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jungle-angel · 8 months

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The Little Bookworm (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob can't get enough of your kids being obsessed with books

It was the gloomiest of fall days with the skies over Montana having gone darker than expected, almost as if night were setting in at lunchtime.

Auggie had been perched on the little bay window seat in the living room, the rain battering the diamond paned windows while the woodstove in the living room made the house warm and cozy. Bob didn't particularly like having the tv on all day, but The Nightmare Before Christmas seemed like the perfect background noise on a day like this and with Halloween fast approaching, it made it even better.

Bob smiled a little seeing his little mini-me completely engrossed in one of the books you had gotten him. Auggie had always loved pulling books from the shelf, no matter how big or how small they were and loved making up his own stories to tell you, Bob and the rest of the family.

"Auggie, come and eat," Bob called from the kitchen.

Auggie giggled and shut his book, running right for the kitchen and seating himself into his chair. Bob had definitely outdone himself this time, grilled cheese with bacon, a side of kettle cooked potato chips and a kosher dill pickle on the side.

"Whatcha reading buddy?" Bob asked him.

"Um.....I dunno," Auggie chirped with a big grin on his face before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"You don't know?!" Bob questioned, pretending to be shocked.

"It's about these three guys and a bad guy who doesn't like them so they've gotta stop him," Auggie explained.

The more Auggie chattered, the more Bob couldn't control the broad smile on his face. The Three Musketeers had been one of his favorites growing up, one that his father had grown up reading as well. Now that Auggie was reading it, he was proud beyond words that his love of the book had been passed down to his son.

As soon as lunch was done, Bob took a look at Auggie's bookshelf and made a list of other books that he didn't have, noting that they would most likely be his Christmas gift that year. He made his way upstairs while Auggie scooted back to his little corner, hoping you were still up in your shared bedroom and sure enough, you were.

"Still working away Mrs. Floyd?" he asked, scooting in next to you.

"All I can do Bob," you told him.

You had been needle-felting all day as a movie played out on the tv that was mounted on the wall. Bob felt awful that you were on strict bedrest, but after the last ultrasound appointment, you both knew it was what you and your baby girl needed. Luckily Reagan and her husband, Elijah, lived close by in case anything came up, but it still made Bob nervous whenever you got up in the middle of the night to pee.

Yet he was in awe at the Halloween decorations you had made for Auggie's kindergarten class, little pumpkins that looked like fairy houses, witches in their pointed little hats and little brooms in their hands, fuzzy little bats with googly eyes and silly looking little spiders, black cats with slinky little tails, ghosts with their mouths wide open and even two little figures that turned out to be Jack and Sally and even a little Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

"Did you do all this while I was downstairs?" Bob asked, picking up the soft, fuzzy little figures.

"Yep," you answered proudly. "Kay told me that while the kids were outside playing in the yard, Auggie, Gabe, Nicky and Pete were all collecting sticks and wanted to bring them home. I figured I could use them to make a little Halloween tree."

Bob remembered having been a kid at that type of school and having had Kay's mother for his kindergarten teacher. They were wonderful days, learning how to make fresh bread and soup for lunch, playing with his friends, listening to stories and plenty of playing outside. Yet they had been tough too. Bob remembered some days when his father had gotten a deployment notice. He would hide out in a corner of the classroom and cry until Kay's mother had to gently coax him out. Bob had made damn sure that Auggie, Patrick and any other children you might have, would never have to go through that when they started school. But luckily, Bob and the rest of the Daggers had been fully and honorably discharged by the time Patrick had been born.

"You've gotta teach me how to do this because I'm curious now," Bob chuckled.

"Believe me I will," you told him. "I need a partner so I can keep from getting bored."

Up the stairs came those familiar little feet you heard running through the house day after day on the weekends. "Daddy, Daddy," Auggie chirped again. "Can you read to me?"

"C'mere buddy," Bob said, lifting him up into the bed with his book and putting him between you both.

You rode out the rest of the rainy afternoon, reading The Three Musketeers and the adventures they had lived. Auggie was practically jumping with excitement whenever Bob read the swordfight scenes, the both of you happy and proud that he was your little bookworm.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad

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emmbrr · 1 year

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needle felted hedge witch cat

there are more pics here, the hat has some cute embroidery :3c

#my art #needle felting #needle felt #artists on tumblr #witchcore #hedge witch #witchy #goblincore #emmy brown #mushrooms #horton hears a queue

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mc-lukanette · 6 months

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Marinette hummed to herself, mulling over the various fabrics laid out in front of her. Her witch's hat tipped down a little whenever she lowered her head and she made a mental note to have her first fashion line be "alternate witch headwear" no matter the cost.

The cafe was a great place to get ideas and have the usual silence of her room replaced with the idle chatter of everyone else. It being all-inclusive was just a bonus that allowed her to look around and imagine what the various other species of people would look like in the clothes she designed.

The scent of coffee and pastries wafted through the area, her own sweetened coffee at her side while she worked.

Silk is too smooth. Cervitaurs like a bit more texture in their clothes, she thought, staring down at her fabrics on the table. She felt the corner of one, then moved on to the next, dissatisfied with how each rubbed against her. But elves have sensitive skin, so they might find wool too itchy and uncomfortable.

She tapped mindlessly on the table, the enlarged sewing needle in her hand acting as her wand as she pointed it to the textiles on the table. The tip of the needle glowed, Marinette flicking her wand and watching the fabric move around at her will. She redid her sorting for the tenth time that session, or maybe it was the fourteenth? She'd lost count and the sweetened coffee at her side was probably getting cold by now.

With a defeated sigh, Marinette slammed her wand down and collapsed onto the table, lamenting, Maybe there is no "one fabric" for everyone after all. Would I have to invent a new one instead?

She supposed the other problem could be the background music. She loved Jagged Stone's music, but it wasn't good for productivity and the only change the cafe made was that she couldn't hear the lyrics. If it was a knock-off so they didn't have to pay for Jagged's actual music, it was a good one.

She looked over, curious for the source of the song if only to distract herself. She spotted a naga lounging in the corner with black hair and blue highlights, playing on his guitar like imitating someone else's music was no big deal to him. It was impressive to her how his fingers strummed without hesitation or thought, his face not showing even an ounce of stress despite the attention on him from onlookers.

Although, when she really looked at him, he didn't seem invested in what he was playing at all, which was a stark contrast to Jagged's upbeat style coming from his fingertips. Marinette surveyed the room, wondering if he actually worked there to provide music for everyone, because she couldn't imagine why else he'd be there if he didn't enjoy what he was doing. The easiest way to find out was to simply ask, but she couldn't just go up to a stranger and start pestering him with personal questions, even if she wanted to know... right?

Staring down at her fabrics again, the complete lack of ideas practically staring back at her, she groaned and pulled her bag out to shove all of her supplies inside. Whatever. I'm not getting anything done anyway.

——

Marinette shifted in her seat as she waited for the mystery naga boy to be free. Even after the song had finished, he got approached by an employee and she couldn't make out what they were saying. She did catch him rubbing his arm though, making her wonder if it was from nerves or if the room was a little too chilly.

Finally, the employee stepped aside, allowing her to stand up from her table and try to approach as casually as possible. The boy's eyes met hers, probably sensing her presence, but he didn't move or show any sign of discomfort.

"You're really good," she complimented, prioritizing praise over his abilities above all else. "You've been playing Jagged Stone, right?"

He smiled, nodding at her. "Yeah, that's right."

There was a casualness to him of not minding being spoken to, but she could see the look in his eyes of someone who's used to having this exact conversation with other people. That was fine with her, as it wasn't her intended topic of discussion anyway.

She played with a strand of her hair, unsure of how to broach the subject. "Was... that because they asked you to play it?"

His back straightened in surprise. He looked down at his guitar and furrowed his brows, running his hand idly along the neck. "What made you think that?"

Marinette realized only now how awkward the conversation was about to become if she was wrong. She swallowed nervously, deciding to commit regardless. "You didn't seem interested in playing, even though you look so comfortable with your guitar."

She meant it. When she'd watched his body language, he seemed as if he'd been playing since he was really young. She could relate with her own interest in fashion, so she knew what it was like.

The naga eyed her, then searched the room cautiously like he was afraid of being caught. When he looked back at her, he set his guitar down and slowly pushed himself up, Marinette letting out a squeak when he leaned in close.

"You hit the note perfectly," he told her in a whisper, "but I'm not allowed to say that."

She gasped, covering her nose and mouth with both hands. It muffled her voice, but her reply came out clear enough: "And I asked you in front of everyone!"

He shook his head. "You're fine. I don't think anyone heard, and I can only get in trouble for answering."

She brought her hands down, feeling sympathetic to him. While he didn't say it, if he had such restrictions placed on him that he didn't like, then it must've been one of the few jobs he could get. He was still young - certainly not that much older than her - so finding a place where people would take him seriously must've been hard.

"It seems like such a shame." She frowned, keeping her voice low to maintain their secret conversation. "You're so talented, but you have to play other people's songs."

He shrugged, sad but giving her a reassuring, grateful smile. "Maybe someday. For now, they only want me to play what's popular, so I can't try my own music."

"Your own music?" she repeated, almost breaking the 'safe' volume between them with her intrigue. She'd suspected that he wrote music himself, so it was nice having it confirmed. "Could I hear it sometime? I'm sure it's amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really!" It wasn't out of pity for him, but a genuine longing for the passion of another creative mind.

Before he could respond, an annoyed voice called from afar, "Couffaine! No flirting on the job!"

Marinette blushed. She supposed there were only so many ways their current situation could be interpreted, and if the place was already judging him based on his age, there was only one.

The naga, unphased, turned towards the voice and smirked. "I'm going on break." He reached for his guitar, holding it against himself and softening his expression when he met her gaze again. "Do you want to come with me?"

"What?" Her brain clicked, remembering what they'd been talking about. She was surprised that it'd be so soon - so immediate - but she wouldn't complain. "O-oh! Yeah, let's go!"

They went for the door together, her holding it open for him and hearing a hushed, "It's Luka, by the way," as he slithered past.

"Ma—Marinette!" she exclaimed in return, following after him.

——

The two of them wound up settling down in a park with a fountain, Marinette sitting down on the fountain's stone wall while Luka was content lounging on the ground. She expected him to start playing right away, but he put his guitar off to the side instead.

At her confused look, he asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"We only talked about me," he explained. "You had some things on your table and you were moving them around, so I thought..."

He SAW that?! She was absolutely mortified. The fact that he was watching her too made her feel less weird about her initial motivation in approaching him, yet she hadn't wanted his impression of her to be her succeeding in a whole lot of nothing.

Luka, probably reading her expression, put his arms up next to her on the stone and assured, "I don't think there's anything wrong with needing time to make a song work, but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I was just curious."

Marinette drummed her fingers on her lap, shy. She'd shown interest in him but hadn't expected the same in return.

"You stuck your tongue out to the side when you were focused," he continued, voice gentler than before. "My sister tells me that I do something like that: the end of my tail flicks back and forth when I'm 'focusing too much.'"

He was relating to her to help her relax, even though he'd already given her an out. The worst part was that it was working, and she managed to answer, "I-I specialize in fashion, so I was looking at some fabric."

"What kind of fashion do you make?"

"All kinds, even accessories. Like..." She sat her bag on her lap and opened it, but couldn't find anything she could use inside. Pouting, but refusing to give up when she wanted to impress him, she asked hopefully, "Do you have anything small on you? Something that you're not that attached to?"

Luka looked towards the bag he was wearing around his waist, unzipping one of the pockets and fishing inside for an object that matched her description. When he held one up to her, triangular and round at the edges, she figured that it must've been a spare guitar pick of his.

"I-is that really okay?" She took it, turning it in her hands. "What if something happens to the one you have now?"

"Don't worry. I've got plenty," he assured, zipping his bag back up and patting it for emphasis.

She wasn't sure if she could believe him, but didn't see any reason to make a fuss about it. Retrieving her wand from her bag, she held the guitar pick close to her chest and shut one eye for precision. The tip of her wand made contact with the tip of the guitar pick and she used a touch of magic to form a hole in it. She then took a thick piece of string from her bag, threading it through the hole and pinching both ends together. Rubbing them between her thumb and index finger, she whispered soft words to bind them, leaving the string forming a complete circle when she let go.

It was still a bit plain, but that was inevitable since she was just improvising. Pressing the blunt end of the wand to her cheek in contemplation, she wondered aloud, "Do you mind if I touch your tail?"

He didn't ask why, shifting his tail about so that he could raise it up to her. Marinette offered him a smile in thanks, then began to draw magic on her palm with her wand. She was tempted to comment on the adorable way Luka tried to lean in to watch, but didn't.

As she finished off the pattern she'd drawn, it glowed blue along with her eyes. Turning her attention to Luka, she placed her hand on his tail and began to run it across. He shuddered at the sensation, though it didn't affect her work.

"Sorry," she said, "I've never done this on anyone, so I didn't know that'd happen."

"It's okay." Then, more curiously, "Done what?"

When she took her hand off, she showed him: the color, pattern, and texture of his tail had been replicated directly onto it. Luka's eyes were wide with awe and she felt a burst of pride in her chest.

Closing her fist around the string with her tail-patterned hand, she pulled and pulled at the string with her other one. With each pull, the part of the string that went through her closed fist came out with the exact same pattern as Luka's tail, until finally it matched it entirely. Satisfied, Marinette shook her magic-imbued hand in the air, the pattern coming off like wind blowing dust away.

The most important part came last. She clutched the guitar pick, bringing it to her lips in thought while she considered what to do. Her personal opinion was that a witch who worked in fashion should never do so without a spell attached, but she wasn't sure which to pick. Luka didn't come off as someone reckless, so making it more durable seemed like a waste. Luck, meanwhile, was such a cliche spell to cast on anyone, not like she believed in such a thing in the first place.

She eyed him for ideas, from his highlights to his eyes and then to his body. As her gaze skimmed past his arm, the faint memory of him rubbing it earlier struck, and she almost felt stupid for not thinking of it before.

Giving the guitar pick a soft kiss, it lit up along the edges. While it was pure black before, her magic changed its border to a bright crimson, confirming that her spell had gone off without a hitch. She turned to tell Luka that it was a success, though she paused when she noticed that the tip of his tail was flicking back and forth.

I thought he said that it only did that when he was really focused on something? she wondered, but didn't catch onto the implications.

After looking over the enchanted accessory one last time, she offered it to him with a smile. "Here! Just like that!"

Luka took a moment to reply, as if her magic had rubbed off on him and put him in a trance. Snapping back to focus, he tore his gaze from her to stare at the necklace. "That—that was incredible, Marinette!"

"Y-you really think so?"

"Yeah. You even copied my tail onto the string; I still have no idea how you did it or what spell that was. I felt inspired just watching you work."

She blushed at the heavy praise, replying defensively, "You haven't even tried it on yet!"

"Oh, then please..." he said easily, not wasting another second.

She thought he would just take it from her, but he leaned closer and bent his head down patiently. Whether it was a naga thing or he somehow felt wrong touching it himself, she wasn't sure, but she went along with it anyway. It almost felt like she was bestowing a medal of honor when she draped it over his head and let it drop.

Immediately, she saw Luka's body language change and asked, "How's it feel?"

"...Warm." He hesitated, putting a hand to his chest. He raised a brow in confusion, trying to find the right words. "I feel warm?"

"Yup! It's a spell for keeping you warm." She poked the guitar pick for emphasis. "I thought you looked a little cold earlier, so it seemed right."

He gaped at her, stunned. "You did that in just a few minutes? I have a couple of naga friends who hate being even a little cold. If you want any business, I'll put in a word for you."

She started to feel shy again. "I-it's not that big of a deal?" She waved him off. "It's more like a prototype. It won't protect you from being too hot, a-and it doesn't last forever."

She felt bitter at having to say it. Temperature-controlling charms had been one of her goals as a fashion-inclined witch, yet she still hadn't figured out a perfect solution to its limited nature.

"I don't think anyone would expect that," he argued, almost sounding offended on her behalf. "Even if it doesn't last, people could only wear it when they know they'll need it. That's not much different from wearing something until it's too worn out."

That's... not a bad point, she conceded, though not enough to verbalize it. She'd just never thought about it that way.

Luka held the guitar pick part of the necklace, bringing it closer to his face to admire it. "Why aren't things like this being sold everywhere?"

Marinette shrugged. "I mean, I did come up with some of those spells myself, but maybe witches just aren't interested in using their talents for fashion? It's not exactly as flashy as making things disappear or lighting things on fire with the flick of a wrist. "

He shook his head, adamant in his position. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

His gaze was a little intense; he meant it. She tipped her head purposefully to have an excuse to adjust her hat, not sure how to handle compliments from someone who - as she was quickly noticing - was quite handsome.

"...O-oh! Um—" She fumbled to shift the conversation away from her. Pointing hurriedly at the necklace, she explained, "A-about the spell: I said it doesn't last forever, but it doesn't need recast or anything. The enchantment on it will stay, but once it runs out of power you'll need to get someone else with magic to recharge it." Then, she blurted out thoughtlessly, "Or I could?"

She managed to suppress the scream she nearly let out, leaving it to bounce and echo in her mind while Luka could only stare in silence. She'd never cast a curse in her life - only considered it in a few dark fantasies involving people who'd bullied her - but she might've cast a curse to remove her voice if she could go back to a few seconds ago. She'd just met this boy, and she was talking as if they were ever going to see each other again.

...Well, in retrospect it wasn't impossible; actually, it was very likely. If he continued working at the cafe and she continued to visit, they would inevitably continue seeing each other. One could even make the argument that she'd become the most convenient person to recharge the enchantment then.

It didn't make her any less embarrassed though.

Looking for a diversion (a successful one this time), Marinette turned her attention to his guitar. Gesturing wildly at it, she clarified, "B-but only if you play for me! You said you would!"

He didn't say explicitly that he would, but she hoped he wouldn't remember that detail.

"...Alright," Luka replied, as if everything she'd just said and done wasn't entirely ridiculous. He even grinned wider and repeated it. "Alright. I'll play for you whenever you want."

"Oka—whenever I want?" She blinked at him, thinking that he might've slipped up as well, but he was already focusing on getting his guitar in place.

No more words were spoken as he began to play, Marinette's thoughts of how fast she'd have to be to outrun a naga left behind to listen to him. As she'd imagined, he was really good, his music feeling like it was coming straight from his heart and into hers.

Now that she'd calmed down from her little outburst, she found her fingers twitching, either to adjust one of her spells or simply to start drawing new designs. She'd stumbled her way into agreeing to meet with him again, and even if her way of going about it wasn't ideal, she'd wanted it.

As she continued to listen, his words echoed in her head, "I felt inspired just watching you work," and she pondered if this was the result of his inspiration. Thinking about it, she'd never got to make anything in front of someone before, nor come up with something new on the spot.

Perhaps they'd inspired each other then, even without meaning to, and she silently hoped that they could continue to do so.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #Witch Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Naga Luka Couffaine

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2braincellslz · 1 year

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Hey!

Can i request Thomas Shelby x son! Reader, where the reader is the bastard child of him and no one knows about him except Tommy. The reader's mother dies and he gets sent to a distant relative who mistreat him. And the reader also knows who his real father is, and one day they meet and the reade is just really really sarcastic and Tommy somehow finds out that this disrespectful child is his kid he abandoned.

Father Dearest

Relationship: Son!reader and Father!Thomas

Desc: (y/n) having to suffer with his Aunt and Uncle, he decided to spend his day at the Garrison only to run in to his long lost father.

(Y/n) tossed again, huffing in displeasure. The sun was rising now but it wasnt like he got much sleep. Back at his moms estate, that was definitely not given to her to keep her quiet, he slept in one of the softest beds imaginable. It was almost like sleeping on a cloud. Now, living with Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick, he slept on a potato sack. Sometimes he swore he felt needles poking him from inside the mattress.

(Y/n) tossed more more time for good measure before giving up. He rolled off of his piss poor mattress, if it could even be called that, and tugged on his slightly too small "street" clothes. That of witch was a old yellowed dress shirt, work pants, and a hat. His "caregivers" didnt get him anything else.

Now, Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick wernt poor. Far from it. They were just cheap. Cheap when it came to (y/n). Cheap to the point where (y/n) was forced to sleep in the attic rather the guest room.

Ann and Dick had their own kids. Viv, a younger girl, she was kind but then again the reality of the world hadn't hit her yet. And Shawn, a boy about the same age as (y/n). Shawn and (y/n) got along fairly well. Often, they would hang out under some bridge and gamble with eachother. Whether it be a quick game of black jack or some kind of contest.

Shawn was also the only person who know about the hush money (y/n) received weekly. Shawn knew why (y/n) was getting hush money. Shawn knew who the hush money was coming from. Shawn also knew that (y/n) would lie about going off to work, much preferring hanging out at one bar or another and people watching but it was only a matter of time before people watching got boring.

(Y/n) climbed up the stairs, in to the kitchen where Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick were already sat at the table. The maid, Lizabeth, was hard away working at the stove while Viv watched carefully. Shawn was stood by a mirror, checking his tie one last time.

"Hot date?" (Y/n) asked, lightly slapping the back of Shawn's head.

"God, I wish."

"(Y/n)!" Dick called from the kitchen "dont hit Shawn or you'll be out on the streets so fast your head will spin!"

Shawn and (y/n) couldn't help but give a look, trying not to burst out in to a fit of laughter.

Letting in to the living room, (y/n) took the couch that was practically calling for him to fall asleep in and Shawn took a arm chair.

"So what's with the get-up?" (Y/n) asked, pouring himself a glass of Morning liquor.

"Dad's wanting to introduce me to some of his clients. Saying that I better get used to the 'get-up'"

(Y/n) hummed, nodding. He took a sip of the wisky. Dick would kill him if he caught (y/n) dirking it.

"So , what's your plan?" Shawn asked, getting himself a Morning glass.

"Planning on swinging by the Garrison. Seeing if that bar maid position is still open."

Shawn made a face, one of confusion and studder worry. "The Garrison? The place you are payed not to go to?"

(Y/n) just smiled, tipping his glass to Shawn.

"You are utterly crazy. Mr. Shelby still visits!" Shawn whisper yelled, leaning forward.

"He hasnt seen me in, what, eighteen years? He won't recognize me." (Y/n) couldnt help the small smile that crept up on to his face at the sight of the great Thomas Shelby being tripped up over his long lost son. "He's too busy with his businesses to even notice me."

"And if he does?" Shawn rasied his eyebrows.

"They I say I have a right to be here. The money is so I dont, one, stake any claim on anything to do with the Shelby family, two, not tell anyone that my dad is The Great Tommy Shelby, and three, not bug Thomas. I can still go to the Garrison."

"You're insane." Shawn sat back, placing his glass on the side table.

"Shawn, my boy, are you ready?" (Y/n) shot back the rest of the drink as Dick turned the corner.

"Yes, sir." Shawn stood up, straightening his cuffs.

Dick started for the door. Just as Shawn was about the leave, he shot (Y/n) a warning look. 'Dont get yourself in to unwarranted trouble.'

"(Y/n)." Aunt Ann called. "We have... guests tonight. I would suggest you etheir stay out late or stay in your room. Make yourself scarce."

(Y/n) just rolled his eyes, grabbing his cap before heading out the door.

The walk to the Garrison was never boring. The roaring flames from the factory's and the smoke filling passer by lungs was always a grand way to wake up. Granted, it was the only way to wake up.

Pushing open the door to the Garrison, (y/n) made himself at home in one of the bar seats.

"Ah, (y/n)" the bartender who (y/n) never bothered to learn the name of smiled. "The usual?"

"Actually, I was wondering if the bar maid position was still available?" (Y/n) asked, lighting up a cigarette.

Just as the bartender was about to open his mouth, the door snapped open. While the bartender was quick to look up (y/n) took his time.

A taller man walked in (clearly already buzzed). He was dressed in a distressed and messy suit and had a bushy mustache. (Y/n) was no stranger to the man, having shared one or two drinks with him.

Another guy was right behind him, a lot yonger. (Y/n) could tag him as Finn, the youngest of the (now) three Shelby sons.

The kingpin wasnt far behind his two brothers.

"Alright, everybody out." Arthur shouted causing the one or two people who didnt have jobs to leave. Exept (y/n) who sat back against the bar.

Arthur glanced over, clearly trying too hard to be intimidating. "Oi, you deaf?"

"Nope. Just bored." (Y/n) took a long drag of his cigarette.

"You got a death wish?" Finn piped up. God, It was hard not to laugh. Finn was almost like a little dog barking with the rest of the german shepherds as if he was one in the same.

"Depends on the day. Today..." (y/n) paused, pretending to think it over. "Nah."

"You best be leaving then." Arther took over again.

"No." (Y/n) turned around, back to the Shelbys.

"Leave him be. He won't say anything." Thomas finally hushed his brothers. Almost as if trained dogs, they both shut up and sat down. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)." He didn't turn back around. "(Y/n) (l/n)"

(Y/n) though he was poking a bear with a stick, wasnt dumb. He knew not to out right say he was a Shelby so he used his long lost mothers name.

(Y/n) could hear the cogs turning In Thomas's head. He could feel his father's eyes burrowing in to the back of his head.

Arthur stared on about something or a another.

(Y/n) finished his cigarette just as the brothers were finishing up their little chat.

The stood next to (y/n) creaked slightly as one of the brothers sat down next to him. The bartender slid him a drink. There was a thud, money being placed on the counter, only Tommy did that.

"Do I know you?" Straight to the point.

"No. I dont think you do."

"Your last name sounds familiar." Tommy took a sip of his drink, watching his brothers leave the bar. "You're brave but dumb."

"Two of my best quality's." (Y/n) waved down the bartender whi handed in another drink. (Y/n) reached over and took the money Thomas was going to use to "pay" for his drinks, sliding it infront of himself.

"Do you have a job? Seems like a odd time for someone of your age to be hangin around bars."

"Nope, just got fired."

"Yet you dont have a death wish."

"Hated the fucking job." (Y/n) paused. He knew Thomas could see right through him. (Y/n) did know if it was a dad things

or a Thomas thing. "Boss's were scum. Good coworkers though."

"Isnt that always the case..." Tommy sipped his drink.

"You know." (Y/n) threw back the rest of his drink. "I always thought 'Tommy' was a odd name for a gang leader. You would expect something more... hard. 'Tommy' is a name you would expect a young sweet kid."

"And Thomas?"

"Thomas is a little better."

"A little?" Thomas looked over, not being able to hide the suddle smile.

"Mhm. (Y/n) is a much better." (Y/n) smiled back.

Thomas hummed, moving off of the seat. "Well, (y/n), next time you want to talk to your father you dont have to your uncles." Thomas said, leaving the bar.

(Y/n) jumped, nearly out of his skin. He quickly turned, nearly knocking himself out of this chair.

"What the fuck."

#thomas shelby #thomas #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x son!reader #son reader #Male reader #peaky blinders x male reader #secret son #reqest #request #the Garrison

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slashingdisneypasta · 15 days

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Dorothy Must Die (Danielle Paige):

A p p e a r e n c e s.

Tin Woodman:

He looked more like a machine that had been cobbled together out of spare parts, a hodgepodge of scrap metal and springs and machinery pieces all held together by screws and bolts. His long, spindly legs were a complex construction of rods and springs and joints, and bent backward at the ankles like a horses legs; his face was pinched and mean, with beady, flashing metal eyes and a thin, cylindrical nose that jutted out several inches from his face and ended in a nasty little point. His oversized jaw jutted out from the rest of his face in a nasty underbite, revealing a mess of little blades where his teeth should have been.

I half remembered the Tin Woodman's story. He had been a flesh-and-blood man until a witch had enchanted his ax to make him chop off pieces of his body one by one, and one by one he had replaced them with metal parts until that was all that was left of him. From what it looked like, he had been making improvements ever since. The only thing that was really familiar about him was the funnel-shaped hat he wore. I guess some things never change.

He had fingers like knives and needles, each one of them twisted into a slightly different shape. Like dentist tools.

Dorothy Gale:

This was not the same girl I'd read about. She was wearing the dress, but it wasn't the dress exactly- it was as if someone had cut her familiar blue-checked jumper into a million little pieces and then put it back together again, only better. Better and, okay, a little bit more revealing. Actually, more than a little bit. Not that I was judging.

Instead of farm-girl cotton it was silk and chiffon. The cut was somewhere between heaute couture and French hooker. The bodice nipped, tucked, and lifted. There was cleavage.

Lots of cleavage.

Dorothy's boobs were put to here, her legs up to there. Her face was smooth and unblemished and perfect: her mouth shellacked in a plasticky crimson, her eyes impeccably lined in silver and gold. Her eyelashes were so long and full that they probably created a breeze when she blinked. It was hard to tell how old she was. She looked like she could have been my age or years older. She looked immortal.

She had her hair pulled into two deep chestnut waves that cascaded down her shoulders, each tied with red ribbon. Her piercing blue eyes were trained right on me. I knew I was supposed to look down, like the Tin Woodman had instructed. Instead, I found myself falling into her gaze. I couldn't help it.

The Scarecrow:

At Ozma's side stood a tall thin man dressed in a baby-blue, one-size-too-small suit. Beneath a small hat, bits of straw and yarn stuck out in every direction. His face was a skein of tightly pulled burlap with two unnervingly lifelike buttons sewn on in place of eyes. His lips were thin lines of embroidery stitched in pinkish-brown yarn underneath a painted on red triangle for a nose. His buttons were fixed on me.

A chill shot through my body. It was the Scarecrow. Like the Tin Woodman, he had been twisted and warped into something I hardly recognised.

His head lolled over to his shoulder and a little felt tongue I didn't even know he had dangled limply from his mouth.

The Lion:

Or maybe like something was waiting them: at the front of the line, I saw the Lion himself for the first time in the flesh. He had been a vague, hazy shadow in Glamora's scrying pool, but now, in person, I realised exactly how terrifying he really was.

Really, he was barely recognisable as a lion at all. He looked like a monster, like some warped nightmare version of the king of the jungle. He was huge and golden, with bulging, grotesque muscles and a filthy, snarled mane. His lips were curled back, baring a mouth crowded with sharp, long, crooked fangs.

#Dorothy Must Die #Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Paige #Dorothy Must Die Tin Woodman #Dorothy Must Die Dorothy Gale #Dorothy Must Die Scarecrow #Dorothy Must Die Lion #DMD!Lion #DMD!Scarecrow #DMD!Dorothy Gale #DMD!Tin Woodman

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thebigsl33p · 1 year

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Dream's Moving Castle.

Chapter One

A/N: Hi! First chapter of this How's Moving Castle AU! This is a HOWLS MOVING CASTLE AU! MORPHEUS IS OOC, BECAUSE HIS CHARACTER IS HOWL. However I made some changes, use of Sandman characters as film characters etcetera. My Comments do not work, but please let me know if something is wrong!! I will add a link when you can find this on Ao3, I do taglists!

Word Count: 1.2K

Market Chipping was always such a busy, complicated place, and Y/N always felt like such a small simple part of it.

The woman loved her city and the festivals it held, the celebrations of spring and the spirits. It was a bright town, with a spectrum of colours decorating the streets and was always filled with well-dressed gentlemen and ladies. The height of its problems were the witches and wizards who prowled the fields and forests which surrounded it, but they tended to keep away from crowded areas, and the neighbouring town which was struggling with politics and their monarch.

But the people of Market Chipping were content.

Y/N made a living through her father’s hat shop, which she had inherited upon his passing, with her mother going to live in one of the big cities and her sister, Rose, working in a fancy bakery uptown. The hat shop was lovely and quaint with a steady supply of local customers, and enough employees that all the workload didn’t fall on Y/N, despite her quiet enthusiasm towards hat making. Although the truth was that she didn’t have many friends and often struggled to get along with the girls who worked in the shop, despite how they asked her out with them every time.

The hat shop was glorious and small. The face was majority glass so from the outside you could see all the hats and posh interior, as well as the floral displays. It was decorated in themes of greens and gold with the multi-coloured hats giving it some energy, and in the back was a workshop, plain and wooden except for all the work materials and feathers. However, Y/N had her own workspace, a little workbench tucked into a small room to the side, with a window right by where she worked and her materials arranged how she liked and knew them. She kept finished projects on a little shelf overhead where people could come and collect them.

From her window, she could see a lot of little Market Chipping, the steam train that ran through the town and the farmer’s fields afterwards which stretched as far as the eye could see.

Our story starts on a lovely spring day, with the hot sun but cool air. Soldiers have returned from their journeys for spring, and so the streets of Market Chipping are filled with singing and dancing and food and laughter. And still, despite the celebrations, Y/N works in her little room, sewing colourful feathers into a hat, and adding floral decorations and beads. She gets lost for a little bit, staring out the window at the fields, what people call “The Waste”. It is truly a beautiful sight on a day like this, but her thoughts are disrupted by three things:

She had carelessly pricked her finger with the needle, jabbing herself right on the corner of her finger and she can see the slight swell of blood. She raises it to her mouth and gently cleans it.

There’s something moving in The Waste. Something big and filled with grandeur, that shuffles and creaks as it goes, releasing steam and fire from its multitude of pipes. She knows this creation; it’s Dream’s castle. Dream, a renowned wizard who was said to eat the hearts of pretty, youthful, girls. Apparently, some form of a heartthrob.

The girls, who seconds later spotted Dream’s castle, moving across the fields, had run to the window with screams of delight, fantasy and false terror. Jests of “he would never eat your heart” and “did you hear about Martha from the town over?” Filling the air.

Gently Y/N poked her head up with slight curiosity but didn’t stop working.

And then, as the girls were closing up and preparing to go for lunch, there was someone at her workspace, leaning on the doorframe. Another girl, who Y/N knew by the name of Daisy, standing there with her bag in her hand, over jacket on and a hat on her head, “Y/N, we just closed the shop. You’ve done enough work. Why don’t you come out with us this time?”

Y/N looks down at the hat in her hands and the girl in the doorway, the girls giggling behind her, “No, I better finish this. You go and have fun.” she nods.

Daisy offers her a kind and understanding smile, before shrugging, “Alright, suit yourself.” And then she turns to the room of gossiping women, “Let’s go girls!”

The women giggle and laugh and chatter about Dream and whether or not he’ll come for them, and Y/N watches from her window as his mechanical castle disappears into a soft, oncoming, rolling, mist.

She spends the next half hour finishing up her hat, adding the final touches before tucking it safely into a box, tying a bow and placing it on her shelf. And then she grabs her own coat, turns off all the lights and locks the shop up for good. She steps into the bustling streets and easily slips through the crowds of celebrating and joyous people, before turning down a quiet and easier alleyway. Y/N is going to visit her sister, Rose, at her job. It’s a busy day with all the soldiers back in town but she won’t let that stop her.

The first couple of minutes of the walk are nice and peaceful, she keeps her head down and no one who passes her takes any notice. She sees the backs of colourful and loved houses, with washing and plants hanging out the windows, housecats which cross between the open doorways. But her peace is disrupted the moment she steps through an archway.

There are two soldiers, both young, standing on either side of the alleway and the moment they see her, their eyes light up and they begin to smile. The youngest of the two, steps forward and nudges his buddy before blocking Y/N’s path, “Hey, looks like a little mouse lost its way.” he taunts.

The hatmaker shakes her head furiously, fear creeping up inside her, “Oh no, I’m not lost.” she’s trying her best to be polite in the hopes that if she doesn’t enrage or upset these men they won’t do anything to her.

“This little mouse looks thirsty.” The second soldier, a man with a thin layer of hair on his top lip, grins, “We should take her for a cup of tea.”

She shakes her head again, eyes going wide and she stumbles back, “No thanks, my sister’s expecting me.”

“She’s pretty cute for a mouse.”

“How old are you anyway?”

“You live around here?”

The best she can muster against the questions is a quiet and panicked, “Leave me alone.”

They continue: “You see? Your moustache scares off all the girls.”

“She’s even cuter when she’s scared.”

She’s cornered now, shaking slightly and still moving her head in defiance.

And then she feels a hand on her shoulder - someone behind her - pulling her close to them and keeping her stable, not touching her any further.

And a voice, deep and powerful, “There you are sweetheart.” Y/N looks to her side and sees a man with dark messy hair, dark eyes and pale skin. He’s dressed in fancy shirts and jewellery, but on his shoulders is a big black coat. He meets her eyes and sees the stars flash in them, before he grins at her, “Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.”

People Who I thought might appreciate being tagged (sorry if not):

@midnightr0in @writing-fanics @absurd-raven

#the sandman X reader #morpheus X reader #howls moving castle au #dream of the endless X reader #dream X reader #sandman X reader #king of dreams X reader #lord morpheus X reader

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coffee-in-veins · 1 year

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Day 28: Witch’s brew

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022

previous days: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27

now available on ao3 too

Witch NOUN - a woman thought to have magic powers, especially evil ones, popularly depicted as wearing a black cloak and pointed hat and flying on a broomstick.

* * *

Don't care for the critics My words are like physics A force that they can't stop They just don't get it, I think they forget I'm not done till I'm on top I know I was born for this I know I was born for this

-- Born For This by The Score

A man in a robe claimed communication with the divine and a man in glasses claimed to teach her the intricacies of nature, and they both insisted that all women are witches and most of all those who show defiance of their role. It’s the Light’s will and in the woman’s sacred part to be fertile and make increase, preached the first in a smoke-filled box stinking of tallow and unwashed bodies of other citizens. It is only natural to reduce them to their reproductive role, for this was the natural way of things, argued the latter, hinting that she had no business staying in the halls of learning despite – or maybe precisely because of – her scandalous theories.

To her, in the end, they both were full of hollow words and nothing else of worth. Just irritating buzzing at the outskirts of her brilliant mind.

She couldn’t forget the only time she was one-upped, though. The pain and the wailing of her professor Celsus never stopped haunting her nights, yet with enough dedication and the right type of concoctions that, too, was a struggle she overcame with time and dedication.

Witches of the old were covered in dirt and mud, hunched and vile, mutated by the word of mouth just as much if not more as they were by their craft. They had no idea what they were doing, repeating whatever worked once in the past, mindlessly, traditionally. But she was not one of those. She was the witch of the newcome era, the era of science and education, completely opposite from those repulsive misconceptions – yet hated and shunned just as much.

Currently busy with her research, she was in the clean atrium, sterile as the dilapidated room would allow her, with bad miasma firmly chained and at bay by the incense with her most potent, perfected blend of fume-destroying substances. Freshly sharpened scalpels lined on her right in the tray of purifying solutions, and the table in front of her was covered in water-tight skins so that not a drop of potentially infectious substances would remain there after she was done.

This was her domain, her “kingdom come” of brightly lit lamps and the stench of rubbing alcohol so potent it was felt even through the smell of warding herbs in the beak of her trusty mask. She was a general leading her assault of knowledge and scientific approach against what feeble minds had called “the unfathomable” – because to her, it was merely “yet uncharted”.

Paracelsus gazed upon bits and pieces presented to her by the bloodsucker hunters, the vast shimmering planes of glistening wings and fleshy tubes of cut-off proboscis, ripped-out needle-like fangs and barbarically butchered organs, black orbs of eyes and dark-glass bottles.

A repulsive heap of flesh which already started to decompose and potentially dangerous trash to a passer-by.

A treasure trove of possibilities that held keys to their salvation, to someone of her intelligence.

The Heiress lowered herself to the concerns of her hired goons for once and called forth those she deemed most capable of solving the Crimson Curse issue that encroached on her lands after some unfortunate villager stumbled upon the entrance to the once-grandiose Court. Paracelsus was an obvious choice – along with a few other, less noteworthy candidates. Despite the wounds she obtained during expeditions, her mind was even sharper than back at the Academy.

She was tasked with the impossible, yet again, but unlike the last time, that single failure that still haunted her troubled dreams, she had the experience to back her bold claims and dozens of successful (and one not so successful…) expeditions to the cursed Estate to know what she was supposedly dealing with. Thus, she cut and she carved and she sliced and she divided tissues, determined to reach this new frontier, forfeiting sleep and sustenance in her single-minded pursuit. To her left, another table was laden with distillation setups, vats and vials of previous batches deemed passable enough to keep and record the results.

It wasn’t a proper woman’s work they said.

It wasn’t the divine plan for her, they said.

It wasn’t the natural order of things, they said.

She must have been a witch, they said.

And indeed, she was seen as one. She was the witch of the new era, and it mattered not if she used the ladle of the previous noteworthy herbalist of this Estate in her current research. A useful tool was a useful tool regardless of personal history, and the notable non-corrosive properties of the cutlery proved most valuable when dealing with the infected blood and the blood of the infected. The bubbling of round-bottomed flasks and the clanking of scalpels were her chants, the tables of reagents and reaction times were her Black book, and the oozing flesh and cursed teeth were her herbs. Once proficient at tests on the blood-soaked battlegrounds, now her battles were held on reagent-drenched autopsy tables as well as constantly updated chemical composition tables.

Because Paracelsus was going to brew her own batch of “Blood”, cracking the recipe of the cursed brew and opening Hamlet’s very own madness-tinted vintners, or kill every bloodsucker in the vicinity for ingredients while trying to achieve that.

Either way, what a glorious day to be considered a witch by barbarians.

#cw: brief descriptions of period-appropriate scientific/medical practices #cw mysogyny #quite a lot of it in fact #it just occured to me that in DD2 backstory Para is the only girl in her class #makes one think how much of conflict was her arrogance #and how much was because she was *gasp* a woman #dd promptober 2022 #darkest dungeon #dd plague doctor #dd paracelsus #crimson curse #fanfic #The bloodied journal page || my writing #The tapestries of words || my ao3

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greenthumbwitch · 2 years

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yesterday i got the urge to make a green garden witch’s hat, so here it is!!!! i spent the entire day yesterday from a little before noon to two in the morning, but it was totally worth it!! and i feel like it totally fits me and my form of witchcraft more than your standard black witch’s hat. overall, i’m super proud and happy about this hat!! what do you think?? green felt hat with a wire brim and leaf and vine hand-stitched embroidery in black and some dragonflies in white with various glass and crystal beads sewn around the edges.

loosely inspired by Kira’s Magick Needle hats that i reblogged yesterday, i saw those lovely hats and an idea started forming.

#magic #witchcraft #esoteric #embroidery #witch #witch hat #garden witch #green witch #hand stitched embroidery #beading #artwork #halloween #witch supplies #wearable art

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magic-to-write · 2 years

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Once again, sorry this is late. That said may I introduce:

Chapter 4; Dinner and Psychic powers.

Theo and Ridley arrived at the shop; Ridley wore a nice blue dress under her lab coat, Theo was in his tuxedo. The moment they walked in Leila put them to work.

"We're arranging a Magic Misfits centerpiece for the dinner table." Leila said, she was already dressed in her straitjacket; though she'd left the sleeves untied so that she could carry items from the shop.

Ridley looked skeptical, "And why would we want to do that?"

"In honor of two generations of magic clubs." Carter said, bouncing on his heels.

"Plus, seeing how great our magic club is might get Dad talking about the old Emerald Ring." Leila added, tossing Ridley a stuffed parrot.

Glancing around Vernon's Magic Shop made Leila suddenly nostalgic for the time she'd first arrived from Mother Margaret's Home. Walking through that front door, as the little bell sounded over her head, Leila felt like she'd stepped into wonderland she'd only read about in books. The high-ceilinged room contained every color of the rainbow. The windowpanes were painted bright purple and green. The rugs that covered the rickety wood floor swirled with ochre stripes and red dots and yellow lightning bolts. The glass jars filled with toys and tricks reflected sunlight, casting beams into the far corners of the room, catching the glitter embedded in the plaster walls. For a moment, on that first day, Leila had been certain that it was a dream she'd wake up from; in a way, as time passed, she had.

Friends, you might already understand that it's impossible to live surrounded by such magic without it eventually feeling somewhat normal. Thankfully, her fathers were able to remind her how special she was simply by taking her into their lives and giving her the attention and love she deserved. The magic in the shop was the icing on an already delicious cake.

The quartet gathered supplies from the shop's hidden nooks and secret drawers. Then they took the small service elevator upstairs to the dinning room. Leila always giggled when she rode the elevator. Who had an elevator inside their home?

Leila laid the black top hat from the shop on its side in the middle of the long wooden table. The other Misfits surrounded the hat with trick wands, playing cards, knotted ropes, feather flowers, whoopee cushions, tiny cups and foam balls, balloon animals, miniature human skulls made from clear plastic, rainbow-colored glass vials, along with the stuffed bird from earlier; that looked like Presto. It appeared as if everything was spilling from the top hat like a magical horn of plenty. Leila placed her favorite candlesticks- cast iron and shaped like little witch boots -on either end and then lit the tips of the tall white tapers.

The light from the setting sun came through the gauzy curtains, and it- along with the glow from the candles -gave the dinning room an aura of enchantment.

"Perfecto!" Said Leila, "This'll get them talking."

***

When Poppa returned home from the resort, he brought Sandra Santos with him; which Mr. Vernon had declared there was a God when he saw her, which Sandra found very funny. She wore a more simple dress, it was a white with red fabric roses dotted on it, her hair was up in a messy bun. The same white star-shaped earrings dangled from her petite earlobes. According to fashion magazines, every fabulous woman had one or two signature accessories; the stars were Sandra's. She greeted the Misfits with air-kisses.

"Oh my!" Sandra said, examining the table spread, she turned back to the Misfits, "Did you all make this?"

"Leila lead us." Theo piped up, putting a hand on Leila's shoulder.

"Yeah, it was her vision." Ridley said. Leila didn't look at them she just couldn't look away from Sandra; Sandra looked so proud of Leila, it was like how a mother would look proud of their child. It made Leila feel like she was glowing.

Carter set the needles down on the record player on the sideboard, and playful jazz music danced around the room. Leila was startled out of her own thoughts.

"The Magic Misfits welcome you to dinner." Leila said; trying to make a quick recovery. she then bowed.

"The best part is how all of this will magically return to the shop at the end of the night!" Said the Other Mr. Vernon.

Leila's Poppa brought out plates filled with steaming lobster Mac and cheese, fried green tomatoes, parmesan potatoes, and spaghetti squash with marinara. Everyone gathered at the table, their mouths watering as the Other Mr. Vernon filled crystal glasses with fresh-made lemonade that glowed in the candlelight.

"This all looks so good!" Sandra said, with a wide smile.

"The best. As usual." Said Theo.

"Thank you, Mr. Vernons!" Ridley said, with a smile.

"Dig in while it's hot." Leila's Poppa instructed.

The sounds of silverware clacking against plates sounded out like chimes, until Sandra interrupted, "Wait!" She stood up, her dress caught on her chair and she would have busted her face in if Mr. Vernon hadn't grabbed her; somehow Sandra didn't spill the drink in her hand. "First, a toast! To old friends!"

Mr. Vernon smiled and chuckled, his thin black mustache decorating his top lip. "To old friends." He echoed. They all clicked glasses, took quick swigs, then got back to the task at hand- filling their bellies with delicious grub.

The table was filled with chatter, Sandra and the Other Mr. Vernon talked about the food; Sandra seemed to know a thing or two about cooking. Ridley and Theo were sneakily doing magic tricks to mess with each other, Carter even joined in making eye contact with Ridley as he made the salt shaker disappear, that nearly got them caught because Ridley was about to burst a seam from holding in her laughter. Leila was about to join them, wanting to tie Theo's fork to his spoon, but was stopped when Sandra said something that drawed Leila's attention.

"Oh, how I adored this old building as a child." Sandra said; apparently the Other Mr. Vernon had gotten up to fetch the key lime pie. leaving Sandra to her thoughts. "Remember the magic shows we put on for passersby? Or that time we destroyed the house because we couldn't find Lyle during hide and seek?"

"Lyle would always wins, that day Kilory was determined to best him." Mr. Vernon said, his eyes far away, like if he tried hard enough he could go back to those moments. "We never did find where he had wiggled himself into." Leila sneaked a glance at Carter. At the mentioned of his father, he had sat up straight, his eyes not leaving Sandra and Mr. Vernon.

The Other Mr. Vernon passed out slices of the luscious pie and they were passed around until everyone had one, all well Sandra went on.

"Best of all, we'd stay up late, telling secrets and making up stories, daring one another to guess which were true and which were lies." Sandra then scooped some pie into her mouth, letting out a hum of pleasure at the taste.

"Can we play?" Leila asked, hoping to learn more about her secretive dad.

Sandra glanced at Mr. Vernon hands clasped together, like she was begging. He shrugged and then nodded.

"Only if you go first, Leila." He said.

Leila thought for a moment and then stood. "When I first came to live in Mineral Wells, I was so amazed by my dads and their shop and my new home I was certain I'd wake up from the best dream ever."

"Well, that's obviously true." Ridley said, "You've told me that same line almost every week since we met." Leila shrugged and chuckled. "My turn!" Ridley rubbed her hands together like an evil genius, "I once won a soapbox derby contest by decorating my chair as a giant shark." She declared proudly.

"That never happened." Theo said, "Or else we would have heard of it already."

Ridley deflated, her lips curling into a frown, "it'll happen one day. And you guys will help me put it all together."

"Let us invite Sandra to go next." Theo said.

"Surely!" Sandra cleared her throat, "When I was going through some of my mother's things in our old house, I discovered that she'd kept some drawings I'd done when I was young. I'd copied images from some playing cards that I really loved. I never knew she'd paid close attention to my interests..." Sandra was staring at Mr. Vernon her mouth slightly agape, like she wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. She took in a sudden breath of air, and continued, "I just miss my mother, I guess."

"That’s is all true." Mr. Vernon said with a sad smile.

Sandra perked up, shaking off her sudden melancholy as if it were merely a slight coating of pixie dust. "Who's next?" She asked.

"I'll go." Volunteered the Other Mr. Vernon. "Before it was a magic shop, this building was a jazz club."

"Totally false." Leila said.

"Actually, that's quite true." Mr. Vernon said.

"Dad, how could you not tell me?" Leila asked, her voice showing her amazement.

"I suppose it never came up."

"Now you go, Dad."

"Me?" Asked Mr. Vernon. "Why me?"

"Why not?" Asked Carter, the most confident he has been since Sandra has arrived.

Mr. Vernon tossed his hands in the air, giving up. "Okay, then! Secrets and stories. Truth and lies. Which will it be? Let... us... see..." He leaned forward and stared intensely at each of his guests.

"Got one. As you all know, a long time ago, I lived in this very apartment with my parents. Downstairs, my father established a little store that he called Vernon's Magic Shop. You see, my father was the original Purveyor of the impossible. I loved watching him do magic tricks for the customers. I was most impressed when he'd transform one item into another right before their eyes. I begged him to teach me. But he refused, insisting that the best way to learn a trick was by figuring it out for myself."

Mr. Vernon picked up the green bird plush that looked like Presto from the centerpiece and held it in his plam. "And so I did. One day, I decided to show my father what I had taught myself. I took his coffee mug, still holding some coffee, and placed it on a clean plate. Then I dropped a top hat on top of it, like so..." Mr. Vernon placed the stuffed animal on the table, and placed the centerpiece top hat over it.

"My father waited patiently as I waved my hand around the hat, like this, and said 'abracadabra!' Then I lifted the hat from the counter. And the coffee mug was no longer there- instead, a snow globe with a wintry scene of Mineral Wells sat in its place. My father was so proud. I remember clearly how he beamed at my self earned ability. Little did he know, I broke his mug during the trick, which is why he never saw the mug again. But, I've gotten quite a bit better since then..."

Mr. Vernon whipped the hat off the plate and the entire table yelped.

Instead of the plush bird, Presto the very real parrot sat there and squawked at them. She bounced up and down, as if impressed with herself. Mr. Vernon set the hat back into the center of the table and held his finger out to the bird. The parrot stepped on, and he brought her up to his shoulder. After a fluttering of wings, she perched there.

"Now tell me, kids." Said Mr. Vernon, "Was that story the truth? Or am I lying?"

Carter knocked on the table, using Morse code to answer:

- •-• ••- - ••••

Ridley burst into applause. "Very good, Carter!"

"It was the truth, Dad!" Leila beamed, "The absolute truth!"

Mr. Vernon bowed his head, and the whole group broke into a round of applause. Leila felt giddy. Having Sandra here seemed to brighten up Mr. Vernon, he was talking about his past, a smile never left his face; it was like seeing Sandra was the same person that she was when she was younger was a huge relief to Mr. Vernon.

"How did you do that, Mr. Vernon?" Asked Theo. "Presto was in her cage downstairs when we came in."

"I know how he did it!" Carter said, he leaned forward putting his elbows on the table, "First you need a mechanism-"

"Indocilis privata loqui." Mr. Vernon interrupted, holding a finger to his lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Asked Leila, "Are you trying to tell us some sort of new code?"

Her dad motioned like he was zipping his lips, and then, with an invisible key, he pretended to lock them up tight. The Other Mr. Vernon shook his head.

"What have I told you about no animals or speaking Latin at the dinner, Dante?" The Other Mr. Vernon said.

"Latin?" Leila echoed. "Since when do you know Latin?"

But Mr. Vernon pretended he no longer heard her, "Can't we make an exception?" He asked the Other Mr. Vernon. "My old friend is here."

Sandra snickered, "Please James, it took forever to convince him to learn with me when we were wee little."

Mr. Vernon ran his fingers through his hair, showing it was white all the way through. "I'm not so young James, I need more Latin."

"You aren't going to die from a lack of Latin." The Other Mr. Vernon said. Mr. Vernon looked him in the eyes and gave a little fake cough. The Misfits burst into laughter, The Other Vernon smiled.

Sandra seemed to have an idea and she nearly fell out of her chair, with after a quick recovery she nearly yelled "Who wants a reading?"

The kids clamored their approval.

"I'm not sure if I'll compare to Dante's little story, but I'll try." Sandra clicked her tongue and squinted. The room went silent as Sandra sat with her eyes closed for about ten seconds. When Sandra's eyes opened, Leila almost didn't recognize the woman who looked back.

"Running, running, running... the smell of smoke, the rush of a train... there are many trains... more than I can count... counting... the shell game... a feeling of shame... followed by... escape!" Sandra's head turned to Carter so fast Leila feared her head would popped off. "Does that mean something to you Carter?"

Carter flinched back, his posture similar to that of a cat wanting to smack something that had frightened it. Carter glanced at his friends, their mouths were agape.

"Yeah... it does. Before I came to live with the Vernons, I... I traveled by train. A lot." Carter finally managed to say.

Sandra tilted her head for a moment. "That time is over for you. Forever."

"Good to know." Carter said. When Sandra's gaze turned away Carter relaxed.

"What about me?" Ridley said.

Sandra turn her gaze to Ridley, Ridley stiffened up under Sandra's gaze. Sandra grinned so wide it HAD to hurt.

"Words... tangled in one's throat... fueling the fires of frustration... love... confusion... the want of her attention..."

"THAT’S ENOUGH!" Ridley yelled interrupting Sandra. Sandra laughed, but Leila heard two sets of laughter; one slightly different then Sandra's.

Sandra's gazed fell upon Theo.

�� "Many voices... a house filled to the brim with voices..." She whispered.

"My brothers and sisters are all coming home to visit this summer. In just a few weeks. My mom and dad are really looking forward to it." Theo said.

"Something new... no... someONE new... loud... prideful... over the others... bringing the sound of... violin to everyone's attention... they will help you through this..." that seemed to startle Theo. Before he could recover Sandra turned to Leila.

The moment Sandra looked at Leila, her neck hair stood on end, the air felt thick. Leila felt her muscles tense to the point she was frozen in her spot. Leila wasn't sure if she could speak like this. Leila was dizzy, but Sandra squinted. Leila forced a smile onto her face.

"Footsteps. A knocking at a door."

"Thank goodness." Leila thought. That didn't mean anything to her.

"A gift... a key..." Leila's heart jumped into throat. Then Sandra continued; her voice became so stern it scared Leila a little. "Do you know?"

Leila thought of the key on the string in the tin box, the one that she'd had since she was a baby. But she didn't want anyone to know about it. The secret made her feel strong. Still, she found that she couldn't lie to this woman.

"Yes." Leila said, as confident as she could. Mr. Vernon gave Leila a quizzical look, but he didn't pry.

"This key will become important in the coming days." Said Sandra, then gave the next part almost like an order. "Keep it close."

Then Sandra just went back to her pie. What ever spell Leila had been put under had broken the moment Sandra looked away, leaving Leila to ponder how she made her feel like that. The static feeling in the air that surrounded Leila felt too real to fake. The Other Mr. Vernon looked horrified at what just happened at his dinner table. Mr. Vernon did not seem surprised.

"Do you want to see some of our tricks? Theo, Ridley, Carter and me" Leila said, trying to push past what just happened.

"Oh! Could you? Please." Sandra said.

"Carter, show Sandra what you can do." Leila said, sounding more nervous then she would have liked.

Carter snatched up Ridley's spoon from the table. With a flick of his hand, the spoon disappeared. With his other hand, he reached beneath his plate and retrieved the spoon. He returned Ridley's spoon to her.

Sandra gasped. "That’s quite good."

"Now, Theo." Said Leila. "Go on."

Theo removed his magical violin bow from the pocket of his tuxedo pants and held it over the centerpiece. Slowly, the top hat flipped upright and began to dance in a small circle around the table.

"Amazing!" Said Sandra. "Bravo!"

Ridley shook her head. "I'm not a circus monkey, and I do not perform on cue!" For a moment, everyone thought she was really upset. But when she picked up her napkin and tossed it onto the table, it turned from white to bright blue instantly, "What trickery is this?" Ridley said with a wink. She picked up the napkin again and gave it a shake, and it turned green. "Stop it!" She yelled at the napkin, and it turned red. Everyone laughed.

"And don't forget Leila." Said Carter. "She can escape from anything. Look, she already wearing her straitjacket."

"I'll just need to get my locks from my bedroom. Dad, can you help set me up?"

"Escaping at the dinner table?" Asked Mr Vernon. "I'm not so sure about that."

Leila was silent for a few moments just looking at Mr. Vernon. He must of saw something in her eyes.

"That is a very good argument." Mr. Vernon said, snapping his fingers. "You talked me into it. Let's go!"

Sandra stood up from the table, "While you do that, would someone point me towards your powder room?"

"It's in the same place it's always been." Said Mr. Vernon, nodding towards the hallway. "We haven't done any remodeling since I inherited the building."

"The end of the hallway right?" Sandra thanked him and made her way down the dark passage.

#the magic misfits #Writing #LK au #The magic misfits au #Leila Kalagan au #My writing #writeblr #Canon? Never met her #This point forward Canon doesn't have much of a say #Fanfic

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goji-pilled · 2 years

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MK-S: Here’s part two of “Phil’s Rage”. Link to part one.

Was this anger? Fury? Rage? Perhaps Bloodlust? Whatever it was, it was a fascinating sensation. It never thought Lady Klarissa would be pushed to the point where direct intervention was mandatory…Well, it had chosen not to know. As with the yellow witch an d her journals, there was a certain…delight, in watching her story grow. No need to look ahead.

What was that sensation? Oh yes, the notion of being in a state of blind hate. It’d nearly forgotten as it processed the narrative of Lady Klarissa up to this point. Perhaps that’s why parts of it had started screaming. Assuming they were truly part of it. It could never be sure. And it did not matter, one way or the other, if those screams of agony were truly it’s own.

Well, as much as it desired-desired? Remarkable. An emotion compelling a want. Such an interesting concept. The desire to punish the one who would have ended the story of Lady Klarissa, there was still a matter to attend to: Lady Klarissa herself.

It moved the girl who’d attempted to slaughter Lady Klarissa off into a section of the endless void. It’d tend to her punishment after it’d tended to it’s Lady. But how to do so? Well, the first matter to attend to was the Lady’s Core, a “Grief Seed” as Lady Charlotte had called it.

It needed something to grasp the core. Ideally by the ends, to minimize direct contact. This was the Lady’s core, the very culmination of her being. Her very soul. Such an object must be handled with respect. But what to use? The endless tendrils would not suffice. While they had their uses, it was intending to stop the Core’s fall, not strip away its atomic layers. Perhaps one of the hands from the infinite torsos. No, somehow nothing quite felt right.

Another interesting predicament. It should not care about the exact means…and it didn’t. No there was another want that was making practical solutions unfeasible. What was it? It shifted through its own endless mass, millions upon trillions of eyes searching for whatever part of it’s being was demanding be used to-

The eyes all stopped and stared upon the long since broken form, assimilated so long ago.

Oh…Now the want made sense. How much influence had it had on what had become the entity? Or perhaps the circumstances had never lined up quite right until now for it to know the extent.

The want…the desire…to put on a performance.

Yes…this would be perfect.

———————

The rods that gripped Klarissa’s Grief Seed seemed to break and snap at strange angles, yet never in a way or combination that would result in the spiked orb moving from its present location or orientation.

Four appendages sprang out of the hat, followed by a roughly rectangular mass. The appendages began to snap and twist, growing longer and shorter, shorter and liner, alternating between increasing and decreasing thickness. The shifting suddenly ceased, and the result was a roughly symmetrical, humanoid form. Klarissa’s Grief Seed was held in what was now a hand, between two abnormally long fingers.

The other hand was used to pull the hat up, revealing an old face or mask, a long crack running across its porcelain-like surface.

It had been a long time, since it had used The Old Doll for anything. It’s old uniform had stretched to keep in proportion with the doll’s reassembly. An old suit, mostly bleached black in the timeless void.

It walked…puppeteered? An appropriate term really didn’t matter to the entity for this. The doll was moved towards Klarissa regardless. The arm holding her grief seed twisted with a sickening *CRACK* ringing out from it. Hmm. That didn’t seem to be one of the joints after all. Oh well.

It stood before the unconscious witch and moved the grief seed directly over Klarissa’s back. Unlike with the arm, the entity’s fingers moved with a certain level of grace. It rotated the Grief Seed, so that its bottom needle was pointed downward. It released its grip and the orb remained in place, hovering in the air. It then turned the hand, palm down, and gently pressed the index finger tip on the top needle, slowly moving Klarissa’s Grief Seed towards her. It pierced through the back of her shirt, but it did not break the skin; rather, the orb seemed to be slowly absorbed into it. When the entity finished guiding the Grief Seed back where it belonged, a small ripple moved across Klarissa’s skin, not too dissimilar to a ripple that occurs when a drop of water would land in a puddle. The only sign that the process had taken place was a small circular hole in the back of Klarissa’s shirt.

——————

Lady Klarissa’s breathing became audible…or perhaps she had started breathing again. That’s right, her body required a diluted quantity of oxygen, obtained through a simple vacuum system of expanding and contracting volume. It had forgotten about the notion…no, another inaccurate term. It could never truly forget; but with so much knowledge, so many details ended up buried.

What to do now? It had ensured Lady Klarissa’s Core had been properly returned to her. There really was no more need to stay.

And yet…Hmm, perhaps the Lady was…what was their expression…”rubbing off on him”? …Yes, that was it, the notion of adapting similar traits of another through prolonged exposure. Another desire, to continue this act a little longer. Oh, but what to do for the performance?

Her…Familiars? Yes, that was the local term, her Familiars would have rushed to her aid. And this was the…remains, of her first Familiar. Not much more knowledge of the Old Doll had survived the assimilation. Very little information ever did. And yet, it knew that the Doll was the reason for its bond with Lady Klarissa. It had willingly discarded its own name, its own identity, and what may have been (or one day been) its own soul; all for the sake of preserving its dedication to her. It had to admit, it contained a sense of what it was sure was gratitude towards the Doll. It had granted the entity something resembling purpose when it’s mind had finally manifested from the jumbled remains of the cosmic masses.

Perhaps it could pretend the Doll still existed. A performance, a homage for the little being that had selflessly given up itself to ensure…

Why not? It had gone as far to restore the Old Doll…more or less. So why shouldn’t it play the part? The grin on the dolls face grew larger, larger than the width of it’s face. The corners of its smile hanging in the air. Yes, he would play pretend, if only just for a bit.

He slowly picked up Lady Klarissa, back held up with one arm, hand gently cradling her head. The other arm was hooked under her knees. Then he began to walk down the alleyway. He didn’t turn when he stepped out of it. Instead, space simply bent in such a way that walking straight turned him ninety degrees. The phenomenon repeated itself, again and again, as he carried his Lady to her home.

Three. Yes, there would be three people Lady Klarissa would want to see when she awoke. But they were in three different locations. That wouldn’t do. And so it wouldn’t be. And now it wasn’t. Had Lady Klarissa been conscious, perhaps he would have snapped his fingers, made a little show of it. But she was not, and it was not needed. As he walked up the path to the Kaname Residence door, he could start to hear the voices within; actually hear them, not the usual case of simply knowing what was being said as it was, as he did with all other things in this world and infinite others.

—————

“-the Hell did I get here?!” Oktavia exclaimed frantically.

“I don’t know!” Homura responded, her normally calm tone replaced with frightful confusion. “One moment I’m upstairs, getting ready to go join Klarissa’s patrol, and the next I’m suddenly down here.”

“I was in my freaking Labyrinth!” Oktavia shouted. “I was in my witch form! And now I’m here, like this, and…and…HOW!?!”

“You two just appeared out of thin air!” Madoka yelled, having been the only one of the three to have already been present in the room.

There was a knock on the door, one that went unheeded by the witch, magical girl, and human.

“Are we under attack? Is someone messing with us?” Madoka asked. “Wait, are Mami and Kyoko here too?”

There was another knock at the door, one that was ignored by Oktavia as she said, “So help me, if anyone laid so much as a finger on them, I will rip their arms off and make them watch as-“

No one heard what Oktavia was going to make them watch. Everything had spontaneously gone silent, as if someone had hit mute on the world itself. The only sound there was, was another knocking. And though they didn’t move toward it, all three turned to stare at the door.

———————

He was getting impatient with being polite…Ah, impatience, that was new. To assign value to the notion of time; an inspired concept, if a bit…primitive? No, basic was a more fitting term.

He gave his final knock on the door, and the wooden board turned to sand; handle, hinges and all. He ducked under the doorframe and stepped inside.

———————

Their daughter was held in the…the creature’s arms. It looked somewhat like one of Klarissa’s Familiars, but…wrong. Distorted. Whatever it was, it Klarissa’s signature hat resting on its head, with a smile too big for its face, almost as if they were witnessing a photoshopped image transposed onto the real world.

It laid Klarissa down on the coach. Then it walked back to the to the doorframe, as the three couldn’t help but stare at it, unable to move. Though, upon recollection, none could say with confidence if they would have rushed the creature, hurried to Klarissa’s side, or fled as fast as possible if they could move.

The humanoid seemed to remove Klarissa’s hat, pulling it down towards its chest, other arm out to the side, as though preforming a bow. But…the head was no longer there. Instead the occupants in the room only saw an empty space where a head had been. And then it looked as if the torso and the abnormally long limbs were sucked into the hat’s hole. The hat then fell to the ground.

There were glyphs, burning in the air, in what was probably the exact space the creature had been sucked into the hat. Somehow, the three women all knew what it said. And though they forgot its precise details when it faded two minutes and thirty-four seconds later, they couldn’t forget the meaning the glyph had conveyed.

A single name:

Phil

MK-S: Oh, you have no idea how nice it feels to finally be getting this out. I’ve had some of this written on my phone for a long time. Other bits I wrote today and yesterday. But in terms of the general events, how long have I had those planned? (Look at me, putting on my own theatrics.) Well, some of you may have a vague sense of Deja Vu, and that is intentional. Remember back when I turned Klarissa into an SCP? Well…now you may know what a few of those REDACTED and EXPUNGED events were. I did look back to line it up correctly, but I assure you, the SCP article was meant to reference this incident. (I’m not saying a crossover with SCP universe, but I had thought that a crossover of the posts/stories would be fun. And it was, at least for me, and I hope for you and everyone else.)

And it’s really nice to finally give Phil access to the Old Doll’s body. Finally tying in part of that last combination of Phil ideas from everyone so many weeks/months ago. It does not speak, aside from a possible shrieking that resembles the sound of grinding porcelain or glass shards against each other. It can also only appear with Klarissa’s hat attached to it. As for why, think of this body as something like a finger puppet. Though I feel I should reiterate this (and it should help explain to anyone new): Phil is not Klarissa’s first familiar. The Eldritch Mass that eventually became Phil absorbed and broke down her first familiar, who had wandered into her hat. The remains of it are what are referred to as “The Old Doll.” The closest thing we could use as a comparison for how this worked, is that the Familiar was an unwitting donor of its loyalty and devotion to Klarissa. It is not overriding the Eldritch Abomination, but gave it a starting point it has not strayed from.

Story’s still not over yet. We still have the start of Haru’s punishment, and then quite a long, if uneventful, epilogue to examine what happened to her. Have a good day everyone. Hope that Part 2, as well as the author’s note, were fun to read!

Oh boy! I love the eldritch horror "caring" for her!

#felix answers #io3 #long post

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radioisntdead · 5 days

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Rambling about what you like is basically info dumping so you did it right!

I crochet too but I definitely don't have such an impressive roster of completed work- a few baby blankets, dolly clothes and a couple stuffed toys.

I'm so jealous about the mushroom hat- I love mushrooms, I have like... 3 pairs of mushroom earrings! Do you have a favorite? Recently I learned about "witches butter" which is a fascinating yellow or black mushroom that you can actually eat- it looks very squishy and I want to touch it.

I've tried taking up knitting: failed but I'm coming back to that- crochet, Needle felting which went well (got stabbed many times, ow), sewing and embroidery which is my recent venture.

I've never tried candle making but I love lighting a scented candle on my desk while im working on these things when I'm not making too much of a mess on it (cannot imagine how well it would go lighting my project on fire)

-Oldie🧵🧶

Good evening Oldie 🧵🧶!

WOOOO I'M GLAD I DID IT RIGHT!

DOLLY CLOTHES ARE ADORABLE, I'm personally terrified of dolls like porcelain ones, specifically if they're haunted, my friend that's flying down though LOVES those Raggedy Ann dolls, they have around four of them I think and two of them are naked, maybe I should try to make them some clothes so they don't kill me in my sleep.

ANYWHO, I LOVE MUSHROOM EARRINGS, I only have one pair but I'm planning on collecting more,

WITCHES BUTTER MUSHROOMS ARE SO COOL LOOKING, I agree with wanting to touch it, I wonder what it tastes like? The yellow ones look citrusy!

My favorite mushroom at the moment are inkcaps!

They give me cozy fantasy vibes, they actually got me into mushrooms enough that I went to this mushroom event at a museum for my birthday! It had lights n everythin' I LOVED IT, I did not likr the documentary they played though, they didn't even TALK ABOUT MUSHROOMS IT WAS JUST ABOUT ROOTS, and also about some woman abandoning her family to live with gorillas I think? If I were a fairy I would totally steal the top and wear it as a hat or something.

I haven't tried knitting but I do have two giant knitting needles that my mom got me when I was getting into crochet and now I keep them right next to my bed in my yarn collection Incase of emergencies!

Needle felting is so cool! Also ouchy, hope you're okay from the stabbing, I haven't tried needle felting yet but I want to, maybe I'll try it this summer if I have time!

I use a concerning amount of fire with my projects, it's come to a point where if I'm on call with my friend and I'm doing something like crochet and I need to burn the ends together or if I need to singe the corners of my mushroom hat so it fits on the bendable wire better, it's not a surprise anymore for me to tell my friend that I've decided to bring fire into it, [be VERY VERY CAREFUL WITH FIRE FOLKS I TAKE PRECAUTIONS]

#radioasks

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authorlizperry · 2 months

Text

Teacup Dragon

By Liz Perry

The air in Sudsy Secrets hung heavy with the smell of forgotten socks and fabric softener. Ashina, a tall and gorgeous woman, hunched over a steaming dryer watching as crimson scales shimmered in the spinning laundry. This wasn’t her usual load; it was her dragon, Kai.

Kai had been reduced to pocket-sized frustration by a mischievous gnome. “This is ridiculous, Ash,” Kai grumbled, her voice muffled by the thick sock she was tangled in. “We could be out scorching mountains, not spinning in this contraption!”

Ashina winced at the rumble that echoed through the laundromat. “Quiet down, Kai! We don’t want to attract attention.” Ashina glanced around the laundromat with caution. A lone figure in a tattered old trench stood in the far corner with a magazine.

“Like a human would even notice a dragon the size of a teacup!” Kai snorted.

Ashina wasn’t so sure. Even in her witch form, she felt the weight of countless curious eyes watching her over the years. Dragons and magical beings were creatures of legends, not laundromats.

Suddenly, the figure in the corner let out a high-pitched cackle and the trench coat fell away revealing a tiny gnome with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, well,” he chirped, his voice surprisingly deep for someone no taller than Ashina’s waist. “A dragon in disguise. You must be Ashina, the dragon whisperer.”

Kai’s fury erupted. “You! You’re-”

Ashina clamped her hand over the teacup dragon’s mouth. “Enough, Kai,” she sighed. “You, gnome, must be Lorcan,” she said, recognizing the culprit behind Kai’s predicament from his mischievous grin.

Lorcan puffed out his chest. “Indeed! And I must say, this shrinking charm is quite ingenious. Though, the button that activates it…not so much.”

“You cursed Kai with a button hidden in a sock?!” Ashina gasped, pointing an accusing finger at Lorcan.

“It was an experiment!” Lorcan scratched the back of his pointed hat. “A test to see if a dragon could shrink to the size of a... well, teacup.”

“I am not a lab rat!” Kai snarled as she shot flames from her tiny nostrils.

Ashina grabbed a fireproof glove from her belt and doused the flames with a sigh. “Look, Lorcan,” she said, her voice firm. “Undo the charm. This laundromat isn’t exactly the safest place for a dragon, even a very small one.”

Lorcan pouted. “But the experiment,” he began. “Unraveling it is tricky business.”

Ashina glanced around the laundromat again. It remained strangely empty, the silence broken only by the hum of machines and the occasional giggle from Lorcan. “Alright, Lorcan,” she said, her voice lowered. “Tell me what you need. But be warned, if I hear one more cackle out of you, I’ll-”

Lorcan held up a tiny hand. “No need for threats, Ashina. You’re known for your fiery temper, but everyone knows you are a good egg, or should I say, a good…dragon whisperer?”

Ashina grimaced. “Just…tell me what you need.”

“We need thread,” said Lorcan. “The finest you can find. And a needle, small enough for delicate work.”

Ashina rushed to her satchel and began searching. Deep at the bottom was a small leather pouch with a spool of silk thread and a needle used for mending the intricate scales on Kai’s wings. Ashina retrieved the pouch and hastily handed it over to Lorcan.

With nimble fingers Lorcan threaded the delicate silk into the needle and began weaving a meticulous counter-curse.

Ashina found herself captivated. The mischievous gnome, Lorcan, with his chaotic experiments, was strangely endearing.

“Ah ha!” said Lorcan with a triumphant squeak as he snipped the last thread.

In a puff of smoke, Kai returned to her full size, her crimson scales shimmering in the harsh florescent light.

“Thank you,” Ashina said, relieved to see her comrade back to her usual size. “But please, in the future, find a less,” she paused, trying to find the right words.

“Explosive way to conduct experiments?” Lorcan finished, winking.

Kai chuckled, a low rumble that resonated through the room. “Perhaps we could help with future experiments, gnome,” she said.

Lorcan’s eyes shot wide. “A fiery witch-dragon-gnome partnership? Now that is an idea I can get behind!”

Ashina chuckled and watched them, a smile playing on her lips. Despite the chaos, the laundromat had become the unlikely setting for an unexpected friendship. Maybe the human world needed a little less mischief, and a little more dragon fire.

As they walked out into the sunlit afternoon, the laughter of a gnome and the rumble of a dragon echoed through the empty laundromat, a testament to the unusual bond forged in a placed filled with the smell of forgotten socks and fabric softener.

The End

#short stories #flash fiction #fantasy #author #female writers #short story #fiction #Liz Perry

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