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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

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Shapeshifter AU- 15

Masterpost

“Sooooooooooo.” He drew out the word in the hopes that by the end of it he’d have a conversation.

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Lambert snapped at him.

“I know. But fishing is way more fun than stone repair. Besides I haven’t gone swimming in a while and it’s starting to eat at me.”

“It’s the middle of fucking winter.” They both pulled their jackets a little tighter around them.

“Some of my forms are insulated enough that its not actually a problem thankfully.”

“Which one’s the best? That way I know which one to skin you for.”

“You didn’t skin me that first night, you’re not going to skin me now. Especially since I’m the warmest person in the keep.”

“Right now you look colder than me.”

That was true. He was cold. That dragon form ate through his – well Ciri’s- magic like a pack of starving witchers. He wasn’t sure that he felt colder than he did before but it certainly seemed like it.

“How much further to the damn lake?”

“She’s getting close.”

Ciri was ahead of them. Well out of hearing range for him and probably her but not Lambert. He suspected at least. But he could still hear the melody of her song. Cautious. Eager. Excited.

The snow crunched under their feet and he finally thought of a conversation. “I haven’t actually met that many other witchers.” Lambert snorted. “Is your friend from a different school or did they just not want to come back for winter?”

Lambert stopped and growled at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He took a step back. Lambert took a step forward.

“The night you arrived? When you almost skinned me? You remember that right?”

He’d been camped outside Ciri’s door. She was having nightmares. He could hear it in her song. But they said he was being overprotective- Overbearing even- going to her every time she had a nightmare. So he was camped outside her door. Her white wolf ready to wake her if they became intense enough she’d bring the keep down around them.

Then Lambert had arrived.

Covered in snow from the dangerous trek up the path and exhausted and swinging.

“The fuck did a wolf get in here!”

He shifted out of the way of the blade at the last moment before jumping into human. “Geralt’s bard! I’m Geralt’s bard! Please don’t kill me!”

His stance eased but he didn’t put the sword away.

“That’s not Geralt’s room.”

“No- no you’re right. That’s Ciri’s room. His- Geralt’s child of surprise.”

“Oh I bet Eskel loved that.” He slowly eased the sword back into its sheath. “And you’re sleeping outside it because?” He didn’t let go of the blade.

“She has nightmares.” And he didn’t want her to bring the keep down around them if they got out of hand. “Why would Eskel have a problem with it?”

“That’s weird. None of your fucking business shifter.” He stalked off. The scent of him still tickling at his nose.

A smell that had changed the next time he’d smelled Lambert.

“You smelled different. Like another Witcher. Which I thought was just you but you don’t smell like that normally and not for nothing but you witchers all have a rather distinctive smell.” Like death and destiny. Heartache and heroics. Also onion. It was rather distinctive. “So I didn’t think your friend was human.”

Lambert shoved him into a tree. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He blinked. “Alright then?”

“Don’t fucking mention him again shifter. Got it?”

“So it’s a him!” He chirped. “Promise not to mention him ever again!”

Lambert shoved him. Turned sharply and stalked off.

“So he’s not a wolf witcher then?”

“What did I just fucking say.”

“How’d you met? Was it on a hunt? Do you work together? They say two can live as cheaply as one which I haven’t found to be entirely true but that might just be since Geralt can’t live off bird seed so.”

A knife was pressed to his throat. “Don’t. Fucking. Mention him again.”

“Alright. I just thought you might want to talk about your friend.”

“I don’t.”

“I’d just be very sad if I couldn’t talk about Geralt all winter. So I thought-“

“You thought wrong.”

“Okay.” Lambert eased off and with one more glare hurried toward the lake.

He followed quick at his heels. Lambert shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“His name’s Aiden.”

“A lovely name.”

“Fuck off.”

“Lambert the lake’s frozen!” She called out when they arrived. “I thought we were fishing!”

“We are.” He passed her a bomb and lit it. “Better throw that quick.”

She did and he pulled her behind him as Lambert shielded them with quen when the ice shattered.

“Well that’s certainly quicker than drilling a hole.”

He grinned. “I think so.”

They huddled next to the hole. Lambert directing Ciri how to set the bait.

He stared at the water. His skin itched.

He dove in.

Above he heard them yelling mutedly. He swan through the water. A fish darted past him.

He chased it.

Chased it up and up and up and-

Right past the hole.

He popped his head out. Chirping his annoyance.

They stared at him blankly. He grabbed the net and pulled it into the water. Lambert grabbed the handle before it slipped under, cursing his confusion.

He dipped back under. Chasing a fish right into the net.

After a few attempts of course.

“That works.” Lambert said pulling the squirming fish out of the water.

He chirped his approval and caught them a few more.

Then he got bored.

He dredged the bottom of the pond, carefully avoiding the sharps that occasionally lined the muck.

And then he found it.

The perfect stone.

He pulled it from the muck. Speared his way from the depths. Scampered onto the shore.

Held it up for their inspection as he chittered its praise to them. Explaining exactly what made this stone perfect.

It’s the smoothness you see. And the color. The color and the shape and the size. Yes see this is the perfect stone. You must agree. I mean. Look at it!

They both stared at him. Heads cocked.

“Do. You want us to throw it?” Lambert asked. Face scrunched in uncertainty. “Geralt mentioned throwing sticks. Is that like this?”

He held it closer to his chest. NO. HOW DARE YOU EVEN SUGGEST SUCH A THING. THROW MY PERFECT STONE! HOW DARE YOU!

He raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s? Very nice?” Ciri suggested.

He nodded. Turned it over in his paws. It was very nice. The shape the color the-

A small patch had dried and it was. Rather less impressive.

He set it down and dove back in.

This next one. This one was actually perfect. Yes. This one was.

But the shape was.

He dove back in.

Again.

Ag- “Jaskier we should head back soon.”

Her hand stopped him from jumping back in. He looked up at her. Her cloak had a light dusting of snow. When had it started snowing?

Couldn’t let the pup get cold. He stepped away and shook dry as Lambert readied their haul for transport.

“Are you going to carry all those back?” He asked, motioning to the. Well rather sizeable pile of stones.

He shifted. Pulling the cloak tighter around him as the leftover moisture froze against his skin. “No I suppose not. Sometimes my instincts just get the better of me.”

“Otters collect rocks?” Lambert cast the stones a disparaging look.

“No. Its. It’s about finding the perfect clam breaking stone. Not. Not that I have any real idea what that would look like.”

His teeth were starting to chatter. Probably not a good idea to stay in this form much longer.

“You’re just trying to find the perfect stone?”

“More or less.” He agreed with her.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Felt,” Feels. He internally corrected. “Important.”

She frowned before digging through the pile herself. Selecting one.

“Here!” She dropped it in his hand. “The perfect stone!”

He looked at it. The small oblong shape of it. The mottle in its color. The way it fit in his hand.

“You’re right. It’s perfect.”

He paced the length of Geralt’s room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

He didn’t know why he was waiting. He’d taken Ciri to bed. Left the witchers to their family time. Because he was tired after nearly freezing on the trip back from the lake.

Yennefer had agreed to come. She’d be here soon.

The thought didn’t fill him with dread.

He paced the length of the room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

He really wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. What he planned on accomplishing. What instinct he was feeding.

He went over to the mirror. Pulled off the cap.

It was filling out quicker than he’d expected. It still wasn’t good. But the sheered sections seemed to have grown quicker while Ciri’s magic had warmed his chest.

His ears were cold though so he put it back on. Adjusted it until it looked perfect.

And then after too long had to give up and settle for nice.

He paced the length of their room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

The fire was lit. The bed was made. He straightened the pillows anyway. Then he felt very silly because he’d never much cared for made beds. Preferred them ruffled and nested and smelling like them.

Which this bed did. Unlike all the beds at the inns. This one was theirs. Smelled like theirs. When he was in a form that could actually distinguish such things anyway.

The perfect stone. He didn’t know why that was so important. Why he’d scoured the lake looking for one. Why even hours later that instinct still rooted itself so firmly in his mind.

Yennefer was coming. He really didn’t think it would be a problem.

But his mate had loved her once. Or. Or something. She’d been something to him once.

Which was fine. She’d been something to him too. He didn’t know what she was now.

She probably didn’t either.

He looked at the perfectly made bed and hated it. Jumped on it. Shoving pillows and blankets and furs every which way.

“Jaskier?” He shoved the blankets around. It wasn’t right. Something about it wasn’t right. “Jaskier.”

He looked up to Geralt’s face. Grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bed.

That was better.

He rearranged the bed.

“One of my instincts is going haywire and I don’t know why. Just. Indulged me?”

Geralt took a pillow and laid down on his side. Watching him. “Lambert said you pulled up half the lake today.”

“It felt important.” He readjusted one of the blankets. Fixing a wrinkle he didn’t like.

“Is this an otter thing?”

“I don’t know!” He threw up his hands. “I’m not an otter and I’m not a dragon and I’m not a wolf and I’m not human and I don’t know how to be any of them!” He yanked on the awful cap with both hands. Stone still pressed into his palm.

“A Jaskier thing then.” He didn’t turn around to look at him. Still kneeling in the bed. “What’s upsetting you?”

He looked at the bed. Felt the stone in his palm. “This beds just ours right?” He let go of the cap. Rolling the stone in his fingers. “Even when Yennefer arrives?” The words started and they didn’t stop. “Because you agreed to be mates and I know you didn’t really know what you were agreeing to just like how you didn’t know what you agreed to when you bonded with me and I’d really like to know before Yennefer arrives if I’m going to need a different room because I can’t. Griffins mate for life and I can’t. I can’t-“

Geralt pulled him down into his arms. “This bed is just ours. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m nervous about Yennefer too.”

“You should be.”

“Hm.”

He turned the stone in his hands. Turned over in the bed so he was facing Geralt.

“Got you something.” Geralt hm’d his interest. “The perfect stone.” He said opening his palm for Geralt’s inspection.

“The perfect clam cracking stone?”

“I don’t actually know what that would look like. I’m not a very good otter.”

“It’s very nice Jaskier.”

“I found a bunch of stones and then Ciri picked this one out. So it’s perfect.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you want it?”

His face twitched. “It’s your stone.”

He looked at it. His gut was twisting anxiously for some reason. “Do you want it?”

“Jaskier what are you really asking?” Geralt was studying him. He wasn’t sure either. “Is. Is this how otters propose?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really an otter.” He looked at it. Turned it in his hand. “If it was would you take it?”

Geralt took his hand and guided it, guided the stone to his lips. “Yes. I would.”

“Oh.” He watched Geralt press his lips to the stone. His breath warm on his hand. “Do I need to ask Vesemir before?”

“Why would you need to ask Vesemir?” His face curling in amusement.

“For his permission to marry you? And I suppose I’d need to ask Ciri too. It’s only fair.”

Geralt leaned forward and kissed his brow. “You can ask them in the morning. Why don’t you ask me now?”

He bit his lip. “Well maybe you need to ask. I’m the viscount. Maybe I need to be properly courted.”

“You’re a viscount?”

“Well I was. At one point.”

“Do I need to court you?”

“I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“Your answer.”

Geralt smiled. “Maybe you should ask the question.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?”

He took the stone between his fingers. “Gladly.”

#shapeshifter au #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #shapeshifter!Jaskier #and with that our story concludes #hope no one minds me throwing in some Aiden &Lambert #One day i'll write a fic for them. One day i will #I hope you had fun #love yall #writing

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midnigtartist · 4 years

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hey more mermauk au

The water, once so familiar and inviting, now feels as though its pressing in on him from every side. Instead of carrying him, he can feel it tugging on him, weighing him down. He tries to swim up, His chest burns like it's never burned before and he has to fight to keep his mouth sealed around the swell of air that presses against his lips. It's so hard to move now. No matter how much he kicks and flails he hardly makes any progress, these new limbs not strong enough to push him forward, up towards the glimmer of sunlight on the surface of the water above him. Still he claws his way against the current, no webbing between his fingers to help him but that's alright. He keeps pushing and kicking and fighting his way up up up until his head finally breaks the surface.

Molly opens his mouth wide and takes in a great, gasping gulp of air, right before a wave comes crashing over top of him, forcing him back under. Luckily, it seems the ability to orientate oneself under water is learned and not genetic. Even though the push and pull of the sea spins him like a top, Molly is eventually able to right himself, breaking the surface once more. He blinked salt out of his eyes and kicks hard against the water to keep his head above it so he can look around.

He can see the beach, a short ways off, and the dock that he’s seen Caleb perched on many times before with the cuffs of pants rolled up to the knees. More importantly, Molly can see the house, Caleb’s little house sitting way at the top of the rocky cliff side and the sight of it makes his heart hammer in his chest. Won’t he be surprised to see Molly striding up to his front door like a proper person on his own two legs. He can almost imagine Caleb’s face when he sees him, those bright blue eyes of his round with shock.

With that image in mind, Molly feels his limbs get a bit stronger, and its with a giddy resolve that he fights against the pull and swell of the waves, swimming towards the beach as fast as he can. Eventually his hands and knees scrap against the sandy shoreline and finally, Molly is able to pull himself free of the surf and push himself up onto his new, strange legs. He can’t lie, it’s a struggle at first to find his balance. The sand shifting under his feet certainly doesn’t help him find firm footing and his knees quake under the weight of him, but after a few stumbling attempts, Molly manages to right himself. He lets out a triumphant huff as he straightens up, arms spread wide to help maintain his balance. He lifts a shaking leg, and takes a single step.

A surge of pride rolls through him, just as another wave crashes down on top of him, sending him sprawling back into the water.

Fuck!

He comes back up spluttering out sea water and has to drag himself out of the tide before he’s willing to give it another go.

The second attempt is much easier, it doesn't take nearly as long to stand this time. He plants his feet on the dry sand and pushes himself upright with his hands until he’s balanced once more on the two thin pegs that are his legs.

Well you see, know that wasn’t so difficult was it. He thinks to himself and takes a few more, less the graceful steps away from the ocean. Once Molly’s sure he's not about to be tackled by another wave, he takes a quick moment to asses himself.

Weaver bless him, he has legs. Long purple ones that jut out from his hip bones where his tail had once been. Legs with knees and calves and feet with weird looking little nubs at the end that he burrows down into the soft sand. He runs his hands down them, bending over so he can touch the backs of his knees and that's when he notices two more new protrusions from his lower half. The one in the front is fairly easy to guess what it is. Though it's a bit strange to just see it dangling there limp between his legs, it's definitely not the most interesting thing going on down here. Something long and thin and sinuous is wiping back and forth behind him. He goes to grab it, to investigate, but only succeeds in falling over onto his arse. And it's all so bizarre and wonderful that he has to laugh. It leaves him in a soundless whoosh of air and, well shit. He opens his mouth to speak and all that comes out is a shrill, dry, screech. His brows draw down into the furrow.

That’s exactly what isn't supposed to happen.

Molly reaches up to touch the chain of the silver necklace dangling from his throat. This was supposed to make him proper human, or a proper person at least. With legs and feet and, gods what was it Caleb called them, lungs? Yes. with lungs and a voice that works on land too. He runs a hand over his side, across his ribs where his fingers slid over two long gills that wrap their way around his flank. Which is just more confusing because he feels like he's breathing just fine without them. Maybe the Moonweaver’s magic can only do so much. Or maybe he should have been more specific with his request. He had only asked for legs, a lot of room for interpretation there. Caleb would probably know what's going on, he knows all sorts of things from those books he's always reading.

Oh gods he’d almost forgotten about Caleb in the excitement of it all. Quickly Molly scrambles back up to his feet. Hot, dry sand is sticking to his legs and hands and his arse, and no matter how hard he tries to wipe it off the only thing it seems to do is spread it around. So sand is something that is definitely better in the water, he concludes. Doesn’t matter, he did all of this so he could see Caleb and there's been a notable lack of the red head up to this point. Molly looks back up to the cliff face where Caleb's house is.

The path up looks steeps and maybe a part of Molly is worried that maybe his frail new legs won't be enough to carry him up there, but he's certainly not just going to sit here on the beach and wait, in the hopes that Caleb will come and find him. He found a way onto land, he's sure as hell not going to let a little cliff stop him. But as he's making his way over to the place where the sand ends and tufts of shrub brush start to sprout, legs occasionally trembling underneath him, something small and bright orange streaks out of a patch of grass. Molly lets out a yelp of surprise as the thing sprints past him, a blur of ginger chasing a terrified crab as it scuttles towards the dock. Naturally he follows. He turns so fast it nearly knocks him off kilter, but he manages to catch himself before he eats sand and scrambles after the crab and the ginger blur. The blur is much faster than the crab. They race across the beach with Molly on their tail, making it as far as halfway up the dock. Molly watches the blur as it jumps and lands on the poor thing, coming down on it with its- well it's umm,,,,,

Coming to a less than graceful stop on the old wooden dock, he stares at the blur with his head cocked to the side, because this is the most bizarre creature he's ever seen. Its small, with a pointed face like an otter. Maybe it is an otter, it has the same four legs and the hair all over its body. But its ears are pointed and its eyes are an intelligent gold rather then glass black and its tail is longer and fluffier. If this is an otter, then there’s something very wrong with it.

The not otter is starting at him inquisitively, the caught crab dangling from its mouth. It gives him a quick and scathing once over before its back arches up and its hair sticks up on end and it hisses at him.

Rude little bastard, Molly thinks. He hisses back, baring pointed teeth at the creature. He could probably eat it, if he wanted to.

“Frumpkin? Are you out here?”

Faster than Molly has time to react, the not otter drops the crab and bolts between his legs back towards the beach, towards the sound of that familiar voice. Molly feels his heart start to race in his chest.

“There you are, boy, I had not seen you in a while, and I was starting to worry, ja. Oh yes, you are a good kitty, very good- oh!”

Quickly Molly school his face into an alluring smile, and turns, slowly, to face Caleb. He’s clutching the mean little frumpkin to his chest, hair drawn back in a loose ponytail. He watches Caleb's eyes take him in, a light, giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest as they go round with amazement and his jaw drops slack.

“Mol-lymauk?” he breaths.

Oh and Molly can’t help it, he beams, blindingly bright at Caleb and nods.

Slowly, as if in a trance, he sets the frumpkin down on the sand, and takes a few shuffling steps towards him. The breath catches in Molly’s throat. The suspense is almost to much to bare so on new legs Molly starts to jog down the dock towards Caleb. He must have miss stepped though, or misjudged how slick the wet wood of the dock was, but one second he's making a beeline for his favorite human, and the next the clear blue waves of the ocean are swinging up to greet him. He makes the mistake of taking a breath after he's hit the water, an old instinct that quickly fills his lungs with salty sea water.

“Mollymauk!”

For a long moment the world is spinning, his lungs are burning, and he cant breath. And then he feels hands under his arms, pulling him up and out of the sea. He breathes in air and coughs out water, as Caleb heaves him back up onto the dock.

“Mollymauk are you alright?!” Caleb asks, his hand resting on Molly’s shoulders while he chokes.

Molly nods, whipping the back of his hand over his face. He can feel more water dribbling out of his nose and the sensation makes his skin crawl and his eyes water. After a moment of furious hacking and Caleb's hesitant hand rubbing small circles over his back Molly is finally able to get a decent breath in, and when he does he turns to look at Caleb with a grin plastered across his face.

Their eyes met and Molly feels a hand on his shoulder pause. “Gods, it really is you.” Caleb mutters.

Molly rolls his eyes. Who else would it be, he wants to say, but can't.

Caleb runs a hand over his face, over his unshaven jaw. “But you are- you have-” his eyes trace over Molly’s legs, before quickly jumping back up to his face. Molly swears his sees a light dusting of color in his checks. “How is something like this even possible?”

Oh well that’s an easy enough question to answer. Molly catches the chain of his necklace between his fingers and brings it up to eye level for Caleb to see the silver, crescent shaped pendant dangling from the end. Then he points to the water and then to himself and folds his hands like he’s praying. Then he points to the necklace and then to his legs.

“I prayed to the Moonweaver to let me come on land and she gave me this necklace that gave me legs, so i could come and see you,,,”

He lays his hand on Caleb's shoulder and beams.

Caleb blinks. “I aaah- I do not think that that was as clear an explanation as you thought it was but umm- if I am understanding this correctly this necklaces is- some sort of magic?”

Molly seesaws his hand, sort of yeah, something like that.

Caleb nods. “Well I cannot say that I fully understand it, yet, but we can worry about that later I suppose. Let’s ahhh- lets start with getting you cleaned up, ja? Can you stand? Here ummm-”

Molly allows him to slip an arm around his shoulder and help him to his feet. It's much easier than trying to do it by himself, and really, he can’t complain about the warmth of Caleb’s hand on the small of his back. He leans back a bit into it, and finds himself stumbling. Caleb tightens his grip.

“Careful Mollymauk.” He says. “I do not know if I am strong enough to pull you out a second time.”

Molly hums his understanding, steadying himself on his feet. Once Caleb is sure he's not going to topple over, he lets his hands drop. He gives Molly another shy once over, before catching his eye and dropping his gaze to the ground. “I aahh -here”

Quickly Caleb shrugs out of his coat. Molly watches him curiously as brings it around him and drapes it over his shoulders. It's warm and soft and smells of old book and cinnamon.

“There, that’s better. Are you comfortable Mollymauk?” he asks.

Molly nods, tugging the coat tighter around himself.

“Ja ja, that is um, gut, lets go. Umm-” With much hesitation, Caleb takes Molly’s free hand and sets it on his shoulder. “Just- Just hold on to me and we will get you up to the house.”

Molly flashes him a thumbs up. Lead the way.

The walk up to the house isn't strenuous but its is long, and by the time the pair of them are cresting the top of the hill, Molly is clinging rather fiercely to his companion so that his knees don't give out. They wobble under him, clearly not used to this amount of work. Caleb is holding him around the arm to keep him from falling over.

“Nearly there.” Caleb mutters as they approach the front step

The house is modest and cozy looking, like a cottage, with planter boxes in the windows and silver chimes hanging by the door. Molly likes it quite a bit. He leans up against the wall while Caleb gets the door open, and then helps him inside.

“Jester are you home?” Caleb calls out as kicks the door shut behind him.

“I'm here, Caleb!” a female voice calls from behind one of the door frames.

“Can you come in here and help me, bitte?”

Suddenly there’s the sound of something scampering across the wooden floor and a moment later, another fuzzy, four legged creatures comes barreling from around the bend in the hall right at them. It's not a frumpkin, Molly’s got no idea what this is. But its bounding at them with its tongue lolling out of its mouth and its tail wagging excitedly.

He jumps, digging his nails into Caleb’s shoulder as the thing comes to a skidding halt in front of him.

“Nein, Nugget, down boy, down stop.” Caleb cries, trying to push the creature back with his foot while balancing Molly on his other arm. “Jester please, I need you.”

“Oh don't be such a baby, Nugget is only saying hello” the female voice comes again, and human figure enters the room. Well, more human than anything else Molly has seen. She has pastel blue skin and bright pink eyes and horns that curls against her head like his.

She pauses in the doorway when she sees them. Molly smiles at her, and waves.

“Caleb” the woman, Jester he would assume, says. “Caleb what happened?”

Caleb shrugs. “This ahhh- this is Mollymauk.” he says sheepishly. “Is he okay?” she asks. She runs over to them, shooing the nugget out of her way.

“Oh ja, he is fine, I think.” Caleb says. Molly flashes Jester a thumbs up. He feels just fine, maybe a little wobbly but fine other than that. Caleb continues. “Ja he is fine but I need to run a bath for him, can you help?” Jester nods vigorously. “Of course, of course Caleb, come on.” Tentatively, she puts a hand on Molly’s shoulder and Molly lets himself be lead deeper into the house, busing himself with looking at all the odds and ends Caleb has hanging on the walls. “Caleb what happened?” Jester asks again.

“I umm I found him while I was out on the beach.” Caleb says. “He was like this when I found him.” “Oh no! You don't think he was shipwrecked do you?”

“,,,,, perhaps,,”

“Oh that’s terrible!” she cries. She turns to Molly. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Molly shakes his head. No, he definitely not hurt. He pats her hand gently, hoping to assure her.

She blinks up at him. “Can you not speak Molly?”

Again he shakes his head, and gestures to the gills on his flank, hidden now by Caleb’s coat.

“Something with your ribs?” Jester asks, before rounding on Caleb again. “See Caleb he is hurt! I bet he punctured one of his lungs and now its all shriveled up like a raisin.”

“I do not think so, Jester but I will check.” apparently they’ve reached wherever they were headed because Caleb uses his free hand to open the door and gently shoves Molly inside, barring Jester from entering with his body in the door frame. “I promise if there is something wrong I will come and get you right away, alright?”

She looks like she wants to argue, but Molly catches her gaze over Caleb's shoulder and nods. He's fine.

Jester sighs. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiine, but if he dies don’t say I didn’t try to help you.” and with that she turns on her heel, and Caleb shuts the door after her. “You’re not going to die, are you?” he asks Molly.

Molly shakes his head. He doesn't think he’s dying, no.

Caleb runs fingers through his hair, pulling a few stands loose of his ponytail. “Good, that is gut. Now ahhh- lets the umm -let's get you cleaned up.”

Molly looks down at himself. There’s sand caked up over his legs and his arms and his tail and stuck between the nubs on the ends of his feet. He grimaces as he wiggles them and feels the unpleasant grittiness against his skin. He nods at Caleb.

Probably best I get clean up yeah.

Caleb nods as well “Ja, we do not want you tracking sand all over the house. Here-” he offers his hand and Molly gladly takes it, allowing Caleb to lead him over to a large white basin against the far wall He has to grip the other’s forearms as Caleb directs him to step over the high walls of the thing and then sits down inside it.

Sitting there with his knees bent up towards his chest, he gives Caleb a look, and taps the walls of the basin.

Caleb seems to pick up what it is he’s asking. “Oh! Ja um, this is a bathtub, I forget that you do not know this. This will help you get cleaned up.” he says, moving so he can fiddle with some strange pipes at the foot of it. “You can just throw my coat there on the floor, Mollymauk, I don't want it to get wet.”

Molly does as he's asked, slipping the coat off his shoulders and tossing it over the side of the bathtub.

Caleb nods his approval, sticking some sort of plug into the opening in the floor of the tub, just as water starts to flow from the pipes. He stands up, wiping his hands off on his trousers. “It will take a little time for it to fill up but ahhh- it's something.” he says. “If it is too hot just turn this one this way.” he turns the right tap to the right and back again. Molly gives him a thumbs up.

Caleb nods. “I would ahh- I would give you some privacy, but I am afraid the tub might overflow,,,,” he sounds almost guilty about it.

Molly waves it off with a hand.

Rather have you stay anyway.

Caleb fidgets, and after a painfully long moment of watching him not know what to do with his hands, Molly takes pity on the man and taps the side of the tub again. Come sit here.

It seems Caleb understands because, after some deliberation, he sets himself down on end of the tub where the taps are. Molly hums his approval.

The water is warm, and quickly climbing up the sides of the tub now. Molly takes the quiet moment to stretch his legs out. Bending them at the knee, rolling his ankle back and forth. He lifts it as high as he can then lets it drop back into the water with a splash. He hears Caleb chuckle and glances up to find the human’s eyes already on him.

Molly smiles, he can hardly believe this is happening. That he gets to be here, on land, with Caleb.

“I do not know how this is possible, but it is very good to see you Mollymauk.”

Molly nods. He’s so glad Caleb feels the same way.

And it's all thanks to these. Molly stretches one of his legs towards Caleb. They’re pretty amazing, yeah?

The gesture gets another laugh out of Caleb. “Ja ja, they are pretty cool.”

They are cool, and once I’m cleaned up we're going to go exploring, you and I, and I’m going to have you show me everything I can see with a pair of these things.

He wiggles the little nubs at the ends of his feet.

“Very cute.”

Molly beams at the praise.

Hell yeah he’s cute.

#midnigtwrites #widomauk #mermauk au

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ixiomdraws · 6 years

Text

[CLOSED SPECIES]

I would like to officially introduce a creature species I've made. They arent really new since I've had them for years and posted them several times on a couple different blogs, but they were originally just one, not really a species, but I love them and i just wanted to expand on them and what they were, so here we go.

Please read under the cut for full info on budbugs.

BUDBUG is the species name, named after the original, Pillbug.

(this is Pillbug^)

Pillbug was the only of their kind, created in a lab for testing purposes, and not good ones. They were practically tortured, cut open countless times, experimented on, ect. They were made to be docile and obedient, no aggressiveness at all, to the point of almost being just a living stuffed animal.

Pillbug is quiet, and pretty much completely incapable of choosing to do anything. They will wait for someone to tell them to do something, sitting in the same spot till they starve to death. Think of the sims with free will option turned off. This is specifically Pillbug, the first and original, and does not apply to the whole species. All budbugs come from Pillbugs DNA, so, in a way, Pillbug is the mother/father to all of the others.

now onto the species:

BUDBUGS

Scientific name:Vitula mollisparva

CLOSED species

Lifespan: unknown. Oldest living budbug is 36 (human) years old.

Average height: on all fours:around 1 foot. Standing: 2 feet(bitty versions also available)

Average weight:15 pounds

Sex: Budbugs are a genderless species, and cannot reproduce. if you adopt one, you can choose any pronouns youd like to call them, they don’t care.

DIET: they can pretty much eat anything. Their diet is whatever is offered to them or available, including things like bark. They have no specific needs, but there was a recorded overall preference of fruit and sweet things. Sweet milk is the number one way to attract them. It seems to be their absolute favorite, warm or cold. They have some semi-sharp molar like teeth in the back of their mouth that they use for crushing/chewing harder materials.

YOUNG: a hatchling(called pups) will not have vision, or be able to walk. they have feeling and scent to go on, much like a puppy. they have slight hearing that comes through to them as muffled sound. they are bottle fed milk like substance and sugar water(or a mix of both) for 3-4 months.

since budbugs dont have the ability to reproduce, nor a gender, there is no mother to nurse them and is done by bottle. there is the possibility of an adult budbug attempting to nurse young, but it’s unlikely theyll produce milk in time before the young starves.(we of course have the ability to make ‘nursemaid’ parents, bottle feeding the hatchlings until their milk comes in from stimulation((e.g pups attempting to nurse on them for prolonged times))

It's best to feed them mushy like food up to 6 or 7 months old. eyes open around 2-3 weeks old, along with better hearing. they start walking shortly after, 4-6 weeks. they will follow after people or animals in a fashion similar to ducklings, seeking a bigger ‘parental’ figure to protect them and make small chirp noises.

PLANT GROWTH:

Typically has any type of plant matter growing on their head, sometimes it can trail down their back and tail or even have random patches of plant matter elsewhere. the plants that grow on them are a part of them, for instance- cutting off a flower will cause a pinkish blood drop to emerge. They don’t seem to feel the pain of cut flowers/plant matter, nor does it need to be bandaged or treated, its fairly similar to regular plants in that aspect. [note:please do NOT use a mower or weedeater on your budbug]

The plants that grow on them are similar to regular plants, but often are more 'sturdy' and a little tougher to break/cut. This can vary somewhat by the individual, some will have more fragile type plant matter that easily comes off, others may have plant matter that is thicker, rooted and more connected to them. Usually youll know depending on plant type, thicker looking stems and such are most likely more rooted and a part of them and we highly recommended not trying to pull any plant matter out/off of them.

its best to let the plant naturally die/fall off, and typically the plant doesnt overgrow to a point of causing difficulty to the budbug.

BEHAVIOR:

a common site is seeing the budbug grooming itself; licking like a cat and patting or somewhat 'pulling' on leaves or whatever plant matter they have, to shed the dead leaves, ect. If left with water, they might bathe themself, somewhat like a hamster or cat, except they dip their arms in the water instead of licking them.(if water is available)

They have horn-like nubs on their head covered in fur/felt, the horns stop growing at a certain point and then remain that way for life. Their horns have no use other than for hatching out of an egg at birth. Its extremely rare for them to be aggressive toward anything, including others of their species. They’re very sharing, and around their own kind, they will often groom each other, make soft calls, and sleep in piles.

The few aggressive ones only did some mild growl like sounds and avoid the others, most of which stopped within an hour and joined in the regular activities.

There have been no cases of any attacks or biting, whether to their own species or other animals/people.

Meeting other species, they wont typically make the same call noises as they do to each other, but will still act friendly and try to sit next to or sleep with, and even try to groom them.

They’re quiet, almost mute. They can make soft call noises and various other light toned sounds, they cant bark/moo, and even in distress or extreme pain, they typically only make soft whine noises or stay silent. they also make rumbling like sounds similar to a purr. They have a very high pain tolerance, some people might even claim they cant feel pain, but trust me, they do.

heres some similar noises they can make(budbugs sound a bit more soft though, kind of like cooing? if that makes sense)

[1][2][3][4]

urgent call/trying to get attention(rare)

young/baby chirps

distress/pain call(rare)

Their arms are flipper like, though still usable as paws if needed, they prefer walking upright. their eyesight differs greatly, some excellent, some poor. If you don’t like things staring at you, this isnt the pet for you. They are very observant, watching others is probably like tv to them. smell is their best sensory, along with hearing. their fur type can vary from otter-like(waterproof) to very fine silky soft fur and many others.

Personality:

trusting, obedient, friendly, happy, quiet, patient. They will spend the majority of their time observing their surroundings or others.(some are 'lazier' than others, falling asleep instead)

Intelligence:

varies. They can learn a lot, but they typically have low functioning free will and require commands or encouragement to act on things.

As an example, we set a waterer that works similar to a fountain, needing a button to be pressed to release water for drinking. The creature sees us operate it and with mild encouragement, will press the button and drink. We leave them alone for days, and while they know how to operate the device, they do not, simply waiting.

It took several days of being completely alone before they finally activated the water by pressing the button. By their straightforward action, we could tell they knew how to operate it and it wasn't an accident. This test was ran on several others, all similar reactions. On average, only 3 out of 10 would react sooner, within 24 hours, 5 took about 3-5 days before reacting, and 2 passed out from dehydration and had to be taken to medical. (test was ran on 5 groups of 10)

Many other tests provide similar information: they typically wait for something to encourage or command them to act, even on simple survival such as food and water. If it isnt offered to them, they seem to get confused and wait for an offering, even if theyre next to a stream.

In some tests conducted, when in groups, they will follow suit after others, even of different species. e.g, one walks to a stream to drink, they follow suit to drink as well. It’s possible this is a faulty instinct of survival, watching others to drink or eat something to make sure its safe for themself, the faulty part being that even once they know a source is safe, they’ll still often wait for encouragement to engage.

thankfully, about 74% of them will get over this faulty instinct over time and regular encouragement towards a water/food spot. moving their dish or having a non-regular feeding area can cause this faulty instinct to return or worsen. it’s recommend to have a designated water and feeding spot set up for them to help them overcome that behavior.

other than that, they are extremely adept at learning commands and copying (to the best of their ability). they learn tricks incredibly easily. (e.g, roll over, sit, fetch, ect)

again, this is a CLOSED species. you do not have permission to make one of these without my consent. below are permissions if you get one- RETURNS: If you decide you do not want your budbug anymore, you can message me and I’ll take it back, either keeping it or putting it back up for adoption. but i can not and will not refund you. Which should be obvious, but just in case, i’m stating it here. PERMISSIONS: -you have complete permission to draw/write/ect of them. harm/violence/gore is allowed. I dont mind gore or sad angst stories, so whatever you want to do with them once bought, you can. However, you do not have permission to include them in anything sexual. if they’re just being the pet that watches their owners do it, like how cats sometimes do, then that’s fine. But absolutely no fucking the budbugs or other sexual activities with them. -You do not have permission to resell them or sell merchandise with them on it.

This post will be updated as needed if anything changes to their species info. Last update: 10/18/2018

#creature #species #closed species #animal #fantasty #budbugs #budbug #adoptable #adopts #in a soon future post

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pjbehindthesun · 6 years

Text

chapter 16: road dogs and glass eyeballs

Friday, October 26th, 1990

“I still can’t believe you came to see me off, Luce! You sure Jeff didn’t mind? Doesn’t his flight leave soon?”

“Nah, we said goodbye this morning.”

“You really should have stayed in bed with your man and snuggled like the adorable otters you are.”

My friend giggles, although I’m not quite sure where she’s managing to come up with the oxygen, since my brother basically has her in a stranglehold as we all stand on the curb a little ways off from the Greyhound bus in the very early hours of the morning, getting ready to say goodbye. I’m trying hard not to think about the goodbye part.

She eases herself free and kisses his cheek. “Yeah, but I know he’s getting back in a few days. You? Who knows when you’re gonna grace us with your presence again.”

“Yeah, well, Portland’s a lot closer than Asheville.”

I interject, “we’ll come down and see you once you get settled in, promise. We’re due for a road trip.” Lucy bounces on her heels in affirmation, but Alex lets out a huff of disapproval.

“Don’t listen to ‘em, man, these two will suffocate you if you let them. Especially this one,” Alex ruffles my hair, “just go live your life, enjoy it. We’ll see you around.”

His words feel like a boot print on my chest. I swallow hard, as if that’s going to wash away the tread marks.

“But, call when you get in anyway, okay?” I curse the little quaver in my voice, which I know is what’s making Alex roll his eyes.

“I will, I will,” Patch sighs, but with a loving smile quirking his mouth.

The hiss of the bus’s air brakes makes me wince, and we all turn to watch the rest of the small group of passengers start climbing on board, or hugging their loved ones, or fussing over luggage in the storage bay. Luggage… oh right, I’d almost forgotten…

“Hey, kiddo, I forgot, I have one more thing for you in the car…”

“For fuck’s sake, Cora,” Alex ribs, but I walk past him unblinkingly, leading my brother back out to the parking lot where I can talk to him in peace.

Patch’s forehead wrinkles questioningly as I open the hatch of the Rabbit and thrust a bike wheel into his chest.

“Here, hold this, I had to pop it off to fit the whole thing in the back…”

I wrestle my bike out of the tight space and frown back over at the bus. “Huh, I thought there was a bike rack on those things, but I guess not… well, a cable lock will keep the wheel and the bike together in storage until you get there. It’s a quick release attachment, you know how those work?”

“Cora, slow down, what…” Patch’s shoulders shake with a soundless laugh as he watches me fidget with the bike.

“What do you mean, what?”

“You’re not giving me this thing, are you?”

“That’s the plan.”

He shakes his shaggy head. “No can do, C, it’s a sweet idea but it’s yours.”

“Yeah, well, it was also my idea for you to leave your truck all the way back in western Carolina in the first place, and I don’t like the idea of you all on your own in a new town with no way to get around.”

“They’ve got buses and shit, Cora.”

“Humor me, you brat,” I finish working the bike lock key off my key chain and thrust it into his hand. Something in his face contracts, and he pulls me into an embrace.

“Love you, C.”

“Love you more.”

“Try to be happy, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” I affirm, squeezing him tighter.

We rejoin Lucy and Alex on the curb, help Patch stow his one small duffel bag and new-old bike underneath the bus, and start to hug our goodbyes. None of the words being said seem to want to stick in my numb, fuzzy brain. The only things immediate enough to feel real are the last little squeeze he gives my shoulder before climbing onto the bus and the look of excitement on his face as we wave him off.

Lucy wraps her arms around my neck from behind in a fond hug, leaning her head against mine. “He’ll be alright.”

I swallow hard again and nod, not willing to unclench my teeth just in case that’s the only thing keeping me from crying.

“You two are unbelievable. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine,” Alex grumbles.

Without even turning my head, I know exactly what kind of glare Lucy’s giving him. But instead of arguing with him, she lets go of me and turns me around. “So, I gotta head back and get to work, but it’s movie night tonight…”

“Oh, right.” I’d lost track.

“...but I feel like heavier artillery’s in order. Night out?”

I glance at my boyfriend to gauge his reaction. “Oh, I don’t know, I mean, Alex is leaving Sunday morning, I probably ought to --”

“No, hey, it’s cool,” he cuts in, “I can go game over at Brian’s, you girls have fun.”

Lucy smiles and starts to chatter about what we might do for a girls’ night while we walk back to the Rabbit, but I’m stuck on Alex and his eagerness for a night apart so soon before a whole week of nights apart. We really are done here, aren’t we? What are we even doing?

***

“So, have you decided what you want to be?”

Cora’s rummaging through the thrift store’s bargain bin of hats as she asks me about Halloween. There’s a thing next week at the Tavern with a drink special if you show up in costume, and I’d talked the guys into it the other night. Cora took a little more convincing, but I think the prospect of sitting home in an empty house finally got to her, and she agreed to play along. Normally, I don’t think Alex leaving town for a week would have her feeling quite this down -- after all, they’re pretty good at managing time apart for her research trips -- but it’s obvious how intensely she’s already feeling the void left by her brother. She’s keeping it together admirably, but everything about her is more subdued since this morning.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I tell her as I pluck a fuzzer off of a pair of red velvet platform heels. “I was thinking I could just recycle the flower child from last year, I still have the fringed vest.”

“Oh come on, we can do better than that. What’s Jeff going as?”

“Larry Bird.”

“Typical,” she snorts. “I’ll only acknowledge it as a success if he wears the super short 70’s shorts.”

“Oh, bet on it,” and we crack up loudly enough that the only other patron in here on a Friday night looks up from his careful inspection of a broken camera to figure out what we’re laughing at.

We poke around the racks, trying various things on for size, debating costume ideas for the creatively and budgetarily challenged, and ultimately settle on plans for us both. Pleased that I managed to incorporate the velvet shoes into my own idea, we pay for our finds and walk the few blocks to the bar where we’d planned to have a drink. On our way, we catch up on each other’s lives. Her frustration with her advisor Jim, who keeps forgetting to send in a recommendation letter for her fellowship application. My annoyance with Greta for piling more responsibilities on my plate after someone else in our department quit. Her excitement over finally getting a chance to listen to the new Neil Young album. The stray cat that I’ve been seeing in our building parking lot, who looks ready to have her kittens and who I’ve been leaving food out for. Where we’d actually go on a road trip, not just to Portland to visit Patch but throughout the whole West. It’s a steady, comforting rhythm that’s rudely interrupted by a sleazy guy about our age who’s already three sheets to the wind when he catches up to us on the sidewalk as he walks the same direction.

“Damn, where are you fine ladies heading tonight?”

I have to try not to laugh as I watch the loathing seep out of Cora’s every pore. Half the fun of going out anywhere with her is watching her destroy buffoons like this one, who only seem to materialize when we don’t have our usual herd of guys in tow. But she’s in a quieter mood tonight, so I decide it’s my turn.

“Just out for a walk,” I respond in a neutral tone.

“And may I app..ccompany you?” he hiccups, I guess trying to seem gentlemanly but failing miserably.

“No thanks, it’s a girls’ night tonight, just want to spend time with my best friend,” I throw an arm around her shoulder because I could have sworn I just heard her growl.

He clucks his tongue. “Ahhh, I get it, I get it, that’s *hicc* that’s beautiful. I just,” he slurs, and at the sound of Cora grinding her teeth I have to look over and stifle a laugh so the asshole won’t notice, “I’m out here looking for the same thing as everybody, y’know? Just trying to find love, my girl, my one and only, my road dog…”

“Your road dog.” Cora repeats in monotone, no longer able to resist the temptation.

“Yeah!” the guy enthuses. “My road dog, you dig?”

“I do not.”

“Like, my best friend, my road dog, the one I wanna travel this wild and crazy life with *hicc*, you know how it is. Well, I don’t wanna bother you no more, you girls be good,” he gives us a sleepy grin and disappears around the corner while we continue straight.

“Calling a girl a dog is a special kind of pickup line fail,” Cora cackles.

“Points for originality though, I kinda love the whole road dog thing.”

“You do?” she shoots me a withering glare.

“Yeah!” I stop on the sidewalk and drop to one knee, holding her hand while she looks at me like I’ve totally lost it.

“Cora, my darling, my dream, would you… be my road dog?”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” We hold hands and skip the rest of the block.

***

Sunday October 28th, 1990

“Hey, Red, guess I missed you, uh… hi, it's Stone, obviously, what other rude motherfucker would call you at this hour? Anyway, uhm, I just… wanted to say hi, and fill you in on our New York happenings… oh, Kelly had a thrilling brush with the law today, it's a long and pointless story and I really wanna bore you with it if you're around. Call me, okay? The number here's… shit, hang on, what is it again?...”

Why does the sound of his stupid, rambling voice make me grin like such an idiot? It probably helps that no one’s watching, I guess. I wouldn't be caught dead smiling at Stone like this in person because I know I’d never hear the end of it. Someone has to keep him in line.

I grab a notepad while I listen to him look up the number in his room and read it to my machine. I didn't miss his call by much, it's not even 7:30 here yet, so I figure I have time to shower before I call him back. He’ll probably be up late anyway because of the time difference that he obviously forgot about. There's no reason to rush, and I’ve got the whole apartment to myself now.

But I’m rushing anyway.

After I shower and throw on whatever sweatpants and shirt are closest, I fold my legs up and sit on the couch with the phone, wiping away the occasional stray drip of water from my sopping wet hair, and dial the number he left. He answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Okay, bore me.”

I'm greeted by the laugh he makes when he's feeling particularly pleased with himself. “Hey Red, you got my message?”

“Obviously, idiot.”

“Hi to you too,” he sasses. “Jesus, where are your phone manners? I’d make a crack about you being raised in a barn, but in your case it's probably true and I wouldn't want to make you relive the trauma, so…”

“Ooh, etiquette lessons from the most obnoxious, sarcastic piece of shit I’ve ever met? Gee golly mister, sign me up.”

“I think my rates are a little steep for you, Red.”

“Oh really? What do you charge?”

“If you have to ask, you can't afford me.”

“I’ll cry myself to sleep tonight.”

“Is this you using your manners? Try again.”

“Hi, Stone.”

“Hi, Cora. Sorry to bug you so late, is this a good time?”

“I called you, man.”

“Fair.”

“And it's way later there than it is here, anyway.”

“Ah, fuck it, I’m still on Seattle time, this trip’s not long enough to adjust. Whatcha been up to?”

“Mostly studying for that exam I’ve got on Tuesday, but I needed a break, so I just got back from a run and got your message.”

“You know, I thought I could detect a rank, sweaty odor as soon as my phone rang…”

“Well either you should call your doctor about those olfactory hallucinations, or you should tell Jeff to throw those damn hats in the washer already. Anyway, it’s not me, I just showered.”

“Ah.”

He’s quiet for a beat, so I decide to prod him. “And what are you up to?”

“Nothin’. Being lazy in bed.”

“Aww, that’s kinda cute. Tell Jeff I said hi.”

“Jeff’s out with Kelly tonight, so it’s just me.”

I shift my position a little on the couch to distract myself from the odd little thrill that just shot down my spine.

“Just you, huh?”

“Yup, you got me all to yourself,” he jokes, pouring the seduction on thickly.

“You’re a pig, Stone, it’s not like I asked 'what are you wearing’ or some seedy shit.”

“T-shirt and boxers,” he says bluntly.

“I didn't ask! ...where the fuck are your pants, dude?”

“It’s almost midnight and I’m in bed, why the fuck would I be wearing pants? This is what I always sleep in.”

“Again, for the record, I did not ask.”

“Why, what do you wear to bed, a Victorian nightgown?”

“New subject, please.”

“Oh my God do you wear a nightgown??”

“NO!” I laugh, my cheeks reddening.

“Then what? You're not getting out of this without telling me, Red, I told you mine.”

“I DIDN'T ASK.”

“I'm gonna have to get a look at this nightgown when I get back, I feel like it's got to be fuckin’ awful if you're trying this hard to avoid telling me about it. Like, high neckline, ruffled hem, puffy sleeves…”

He sounds way too gleeful for me to believe he’s ever going to drop this, so I brace myself to rip off the band-aid. “Icantsleepinclothes,” I mutter.

“Excuse me? Didn't catch that.”

“I can't sleep in clothes. I go to bed naked.”

“Oh… oh.”

“Yeah.”

“No nightgown then.”

“Uh uh.”

“Well okay then.” He’s quiet for an excruciating pause, and then, “point of clarification, are you in bed now?”

“I am not, you pig. I am studying on my couch, fully clothed.”

“You're no fun,” he baits me.

“NEW TOPIC,” I shout, mostly just to drown out my own laughter to avoid encouraging him.

He fills me in on their trip so far, which has included a case of mistaken identity that landed poor Kelly in jail for a few hours while he and Jeff were occupied in meetings. Overall, though, the trip seems to be leading to a productive resolution with the old record label people. I forgot how much I love talking to him like this, aimlessly. Even when we lose the thread of the conversation and sit together in silence, it doesn’t feel weird, it just feels peaceful.

“I had a dream about you last night, you know.”

“Yeah? Good dream, I hope?” His words are innocuous enough, but I can hear his smile permeating his voice, that stupid challenging smirk.

“Ugh, not like that kind of dream, gross,” but I'm smiling too as I tangle my fingers in the phone cord. We're both talking in quieter voices all of a sudden, too, even though there's no one to overhear us and nothing of consequence being said.

“Oh yeah, disgusting. Absolutely revolting,” he cackles in that breathy, almost silent way he has when he thinks he's being utterly hilarious.

“You wanna hear about it or not?”

“Definitely.”

“Be nice, then. I should warn you, I have extremely weird dreams…”

“Ooh, a disclaimer,” he says in a scandalized tone, “now we're gettin’ to the fun stuff, lay it on me.”

“You're a pig.”

“Mmm, so you said.”

“I just mean like surreal, kind of psychedelic, but very vivid. Nothing’s straightforward in my dreams, ever.”

“I'm dying to know how you dreamed of psychedelic me, then.”

“Well, I guess it wasn't technically a dream about you…”

“Tease!”

I'm so stupid for blushing, ugh.

“Pain in the ass. You weren't really in it, you were just the first person I wanted to tell about it when I woke up.”

“...aww, really?”

“Really.”

“...Cora… that's so sweet…”

“Maybe you should reserve judgement until you hear it.”

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“Okay…” I take a deep breath and slump deeper into the couch, trying to figure out the best way to explain my weird little world to him. “So, the first thing to understand is that in the dream, the Earth isn't really a planet in outer space, okay, it's… it's a glass eyeball in a jar…”

“This is what made you think of me??”

“Damn it, man, have a little patience,” I laugh.

“Patience is my middle name,” he deadpans.

“Well, they can’t all be winners. Wait, what actually is your middle name?”

“Carpenter. You didn't know that?”

“No, asshole… wait, really? Stone Carpenter Gossard?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Your parents really went all in on a theme, huh? Respect.”

“Yeah, well, the hippie streak runs deep.”

“Clearly. I like it, though. Anyway, if you're such a know-it-all, what's my middle name?”

“It's, uh… fuck, I don't think you’ve ever told me.”

“Which means you have to guess!”

His groan of irritation gives way to a low little laugh. “Hmm… let me think…”

After a long pause, I’m pretty sure he's striking out. “Admit defeat, Stoner, you got nothing.”

“Give me a chance… okay, Cora… Cora…” Move along, nothing to see here, just Stone sighing my name, that doesn't affect me in the slightest, nope… “Cora Something Shaw…”

“Compelling, but incorrect.”

“You're impossible.” His grin broadcasts itself through the phone again. “Well, in order to suit you, it has to be something short and matter-of-fact… nothing flowery…”

“You're getting warmer.”

“...and you’re a good little Catholic girl,” ...nope, that doesn’t affect me in the slightest either, Jesus if you save me right now I promise I’ll believe in you again... “so it's probably some saint bullshit… Maria? Theresa? Anne? Joan?”

“Ha, colder. Except for the monosyllabic part.”

“Okay, I give, what is it?”

“You got closer than I’d like to admit, to your credit, but you forgot the hippie dad.”

“In my defense, I didn't know you had a hippie dad. This isn't the paterfamilias asshole, is it?”

“Nope. That's the stepdad. My actual dad is a whole other story.”

He’s quiet for a beat before speaking up in that same tender, vulnerable tone I heard for the first time at the cafe, when he’d asked if he could call. The tone I've been wanting to hear again ever since, against all my better judgement.

“I’d like to hear it sometime.”

“Hmm. Maybe when you get back. So, any last guesses?”

“I give. You got me.”

“Really? You're folding? That's damn disappointing, Stone.”

He chuckles. “If this is the worst way that I manage to disappoint you, we’re in good shape. What's your fucking name, huh?”

“Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes…”

“Hang on… monosyllabic… Lane? Cora Lane Shaw?”

“Ding ding! That's me!”

“Huh. It suits you. Very strange.”

“Hey, thanks,” I sass him.

“No, no, I mean it… like, I’m sure they couldn't have known when they named you, but it's the perfect song. The surface seems wholesome enough, but the closer you look, the more… ‘off' it seems, the more interesting and cryptic it gets…”

“I can deal with being interesting and cryptic.” I bite my lip in, which is stupid because there's no reason to hide how hard I’m smiling when I’m by myself.

“Well, good, because that's you. Speaking of which, back to eyeballs…”

“What? Oh, right… okay, so we're all living on this glass eyeball suspended in a jar, right, just sitting forgotten on a dusty shelf somewhere in a warehouse or something… and the jar is filled with some kind of gas, I guess that's our atmosphere, and stabilized by electromagnetic fields so the eyeball can float.”

“Right, okay…”

“Well, it was supposed to be a sterile environment, but something went wrong, or someone screwed up, I don't know, but something started growing on the eyeball. So all the life on Earth we’ve ever known… dinosaurs, trees, amoebas, dogs, cats, humans… that’s all we are, we’re all just eyeball fungus.”

He's silent for a long time, and I imagine his face looking the stupid smug way it always looks before he launches into a typical sarcastic takedown, but when he finally speaks again, his voice sounds so sincere, almost childlike.

“How do day and night work inside the jar?”

My smile splits so wide it's hurting my cheeks. “I... I don't remember. I’d have to go back in the dream and look it up.”

“You can do that??”

“Sure, I do it all the time… can't you?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Baby, I think our dreams are such entirely different animals, I couldn't begin to relate.”

I don't give a fuck whether he can relate, or about much of anything else, except wanting him to call me that again... “Well, uhm, you’ll have to tell me some of your dreams so I can be sure. I showed you mine…” holy shit, did I just say that?

“Hah. I don't have anything to offer on this scale of creativity. I don't even remember most of them, and the ones I do are just your typical, mundane, playing-a-show-in-your-underwear-type stress dreams, shit like that.”

And now I'm picturing him in his underwear for the second time tonight. Fantastic. Doesn't he know my subconscious don't need any outside help objectifying him lately? Focus! What were we talking about? Oh yeah...

“Anyway, one thing I do remember is that the stars are not real.”

“Oh, inside the jar? That makes sense. What are they, do we know?”

“It’s a scientist’s dream, of course we do. A long time ago, people got sick of having nothing to look at at night. So someone climbed up there and pasted a bunch of random stuff on the inside of the jar for the people-fungus to look at and dream about. But over time, the sticky stuff wears off, right? and the pictures fall down, and someone has to climb back up there and paste the ‘stars’ back into place. So, somewhere, there's a real Stairway to Heaven, just for that purpose: for the one person whose job it is to climb up and put the stars back up when they fall.”

The silence stretches on long enough that I fear we’ve been disconnected. “...Stone? You there?”

After what feels like an age, his voice drifts over the line, barely above a whisper.

“And this is what you woke up wanting to tell me?”

“Yeah… it's stupid, I know…”

“It's not stupid at all, it's… that's beautiful.”

“No, it's definitely stupid, all my dreams are. I just woke up and... you were the first person I thought of who might possibly understand.”

“...I love it, Cora.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Really.”

After another long pause, I ask, “You okay over there?”

“Yeah, never better. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“How your brain must work, if that's the normal dream output you're used to. It's gotta be pretty wild in there.”

“I mean, I think it's just nonsense most of the time, odds and ends that get mixed up from my waking life and jumbled into stories.”

“Yeah, but like, that's a pretty intricate story. And you remembered it! I'm jealous, I wish I remembered more of mine.”

“I guess the thing about being an artist is that all your creativity comes out when you're conscious, huh?”

“Mmm, maybe. So, uhm… tell me another one? Please?”

Damn him, when did he get so endearing? “I don't know, this exchange is feeling a little one-sided… I think maybe I need to limit you to one dream a day, especially if you don’t have any good ones for me.”

“Aww, come on.”

“Nope. Go to bed, call me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a new one for you.”

“I’ll settle for an old one, they're all new to me.”

“You’re getting greedy.”

“Oh, unabashedly,” he laughs. “Come on, just a short one? Maybe your dreams’ll rub off on me and I’ll have a better one to tell you tomorrow.”

“Uhm… well, there is this great one I’ve had several times --”

“Oh, god damn it,” he grumbles.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just forgot, I might not be able to call tomorrow night, we have a dinner thing. Fuck.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, well, hopefully anyway. If everything goes well tomorrow we were gonna go celebrate a bit. And if not, I guess drown our sorrows.”

“Aww, poor thing, getting wined and dined by record execs, what a terrible burden it is to be cool.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but this is pretty cool too.”

“What?”

“This. Just... having all kinds of time to sit and talk to you about nothing. Kinda like when you were in Alaska, remember?”

“Yeah,” I bite back another grin, stretching my legs out and savoring the softness of his voice. “It's almost like I like you best when you're three thousand miles away.”

“My band needs to make it big and start touring aggressively, then. Just think how likeable I’ll be from Australia.”

“Better yet, I oughta launch you to the moon, you’ll be irresistible.”

“There’s a thought,” he murmurs. “Want me to hang the stars back up while I'm up there? It's no trouble, it's on my way.”

“Yes, please.”

“You got it, baby.”

Silence is definitely the safest policy because I have no idea what might come out of my mouth in response to his sleepy, affectionate whisper. I decide instead to focus on restoring my breathing, which has gotten a little too fast, a little too uneven, like we’ve been running from something. Or towards something. I don't even know which way we're running. How did a phone call become so reckless?

Thankfully, Stone doesn't seem to have much to say either. His breathing comes more evenly over the phone than mine feels, so I try to follow along with it. Soon he starts to breathe deeper, and slower, and I wonder if maybe he's falling asleep. I open my mouth to ask if he's still there, but the image of him asleep in bed with the phone to his ear is so sweet that I can't bear to disturb him, although don't want to hang up on him either, because the thought of him waking up later to nothing but a dial tone is even worse. The textbook I was studying from earlier is still on the floor, so I decide to read a few pages, but it feels more like mindless word recognition when my mind's so far away.

Consider the case of an initial excess hydrostatic pore water that is constant with depth…

How is it that a person can feel such a potent mix of relief and anxiety at the same time? Relief, because even if we haven't come out and said it all yet, there's the feeling that we no longer have to. We both know where we stand. All of a sudden, there's this sense of security, out of nowhere on a quiet, sleepy phone call, which somehow feels so much more intimate than swapping dirty penguin jokes. Flirting can be pretty impersonal, almost war-like, where you're both trying to gain the upper hand. But it's not everyone you want to fall asleep with, wake up with, and tell all your dreams to.

...shows plots of the friction angle θ vs. plasticity index PI of several clays as compiled by…

And anxiety, because this is all going too far, too fast… like being trapped in a speeding car, except we’re both flooring the gas pedal, and no one is keeping their eyes on the road. What are we going to hit? Or whom? Someone's bound to get hurt. There's an undeniable violence to falling this quickly. So who's it going to be? Me? Him? Alex? Shit, Alex… how did I let this get so far away from me? Not like Alex seems to care how I spend my time anymore. Alex, who didn’t even come home Friday night, who stumbled in yesterday morning, hungover as shit, saying he’d fallen asleep at Brian’s place. I don’t even know who he is anymore...

... Comprehensive failure conditions or yield criteria were first developed for metals, rocks, and concrete…

“Ow, shit!”

“Cora? Wh-what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say around my finger, which I’ve got in my mouth to stop the bleeding. “just a paper cut.”

“Aww.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Mmm? I wasn't asleep. Is it bad?”

“Nah, just a flesh wound. You were awake all that time?”

“Well, maybe I dozed off a little…” his voice gets gravelly as he stretches himself out, making the image of him in bed even harder to resist. I don't want to hang up, it's pretty much the last thing I want right now, but I know it's essential that I do.

“I should let you go, you need to sleep.”

“I do not.”

“Go to bed, Stone.”

“Waaaay ahead of you,” he chuckles. “I'm awake, though, I’m good.”

“Go get some sleep.”

“Nooo,” he whines, “you were gonna tell me another dream! Please?”

His indignation makes me giggle. “Okay, just a short one. Or even better, what if I tell you just the first few minutes, and then you can dream about it tonight and we'll compare when you get home to see whose version is better?”

“I already told you, I don't remember my dreams.”

“I know, idiot, that's why I'm gonna loan you one of mine.”

“Okay, yeah,” he chuckles, sounding drowsier by the second, “hit me.”

“Okay, just, leave it the way you found it, okay? It's one of my favorites.”

“Promise.”

“Something tells me you'll like it too, there's ice cream involved.”

“Now we're talking.”

“Okay. There's this ice cream parlor, but it's not down here on Earth, it's floating up in space.”

“Are we still in the jar?”

“No, that's a totally different dream. Anyway, there’s air, you can breathe normally, but you're out in the night sky, among the stars. And the parlor is an old converted train car, still has all the old booths and the sliding windows and everything. And on the very back stoop, where the train car would have been connected to another one once upon a time, there's a rickety old wooden chair. Just one. It’s hot up there, so close to the sun, but there's a good solar breeze. You're sitting in the chair, leaning back, your feet up on the railing, eating an ice cream cone --”

“What flavor?” his voice is thick with sleep.

“Dealer’s choice. You're listening to the music on the radio, and watching the vastness of space, and that's where your dream starts.”

“Mmhmm, got it,” he murmurs. “Are you gonna be there?”

“No, dumbass, I’m lending it to you, I’ll be in another one.”

“We’ll see about that. G'night.”

“Goodnight, Stone.”

With reluctance I hang up, set my work down in a haphazard pile on the floor and stretch out on the couch, staring at the ceiling with no intention of falling asleep. Why do I miss him so much already?

***

Her voice is still sounding my name in my ears as I drift down further and further, or is it up, higher and higher? until another sound replaces it, followed by another, and another, as I acquaint myself with my new surroundings. The creaking of the chair underneath me. The drip of ice cream in my lap, prompting me to hold the melting cone out to the side where it drips onto the floor instead, sizzling as it lands. Elton John’s Rocket Man playing through crackly speakers. The gentle rocking of the train car, like a boat on idle water. I take a taste of the ice cream. Blueberry. Weird. I like it. Why’s it so hot up here?

As if to answer, the roar of the sun’s fire rises in my ears. It’s right there in front of me, how’d I miss it? I shield my eyes reflexively but end up whacking the bridge of my nose with the sunglasses I didn’t know I was wearing. Huh, I can stare right at it, they must be protecting my eyes somehow. Can’t say the same for the soles of my feet, which are gonna have blisters tomorrow from being propped up on the railing facing the sun. Time for a change. I balance the ice cream cone precariously between my knees and grab the railing on either side of me with sweaty hands, trying to rock the train car and steer it away from the sun. Inch by inch, the damn thing eventually lurches away from the blazing star, and now I’ve got a beautiful nebula to look at. Much better.

Swirls of gases, some purple, some orange, some red, some colors I don’t even understand, are entwining gracefully before me, shielding the stars with their dance. I crane my neck to keep watching it as the train car continues to gradually float around its central axis, turning me toward the blackness of space. One of the red plumes curls sinuously towards me, seeming to follow me, and I regret turning away from it... how do I stop this damn train from turning, shit, come back...

Grumbling in disappointment after I’ve lost sight of it, I frown at the vastness of space in front of me. The longer I stare, the less it seems like a dark vacuum filled with stars and the more it seems like a thick blanket covering an immense light, which peeks out through holes in the fabric. As the train car finally turns fully opposite the sun, the blanket of space folds in on itself, clothing a figure, and suddenly the stars are freckles and the nebula swirls back into view as a cascade of red hair, and Cora’s smiling enigmatically at me as I watch her step onto the train. I don’t dare make a sound as she climbs into my lap, nuzzling my neck and tugging at my shirt… I’ve never been seduced by a space goddess before, I’m not sure of the etiquette, should I say hi? Before I can think of something witty to say, a solar flare blinds me.

“Oh hey man, sorry, didn’t know you were asleep,” Jeff says, switching off the hotel room light he’d just turned on.

#i hope you like it... kinda one of my favorites #i like the weird ones #chapter 16 #behind the sun #fanfiction #fanfic #stone gossard #jeff ament #pearl jam

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