#it vaguely reminds me of how cats like to kill small birds and leave them on the doorstep for their owner

[twinkling-moonlillie]

This is one of my favorite aspects of him as well. There is almost cognitive dissonance between these two ideas, but ultimately, I’d like to believe he thinks that murder/death is the ultimate show of love. It’s a sacrifice and a burden he willingly takes on purely out of the devotion he has for people.

Had a thought.

In my opinion. Hawks killing people because he loves people is one of the most interesting aspects of his character. Killing out of tenderhearted, protective love while having such a strict, borderline cold moral code is absolutely fascinating to analyze; as well as the fact that he takes death immensely seriously, valuing life despite using it as a strategy.

I wonder if he, somewhere deeply subconscious and psychodynamic, sees killing as an expression of love.

[votederpycausemufins]

i have food poisoning and it sucks, but it meant i could just lie in bed writing, so here we gooooooo

@petrichormeraki

As Tommy paddled the boat, Tubbo watched their communicator. “It sounds like she’s not at… wherever we’re going anymore.”

Tommy cursed. “Any clue where to go now then?”

Tubbo glanced down at the messages.

<CaptainSparklez> She’s not there anymore!

<Rendog> How? It’s surrounded by water

<CaptainSparklez> She’s a shapeshifter, not a hybrid.

<Crumbl> yuoll nrrver find mee sprinklez

<CaptainSparklez> Again. You’re a shapeshifter. Why are there feathers left behind.

<Crumbl> I dinit mumch them.

Tubbo looked up and scanned the ocean before pointing out on the water. “Those feathers over there! It’s looking like she left them behind.”

Tommy smiled and turned the boat to follow the trail of feathers. It took a little bit, but the pair did reach land near a forest, though it had started raining. “Where do you think she is?”

Tubbo shrugged. “Don’t know. We don’t even know what she looks like.”

A calico cat walked nearby, then ran as the pair walked near it, making Tommy notice it. “Hey, must be a village nearby. Maybe she’s there for shelter?”

“I hope so. But she might just be hiding under some trees.” Tubbo suggested. As they continued to walk, Tommy saw movement near a tree and started to run toward it. Tubbo watched him run and then noticed the coloring of the form. “Tommy! Wait! That’s a-” The mob exploded. “-Creeper…”

“Aw myan!” The cat said as it sat down next to Tubbo, making them jump.

“Did that cat just talk?!” Tubbo said, nearly shouting from shock.

Said cat changed into what resembled a cat hybrid that reminded Tommy vaguely of Fundy. “Ye! I’m Crumb!”

“Cool! I’m Tommy and this is my friend Tubbo!”

Crumb tilted her head. “Ooo, really? Well I came here with Sparklez, he’s my dad. But i’m hidin’!”

“Want to hang out with us while you hide?” Tubbo suggested and the shapeshifter nodded, changing back into a cat and flopping over Tubbo’s shoulder. “Let’s boat back to your place and show it to Crumb.”

The now trio got into the boat and Tubbo watched as Crumb used her paw pads to type on her communicator and send a message.

<Crumbl> sprakle i made frends!

<Crumbl> Im gonna play wit tonmi and tubbox

Tubbo laughed. “I actually can be a Tubbox.” Tubbo said, making Tommy speak up as well.

“Tubbo in a box, what will he do?”

“Uwwu I’m so good at this!” Crumb replied proudly and Tubbo could feel her purr.

“So is what the captain said true?” Tubbo asked. “Are you really a shapeshifter, not a hybrid?”

“Ye! I um, I’m a badass shapeshifter!” Tommy and Tubbo tried not to laugh at the sound of this cat with a voice like that saying something like that, but they couldn’t hold it in and Crumb also started laughing along. “I’m super strong and beat the Ender Dragon when we had lotsa random potion effects!”

“That sounds so cool.” Tubbo complimented Crumb and then the three of them continued to chat as they rowed along.

Sparklez was glad to see another message from Crumb and see she had made some friends. When he read their names, he froze for a moment. It couldn’t be. This was nowhere near where he should have been. He shook his head. No, it was just coincidence. Crumb probably just misspelled it when typing.

<CaptainSparklez> Alright Crumb, have fun. Just don’t get in trouble.

He laughed as a message came back, distracting him from his previous train of thought.

<Crumbl> No prmosed! Were ginna conmit crim!

“I’m a danger to society!” Crumb shouted as she pounced on a chicken, no longer just a cat, but looking like a very squishy cat that could be mistaken as a stuffed animal at a glance. She had wanted to stay a cat, but by complete chance, another calico cat showed up and Tommy and Tubbo nearly went after the normal cat. She also liked how the pair approved of such a squishy looking cat going left and right killing mobs.

When a parrot flew above her, she jumped to try and grab it, but it was just a little too high for her to reach. “Come down here! I wanna eat you! Mumnch and crumnch!”

The parrot squawked and flew over to land on Tommy’s head. “Oh, leave this one alone. I think this is one of Grian’s. Part of his pesky bird delivery service. 

“But it just looks so tastyyy! Crumb jumped again. It made Tubbo wonder how much of it was just how she acts, or if being a cat so long made her act like one.

“Oh, speaking of Grian. He sent me a message.” Tommy says as he pulls out his communicator. With the flood of messages from the visitors - well, one in particular - Grian sent the message on their own private chat.

<Grian> bring Tubbo if you want but it’s parrot brain hours

<TommyInnit> he probably won’t be coming. We made a friend with one of the guests. Don’t really want to leave her all alone.

<Grian> that makes sense.

<Grian> and bring any extra wheat you can

<TommyInnit> okay, definitely not letting Tubbo come. It’ll shatter my manly image.

<Grian> dad left me books about shifting and I’ve had plenty of time to read. Did you know I can just give myself a beak or talons without shifting completely?

<TommyInnit> woah, hey. Alright big G, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Tommy looked up to see Tubbo glancing at their communicator. “He messaged me directly, H is talking too much.” Tubbo nodded. “Big G wants me for something. Okay if I let you two hang out by yourselves?”

“Ye! We’re gonna have lotsa fun together! And den we can go see my dad!”

“I can’t wait to meet him!”

Tommy waves and then starts to boat off, using it as a platform once he’s far enough out at sea to safely use his elytra. He stops at his base and goes through his chests, making some hay bales. Afterwards he flies to the mansion and up near the roof where he knows Grian is going to be. 

It was a room made in one of the side roofs of the mansion. The main one sat above the great hall with windows wide open, but the areas to the side were a little more closed off. This one also had a large window, but there usually wasn’t much in there.

Right now however, the place was littered with a few beds and wool and hay bales. Grian was in the center of it all, wings spread out. In the small room they looked much larger. 

“Hey, I brought the hay.” Tommy joked, holding out the bundled wheat. Grian immediately took it and started spreading it around. “Hoo boy. Are you sure you don’t want Mumbo here, orrrr?”

“Oh he definitely wants me here.” Mumbo’s voice speaks up as he pushes a wing off him, only for it to flop back down, pinning his legs. His tie is loose and his suit is a mess along with his hair. “It’s been fine for a while. Just stay in bed, maybe wake up in the middle of the night to a nightmare. I forgot how he gets when he’s like this.”

Tommy nodded. He had only really seen this twice. The first time he managed to decline, much to Grian’s dismay, but the second time there was no way out of it with Grian now knowing they were brothers.

Tommy knows he could have said no this time, but seeing everything that happened the day of the war and the night following made Tommy worried, and he wanted to be there.

Grian smiles as he finishes moving blocks and beds and carpets around. He nudged a few stray pieces of wheat and cotton around with his feet and wings. He knows it would be so much easier to use his hands, but it just doesn’t feel right. 

The avian stares at the nest he’s built. It’s perfect. Maybe a little small for right now, but that’s just because the kids are still on their way. He thinks that he could make it bigger. Big enough to fit the rest of his family, but they aren’t around. So he settles for Mumbo and Tommy. 

He pulls Tommy into the nest, making sure he’s comfortable before putting each of his wings around Tommy and Mumbo. Mumbo half bats the wing away as feathers get into his mouth, but he’s too exhausted from helping to set this up in the first place to complain much more.

Grian holds them close. He could lose everything else if he still had the people he cared about most. He would do anything to protect them.

Crumb is excited as Tubbo boats the two of them towards the shopping district. She really wanted her dad to meet her new friend. And Tubbo was very much a new friend with a nickname and everything.

When they landed, she hopped out of the boat and shifted to a hybrid form before running off to find her dad. Tubbo was left running behind her, aging a little trouble keeping up.

“Sprinklez!!! Look at my new friend!” She jumped into her dad’s arms, shifting back into her cat form. He looked around not seeing anyone for a moment before a panting Tubbo caught up.

“You… couldn’t have… waited for me?” Tubbo panted out, trying to catch his breath.

“Dis is Tubbox! He has another friend but but but I don’ have a good name for him yet so he’s just Tommy.”

Sparklez smiles and shifts Crumb to hold out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Captain Sparklez. But most people just use my last name or even just use Jordan. The one exception being Crumb who likes to call me Sprinklez or of course just Dad.”

Tubbo’s eyes sparkle. “Wait, you’re the Captain?! I’ve heard so much about you! You travel across so many worlds and are known for the songs you’ve written and your curse! I mean, the curse isn’t the most popular thing to know about, but uh…”

Sparklez just laughed. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’m going to get rid of it soon enough. Glad to meet another fan, especially if you’re friends with Crumb now.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty pog.” Tubbo jokes and they continue to talk. He doesn’t give his real name since Crumb seems to like using ‘Tubbox’. He doesn’t know how much it could change their life’s if he did.

The netherite blocks go up and there’s the sound of redstone being messed with. He looks out to watch as the lava slowly disappears. Across the chasm he can see an equally black and white figure. He can already feel the energy on them.

Even with his admin powers gone, he still has some tricks up his sleeve. And there are always strings to pull.

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Lapis Lazuli - Geraskier [G]

[gif isn’t mine]

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 4,538

Originally posted to my AO3

Geralt suddenly realises how much time he and Jaskier have spent together, and all the places they've travelled around the Continent. He decides that it's time to give the bard something to show how much he appreciates all of it.

His bird flies to Oxenfurt for the winter. The Academy still likes to keep him around for the busier autumn semesters because students will actually listen to someone like Jaskier, and Jaskier likes going back because it’s paid accommodation to weather out the harsh winters in. And Oxenfurt is familiar.

Not that he hasn’t thought of going to wherever it is Geralt goes. And Geralt hasn’t not thought of extending an invitation. Vesemir has made it abundantly clear; if their guests can behave themselves throughout the winter, and won’t mind being put to work for the essential jobs, then his pups can invite whoever they like to Kaer Morhen. Lambert has brought people before; notably a Cat from the Dyn Marv Caravan wandering around the Continent. A Griffin has roosted within their keep before too. Both Aiden and Coën defer to Vesemir, acknowledging that they’re guests and he’s the head of the keep, as is the order of things, and the winters go by without anyone killing each other. And that’s all the elder wolf can hope for, it seems.

The invitation sits on his tongue every year. He knows Jaskier knows of the keep. He’s asked about it before, when his lute is propped on his knee and he looks at Geralt with loud wonderment at all of the things he can lure out of the Witcher about his kind and his guild. He can’t blame the little bird. If he was given the choice of a warm academy apartment, with set banquet meals throughout the day, and a steady pay to tide him by, or a crumbling keep perched on top of the northern mountains, still haunted by the ghosts of everything that’s happened before, he knows what he would pick. But Kaer Morhen is home, and he can see past every horrid thing that happened within those walls, because what’s left behind is his family, and he’ll go wherever they are.

They’re only ever parted for a winter. Even the winters that make themselves longer than they need to be, stretching into spring and keeping the frosts around, it’s only one season. It’s strange that he goes the rest of the three without him.

And this seems to be much worse. It’s quiet on the road; with only his own thoughts and Roach’s chuffs and nickers keeping him company. It used to be the way of things in a world before. Before Geralt found himself a songbird and it perched on his shoulder, following him around from village to town to city and never knowing when to go away.

Gods forbid if Jaskier knew that Geralt secretly misses his voice. He spent so much time of their first year knowing each other trying to get Jaskier to shut up. But it became a gentle hum in the background of their travels. Jaskier would ramble on about something or other while he strolled next to Roach, occasionally brushing his hand along the mare’s neck. And the mare learned to not kick out at Jaskier’s shins or turn and nip his fingers. Her master seemed to like him enough to keep him mostly intact. That, and a few secret sugar cubes and apples snuck into her feed from the bard seemed to win her over.

Spring means his songbird will fly back to him, and autumn means that he’ll fly away again. A secure income and a warm place to hunker down throughout a potentially harsh winter, Geralt can’t blame the lark at all for going to roost.

It’s just the familiar groan of loneliness left behind is awful, and he hates how it makes itself known at night, when he’s slipping into an inn’s bed and the empty space on the other side seem to stretch on for leagues. It’s cold and Geralt always wakes with his arm stretched across, reaching out for someone who isn’t there. And that’s when his chest tightens and he wishes he could cross the Continent within a matter of strides, just to get his little lark back with him.

A courier comes one morning. Nothing more than a lad barely into his adulthood, with spots still speckled on his face and a mop of thick curly hair almost shielding his eyes, who somehow manages to find him in a merchant town’s tavern. Geralt glances up from his breakfast, regarding the lad for a moment as he fumbles through a knapsack of letters and parcels. “Geralt of Rivia,” he says primly, holding out a letter. As soon as the letter is in his hand, the lad scurries away, and that seems to be the end of that.

Geralt thins his lips. Contracts very rarely come to him. His name may start to be travelling further and further into the Continent, but notices are usually left on boards within the village or town itself. Contacting him directly isn’t how it works. He’s never in one place for too long.

But the envelope in his hand is crisp, freshly printed card, and a maroon ink seal at the back tells him all he needs to know. Oxenfurt’s emblem is printed into the wax, and the card smells vaguely of old books and ink.

He thumbs the letter open, running his eyes over the elegant scrawl inside.

Meet me at the Three Crowns Inn for Beltane. Can’t wait to see you again. – Songbird

Geralt’s chest clenches. He can’t stand from his table and run out of the inn fast enough.

-----------

He doesn’t know when he started calling Jaskier his little bird, but the bard certainly had no problems with it. If anything, he greatly encouraged it. Having someone as grumpy as Geralt dote on him seemed to be one of Jaskier’s favourite things. It’s a side of the Witcher that only he sees; when they’re curled in a bed together, or gathered around a campfire, and it’s just the two of them.

Jaskier has a pretty voice, and his songs are beautiful. Not that Geralt would ever tell him that. A preening smug Jaskier is borderline intolerable. He didn’t know why it tumbled out of his lips one night, when Jaskier dozed beside him and Geralt threaded his fingers through the man’s soft and freshly washed hair. But songbird and lark all seemed to fit. And Jaskier revelled in them.

Jaskier is also a magpie in some regards. A mischievous little thing that has a certain penchant for anything shiny and grand. He plucks vials of oils and lotions and soap bars from merchant stands and revels in how they smell, uncaring that the cost of them alone makes Geralt’s eyes water. He adorns his fingers in rings that catch the summer sunlight and glisten, and Geralt likes running his thumb over the gems and engravings in them when Jaskier links their fingers together. He likes gold and silver and gems and fragrant oils, and any time he lingers for a moment outside of a merchant’s stall, nose wrinkled in thought of whether or not he could spare the gold earned from playing in taverns on something, Geralt watches.

He buys rings because he can wear them, and any oils and lotions and soaps that somehow end up in his bag are brushed off as ways he can make his Witcher finally relax for once after a particularly taxing hunt. And the gems he leaves behind. Even though he’ll pick them up, watching how they glint in the midday sun, he’ll set them back and part the merchant with a small grateful smile.

A few of those gems have ended up in Geralt’s pocket. He doesn’t know what he would do with them, or how he would use them or even gift them to Jaskier, but his songbird liked them and didn’t seem keen to part with them. So they take up a permanent residence in one of the smaller pockets of Geralt’s saddlebag. They come from all sorts of places; Nazair and Toussaint, to Aedirn and Poviss. Anywhere he and Jaskier have wandered together, he takes them as small reminders. And in the seasons he goes without his bird, he has something to remind him of him at least.

-----------

Getting to the Three Crowns will take him through a few kingdoms. If he keeps to the main roads, not lingering in any towns for longer than he needs to, he’ll make it to the inn before Jaskier. And he doesn’t think he could cope with having to sit in a tavern’s hall and wait for his little bird to fly to him.

Smaller merchant towns are kinder to him than the bigger cities. He bundles his cloak tighter around himself when he rides through the cities, keeping his eyes on the road ahead and not the badly hidden curious looks from passing people on the streets. The whispers soon follow, and inevitably, the word butcher will dust the shell of his ear. So he sets his heels against Roach’s side and continues on.

But the smaller towns are kinder. They’re quiet and people lap through them like gentle waves, flowing quicker in the day, but dissipating by night. Roach plods along, with Geralt slackening her reins and letting her stretch her neck out. It’s a quiet and still walk in through the town’s main street, and most of the shops are already beginning to board up their windows and draw their stands in for the night. An inn’s sigil hangs at the far end of the street, and Geralt aims Roach towards it.

Before he can let his shoulders slacken, his eyes fall on to a shop next to the inn. It looks like every other building surrounding it – red brick and ornately carved, with worn-paint signs hanging outside. The windows are still clear and its door is open, so he can presume that the merchant is still inside trading wears.

He blinks at the first recognisable word he manages to spot on the worn wooden sign.

Jewellers.

Geralt slows Roach to a stop. The mare huffs, pulling at her bit slightly. The inn and its stables are literally right there. He sets a gloved hand to her neck, scratching into her winter fur beginning to fluff her out. “Wait here,” he rumbles, hopping down from her and on to the cobbles below. He hitches her reins to a small post outside and starts to rustle through his saddlebags. Empty vials of potions he’ll need to brew again, purses of gold that he keeps away from his person just in case of brigands. He fishes out the gems. They’re tiny things, just enough to gather in the palm of his hand.

He pats Roach’s neck one last time. “I’ll only be a second.”

Roach huffs, but waits.

-----------

He doesn’t know what it is, but all merchants tend to look the same. Regardless of whether they’re travelling the roads with him, they all have this glint in their eyes and glasses perched on the end of their nose, with finely kept clothes that reflect the wealth of their trade. And this merchant doesn’t look that much different.

The man inside blinks as soon as Geralt steps inside. “Witcher,” is the first word to bumble out of his mouth. A brief flash of panic blinks across his face before he tries to fight his way back to say something better than a profession as a greeting.

Geralt lifts his hand. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, looking around the shop. It’s unlike the kinds of stores Jaskier likes to drift in to. Wooden shelves along the walls stacked with all types of ornaments and glasswork. The storefront is a mixture of dark cherry wood and glass, showing off the expertly crafted necklaces and rings and bracelets he’s sure are worth every golden coin used to make them. The shop smells faintly of varnished and broiled glass and paint. It wrinkles his nose, but he steps closer to the counter.

The merchant adjusts his glasses. “What can I do for you, Master Witcher?”

Geralt holds out his hand, showing the gems gathered on his palm. “I was wondering if you could do anything with these?”

Even in the fading light of day, the orange strands of evening sunlight that stretch into the merchant’s shop, the gems glisten and gleam on his hand. The merchant gestures to them. May I? Plucking each of them up and examining the way the light catches them, the merchant adjusts his glasses again, moving them up and down his nose and squinting through the lens. “Ah, yes,” the merchant muses, “amethyst, amber, emerald, garnet. You must be very well travelled, Witcher. Some of these gems are hard to come by in these parts.”

Geralt hums. “I travel for work,” he explains simply. “I’ve been everywhere.”

The merchant sets the gems along his work surface, lining them up. Some are slightly bigger than others, but all polished and showing off their colours. The merchant muses, running his eyes over them. “What would you like me to do with them, Master Witcher?”

Geralt lifts a shoulder. “That’s up to you,” he says. “I don’t have any experience in jewellery or fineries.”

And he tries not to bristle at the way the merchant’s eyes drift over every part of him for a moment. Worn and scarred armour, dried blood flecking his skin. He doesn’t even seem like one of the merchant’s patrons.

The merchant’s lips thin. He hums and turns his eyes back on the gems. “I could make something beautiful of these gems, absolutely,” he considers. “But it would cost gold and time, Witcher. Do you have anywhere you need to be in the coming days?”

He’s already going to be early for his meeting. A few days of rest before doing the last trek towards the Three Crowns might do him some good. If he showed up to meet Jaskier like this, after so many seasons apart, he could imagine the bard instantly trying to shove him into a bath laden with oils and soaps. He can stomach to lose a few days to rest.

-----------

The Three Crowns is their usual meeting point. Winter looms over the Continent, peering over the mountains to the west and already hinting at its arrival with chilling and biting winds that tumble down from the hills. The snow and frost keep away, thankfully. The last thing he needs is frozen roads. But they are somewhat flooded. He keeps to the main roads, laden with merchants selling the last of their wares before they can head home from the winter. And if he had any more gold left, he would buy some fruit or bread from them. But the last of his gold dwindles, just enough for a tavern room – something he’s sure Jaskier has already procured and readied for him.

His bones warm at the thought of being with his bird again. If Roach walks a bit quicker, with a noticeable spring in her step, it absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that Jaskier spoils her with more treats than hay and grains. And even she can appreciate having the bard around; also because it makes her companion happy.

The Three Crowns is nestled in the heart of some town straddling a crossing of roads. It sees its fair share of passing traders and huntsmen drifting in from the road only to be swept off again. It reminds him of Posada, and he can understand why Jaskier always insists on it being their meeting up place. Roach chuffs at the sight of it in the distance, almost breaking out into a gallop just to read the town’s wooden barriers.

Stableboys linger around the yard and don’t even blink twice at him setting some gold into their palms. He hops down from Roach and takes his bags off of her before she’s led into the stables around the back of the inn, pawing insistently at the ground to get somewhere warm and full of oats and hay.

The tavern is as crowded as it always is. A hum of noise and the smell of roasting venison assault his senses the moment he steps into the tavern. It’s familiar. This meets him every time he comes to greet Jaskier and begin their wanderings together. But it’s been longer than usual and he’s missed everything about it.

He hauls his saddlebags over his shoulders, stalking further into the tavern. All the tables are already occupied, farmers and merchants and passing huntsmen bowed over their dinners and knocking back tankards of ale and mead. Geralt’s eyes scan the room, looking for the familiar spark of colour that usually stands out from the rest.

And his ears twitch when he hears hurried footsteps approaching from his side. Through the maze of tables and people sitting at them, Geralt watches Jaskier almost trip over his own feet as he hurries towards him, a bright smile and glistening eyes already settled on his face. Geralt has just enough time to let his saddlebags drop to the ground by his side before he’s tackled into a hug. His arms hover in the air for a moment. The closeness Jaskier insists on having with him isn’t something he was ever used to. But he’s warming to it.

As his arms slowly coil around and gather his bard to him, Geralt buries his nose into the hollow of Jaskier’s neck. His lungs fill with the scent of the other man. Sea salt that he likes to scrub and soften his skin with, and the faint lilts of desert roses and vanilla coats the roof of his mouth and Geralt is loath to let the bard go. Jaskier seems to be in a similar position. His arms are curled around Geralt’s shoulders and neck, locked and unwilling to let him go just yet.

The rest of it fades away. The tavern, those gathered within it and all of their conversations melding into one lapping wave of noise. Geralt’s lungs can fill again as he breathes Jaskier in, and a deep rumble purrs out of his chest at the feeling of the bard’s hands settling on to his back, slowly rubbing at the plains of muscle there.

He isn’t sure how long he spends holding on to Jaskier, but eventually the bard tries to slip away. Geralt’s arms tighten. A light breathless laugh shakes through Jaskier. “Come on,” he murmurs, setting his hands on to Geralt’s elbows, “I’ve got us a room.”

He’s slow to let go of the little bird. Even then, he only allows a small sliver of space between them. Jaskier catches one of his hands, and even through the thin leather glove, he can feel the warmth of the bard’s skin blooming through his.

As soon as he has gathered his bags again, Jaskier leads him away, from the prying curious eyes of the other patrons nearby. He’s lured upstairs, until the conversations below become nothing more than a distant hum and Geralt feels like he can think again.

Just as he imagined, Jaskier already has the room ready. The hearth within the wall crackles and spits with a freshly fed fire and candles dotted around, perched on dressers and cabinets, offer a warm glow to the room. With fresh linen sheets and furs lining the foot of their bed, his bones ache at the thought of going to sleep.

A bath has already been brought up and filled, and the air is scented with the musk of desert rose and something sweet laced underneath it.

As soon as he pulls Geralt inside, Jaskier clicks the door shut behind them. He squeezes Geralt’s hand, but doesn’t move to pull away. “Now,” he says primly, “I’m sure you have stories to tell me, darling, but I insist on bathing you first. The road hasn’t been kind to you.”

Because you haven’t been on it with me. The words lodge in his throat and Geralt struggles to keep them behind a shut jaw.

With his saddlebags put to the side, Jaskier’s nimble fingers set on the many belts and buckles of his armour. It’s different; having someone else do it. He remembers the first time where he stood frozen, wondering why his newest travelling companion insisted on removing armour Geralt has been wearing for years. He can do it himself. But now he’s content to let Jaskier strip what he can off of him, leaving him in a worn linen shirt and breeches. He toes off his boots, leaving them alongside the pile of armour that gathers beside his bags. He’ll clean it in the morning, before they go, but as Jaskier drifts over to the bath, already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Geralt pauses.

Jaskier moves around the room so seamlessly, as he is with most things. He gathers what he needs to bathe Geralt; lotions and oils for his aching muscles, and a comb to try and wrangle his hair back into something tame.

The bard eventually catches his eye. “Are you going to stand there all night,” he laughs breathlessly, setting a hand on to his hip, “or are you coming over?”

Geralt blinks. His fingers flex by his side, not entirely sure what he should try and do now. He glances over to his saddlebags, piled up beside a nearby dresser. Geralt grunts, holding up his hand. Jaskier cocks his head, but watches the Witcher regardless.

He roots through his bag, looking for a soft felt bag kept in one of the more secure pockets inside. He fishes it out, making sure that the gift is still intact. He tried to keep it safe. He might have even lost hours of sleep because he worried about brigands and highwaymen storming him on the road and taking it.

But now, he somehow manages to force his feet to take him over to Jaskier. The bard looks at him puzzled, his gaze drifting down to the small bag caught in Geralt’s hand.

There’s a moment between them where nothing is said. And Jaskier tilts his head, eyes searching for Geralt’s as the Witcher tries to gather what to say. Because how does he even go about presenting something like this? Geralt clears his throat. Gods, words really aren’t his strong suit. He stretches out his hand, handing the bag over to Jaskier. When the bard looks to him again, lifting an eyebrow, Geralt rubs the back of his neck. “It’s, uh...It’s for you.”

Jaskier regards him for a moment, slowly letting his deft fingers unlace the drawstring and pull the ties apart. A lot of gold and time made what Jaskier is fishing out of the bag, and Geralt’s stomach churns. Gods alive, what if he doesn’t like it?

Jaskier blinks when he lifts his gift out. A necklace of gems, expertly melded together like petals of a flower. Each gem is its own petal, but together, they represent something more. Their journey together, the wanderings all over the Continent and the time spent together. The gems glint in Jaskier’s eyes, bright crystal colours joining the ocean blue Geralt likes losing himself in. The chain is something lithe and simple, small interlinking locks of silver that don’t distract from the flower hanging from it.

Jaskier rubs his thumb over each gem, and the thin and lithe metalwork that binds them all together. His lips part, something resting on the tip of his tongue, about to be spoken, but Jaskier all but gapes. “This...” he stammers, glancing over to Geralt. “Gods, Geralt, how much did this cost, I—it’s beautiful.”

Geralt can feel a flush warming his cheeks. “You, um,” he rasps, clearing his throat again. ��You liked the jewels. In the markets we visited. But you never bought them, and I, I don’t know, I guessed that I would get them for you but, uh, I didn’t know how to present them.”

He nods to one of the gems. “The, uh, the lapis is from Toussaint,” he manages to get out, because if he talks about the gems and focuses on the gems and the gems alone, he won’t have to look at Jaskier staring at him. The lapis was the most expensive, but it’s the most beautiful. “The topaz is from that visiting spice market in Redania.” All things that caught Jaskier’s eye, but he had to leave behind. And now it’s here, for him, in a way that he could wear.

Geralt manages to tear his eyes away from the necklace, glancing up and catching the bard’s gaze. Jaskier stares at him, mouth and eyes wide, and for a terrifying moment, he doesn’t say anything. Geralt’s throat bobs. Maybe this is too much. Maybe he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t even mourn the loss of the gold spent on it, but the way he could potentially have soured things between them.

And then Jaskier’s moving. Geralt has just enough awareness to notice heat bloom on the side of his face before Jaskier leans forward, catching his lips in a soft and languid kiss. He stands stock-still for a moment before he melts into it, reaching up to brush the backs of his knuckles along Jaskier’s cheek. His own is nestled into the bard’s hand, his thumb brushing along his cheekbone in something so soft and undeserving of him and his life that he struggles not to shrug it away. Jaskier has always been so kind and soft to him, with gentle hands and lulling words.

Jaskier breaks their kiss when air thins, but he doesn’t go too far away. He sets their foreheads together; the ends of their noses brushing and a shared breath mingling between them. Geralt watches a bright and outrageously happy smile spread across the bard’s lips. “This,” he laughs breathlessly, “gods alive, Geralt, this is beautiful. Thank you. I, gods, how did you even think of something like this?”

He honestly doesn’t know. Jaskier is a worryingly big part of his life now and he needed it immortalised somehow. If, if, the bard didn’t come adventuring with him out on the road anymore, at least there is a reminder of all the places they did go together.

Jaskier lures him into another long and languid kiss. His lips are soft and it’s a struggle to break apart from them. Eventually, one of Jaskier’s hands settles on the centre of his chest. His smile hasn’t even budged. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Geralt hums. It’s taxing, trying to muster words and make some effort to say them. And what could tumble out of his mouth may not be the way he wants them to come out. So he nudges his forehead into Jaskier’s, enough of a physical touch to widen the bard’s smile.

He doesn’t want to pull away. He has Jaskier back now, and he’ll bundle the bard off to Kaer Morhen with him for the winter, and spend the following seasons after that traversing the path with him. And the thought of all of that settles into the core of his chest and blooms warmth through him; undoing all the stresses of the past seasons, unwinding tension better than any bath or sleep ever could.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Sometimes I’m reminded of the time I rescued a little Dekay’s brownsnake from fellow students outside the residence building back when I was in college. Because I still can’t believe it happened the way it did. I walked out of the building one morning to find some students standing in a circle and looking down toward the centre. I had enough experience from grade school to know it was an animal they had surrounded. Usual creature was a large brown moth that I would have to step in and rescue before someone decided to kill it. You don’t have much time. I don’t know what it is about people standing in a circle and surrounding a living thing, but someone will always try to kill it. Sure enough when I got into the circle, someone was poking the poor creature with a stick.

But it wasn’t a moth, it was as mentioned a Dekay’s brownsnake. They look like this:

(Note the skinny little tail)

And they are small even as adults, which I don’t even think this one was. Having a history of catching garter snakes and handling them (I always let them go after), I knelt, prepared to rescue this little thing. I knew it wasn’t a garter snake, but I also knew only one venomous snake lived in my area, and this for sure wasn’t it.

As I moved to touch it, a heavyset blond boy said, “Yo, that’s a rattlesnake! Those things are vicious!”

Keep in mind this was a college-aged individual, and do please refer to the above photo for reference and perhaps you can see why I wanted to turn around and say, “Are you fucking stupid?” What I said instead, very calmly, and barely turning my head in his direction, was, “It’s not a rattlesnake”.

You would think, perhaps, that this fellow might have taken a closer look and remembered why exactly rattlesnakes are rattlesnakes (or rattlers). But no. He asked quite beligerently, “How do you know?”

Sometimes I wish I had made them all feel as stupid as they were, by saying something like, “Does it look like it has a rattle? Have you ever seen a rattlesnake? Do you realize they’re called rattlesnakes because they have rattles at the end of their tails? Do you think everything vaguely serpentine is a rattlesnake because you like the way ‘rattlesnake’ sounds? Do you always assume you know something when you have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about?” Instead I couldn’t even think to dignify such a stupid with an answer. I simply stared back at him blankly and blinked. I then turned back to the little serpent and slowly curled my hand around it, gently but firmly holding its head between my thumb and the second knuckle of my forefinger.

The boy said something disparaging about touching snakes being creepy and the circle broke up and left. I walked to the tall grass at the of a nearby wooded area and released the snake.

Some people get weird about snakes. And given that some can be quite dangerous, I can understand to a point. There are few sure fire ways beyond species identification of telling a venomous snake from a non-venomous one. Slit pupils do not always mean venomous and round pupils don’t always mean non-venomous. A thick body versus a slender body doesn’t work either, and nor does the shape of the head. Venomous snakes can be mistaken non-venomous ones and vice versa.

But for fuck’s sake, a rattle is pretty damn distinctive. A snake either has a rattle or it doesn’t. If it has one, it’s a rattlesnake/rattler and it’s venomous. If it doesn’t then it might still be venomous but it most certainly not a rattlesnake. I don’t understand how this entire circle of people thought a Dekay’s brownsnake (see above) was any variation of this: 

(Note the rattle)

I think about this sometimes because even a lot of potentially dangerous animals rarely attack unless provoked. Leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. A lot of animals die unnecessarily because of this. What’s more, harmless animals who gained an evolutionary advantage by mimicking these dangerous animals, and even harmless animals who only somewhat superficially resemble dangerous animals to the untrained eye. Check out the fox snake which is often mistaken for the Massasauga rattler shown above:

(No rattle)

But the mistaken identity of that little Dekay’s brownsnake showed me it doesn’t even matter sometimes what it looks like. If a creature happens to be unlucky enough to belong to an animal group long-reviled by humans, why then every spider is a brown recluse or black widow, and every shark is a candidate for Jaws, and every cat will suck the breath from a baby (but especially black cats), and every flying hymenopteran is a hornet, and every brown flattish bug is a cockroach, every rat is out to bite you and transmit disease to you (and opossums are definitely giant rats!), all black birds are bad omens, all black and white smallish mammals are skunks and will spray if you look at them, all sharks want to eat you, and of course all snakes are rattlesnakes. If the shoe doesn’t fit, force it on.

[inkperch]

Lady Bird and Magpie, C1D1

I’m in a Lady Bird and Magpie mood, so have a sneak preview of chapter 1! It’s only half finished, gotta write the fight-y parts still and then go back and clean everything up, but here you go! (also, finally figured out how to do Line Breaks!)

Winter Schnee woke up, and immediately wished she hadn’t. It couldn’t be later than seven, her alarm had yet to go off, yet already Kay and Robbie were at each other’s throats, Rose hesitantly trying to mediate. In her half-asleep haze, she vaguely tried to follow, catching a few stray words as she tried to drift back to sleep for a few more moments of plausible deniability regarding her team. Of course, even considering it was massively irresponsible- she was the leader, it was her job to break up such disputes, even if they happened with irritating frequency. And besides, now her alarm was ringing, if nothing else she needed to turn that off.

“What are you two arguing about?”

Kay and Robbie both whirled to face her as she sat up in bed with a stretch, with a guilty smile and an annoyed glare respectively.

“Sorry Win, we just had an… uh… academic dispute?” Kay tried, scratching the back of his head nervously.

For once, Robbie didn’t take the chance to rat him out, simply scowling at everyone and throwing herself onto her top bunk, above Winter’s own. Hopefully, she’d be done sulking by the time classes started, Winter didn’t have the energy for another fight this week. She’d already had to start two, and it was only Thursday. Kay dropped onto his bunk, picking up a discarded book and starting to read as though nothing had happened. Rose looked between her two friends, hesitantly trying to speak before awkwardly meeting Winter’s eyes. Taking that as a cue to leave, Winter grabbed her uniform from the closet and headed into the bathroom to change.

When she was done, instead of lingering in her dorm and finding a way to kill and hour, as her team was no doubt doing, she headed out. The library was only a short walk from their dorms, so if she were quick, she may get some light studying done before class. Maybe she’d even treat herself, and pickup a recreational book for study breaks? She was feeling particularly whimsical today, despite the rough start…

So lost in thought, she nearly didn’t notice the old man crossing her path until it was to late, forcing her to rapidly push herself out of the way with her glyphs, sending her over him in a perfectly executed front flip.

“I’m so sorry sir! I didn’t see you there!” Winter said, head bowed, “What are you doing on Atlas Academy’s campus so early, today? Can I assist you in any way?”

“You’re a polite one, aren’t you?” The man said, a small smile gracing his face, “I’m just going for a stroll. My son attended here in his youth, and… well, I heard there’s a memorial to… former students on the grounds.”

“Oh.” The old man was on the wrong end of campus for the memorial. It was the centrepiece of a garden on the opposite end of the dorms, Winter often went there to study in peace. “I can escort you there, if you wish?”

“Oh, I’d hate to be an inconvenience, I’m sure I’ll make my way there eventually,”

“You’d be no inconvenience, really,” Winter lied, “I owe you besides, for nearly running into you before,”

“No harm no foul, really,” The old man insisted, “But, if you insist… I think I’m a little lost?”

“Yes, very- this way sir.”

-#-

Robyn stood up and stretched as her final teacher of the day dismissed the bored Grimm Studies class. Well, Robyn was bored. Fiona had seemed pretty attentive, despite May and Jo arm wrestling right next to her. Speaking of Fiona- Robyn gave a quiet ‘thanks’ as she scooped all of team RGMT’s books into her Semblance. Robyn waved her team on ahead with a smile and headed off to the library. She had an assignment to complete for her Weapon Maintenance class, on the maintenance of the Atlas Military’s regulation weapons. So, utterly useless to her, but she still needed a passing grade in the class, so to the library it was.

At least, that was the plan- as she was walking across the campus a giant thing seemingly made out of paper charged into campus and started smashing buildings.

Okay. So it was that kinda day.

Like most of the students lurking around campus, Robyn pulled out her crossbow and started blasting. Presumably, some idiot had let a Geist get into the library or something for a dumb prank, its shell seemed to be entirely paper, so Fire Dust was the way to go, right? That seemed the general consensus, as an honestly impressive volley of flaming projectiles flew towards the Geist. Still, somehow, the paper didn’t light, and not one student got a lucky hit on its mask. Wait. Where was its mask? It should be visible- if not when they started, it should’ve whirled to face them by now. Where was the mask?

Why did it seem bigger than when they started?

“I am Payback! Turn over the Schnee and the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous, or die!”

…the courtyard was silent enough you could hear a pin drop. This- this wasn’t a Grimm. It couldn’t be a Grimm- it was talking! Whatever the giant fire-proof-paper monster was, it wasn’t a Geist. It had to be... something else! A semblance, or a robot, or... or some weird experiment! And, just in case that wasn’t enough to fuck someone up, it threw an arm out and sent a wave of fire back into the stunned crowd. So, the giant fuck-off paper monster wasn’t a Grimm and could deflect their shit. Just perfect.

Luckily for the stunned students in range of the attack, a giant glyph appeared and, through it, a massive, white, Nevermore took the brunt the wall of fire, disappearing in one hit. Winter Schnee stood proudly, sword aloft.

“If you want a Schnee, here I am!”

Ok, so, the Schnee heiress has a death wish, good to know. Robyn was about to run forward to help, because of course she was, when an ominous cracking sound came from behind her. Turning around, she saw a tall old man, with a cane just out of his reach, underneath an ominously leaning statue. It looked like it had been hit by a stray spout of fire, knocking it off balance on its pedestal. She dashed forward as the statue came tumbling down- shit, she wouldn’t have time to grab him and leave, this was gonna hurt. She unfurled her weapon into its shield mode and held it above her head, catching the large statue more on her aura than her arms.

“Run!” She yelled, kicking his cane into his reach. Not the most tactful approach but fuck it she had a massive statue on her back, she could apologise when he was safe. The old man grasped his cane and dragged himself from under the statue. As she shoved it to the side with a pulse of her aura, he stared at the Schnee morosely, before turning back to her.

“Miss Hill, was it?” he asked, blue eyes piercingly sharp.

“…yeah? You ok, sir?”

“I was not. I have you to thank for my saving. A humbling experience to be sure.” His hand hovered over his earrings, two plain black studs. “…this experience has reminded me of something a dear friend has been trying to tell me for a long time.”

“Um. Ok.” Robyn nodded, and accepted that random information. The old man was probably slightly in shock, if she’d been a second slower, he’d be a goo right now. “Where can I take you to be safe?”

“No where, if that Akuma isn’t stopped.” He pulled out his earrings, which… changed colour? They turned from plain black studs to bright red gems. That… didn’t look like Dust? His semblance, maybe? “Your semblance… it shows you whether the other party is speaking truthfully, does it not?”

Robyn couldn’t help but feel like she was making a massive mistake as she nodded, and followed his beckoning gesture into the covered garden, casting anxious glances to where the Schnee was fighting. He turned back to face her, hand outstretched. She took it.

“What is your favourite Fairy tale?”

[fallstreakfeathers]

Don’t Look Down, Chapter 2, Rating: T ~4100 words Warnings: none https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956846/chapters/60761470

If Kita thought the brightness of the moon was overbearing inside the extravagant building, it was nothing compared to being in its direct path. She squinted against the pale beams as she stepped out of the doorway after the white haired demon. His pace was fast, as if he was trying to lose her, and she had to take two or three steps for his every one. She could hear him grumbling lowly about something, but couldn’t be bothered to listen closer. In fact, she wished he’d just close his stupid, too-loud mouth. The soft calls of some kind of animal hidden in the treeline caught her attention and she slowed herself to peer through the ever looming darkness, not that it was overly difficult with the moon hanging in the sky like some kind of sentinel. The green leaves swayed lightly in the breeze. The wind sent small ripples through the field of grass. It was only then that she noticed the scent of living plantlife. A group of small creatures fluttered from the branches, startled by the couple trespassing below them. She blinked slowly. Birds? There was not a trace of sulfur, fire, or death on the air. She stepped over a group of small blue flowers she couldn’t identify. The spotted leaves were jagged, with some sort of liquid oozing from the stems. “Hey, human! What’re ya staring at? Ya never seen flowers before? Pick up the pace!”

Kita said nothing as she placed her footsteps a bit faster. She kept her head down, abandoning her plan to run as light from the lamps that lined the streets glowed bright against the wet pavement. “Can’t believe those jerks left me to babysit you alone.” There’s no way she’d get out of here without knowing where she was going. Did she really expect things to be that easy? Of course not, only an idiot would think that. I’m an idiot. She felt like a prisoner being escorted to her own execution, and the feeling was only made stronger as she caught the curious and hungry eyes of various demons on the streets. Those in the lights of the street appeared human, or mostly so, but a few hid in the shadows and their forms shifted and flittered as they stared. One of these feral creatures approached the group, prowling like some kind of cat, only to scamper away when Mammon growled a guttural, throaty sound. Kita cringed. The short display almost reminded her of those silly groups of kids in her school years who pretended to be dogs or sometimes horses. Of course, she was the local velociraptor in those days, and occasionally a Tyrannosaur. The only difference was the very real threat behind the noise bubbling from the demon’s chest. “You were full of piss n’ vinegar earlier, what’s with the silence?” She released a heavy breath as she continued to pretend he didn’t exist. Earlier she was terrified, now she was just exhausted. If she stayed quiet and kept her head down, if she didn’t make eye contact, then everything would be fine. He’d eventually leave her alone. That’s how it always was. She sneered at the demon that glanced at her ever-so-often and the not-so-quite grumbling that traveled back to her on the wind as they stopped in front of a swooping steel gate with a dry “we’re here.” Kita squinted at the towering building behind it. The mansion almost appeared to have multiple shacks stacked on top of it, along with castle-like spires. Beside it stood a tall, black tree with branches that reached towards the moon. The whole area looked like something out of an old vampire movie. So… demons really like over-the-top crap? Mammon placed his hands on the gate, pushing it open. It swung wide with a creak. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered, “of all the rotten, unfair luck.” She rolled her eyes while he continued to complain with his hands on his hips. “Why do I have to look after some stupid human? It’s insulting! And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I can’t say no to Lucifer, alright!?” Kita sighed, remembering once more that she not only had to survive the year in an entirely different world, but also was going to have to deal with 7 demon lords who, if they were consistent, were all over-dramatic assholes. What did she do to anger God enough that he’d allow this sort of misfortune? “I only agreed to babysit you because…” he babbled “... well. Um, you know...uh…” “I don’t care,” she whispered wearily.

“What?” the demon shouted, “oh! Now you’re really in for it you stupid… although I’m sorta surprised you’ve got the guts to talk to me like that. You should be scared.” What about her behavior implied that she wasn’t? Did she really come off as if she were delighted to be in his presence? “I mean, I’m a demon. Even a human would get that, right?”

She pushed past him onto the stone path that led to the doorsteps of the mansion What makes you any more dangerous than literally anything I could be killed by in my own world? “You’re seriously weird,” he shook his head as he pushed the door open, “whatever, come on then.” Kita glanced around the heavily decorated hallway as the door clicked shut behind her. The high walls were patterned with purple and silver paper. A long plush carpet led from the front entrance and under a wooden archway into another room. A cheery fireplace could be seen at the far end of the room, glinting off the polished wood floors and filling the area with a sweet, smoky scent. Two dragon-like gargoyles stood guard at the front of the hall, with a marble staircase winding behind them both, up into another hall. All in all, the two rooms alone looked like they cost more than she’d ever make in her lifetime. Kita felt even more out of place than she had on the Devildom streets. “This is the House of Lamentation,” Mammon said. He waved vaguely at the space around them, “it’s one of the dorms here at R.A.D.” Yes. It wasn’t like the prince hadn’t clarified that at least four times. “Well, not just one of the dorms. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members.” Kita simply nodded. The sooner he finished talking, the sooner she’d be taken to her room and then (hopefully) left alone. “The others take every opportunity to insult me,” he prattled, as he led her through the hall “callin’ me scum and money-grubber and shit like that… But I’m an officer on the student council too! The elite of the elite. Top of the social pyramid.” He turned to her. “In other words, I’m a big shot! A real big shot! Even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am!” Big ego is more like it. “By the way, Diavolo is even more of a big shot. He’s so important he’s got his own castle.” “I figured he would...you all call him ‘prince’.” If I have to hear the words ‘big shot’ one more time, I’m finding a thesaurus and throwing it at his stupid face. “Right… anyway, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers live here together and-...hey, what's with that expression? If you’ve got somethin’ to say, you’d best do it now.” Kita blinked. Was she making weird looks? “Sorry,” she muttered, “you all call each other ‘brothers’ but you look nothing like each other.”

“That’s really what you’re wonderin’ about? We aren’t brothers in the human sense,” he shrugged, “it’s more like we share a title, we’ve fought together, live together, yadda yadda, ya get it?” “Sure.” “Seriously, you got a personality thing or somethin’?”

Does he ever shut up?

“Doesn’t matter, “ he continued, “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, and you’d better listen up 'cause I won’t repeat myself.”

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye as the demon spoke, and she glanced to the staircase where another demon stalked down the marble steps. His eyes burned an angry yellow-orange that peeked out from under the light purple fringes of his hair. He was clearly taller than her. Of course he was. Were demons just naturally this tall? “If you ever find yourself in a situation where you’re about to be attacked by a demon, you need to either run or just die.” What? Kita gawked at him in disbelief. The yellow-eyed demon reached the bottom step, glaring as he continued to move behind Mammon. “Are you serious?!” “Yes.” Kita frowned and then snorted. “So just die, then?” “Actually, I vote for you to die, Mammon!”

“Ah! Levi!” the demon yelped, “didn’t see ya there. I...Uhh...L-Listen up here, human! This here is Leviathan, Avatar of Envy. He’s the third oldest of us brothers.” The demon grinned brightly as he spoke, “his name’s sorta hard to say, so you can just call him Levi!” “Uh...no thanks,” Kita deadpanned. Nicknames were reserved for friends. Nicknames meant something. They were special, and not to be given to people who didn’t want to be around her in the first place. She refused to call anyone who wasn’t at least a friend anything short of their name. Besides, ‘Leviathan’ really wasn’t that difficult to pronounce. “Suit yourself.” “Mammon, give me back my money,” Leviathan growled, “then go crawl in a hole and die!” Woah. That was...unnecessary. Kita’s eyebrows scrunched as he flung insults at the white haired demon. “I’ll get it to you, I already told ya. I just need more time,” Mammon shrugged. “More time?! You’ve been telling me you need ‘more time’ for the last two hundred years!” She nearly choked on her spit. Two hundred years? These people were at least two hundred years old? “Hey, no! It’s been two hundred and sixty,” Mammon corrected, “get it right.” This got a small, amused laugh out of her and she quickly covered her mouth as the two demons turned their attention to her. For creatures supposedly hundreds of years old, they sure acted like children. Leviathan shook his head as he grumbled. “Seriously, Mammon, you’re-” “I’m what?” he snapped, “scum? Is that what you’re gonna say?” “You’re a lowlife and a waste of space,” the Avatar of Envy finished with a snarl. Alright, now I just feel kinda bad for him. Kita winced. Nobody should have to deal with being spoken to like that, especially by their own family… brother-in-arms? Sharer of titles? Whatever. “I couldn’t pay you back anyway, I don’t have the money.” “So you’re saying you refuse to pay me back?” “You lookin’ for a fight? Is that it?!” Oh my God. I’m gonna have to listen to this for an entire year. Mammon suddenly turned to Kita again. “Hey, human. Ya know how I told you what to do when a demon attacks? You’re about to witness that for real so…” he paused for a moment, “time for you to die, ‘cause if it’s gonna be you or me, it ain’t gonna be me!” “Wait,” Leviathan said, “ I thought you said-” Mammon smirked at her, and almost as fast as she could blink, he disappeared up the stairs. “-that asshole! He ran off!” Leviathan shook his head in disappointment. “You get what happened, right? He used you as a sacrifice.” “Somehow, that does not surprise me,” Kita snorted. “I’ll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you’ll ever meet,” the demon said, “a total lowlife, but that was still pretty dumb of you for letting him use you like that, I mean this is exactly why humans are-” For the love of all that is holy...unholy...do they all talk this much? “Wait!” he exclaimed, “ you’re human! That gives me an idea.” Why did she feel like this was a bad thing? “Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asked gingerly. “Nope. You’re coming with me!” Kita yelped as his hand suddenly gripped her sleeve and he began dragging her up the stairs with him. “Let go,” she barked, pushing her heels into the floor in an attempt to force him to stop. “Quiet!” he hissed as he halted in front of a door. He glanced around nervously before tugging her inside and closing the door. She twisted around, preparing a few choice words regarding her treatment before stopping with her mouth open like a fish out of water. The room she’d been so unceremoniously dragged into was like something out of her wildest dreams. Light shined through what looked like it might be a pool in the ceiling, sending rippled reflections across the tiled floor. Luminescent jellyfish hung vertically, leading down to a porcelain tub with what appeared to be a body pillow laying in it. An enormous aquarium had been slotted into the wall. Coral and various plants poked out of the sandy bottom, and it seemed silly that the only occupant of a tank with such magnitude was a small goldfish.

That was to say nothing of the enormous amount of manga and various figurines placed around the room. In the corner sat what had to be the most computers she’d ever seen in a single house. It... It was pretty badass, she had to admit.

“This is your bedroom?” she asked incredulously. “Uh.. Yeah.” “It’s beautiful.” Leviathan nodded once. “You want to know why I looked around to see if anyone was looking before I closed the door?” “Not particularly but I can take a few guesses.” “Well why do you think I did it? Not that it isn’t totally obvious. Imagine what would happen if someone saw me invite you into my room!” he rambled, “a human who doesn’t even look like an otaku! A normie! Do you know what people would say?” Oh no, he’s one of those kinds. “I don’t honestly care, sorry.” “You should! It’d be insane!” Kita murmured a snide comment to herself as she wandered over to the tall bookshelf by the door. She peered curiously at the unfamiliar, often ridiculously long titles before a thick book with black leather and silver trim caught her attention. “What, human? What are you looking at?” Kita pointed at the book, making sure she didn’t touch it. “Oh, that's The Tale of the Seven Lords! Are you a fan of that too?” He sounded almost...excited? “Not at the moment. I don’t know that we even have it in the human world,” she apologized. “What’s it about?” She must’ve asked something right if the way the demon’s eyes lit up were any indication. “You don’t know TSL? And you call yourself a human?!” “Actually, I call myself ‘Kita’,” she snarked, “you lot seem to be the ones set on the ‘human’ bit.” “Listen, just the fact that you don’t know TSL alone is proof that you’ve been wasting your life!” “Do enlighten me on what I’ve missed,” she snorted. There was something about this one that made him slightly easier to talk to than the others she’d met so far- not that she could put a finger on what it was.

“The Tale of the Seven Lords, TSL, is a series of fantasy novels written by Cristopher Peugeot. It’s a heroic spanning 138 volumes, and the most widely read fantasy series in the world,” he began.

On, and on, and on some more the demon rambled about the book. Books. 138 of them? That was crazy. Do all demons talk this much? Honestly, that’d be true Hell, right there. Skip the burning and rending, just keep talking. Kita listened, not out of any particular interest so much as the excitement in the Avatars voice. She knew what it was like to try to talk to someone about something she liked, only to be ignored or shoved off. She wouldn’t be that person, even to a stranger who’d literally dragged her sorry ass up a flight of stairs. Besides, his energy was somewhat contagious, even if he’d been speaking for at least twenty minutes. “There’s that one really awesome moment where the two of them realize they both like and respect each other, and they high-five! I just love that part,” he jabbered, “I wish I could have a moment like that.” “I’m sure you will,” Kita said. “Wait, you’re still listening to me?” Leviathan gawked. Kita nodded. “Most people’s eyes would’ve glazed over by now…” he said, “uh...oh! Check it out,” he pointed to the aquarium. “See that goldfish there? His name’s Henry. I love TSL so much that I couldn’t help naming him after the main character. I can’t high-five a goldfish though.” “Well you can’t with that attitude,” Kita snickered.

Leviathan frowned, suddenly sullen. “You humans are so lucky,” he said, “you’ve got subscription services that let you watch any anime you want to, you can go to Akihabara whenever you want…” Aki-what? Ah, who cares. “Why do only you guys get to experience the good stuff? I mean humans’ whole concept of pleasure originally came from us demons, you know,” he whined,” so why can’t we take a little of that back now? I want to go to a Japanese maid cafe too, y’know? I want to cosplay as Henry, or go stand in the center of Akihabara, or maybe under that one building in Tokyo that’s shaped like upside-down triangles. Once I’m there, I want to perform Henry’s super powerful signature finishing move for all to see and say the incantation that goes with it!” Is he...Is he breathing? How is he saying all that in one breath?!

“Actually, you know what? I want to be Henry,” he finished.

“Screw normies,” Kita yawned, suddenly aware yet again that she’d been kept up far later than she thought was humane. Of course, these guys were demons. What was she expecting? “Yeah! Screw ‘em!”

The demon frowned again as he spoke. “Alright, enough. This is starting to depress me. I didn’t bring you here to tell you about TSL.” “I was wondering when that would be addressed,” Kita muttered quietly. “I don’t think there’s any harm in coming out and saying what you already know is true: Mammon is a complete, and utter scumbag.” “Got it.” Really, it didn't seem like demons had much of a vocabulary. Not that she had a great one either, but still. “It’s very important that you understand this, so I’ll say it one more time.” “No need, I assure you I understand perfectly. Just… get to the point,” she grumbled, “why am I in here?” “I lent that scumbag money and now I want it back, but being the scumbag that he is, he won’t do it.” “What do you expect me to do about it?” Kita asked, quickly losing patience. She was hungry, she was tired, she was stressed, and a hundred other things already. She wasn’t fond of the idea of spending another hour in the room. “You should probably know how Mammon and I first became enemies.” “I… No. Just get to the point, please,” she sighed. “Fine. As third born, I don’t have a chance to get my money back on my own,” he explained, “but if, say, a human made a pact with Mamon and bound him to their service…” he gave her a pointed look.

“No.” “What? Why not? He’d have to do whatever you told him!” “Not interested.”

“Is it the whole ‘selling your soul’ bit? That’s not always necessary, you know!” Leviathan argued, “it depends on what’s in the pact.” “Not. Interested.” “No, no, just listen, I’ll tell you how to negotiate with Mammon!” Oh, for the love of...

“It’d be useful for you to have him as your servant,” he assured, “despite how awful he is, he’s still very powerful! You’re probably worried being down here in the Devildom, so it’s not like it’s a bad deal for you. Don’t you agree?” “What makes you think I’d even be able to control him? I’m sure pacts aren’t as cut-and-dry as you’re trying to make them sound,” she disagreed. “You’ll do fine.” Sure I would, Kita snorted. She had the authoritative presence of a sea snail. If she couldn’t get other humans to listen to her, what hope did she have of commanding a demon? Much less a demon lord? She wasn’t sure she wanted that sort of power over another being anyway, no matter how obnoxious they were. “Listen,” Kita drawled as she rubbed her eyes, “I’ve had a very long, exhausting, somewhat upsetting day. If you could be so kind as to show me to wherever I’ll be holed up while I’m stuck here, I’ll give you an answer tomorrow when I’ve had time to think and maybe do a little research on what exactly a pact entails because there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that I’ll be doing anything like that until I know precisely how it all works.” Oh dear lord, was Leviathan’s rambling rubbing off on her? Did she take a breath?

“It’s only 3pm,” the demon stated.

“It’s dark.” “We don’t have a sunrise here,” Leviathan explained. What’s shining off the moon, then? Kita wanted to ask. 

She shook her head. It didn’t really matter. “Whatever. I’m still going to bed,” she said,” you can show me to my room or I'll just use the tub.” With a groan and something muttered about “normies”, Leviathan opened the door, motioning her to follow him down the hall. They stopped at the very last door, closest to the window that hung at the end of the corridor. “There’s your room,” Leviathan muttered before walking past her. He disappeared around the corner. Kita exhaled wearily, slowly opening the creaky door. Her shoulders went slack. By the head and foot of the bed stood two trees that stretched themselves against the roof of the room. Lichen hung off the gnarled bark. Some kind of viney plant that looked suspiciously like ivy creeped its way across the stone walls and behind the twirling, curled wooden bedframe. Colorful lanterns hung from the branches, providing light for the room. A smooth table had been placed just behind one of the trees and a group of intricate chairs sat underneath it. Beyond the table, a dresser, as ornate as everything else, held a variety of items on top. A brass skull lay next to a teapot. Hot tea does sound nice right about now. Maybe peppermint...or lavender. Beside the teapot, a group of various books had been stacked along with a small, empty picture frame. Next stood a cabinet that appeared to have been made from a coffin. More books lined one of the shelves, and the top shelf had a small red and gold container. Beside it stood a small horse figurine that reared angrily, and a potted plant rested next to it. In the very center of the room hung a twisted rust-colored chandelier. Open flamed candles burned off the twigs branching from the frame. Is that safe with all the wood here? Two decorated rugs crossed each other over the old and worn flooring. Aside from the color of the pillows and sheets, various shades of light pinks, the room was right up her alley. Kita ran a hand over the silky coverings on the bed, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into the cloudlike softness of the pillows lined against the headboard. But that’s where they’d expect to find her. That’s where these strangers would expect to find her, defenseless, vulnerable as she rested. Kita mumbled to herself as she searched for somewhere else in the room to sleep. Under the table was a no-go. She wouldn’t fit under the bed, and between the mattress wouldn’t work either. She ruffled through the plant at the edge of the bed, frowning at the lack of space between its branches and the wall. It left a small, cramped crawl space that she might’ve been able to fit into if she bothered to break a few of the twigs. She’d keep it in mind. Kita glanced around the room anxiously. A large air vent protruded out near the top of the wall. There was no way she’d be able to get to that. Finally, her sight landed on the large tree by the headboard of the bed. She curled her hand into the bark, pulling to test its durability. When it held, she began hoisting herself up the ivy and lichen, grunting with the effort as she reached the first branches. She continued climbing into the leaves until they covered her completely, settling flat on a large limb and clutching the main body of the tree with an exhausted sigh. I hope this thing doesn’t have spiders or something.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.

[runicrigel]

The Dead Hen

Author’s Note:  In November of 2019 I went to live off grid and work on an organic farm outside of Austin, Texas for a month.  I stayed in a camper from 1973 I renovated and wrote small memoir blurbs.  This is one of the most poignant.

MEMOIR  POST 2 - THE DEAD HEN

“They’re dead,” I announced sagely.  "Everything and everyone dies.“  It was a finite statement made desperately upon a patch of sandy earth in southeast Texas.  I loosed a guttural, "Huuuugh!”  Into the sky, literally hanging my head back for additional dramatic effect.  For a moment, I was vaguely self-conscious about this display but no one was around other than the chickens at my feet, clucking and strutting.  One chicken crowed and stomped a single foot.  It flapped it’s wings as though acknowledging the death of the grey hen crumpled at our feet.  I stared at the odd ritual, then back to the corpse.

I understood both then and now that this level of gravitas is likely not befitting the life of a nameless hen. She is just, “chicken.”  But I have no direct experience with dead things, or escorting them to their final resting places.  When I was young I had a small dwarf hamster named Tutter that had died.  My dad had gently carried him into the computer room, cradled in a large, callous palm, and offered kindly, “Do you want to see him?”

“Nooooo!”  I howled, and ran out of the room.  Death is natural, but there was something terribly unnatural about it to me.  I wish I could say that uncanny feeling vacated with age and maturity but it didn’t exactly.  All I know is that  I couldn’t bare to see my little Tutter lifeless, even if he was but the size of a pair of cotton balls.

Those strong but tender hands that had once cupped my little dead hamster were cold when I wrapped my own hands around one of his palms.  "His hands are so cold.“  I’d remarked through a shutter and then tears broke free as I stood by the casket that made him seem so small.  I didn’t sob.  I just cried, hard, like a helpless person does.  When my father died we knew he had wanted a close casket funeral but somewhere along the line that idea had received an override by those left to grieve.  He hadn’t wanted people to remember him that way, and after the funeral, I had an inkling as to why.

As I stood both staring and trying to not look at this chicken memories flooded me of pets I’d known to pass.  I was there for my boyfriend when his cat was put to sleep, and when the other began to labor and then died right in his arms.  More than once I had considered how grateful I was to Spooky and Baldric that they had let me be there for them at the momentous occasion that is the end of a life.  Yet, when each feline was buried I had let Jason go alone, unable to look on their corpses.  Afraid of what I might see as they disappeared underneath a bed of loam.

I had always been this way.  When I was a girl and our dog delivered a stillborn litter I sobbed outside on the suburban sidewalk of our street in my nightgown while my younger sister (who wanted to be a nurse) helped my mother deliver the unmoving pups.  When my step-father’s brother killed himself I cried terribly at his funeral and was a ghost of myself for weeks.  It didn’t matter that he and I hadn’t been close.  I barely new him.  At a young age, every one of Death’s intrusive visits were otherworldly and bitter.

And now there was this nameless chicken, it’s death incomparable to my father’s own.  This defiant chicken, who had decided to die during my journey of healing and renewal.  Rude.

She had been refusing to sleep in the coop for days — opting to hide under it at night instead.  While the others piled into the coop to be stowed away from the jaws of coyote or other predators, she scrambled under it to take her chances.  Only when the sun warmed the sky and the coops were opened to let the others flutter out to feed, did she enter to perch alone.

Looking back on it, this behavior was likely indicative that she was nearing the end of her life.  That night she had died under the coop and now she was laying there so still — like a pile of slate feathers.  Morning dew glistened on her neck.  When I’d come upon her I’d gasped in surprise.  It was apparent immediately that she was dead, lying in a completely unnatural slump unachievable in life.

I knew right away that it was unsanitary for her to stay lying there.  It was also my first day completely alone on the farm.  There was no one I could defer the task of moving her to.  No one to set upon this task that I myself had always avoided.  So now here I was howling into the sky, trying to convince myself that this chicken was dead and that no matter how much I didn’t want to touch it I had to touch it and move it out of the pen.

I stood in the sand trying to force my brain to reckon with the fact that the chicken was not going to move.  "It isn’t sick or debilitated.  It’s dead.  It’s not going to move now or ever again.  Really?  Are we sure.”  I had to process, “No it’s really never moving again and nothing I do can change that.  It’s final.”  I felt cold some where deep inside.

I’m on a farm. And chickens die on a farm sometimes.  "Where there’s livestock, there’s deadstock,“ John (the farmer and my host) had warned me with a chuckle.  

"Goddammit.”  The sentimental, mostly vegetarian in me, wanted to say something to mark this occasion which I’m sure my hosts, now callous to chicken death, would’ve have groaned or laughed at.  This chicken didn’t even have a name.  It’s just a chicken.  And now it died.  It’s no one’s fault, it just died and that’s how things were.  "You were a good chicken,“ I finally decided on with a gulp.  Was she?  I have no idea.

I reached down with my work gloves, the body felt heavy and everything in my body crawled.  I stepped back.  Another five minutes explaining to myself things die, and this was my task.  I was going to hold my own on this farm, so help me.

Another round of my mind flashing back to the pets I’d watched surrender to darkness and what I had learned from those moments.  I thought of what it might be like when my dogs pass.  Would I be so remiss then to cradle their small bodies one last time?   My heart broke a little at that thought but I knelt down, took a deep breath and very gently lifted the hen from the ground.

It’s bony feet were curled.  It’s tiny head and bushy neck lulled back almost delicately.  I rested the little body in a tote and found myself adjusting it so that it wouldn’t lay on its head or neck, as though it might find that uncomfortable.  I had to remind myself that she no longer felt anything.  I carried the tote away from my body illogically anticipating the chicken might spring out at me, and then as my boots crunched up the hill I huddled the tote more comfortably to my body.  I trekked along in resigned silence.

I got to the house in time to see that John was just pulling out.  I hadn’t missed him after all.  He lifted the creature by its feet and rest it in the back of his truck. "It took everything in me to pick up that chicken.”  I confessed.  He gave me a smile that was both sympathetic but rueful.

“Sometimes chickens just die, it probably won’t be the last time.” I nodded and wished him safe travels.  He bid me a good day.  I crunched back up the hill and stowed the once again empty tote in my Jeep.

I embarked on this journey largely in part because my father’s death had left me feeling changed, hollow and wounded. Stowed in the confines of a suburban household I was listless, heavy.  The walls became a reflective chamber with no tunnels or corridors towards escape.  There was only rumination of thought like chewing on already regurgitated cud.  I could not obtain peace through anything side of me, it was time to reach outward.

During my walks among the rustling leaves and cool nights however, I had felt free.  Something called me beyond the shores of a linear lifetime spent roaming a cage of drywall.  I yearned to  — if not attain my father’s joy for life and those he loved — then to at least strive towards it.  I wanted to work with my hands, feel fatigue in my body at night and go to bed satisfied with my day’s work.

I thought of my Zazen Buddhist practice and studies.  I recalled, as I often do, the stories of the Buddha, sitting in meditation, legs crossed with his fingertips pressed to the earth. It’s called the Earth Witness mudra.  The story goes that as Siddartha obtained enlightenment under the bodhi tree he reached down to touch the earth, quite literally grounding himself, and the Earth cried, “I am his witness.”  Fibers of carpet and scored linoleum did not offer the same effect I yearned for.  I wanted to go to bed with dirt under my nails.  I wanted to touch the earth.

So I embarked in a camper that’s older than I am and took a chance on this gorgeous farm in southeast Texas ran by one of the most generous married couples I have ever encountered.

The stages of grief and the stages of enlightenment share a certain quality.  The pursuit of acceptance.  Part of life is sitting with death, and I am grateful to this nameless chicken who taught me another lesson.  As I took that small body into my hands, and lifted it from the sand I believe I cradled acceptance there too.  Maybe there isn’t as much gravitas in the death of a single bird as I wanted to assign to it, but maybe there was just enough.

[clary-jace]

the summers of our youth

summary: the summer of nineteen eighty five is the best summer of el hopper's young life and it's not just because she has the worst summers in the world to compare it too. aka, nineteen eighty five makes up for every year before it.  pairing: mike wheeler & eleven  word count: 3,836 notes: so i wrote this over the course of like three days and originally almost just made it a text post and then i decided that no, it needs it’s own fic. because it’s what my daughter deserves. i hope u enjoy and please let me know what you think !! 

read on ao3

Summer 1983

The days still passed in a blur. After years of the same routine day in and day out, nothing surprised Eleven anymore.

It was the same wake up call, the slamming of the door against the wall and a flood of harsh white light into her dark room. Being forced to leave her stiff bed, immediately being followed and guided by the usual men in their dark suits and cold eyes.

Eleven had no idea what day it was. She never did. Every day was exactly the same. Well, not exactly. Sometimes she had celery with her bread at night instead of carrots, or the harsh woman, with her bright red hair and dark lips, would trim the nails on her toes and feet when washing her hair and arms. But most days were exactly the same, no change.

Part of Eleven enjoyed the fact that every day was the same. It gave her time to prepare herself in the mornings, when she would awaken before the door would slam. She always knew what to expect. Of course the things she was asked to do would vary from day to day, but it was always in the same vein, and always involved her powers.

Listen to the Russian men. Find the monster. Kill the cat.

None of them were things that Eleven wanted to do, but she had learned time and time again that it was best not to argue. Papa never liked when she argued. Even on days when his smile seemed a little brighter, or his touch seemed a little softer, he never liked when she argued.

So she didn’t. At least she tried her hardest not to. Even when she was forced in the tank, which was her least favorite. She hated the way the water pushed up against her body, the way the air helmet weighed heavy against her shoulders, pushing her further and further into the water. Those were the days that it was hardest to contain her anger against Papa.

“Now Eleven, I know you hate this, but you’re the only person who is able to do it. So, it’s in your best interest not to argue with me. You know I would never do anything to harm you.” He would say, when he’s in her room at night, touching his finger to her nose. The contact with make her squirm, but she never showed it when he was still there. He hated when she coiled away from him.

Occasionally he would press his cold, lifeless lips to her forehead and she would wait until he was out of the room, the space blanketed in darkness to rub the feeling from her skin against the harsh cotton of the pillow. She would do it with her back turned, so the small camera in the top corner of her room wouldn’t catch her.

When she had been younger, smaller and more prone to trembling and crying loudly in the night, the camera used to be a god send. Papa would come in when he saw her in distress, stroking her head and hugging her tightly to his chest. As a young girl she used to think this meant he loved her, and wanted her to be safe and happy, but she didn’t know if any of that was true anymore.

So, at night she would turn away from the camera, even as her hot and heavy tears would roll down her cheeks, dampening the rough blanket underneath her body. She would pull her knees into her chest, tucking herself into her gown, desperate for any kind of warmth in the cold chill of her room.

Every night she would shiver and shake in bed, her lips going numb and raw from the cool air that would come in through the ceiling, dreaming and wishing she could go somewhere warm. She wondered if the places she saw in her dreams, with warm light and soft ground beneath her feet existed and how far beyond the lab she would have to go to find them.

She knows that they’re only just dreams though, and she’s stuck in her cold, uncomfortable room for the foreseeable future. That she’ll wake up in the morning to the banging of the door and Papa’s tight smile and cold hands against her wrists. She’s been here for days, days that are the same from beginning to end and she knows that she’ll be here for days and days to come.

But gosh, does she hope that someday she’ll be able to feel the warmth she dreams about.

Summer of 1984

Summer in the cabin is stuffy, hot and lonely.

It’s miles better then her life in the lab though, and for that she can’t bring herself to complain about anything.

Because she’s not alone, she has Hopper. Who has to work during the days but sometimes brings ice cream home, letting her have a couple scoops after dinner, even letting her put it on her waffles if she asks nicely. He lets her stay up later too, even letting her watch R rated movies on TV when he doesn’t have to work the next morning.

Sure, she misses her friends and wishes she was allowed to leave, and not just stand out on the porch, which Hopper lets her do sometimes when there’s a nice breeze or a summer rain storm (which El quickly learns is her favorite kind of weather, because it reminds her of that night in the woods all those months ago when she met Mike and Lucas and Dustin), but she has a real bed now, with soft sheets and Hopper never opens the door to her room without knocking first.

It’s progress from the lab, and that’s all matters to El.

Besides, even though Hopper is very strict about her leaving the house and keeping the shades drawn during the day (which El hates the most of any of the rules because it makes the cabin so hot ), he’s stopped chastising her for visiting Mike in the void every night. Which means every night he helps her bring the television into her room and for thirty minutes he busies himself with the newspaper or case paperwork and leaves her be.

She would be lying if she said that these visits to Mike weren’t her absolute favorite part of being in the cabin. Sure, it hurt more than anything that she couldn’t reach out and touch him or talk to him, but seeing him every day and knowing that he was okay, that was enough for her.

He’s grown taller since that fateful night back in November (months are something she’s been learning with Hopper, months and dates, which all started when he had to explain to her what July 4th was when the loud, explosion like noises could be heard in the distance), even though he’s usually sitting when she sees him, sometimes she catches him pacing back in forth the length of the Wheeler basement.

The heat has made his hair grow too, the first time she saw it curled on the ends and in a wild mane around his head she laughed so hard she almost lost her concentration in the void (it wasn’t as funny the next day when she woke up and her hair was a poofy, curly mess, causing Hopper to giggle at her at the breakfast table). Hopper had told her that the humidity made people’s hair grow, El didn’t know what humidity was, or why it made people’s hair grow, but it certainly made Mike look funny.

One day when she saw him, his skin was bright red and she felt her heart stop. It looked like his skin was on fire, and that it would burn her finger if she touched him. He looked uncomfortable, picking at his skin as he spoke softly into his walkie to her. The sight had made her heart squeeze uncomfortably in her chest and instead of just the light sprinkle of tears she usually had when listening to Mike, she exited the void that night sobbing, her chest heaving and tears falling heavily from her eyes.

“It’s called a sunburn, kid.” Hopper tells her the next morning when she mentions it. “A lot of people get them in the summertime. You get them when you spend too much time in the sun.”

“Summertime?” El asks, her voice small and quiet. She’s heard the word before, on television, and when Hopper is muttering to himself about how “damn rowdy” teenagers get in the summer. She has a vague sense of what it means, something to do with school being out and it being warm, but that’s about as far as her knowledge takes her.

“Yeah, it’s what this time of year is called. It gets hot, kids aren’t in school anymore.” El nods. “It’s like when I found you, remember how cold it was and all the snow that was on the ground?”

“Yes.” El whispers, practically shivering. She remembered all too well the time she spent in the woods, twenty eight days, she counted, and how the cold, lonely whiteness had reminded her of the lab. She had been so sure she was going to die out there, get to briefly feel what it would have been like to be normal before having it ripped away from her.

“Well, that was winter time.” Hopper says, taking a bite of his waffle. “It’s a season, just like summer is. Fall is the time of year it was when you met Mike and Lucas and Dustin, with all the leaves on the ground.” El nods, beginning to understand. “And spring was the season we just had, when all the birds started making noise.” Hopper grumbles and El can’t help but giggle softly.

She’s pretty sure that winter is her least favorite of the seasons. She hasn’t quite made her mind up about summer yet.

Sometimes she loves it, like when Hopper lets her sit under the open window at night so she can watch the sunset and the stars decorate the sky. Or when he brings a device home with him one evening, a fan he calls it, and he plugs it in in the corner of her room, sending a cool, but not too cold, breeze, over her as she sleeps.

But sometimes she hates it, like when her hair frizzes around her ears and makes them itch. Or when she sits cross legged on the couch and they stick together because of how hot and sticky it is. She hates how opening the small window in her bedroom, something Hopper allowed her to do when all the lights in the cabin were off, provided no relief.

“Next summer is gonna be better, I promise.” Hopper says softly to her one night as she’s sitting on the couch, still wiping away her stray tears after visiting Mike. He comes to sit next to her, the couch dipping under his weight.

“Really?” She whispers, glancing down at her crossed legs, which even in the early evening are still coated with a sheen on sweat. Tonight had been particularly hard watching Mike, he had been trying his hardest not to cry as he mentioned something about fighting with his dad.

“Really.” Hopper says, moving one arm so it’s draped behind her on the couch. “I���m gonna try my hardest to make sure that next summer you get to be out there with your friends instead of cooped up in here.”

El feels herself smile. Hopper’s said stuff like this before, but this time feels different. That night she dreams of running around in the sunshine with her friends, the warm sunlight on her face and the wind in her hair. It’s the same kind of dreams she used to have in the lab, only now she has hope that someday they’ll come true.

So, El doesn’t quite love summer yet, but she thinks that could change.

Summer of 1985

The next summer is hands down the best summer of El’s life.

Hop teases her when she tells him this, reminding her that she doesn’t have much to compare it to and that she’s only fourteen, but El doesn’t care. She doesn’t think any summer in the future will be able to compare to the summer of ‘85 (she’s wrong, turns out that every summer only gets better and better, but when she’s fourteen she has no idea).

Because the summer of 1985 is exactly the summer that El had always dreamed of. She spends day in and day out in the sunshine, running around with her friends, collapsing in laughter, getting grass stains on all of her new clothes and occasionally pulling Mike behind trees or large rocks so she can press a kiss to the sun kissed, well freckled apple of his cheek away from the prying eyes of their friends.

She learns that summer that she actually really loves summer. But that’s not the only thing she learns.

In the middle of July, July 17th according to the calendar she now keeps above her bed, day two hundred and fifty four according to the numbered days since she returned that Mike now whispers to her in the nightly walkie calls, she learns to swim. At first it reminds her too much of the baths from the lab, of the heavy water against her skin, but with soft whispered words of encouragement from Mike and the cheers of her friends, she manages to swim the length of the Harrington pool without much trouble.

(Turns out that El is the fastest swimmer of all of them, beating even Lucas in a race.)

A couple days later she gets her first sunburn. She wakes up in the morning her skin burning, red and raw against the stretch of her shoulders and on the back of her knees. Hopper chastises her for spending too much time in the sun without sunscreen, but El is just happy that she has a mark on her skin to represent how much time she gets to spend outside.

When she shows the burn to Mike, he tells her that eventually it’ll fade and maybe her sunburns will turn into freckles just like his usually do.

In the first week of August, she finally learns how to ride a bike all by herself. Each member of the party had attempted to teach her at some point, but Will ended up being the one who was able to get through to her. In that moment when he let go and she was actually riding her bike (a well loved, dinged up hand me down that Hop found a yard sale a couple months ago), where the wind was running through her hair and her friends were clapping, El felt like she could do anything.

Those weren’t the only things she loved about summer.

When the heat first started to settle on Hawkins, El feared that there would be a repeat of last year and she would never be able to find relief in the small cabin, but even that was different this summer. One night after work Hop came home with a machine, much larger and more complicated looking then the simple fan that still sat in her bedroom.

“This is an AC unit.” He had said, plugging the device in next to one of the windows, letting the cool air fill the cabin. The air reminded lab for a brief second, but then she caught a glance of Hop’s content smile and she couldn’t help but grin herself.

“I love it.”

Hop doesn’t respond, simply reaches over and rustles the hair on her head, which is longer this year but still wild and curly and frizzy in the heat of the summer. The gesture fills El with a warm pool in her stomach and she decides that she like the feeling. She likes it a lot.

There are other moments that summer where her stomach flips and her heart soars and she feels like she’s floating. A lot of moments, actually.

Like when Max hugs her from behind one night when the gang is trying to catch fireflies, her breath tickling El’s ear as she squeezes her. Or when Dustin laughs at one of her jokes, crisp and clear as they eat peanut butter sandwiches in the Wheeler backyard.

She feels it when Lucas slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his chest after she uses her powers to help them win the game of frisbee they’re playing in the park. Or when Will shares his ice cream with her at Scoop’s Ahoy without her even asking, so they can try each other’s flavors.  (She also feels it when Steve winks at her as he hands her a cone over the counter, with a bright, “free of charge, Ellie.” )

But she especially feels it with Mike.

That feeling, the feeling that she wants to bottle up and never ever forget, comes to her often when she’s with Mike. She feels it when he holds her hand as they walk in the woods around the cabin. Or when they hug goodnight on the porch and his heart beats soundly against her chest.

Then, of course there’s the feeling she gets when he kisses her. And while the feeling certainly isn’t new to the summertime, somehow it nearly doubles, no, triples, when Mike and El trade kisses in the bright summer sunshine, or in the warm evening dusk. There’s just something so magicalabout it, El can’t seem to put her finger on why, but she knows that she loves it.

El quickly realizes that there are a lot of magical things about the summertime, things she had only ever dreamed about.

The best day of the summer of ‘85 comes in the final days of August, only a couple days before school starts up again. Joyce and Hop decide that the kids (including Nancy, Jonathan and Steve) deserve a day away from Hawkins, so they pack up the blazer and the Byers cars and take a day trip to a lake a few towns over.

“What’s the difference between a lake and the quarry?” El asks Mike from the backseat of the blazer. Dustin is the only other occupant in the car, who much to Hop’s chagrin had called shotgun, and he turns around to begin to explain, but Mike cuts him off.

“I mean, I guess the difference between a lake, well at least the lake we’re going to, and the quarry is that lakes have beaches.” Mike says with a small shrug.

“And they don’t have gigantic cliffs that you can jump off of.” Dustin quips from the front seat, causing Mike to roll his eyes.

El’s hardly paying attention to them though, she’s instead thinking about what Mike said. Beaches . She’s only ever heard of beaches on television, she’s never even seen one. From what she’s heard about them, people go to them in the summer and swim in the water. She doesn’t really understand what makes beaches so different from pools, but she supposes she’s about to find out.

Turns out, beaches are everything she had ever dreamed of.

“Usually beaches are by the ocean, but the ocean doesn’t reach Indiana so we have to make due to lake beaches, which are still really fun.” Mike says when they get there, shrugging as he helps El from the car, grabbing her bag and shouldering it along with his own.

“And we don’t have to worry about getting attacked by sharks.” Dustin adds, coming up next to them and taking a bite of his candy bar. Hop is already down the beach, setting up a place for the party to drop their stuff, but the trio are walking slowly, letting El absorb the scenery and waiting for the rest of the group to show up.

El is absolutely enthralled.

Kicking off her plastic flip flops, she lets her feet sink in the warm, soft sand, sighing softly when he gets between her toes. There’s a small breeze coming off the water that rustles her hair. El doesn’t think she’s ever felt so at peace.

Soon after, the rest of the party, along with Nancy, Jonathan, Steve and Joyce show up and soon the beach, in which their group are the only occupants of, is full of laughter and loud voices.

About halfway through the day, after eating a lunch of tuna fish sandwiches and bags of potato chips and sharing a orange soda (El’s new obsession this summer) with Mike, El finds herself standing on the shore of the lake, her toes in the water and a soft smile on her face as she watches the people in her life.

Hop and Joyce are situated on one of the blankets, chatting and keeping their eyes on the kids. There are easy smiles on both of their faces and they both look more at peace then El has ever seen them before.

The teenagers, well the older teenagers, have disappeared down the beach, and El can spot Jonathan and Steve shin deep in the water, skipping rocks and laughing with each other. Nancy is sitting in the sand, a book in her lap, occasionally looking up and smiling at the boys. El doesn’t quite know exactly what happened between the three of them, and apparently neither did Mike or Will when she asked, but she’s happy that they’re happy.

In the middle of the lake El spots Max, Lucas, Dustin and Will playing a game in the deep water of the lake. (El had tried swimming in this water, but it reminded her too much of the bath with it’s dark water, so she settles for standing on the edge). Lucas has Max hooked on his shoulders and Dustin has Will on his and Will and Max’s hands are clasped together. El isn’t quite sure what they’re doing, but she can hear their laughter from the shore and it makes her smile.

“Having fun?” Mike asks, suddenly next to her. His hair is a wild mane of black curls around his face and she can already see his cheeks going pink, and the sight makes her smile.

“Yeah.” She nods, looking back out at their friends, who are now cheering as Max sits victoriously on Lucas’ shoulders and Will floats in the water next to them.

“So you like the beach?” He’s grinning at her, his eyes bright. El gulps, suddenly overcome with emotion. She takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky, the sunlight warming her face and filling her entire body with happiness.

Her hand finds Mike’s next to her and she threads their fingers together easily. “It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

And on that August day, in the warmth of the late August sun with Mike’s hand in hers, El decides that yes, she does indeed love summer.

tag list (just some of my faves): @mikewheeler, @stydixa, @fatechica, @janeswheeler, @summer-in-hawkins, @themikewheelers (i just love y’all and think you guys are gr8 & gr8 writers, hope you don’t mind being tagged!!) 

[xiumin-on-this-shit]

I Am An Alpha Ch 3: I Can Do This, I Think...

“I can’t do this!” I groan as Jin drags me behind him through the forest. We spent most of the night figuring out where the black dragon’s home base is located and finding a quick path back to the camp so we, or I guess I mean they, can run back after. The land near the massive mansion reeks of them, not in a bad way it’s just so over whelming for me. I smell four wolves inside, three are unfamiliar and one is the wolf from yesterday. A small sigh of relief leaves my lips when I know the head alpha is not there, though that is a problem that Jin quickly realizes.

“The head alpha is out,” Jin informs the group, stopping us just behind the last row of trees that separate the forest from their main property.  There is a green house on one side of the mansion, I can smell flowers and fruits and vegetables. Even with the massive windows on the back of the house I can’t see a single person inside but I know they are here. “They know we’re here.”

“How can you tell?” Tae stares into the house with so much focus I feel like his eyes are going to pop out of his head.

“They are coming out,” Jin nods in the direction of the green house. Four figures step out and scan the forest line. Jin quickly tucks me behind him.

“Come out, come out where ever you are,” One sing songs. His voice sounds so warm and alluring I almost feel tempted to obey but Jin’s firm grip on my arm keeps me low.

Another sighs, already bored with the situation, “We know you are out there, don’t make us come look for you.”

“So many trespassers in two day? I wonder if they are with that mutt we cut up last night,” One chuckles in a deep voice.

My heart shatters at those words, “Cut up?” I echo.

“What a pretty voice,” The first voice purrs.

Another hums in agreement, “I wonder what pretty little creature it came from.”

“Should we go find out?”

The annoyed one voices his opinion, “I think we should just slaughter them now before the hyungs come back.”

“If you insist.”

“Wait,” Namjoon sighs as he stands up from cover. “No need to bring out your claws.”

“You are trespassing on our territory, that gives us permission to slit your throats without question. Lucky for you though, I’m feeling friendly today, now tell us what you are doing here.” The first voice demands.

“The rest of you stand too, I want to know who had the pretty voice,” The other commands. Jin pulls me up with him, still blocking me from view. The others join us, Joon is standing at point, Jin and Yoongi are flanking him with the other three standing at the back.

Namjoon bows as he introduces himself, “I am Kim Namjoon, we came looking for our pup, you caught him yesterday. We are sorry for being on your territory, we didn’t realize who you were until after. So if you could just give us back our pup we will be on our way.”

“Why would we just hand him over? We have a nice new chew toy.”

“We have something that you want more,” He offers.

One chuckles, “What do you have that we would want?”

“Your mate.”

There is a brief moment of silence before a chorus of growls come from the four alphas, “Mate.” I cling to Jin’s jacket, both out of fear and excitement. There is a silent fight for dominance as both my pack and my mates release their alpha pheromones. My omega instincts are screaming at me to drop to my knees and bare my neck, to submit just to get this to stop. I hold on to Jin tighter as my knees begin to loose their ability to hold me up. Jin, who is masking my scent, notices my suddenly trembling hands.

“Where is she? Do you have her with you? Where the fuck is she?” The first demands impatiently.

“We want our pup first, but since neither your head alpha, or your second in command, aren’t here we are going to have to come back later.”

“There is no way in hell we are letting you leave without handing over our mate.”

“We aren’t holding her back, she’s here for the pup as well,” Jin tells them, slipping a hand behind his back he offers it to me for stability and comfort. I accept it and let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Please reel your pheromones in though, you are scaring her.”

“Why can’t we smell her?” The first whines almost desperately.

“I’m masking her scent with mine.”

“Stop it,” Another snaps.

“It makes her feel safe, so no.”

One growls, “We would never hurt her.”

Jin scoffs, “Your head alpha almost killed her thirty years ago. You,” Jin raises his free hand to gesture to one of them, “you almost attacked her yesterday.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. But you missed her and attacked our pup instead.”

“Can we at least see her?”

“I don’t know,” Jin hums, “It’s all up to her. Do you want to see them Insoo-ya?”

I gulp, “As long as they don’t freak out or anything.”

“Wait,” Joon stops me, “Maybe it’s better if they don’t see you yet. I will be harder for both parties when we have to leave.”

“Where the hell do you think you’ll be going with our mate?” Someone barks, again I find myself under a massive amount of pressure. I hold Jin’s hand tighter.

“Control your anger!” Jin snaps back.

Namjoon gives his second in command a stern look before turning around to face the four men, “We aren’t running away, we are just waiting until your alpha comes back. I figure we should leave since none of you seem to be able to control your emotions which means Insoo is struggling to even breath with so much alpha pheromone in the air.”

“We will call him, just don’t leave.”

“Will you at least go inside or something?” Yoongi suggests, “None of us are enjoying the hostile atmosphere and at this point you are going to give her panic attack.”

The four men are silent for a moment before one speaks for all of them, “As long as we have your word not to run.”

“We came to you for our pup, we aren’t leaving without him.” Joon tells them.

“Does that mean we can see her? Since you won’t be leaving now?” One says hopefully.

“Insoo?” Jin wonders.

“I really want to peek,” I admit meekly. My pack is watching me intently, this isn’t my normal personality, I’ve always been strong and brave, not like this. I take a deep breath and take a shaky step to the side to look around Jin. The four men are standing a few yards away from the forest, watching with an intense stare. Three are really tall, about Namjoon’s height or a little taller. The other is short but only by a few inches, he’s absolutely beautiful, I mean they all are, but he is strikingly so. I’m surprised to see faded pink hair and darkly outlined eyes but they fit him so well, it makes him appear other worldly.

The tallest of the group is to his right, this one has tan skin and bags under his eyes. He doesn’t make me think of a wolf, maybe a cat or possibly a bird. Next to him is slightly shorter with a scary looking face. I find myself actually taking a step back when our eyes lock. He is the one from the forest, I can feel his familiar scent calling to me, drawing me in again. His hair is a light blond, beautiful pale skin stands out against the two tan men standing on either side of him. The other tan boy on his right has soft features compared to the other but he looks just as dangerous. Jin has to hold my hand to keep me form taking another step back.

“So beautiful,” The pink haired man purrs taking a step closer.

“Hello little wolf,” The next one coos. The other two just continue to stare. “What is your name?”

“Insoo,” I say softly.

He smiles, “So pretty, I’m Tao, this is our hyung Baekhyun. These two are our youngest pack members, Sehun and Jongin.”

I gulp, “Hello.”

Their eyes turn a brilliant gold.

“Hyung,” The youngest, Sehun, says with a cold voice.

“Sehun,” Baekhyun says with a obviously forced calm voice. “We have to wait for Kris hyung to get home, you should go call him.”

“But-“

“But nothing,” The eldest says sternly, “go.”

With that the boy nods and turns to leave, not before giving me one last glance. Even his stare seems so cold, I wonder what I could have done to earn such a frightening look. “Sorry about him, he’s still so young but you can understand that. This pup of yours, he’s younger than our Sehun, he must be quiet a handful.”

Joon shakes his head, “He’s pretty well behaved. We were pretty strict since that is how we were raised but he never really caused any problems.”

“Um,” I open my mouth to ask a question but quickly close it when all eyes switch to me.

“Go ahead little wolf,” Baekhyun urges with a sweet smile that reminds me vaguely of Tae’s.

I take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart, “You didn’t hurt him did you? You didn’t cut up my little pup, did you?”

“Your pup?” Jongin finally speaks, his is like ice as he glares daggers as Jin.

“He is not really her pup,” Namjoon clarifies, “She raised him since he was a child so she considers herself his mother.”

“How long have you all been together?” Tao wonders.

“Over one hundred years for most of us. Insoo has been with us for about 109, the three younger than her about 70 to 50. Jungkook was the one she took responsibility for.”

Baekhyun’s brow furrows, “109 years? How have we not found you?”

“We wandered frequently with a larger pack for most of that time,” Jin explains simply.

“You said something about our leader attacking her, when did that happen?”

“It was thirty years ago, he tackled her and almost ripped open her throat.”

“Excuse me,” I call their attention hesitantly.

“Yes my little wolf?” Baekhyun gives me a kind smile.

“Our pup, Jungkook, is he okay? Could I see him?”

The three men share a look but Baekhyun’s smile doesn’t falter, “If you want to come in, of course you can. But because of certain  rules I’m not going to bring him out yet.”

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Jongin answers shortly.

“How about you?” Tao asks, “Are you okay? Are you hungry or cold? Would you like to come in and warm up?”

I tuck myself against Jin’s side, “I’m fine thank you. I’ll just stay out here with my pack.” I watch as most of the warmth in his eyes fades to a obvious distaste for me actions. His hands clench to fists at his side and his jaw is clenched.

“As you wish, we will be inside if you need anything,” Baekhyun nods curtly and begins pulling the stubborn younger boys inside with him. As soon as they are gone I drop to my knees, ignoring the cold seeping into my jeans. Even though I already miss my mates and yearn for them to come back out and just take me in their arms I’m happy I can finally breath. Just them staring is enough to take the air out of my lungs.

“They looked pissed,” Taehyung stresses. The younger wolf joins me on the ground, letting out an exhausted breath of his own. “You have some strong mates, and that’s only four of them.”

“Of course they are pissed,” Jin snaps as he also collapses. “Their mate is clinging to another wolf, jealousy with wolves is a scary thing. I’m surprised the tan one didn’t rip my head off.���

“How many are there?” Yoongi wonders, not taking his eyes off the house.

“I’m not sure, their numbers have never really been discussed since many don’t live to see them all but I know there is about six or seven,” Namjoon answers.

“Do you think all of them are my mates?”

Namjoon nods, “I believe so. They all seem to have the belief that they will have the same mate.”

“They probably smelled you on Jungkook like the youngest one,” Hoseok figures.

“Are you okay Hyung?” Tae checks on me, placing a warm hand on my back.

I sigh and run my fingers threw my hair, “I feel so tired. It has been awhile since I had so many powerful alphas around me, I’m not used to it anymore.”

“Well you better get used to it because there is no way in hell we are getting out of here with both you and Jungkook,” Hoseok gives me a sad smile.

“I know,” I return the smile briefly before suddenly tackling the male.

“Fuck,” The older boy curses as we roll in the snow, wrestling for dominace, “What are you doing?”

I can’t hold in my giggles as I’m able to get on top and pin him down, “I’m enjoying my last bit of freedom with you guys.” The others stare at our fight for a brief moment, letting my words sink in before sharing a look. Soon they are joining in on our fight.

“Dog pile on Insoo hyung!” Jimin declares. Suddenly I’m on bottom with six heavy wolves on top of me. There are laughs and curses as everyone is scrambling to be king of the pile. I push, punch, and kick my way through, doing my best to not seriously injure anyone, but in a fight like this, anything can happen. With lady luck on my side I’m able to concur my pack to reach the top.

“King of the hill!” I yell happily.

This is it. My last few hours of freedom before I have to commit to seven mates and leave my crazy world and past behind. I will no long be a alpha, or a hyung, or a boy. I will be a pretty little omega like I was always meant to be, like I always wanted to be when I was slaughtering villages. But now that I have the possibility in front of me, I don’t know if I want it.