Apr 13, 2021
Sketch at the end of the working day🤧🥀
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Sketch at the end of the working day🤧🥀
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Bog King is a university professor with a degree in Entomology. During Summer vacation, and after a terrible breakup Bog finds himself drawn to his family's fields where he had spent his childhood and discovered his love of insects. He is shocked to discover, after all these years, what he had always assumed to be butterflies were in fact Fairies!
Fairy Princess Marianne finds herself falling in love with a human.
Anybody remember the ficlet I wrote for Strange Magic Week last year that involved Bog catching Sunny while Sunny was stealing Bog’s tomatoes? And which I started rewriting in March?
Here’s part two.
Bog started at the sound of keys in the front door. Right, his mother had given Aura a spare key. At least she had the decency to call out “Bog, the doctor’s here!” before stepping inside.
Thang took up barking and snarling, at the same time wagging his tail. Stuff padded up to the visitor quietly to sniff her legs, and the battered black case she was carrying.
“Hi kids!” said Aura. “Causing trouble, are you?”
“Thanks for coming,” Bog greeted her. She was wearing bright turquoise eye shadow that matched her dress. And her hair. Given that as far as he knew she was about of an age with his mother, it seemed an odd choice, but well, it was very Aura.
“Oh, I really can’t miss having you owe me a favour.” She ignored Bog’s small unhappy sound. “Where’s the patient?” She held the battered doctors’ bag up. It looked utterly out of place with her partygoing outfit.
“In the kitchen.” He held the door for her, and slipped through behind her quickly enough to close it before the dogs could follow. “Do you want a drink?”
“Not before work. Let’s see what we got.”
She walked over to the obvious container. Bog looked over her shoulder and saw his prisoner had pulled a tangle of chickweed over himself. Bog dared barely breathe, wondering if Aura saw what he saw, or a small animal, or nothing at all.
“My, that’s a shy one.” Aura leaned forward and peered through the side of the terrarium. She did not say something for a few seconds, then gave a bright little “Oh!”
“Oh?”
“Looks like you caught an elf.”
“Elf. Like, small person, pointed ears?”
“Yes!” Aura smiled brightly at him, like a perky primary school teacher happy about a shy student giving a correct answer.
Bog let out a huge sigh and sagged with relief. “Thank god, I thought I might be losing my mind.”
“I’m not really qualified to treat psychotic breaks, you know.”
“Yeah, but you’re weird enough to not deny what you see, no matter how crazy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Yes. And he seems to have been injured and you are qualified to treat creatures that size.” He had seen the hamsters. The photos had gone viral, even.
“And you’ll cover the bill? How nice of you.” Bog snorted, and Plum leaned closer to the elf. “Hi, I’m Doctor Aura Plum. Do you need help?”
Sunny peered up at her through the grated lid, keeping tight hold of the plants he had hidden under. “Um.” He peered at Bog.
Bog got himself a glass of water. “I’ll leave you alone with your patient. Don’t let him get away, though, I still want to talk to him about vegetable rustling.”
“Okay.” While carefully prying the lid off the terrarium, she said to Sunny in a conversational manner, “You know, my keys and socks keep mysteriously disappearing. I usually find my keys some weird place, but some of the socks were gone for good. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Oh, pity. It’s nice having a patient who can answer for a change, though. So, where does it hurt?”
Bog left them to their chatter and went out onto the back porch for a bit of fresh air, the dogs on his heels. The glass Bog had grabbed was a branded beer glass, and he examined it carefully. The writing on and around the brewery crest was perfectly legible, and between that and seeing colour, he was nearly completely sure he wasn’t dreaming. He was running out of ideas what else could make him see things that weren’t happening, so this seemed to be actual reality. He braced one hand on the porch railing and looked out into the garden. Everything seemed exactly as he left it. No sign of other elves or gnomes or goblins or whatever. The borage was abuzz with bees even in the lessening light, and there were more gnats and mosquitos and small, brown moths around than he cared to try to identify.
A flash of vivid colour caught his eye. Deep blue, almost purple wings. Could that be a morpho? He wasn’t entirely sure about their range, but had been under the impression it fell under the general heading of “not here”. He squinted as it stopped fluttering around almost in the bushes at the back of the garden and instead flew straight towards him. Not a morpho, the body was too brightly coloured. A drawn-out yell startled his brain into readjusting itself and the “butterfly” came into focus as a fairy, coming at him with a battle cry, sword raised for a strike.
Bog reflexively raised a hand to block, and hissed in pain when that got him a cut on its back.
The fairy circled back, her flight now as hard to follow as any butterfly’s. Thang barked and jumped, trying to catch the fluttering intruder, but she kept high enough to keep out of range.
At the next attack, Bog threw the remaining water at her, but she dodged upwards and kept coming. A hasty retreat had him stumbling over the blasted terrier and falling on his backside, empty glass hitting the deck with a thunk and rolling away.
He had only time to lever himself up on his elbows before he saw someone very, very close.
“You be very careful now, or I’ll take your eye out!”
The fairy had braced one foot on his cheek, the other against his nose, anchoring herself by grabbing a tiny fistful of his eyebrow. Her sword was aimed at his left eye, so close it brushed his lashes when he blinked.
“Whoa.” Bog had to curb an impulse to raise his hands. It could be too easily misunderstood.
Thang kept barking, but Bog had taught him to not jump on him without permission. Stuff came up and made as to sniff the fairy, but shrank back when the little thing snarled at her.
“What did you do to Sunny?” The fairy had an amazing glare for her size. The dark probably-makeup helped her light brown eyes stand out, and the way she thrust her jaw forward and bared her teeth was downright savage.
“He was injured, I think not seriously. He’s inside.”
She let go and flew off, straight through the door and into the house, calling the elf’s name.
Bog levered himself up and absently patted Stuff. So that had happened, too.
A louder scream sounded from the kitchen.
Shit. “Aura!”
“She’s okay, she was helping me!” he heard Sunny’s voice on the way running to the kitchen.
Bog grabbed a frying pan off the wall. The fairy stood on the kitchen island, between Sunny and Aura, in a defensive pose, but faced Bog, considering him obviously the greater threat. He held the frying pan off to the side at waist level, just to have it ready in case she came at him again.
“I’ve had it. You steal from my garden, attack me, come into my house uninvited and menace my guest! Where the hell do you get the nerve?!”
The fairy flinched, and a quirk of her expression made Bog think that it was not just his volume, but that guilt was involved. However, she gathered herself to an approximation of righteous indignation.
“I was worried you were planning to feed Sunny to your beasts!” She gestured with her sword at the door. The dogs were not in sight. Them missing made Bog feel a little guilty, too; his yelling in all likelihood scared them.
“They are dogs. And they’re really sweet.” Aura offered from where she stood, leaning back against the edge of the counter top. As an afterthought she added, dipping her chin in an acknowledging nod, “Though I guess at your size they might be alarming.”
Bog snorted. “All I want is for him and you and all your friends to leave your grubby paws off my tomatoes.”
“Ah. I guess we have to apologise.” The fairy straightened up from her battle-ready crouch and after a moment’s hesitation put her sword back in her belt. “Usually if we take anything it’s so little nobody notices, but we had a bad harvest this year…”
Bog scoffed, but lowered his improvised weapon, too. “That’s what he said, too.”
“Excuse me, can I finish that bandage now? Thank you.” Aura returned to her patient.
Bog ignored her while the fairy turned her head. “Your story would sound more believable if you had concentrated on things that kept well, rather than tomatoes.”
The fairy turned back to him, with a tiny frown on her tiny face. It lifted after a second and she said, “Oh, we can preserve plant material pretty well.” She tugged on the edge of her tunic, which did look like it might be made from flower petals, veined pink edged with green. “It’s mostly a size issue - a lot of things humans grow are too big for us to transport.”
“Yeah, right, fine. Never mind I raised everything out there from seeds, I water and weed it and pluck off those goddamned slugs, and you folks walk in and take whatever’s convenient.” Bog snarled. “The least you could do is take some zucchini.”
Sunny piped up defensively, “We didn’t take any of those!”
“Yeah! That’s the problem!”
“What?”
The fairy raised a hand. “Soo… are we negotiating?”
“Oh, why not. I’m willing to. Do you have authority to negotiate?”
She actually curtsied, lifting an imaginary longer skirt she wasn’t wearing. “I’m Marianne, Crown Princess of the Fair Fields.” Her grin looked more impish than royal, which was just as well. “And my father will gladly accept any zucchini you might want to get rid of.”
“A fairy princess!” Aura clapped her hands. “That’s delightful!”
“Seriously?” Bog’s voice was flat.
Marianne apparently felt he was addressing her, not entirely insensibly, seeing how he was still staring at her. “Well, not any that are already rotten. And big ones would be a problem to transport.”
Bog nodded, closing his eyes, and finally put the frying pan back in its place.
Aura asked her patient, “How’s the bandage? Not too tight?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Bog suggested they move over to the breakfast nook and, in a reflex that his mother had trained into him, asked if anybody wanted something to drink. Sunny was still too nervous to ask for anything, Aura asked for water.
And the fairy, Marianne, Bog reminded himself, asked, “You got any beer?”
He nodded, befuddled, and told Aura, “If you stick around here now I expect to not get a bill, understood?”
“Deal!” She smiled brightly.
Great, so he had offered drinks to a fairy before thinking if he had anything she could drink out of. Shot glasses were too big, in relation to her looking more like big buckets. Checking the medicine cabinet produced a measuring cup from an over the counter cough syrup that seemed more suitable. It would be like drinking out of a vase or a pitcher, but it was the best Bog could do. He poured himself half a glass of beer first, then filled the little cup, over the sink because, as he’d expected, it overflowed. The carbonation was a problem. He wiped off the spillover and carried both glasses over to the breakfast nook, where Aura had again started with her theory that fae folk were messing with her belongings. She was showing the fairy princess something on her smartphone.
Marianne was saying, “Let’s see, I know that park, and your place is three blocks over… No, I don’t think anyone from our neck of the woods is behind that. It’s too far from any place where we can cross over.”
“Aww,” went Aura. Bog had no clue if she naturally and un-self-consciously acted like a little girl sometimes, or if it was a show she put on. Right now, he ignored it, just in case it was the latter, and added the two glasses for himself and Marianne to the table.
“So, negotiations?”
“Yup.” But first Marianne sat down on the table and took a deep draught from her cup, wiping her lips afterwards. She seemed to like it. “All right, so. What we want is food to get through the winter.”
“I don’t mind sharing the harvest of kohlrabi, carrots, and onions, but I want my remaining tomatoes off limits.”
Marianne nodded.
“The zucchini produce more than I can give away. I can harvest them when they are about this big”–he held his hands about four inches apart–”does that seem transportable to you?”
Marianne fielded the question to Sunny with a look. “Yeah, if we don’t have to hide from you, that’s no problem at all.”
“Good, and you can have all the apples you want. I have no clue just how much apple sauce is in jars in the cellar, but it’s plenty.”
“Don’t forget the gooseberries and apricots,” Aura threw in.
“Oh, right. Not a good year for apricots, but what’s there, I don’t really need, either. What amount of food are you looking for, anyway? I have no clue how many people you are.”
“I think the apples alone would get us through the winter, though some variety would be nice, if you don’t want to change the offer,” Sunny said, his face having a faraway expression.
“No, it’s all right. I want it understood, though, that if you want anything from my garden in future, it’ll be by agreement, in a trade, not just coming in and taking it.”
“That seems fair,” Marianne said, “If you don’t tell anybody about us.”
“Sure,” Bog agreed with a half shrug. “It’s not like anybody would believe me.”
Aura nodded. “If I tell someone that I think fairies are stealing my socks, they either think I’m joking, or they think I’m deluded.”
“Hah! All right.” Marianne considered for a moment. “So we need to figure out something we can offer in exchange that you’d be interested in.”
“Do you have anything that helps against slugs?”
“Hmm. I might. If you don’t mind troops of goblins coming to hunt in your garden…”
“If they can be trusted to not damage plants, including seedlings. And I should know in advance when they show up, to make sure the dogs are inside. Uh, speaking of, Aura, could I ask you for a favour?”
“Another one?”
“A minor one. Could you make sure Stuff and Thang are inside and close the door? I left it open when I came in.”
Aura gave him a dainty little scoff, but went to do as he’d asked.
Marianne had finished considering. “I guess that should be workable. If they are interested. They are subjects of an allied realm, not my father’s, but as far as I know they consider slugs good eating.”
“Well, there’s time until next spring to figure that out, or something else.”
“No?” Marianne shot to her feet, eyes wide. “We need additional food this winter!”
“Yeah, this year is an exception. Emergency famine relief.”
“You’re just giving all that to us?” Sunny sounded flabberghasted. “And I was worried you’d feed me to the dogs.”
Bog snorted. “I’m not a monster. I just look like one.”
Marianne’s dismissive gesture didn’t quite fit with her grin “Aw, don’t feel bad. You can’t help that humans grow so freakishly tall. At least your face is nice to look at.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
“Not from that small a sip.” She got up smoothly and propped her hands on her hips.
“In that case, keep your mockery to yourself.”
“I’m not mocking you! Your face is all angles. It’s interesting. But okay, if it makes you uncomfortable, let’s drop it.”
“Yeah.” Crazy little creature. But well, if she was friends with goblins… and if he looked closer, she didn’t really look like a miniature human. Too long limbs and fingers, not enough white in her eyes. Maybe she did have weird ideas of aesthetics and had not been mocking him. “Thanks. For dropping it.” Bog cleared his throat and tried to come up with something else to say. “So, anything else you need, or would find useful?”
Sunny raised a hand tentatively. “Ah, sorry, but… Was I imagining things, or did that box smell of mice?”
“I thought I had cleaned it thoroughly…”
“I didn’t think humans keep mice.”
“Some do. I breed ‘em.”
“Well, there might be room for trading to diversify breed lines, then. You don’t breed them for milk, do you?”
“Nah, I breed them to feed my snakes.”
Sunny’s eyes went huge and his eartips drooped; Marianne’s wings snapped open and she bent her knees to drop into a slight crouch. She practically oozed disgust. “Did you say you feed snakes?”
“Yes. They’re my pets, so I damn better take care of them.”
A shudder ran through Marianne, and she crossed her arms, rubbing her upper arms with her hands, and turning away from him.
“Aw, come on, tough girl. You attacked me, and I’m a whole lot bigger than a snake.”
“Yeah, but humans don’t usually eat people my size. I knew humans liked dogs and cats, but why would you keep something like that as pets?”
“I like them. They’re pretty. Mind, they don’t usually eat people my size.” That did make a difference, he could see that. But then… “Want me to introduce you? Controlled meeting? A snake who’s not hungry, and I can translate body language, if needed?”
“Maybe some other time.”
“As you wish.”
They wrapped up negotiations with agreeing on organising transport the evening of the next day, or someone delivering a message if there would be a delay.
I'm just looking for a fan fiction author who wrote about the student life of the Bog King, Marianne, Donna and Sunny !!!!
All Bog wants is homegrown tomatoes. But someone keeps stealing the tomatoes. Someone will be in trouble when Bog catches them.
I wrote the first version of this story for Strange Magic Week last year, but wanted to expand it at least a bit ever since. So here goes.
The late summer sun close enough to setting to turn the light golden saw Bog kneeling in the soil of one of his vegetable beds. He was pinching the side shoots off his tomatoes, the way his face was pinched suggesting he would rather rip someone’s head off.
This year he had not been able to harvest one single ripe tomato. For two weeks now, when one looked like it would be perfect with just one or two more days on the plant, the next morning it would be gone. Other things had disappeared, too. Two small Kohlrabi had vanished without a trace, and there seemed rather fewer onions in the lines between the carrots than there should be.
Of course, there always was some loss. Birds carried off onion sets, possibly mistaking the tops for worms; slugs gnawed holes into anything they could get their slimy mouths on; birds got into the cherries before they were even ripe.
But the kohlrabi disappearing rather than merely being hollowed out, that was just too complete. Nothing ever had stolen a whole kohlrabi. And the tomatoes, every single one of them, completely gone? That was no vermin, or at least not the small vermin you usually dealt with in gardens. More likely human vermin, probably out to annoy him. If it had been someone really hungry, there would be more missing.
Bog sat back on his heels and looked around. When he wiped his forehead, his hand carries the yellow-green smell of crushed tomato leaves to his nose. The fence around his property was tall and didn’t lend itself well to climbing, but he should check the back for holes. He let part of the garden grow as it would to give insects and bird somewhere to hide and feed and breed, but that meant he saw that fence only once in a while, when it was time to make sure nothing grew through it.
His dogs liked it, particularly the little terrier, whom he could hear rustling and snuffing around right then. He was probably chasing something that would bite or sting him if he caught it.
Leaving the pair outside was unfortunately not a realistic option. For one thing, he didn’t trust them to not destroy the vegetables he wanted protected, for another, they were not aggressive towards strangers. Not guard dog material.
Bog unfolded himself and picked up the bucket he had collected the leaves and weeds in. Not much today, since he had been at it regularly lately.
At his whistle, Stuff got out of the thicket and trotted out on the lawn. She was probably a french bulldog, not that the hoarder she had been rescued from had had papers.
The other dog kept scrabbling in the undergrowth and took up snarling. A sizable section of shrub shook.
“Thang! Come here!”
He didn’t listen, but started barking hoarsely, in a rhythm he could keep up forever. A shock went through the foliage, and a moment later something small and brown and red raced out onto the lawn, terrier in pursuit.
Bog acted on instinct, diving for the critter, upending the bucket on top of it. There was a faint thump when it hit the side of the bucket.
The grey-brown terrier scrabbled at the edge of the bucket, growling, until Bog snapped “Stop!” The dog hung his head and shuffled back, whining a little, his ridiculously long bushy eyebrows trembling.
“Good boy,” Bog said absently. He had caught something, but what? After laying one of the bricks he’d lined the vegetable beds with on the upturned bucket to make sure the prisoner could not escape even with help from possibly too curious dogs, he made some preparations.
***
Once he had everything arranged to his satisfaction on his kitchen island, he made sure the dogs were in the living room, and closed the lower half of the kitchen door to make sure they would not disturb him.
He had used a cutting board as a lid for the bucket, sliding it very carefully under the bucket, like you’d use a postcard with a glass to catch a spider, and readied a small plastic terrarium he’d used occasionally to transport mice.
Bog stood staring at the arrangement, arms crossed to curb nervous gestures. The nerves were brought on by a weird find that he had also deposited on the table. It was definitely a bruised tomato, in what looked like a very tiny netting bag. He had found it near the shrubbery, were the… whatever-it-was that Thang had chased out dropped it.
Bog shook his head with a snort. He’d figure it out.
Tilting the bucket and pulling away the cutting board just enough to leave a narrow opening, he transferred the contents into the plastic case. Small tomato leaves, some uprooted chickweed and crumbs of soil, and something that moved.
Bog quickly snapped the lid on before he allowed himself a closer look. Then he stared until his spine hurt from bending over.
It looked rather like one of those 80s troll dolls, if that had let the crazy dye grow out of its hair, got a tan, and put on some clothes. Clothes! An overall over a short-sleeved shirt.
The tiny person sat up and held their head. Bog thought he heard a matching tiny voice go “oh no no no”.
“What. The. Hell.” Bog pulled over a chair from the breakfast nook and sat, which brought him face-to-everything with the whatever-they-were, and glared. He had a good glare, bright, deep-set eyes under dark brows.
The object of his attention tried to stand, but their leg buckled under them, dumping them back on their butt. Bog got a good look at their hand, splayed against the clear plastic of the container. It had four fingers, like a freaking cartoon character. But definitely hands, and definitely wearing ratty fingerless gloves.
Unwilling to ask some critter he caught in his garden what it was, and not sure what else to do, Bog kept glaring. His prisoner wrung his tiny hands and bit his lip, and very soon cracked. He took a deep breath and called “Hi? Uh. Thanks for saving me from that dog?”
Abruptly, Bog got up, running one long-fingered hand through his hair. He was sweating, be had been drinking enough water, so he was not having a heat stroke. He’d had one beer, and unless somebody had broken in without leaving a trace no-one could have spiked it with hallucigenics. A treacherous thought suggested someone mouse-sized could pull that off. But even if, the crown cap had been closed. Bog would have noticed the lack of a hiss when opening it.
That was, if he could trust his senses. What he needed was a reality check. After short consideration he picked a number from his very short list of contacts and dialled it on the landline phone. “Hello Aura, it’s Bog.”
“I guessed; there aren’t many people left whose phone doesn’t support showing their number. What’s up? Anything wrong with your furbabies? Or the scaly babies?”
“No, not as such.” There were tiny screams of protest coming from the kitchen table, which Bog ignored. “It’s… Thang rustled up and injured some kind of critter. I have no clue what it is.”
“You seriously want me to make a house call to identify a half dead, what, rodent maybe by species?”
“I’d consider it a personal favour.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet. OK, I’ll do it. But you will get a bill, too.”
“Thank you.”
“And call your mother!”
“I will talk to her again if she manages to go three months without trying to set me up for a date or similar.”
“Oh, you’re both so stubborn. Okay, I’m on my way. Toodles!”
Bog hung up and sighed, his shoulders sagged and he braced himself against the counter. In the quiet kitchen, the prisoner piped up again. “Sir? I’m really not supposed to be seen by humans. I’d be ever so grateful if you’d let me out.”
With someone who could tell him if he was imagining things on the way, Bog lost his reluctance to interact with this maybe-hallucination. “You’re going nowhere. First, you can’t walk.” There might have been a not quite loud enough demurral along “It’s just a sprain,” in there. “Second, I’m not letting you out.” The little guy did sort of a full body cringe, his voice going quavery. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s start with questions.” Bog sat back down to glower at his prisoner from a short distance. “Who and what are you?” “Uh, name’s Sunny, I’m an elf, I was just passing through…"
Bog was not entirely sure how to process all this, so he fell back on what he was quite certain of. “Have you been stealing my tomatoes?”
“No?”
Bog held up the tomato in its tiny net bag and glared some more.
The elf cringed, which included drooping his ears, which stood off his head to the sides and, yes, were pointed. “Um. Not successfully? I mean, you have it right there…”
“This time.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. We don’t usually take that much, but this year our harvest was bad—”
“So there’s more of you. And you’ve been stealing from me in other years, too.”
Sunny stammered before finally getting something that made sense lined up. “Not much, really, usually. You never noticed before, right? But there really is a shortage—”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’m just—”
“Silence!”
The elf actually covered his ears.
Bog dropped the tomato on the tabletop and crossed his arms. What in the world was he doing here? The guy was so tiny shouting might actually burst his eardrums. And it wasn’t like he was going to keep him in a box or feed him to his pets. I’m actually thinking I caught a tiny person. Bog decided to ignore his catch for a while, and fix himself a sandwich, to pass the time until Aura arrived. Maybe some protein would be good for his nerves, too.
lol: old sketches (summer 2015?)
Belated Happy Birthday to @endorathewitchwriter!
Sketch based on that one fanfic snippet
my response to this awesome strange magic/tangled post from jupiter235
here is bog wearing flynn rider’s outift. i drew the smolder scene for fun XD
thanks for the prompt, i hope you like the drawings :)