#crawling back into my cave see you when the new season drops

[temunade]

ok this is all i got sorry

[fountainpenguin]

"Now you've used up all your luck! It's time to get what you deserve! I'm holding out for karma..." (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 19 - “Extinguish (Cleo, Grian, Bdubs)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Cleo and Tango take off with Jimmy and his super nice friends hard on their heels. Grian and BigB talk about 100-day courtship customs as they debate whether it's time to go their separate ways. Also, Impulse and Bdubs discuss feelings in the rain or something, idk.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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ZombieCleo - Salmon

Quarry: MumboJumbo

Hunter: Renthedog

Allegiance: Lush Cave Alliance

💚 💛 ❤️

Stumbling down the pokey-hole passageways, shoving feet in boots, is far from the way Cleo wanted to be spending Truce Night. Running's hell when you're a partial fish person with webbed toes, actually. She's got a newfound respect for however Scott pulled it off in Limited Life.

Tango sprints ahead. He's the first to reach the end of the tunnel- he spins his pickaxe into his hand with a swirl of white light and starts hacking at a patch of coal. Cleo, cheeks all puffed, glances back. Water gushes across the floor. A bucket would've been nice. Tango's got all their buckets.

"Oh, we should've grabbed the water-"

There's no time for that now. A pillager with a loaded crossbow drops and fires another shot. Cleo slams flat against the wall. The bolt grazes past their cheek. Geez. She unsheathes her sword in a crackle of sparks. Their shield flashes to their other arm. Tango's behind them, yelling that he's carved a doorway they can crawl through. But, see… It's only one pillager.

That patrol doesn't see Jimmy as a threat. They see him as a captain. If they're player-managed instead of AI-led, that's gonna bite- Not many opportunities to get this close-

"I'm fine!" Cleo charges forward, sword arm reared behind her. Oh, it totally leaves her an open, gaping target, but that's what shields are for. The pillager doesn't even blink before launching another crossbow shot. The bolt thuds against wood. Cleo slashes down. The pillager flashes with the hit and Jimmy's shriek sets every scale down her tail bristling on end.

She goes in for the stab. A second blur plunges into the water and Cleo veers their attention, only to clash swords with Jimmy. The angle's awkward- backhanded on their part, actually. Jimmy's left-handed and he nailed the hit. Her sword goes flying. It clatters down the wall. Jimmy's eyes scream bright and violet in the dark. Her own green glow reflects off his clenched and hissing teeth. A second pillager drops down, thumping around the limited elbow room like a squash ball.

"Jimmy, stop playing- What are you doing? You can't" - (Duck, stumble backwards, shield struggling against the assault of a crossbow and a sword at the exact same time) - "Why are you here? Oh, you are so suspended from my class!" With a finger flutter, she summons her sword from the ground and back to her hand.

"Sorry, Cleo! I did break your beds!" Jimmy rears back, but instead of his sword, he kicks the heel of his boot directly down the center of her shield. Cleo staggers back again and barely gets it up in time to deflect two crossbow bolts in a row. Tango yells from down the hall, but from the sound of it, he's digging a tunnel. Wants them to join. Thank gods he didn't disappear down one of those side paths- I'd never find him in time.

"You're on purple! You can't do this!"

"I'm not, I'm not! It's them!" This time, Jimmy flips his sword and ominous banner to opposite hands. The banner's wrapped around a long pole of reddish jungle wood. He rears it behind his head and brings it slamming down like a blade. Cleo jerks back, feet skidding on wet stone. She smashes her shield against his skull. Jimmy yelps. The pillagers grunt, pressing closer to him. They look like baby birds on the prowl for warmth. Gods. A third drops from above and Tango yells again. One crossbow shot catches her on the shoulder. She's low- Oh, she's so friggin' low-

"TANGO!"

"I'm here!"

Right. Cleo shuffles backwards, fumbling through her absolutely meager food supply. She stocked up on half a dozen salmon in the river, but Ren and Bdubs were there and that's all she got. At least she took the liberty of cutting her meat in advance. She shoves two small chunks in her mouth. Jimmy…

Jimmy's blinking, clutching one hand against his left eye. He slumps against the wall. Cleo, with a breath, turns and sprints down the hall towards Tango. Boots slam and clunk on every step and her webbed toes pinch against the tip. Tango races towards her, yelling and holding up his shield.

"Eat! EAT!"

"Okay!"

Tango shoves past, taking the next pillager shot dead-on. Cleo hurries past him, scarfing down salmon, and ducks inside his tiny cave. Tango keeps pace as best he can, hustling backwards in a crouch. The pillagers flicker… then turn to look at Jimmy. Their bows hitch up. Jimmy's mouth drops down. Instantly, he's fumbling the banner between his hands again.

"No, no, no! I'm your captain, see? See?"

That's the last glimpse she catches before Tango slips inside the cave and Cleo blocks the whole behind him with rough cobble. There's no time for panting or even high-fives. As one unit, they turn and start mining their way through the dark. Cleo fills the path behind them and Tango digs down.

🖤 💛 ❤️

Grian - Enderman

Quarry: Smajor1995

Hunter: Smallishbeans

Allegiance: Jungle Duo

The lush cave's huge and multi-leveled. All the tunnels are damp and tangled (and smell like warm salt and rotting squid flesh), but Grian's determination never falters. Nope, nope, nope- not even once. This is his server now, and even the underground bows its neck to see its admin. He strides down every passage with his sword bouncing at his hip. The torch broils against his skin. It even leaves his gums dry through his cheek. Tsk…

At one point, he passes a tiny cave with nothing but a red-sheeted bed. No one's asleep beneath the sheets, though they're kicked to the side like they've been used. A moment's digging reveals no hidden chests in the walls or floor, so Grian kicks the bed until it pops into its dollhouse-sized duplicate, then pockets it in his inventory. Might as well. He moves on again. No way is he setting spawn down here considering where he's got his respawn flag at the moment. That would ruin everything. He'll sleep on the dang floor if he has to.

The sound of trickling water is ever-present down here, made worse by the rain up above ground. Grian uses that as a guideline, sinking deeper into the caves. BigB's still wrapped in blaze traits right now, and since he went to bed - Sweet dreams! - he's definitely outside the Nether. Apparently Tango and Pearl had their portal somewhere down here, and BigB's blaze instinct would be to escape the water…

Aha.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[kybercrystals94]

Scraped Knees

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 15|Prompt 15: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself.” | “I’m fine.”

Rating: G

Words: 739

Summary: Set directly after Season 1 Episode 3 “Replacements”

Omega waits until the ship falls almost entirely silent before she tries to sneak out of her new room. She practices the quiet footfalls she learned from following Hunter on Kamino, creeping down the dim hall to where she remembered Wrecker pointing out the med kit during his grand tour of the Marauder. Her knees burn where the fabric of her leggings rubs on the raw skin from where she fell following the Ordo Moon Dragon into its den.

After glancing up at the cockpit where Hunter has first watch, Omega carefully pulls the kit off the shelf and lifts the lid, setting it aside. She frowns as she stares into the messy array of medical supplies. Great. So much for being quiet, she thinks sourly. All she needs is bandages, and maybe some antibiotic ointment to prevent any infection. She begins her search, quickly finding bandages, but struggling to find the antibiotic. She is debating on how necessary the ointment is when a voice says above her, “What are you doing?”

Omega wishes she could deny the pathetic squeak of alarm that escapes her lungs before she clasps both hands over her mouth, dropping the bandages back into the chaos of the kit. Curses!

“Hunter,” she says, looking up at the Sargent. She isn’t sure if he meant to sneak up on her or not, but by the guilty look on his face, she suspects not. Omega scrambles to her feet. “Sorry. I just—sorry. Uhm…”

Hunter looks down at the med kit. “Are you hurt, kid?” he asks.

Omega’s cheeks burn with embarrassment, though she can’t decide if it’s more from being caught sneaking into the med kit or having to admit she’s hurt. Needing bandages for scraped up knees sounds so childish when compared to the injuries her brothers must’ve sustained over their lives as soldiers. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

Hunter gives her a look, and Omega can’t hold his gaze, averting her eyes to the shadows in the corner.

“Omega,” Hunter says gently but firmly, “in this squad, we do not hide injuries.”

“It’s not an injury,” Omega protests, “I just sorta scraped my knees up when I was crawling around in that cave on Ordo Moon. It’s nothing!”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Hunter says, picking up the med kit and nodding toward the cockpit.

Omega frowns, but follows Hunter, climbing into the copilot’s seat. She rolls up her leggings to expose the torn-up skin on her knees. Honestly, it looks and feels worse than it actually is, she knows; however, the expression on Hunter’s face when he kneels down in front of her to examine the damage for himself makes her eyes burn. He looks so…concerned. Over something so minor. Whenever something like this happened in the lab, Nala Se would tell Omega she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

“‘Mega,” he says softly, “You should have told us.”

Omega blinks, surprised by the nickname. She’s never had a nickname before…unless she counted being called kid…

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Omega says. She sniffs and roughly rubs a fist over her eyes to hide the tears that come.

Hunter smiles at her, a small thing that is barely noticeable, but she sees it. “It’s never a bother to take care of our own, Omega. You don’t know how many bloodied scrapes I’ve cleaned up and bandaged over the years, for all our brothers, and they’ve done the same for me. And you’re one of us now, right?”

Omega nods. She doesn’t trust her voice to come out without wobbling.

“That means,” Hunter continues, starting to rummage through the med kit, “when you get hurt, no matter how small you think it is, you’ll let one of us know, right?”

Omega nods again.

Hunter works with practiced ease, and with a gentleness Omega hadn’t entirely expected from a soldier. When he is finished, Omega rolls her leggings back into place while Hunter puts away the med kit. When he returns, Omega smiles at him. “Thank you, Hunter.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Hunter says, ruffling her hair. “You’d better get back to bed.”

“Yes, sir!” Omega slides out of the seat. She walks back to her gunner’s mount room feeling lighter.

As she curls back up under her blankets, hugging Lula close, she decides that having brothers is even better than she imagined it would be.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List✨

[parachutingkitten]

Pre season 3 was fine. Post season 6 is okay if you can ignore their past. Everything in-between is an absolute dumpster fire.

Like, first off Nya does not handle the break up in anything resembling a mature way. Jay should be furious with her. She made it clear he was essentially disposable. How do we not have a period of the show in which it's Nya who needs to regain Jay's trust.

Weirdly enough this seems to be a way for the writers to try and like... empower Nya? To prove she 'don't need to man'. But it kinda does the opposite when have her crawl back into a now toxic relationship a few seasons later.

Showing Jay Nya in the caves was a HUGE mistake, because it comes off as an excuse to justify his clingy possessive behavior. Giving him any reason to feel a kind of ownership of Nya was never gonna end well. (BTW, why is the Jay the only one who gets to see his significant other with him in the future, it's just so contrived)

And then when skybound hits this is all turned up to an eleven as he does some of the creepiest things you can do to try and win a girl back. When he finally sits down to talk to her and listen for once the show seems to think this is all it would take for their relationship to be okay again. Um... no?

By the way, having Nya want to have a say in her future is a perfectly great sentiment to have, but when the decision boils down to letting herself get kidnapped- it kind of counteracts any brownie points you would have gotten for briefly addressing the concerns of women.

They should need a LOT more healing time to be okay as a couple. The fact that this is all dropped as soon as the season is over is absolutely rediculous.

I want to like them. I really do. And if you turn your brain off and pretend the new seasons exist in a bubble it is very wholesome. But my goodness the plotline is by far the most regrettable thing in the show.

@legogeek33

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry II

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find a place to hide for the time being.

Note: Got this done quickly and was surprised with myself. Gearing up to go back to work tomorrow. I’ll try to catch up on responses after work and check in with y’all.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You didn’t stop running until the dawn. You didn’t head for the village as you knew that would be the first place the lord and his party would look. You kept to the forest despite the howls and the hoots of unseen creatures. You stopped to bury your cap and apron under an overturned trunk. If it was known that Barnes was searching out a servant, it would be better to be less obvious.

As the horizon turned to a soft amber, you found an overhang and nestled into the small nook. You turned your back to the bitter morning air and tried to sleep. If you kept going, you would only pass out in the open. Your slumber was shallow and fitful. You were stiff as you woke up just after noon and climbed out of the cranny.

You feasted on nuts and berries gathered along your clueless path, eating as the twigs and branches pulled at your skirts. You weren’t sure where you were or where you were going. You could be out of the county or you could be five minutes from the castle. For your luck, you could have just gone in circles.

The second night you found a cave and slept there instead of pressing on through the dark. You were itchy from a brush with poison ivy and your feet throbbed from the endless trek. You got a few hours under your eyelids before you emerged and carried on.

What were you doing? Where were you going? If you did manage to evade the wrathful lord, what then? Knock on the doors of another castle and barter an apron with your fingernails dirty and your face wind burned?

The third night saw your stomach squeezing painfully as you failed to catch a rabbit and drank from a river eagerly. You slept between two broken logs and woke to the sound of hooves. You didn’t move as you listened to the voices. None were familiar and the only prey they spoke of was some doe they sighted moments ago.

“Nolan spooked the creature just behind the hill, my lord, if we hook around the lea, we might catch it by the stream,” a man said.

“I’d rather the stag. He must be close,” a deeper timbre replied, “you and Nolan take your course and I’ll search these grounds for the mate. Whistle if you sight our game.”

“Yes, my lord,” the other responded and the horses cantered away.

You stayed as you were as you heard the remaining man dismount and tramp over the carpet of leaves. You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled away from the noise and kicked yourself out from between the logs. You kept on your knees as you crawled around the other side and headed for the nearest tree.

His footsteps softened and you kept on, hoping your dirty dress helped you blend into the wild. You pushed yourself behind a trunk and pressed your back to the bark. If you sprinted out, he might just think you another frightened creature. If he sought a stag, he would be uninterested.

You nodded and readied for your flight. You took a breath and yelped as suddenly a figure appeared before you.

“I thought I heard a rustle,” the man said as he looked down at you. He was a lord, you could tell by the pin at the nape of his cape, “you look to be lost, my lady.”

“My lord,” you stood and bowed your head, “I only wandered too far. I can find my way back.”

“Way back where?” his hands went to his hips, “you look as if you have been wandering for a time.”

“I only tumbled and mussed myself,” you lied, “my lord, my apologies, I did not realise this forest was noble land.”

“It is easy to break the threshold of the common lands and the noble sprawl. It would be quicker on horseback to reunite you with your home, would it not?”

“I am grateful for such generosity but I would be remiss to accept, I might go on my way and--”

“Where do you hail from, lady?” he squinted.

“The village over yonder,” you pointed away from him, “it was a game and I did go too far.”

“And the village you speak of? What is it’s name?” he asked.

“Ildersin,” you uttered, one of the three nearest villages to the castle you knew.

“Ildersin? That is far and beyond my holdings,” he tilted your head, “one cannot wander there in less than a day so I warn you now to be honest or I would have your tongue out with hot pincers.”

You gulped and looked away from him. He stepped closer and caught your wrist.

“I could chase you down easy on my horse’s back, trample you into the mud, so answer me now or I will take you to the stocks,” he snarled.

“My father,” you said, “my father, he does beat me and I waited until he was abed to leave but I lost the bundle I did prepare for the escape. You see, my spare clothing and my food… I only did want to be upon my own and toil for one who does not lash me.”

He breathed through his nostrils as his thumb brushed the stitching along your cuff. He dropped your arm and his jaw ticked. His blond lashes flicked and he considered you and the dirt as one.

“You seek work?” he asked, “and asylum from your violent father?”

“Yes, my lord, er,” you blinked innocently, “I know not where I’ve found myself but I would serve you loyal if you would keep me from the stocks.”

“You can hold a broom? Empty a pot?” he asked.

“I can,” you assured, “my lord.”

“You have good manners for a farm maid,” he mused, “I might find a place for you in my kitchens.”

“My lord? You might direct me to the nearest village so I might find labour there, instead, I would not presume to further tax--”

“My castle is big enough, another hand would be more help than a burden,” he stepped back and waved you around the tree, “I will accompany you back to my keep and return to fetch my men… you look to have been out here long enough.”

“Truly, my lord, I--” you saw his impatience in the vein along his forehead and bowed your head, “I am most grateful.”

“Let us be off or my men might be lost without me,” he said.

He lifted you onto his horse and climbed up behind you. You’d never been astride with a man against you, it was awkward and crowded. He snapped the reins and the horse fell into step. He steered it away from your hiding place.

“Might I ask where I am, my lord?” you ventured.

“This is Astrens,” his voice rumbled through you, “And I am its lord, Duke Steven Rogers.”

Your heart sank as you recognised his name and your mistake. He wasn’t easily known with his beard, newly grown since his last visit to the Lord Barnes’ hold. He was of the few who were granted company with the miserly lord of the castle but there was a chance yet he did not know you. You were after all, only a servant.

🏰

Lord Rogers handed you over to his steward. You were reassured as you were given a cap, apron, and a new dress. You washed out of a basin and reported for your new duties.

It might just be far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about Barnes. He never went far from his estate and Astrens was out of the way of the capital. Even if it didn’t work, it gave you time to plot a real departure.

You were sent to the laundries to sweat over boiling cauldrons as you stirred the linens with a large stick. The steams seeped through your clothing and left you out of breath as you wrung out the sheets. You hung them outside along the line and helped beat out the old woven rugs.

After nights in the forest, your first day felt far from a return to normalcy. You were in a new place, you had new duties, and you didn’t know anyone in the castle. You’d worked in Lord Barnes’ manor since his father was still alive and you were only a kid. It was only a few years before Barnes took over but you remember it being much easy to ingratiate yourself to the staff.

You were shuffled onto a feather mattress in the servants’ quarters with three others. The snoring, snorting, and coughing kept you awake and you missed the chirp of crickets and scratching of critters. You woke more tired than any night spent among the trees and went back to the laundries.

Your days took on this pattern, sleep, eat, work, and do it all over again. You were forgotten among the other servants and it really seemed like you might just be able to hide among them forever. 

Nearly a week into your time as Astrens and the castle blustered to a storm. All the drapes were to be taken down, beat, and washed, and all beds were to be stripped and redressed. Servants littered the corridors scrubbing, sweeping, and running from chamber to chamber. When you asked what the occasion was, the response was vague. Lord Rogers is hosting a guest.

You weren’t used to the rush. Visitors were rare at the other castle and rarely were they accommodated so wholly. If they had a place to rest their head and fill their stomach, Barnes felt they could not gripe. Even his greetings were not required on such an occasion.

You helped with the scourging and scouring of the linens and the drapes. You worked so hard you didn’t even have the energy to gulp down the lumpy stew allotted to the servants. You fell into the heap of your bedmates into dreams laced with your own snores. You dreamt of the forest and the sound of hooves.

Another early morning and the gears began to grind once more. Darcy sent you away from the laundries to help refresh the rushes in the entrance hall with several others. You scattered herbs over the grand carpet that displayed scenes of hunting through the seasons. 

You wondered if perhaps Rogers was to be betrothed at last, the news of his first wife’s passing had sent many into gossip even before she was buried. Or maybe the king would make progress to the ancient grounds of the historic castle. You let your mind wander as your body was led by habit.

You heard the rolling of the carriage and the clip clop of horses. You followed several other servants as the tall doors were opened and you peered out into the yard at the party. You backed away as Lord Rogers emerged from the archway that led to the spiraling stairs and crossed the carpet. You could hardly hide your curiosity as you reluctantly followed the other servants. It would be unseemly to remain as Rogers welcomed his guests.

“James!” Rogers’ voice boomed and you stopped just outside the chamber as you looked down the stairs that led to the servants quarters, “it has been too long.”

“It has,” Lord Barnes’ responded and your eyes went wide as Deandra hissed for you to go. You couldn’t move as you listened and she abandoned you with a flutter of her fingers, “you know my father only ever called me James.”

“Ah, Buck, I’m kidding,” Rogers chuckled, “it is a pleasure to have you drag yourself from your hermitage.”

“You would make me regret it already,” the other lord chirped, “but the king did request my presence at the tournament and he did not allow for refusal. I’d prefer to travel with a friend, my only friend.”

“Oh, the sentiment, Lord Barnes,” Rogers preened dryly.

“I don’t know if I should be able to wait to tussle until the tourney,” Barnes jibed, “oh, this old place, has it been so long?”

You shoved yourself away from the door and clamoured down the stairs. You nearly tumbled down the last few and caught yourself on the wall. You sidled past Agnes and towards the laundries. Harriet called after you as you passed and rushed out the doors past the muddy puddles of dirty water and hanging sheets.

The grass was slick beneath your shoes as you raced for the stables. You only needed to hide there for a time and sneak out before they closed the gates. You didn’t make it past the first stall before you heard the steel whine. You turned as Lester greeted you with the tip of his sword.

“The master has been searching for you,” the toothy guard smirked, “oh and what a reward I shall have for bringing him a prize of his own.”

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Hollow - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

[Gif isn’t mine]

Warning: Injury Recovery

Word Count: 4769

Originally posted on my AO3

His lessons in Oxenfurt have become afterimages; faint pictures and muffled sounds, none of which is sturdy enough for him to recall. But he can remember one thing a lecturing poet had said to them. They had been learning about sonnets, about the boring compositions of them and all of that technical nonsense. And Jaskier’s mind was still groggy and addled from a night spent drinking and lounging in another student’s bed. He had just enough wherewithal to grab what clothes he needed for the day and stumble his way down to the lecturing halls, still numbed and stumbling and squinting against the midday sun that was just so damn bright.

‘Tis a Fearful Thing to love what death can touch.

And Jaskier still wishes that he had thought of it. It’s a line that has stayed with him throughout the years that have trudged by. He’s generous with his love – he’s loved a lot of people in all different capacities. He’s loved some for a night, others for years. And then there’s Geralt; luring the kind of love out of him that hurts his heart when he’s with the Witcher and hurts when he isn’t; when he wakes in the soft light of morning to a dozing wolf in his bed, hair askew and all form of his usual frown eased from his brow, his chest tightens and his breath catches, and he reaches out to gently dust the backs of his fingers along the Witcher’s cheek, smiling delighted at the soft snuffling sort of noise that comes out of Geralt.

He loves Geralt so much, his heart might just burst. Where it all changed, he isn’t quite sure. Maybe it was in the cave of Dol Blathanna, hearing the Witcher speak with such reverence to the elves. Maybe it was out on the road where he broke half of his bread loaf to give to a struggling mother and her children, displaced from their home by warring factions to the south. Maybe it just came gradually, like seasons blurring into each other.

Days and nights spent on the road would surely kill them both. Monsters or wayward human bandits could take his Witcher while Jaskier’s heart might just give out from worry. Winters at Kaer Morhen were when he could let his shoulders drop and his breathing steady. A keep of Witchers kept monsters out of the mountain and the forests that wrap around it like a shroud. In those short days and long nights, he keeps his Witcher to his bed and cards his fingers through his hair, murmuring soft praise underneath his breath.

But he’s not a fool – no matter how many times Geralt tells him that he is. He knows what a Witcher’s life is like.

He’s in Oxenfurt when it happens. When word reaches him about the extent of Geralt’s injuries, he just about manages to slump into a waiting chair, rather than collapse on to the floor. The student who brought him the news, a shy teaching aide he’s worked with for the spring, quietly slips out of the room, gently clicking the door shut behind her. Jaskier’s hand trembles as he reaches out for a nearby goblet, knocking back the rest of the wine left inside. It does nothing to dull the sour feeling of panic wringing his throat.

He can’t get the Brokilon Forest quick enough.

Listen, he knows. He knows that Geralt is a Witcher. He’s going to get injured, or even killed. Jaskier has been there to stitch him back together for most of his scars. If Jaskier had any say in it at all, he would want death to come to Geralt when it’s quiet and he’s lived his life as much as he can; when Geralt would be asleep, curled around him, with years of life behind him. And Jaskier would follow, because there’s no life without Geralt.

The dryads that meet him at the outskirts of the forest are kind to him. Either they scent the slight scent of elven blood on him or they understand the panic in his eyes as he scans the forest floor for his Witcher. Eithnė leads him to a pool. Jaskier struggles not to catch his foot and stumble over every tree root breaching the ground, stretching out and entangling with others. Eithnė moves through the forest easily, as if the vines and branches part for her.

By the time they reach the ponds in the inner-most part of the forest, Jaskier’s heart struggles to jump out of his throat. His breath catches at the sight of the Witcher, swaddled between thick, moss-cushioned roots, caught in a deep sleep, but with mumbled nonsense slipping out of numbed lips. Jaskier staggers over to his side.

Eithnė stays away, regarding the two of them with an unreadable expression. “He came to us screaming,” she says levelly. “I’ve never known a Witcher to be in so much pain.”

Jaskier’s chest tightens. He flattens a hand along Geralt’s cheek, gently brushing his thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. His murmurings are slurred, nothing at all making sense. Even the words that Jaskier manages to catch mean nothing to him. Memories, maybe. Geralt mutters about towering walls and how they fall, at fire catching in the great hall and how there’s too many of them to hold back. He twitches underneath Jaskier’s touch. “Hush, my darling,” he whispers, “I’m here. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

It does nothing to quell the small frown knitting his eyebrows together. Geralt grunts and huffs out a breath. His eyes dart underneath his lids.

“The waters of our forest aren’t kind to a Witcher’s mind,” Eithnė says, her words managing to break through the rush of blood through Jaskier’s ears. “But they will heal what they can. Once he’s awake, you may go.”

He’s always been careful with how dryads phrase things. It’s a little known fact to be careful with how you speak to a creature of elven blood, and how it speaks to you. Physically, Geralt is healed. Deep injuries that shattered his knee and elbow welded back together again, as did the muscles and skin surrounding them. Apart from the scars that refuse to fade, one wouldn’t notice a thing. On that front, he can thank Eithnė that yes, the waters of her forest healed what they could.

But he’s not cured. The pain stayed. In the contracts taken after, travelling from town to town; in each battle faced because he just wants to protect Ciri from everything out to take her away from him; in the last few years where Geralt came into possession of a villa tucked away in the Toussaint valleys, the pain stayed and festered and crippled him.

When they settle in Toussaint, an estate gifted to Geralt for all he’s done for the kingdom and its people, Jaskier can at least think of somewhere safe he could corral the Witcher should the cramps come back.

On their travels, when they could wander past Nenneke’s temple, she gifted him glass vials and clay pots of all sorts of things; oils and salves to seep through the Witcher’s skin and try and work out the worst of the pain, should it flare up. With all the years that have drifted past, they’ve both learned what can set the pain off. Sometimes it’s random. Sometimes they’ll be strolling around the vineyards or through the streets of a neighbouring town, and it will flare up; a niggling pain at the back of his mind, poking and prodding at him to get his attention. The only thing Jaskier can do is get them both back to the villa as quickly as he can before bones groan and muscles seize.

Jaskier’s ears twitch at the sound of metal clattering to the ground. He pauses, his quill’s tip hovering over the page. Blots of ink fall, staining the paper, but he doesn’t care at all. The house is quiet, just for a moment, before Jaskier hears it. A grunt and a rumbling curse underneath the Witcher’s breath.

His quill and notebook are pushed to the side, entirely forgotten about, as soon as he stands from his desk. The villa itself is sprawling, with more land than they know what to do with. Grapevines occupy most of it, tended to by the staff living down in the main courtyard. The presence of staff, people who bow their heads slightly whenever he passes, and the paved cobblestones that wind through the estate, it all reminds him of home. But this place is nothing like Lettenhove. This place has love and warmth seeping out of the walls.

Jaskier’s office is upstairs, alongside his and Geralt’s bedroom, a guest’s room, and the Witcher’s own study. Jaskier doesn’t have to think about where the Witcher could be – he just follows the sound of grunting curses, all bitten off in an attempt to stay quiet.

He finds Geralt in his study, leaning against a dresser with his good arm braced on it. Two short swords sit sprawled on the ground, long forgotten about. Jaskier doesn’t bother with knocking on the wooden portal of the door. From how pinched the Witcher’s face is, how he’s curled in one himself and his weight is pressed down on one side, he knows exactly what’s wrong.

Winter can crawl in, even this far south. In a place scorched by the sun, where wine flows out of vineyards and the frosty, howling winds of Kaer Morhen are long forgotten about, the weather can still change. Nipping winds can tumble down from the mountains, chilling the valleys and those in them. And with the weather steadily changing in the past couple of weeks, Jaskier spent his days waiting for this to happen.

He clicks his tongue. “Come here,” he says, walking to the Witcher with one hand outstretched to set on his back.

Geralt can’t help the small flinch that darts through him, trying to get away from Jaskier’s touch. Some self-preservation that had been embedded into the Witcher’s bones; something Jaskier still can’t unravel even after decades spent together. He doesn’t think any badly of Geralt for it. He can only imagine the pain that scorches through him.

Geralt’s arm is bent at the elbow, curled in and nestled against his chest. It’s going to take a while to get it relaxed enough to pull away and straighten out. But they have all the time in the world now, nestled away in a place like Corvo Bianco. Jaskier glances down. Geralt’s knee fairs that bit better, though it’s still not great. Even though he can’t see anything, no kneecap swollen or muscles twitching, he can see how Geralt is loath to put any weight on the leg.

Jaskier gentles a hand on to the small of Geralt’s back. The muscle underneath his palm is taught and tight. “Geralt, my love,” he murmurs, “come with me. We’ll get you sorted.”

If he had more time, he might have moved them to their room. He could have peeled Geralt’s loose shirt off and discarded his boots and breeches and lain him down on their bed, and set about his work there. But Geralt’s study will have to do. A room with a desk and chair, bookcases lined with worn-leather tomes, and walls decorated with weapons long retired.

Geralt levels his breathing as much as he can. One golden eye meets his as he looks sideways. His jaw is tight, almost bulging, and he swallows and nods. Jaskier has spent years softening the edges of the Witcher, but being wrung through with pain will only bring back the wolf’s bite.

The desk is nearby, just a few short shuffling steps away. Jaskier nods to the chair. He doesn’t have to say anything, but the order is perched on the tip of his tongue. Sit.

Geralt sighs, knowing that trying to argue with the bard is pointless. Moving is slow and methodical. He drops with the chair with a pained huff, most of the groan swallowed back down as he tries to settle himself. Jaskier won’t touch him just yet, not until he’s relaxed somewhat. But with the ripple of pains tensing and straining through him, he isn’t quite sure how long the bard will wait until he sets his hands on him.

Jaskier leaves him for a moment, darting back to their room to gather a small leather-entombed box. Nenneke’s last gift to them before they dug roots into the estate. Everything they will ever need for Geralt’s pains is in here, alongside Nenneke’s own recipes for more should they run out. Everything is easily available; herbs that Jaskier has seen to growing in one of their gardens. Anything else, like extracts and oils, Yennefer had offered to fetch for them. Being only a portal’s call away, it’s handy. And though she’ll always have an air of being put out by the requests, asking her to halt whatever it is that she’s doing and go and fetch something for them, she’ll always do it.

When Jaskier steps back into the study, he’s met with the sight of Geralt trying, and failing, to pick apart the laces of his shirt. His bad arm is still curled against himself, and his other hand trembles with frustration and pain. The look spread across his face only shows his struggle.

Jaskier’s voice is nothing more than a gentle murmur. “Here,” he says, crossing the room in a matter of strides. He sets the box on the table and sets about deftly undoing the laces.

Geralt glances up. Jaskier stands close by him, with the bard standing in the gap of his spread legs. His fingers twitch. If his hand wasn’t doing such a wonderful job of bracing his own elbow to himself, he would reach out, curl an arm around Jaskier’s waist, and hold him close.

Jaskier arches an eyebrow at him, probably reading everything on the Witcher’s face. “Let’s get this off, hmm?” he rasps. Wrangling the shirt up and over himself takes longer than it should, and some small part of Geralt scoffs at how difficult something like disrobing himself has become. He snaps back at it, a low growl caught in his throat. With the shirt over his head, and his arm freed, Jaskier drops it on to the table. It’s forgotten about as soon as it’s out of sight.

Jaskier will deal with Geralt’s knee later. His elbow seems to be giving him the worst trouble. Nothing needs to be said. Sometimes they’ll talk – though it would be mostly Jaskier, rambling on like always about something or other. On other occasions, like now, silence will settle over them and stay.

Jaskier wets his hands with oil, eyeing where he’ll need to work first. Geralt’s arm is cradled against him, with his elbow and forearm already tight. He breathes for a moment, reaching up to dust his fingers over the round of Geralt’s shoulder. They’ve done this hundreds of times, out on the road and in their home. Geralt knows what to do. He still looks away, his interest caught by some small framed picture of Ciri perched on his desk.

When Jaskier smoothes his palms over Geralt’s muscle, he can feel the Witcher biting down on a groan of pain.

Nenneke gave them everything they could ever need. Pungent, sharp smelling lotions and oils and salves, all of them wrinkling Geralt’s nose. They sour the roof of Jaskier’s mouth, so he can only assume what an onslaught of scent it is to the Witcher. But they work, one way or another. He spends a few minutes slowly working the worst of the tension out of Geralt’s shoulder, just enough to try and pry his elbow away from his chest. Geralt focuses on his breathing, biting down on every whine of pain that threatens to slip out of his throat. It’s just the two of them here. If he wanted to show how cracked and vulnerable he’s become, he would. But the Witcher is a stubborn old bastard and will insist everything is absolutely fine.

Jaskier sets one hand to Geralt’s shoulder while his other catches his forearm, just underneath the point of his elbow. His muscles there are so tight already, trembling in Jaskier’s palm. He levels his breathing with Geralt’s, trying his best to ease the worst of the tension out of him. “I’m going to move it now,” he mumbles, “alright?”

Geralt’s jaw tightens. He nods.

It’s slow, and he doesn’t stretch Geralt’s arm further than it needs to go. But he needs it away from the Witcher’s chest to massage the pain out. Geralt’s breath hitches as Jaskier stretches his arm towards him. Geralt’s other hand, resting on the lacquered surface of his desk, curls into a white-knuckled fist.

Jaskier’s tongue sours. He hates his Witcher being in so much pain. He hates the fact that to ease it, he has to cause him pain. The sharp citrus scent of the oil doesn’t help, but he can already feel it warming underneath his palm. He’ll massage as much as he can out of Geralt’s arm before he brings him to bed.

When he’s pulled the arm away from Geralt’s chest, Jaskier’s hands move. One catches the back of Geralt’s upper arm while the other sets about spilling a sliver of more oil on to his forearm. He knows what to do. Nenneke took him aside and showed him everything she could about how muscles work. The bones themselves were shattered and beyond repair – until the dryads poured forest water on to him, at least. The bones knitted back together, as best as they knew how to, while muscles and skin tried to do the same. The dull ache always remained.

Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, like he always does whenever he’s about to touch the Witcher’s elbow. It’s painful and the sounds that wring out of Geralt’s throat are awful, but it needs to be done.

Geralt grunts, turning away again. Get on with it.

The worst of the tension sits along his upper forearm, where the muscle twitches and bulges in some attempt to keep the worst of the pressure away from his elbow. When Jaskier sets his oil-slickened fingers to the muscle, it tenses underneath him. Geralt’s breath hitches, but he bites down on whatever groan threatened to slip out of his lips. Jaskier glances up at him, frowning at how tightly the Witcher’s brows are pinched together. He hates this. He hates this so much.

Another apology mumbles out of him. It’s entirely lost on Geralt – the Witcher digs himself so far into his own mind, trying to distract himself and dull the pain. But Jaskier has made a habit of it. He apologises for every twinge of pain he causes Geralt in an effort to help him feel better.

His digs his fingers in.

Geralt grunts, sucking in a harsh breath.

Jaskier’s fingers smooth out where he dug in, working the muscles as firmly as he can in some effort to try and get them to relax. It used to take what seemed like hours. He would wince and almost cry at every sound of hurt that choked out of Geralt in those first few days at Nenneke’s tower. The priestess, normally so brash and brave with her words and quips with them both, only encouraged him to keep going. He can’t do this by himself, bard. He can still remember the warm tone she used with him; one that he probably would never hear again, and if he s much as mentioned her softness to him, she would cosh him silly.

Jaskier smoothes his palms up and down Geralt’s forearm. He’ll have to look at the Witcher’s knee at some point. Glancing down at it, he notes how Geralt hasn’t even bent the knee. His leg is splayed out straight in front of him. Jaskier clicks his tongue, but says nothing.

His work is quicker now. He knows what muscles and tendons cause the worst of the pain, and just how stubborn they can be. Pouring a trickle of more oil on to Geralt’s arm, Jaskier digs the heels of his hands into the muscle, working out the last irritating bit of tension.

Geralt’s breathing has levelled out. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye. The worst of his grunting and hitching breath has stopped, thank the gods. Tremors still rattle through him, but he’ll deal with them when he can.

Jaskier hums. “That’s most of it,” he mumbles, mindful of the quiet that has fallen over both of them. He grabs a dry strip of cloth and wipes most of the excess oil off of his hands.

A low rumbling sound slips out of Geralt’s chest. Before Jaskier can glance down, one good arm coils around his waist, drawing him close. Geralt’s head falls forward, his forehead pressed against the middle of Jaskier’s chest.

“Silly man,” the bard admonishes, a small smile tilting the corner of his lip. He bends down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head. He lingers, scenting the faint scent of himself on the Witcher. It’s hard to know where one of them ends and the other begins these days. They wake up and go to sleep entangled in each other, a mess of limbs that neither of them knows how to get out of. Even in the days, when they would pass each other out in the estate’s trails on walks or in their own home, shoulders brush and fingers hook together.

His chest tightens. One last kiss is pressed to Geralt’s head before the bard leans away, reaching to the desk to root through the box. He caps the vials, putting them away and taking a mental note of how much he has left. Maybe enough for two more bouts of pain, but that’s it. He’ll have to take a trip down to the gardens where he can gather more herbs.

He pats Geralt’s good shoulder. “Come on,” he says, “off to bed with you. For an hour, at least.”

Geralt peers up at him. The look the bard levels him with makes his point stand firm. I’m looking after you and you have no say in this whatsoever.

Not that Geralt would argue with the bard anyway. He gathers what he can of his breath.  

When he’s ready to move, he nods, sluggish and letting Jaskier help him up from the chair. His knee still twinges and a whorl of pain digs deeper. Jaskier threads Geralt’s good arm over his shoulder, bracing Geralt’s weight on him. “Let’s go,” he mumbles, guiding his Witcher back to their room. It’s not much of a journey. Though the estate sprawls out in all directions, seemingly reaching for the horizon, their house is small. Perched on the biggest hill, it catches the morning and evening sunlight. Glancing outside, Jaskier spots the sun. Some thick, rain-heavy clouds have rolled in from the neighbouring hills, but for the most part, midday sunlight still streams through, desperate to reach the valleys underneath.

Geralt hates wasting daylight. Jaskier could argue with him; he wasn’t going to be much help around the estate anyway with his pain flaring up. And even then, he’s sure that Barnabas and the other tenants would have glowered at him if he tried to set one foot into the vineyard. Either way, Geralt is going to rest.

The Witcher perches at the edge of their bed, huffing out a sharp breath. He reaches out, catching the bottom of Jaskier’s shirt with his good hand. He tugs the bard over. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling Jaskier until he’s gathered against Geralt again.

Jaskier huffs a short laugh, curling his arms around Geralt’s neck. He’s mindful of the man’s shoulder, giving it as wide of a berth as he can while he’s ensnared. Geralt hugs him to him for a short, quiet moment, letting their breathing and heartbeat match. The quieter moments are Jaskier’s favourites. He can recall most of the nights spent in rowdy taverns, luring smiles out of his Witcher while he leads a chorus of crowing singing, or lain out underneath the stars, huffing short laughs at Geralt’s stories about the constellations, stories he remembered Vesemir telling him when he was a boy. But he’ll take every quiet and still moment he can get with Geralt; swaddled away from the world, gentled in his arms and where Geralt can actually relax.

The Witcher’s stretched out leg catches his eye. “Do you want me to see to your leg?” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s hair, kissing where he can.

“Elbow was worse,” Geralt grunts. Sleep starts to tug at him, luring him further down. He’s growing heavy in Jaskier’s arms. He helps the Witcher down on to the pillows. A collection of them are bundled up by the headboard of their bed; Jaskier grabs what he can and makes a support of sorts for Geralt’s arm. Geralt lets him work, keeping his gaze on the rafters above them.

And Jaskier knows what’s swirling around in that head of his.

Before it can fester, Jaskier cuts in. “You were injured,” he says lowly, mindful of the way sleep seems to be stalking in from the shadows, ready to pounce. “A terrible thing happened to you. But your life isn’t over.”

Whispers brush the shell of his ear.

I feel useless.

I can’t do anything anymore.

What’s the point?

You shouldn't have to coddle me.

I'm not made of glass.

Geralt is a stubborn old bastard. Jaskier has watched him clench his jaw and go out on hunts while they were still trekking through the wilds; taking contract after contract while his muscles and joints screech at him to stop. Even when adjustments were made to his armours, metal supports bound to his thigh and arm to stop the strain of swinging a sword around too much. He adjusted everything around the fact that he was hurt. His fighting style had to change. He couldn’t turn and weave through opponents like he used to. But he kept going.

Jaskier thins his lips. The argument already festered between them. It was a long time ago. He couldn’t stand aside and let Geralt’s own mind rip him apart. And while he’s better now, still frustrated but not as angry, he can stumble.

All Jaskier can do is lend support to get him back on his feet.

Geralt watches him, a small smile ghosting his lips. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his eyelids slipping closed. It’s a struggle to try and open them again, but before he can, Jaskier leans over and pecks a kiss to his forehead.

“Get some rest,” he mumbles against Geralt’s skin, palming a gentle hand over Geralt’s chest. Within seconds, the Witcher is gone – lured under by sleep. It’s a strange feeling, being left alone in the room once sleep has claimed the other man. But Jaskier catches the blankets and draws them over Geralt, mindful of his arm. He covers what he can, staving off the worst of the chill that will ultimately try its best to slip through the cracks in the walls. He’ll get B.B to see to the last of the upkeeps before the winds grow too harsh. Too many nights spent in Kaer Morhen’s halls, huddled with a Witcher under the sheets for warmth, have left him with a not so favourable impression of winter. Though maybe, being as far south as they are, the weather might be kinder. He hopes so.

Glancing up at the slumbering Witcher swaddled in a sea of blankets and furs and sheets, Jaskier's chest tightens. He loves Geralt. He loves him so much it hurts. He pads back over to his side of the bed, parting with a gentle kiss to the Witcher's forehead. Geralt barely twitches. Trying to pull himself away is agony. He could call on the staff to pick up his last remaining duties. They would be glad to help the master Witcher and Jaskier in any way that they can - something they keep telling the pair of them. But his mouth sours at the thought. It's midday, leaning more into the afternoon. Geralt will sleep for an hour, or however long he wants to, and then they'll have dinner. The house will be warmed by the hearths and all remnants of pain wringing through the Witcher will hopefully have been wrung away.

Jaskier's chest lightens at the thought.

[jupitermelichios]

What I’d change about Rise of Skywalker

To be clear, these are changes I’d make to the existing script, not what I would have written instead. We can all agree Sheev coming back was, at best, a bit dumb, I’m also fully aware that a lot of people disliked TLJ for a variety of reasons and wanted ros to retconn more stuff, but this is not an attempt to change any of that. I’m taking the basic structure of the movie and shifting stuff around to create something I think is tonally and thematically more in line with the overall trillogy.

Also i’m aware the extended universe is sort of canon-until-proven-otherwise at the moment but as far as i’m concered there was a DC style crisis and it’s now open season on worldbuilding elements

- Starting right at the very beginning, our opening crawl is now just about immortality being one of the secret sith powers Sheev kept hinting about in the prequels

- Our very first sequence in the movie is now a (short) montage of Sheev sending psychic messages to members of the First Order, telling them to join his secret sith club. It’s not just Kylo, this is a thing he’s just generally doing, Hux, Pryde, Kylo, random Storm Trooper number 7, they’re all getting this same message.

- Kylo buggers off to go murder Sheev, because Snoke never actually let him graduate (or whatever modern sith do) so he’s not actually a sith lord, but he’s like ah, new/old sith lord is in town, I go kill him and I get to take his title by right of conquest rule of one styley, and also take out a threat to my power base. Also in the one scene we see of him interacting with the first order it’s pretty clear he actually really fucking hates being in charge, so a mission to kill Sheev is looking super win-win

- The reason Exigor is sacred to the Sith now, the reason Palpatine’s able to communicate accross planets, and the reason he’s still alive (ish) are all the same - the planet “has a heart... oF KAIIIBURRRRRR!” (yes the line should be delivered exactly like that) that amplified force powers

- Instead of just being Ian McDermott in white facepaint, Sheev’s design draws heavily on Darth Nihilus or Darth Sion, his body is dead or maybe nonexistant depending on how gross they’re prepared to go. The point is, the answer to the question ‘how the fuck did he survive?’ should be essentially ‘he didn’t’; he’s a consiousness and a fuckton of willpower and not much else

- We establish a temple/cult in this universe that worships twin gods and are generally all about balance and shit coming in twos and they think force diads are sacred. I’m thinking someone at the temple has resistance information, and when Rey and Poe visit, Poe goes to talk to the contact while Rey meditates and sees Luke’s ghost who tells her how he and Leia came here together and about their belief system and how there are different ways of connecting to the force than just being a jedi, setting up the plot point of the diad, our theme of ‘the people we love are never really gone’, and also laying the groundwork for what’s going to be a second theme of building something new rather than repeating the mistakes of the past, by establishing the sith/jedi dichotomy isn’t the only possible path to take.

- Rose and Finn are bored and stuck on base while their friends are on this mission, so when they get a distress call from a minor First Order base they go off to investigate. They find Hux, who’s been ousted in a coup in favour of the First Order just straight up following Sheev after Kylo wondered off, who promises them information. At this base, Finn also sees some young storm trooper cadets.

- Back at the rebel base they all meet up and Hux (who they’ve taken prisoner) tells them about Sheev being back, which they didn’t know about because he’s only been speaking to bad guys.

- Leia is already dying, Rey is super upset about it and during an accidental mind share, Kylo finds out and tells her Sidious knows how to heal people by transferring life energy from one person to another. The healing thing is specifically a Sith power this go around. We get a moment pretty soon after during a mission where someone gets injured, probably Finn, and she figures out how to heal them based on the hints Kylo gave her

- Also this time Leia still isn’t a jedi but not because of a prophesy, it’s because she disagrees with their philosophy, which is going to be relevant later. We get a line to the effect that ‘Luke didn’t grow up surrounded by the legacy of the Jedi’s failings, I did’

- The weird knife thing isnt anymore, it’s just a hollicron now, and the whole bit with both Lando and Rey’s parents and the bonty hunter are removed to give us breathing room elsewhere, it’s just a more tradtional fetch quest now.

- In order to get the holicron translated, Poe’s like “you’re not going to like this, but I maybe know a guy from doing undercover missions”, and takes them to Black Sun to speak to Darth Maul, that’s right, Darth Maul is here now, and he helps them because his prosthetics are breaking down and Rose fixes them and saves his life. Also he’s pretty pissed at Sheev for getting him killed so he’s totally chill with them killing the guy.

- The Hollicron tells them that the last known map to Exigor was stored in the archives of the temple of Corisant.

- They go to the ruins of the temple, a place that is both nostaligic and also has actual character significance to kylo and ties into our theme of how the jedi and the sith are both a bit shit, and even though it makes more sense for it to have been cleaned up, it’s full of little baby skeletons from Anakin’s massacre, just for the drama of it

- Rey and Kylo fight, he taunts her again with the promise of healing Leia, but this time Rey uses their bond and her knowledge of how to talk to force ghosts to basically force Kylo’s third eye wide open so he’s hearing a hundred force ghosts all at one, stabs him while he’s distracted, heals him, and then she fucks off, leaving him to talk to the force ghost of Anakin, who tells him he’s a moron who’s falling for the same bullshit Sheev used on him

- Rey joins up with the others, but at the Rebel base Hux has managed to escape and shoots Leia (it’s dramatic and she dies saving someone but it’s not actually particularly plot relevant so imagine your own death scene of choice here), and obviously Rey feels it

- At this point the gang split up, Poe and Rose go back the the Rebels because they know they’ll be needed, Finn goes off to rescue the storm trooper kids he saw earlier (yeah I’m adding a subplot what’re you going to do about it), and Rey goes off to fight Palpatine

- In the temple, Leia appears to Kylo as a force ghost while he’s doing dramatic ‘i can’t go on’ kneeling pose and gives him a little pep talk and name drops the title

- Finn goes to the first order base, finds the kids, and the little ones are on board with escaping but then they run into some teenagers who actually have guns and it cuts away on a ‘will they turn him in?” cliffhanger

- Rey arrives in Sheev’s big cave thing, tries to fight him but he’s all ‘the jedi could not defeat me before, what makes you think they can now when you’re barely more than a padawan’ and force lightnings her a bit. They’re not related in this universe, he just wants to steal her lifeforce to heal himself more because she’s powerful

- Turns out that the First Order have been tracking Hux, so they know where the Rebel base is so there’s a big space battle going on, and the First Order don’t even have any fancy secret weapon but there’s a lot of them and there’s not enough Rebel ships left after TLJ. Poe’s up in the air flying even though he’s the boss now, and Rose is on the comms trying to contact allies

"This is the Rebellion, please. In the name of Leia Organa, we're calling you. Please, if there's anyone out there. For Leia Organa, for Luke Skywalker, for Amilyn Holdo, please…" and then when there's no response, in tears, she whispers, "For Rose Tico, please!"

There's a beat of silence, and then the radio crackles to life.

"Rose Tico calls for aid, and Black Sun will answer."

A moment later another, "Leia Organa calls for aid and Cloud City will answer."

and then a moment later, “The Rebellion calls for Aid and the Free Troopers will answer” and we cut to Finn in a stolen First Order ship full of the trooper cadets of all ages.

A makeshift amada joins the fight, same as in the original version, and rose and circular briad crown girl who’s also been trying to call for back up hug in celebration and have a very brief ‘oh wait maybe i’m into you’ moment

- Back on Exigor, Kylo arrives to find Rey on the floor, dying. He takes her hand and we see them as spirits, surrounded by the flickering memories of their lives, they’re seeing one another properly for the first time, and they ackoledge one another as twins via the force (personally i’d make them explicitly siblings, by force if not blood, here to carry on the proud star wars tradition of ambiguously incestuous twins, but that might not fly with disney execs in the the 21st century), and then he gives her his life force to heal her and his last words are a title drop again, mirroring what Leia said to him, because this movie is cheesy as hell

- "The power of the Jedi could have lived in you, as the power of the sith lives in me. But instead you threw it away, for what? For that pathetic little boy? He was no more a true sith than you are a true Jedi!"

"I don't need to be a Jedi. The force is with me, and I am with the force. You have the sith. I have all that was and is and will be!"

Behind her force ghosts begin to appear, but not just jedi. There is as many of the Skywalker clan as we can get (including some reused green screen footage of Carrie Fisher), and Rose's sister, and Han, and people visually implied to be Poe and Finn’s parents, and Holdo, and behind them hundreds of others. Basically if we can afford them, they’re cameoing here, alongside a load of extras. And last of all, standing beside her is Ben.They exchange a look, and then Rey strikes. Palatine tries to force lightning her but it doesn't work, and she presses her hands to his cloak, pulls the life force out if him. Thes a terrible screaming and we see glimpses of the other sith, before they dissipate and the robe falls to the ground.

And obviously the space battle also gets definitively won at the same time, this is movieland, I’m thinking Finn and Poe have to coordinate an attack that relies on Finn using the force is that vague ‘jedi’s are all amazing pilots’ way episodes 1 and 4 both used

Oh and then at the end they’re all celebrating back on the Rebel base, and Finn starts to hit on Rose and she’s like “I’m not the one you want to say that too, also you’re not my type” and smooches circular braid-crown girl who’s been in the background of all these movies with nothing to so

Finn joins Poe and Rey and they all hug in the same ambigiously-poly way they did in the original, and then Poe’s like “I’m sorry about Kylo” kind of awkward because he still hates the guy but he knows Rey doesn’t, and Rey’s like ‘I’m not, the people we love never really leave us’

and then the final scene, Rey is carrying Kylo’s lightsabre and lays Luke’s and Leia’s on the altar of the temple of the twins, and goes to ask the priests to tell her about their religion, with the implication that she’s starting to build her own new version of the jedi

(and if I was disney this would totally be the set up for a new animated series about Rey travelling around the galaxy meeting new weird alien cultures and learning about what cool force powers they have, and the knights of Ren can be the bad guys, and sometimes she’ll come and help Finn and Poe and Rose with trying to rebuild the galaxy. And then they have to take out Black Sun in season 2 and it’s all super dramatic because they were allies sort of and had cameos, and now rey and maul are forced to have super cool spider-legs lightsabre battles instead)

[get-lost-in-fanfiction]

LOST - Another Story

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hey guys! It’s finally summer for me so I can write a lot more, hopefully I can get chapters out faster! Enjoy White Rabbit!

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White Rabbit

I wake up to the sound of someone yelling for help. I must’ve fallen asleep on the beach and no one had the decency to put me back in my tent. I thought Sawyer might have, but I guess I was wrong. I quickly scramble to my feet, and glance down the beach to see Jack still asleep. I waste no time pulling my shoes and socks off as well as my outer shirt before running into the water. First I have to get Boone, then worry about the lady.

I swim as fast as I can, my arms and lungs burning. I was never a great swimmer and I’m beginning to wonder why the sudden savior complex. I dive under the water, looking frantically around for Boone. When I can’t, I swim up for air, gasping for a moment before diving back under. Hands pull my waist out of the water, I fight back until I see Jack dive under and pull Boone up with him.

“You okay, just take deep breaths now. Come on, just breathe, just breathe.” Jack says to Boone as he takes deep gasping breaths

“Did you get her?” Boone asks.

“What?”

“There was a woman—I was trying to—did you get her?”

“Jack I’ll get her!” I shout, trying to swim out farther. My heart, lungs, and limbs are screaming at me to go back to the beach.

“Amelia, no, leave her! I’ll go back, get Boone to the shore!”

“Jack!”

“No!!” He screams at me and I flinch. Boone is pushed into my direction as Jack swims farther. Boone and I swim to shore, and I can see Kate and Charlie running to the water to help us.

“Jack?” Kate asks us as we collapse into the sand.

“He’s still out there,” I gasp back. Fuck. That was such a mistake. I pull myself out of the sand as Boone hands me my shirt.

“Thanks for trying Amelia,” our hands brush as I take my shirt. I’m not attracted to Boone, but I can see he’s attracted to me. I didn’t know red-heads were his style. I feel bad for him, trying his hardest to get over Shannon when I know they’ll both die in the end.

“Yeah no problem..” I say as Boone, Kate, and Charlie trudge off. I angrily pull on my shirt, socks, and tie my shoes. Fuck Jack for helping, fuck myself for thinking I could do anything alone.

Back in my tent I rummage around in my bag for a hair tie. I pump my fist in the air when I finally find one and crawl out of my tent to put up my air. I changed out of my wet shirt and pants to shorts and a new shirt, and I can see Sawyer staring when I come out of my tent. Once I've put my hair up I turn to him with my hands on my hips. He holds up his hands in defeat when he notices my defensive stance.

“I might have to change your nickname to legs now, peaches,” he says with a smile.

“Oh I'm sure you'd love to, dimples,” I shoot back.

“That the only nickname you've got for me?”

“Well I hate to say it but I'm not as literate as you,” I saw with a shrug. I don’t hear Shannon walk up, but i do hear her voice behind me.

“Have you got it or what?” I whip around and I can hear Sawyee chuckle to himself.

“You're in my light, sticks,” He replies.

“Lightsticks? What the hell is that supposed to...?”

“Light, comma, sticks. As in those legs of yours,” He says with a cheeky grin and I shake my head.

“Unoriginal today aren’t we?”

“Well what can I say?” Sawyer grins and I shake my head. I can tell Shannon is looking between us, confused.

“Look, while I really love my new nickname, and I think it's really sweet…” Shannon finally says.

“Calm down. I got your damn stuff,” Sawyer cuts in.

“t'll keep off sand fleas?”

“You bet. Even has aloe.”

“How much?” I scoff to myself a little at her words. Shannon just glares at me.

“Your money's no good here.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Sawyer just smiles at her.

“If you really think I'm going to…” Shannon begins.

“Five grand,” I snort out loud and Shannon gives me a gross look.

“I thought you said my money was no good here.”

“I was negotiating. I can take an IOU. Something tells me you're good... for it.” Shannon just throws the bug dope at Sawyer and storms away. I chuckle to myself as she does.

“You’re out to have everyone on this Island hate you,” I shake my head fondly as I say it.

“Lucky I have you then, peaches.” He grins at me. I just shake my head and walk away.

“People just kind of took what they needed because we were supposed to be rescued, but we weren't,” I hear Hurley say. Oh fuck.

“Even if we divided it up, split the bottles in half it wouldn't be enough for 47 people,” Charlie adds.

“46. There are 46 of us now,” I butt in before Jack can. He looks at me oddly.

Hurley and Charlie make room for me in their circle before Hurley continues, “People find out this is all we have left, they're going to freak out, man.”

“The boar's running low until we can catch another one. What should we tell them?” Charlie says panicked. He glances at me. Charlie and I haven’t really been buddies, he probably heard the news and didn’t trust me.

“I don't know,” Jack says.

“Maybe we can make one of those water finding sticks,” Hurley suggests and I have to suppress a smile.

“What should we do with the stuff we've got?” Charlie asks hurriedly.

“I don't know,” Jack says again. He walks away and Charlie and Hurley follow with the suitcase of water. I walk slowly behind them to catch the conversation.

“We should put it in the tent, yeah?” Charlie suggests.

“MMaybe the dog can find water?” Hurley shoots back.

“Probably better if no one knows how little is left.”

“I mean, dogs can find pot and bombs, so I'm sure they can find water.”

“Don't tell the others we're running low. That way you can ration it. Then you can decide what…”

“I'm not deciding anything!” Jack shouts and I flinch a little

“Why not?” Hurley asks.

“Dude, give Jack a break. He’s tired and looking sick. Leave him alone.” I say loudly enough for them to all hear me. Jack looks surprised I’m sticking up for him.

Charlie and Hurley walk away and I sigh quietly in their direction. I rub my temples and stare critically at Jack. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, and the look he does have is filled with guilt.

“Amelia…” Jack starts, unable to look me in the eyes.

“Yeah I know Jack, it’s alright,” I say calmly, sticking my hands in my short pockets.

“I meant to come to you sooner but…”

“I understand.”

“How can you be so nice, show so much mercy?”

I sigh and look out towards the ocean before I reply, “Because I would want you, the camp, everyone, to do the same for me,” I look at Jack again, “Even if I know they wouldn't.”

“You're very wise, Amelia,” Jack says in awe.

“I had to grow up fast,” I shrug.

“I'll see you around Amelia.”

“Bye Jack.”

I turn to look at Clarie and Kate talk about hair brushes and zodiac signs. I smile to myself and turn to return to my tent when I hear a voice that makes me sigh, annoyed.

“Hey! Amelia!” It’s Boone.

I turn around to see him jogging up to me, looking in Jack’s direction, “Yeah Boone?”

“Have you talked to Jack about this morning?”

“No, I haven't,” I cross my arms other my chest, and pop my hip to the side.

“Well, I’m going to,” he says before taking off in the direction of Jack sitting in the sand. Oh Boone.

I realize now that White Rabbit is really a Jack-centric episode, meaning I don’t really have a lot to do. I can’t be bothered to go out and help find him dangling off a cliff in the jungle. I know he’s going to find the caves soon, so I need to make up my decision now if I’m going to the caves or not. To be honest I really don’t want to. I don’t want to be caught up with Ethan, nor do I want him to single me out because Ben knows something about me. I don’t want to be abducted or killed, so I think I’ll just stick it out on the beach for now. I realize I’m not making a great adventure for myself, but I am trying to play it safe. I want to last all of the seasons, running into the jungle where there is a very real possibility that I could be killed doesn’t sound fun. I am not protected by plot. Suddenly I hear Walt calling, “Hey! Hey!” and I am on my feet.

I quickly run over to where Claire was being taken to the infirmary tent. I skid to a stop, panting slightly to catch my breath while I assess the situation. Kate comes in behind me.

“What happened?” She says to no one in particular.

“She just dropped,” Charlie replies and I decide to step up, and take Kate’s lines.

“It must be the heat,” I hear myself say, “Is she breathing?” I know Kate is looking at me oddly.

“Yeah, I think,” Micheal replies to me.

“Come on. Let's get her inside,” I say.

“Wake up,” Charlie says gently to Claire and I push him aside as softly as I can.

“Claire? Claire, honey, wake up. Claire? Can you hear me, Claire. Come on,” I sigh to myself, “Wake up. Come on. Come on, please wake up. Come on. Claire, can you hear me? Alright…” I sigh again, in relief, when Claire wakes up. I knew it would happen, at least with Kate. I took a risk, and it paid off.

“Hmm?” Claire huns groggily.

“Hi. It's me. It's.. Amelia.”

“What?” Claire asks.

“You passed out. Just take it easy, okay?” I turn to Charlie, “She needs water.” Charlie leaves to look for the water, but Kate is still standing there. I think she is shocked. I mean I must’ve stolen the words right out of her mouth, and I can bet she doesn’t trust me as much anymore. Girl solidarity is diminishing.

“Don't move, okay?” I say to Claire, “I think you have a fever, but if you keep really still that's okay. It's okay, it's okay.”

“What the... The water's gone. Someone stole it!” Charlie exclaims. Suddenly Kate is pulling me out to the beach and I see Locke and Sayid gathering up as well.

“Where is the doctor?” Locke asks.

“I don't know. No one can find him,” Kate side glances at me, “Thankfully Amelia was around to help a bit, though.”

“Is this the last of the camp's water supply?” Sayid asks Kate and I look at the near empty case.

“Yeah,” I hear Kate answer.

“Keeping it all in one place, foolish.”

“I can go into the jungle, try to find some fresh water.”

“You're not going alone.”

“When the others find out the water's gone it's going to get ugly,” Locke begins, ��� And when they find out that someone pinched it, it's going to get uglier. I'll go. Camp needs you three here, you especially Amelia.  With the doctor gone you need to be our leader. And besides, I know where to look.” I stay quiet after Locke’s little speech. I didn’t want to be the leader but here I am. Of course I just had to be a doctor. The group dispersed and Locke pats my shoulder encouragingly.

I find myself standing around with Sayid and Kate. I feel weird, and too young. I don’t really remember how old the both of them are, but I know it’s enough that they can look down at me. I’m only 20 and I’m having to be the leader of the Losties until Jack eventually comes back. Soon enough Hurley comes running up to our little group.

“Uh, the Chinese people have water,” He says looking weird. And with that Sayid goes right off to Sun. I follow, worried.

“Where did you get this? Where did you get this?” Sayid begins to yell at Sun, “Where! Did! You!-“

“She doesn't understand you,” Kate butts in.

“She understands me,” Sayid spits back, “Did you steal this water?”

“죄송하지만 무슨 오해가 있는 것 같은데요. 그런 게 아니라…” Sun speaks quickly in Korean.

Suddenly Jin is running up to us, yelling, “떨어져, 이 새끼야. 내 와이프 한 번만 더 만지면 넌 죽어.” I don’t know what they’re saying but I know it’s not good. I also realize that I haven’t been interacting with Sun or Jin at all. I then resolve to tell Sun my secret, and I trust she will tell hers to me. A secret for a secret.

“Just take it easy, alright. We just want to talk, alright?” Kate begins, “This had water in it. Is it yours? Who gave you this?” She speaks calmly as Sayid fumes. Jin then points at Sawyer who's smoking a cigarette. Kate moves to go to him, but Sayid and I stop her.

“I don't see the water,” Sayid says.

“And?” Kate asks.

I decide to speak up again, “You go after him now, he'll give you nothing. But if you wait, a rat will always lead you to it's hole.” I’m quite the line stealer today. Kate nods in agreement and we dispurse to wait it out. We plan that I will confront Sawyer about it, since I know him best. I like the plan because I means I get another chance to talk with Sawyer. I haven’t done that recently.

Finally we can see Sawyer walking to his 'hole' and grabbing a pack of cigarettes. Kate nods at me and I quickly run up to him. At the last minute I decide to tackle him, bad move.

“Well, it's about time,” He chuckles at me.

“For what?” I ask.

“I made this birthday wish four years ago,” Sawyer says, “Although I didn’t picture you in mind when I made it.”

“Where's the water?” I ask and Sawyer flips me over so he's on top.

“That's better,” He says cheekily.

“Get off of me,” I scoff and suddenly Sayid arrives and drags Sawyer off of me.

“Give us the water, now.” Sayid says angrily. I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders protectively. Kate must’ve seen Sawyer and I’d interaction and wanted to protect me from him.

Sawyer shoves Sayid, “Touch me again, huh!” After a moment Kate let’s go of me and begins to look through Sawyer's stuff.

“You really think I stole your damn water?” Sawyer asks angrily.

“We know you gave two bottles to the Koreans,” Sayid answers.

“I don't give nothing to nobody.”

“It’s not here,” Kate announces.

“I traded Mr. Miyagi the last of my water for a fish he caught,” I laugh a little at the nickname, “We worked it out caveman style.”

“You gave him your last two bottles?” Kate asks.

“Water has no value, Freckles. It's gonna rain sooner or later. And hell, I'm an optimist.”

Sawyer gets something out of his suitcase as we begin to walk away. “Hey, you forgot something,” I turn and Sawyer throws me a badge, “Seeing as you're the new sheriff in town. Might as well make it official.” I roll my eyes and toss it back.

“Keep it dimples, I’m just filling in for the Doc.”

“Whatever you say blue-eyes.”

It’s nighttime before anything happens again. I know somewhere out there Jack is smashing the empty coffin of his father with a metal pipe. I also know that right in that area are the caves with the water to save us. I sit around a random fire close to my tent, and Sawyer is sitting there with me.

“So,” He begins, “Fillin’ in for El Jacko while he’s away huh?”

“Yeah, why?” I glance over at him across the fire.

“Nothin’ just wondering why you jumped me is all.”

“Well I thought that would be the best tactic,” I shrug at him.

“Awe well here I was thinking you wanted to have some fun.”

I roll my eyes and laugh a little, “In your dreams James.”

“Did you know that I didn’t have the water?” Sawyer suddenly asks very seriously.

Before I can answer Boone is discovered to be the thief of the water. Great timing Charlie. I glance at Sawyer before we both get up to see the commotion.

“Where'd he hide it?” Michael asks as we arrive.

“I don't know. This wanker had three bottles on him. Why'd you do it, pretty boy, eh?” Charlie spits angrily at Boone.

“It was just sitting in,” Boone begins, “it was just sitting in the tent, and Jack just took off.”

“Claire could've died!” Charlie shouts.

“I tried to give her some sooner, but it just got out of hand. No one would have understood.”

Suddenly Kate walks up and I can feel Sawyer move away from me, figures. “What is going on?” She asks.

“Someone had to take responsibility for it. It would have never lasted!” Boone shouts.

“Oh shut up!” Charlie mumbles. Then he pushes Boone and Sayid steps in to stop a fight. Then, Jack shows up.

“Leave him alone!” Jack shouts as he exits the jungle, ah yes. Live together, die alone time, “It's been six days and we're all still waiting. Waiting for someone to come. But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out. A woman died this morning just going for a swim and he tried to save her, and now you're about to crucify him? We can't do this. Every man for himself is not going to work. It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're going to survive here. Now, I found water. Fresh water, up in the valley. I'll take a group in at first light. If you don't wanna come then find another way to contribute. Last week most of us were strangers, but we're all here now. And god knows how long we're going to be here. But if we can't live together, we're going to die alone.”

After Jack’s speech, I look up at Sawyer and take a step back when I see him staring at me. I then glance around and everyone seems to be standing around feeling stupid. Then Charlie and Hurley start getting water for people, and our group disburses. But instead of walking away with me, Sawyer walks up to Boone. I quickly follow him just in case.

“So, how does it feel?” Sawyer asks Boone.

“How does what feel?” Boone answers.

“Taking my place at the top of everyone's most hated list. Sucks, don't it?” Then he walks away. Boone looks at me like a kicked puppy and I can't help but feel a bit of pity towards him. To be honest I never really understood Boone at this part, but who am I to judge. I like Sawyer after all. I turn to leave but Boone grabs my wrist.

“Amelia,” Boone begins to say, but I yank my arm out of his grasp.

“Not now Boone,” I say calmly.

“But-”

“Night Boone,” I call as I walk away. Sawyer is already at our fire. I catch a bit of Kate and Jack’s ending conversion.

“My father died. In Sydney,” Jack says.

“I'm sorry,” Kate replies.

“Yeah. I'm sorry, too.”

I don't acknowledge I heard them, if it were me I would want that to be somewhat private. I mean, I don't have a father either, but Jack is the leader. I walk up to Sawyer and sit in the same spot I was before. After a few moments, he speaks up.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“You know which one, blue eyes.”

I sigh, “Yeah, I knew you didn't steal the water.” I look over the fire and see a smug smile tugging at Sawyer’s lips. I laugh a bit, “What’s so funny?”

“Why is it you're always around me?” Sawyer asks.

“You’re the least annoying out of all of them,” I reply coolly.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you don't have a savior complex or want to run or anything that Jack or Kate have that’s a major flaw.”

“Sweetheart, I've got plenty o’ flaws.”

“I know, but I also know that you can change.”

“Is this some future stuff again?”

“Unfortunately, yes James.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” Sawyer says with a small chuckle.

“Like what?”

“Like you know me.”

“But I do know you.”

“Whatever you say blue eyes,” then he gets up and dusts himself off, “I’m goin’ to bed.” And with that, he leaves me alone at the fire.

“Night..” I reply quietly, knowing he can't hear me. I decide that the fire isn't going to be a major hazard if I leave it burning so I get up for bed as well. Most people had already, and I realize I'm probably the last. I take one more look at the glittering black ocean under the moonlight and then duck into my tent to try and get some rest.

LOST

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Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in updates!

[bonesofapoet]

Blood of the Holy

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: hey hi hello, if some of you recognize this format + writing style but not the blog, i used to share my work on my main @ladyofstardvst​ and caved on making a writing blog. yall dont need to sift through my non-writing shit just to find my work. i’ve never written for this nerd before but here we are with a study of a sort! be kind! i take requests now! tw for blood, implied violence, swearing

word count: 1894

ao3: here

Most people couldn’t stand the neon in the dark.

It was garishly bright, it was harsh, it was annoying at best. The sign would blink and linger behind your eyelids, stain the shadows in the dark like sunspots, make an impression that washed out the relaxing calm, the blanket of the night.

It keeps most people awake, Matt Murdock explained on that very first night. It doesn’t bother me, obviously. Take the bed. It’s not as noticeable in the bedroom.

But it didn’t bother you either. The contrast caught your eye on the second night; the colors would paint the monochromatic neutral tones of the apartment, how they would mix and melt into the chipped brick walls, the trim, the beams of the ceiling. How if you were in the right place – the right cushion on the couch, far enough back into the kitchen – it looked like a painting come alive right before your eyes. Something that would go on to live in a local indie gallery, something inspired by vaporwave, or whatever they were calling neon nostalgia these days.

Still. Silent. Chiaroscuro. Art in the wild.

It was like clockwork, the blinking. The colors coming and going at the first peek of evening shadow, only to blink right off at the first knock of the sun’s rays on the horizon.

After the third, fourth, tenth, twentieth nights it had become a comfort of sorts, namely for the days Matt Murdock wasn’t there to press you into the wall and kiss you senseless, or weave each other stories under the moonlight with a nest of blankets and concrete beneath you. When he wasn’t there to ghost his fingertips over your skin as you drifted off to sleep, so painfully content that you always wondered if this beautiful man with a devastating secret would be the end of you.

You never knew, but he often asked himself the same thing.

Then there were days that damned neon was the only constant about Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

Moments of lovesick peace would only last so long.

Your skin would crawl on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Mug of tea, coffee, something stronger cradled in your hands while your mind wandered, your feet wandered, your eyes drifted around this space of his, this little hideaway of yours. You would always hear him before you saw him, adrenaline spiked and oh so weary. Some nights he was covered in so much blood you didn’t know where it ended and his own crimson suit began.

“You’re still awake,” he would say, scowl tugging his mouth down, always sounding surprised. As if it was unusual, for you to be restless on the nights he donned devil horns to go hunting.

And you’re still alive, would be your reply.

He would stay close until dawn. You would gravitate toward him just the same, moths to flame, flowers to the sun. Conversations were hazy and hushed in the early morning-late night blur. They walked that fine fragile line between this is not okay, Matt, and you know you can’t shove me away as easily as everyone else, you stubborn ass.

Unspoken vs spoken. Horror vs love.

Clockwork, nonetheless.

Until one day, the clock shattered.

Matt Murdock doesn’t come home.

Then it’s days. Weeks slipped into months. Months slipped into a blend of minutes, moments, denial casually catching hold within as you found yourself still in his apartment – your little hideaway - watching the steady blink blink blink of the neon sign through the dirty, frosted window panes of the kitchen. Then the living room, then the kitchen counter. Cold tea, day old bitter coffee, something stronger untouched and unloved in the mug that hung loosely in your hands.

Those feelings of heartache and unease and an angry I fucking told you so lingered at the back of your mind, the tip of your tongue. The last time you saw him had been reenacted so many times, it began to feel like a dream. A nightmare. The flesh made into ghosts. Phantom lips brushed yours in such a gentle, such an urgent way that your pulse began to spike at the memory. The loss. The longing.

You thought about how you had gotten here, of all places, here – this apartment, this man’s life, both of you entwined with secrets and lies that could end both of you forever-

Everything was safer in the dark. What Matt Murdock hadn’t known – well. That wasn’t how he had met his end, after all.

It was almost too much to think about, on some occasions.

Until one day, when the clock began to tick once more.

You heard him before you saw him, the familiar cadence of his footsteps descended from above. The quiet slide of the roof access door snicked open and closed in the unholy hours of the night, the unholy hours of the morning.

The silence was new, however, and your eyes drifted up to see a shadow at the top of the staircase, frozen and tense and so very familiar.

“You’re still awake,” he said, and the tears were suddenly there; the ones that could never come, the ones that never seemed to leave. They were present, and the noise that left your throat wasn’t coherent, wasn’t normal, but a strangled laugh escaped your lips anyway.

“You’re still alive,” you replied. If not for the routine, your answer wouldn’t have been so intelligible. “You’re alive.” came the raspy whisper.

His silhouette nodded, began to limp down the stairs into the apartment proper. Began to finish his long journey back to you, back to everything, really. The mug in your hands was no more – placed safely, if not hastily – on the table, and you met him halfway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet and so very hesitant as he clawed off the scarf covering his eyes. “I’m alive.”

There’s the hint of a smile that catches in the neon blink, one that you dreamt of sometimes, on the long nights. Shared breaths, lovesick grins, stray tears being gently brushed away followed in a fog, in a rush, in slow motion that threatened to dismantle so many things about his time away.

And then -

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He’s holding your waist, fingertips splayed, grip firm if only to convince himself that finally – finally, he’s here, you’re here, you're together. Your own hands slid to his shoulders, but you stepped back to keep him a few inches away.

Your gaze was hot and strong and analytical – Matt could feel your eyes as they saw bruised skin, torn clothes, battered, bloody knuckles. He’s been in worse shape, both you and he knew that, but he also knew he was no drawing, no painting, nothing close to a work of art worthy of a museum either. There were bloody, violent masterpieces under guard at the Louvre more worthy than he.

Had he asked you, you would have disagreed.

He can’t see the sorrow drowning the color of your eyes or the way softness carved a home on your expression, carefully melting away the tension, the anger, the fear. He can’t see you, but he does and even after all this time he still knew how to read the air around your mood shifts and the lilt of your voice. Still knew that after all he’s put you through – he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, Atlas freed at last.

He may have lost touch with many things, many people, but not once had he ever lost you.

“I’m sorry,” he began, emotion becoming thicker in his voice with every breath, every word that tumbled past his lips. It had always unsettled him, how you could unearth what he tried to hide, tried to bury.

Moths to flame, flowers to the sun.

He condensed the happenings since the building collapse after his stint with the Defenders, his words spilling out quick and quiet, rushed and worried.

But if he hadn’t finished what he started, what was he doing here? What was he doing with you? Why now?

“Let me – let me get this straight. Were you going to let us think you died, until – when? You got your shit together? Killed Fisk?” his fingers tightened where they held you, unseeing eyes wandered anywhere and everywhere except right in front of him, right on you. You knew that look. Your voice softened. “Or were you just going to disappear? Like this meant nothing – like this means nothing? And as grateful as I am that you are – why are you here, Matt?”

He shook his head, ignored the cracks that broke open his heart like dropped glass. Your name spilled from his lips like a holy hymn that golden haloed angels could never hope to sing. No one could recreate the most divine sound in all of creation. Matt Murdock would always swear you were a goddess incarnate, no matter how sinfully blasphemous it was. “You mean everything.” he pulled you into him, moved so his face was close to yours.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after, and you deflated in an instant. The amount of times a variation of this conversation had been voiced between you – you would never know. It was like a renegade wildfire: possible to lessen, impossible to tame.

It was as quick as the changing of the seasons, how he took on the urgency you’ve only witnessed a handful of times - when he allowed you in the presence of Daredevil himself. You remembered what he asked of you lifetimes ago, between hushed words and bloody gauze, hands slick with red and a needle poised between your fingertips. How if danger ever came to your door, you would listen and you would trust, and you would let him do whatever it took to keep you safe.

To keep you both safe, you tried to correct. He would nod, and you would ignore that he never agreed to such a thing.

“We need to go,” was all he said, but you knew. You remembered.

The strongest jolt of fear slammed into you, bleeding a black and white, us and them mentality. It threatened to smother the blinking neon, the bright washes of blue and white felt muted, felt so very distant when you realized that someone was coming here, someone figured it out, figured it all out.

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you hoped for.

Us vs them.

“So it’s finally happening.”

Matt’s hands fell away from you, one slid to twine your hands together and squeezed. He was solid, he was grounding. You looked into his eyes. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he took his free hand, lifted it to brush your cheek with tattered knuckles, bruises blossomed like night blooming flowers. He left a trail of soft burning flames when he traced a path down to your jaw where he stopped and cupped your face ever so gently. “That’s the one promise I knew I’d never break.”

Fear melted away when you closed the distance to kiss him, felt that heavy soul twine with yours; all was suddenly right with the world for the first time in a long time, even if the anguish of this city was about to come crashing down on your shoulders all over again. It tore at your heart, this kiss, because it was so very reminiscent of the first time he ever kissed you. Bright eyes, flushed faces, the thrill of something new ignited all around you. The future painted with vivid neon instead of muted pastels. It felt bittersweet, and you knew down in the marrow of your bones that this could very well be the last thing you would ever share with Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “I trust you.”

Once those words were in the open, there was no going back.

Your secret could wait.

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 24

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because time to go back into a claustrophobic tunnel, oh boy!

Last times on book: On the way to Ha’rar after failing to retrieve the firca of Gyr the Song Teller from the Tomb of Relics (because it was broken), Kylan discovered that Tavra was a spider-imposter. He, Naia, and Amri managed to outsmart and trap angry Spider-Tavra and in the confrontation Kylan accidentally saved Tavra’s life by dream-stitching her mind into the spider’s body. So she’s a spider now but she’s being very chill about it. On her advice, the group returns to the Caves of Grot to try to save the Grottan from MILLIONS OF ANGRY SPIDERS and to try to create a new magical firca. Slight complication, the only way to get there in time is through a mostly flooded tunnel.

Chapter 24

The group travels through the harrowing Tide Pass, Kylan meets a Satirist

Amri finds the Tide Pass right as the morning sky is beginning to lighten. Kylan is sad because he wanted to be above ground to see a sunrise. Alas poor Kylan. When’s the last time these poor goobers got any sleep anyway?

Actually I feel like the sunrise/sets are pretty well documented. You could figure out exactly how much time this has all taken so far. I’d bet less than it has felt for the characters.

The group makes a decision to leave all their supplies and excess clothes outside the tunnel rather than make traveling in an underwater tunnel more difficult by adding in the possibility of getting tangled on something. He’s hesitant to leave Tavra’s pearl amulet or Raunip’s book but better safe than drowned.

Amri sniffs the tunnel draft to deduce some tunnel things. I guess he can do that.

“The tide will stay low for a few more days, and there are no currents here, so as long as we keep calm, there’s no danger of being washed away. I’ll lead. Naia should be at the rear in case of… Well, just in case. If we could walk it, the path would not take long, but crawling it will take longer. Remain calm, and your body will thank you for it.”

“Ready?” Naia asked. It was to the group, but specifically for Kylan. He took what he hoped would not be his last breath of open air.

“After you, Amri.”

The Tide Pass…. Is one of those places that drunk college students would keep drowning in until they had to put a metal fence over the entrance. There’s no bioluminescent plants or cave fish here so its so dark that Kylan might as well be blindfolded. The tunnel floor drops away so instead of walking, they have to propel themselves by handholds on the cave wall. The water is so high and ceiling so low at points that Kylan has to tilt his head up to breath, dunking his ears in the water. And also, Tavra makes matters worse by riding on his head and tickling him with her spider feets.

Hashtag, my friend turned into a spider problems.

Even with Naia occasionally touching his back to let him know she’s there, its really rough going.

AND GETTING ROUGHER!

They reach a section that’s entirely underwater!

Amri and Naia have to go ahead to scout to make sure there’s a clear way through, leaving Kylan alone in the dark with only a Tavra-spider for company. And he has to lie and says that's fine because there’s no real alternative!

Kylan is having a bad time.

But at least he has a Tavra-spider sitting on his head to talk to. That’s something.

“We are close. I can hear the voices of the other spiders. When Naia and Amri return, we will pass through this tunnel and enter the Sanctuary… but I fear we are too late to warn the Grottan that fled Domrak.”

=(

Oh and Tavra-spider’s voice is so small that Kylan feels like he’s basically just talking to his own conscience.

Tavra, ever the spider pragmatist, says that even if its too late to save the Grottan, they can still get a bell-bird bone and make a firca to warn everyone. That’d be a victory too. 

“This is the beginning of war with the Skeksis… Lives will be lost, and sacrifices made. To endure, we must focus on the greatest good.”

It’s an interesting take on the pragmatist, really. Tavra was the one that first brought up that they should return to help the Grottan so she’s not like ‘sometimes sacrifices have to be made’ type pragmatist. She’s just a realist. She’ll do whatever she can (which is less now) to save lives but will focus on the bigger picture. ‘We have to focus on the ends’ not ‘the ends justify the means.’

Probably why she’s just rolled with being a spider now. ‘Well this sucks but I gotta focus on the greatest good.’

Kylan couldn’t help but think Tavra was speaking to herself. Her brand of optimism was that of a seasoned soldier, a sort of bitter take on the constant bright hope Kylan had tried to commit himself to for so long. Even Naia’s optimism came from a place of wishing for the best; Tavra’s words, though not exactly comforting, were nonetheless realistic.

But she is optimistic about the firca, even while Kylan doubts. Since she’s a spider now she has spider-sense and she senses her spider senses are sensitive to sound. And since the spiders are close to the heart of Thra, if the bell-bird’s song can’t make them submit, she can’t think of anything that would.

SO! Good premise for the quest. Find the bone, toot on a flute, save the Grottan.

Kylan realizes that its been a while and Naia and Amri haven’t returned yet. He’s not sure whether they should have or not but the absence makes him nervous and he decides that if they got into  trouble, he has to go ahead through the terrifying underwater passage without their guidance. 

Because, I mean, if they did get into trouble, they’re never going to return to let him know that they did and he can’t backtrack out of the tunnel on his own. 

“Can you see in this dark?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you going after them?”

Her question was mostly neutral, though it had a hint of what Kylan hoped was pride, or respect, or something like that. He didn’t want to. Every nerve in his body was ringing in alarm and fear, but it didn’t matter. He was here, and if he was going to get out of this place, there was only one way to do it.

“Try to tell me if I’m about to die,” he said.

Tavra gave a very dry chuckle.

“I will do my best.”

Aww, frens.

Also, AAHHHHH UNDERWATER TUNNEL

Pros: there’s no branching paths so no chance of losing his way. And Tavra can stab him with her stabby spider feets to warn him when he’s nearing sharp rocks or sudden turns.

Cons: Its so dark that he can’t tell whether his eyes are open or shut. He bangs into rocks with his head a lot despite Tavra’s help. HE HAS TO DO IT IN ONE BREATH.

But he does do.

His lungs are burning by the end but Tavra spider pokes him to tell him to swim up toward a light and he finally finds air again.

Eesh tense tense tense. Do not like. Lets use another exit when its time to leave again. Surely there’s a tunnel that isn’t underwater or where you have to squeeze through a cave-in. Surely.

“Be careful,” Tavra hissed into his ear, in an even tinier voice than usual. “The enemy is all around us.”

Kylan can’t be careful initially because all he can do is gasp for breath.

But when he recovers… Ooof. I am once again warning arachnophobes.

... all around him, the rocks, walls, nooks, and crannies were coated in spiderwebs. Some of the webs were elegant, glistening like silver thread, while some were so thick and gauzy, they looked like fleece laid upon the rocks. Crawling on every surface of the cave and along every web were spiders of every shape, every size, and every color. Some had long thin legs like Tavra. Some were large, squat, and furry. Some were small, like blast dust, and others much larger. One spider, reclining on its hammock of netted webbing, had legs the size of Kylan’s arms.

=T

Well, that’s like. Out of one phobia frying pan and into the phobia fire.

But, hey, I was wrong. THERE ARE GIANT SPIDERS.

Although, I have to wonder if there’s even enough crawlies in these caves to support this kind of spider population. There were crawlies in the caves by previous descriptions but not like so many that they can support this kind of spider mass. I think the bats were eating them all. I guess the bigger spiders can eat the hollerbats and then the bug population will jump up.

Kylan is fretting about how he’ll get to the Sanctuary and where Naia and Amri are when he has to duck down into the water because a Skeksis in a black and red cloak and carrying a crystal topped staff comes striding into the room.

… skekSil?

“skekLi,” Tavra whispered in Kylan’s ear. “The Satirist… The Skeksis’ entertainer. Krychk’s master. Be careful!”

Oh. I guess the Chamberlain wouldn’t come out to a cave if he could help it.

And I guess a Satirist could be the opposite of a Storyteller?? Weird that the Skeksis’ favorite form of entertainment is speaking truth to power although maybe its more like the ‘don’t you get satire’ / ‘it was a joke’ style of “satire.”

I sort of imagine insult comedy is the Skeksis’ style.

Hm. I know that probably most people didn’t read the books vs the show and that all the Original Skeksis buzz was taken up by skekSa FOR GOOD REASON but I feel like I haven’t seen a lot of fanstuff about skekLi.

I mean, part of it could be that he’s showing up in person on page 212 out of 261. That’s not nothing but that’s not a lot of time to make a lasting impression. skekMal showed up pretty late in the book too but his menace was built up. He was Kylan’s motivation, he showed up in that story, Naia mistook the Archer for the Hunter. They have two separate encounters with skekMal in the woods AND one in the castle. Also, to be fair, he could lean on his show appearances too, at least for me. But skekLi is showing up as the man behind the man style villainy when it already felt like Spider-Tavra was the final boss. I hope he gets to do something memorable because I like having more interesting characters. And also something satire-based. You can’t just call a guy the Satirist and have him be a generic Skeksis.

Said Satirist spots Kylan hiding in the water, plunks a hand in the drink and just fishes him up.

“You!” he crowed again. “So you took the Spriton after all! We thought you would fail us. Yes, we did. But here we are.”

What was he saying? Took the Spriton?

He thinks you are the spider, Kylan answered himself.

What a hilarious mixup! What a hilarious, exploitable mixup!

For reasons of ‘no duh’ Kylan plays along and hopes Tavra-spider does too. In-character as Krychk, Kylan tries to subtly find out where Naia and Amri are.

The Skeksis set him down with surprising care, though the carnivorous sneer still cut beneath his pointed beak. He was thinner than the other Skeksis that Kylan had seen, with a long neck and sinewy fingers. On each finger he wore a ring, and each ring was connected with a web of silver chain, decorated with dangling charms. The same chain-and-charm decorations cascaded from a three-pointed fascinator, pinned to the Skeksis’ head with a pair of long narrow feathers.

OKAY whatever else, skekLi knows how to Aesthetic. Shame the illustrator didn’t include this rad hat on the picture a couple pages later. Or his finger bling.

skekLi tells Kylan-pretending-to-be-Krychk that the Grottan and the Drenchen are being kept in the Sanctuary, commenting that two Drenchen would have been better. Not naming any names, of course, but that was Krychk’s fault.

The Skeksis whirled, flourishing with his staff, and strutted out of the cavern.

Aesthetic.

Kylan immediately becomes spider paranoid because all of the spiders seem to be watching him and he frets that they know that he’s not Krychk.

He didn’t want to wait to find out, and pulled his chin up as he had seen Krychk do when in control of Tavra’s body. With a forced sense of self-importance, he marched after the Skeksis toward the Sanctuary, heart fluttering with worry at what he might find there.

My wild guess is that its going to be just a ruinous amount of spiders. I think its going to be an excess of spiders for the rest of the book. This is Kylan’s life now. Spiders.

[itty-bitty-dancer]

kiss prompt 39 with Richard madden pleasee, it’s been a rough day :/

Richard Madden x Reader

Prompt 39: Kissing tears from the other’s face.

Warnings: Death? Sorta.. not really / fake violence / crying / David Budd!Richard / emotional!Richard / actress!reader

Y/C/N— Your Characters Name

When the news broke that you and Richard, Hollywoods new favourite couple, would be acting side by side in the upcoming season of Bodyguard, fans and critics alike went wild.

And when it was further revealed that you would play eachothers love interests? Chaos.

Although, not nearly as chaotic as the filming process itself.

Neither you, nor Richard, were strangers to a good, soul-crushingingly painful death scene.

But that didn’t stop the pang in your chest when the day finally came around to film your characters demise.

And worse yet? Her partner— your partner, having to be there to helplessly bare witness.

>>

You were both a little nervous to film such an intense scene together. And with the addition of all the special effects makeup, it felt that much more real.

“Who is that incredibly handsome man?” You called out teasingly toward Richard as you walked onto set— your makeup now done, though nowhere near as harsh as his.

He giggled as he turned around to face you, his skin speckled with blood and a rather large gash across his cheek.

“You mean the one who looks like he’s just been flattened by a bulldozer?” He jokes, looking over his shoulder inquisitively before pointing to himself in question.

“That’s him.” Your confirmation earning a couple of giggles from the crew as you carefully pecked Rich on the cheek in greeting.

“Now, why is it that I have to look like I’ve just crawled out of a grave, but you walk out ready for a runway?” He spoke lowly, just to you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you in— the two of you sharing the quiet moment as you wait for the directors instructions.

You match his cheeky grin, huffing out an amused scoff at his flirting before patting him on the chest,

“All in due time, my dear.” Your words came across in jest, but both of you knew it wasn’t long now until you would be looking just as worse for wear.

He sighed, the nerves kicking in and his voice lowering as his plopped his head on your shoulder in defeat.

“I hate this.”

>>

You took a deep breath as you all got into place.

“Action!”

“Drop your weapon! It doesn’t have to be like this!” Richard opens the scene, prop gun raised toward the man who held the intern tight in his grasp—the barrel of his gun pressing into the frightened boys back.

“We can see what strings we can pull. Just- lets talk about it.” You tried, calling out over the sounds of the choppers outside— your own gun still raised.

“What, so you can shoot me?” The man scoffs, tightening his grip on the shaking office worker “I don’t think so.”

You sighed, slowly lowering your gun and praying you weren’t making a mistake. Placing it on the floor you raised your hands up in front of you with open palms.

“Agent Y/C/N.” David warned, using your professional title, his voice thick with concern.

“It’s okay.” You assured, not looking away from the gunman as you treaded carefully toward him.

“Nobody here wants to hurt you.” You began. “We’re here to help. Let me help.”

Reaching out for the intern, the man slowly released him— eyes that were once crazed now trained on you. He was hanging on your every word.

That was until the tact team stormed in.

The intrusion snapped the gunman back into his haze of fear and with barely enough time to push the intern out of the way and to the ground— gunfire rang out.

“No!” Came Davids pained cry.

You fell. Legs caving beneath you as you crumpled to the ground— hand gripping your stomach as the blood capsule beneath your shirt burst.

Quickly being ushered into his lap, you looked up to meet the frantic eyes of Richard. His gaze snapping between your face and the blood pooling at your stomach.

“The medics are right outside— they’re coming— you’re okay. You’re okay.” His voice was almost as shaky as the large, blood stained hand that covered yours, aiding you in putting pressure on your wound.

“David.” You were quiet. The name coming out as barely a mumble. His focus snapped up to your face and you watched the drop in his features when you began weighing your eyelids down.

“Stay awake, love.” He was crying now, pulling you closer to his body as the scene played out. “Keep your eyes open. You’re okay.”

A wary smile tugged at the corner of your lips as your eyes grew heavier—more unfocused.

“Love you.” You managed. He shook. Body trembling above you as you began to halt your movements.

“Don’t say that.” Tears fell onto your skin as he readjusted his grip on you. “Y/C/N, you can’t say that. Not now.”

Silence.

“Y/C/N.”

Nothing.

Brows furrowed and eyes remained unwavering as his tears momentarily halted. Fisting your shirt, he held his breath, relishing in the feel of his throat tightening and practically feeling his skin turn red before burying himself into your chest.

Not a sound left him as he clung to you— curling into your body and letting out silent cries of anguish as you lay limp in his hold.

“Cut!”

You wrapped your arms around Richard in an instant— sitting up further and noting the way he hadn’t let go of you.

The scene was more intense than you anticipated. The director shouted praise as the crew flitted about the set— everybody buzzing about how perfect it went.

It went without saying that it’d been nailed with that one take— Richards acting having blown everyone away.

But you knew better.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Hearing your voice elicited a soft whimper from the actor who all but pulled you in tighter at the sound— at the confirmation.

Running your fingers through his hair, you leaned back, getting a glimpse of his tear-filled eyes and feeling your heart ache at the sight.

Hands cupping his cheeks, you began peppering kisses all over his face— replacing tears with soft lips and soon; shaky breaths with deep, hesitant chuckles.

“God.” He groaned with an almost embarrassed smile after a few moments, finally recouping as he wiped roughly under his eyes before looking back to you. “That got a bit too real.”

All you could do was smile at him— knowing what was an incredible performance to the crew, was a home-hitting nightmare to him. You pressed another soft him, this time to his lips, before shooting him an understanding smile.

“Well,” you began airily. “I don’t think they’ll be needing a second take.”

He chuckled, lowering his head to your shoulder for a moment.

“What do you say we go get cleaned up?”

Looking up at you, he nodded. Rising to his feet and grabbing your hands to pull you up with him before slinging his arm back around you— taking a moment to appreciate having you so close.

[nikkzwrites]

Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 8

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count:  5.5k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Helge rode his bike home from school. The small boy heard the police siren and waited for a young Egon to drive past. The small boy followed the car to the build site where they had found two boys’ bodies there dead in the dirt pile. As Egon turned, Helge noticed he was going to be spotted. He turned and started to head home once more in 1953. 

Back in 1986, the older Jonas walked into Tannhaus’ shop. Tannhaus looked up and commented, “On time, like a clockwork.” Jonas walked and sat in the waiting chair for him. The clockmaker then asked, “Where were we?”

“The Einstein-Rosen Bridge,” Jonas said as if he had done this a million times before. 

Tannhaus nodded, “A passage between a black hole, the entry, and a white hole, the exit, which connects time and space. To pass through it, is to travel through time.”

In 2019, Ulrich tried to follow the older man, who was repeating ‘Tick-Tock’, down the tunnel. He slowly followed the path. Hesitant to be misled, Ulrich took it one step at a time. 

Tannhaus continued, “Our thinking is shaped by dualism. Entrance, exit. Black, white. Good, evil. Everything appears as opposite pairs. But that’s wrong.” The man drew a symbol on a piece of paper and showed it to Jonas, “Have you ever heard of the triquetra?”

“The trinity knot,” Jonas confirmed seeing the picture.

Tannhaus smiled, “Nothing is complete without a third dimension. There isn’t only up and down. There’s a center, too. I think Einstein and Rosen overlooked something. A wormhole connects not just two, but three different dimensions. Future, present, and the past.”

Ulrich, having reached the crossing, crawled inside. It tried to push him out. Like he didn’t belong there.

Just outside that connection in the cave, Helge just got home. He opened the door to his home to have his mother come down the stairs to berate him about being dirty. The timid boy tried to explain himself to no avail. She just ordered the boy to remove his clothes so that she could have it washed. Helge shrunk into his jacket as if he were a turtle trying to hide.

His mother pulled on his ear, “I told you to take off your clothes.”

Helge winced then started to strip out of his dirty clothes dropping them carelessly to the floor. He stood in front of her embarrassed to be seen in such a sight. His clothes felt like armor. Now there he was, without it.

His mother angrily huffed before demanding, “Stay here.” She turned and stormed up the stairs.

Bernd walked into his house to see his shy son standing in the entrance hall in just his underwear. He coughed and took off his hat to let Helge know he was behind him. Once his son turned to look at him, Bernd caressed Helge’s face, “Hello, my boy. What have you been getting into?”

Helge smiled happily at his father. He explained, “I was at the construction sight!”

“Oh that’s good,” the man said laughing.

Helge nodded, “They found something there.”

“What did they find,” Bernd asked, trying to ignore his cruel wife.

Greta stood annoyed, “He’s been creeping around again.”

Bernd ignored the comment with disdain and asked his son again, “Tell me, what did they find?”

“There were police everywhere at the construction site,” Helge started to explain again.

“Police,” Bernd asked.

Helge shook his head and clarified, “Two dead bodies. In the middle of the construction site.”

“What are you talking about,” Greta asked.

“They looked like kids,” Helge looked to both of his parents.

Bernd leaned down and whispered, “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Helge confirmed. 

Bernd looked up at his wife pleadingly hoping she would understand. He grabbed his hat and hurried out the door once more.

Once the door closed behind her soft hearted husband, Greta asked, “Are you lying?”

Helge shook his head scared. He trembled as his mother gave him new shorts to put on. She scolded him, “You’re late. The coins for Claudia are on the table.”

Ulrich emerged from the cave in 1953. He looked around confused. THe forest was so different. He ran trying to go find the old man he had been trying to follow.

“One, two, three,” Helge practiced as he rode his bike to their family’s small cabin out in the woods. His eyes were closed every time he counted, “One, two, three, four, five…” Once there, he grabbed a large stick and started to pretend that it was a rifle. Then he spotted it, the bunker. He walked over to it and opened the heavy door. It screeched having been lost to time with no oil. He walked inside and started to pretend he was making his rounds. He grabbed a pine cone off the shelf that he had carefully placed and threw it pretending it was a grenade. After tossing it, the boy ran for cover and hid behind the shelf in the fetal position. He spent a lot of time playing in the bunker. He looked to the side to see dates written in chalk on the walls.

“You write about Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence,” The older Jonas brought up to Tanhauss in 1986, “A universe that expands then collapses again. A universe that repeats itself endlessly.” Jonas placed the book on his desk.

Tannhaus smiled, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.” He grabbed the book and started to look through it, “There were only 500 copies in total.”

Jonas continued to question, “You write about the lunar-solar cycle, in which everything repeats itself every 33 years.”

Tannhaus nodded, “From a cosmic point of view, yes. Every 33 years, the cycle of the mood is synchronized with that of the sun. But the 33 is more than that. We encounter it everywhere. Jesus performed 33 miracles. There are 33 litanies of angels. Dante’s 33 cantos in purgatory, and 33 in paradise.”

“And it is the age at which the Antichrist begins his rule,” Jonas concurred.

In 1953, Noah stood outside the church. A sixteen year old boy walked towards him. “Noah,” he called.

Noah turned to the boy, he smiled, “David, where are you heading this fine morning?”

David shrugged, “Adam told me to come check up on you. Then I can do generally whatever I want. I’m leaving soon anyway.”

Noah nodded. He watched as the boy walked away, “Oh, David?”

David stopped, “Yeah?” He turned to the man. He looked at him with a small tilt in his head. Noah couldn’t help it but to laugh a bit. So much of David reminded him of his once friend. He was so natiive and quiet. Yet, he was like the sunrise in the morning. He filled the world with so much light and hope. Noah guessed he couldn’t help it though. David was practically raised by Adam since he was small. There were very few people he had seen Adam treat with sentimentality, David was one of that few. The aforementioned man had even given the boy his name when the young boy couldn’t remember it 12 years ago. All he could remember was his last name, Dahlheim. 

Noah chuckled, “Can you go get us some bread? I think we will be expecting a visitor soon. Also, don’t forget how important your part in all of this is.”

David rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything is connected and I have to make sure I do my part.” He sighed seeing Noah’s upset face at David’s dismissive attitude about everything, “Sure, I’ll go get us the bread. I have nothing better to do unless Adam suddenly decides he now wants me to do something here.” He forced his hands into his pockets and walked away with a light and airy whistling tune.

Noah watched the teenager walk away again. He knew that he couldn’t say much to reprimand the boy. He needed to have this rebellious streak in him so when they sent him to America to complete his part, he would be more charming to the girl he eventually were to marry there. 

The file of the dead boys splayed across Egon’s desk as he stood there smoking. He wondered to his captain what made people want to kill and hurt others. No matter how much he had been through and seen, he still didn’t understand such cruelty.

“Why someone becomes a murderer,” Daniel asked to make sure he had understood Egon right.

Egon nodded, “Yes. Are they born one or do you become one?”

“It would certainly make our work easier if we knew ahead of time,” David chuckled as he started to put out his cigar, “Lock them up while they’re still little. Before they get on the wrong track.” He laughed, “Why does someone become a murderer?” He walked out of Egon’s office to leave the man alone to contemplate.

Helge was just leaving the cabin when two older boys confronted him. 

“Hey weirdo,” One of them called out to him. He threw a rock towards his direction, “Why the big hurry?”

“Buying silk stockings for mommy,” the other one tormented. He commanded the other boy who had just then grabbed Helge, “See if there’s anything in his pockets.”

The large boy pushed Helge down easily and sat on him to hold him beneath him.

“Leave me alone,” Helge yelled.

The boy on top of him laughed, “Scream, no one will hear you.” He grabbed the money from his pockets then slapped the boy across the face. He stood up and backed away to allow the smaller older boy to stand in front of him.

“Don’t piss your pants,” he teased as he undid his fly, “Your old man’s got dough coming out of his ears.” He started to urinate on the poor little boy for a split second before being tackled down.

David, who had been passing through the woods right at that second, saw the two older boys tormenting Helge. His blood boiled. He howled in anger as he dove in head first into the other boy and just started to wail on him with his fists. “Pick on someone who can fight back, asshole,” He yelled as he hit. All of his anger and hatred of what happened to his family, his people, bubbled to the surface as an animalistic rage took over him. He didn’t even care that his clothes and fists were becoming bloodied and that his knuckles were going to scab over due to the scraps and force he was putting on them. His teeth barred. He was an unstoppable force for a while. No one could get to him through his anger.

Hearing another stick break, the bigger one of the bullies turned. “Someone else is coming,” He warned, punching David off so that the 16-year-old landed next to Helge and pulling the other boy away. David stayed on the ground only realizing how tired and hurt his arms actually were from his encounter. The adrenaline started to subside and bleed out of the boy as his red blood dripped onto the brown dirt below him.

The smaller boy looked to see Ulrich in the distance, “Let’s get out of here!” He ran assuming that Ulrich was either a guard for Helge or maybe even David’s dad. Hearing the commotion, Ulrich turned to see two boys on the ground as two larger boys ran away. He looked devastated at the two lying on the ground. He started to jog over to them as David helped the young boy up and started to help with the bike.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Ulrich called to them. David stopped and turned to look at the strange man. He started to study him. Helge put his bag back on his bike and looked up at Ulrich as well. With both of the boys attention he asked, “Did someone just come by here? An old man in pajamas?”

Both boys shook their heads at him confused. Blood dripped from David’s nose, mouth, and knuckles causing Ulrich to wince. He looked at poor Helge and could smell what must have happened. The two boys reminded him of himself and Mads when they were younger and alive. He turned to Helge and told him, “You have to defend yourself, or they’ll never stop.”

“But they’re stronger than me,” Helge complained.

Ulrich walked closer and whispered, “Then just bite them next time. You can’t always rely on your brother to save you. You have to be able to do that yourself.”

As Ulrich walked away, David shook his head, “I’m not his brother. Just someone passing by!” He gave up trying to talk to the strange man in costume and turned to Helge, “He is right though. What’s your name, kid?”

“Helge,” The boy replied, holding out a hand for David to shake, “Helge Doppler.”

David nodded and grasped the boy’s hand to give him a firm handshake, “David. David Dahlheim.” He smiled and asked, “Need an escort? I’ve got nowhere I got to be.”

Helge nodded and walked with the boy to Claudia’s. Helge listened as David told Helge the most amazing and awe inspiring stories. Helge watched as David told the stories with such skill and passion. His eyes lit up while talking. It made the younger boy feel safe and understood.

Tannhaus explained to Jonas in 1986, “Imagine you’re standing in an infinitely large, dark room, shining a light to the left. The beam should continue in the same direction forever. There’s no reason to assume that it could come back at you from the right. But a wormhole changes the topology of space-time. Bends it. Nothing is where it belongs anymore.”

Ulrich, in 1953, jogged trying to find the older Helge in vain. He looked around confused as a woman pulled her car up next to him. Agnes walked out of the car and walked up to him, “Hello, can you help me?” She explained, “Excuse me. We’re not from around here. I’m looking for Killinger Strasse 61.”

“That’s where I live,” Ulrich replied automatically, “It’s down the road and then to the right.”

Agnes smiled and asked, “Are you Egon Tiedemann?”

Insulted, Ulrich replied, “No.”

Agnes shook her head, “How rude of me. My name is Agnes Nielsen.” She walked over to her grandson and held out a hand to him, “And this is my son Tronte. We’re new in Winden.”

Ulrich’s face contorted in confusion. He squinted and looked towards the car.

“Tronte,” The boy’s mother called to him, “Come and say hello to the nice man.”

Ulrich took a step back as he saw Tronte and heard the boy greet him. This must have been a mistake and he was more injured going through the caves than he thought. He asked, “You’re Tronte Nielsen?”

Tronte nodded.

Ulrich continued, “And you are Agnes Nielsen?”

“Yes,” the woman replied simply.

Ulrich looked at the book he had taken from the older Helge’s room and decided that would probably be the best place to stop next.

Tannhaus continued to explain to the older Jonas, “Imagine traveling back in time and meeting your father. Before he had you. Would you have already changed things with this encounter? And is it even possible to change things? Or is time an eternal beast that can’t be defeated?”

“What do you think,” the older Jonas asked, “Can we change the course of events?” He was desperate. He needed to know if he could fix this.

Tannhaus shook his head, “Any scientist would tell you no. Causal determinism forbids it. But it is human nature to believe that we play a role in our own lives. That our actions can change things. All my life, I’ve dreamed of traveling through time to see what was and what will be.”

Jonas shook his head, “You don’t dream that anymore?”

“Dreams change,” Tannhaus answered, “Other things become more important. My place is not in the yesterday or tomorrow. Rather, it’s right here and now.”

Ulrich walked into the younger Tannhaus’s shop. The younger man walked to see Ulrich there and asked, “Can I help you? Are you looking for a watch?”

Ulrich looked down at the book then looked up to ask, “Are you H.G. Tannhaus?”

Younger Tannhaus nodded while taking a step back.

Ulrich then held out the book and asked, “This H.G. Tannhaus?”

He shook his head in response seeing the older picture of himself, “No, not the same guy then, right?”

Ulrich looked at him seriously and asked, “What year is it?”

“1953,” Tannhaus responded, “Stalin is dead. England has a Queen and Nanga Parbat has been conquered. 1953 as it lives and breathes, yes.”

Ulrich shook his head, “It’s not possible. Impossible.”

“The number 33,” Stranger Jonas in 1986 commented, “you write that it could be the time difference between the planes of a three dimensional wormhole.”

“That’s just a theory,” The man mumbled as he continued working, “But perhaps it could be the crux of the matter.”

Claudia played with her dog until she heard the doorbell. There at her door stood Helge with a handsome boy she had never properly met before. She looked down at Helge and said, “You’re late. I told you before to be on time.” She held out her hand for her payment

Helge lied, “Claudia, I forgot the money at home. I’ll bring it over later.”

Claudia sighed as she held her dog close, “Fine. Come in then after you introduce me to this fine gentleman.” She watched as David had turned to walk away putting on his cap.

“David,” Helge told the older boy, “I think she wants to meet you.”

David turned just enough to see her and turned back to Helge, “Well you’ve told her my name now, huh Bud? No reason I need to scare a cute girl like that with my messed up face and hands.”

“I can handle it,” Claudia pouted and stomped over to the boy. She turned him around to see a big coy smile on David’s face.

“Well then,” He took off his cap and playfully bowed, “David Dahlheim. It’s nice to meet you…” He trailed off waiting for her.

Claudia rolled her eyes. She did not like this boy’s attitude as if everyone loved him. She decided she had to be polite enough since she was the one who started this conversation in the first place, “Claudia Tiedermann. Nevermind about you. You get out of here before I tell my dad that you were the one who beats up poor Helge.” 

David chuckled and waved, “See you later Helge. Stay strong pal!” He turned and walked to the bread store whistling his happy tune knowing full well he was probably going to be stopped by some concerned mother.

A little later, Claudia and Helge sat at the table while he tried to do some math problems. Helge had such a hard time with school that it practically bored Claudia to death. Soon there were two people at the door. Doris smiled as Claudia came in. She introduced her daughter to the new tenants that were going to be living with them.

The Tannhaus in 1953 offered Ulrich some water and asked if Ulrich would like him to call a doctor. The man shook his head. Soon his store bells started to ring again. He turned to see Ines and Jana walk in. He shook his head. Those two were inseparable weren’t they?

“I’m here to pick up my Dad’s watch. Is it ready,” Ines asked.

Tannhaus pulled out his orders and started to look through them trying to find the one labeled Kahnwald. He smiled, “Here you go, Ines. Purrs like a kitten again.”

Ines leaned over the counter and asked, “Did you hear what the police found this morning?”

“No,” Tannhaus replied, “But, I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

Ines started to gossip, “Jana heard it in the teachers’ room. They found two dead bodies on Doppler’s construction site.”

Upon hearing his mother’s name, Ulrich leaned forward and whispered to himself. He continued to listen in now. He really felt as though his was vindication.

“Two little boys. They were abducted by aliens,” Ines continued, “For experiments.”

Ulrich hurried to the girl and turned her around to face him, “What did you just say?”

Ines stared at him terrified, “About the aliens?”

“No, about the boys,” Ulrich grit his teeth.

“The police found two dead boys this morning,” She explained.

Ulrich looked at the rest of the people before running out. He left his coat in Tannhaus’s Shop.

Tronte and Claudia walked through the woods together with Helge trailing behind. Part of the young boy wished that he had asked David to stay with him or something so that he could have someone to talk to while Claudia doe eyed at the new boy who just moved in. When they got to the caves, Tronte stopped and stared at it as if something was calling to him.

“These are our caves,” Claudia explained, “We’re not allowed to go in very far. But sometimes we do it anyway. As a dare, you know?”

Tronte asked, “A dare? Sure.”

Claudia turned to see Helge standing near them, “Shouldn’t you be heading home by now? And you still owe me a mark.” She watched as he nodded then ushered Tronte to walk with her, “Come on. Let’s keep going.” She wrapped her arm around his and whispered just loud enough for Helge to hear, “We’re rid of him.”

Helge became angry. He looked at the dog Gretchen and tossed a stick for her to go fetch into the caves. He stood there for a moment waiting for the small poodle to come back out of the cave, but it did not. Instead, Helge ran from responsibility as Claudia tried to call for her dog.

Ulrich argued with the officers inside of the station. He was just trying to find his son, he tried to plead with the other officers. Egon walked back into the station and asked, “What’s going on here?”

“The two boys you found this morning, what did they look like,” Ulrich asked the man, “Did one have brown hair? 11 years old?”

Egon asked, “Why do you want to know?”

“My son…” Ulrich explained, “My son disappeared. All I want to know is if one of the dead kids is mine.” He started to break down, “His name is Mikkel. He’s 11 years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He’s about this tall,” Ulrich gestured, “I have a picture.” He reached to grab it out of his jacket when he realised he had left his coat at the shop.

Egon dismissed the other two officers and replied, “No. One’s pretty dark, brown eyes. Foreign. The other a bit taller, bright red hair.”

“You’re sure there wasn’t a third,” Ulrich asked.

“Have you reported your son missing,” Egon asked.

Ulrich walked back to Egon and asked, “Do you know someone by the name Helge Doppler?”

“Bernd Doppler’s son?”

“No. Old, about 70.”

“The only old one is Bernd Doppler.”

Ulrich started to back up. He started to put all the pieces together. He ran downstairs trying to find Helge.

“But you…” The older Tannhaus talked to the bearded Jonas, “Why are you so fascinated with time?”

Jonas answered honestly, “I want to understand if I can change it. If everything has a purpose, and if so… who decides about this purpose? Coincidence? God? Or is it us? Are we actually free in our actions? Or is it all created anew, in an eternally recurring cycle? And we can only obey the laws of nature and are nothing but slaves of space and time.”

Egon walked into his house, finally off of his shift. Doris greeted him at the door and helped him strip out of his over coat. She whispered to him about the new tenants being there in their house. Doris brought him over to meet Agnes himself.

“Your wife has told me many things about you,” She smiled at Doris and looked back at the man, “You have a very nice home.”

“Thank you,” Doris blushed.

Egon studied Agnes and asked, “Did you arrive today?” When Agnes nodded, Egon then asked, “May I ask why you came to Winden of all places?”

Doris tried to scold him, “Stop questioning her!” She turned to the other woman and explained, “My husband is a policeman. He can’t help being curious.” Doris laughed.

“My grandmother is from Winden,” Agnes told him, “She always gushed about this town.”

Egon nodded, “May I ask what your grandmother’s name was?”

Right as if on cue, Claudia ran in exasperated, “Gretchen is gone! In the woods.” She doubled over panting with the leash in her hands, “She was there and then she was gone.”

Egon strolled over to his daughter, “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

Claudia took in a deep breath, “I was showing Tronte the woods, the path down into town. Gretchen was with us the whole time then she disappeared.”

As Claudia spoke, Doris started to look around worried. She felt as if something was off. “And where’s Helge,” she asked?

Claudia started to put together some pieces, “Maybe Gretchen is with Helge.”

Doris nodded, “Yes.”

Egon nodded, “That must be it.”

Doris gently touched his arm and asked, “Can you go and find out?”

Egon made a face then said, “I was going to see the Dopplers anyway.”

Doris stopped him before he left and said, “I invited Agnes and Tronte to dinner. Don’t be late again, Okay?”

Egon nodded and walked out of the house to go and try to find Gretchen for his beloved daughter.

“Time loops have a significant impact on the principle of causality,” Tannhaus lectured Jonas, “On the relationship of cause and effect. As long as a wormhole exists, there is a closed time loop. Inside it, everything is mutually dependent. The past doesn’t just influence the future. The future also influences the past. It’s like the question of the chicken or the egg. We can no longer say which of the two came first. Everything is interconnected.”

Ulrich snuck around the back of the Doppler house looking for the boy. Helge sat on a little stone monument in the backyard. He was admiring his collection of dead birds he had started collecting. Ulrich climbed down to meet with Helge.

The man asked the boy, “You’re Helge Doppler, aren’t you?”

Helge looked up at him, “Yeah, why?”

Ulrich pulled out the coin necklace and handed it to Helge, “Look at this.” Helge took it into his hand to study it. Ulrich sat down next to the boy and asked, “Have you ever seen that before?”

Helge shook his head, “No.” Ulrich swallowed hard. Was he really going to do what he thought he needed to do? Would he really go that far to save his own child? Helge looked up and asked him, “Did you find the man you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Ulrich said, staring straight into the boy as if he was a predator that just trapped it’s prey. Yet he still held remorse.

“You look sad,” Helge stated.

“What’s in your box,” Ulrich asked the boy. Helge grabbed the box, opened it, and showed it to Ulrich. The man winced then asked, “Did you kill them?” When Helge didn’t respond, he asked again, “Hey. I asked if you killed them.”

Helge shook his head then looked up at the sky, “They just fall from the sky. They just plop down. I just collect them. They’re so beautiful when they’re dead.”

Ulrich looked down at his hands trying to figure out how to phrase what he was thinking. He looked up and said, “But you will kill something. The two boys at the construction site. My brother. My son. Not now, but in the future.” Ulrich started to play with his hands. He mumbled to himself, “But I can change it, you know. I can change the past.” Getting scared, Helge started to try to get up to run back into his house. Ulrich quickly grabbed him. “If you don’t exist, all of this won’t happen.” He carried the boy back.

Helge bit Ulrich’s hand just like he had taught him and tried to scramble away from the large man, but Ulrich was quicker and grabbed his ankle. Helge then kicked him in the face and started to run out towards the bunker. Ulrich closed on his tail. The boy had just made it to the door when Ulrich grabbed him and threw him down. Helge tried to grab a rock to defend himself, but Ulrich quickly took it from him. The man’s face wrinkled in agony at what he was going to do. His stomach churned as he held the rock up and started to bring it down straight on the side of Helge’s head.

Upset with what he had done, he dropped the rock and stared at the lifeless boy. He stood up and looked around. That was when he spotted the perfect place to put him. The bunker. 

Egon waited for Greta down in the entrance way. When she came down, they discussed the matter at hand about his family’s missing dog. Greta was insistent that the dog was not in her house because animals were not allowed inside. Egon left without too much arguing knowing that he really didn’t want to be on that side of Greta’s wrath.

After this encounter though, Greta walked out calling for her son. He didn’t respond quickly which was a bit uncommon for the boy. Then she saw it. The box of dead birds.

Ulrich dragged the limb boy’s body down into the bunker and closed it up.

There was a new feeling in Winden. As if everything was just starting in their tiny home town. 

Years later, the bunker was actually converted into the make believe bunker Helge had once pretended it to be. The old woman stared at all the connected pictures of the major players in Winden. Their pictures all next to each other to show how they had ages and connected like a web all together. She stared, hoping  to figure out Adam’s moves and how to get herself out of this Apocalypse and knot.

“All our lives are connected,” Tannhaus told Jonas, “One fate bound to another. Every one of our deeds is merely a response to a previous deed. Cause and effect. Nothing but an endless dance. Everything is connected to everything else.” The man unfolded his arms, “But that’s just a theory. I can’t shake the feeling that you’re actually here about something else.”

Jonas chuckled, “What if I told you that everything in your book was true? That time travel is possible. Your theory on the formation of wormholes through gravitational impulses is not just theory. There is such a hole. Here in Winden.” Jonas paused before continuing, “I come from the future.” He walked to his bag and started to open it to give the man his time machine. “I traveled through the wormhole to 1986,” He explained. He opened up his time machine and showed it to Tannhaus.

The man responded, “Where...Where did you get that?”

“It’s broken,” Jonas responded, “You have to fix it.”

Tannhaus laughed, “I can’t do that.”

Jonas pointed to his initials, “Aren’t those your initials? You built it.”

“This device,” Tannhaus asked, “enables you to travel through time and space? It can create a wormhole?”

Jonas stated to clear up Tannhaus’s questions, “It opens a portal through which one can travel 33 years into the past and 33 years into the future.”

“And the wormhole you traveled through,” he asked, “Did that device create it?”

Jonas shook his head, “No. A few months ago an incident at the nuclear power plant released a blast of energy. But the device is able to repeat the same process.”

“And you want to create another wormhole,” Tannhaus asked.

Jonas shook his head again, “No, I want to destroy the one that exists.”

Tannhaus pointed to the door. “I want you to leave now,” he said.

Jonas stared at him confused, “This town is like a festering wound. And we’re all a part of it. But I can change it. Your device can change it.”

“Leave,” Tannhaus demanded, “Leave now.”

Jonas closed his suitcase, grabbed his bag, and started to respectfully leave. He turned to give the man one last message, “I’ve seen the future. I know what will happen. I have to set things right again and you have to help me.”

Tannhaus sighed after the man walked out. He slowly went to his own secret project and pulled it out. He stared at it. Remembering just when he first started to work on it.

The young Tannhaus walked to Ulrich’s jacket and picked it up. He placed it on his coat rack. He then checked it, finding a cellphone, a device completely new to him and this time. The man studied it carefully before getting startled by the noise and dropping it to reveal the picture of the Nielsen’s and Annalise there on his background.

Ulrich sat distressed in front of the bunker having no idea the repercussions his actions were going to have.

[ncityislove]

The Abandoned House On the Hill

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Warnings:Swearing

Genre: Halloween inspired, thriller?? not really scary tbh

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: This was supposed to be a part of a whole halloween series for the dreamies but school and work got in the way so I will be uploading them one at a time throught out the next month or so. T.T

"__, Donghyuck's here!" your mom calls out to you from down the stairs.

You momentarily stop painting your nails,"Send him up, please!"

Heavy foot steps echo from the stairway until they reached closer to your door, finally a familiar mop of fluffy brown hair popping into your doorway.

"Hey, friend." Donghyuck skips over to you and crushes you into a hug.

"Ah, hey! You're gonna mess up my nails!"

Donghyuck squishes his cheek against yours, cooing in the way one would at a baby or a puppy. You try to push him off of you but you were much weaker than him, giving up with a sigh, tilting your head over to finish painting your pinky nail.

Donghyuck, Hyuck for short, was one of your closest friends. When he moved into the house right next to yours last year you barely gave him a second glance, only thinking of him when your mom mentioned the movers blocking them in the driveway or the ample complaints of having to share a lawn from now on from your father. You had a few classes together but it wasn't until you noticed him struggling on a math test, sliding him a small crumpled paper with the answers, solidifying your friendship. After that day, the two of you were practically inseparable. If you weren't at his house after school he was at yours. You were together so often, your parents began to suspect you were secretly dating. You found it super awkward but Hyuck didn't mind the idea of you two being a couple. In fact, he didn't mind that idea at all. Your parents comments never made him as embarrassed and uncomfortable as it did to you. He would wrap his arm around you, smiling from ear to ear as he promised to take good care of you, chuckling along with your mom as you covered your face with your hands.

You blow at your nails, hoping they'll dry quickly; knowing Hyuck, they'd be completely ruined before they had the chance to set.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Hyuck asks and you frown.

"Huh? Ghosts...not really. Why?"

"Everyone keeps talking about that old house by the school."

"The one on Hill Crest Road?" you ask, remembering the ghost stories you were told in elementary school.

"That's the one," he releases his hold on you to flop down on your messy bed. "Wanna check it out?"

"Uh-uh, no way!" you shook your head violently, closing the cap of the polish you were holding. You should've known where this conversation was going when he brought up ghosts in the first place.

"Why not? You said you don't believe in them," he whines.

"It's not that I'm scared," you corrected, pointing a finger at him. "It's trespassing; we could get into serious trouble. Not to mention, that house was built in the early 1900s—it'll probably collapse if we open the door wrong."

Hyuck smiles smugly at you. "Say that again but without shitting your pants this time."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Whatever. I'm not going."

"But-"

"End of discussion!" you interrupt, giving him a glare.

Hyuck put his hands up in surrender, his shoulder sagging as he got up to crawl under your covers properly.

"Right," you turn your back to his pouting face. "So did you finish the chem homework yet?"

​ -

"Can you move any slower? We're gonna be late."

Hyuck was sprawled over your bed, his head hanging off the edge as he watched you run around the bathroom.

It's finally Friday night, and Hyuck proposed you both go see the new rom-com that recently came out. The two of you often went to the movies as it was his favorite thing to do. You weren't too big on movies, preferring to read a book or watching a drama with more than ten seasons—that was until you met Hyuck. You started rubbing off on one another, Hyuck now starting to read multiple-series-books—which he was absolutely against when you first met. According to him, a book shouldn't be any longer than two-hundred pages without at least one picture on each page. Now, though, he already finished the entire Percy Jackson series twice and was just beginning to start on Harry Potter. Although, you haven't been successful in getting him to take interest in classic literature, it won't be long before he caves in.

"We're gonna miss the previews at this rate," Hyuck groans flopping his arms on the mattress, dramatically.

"Only weirdos like you care about the previews, now shut it; I'm almost done," you grumble, spraying your perfume on quickly and grabbing your belongings. "Let's go."

He gets up, muttering complaints under his breath.

You toss your keys to Hyuck before climbing into the passengers side of your red Toyota. He didn't have his own car yet but he always wanted to be the one to drive. It was less work for you in the end anyways so you allowed it, zoning out while you stared at the scenery out the widow or alternatively annoying him while he was unable to do anything about it, his hands make an effort swatting at you only to place them back on the wheel every few seconds.

The sky was starting to darken, the full moon hanging high in the sky, seeming larger than usual tonight. You stick your hand out the window, the bone-chilling breeze nipping at  your fingers.

You were sitting comfortably, your chin resting in your hand, until you notice Hyuck passes by the street he was supposed turn down to Main Street.

"Um?" you look at him in bewilderment. "You know you missed the turn right?"

Hyuck looks nonchalant as he stares forward, a hand reaching to pat your thigh. "Relax, kid. I found a shortcut."

"Shortcut," you repeat to yourself. How can this be a shortcut when this road leads away from the theatre?

You lean back in your chair silently, but remain suspicious, as it was obvious he wasn't driving to the cinema anymore.

When he turns down the street that leads to your school, you think you got it figured out—but why would you be going back to school. It's once he drives past the school that you hope against hope he's not taking you to where you think he was.

He wouldn't.

"Hyuck, where are you taking me?" you give the nastiest look you could manage.

He solely smiles, shrugging his shoulders as if he doesn't know how angry you are with him.

"Lee Donghyuck," you warn.

An old, blue broken down house comes into view as Hyuck drives past the mailbox and up the hill, the car jerking from the bumpy terrain of dirt. The grass is at least ten inches too tall and patchy. The naked branches of the trees twist into shapes that made you feel unsettled looking at them. It was even creepier up close and the lack of street lamps made everything too dark for your liking.

You're seething at this point, your cheeks burning hot. You got dressed up for this, rushed at that, made to feel guilty at how long you were taking only to be tricked into going to the one place you made clear you had no interest in going.

He parks the car, eagerly hopping out the vehicle and looking around, completely oblivious to your disapproving stare.

He turns around to look for you, only to notice you're still in the car. "What're you doing? Get out here."

"I'm not going anywhere," you say bitterly. "I'm going to the movies like we planned. Give me the keys," you say holding out your hand.

Hyuck's smile drops as he leans into the open window of the car. "Aw, don't be like that. I just wanted you to come with me. I thought it would be fun."

"Well you thought wrong," you wiggled the fingers of your outstretched hand. "If you want to stay here, give me the keys because I'm not going in with you."

"__, don't make me go in alone," he beggs. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd get upset."

You shook your head at him in disbelief. "Yes you did."

"No, really! I didn't know—I mean I knew you wouldn't like it—but I thought you'd want to look around in there too, you know? Out of curiosity?"

Hyuck rubbed at the back of his neck when he was met with silence. "Please? Come in with me for a little bit? I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything you want?"

Now this was interesting. "Anything, anything?"

"Just say the word and I'll do it."

You huffed, looking at the house then back to him. The thought of holding this over his head for the next few months was a pleasurable one indeed and you knew he would pick on you for not going in if you decided not to anyways. You really weren't scared. What was there to be afraid of other than the house collapsing with the two of you inside? Who cares if no one knows where to look for you when you both go missing? And if the police drive by and see your car parked on the property that doesn't belong to you and you get arrested, surely that wasn't something to be weary of. This was a stupid idea since the beginning—of course only someone as childish as Hyuck would view this as something 'fun'. You knew it was dumb and yet you still found yourself agreeing to his terms and stepping out onto the overgrown grass and onto the rotting wood of the porch.

You peeked into the windows that were all broken in,   letting out a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna regret this."

"Maybe. But at least we can say we did it," Hyuck offers in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You give him a pointed a look and he snickers at your grim expression.

Hyuck steps through the window first, turning on the flashlight from his phone. You sigh, following in suit, careful not to touch the moldy walls.

"Phew!" Hyuck pinches his nose. "Man, it's ripe in here."

You agree, fanning the air in front of your face as if it would help somehow. You had stepped into what had once been a living room. You could tell from the vintage couches and coffee table which was laying on its side, the ivory leaves from outside stretching all the way in to wrap around the stubby legs. The wallpaper was peeling and there was an odd stain on the carpet that you couldn't identify—neither did you want to.

"Let's see what's back here," says Hyuck, walking towards the kitchen.

You follow behind him, taking in the large size of the room. There were dishes and soap by the sink and the table was still set with dusty plates and rusted silverware. You shiver, hoping Hyuck doesn't notice.

The floor creaks under your feet as you walk over to the fridge to look at of the magnets, most of them were from famous cities from all over the world, clipped to business cards and horrible crayon drawings you couldn't make out.

"Is there any other rooms down here?"

You look at your friend with a shake of the head. Haven't you seen enough? There's nothing here. Just some old shit and probably a bunch of mice."

"I happen to like old shit," Hyuck says proudly before walking off. "What happened here anyways?"

You trail behind him with your arms crossed. "Supposedly, a middle class family used to live here. A mom, a dad, and a little girl."

Hyuck starts heading up the stairs and you follow his lead, the steps sighing under the pressure of your weight.

"The mom died after like a year after having the little girl. Suicide or something? Some people say she was murdered. Either way, she died and the dad couldn't take it so he took it out on his daughter. He would punish her unfairly and sometimes wouldn't feed her just because she reminded him of his dead wife."

You reach the top of the stairs and head into the first room which seemed to be the master bedroom. This room was unfurnished unlike downstairs, the blue moonlight casting ghastly shadows on the barren walls and over Hyucks face.

"Anyways, so the dad disappears out of nowhere. A lot of people assumed he abandoned his daughter but he left behind all of his money and personal belongings. No food was taken, the car was left in the drive way. It was as if he disappeared into thin air. So the police did all they could but they never found him. Unfortunately, for the child that meant she had no parents to raise her, but the father did have a brother who volunteered to take care of her. He moved into the house and things seemed normal for the first few years until the police kept getting noise complaints from the neighbors. They say, the reports were something like there was always screaming and crying 24/7."

Hyuck stops analyzing the room at that, his face solemn.

"Then the girl stops showing up to school. The teacher called and called but no one ever answered so the teacher goes to the police, right? The police show up and find the poor girl's corpse hog tied in her room with her hands and feet chopped off. It was obviously her uncle. The dude took off, after the police showed up."

"Did they catch him?" Hyuck asks, his eyebrows raised.

You let out a loud guffaw, shoving him a little. "Why do you look so serious; it's just a story!"

Hyuck rolls his shoulders back, clearing his throat. "I know! I was just asking..."

"They caught him," you answer, a teasing smile on your lips. "He even got executed back when they still did the electric chair. But the rumor is, the girl haunts this house and anyone who comes near."

"That's it? No curse?"

You frown. "Please, a curse? No, she only wants to scare people."

Hyuck clicks his tongue, stepping around you. "That's not what I heard."

"And what did you hear?"

"I heard," he lifts a finger in the air, "that a man, I'm assuming the uncle, and a little girl, both haunt the house. And that they'll either kill you if they find you trespassing or they'll put a curse on you and everyone in your family dies within the span of ten years."

"Oh pshh," you wave him off. "That sounds like a bunch of bull."

"I don't know, __, it makes sense to me."

"Can we go now? There's nothing here; I'm bored."

Hyuck agrees, and leads the way to the front door. He pauses, looks around the room one last time with disappointment.

"You weren't actually expecting to find anything in here were you? I told you—"

A thump from upstairs prevents you from finishing your sentence.

You grab Hyucks hand, jumping behind him. "Did you hear that??"

"Hear what?" Hyuck's head follows the direction you're staring at.

"I heard a noise."

He bursts out laughing and you snatch your hand away.

"I'm serious! I heard something!" you argue.

Hyuck pulls you into a tight hug, jerking your body with every shake of his shoulders. "Aw, I'm sorry," he giggled again. "I believe you."

You let out a frustrated breath, "Lets just get outta here, please."

"'Mm'kay." he pulls back some, his face unbearably close. "You're making me paranoid, anyways."

You blink, his words going through one ear and out the other. Your face feels hot as your eyes drift down to his lips. This happens every once in a while—when you remember how handsome he his, his soft brown eyes gleaming with his cute little button nose. You feel the urge to step back, put enough distance between the two of you so you'll feel safe again but your feet were stuck in place. You hid your attraction to your friend well. Not well enough for you to buy into it as well but you still tried. You didn't want to ruin your friendship over the fleeting moments of lust or whatever it was you were feeling so you kept it buried somewhere deep inside of you. You masked those feelings with friendly playfulness, disguising the truth with feigning ignorance at the way he looked at you. You pretended to see him as a little brother and it always worked for you until now, your eyes revealing what had been hidden all along. You shift your glance down to his chin, trying to cover up what you had so recklessly spilled.

It's too late now, his eyes recognize the flicker between his lips and his eyes, his face inching closer and closer to yours until you felt the soft lashes of his eyes brush against your brow. You hold your breath, your mind screaming at your legs to move. Your heart leaps in your rib cage at an alarming rate as he cautiously pecks your lips.

You stare at each other wide eyed, too shocked to speak. You're confused. So very confused right now that you knew whatever came next you wouldn't be ready for. Hyuck was too straightforward a guy to let this moment pass without asking where you stood and you didn't have an answer.

You take a step backwards, your heart still pounding as Hyuck steps closer at the same time. You're freaking out now, your face flushing, when a door slams in the distance. You both whip your heads in the direction of the stairs.

"What the fuck?" Hyuck instinctively pulls you behind him, craning his neck to look up the stairwell.

He takes a step forward and you yank his arm, pulling him back. "What're you, stupid? Don't go up there!"

Hyuck stares at you, thinking for a moment. "Ghosts aren't real remember? This is why we decided to come in the first place."

"No, you decided to come here. I was brought here against my will, remember?" you clutch the sleeve of his windbreaker. "Please, don't go Hyuck. Take me home."

"Just stay here, I'll only be a moment," he says pulling his arm out of your grasp.

You watch him jog up the stairs, your mouth opening and closing, trying to find the words to make him stay but none come to mind.

With shaky sigh, you pace around the window you came in trying to get yourself to calm down. You tell yourself to breathe. That ghosts aren't real.

In. Out. In. Out.

"Holy—oh shit!" Hyuck screams, and then you hear heavy footsteps dashing above your head.

"Hyuck?!" you run up after him, adrenaline pulsing through every vein in your body. You burst through the first door, finding the room empty.

"Donghyuck!! Where are you?" you scream, your voice cracking as your vision blurs with tears.

You run to the next room, the door swinging open the moment you put your hands on the door knob. Hyuck's face appears in your bleary vision, the blood completely drained, leaving a ghastly look on his usually sunny expression. He curses, pulling you to the bathroom right next to you and locking the door, his chest heaving up and down.

You run to hug him, his heart mimicking the rapid thumping in your chest. Tears spill over your cheeks as you let out a sob. "What happened?? Are...are you okay? Why'd you scream?" you sputter, your eyes checking him over, relieved to see there were no visible injuries.

Hyuck just shakes his head, his lips trembling as he stares at the locked door.  

"Does this connect to the bedroom?" you ask, pointing to the door behind you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he locks the connecting door with shaky hands.

"Hyuck, what did you see?" you put your hand on his shoulder causing him to jump slightly.

"A man. I saw a man. Let's just leave it at that okay?"

"Hyuck—"

"Let's make a run for it," he interrupts, his fingers reaching for the door knob.

"O-okay," you answer. The hair framing your face was now stuck to the skin of your forehead with sweat. You feel light headed, your legs trembling as you clench your fists in preparation to run on Hyuck's mark.

"Ready? One...two...go!" He switches the lock and pulls at the door but it doesn't budge.

He twists the knob repeatedly but to no avail, the door doesn't open. Hyuck runs a hand through his hair as he leans against the ancient sink, scrunching his eyes closed.

"Please," he whispers. "Please tell me this door won't open because it's old."

You look at Hyuck in alarm. "It's stuck?"

Your fists are still clenched tightly as you wait for an answer that never comes, letting the reality of the situation sink in. You hunch over the floor, suddenly feeling queasy.

You dig in your back pocket, searching for your phone. Of course it wasn't there, only frustrating you further. You left it in the car, too busy being angry at Hyuck to remember to bring it with you.

"You have your phone right? Call for help."

Hyuck lets out a breath, a small smile breaking out on his face. "You're a genius. God, I could just kiss you right now."

You both freeze after the words leave his mouth and he lets out an awkward chuckle. He unlocks his phone and scrolls to his mom's contact, pressing the 'call' button.

The line rings once, then twice, then goes to her voicemail. Hyuck taps his foot, looking somewhat unnerved as he calls again, only to reach her voicemail twice more.

"She never answers when I need her," he hisses. "My dad's at work, too..."

"Try my mom," you suggest.

He nods, pressing the phone back to his ear. He bites his lip as the line rings. After a few rings, you hear your mother's loud voice.

"Hello? Donghyuck?"

"Oh thank god!" He jumps up.

"What's going on, dear? Is everything okay?"

You grab the phone from him, "Mom, can you come pick us up? And bring dad with you?"

"Pick you up where? It might take a while; I'm stuck in traffic. Call your father, hun."

"We're at the house on Hill Crest! We're locked inside the bathroom and—"

"Hello? I asked you where you are. Hello??"

"Mom? Mom, can you hear me?"

"__? Can your hear me? I don't think the connection's to great wherever you are. Hello—"

Click.

You look down at the phone in horror, the bars in the corner disappearing to show 'no signal'.  

"No," you shake your head. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." This was like some awful cliché horror film. You sink back down on your heels, your face falling into your hands.

A high pitched sob rings through the still house, you and Hyuck sending each other worried glances. You cover your mouth with your hand, tears forming again in your eyes.

"It sounds like a little girl," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Jesus," you sigh.

He walks up to you, interlacing your fingers. "I'm so sorry. I should've listened to you."

You let out a choked noise, trying to hold back your tears. "I told you I heard something, Hyuck."

"I know, I know, I just—" he lets out a breath. "I don't know what came over me."

You sniffle, your hands squeezing his.

"I'm gonna try to kick down the door." Hyuck swallows, looking at you. "And then we run."

"Okay," you say, stepping back to give him space.

He walks backward, taking two long strides forward and pushing his foot against the door with great effort. It falls, sliding across the wooden floor.

The two of you stare out at the hall for a beat. The crying stops and you look at Hyuck.

"Run."

Hyuck takes you by the hand and you dart down the hall. In that moment, the world falls silent, not even the sound of your footsteps echo in your ears. Your eyes are trained on Hyuck's back as he pulls you along, your pulse dancing at lightening speed. You sprint down the stairs, almost toppling over him when he stops abruptly at the foot of the steps.

You look over his shoulder, a small child with her strawberry blonde hair neatly slicked into a low bun standing in front of what used to be the door. She's wearing a frilly black dress, her stockings ripped and dirty to match her muddy hands. She hiccups, tears streaming down her face as she stomps her bare feet on the ground.

You pause.

"Hey," Hyuck calls out in a soft voice. "What's wrong, sweetie? How'd you get in here?

The girl looks up at the sound of his voice, locking eyes with him briefly before running away screaming bloody murder, leaving a trail of mud behind her.

"Hyuck...I don't think that's a little girl," you squeeze your clammy palms together. "Come on."

You and Hyuck practically fly out the door, your calves burning as you march through the high grass and clamber into the car. He starts the car, backing out before you even shut your door properly.

Your head knocks against the head rest as the car jolts forward, releasing a shrill noise as Hyuck reverses the car. You look back at the house, your heart finally starting to settle since you entered the house when something catches your eye in the upstairs window.

A man dressed in a ratty tux, his entire body drenched in blood, waving goodbye with an unsettling smile on his face. His eyes pop out of his head in an impossible way as he cocks his head at you, almost as if he's daring you to do something. Your voice is lost, your brain not functioning properly and you've never been more terrified in your life. You can't blink and you didn't even know if you were still breathing. It felt like a thousand pins were being stabbed into your sides as you helplessly stare at the man taunting you from the window. You don't what does it but suddenly you have control of yourself again as you scream at the top of your lungs, causing Hyuck to panic.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" he looks back at the house.

"Go, go! Hurry!" you yell, praying to the heavens above this was not your last day on Earth.

Hyuck steps on the gas, the car purring to life as he speeds down the street.

That night you sleepover Hyuck's place, too scared to sleep on your own after what you witnessed. Nothing made sense anymore. You knew what you saw but you couldn't wrap your head around it. Should you tell anyone? No, who would believe you? Even you had to admit if anyone told you they saw two ghosts even one day ago you would laugh in their faces.

You stare at the darkness, Hyuck's arm curled over your torso, his soft snores filling the air. You wish you could sleep as soundly as he was. You envied his sleeping form, tossing and turning, trying to shut off your brain to at least get a few hours of sleep. After the sun starts to come up, you give up, peeling open your damp eyes to look out the window at the pink morning sky. Your eyes flutter close, adjusting to the brightness. You open them again to see a pair of red fingers clutching on to the window sill.

You gasp, flying up in the bed.

"Hyuck, Wake up!" you shake the boy awake and he shoots up, startled.

He groans as he sits up and you point at the window, "He's here! He followed us here and we're going to die!"

Hyuck awakens at that, looking to the window.

He squints. "I don't see anything,"

"What?" you pull the cover down from over your head. The fingers are gone.

"It was probably just a nightmare," he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

"But I haven't slept a wink," you object. "You remember the last time I told you something was off? I was right."

Hyuck nods, getting up to lock the window. "You need to sleep, baby."

"Sleep is definitely out of the question now."

He crawls back under the warm covers. "Come here, I'll keep you safe, I promise."

You roll into his open arms, face to face. He kisses your forehead, his eyes already closed. "Try," he grumbles as if he could read your thoughts exactly.

You exhale out of your nose, shutting your eyes as well. Maybe it was all in your mind? You doubted that but you trusted Hyuck, after all.

You turn to look at the window again, the light reflecting from a red substance on the window sill in the shape of five large fingers.

[ceealaina]

Put a Spell on You

Title: Put a Spell on You Author: ceealaina Rating: T Square Filled: Free [Iron Husbands Bingo] Pairing: IronHusbands Summary: When Tony adopts a stray cat right before Halloween, Rhodey just figures it’s his roommate being his roommate. But after the cat scratches him, he starts feeling a little weird...

It started on a Wednesday, which was typical, because Wednesdays were Rhodey’s least favourite day. Everything bad happened on a Wednesday. On that particular morning, he woke up to cold Chinese on the counter, day-old coffee in the coffeemaker and no sign of his roommate. 

He’d last seen Tony around eight o’clock the night before, when he’d popped into the campus lab on his way home to ask if he should order enough Chinese for him too. Tony had given him a distracted affirmative, telling him that Chinese sounded awesome, and that he had about half an hour of work left and then he’d be heading home too. Rhodey had known he should have waited, made sure Tony actually wrapped things up, but it had been cold and rainy, and he’d had a pair of sweatpants and a baseball game calling to him at home. 

But if Tony’s bed was empty now, then he’d absolutely pulled another all-nighter at the lab. Had probably got caught up in an idea and hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. 

Again. 

And sure, it wasn’t technically Rhodey’s responsibility -- Tony was even a legal adult now, old enough to vote, and drink if they hadn’t just increased the age limit (as he wouldn’t stop complaining about), and take care of himself. But Rhodey’d been looking out for the twerp since he had shown up at MIT with braces and two-inch thick glasses and that ridiculously terrible haircut, and he wasn’t about to stop now. So he headed back to his bedroom, giving his still-warm bed a last, longing look as he got dressed for the trudge back to campus. He should have just enough time to collect Tony and get him home before he had to make his own way to class. 

Tony, just as he’d suspected, was about twelve coffees in, wild-eyed and a little manic over his new idea. Rhodey had faked interest (it was too early in the morning to follow what Tony was even saying) and it hadn’t been as difficult as he’d expected to herd Tony out the door. The sky had cleared overnight, but the wind was cold, and Rhodey shoved his hands in his pockets as they shuffled towards home, kicking at dead leaves and yawning while Tony continued raving, gesticulating wildly to express points that went entirely over Rhodey’s head. 

They were cutting through the park when Tony stopped talking mid-sentence. Rhodey turned to look at him only to find Tony staring at the bushes with wide eyes. 

“What?” he managed to ask before Tony shushed him and then dropped to all fours, peering into the bushes in question. Rhodey considered kicking him in the ass (it’s what a good best friend would do) and then got distracted by said ass. Tony was filling out more, no longer the short, skinny teenager that Rhodey had first met. Well, he was still short — Rhodey would lord those two-and-three-eighths-inches over him until the day he died — but not as short. And apparently he’d started doing squats at some point, because that ass was nice . Rhodey should tell him sometime, that he was looking good. 

Which was when he realized that it was butt o’clock in the morning and he was standing in a cold park ogling his best friend’s ass. He needed more sleep. 

“Tony,” he grumbled. It was definitely not a whine. “Come on, man. I’m freezing my ass off out here. What are you even doing?”

“Shhh,” Tony insisted, voice low and just above a whisper. “I thought I saw—,” He cut himself off with a noise that could almost be considered a squeal. “There, look. Hi baby,” he added, voice shifting into a soft coo. “Hello, aren’t you just beautiful?” 

Rhodey stared at him wide-eyed, wondering if he had finally lost it, before following Tony’s gaze. He didn’t see it at first, the lighting in the shade of the trees too dim, but then he noticed the pair of big, yellow eyes blinking out at them. Tony continued cooing, rubbing his fingers together in a way that was apparently supposed to be tempting, and Rhodey rolled his eyes. 

“Tones, come on. It’s just a cat. Leave it.” 

“I think it’s a baby,” Tony hummed, ignoring him entirely. “Come on, sweetheart. Look at you, aren’t you so pretty?” 

He continued talking to it until slowly the small black form crawled out from the shrubs. It craned its neck out to sniff at Tony’s fingers and then darted back, not quite as far as before. 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Tony soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you. Come on out, it’s okay.” 

Rhodey kicked at Tony’s ankle. “Come on, let’s go home. It’s a black cat. It’s bad luck, and you’ve got enough of that already.” 

Tony shot him a look over his shoulder. “I happen to like black cats, okay?” 

“That’s your white guilt talking,” Rhodey informed him, getting a soft huff of laughter in return. “Tony. I’m going to be late for class.”

“So go,” Tony told him. “I just want to see if it has a collar or something. I promise, I remember where our apartment is.” 

Rhodey considered staying, but they were close to home, and he’d never been a cat person; he really didn’t want to be late to class because of some stray. It wasn’t like it was hurt or anything, it was fine , it was just Tony being Tony. And while most of Tony’s manic energy looked to have worn off, he still seemed alert enough that he probably wouldn’t just conk out and fall asleep right there in the park. 

Again . 

“Fine,” Rhodey huffed out. “Don’t spend all day here, yeah? Go and get some sleep.”

Tony waved him off still murmuring sweet nothings to the cat, and Rhodey set off for home, jogging now because he really was going to be late. 

***

He’d mostly forgotten about it by the time he was heading back to the apartment that evening. It was midterm season, and he was exhausted. His attention span for anything that wasn’t studying was pretty much zero. He’d swung by the lab on his way out, to make sure Tony was fed and watered, but to his surprise, he wasn’t there. Still, he’d pulled a lot of all nighters in the past couple weeks; he’d probably gone home, crashed, and hadn’t pulled himself out of bed yet. Consistent sleep hours wasn’t a concept that Tony Stark was familiar with. 

When he walked into their apartment, though, the lights were on and the whole place smelled like his favourite kind of pizza. “Aw yes,” he moaned to himself, dropping his bag and jacket right to the floor and beelining for the kitchen. He groaned loudly as he shoved half a slice in his mouth at once, favour bursting on his tongue. “This is so good,” he mumbled. “Tony?” he called, grabbing a couple more slices to take with him.

“In here!” 

He followed the sound of his voice into the living room. “Have I told you lately that you’re my favourite?” 

Tony was sitting on the floor, fiddling with a cardboard box. “Uhh, not lately,” he admitted. “But that’s good to know.”   

There was something off about the way he said it, eyes not quite meeting Rhodey’s and Rhodey stilled, slowly lowering the pizza to the table. “Tony…?”

Tony beamed at him a minute and then, clearly realizing that Rhodey wasn’t buying it, he reached into the box to hold up something small and black. “Surprise!” 

Rhodey stared for a minute, not fully comprehending what he was looking at until the black lump mewed at him. “Oh no,” he said, sitting down heavily on the couch. “Oh no. I knew I shouldn’t have left you there.” 

“His name is Michael,” Tony informed him, like Rhodey hadn’t said anything. 

“ Michael ?” 

“Yeah! Like Myers? Cause he’s a black cat, and it’s almost Halloween?”

“Oh my god,” Rhodey muttered, shaking his head. “Tony we can’t keep a cat.” 

“Rhodey, come on,” Tony pleaded. “He’s just a baby, look at how tiny he is. He won’t last outside once it gets much colder. And look how friendly he is!” 

Rhodey had to admit, the cat did seem to like Tony. He was stomping all over his lap, tiny frame stretching, digging his nails into Tony’s thighs and kneading in the process. Rhodey could hear the faint rumblings of what promised to be an impressive purr too. And Tony looked so thrilled, his attention back on the cat as he scratched behind his ear and the cat almost melted and then proceeded to somersault off his lap in delight. Rhodey fought back a fond smile before Tony could see it and know he’d won. 

“Michael, huh?” he asked instead, trying not to cave when Tony turned the puppy dog eyes on him. 

He moved closer, squatting down to look at him more closely. Michael blinked curious eyes at Rhodey, and, following Tony’s movements from earlier, he held out his fingers. Michael stepped across Tony’s lap to get closer, and then —

“Motherfucker!” Rhodey tipped back on his ass, startling the cat into hiding under the couch, but he wasn’t much paying attention to that. He shook out his hand and frowned at the large scratch that had appeared under his knuckles. Blood was welling from it, and it stung like a bitch, and he sucked at the skin, trying to soothe the pain. 

Grumbling, he got to his feet, heading for the bathroom to clean it off. “That cat’s a menace, Tones,” he informed him. 

The cat stayed. 

***

Really, Rhodey should have known it was a lost cause. He could never resist those puppy dog eyes of Tony’s, and he’d had them out in full force when he’d been pleading Michael’s case. So he probably shouldn’t have been so surprised when he got up the next morning to find Tony sprawled across the length of the couch, still fully dressed and snoring loudly, Michael a small black lump on his stomach. 

At least he’d slept. 

Rhodey eyed him a minute. Tony’s face was softened in sleep, the faint crinkles around his eyes disappearing, along with slightly manic expression he often wore. He looked downright peaceful, calm and content, lips curling up into a faint smile, soft and plush and tempting. It was a good look for him. His shirt had ridden up a little, exposing sharp hipbones and his soft, pale stomach, and Rhodey was struck by the urge to press a kiss against his skin. Which -- what the fuck . 

As if sensing Rhodey’s less-than-savoury thoughts, Michael opened one yellow eye and a low growl started deep in his chest. Rhodey held his hands up, taking a couple steps back. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I don’t know either.” 

He headed for the kitchen and got a pot of coffee started, downing a full cup himself before he headed back into the living room. Michael’s eyes were firmly closed again, and Rhodey flicked Tony’s ear, hard. His eyes slid open, and he blinked up at Rhodey. 

(Tony had the uncanny ability to go from dead asleep to wide awake without moving a single muscle in his body. Rhodey didn’t like to think about how and why he might have developed that particular skill.)

“Your cat is growling at me.” 

“He is not,” Tony protested automatically, relaxing now that he knew where he was. He stretched out on the couch further, one hand scratching at Michael’s neck, and the cat nuzzled into it. “He’s purring.” 

“He hates me,” Rhodey informed him, watching as Tony struggled to sit up without dislodging the cat. He looked ridiculous, flailing at the back of the couch, and Rhodey didn’t bother to hide the way he was laughing at him. Tony gave him a dirty look, and Rhodey made a face at him in return before taking pity and passing him a mug of coffee. Tony moaned appreciatively, shoving his face in the steam before taking a huge gulp. 

“Mmm,” he mumbled into the cup, blinking sweetly at Rhodey over the rim. “God, I love you, baby.” 

Feeling suddenly hot all over, Rhodey headed over to the thermostat to see if Tony had messed with the settings again, boosting it up to his preferred temperature of ninety million degrees. “Don’t change the subject,” Rhodey told him, frowning when he found it set normally. “You gave him a warm spot for the night, but he can’t stay. If you don’t want to put him back outside, then we can take him to the shelter.” 

“The shelter??” Tony gasped audibly, and Rhodey rolled his eyes when he looked over to find Tony covering Michael’s ears. “We can’t take him to a shelter. Black cats are the least adoptable of all cats. They’ll end up putting him down!” 

Rhodey wrinkled his nose at him, rubbing at the cut Michael had left on his hand. It itched like crazy. “How do you even know that?” 

“And if they do adopt him,” Tony continued, as if he hadn’t even spoken, “Who knows what’ll happen to him. It’s almost Halloween, honeybear. Do you know what kind of weird things people do to black cats on Halloween?” 

“Pretty sure that’s an urban legend,” Rhodey grumbled. Then he made the mistake of looking at Tony, who was staring at him with hopeful eyes. 

“ Please Rhodey?” he asked softly, in a voice that made Rhodey melt and shiver at the same time. He sighed; he’d already lost and he knew it. 

***

When he made it home that night, Tony was gone, back at the lab to work on his final project, but a litter box and food and water dishes had magically appeared in the apartment, along with about fifty thousand cat toys and six different beds. Rhodey felt like shit, exhausted and shivery, and just shook his head. He had about three hours worth of studying to do for his final midterm the next day, and couldn’t care enough to even look for where the damn cat was holed up. There was food and water in his dish. He’d come out if he was hungry. 

Of course, when he dragged himself to bed hours later, it was to find Michael sound asleep in the centre of his bed. Rhodey hesitated a moment, considering. He thought about trying to climb into the bed anyway, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Michael started growling again, his eyes not even open. 

“Fuck it,” Rhodey declared. The last thing he wanted was to wake up with his eyes clawed out; he needed them for his test tomorrow. So he shuffled into Tony’s room instead, crawling under his blankets. He was asleep almost before he hit the pillow, but retained just enough consciousness to notice how the sheets smelled like Tony. Taking a deep breath and snuggling in deeper, he drifted off.  

It was still dark when something pulled him back into consciousness. He blinked blearily a few times, eyes burning and taking too long to adjust to the dim light. It took him a long moment to realize it was Tony who had woken him up, standing over him with an arched brow and a crooked grin. “Whatcha doin, Buttercup?” 

Rhodey grunted and rolled over, hugging Tony’s pillow tighter. “Mmph. Cat,” he managed to say. There was a moment of silence as Tony deciphered that, long enough for Rhodey to almost fall asleep again, and then Tony was pushing gently at his shoulder. 

“C’mon, Rhodeybear. Budge up, huh?” 

Rhodey was too tired to even think twice when Tony crawled into bed beside him. And when he snuggled up close to Rhodey’s side, he just pressed right back into him. 

***

Rhodey was pretty sure he was half dead by the time he made it home the next day. There was a storm rolling in, the air cold and windy, and he’d just missed the rain that was now lashing at their windows. He dropped his bag inside the door and then blinked when he found Tony sitting on the couch. He was scribbling equations on a notepad, tongue sticking out as he frowned in concentration, and Rhodey had the brief thought that he was adorable, followed by the thought that he’d really like to feel that tongue on his body. 

Which was when Tony looked up, beaming at the sight of him. “Hey honeybear! How was the midterm?” 

Rhodey blinked, shaking his head like he could Etch-a-Sketch the weird thoughts out of his brain, and flopped onto the couch beside Tony. He misjudged where he sat, ending up a little too close, but was too tired to be bothered shifting over. He leaned into Tony’s side instead, letting him keep him upright. “You remembered?” he asked, scratching at his hand again. Tony could barely remember to eat most days, Rhodey certainly didn’t expect him to remember his schedule. 

But Tony just huffed out a laugh. “Of course I remembered. Did it go okay?”

Rhodey shrugged. “Don’t even know,” he admitted. “Just glad it’s done.” 

Tony laughed again. “I ordered celebratory Chinese.” He bumped his shoulder against Rhodey’s, turning his head to grin at him. “Figured I owed you payback from Tuesday.”  

“You’re the best,” Rhodey told him, making no move to stand up. He found himself lulled by the steady in and out of Tony’s breathing, where his side was pressed into Rhodey’s. A minute later, Tony’s left hand came up, scratching at the short hair on the back of his scalp before rubbing at his neck. Rhodey shuddered at the feeling. 

“You want a nap first?” Tony asked, voice amused but pitched soft and low as he rubbed the tension away. 

“Yeah,” Rhodey sighed, still making no move to stand up. He kind of wanted to stay here forever. 

He really had intended to go to his own bed to sleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up, stretched out on the couch. It took him a second to get his bearings, to realize that there was a fleece blanket draped over him, that his head was half pillowed on Tony’s thigh, and that long fingers were still scratching absently over his scalp, sending pleasant shivers up his spine. He shifted, looking up at Tony, who grinned down at him when he realized Rhodey was awake. 

“Oh hey,” he teased, eyes sparkling. “It lives!”

And there was something wrong with Rhodey, because all he could do was stare at Tony’s lips, and think about how much he wanted him to lean down and kiss him. Tony met his eyes, when he didn’t answer, chewing at his lower lip, and for a minute Rhodey thought he really was going to lean down and do exactly that. 

Which was when Michael came flying out of nowhere, bouncing off the back of the couch and onto Rhodey’s stomach, startling a yelp out of him. The cat’s nails dug into his stomach in response, and Rhodey jerked in pain, nearly smacking his head against Tony’s chin in the process. By the time Michael had untangled himself, and Rhodey had stopped flailing long enough to manage to sit upright, Tony was bent in half laughing at the noise that Rhodey had made. Rhodey shoved him, and Tony shoved him back. There was no awkwardness, no hint of the moment that had passed between him, and Rhodey told himself that it hadn’t happened at all, had just been his imagination playing tricks on him, a symptom of his nap hangover. 

“That cat’s evil,” he told Tony, though he made no further mention of getting rid of him. 

Tony beamed at him. “I think he likes you,” he teased, still giggling. He pressed a sloppy kiss to Rhodey’s cheek, making him swat at Tony’s face, and then he shoved Rhodey off the couch. “Go get your Chinese, I left it in the oven so it would be warm for you.” He reached over to the side table, holding up a video cassette with a gleeful expression. “I got beer and every slasher film I could find. You and me? Were gonna spend the entire weekend holed up in here, getting drunk and making fun of dumb teenagers. Real life can wait until Monday.” Tony beamed at him, and something in Rhodey’s stomach fluttered at the sight.

“You are a dumb teenager,” he told Tony, because it was expected of him. He couldn’t help grinning back at him though, because that sounded like everything he wanted right now. 

He brought extra food when he came back, knowing that Tony would steal half of Rhodey’s off his plate. Tony already had a movie queued up and Rhodey flopped onto the far end of the couch, depositing his feet into Tony’s lap. Tony made a show of poking at the hole in his big toe, grumbling about how his feet smelled, but his hand settled comfortably over Rhodey’s ankles as he leaned back to watch the movie, occasionally reaching over to steal spare ribs and baby corn from Rhodey. Eventually Michael came to join them, shoving himself between Rhodey’s feet and Tony’s stomach and curling into a little ball. Rhodey eyed him suspiciously, concerned for his toes, but Michael seemed to go right to sleep. He was purring, and the rumbling sensation against his foot was oddly soothing. 

But by the time Tony had shoved his feet away to get up and pop in the next movie, Rhodey was sniffling, eyes feeling blurry again. He leaned back against the couch, letting his eyes fall closed as he listened to Tony pad into the kitchen, feeding Michael and opening the fridge. He jolted when something icy cold pressed against his side, and looked up to see Tony smirking at him, beer in hand. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking it and knocking back a large swallow. Tony’s brow furrowed as he settled back on the couch beside him. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Rhodey shrugged. “Think I’m coming down with something,” he grumped. “Figures, just when I finished midterms.”

Tony scrunched his nose at him sympathetically. “Could be worse?” he offered. “At least you didn’t get sick during midterms.” He grabbed Rhodey’s legs, hauling them back into his lap, and Rhodey arched an eyebrow at him. “What?” he asked defensively, although he was laughing. “You’re warm!” 

Rhodey didn’t bother pointing out the blanket draped across the back of the couch. 

He spent the next movie alternating between dozing and bitching about how much he hated being sick. It didn’t feel like a normal cold, no sore throat, no irritating itch, just a sniffly nose and burning eyes, but it was still enough to make him cranky. He knew he was probably being really irritating, but Tony didn’t complain, just laughed at him and made sympathetic noises in turn, occasionally rubbing his thumb over Rhodey’s ankle bone when his complaints got particularly pathetic. 

Sick or not, fair was fair, so when the second movie was over, Rhodey hauled his sorry ass off the couch to grab the next round of beer. He picked up a bag of chips while he was out there, and was headed back into the living room when Michael came out of nowhere, winding his way through Rhodey’s feet. Trying not to step on him, Rhodey lost his balance. He managed to catch himself before he face planted, but dropped one of the bottles of beer. It didn’t break, at least, but the beer spilled all over the floor, and Rhodey stared at it forlornly. 

“Come on,” he whined. Tony was snickering -- although he moved to grab a towel and throw it on the mess -- and Rhodey glared at him. “Stop laughing,” he protested, “This is your fault. Your cat cursed me.” 

This just made Tony laugh harder. “What??” he asked, tossing the wet towel in the sink. He sprayed cleaner on the floor and let it sit, dropping back onto the couch in favour of wiping it down. “What do you mean the cat cursed you?” 

“Hey, I’m serious,” Rhodey told him, pointing at him before rubbing at his watery eyes with the back of his hand. “He’s evil, and he cursed me! I’ve got cat scratch fever. He showed up here, and all of a sudden I’m sniffling and my eyes are burning. This fucking cut won’t heal--,”

“It’s been two days, honeybear.” 

Rhodey glared at him, scratching at his hand and moving to wipe up the cleaning solution before the floor got all sticky. “Cursed,” he repeated, scrubbing at the floor. Tony was laughing behind him. “I’m tired, I’m stupid, I’m uncoordinated. My head hurts, my hand’s itchy, and I keep having these crazy thoughts about how I should kiss my roommate.” 

He didn’t even realize what he’d said at first, but Tony’s laughter stopped, going suddenly quiet. Rhodey played back what he’d said, and felt his heart stop. That was definitely not something he had planned on sharing. There wasn’t a sound from Tony though, and not knowing what he was thinking right now was killing Rhodey. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to stand up and look at Tony.

Tony was staring back at him, lips parted and eyes wide. He ducked his head and licked his lips before peering back up at Rhodey. 

“That… That’s not crazy,” he said, voice quiet, soft. Hopeful. 

Rhodey stared at him for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. And of course, because it was Tony, he immediately panicked. 

“I mean, unless you meant a different roommate,” he added quickly with a tense laugh. “In which case forget I said anything. The cat, or the person you’re hiding in the closet. Do we have a secret third roommate? Are you renting out my room when I pull all nighters at the lab?” 

He was rambling, couldn’t get stopped, and Rhodey had no idea how he hadn’t realized until right now how much he loved this man. Figuring ‘fuck it’ he stepped forward, pulled Tony to his feet, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him. Tony had been mid sentence, and he cut himself off with a startled noise, eyes still open. His lips were warm and dry against Rhodey’s, but he wasn’t kissing him back. Rhodey was just beginning to wonder if he’d misread everything when Tony abruptly got with the program. With a startled noise he was surging forward, pressing against Rhodey and kissing him in return. Rhodey couldn’t help grinning against his lips, laughing a little, but then Tony was sliding his tongue along his lips, hand shifting to curl around his neck, and shit, he was good at this. Rhodey moaned into his mouth, hands sliding down to grip at Tony’s waist, and then, because he could now, lower still. He squeezed his ass, using his grip to yank Tony right up against him. Tony made another surprised noise at that, breaking the kiss with a delighted giggle. 

“Um.” He looked at Rhodey with a pleased smile and flushed cheeks. “Hi.” 

Rhodey beamed at him. “Hi,” he said back. He couldn’t resist giving Tony’s ass another squeeze, grinning wide at the little squeak he made in response. Tony wrinkled his nose at him but he was grinning too, his hands still curled around Rhodey’s neck. 

“That was… That was good,” Tony said, licking his lips as he looked at Rhodey. “Right?” 

“Good?” Rhodey repeated incredulously. He darted forward, giving Tony another quick kiss. “Fuck Tones, you’re a good kisser. Guess all those those dates you’ve been going on have paid off, huh?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he mumbled. 

Rhodey arched an eyebrow at him. “Make me.” 

So Tony did. 

They ended up sprawled across the couch, Rhodey on his back, Tony half draped on top of him, legs tangled together as they made out lazily. It was a tight fit, and Rhodey had one foot on the floor, but it was more than worth it. Tony’s hands were under his t-shirt, running over his chest, and Rhodey was teasing over Tony’s back, just above the waist of his jeans. It was good, slow and easy, instantly in sync with each other the way they’d always been. They were rocking against each other occasionally, but there was no real urge to take things any further yet. 

Rhodey pulled away to catch his breath, and Tony immediately shifted to kiss his neck instead. Rhodey grinned up at the ceiling, shivering when Tony’s teeth scraped over just the right spot. He shifted his hand to comb through Tony’s soft curls and felt him smile against his skin. 

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” Tony admitted, voice muffled. He lifted his head, grinning at Rhodey with heavy eyes. “Kissing my roommate, I mean.” 

“Yeah?” Rhodey rubbed the back of his neck. “You mean me, or the one hiding in the closet?” 

Tony rolled his eyes at him. “Been thinking about other things too,” he added. 

Rhodey rocked his hips pointedly up against him. “God, I hope so.”

“Shut up,” Tony protested, although he was laughing. “I’m trying to be serious here. I know I’ve got a reputation…”

“Oh, for being the king of one-night stands? That reputation?” 

Tony pouted at him, and Rhodey couldn’t resist kissing it away. “Sorry,” he whispered against his lips. “Sorry, go on.” 

“I just… I wanted you to know that this wasn’t that. I mean, obviously it’s that too, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Not just sex, just… This.” He was getting flustered, nose turning pink in a blush, and Rhodey had to kiss it away. 

“Are you trying to ask me out?” 

“Something like that,” Tony admitted, eyes wide and hopeful. Rhodey thought about how many times Tony had broken up with someone after a weekend, every time he’d told him that he just wasn’t meant for relationships, and warmth pooled low in his stomach. He curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him down for another long, needy kiss. 

Which was when there was a sudden high pitched meow. Michael jumped down onto Tony’s back, giving Rhodey a dirty look, and Rhodey promptly sneezed three times in a row, just managing to turn his head before he sneezed directly in Tony’s face. The sound startled Michael, who scampered off again, and Rhodey leaned his head back against the arm rest with a groan as his eyes watered again. 

“See?” he huffed. “Ugh, I hate being sick. Oh shit!” HIs eyes went wide as he realized they’d been making out for the better part of the past half hour, and he brushed his fingers through Tony’s hair again. “Baby, I’m gonna get you sick too.”

To his surprise, Tony burst out laughing, turning his head to kiss Rhodey’s palm. “Oh god honey, I love you,” he told him, not even flinching from the words. “You’re not sick, you doofus. You’ve got allergies.” 

Rhodey stared at him blankly. “... What?” 

Tony grinned at him. “You got allergies. To the cat,” he added. “Think about it. The watery eyes, the sniffles, the sneezing. It’s an allergy.” His face fell a little. “Guess we can’t keep Michael after all.”

Rhodey shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. We had a cat, when I was a kid. He didn’t like me, but I wasn’t allergic.”

Tony considered this. “Some dander allergies disappear after exposure,” he offered. “Allergic at first, but after a couple weeks, your body’ll adjust.” 

Rhodey squinted at him. “How do you know that?” 

He got a shrug in return. “I don’t know. Read it in a book once. Does this mean we can keep Michael?” 

“Yeah,” Rhodey admitted, mostly because he’d do anything to make Tony smile. He sniffled again. “I hope you’re prepared for how gross I’ll be for the next few weeks though.” 

Tony grinned, hopping off the couch, laughing at that distraught sound that Rhodey made at the loss of his body weight. “Hold that thought, handsome.” 

Rhodey rolled his head on the armrest, watching as he jammed his feet into his sneakers and grabbed the first jacket he could find, which happened to be Rhodey’s. “Wait, where are you going?”

Tony waggled his eyebrows at him. “Twenty-four hour pharmacy three blocks away. Gonna grab some allergy pills so we can make out in the meantime.” He winked and was out the door without another word. Rhodey stretched out on the couch, grinning up at the ceiling a little giddily. God, he really loved that man. 

Michael appeared from nowhere, curled up on Rhodey’s stomach, and went to sleep. 

[whenimgoodandready]

*SVTFOE Bloopers, Finale Season Part 3

•Gone Baby Gone

-(Setting:Teen Meteora and Mariposas cave.)

Star:(hesitantly slurps and gulps the skin flakes and garlic spider chow) “Y-Yummy”

Adult Marco:(eagerly drinks the soup) “Ahhh! Really takes me back. Though I always used to-“ (he stops and starts to sweat panting)

Star:(looks concerned for Adult Marco) “Are you okay? You look-“ (suddenly feels something) “Oh boy!” (starts to sweat and pant as well)

(Teen Meteora and Mariposa snicker)

Adult Marco:(standing up panicking) “What’s goin’ on!? My mouth is burning!” (screams and runs off-screen)

(Star screams and runs off-screen too. Teen Meteora and Mariposa try to contain their laughter)

Director Daron:(heard off-screen) “Uh, what’s going on over here? Can someone please tell me”

Staff Member:(heard off-screen) “Hang on, let me check”

(Teen Meteora and Mariposa can’t hold it much longer and burst out laughing. Adult Marco runs past the scene seemingly breathing fire while screaming flailing his arms in the air)

Staff Member:(heard off-screen) “Okay, we found the problem! Bryana (Teen Meteora) and Isabella (Teen Mariposa) secretly put Ghost Peppers in the soup for the scene”

Director Daron:(sighs) “Oh my God, girls not cool!”

(Teen Meteora falls back laughing and Teen Mariposa hunches over laughing holding onto her stomach and stomping her foot)

Star:(runs past the scene holding a water bottle) “CAN SOMEONE OPEN THIS THING!”

-(Behind the Scenes. Wyscan is sitting in a make-up chair half complete with his magical look with only his face not painted and wearing a bald cap for his wig. He’s speaking with the Make-Up Artist next to him surround by boxes of various colored paints and brushes)

Wyscan:(exasperated) “Oh my God! You would not believe the day I had getting over here! First, my limo got stuck in traffic, so I was 2 hours late for rehearsal” (the Make-Up Artist adjusts the chair to lounge back and Wyscan closes his eyes as he continues his venting. Little does he know, Teen Meteora and Mariposa quickly and very quietly cover the Make-Up Artists mouth and drag her away off-screen) “Then, I was attacked by those frogs that escaped from that new show, “Ann-phibia”, or whatever studio by some liberal going all, “Free the Frogs!” Ugh! I swear one of those slimy things crawled in my hair!” (cringes as Teen Meteora and Mariposa come back standing on either side of Wyscan snickering and picking up make-up tools) “Finally, those creepy twin Pony Head girls wouldn’t stop playing dumb country rap song, “Old Town Road”, during rehearsal and now that songs stuck in my head” (groans) “Anyways sorry about talking your ear off, I’ll just sit back, lay back and let you work your magic, okay hun”

(Teen Meteora and Mariposa simultaneously pretend to be the Make-Up Artist and go, “Mmhmm”, mockingly while giving one another devious looks. They get to work applying make-up on Wyscan super fast with pink mist and after they’re complete, the mist fades away and Teen Mariposa readjusts Wyscans sweat to make him sit up right as Teen Meteora holds up a hand mirror in front of him. Wyscan opens his eyes and gasps at seeing his prank make-up job. His face is powdered white with hot pink lipstick, lavender eyeshadow and three stickers on his face with a heart, a star and a rainbow plastered on it and his wig was a big curly orange afro. Teen Meteora and Mariposa laugh. Wyscan screams angrily and jumps off his seat)

Wyscan:(frustratedly) “You little brats! Wait til’ my agent hears about this!”

(Teen Meteora and Mariposa stop laughing and put their arms around Wyscan in-between them and Teen Mariposa pulls out her iPhone to take a pic of the three of ‘em as the two strike a pose. Wyscan groans and we see a flash and hear a click)

-Wyscan:(irritatedly) “Ugh, what’s taking so long over there?!”

Teen Mariposa:”I’ve changed my mind”

Wyscan:”I thought we had a deal!”

Wyscan’s Stomach:”And baby’s hungry!” (slurping)

Teen Mariposa:”You want the girl...you’ll” (tries to pull out her bo staff, but she fumbles with it around her hands and it falls to the ground making a loud clank sound as Teen Mariposa cringes. She stares down at the staff as the staff off-screen laugh. Wyscan laughs too and Teen Mariposa gets annoyed with him) “Shut up!”

-(The background fight music plays as Teen Mariposa starts to fight Wyscan with her staff. Wyscan blocks her attacks and pushes her backward with his sword. He quickly knocks her away and pins her to the ground. We hear a crack and Wyscan stops fighting to stand over Teen Mariposa looking confused. The background fight music dies out and Teen Mariposa sits up and picks up her bo staff which is now split almost in half and dangling on one side. She stares at it dangling before nervously chuckling. Wyscan laughs as well)

•Sad Teen Hotline

•Jannanigans

-Tom:(to Marco) “I mean, if you and your best friend, ended up being something else”

Marco:”What? Tom, the Blood Moon acres has been-“ (gets interrupted by a tennis ball being shot at his face knocking him down) “Ow!”

Tom:(gasps. Turns to where the ball came from) “What the f-“ (a tennis ball is shot at him and ends up in his mouth silencing him with him mumbling, dropping his arm full of tennis balls and losing his balance. Another tennis ball is shot at and knocks Tom down)

Director Daron:(heard off-screen) “Who’s using the tennis ball shooting machine!?”

(the camera pans to see Janna using it and shooting tennis balls around the set. We hearing glass shattering, people screaming and see objects falling down)

Janna:(stops shooting and calls out) “Hey, Pony Head! You lied! This thing does work!” (continues shooting tennis balls around and chuckles evilly as more things break and peoples screaming are heard)

Director Daron:(groans off-screen) “I told you to put that thing away before the shoot!”

Equipment Manager:(flatly off-screen) “Sorry”

•Mama Star

-First Born Unicorn:(angrily) “STOP THROWING SH*T IN MY REALM!”

-Director Daron:(heard off-screen) “Cut! Who the Hell is editing the horses dialogue up there!?”

(the camera pans up to the sound room where we see Teen Meteora and Mariposa sitting in the Sound Room with Teen Mariposa typing as Teen Meteora giggles)

Teen Mariposa:(typing with each word) “Every.time.you.come.into.my.realm.you.always.f**K.sh*t.up!” (stops typing and laughs with Teen Meteora)

(they stop laughing when the notice the cameras and go wide eyed with shock)

•Ready, Aim, Fire

•The Right Way

-(the giant Solarian knight is trying to find its balance and then suddenly stands still. It starts dancing as “Old Town Road” plays. We pan to see Shonda and Shinda smugly next to their record player with Teen Meteora and Mariposa smugly next to them watching as Teen Mariposa controls the giant Solarian knight with a remote)

Teen Meteora:(proudly) “We baaaaaaad”

Teen Mariposa:(proudly) “And we like it like that!”

(all four girls laugh)

•Here to Help

•Pizza Party

•The Tavern at the End of the Multiverse

-Eclipsa:(to Moon as she’s positioning her pool stick) “You know, I never got a chance to thank-“ (the pool stick cuts a tear on the table. Eclipsas eyes widen. Meteora laughs from her baby carrier Eclipsas wearing) “Whoops!” (stands up straight covering her mouth blushing)

-Star:”Glossaryck! Glossaryck! Please, don’t leave me here with my dysfunctional family!” (sighs) “Okay”, (waves disinterestedly at Eclipsa’s tapestry) “Hi Eclipsa” (turns to Moons tapestry) “Motherf**ker”

Director Daron:(off-screen) “Cut! Star!”

Star:”What!? It’s what the fans are thinking after what just recently happened!”

Director Daron:(scoldingly still off-screen) “You can’t curse in a children’s show!”

(Toffee is shown casually sitting in a chair next to the Darons)

Toffee:”I believe that’s what the kids call, “Too real””

Star:”Oh, can it Toffee! You’re not really in this episode it’s just a prerecording of your line from our first finale! Besides, my character is just acting appropriately from her mothers betrayal and all the chaos that’s going on!”

Toffee:”Yeah, but who was relieved to be the smartest character in the show?” (gives her a look)

(Rosemary is just sucking her bowl of gumbo next to Toffee in her leveled chair nodding concededly)

Toffee:”Rosemary, sweetie, flip to the last page of the script for this episode please”

(Rosemary puts down her gumbo, wipes her mouth, picks up the episodes script, flips through it professionally and reads through it first)

Rosemary:”It says, “Star turns to Moons tapestry and says mournfully, “I guess this means Toffee was right””

Toffee:(puts a hand to his ear pretending like he’s deaf) “I-I’m sorry, what was that, I couldn’t hear that” (makes a smug look at Star)

(Star looks peeved)

Rosemary:”She says, “I guess this means Toffee” (looks up at Star shouting) “WAS RIGHT!””

Toffee:(turns over his hand smugly in the air) “Surprise”

Star:(has her fists balled by her sides and an angry expression with her teeth clenched yet she speaks in a mellow tone) “I am so glad, you’re dead.......on the show”

•Cleaved

-(Behind the Scenes. Almost everyone from the show is surrounded around The Realm of Magic set murmuring to one another. Daron Nefcy marches onto the green screen set of The Realm of Magic while making splashes on the shallow water spread on the ground. She clears her throat and puts her hands on her hips making everyone stop and stare at her)

Director Daron:(loudly and clearly) “Alright, listen up everyone! This is our last episode of the show and I want this done well! You think just cuz it’s the end you can do crazy sh*t like goof around, or do improve or even curse!? Well think again! This isn’t a playground people! This is a ✨spectacle!✨ You all worked for four years to make this a good show and I want you guys to take this seriously! You don’t know how much pride I put into this to make it my “magical girl fantasy” come true! I had to change a lot in this story to get this green lite, work through sleepless nights, have my episodes get premiered a day after the next in a twisted scheduling and deal with psycho fans just to get this done! Now I want you all to get out there and make this the best damn finale a children’s show has done! Even if we might get backlash for it, F**k it! Cuz we gave it our all! Now places everyone! PLACES! (marches out of the set making loud splashes as she departs with everyone in stunned silence)

(Star and Marco walk onto the set with small splashes as the two watch Daron march off looking silent and a bit unnerved)

Star:(rubs her arm) “Ok.........I guess, we’re gonna give it our all then” (laughs nervously)

Marco:(quietly) “If we ever do the reunion show” (points at Star) “You’re sitting next to her, not me!”

-Marco:(grabbing onto Star) “Star! Ok, what’s the plan!?”

Star:(pointing to an upward waterfall) “Uh, you have to go back through the Earth-“ (the upward shooting waterfall slowly starts decreasing as the lights luminate the set and the wind effects stop. The upward waterfall now just spits out bits of water from the tube as objects are lightly blown onto the set from the giant wind fan and The Realm of Magic turns back to a green screen)

Star:”Is someone using all the water supply again!?”

-Mina Loveberry:(walking smugly past Star and her powers) “And the thing about good ideas is they tend to hang arou-Ow!” (stops and picks up her foot groaning in pain and hoping) “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! OW! Ahhhhhh! Damn it! I stepped on a freakin’ mini pretzel!” (hisses while still holding up her foot and hopping in place) “God! Why did my character have to go all native with their feet!?”

Director Daron:(heard off-screen) “Can someone get some iodine!.......and the janitor!”

-(Marco is skateboarding down the street and falls off. The big build up music stops on a record scratch)

Marco:(groans and sits up on one knee) “Sorry! That wasn’t the big fall yet!” (under his breath as he’s getting up and adjusting himself) “God damn it, Marco! This your last day of shooting and you’re making an a** of yourself!”

Director Daron:(heard off-screen sternly) “DID YOU CURSE!?”

Marco:(panics and waves his hands in front of him) “No! No! No! No! I swear!” (panics more) “I mean, not as in swearing, I mean as in “I swear I didn’t curse!” Really” (laughs nervously)

[skullgruntz]

Seaward Cave

Title: Seaward Cave

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Guzma/Reader

Summary: Seaward Cave was the perfect place to retreat to when you wanted to be alone. Or, at least when you wanted some privacy.

Word count: 1378           

_

You sighed as you looked out the window. The Hano Resort had the best A/C yet, but you didn’t like being restricted to the hotel. You could go outside sure, but it was the middle of Alola’s scorching summer and being from Snowbelle City, in Kalos, you just could not handle the heat.

With a nod you resolved to go to the beach. Any beach. Alola was blessed with them, surely you could find a spot with a cool breeze and relax. Throwing a loose shirt and a pair of shorts over your bikini, as well as finding a wide brimmed hat, you headed out.

It was no surprise that Hano Beach was crowded with both tourists, like yourself, and natives. Fanning yourself you decided to check out Melemele Island. There was plenty of beach space there and that’s where Professor Kukui resided. If you didn’t have any luck, maybe you could ask him if he knew of any semi-secluded spots.

The Hau’oli City Beachfront was even more crowded than Hano! You hadn’t been out in the heat for more than fifteen minutes and already you were sweating buckets. Pokemon Centers were always temperature controlled, right? Maybe you should give your team a quick heal.

After you dropped your pokemon off at the counter, though they weren’t in bad shape at all, you walked over to the Café and ordered a refreshing Pinap juice and took the seat closest to the blast of the A/C. As you were enjoying the artificial cool breeze, you heard your name called in surprise.

You looked up and gave a small smile and wave to the man who walked over to your table. “Hey, Guzma,” you greeted, “How are you?”

Guzma was a tall young man about your age with white hair with an undercut fade. When you first met him, and similar encounters, he had been wearing a black zip up sweater over a white t-shirt. But today the hoodie was noticeably absent, probably due to the heat, and you had to admit to yourself that you were rather fond of the change. While you could tell he was strong just from his size and how he carries himself, the jacket hid some definition that was quite pleasing to the eye.

You had came to Alola to take on the new Pokemon League. However, since there was a group of children taking on the Island Trials at the moment, you had to wait for the season to end before the Kahunas would accept any battles. Professor Kukui was the first person you met, on the word of Professor Sycamore, who then introduced you to Kahuna Hala. It was Hala who suggested you and Guzma get acquainted more, being of similar age and similar goals.

He shrugged and grabbed the chair opposite of you, spinning it around and sitting down in one smooth motion. “Alright I guess. Just droppin’ my pokemon off before trainin’. What happened to you? You OK?” He asked, confused at your frazzled appearance.

Usually you were so put together, dressed in fancy and pristine clothes with perfect hair. Admittedly, his first impression of you was none too kind. He’d thought you were another snobby rich girl tourist. It was only after you explained how heavily inspired by high fashion Kalosian culture was did he look past your boots and leather handbags. Besides, every time he ran into you, you had adopted more and more of the practical clothing that was common in Alola. He just wasn’t expecting such a transformation, he had to do a double take to make sure it was you.

You groaned and wiped the beads of sweat forming on your forehead with the back of your hand. “Ugh, it’s so hot. I honestly don’t understand how anyone can be outside for more than an hour and not fall over from a heat stroke.”

Guzma laughed, “Yea it’s hot today, don’t know ‘bout no heat strokes though.”

You sighed, “I was looking for a nice cool spot on the beach but guess all the good spots were taken early.”

Guzma paused his chuckles and clicked his tongue, “I know where you can find a good place to cool off, and practically no one goes there.”

You immediately perked up, “Really? Where?”

“Lemme grab my pokemon and I’ll show ya. You gonna need ta grab some repels before we go though.”

You nodded and the two of you got up, you heading to the Pokemart and him heading to the counter to get his team. “Ready to bounce?”

“Yep. Where to?”

“Melemele Meadow.” He answered as he held the door open for you.

-

Past the sea of yellow flowers you found a small, very small, opening in the side of the mountain. You blinked as Guzma stretched his hand out like he was showing you something cool. “You want me to...go in...there?” You asked skeptically.

Guzma rolled his eyes. “Nah, I’m jus’ pointin’ at it for no reason.”

Ignoring his sarcastic comment you kneeled down and looked further into the small path. You couldn’t see what was on the other side. You hummed and stood back up, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this some kind trick Alolan’s play on tourists?”

He scoffed, “You really think ya boy’s like that?” He sounded genuinely offended.

“Oh calm down, we haven’t known each other that long.”

“Yea, yea, just hurry up.”

Still a little hesitant, you tossed your tote bag into the cave as far as you could and lowered yourself to your knees as you peered in, “I dunno, kinda looks like a tight fit.”

Guzma let out an inappropriate, though obviously humorous, grunt, “Sure does.”

You chuckled at the innuendo and rolled your eyes as you crawled through the path. Not even halfway to the other side the temperature change was completely noticeable. Once you were standing on the other side you could feel the cool air rush over you. “Tell me this is it?” You asked Guzma once he was in the cave too.

He nodded, “Yea but I got the perfect spot in here.”

A few minutes later he was spreading his arms in front of a pool that was fairly hidden, even in an already secluded cave. “Out there’s Kala’e Bay.” He said as you pulled out a beach blanket and setting it down near the pool. You nodded though the bay wasn’t interesting to you right now. Maybe you’d check it out once the day cooled down, but it was too hot outside and just perfect here in this cave.

“How deep is this pool?” You asked as you let your feet dangle in the water.

He shrugged and sat next to you, “Not too deep. Don’t think it’s even three feet.”

“Oh that’s perfect!” You smiled and released your pokemon. They deserved a chance to cool off too. Your Pyroar was probably the only pokemon on your team that wasn’t bothered by this heat wave.

It didn’t take long before you were in the pool with your pokemon, except for Pyroar, who had somehow found a sunny patch to lounge in. Your laughter bounced off the cave walls, disturbing a few Zubat, though thanks to the repel they kept their distance.

“Come on! Just sitting there’s gotta be boring!” You said as you splashed a bit of water at Guzma.

He protested with a few choice words but grinned down at you. “You just wanna get me outta my pants, don’t ‘cha?”

Your only response was to laugh and splash him again as he was pulling his shirt over his head.

“Hey!” He yelled, quickly throwing off his pants and jumping in the water, attempting to splash you but you had already ducked underwater having anticipated his move. Though he did get you when you popped back up for air.

So the game a water tag ensued until Guzma had you pinned to the pool wall, a small part of his mind glad that your more vicious pokemon had taken to an afternoon siesta. You weren’t sure who made the first move, or if it was a mutual understanding of attraction, but the giggles and laughter faded as you surrendered to a different kind of relaxation.