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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 months

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how might finn be doing on this fine evening?

CW: Unreliable narrator, memory issues as a result of trauma, emotional manipulation, gaslighting (or is it?) referenced captivity (or implied captivity of a different kind, depending on how you read it)...

Death Valley

North Carolina, Present Day

Wind blew with a knife edge around the rest area, and Finn hunched his shoulders against its bite as he sat, watching Little Mother stalking with single minded precision across the grass. What she was hunting, he had no idea, but she was intent on its capture.

"Take care, Mütterchen," He called out. "Do not go too far."

One of her rabbit-soft ears flicked, the only sign she heard him. Her tail shifted sinuous through the grass, back and forth, back and forth, as she moved with her belly nearly to the ground. Her kittens gamboled around beside him, staying where Finn's body and the bulk of his truck hid them from the worst of the cold. Little Mother trusted him to keep them safe for her while she wandered, and Finn did his best to be worthy of that trust. He dragged a little string along the ground, coaxing the kittens into stalking it, batting at it with paws that had more enthusiasm than aim.

Overhead, heavy gray clouds threatened to finally unleash the sleet the radio had been promising was coming. They hung so low the wisps of them seemed to hover just above the ancient rounded mountains that stretched all around him. If he stood, he could reach up and nearly touch them, feel wisps of damp chill around his fingertips. The rest stop was perched on the top of a mountain itself, the highest point in the state supposedly. There'd been a plaque over by the building.

Finn remembered, in a vague and foggy way, that he had hiked up younger mountains once, with jagged peaks that seemed sharp enough to slice apart the stars at night. He'd gone with friends of his, and a girl he sometimes fooled around with.

Then he'd left for his American holiday, just after, promising he'd show her photos when he got back.

He never came back.

His mother had gotten the film from his little disposable cameras, developed the photos. He'd seen his own smiling face in a photo another tourist had taken of him standing, framed by the Badwater Basin salt flats. Schneider's last photo on the camera found in the wreckage of his vehicle.

Even if he hadn't made it back home to show her, he supposed Anja would have seen all the photos that were released to the public by now. Had she married? Had Anja found herself a husband, had children, built herself the normal life she'd dreamed of? Had she forgotten all about some silly, enthusiastic boy in her class who had once kissed her breathless in a tent with their noses both frozen from the outside chill?

He put his fingers to his lips, but he couldn't remember how kissing her had felt, not anymore. Robert had painted over it all with this slime-slick touch, the smell of decay and lemon-scented cleaner fighting for dominance.

Any passing attraction Finn felt for anyone anymore was only a brief flash of something warm before the memory of Robert froze over him, shattered him all over again.

Children giggled somewhere nearby, a family ushering distracted little ones with too much energy for their tiny size into the building. Would those children know who to run from, if they needed to? Would they know not to trust the friendly smile of a stranger, not to take their own water bottle if he had touched it?

Would they-

"You didn't tell me you got a cat," Noah said from off to the side, and Finn dropped his hand, muscles tensing. He stopped pulling the string, and the kittens set up a chorus of meows, angry that their game had come to such a sudden end. One of them hissed in Noah's direction, tiny fangs bared. "Or...multiple cats."

"Mütterchen," Finn answered, gruffly, gesturing to where Little Mother had gone a few feet away. "She came to stay with me and had the kittens." He didn't look up, even as his heart began to beat faster, heavy inside his chest. "It is nice to have company, driving."

"No doubt." Noah, without asking, dropped to sit right next to him, nearly brushing Finn's left arm with his right. Finn tensed, shifting just enough to put a little space between them again. "Mütterchen, that's cute. What's it mean? Mother-... mother-hen?"

"Little Mother." Finn hated that Noah knew it now, that it felt like simply explaining it to him ruined the fragile love he had for her name. "Why are you here?"

"You turned your phone back on." Noah was looking at him - Finn could feel the weight of his eyes, even though he refused to give him anything in return. His voice was low, outwardly worried. "I told you to stay here, and I came to you. Do you... not remember that conversation?"

Sometimes Finn forgot things. Whole days, entire conversations, events... his memory came and went as it pleased, and only his time with Robert remained clearly etched into his mind, as much as the scars were carved eternally into his skin. Noah sounded concerned for him, but... Finn bristled, anyway. Something felt false in the tone, like he was acting.

Of course he was acting.

He was just upset the Mouse had been hiding in the walls, on the road, where he couldn't find him.

Finn cleared his throat. "No, this I know. I know we spoke, Noah, I did not forget, but. Why did you want to meet me?"

"Why? Finn-" Noah groaned, exasperated. "Come on. You up and vanished, man. Why was your phone off for a week, huh? Your phone, laptop... everything. The GPS in your truck, even. You could have been hurt, or dead, or in a cage somewhere again-"

Finn had to swallow the rising spike of panic at the idea. He could have been, couldn't he? And no one would know, once again no one would know. Just like before.

Noah leaned forward, his voice soft and sweet and sad. "What happened to you? What have you been doing?"

Finn had spent days bundled in the tent, watching the kittens and feeling warm down to his bones even with the icy chill outside. Inside the tent, they kept warm, he, Little Mother, and her kittens. He cooked ready-to-eat meals on a campfire in a pot that he washed using water from a stream. He'd felt entirely, perfectly alone. It had been wonderful.

Had Noah been worried that he was dead?

Guilt gnawed, even as half of him was sure it hadn't been worry but anger that Finn wasn't under his thumb, if he couldn't reach him and follow him and track him and-

And keep him-

"I wanted some time to myself," He muttered, hardly able to get the volume up to be heard. "That is all."

"Right." Noah sighed. "Yeah, no, take whatever time off you want, you know you're helping me out with transporting the, uh, the cargo to be sure, but... Finn." Noah paused. Finally, Finn cut a glance to the side, barely meeting those falsely warm, kind, soft eyes and that slight smile with his own solid closed-off nothingness. "Finn, look at me."

When his gaze didn't stick, Noah reached out and took him by the chin with his gloved hands, forcing him to make eye contact. Finn's muscles locked in a sudden burst of fear but he didn't move. He didn't dare move.

He always froze, for Robert.

"You can't turn that shit off," Noah said, voice low and soft. Poison underneath the velvet, Finn knew all about it. Fury under the false worry. Robert could speak so sweet and kind like that, and then beat him until he broke a rib and feel nothing. "I get worried when I don't know where you've gone off to. You get lost, Finn, and you and I both know it. You get lost in your head, you forget where you are or what you've been doing. You forget how to call for help. You forget everything."

Finn found himself trembling, fighting to stay still. The kittens pushed against his fingers and he pet them with numb hands, a little too roughly, staring at Noah because the other man hadn't yet let go and he didn't dare pull away. "I, I don't-... so much anymore-"

"You do." Noah's voice dipped, became firmer. "You still do. Don't lie to me." He let go, patting Finn's face briefly, and then looked down at one little kitten who had pushed against his leg, letting his fingers dangle so the little one could bat at them. "Remember when the, uh-" He glanced sidelong to see if anyone was paying attention to them, but no one was. "Remember when the runaways had to call me because you forgot how to use a phone? Just sat in the truck's cab talking to yourself for hours? When you kept trying to dial German phone numbers?"

Finn kept his eyes on the ground, feeling a blush heat his face even as he hunched his shoulders to hide it. "... I remember that they took the phone away and called you."

"And you spent months in the little house I rented for you barely able to even remember to brush your own teeth-"

"That was many years ago, Noah, when I first was sold to you-"

"Ssshhh! Even aside from that, what about just a few months ago, when you kept watching crime docs on Netflix and had nightmares for weeks on end and stopped answering to anything but Mouse?"

Finn stiffened, and his hands went up to hold his head as he dropped it, fingers digging into his short hair, eyes closed against heat he refused to acknowledge was tears. His head began to ache, a low pounding throb behind his temples. "Stop," He whispered, but Noah wasn't done.

Noah never stopped.

No one ever stopped because Finn asked them to, or begged, or pleaded...

"If you don't want to work, then stop working," Noah continued, putting a hand up to rub at Noah's back, circling and circling his palm, sending shudders of discomfort down Finn's spine. "Do whatever you want. I don't care, it's fine, you can even keep using the truck. But I'm not drowning in money, and I can't keep giving you cash if you're not doing your job, if you just stop contacting me and I can't even see where you are. I'm not rich, Finn. This isn't a lucrative business, saving people. You're a huge help to me, and I'm grateful for that. But... you can't keep making me worry about you and then acting like I don't have the right, after everything I've done for you. It's cruel, don't you think? You're like a brother to me, and when you just go off the grid for a week, I get so worried, and I don't deserve that. Not after the years I've taken care of you."

Finn watched Little Mother pounce, but she must not have caught her prey. Her tail twitched in dismayed annoyance, and she turned to look at him. He watched her eyes go to Noah. Back to him. Finn swallowed, barely daring to breathe, to move, not even daring to speak. His heart hammered inside of him, sweat stuck his sweater to his back beneath his coat.

"I don't have any identification that's real here," Finn muttered, voice weak. "I can't get a job that is not cash under tables. I-I have no passport, even-... Robert-"

"He took your passport, I know. And if you keep working for me, that's not a problem, I'll take care of you," Noah said, shifting to soothing. He patted Finn on the back and then dropped his hand, leaving crawling goosebumps like ripples in a pond, rolling out disgust over Finn's body. "If you don't want to do this anymore, that's fine. Strike out on your own, go with God, have my blessings, whatever. But I can't just... pay for you for everything forever. Everyone has to earn their keep, around here."

Robert used to say that all the time. Earn your keep. Finn earned his keep, as Robert's Mouse, on his knees or his back or his stomach or listening to the screams from the basement with the muzzle locking his jaw tightly closed, he couldn't even scream with them-

He shivered, shaking his head. "I do not want to stop," He whispered, lips barely moving. "I-I have nowhere to go, no one... I took a week off, Noah, that is all. Just a week-"

"You can take a week off whenever you want." Noah stood, brushing his hands down his thighs as if getting rid of some invisible dust. "Let me know first, and I'll make sure you have no work to do. But if you turn off your phone and your GPS again, I'm going to assume that means you quit, and I'll cancel your phone line and your debit card. So make sure I know where you are. Got it?"

Finn didn't look up. He held Little Mother's gaze as she moved closer to him, her tail a question mark, rubbing her face against his leg and giving a soft, curious meow.

"Hey." Noah nudged his other leg with his boot, and Finn flinched as if he'd been struck. "Oh, man. Hey, don't be like that." Noah softened once more - or his voice did. Finn didn't look up to see his expression. "I just want to know you hear me. I can't spend all my time worrying about you. Make sure I know where you are, from here on out. No exceptions. None. Understood?"

Finn swallowed. His throat felt like it had closed, like his heart had filled it with too much fear to speak. But he managed to whisper, "I understand, Noah."

"Good. I have a job to do here, a couple people to pick up and take to Vermont. You take a couple days to think about our conversation. I expect a call at 8 pm on Thursday, no later than that. If you don't call, I'll assume you quit and act accordingly. Stay safe."

He walked away, and Finn let him go, sitting in the smallest ball he could make of himself, listening to the happy people laughing and chatting around him as they took in the mountain views on every side.

Noah had Finn's passport.

He was sure of it - he was sure he remembered Robert handed it over when he sold Finn to him, when Robert's little Mouse was handed from one man's care to the next, silent and shivering through the experience.

But by the time he'd found the courage to ask, Noah had said there hadn't been any passport, just the title to the truck changing hands.

But Finn remembered it.

Then again, Finn remembered things that hadn't happened all the time, now. He forgot things that had happened, or that would happen. Noah was right, he barely remembered anything, really. Maybe that was something that hadn't happened, too.

Maybe...

But he was so sure, and the memory was so clear...

"Komme, Mütterchen," He said, pushing himself to his feet on wobbling legs. Little Mother and her kittens reluctantly allowed him to put them back into the truck, one by one. He made sure his phone was on and charging, his laptop, checked the GPS that was installed. Just as Noah told him to.

Good little Mouse, closing the door to his own cage.

At least, Finn thought, Noah's cage was so much larger than Robert's had been.

Even if it still wasn't freedom.

#death valley fic #finn schneider #unreliable narrator #gaslighting tw #manipulation tw #traumatized whumpee #memory loss tw #past captivity #or even current #captivity #depending on how you view the situation...#whumper caretaker #caretaker whumper

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closingwaters · 8 days

Text

TIMING: Last Week

PARTIES: @faoighiche @closingwaters

SUMMARY: Burrow and Teagan head out for a night of fun and stumble upon someone Burrow recognizes.

WARNINGS: Memory Loss (fae binding flavor), Alcoholism

Shadow as dark as Burrow’s irises was painted across her eyes. Black fabric gripped at her skin as tightly as one of her vines. She was ready to dazzle the fae of, ugh, the “Mushroom Circle”. A building that was square and made of wood. She knew it would be useful to return to this Wood Square with Teagan. Teagan was much more adept at social interaction. Burrow would watch and listen for any details to exploit later. A later she had to invoke all her patience to get to. The moment she slipped through the féth fíada, her head erupted into a headache. The pain trembled down her body, before shooting back up as a fit of coughs. It tangled with the lights and the sounds, all enhancing each other into an onslaught. Senses stunned, she let Teagan take the lead, gripping at the nyx’s hand. The hum on her palm from Teagan had become familiar. She focused on their interlaced fingers as they weaved through the crowd.

When Burrow could focus again, she realized they were near the bar. She could use a fucking drink. When she ordered a mead, the bartender asked, “Just a mead?” His eyes were full of knowing — eyes that were so familiar. Bulging and fragmented into hundreds of shimmering colors. He was a dragonfly. He was a neighbor. “I want the mead made with the honey from the childless mothers.” The boneless one nodded. There was a wonderful and terrible feeling of being understood. He poured out the nectar from her childhood. She went to grab the glass, but his hold on it did not falter. They both stared at each other, neither wanting to relent. Pog mo thon.

Burrow felt for the caddisfly cocoon in her pocket. A beautiful structure of twigs entwined in swirling loops. It was silly and useless, but it was hers — but relenting would give it use. It stayed in her hand for a while longer, kept in a grasp as stubborn as the bartender’s own. With a grumble, she finally placed the cocoon on the bar. It was sufficient. The drink was hers at last.

It was so sweet on Burrow’s tongue. A pleasant tingling crept up her back, weaving through her pain the same way water did to a crack. With enough, it could break the pain into nothing. She took another sip. Her soul sang along the chorus of its sweetness. Her unrest replaced with relief. She could have convinced herself she belonged.

It’d been far too long since the nix had last ventured into town. After the goo-incident, Teagan had developed a sort of distaste for the outdoors. At least, outdoors in the city. Especially when she needed a break every now and then to breathe. Her endurance was severely lacking, but Burrow was interested in meeting more fae, and Teagan didn’t want to disappoint. “Excuse me.” She lightly pushed her way through the crowd, only slightly stumbling. Jostling bodies pressing against her wasn’t normally an issue, but she wasn’t exactly in a normal state. Even worse, Burrow’s tense hand gave her a notice of overstimulation.

Had this been a bad idea? Had she led her fellow fae astray? Or was this her anxiety trying to convince her to be selfish and return to the safe haven back at the cabin? She took a deep breath, opting to not grow too lost in her thoughts and gave Burrow’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Maybe she was out of practice, but with a little time and motivation from Burrow’s displacement, Teagan was sure she’d be able to be the partygoer she once was. Or at least, a small portion of that person. And alcohol would help. Burrow had the right idea.

“I’ll have one of those as well.” She pointed to her friend’s drink, “And one of those tasty shots you make. Actually, make it four.” Teagan slid a beetle she’d acquired during a hike and kept preserved for her old friend Quincy. “Been a while,” He chirped with a smile, expertly putting together the drinks and plopping them in front of the nix. “I know. Appreciate your work.” With another prize from her hike, she downed three of her shots and snatched up her mead to regard Burrow with the final tiny glass in her other hand. “Take this one and then we’ll go dancing. And don’t worry—it’s tasty.”

The mead slithered down Burrow’s throat. The childless mothers comforted her with every addition, as if their exoskeletons shielding her from the blaze of the fae abound. She realized all the burning was gone, replaced with a gentle caress. Almost the same sensation as the link that bound her to her parasites. She studied what remained of the mead for one last time, before Teagan offered her another to steal her interests. She sniffed it and, yes, it did smell tasty. She downed it and the true taste was even better. The burning returned, but this time inside her belly.

With both drinks consumed, Burrow was whisked away to the dancefloor. It had been over a decade since the last she had danced with the fae. Only during the celebrations of her old home would she be able to slither amongst the crowd. The numbers allowed her to remain inconspicuous. Her family never wanted too many eyes on her, for it led to too many questions. In the dances, no one had wondered if she was a monster or a blight. The stars had been replaced with blinking lights, her family had been replaced with strangers, and yet the dancefloor felt so familiar to her home. Just like before, her role of monster melted away to the beat of the song. Her body followed, feet striking on the floor with precision. Tappings lost to the clamor of the bar, but she remembered a time when her tapping had been enhanced by the feet of a hundred more.

Burrow grabbed Teagan’s hands, joining her into the dance. Her hands traveled further, until her arms were weaved around Teagan’s own. A weaving that had no end, for soon it sent both their bodies into a spiral. Spinning and spinning until the two spun away from each other. All a part of the dance… except for the part where Burrow spun right into the arms of another fae. Luckily, she caught Burrow.

The noise slid its way to the background with every sip, a sweet coax into a world the nix used to find joy in. In no time at all, Teagan felt the closest to her former self than she had in weeks. With a soft and warm smile, she looked at Burrow and scrunched her nose playfully before finishing off her mead quickly. It was only a moment later that she was yanked into a jovial prance and twirl with a young fae she had grown so fond of very quickly. Teagan giggled and tightened her grip, adding her own force into their pirouette until their hold was no longer viable.

Burrow was sent careening into another’s arms and Teagan was left with her hands covering her face with shock, albeit with a bit of amusement too. “Oh we really sent ya a way’s, didn’t we, blodyn?” The nix chuckled breathlessly, wicking away a bit of sweat that had accumulated at her hairline. She caught her breath and watched as the fae that had managed to capture Burrow in her arms was laughing as well. Teagan quirked a brow, a knowing expression covering her face. “Ah…let me go get a few more drinks and we can get a bit more hanging…together.” She winked at Burrow as she made her way to the bar, bouncing her brows in hopes that the nymph would understand that she should make a move. Or two. Or three.

“Be back!”

Teagan looked at Burrow with an expression she had never seen before. What lay wanting behind those dancing brows? It must involve the stranger, for Teagan’s unknown stare transferred to that equally unknown fae. A stranger that became her only companion, as Teagan was swallowed into the surrounding crowd. In blind desperation, Burrow tried to follow after her like a lost duckling, before remembering the intention of the visit. Right. If she did not know any better, she would have thought Teagan knew that intention, too. The way the nix had beckoned her to the stranger, it was as if Teagan beckoned her to claim all the fae’s possessions. Of course, Burrow knew this could not be the case, yet she took it as the same.

The club was loud. Insufficient for any proper communication. Burrow pressed her lips against the ear of the fae, asking for the way to an Aos Sí. A script she had followed many times. So many that Burrow thought she had found every outcome, but this stranger surprised her with novelty.

“I do not.” The fae spoke into the tender flesh of Burrow’s ears. “But I hope my house will still be pleasing to you.” When the two shared a glance, the fae had the same knowing look upon her face. Dancing brows, curling lips…

Oh. Flirting was happening. So close they shared each other’s breath. So close she could see every detail: flecks of starlight on the cheeks, eyes of fractured emeralds, and a smile sweeter than any candy. The burning should have scorched Burrow away, but it was gone — washed away in a river of honey. What remained was a warmth so inviting, and the winter had left her cold. Her arm’s laced around the stranger, trying to merge the two into one. Though they did not know each other’s name, the stranger felt as a part of her as any other limb. It was a disgusting thing, to have to live as separate people. They should be joined. They would be joined. Their lips entwined — their breaths became one. Her exhale was the others inhale. They share in every sigh and moan and desperate tug to become closer. It wasn’t enough. She needed to show her sweet fae the depths of her affections. Tendrils pooled out from her mouth, caressing the fae’s inner cheek and digging deeper. Tasting her. Knowing her.

But the fae did not want to be known. As soon as the fae realized what was happening, Burrow found herself shoved onto the floor. The fae sent shrieks down upon her.

“Three more of those green ones, chap.” Teagan scrunched her nose playfully as she ordered the next wrong, excited at the prospect of Burrow possibly going home with someone that night. She knew the lass was fierce and did well on her own, but her heart recognized her sister’s so easily, having lived the very same way up until recently. She was lonely, and desperate to be understood, though she’d likely deny that truth, even to herself. Teagan took it upon herself to nudge Burrow in a new direction in hopes of finding a system of people that worked best for her. Temporary or not. And that’s what the visit to the club was for, wasn’t it? A bit of fun with a touch of search. Lending a hand couldn’t be helped by the likes of Teagan. She was too ingrained with Burrow to let her do it alone.

“Appreciated.” With a wink, the nix took the small glasses and paid, heading toward the pair that she’d left. “Okiedoke, cuties! Time…t-to…” Eyes widened, Teagan’s hands nearly fumbling the newly acquired shots. “Oh-um…you’re busy.” She snickered to herself and nearly scooted herself back through the crowd until she watched Burrow thrown to the ground unceremoniously. “Oh, dew.” It took all she had to not spring into action at the sight, but when she saw the tendrils recede back into the Burrow’s mouth, the nix couldn’t help but understand the reaction, as crummy as that felt.

Looking to the drinks and then to Burrow, and then to the other fae as she ran off, Teagan finagled the glasses in her hands to take one shot before kneeling next to Burrow to offer her the last two glasses. “She may be tampin’, but she’s an ijit, okay, lass? Here. These will soothe that wound. We’ll find more fun yet and get ya nice and tidy.” When her hands were free, Teagan helped her companion to her feet and bonked her head to theirs in an effort to comfort. “You’ve got lots of lovely and there’s lots of tasty to meet!” She wasn’t sure if her reassurances would be of any help, but she did know that Burrow deserved that effort. Rejection wasn’t easy, especially to those who wanted to be understood. “What d’ya say? Shall we continue?” Her chin jutted to the glasses in Burrow’s hand, and she smiled as she arched a brow.

The push not only moved her body, but the grip of the childless mothers. Their presence left Burrow and the burning returned. She remembered her place amongst the fae. Squirming down below, waiting for her moment to rise. She had gotten too comfortable with the kindness of Teagan and Cass. She had almost forgotten she was the one to devour them all. She would plunge her precious ones in their flesh and leave just a shadow of themselves. A shadow that was only enough to recover, only enough to replenish their spoils, so that Burrow could take it away again. She would do so to the fae who had pushed her. She would make that body worthy and beautiful and useful with the wonders of her taking. In time… in time. She put the fae’s face to memory.

Burrow looked to the drinks with suspicions. She was one who loved to take, but the gifts of the fae always came with a price. What would this wretched thing expect she was owed with this offering? Burrow’s hand went to smack it to the floor where it belonged. Until the fae kept talking and she realized she knew the voice. Teagan. Teagan who thought she was lovely, despite that she was a monster. Teagan who saw her as a sister, despite her own family wanting nothing to do with her. Burrow’s fist uncurled, freeing her fingers to tentatively grasp the glasses. She downed them together. Her body filled with a more pleasant burning. “Yes, we… we shall continue…” She scanned the area for the darkest corner. “Over there. We will continue over there.” She grabbed Teagan’s hand and led them both to safety. The place was far from quiet, but in relation to the storm the two had left, it was peaceful. All things were dulled in the corner.

So dull Burrow was allowed to think past the throbbing of the heat. There were still other fae there, who too enjoyed the pleasant dullness, but they were sparse enough to not invoke a headache. Enough to where she could notice not all enjoyed the corner. Underneath the music she could hear sobbing. Her eyes immediately went to that oddity. There was something… alluring about what she saw, despite it being of no note. It was one of the stemmed: brittle and torn vines wrapped around that wilted body. Where his body did not touch his table, empty glasses surely did. He gripped one, as if his desperation would magically turn it full again. When it did not, his head slammed down on the table. It allowed her to see more of him — how he had a scorched scar on his back where a wing should be, how his remaining wing hung awkwardly as if it could not properly settle. As if something was missing. Something like a pollen sack. “Iadsan a Seadadh, cuidich leam.”

The darkness was welcoming despite neither of the fae being its children. And though it wasn’t as quiet as either one of them would have liked, it certainly was quieter. It was pleasant enough for Teagan to relax into the buzz she had accumulated from her several drinks, and hopefully help Burrow into her own. Possibly. Something else was taking the nix’s attention. “What’s that sound?” She blinked and searched for the source, unable to fully focus for a few beats while the alcohol did its job. Thankfully Burrow seemed to have her wits about her, and Teagan’s gaze quickly landed on something that made her tail ache.

“Ya think they…they need…help?” Her voice shook, and something like a ball of nails lodged in her throat, forcing the last word to struggle to Teagan’s tongue. A man, a brother that had lost something precious to him. She wondered, was he mourning that loss? Was he reliving what had happened and curling into himself like he curled his fist around his glass? Teagan couldn’t move. She simply stared into the mirror, even if the reflection was not her own. “He’s hurt.” She managed to say, finally. “That—I…You still want to…” Keep that hunter around? Because it had to be him, didn’t it? “It had to be…” Unable to finish her sentence, Teagan turned and was grateful to find a wall that she could lean against. It was cool and grounding, granting her the stability she needed before she marched over to the man’s table, leaving Burrow to her own devices.

“What’s doin’ ya in, mate?” The nix’s eyes flickered to the missing wing, already giving herself an answer but waiting to receive a proper one. Because Teagan wanted desperately to be wrong and for him to have been through some sort of different tragedy. An accident, a fall of some sort. Anything but him.

It was him. What was he doing here? If Burrow was him, she would be lavishing in the spoils of his nest so high above. Yet, there he was, crashed onto the ground. In the same state she had left him before, except something else coiled tightly around him. Something unseen yet stronger and heavier than any grip from her vines. She knew troubling thoughts can pull like the strongest binds, but she had removed those memories: of pain and helplessness and betrayal. Was it the absence of his wing that troubled him? He had been upset upon that fateful day, but it had been so long since its removal — surely his reaction would have passed. Teagan’s, however, was still fresh and yet to see its end. Burrow recognized the signs of fear, surely just like Teagan recognized the scars on the other’s back. The same that had once been on her own tail.

Teagan was fine, safe away from the prick of a needle and the cut of a blade, yet she looked like he did that day. The day Burrow had helped take his wing, his pollen, his secret way to his nest. The expression had hardly meant anything to her when it was on his face — not anymore, anyway. It was just a source of discomfort, but when the same face was one Teagan’s… She had no words to describe it. She became empty, yet her heart wanted to beat out of her chest. She wanted to scream, yet she could not utter a word.

At least Teagan remembered her words.

Thalmus was not expecting any comfort that night. He had given up on expecting anything these days. He couldn’t even expect to have a safe place to return to — to be wrapped in his family’s embrace. So, when a stranger with kind eyes approached him, spoke to him with the same gentleness as his sister, he barely processed the words. The tone alone was enough to destroy his barrier in an instance, and the true girth of grief poured out in a single cry. “Boró na gemíso éna dásos me óla mou ta provlímata!” He slapped away a portion of his collection on the table and the glasses shattered on the ground. He stared at the sharp edges littering the floor. “Gods, I- I really should stop, should I? I should go home…” His crying turned into giggling, but there was no humor on his face. “But I can’t! It’s fucking gone- it’s- Gods where did it go…” He continued to stare at the sharp edges, surveying the whole scope of his destruction. “I- eeeh, sorry I didn’t mean to…”

Gone. Gone? What did he mean his home was gone? Burrow remembered the stories, the same all the children of her nest grew up hearing. Of how their once precious home was gone in a day, ravaged by the quickest infection of this world. The infection of the very worst of the humans: the hunters. Had others stolen the nest away from her before she could even enjoy a morsel? “What do you mean your home is gone?”

Thalmus looked to the other fae with no recognition on his face. If only he knew the terrors that fae had afflicted onto him, but in that moment, all he saw was another concerned stranger. One absent of the gentleness of the first, but he would accept scraps at this point. “It’s gone! It’s… kíta, I don’t know how, but it’s gone. I woke up and I couldn’t- kíta, I know I have a home. I know I used to have another fucking wing, too. But I woke up and they were… they… Where is it? Poú píge i oikogéneiá mou?” He had asked that question so many times in so many ways, and yet it led to nothing. The same as his memory of home — it led to a darkness, absent of any color or name. How do you find nothing?

The room began to feel colder, and yet, sweat began to bead at the nix’s hairline. A shiver crawled up her spine, which she quickly shook away to listen as closely as she could to the poor anthousa. No home. No home. Painful recognition tugged harshly at Teagan’s expression, and she felt the all too familiar stinging at the tip of her nose. So many times she’d felt that sensation as tears threatened to develop, and she hated her heart for having so much room to be filled with another’s pain. Reluctantly, she welcomed it, putting a wall between her and whatever it was that was swirling in her stomach.

Never mind that the bricks were loose.

“It’s okay, lad. I’m listening.” She paused, gesturing to herself and Burrow. “We’re listening.” Panic had a funny way of playing out, the symptoms appearing different from person to person. No two were ever the same, though anyone who’d experienced the unwinding chaos and unbearable weight on their lungs would just know with the glance. She knew, and it was ugly, and it hurt, but she couldn’t look away. Trying to deny its existence would do no service to the person that needed help, and by the wave’s current, Teagan needed to help. That damned warden wouldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him. For the time being though, there wasn’t much help she could offer in a club, with her alcohol content rising.

“Well, if your home is missing, you can stay at my cabin. There’s a basement you can use while we search. Did you live in an Aos Sí?”

Burrow was listening. Absorbing his words and churning them over and over and over. His home was not gone in the way she had feared, but in the way she had not realized to fear. Gone from himself — plucked out like a weed by her bind. That must be it, wasn’t it? Her wording had failed her and she had taken more than she meant to take. Unbecoming to such a seasoned parasite. There must be a balance maintained, for there was no point in taking too much. It was cruel, it was not beneficial to her, it had no reason to stay, but… But she had managed just fine when her own home had been taken from her. There had been tears, there had been screams unheard, but she had been fine. She had since claimed so many of the humans’ homes — she would soon claim the home the fae yearned for. It was her home, not his.

Burrow had never received a kind word, a helping hand, a piece of any care from the fae. She had to carve out any semblance of safety with her own hands. Why did he get this kindness? Why did Teagan bother with him? But that was why she had been drawn to the nix. Teagan was giving: one of the most giving hosts she had ever known. A host like that should be preserved and cherished and never know pain. Instead, that is all the nix knew at that moment. The pain ravaged her body: made her body shake and voice tremble. The pain was caused by the other — caused by the pain of the other. Pain she had caused. In a way, she was the cause for the pain in Teagan, too.

“I don’t want some dingy basement, I want my family.” Thalmus had no care for politeness nor gratitude. The anguish ate all those pleasantries away. His hands gripped at his face: fingers like that of exposed roots cupped at cheeks like that of layered leaves. “It’s not missing, it…” He had hoped it was not missing — that his family was not missing. That they had not been scattered and scarred like him. Could something have happened to them all, cleaving their bonds the same as their flesh? Or perhaps something worse, something permanent, something- no. He shook his head. “I dunno where it is. That’s it. That's all.” They had to be out there. Somewhere.

“Naí, naí, naí, I live in an Aos Sí. It… it…” The harder Thalmus dug through his mind, the more he became lost to the dirt filling back in. All he could find was nothing, yet that absence throbbed like an open wound. Something had been there once, he knew it, but it was ripped away. Who had stolen it from him? Who had cursed him? “It has to be close, right? They have to be close…” He wouldn’t stray too far from home. It had to be near. Please, it had to be near.

So very near. If Burrow walked to the sidewalk, she would be able to see that peak in the distance. The one that pierced the clouds, concealing the nest within their vapors. It called to her. Soon. “The basement is pleasant.” She was quick to defend. Perhaps too quickly, for she didn’t want him to join them in the cabin. She didn’t want this pain following them back home. She needed him gone. Disappearing in the woods along with all the complications he brought, just as he had ended their last exchange. “...The basement is not as pleasant as your home. You should go look for your home because I would bet your home is near. Go look for your home right now.” Go away. Now. “I… believe in your ability to find your home… eventually.” You are not wanted here.

“Dingy? Dingy?” Offense flared far too quickly, much quicker than it usually would have had the alcohol the nix drank not seeped into her system. All she wanted to offer was her help, and the anthousa seemed determined to decline in earnest. Teagan could hardly be offended for long though. Compared to a true home, a place where one’s family resided, any place would surely be dingy. For so long, after leaving her family of her own volition, no place felt suitable enough for her to settle. After all, what was a home without a family? Looking next to her, Teagan realized she didn’t have to live that experience anymore.

“Perhaps looking for your home will be good for you. With some help, of course.” She tried to sound a little calmer, a bit warmer than her initial reaction. If she had been in his position, Teagan had a feeling she’d have had a similar tone about her. And if she thought back to the days—no, moments after her tail had been taken, she had been far crueler than the fae in front of her had been to her. Teagan’s rampage had accumulated quite the delicious haul for the babes in the lake, and not just a tiny portion of offense on someone trying to offer some help. Two different reactions from opposite ends of a wheel that continued to spin endlessly.

Drumming her fingers on her arm, Teagan looked to Burrow with a smile of appreciation for the immediate defense. She sniffled and wiped what tears she could away, realizing as the anthousa looked at her that there was not much to offer him besides some sort of action. One of which it seemed she would have to initiate. “All right. Come on.” Scooting out of the way and back closer to Burrow, Teagan scanned the boisterous crowd and saw the exit just across the way. If they could manage to get through the sea of people together, they could get outside and start their search.

“What say we go outside and start searching together, eh?”

Why hadn’t Thalmus thought of that? Just blindly walk about until he tripped upon his front door! His ‘saviors’ wanted to go look for the needle in the haystack. An easy proposition, when one was not covered in thousands of cuts from the search. The cut of hay felt so similar to the cut of needle, what if he had already passed it? What if he would pass it a thousand times, unable to distinguish silver from tan? What if he forgot how to get out of the haystack?

Thalmus’ mind loved to return to that spiral, carried away with the flow of alcohol. He needed more of it. He needed enough to drown it out, at least for one night. One night where he could take a break from the dead ends. “I appreciate the offer–” A part of him had accepted that the searches were all he could do, despite how much he wanted to dissolve into the floor. “–but this night is for, eeeh…” He tried to point to the glasses before him, but remembered they were all empty. His finger traveled across the club, conducting its own search, until settling on an abandoned drink a few tables over. “That! This night is for that.” He pushed himself up, swaying in an unseen breeze. “We will search tomorrow. You’ll probably find me… there.” His hand motioned to the floor, an action that almost sent him tumbling to that spot, but he caught himself on a table’s edge. With a creeping step, he made his way to the abandoned drink.

Burrow needed him to leave, not get dragged along. Nor did she need him to drag Teagan down with him. They matched in strained voices and soaked cheeks, she would not let them join together on the floor. Or anywhere lower, such as the tunnels that would lead him back home. He had already made plenty of those — tunnels burrowing deep into Teagan’s better judgment. The same way he had done to her on that fateful day. The day she had taken too much. She had taken too much and because of it, he was too weak to recover. Mentally, at least. He may be wasted, but he was not a waste. Even one so wilted would bring about the blooms of spring. Blooms her precious ones would nestle into — indulging in the spoils and the taking with proper care, unlike herself. He was still useful.

He was still useful, but that did not change that Burrow had taken more than she had meant. Yet, she could not give the memories back. He would return to his nest and cry of the monster who had stolen from him. The fae did not welcome the monsters. It would become yet another home barred from her and her parasites. Another day that her kin would have to suffer in this world that hated them. Of course the safety of her kin mattered more than some stranger. The many won against the one.

Burrow turned away from the complicated thoughts and faced Teagan. Though Teagan smiled, it was not joy that lifted her eyes, but instead, the puff of tears. Burrow frowned. At least the fae had taken his torment elsewhere. Not far enough away from Teagan, but Burrow would widen the gap. She placed herself further in Teagan’s view. The uneasy shuffling of the fae disappeared behind her back. “He does not want our help. We should… we will enjoy the night somewhere else.” She grabbed Teagan’s hand, tugging her away.

There was no swaying the fellow fae. At least not in the way Teagan had intended. The alcohol decided to be his wind and jostled him a little too close to the floor. Instinctively, the nix took a step forward in hopes of catching him, but Burrow tugged her in a different direction by obscuring her view. “He…but—” Teagan attempted to protest, but the alcohol’s influence seeped further into her mind, making it impossible to focus. She had too much far too quickly, and now it was catching up to her.

“Burrow, my sweet, what just…” The room was a slight blur, and it took all of Teagan’s concentration to settle her vision into one solid area. Happened? It didn’t matter, did it? Not if it’s been forgotten. She giggled, leaning into Burrow and latching onto something better than pain and a bitter anthousa that wouldn’t accept help. That night was meant to forget the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole, to connect with her sweet sister that deserved more than shoves and dismissals. Perhaps they’d even find another entomid that night for Burrow to enjoy! Teagan giggled again, leaning a little too heavily on Burrow.

She was starting to think she drank too much too quickly, but her attention was being pulled elsewhere. There was hardly any room left to care about that. Only thoughts of what could be for her and her little sister remained.

“Let’s go back to the bar!” She gasped excitedly, stepping away from the anthousa and in the direction Burrow ushered her. “Saw this gorgeous mycenid that you could probably get along with.” Teagan’s voice slurred, but she made an effort to emphasize her words for better interpretation. “Her mushrooms were absolutely lush! Would you like that, blodyn? If she’s a bach o coc oen, then we’ll drink and drink and you can put another beautiful parasite in me, eh?” She winked, planting a kiss on Burrow’s head. “Sound like a night you can enjoy?”

It definitely sounded better than wallowing on the ground like someone.

The weight of Teagan’s body caused Burrow to misplace her steps. Despite how the two almost found themselves on the floor, Burrow enjoyed the proximity. Her arms curled around Teagan’s torso as her hands pressed against her skin. She felt the tingle of her worms who made a nest of Teagan’s insides. Teagan kept them safe from the troubles of the world, and the troubles of the night. Burrow will continue to do the same for Teagan. Her arms hooked under Teagan’s own. She used that hold to pull the nix further and further away from the pathetic thing behind them. The thing that spread his turmoil like a disease. But that infection in her friend had started to dwindle: Teagan giggled. The sound was like the first winds of spring. Strong yet light, and the start of many great things.

Teagan was fine. Burrow’s worms were fine. All of her kin would soon be fine when she claimed her nest. That is what truly mattered. She knew this to be true, so she did not understand why she looked back. There was no reason to look to that pathetic thing behind them. She watched as alcohol dribbled down his chin, mixing with the tears still cupping his jaw. In her chest, that emptiness pounded again. It all stopped when he looked at her. In that second of pure silence, they stared at each other.

Burrow turned away. She returned to Teagan and that pleasant giggling. It eased her heart into its usual tempo. The emptiness went away, replaced by dizziness and a lovely popping under her skin. Her own giggles joined in with Teagan’s. Suddenly she went quiet, studying the nix for a moment. She tugged Teagan down to return the kiss on Teagan’s head. “Yes, I can enjoy that night.” More hosts, more drinks, more giggles. A wonderful night, excluding the burning that clawed at her brain as they approached the bar. The fae’s presence was as irritating as it was useful. “First, I will need another mead.”

#wickedswriting #writings #waving words #c: burrow #burrow and teagan #memory loss tw #alcoholism tw

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battle-subway-ghost · 2 months

Note

Are you safe? Did you get home?

(@psyonicscream)

Yeah? I’m safe at home, just saw this ask lmao.

Hearing a lot of weird shit that apparently happened that I can’t remember. Hope it didn’t get you worried.

#asks #psyonicscream #memory loss tw #pkmn irl #pokemon irl

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wickedsrest-rp · 4 months

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Name: John Darby Species: Zombie Occupation: Artist Age: 738 Years Old (Looks about 56) Played By: Basil Face Claim: Benjamin Bratt

"I'm chewing the bones of my own reprieve."

TW: Memory loss

You were somebody once. Surely you must have been. Someone bright, good, and just. Surely you must have been. But, maybe not. It’s getting harder and harder to tell who, or what you might have been once upon a time. You want to believe you were good because to be otherwise would mean you deserve this. This terrible, awful thing that has become you. You who must have been anything but good and just, you who must have been evil and cruel to have been reduced to this. Could you have been both? Someone so bright and wonderful, someone who erred so gravely to have fallen so harshly from grace?

John Darby was not always his name. He had another name once. A name that, no doubt, graced a long faded stone in a long forgotten cemetery from ages long ago. John. John was easy, John was simple and safe. John Doe was a little too on the nose for what he had become, but it had been a favoured alias of his past travels when he cared about such things as names, faces, and consequences.

John was born once upon a time. John lived a life in which he had a family. In which he served so fervently that if possible, even his bones would dance to his Lord’s tune until at only his word would he then lay his head down to rest. How fortunate then it was, that somewhere along his time in service did he receive a bite.

They write legends of such ventures. Of quests for treasure and battling such beasts, maybe somewhere out there in the vast history of mankind; there rests a tale of a knight whose name he no longer wore. Between the bite and his death was existence. Servitude. He can no longer remember what it was he did, if not for the sword that he still has wrapped in cloth at his side.

Good soldiers serve. They serve until their Lord’s dying breath. Expected to continue their vow towards the next head the crown did grace. John swore an oath to a Lord, a Lord history no longer remembers (and neither does he) and when he refused to bend to the new Lord’s rule, he was doomed to break. To die.

And he did die.

Only, it didn’t take. To be alive but not quite, something he had no name for. His soul considered damned for some sin he must have unknowingly committed. Doomed to forever walk to Earth until….until….

The same death took the lives of his family, it took the lives of his friends, his fellows in arms, it took the Lord who had him killed and it took all those he knew and would soon grow to know. It was ever at his heels, the one constant companion that did not leave him be.

He’s certain the grief must have been overwhelming. The desire for vengeance was even greater. He would enact a violence so great upon whomever had done this to him. He was sure. But he can no longer recall. What does it matter? For he’s still here and they are long since gone.

John remembers enough that he tried to uphold such noble ideals at the start. He fed upon animals at first as was natural, what was a brain but another type of meat? Did he not feed upon venison to sate his hunger in life? It wasn’t enough. From the small brains of squirrels and rabbits to those of livestock and the game he hunted. To the horse that had gone lame. Until he remembered, of all things to still recall; his first man.

Desperation. A fresh corpse. How had he died? This, he does not remember. But, he remembers how revitalised he felt upon consuming the grey matter within his skull. Those oh so noble ideals began to bend. To feed only on those who deserved their deaths. Or those to whom death would be kinder. But was his continued existence any kinder when he needed another’s death to keep him in his undying state?

When time continued inexorably onward. Where his feet carried him through the wilds, through small civilizations that bloomed into something more. The world continued forever forward while he remained stubbornly stuck in the past. Of those ideals of mercy killings only when animals no longer filled the void; to forever aid those in peril. To act on behalf of those who could not. For the little guy.

And time continued.

It became harder and harder to…care.

Was he doomed to forever exist on the hair thin line between hunger and satisfaction? What was it like to have a full stomach? To be truly and absolutely sated? Was this to be his forever epilogue?

Thoughts like these soon became absent as he simply…existed. Wandering, blood soaked hands picking at grey matter under his blunted nails. His sword once drawn in service, to protect; now drawn to cleave and draw low prey until it too became worn. It broke long before he did. The pieces are still wrapped in cloth in the faded rucksack he carries in hand.

What keeps you going? What do you hope to gain? A rumour akin to a fairytale, funny that; the kind of thing that the being you were; a Knight so Noble decorated, called home–promised something you forgot existed.

Humanity and a well deserved happily ever after.

A rebirth.

It’s a warm shower watching the blood and dirt swirl down the drain, your belly full and a dead man’s clothing on your back. It’s a bus ride away. It’s not quite home because you don't remember what that means.

Character Facts:

Personality: Patient, cold, dedicated, indulgent, sympathetic, dishonest, adaptive, aimless

Has no memory of what actual foods taste like. Could not tell you what his favourite is. Does regularly drink black coffee. Various strengths. Various temperatures. Various qualities.

Dresses casual. His clothing is all faded. Old, worn blue jeans. Muddied leather boots. Dusty, heavy jackets be them denim or leather. T-shirts with faded logos and slogans. For some it’s considered thrift chic, for him it’s what he’s been toting around for decades. Or whatever he found in the homes and bags of previous victims. Usually wears long sleeves, keeps most of his body covered. Occasionally spotted with a baseball cap and sunglasses while walking around town.

Enjoys strong smells, especially of nature–those floral or “old lady” perfumes you find overbearing in a closed space like that too-long bus ride you booked? That’s heaven for him.

Enjoys visiting the local parks and relaxing by the gardens, and the library. A regular, if you would.

Traditional medium artist, graphites, charcoal, the odd pastel–his sketchbooks are small and easily portable. When one is filled he holds onto it until it takes up space, and he tosses them aside. Sometimes he leaves them laying around in public spaces rather than carrying them around, they’re full; what does it matter?

Enjoys drawing everything and anything around him. Astounding care for detail. Real talent. His lines get shaky when he gets hungry, his images become erratic and err towards chaotic and nightmarish the longer he pushes it off.

Hasn’t pretended to be anything but what he is in a very long time. Has difficulty, slip-ups and fumbles from time to time in pretending to be human.

Is in remarkably good shape for an undead of his age. No missing pieces he can name.

Tends to cover up his “undead musk” with a variety of smells, mostly smells of old leather, old paper, coffee, and tobacco.

#memory loss tw #retired

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faoighiche · 2 months

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Monsters in the Woods | Parker & Burrow

PARTNER : @wonder-in-wings TIMING : Current. LOCATION : A meadow in The Pines. SUMMARY : Burrow and Parker interrogate an anthousa to discover the location of an aos sí. WARNINGS : Torture, drug manipulation, memory loss, under skin, unsanitary (vaguely), medical blood (vaguely), surgery (sorta)

Burrow sensed the fae before she saw him. Between the cracks of the private nook she had scurried into, that familiar burning seeped through. So hot it made the mug in her hands feel cold. She peeked through a hole, her view into the common areas of Steeper’s Stop. He weaved himself through the humans with the ease of any other, but she knew his truth. That burn simmering down her back did not lie. He was a fae. She followed him, unseen behind boxes and crates. Matching each of his steps in the shadows. Until she stepped out into the light, through a door. Stepping into his view, who had been waiting, for he had sensed her, too. The sight of her had him smiling, that tight and coy thing she was still adjusting to. She began her inquiry, the truth of her wondering trapped by lurking humans. Quick to the point as always, but the other fae was quicker. He had to get back to gathering supplies for home, after all.

“Where is your home?” She asked with bated breath.

“It’s not the thing to speak of… here. With them.” He whispered, eyes shifting over to the humans nearby. “If you understand.”

Burrow understood fully. A fullness that wanted to erupt from her, for her sanctuary may just be within her grasp. But the humans kept her yearning at bay. Further they pressed into the crisp air, the humans discarded behind as an afterthought. A fortunate thing, for her mind only had room for one thought: Take me to your home. A demand that was met with frustration. Not surprising — her excitement had gotten the best of her. Please, take me to your home, she had pleaded in so many different ways. All sweet and polite, yet met with escalations of rejection. He did not want to bring a stray into his home. Well, she wouldn’t be a stray if he simply cooperated. But she could tell her approach had been tainted. A lesson she would use to temper her next approach. With only the appearance of defeat, she relented, but not without a farewell. She grasped his hands, and with it slipped her nematodes under his skin. Her body departed, but not her presence: those that swam within his insides.

Through the worms, Burrow followed him once more. Always just a step behind that the fires that bound did not give her away, but her parasites’ call still writhed beneath the surface. She watched him between the breaks of bare branches. Those who were left after the suppression of snow were drawn to him. Petals and stems and all inbetween became splashes of vibrant color on that ever expansive white. She texted Parker immediately: I have found the fae that lives in an Aos Sí. You will meet us at the structure in the meadow.

Burrow continued to follow, just that step away, as the fae continued on his errands. Her presence was only made known when that venturing led him close to the waiting meadow. A thing made into a shadow of itself — blooms suppressed by the weight of the snow. How fitting, to claim him at such a place. She would leave him as a shadow. The fae was perturbed to see her again. She immediately rose her hands in practiced placation. “I apologize.” Technically not a lie. By saying the words, she had made it true: she had apologized. Though, in truth, she did not see a reason for her to apologize. She just knew it eased people, and eased people were more willing to listen. “I will exchange my seemingly ‘rude behavior’ with an offering.” The words came out of her just as she had rehearsed, back when she still lurked in the shadows. “I have my bound human sent to the nearby meadow. Would you like to… ‘play’ with the human?”

A wicked grin curled the fae’s false cheeks. Of course he wanted to play with the poor human. He followed Burrow, unaware that he would be the mouse in this game. A fate he gladly walked into, that wicked grin ever present, as Burrow led him through the trees. Until they met a structure that thought itself a door: a solid plank of bark that stuck to the side of a tree. It moved with her pushing like any other door, revealing more of the forest on the other side. Except there were more of the planks of bark jutting out from the ground, as if it wanted to surround the area into walls. It was incomplete, littered with spacing in between, but suitable enough to prevent any screams from traveling too far.

— —

The text Parker had received from Burrow served as a suitable distraction from whatever he was doing, which he didn’t entirely care to remember as he was wasting time doing something aside from attempting to start his own search to find a suitable place he could turn into a small museum. The thought was abandoned, whatever it was, in favor of the entomid notifying him that she might’ve found a lead. They had talked about strategies before but this was the first time that their discussions would turn into action. Parker had suggested that he act as bait, a helpless, know-nothing human used to lure unsuspecting fae into a game. They did like their games, just not when they were turned into the pieces, the Warden learned many decades ago. He had gotten to the location before the nymphs did, making sure to cover his tracks as succinctly as possible leading into the shack. Once he was there, a quick glance helped him find a suitable place to hide his belt, swallowing the discomfort that immediately followed taking the thing off. He felt exposed, at a disadvantage, the weight missing from his waist. Nowhere for him to place his hands if he felt anxious. Nothing to reach for if he was being attacked. He supposed that was what the nymph was expecting. ‘Method acting!’ “Go away, Walker.” Parker muttered, removing one of the needle-like daggers from the belt before placing the belt entirely out of normal view. He then walked to the far wall and sat down on the ground, leaning against the wall and he placed his hands, one of them gingerly clutching the dagger, behind his back in anticipation. He wasn’t sure how long he was there but he was tense nonetheless, as he always was, eternally prepared to be attacked with little, if any, provocation. So when the door opened, blue eyes darted to it and his blood folded over itself in his veins as he saw Burrow and the other nymph, encased in his glamour and looking at him with entitled, hungry eyes. The Warden remained silent, wordlessly making eye contact with Burrow as though trying to learn as much information as he could from her before making a move of any sort.

— —

Burrow placed a hand on the fae’s arm. A gesture mistaken to be instructive, leading him forward. In a sense it was, but she only cared to lead her parasites. Come to me, she urged them. Her worms hesitated. They did not want to leave the home they so loved. A feeling she understood, for she could sense the fae’s nutrients through their mouths. Sweet and strong and plentiful. He would have made such a lovely host. But his usefulness was needed elsewhere. How disappointing, that he was not as giving with information as he was with his other spoils. Perhaps whatever scraps were left of him could be sorted together into something useful, but that was not a certainty. He may not be a proper host for long. Come to me. I will find you a better host soon. The worms’ hesitance finally eased into acceptance. She felt them wiggle in her fingers before writhing up her arm. A pleasant tickling. The only pleasant thing to be felt from touching the fae. With her worms’ return, she immediately dropped her hold on him.

Burrow returned the eye contact from Parker, wondering why he was staring at her so intently. She was not the focus of this hunt. Upon her next blink, her eyes returned to their proper focus: the target. In exchange, the fae’s attention went to Parker, his eyes replacing the space left behind by Burrow.

What he found was… lacking. “That?” The anthousa asked with a huff. As soon as Burrow nodded, he pouted. “He’s a bit too old and worn to make much fun…” The human only looked fit to become fertilizer. A fate he was fast approaching, indicated by the white in the human’s hairs and the scars on the human’s skin. Bit of a fighter! Well, perhaps the human had some vigor left in him. The fae wondered if he could make it all wither out. He smiled at the idea. “I think I can make do.” He paused, in preparation for something that never came to be. Gods, the stray didn’t understand the ways of things, did she? He turned to her. “Well, go on. Make him come here.”

Burrow wanted to feast on his insides, like any other parasite would do to a shrub. His flesh was supple after all: lacking the wear and tear he had found on Parker. She could feel an echo of his taste still lingering on her lips, courtesy of her worms. So sweet and tasty and plentiful. She wanted to taste it properly and in full. But what lay in his brain was sweeter than them all. She needed to crack that open first. “Yes. I will do that… If you answer some questions-”

Any semblance of a smile was gone from the anthousa’s face. “Let me guess, the questions have to do with my Aos Sí? Hm?” A scenario he was expecting, but still, he was disappointed. The poor thing couldn’t have waited at least a few moments before spoiling his fun! “You told me I would get to play, soooo I intend to play, not to satisfy some poor, lost child. If you only want to keep badgering me again, I will leave. Don’t ask me again.”

“I apologize.” Another offering of easement. This was only done for the fae’s benefit, after all. One final attempt to take the information in a more pleasant manner. But, he seemed to be disinterested. Burrow would continue with the plan as formerly devised. The pleasantries would be over soon. “I will let you play without further questions.” The fae did not move, his expectant expression as equally unyielding. She did motion for someone to move, but it was to the fae himself. “The ‘play’ works better if you go to him.” A hunter played best with its prey when he lay in striking distance. Not that the fae would understand her true meaning.

Still, the anthousa sensed something was off. The other was a fae after all, and they all knew best the little tricks they played. He would not allow himself to be the one played with — the only play was reserved for the human by his own hands. His feet turned ever slowly, drifting back to the way they came. It was only his curiosity that kept him lingering.

It was cute that the fae thought he could leave so easily. Burrow had already claimed him, he had just yet to realize it. She was not one to dabble in dramatics, after all. “I assure you I speak the truth. It will be more enjoyable if you go to him.” A confident assumption. It would be more enjoyable to be struck unaware, than for the beast to lunge at you. Once more, she motioned him forward. “Go and see for yourself.”

With no sign of discomfort, no sign of a lie, the anthousa was satisfied. Suspicion was replaced with curiosity. “Ahhh, I guess the lost child doesn’t know how to set a sturdy leash? Well, I’ll show you what a proper upbringing can teach you.” He’ll twirl the old around his finger, so tight the human would not be aware he was worn to the bone until it was too late.

Burrow followed the fae like a shadow. A step behind, a breath away, she ghosted each of his steps. Her quiet feet rendered him none the wiser. Such a poor, ignorant thing. He was soon to discover there were many things he did not know about his company that night.

— —

This was unusual, in blunt terms. Parker’s mind was alight with inspiration, and it took considerable effort for him to keep his eyes from dancing on the anthousa’s wings, trailing down the threaded vines, thinking of ideas and ways he could arrange them beautifully in a display. No, he had to pretend that he was disadvantaged as the two nymphs talked among themselves for a moment, though the anthousa wasn’t nearly subtle enough to give the impression that he might’ve been onto their ruse. His blood frothed irritably as the nymphs drew close, and he used that to his advantage to allow an expression to cross his face that indicated that he wasn’t entirely happy to be there, but also giving the impression that he was resigned to whatever fate would be at the hands of the anthousa.

He approached Parker, and the Warden instinctively started to hold his breath; while he didn’t know what this particular nymphs pollen could do, he had interacted with enough of them to know that they didn’t usually seem to have much else in the way of fighting back. He held his breath as the anthousa started to reach for his face. And in a deft motion, one that was too fast for the eye to catch, the hunter’s hand that held the needle-like dagger lashed out and was plunged into the thigh of the nymph, eliciting a brief cry of surprise.

The anthousa sank to the ground and Parker got to his feet in turn, slowing the fall as the nymph started to slur into incoherent unconsciousness. The next few moments were short as a semblance of sleep took over the nymph, with the Warden crouched and keeping sharp vigil almost as though anticipating that it wouldn’t work. It always worked. Instinctively, he reached for his trusty scalpel but his fingers grasped at air before he remembered that he didn’t have his belt on him and he blinked back to where he was. Right. He glanced up at Burrow. “How would you like to proceed?” He asked; as far as he was concerned, he was just there to ensure that she got the information she wanted. As for him, he just wanted that pair of wings, a jittering, yet robotic drive that pushed his brain against his skull as he resisted the strong urge to tear them off with his bare hands.

— —

A shadow upon the stemmed one’s back, Burrow got a front row seat to his demise. Her neck slithered to the left, watching closely to where Parked jabbed the needle: perpendicular to the outer thigh. Its contents released with the press of a thumb. All almost lost in the speed of a blink. She would remember and repeat these motions, once she found a fae who was worthy of her testing. Her own knife rested strapped around her waist, waiting for that fateful day. For the moment, she continued to watch the work of that curious sedative. It entwined into the fae’s soul with an urgency even her parasites could not match. The fae quickly succumbed to its might. One blink, jab, next blink, down. Splayed unceremoniously on the ground in his truth: rough green skin entwined in vibrant vines and branches with small flowers speckled across his entire body. The petals pulsated, vines turning against themselves, and the branches swayed in an absent breeze. Movements of a body refusing its sudden sleep, but finally in defeat, all suddenly stopped. “The sedative is quick and effective.”

Burrow joined Parker, squatting down by the sleeping fae. Her hand pressed into his shoulder. She felt the rush of blood hidden below his skin. It would be far easier than taking from a baby to have a bite. A rare treat, to eat on those of motion. They always protested too much for her liking. Would he taste the same as those he guarded? She so loved the taste from the stems and leaves. Her finger sank under the stemmed’s skin — piercing. Swimming amongst that blood and the delights it brought. It was so sweet and refreshing, unlike any she had tasted before. Her finger sunk deeper. The taste dazzled her mind, sending it swimming along with everything else. Almost like the first taste of alcohol… or perhaps that of sedation. Ah. She immediately removed her finger. “Very effective.”

Disappointing, but not without its perks. The sedative was particularly potent. Burrow looked over to Parker. “You will take… some of what you want from the fae’s body.” What would he take? What did he desire over anything else? “Do not take anything that will make him not coherent or understandable. When he wakes, I will ask him for the information on the Aos Sí. If he does not cooperate, you will threaten to take more from his body.” Presented as a possibility, but she was almost certain it would happen. “If the threat does not make him give the information, you will take more from his body. If that happens, we will repeat the previous steps.” Instead of standing, she rolled backwards on the ground. She seamlessly resumed her squat, now a few paces away from the fae. Plenty of space for Parker to work. She waited, curiously.

— —

“It is.” He replied as Burrow crouched next to him and the two examined the unconscious anthousa. He kept his eyes on the nymph, trying to will his blood to stop reacting in such close proximity to the two fae, though he was consistently finding it difficult. ‘You never were great at change.’ Walker added unhelpfully, as though it weren’t obvious, as though Parker didn’t already know about how much trouble he could’ve saved himself and everyone else if he were as flexible as he needed to be sometimes. Maybe he wouldn’t have been the way he was. Maybe if he just worked harder, he could’ve been more like how his family wanted him to be. He was incapable of that. ‘Your brain is broken, but I don’t hate you for that anymore.’

The Warden’s eyes danced over unglamoured fae, his gaze returning in a pattern of consistency to the fibrous wings of the thing as they flickered from one detail to another. The crown of branches that nestled and wove itself between fine strands of silky hair. The unnatural green eyes that seemed to glow faintly even as the anthousa lay unconscious. The hardy flowers that were laced in the ripples of sinewy sapling skin; peeling the layers apart gently revealed small pockets of dormant pollen. Parker didn’t know what it could do, as mentioned before; he wouldn’t miss a sample. For now, though, it didn’t take him long to settle on what he wanted to extract first as Burrow gave him his specific instructions before moving back to allow him the space. And he worked quickly; out of all the fae types, anthousa and entomid wings seemed the easiest to remove, the former because of how plantlike they were and the latter tended to have segments that could be carefully separated with a trained hand. While Parker was able to talk and work proficiently simultaneously, he opted out of conversation so long as Burrow didn’t have any topics to discuss and he was silent, with the only sounds he made being something not unlike the snapping of a tree branch that rang through the chilly winter air immediately followed by the hiss of something burning. The cauterization of Parker’s knife against the newly-formed stump where the anthousa’s wing sat just moments before sent an odor into the air as well, a mixture of burning flesh along with smoldering wood. He wanted to take the second one. But he refrained, instead examining his work on the first one, using a small hand towel that he had procured from seemingly nowhere as he gently cleaned the chlorophyllic blood from around the bubbling wound. The wing lay near him carefully, the frayed edges smoking with the wisps of escaping body heat. Parker, silent the entire time as he became absorbed in his work, cleaned the tools and set them aside, getting to his feet and picking the wing up. As he did so, he stopped near Burrow and pulled out a small jar from yet another pouch. “These will wake him up. I’m assuming you can restrain him with your vines.” He explained, offering the jar out to her. “If not, give me a moment and I’ll do it.”

— —

Burrow had not been sure how she would react to Parker’s… process. She knew he too was a taker, but their goals did not align. He lacked the piercer or haustorium or proboscis; he lacked the want for blood or sugars or chyme. He could mimic them with his dull human teeth and the will of her clingers coursing through his soul. But this was more than blood. More than nutrients. More than the greed she knew. The wings were useless to her. They were loud and pretentious and had clouded the skies of her childhood with their infernal song for too long. They provided no interesting flavor — no pleasing fill of the belly. They did, however, provide a satisfying snap as they severed. Sharp and wet, a crackling that tingled down her back, with the whisper of gushing blood to follow. Then a sizzling, with smoke the taste of fresh rain on a summer’s log filling the air. It was done. It was over. How anticlimactic, to forbid the fae forever from the stars. All gone with a simple twist. The wing no longer belonged to the stemmed. It did not belong to anyone. Just another piece of flesh.

Burrow crawled over to it. It was beautiful when it rested. She had enjoyed viewing her mother’s wings in those moments of relaxation, when motion could not obscure its intricacies. Ones she knew well, could imagine even then after so many years apart. Unlike the fae before her. It did not match any insect she knew. More a leaf that thought itself a beetle’s wing, but thought rather poorly. She enjoyed its failed attempt. How the vines that entwined the costa flared out into a mimic of flight feathers. The only thing that was familiar were the veins. Her fingers traced the venations, still warm and plump with their trickles of blood. She knew another snap would release its contents to the ground.

Satisfied with studying the wing, Burrow looked to the jar. She let it nestle in her hand, observing the weight. “Is this the spirit of hartshorn?” She knew a trickle of a mighty buck’s horns was enough to fill anyone with its fighting spirit. If this was the same, her vines would need to be very secured. Wordlessly, she extended her hands towards the fae. Palms exposed to the dim light above, as if she asked the body for trinkets. Her palms were not empty for long: vines slithered out from her wrists. Her vines wiggled through her fingers, down and down until they found new wrists to explore. The fae’s hands did not protest as the vines ensnared them in their slow coil. Winding and winding, with the patient swirling of a snake. Her vines claimed all the fae’s flesh in its path: the hands, the chest, the top of the thighs. They crackled against the cellulose. “My vines are tight and secure. Wake him up.”

— —

The Warden gave a small nod in response to her inquiry. “In a sense. I… altered it slightly; it’s particularly effective against fae.” He left it ambiguous, deciding not to include that it created a haze inside the mind, providing energy and consciousness but not the alertness required for immediate action. “I don’t recommend you breathe it in.” Parker added after a pause, instead turning to watch her work this time, now that he had the capability to do so. Watching the vines creep out of her arms, crawling in vaguely serpentine patterns as they embraced the extremities of the anthousa.

Involuntarily, he was taken back to the day they met, when he was careless enough to pursue her blindly and with a singular goal. That goal hadn’t dissipated, he realized as he still found himself wondering if she was closer to anthousa or entomid, herself. He could still feel the restraints on his wrists, around his neck. His blood frothing angrily under his skin at the proximity (it wasn’t happy here either but he had seemed to will it to settle just enough as to not provide him with as constant a distraction). Parker heard her response cut through his thoughts though, and he inhaled softly, drawing close to the fae’s somewhat indecipherable face and staring at it with dancing blue eyes.

He set the wing down where it would be fully in view of the anthousa and, once it was arranged neatly, Parker approached the nymph once more and took a deep breath before opening the bottle and waving it in front of where the fae’s olfactory senses were. A moment before it sputtered to consciousness, shaky, immediately trying to struggle before its glowing green eyes opened. Parker closed the bottle, though he didn’t move from how close he was. The fluttering gaze, a slurred groan becoming grunts of effort and soon enough, those green eyes met his piercing blue stare as he remained unnaturally still comparatively.

If there were words being said, they fell on the Warden’s half-deaf ears. Exhaling again, Parker straightened up and took a step back, regarding Burrow. “It’s yours.” He crossed his arms, returning his gaze to the anthousa.

— —

Parker seemed to adorn himself with a buffet of concoctions who solely targeted the fae. Even going past his skin, peeling back into his muscles and blood, would reveal more of the same. Burrow understood that want: the want to exploit. To search and claw until a weakness would allow access inside. To what had the ironmongers found — that trick knee that all the fae possessed? A question to be sated another day. Questions were hard to squeeze past sealed lips, and hers would remain tightly so for a long while.

Burrow watched as the air stirred with one of those concoctions. It stirred the fae into consciousness, but not yet comprehensibility. The pull of sleep weighed down on his tongue, only allowing gibberish to sprout from his lips. Except, as his stirring turned to awareness, that gibberish remained. No. What he spoke were words. Words from a language she had no familiarity. Though she was familiar with the fear laced within every syllable. She also knew well the anger that followed it. The very same anger that would cause a parent to send their child out amongst the wolves. She merely stared, that familiarity steeling her heart against those shrieks of anger. If only it could steel her ears, for the sounds pierced into her delicate membranes. Still, she did not join the fussing with those of her own. She waited. Waited until the shrieking turned into huffs — until the thing tired himself all out.

“Váll' eis kórakas. Eíste kai oi dýo térata…” The anthousa groaned, his voice gone hoarse from his cries. His mind still swam in that forced sleep, but even in his grogginess he knew something was wrong. Something was wrong and these terrible things did it to him. “Térata, térata, térata- You are both monsters…” Why did he hurt so much? “Wh- what the fuck did you do? Why…” Why did he deserve this? His breath quivered, almost a cry. He was not yet awake enough for tears. “What did you do to me?”

Burrow looked down to the lone wing on the floor. Despite its former owner's clear distress, the wing rested apathetically. “I believe you can determine what happened.” She watched as his eyes followed her own; she watched as his widened in recognition. Her lips curled ever so slightly. Yes, you are mine. Everything you are is mine to take. “Ok. I will ask again. What is the location of your Aos Sí?”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re serious.” No, she couldn’t be… The anthousa knew that foliage so well. The way the veins traveled in that specific way, the beautiful swirls and curls of greens, the notch from when he had fallen as a child. The wing was so much like his, but it couldn’t be! It couldn’t be because it was there and not a part of him. But he could feel it, the flickering of his dying essense surrounding it. That was his wing. His wing and yet not anymore. “...You stole the skies away from me so you can invade my home? Gamó to spíti sou!” He would not die like this. He would not flicker into nothing the same as his wing. He pleaded with his restraints, in that silent way that the other fae urged them further around his body. The vines did not care to listen to him. In fact, they would enjoy nothing more than to feel his breath slowly dwindle into that nothing. He was surrounded, yet alone. “How about a trade? Yeah? I’ll tell you the location after you give me your fucking legs!”

“You are not in the position to make trades.” Burrow reminded him. Even if he was, it was a terrible deal, though it was not without its usefulness. The vines wrapped around the fae’s thighs tightened. His cellulose crinkled like paper, soon to tear. Always eager to take, the vines stole away his idea. “Do you enjoy your legs? Do you want to keep your legs? You should want to keep your legs, since the legs are your remaining means of transportation.” The lands had yet to be stolen from him, but that could be arranged. A loss she assumed would be felt more severely than the skies. There were no plants of the clouds, but the same littered the grounds. Her eyes never left the stemmed one as she motioned to Parker. “He can easily take your legs. Tell me the location of your Aos Sí or he will take your legs.”

That anger that had protected the anthousa crumbled the same as his body. His senses finally awakened to a nightmare. He could smell his blood and his burnt flesh. He could see the apathy so clearly in all the eyes that stared at him. He could feel how much the vines wanted to consume him. He could know how much he was just a thing to be torn apart and used. Another flower made into a plaything for the cruel curiosities of the humans. This was all too much. This was all too much.

Burrow frowned. She knew not to expect her usual enjoyments with the taking, for this was anything but usual. It was not careful hands whisking away items under the shelter of shadows; it was not hungry writhing so deep under the skin that no one would notice. It was loud, and open, and left blood gone to waste upon the floor. It was strange, it was unknown, but it was not without purpose. This was her purpose. Monster. She was the thing lurking under the bed. She was the thing that would bring the fae to ruin. She would break this fae apart and use the pieces to build herself a path home. A home that her parasites deserved, not those arrogant fae who never realized how lucky they were. She would revel in taking every last thing from them — down to the very drop.

Except, as Burrow watched the fae be reduced to nothing more than a lump upon the floor, she felt… nothing. The scene looked the same as all her daydreams: the fae becoming helpless to the power of her taking. An image that had delighted her for so long, yet the amusement was losing to a growing emptiness. A hole with no key, no puzzle piece, no thing to make it complete. A darkness with no meaning. Her frown deepened. This was not proving fruitful. Perhaps she should change her course. Her vines cupped the fae’s chin, forcing his face out of the darkness casted by his shadow. In the light, their eyes were joined again. She leaned closer to him. The burning from his presence prickled across her face. “Please. If you tell me how to get to your Aos Sí, you may walk away from this place with what remains of your body.”

— —

This was a comfortable, familiar position that Parker had fallen into as the anthousa gained more and more consciousness and with that, more and more frantic, fearful anger. The emotions were acknowledged in the Warden’s mind, but it did nothing to him. It didn’t pierce his iron heart, nor did it appeal to the frayed neurons in his brain that activated on rare occasions where he displayed an alien concept that never felt correct when it was his. Words were said in an unfamiliar tongue, further maintaining the wall between the nymph and any emotional response from Parker.

This was a comfortable, familiar position because he recalled it vividly; this was what ended up happening when he would work with Rhett. Rhett, the one with a motive, a goal, a seething anger of his own that barely allowed itself to be contained under the surface. Parker couldn’t connect with Rhett or Burrow when it came to torture, as he so rarely considered it himself; it was a waste of time, energy and resources. He received no satisfaction, no sense of superiority nor did he drink of the power that accompanied the scenario. Perhaps that was why he was comfortable in the role he was in now, as the restrained fae cursed and spat at them and Burrow attempted to interrogate him. He didn’t have to make decisions. Not that he wasn’t proficient at them, but he served a role; he was Burrow’s weapon, just as he was when Rhett would unleash the younger Warden when a fae was being particularly resistant.

There was no satisfaction in torture. There was nothing but apathy. Maybe that was why Parker was utilized. ‘Apathy is the greatest strength you have, son.’ His father said when it was just the two of them. The old man sat on a fallen log carefully as he watched his son wordlessly carve the skin from the bones and musculature of a dead spriggan. ‘Apathy, that ability you have not to react, is the scariest shit they’ve ever seen. They expect you to get mad, or smile, or laugh or somethin’ and you don’t do any of that. It shows them that you don’t care. They can beg and cry and scream, but none of it matters.’’ Parker looked up from his work, staring up at his father with his icy blue eyes. Silent, but with a keen expression showing that he was listening to every word being said. ‘Keep it honed. Fear means you’re doin’ it right.’

A soft exhale brought Parker back to where they were, the memory running through his head quickly and effortlessly as Burrow threatened to have the anthousa’s legs taken. The gesture to the Warden elicited the latter casually and quietly pulled his broad dagger from the holster on his thigh, purposefully tilting it so it glinted in the cold winter sun. It was an empty thread, he felt, but he could fill his role. He began to pace, treading lightly as he eyed the other wing on the anthousa’s back. He wanted it. He wanted to rip it from its socket and arrange it beautifully, imitating a sapling sprouting from a dead earth.

But as the nymph seemed to fold in on himself, the body language that Burrow displayed told Parker that she was trying a different tactic. He continued to pace, however, and kept his steely stare on the two fae, feeling his blood subtly rippling under his skin as he waited for further instructions.

— —

Not even the comfort of his own body was allowed, as the anthousa was ripped away from his only refuge. Back to the smell of his blood. The predator stalked in the shadows with that tooth of iron bared — ready to take another bite. What else would be taken from him? Like a fledgling that had fallen far from its nest, he watched that beast. Helpless. Flightless. Rendered into something closer to a babe, and yet, the predator continued to stalk. The silence was so loud. The fae was just as wicked, but at least she spoke to him. At least there was some form of reaction when he screamed. It was crumbs, it was close to nothing, but it was something his mind could latch onto. He looked into her eyes. “What… what will…” Not a maybe anymore. His throat filled with bile. “What will happen to… my family?”

“Your family will live.” They will live. Burrow needed them to live, for an Aos Sí was useless without its people. It was a people. Without the fae, an Aos Sí was just another patch of ground. While Parker did not have such a need, she knew he preferred to let the fae live, for his own means. “You will also live… if you cooperate.” Words that struggled passed her throat. She did not want him to die. It would be such a waste to let all that sweet blood be spent on the hard floor. The floor would not appreciate such a blessing like her parasites. But her parasites would rather have the blessing of safety than one meager host. One death was nothing compared to the blessing of safety. It was fair, wasn’t it? Did anyone ever care when they killed a gathering of her parasites? Did anyone ever wonder if her parasites wanted their families to live? Did anyone think to spare a thought to them at all? No. Everyone just killed and killed and killed and killed. It was equal; it was fair. She knew this, and yet the emptiness still lingered. “You will live together with your family, if you cooperate. So, please, tell me. I would prefer if you did not die.”

Right. Of course. The anthousa knew the implications hidden in her words. He would damn his family to the same fate. To forever be trapped on the ground, never knowing the skies again. But they would be together in that torment… Such a terrible, cruel thought. He would claw them all down to his level, to free himself of this endless loneliness. He wasn’t the brave one. He wasn’t the fucking martyr. He wanted to crawl into the soil and cry until all his water was spent. Until he spread across all his precious ones, escaping up their roots and stems. But he was there, in that terrible place, with one terrible way of escape. “Gamó to spíti sou.” Words he meant to snarl, but all they amounted to was a pained sigh. “Promise me that my family and I will live and be happy, and I… will tell you how to get to my home.”

Burrow nodded. “In exchange for you telling me how to find and enter your Aos Sí, I promise we will not kill you and your family, and that you and your family will be fully capable of happiness.” They would know the full capacity of joy, when they were blessed by her precious ones. They would know the full capacity of love, when her vines wrapped them all tight. Nestled in an eternal embrace. The few who were not deserving of such a blessing, those sent to Parker, could find happiness… eventually. Teagan had her moments of bliss, so surely his family would as well. They would still be capable, and that is what mattered. But they would never know the true happiness with her parasites. Such poor things.

Disgusting. This was all so disgusting. The anthousa shuddered, eyes transfixed on the ground, a thing so far from the majesty of his home. He could barely think of it, speak of it, with his home so far away. “We live on the tallest Peak…” The words felt like bile spilling from his mouth. “... of the Gathered Peaks. It's so high even the clouds swallow it up.” If he let his eyes drift, he could trick himself into thinking he was there. He could hear the whistling winds and smell the crisp air. He could feel his family beside him. “It’s so very high. You need the strongest wings to reach it.” Like he had… used to have. He could still feel it, just out of sight. That familiar energy that was drifting away — dying. He couldn’t bear to look at the wing. He could do nothing for it. How could another fae take such a precious thing? How could one bear to do that? Unless… “Do… do you have strong wings under that human skin?”

Burrow too had been transfixed with imagining her new home. Only a wisp of what lay in the fae’s mind, littered with false fantasies. Her vision was too green, too warm, too full of life than what the truth offered. But she delighted in her ignorance… until the fae ripped it away with that question. “I do not.” But neither did he. “You will think of another way to reach your Aos Sí, or you will be barred from your Aos Sí as well. I assume you want to see your family again.”

The anthousa smiled. A hollow thing. As hollow as these wretched things wanted him to be, ripped apart until there was nothing left. But there was one thing they could take from him so easily, and he had no intention of giving. He grasped on that small victory: his lifeline in that sea of madness. “Weeell, you will want to catch the morning winds, with your strong wings, in order to reach my family. It’s much easier to reach the very high ledge that my family lives on. Did I mention that it’s very high? We live on the east side of the tallest Peak. It will be easy to spot it once you fly up there. With your very strong wings. And there! I fucking did it. I told you how to get to my Aos Sí. Now let me go, kólo-malákas.”

Burrow stared at the premature triumph with confusion. Was he so foolish to believe he had won? He was but a pebble on her road to success. His protests meant nothing. Her parasites have taught her there are many ways to enter a home, one simply had to be stubborn enough to find it. “Do not think that we are done with you.” They would only be done once she claimed her rightful prize. If the fae wanted to prolong his torment, then she would oblige. “I never promised we would not take more from you.” She looked to Parker. With a nod, she let that iron bite out of its muzzle. “Take what you want from him.”

— —

The two fae continued to converse, with Parker wordlessly, rhythmically pacing back and forth throughout the duration. He always remained in view of the anthousa’s glowing, watering green eyes. Promises were exchanged, and Parker could also recognize the nuance in the choice of words. Precarious, potentially empty things that wound around each other like string cutting the circulation off a finger. For a moment, the words were vague, with him already having adjusted to Burrow’s usage of the word “we” to indicate that she was referring to herself and the hivemind of parasites that writhed and coiled around a skeletal frame, inflaming his brain on occasion with its intense desire to dismantle her worm by worm.

He wondered if the anthousa knew that. Likely not, though it wasn’t as though Parker had to make a specific promise about that; death was rarely on his mind, even when he was being casually threatened with it himself. Emilio came to mind, most annoyingly, followed by every other fae he’d gotten into altercations with. Even as he beat that spriggan to death in the alley back in August, it wasn’t the intention. He had no excuse for that one.

Steel-toed boots that carried the Warden’s steady pace stopped as the nymph explained how to get to the aos sí, finally removing his blue eyes from the restrained anthousa to cast a quick glance up into the milky, frigid sky as though he’d have been able to see what the nymph was referring to. The exchange about whether or not Burrow had wings herself almost went by Parker unheard as his mind drifted for just a fraction of a moment to what the anthousa would do now, how even one wing taken rendered it flightless, what the rest of his family members looked like. Would they come for him? Would they communicate and create a way to lift him? Would they have to relocate? Rock climbing wasn’t Parker’s strong suit - he was decidedly more of a swimmer - but there was something tantalizing about the idea.

He was brought back with what sounded like gloating from the anthousa, however. Smug words of superiority, a misunderstanding that he believed he was remotely in control of the situation. Parker knew that well, having been in a similar position months ago. Burrow’s permission given to him had the psychosomatic chain around his neck loosen; her end of their deal made verbal once more. Parker casually approached the anthousa, steely stare dancing over the details of the nymph again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the other wing, not anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted the first one, given what he now knew about the nymph and the aos sí it resided in.

Instead, Parker loomed over the fae, reaching out carefully and effortlessly pulling one of the cool-colored flowers from atop its head, ignoring the retaliatory hiss from it. “What does your pollen do, anthousa?” He found himself asking, twirling the flower in his fingers by its stem.

— —

Most fear the unknown. Feeling that predator stalk about the corners of his vision, forbidden to turn and watch by the command of the vines, the anthousa’s mind terrorized him with visions. Visions of discarded limbs and burning metal and cries unheard. If only it had stayed in that unknown. If only it had remained waking nightmares. He watched as unblinking eyes and unshaken hands ripped off a part of him. As if he were nothing; as if he were some thing. What more would it take from him, as he lay a helpless thing? Instincts had him scurrying away, but all he could manage was feeble twitching. The vines prevented even that small release. He remained in the same spot. “Wh-why do you want to know, k-kólo-malákas?” His voice desperately clung to the bravado from before, but it was slipping.

Burrow was surprised to see the stemmed one still awake. She had expected a repeat of before — for the needle to prick and the fae to fall and the wing to sever. She had expected Parker to want to complete the set. No, not expected: wanted. Not because she yearned for the fae to be without wings, but because she yearned for the fae to be without awareness. To be without the frightened eyes and the trembled lip and the quivered body. The only thing she had expected was some satisfaction for such a sight. Instead, the numbness continued to crawl up her neck. She wanted it all to be done, but she could not stop, not yet. Unlike the stemmed one, she loved the unknown. All those fantasies that had entertained for her years of solitude — of her doing to the fae the exact cruelties they had done to her and her kin. She would leave them with nothing, just as they had with her. She would, she will, she must… Yet, as fantasies became realities, she found them lacking.

There must be something missing. If Parker wanted the pollen, Burrow would not question it further. Such a question would continue to stall her fantasies from blossoming. She returned to the floor and those frightened eyes and trembled lips. A sight she returned with a blank. Nothing else was allowed. This is what she was supposed to do, after all. She would take the pollen. She would continue to take and take and take until she found the satisfaction she was promised. “You answer the questions, you do not ask the questions.” She pressed her cheek into his. So close that she stole away his breath. “What does your pollen do?”

The anthousa’s rebellion turned to sand, slipping past his fingers no matter how tightly he grasped. “I could show you two-” His voice was an empty snarl: as empty as that threat. What was he expecting, really? It was clear his tormentors would not crumple so easily. Unlike himself. “I will tell you, if you… if you…” All he could think to ask for was his freedom. His mind gone blank except for that desperate call of survival. One that he knew would go unanswered. There was only one way he would leave this place. “My-my pollen… helps my plants grow.” The vines tightened on his chest. His tricks ended with a painful gasp. “My pollen makes others… numb to any sensations.”

How tragic that the pollen’s wonders had no effect on him. The stemmed one would surely love to indulge in a deep whiff — a pleasure denied by his nature and the snare of Burrow’s vines. Even his very soul was claimed by their eager grip. The only cracks allowed were that of his psyche. Such cracks could deepen and pop open for the wanted treasure inside. All that needed to be done was to find where such cracks should be placed. Parker had an idea of where to look. Burrow looked to him, and the fae drifted into a blur in her peripherals. She preferred him there. “Do you want more of the pollen? I want some of the pollen.” It would help her hosts sleep more comfortably, nestled within her vines. She would sprinkle it between those cracks, so they may better accept their eternal sleep. The hosts never understood what a blessing it was to be claimed.

— —

It was to be expected that the anthousa wouldn’t be so eager to answer his simple question. Parker was nothing if not patient, however, and he didn’t react to the nymph’s pitiful attempt at regaining control of the situation. Parker had been on the other end of those vines as mentioned before, feeling them tightening around his musculature, legs, torso and neck. He was immobilized, and he was a hunter. It was appropriate to react to fear with anger and vitriol, but the anthousa would learn as Parker had.

Eventually though, the answer had come through some strong-arming from Burrow’s snare and he looked up from his observations of the delicate petals of the flower, though it wasn’t to look at the anthousa but the entomid. “I do.” Short. Clinical. Emotionless. As Parker responded, he absently dropped the flower and reached for a phial that hung from his belt, one of several in a line. “Hold him still.” He instructed, his other hand retrieving the silver scalpel that he had used to perform the operation of the wing as he skulked around the restrained nymph. All the while, blue eyes danced on its figure once more until they settled on the other, intact wing that absently twitched. With a careful and practiced but firm hand, he lifted the wing enough to reveal a series of thick, dark, veinlike vines that tightly knotted themselves near the base of the wing. The anthousa had a preference for the left side of its body, given that there wasn’t another knotted gathering like this on the right side. If this had been several years ago, he would’ve rendered the anthousa unconscious so he could’ve performed his work but he had since learned that discarded pollen from an unconscious or deceased fae either completely lost its potency or it was harshly reduced in terms of effectiveness. “It’ll get loud.” Parker warned, but without a second warning, he expertly took the scalpel as the phial was gathered in two fingers and he started to separate the tight veins that swirled around each other.

— —

Back to the unknown the predator stalked, but its eyes still dug into the anthousa’s mind. It had such a grip on his psyche he hardly noticed what truly touched his skin: the vines that coiled around his torso loosened. No, not loosened. The vines adjusted themselves, relinquishing a part of their hold only to give it to the predator. Relinquishing his wing, he realized, as he felt his wing move without his will. His tormentors’ words were all forgotten, overshadowed by his need to protect the wing. He thought of his pollen with no plan at all, for his instincts demanded he do something. With all things lost to the grip of the vines, his pollen was all he could do. But soon that was gone as well. Lost to pain. It ripped across his back, clawing away everything in its path, even his thoughts. His body and mind tossed into its fires, and yet he was not even granted the permission to squirm. So, he did the only thing left to do. He screamed.

Oh, was it so loud. The sharp cries cut into Burrow’s ears with the same precision as the blade into flesh. Though they had no ears to disturb, nor any care for the strangers around them, her vines quivered in solidarity. A reflection of the writhing annoyance in her stomach. Iadsan a Seadadh, cuidich leam. She just wanted to claim her birthright and be done with this nonsense. Her hands went to her ears, while her vines went to the fae’s mouth. Made themselves into a ball that sealed away all the screams. Her headache drifted and with its absence she could focus. She instructed the rest of her precious ones to continue to coil and claim that loud thing. A direction they were happy to follow, with a tight and firm grip, for it was only by her will that her vines did not seek to end the cries permanently.

The anthousa was spared such a fate, though the one he was given was worse. Instead of drifting into an endless sleep, he was engulfed in endless agony. The pain still throbbed, but as echoes, ricocheting over every corner of his body. Even the corners that were no longer there. He could feel both his wonderful wings, as if he could simply spread them out and the wind would take him far away. Yet, he could see how one such wing was sprawled on the floor, so so far away. It was gone, it was gone, it was gone, yet he could feel it. He could feel it but it was gone! Gods, how much of him was gone? How much of him was left? He tried to survey his body, the only sense he could trust, but it was limited by the vines. He needed to know. How much of him was left? How much of him was left?

“Don’t…” At least he still had his mouth. At least he still had his words. “Don’t take another thing from me.” The anthousa tried to scream: no longer one of pain but one to command. All his throat could manage was a hoarse coughing. “You both, you both promise me you won’t take another fucking thing off of me. You both promise me that you’ll let me go. You promise me and I’ll… I’ll tell you what you want.” He heaved another attempt at a yell, one ending in whispers of, “let me go, let me go, let me go.”

At least the incident took more than his pollen. The last of the fae’s stubborn spirit, along with that incessant yelling, had too been gone with the cut of the knife. Burrow rubbed at her temples, massaging away the residuals of her waning headache. She looked to the beaten thing upon the floor, yet still the sight did not bring her completion. This is why her worms burrowed so deeply in the recesses of their homes — there was no fulfillment in watching the host squirm under their beautiful might. The taking is what truly mattered, what was truly beautiful, and she had yet to take. She would feel whole once she fulfilled her destiny. Traveling through the stomach acids was never a pleasant thing, but her worms must do so to reach their homes. She must do the same. She must push past this unpleasantness to reach her home. All of their homes.

Burrow looked to a spot on the ground. There was nothing interesting about it — just a meager scuff. The only notable thing was its close proximity to the fae she spoke to. “I promise I will not take more from your body and that I will let you go.” A vague phrasing. There were many ways to leave a place, and not all as pleasant as the fae probably had in mind. “In exchange, you will tell me what I want to know, with proper and sufficient detail.” She would not allow the fae to also utilize ambiguity. Her eyes returned to Parker, though they did take a small detour to the pollen in his grasp. She wanted it in her grasp instead. She wanted some spoils to enjoy. But first, she had to ensure the most important one. She looked up to Parker with expectation, waiting for his own compliance in the deal.

— —

Screams were nothing new to the Warden, as they rang through one side of his head. His hands remained steady, his eyes unblinking as he carefully, yet forcibly ripped the knot open, seeing the glittering particles of unusual pollen as it sat in the crevices of the fae. Parker expected to be met with some as a self-defense mechanism and usually he would’ve been holding his breath but he didn’t, not this time. So he cut into the vines, prying them apart and scraping the residue into the phial as he inhaled the plumes of excess pollen willingly and with tightly-controlled breaths. He could feel it burning his sinuses and stinging his eyes, a standard reaction for a body rejecting foreign objects, for just a few moments before the sensations were dulled, almost like being doused slowly and carefully in warm water. He kept his icy blue eyes on his work as the fae’s screams were muted, though he couldn’t have been sure whether or not it was because of the pollen or Burrow’s vines strangling the anthousa’s breath from it. One phial was filled and set aside as Parker worked quickly to fill a second one, now keeping his eyes on his fingers as they had also grown numb; any sensations. He smelled nothing, heard nothing. Felt nothing. For a moment, the world was eliminated and it was him and the anthousa and the spotlight turned upon them. He felt numb, yet he could somehow still feel his father’s eyes on his back, as his eyes were on the nymph’s back. Where were Burrow’s?

The second phial was filled and Parker blinked once he was done. Still numb, even more autonomous and robotic, just as he was raised to be. He exhaled and straightened up, gathering the two phials and skulking back around where the anthousa could see him as the latter warbled a desperate plea in a broken voice. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and he still felt numb, and yet, it didn’t seem long enough. Fingers flexed as they started to tingle; even now, the pollen was starting to exit whichever systems it affected. He guessed neurological and respiratory. Hunter regeneration, his iron-rich blood coursing through him, flushing and decontaminating his body at a much more rapid pace than a regular human. Part of the reason why he didn’t indulge in alcohol or substances; too much money for not a long enough feeling.

The fae wanted the two monsters to promise that they wouldn’t take anything else from him as well as let him go, his recovering hearing understood. Blue eyes, now tinged red with an irritation that went unrecognized by the Warden during his numbing experience, glanced down at the entomid as though waiting for confirmation; this was for her benefit, after all. She had agreed, and his gaze was reciprocated. She wanted Parker to agree, as well. Offering one of the shimmering phials to Burrow, he regarded the anthousa once more. “I promise that, of my own volition, I won’t remove anything else from your body.” He replied first. “And I have no intention of capturing you. That promise doesn’t apply to me.”

— —

Burrow’s gaze lingered on Parker. With her headache ebbing away, the details of his features flowed in. Red eyes and twitching limbs — unfounded on him in usual circumstances. Had he breathed in the pollen? It was then she realized her own breath had instinctively stopped. Air trickled into her lungs, and there was a gentle numbness that rose back up into her head. A reprieve from the storm that had once become her mind. She snatched the vial of the pollen. The cloud of yellow swirled in her palm, trapped inside glass that prevented its potency from dissipating. Even her small taste had left the edges of her vision blurring into darkness. What would become of one who indulged in that potency with no restrictions? Perhaps she would not even need her vines to secure her home, at least in the long term. She could use her vines to secure more of that lovely pollen: it was intentional that she had promised only herself would not take more from him. She could ask her kin to do that honor… but not now. Her vines’ need wiggled inside her brain: take take take. If she allowed her vines to take anymore of the fae, they would consume him whole. She must have patience.

The anthousa barely had the strength to tie the bind around the two of them, but it hung there. Loose and tangled and frayed at the ends, but the bind found its mark. It was not as complete as he wanted — not as firm or encompassing as he needed it to be. Curse that hunter for not complying to his full demands. Curse the both of them for doing this to him. But he was too tired to protest. He just wanted to go home. “Go to the great river,” his voice rasped, drawling out the same as those cold waters. Where the waters brushed against both the great peaks and surrounding woods, there was a cave. A cave that ran deep under the ground; so deep it seemed to reach the center of the world. So lost to that darkness, it was impossible to tell when the tunnel began to travel up. But it did… eventually. A tunnel that split into branches, with all but one leading to a dead end. As dead as any traveler would be if they mistakenly took those paths. But there was the one that took you to his home — one only a fae would be able to follow. Listen to the beat of nature, and the earth would guide the fae there. The anthousa spoke of it all, except for the all the dangers that lurked deep in the tunnels. That would be his fun little surprise. Perhaps some way to prevent this torment from following him home.

In her mind’s eyes, Burrow followed the fae down into that sprawling darkness. Following it to a bloom of fresh and giving hosts waiting for her taking. She would take them all, but first, she must deal with one more obstacle. She did not want this little seed to run off and warn his family, planting the need for defense and protection in their hearts. But she would not resort to killing him. The fae’s death would mean the end of his nutritious blooms and that wonderful pollen he used to keep them. He was more useful alive. He is more useful alive, she reminded her vines as their grip continued to creep around his flesh. “There is one more deal we will make. I will let you leave this very moment, if you promise to forget all that happened this day.”

The anthousa would have screamed if he was capable. It almost felt his entire life had been this day, this terrible moment. He may slip into nothing if he made such a deal. “Just let me fucking go… please.”

“I will…” I want to, Burrow almost began. She wanted him gone the same as him. As her taste of the pollen dissolved into a small tingle, the true emptiness of her chest returned. But she noticed it was no longer a pit of absence: there was a twinge of pain around the edges. It threatened to pool into the pit, filling her chest with more of its ache. An ache that grew the longer she continued to look at the fae. Her eyes returned to the scuff on the floor. “If you promise to forget everything about this day the moment you leave.” She wanted him gone but not yet. She would not let him ruin her plan and leave her kin without a home. She would not let this all be a waste. She would not allow herself to travel through all this muck only to let it go to waste. “If you do not promise, you will… you will stay here with us, until you decide to promise it.”

“F-fine.” The anthousa choked out. It would not be so terrible to be taken of this one thing. Ignorance was bliss, after all. “I promise.” The vines began to loosen, slowly, as if being dragged away by the feeble grip of a child. Bit by bit, they released him, taking some bits of him. A torn bit of skin here, a severed vine there, and ruptured petals littered the floor. What were more of him removed, anyway? He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t even realize he had been fully set free. His body remained in the pose imposed by the vines. His limbs remembered how to move, dropping into their proper positions with a pained gasp. What was more pain, anyway? He pushed through it all, through the trembles coursing limbs and the visions coursing his mind. He needed to leave. He needed to… needed to figure out what happened to him. Gods, what was wrong with his body? Did he mistake cider for tea again? Where did… what was? The more he tried to remember, the more it slipped away. All that he knew was a pain, even that was a mystery to him. He needed to go home. Yes! He needed to go home. He needed to go… somewhere?

Burrow felt the bind ravaging the fae’s mind. It ripped away his memories like weeds, stealing everything it was allowed. Nothing would be left to propagate into a future problem. A problem she watched scurry away beyond the trees. He was gone. It was done. The emptiness remained, thumping against her chest where a heart should be, but it calmed the further the fae scurried. It would be replaced with joy once she claimed a worthy home for her kin. It would be joyous and what she always dreamed about. It would be joyous, she reminded herself, as she watched her hands tremble. “Is e seo a rugadh mi airson a dhèanamh.”

— — The entomid snatched the phial from him with her own greedy fingers and tight grasp. He understood the urgency; he was similar as a child, desperately clinging to something he had found or expressed interest in before it was pulled away from him, torn apart, broken down, or otherwise confiscated by a family member. A waste of time or effort, a punishment for failing in his assigned directive. Not listening. Not reacting properly. Blue eyes lost themselves in the repetitive memories for a moment, a slideshow of instances with each one ending the same way; a lesson Parker couldn’t seem to learn. It was brief, however, and regardless of how those memories ended, they weren’t relevant to this scenario.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of his head just in time to hear instructions for a haven not meant for Parker’s vision to see in any lifetime. As the duo were regaled with the appropriate steps, this time he allowed his mind to wander as they were told of a river, a cave, an ascent with innumerable passages and madness for any non-fae that would try to find the actual route. What he had said before, about flying straight to the top, was a ruse. Of course it was. Parker was foolish to assume that it would’ve been that easy, extracting the information so soon into their unwilling interaction.

The Warden remained silent after his end of the promise, focusing on his own phial of thick yellow pollen as the rest of the transaction between the two fae commenced. The anthousa was released, sluggish and delayed in its acknowledgement and with the memory of what had happened just moments prior slipping from his grasp, before tottering off out of sight and leaving the hunter and the entomid, a strange pair of supernatural enemies who realistically should’ve been at each other’s throats. The abnormality of the situation wasn’t lost on Parker, who carefully stowed the phial into one of the many pouches on his thick leather utility belt before pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping his eyes briefly before starting to clean his hands from pollen residue and sticky sap-like blood from the anthousa. He paced in the clearing in the absence of the other nymph now, his gaze flickering between the singular wing that sat off to the side and into the woods for an indeterminate reason.

“Was that information sufficient?” He found himself asking absently. “Do you feel… closer to your goal?”

— —

Burrow watched as her hands grew a mind of their own. Her presence extended beyond her flesh, writhing inside those of her kin — guiding them. It was strange to see that presence severed, not even reaching her own fingers. Fingers that writhed into tendrils that pulsated to an uneven beat. She had seen such a display on others: those she had determined to be stressed. Is that what this was? Stress? She didn’t feel stressed. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, actually… if anything at all. The pit had subsided inside her, but it did not return what it took. What remained was a faint buzzing under her skin. She told her hands to touch her face, and slowly they complied. Her face felt flat, untouched by wrinkles, or tension, or other signs of feeling. She was used to a blank: her most used expression. But this felt wrong in a way she could not find a name.

Burrow’s vines were quick to give her feelings a name, though one they placed themselves. Ache. Her vines coiled around her arms — tighter and tighter with each beat of her heart. Want want want want want they growled against her soul. Their frustrations became her own: she needed to find a new host. She needed to know the joys of the taking. Not the lesser kind she had just observed: obvious and dripping in mess. She would take in the beautiful way of the ones she loved. “Tha fios agam. Lorgaidh mi cuideigin dhut airson goid.” I will find someone for you to take. She would find them all someone to take. Every last of her downtrodden kin would know the joys of taking. They would. They must. Her tendrils became fingers again. Their trembles became mere twitches. That is what she did. She guided her precious ones to their homes. A shepherd for the monsters. And she had always been told that the monsters did such terrible things. That is what had transpired that day — a terrible deed for the terrible ones. It was not the proper way to take (so messy, so loud, so chaotic) but it was another step to their home. Their beautiful home.

“Yes…” Burrow finally said. “We are closer to our home.” A home! A home for her precious ones. Why not celebrate that? She should celebrate that. The tremble of her hands stopped completely. Perhaps she even smiled; she was not sure. There was still so much time for smiling, anyway. She looked to the human beside her. His ways were not her own, lesser than her own, but his ways had helped. Helped in a way not many were able to offer, or even willing to offer. She was one who took offerings gladly without a thought for returning the favor. But in the moment, she did. Something small, something easy, but still she wanted to give without a benefit to herself. “... I appreciate this moment.”

#wickedswriting #thread #thread : parker #ft. parker w.#with : the anthousa #drug manipulation tw #unsanitary tw #memory loss tw #medical blood tw #under skin tw #surgery tw

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vuulpecula · 7 months

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✖ @rickgrimesrp cont.

Her head was pounding, that was the first thing she felt. The second was a hand over her wrist. Eyelids fluttering open Fox looked at the man speaking to her, eyes slowly widening at the harrowing sight of him covered in blood. Had even the smallest movement not made her skull feel as if it was cracking open, she would have moved away from him, would have sat up, gotten out of whatever bed it was she was in, and make a beeline for the exit.

"Recovered? W-Where am I," she asked quietly. Camp? What was this man talking about? Freeing her wrist, she swallowed the nausea that came with looking around the room at the others. "What is going on?" The last thing she remembered was... Signing the lease for her new home. A dilapidated farmhouse just outside of town, in need of a generous helping of elbow grease and love. "Who are you? Where am I? What happened?" Had the place not looked so run down around her she might've thought she was in some kind of accident, but this was far from the bright whites of a hospital, even if the panic she felt within her chest had been the same.

#rickgrimesrp #[ >:) ]#x | v. it changes you; either into one of them or something a lot less than the person you were ( TWD TWO. )#x | i'm not living i'm just killing time ( QUEUE. )#memory loss tw #injury tw #blood tw

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mynamesnotdahlia · 6 months

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Will simon forget that betty isnt technically around because that happens with dementia right(?)

Absolutely. He tends to think of her as being away but not gone, like he could just go in the other room and find her there, or that she's on a trip.

He talks about her a lot and it's one of the main ways people have found to calm him down, to ask him about stuff with Betty gets him less agitated. When he gets more prone to wandering he tends to get confused and default to looking for her to try and figure out what he was doing. There's been a couple times where he gets brought back to PB and Marcy by a helpful candy citizen who found him wandering calling for her. He might default to calling women around him Betty or Princess and it can be hard to tell if it's a placeholder name or if he genuinely thinks she's there.

#simon petrikov #adventure time #dementia #alzheimers #alzheimers disease #memory loss tw #magic alzheimers #< tag im considering for this idea

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avastar-thelastfirebender · 3 months

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[REBLOGS > LIKES]

I really, really REALLY wanted to put this scenario down on paper for a while.

Character Warnings: Timekeeper Cookie, Roguefort Cookie (Pursuit of Lost Time)

TW: Early Stages of memory loss, gaslighting(?) and manipulation, severe sleep deprivation, nightmares

Other notes: In my fanon, Cinnamon is Roguefort's little brother. Remember this. (Also it's literally 1 AM so no beta we die like goombas)

It wasn't often that Roguefort would remain awake for days on end for anything but a heist. Well, this was a heist, just not one for gems. No, no, the target this time...it was far more precious.

"You're twitching. Perhaps you should get some rest." Timekeeper's voice snapped Roguefort out of their thoughts. Truth be told, Roguefort hadn't slept in days, weeks...actually...what day was it? Something that started with an F? It didn't matter.

"I don't think I've ever recalled you caring for my wellbeing." Rogueforf wouldn't make eye contact. Something in the back of their mind was telling them not to, but they just couldn't place their finger on why, exactly.

"Your moms weren't the ones who said they could help you find the watch, were they?" Timekeeper's tone had an edge of sugary malice to it as she continued to operate the aircraft. She didn't even need to look to know that Roguefort had flinched at the mention of their mothers.

"You and I both know damn well why they didn't." Usually, Roguefort would've done everything in their power to hode their anger. But a lack of sleep, grief, timeline jumping, and a misguided attempt at closure (for lack of a better term) all did a number on their mind. "You said yourself that I'd be able to fix the family if I went with you, so don't even go there."

"I did say that, didn't I? I'm sure Cinnamon is in total agreement with your decision. After all, he looked up to you the most, so I bet he trusted you to make the right choice."

Okay, that was the last straw.

"You know what? I'm going to bed." Roguefort sounded angrier than they woumd've liked, but at the same time they sounded exasperated. Understandably so.

"Yes, yes, goodnight to you, too." Timekeeper feigned a yawn as she heard Roguefort storm off in annoyance. And as such, they would totally miss the little smirk growing on her face as they left.

Roguefort wasn't sure how an entire guest room could fit in an aircraft, but they had learned to not question Timekeeper's bs a while ago. They wouldn't feel themself flopping down on the mattress, they wouldn't feel their eyes closing. All they'd be able to hear before drifting off was the sound of their own voice humming Für Elise. They knew it made Cinnamon happy...they just wished they could remember why...

When Roguefort opened their eyes, they were in a dark, empty void. It wasn't cool or echo-y like voids in sci-fi movies, just one where Roguefort was truly alone.

That was when their eyes landed on Cinnamon.

"Cinnamon...hermanito....is that really you?" Roguefort's voice was shaky with tears and desperation, but Cinnamon wouldn't say a word, only continuing to stare at his big brother.

"Cinnamon...it's me!" Roguefort was met with more silence.

"Hermanito...please..." Silence. The silence made Roguefort feel something they couldn't describe. They just knew they didn't like it.

"Cinnamon...Cinnamon, come on! S-Say something, damn it!" But Cinnamon wouldn't say a word.

"CINNAMON!"

Roguefort sat up in the bed with the speed of a rocket, breathing heabily as they tried to regain their bearings. They had definitely had nightmares in the past, but this one felt different. Roguefort sighed, knowing there was no way in hell they'd be able to go back to sleep now. With a sigh, they left the guest room and returned to the main control panel, unsurprised to see Timekeeper still there.

"I thought you were going to bed?"

Roguefort hesitated.

"I'm not tired." They sat in the passenger side of the control panel, seeming determined and bored at the same time.

"We need to find that damn watch."

#my writing #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #pursuit of lost time #Timekeeper Cookie #Roguefort Cookie #Cinnamon Cookie #memory loss tw #manipulation tw #nightmare tw #sleep deprivation tw #gaslighting tw #< just in case #first fic wooo

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kaesaaurelia · 7 months

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roads to hell

For @whumptober day 4, using the prompts "shock," "You in there?" and the lyric prompt, “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Crowley was not himself. This much was certain. Though his outfit was pristine white and his eyes were no longer serpent's eyes, he was no version of himself that Aziraphale had ever met, even as an angel. And he was bound to Aziraphale, in a way that was excruciating to think about for him, for all he could think of was what Crowley would think of it if Crowley was here.

"Are you all right?" Not-Crowley said.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," said Aziraphale, shakily; the Metatron was still watching. Whether the Metatron was ever not watching was something Aziraphale wasn't entirely certain of, but he was definitely watching now, because he was standing in front of the desk Aziraphale had insisted on having put into his office. "I'm. Lovely. Wonderful. Thank you," he told the Metatron. "I'll. Brief him on what we've been doing."

The Metatron nodded pleasantly at him, and vanished into the ether. Aziraphale waited a few moments, his heart hammering in his chest, before he turned to look at the person that was wearing Crowley's face, who he probably shouldn't take his ire out on, but they were not Crowley, not at all. "Crowley," he said, because that was what this person (who was not Crowley) answered to.

Not-Crowley looked excited to hear the name. "Yes! What can I do for you?"

Stop existing and give me back my demon, Aziraphale thought. But that was not fair. He must be fair. "Well, you can --"

"You look frightened. I'm sure there's nothing to be afraid of," said not-Crowley. "And if there is I'm sure I can help you with it! That's why they gave me to you, right? So I could help you?"

Aziraphale swallowed, and looked at the golden chain that bound him to not-Crowley. It was not physical, but when he made it visible it always seemed to manifest in his hand, cold and heavy, like something Jacob Marley might wear. Link by link and yard by yard. But Crowley had not chosen to wear it of his own free will, and yet it was around Crowley's neck, not Aziraphale's.

No. Not-Crowley's neck.

Not-Crowley touched the collar. "I don't really like this thing," they said. "I'm sure it's here for a reason, though."

"Yes. Yes, probably. Let me have a look at it, would you?" Aziraphale said, and not-Crowley, ever obliging, leaned forward. Aziraphale ran a thumb along it and read the sigils, which suggested that the wearer would obey the Supreme Archangel's power absolutely. He did not like that Heaven had made such a thing, but it did give him hope.

Because if Heaven thought that not-Crowley had to be bound to be allowed in Heaven, Heaven was afraid of an unbound not-Crowley. Which meant, Aziraphale hoped, that perhaps Crowley might be in there somewhere. He just had to work out how to get him out.

"Are you done looking at it?" not-Crowley said, anxiously.

"Yes," said Aziraphale. "Do you think you could get it off?"

"Oh, no," said not-Crowley. "Definitely not."

"Could you try?" Aziraphale asked.

"I don't think so," said not-Crowley.

You don't think at all, they're not letting you, Aziraphale thought, uncharitably. "Crowley," he said, flinching at the name, "I order you to try to get that collar off."

The collar burned with heavenly energy and Crowley screamed. "Stop! Stop!" said Aziraphale, and he stopped. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I only thought we ought to try the simplest thing first, and --"

"That's all right," said Crowley, with an empty smile. Not-Crowley, Aziraphale reminded himself. The angel's neck was still smouldering. "It was very painful," they added, "but I know you had good intentions."

"Yes, well, the road to Hell is paved with those," Aziraphale sniffed.

"No," said not-Crowley. "I'm sure that's not right. What is the road to Hell paved with?" they asked.

"I don't know," said Aziraphale, "I took the escalator last time. Look, would you just. Just stand over there somewhere?" He motioned vaguely to a corner of his office that his desk didn't face. "I have things to do."

"Can I help?" not-Crowley asked, eager as a dog.

"No, I don't think so," said Aziraphale, feeling ill.

Not-Crowley, somewhat reluctantly, went as far as the chain would allow, which was not far enough for Aziraphale's taste, and Aziraphale tried to review the reports he was getting from the Thrones about the Second Coming plan, which was horrid. Aziraphale was doing everything he could to slow it down, but it was still horrid. It was all horrid.

Some hours later, out of nowhere, not-Crowley said "Door-to-door salesmen!"

"What?" Aziraphale asked, annoyed.

"The road to hell is paved with them," said not-Crowley, brightly. "What is a door-to-door salesman, anyway?"

Aziraphale could have cried, only he was in Heaven and that sort of thing just wasn't permitted. He stared at Crowley for a long moment. Oh, he was definitely still in there. And Aziraphale was going to get him back out -- and out of that collar -- if it was the last thing he did.

next part

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shock #you in there?#lyric #good omens #fic #memory loss tw #memory fuckery tw #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #text #fiction #kaesa op

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thesilentmedium · 5 months

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This Too Shall Pass || Lil & Jonas

TIMING: After Respite SETTING: hospital PARTIES: @thesilentmedium & @the-lil-exorcist SUMMARY: Lil gets the news that Jonas has woken up and rushes back to the hospital where Jonas tells her what he's learned. WARNINGS: memory loss (implied, trouble remembering recent events)

Lil hadn’t slept. There had been periods where she wasn’t awake she was sure, but sleeping implied that she had rested which wasn’t true. Everytime she closed her eyes something was screaming at her.

She failed she failed she failed. Jonas was in the hospital and Lil was lost. She needed to do something. The monsters outside seemed so human now, and the beeping of the machines were driving her crazy. She had to fight - to punch - to yell. She had to do something.

There wasn’t anything for her to do, other than sit there watching over Jonas like the angel statues did in a graveyard. Full of sadness and anger for something that she had let happen. Death, a constant, had never seemed so ever looming as she sat there watching the machines. She had only left to take care of the animals and to bring things to make the room ghost proof - they would annoy him when he woke up, she knew.

It was on one of those brief moments that she got news that he had woken up and she buckled for a moment a sense of pain and sadness overwhelming her before she could even hang up the phone. She had rushed to the hospital moving as quickly as she could to get into the room dropping her bag full of salt and iron letting it scatter before moving closer to Jonas not sure what to say, her hands trembling. The exorcist, for once, was silent watching in fear.

___

Zane had just left when someone else came bursting through the room’s door. Jonas didn’t notice at first, his swollen eye missing the change in light that bled in from the hallway, but it didn’t take long for another familiar and most welcomed figure to appear in the vision of his good eye. He trained it on his sister, taking in what he could of her face. He was glad he managed to get all the crying out with Zane’s visit otherwise he would have burst into tears all over again at the sight of her. He didn’t need to make his headache any worse with such theatrics. Instead he simply opened his arms and wrapped his dear sister in a hug, something he suspected they both needed.

“They ruined my cardigan.” He said softly against her shoulder. He could feel his eyes threatening to squeeze out any droplets still left behind as he talked, his voice was hoarse from the fever that had settled in after the stress and cold of the night took its toll. Jonas tightened his grip on Lil. She was warmer than his other guest, not that Jonas would ever complain about hugs from his friends, but the added temperature was nice when he already felt chilled. It would be good if Blue was around, she was the best warmer. The black dog was still resting in his shadows. He knew Blue saved him but he couldn’t remember anything after that.

—-

Lil didn’t realize she was shaking until she felt her brother pull her into a hug. She was careful for a moment, not fully hugging him back before she let that go. He was still alive, a fear she’d been holding onto that said that he wasn’t. It shook her more to her core then her own attempted murder - perhaps partially because she’d never considered it. Jonas was kind and gentle, there wasn’t anything about him that she thought would lend itself to violence. She understood why people didn’t like her, she was loud and abrasive and so mad all the time that she knew it was hard to like her.

Her shaking settled though, even at his comment that his cardigan was ruined, she wanted to shake her head and sign to him that she’d make him a million more. It wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Still she didn’t want to break the hug for a moment, scared that if she did he wouldn’t be there again. Blue running to her to tell her that something was wrong had already been fearful enough - let alone seeing the state of him.

Pulling back slightly after a moment she signed, “I’ll make you a new one. Don’t worry about that.” Lil was partially lucky that she just was signing now. Although her hands still shook it was better than her own voice at the moment. She had ended up screaming and hurting herself.

_______

“”I would like that.” Jonas offered a tired smile as the hug came to an end. He had fallen asleep during Zane’s visit, the nurse was a soothing presence and the gentle touches he had offered made it hard to stay awake. That being said the entire night had been an ordeal in itself. His swollen eyes, the rope burn on his wrists and the soreness still coursing through his body was enough to remind him of it. “Are you okay? It must have been horrible to find me like that.” Had the roles been reversed Jonas would have been a crying mess the moment Lil woke up.

Thinking back on it Jonas was a little amazed at how well his sister handled almost getting murdered compared to him. For some reason the thought made him uneasy then again it was simply how Lil was. She was stronger than him in more ways than one. She was braver, smarter, faster thanks to those heelies of hers, and if it was her on the bed she probably would have gotten up and shook it off by now. That thought in particular was worrying. For a second, he was almost glad he was the one to get this badly hurt instead of her. He would at least rest and take the time to heal. Though ideally neither of them would have ended up here in the first place. What was it those strange men were after? He knew he had heard something important but his foggy mind just could not focus enough to call it into clear view. He almost missed Lil’s reply to his question.

—

“I’ll make it pink if you want,” Lil signed trying to keep herself light. She wasn’t the crier out of the two of them, although outside her furious tears to Zane she hadn’t recalled anytime recently that she’d cried in front of anyone else. Usually though she would hide herself away so Jonas couldn’t see it. Her face buried into his shoulder knowing he couldn’t hear her and that he wasn’t likely to call her out on it.

At the question though she tilted her head wondering exactly why he seemed worried about that. She hadn’t almost died. “Don’t worry about me right now, Basil. You’re the one who got hurt, not me.” It was typical though, that Jonas would worry about her over himself even when laying in a hospital bed. She couldn’t even blame him. Lil had done similar things, kept him from the worst of her injuries and pain if only to stop him from seeing her like that. Pain, Jacob said, was made to bear alone, and while she would be angry if anyone else did so it was something that she couldn’t help to keep herself too.

Still, he wasn’t wrong - the idea was horrible to see. It was seared in her brain the way that very few things were. She was sure that it would come back in her nightmares again, along with her sister screaming at her to cut her hand and put up a barrier, and her dad’s unkind face lying that she had meant to destroy those souls. Out of all of those though, seeing Jonas crumpled on the ground was going to be the worst. The others had been to her, but - she apparently couldn’t handle it happening to Jonas. There was a guilt in the back of her brain that it should have been her.

Sitting on the edge of his bed carefully she sighed looking over her twin and trying to figure out what to do. The rage that seemed to keep her upright was buried under the idea of her brother’s injuries. “What happened? Was it one of those guys?”

—

Jonas frowned a little at his sister’s insistence he worry about himself before shuffling his legs to give her more room to sit on the bed. He knew she was going to ask, he knew it yet still paused his hands gripping the blanket as the foggy memories of the night tried to resurface again. He had already been through this with Zane, and he knew more people would probably be coming to question him in the morning about all this. His mind was rushing, the fear starting to settle in all over again as if he was still there when he tried to recall what he could. “There were three of them.” That much he was certain of.

He could still picture them standing there in the forest bickering over him. Something about the hazy memory was important, Jonas couldn’t help the feeling that there was something he had tried to keep ahold of as his conscience faded earlier that night. He was scared to try and recall it. He didn’t want to relive it again. Something needed him to. Something there was worth the way it made his body start to tremble. It was just right there muddled in with the pain. If he could just focus enough.

“They were talking about something.” One of Jonas’ hands came to gently press against the bridge of his bruised nose as he tried to force the memory out quickly so he could stop focusing on the whole ordeal. “They were bickering about who would…” He could feel the tears he had just gotten rid of threatening to squeeze out as the memory of the rain pounding against him came rushing back. The three men were standing over him as he laid in the mud, they didn’t know who was going to kill him. They weren’t supposed to have to do it. “They were talking about Astra.”

—

Lil tried to be calm and steady - mimicking her mother instead of her father for once as she let Jonas speak. It hurt to do so though being so quick to rage at the face of injustice. She would be angry later though, when Jonas was asleep and mending and not where he felt so small and fragile.

So instead she listened gently, moving her hand to put on his shoulder, letting him talk but letting him know she was there too. No matter what, she was going to stay there and help him. At the bits and pieces though she tried to find the thread. There had been three of them - they were talking about the person that Lil and Jonas had been trying to find.

Moving her hand she signed “Hey, careful buddy. Stay with me here. So they were talking about that Astra person again? That’s good to know - When you’re better I’ll start looking - Hey - no more. You don’t have to remember anymore. Let’s just calm down okay? We don’t have to go through everything tonight. That’s enough for me to start on.” She moved again to hug Jonas, trying to keep him there instead of in the past. Lil couldn’t protect him there like she could try to here.

No. There was more to it. More he had to recall.The panic of the night came rushing in as his sister held him. Jonas was tempted to agree and to just let it be but something was telling him she had to know this. He pressed against her for comfort and did his best to focus on the conversation. The movement of their lips in his memory was distorted and strange, almost like he was reliving a dream rather than a horrible moment that had happened just hours before.

Who wants to do it?

What a horrible question. The three hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with him. Jonas somehow found that more unsettling than if they had picked out who was going to kill him beforehand. The three men had seemed so inexperienced with everything they were doing save for the ropes around his wrists. He could still feel the sting every time he moved his hands. He held onto Lil a little tighter.

I thought the demon was doing it.

The demon. The revelation hit him all over again. Astra was no human. Jonas pulled back from Lil, signing almost frantically. “We cannot go looking for Astra. They called him a demon.” This raised so many questions, one of which was how his family was fooled into thinking a demon was human but also what they were going to do now. He felt drained and he had no idea when he’d be of use to Lil again. She couldn’t just go running off after something like that on her own.

—-

Lilian wasn’t a particularly calm person naturally, but there was an odd stilling of her bones as she realized what Jonas was trying to tell her. Her arms grew tighter holding him gently but closely as she realized suddenly how deep this had to go.

She blinked the words flashing across her eyes before settling into what he was saying. There was a demon after them. A flash of fear came over her eyes before she could help it, widening her eyes as she realized what must be going on. If there was a demon involved - it meant that their family members were either dead or close to it. It meant that this wasn’t an exorcism gone wrong, someone had sold out the Ballards to this fate. She had to find them now.

The fear only lasted for a moment, before the hot feeling of rage filled her. How dare they. Her jaw tightened as strained as she thought about it. Still her eyes tried to soften looking at Jonas and signing, “Hey. We aren’t doing anything until you’re better. Relax, Basil. I’m not going to do anything right now.”

The implication was still in Lil’s fingertips. She would find out what this Astra was, and importantly why the fuck he wanted to destroy her family. She would have to figure it out soon, if only to keep Jonas safe, but it didn’t have to be tonight.

Instead Lil signed, “I love you - and we’re going to be okay. I promise.” Something she didn’t often do, a determination in her eyes as she breathed out slowly and continued, “We don’t have to worry about it right now. You need to start healing. Jamie’s coming down tomorrow and he’s staying until I say so. He can come help. We will get through this. Let’s just rest now.”

The promise hung in the air as Lil fell back to hugging Jonas, a burning in her throat with the anger and destruction that had been quelled for a short time started to demand her attention again. She would protect him, and for tonight that anger would have to keep them both warm. For now though, she just needed to focus on making sure he got better.

#the lil exorcist #lil #writing #memory loss tw

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