Chapter 18
Summary: Our little family visits the Sanctuary for the final chapter.
Author's Note: Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Glad Jul! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Solstice! Happy Valentine's Day!
I finished it!
Man, quarantine kicked my ass, writing-wise. We came through it okay (luckily my husband's job is salaried), but... I'm an introvert, and I generally can only write when I'm alone. No one reading over my shoulder, you know?
Quarantines don't mix well with that, hah.
Not to mention that around July 2020 my inspiration just dried right up. I've been picking away at it ever since, but it's only very very recently that I've actually been able to write again.
I can edit without inspiration, but I still need the raw material there to work with. :/
So, yeah. 'Thistle' is finally (jesus christ) finished, huzzah!
Let me know what you think! :D
And thank you so much for sticking with me and my story!
~Kryss
Nettles in the shadow…
How many years had it been since she first heard those words? Chise mused, as she shut her eyes and held on tight.
False holly in a ring…
The first time they had visited Iceland Elias had used enough of her magic to get them there from England in one hop—and to render her unconscious shortly thereafter. She hadn't done much better on her own first trip back home. Oh, the flight was glorious and she would never forget it—it was the first moment she hadn't felt cursed. Hadn't wished she never existed. But it was draining.
Spin 'round, ten times, twenty times…
But over the years, she had grown stronger; they had both gained more control. And now, when he tapped into her magical reserves, it was a true partnership, neither of them taking nor giving more than was asked, needed, nor offered.
Spin a spider's web on that distant bough.
Travelling this way still made her dizzy, though.
With a sickening lurch she felt the ground slam against the soles of her feet. Elias's arm tightened around her at her own instinctive clutch 'round his waist, and she took a moment to breathe deeply and settle her stomach before opening her eyes.
Thistle's wide green eyes and excited grin met hers, clinging to Elias's other side. She was, chronologically, only two now; but in most other respects she seemed a small preschooler, especially when she was in her human form, like this.
Silky seemed to regard her as something of a living doll, and still seemed utterly unable (and unwilling) to resist showering her in adorable outfits. Luckily, Thistle seemed to enjoy it, as well. So, as long as the Brownie and her dress-up model were both happy, Chise was content to leave them to it.
She'd definitely earned extra cream for the wardrobe she'd created for this trip to the North, though! Thistle wore an entire Saami outfit for the visit, complete from her red, tasselled hat to her curled, embroidered boots—and Chise was pretty sure there was at least one more packed in their bag.
The shushing sound of sleigh runners over magically-formed ice behind them, and the accompanying drumming of reindeer hooves, announced Lindel's arrival. He pulled his team to a halt with a grin as Ruth slipped from Chise's shadow.
"Granddaughters! Elias! —Hello, Ruth! So good to see you all again!" He nimbly climbed from the sleigh, striding up to envelop Chise in a warm hug, which she happily returned. As young as he still appeared, he truly had become her grandfather, and she had missed him.
"And here's Thistle!" He crouched before her as she, pleased but shy, ducked her head. He laughed, reaching out to tweak her cap. "You're bigger than you look in the mirror. You've grown!"
"Yeah," she agreed, taking a soothing finger out of her mouth to speak.
"Can your Grandpa Lindel have a hug?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye, opening his arms.
"...Yeah," Thistle said, slightly more firmly, and took a step forward, reaching for him a bit awkwardly. He gently and carefully embraced her, squeezing her tighter as she relaxed into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. A wide, contented smile split his face. "Never thought I'd be meeting your offspring," he murmured to Elias, shooting a glance of mixed amusement and pride his way.
Elias huffed. "You've met her before."
"Not in person. In person is different," Lindel replied. "Hello, Thistle," he said softly, gently rubbing her back. "Welcome to the Sanctuary."
Chise took Elias's hand, leaning against his arm, her eyes unaccountably stinging.
The ride back to the hidden valley was swift, relatively short, and, according to Thistle, absolutely wonderful. She had ridden in the bus and on the train a few times, but neither could compare to the novelty nor the sheer exhilaration of a sleigh ride. Chise couldn't keep her in her seat, and in the end had to content herself with standing guard (well, sitting) as Thistle stood between Elias's sheltering knees, gripping the front edge of the sleigh with red-mittened hands, and happily relying upon her father's hands firmly about her sides to brace her from being jostled out of the sleigh with each bump.
Frankly, Chise thought she would enjoy even that, and had a simultaneously distressing and amusing vision of Thistle, cartoon-like, pinwheeling through the air, shouting with glee.
"The sleigh is better for bringing all of you and your bags back at once," Lindel grinned, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the sounds of the sleigh and Thistle's excited whoops and shrieks; "But Thistle ought to try riding a dragon, too, hey?"
Chise grinned back at him, and Elias's eyes curved in amusement, as Thistle was shocked into stillness for a moment by the suggestion, mouth agape, before positively vibrating with excitement.
"Azami, look up!" Elias whispered in her ear, leaning over her, pupils curving at her expression as she glanced up, curious, only to almost go limp in his supporting hands as Lindel slowed the sleigh to a walk, allowing her to fully take in the sight of the dragons lazily soaring through the air above them.
"Dragons!" she breathed, visibly entranced.
Chise felt her eyes prickle again as she watched their daughter, utterly absorbed by the dragons' flight, unsure if it was the nip in the breeze or emotion that prompted it, but feeling her heart at once both warm, and twist.
Elias met her eyes, and she saw the same rush of emotions mirrored in his. "I'm so glad she could see this herself," she murmured, as Elias, simultaneously, quietly said, "I'm so happy to be able to share this with her. With both of you."
Lindel merely smiled indulgently at them, and nudged the reindeer up to a run again.
As they neared the meadow where Lindel's hide tent was already erected, awaiting them, a much smaller dragon swooped low over them.
"You're here!" the Gwee whelp shouted down to them in excitement. "Great! Hiya! Come play with us!"
Lindel laughed as he drew the sleigh to a standstill. "Let them get settled in first!" he called back, as the Gwee landed with a thump nearly on top of the reindeer team (who ignored them magnificently). "They haven't even gotten out of the sleigh yet!"
Chise laughed as she clambered down, Lindel's steadying hand bracing her, as Ruth grinned in amusement behind her. "Hello!" she called, seeing more whelps bounding towards them. "It's so good to see you all again!"
She honestly had no idea if these were the same whelps whom she had first met (except for the now fully-grown Gwee who had carried her here on her second visit, so many years ago), or, indeed, if she had ever met these ones. Dragons didn't seem to regard names as labels applied to every individual soon after birth—or hatching, in their cases—and aside from Nevin, she knew no other actual names for any of them, and had difficulties still even recognizing individuals from previous visits.
Nevertheless, seeing the young dragons bouncing around Thistle as Elias carefully lowered her to the mossy ground, hearing their calls of "Let's play!" and "Yeah, come play with us!" brought back a flood of memories from her own early visits.
She hadn't had any idea of who Lindel was when they had first arrived, and the whelps' energy and excitement had been all but overwhelming. But they had been the first children to be eager to play with her, to want to play with her, in a very long time, and she still treasured the memory of it.
"Try to not fall out of any trees this time, though, okay?" Ruth murmured to her with a grin as he passed her, heading towards the tent with their bag of clothes.
Chise started to follow him, but paused as Thistle dashed past, amidst a bouncing, shouting throng of whelps. Go ahead; I'll get our things sorted out, Ruth silently said. Go and keep an eye on her if you like.
Chise nodded, allowing her thanks to flow back through her link to him, and trailed off behind the cacophonous group at a discrete distance.
It wasn't that she didn't trust them, or thought they'd ever deliberately hurt her; but it was a new environment, and Thistle hadn't had much experience in any place so relatively wild. Besides, Chise was not certain at all that she wouldn't try to ride one of them.
Sure enough, even as the thought occurred, she saw Thistle clamber aboard a Uil to shouts of "Piggyback! Piggyback!" and "Me next!" Chise decided to move a little closer. Just in case.
"I like her," Lindel grinned up at Elias, as the latter stooped to help unhitch the reindeer.
"Hm? Who? Chise? Or Thistle?"
"Yes," Lindel replied, gathering up the jingling harness. Arranging it into careful loops, he added, over his shoulder, "You've done well. With both of them. Well done."
Elias trailed after him, following as Lindel stowed the tack in the sleigh.
"—You've grown into a better family man than I ever would have expected you to," he added, and paused. "Just don't eat them, okay?"
"I eat my wife," Elias said, with great dignity, "almost every night. And I wouldn't dream of taking relationship advice from an old hermit like you."
"That's... not what I—" Lindel narrowed his eyes. "Are you making a joke?"
"If you can't tell, then perhaps you should find a teacher of human things too."
"—A sex joke?!"
"But you don't get to use mine. Mine's taken."
"Yeah," Lindel rallied magnificently. "Yours is taken—"
"—Taken every night."
"Yes."
"Yes."
Lindel shook his head in amusement and disbelief. "I can't believe you just—"
A loud splash interrupted him. He looked over at the suddenly louder crowd of young ones on the bank of the river and sighed, as Elias hastened away, all joking forgotten. "Again?!"
"It's becoming something of a tradition at this point," Lindel wryly remarked as he sauntered over, the warm wind of the fire Ariels wafting his hair as they evaporated the last of the water from Chise's clothing.
Ruth just regarded her flatly. "I told you not to do that."
"Yes, well..." Chise sighed as Elias set her back onto her feet on the mossy bank. "As Lindel says, it's a tradition now, isn't it? Besides," she added as she ruefully tried to finger-comb her hair straight again, "You told me not to fall out of any trees."
"Perhaps you ought to just stay well away from the water," Elias said sternly, as both his wife and daughter looked abashed.
"It's our fault," one of the whelps piped up, ducking its head. "We wanted to show Thistle the water-dragon."
"We're sorry," said another, and a chorus of apologies and reassurances arose around them. "It won't happen again!" "We'll keep her really far away!"
"All right, all right," Elias sighed. "Off you go and play, then, I suppose."
"Dare I ask what happened?" Lindel asked, raising a brow.
"Well..." Chise winced. "It ends up that the moss is slipperier than I remembered. And that Thistle's balance is better than mine."
"I admire your steadfast adherence to our time-honoured tradition," Elias said, giving her an amused nuzzle.
"I don't!" grumbled Ruth. "That was cold!"
Even in the early Arctic summer, night eventually fell, although so late, and with such a long twilight, that Chise found it quite surreal. "It almost feels like the Anthill," she remarked aloud, to no-one in particular, as she ladled a little more reindeer stew into her bowl.
"What feels like ants, Mummy?" Thistle cocked her head, then glanced uncertainly into her bowl.
"Oh, no, not the food, love," Chise hastened to reassure her. "I just meant…" She paused, not quite sure how to phrase it. "It's so bright out," she said finally, "but there's no sun in the sky, and no real shadows, but the sky's still light… It feels like it ought to be darker, with how late it is and no sun, I guess… Or that the sun should be out—but that would feel weird, too, this far past our bedtime…" She trailed off. "It feels like being in a story," she finally said.
"Oh." Thistle paused, considering. "No ants?"
"No, it reminds me of where Grandmother Titania lives, that's all. The light's similar."
"Oh. Can we visit her there someday?"
"Perhaps. We'll see," Chise said vaguely, over Elias's firm "No."
"Maybe she'll make us dinner, too," Thistle mused, not seeming to hear either of them, as she fished a chunk of meat out of her bowl with a clawed finger and popped it into her mouth. "I like this stew."
"Thank you," Lindel smiled, as Chise murmured, "Manners, Thistle."
"Sorry, Mummy." She licked her teeth, and delicately speared a piece of carrot instead. "I really like the stew very much, thank you for making it for us, Grandpa Lindel."
Lindel hid a smile behind his hand. "I don't think that's quite what your mother meant. But thank you, again."
Thistle hesitated. "But—what did I miss? Um… arigato gozaimasu, Lindel-san…"
"You missed the bit where you use the spoon instead of your fingers," Elias told her.
"Oh, she's doing fine," Lindel laughed. "Remember how long it took you?"
Elias huffed, as Chise and Thistle looked between the two with undisguised curiosity.
"Tell us!" Thistle urged.
"...and then, out of the darkness," Lindel leaned forward, the leaping flames of the fire casting weird shadows over his face, "It appeared. Twice as tall as a man, half as thin, wrapped in ragged shadows like a cloak. The wolves themselves had fallen silent."
Thistle gaped, entranced. "What was it?" she gasped.
"Your father!"
Thistle's eyes widened and she glanced up at Elias, sitting cross-legged beside her, shoulders hunched in irritation. "What happened then?" she breathed.
"He fell over!" Lindel chuckled. "Face first into the snow! —Actually, he fell over a lot. Especially skiing. My reindeer ski better than he ever did!"
"Maybe you're just a bad teacher," Elias grumbled.
"Maybe you're just a terrible student!" Lindel winked at Thistle, and she giggled, hiding her muzzle behind her hands at Elias's mostly mock-indignant glare.
"Turning my own offspring against me," he muttered.
"Remember that time with the squirrel?"
"No."
"The reindeer shed their antlers each year," Lindel explained, turning to Chise, "and the squirrels like to chew on them, or any bones they find.
"And one time, he woke up to find a squirrel nibbling on his nose!"
Thistle squealed with laughter and fell over backwards, as Elias glared. Even Chise suppressed a giggle at the thought.
"I said we should put the tent up!"
"Oh, but it was such a lovely warm night!"
Elias rubbed his snout in remembered discomfort. "It hurt!"
"Oh, it didn't damage you. Quit being such a baby."
"I'm a baby?! You're the one who saw a spider and screamed like a little girl!"
"It surprised me!"
"It wasn't even that big," Elias told Thistle, who had managed to struggle upright again, eyes sparkling with merriment. "And he shrieked. Such a baby."
"It crawled out of your eye socket!"
"It only crawled in because you never want to use the tent!"
"I like to see the night sky!"
"You just like to see what's going to try and nest in my head next!"
Thistle fell over again.
Chise stepped away from the fire, stumbling a little on the uneven ground as she left the circle of firelight. Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the deep darkness, she looked up.
The sky was immense. Only a fairly narrow band of it was visible above the steep, overhanging sides of the rift valley, giant slabs of volcanic rock left hanging as two continents slowly pulled apart; but that ribbon of sky was ablaze with stars.
The countryside about their cottage was dark enough that they had a good view of the stars there; but here in Iceland, they were different. They hung lower, somehow. The sky seemed only held up, held back by the lip of the valley. They seemed close enough to touch.
"Thistle," she called softly, "Come see."
Thistle clambered out of Elias's lap and stumbled over, rubbing her eyes. She could see as well in the dark as he; shadows hid no secrets from either of them. She must have been half asleep. She took Chise's hand, tilting her head quizzically.
"What, Mummy?" Wordlessly, Chise simply smiled and pointed up. Thistle followed her gesture, puzzled, raising her snout, and gasped. Her grip on Chise's hand slackened as she stood stock-still, transfixed.
Suddenly she gave a cry. "Mummy! What's the colours?"
Chise looked up again. With her eyes adjusted more, the sky was even brighter. And above them hung shimmering curtains of light—green and pink ribbons, slowly pulsing to their own rhythm. Chise gasped.
Elias glanced up as well. "It's the Northern Lights," he said, sounding unconcerned. "The Aurora Borealis. They form when certain gases in the upper atmosphere are agitated by charged particles of the solar wind."
"Pretty, aren't they?" Lindel added, his voice warm with understanding and amusement.
Thistle and Chise made no reply, lost in the wonder above them.
"Pretty?" Elias cocked his head as he looked up again. "I… suppose they are."
Ruth glanced at him. "Hadn't thought of them as pretty before?" he asked, curious.
"Not really," Elias confessed. "They were always just either spellfire, or ionised neon, to me."
He paused, contemplating the sky. "Lindel would try to show me their beauty, but I didn't understand." He looked across the fire to his mentor. "I think I can understand now," he added, more softly. "They are beautiful. Thank you."
"Daddy? What's spellfire?" Thistle asked, as she and Chise settled back by the fire, and Elias spent the next several minutes telling the Saami's story of the celestial war between light and darkness.
Thistle was silent for a long moment when he finished, considering. "Do the Japanese have any stories about them?"
"Oh, it's said that children conceived… uh…" She trailed off awkwardly, embarrassed.
"Children what?" Thistle asked, bouncing in her lap a little in impatience.
"They're just said to be lucky, that's all."
"Can I be conceived?"
Chise laughed. "I'm sorry, Thistle; you already were."
"Can't I do it again?"
"No, I'm sorry, love."
Elias cut in. "It means when parents start to make their child. It can only happen once for each person."
Thistle was silent for a long moment, considering. "But Daddy," she said finally, "How can it only be once? Auntie Stella has a little brother. And they had the same parents… Right?" She looked up at Chise for confirmation.
"I meant once per child," Elias clarified, as Chise hunted for an acceptable response.
"Oh." Thistle looked a bit downcast, but seemed to accept his answer.
"Thank you," Chise said softly. Elias glanced up, but she was looking at Lindel, a soft smile gracing her lips.
He raised an enquiring eyebrow. "For inviting us," she clarified. "I always remember that it's beautiful here; but I always forget that it's so beautiful here." She gently stroked Thistle's head. "I never imagined that I would someday see anything as wondrous as the Northern Lights over Iceland. —Or dragons, let alone ride one." She smiled fondly at the Uil whelp asleep with its head in Lindel's lap, remembering. "I've been so lucky to see them. And that you took in Elias." Her smile deepened as she leant against him, his arm creeping about her to press her closer. "I can't even imagine all the wonderful things you've been lucky enough to see in your own lifetime!"
"I suppose," Lindel replied, absently, adding another log to the fire.
"Do you not love the world, then, Grandpa Lindel?" Thistle asked, twisting around to look over at him.
"Love?" mused Lindel. "I love my part of it, I suppose. This valley, the dragons… I suppose I love them. And I suppose I loved herding my reindeer before that. Although— 'love' probably isn't the right word for it. But I was content to be alone and wander with my animals. I am reasonably content to stay here and guard my charges."
"Don't you ever want to leave?"
"No." Lindel gave a short chuckle. "No, the world out there as it is nowadays is not for me, and has not been for a very long time now." He sighed. "But sometimes I miss the simplicity of following my reindeer. Of guarding against only the wolves in the night."
"Weren't you lonely?"
"Lonely? No. No, I have always preferred the company of nature, the whisper of the wind over the company of men. Alone and lonely aren't always the same thing."
"Grandmother says it's okay to need to be alone sometimes, but that it's not good to be alone too much," Thistle said contemplatively, staring into the fire. "She says that beings who can talk need someone to talk to, to share their thoughts with. She says that you can become lost in yourself, otherwise."
"'Grandmother'? Does she mean Rahab? You didn't mention she'd met her." Lindel shot Chise an inquisitive glance.
"She hasn't, so far as I know, although that does sound more like her than Titania, doesn't it?" Chise turned to Thistle. "Has Titania been giving you lessons again?"
"No, not Grandmother Titania. Grandmother Rahab." Oblivious to her parents' surprised expressions, she continued, "She said the world isn't always friendly to you, but it isn't hostile to you, either. You mostly get back what you put out into it."
She snuggled further into Chise's embrace, wrapping Elias's cloak a bit more securely about herself, and yawned. "She told me," she said drowsily, as the adults shared a wide-eyed look across the flames, "'Your key is already in the silver lock. All you have to do is to turn it.'" She fell silent, eyes slowly falling dim.
It was Elias who spoke first, over her slow, deep breaths. "'Grandmother Rahab said'?"
"Perhaps we should pay her a visit," Chise murmured, tucking Thistle into her pile of furs. "We haven't seen her all together yet as a family."
"Mm."
"It might be nice."
"Mm."
"I wonder if Lindel would come along as well? We could make it a family reunion." She glanced out of the tent to Elias, who seemed to be pondering the night sky. "Are you coming in? Is… is everything okay?"
"Hmm? Oh. Yes. It's fine." He seemed distracted, though. "The night fires are still alight."
"'Night fires'?"
"Ah, the Northern Lights. They're still there."
"Oh." Careful to not wake their sleeping daughter, Chise crawled out of the tent to join him, taking his hand and leaning against his arm as she too looked up.
"Can you see them?" He asked softly.
"No."
"Oh."
He seemed disappointed, so she hastened to add, "My eyes probably just need to adjust. That little lamp is very bright."
"Ah." He turned and, tugging at her hand, led her away to the mossy river bank. He sat and, crossing his legs, settled her on his lap, wrapping his cloak about her. "Is it true?" He asked. "About the legend. In Japan."
"About conceiving a child beneath the Northern Lights? It's true that that's the legend; I have no idea if the legend itself is true."
"Hmm. Perhaps we should find out."
Was he asking to conceive another child with her right then?
Chise paused to consider her response. Did she want another child?
Maybe? But… eventually? Not right now, not with Thistle still so young, and so much of her development still a complete unknown.
And certainly not on the spur of the moment!
"I… think we would need to have a longer conversation before—"
Elias chuckled, and gave her a reassuring squeeze and nuzzle. "Don't worry, I didn't mean tonight. But perhaps, someday, if we decide to try again…"
"Then we could… see if the legend is true?" Chise relaxed into her husband's embrace and smiled. "I think we could do that."
"Good."
They sat quietly for a while, enjoying the silence, the cool night breeze ruffling hair and clothing.
Chise looked up. Her eyes were adjusting; up past Elias's jaw she could begin to make out the ghostly, pale curtains glimmering and shifting faintly overhead. They really were beautiful. Sometimes it still surprised her, the beauty in the world. And that she was getting to see it, herself. So many wondrous things…
She became aware that Elias was idly playing with her fingers, tracing them with his own. "Perhaps, though," he commented, a bit too casually, "we ought to practise?"
"Perhaps," she smiled, although she stayed still in his arms.
In a little while, perhaps, once she was sure that everyone else was asleep, they might… practice. Out here, under the stars, and the aurora, the Arctic air chill upon their skin…
—The whelps curiously investigating each unusual sound and stifled moan, she thought wryly. "Perhaps we ought to practice another time, though, somewhere… else."
A splash and faint giggle from the river underscored her concerns. "Ah. Yes, I suppose this spot isn't all that private after all, is it?" He nuzzled her ear, and gave it a slight lick. She shivered. "Another time, then. And… another place."
He rested his jaw on her shoulder, awkwardly curling himself around her.
Chise, squeezed slightly breathless, nevertheless snuggled deeper into his loving embrace, kissing his cheek.
His strange pupils curved a smile at her. "I think," he murmured, "that anyone would be lucky to conceive a child with you, whether beneath the Northern Lights or not. And any child would be lucky to have you as their mother. I am lucky."
"And I'm lucky too," she smiled back, "to have you as my husband, and the father of my child."
He hugged her a bit tighter for a moment. "I like our little family," he said, almost too quietly for her to hear. "I'm glad to have you. Both of you." He paused. "I like who I am with you."
"Me too," she murmured back.
"I'm glad." He paused. "Wait. You like who you are with me too, or you like who I am with you too?"
"Both," Chise smiled, hugging his arms to her, happy beyond words in this quiet moment. With her husband.
With her family.
A/N: And that's the end!
Sorry; I know, I'm awful. Initially it was going to be Titania who was, unbeknownst to her parents, taking Thistle for walks and teaching her; but then Thistle ran into some unexpected difficulty learning to shift, and Titania ended up stepping forward to help out with that, with her parents' knowledge, instead. But calling Elias's child to her home to meet them without asking first or telling their parents is absolutely something that Rahab would do, heh, and I really wanted to include her in some way, so, here.
—Heh, initially it was going to end with them all sitting around the campfire going "Grandma Rahab?!" so maybe I'm not that awful lol.
Meanwhile, I am absolutely still in this fandom, and still tossing around a few plot ideas; but don't be surprised if you don't see many new fics from me over the next while. I still love to write; but also, as I said at the top, I still have issues with writing in well-trafficked areas of the house where people can interrupt me and also read over my shoulder (which I hate), and of course that's precisely where my desktop computer was, although it's since been moved to my bedroom, at least!
And on top of that, I'm gainfully employed now, too, which, yay, but also eats up a lot of my writing time, especially the mid-morning when everyone else is in school or at work. Ends up that's my best time to write. Luckily my coffee break is right around then, so I did get bits of this written at work, heh.
I don't think I'll be able to write a whole fic like that, though.
Anyways, as usual, you can follow my fanfic Tumblr at .com if you want to get notified when I post something new (and, I'm thinking, very very occasional short posts to let you know I'm still alive, if it's been several months since my last update on an unfinished story. Or several years *facepalm*).
You can also follow me at , where I'm Kryss_LaBryn; but I'll warn you that stuff gets updated there first, and then immediately posted about on Tumblr; but that there's a delay before I put the new content up over here, and sometimes I forget for quite a bit. So you won't see anything new here that you won't also see there, and sooner, although does have some older fics from other fandoms that I haven't copied over yet.
Um. So. Anyways, here's hoping that you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it (please tell me what you think!), and here's hoping that 20212022 2023 is the absolute antithesis to bloody 2020. And if it's 2021 2023 and it's 2020 2.0, please don't tell me, lol. I'll probably already be deeply aware.
Take care. Stay safe. Love you all.
~Kryss LaBryn, Atlantic Canada West Coast Canada, Fall 2020January 2021December 2022 February 2023 [jesus fuck, because all of that *waves hand at note* but even more so, grr].