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peaches-cs · 4 months

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Expresso(John Soap MacTavish x Reader)

Summary: Johnny will be the first to admit that after years in the military he has a few screws loose. Or it might’ve been because of the bullet wound he took to the head. Sure he knows what he’s doing isn’t healthy. Call it obsession and delusion if you will. But, now he’ll do anything just to spend another second in your company. You belongs to him, you just don’t know it yet.

Warnings: John Soap MacTavish x reader, 18 +, Dark mature themes, unhealthy relationships, gore, violence, eventual smut(may have Non-Con), Dub-Con, kidnapping, stalking, creepy behaviors, death, F.Reader, Café AU but dark and twisted

Previous part

Part 2

You’ve been feeling off today. Even just walking in the street, you keep having that gut sensation that someone is following you. Yet every time you look around the shop, the book store, or the street there’s never anyone there. You’re getting that same spine tingling feeling just sitting in your apartment.

You can’t even focus on your book. With a frustrated sigh, you snap it shut and set it down on the coffee table in front of you. Maybe it’s time for some sleep. You stand up from the couch, grab your phone, and walk to the bedroom. Once inside, you close the door behind you and flicker on the lamp on top your night stand where you place your phone down.

Glancing at your dresser as you walk over to it, you notice that your underwear drawer is left wide open. A shudder rolls down your body. Wasn’t that closed when you came home? You haven’t touched that drawer since this morning before your daily shower and you were sure you closed it.

Your heart hammers in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you notice that your closet is cracked open too. It’s dark inside. All of a sudden, you get very nervous. For sure you know you closed it all the way earlier.

Very slowly, you creep towards your closet with bated breath. Right when you’re about to grab the handle, a loud ping from your phone makes you yelp and turn around to your nightstand. You instantly forget about the closet when your screen lights up with a text.

You quickly walk over to it and open the device. A small smile forms on your lips when you notice it’s a text from Johnny. The man’s been working with you for a little more than two weeks now. He’s been helping out a lot with Aiden on vacation. Johnny has yet to meet your coworker and friend.

Johnny: What’s your favorite doughnut flavor?

It’s hard not to become friends with Johnny. He’s a sweet guy, very friendly and caring. Not to mention he wasn’t lying about being a fast learner. His adjustment to the job was amazing. He genuinely seems to like being a barista and he’s good at it. His social nature does wonders with the customers, especially with the older women who come in for their morning cup. Your thumbs type back a fast response.

You: You’ve got to stop spoiling me like this

He’s been bringing you little treats even though you literally work at a café that has pastries. Every morning Johnny has something for the two of you to share. Sadie’s taken a big liking to him too. They get along like grandmother and grandson. It’s adorable to be honest.

Johnny: I love spoiling you ;)

Johnny: tell me what you want lass

You laugh softly and text him back what flavors you prefer before thanking him. He's charming, that's for sure. But, you know his type. Flirty, mischievous, and pretty. You know he’s trouble, probably a player. So, you never take his flirting seriously.

You put your phone on the charger and then head to the bathroom to go do your nightly routine. After fifteen minutes, you exit and enter your bedroom once again. A gasp comes from your lips when you see the closet door is now fully shut. Okay, You know for a fact you didn’t close it.

“Oh fuck…” You mutter and decide to just rip open the closet door, only to find no one inside of there. Your heart pounds in your chest. After this, your paranoia spikes and you search around your entire apartment. No one. Nothing. No signs of anyone having broken in. No other things out of place. Are you going crazy? Maybe…you just need sleep.

After rubbing your eyes, you retreat back into your bedroom for the night and shut the door behind you. Needless to say, sleep does not come easy at all.

——————

“Donnae take this the wrong way lass, but yeh look tired” Johnny frowns a bit when he sees you the next morning. You’re slumped over the counter as you wait for the morning rush to come. It’s always quiet when you first open. The rush hour begins at 7 AM and lasts through 10 AM. “Yer practically a representation for the livin dead”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus, I honestly had trouble falling asleep last night” You take a bite out of one of the doughnuts he brought you. Apparently he made them himself. His mother taught him how to bake. This flavor is glazed, the white and translucent frosting tastes a bit different from other glazed doughnuts- a bit tangy with the after taste. Still, it’s good and you eat the whole thing.

As you consume the treat, Johnny stares at you intently. You swear you could see him shiver and his skin flush a bit. His pupils are dilated too. “And why’s tha?” He asks and leans against the counter with his massive forearms.

“Just one of those nights where I was tossing and turning…” You drift off, not sure of how to explain to Johnny that your underwear drawer was left open and in the morning after you shut it, you realized three pairs were missing. The whole closet incident freaked you the fuck out. How do you tell someone those things without seeming dramatic? Sure they were small occurrences, but they really scared you.

“Common bonnie, you can talk to me. What’s goin on?” He gives you that puppy dog eyed stare. God that face is enough to make anyone crumble. You’ve known Johnny for two weeks, working with him every day since he was hired. He stays after his shift is over to just…hang out with you. It’s safe to say that he’s made his way to being one of your friends by now. You bite your lip in thought before sighing.

“I’ve been feeling like I’m being watched” You say honestly and frown at Johnny tiredly. “The past few weeks this has been happening…little weird things are going missing in my house and…I just don’t feel safe” You let out a shaky breath. “The worst part is it isn’t anything like huge enough to get the police involved…maybe I’m just going crazy” Your trembling a bit while you speak, your nerves frazzled.

Johnny nods his head. There’s no look of judgment, nothing of the sort. He places a hand on your upper back and gives it a rub. “Damn bonnie, I believe yeh” He assures. “I’ll protect yah, walk you to and from wherever you need. Yev got me phone number. Don’t hesitate to call if yer feelin unsafe, ah don’t live far” He smiles at you in a way that’s warm and inviting. Feeling touched that he’d go out of his way just to make you feel comfortable makes your heart flutter a bit.

“Thanks Johnny, but I don’t want to be a burden-“ You’re instantly cut off.

“Yer not a burden. Hen, I want to help yeh. It’s what friends are for” He insists and wraps his arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze so that your body is pressed into his side. You smile up at him and nod your head.

“I appreciate it” You tell him with nothing but sincerity in your tone. Once he pulls away, you look over to the scheduling on the calendar that has your shifts written on there. Aiden comes back tomorrow. “You’ll get to meet Aiden soon” You say to Johnny while crossing your arms over your chest and leaning your hip against the counter.

“Oh? The other lad that works here?” He hums in acknowledgment and looks over the calendar too.

“Yup, you’ll like him. He’s a big sweetheart” You beam while mentioning Aiden. You’re excited for him to come back tomorrow. He’s one of your closer friends, probably your best friend. “We’ve known each other for around two years” You adjust your apron around your waist.

Johnny goes quiet for a moment. His stormy blue eyes are locked on the calendar, lips pressed firmly together. That scrutinizing stare disappears as soon as it comes and he smiles. “Sounds like a nice lad. You two are friends?” He questions.

“Mhm! We both started working at the café at the same time, it’s how we met” You say casually. Johnny parts his lips as if he’s going to ask something else, but then the door to the café dings and your attention focuses on the customer who just entered the building.

He goes off to get ready to prepare for making the order while you greet the lady at the register.

——————

There’s something ugly and angry coiling inside of his gut. His eyes are stuck on the order he’s making, but his mind is far from the coffee he’s pouring into the cup. Your laughter usually only brings him some warm fuzzy feelings and reminds him of the sound of chime bells clinking in the wind on the farm back at his childhood home. But, when he’s not the one bringing out that gorgeous sound from your lips he wants to do ungodly things. Things he’s done plenty of times for his missions. Things he’s more than capable of doing.

He knew today would be the day that he’d be meeting Aiden. That the wee shite you call a friend would be coming back to work and taking up your attention.

Johnny wants to gnash his teeth and rip out his throat everytime that arsehole talks to you. You’ve barely talked to him all shift. Once he finishes the order he places it on the pick up counter and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes darting between you and that black haired twit.

He’s a bit taller than Johnny. Around 6’1 would be a good estimate, somewhere close to Kyle’s height. He’s lanky, pale skin, brown eyes and tattoos.

It takes all of Johnny's power not to sneer at the lad. Finally, for the first time during the shift today you glance over at Johnny in concern. It’s no secret he’s been in a brooding mood. There’s barely been a peep from him, which is very unlike him in the first place. That ice that’s formed over his heart during the shift cracks when you finally show him attention.

You pull away from Aiden when he goes to take someone’s order and go over to Johnny with that adorable little worried expression painted over your pretty features.

“Are you okay?” You ask with a soft voice. He watches as you nervously toy with the bracelet on your wrist. How cute. You’re anxious. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Aye, I’m fine bonnie” He reassures and runs his hand through his overgrown Mohawk. He’ll need a trim soon. Your mouth quirks downwards, showing that you don’t believe him.

“You’ve been quiet today…are you…mad at me?” You ask nervously. Johnny blinks down at you. Of course he isn’t mad at you. God he could never be angry at such a precious angel like yourself, all sweet and doting.

“Nah, it’s not you lassie. I’m sorry if Ah seem a bit off. Guess I’ve got a headache”

“Why don’t you sit down? Take a break- I’ll make you something” You fret over him and gently take him by the arm. Johnny is practically beaming while you guide him to sit in one of the chairs they keep behind the counter. It’s innocent, cute, his heart is swelling.

It makes him want to bend you over every single table in the café and make you feel so good that you’d be screaming his name. A fantasy that did in fact help him finish into that bowl of glazed frosting he jacked off into for those doughnuts he gave you during yesterday's shift. Was it nasty and deprived? Yes. But, a sick part of his mind is so possessive and content that you’ve already tasted his cum without even knowing.

“Aye, that would be appreciated-“

“Everything alright?” Aiden pops up from behind you. Johnny's mood instantly sours and he clenches his teeth. His jaw tenses and his eyes narrow.

“Everything’s fine” Johnny grits out before you can respond. Aiden’s gaze flickers to his and his expression matches Johnnys. You’re oblivious to the tension. Aiden however, seems to immediately detect Johnny's distaste for him. That’s fine. Johnny wants him to know he despises him.

“Maybe you should go home early if you’re not feeling good. We’ve got this shift covered, morning rush is over” Aiden shrugs his shoulders.

“Ah said I’m fine. If I took a bullet to the head I can take feelin under the weather” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. Your eyes widen a bit when he says that. He told you he was medically discharged, but he never mentioned how.

The door to the café rings.

“Aiden, can you take care of that? I’m going to get him some ice and something to drink” You dismiss him in order to tend to Johnny. He gives Aiden a cocky smirk. The black haired male gives him an unamused glare before tending to the customer.

Once you grab a little bag of ice and get him some water to start off with, you take a seat next to him.

“Yer a sweetheart hen” Johnny sighs and to his shock, you press the ice to his head yourself. He bites back a groan. You’re killing him here. How can he not want to pounce on you when you’re taking care of him like a doting little girlfriend? He stares at you, knowing his pupils must be fully dilated. He’s sure if he were in a cartoon he’d have those cheesy stupid heart eyes.

“Did you really get shot in the head?” You ask as you gaze at the scar he has on his skin. He can tell the pieces are falling in place for you.

“Aye, bastard got me right there” He taps his scar for emphasis. Your eyes light up with curiosity yet something else. Pity? Sympathy? Concern? “Ah was a Sargent for a task force, demolishin expert” Oh he’s got you hooked. And with that Johnny goes on, telling tales of his teammates, missions they’ve been on. Of course he had to show off now and ends up exaggerating some things. What? He’s got a pretty lass to entertain.

That’s how the rest of the shift goes. The tables turn. Now it’s him having your undivided attention, not that other prick. In the peaceful warm glow of the café, he captured your interest. The

smell of coffee and sweets, the sounds of cars on the streets zooming by, the quietness of the café as he retells his stories to you is the most lovely thing he’s experienced in a while.

You laugh at the funny ones and nearly tear up at the sadder ones. Oh how he’s so madly obsessed with your reactions. He’s obsessed with you.

The only thing that ruins it is Aiden. He sits there, sulking and glaring as Johnny yaps. He decided that maybe he’ll have Laswell do a background check on him. He’s already had one done on you.

All Johnny knows is that he wants the twat gone. And when Johnny wants something, he will get it.

#john soap mactavish #soap x reader #call of duty x reader #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x y/n

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dr-futbol-blog · 2 months

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The Siege I, Pt. 6

So, whether or not Sheppard and McKay had been in contact with each other between the dark of night and the light of morning, we are explicitly told that they now have 29 hours until the wraith arrive. For what ever reason, they keep leaving these pockets of space and time where we are given no explanation for them... until alter, when they attempt to explain them all away with "the game".

Anyway, back on the weapons platform, it does not appear as though Grodin has been doing anything particularly useful while McKay had been preoccupied by what ever his handheld device is supposed to be. We see McKay rather obviously shifting his mind back into thinking about their current problem from what ever he had been thinking about just a moment ago that was not this:

McKay: Alright. Let's just step back here. Think about it: this baby is a directed energy beam weapon--it runs off a relatively low-yield charge like our naqahdah generator, so that means it's gotta be continually building up a charge in some kind of a buffer, or a capacitor, until it's discharged. Grodin: I think I found something like that. Yes, here it is. Right now the buffer's at ninety percent. McKay: OK, so power's getting to the buffer, it's just not getting to the actual weapon.

He calls the satellite "this baby," which is perfectly appropriate space pilot parlance, as we learned back in The Defiant One (S01E12) during their 15 hour flight to the same place. Sheppard just told Ford that a fistfight and a beating are "a long drive apart," which is also what Sheppard and McKay currently are from each other. McKay also makes a reference to this: "We've got twenty-nine hours til showtime, so let's hope we don't have to order parts, huh?" They both seem to be thinking about the distance between them.

We are never explained even a little bit what the device in McKay's hand is or what it's used for but it does not seem to be a part of the satellite. It sure does look like a communication device.

Later on, even though he is wearing his ear piece, it looks like Grodin is talking right into it when he's communicating with McKay during his space walk which suggests that the ear pieces somehow connect with the device. So, given that Grodin and Miller were both in the same room with McKay when he was fiddling with the device that allows one to communicate with the ear pieces, he sure hadn't been communicating with them right then. And there's the fact that he was punching buttons on it in frustration like someone that had just been hung up on.

But, like. If McKay and Sheppard had a 'phone call', why do we not get to listen in on it? Why? For what possible reason?

Meanwhile on Atlantis, Sheppard and Ford question Teyla in her quarters, and if there was a visual parallel between her and Bates laying on the hospital bed between the previous episode and this, here we see a visual parallel between Weir and Heightmeyer in her private quarters in the previous episode as opposed to the two men now. This could be interpreted as a kind of stabilizing triangulation: that it's easier to have two people in one's private quarters when discussing personal matters than it would be to have to do it one-on-one. It depersonalizes the interaction, creates a bit of distance. There definitely seems to be more space between all the participants here than there was between the women.

At the same time, as they are inquiring about where and whom with Teyla spent her night, we are asked to call attention to the fact that a night has just passed and perhaps also to question where other people had spent their nights. Teyla claims to have been in her quarters:

Teyla: You know me, Aiden. I never would have taken it that far. Ford: I know, so let's just see if we can't rule it out altogether. Where were you last night? Teyla: I was here, in my room. Ford: The whole night? Teyla: Yes. Sheppard: So there's no way of knowing whether you blacked out or not? Teyla: I have no way of proving it, no, but I did not leave this room last night--I am sure of it. I did not leave this room.

So, although we do not know how Sheppard spent his night, we now know that at least he did not spend the night with her. But Teyla does not actually say that she had spent the night alone, only that she has no way of proving that she did not leave the room. Her certainty might actually suggest otherwise--that there had been someone there that she is not at liberty to disclose. She did get pretty cozy with Heightmeyer in the previous episode, but I'll circle back to that later.*

But all of this just highlights the question of where people spend their nights, whether they spend their nights alone, and whether they might have reason to say that something is one way when it is, in fact, another way. It is safer for them to have this discussion in an episode where we know that Sheppard and McKay could not possibly have spent the night together--at least physically.

It is difficult to know what Sheppard is thinking here because he is purposefully concealing it. He does seem to be careful not to accuse Teyla without just cause probably not just because of their friendship but also his own past experiences. But even though he gives an unequivocal "Of course not" to her question of whether they think she did it, he seems far from certain. While Ford is looking at his superior officer to know what to do here, Sheppard himself has no one to turn to. He doesn't know what to do because the person he would like to run his thoughts by is not available for him.

The fact that they are purposefully playing with what information the audience is given and what is held back seems to be lampshaded in the conversation Weir is having with Zelenka at the same time:

Weir: No matter what we choose here, invaluable information's gonna be lost, and that is just the information that we've deciphered. Now we all know we have barely even begun to scratch the surface. What if we destroy the cure for all disease, or even some piece of information that could lead to the downfall of the wraith? Zelenka: I don't know what I can tell you. I will try to improve on McKay's compression ratios, but we are at war, Elizabeth. In war, there are casualties.

Zelenka says that there are casualties in war, and we transition from this directly to McKay. What Zelenka says is foreshadowing Grodin's death at the end of the episode but the fact that we cut straight to McKay is not only a bit of misdirection, letting us worry that he might be one of the casualties of war, but is also priming us for the climax in which that is precisely what Sheppard thinks.

Back on the weapons platform, they run into a problem during which the resolution of the episode is likewise teased. Someone is very definitely going to die. Naturally not knowing this in advance, McKay and Grodin keep making little digs at each other.

McKay: I guess our guy took a hit. Must have disrupted the main power conduit. Grodin: We need to reroute the power from our buffer to the actual weapon. If we can do that, it will arm. McKay: See, now, your masterful grip on the blatantly obvious continues to impress me, Peter! Grodin: Thank you.

We can compare this scene with the exchange McKay and Sheppard had in Before I Sleep (S01E15):

McKay: What's that mean? Sheppard: I assume something worked. McKay: Yes, that's very sharp! Sheppard: Thank you!

Grodin and McKay's exchange is basically the same and again very different at the same time. First of all, McKay is not being very kind to Grodin but is taking his anxiety and exhaustion out on the man in a way that we are certain he feels bad about after the events of the day are through. He has nothing against Grodin, he is merely frustrated and he happens to be there to take the brunt of it. He even seems to notice himself that what he said was unnecessary the moment he saw Grodin's reaction to it. Grodin's reply to him is sarcastic because while he does know what McKay is like, it still stings.

They are both antagonistic toward each other, have been for all the time that we have known them, for seemingly no reason. Sometimes people just do rub each other the wrong way. But while McKay was basically telling Sheppard the same thing, that he was being unhelpful because he is a big dumb face, McKay knew perfectly well that Sheppard was doing it to get a rise out of him. Sheppard had said it just to get McKay to say something back to him in return, to get his attention. And when Sheppard deadpans him with "Thank you!" he is likewise being sarcastic but not because he was in any way hurt by what McKay said. It was just the next thing that was designed to get a response from McKay. Because he likes it when McKay says things to him. He likes it when McKay gives him attention. He does not like it when McKay gives attention to old half-dead women, he likes to have it himself, thank you. McKay may even have said what he said to Grodin because he misses Sheppard but even though Grodin used the exact same words to respond, he immediately noticed that it's just not the same. He even attempts to lift everybody's mood then using a lighter tone.

Now, it seems as though resolving the problem with the satellite requires one of them to do something potentially very dangerous, and none of them seem eager to do it. While he obviously is going to do the heroic thing, do what must be done, this also tells us that like Sheppard, McKay has no desire to put himself needlessly in danger. He too has something to want to live for. He has someone he wants to get back to in one piece.

McKay: Alright. We need to route power around these damaged circuits. If we can do that, we should be laughing. Alright, I'm disoriented. Where are these? Grodin: They're outside! McKay: What? Grodin: Look. See? McKay: Oh, great! Grodin: Someone will need to EVA. McKay: Yeah, but there's nothing to hang on to. Grodin: I'm not saying it will be easy, or safe.

Miller seems to really enjoy McKay's company, is the thing. It is not clear why this is but he just really seem to like him, and is being extremely respectful toward him. McKay is being his usual self but it is unusual for people to be into that. Miller is a proxy for Sheppard and whether or not Sheppard did have a talk with him before they took off, he certainly seems to be in McKay's corner. But however much he might like the man, Miller is not Sheppard, and this is made abundantly clear.

They end up doing something that they never would have had to resort to if Sheppard had been there with them. It shows the limits of the effect of what ever discussion Sheppard may have had with Miller--he is not willing to risk his own life for the Doctor. Or he just doesn't think that he would know how to do anything even if he did go. But if Sheppard had been there, there would not even have been a discussion on who goes. He would have been out there already. Now, they have to argue about it:

McKay: OK, so who goes? Grodin: We could draw straws. McKay: Oh, brilliant! OK, Miller, break out the straws! Grodin: It doesn't have to be straws! Miller: We could do rock, paper, scissors. McKay: OK, on three. One, two, three. OK, obviously rock, paper, scissors doesn't work with three! Anyone have a pencil? Miller: Yeah, I think I've got one. McKay: Well, get on with it! Miller: Okay, short piece goes. McKay: You go first. Hmm! Well done. Good for you. Miller? Yeah. Miller: You're the best qualified to fix it anyway, sir. McKay: Mmm. Flight of the dead man.** Good.

We are heavily implied that it is McKay who is going to die because that is precisely what Sheppard thinks has happened at the end of the episode. McKay is marked as "the dead man" here. But here it is still presented in a comedic light with their fumbling over who has to go outside. McKay draws the short piece which could symbolically be interpreted as him having the smallest dick out of the three (emphasized by his line "good for you" to Grodin; it's entirely possible they do have some insight into each other's dicks that is played out in the undertones but since we have been implied that McKay is very well-endowed previously, I don't know what kind of an elephant dong Grodin is meant to have here). But the fact that he is the one to actually go outside to do it actually tells us that out of the three of them, he is the one with the biggest balls.

He also doesn't seem to be afraid. He is cautious, he would rather not risk himself needlessly, but it is not for his own safety that he feels fear here.

While McKay prepares for his space walk, Sheppard and Ford are at Elizabeth's office discussing the Teyla-situation. Sheppard is leaning back in his chair and has his arms folded in front of him, once more as a barrier because this whole situation is making him uncomfortable. Make note that the readout of the long-range sensors are on a screen behind Weir showing the approach of the wraith and the ticking down of the clock. They are surrounded by this knowledge at all times.

It is interesting that Weir does not outright trust Sheppard's take on the situation, wanting to know what Ford thinks independent of the influence of his superior officer. And in this, she is again confirming Sheppard's belief that she thinks his personal feelings compromise his judgement which is precisely what Bates had thrown in his face earlier. Weir is questioning his leadership right in front of someone serving under him which does not sit well with him even if he doesn't begrudge Ford for speaking his mind.

Sheppard: I know there's no love lost between her and Bates, but I can't see her beating the hell out of the guy. Weir: Ford? Ford: Ma'am? Weir: What do you think? Ford: I worry about what she might have done unknowingly. The whole wraith connection thing and her nightmares make me nervous. Sheppard: Yeah, well, what are we gonna do about it? Stick her in the Brig? This is Teyla we're talking about.

While they are discussing the situation, Beckett runs in and informs them that Teyla hadn't been the assailant (and it is only when he hears that Teyla's name as been cleared that Sheppard finally unfolds his arms)--there is a wraith loose in the city. Things keep on getting worse.

Continued in Pt. 7

-* We never really find out what the natives of Pegasus think about the sexual orientations of people. There is a case to be made for the Ancients, their "Ancestors" to have been bisexual across the board (see discussion on the sexual desire between Ancients as an assortative mating strategy to ensure the survival of their species), so one possibility is that they passed on their own sexual mores on the natives of the galaxy. The other option is that due to the constant cullings keeping their populations diminished, sexual practices not contributing to procreation might have been heavily frowned upon (except for the societies whose survival strategy was to keep their population manageable, which would have had the opposite effect). The only information we have on this is Ronan's non-reaction to Sheppard's suggestion that he might want to date a man, which tells us very little even if we viewed him as somehow representative of native Pegasusian sentiments.

-** There may be a reference to The Book of the Dead Man poems by Marvin Bell here, especially About the Dead Man and the Dead Man's Beloved because it resembles that chapter in War and Peace that Sheppard had apparently been reading recently (regarding the singular way in which couples communicate with each other):

The dead man and his wife have an ongoing conversation, make that discussion, let's say debate, call it a disputation, maybe it's an argument. To wit: who gets to go first, the dead man or the dead man's beloved? When the dead man's wife strikes the dead man's funny bone, a kind of electricity surges from his elbow to his pinky. The dead man and his wife bump their skeletons together like keys in a pocket. When the dead man strikes his funny bone, his arm goes rubbery and his pinky quivers like a ripe raspberry. When the dead man and his wife bump their bones together, there's no disputation, there's thesis and antithesis, action and reaction, give and take, physics and geometry, but there's no discourse in any metaphysical sense. Notwithstanding literary compasses and other mathematical, magnetic or gyroscopic conductors of sexual metaphor. The dead man's funny voltage is all physical. When the dead man comes, he goes, and when he rises, he falls. The dead man is the only one who goes to the ends of the earth for his beloved. To wit: if they can't go together they aren't going at all.

We never see McKay enjoying poetry or literature, not in the same way Sheppard does. His references are usually very pop culture. But the way that he says "flight of the dead man" sounds like a reference to something. Marvin Bell was an anti-war poet, so it would be kind of fitting for him to be thinking about his poetry at a time like this. There are a number of the Dead Man poems that might work as a reference but this seems fitting in the context of this particular episode, what with McKay falling with the artificial gravity and the obvious sexual metaphor in the docking of the jumper. And it is interesting that both this poem and the only chapter of War and Peace where dreams and nightmares are mentioned (as per the multiple references to same in The Gift (S01E18) where we see the book), this concept of the on-going and singular conversation between two people in love is mentioned.

#stargate atlantis #sga #sga meta #john sheppard #sheppard is bi #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #ep. the siege #ep. before i sleep #ep. the defiant one

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kuri-crocus · 8 months

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Results: A Michael Sheen bf/gf for a David Tennant character

I made a result post for the GO3 wishes. So here are the results for the Good Omens Extended Universe shipping polls as well. These are the results for David's characters. Here are the results for Michael's characters. It doesn't mean to be the end: I am still open for requests for other characters...

1. The Doctor -255 votes-

Most popular match: Harry Jones (28 %)

2. Austen Blume and Wesley Snipes, 3. Colin Lawes (16 %), 4. Mark Furness and Slavkin O'Hara (8% each)

19. John Helm -21 votes-

Most popular match: Thorne Jamison (57.1 %)

2.Austen Blume and Tony Towers (19 % each), 3. Harry Jones (4.8 %)

20. Donald Peterson -19 votes-

Most popular match: Colin Lawes (42.1 %)

2. Tony Towers and Wesley Snipes (21.1 % each), 3.Mark Furness and , Slavkin O'Hara (5.3 %) 5.3% voted for other characters (not specified)

If you scrolled until here you deserve this fact: Until now we have 6 mutual couples where the character won the other ones poll and vice versa: Aro x Peter Vincent, Alec Hardy x Bill Masters, Campbell Bain x Miles Maitland, Roland Blum x Aiden Hoynes, Giacomo Casanova x Robbie Ross and Peter Carlisle x Colin Lawes!

#good omens extended universe #david tennant #michael sheen

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shield-o-futuro · 1 year

Note

“Honestamente, acho que só precisamos fazer uma loucura”- Logan + Aiden

Conto 62 — Aiden Danvers

Meu coração dispara quando vejo Logan ser arremessado vários metros até bater em um dos postes de luz, após um soco violento de seu adversário. Como estou ocupado com o outro, não consigo ir a seu encontro, então recorro ao comunicador.

— Você está bem? — Pergunto rapidamente, e quando não obtenho uma resposta imediata, tento mais uma vez. — Cara, você tá legal? Fala comigo!

Alguns segundos depois, finalmente ouço a voz dele.

— Ai…. — Logan resmunga, e para meu alivio, posso ver ele se levantando lentamente ao longe. — Olha, eu não queria dizer isso…

— Então não fala.

— … mas talvez a gente devesse deixar os Hulks cuidarem desses dois. — Logan continua mesmo assim, me fazendo revirar os olhos.

Ok, preciso concordar que os Irmãos Blood realmente não são adversários para qualquer um. Pela galáxia afora, onde eles costumam atuar com muito mais frequência, eles são conhecidos por serem imparáveis.

No entanto, Logan e eu podíamos dar conta deles. Especialmente agora que trouxemos a luta para um terreno vazio. Já que não precisamos mais nos preocupar com civis sendo atingidos no meio da briga, podemos nos concentrar em descobrir uma maneira de acabar com essa dupla, sem precisarmos de reforços.

—Vamos lá, garotos, pelos menos nos deem algum tipo de desafio. — E falando na dupla de irmãos, um deles, R'Hos, reclama, me tirando abruptamente de meus pensamentos, quando os dois vem em minha direção ao mesmo tempo.

— Isso aqui não está nem perto de ser minimamente interessante. — O outro, Gh'Ree, tenta desferir um soco contra mim, mas sou mais rápido e desvio. — A gente achou que pelo menos o moleque que costuma viajar com a Capitã Marvel fosse um oponente a altura, mas estávamos errados.

Sua provocações não me irritam realmente, mas pelo menos, me dão a possibilidade de reunir minhas forças e apontar meus dois punhos na direção de cada um deles e atingi-los com rajadas de fótons.

Isso é o suficiente para atordoá-los por um momento, deixando uma distancia maior entre nós e os fazendo calar a boca, finalmente.

— Eles só são super fortes quando estão juntos. — Aviso para Logan quando me coloco ao seu lado. — Só precisamos separá-los de forma definitiva, e aí temos uma chance.

— Como se não estivéssemos tentando fazer isso há praticamente dez minutos.

Lanço um olhar irritado para meu melhor amigo.

— Tem outra ideia por acaso? É só assim que eles costumam ser derrotados, até onde eu sei.

Logan fica em silencio por uns dois segundos. Não posso ver sua expressão, já que ele está de armadura, mas sei que ele deve estar pensativo.

— Na verdade sim, eu tenho.

— Que seria...? — O incentivo a dizer mais, já que não posso ler sua mente para saber qual o tal plano.

— É uma ideia arriscada, não sei se vai dar certo. Mas, honestamente, acho que só precisamos fazer uma loucura.

Reviro os olhos, frustrado.

— Tipo o que?

— Não tenho tempo de explicar agora. Só distrai um, que faço o resto. Cuidado!

O aviso dele veio uma fração de segundo tarde demais. Logan desvia e levanta voo, mas eu sou atingido por um punho enorme, e a sensação é quase pior do que levar um soco do Hulk.

Caio no chão com força, e pelo canto do olho, posso ver Logan atirando contra um dos irmãos. Ouço ele dizer algo como "isso deveria fazer cócegas, humano?" mas não consigo prestar mais atenção na luta deles, já que tenho que me concentrar em meu próprio adversário.

Sinto meu corpo todo dolorido, mas me coloco de pé antes que Gh'Ree possa chegar perto o suficiente para continuar me espancando. Ele tenta me acertar mais uma vez, mas consigo bloquear seu ataque, e revido com um soco. Isso o faz cambalear um pouco para trás, mas vejo que não tira o sorrisinho arrogante de seu rosto.

— Aposto que sua avó bate mais forte do que isso.

— Ah, cala a boca, cara. Você é irritante pra caramba. — Me lanço para a frente, me impulsionando com um voo rápido, e tento derruba-lo. O ataco várias vezes, mas por mais que eu o atinja, ele não parece estar ficando mais fraco, ou machucado, ou cansado, mas eu também posso continuar pelo tempo que for preciso.

Medimos forças até que, por um pequeno deslize meu, acabo dando a ele a oportunidade de passar seu braço ao redor do meu pescoço, e então, me vejo preso enquanto ele começa a colocar muita pressão, me fazendo perder o ar.

Tento me soltar e também tento olhar para a direção onde Logan está tendo que lidar com R'Hos. Ainda tentando me soltar de meu oponente, vejo o momento exato em que Logan decide atirar uma rajada de energia concentrada em R'Hos bem na cara, e então, uma pequena explosão acontece.

Fico cego por alguns segundos, mas sinto Gh'Ree me soltar, e eu caio no chão, a tempo de ouvi-lo dizer:

— Mas que merda foi.....?

Pisco rapidamente algumas vezes e vejo, agora que a poeira está abaixando, que Logan continua de pé. Não há sinal do outro Irmão Blood.

Logan não diz nada, apenas olha para Gh'Ree e para mim. Fico tão surpreso e confuso, que mal tenho tempo de reagir ao que se seguiu.

Irado pelo que acabou de acontecer, Gh'Ree, que até então tinha sua atenção total em mim, se lança contra Logan de forma brutal.

— Eu vou matar você! — Ele berra, no exato momento em que começa a esmurrar a armadura, com tanta violência, que ela parece como uma latinha de refringente vazia, sendo amassada com uma facilidade assustadora.

Entro em pânico no mesmo instante. A armadura não está aguentando todos aqueles ataques, isso quer dizer que Logan não tem a mínima chance de sobreviver aquilo. Ainda tentando recuperar o folego depois de quase ter sido estrangulado, me coloco de pé e ignoro toda a dor que estou sentindo. Eu preciso fazer alguma coisa antes que seja tarde demais, Isso é, se já não é.

No entanto, antes que eu possa agir, ouço a voz de Logan pelo comunicador.

— Não, deixa ele bater. Olha pra trás.

Me viro imediatamente, dando de cara com meu amigo, agora sem armadura, mas vivo. Tirando pequenos arranhões, ele está ótimo. Melhor do que eu, com certeza.

— Como... o que...?

— Disse que faria uma loucura, e fiz. — Ele apronta para onde um dos brutamontes espanca a armadura dele. — Olha só.

Quando me viro, vejo que a armadura está no chão, e Gh'Ree olha para ela, em choque. Ele para de bater e se levanta.

— Não... não pode ser... R'Hos!

É só então que percebo que dentro da armadura de Logan, está um dos irmãos Blood, que o outro, sem saber, acabou socando até nocauteá-lo. Isso deixa o agressor completamente paralisado, ao ver o irmão caído e completamente destruído a sua frente.

— Você tinha razão, Soldado Estelar. Juntos, os poderes deles os fazem quase invencíveis... — Logan faz um sinal para mim, e entendo que é nossa hora de atacar. — Quer dizer, invencíveis para todos menos para eles mesmos. Aí é só tirar um da equação, que o outro não é mais problema!

No momento em que ele disse isso, nós atacamos. Logan usando uma manopla diferente para atingir Gh'Ree com um raio de plasma e eu, com um soco carregado de energia. Nosso adversário restante estava tão atordoado que mal reagiu, e apagou no momento em que bateu contra o chão.

Quando vejo que os dois estão desacordados e incapacitados, me sento no chão, e Logan faz o mesmo.

— Você usou aquela distração pra colocar sua armadura nele. Pensou rápido.

Levanto uma das mãos para um high-five.

— Sou um Stark, sempre tenho um plano, mesmo que seja arriscado. — Ele sorriu, mas fez uma careta. — Ai, acho que vou ficar dolorido pelo resto da semana.

— Dessa vez, acho que somos dois. — Brinco com ele, e damos risada. Depois de um breve suspiro, Logan olha para os dois alienígenas caídos no chão.

— O que vamos fazer com eles? Não acho que a Balsa vai dar conta desses dois.

— Vou chamar a Eirian e o Renly. Os Novas podem cuidar deles.

— Ótimo. — Logan dá uma rápida olhada para os restos de sua armadura. — Lá se vai outra armadura. Mas ei. — Ele olha pra mim e sorri. — Essa aqui vai ser uma história e tanto pra gente contar.

NOTA: Tá aí mais um conto com esses dois, esse aqui já tá na inbox faz um tempinho, mas finalmente tá escrito e postado :D Tem mais um da lista mais recente que eu postei ( do soldado invernal ), e é aquela coisa, se eu não me distrair muito, sai logo. E eu to sempre aceitando mais propostas, então se quiserem mandar dessa lista ou das mais antigas, pode mandar !

#logan stark #aiden danvers #jv mini contos #vingadores #marvel

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brknmnds · 1 year

Text

Muse list

Stranger things

Eddie Munson

Billy Hargrove

Steve Harrington

Chrissy Cunningham

Henry Creel

Jonathan Byers

Stephen King's IT

Henry Bowers

Patrick Hockstetter

Reginald 'Belch' Huggins

Victor 'Vic' Criss

The Lost Boys

David

Dwayne

Marko

Paul

Edgar Frog

Alan Frog

Sons of Anarchy

Happy Lowman

Alexander 'Tig' Trager

Child Play

Charles Lee Ray

Scream

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Crazy Fun Park

Remus

Zed - Trial

Gonzo - Trial

American Horror Story

Michael Langdon

Tate Langdon

Original Characters

Olivia Bowers - IT

Frankie Bates

Violet Bates

Hestia Wolfe || HP verse

Faustian Wolfe || HP verse

Cornelius 'CJ' Jamieson - Good Omens

Jimmy Cunningham - Stranger Things

Adelia Brooks - Crazy fun park

Maximus Grant - Crazy fun park

Colette 'Cole' Murphy

Aleksandr Volkov

Polaris Snow - The Hunger Games

Avery Hart

Ástríðr Svendottir

Hati Greyback - Harry Potter

Lucas Wesley James

Aiden Sullivan

Elijah Crane - DC Batman

Silas Hawthorne

Sophie Thatcher

Baelon Targaryen - HOTD

Amelia Beaufort - Walking Dead

Skylar Evans

Harry Potter

Tom Riddle

Regulus Black

Draco Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy

Blaise Zabini

Vikings

Ivar The Boneless

Sigurd 'Siggy' Lothbrok

Hvitserk Lothbrok

Floki

Mythology

Angrboða

Jörmungandr

Hati

Skoll

Thrúd

Iðunn

Skaði

Loki

Týr

House of the Dragons

Aegon Targaryen II

Daemon Targayen

Nettles

Alys Rivers

Laenor Velaryon

Outer Banks

Rafe Cameron

JJ Maybanks

Divergent series

Eric Coulter

The Invitation

Walter De Ville

Julie and the Phantoms

Alex Mercer

Gen V

Maverick

Sam Riordan

Jordan Li

Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Coriolanus Snow

Tigris Snow

Batman

Jack Napier - Pre - The Joker

Jonathan Crane

Jervis Tetch

House of 1000 corpses

Otis Driftwood

Fargo

Gator Tillman

Fear the Walking Dead - Season 3 and before

Nick Clark

Troy Otto

Qaletaqa Walker

Baldurs Gate

The Dark Urge - Zion

Assassin Creed: Valhalla

Eivor Varinsdottir

Farcry 5

Joseph Seed

Jacob Seed

John Seed

#;;muselist

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years

Text

Not That Sleepy

(arranged marriage au - part 12)

previous part / masterpost / ao3

word count: 6285

With the back of his hand, Geralt wiped the sweat from his brow, as he trudged through the halls. He could hear the chatter from the dining hall already. Even from this far away, it was grating on his nerves. With Jaskier helping out, Geralt didn’t have to work as much, so today had been a calmer day than the ones before.

There was only one problem: Jaskier’s words, his touch, his care had left Geralt’s mind reeling. He had been unable to focus on anything, with Jaskier’s reassurance that he didn’t intend to slip into someone else’s bed and that he cared about Geralt’s happiness, running through his mind. There had been only one thing that had kept his mind at bay, stopping him from reliving that conversation over and over in his mind: Throwing himself into work more vigorously than ever. He had hauled brick after brick, as if it was the wall around his heart he was fixing and not the one beside the western gate. When the others had announced that they’d head off to dinner, Geralt had grunted something about wanting to finish the task today, and stayed behind. It was only partly to keep his mind from drifting. Another part of him hoped that if he finished fixing the wall today, he’d have more time to spend with Jaskier the day after. Which was a stupid thought, of course. Just because one task was done didn’t mean that he could suddenly sit idly by a fire.

Even if at the moment he wanted nothing more than just that. Some peace and quiet to rest his mind and relax his aching muscles. But Jaskier was probably already at the bustling dining hall, waiting for him. Geralt hadn’t had much time to see him today, apart from meeting him at the stables. He’d have to brave the grating noise of his brothers if he wanted to spend some time with him.

But first, he had to take a quick bath. He could be quick enough to be done in time to still get back to dinner. His strained muscles ached for the respite the hot water would bring and his nose twitched with the stench of horseshit and sweat clinging to him. He had to get it off now, then maybe, if he was lucky, Jaskier would allow him to curl up next to him beside a fire or on Jaskier’s favourite window sill at the library. It was that beautiful fantasy that spurred him on, hastening his steps down the stairs towards the hot springs. Going back to Jaskier quickly was better than spending an eternity in the springs, even if bathing was one of the few indulgences that Geralt normally allowed himself. There was nothing like sinking into the water and feeling the grime and tension of the day wash away. Nothing, except Jaskier’s blinding smile and soft touch of his hand.

The echo of his steps was so loud that he didn’t register the second heartbeat until he had almost rounded the corner revealing the springs.

When he finally did notice the presence of another person down here, he nearly turned around on the spot. But the heartbeat was too quick to belong to a witcher.

Geralt’s own heart picked up speed. With bated breath, he rounded the corner. He knew whom he would find. He expected it. Of course Jaskier knew that the hot springs existed. Aiden had shown them to him during his first week at the keep. This far, Geralt hadn't crossed his path yet, while bathing. He wasn't sure if that was because he was actively avoiding bathing with Jaskier or if Jaskier simply preferred being on his own while washing. Either way, Geralt had known that it was only a matter of time before they met down at the hot springs.

Yet that knowledge had done nothing to prepare him for the sight that greeted him.

Jaskier was kneeling at the edge of a pool, just shy of touching the water. His hair was curling at the tips, damp from the humid air. He must be feeling the heat rising up firm the pool, for his bare skin was glistening with sweat.

Geralt swallowed thickly, his heart suddenly beating in his throat, as he realised that Jaskier had stripped down to his small clothes.

He hadn't noticed Geralt yet, too focused on lighting dozens of candles all around the pools. His tongue was peeking through his lips in concentration, as he fumbled with the flint and steel to produce a spark. Geralt could only see his profile, the soft curve of his neck, dipped into warm light from the already burning candles. The flickering light of the candles caught on some glass vials sitting next to Jaskier's knees. Geralt tried very hard to concentrate on them to keep his eyes from straying towards Jaskier’s strong legs.

Geralt was so caught off-guard by the sight of Jaskier, that it took him far too long to notice which pool he was sitting at.

His pulse jumped and before he knew what he was doing, he was at Jaskier's side, pulling him away from the pool by the arm.

“Don't go in there,” he said sharply. He could feel his pupils narrow into slits and his muscles tense, ready to protect his husband, if only from scalding hot water.

At his sudden appearance, Jaskier let out a cut-off cry. Geralt’s heart dropped. Immediately, he let go of Jaskier and took a step back, holding his hands up. His eyes flickered down to where he had grabbed him too tightly in his rush to get him away from the water, dreading to see the beginning of bruises forming there.

Ice gripped at his heart. He had scared Jaskier. Never in his life did he want to hear Jaskier scream like that again because of him.

He had hurt Jaskier.

“I’m sorry-” he began, but he was interrupted, when startled laughter tumbled from Jaskier’s lips.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on me. I thought I had a little more time.”

Geralt’s hands flexed at his sides, unsure of what to do, whether it would be worse to leave or stay.

“Should I leave you alone?”

“Don’t you dare!” Jaskier renewed his efforts to light up the last candles, fumbling even more in the process. “I didn’t spend forever making this place cosy for you just for you to leave.”

Geralt’s thoughts stopped abruptly, like a horse refusing to jump over a hurdle.

“For me?”

“Of course for you.” Jaskier turned away from his task just for long enough to throw Geralt a wink. “As much as I love the fine things in life, it’s far too much effort to do something like that for myself.” “But - why do it now then?”

“Because you deserve some nice things and Lambert said you’d probably come down here before dinner and that you really liked bathing.” Jaskier faltered, his face doing something funny. “I swear, if he was making stuff up again and I lit these candles for nothing, I’ll -”

“He didn’t,” Geralt cut him off, “surprisingly.”

“Oh. Good.” Geralt knelt down next to Jaskier and gently placed his hand over Jaskier’s hand still holding onto the candle. “Let me,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the wick, lest he see how close Jaskier’s face was to his.

When Jaskier didn’t protest, Geralt used his other hand to cast the tiniest Igni, just enough to light the candle.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, his breath ghosting over the top of Geralt’s head. “I was supposed to do something good for you and now you’re helping me.”

“Are are good for -” Geralt cut himself off, feeling heat surge to his cheeks. Hastily, he corrected himself, “You are doing something good to me.”

He made sure Jaskier was still holding onto the candle tightly enough not to drop it, before letting go. A heavy silence settled over them, only interrupted by the bubbling of the water and the tiniest hiss of the candles.

Geralt cleared his throat. “If you want to do this for yourself, you can always ask me to light the candles.” He tilted his head to the side, contemplating the flint and steel Jaskier had struggled with so much. “Or, you know, you could light one candle with that and then just use the flame to light all the other candles.” Jaskier’s face turned blank. Geralt could practically see the realisation of the unnecessary struggle he had put himself through.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Jaskier said lightly. “The only reasonable course of action is to fling myself into the water and drown my shame. I can’t believe I used the stupid flint for every candle.” He hid his face in his hands with a groan. Geralt patted his shoulder.

“Happens to the best of us.”

And Jaskier was the best. Gods, he was far too good for Geralt. He had struggled and been frustrated and still he hadn’t stopped. Because he had wanted to do something for Geralt. The thought made Geralt lightheaded.

“You can still fling yourself in the water, if you want,” Geralt said, “But no drowning. And no bathing in this pool.” He nodded towards the one nearest to them. “It’s too hot for humans.”

“I know,” Jaskier replied. “But it’s perfect for witchers with sore muscles, is it not?”

“It is.” “Then hop hop.” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “I didn’t struggle stupidly for nothing. Get in there.” Despite the demanding words, Jaskier’s body remained relaxed and unthreatening in any way. When Geralt began to shuck off his clothes, he could feel the strain of his back and arms in every movement.

“Can I help you?” Jaskier asked unexpectedly, his fingers twitching in the air, where he would normally fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

Geralt’s mind went blank. He couldn’t find his voice and simply nodded slowly. His breath hitched, when Jaskier’s nimble fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt and he held himself carefully still when Jaskier tugged the hem free of his trousers.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered up to his face, a silent question in them. Geralt nodded again and Jaskier lifted Geralt’s shirt up. His fingers brushed against his abdomen and chest, so lightly that the touch was barely there. Yet it left a blazing trail on Geralt’s skin.

Ever so gently, Jaskier guided Geralt’s arms up over his head, so he could take off the shirt fully.

Geralt was glad for the few moments in which his face was hidden behind the black fabric. Then, the shield was gone and Geralt was standing before Jaskier with his bare torso.

He could feel Jaskier’s gaze on him and did his best not to squirm. He resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders and make himself look smaller. He knew from experience that nothing he could do with his posture would hide the numerous ugly scars on his body.

Jaskier’s eyes reached Geralt’s waistband.

“Do you want to do this on your own?”

It took Geralt a second to understand what Jaskier meant and when he did, he immediately started to fumble with the laces on his trousers. He could not let Jaskier do this or he would die on the spot. He shrugged off the trousers with as much elegance as a foal learning to run. It was only when he stood completely bare before Jaskier, that he realised that this was worse. This was so much worse.

Judging from the flush on Jaskier’s cheeks, he had just had the same realisation. He ushered Geralt into the pool, his eyes trained carefully on a spot above Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt complied quickly, letting himself sink into the pool without further delay. He couldn’t suppress a groan, as the hot water enveloped his body. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. He had really needed this.

After a moment, the soft patter of feet came near. Geralt opened his eyes a tiny bit to see Jaskier kneeling on the floor behind him. He frowned and turned in the pool so he was facing Jaskier.

“Don’t you want to bathe too? The pools over there should be good for you,” Geralt said, even though he hated the very thought of Jaskier leaving his side again so soon.

“Oh, they are lovely,” Jaskier agreed, “but this isn’t about me. Now shush. Stop fussing and let me take care of you.”

Jaskier put his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and turned him until he was once again sitting with his back to Jaskier. Being so bare and vulnerable with his back to someone else should have made Geralt uncomfortable, but instead he felt his skin prickling with excitement. He trusted Jaskier.

He turned his head enough to watch Jaskier uncork one of the small vials and put some droplets from it onto his hands.

“May I?” Jaskier asked. He didn’t elaborate on what he was asking permission for, but Geralt granted it even so.

Jaskier scooted closer on his knees, until they reached the edge of the pool, nudging against Geralt’s shoulders. Gently, Jaskier tipped Geralt’s head back, resting it against his knees.

“Close your eyes,” Jaskier whispered and Geralt obliged.

It was both exhilarating and relaxing not knowing what Jaskier was about to do next. Geralt was at his mercy, and he trusted him to be kind.

Still, Geralt couldn’t stop himself from instinctively flinching, when Jaskier’s fingertips touched his temples.

Jaskier shushed him softly. It was a kind and patient sound. One that promised to catch him if he fell. And by the gods, Geralt had fallen. Harder and faster than he had ever thought possible and for the first time in his life, he thought he might land softly. .

He willed himself to relax again and Jaskier carefully began to massage his temples. Geralt took a deep breath, releasing all the bad thoughts he had gathered over the day. As he inhaled again, he got overwhelmed by the scent of lavender. It came from the vial and now Jaskier was carefully rubbing it into his skin. Gooseflesh covered Geralt’s arms despite the heat of the water. He knew of the properties of lavender, of course. Often enough had he put some dried lavender into a pouch and smelled it to calm himself after an encounter with furious townsfolk or to lull himself to sleep.

But right now, those soothing properties were at the far back of his mind. The important thing was that beneath the scent of paper and ink, Jaskier always smelled like lavender. And now the same smell would cling to Geralt, as if he were wearing Jaskier’s clothes.

At some point, Jaskier’s hands wandered to the back of Geralt’s head and pushed it forwards carefully. Geralt opened his eyes and followed the motion, letting Jaskier guide him however he pleased.

Jaskier got up again and after a moment, he returned with a pitcher filled with water from one of the human-safe pools.

“Close your eyes, dear.” Warmth that had nothing to do with the hot water flooded Geralt. Dear. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Yet, Geralt wanted so badly to be dear to Jaskier. To him, that small word meant everything. He peeked through his lids, taking in the warm glow of the candles Jaskier had lit for him. He felt Jaskier card his fingers through his hair, detangling the knots carefully. Maybe, it wasn’t just wishful thinking, but the longer Jaskier took to massage Geralt’s scalp, the more sure he became: The word didn’t mean nothing to Jaskier. Perhaps, it didn’t mean everything to him either, but in some way, Geralt was dear to him.

Jaskier’s hands left him again and after a warning, water cascaded down Geralt’s head. He could hear another vial being opened and then Jaskier was back to massaging his head, rubbing soap and sweet-scented oil into his hair.

“You have such beautiful hair,” Jaskier said, as he poured more water over Geralt’s head, rinsing the soap from his hair. “Will you let me braid it sometime?”

Anything. At this moment, Geralt would let Jaskier do anything.

He let out a content hum, hoping it was answer enough. He couldn’t trust his voice not to spill all of his secrets, if he opened his mouth.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder and moved around again. This time, Geralt didn’t open his eyes, simply listened to Jaskier, as he spread a towel on the floor. Geralt followed Jaskier’s instructions, as he asked him to get out of the water. He took a second towel he was handed and wrapped it around his hips.

“Can you lie down here? On your front?” Jaskier motioned to the towel on the floor. He looked a little sheepish. “It would be better in a bed, but I don’t think you’d like to walk through the keep half-naked and getting dressed only to strip again would be too much of a hassle.”

Geralt’s lips twitched up.

“And you already put all the candles up here.” “Exactly.”

Geralt made sure that Jaskier saw his smile grow wider, before he lay down on the towel. It was softer than he was used to and it smelled of Jaskier. Geralt buried his fingers into it. It must be one of the things Jaskier had taken with him from Lettenhove. A piece of home he was sharing with Geralt.

Before Geralt could spin the thought any further, Jaskier touched him again on the shoulder.

Geralt felt himself tensing again. It was one thing standing before Jaskier without a shirt, or having him touch him while most of his body was obscured by the water. But this? Laying bare before Jaskier, as he brushed Geralt’s hair to one side of his neck and put his hands on Geralt’s back…he was on full display. There was no hiding the vicious scars, the way his skin was mangled. He wanted to turn his head to see Jaskier’s reaction, yet at the same time, he dreaded seeing the disgust on his face. For a ridiculous moment, Geralt was tempted to say they could extinguish the flames, so that Jaskier didn’t have to look at him. But it would be of no use. Jaskier’s hands began wandering, mapping out every part of Geralt’s back. Even if he didn’t see the scars, he could still feel them, rough beneath his soft hands. There was no hiding what Geralt was. Jaskier’s hands moved sluggishly at first, testing the waters, before gripping him firmer, kneading his muscles. Geralt groaned, as Jaskier’s clever hands found a particularly hard knot and dug into it.

“Is this alright?” Jaskier asked, his hands faltering. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Geralt could have laughed. The thought of someone like Jaskier being able to hurt him was ridiculous. But at the same time, if there was a human, who had the ability to do so, it was him.

“You didn’t.”

“Alright.” Carefully, Jaskier’s hands began to move again. “Please tell me if I do. If I should be gentler with your scars…”

“You’re good,” Geralt said, unable to keep all those words encompassed out of his voice.

There was a moment of quiet, then -

“Where is this one from?” Jaskier lightly traced a scar between Geralt’s shoulder blades, sending a shiver down his spine. He nearly arched into the touch.

“Werewolf. In Velen. I broke his curse in the end, but he fought me tooth and nail.”

Jaskier’s finger trailed down to his lower back, leaving a pleasant tingling behind.

“And this one? It looks like it hurt a lot.”

“It did,” Geralt said. He tried to focus on his breathing, but Jaskier’s hand pressed against his lower back so gently, it was impossible to think of anything at all. “Manticore’s are the worst. Nearly killed me during my first year.”

Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his hand away. After a beat, he placed it back on his shoulders.

“Composing a ballad about my hunts already?” Geralt teased.

“Maybe.” Jaskier chuckled lightly. “Or maybe I just want to get to know my husband.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered foolishly.

“Can I -” Jaskier began, but broke off almost immediately.

Geralt turned his head, just enough to look at him. Jaskier’s cheeks were flaming and he was ducking his head sheepishly.

“Can you what?”

“The angle is a bit awkward. It would be easier to massage you, if I…” He gestured vaguely to Geralt’s hips.

“Oh.” Geralt could feel his own cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier rushed to say. “I wasn’t - I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He let out an awkward laugh. “I mean, the whole point is to make you more comfortable. Forget I said anything.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him softly. He folded his arms and pillowed his head on them. “You may.”

Uncharacteristically, Jaskier didn’t reply, but after a second, he straddled Geralt’s hips. Geralt was acutely aware of every part of them that was touching, even through the fabric of Jaskier’s smallclothes and the towel wrapped around Geralt.

With a shuddering exhale, Jaskier leaned over him and resumed his massage. Geralt was melting beneath his hands, like the wax of the candles.

“Can I try something?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt almost laughed. Nearly all of his walls had crumpled around Jaskier already. At this point, there was little Jaskier could ask for that he would refuse.

“I trust you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier let out a strange noise at that, before grabbing one of the candles near them. Geralt stiffened, when the first drop of wax landed on his skin and he let out a quiet hiss.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes. Just surprised me.”

It was true. The wax should have been painful, but this must be some sort of special candle, for the wax didn’t harden immediately, but turned oily, as Jaskier rubbed it into his skin. The initial sting quickly turned pleasant.

Geralt closed his eyes, letting himself sink into a state not unlike his meditations. The bubbling of the water almost lulled him to sleep. The warm light he saw even through his closed eyelids made him feel safe and at home, and Jaskier’s touch was grounding him.

He didn’t notice the low rumble filling the springs, until Jaskier stopped his massage once again. He pressed his hands right beneath Geralt’s shoulder blades. A soft noise left his lips, twisting Geralt's stomach into pleasant knots.

“You’re purring,” Jaskier said, sounding almost awed.

Geralt froze.

“I’m sorry. Is - is it off-putting? I can stop.”

He wasn’t sure if that was true, but for Jaskier, he would try. He would do his damnedest to repress the instinct to purr, if it meant feeling Jaskier’s hands on him for a little while longer.

“Don’t,” Jaskier said. “I like it.”

Geralt furrowed his brows, and inhaled deeply, dreading to catch the whiff of a lie. Maybe it was the lavender scent or the smell of the candles filling his nose, but he found none. Tentatively, he allowed himself to let go of the trepidation. It didn’t take long for the purring to get louder, only now, a different sound joined in. One coming from Jaskier. It…sounded a bit like a pigeon cooing. Or perhaps someone trying very hard to roll their ‘r’s.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, after listening to the weird sound Jaskier was making for over a minute.

“Purring,” Jaskier said with the confidence of a toddler claiming that they knew how to do a somersault before falling over.

When Geralt snorted, Jaskier amended his statement. “Well, alright, I’m trying to purr. It’s much harder than it sounds.”

As if to prove his words, he started mimicking the purring again. Geralt wanted to laugh. It sounded terrible, nothing like a purr. But instead of laughter, warmth rose in his chest. For as horrible as Jaskier’s purring was, it was - for lack of a better word - adorable. It was like a cat meowing to mimic human speech. Hell, it was like a young Geralt grunting for the first time because it sounded somewhat similar to the snort of a horse.

“Why?” Geralt asked, though in his heart, he already knew the answer.

“Well, what does it mean when you’re purring?” Geralt blinked.

“It means I’m…happy. Comfortable.” That I trust you to see me and not run.

“There you have your answer then.”

“You’re happy massaging me?” Geralt asked incredulously.

“I’m happy making you happy.” Jaskier rubbed his hands down Geralt’s arms, squeezing his muscles and eliciting another groan from him.

A low rumble rose up and Geralt’s brows shot up. “That - sounded almost like a purr.” Jaskier laughed lightly, a sound that made Geralt want to turn onto his back so he could see him better, but he remained as he was, with Jaskier’s hands mapping him out.

“I’m afraid that wasn’t me,” Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the smile in his voice. “That is, it was me. My stomach, to be specific.”

“You’re hungry?”

“Oi, don’t sound so judgy. We’ve been down here quite a while.”

“Hmm.” At Jaskier’s explanation, Geralt sat up after all, already mourning the loss of Jaskier’s hands, as they slid down his back and retreated. “Not judgy. Concerned.” And maybe a tiny bit disappointed that their time down here was cut short. “We should get you some dinner.”

Jaskier looked like he wanted to protest, but another grumble from his stomach made him relent. Geralt pointedly didn’t look at Jaskier, as they got dressed. Instead, he focussed on the feel of his own skin, as he pulled his shirt back on. It felt smooth, if he disregarded the scars. The oil and wax made it almost pleasant to touch. Geralt carded his hand through his damp hair, combing through the few tangles that had gotten in there again. The motion sent another wave of the lavender smell to him and when he tugged a strand of hair in front of his face to see it, it looked silky smooth and curled a little.

He quickly finished getting dressed. When he turned back around, he caught Jaskier, who was already dressed, staring at him. It wasn’t the stare of terrified townsfolk or disgusted nobles, who thought themselves better than him. It was… the way Jaskier was looking at him almost made him feel pretty.

Geralt cleared his throat.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice coming out a little strangled. “And let’s hope that the others left some for us.” “Oh, they better,” Jaskier said and linked his arm with Geralt’s, as they ascended the stairs. “I asked Vesemir to make sure there’d be some food put aside for us.”

Jaskier’s foresight turned out to have been fully necessary. When they reached the dining hall, it was empty and so was the kitchen, save for the two bowls of soup and the slices of fresh bread that had been put on a counter for them.

Geralt grabbed them both and turned towards the dining hall, but he stopped before they could sit down. It felt strange being so alone in the big hall. As much as he had dreaded the deafening noise before, he now got overwhelmed by the quiet of it.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, when he noticed Geralt’s hesitation.

“I was thinking,” Geralt said slowly, “that we could have dinner somewhere else. Somewhere nicer. If you don’t mind climbing some more stairs.” Jaskier groaned theatrically, but his eyes lit up.

“How ominous.”

“It’s really not,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes fondly. “I seem to recall promising you sunsets and beautiful sights?”

Jaskier perked up and Geralt’s chest felt as if a bonfire was lit up in it. He wanted so badly to do something nice for Jaskier too and by the looks of it, he was doing this right.

“Here, can you hold this?” Geralt pressed the bowls into Jaskier’s hands. “I’ll get us some furs. It’ll be cold.”

Between taking a small detour to gather enough furs to withstand the bitter winds and needing to go slow for Jaskier - “I'm not too out of shape to walk some stairs. I just need to go slow so I don't spill the soup.” - and needing to take actual breaks - “Nevermind, I take it back. I hate these stairs, please tell me we’re at the top soon.” - it took them longer than Geralt had anticipated to get to the top of the tower.

They reached it just in time to see the last rays of the sun vanish behind the horizon. Geralt's stomach dropped. They were too late.

“Phew, that took forever.” With a heavy sigh and not a slither of dignity, Jaskier plopped down on the cold stone, scooting back to lean against the wall. He frowned, as some of the soup sloshed onto his legs and carefully put the bowls down next to him.

“The sun’s already gone,” Geralt said nonsensically, as if Jaskier hadn’t noticed already. It wasn't an apology, not exactly. But he was certain that Jaskier understood it as one anyway.

Jaskier shot him a mock-glare.

“If this is you suggesting that we climbed up here for nothing and should just go back down, I'm going to throw soup at you.” His hand itched threateningly to the bowls. “And this time, I won't help you bathe.”

Geralt's lips twitched up the tiniest bit.

“I could carry you down if you hate the stairs that much.”

It wasn't an actual offer. Just some light teasing. But unbidden, his mind conjured up images of Jaskier in his arms.

Jaskier looked at him in contemplation.

“Careful, dear, I might take you up on that.” He drummed a quick beat onto the rim of one bowl, before pushing it towards Geralt. “But food comes before chivalry.”

Geralt took the bowl and sat down next to Jaskier. With the hand not holding the bowl, he draped some furs over Jaskier's shoulders. It was awkward doing this one-handed and sitting next to him didn't make it any easier, but Jaskier beamed up at him and snuggled into the furs, mercifully ignoring Geralt's fumbling. Wordlessly, Geralt reheated the soup with a small Igni and watched as Jaskier dug in.

Jaskier let out a long moan.

“We should do this more often,” he said, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth and dipping the bread in the soup with his other hand. “I love the others, but eating soup under the stars truly is a lovely experience. The only thing that would make it better is if we had thought to steal some of Lambert's moonshine.”

Geralt snorted and shook his head. “We wouldn't be able to walk down the stairs without tumblring after drinking that.” Besides, Geralt wanted to remember every moment of this, untainted by the foggy haze of alcohol.

“Eh, I wouldn't mind staying up here all night. I really like this place.”

“Despite the stairs?”

Geralt dared to give him a playful little nudge.

“Despite the stairs,” Jaskier confirmed. “The company makes up for it.”

“Next time I'll make sure we don't miss the sunset. I promised you -”

“Hey.” Jaskier's spoon clattered, as he dropped it into the bowl to reach out for Geralt's hand instead. “I spent forever to get all of those knots out of your muscles, don't you go tense up again.” He gave Geralt's hand a light squeeze, making sure that Geralt understood his words to be teasing. ”And don't worry. We'll have all the time in the world to watch sunsets together. Besides, didn't you say you like to come up here to look at the stars? We can do that perfectly fine.”

Jaskier tilted his head back to look up at the sky. Geralt was distantly aware that he should do so too. It was the natural progression of this conversation. But he couldn't stop his eyes from tracing the line of Jaskier’s throat again, his profile, the content quirk of his lips.

“You remember that?”

The ride up to Kaer Morhen felt like a lifetime ago. The realisation that they've known each other for so long now, hit him with the force of a griffin on a nosedive.

“Of course I remember. You made it sound so beautiful.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at Geralt. “And it is.”

“Yeah,” Geralt found himself agreeing dumbly. “Beautiful.”

Distantly, he was aware that he was staring and that the moment for looking away without making it awkward had passed long ago. But Jaskier was so beautiful. Up here, Geralt could imagine that it was just the two of them. That it hadn't been expectations and treaties that had brought them together.

Despite the dark, Jaskier must have seen Geralt staring at him. Hard not to notice, when Geralt's eyes were practically glowing in the dark. It was probably unsettling, judging from the way Jaskier squirmed a little and pulled the furs tighter around himself with his free hand, as if to shield himself. He must be misinterpreting Geralt’s staring, for he drew back a little.

“I can leave, if you want,” Jaskier offered and Geralt's stomach dropped. “I know it was your idea to come up here but this is your secret hiding spot. I don't want to take it away from you if you'd rather be here alone. Or if you want your peace and quiet.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully.

“Lately I feel most peaceful when it isn't that quiet.”

He gave Jaskier the hint of a smile, hoping he could see it despite the dark. “And I promised to be your muse. So… I hope the stars are inspiring?”

“They are,” Jaskier said immediately, not looking at the stars at all. “Truly songworthy.”

“Jaskier… “

When had Geralt leaned in? Jaskier's face was so close and Geralt just had to -

Something flickered in Jaskier's eyes, right before he closed them. Green and purple. A reflection.

Geralt turned away sharply.

“Jaskier!” He tugged at his hand to get him to open his eyes again. “Look!”

Jaskier's eyes snapped open and he laughed nervously, but the sound quickly turned into a gasp. His eyes widened and he sat up straighter, a look of pure wonder on his face as he watched the northern lights dance across the sky.

“Geralt, this is-” He broke off, but he was clutching Geralt's hand so tightly, pressing himself against him.

“As good as you imagined?” Geralt asked hopefully already suspecting the answer.

It was written plainly on Jaskier's expression.

“Better,” Jaskier whispered. “So much better.”

Geralt softened, as he watched Jaskier watch the lights. They drew dancing shapes onto his cheeks and reflected in his eyes, making him look ethereal.

He didn't know how long they sat like this. He only noticed the passage of time, when Jaskier began to shiver. Geralt tugged tighter around him and when that didn't stop Jaskier's shivering, he slid under them himself, letting go of his hand to wrap his arm around Jaskier's waist.

“Do you want to head back inside?” he asked.

Jaskier shook his head without hesitation.

“I want to stay. Here, with you. This is - Geralt, this is everything.” His voice softened as he rested his head on Geralt's shoulder, snuggling against him. “I don't want this to end.”

Instead of responding, Geralt pulled Jaskier closer, wrapping his other arm around him as well to keep him warm. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he rested his own head onto Jaskier's. The hair tickled him, but it was soft and smelled of Jaskier.

Quiet, at first - so quiet that Geralt could barely hear it - Jaskier began to hum. As his voice grew more sure, Geralt could feel the vibration of it, where they touched. It almost felt like a purr. He suspected it signified the same thing.

Geralt closed his eyes, simply listening, melting into the knowledge that in this moment, Jaskier was truly happy.

“It's beautiful,” Geralt whispered, when Jaskier quieted down again. “You could sing it for the others, if you wanted. Perform.”

“Not this s

ong,” Jaskier said softly. One of his hands came up to Geralt's arm and held onto it lightly, his fingers drawing random patterns onto it. “It's not meant for an audience. It's meant to be sung at night, when everyone else is asleep.”

Geralt's brows drew together the tiniest bit.

“I'm not asleep.”

A quiet laugh escaped Jaskier and with a bit of a struggle, he brought his hand up to card his fingers through Geralt's hair.

“No you're not. And what a shame that is. I went through all that trouble to get you relaxed and sleepy enough to get a good night's rest.”

“I'm not that sleepy. Want to stay awake,” Geralt mumbled, pressing his face into Jaskier's soft hair. “Want to stay with you.”

“Me too.”

“Can you sing it again? I know you just said there shouldn't be an audience, but…”

Jaskier didn't reply. Instead, he started humming again, as he resumed stroking Geralt's hair. Even without words to the melody, Geralt could feel his heart flutter with a before unknown hope, as he listened.

He didn't mean for his breathing to get deeper or for the song to lull him towards sleep, but in that moment, he was so comfortable that it was impossible to resist the pull of sleep.

He thought he could hear Jaskier say something - maybe a teasing comment about Geralt's claim not to be tired, or maybe something softer - but he couldn't understand the words. He had already fallen asleep with his head on top of Jaskier's, and the world wrapped safely in his arms.

—

tag list (please tell me if you would like to be added or removed from this): @spookylostboy @justablobfish @karolincki @flosimo @rebrandedbard @hollowxo @silvertonguelover @inanoldhousewrites @yaskefer @emotional-support-fandom @fandoms-princess @kore888 @fen-thenobling @geraskier-thots @strippiluolamies @sharinalein @slumberingcorpse @elle-ja-bell @bellathecatastrophe @hockles @fangirlwithoutinspiration @ban-aard @mothmanismyuncle @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @longdeadtemple

#i am once again reminded of that time a friend told me long fics aren't meant for tumblr #and yeah #if only I'd known this was going to be longer than a one shot #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt #jaskier #fic #fanfic #the witcher #my writing #arranged marriage

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spookyspaghettisundae · 8 months

Text

Ripples

The ground shook. Water rippled.

Aiden, a twelve-year-old kid, froze. Stopped juggling. He gazed into a brackish puddle. Tremors continued to cause ripples. Like a giant’s footsteps, making the ground quake, they grew stronger.

Closer.

The boy rose from where he was kneeling, peeling his gaze off the puddle and its ripples. He stared into a horizon of blue over yellow, where wind fans lazily churned in the distance, and the carcasses of rusty old oil rigs slept.

The tremors neared. More ripples. And with them, a moving silhouette drew closer.

Duck-billed, giant, and saurian. The kid recognized its frame. Though he couldn’t remember the name of this genus, he recognized it from artistic renditions in books on dinosaurs: a Hadrosaurus. This living, breathing specimen of the creature bobbed and weaved between green trees on the ranch.

Closer. Stronger tremors matched the motions of its nearing, matching the rhythm of powerful legs, scaled trunks stomping down onto dry earth. Its gait was lumbering, erratic. Wounded.

Dark fluid dripped from its neck.

Blood dripped from its neck.

The boy fled.

He ran all the way back to the farmhouse. His small feet and bright red shoes thumped up wooden steps onto the porch, and carried him inside, though his weight was nowhere near enough to cause those ground-shaking tremors, nor those ripples in the puddle in the field outside.

The kid’s mother and brother were in the kitchen. Aiden’s mom, busy kneading dough in a chromed bowl on the counter, hummed while Aiden’s little brother, Baz, sat at the table, tapping thumbs away at his portable video game, complete with the bleeps and bloops the small device was continuously producing.

Oblivious.

Both of them were oblivious to the giant lizard approaching their house.

They both looked up when Aiden stormed into the kitchen, gasping for air. His breathless cries for attention made no sense to them.

“Dinosaur! There’s a dinosaur coming here!”

All the while, Aiden felt those tremors—in his blood, in his bones, and in his skull, ever thumping. Closer, ever closer.

“Honey, the dinos have gone extinct, a very, very long time ago,” his mother said with a soft laugh.

Baz’s eyes returned focus to the screen of his game and he continued tapping buttons, then whined. A little musical cue punctuated his complaint when he said, “Aw man, you made me die!”

Aiden shook his head and flailed his arms for attention. To no effect. “That earthquake, don’t you feel it? That’s a dino, it’s coming closer!”

His mother stared into the bowl where she kneaded the dough, wrists sprinkled in flour. She laughed again.

“Aiden, honey, please. That’s probably just another one of those silly companies prospecting for oil out here, drilling. You know?”

Ripples.

Aiden saw them in his mind’s eye. Ripples on the water, brought there by the tremors. By the quaking footsteps. Now… just outside.

“No, it’s not poss-specters, it’s a dinosaur, Mom!” he whined in response.

He turned to see how close the Hadrosaurus had gotten.

Dust rained from the ceiling now. He could feel the tremors in his teeth. A giant silhouette passed by outside the fly door.

Aiden’s mouth agape, he stood there, dumbfounded. Stared.

“That does feel like it’s getting closer, though, dagnabbit,” his mother said with a back turned to the horrific spectacle, with a hint of alarm now entering her tone. “What on Earth are they thinking?”

The dinosaur cast a hulking shadow through the windows of the living room it passed by next. Aiden’s blood curdled. With bated breath, he watched the Hadrosaurus circling around the building.

Thundering footsteps. Glass and ceramics rattled in the kitchen cupboards. Glass was just another liquid, and the ripples now sliced through everything. Rattling, clattering, rumbling, thundering.

His mother muttered, mouth ending as agape as Aiden’s. “What the—”

Quaking. Shaking. Rattling glass.

The portable video game in Baz’s hands emitted another little death tune for another virtual life lost. The nine-year-old looked up at his glass of milk on the table, and the ripples inside of it, now unsteadily shaking—the glass of milk was almost hopping atop the covered table’s surface.

Then the world exploded. Wood cracked, splintered. Thousands of shards of glass flew everywhere, blanketing the area like a rain of sharp shrapnel, and a skeletal architecture groaned under the strain of raw, crushing force. The backside of the farmhouse yawned wide open where a giant had torn through its side, unleashing an explosion of chaos and destruction.

Of screaming. A scream from Aiden’s mother, cut off as mountains of debris crashed down and buried her. An ongoing, blood-curdling scream from Baz, slicing high-pitched through the bedlam of collapsing house. And screams of terror, which Aiden eventually understood were coming from his own throat.

A strange and alien roar of the Hadrosaurus, almost more like an animal whine, drowned out the humans with its deafening cry of anguish.

Powerful legs, thick as tree branches, stomped around, shattering floors and turning the venerable home into a ruin.

Worlds collided as the dinosaur crashed sideways through the building. A piece of second-story floor jutted down like a jagged blade of wood, and nearly decapitated Aiden, cut short by the massive boards getting lodged on other debris. The boy’s voice died with his screams, choked out by gasps, and a growing, silent panic.

Blood splattered everywhere. Whose blood? The dinosaur’s blood? His own? His—

An even greater giant emerged from this chaos, towering over the house, and the Hadrosaurus.

A Tyrannosaurus Rex, as it lived and breathed. A living tower of death. A maw of death. A maw that could swallow Aiden whole, widening to show rows of teeth like knives, stained with blood.

Unlike the wounded Hadrosaurus, the T-Rex did not roar. It…

It sang. An alien, reptilian song, forgotten across the span of billions of years on this Earth. Now brought here through a fissure in time.

The Hadrosaurus whipped around and demolished another wall with its tail—almost decapitating the invisible Aiden in the process. Failing architecture crumbled and collapsed, braking the tail’s momentum, and stopping it from stopping the T-Rex that loomed over them.

The T-Rex lunged and its giant head rammed through twisting wood and metal, tearing through the structure like it was a toy house. Walls and floors groaned again as they bent and wobbled and deformed in every wrong direction, and the Hadrosaurus stumbled through the building’s midst, crashing and staggering out the front door’s side.

The T-Rex’s giant, clawed foot smashed down onto debris—where the boys’ mother was buried?

Baz screamed.

The T-Rex’s reptilian eye widened, and its maw gaped again.

Another lunge from the monolithic beast.

And Baz was gone. Aiden would remember the tiny limb and little red shoe sticking out from between the teeth like a gruesome toothpick. The crunch of breaking bones, a scream first muffled, then falling silent with abruptness.

And the beast chewed twice, and swallowed, and Baz was gone.

Paralyzed, Aiden stayed frozen like a statue, blending into the debris around him like a chameleon.

In the distance, the Hadrosaurus whined again, gaining distance.

Water in the brackish puddle outside continued to ripple with each thundering footstep. Tremors repeated as the prey Hadrosaurus fled, and the predator T-Rex gave chase.

And in the ruins of that farmhouse, a shellshocked Aiden remained. Nestled between the rubble and wreckage. Too terrified to move. Too horrified to grasp how he had lost his mother and brother, too paralyzed to even gasp for the air his lungs were screaming for, holding his breath as if it would help prevent him from being devoured.

Ripples continued. Ripples in the water. The T-Rex stomped away, chasing the Hadrosaurus with single-minded determination. With bloodlust.

Ripples reached through time. A single point, from which the waves moved outwards in every direction, past and future both. Pasts preserved—futures destroyed. Melting back together into the same body of water between every ripple.

Elsewhere, far out in the fields, an Anomaly glittered and gleamed in broad daylight. A hovering, orb-like light scintillated there—a connection between the eras, from which the dinosaurs had arrived.

The T-Rex chased the Hadrosaurus into the old oil fields of Midland.

Aiden fled in the opposite direction. Covered in dust, dirt, and blood—whose blood? His own?

The boy fled from his ruined home.

Hope was the last thing on his mind. Ripples consumed all.