her hands in defense. “Of course you don’t have to tell me! I just want you to know that I’m always here for you. I know I won’t understand everything but at least talking about it could help, right?”

Finishing off my tea. I stand up ruffling away Fern’s doubts. “I promise you if anything comes up I’ll tell you. I love you Fern.”

“I love you too papa,”

~

Hours of chatter later and she’s finally gone. A breath I never knew I was holding escapes me as I watch the brunette head home.

Hot tears stream down my cheeks as I enter my cage I call a home. Slamming my fist against the wall causing it to crack.

“If only I could destroyed as easily,”

A bitter laugh escapes me as the annoying smile flashed through my head again. No matter how many times you ask. No matter how many times I tell you. You’ll never understand. All you ever do is repeat the same kind words and flash that same damn smile.“

“There’s something in you I despise. Purity” 

#Wild flower Writing #Oc

[aroworlds]

What Makes Us Human, Part Two

Moll of Sirenne needs prompts in their girdle book to navigate casual conversations, struggles to master facial expressions and feels safest weeding the monastery's vegetable gardens. Following their call to service, however, means offering wanderers in need a priest's support and guidance. A life free of social expectation to court, wed and befriend does outweigh their fear of causing harm—until forgetting the date of a holiday provokes a guest's ire and three cutting words: lifeless and loveless.

A priest must expand a guest's sense of human worth, but what do they do when their own comes under question? Can an autistic, aromantic priest ever expect to serve outside the garden? And what day is it...?

Contains: A middle-aged, agender priest set on defying social norms around love; an alloromantic guest with a journey to undergo in conquering her amatonormativity and ableism; and an elderly aromantic priest providing irascible reassurance.

Content Advisory: Depictions and discussions of ableism, amatonormativity and dehumanisation, particularly with regards to autism and aromanticism. Please expect additional background references to partner abuse and dysfunctional relationships, along with a side mention of magic causing harm to animals. This piece also includes reflections on non-romantic love's being pushed as a second-best "humanising" quality on non-partnerning, aplatonic and neurodiverse aros.

Length: 4, 946 words (part one of two).

Note: This is the newest entry in my tradition of Not Valentine’s Day Aro Stories posted on Valentine’s Day. No familiarity with my other Marchverse stories is needed, although it does obliquely nod at events referenced in Love is the Reckoning.

Will you ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human?

Moll checks that she follows and, wordlessly, heads towards the guest common room. Their heart thrums in their chest; they fight to slow their heaving ribs. What will they do if Gennifer isn’t finished with what caused her to miss breakfast? What if … shades, can’t they send an acolyte to find her or Oki? Waiting with James won’t lack unpleasantness, but Moll needn’t engage her in conversation. They can keep their silence while a brown-robe hunts down a senior priest.

Breathe.

For good or ill, they are both decided to follow a new path.

Gennifer, fortunately, sits in one of several armchairs, frowning down at the ledger in her lap. Two acolytes tidying feel more like shadows than occupants in a vast room of redwood tables and bookshelves, all crammed with books, games, paper, pencils and paints. Pots filled with trailing ferns hang from the high rafters, lending the room a touch of Sirenne’s soil-and-leaflitter scent; the large slate tiles, polished smooth and set close together, feel cool under Moll’s bare feet. Large windows reveal the gardens between wings, permitting light enough that demarcations of “outside” and “inside” lose relevance.

She closes the book and looks up, her thick brows raised. Moll has long learnt better than to voice these observations, but Gennifer resembles her pet chicken—a round, fat woman with nut-brown skin and hair, the latter trimmed to a fine fuzz covering her scalp and neck. The red robes, belted with an advising priest’s green sash, pick up the reddish tinge in the hen’s feathers; the neat way she tucks her arms at her sides, her hands drawn up by her chest, resembles the hen’s wings. No quality will so provoke this comparison if not for Gennifer’s mothering of anyone, guest or priest, she judges in need.

“May we converse in private?” Moll asks, turning their head to ensure that James follows them into the room. “Thank you.”

She stands a few paces off, tucking her hand—the tip of one finger smeared with her lip paint—behind her back.

The acolytes down their books and retreat to the hallway.

“What is it?” Gennifer waves at the chair opposite her table. “Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea? A biscuit?”

“No. James has the opinion … that I can’t relate to their experiences. She wishes the guidance of another priest.” Only a lifetime of practice allows Moll to keep their voice flat and calm. “I don’t wish to cause her any further distress, so I ask that you assign her to someone of a more … suitable nature.”

Only the slightest shift of brow mars Gennifer’s quiet smile. “I see. Is this the case, James?”

How can Gennifer, as careful and controlled as most of Sirenne’s priests, so evade accusations of lifelessness? What difference exists between her expression and theirs? Why can’t Moll see, recognise and imitate it?

James hesitates for long enough that Moll wonders if she’s beset by a change of heart, but at length she nods and takes the offered chair. “Yes. Please. They don’t even know what day it is! They just ask pointless question after question, all stiff and wooden. How am I supposed to get anywhere with a priest that remembers nothing normal?”

She doesn’t mention, Moll thinks with a nauseating bitterness, that she accused all priests of such ignorance. They may not know what the date means, how better to have approached James’s guiding or why only Gennifer’s questions are worth answering, but they know one thing: their control teeters on collapse’s edge.

They bow, turn and stride to the doorway.

“It’s difficult,” Gennifer says with a non-committal softness, “to feel as though—”

Moll quickens their step, their red robes flapping about their calves. Another pair of acolytes enter the hallway, stop and abruptly reverse direction as though afraid to tangle with a priest in a temper. They fist their hands until their fingers ache, but their shoulders shake and their chest heaves. Why did they entertain the delusion that their thick, autistic body, with its oversized hands and stern face, can ever be anything but threatening?  

How much more damage need they cause before accepting the truth?

The feel of grass beneath their soles and the strengthening of the rich damp-earth smell tells Moll that they’ve left the building for one of the gardens. Rows of mulched corn, peas and beans grow in a sunny section of the monastery, angled away from the greenhouse. The gardens weren’t their intention, at least insofar that they possessed any, but a riot of unwanted seedlings sprout from the pea straw’s seeds, diverting water and nutrients from the vegetables. The acolytes are a few days behind in their weeding. Good enough.  

Moll—ignored by the priest and guests tending the greenhouse’s tomatoes—grabs a bucket and a trowel, kneels by the first pea-festooned trellis and starts pulling up weeds.

There’s no glamour in weeding, no proud presentation of the literal fruits of one’s labour. New weeds poke through the soil and mulch almost as soon as one finishes, and, as in laundry and dishwashing, Moll never finds the satisfaction of conclusion. A garden always provides distraction, however, and nobody stopped to marvel at a quartermaster’s labour. Why expect it now?

Peace, instead, lies in the feel of damp earth clinging to bare feet, the patter of water falling on green leaves, the smell of sun warming soil and straw, the pop as a root pulls free from its earthen cradle. Moll’s trembling fingers fight to gently prise weeds from the bed and shake soil from their roots, but they put their rage into their shoulder as they hurl each into the bucket left at the end of the row.

Pull, shake, throw.

Pop, patter, thwack.

Isn’t this suitable work? If their labour allows Gennifer to guide James by providing the food eaten by priests, acolytes and guests, how aren’t they following their calling?

Pop, patter, smack.

“Do all of those require pulling?”

They jerk, straighten and turn, started to find the Guide sitting in her wheelchair only an arm’s length distant, her attendant idling with a book at the other end of the row. She’s a small woman with white hair gone yellow, sunken cheeks and bony limbs; “elderly” suggests more youth than she shows. Her green robe, belted with red, catches the light through some trickery of weave; a darker green blanket, knit from witched wool, sits over her lap, although the summer warmth permits her to bare both marked shoulders. A ball of yarn, two knitting needles and a toe and heel in progress rests in the valley between her knees. Based on Moll’s infrequent glimpses of her work about the monastery, she too prefers her hands busy, perhaps despite her swollen knuckles.

She looks like a stiff breeze will blow her out of her chair, but she reminds Moll of a century-dead tree, its roots grown so deep that its trunk and limbs survive drought and cyclone.

They drop their plant and, suddenly aware of their aching shoulders and back, bow to Sirenne’s most senior priest.

“Oh, stop. Sit up and stay sit up. Sat up? Whatever.” The Guide sighs and peers down at Moll. “Aren’t your back and knees breaking? I’m hurting just looking at you.”

Moll realises then that they’ve worked down the row and halfway across the bed. Small bits of seed and gravel dig into their knees through the thin linen of their summer robe; their legs, beset with an unnatural stiffness, fight their attempts to sit. “I’m sorry, sir, for my unsupp—”

The Guide raises both hands and claps her fingers to her thumb in the gesture meant to indicate a bird’s opening beak—usually made to mock a person prone to gossip. If she owns something as ordinary as a shroudname, Moll has never heard it mentioned. She’s just the Guide, the leader of her flock on their journey to … well, the Sojourner isn’t the sort of god that provides clarity. No bright heaven or dark hell; just the bewildering grey of somewhere.  

Moll dislikes those vague, unspecific words.

“I’m sorry for abandon—”

She repeats the gesture several times, fingertip smacking against thumb.

“I’m … sorry?”

Moll has heard the monastery’s gossip about the Guide, but they didn’t expect … well, this.

“Stop it with the drivel.” The Guide sighs and shakes her head. “If you apologise again, I’ll send you to shadow with the calling-year acolytes. Don’t think I won’t!”

Just the thought of taking lessons with Ro and Alicia has Moll closing their mouth with a teeth-clacking snap. Moll’s calling-year included a grandparent twice their age, but Ro’s year leans young, and they can’t say that they’ll enjoy being so subjected to the acolytes’ discussions, explosions, giggles, jibes and pranks. Moll endured enough of that in the army, irritated even when they were of the customary age to partake!

Is this the Guide’s way of saying that Moll needs those lessons?

Are their missteps with James so serious that Gennifer went to the Guide?

“Moll?”

They sit up, rolling their shoulders back in a vain attempt to ease their stiffness. “I don’t think I need those lessons refreshed,” they say, hoping that their tone doesn’t convey their stomach’s nervous roiling. A priest shouldn’t be afraid to admit fault. How can one help guide another in open-hearted curiosity while bound to an unfailing sense of correctness? “I think I’ll do better in the gardens or the stables. Wherever you believe my work most needed.”

Not that Moll has done an exemplary job with the garden, given the halo of uprooted-and-thrown plants surrounding the bucket.

“Really?” The Guide sighs, looking down at Moll with raised eyebrows. “Because I came here to tell a guiding priest to pick the gravel from their knees, wash up and hop to the infirmary to be briefed on a guest’s needs from his new priest.”

Moll frowns. The infirmary? A guest’s new priest? “Another guest—”

“No! You want to specialise in the arts of weed pulling and shit shovelling! Far be it from me to stop a priest from following their road—even if that road takes them five clicks backwards.” The Guide shrugs and nestles her hands in her lap. “I’m sure there’s another priest with curiosity, patience and directness to help guide a guest as much harmed by Sirenne as the world—another priest that finds equal confusion in tedious definitions of normality. Gennifer’s unexpectedly busy—what about Oki?”

They stiffen, their eyes resting on the thick, bobbled stockings covering the Guide’s unshod feet. “I don’t understand,” Moll murmurs, beset with too many curiosities to untangle but certain that few priests have referenced Sirenne’s harming a guest. “If I knew what you’re referencing, perhaps I could say…? But … I don’t want to distress another guest, and someone must muck the stables.”

After all, she may as well be referencing Moll’s treatment of James.

The Guide stares at Moll, her brow furrowed, her expression well beyond their conjecture. “I think,” she says at length, “you should explain the source of your newfound enthusiasm for regression.”

By now, narrating a discussion with a guest to a senior priest feels habitual. Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their teeth, before beginning with the dining hall, backtracking to explain their anxiety and James’s prior behaviours, and continuing with the courtyard conversations.

Their voice, steady during all manner of absurd, eldritch and horrifying goings-on in their fifteen years with Seventh, wobbles on the words “loveless” and “lifeless”.

“…so I did the inappropriate thing of leaving without allowing for proper explanation or facilitation of—”

“Nep, nep, nep.” The Guide beaks her fingers thrice; Moll, startled, falls silent. “Drivel. You cluck worse than Gennifer’s chicken. That you can work on—tell Gennifer or your calling-year priests that you want them to help you learn to stop clucking.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You assumed yourself the cause of her mood. James felt distressed by spending Lovers’ Day separated from her partner and took offense to your thinking you’d caused offense. She wanted you to simply offer sympathy, believing her situation abundantly self-evident and unneedful of explanation.”

How many times, over the course of a life, have allistics and alloromantics driven them to aghast speechlessness at their absence of rationality? Lovers’ Day is but a petty holiday borrowed from Astreuch tradition, something about which the Sojourner says nothing. Moll doesn’t care enough to recollect its existence, but neither will they disparage or dismiss her pain—if only she mentioned the holiday when asked!

Sirenne should offer sanctuary, but they’re still caught up in the mess caused by love’s assumption, expectation and conformity.

Even here, they’re still rendered less than human.

“I … asked why…” Moll shakes their head, turns and pulls up another weed. “I don’t understand that. None of it. So I belong out here.”

“I didn’t say it was reasonable. It isn’t any more reasonable than your current occupational decision.” The Guide barks a laugh. “But since when do we expect guests to bring reason with them? They don’t. We help them find it.”

They don’t know what word names the mood that has Moll wrench, twist and fling a seeding somewhere towards the bucket before looking up at the Guide. “How could I have—”

“You should have,” the Guide says, her words soft, “taken her to Gennifer as soon as her judgement turned personal. You didn’t need to tolerate that half as long as you did. Take her to someone who gives her fewer excuses and isn’t bearing bruises the world never lets heal. No garden so needs weeding that you should be breaking your body, afterwards, to survive the punches you thought you had to let her throw.”

They sit up, bunching their robes over their legs. Her words ring of bewildering improbability, an unexpected response—like the giving of their girdle book, the leather cover now speckled with dirt and mulch—wildly contradictory to the world’s usual rules and processes. Ideal, certainly, but not in practice true.

“I’m meant,” Moll says slowly, “to be able to do my work. I can’t give every allistic or alloromantic guest to Gennifer because they don’t make se—”

“We both know you won’t ask that another priest take on a guest’s care because you don’t understand their reasoning, but you should if they don’t respect your humanity!” The Guide waves her hand towards the great hall. “How, if you break yourself dealing with every guest assigned to you, are you going to give your best service to the next agender, aromantic or autistic guest walking up our driveway? What if there’s someone there in need of you? Can you, right now, serve as they need?”

They freeze, open-mouthed.

Never did Moll think to look at their work from that angle.

“There wouldn’t be that many—”

“Drivel. Most of the priests not us can handle James. Gennifer, though, isn’t aromantic. She’s kind, sweet and open-minded, certainly—and that’s better than nothing. But she doesn’t speak from a place of knowing. We do. And now, you can give someone something neither of us had—a guiding priest who knows in the heart. Can’t you imagine what that must feel like?” She sighs, her crow’s voice cracking. “Some guests won’t be suited to your strengths, but they’ll respect your humanity. Some won’t suit you, and you’ll make sure they’re cared for by someone they’re less likely to harm. And others, yet unknowing, need you. Will you, Moll, ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human—no matter what the world says?”

Moll draws a breath, the hairs on their forearms raised, their body alert and quivering. Despite the near-cloudless sky, they look up, searching for lightning; the air crackles with that wild, dangerous energy. They hoped, five years ago, to return this gift Gennifer offered to a discharged quartermaster stripped of home and place. The gift of reframing the world, tossing about all long-held expectations so one can put aside the misunderstandings and follow a new turning. The gift, a chance to see everything anew, they couldn’t offer James.

A gift, perhaps, they can still offer someone else—because she’s right, something Moll didn’t realise until she said the word “us”.

They didn’t know that they’d waited forty-four years to receive that gift from their own—to be affirmed human by their kin’s reckoning.

The garden shouldn’t be the entirety of their service.

“That’s better.” The Guide gives a small, satisfied nod. “You’ve forgotten, I think, that in your first year, we learn how best you work with guests. Knowing that better, now, I need you in the infirmary to work with a guest who also didn’t pair well with his first priest—a guest who needs you, not Oki. Or will you mumble about weeds and manure?”

Moll shakes their head. No, not on their life or name!

“Good. Get up, have a long bath, scrub your fingernails, eat a late lunch and then present yourself to Thanh. Tell hir that I sent you to be Esher’s new guiding priest and ze must explain to you the magic. I doubt he’ll be any kind of conscious today, so you have time to dawdle.”

What happened last night? “Magic? Conscious?”

“Thanh will tell you. Go. I’ve got too many priests yet to talk to.”

Far too curious to surrender to bewilderment, Moll bows their head, grabs their trowel and scrambles upright just as the Guide waves her hand to her attendant. “Thank you. Sir. Thank you.” They turn for their bucket, freeze and spin back to face the Guide. “Sir, can I ask something?”

“Yes, quickly, but it had better not be clucking.”

They don’t know what she means by “clucking”, but they’ll ask Gennifer and Oki. “If you weren’t guiding guests when I came, why…?”

“Why didn’t I guide you, you mean?” The Guide shrugs. “I don’t guide guests or teach the acolytes. I’m perceptive and intelligent, they told me, but disastrously blunt. Now, after years in the kitchens, I guide the priests—once you’re educated enough in yourself that I needn’t dance around my words.” She hesitates. “I think, perhaps, there’s some acolytes I should have taught. But I do know the worth and the necessity in ensuring my own number in the priests that follow me.”

“I think you guide well,” Moll says quietly. “For me, if nobody else.”

Their own expressions aren’t given to smiling, but the Guide’s broadening lips, perhaps, speak for them both.

#aro writing #aromantic #arospec creations #loveless aro friendly #lovelessness #loveless aro #loveless aro feels #nonpartnering #aplatonic feels #aromantic and aplatonic #aplatonic #aromantic and autistic #autism #aromantic and agender #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #fantasy #short fiction #what makes us human #long post #very long post #amatonormativity #ableism #ableism mention #dehumanisation #aro antagonism #nonamory #nonamorous #valentine's day