#doc Wyatt when I get him

[notsosmug87]

Here are some New Dragons Rising Questions answered by Doc:

What I’ve gathered from these are:

-The green ninja lore will be heavily expanded on. (possibly Rewritten or retconned but I doubt that)

-While we already know the Tournament will have a lot of characters (old and new) there will be even more characters present than we think.

-Jays parents are still alive and kicking and will probably be a playing a huge role in his Redemption/Remembrance Arc Among other things.

-Kai might be fuckin dead ong 😔 Doc and Kevin seem to be a lot more Open minded about characters dying. Possibly Permanently?

[llannasvsp]

Let's talk about the mention of the Oni in season 3 episode 2.

I understand we all want more dragon-oni Lloyd acknowledgement, especially after only seeing Oni Lloyd for like fifteen seconds after it was hyped for the entirety of Crystalized.

I also know that a lot of us (including myself at first) were like "why didn't Lloyd talk about being Oni that's weird", when it was mentioned in the Dragonian Village.

Frak (and maybe the Dragonians, I can't remember) obviously doesn't like the Oni, so it was not really a safe environment for him to be like "oh yea actually I'm part Oni". I do, however, believe they mentioned it to allude to the fact that we EVENTUALLY will get more information about Lloyd's heritage.

My basis for this is that there was no other huge mention of the Oni, and they like to use short moments like that to get us thinking before they launch us into the bigger plot. Also, because Doc Wyatt has said that in future seasons we will learn more about Lloyd, his elemental power, the Green Ninja prophecy, and a TON of other stuff related to Lloyd. This is why I believe they used this interaction with Frak in the Dragonian Village. Especially since they mentioned Lloyd's relation to the First Spinjitzu Master in the exact same scene.

[sharksandjays]

guys you don’t understand. I need Jay being an antagonist in DR. I need him to hate the ninja. I need him to fight them.

Doc Wyatt said, in response to someone saying “glad to know Jay can just send someone to the hospital”, that Jay “pulls his punches when needed.”

If Jay doesnt know the ninja. If he percieves them as a threat. Will he pull his punches?

Or will Kai suddenly realize how insanely powerful the lightning ninja is.

Will Nya realize how many kill or he killed instincts the pirates in s6 gave him.

Will Zane realize how cold and calculating Jay can be.

Will Lloyd get scared because his older brother is looking at him with cold hatred.

Will Cole cry because his best friend is trying to hurt them. To kill them.

Will they all realize that Jay is no longer a ninja, but a threat, an enemy.

And when one of them becomes an enemy, they cant afford to have mercy. Because a creation element sided with hate is too powerful to exist.

They have to turn him back or they have to kill him.

[lloydlings]

new and updated theory on the source of lloyd’s power!

in dragons rising there definitely has been lore dropped here and there but more than anything I find ammunition to power my long winded theory that lloyd’s powers come from his heart, in theoretical and just elemental sense.

doc wyatt has established there isn’t a set explanation (YET) in show, but he did like one of my tweets regarding my claim that Lloyd’s power resonates within the heart and soul.

starting out, lloyd’s power has never been defined. it is hinted by the writers that lloyd has no idea what it is, though what we do know is that it—-

1) can create life and destroy it (the book of elemental powers)

2) draw energy from the elements

3) shield oneself / very powerful in attack

4) does not belong to the source dragon of energy but belongs to the source dragon OF LIFE

5) has some sort of connection with the FSM

and lastly, by LEGO GROUP’s definition.. it’s ENERGY.

energy can have have different meanings. energy in lightning’s case seems to be the electrical sense, but energy can .. power up things, it makes things work -

energy is also used as a synonym for life force, this is demonstrated when referring to the act of draining source dragons and the whack-rats.

what i am getting at, is I believe that energy in the sense of lloyd’s powers is that he holds the essence of life itself. his power works hand in hand in his survival as well as keeps him alive.

now to connect him to LIFE , a source dragon, was very interesting but made a great deal of sense. Life is in everything, energy can create life.. who created life?

THE FSM used elemental powers to bring Garmadon and Wu into existence, he also holds the ability that past his death, he could steal lloyd from the mortal world to speak to him in the grasslands.

the elements of creation can be drawn from in their energy for lloyd, but the elements of creation were the core four.

LIFE = Lightning, Ice, Fire, Earth

so….

that also makes sense as to when he was dying in mystake’s tea shop that they had to use their elemental powers of creation to revive lloyd or heal him.

now jumping into the theory that will always be my favorite, and the show itself actually jumped into it was elemental powers being felt or drawn from different places depending on the elemental powers, ie nya with veins, zane with his mind, etc etc etc—

lloyd’s power comes from his heart in my opinion.

firstly, life—- energy is what makes the heart beat, you cannot live without that.

mentally, lloyds power has always been his true self, his heart, the way he cares so deeply for people (even if they do not deserve so)

green in spirituality also represents the heart chakra, it is very similar in description.

but as someone so close to his mortality, and who i believe is always aware of such, it makes so much sense.

in s8, when his element is fighting for him as he’s succumbing to his wounds in the fight in krytparium it sparks on his chest,

following this— the elemental master figures that were released in the SOG wave depicted different elements and where they were located differed on the ninja, lloyds was insanely insanely obvious—

overdrawing from his element has caused him great sickness multiple times. we see this with golden power, then we see this with him fainting while using his element against griefbringer in MOTM (something very opposite to his element— death)

the fact that his power kept him alive but also left him for a bit after he almost was on the brink of dying in s8

now with dragons rising and the conduit putting him in a semi coma for several days because of his mortality

he puts his hand on his heart when he approaches the imperium source dragon when saying “this place, i feel weird”

him believing he’d die from conduit power…

it’s justttt…

but that being said there is so much they could discuss about lloyd in show, whether discovering his powers, or seeing the actual scope of what they do

lloyd is very hesitant and he out of anyone never talks about his powers or how they work

but there’s so much there, like what if his elemental power could heal people or bring people back to life (other than himself LOL)

[themuseinthewoods]

Headcanons for romantic relationships with Tombstone men

Characters are Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, Virgil Earp, Morgan Earp, and Johnny Ringo

Edit: I did have curly bill on this but because I am unable to portray him in a way that is polite and respectful to any that actually enjoy his character, I just went ahead and removed him. I am very, very sorry.

X reader headcanons, pretty sure they are gender neutral? Kinda on the shorter side cause its a lot of characters

I did gender neutral reader, but it is a little geared towards the feminine amongst us. but like I said gender neutral.

covers everything from the start to potential marriage

warning: me being ridiculous and some cursing

anyways, enjoy!

Doc Holliday never has an illness looked so good

Doc Holliday is the kind of man to flirt and say the most filthy things while also being charming about it, so you better get used to him trying to fluster you, although he'll enjoy it even more if you say something back

he's not going to do that until you have a relationship yet, before that he'll try and pull you in with his witty remarks and humor

darling will be your nickname, it comes naturally with his charming southern drawl

in a moment of vulnerability, when you are discussing the nature of your relationship for this first time, he doesn't want to pass his tuberculosis to you or slow you down by 'making' you love a sick and dying man but with some reassurance, he's 'non-existent' fears just disappear

he likes having you on his arm when you are together, its basically cuddling for him

sit beside him while he gambles (he'll never let you play) and hold his arm, or simply pour him drinks and cheer him on

if you smoke, sharing a cigarette (literally) is one of the highest forms of flirting for him

he will always walk you home, its partly manners and partially because he's hoping that you'll invite him in for a longer visit

he knows quite a lot about the world and he is willing to discuss anything you wish too

he's very protective of you, especially because of the life he lives. nobody is gonna hurt you

if you want to get married. that's great

he'll happily marry you, it's the closest he'll get to settling down and while he won't be able to just stay in one place, it will be nice for him to have one person

he will make sure you know that you will be widowed at some point but he will promise to love you until the very end of his days

Wyatt Earp holy fuck he's handsome, those eyes

oh boy, so uh, you like a challenge huh?

he's not an easy person to flirt with I mean you've seen the movie-

lets say that you manage to crack through to this 'oak' as Doc calls him and now he's smitten

once he's kinda warmed up to you, simply spending time with you, sitting in a field just quietly talking

sure, he craves adventure but he'll help keep them tamer when you're around, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to you, he's seen too much and because your his beloved, its so important for him to protect you

he'll dance with you and while it takes him some time to get used to it, he will eventually enjoy it

the only cuddling

honestly? he'll kinda like it if you sit next to him while he works so that he can then walk you home

cuddles? yeah, he likes giving you hugs where he holds you to his chest so he knows your safe, he'll have you pressed against his side, head on his chest as he holds you

help him do something that might be a minor inconvenience to him and he might melt

marriage? as long as you're ready for a life on the road and he's gonna treat you like a royal

you're gonna be very happy

Virgil Earp *screaming* WHY ARE THEY ALL HOT

I am sorry, not really but he is number one on the husband materiel list

he might seem like not much of a conversationalist and honestly, if you had any hesitation in going out with him at all, its because you're worried it'll be awkward and honestly, I feel ya

I would like to politely correct you because he is more then happy to discuss many things with you

and oh boy, when your relationship kicks off he likes to have you either on his arm or in arms

and he is good at it!

The most protective out of all his brothers, especially after the incident with losing Morgan

Marriage, defiantly gonna happen.

He's gonna pride himself in being your husband, trust

Morgan Earp *more screaming*

this cutie-

this sweet boy-

you better, and I say this will all the love in my heart for my readers, because y'all mean the world to me, but you better treat him kindly

because things will happen

that are out of your control

and only maybe out of mine yes it was very difficult for me when he passed-

anyway, he's gonna treat you better then anyone ever has and ever will

he is number two on the husband materiel list

he'll be thrilled when you even agree to let him take you out and afterwards you're in a relationship?

he's taking you dancing, he'll buy you presents, compliment you constantly

It's the best day of his life when you agree to marry him, but its quickly replaced by the day you marry him

do me a favor

run into his arms after a long day

take care of him

he needs it

Johnny Ringo the only bad guy I love

oh. you thought Wyatt was hard to get to know.

I need to hold your hand while I say this but, Johnny is so much harder, and it's because of the life he's had. he didn't have a good start to it all

look, I love him and you better be ready for commitment because as soon as you manage to get his attention, he is locked in.

he's quiet, but he listens and if he likes you, he'll let you talk to him, occasionally saying something insightful that lets you know that he really does listen and he really does care

However, at this point he doesn't really declare the nature of your relationship

sure, he gives you pet names, has you on his arm when you 'happen' to run into each other on a night out, actually talks to you, is calmer when your around, and he threatened to shoot a fellow cowboy when he made a comment towards you

he's in love, but he's also scared

so you're gonna have to ask him "are you courting me?" and when you finally get your answer, congrats, your his.

he'll walk you home, he'll buy you drinks, not unusual but now he'll ask to come in and visit and he'll share a drink with you

he gives amazing hugs, wrapping you in his arms when you come to greet him after he and the gang have been out doing who knows what and kissing your temple

marriage, kinda scares him but it also is welcomed

you're a good influence on him and maybe someday, when he's got enough money, you both can settle down somewhere permanently and your gunslinger will retire his ways and become a rancher or something a girl can dream ok?

[sunbeamlessreads]

Last Hand - Doc Holliday x Reader One-Shot

❝ If Doc Holliday had decided he was done with living, then he sure as hell was going to look you in the eyes when he said it. ❞

[doc holliday x reader]

~6.2k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, explicit content, suicidal ideation, grief, terminal illness (TB), canon-typical violence, themes of death/loss

implied past relationship. a town held together by dust and bullets. he tries to die quiet—you won’t let him.

notes: This was a request for my lovely friend @milesalexanderteller. She’s been going through it IRL lately and she really deserves this. I added my own little twist for the end. I'm sorry if I make you cry!!

The dust hadn’t even settled yet.

It still hung in the air, clinging to your skin and clothes like a second layer, gritty and bitter. You could taste gunpowder in the back of your throat. Could still hear faint echoes of shouting somewhere down the street, like Tombstone itself hadn’t quite caught its breath.

You hadn’t seen Doc since before the shooting started.

He hadn’t come back yet. Certainly not to you, at least.

You were moving quickly, boots crunching through the dirt as you cut behind the building, hoping maybe he’d circled around. That maybe he was leaning somewhere, cigarette lit, with that infuriating half-smile like the day hadn’t nearly ended in blood.

Instead, you heard your name—low and steady.

“Hey.”

You stopped short. Turned.

Wyatt stood just beyond the edge of the alley, half in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. He looked rough—his usual crisp lines undone, hat crooked, dust clinging to every part of him. There was blood on his shirt, high on the shoulder, but it didn’t seem to be his. A dark smear ran across his jaw like someone had tried to grab him mid-fight. His holster was still unbuckled, gun half-loose at his side.

But it was his eyes that made your stomach twist. Wyatt Earp always looked ready for a fight, whether he wanted to be in it or not. But right now, he looked… tired.

“Got a minute?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before turning and nodding toward the alley.

You followed in silence. The light was dimmer there, the buildings blocking the last rays of sun. The sound of the street faded behind you until all you could hear was the quiet scuff of boots, the soft creak of wood, a few flies buzzing lazily near an overturned crate.

Wyatt didn’t speak right away. He came to a stop by the back wall of the saloon, hands resting on his belt like he was weighing the next few seconds in his head. He didn’t look at you—just stared out toward nothing.

You crossed your arms, heartbeat already picking up. Something about the way he held himself—the stiffness in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw—it put you on edge.

Then he said it.

“Doc’s been tryin’ to get himself killed.”

It was flat. Not dramatic. No buildup. Like it hurt less if he just ripped the damn thing open.

You blinked a few times.

“What?”

Wyatt glanced at you, then looked away just as fast.

“I finally saw it for what it was today. Clear as anything. He stepped right into the open in the middle of the shootout. No cover. Nothin’.”

He rubbed a hand across his mouth, like saying it left a taste he didn’t want.

“Didn’t duck. Didn’t even flinch when bullets started hittin’ the walls around him. Just… stood there. Took his shot at a man with his gun already drawn, like it was just another hand of cards to play.”

You felt your body tense, muscles coiling so tight it made your ribs ache.

“He’s been doin’ it more and more lately,” Wyatt continued. “Starting fights with men twice his size. Drunk half the damn time. And he doesn't wait for backup—hell, sometimes he doesn’t even tell us he’s goin’.”

He shook his head, voice low.

“It’s not just recklessness anymore. It’s suicide.”

You stared at him, throat dry, chest tight. Your mind tried to argue—tried to reach for some rational excuse—but it landed on nothing.

Doc hadn’t told you any of this.

And that silence suddenly meant more than anything he could’ve said.

Wyatt shifted again, his expression cracking under the weight of it.

“I tried talkin’ to him,” he said. “He just laughed. Told me if death was comin’, he’d rather it take him sooner than later. Said at least out there, he gets to choose the time and place.”

You swallowed hard. It felt like your body had turned to stone.

“I ain’t tryin’ to guilt you or anythin’,” Wyatt added after a beat, more gently. “But I’ve seen you be the only person in this whole damn town he listens to. Even when he pretends not to.”

He paused. Let it hang.

“I don’t want to have to drag his body out of the street. And I certainly don’t want you to have to see it.”

The words hit you low. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. You just kept staring ahead—past Wyatt, past the alley, past the part of you that wanted to crumple where you stood.

You felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the wind that had picked up between the buildings.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

You turned without a word.

Didn’t wait for Wyatt to say anything else. Didn’t let him see what was happening behind your eyes.

You walked back toward the saloon with fire building in your chest. Every step felt heavier than the last. Like the truth he’d handed you was too big to carry—but you’d carry it anyway.

Because if Doc Holliday had decided he was done with living, then he sure as hell was going to look you in the eyes when he said it.

The noise hit you before the doors even opened.

Laughter, clinking glasses, the clatter of poker chips on oak, boots on floorboards, and someone hammering out a tune on the piano that had long since fallen off-key. The room pulsed with heat and whiskey sweat, and under it all, that constant hum of men who thought they were untouchable—full of guns and bravado and cheap beer. Even after the happenings of the day.

You pushed the saloon doors open with a little more force than necessary.

For a moment, no one noticed. You were just another body walking in off the street, swallowed by cigar smoke and dim light.

But then you stepped in fully, boots echoing sharp against the floor, and the crowd seemed to shift. Not with words. Just a subtle awareness—like animals catching the scent of something coming that wasn’t good.

And then you saw him.

Doc Holliday sat like a goddamn centerpiece at the farthest poker table, sprawled in a chair like it was a throne. One hand held a fan of cards, the other rested casually on a half-empty glass of bourbon, the deep amber catching fire in the low lamplight. His hat was tipped back, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and he was smiling—that slow, lazy, devastating smile that could smooth over murder if he wanted it to.

He looked relaxed. Smug. Untouched.

He looked like he hadn’t almost died.

And something inside you snapped.

He hadn’t seen you yet. He was laughing at something someone said—low and smooth, smoke curling from between his teeth, eyes shining with the thrill of the game. A few men groaned and tossed in their cards. One cursed and leaned back, scowling.

And then he spotted you.

His gaze cut through the room like a blade, and that smile—God, that smile—grew just a fraction wider. He stood up in one fluid motion, smoothing a hand down the front of his vest, cigarette perched between two fingers like a punctuation mark.

“Well now,” he drawled, like you were a pleasant surprise. “Ain’t you a—”

Your hand moved before your mind could catch up.

SMACK

The slap rang out like a gunshot. Loud, sharp, final.

His head turned with the force of it. The cigarette slipped from his fingers and hit the floor, still lit. His whole body froze—so did the rest of the saloon.

Silence bloomed in an instant. The kind that feels like thunder in reverse. Someone coughed, somewhere near the bar. The piano keys fell quiet mid-note. The dealer’s hand hung in the air above a split pot. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Doc didn’t look at you. Not at first.

He just stood there, jaw tight, cheek blooming red beneath your handprint, eyes cast downward like he was running through a thousand possible reactions and finding none that fit.

You were shaking.

Not with regret. Not with fear. With fury. With heartbreak so sharp it made your bones feel like glass.

You stared at him like he was a stranger.

“You selfish son of a bitch,” you said, voice low, steady, but trembling at the edges.

He finally lifted his gaze to you—slow, searching. And maybe, just for a second, the smugness fell. Not gone, but hollowed out at the center.

You didn’t wait for a response.

You turned and walked out.

Each step felt louder than it should’ve. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you pushed through the saloon doors and into the cold night air, where the dust had started to rise again with the wind.

Behind you, the crowd stayed frozen in that stunned silence. Somewhere, someone whispered your name. Another voice said “Holy hell.” You didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. You shoved the swinging doors wide and stepped into the cool night air.

You were halfway down the steps when you heard the scrape of a chair, the clatter of a glass hitting wood, and boots—heavy, purposeful—coming after you.

You didn’t have to look back to know it was him.

You could feel it, like a storm at your heels.

The door flew open hard enough to rattle the hinges, slamming into the wall with a bang that shook dust from the beams overhead. After the door steadied from the prior abuse, Doc slammed it closed back behind him, unceremoniously.

You didn’t flinch.

You were standing near the dresser, back to the door, staring down at your hands. They were still shaking. You hated that.

“You got a hell of a lotta nerve.”

His voice was sharp, low, laced with the kind of fury that didn’t come from pain—it came from pride. From being caught off-guard. From being made a fool.

You turned slowly. Not with fear—with purpose.

Doc stood a few feet away, his jaw tight, his face still flushed from the slap. The print of your hand burned red across his cheek. He hadn’t wiped it away. Maybe he hadn’t had time. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with it yet.

His hat was gone now. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, shoulders tense, boots hitting the floor like gunshots.

His face was still flushed. The red mark on his cheek stood out, stark against his pale skin, and his jaw was locked so tight you could see the muscle twitch.

“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” he snapped. “Or should I guess?”

He laughed—once. Harsh. Hollow.

“Whole goddamn saloon starin’ at me like I’d said somethin’ vile. Like I deserved it. You blindside me in front of half the town and walk out like you’re the one wronged?”

He stepped closer, gesturing vaguely with one hand, the other curled into a tight fist at his side.

“Did I cheat you? Did I lie? Did I forget your damn birthday?” His tone was mocking now, but the edge behind it was real. “Or was that just for show? You get somethin’ outta that?”

Now he was pacing, boots scraping the floor, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to pull his hair or punch the wall.

“You think that’s what this is about?” you said, low and sharp. “You think I walked in there just to bruise your pride?”

Doc didn’t back down. He turned to meet your gaze head-on, but there was something unsettled in the way his fingers twitched at his side.

“Well I certainly think I deserve to know why I got blindsided in the middle of a damn good poker hand.”

You stared at him, then laughed. Not with humor. It came out raw. Broken.

“You deserve to know?” you echoed. “You want to talk about what you deserve?”

You closed the distance between you in two furious steps and shoved him—not hard, but enough to make his boots scrape against the floorboards.

“You think I wouldn’t find out?” you hissed. “That you could just keep throwing yourself in front of bullets like it’s nothing and no one would notice?”

His brows pulled together.

“Wyatt told me,” you spat before he could speak. “He told me everything.”

Doc froze. You saw the mask start to slip.

“He told me how you walked straight into open fire,” you continued, stepping closer. “Told me you went after a man already drawin' on you. Like you didn’t give a damn whether you made it out.”

You were inches from him now, breathing hard, staring up into those pale eyes that always held a joke—but not tonight.

“I’ve seen you drunk. I’ve seen you bleeding. I’ve seen you cough your lungs up and spit red into a handkerchief like it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. But this?” Your voice cracked. “This is you giving up.”

He looked down at you, chest rising and falling like he’d run a mile. But he didn’t answer.

So you hit him with the one thing he couldn’t dodge.

“You were ready to up and die,” you whispered. “And you didn’t even think I deserved to know.”

That landed.

He stepped back half a pace, like you’d struck him again.

His mouth opened, then closed. His tongue wet his lips, slow. You saw it all happen in real time—his ego folding in on itself, that anger unraveling into something thinner, sadder. Guilt. Shame.

“I didn’t tell you,” he said finally, voice hoarse, “because I didn’t want you lookin’ at me the way everybody else does.”

You swallowed hard.

“And how’s that?”

“Like I’m already in the ground.”

Silence filled the space between you like smoke—thick, choking, unspoken things hanging in the air.

“You think I don’t see it?” he said. “The way people look at me when I cough. Like they’re just waitin’ on me to drop.”

He took another step forward, slower this time, like he didn’t want to spook you.

“But you didn’t look at me like that,” he said. “Not once.”

You wanted to scream. Cry. Shake him.

“I still don’t,” you whispered. “Yet you still chose to keep me in the dark. You didn’t even give me the chance to fight for you.”

Doc’s breath caught. His hands twitched at his sides, then slowly came up—reaching for you like a man touching water in a desert.

“You’re the only thing I got left that makes me feel like I’m still here,” he said stepping toward you, holding a sincere eye-contact.

Your chest cracked open.

You didn’t move when his hands cupped your face. Didn’t flinch when he brushed his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head back like he needed to see all of you. His touch was trembling. He was trembling.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Mouth crashing into yours, breath hot, hands threading into your hair like he was trying to memorize the way you felt before death took him away from you. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him down to you like you could break the habit of death with your body alone.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he kissed you like he was trying to live.

The kiss slammed into you like a wave breaking a dam.

There was no warning—just hands, heat, and the raw sound of breath catching in the back of his throat as his mouth crushed into yours. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was violent in its urgency, desperate in a way that bordered on collapse.

You tasted smoke and bourbon on his tongue, tasted the fear he refused to speak out loud.

And you gave it right back.

Your hands slid into his hair. His fingers dropped to your waist, gripping the layers of fabric at your hips in frustration.

“Too many goddamn clothes,” he rasped, half-laughing, half-growl. “You tryna drive me insane, sweetheart?”

“You first,” you gasped, stepping back from him.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—like you’d just dared him—and the look he gave you was half fire, half challenge.

Then his hands went to his waistcoat.

He didn’t waste time. The buttons came undone fast under his fingers, and he flung the thing off like it had no right to be between the two of you. His gunbelt and holster followed with a dull thud on the floor, then he was at the buttons of his shirt—no finesse now, just a frenzy of motion. He popped them open down his chest, and when one stuck, he tore the fabric loose, baring pale skin and a body cut hard by illness and held together by sheer will.

He returned to you and spun you gently—urgently—until your chest pressed to the wall, your hands bracing yourself against the wood. You felt him behind you, breath hot at your shoulder, hands already at the back of your corset.

“You wear this thing like a goddamn suit of armor,” he muttered. “What’s it protecting you from?”

“Men like you.”

He made a low, breathless sound—almost a laugh—and then you felt the tug of his fingers against the laces.

They didn’t come easily. Corset laces never did. But he worked fast, muttering curses under his breath as he loosened them enough to let you breathe. The pressure in your ribs eased. His fingers slid up your back, slipping beneath the loosened stays, tugging the entire thing over your head without ceremony.

The shift underneath clung to your skin, sweat-slick and thin. He spun you back toward him, ran his palms down your sides, up under your arms, then cupped your breasts through the damp linen. His mouth found yours once again for a kiss almost as desperate as the first.

“Still mad?” he panted, voice hoarse against your lips.

You nodded, breath hitching. “Furious.”

“Good.” His teeth scraped against your jaw, dragging down to the hinge of your throat where he bit—not hard, but enough to make you gasp again. “Don’t want you soft. Not for this.”

You barely had time to take in the sight of him—long lines, lean muscle, sharp hips, and heat in every breath—before his fingers were at his belt buckle, pulling it loose in a swift, practiced motion. His trousers hit the floor with a low rustle, and then he was stepping forward again, stripped to skin, eyes locked on you like he was starving and you were the last thing left worth tasting.

His hands slid to your waist—not rough, but insistent—guiding you backward through the glow and stillness, until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You let yourself fall back with a soft laugh of breath, landing on the mattress in a rush of tangled skirts and flushed skin.

He followed you down immediately—slow, controlled, lowering himself over you like gravity was finally on his side. One arm braced beside your head, the other still dragging your shift higher, fingers shaking with need.

You looked up at him, every inch of your body already singing for more, and the words tumbled out like a secret slipping past your lips.

“God,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to the stars. “I love you.”

He went still—not in surprise, but in triumph.

His grin was slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

“Oh, you do, do you?” he drawled, eyes gleaming even as his breath still came in short, ragged bursts.

Your face flushed hotter. “I didn’t mean—”

He cut you off with a kiss that tasted like sin and smoke.

“You love me,” he murmured against your mouth, like he was trying the words on for size. “Say it again. I want to hear it when you're lookin’ me in the eyes.”

“I love you, Doc.” You cupped his face with both hands, even as your hips ground against him. “I love you, you reckless, brilliant bastard. Even when you scare the hell out of me.”

He swallowed hard, nostrils flaring. “I ain’t worth that kind of love.”

“Tough,” you said. “You’ve got it anyway.”

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at you—something wrecked and reverent flickering behind his eyes—and then he kissed you again. Slower this time, but no less hungry. Like the words you’d just spoken had knocked the wind out of him, and now he was using your mouth to pull breath back into his lungs.

His hand slid lower, under your shift and over the bare skin of your thigh, fingers slipping between your legs like he’d been there a thousand times in his mind. When he found how wet you were, he groaned low in his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours. “That all for me?”

You couldn’t speak—just nodded, breath catching as his fingers stroked through the slick heat of you.

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and aching, while his hand worked slow, steady circles against your clit. Every flick of his fingers made your hips rise, your legs tighten. The warmth coiled sharp and fast, your body already trembling from the tension that had now broken since the moment you slapped him in that saloon.

His mouth moved to your throat, lips dragging down to your collarbone. “Let me hear you,” he whispered. “Let me feel it.”

You moaned as he slid a finger inside you—then another—stretching you just enough to make your back arch, your breath stutter. His fingers curled, searching, teasing. His thumb circled with steady pressure, pulling you closer, closer—

But before the wave could crash, he stopped.

You whimpered.

He pulled his fingers free, eyes locked on yours, and brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean.

Then he rose to his knees between your thighs, gripping your hips as he shifted you towards the center of the bed, moving with you. Your skirts were still rucked around your waist, drawers shoved aside, shift hanging loose over your breasts. You were a mess of fabric and sweat and need.

He looked down at you like a man who’d finally found something to live for.

And then he lined himself up and pushed into you with one long, devastating stroke.

Not gentle—but not brutal either. It was pure need, sharpened to the bone. You gasped, one arm wrapped tight around his back, the other tangled in the sheets, your body clenching around him like it already knew he wouldn’t last long like this.

He pulled back and drove into you again—rough, deep, each thrust a little more ragged, a little less controlled. He groaned into your shoulder, hips jerking harder now, like he was chasing something just out of reach.

But he was breathing too hard.

You felt it—heard it—in the way his rhythm started to falter, his weight sagging more into your body. A soft cough rattled from his chest, one that he tried to swallow, but it pushed out between clenched teeth as he rocked forward again, slower now, less force behind it.

He kept going—God, he tried—but his arms were shaking, his breath was stuttering, and after one more broken thrust, he dropped down beside you, chest heaving, one arm slung across your stomach.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry. I can’t—I want to—just can’t keep it up.”

He turned his face into the pillow, coughing softly, wet and low in his lungs.

“I want to fuck you through the damn floor,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “But I’m so goddamn tired already.”

You looked over at him—his hair damp with sweat, his skin pale and burning, the fever hiding just beneath the surface—and something inside you melted. Not out of pity.

Out of need.

Because he was still trying.

Because he hadn’t given up.

You reached out and touched his face, fingertips trailing along his cheek, then his throat. His eyes opened—barely—and when he looked at you, something in them flickered like he didn’t know what to expect.

So you straddled him.

Slow. Sure. A deliberate climb over his hips as he blinked up at you in open surprise.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, hands finding your thighs instinctively, voice caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief.

You leaned down, nose brushing his. “Then let me do it for you.”

And before he could stop you, before he could find the strength to argue, you reached between your bodies and guided him back inside you—slow, deep, all the way down with a breathless moan that made his hands grip tighter.

His head tipped back against the pillow, throat bobbing with a swallowed groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You rolled your hips, slow and controlled, pressing your palms to his chest as he gasped beneath you.

“No,” you said, eyes locked to his. “It’s my intention to keep you here as long as I can.”

A beat passed, heavy with anticipation. His breath hitched, he stifled a cough, the weight of your words sinking in. Then, as if overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment, his head fell back, mouth slack.

“Fuck,” he rasped, head falling back, mouth slack. “Jesus. Goddamn.”

You were shaking already. From the stretch, the pressure, the sight of him undone beneath you. He was so deep, your thighs already trembling from how tightly your body gripped him.

You started to move—slow, steady rolls of your hips, every grind dragging another sound out of him that made you throb around him.

But Doc wasn’t going to just lie still. Not even broken, not even panting beneath you like the breath kept slipping away faster than he could drag it in.

His hands yanked you down harder.

“Faster,” he growled, voice dark and ragged. “Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

You gasped, hands braced on his chest. “I don’t want to break you.”

He let out a low, vicious sound—half laugh, half threat.

“Too late for that.”

He bucked up beneath you the best he could, hips snapping with sudden force, catching you mid-thrust and driving himself deeper, harder than you were ready for.

You cried out, full-body shudder, your hands scrambling for balance as he kept thrusting up into you, every motion fueled by something furious and raw.

“You think I’m just gonna lie here?” he bit out, voice hoarse, sweat slicking his chest. “Think you can get on top and make me behave? You know I'm not one to behave darlin'.”

His mouth was at your breast before you could answer—teeth scraping over your nipple, tongue hot, hands bruising your ass as he shoved you down, used you to do what he couldn’t do himself.

“Ride me,” he growled against your skin. “Come on, darlin’. Give it to me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. You moved—hard and fast—grinding down with a gasp as he met you halfway, every thrust of his hips sloppy now, but still fierce, still intentional, like he was fighting the weakness in his limbs with everything he had.

Your forehead dropped to his as you bounced in his lap, both of you slick and shaking, skin slapping hard with every ragged thrust. He was breathing like he was about to collapse, but his hands were still firm, still dragging you down onto his cock like he couldn’t stand the thought of you pulling away.

“God, you feel so good,” he panted. “Like heaven. Like fucking heaven.”

His voice was breaking. So was his body. But his eyes—his eyes were locked on you, wide and hungry and alive, like this was the only thing keeping his heart beating.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, half-wrecked. “Don’t stop, darlin'. Not yet.”

You didn’t.

You drove down like it was the last thing either of you would ever do—hard, fast, your nails digging into his chest, your hips stuttering as the pressure built fast and furious.

“Doc—” you gasped, head falling forward. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

His hand shot up to the back of your neck, pulling you down, foreheads pressed, sweat-slick skin against sweat-slick skin. His eyes locked onto yours—dark, glazed, desperate.

“No,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not yet. Hold on for me, darlin’.”

Your whole body seized, trembling from the effort to stop the climb. Your thighs burned. Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your cunt clenched around him like your body didn’t care what your mind was trying to do—it wanted release. But you obeyed. You stayed right there—balanced on the edge, muscles coiled, every nerve frayed, every breath a battle.

“I wanna feel you break with me,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “Don’t let go without me. Not yet. I need—” His voice cracked. “I need this right now.”

You nodded—barely, shakily. “Okay. Okay, baby.”

You rocked your hips slower now, grinding down onto him with control you barely had. Every drag of him inside you made you shake, made your breath falter, made your walls twitch around him in desperate, pulsing waves.

He felt it. He groaned—deep and ruined.

“You’re so close,” he said, almost to himself. “I can feel it. Fuck, you’re… you’re shaking.”

“I have to come,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please—please, Doc—��

“Not yet,” he said again, rasping like it cost him to say it. “Almost, darlin’. Just—almost—”

His hands were all over you now, frantic. One gripped your waist, trying to guide your rhythm, even though his muscles trembled with the effort. The other slid up to your breast, squeezing rough and clumsy, thumb flicking over your nipple like he was trying to coax you into holding out just a little longer. His mouth dragged up to your throat, kissing, biting, panting.

You buried your face in his neck, moaning, biting down to keep yourself from breaking. You could feel your orgasm right there, clawing at the edge of your spine, demanding release.

He bucked up into you again—sloppy but deep—and choked on a groan. “Just a little more, sweetheart. Stay with me. Please. Fuck—I’m so close.”

And you did.

You held out for him.

You held it until your muscles locked, until your legs were shaking and your fingernails left half-moon dents in his chest and shoulder. You held it until your body screamed, until you thought you’d explode just from the tension.

“Now,” he whispered. “Come now.”

Your body obeyed like it had just been waiting for the command.

The second the words left his mouth, everything inside you snapped. Your hips slammed down on him one final time as the tension that had been coiled like wire through your spine exploded—hot and all-consuming.

Pleasure ripped through you so hard it hurt. You clamped down around him, pulsing in sharp, rhythmic waves that left you gasping, keening, grinding against him like you couldn’t get close enough. Your fingers scrambled for purchase—his chest, his shoulders, the slick heat of his skin under your palms—anything to anchor yourself while the world dropped out from under you.

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips. Your mouth opened but no words came out, just ragged moans and desperate little sounds you couldn’t hold back.

The pleasure hit you like a storm—sharp, shaking, so big it felt like grief and joy all at once. You weren’t just coming—you were coming undone.

Your hands fisted in the sheets, in his hair, in his shoulders—anything to keep yourself grounded now. But there was nothing solid. Just him. Just Doc. Just the sound of your name falling from his mouth like a prayer as he gripped your hips, holding you flush to him, thrusting up into you with the last of his strength.

Doc cursed—loud, broken—his hands flexing hard on your hips as your release hit him, too. He came with you, gasping your name as his head fell back, voice ragged and ruined.

“God—fuck—yes,” he groaned, hips jerking once, twice, his cock throbbing deep inside you as he spilled everything he had into you.

He held you down, buried deep, and you felt him throb inside you as he came—red-hot and thick, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like it cost him everything. His head dropped back, eyes squeezed shut, his entire body taut with the effort of staying in it until the end.

You rode it out together, bodies shaking, breath coming in shallow gasps. You collapsed onto his chest, limp and shaking, your heartbeat crashing in your ears. Sweat soaked the hollow of your back. You could feel his own heart thundering beneath your cheek—wild, irregular, but alive.

His arms slid around you—not tight, not strong—but present. Warm. His chest rose under you, then hitched once. A dry cough broke out, muffled against your temple.

He stayed there, head bowed against you, breath shallow.

And after a long moment, voice worn thin as paper, he said,

“You’re the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.”

He didn’t say it like a gift. He said it like a confession.

Like it scared him more than the dying ever did.

You tipped your head closer, your voice steady when everything else felt like shaking.

“Then stay alive. For me. For as long as you can”

He didn’t answer. Just tightened his arms around you, fingers trembling where they held on.

And for a while, that was enough.

Seven months along, and you could still feel the weight of his hand on your belly like it had only just left.

Most nights, that memory was the only thing that kept you steady.

You'd learned how to move with the weight of him still inside you—not just the child, but the memory. The ghost of his voice, the echo of his laughter, the shape of his hands cupped over your belly like he could protect it, and you, from what was coming.

You knew the exact night the baby had happened.

Not just because of timing—but because everything about it had been different. No distance, no jokes, no walls between them. Just truth. Desperation. Love, raw and terrifying. He’d held you like he was trying to memorize you, whispered things he’d never dared say before.

You’re the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.

And you’d told him to stay alive for you.

That was the night you'd made the baby. You were sure of it. The way he’d looked at you—like you were the only thing left in the world he couldn’t let go of.

He’d softened in a way you hadn’t thought possible, even as the light behind his eyes began to fade. At first, he’d joked—called you Mama, teased the child to come, offered names both ridiculous and oddly sentimental. But the jokes didn’t last. The coughing got worse. He slept more, ate less. You grew rounder, fuller with life, while he shrank into the bed like the world was letting go of him one piece at a time.

Still, he tried. He rubbed your back when the morning sickness took you under, kissed your neck with lips gone dry, told you you were brave even when he couldn’t lift his head. Once, in the dead of night, fever burning through him, he told you he wished he’d met you when he still had time to become the man you deserved. You held him through that too.

Near the end, words and wit came less often. But when you pressed his hand to your belly, he smiled—small and tired—and closed his eyes like he could feel the future.

“You’ll tell ‘em about me?” he’d rasped one evening.

You'd nodded, kissing his hand and blinking tears into his palm. “Every day.”

He left not but a few days later. No drama. No last gasp. Just a breath that didn’t return, and the sound of the wind outside like it was bowing its head.

The shame came soon after.

Unmarried. Alone. A woman with a swollen belly and no ring, no name but your own, and the memory of a dying man, whispered in your bones. They watched you pass in town—some with pity, others with tight-mouthed judgment. A gambler’s bastard, they said. A disgrace. A foolish girl who’d let love make you reckless.

Some nodded stiffly when you passed, like it pained them to acknowledge you at all. Others looked straight through you, eyes fixed ahead like you weren't even there. A few murmured your name in church, always just loud enough to be heard but never loud enough to offer comfort. No one said his name. Not in public. Not where it might stick to them. As if mourning a drunk gambler made you foolish.

But you kept walking. Chin up. Spine straight. Hand resting on the life inside you like it was the holiest thing you'd ever carried.

He’d asked you to live. To carry on.

And so you would.

You talked to the baby when it kicked, when it quieted. Told stories—about his sharp tongue and wicked grin, the way he held a pistol, the way he’d held you. You told it about the night the baby came to be. How he’d fallen apart in your arms and found something worth holding on to, if only for a little while.

Your house was quieter now. Lonelier. But when the wind rustled the curtains and the floor creaked just so, you liked to believe he was still here. Watching you. Walking beside you. Waiting for the child you made between heartbreak and hope.

You would see it through. For him. For what you’d made with him in the space between living and dying.

notes: AHHH @milesalexanderteller!!! I'm so sorry dude :'(

[gracefulserpent1207]

Okay so I have a new Dragons Rising theory and I need everyone to know that I have never been more confident in a theory in my life (which may be something I come to regret saying).

However, I'm going to put it under Read More because it WILL contain SPOILERS for anyone who hasn't watched DR yet (including S3).

I've seen a theory on Ninjago Tumblr that Ras's masters are the Time Twins which is a theory I LOVE because there are so many signs pointing towards it, for example: in season 1, just before the merge, when Lloyd is talking to Wu, we see the phrase 'control time, control everything' written on the wall in Ninjargon which HAD to have been there for a reason, right? I mean, Doc Wyatt is definitely the kind of writer to put an easter egg like THAT in the show, and so early on too. Plus, the Merge changed the realms completely, through a rift that looked very similar to the timestream from HoT, so it easily could've changed time, therefore allowing for the Time Twins to slip out of the timestream. There's also the lighting when Ras is communicating with his master which @steepwysdom pointed out looks very similar to the lighting of the Iron Doom (this user also made a really great video about this theory that I would definitely recommend watching for more details).

But there's one thing that puts me off this theory slightly: the fact that whenever we see Ras talking to his master, he seems like he's only talking to one person (e.g. the fact that he uses the singular 'master' and not the plural 'masters'). So I've come up with a slightly amended theory:

ONE of the Time Twins (specifically Krux) is Ras's master. The other Time Twin (specifically Acronix) is the Administrator.

Here are the reasons why I think this:

We don't really know much about either Ras's master or the Administrator except that both of them are taking control of pretty much everything since the Merge. The Administration allows the Administrator to keep an eye on everything in the Merged lands at all times and Ras's master knows everything Ras is doing at all times, meaning they can see everything the ninja are up to whenever Ras is around them. So what if this is the Time Twins' way of trying to keep track of the ninja and keep them off their trail, maybe them ordering Ras to do things such as free the Forbidden Five in order to distract the ninja from ever finding them because they've got something much bigger in store for them?

I also think that the fact that some people were displaced after the Merge may have been a cover up for the Time Twins displacing the ninja so that they're separated (because this would make them more worried about finding each other than finding them). It could also explain why Jay works at the Administration - they put him there when he lost him memories so that he would be faithful to them rather than the ninja, causing further issues for them when they lose a team member. Plus, we know that when Wu returned from the timestream, he had lost his memories, so maybe Jay losing his memories is some kind of foreshadowing for the fact that the Time Twins are behind everything?

Ras is constantly telling Arin that he wants to "reverse the Merge". Well after season 3 (especially the scene towards the end of the season when he's gazing at the ninja together with anger and/or jealousy), I think he's telling the truth - I think Ras DOES want to reverse the Merge, and the reason he thinks it's possible to do this is because he's seen his master (Krux) reverse time before. Because maybe the Merge caused the Twins to get their powers back (as we've seen it GIVE powers to people without them before so surely it's a possibility) and now they're out for revenge.

Whoever's behind it clearly wants the power of the Source Dragons and we know that the Time Twins are obsessed with power, wanting to "control everything". Well the Merge gave them the perfect opportunity to do that, because with their time powers, they can probably control the Merge in a way no one else can and they want to use that to their advantage.

In season 3, Morro tells Arin that Wu must still be alive because if he had died, he'd have passed through the Spectral Lands, meaning that Wu is probably being held captive and is only able to communicate when he gets the chance to (explaining why he's so cryptic when he does appear).

Wu clearly knew that the Merge was going to happen, just like he knew Acronix was going to return 40 years after he and Garmadon banished the Twins. What if just before Wu escaped the timestream, he saw a sign, telling him about the Merge and when it was going to happen?

In the 'Golden Hour' short, Wu rips one of the Time Blades out of the Iron Doom, and I think this may have unintentionally caused the Merge. There is a massive explosion when he does it, the Time Twins are suddenly nowhere to be found and the Iron Doom is destroyed. This could have caused some sort of rip in time that escalated into the Merge years later, and (as I said in the point above), Wu saw the sign for this and mistakenly thought he had the time to solve what he had done.

It's not a perfect theory and there's probably a few plot holes here that I haven't taken into account, but I think it'd explain a lot.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League – Hold Him Still

Masterlist

Follows this piece. August has a fever and needs to be held down while the doctor cleans his wound. Painful but necessary caretaking. No one handles it well. @alittlewhump beta read.

Theo stopped at the top of the stairs, favouring the left side of the step to avoid the creak. Shadows of the banister spanned the hallway like Roman columns. Stretching onto the ceiling as though they’d been cast by flame, soot left in their wake. It lent an air of grandeur, as though he might find champions or gladiators reclined after a battle instead of a gaggle of misfits, sloshed and lucky if they made it onto a bed. Door open, closed, or ajar served little indication of the state of what lay beyond. 

There wasn’t a room in the house Theo hadn’t stayed in for some length of time over the five years since they’d had it. He was always the one to trade if there were tensions between roommates, happy to give up a room to himself if someone sick or injured needed it, and was usually the first to share with a new addition to help them settle in. Normally, that would have meant August taking the spare bed in the room at the end of the hall with him but nothing about August’s arrival had been normal. 

He started at the room next to his. Hugh would already be awake. The youngest in their ranks was the lightest sleeper and the only one who never drank as a hard and fast rule. 

“Can you come down?” He whispered, glancing over at Jack to make sure he hadn't disturbed him. Unlikely, given the fact that he smelled like a distillery. 

Hugh nodded, brow furrowing but he didn't pause to ask questions.

Finding a second recruit wasn’t as straightforward. Those on the clock would be sober but with posts all over this side of the city, it would take too long to get word to one of them. 

Theo jumped when Hugh appeared at his side, dressed and ready. And looking all too proud at his ability to sneak up on others. 

“Were you at the pub earlier?” Theo asked, keeping his voice low. “Do you know who else—”

“What going on?” Alfred came out of his room, looking irate at being disturbed even though he was fully awake. “His pacing sounds like a drum line. Did the little spy run off with all the notes from the safe?”

“We need another pair of hands to help with something downstairs.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“We need someone sober.”

“Haven’t had a drop,” Alfred said, crossing his fingers over his heart in mock seriousness. “One of us real grown-ups—no offense, Hughey—” 

Hugh shrugged, more occupied with what exactly he’d been volunteered for. 

“—Had to stay clear-headed with Wyatt gone off the rails.” 

“Don’t I count?” 

“Thought you’d be catching up on sleep after the docks.” 

“Oh…thanks.” Theo couldn’t help but be impressed, though the reason for it was less than ideal.  

“Yeah, I’m likely to be sainted any day now. So, what are we doing?” 

Downstairs, August lay on the dining table, still dead to the world in his fevered state. Doc was setting out all manner of instruments beside him, bright and sharp. Wyatt’s fists tightened with each addition, his percussive footsteps echoing through the room. 

What with the mantle of responsibility he shouldered, Wyatt was never far when someone in the house was hurt. Be it on a job or a foolish mishap, he took pains to stick around for them to get stitched up. A hand on their shoulder, a flask ready at their side. Grim-faced and tense as though he truly shared in their pain. But every time the dining room was transformed into an operating theatre, one would think he’d never seen blood. 

Alfred crossed his arms in the doorway. “You’re not fucking serious. This is what you pulled us out of bed for?”

Wyatt stilled with his back turned. 

“Take it easy,” Theo warned. To one or both, he wasn’t certain. 

Hugh grimaced from behind Alfred, eyes darting to Theo’s.

“Unless this is to pick up where we left off—”

“Where you left off?” Wyatt grated. “If you hadn’t been so heavy-handed, he might not be this bad off.”

“I still think he got off easy.”

“Excuse me?”

As the battle lines were drawn, Hugh ducked through the doorway, seeking neutral ground beside Theo. Or, rather, just slightly behind him.

“We could have gotten a lot more out of him.” 

Wyatt whirled. “Of course it didn’t occur to you to simply ask. That all of the scars—”  He gestured to the boy in question, prone on the table, looking for all the world to be on his deathbed for how frail he was. “Not to mention the fresh wound bigger than his own hand on his side—might be an indication that he would more than happily flip on Keats.”

“I—well—”

Too slow. “Your impulsivity once again leads to unfavourable consequences. This is becoming a pattern.” 

Alfred was still floundering. This was usually the moment— 

“And you?” Alfred countered. “This isn’t the first time you’ve shown yourself more loyal to some stranger.”

—things got worse. 

Theo held up his hands. “All right, Doc’s—”

“Loyalties?” Wyatt took a step forward, rising to the bait and bringing his voice along with him. “You’re speaking to me of loyalties?” 

Alfred held his ground, matching the volume. “You can’t expect us to blindly follow your lead when you’ve been locked in your room with some stray and we don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” 

“I have done more than enough to earn your trust.”

“And not a damn thing to keep it.”

“Unbelievable. Do you refuse to see the consequences of your actions before you? In what way would this fill me with confidence? All this has shown me is that you lack any sense of discernment.”

“Fuck off,” Alfred yelled. “I was doing what any of us would have done. You’re the one hiding something! Ever since the warehouse, you’ve been different. Are you working for Keats? Is that why you came down to ‘rescue’ his man?” 

Wyatt lunged, shoving Alfred against the wall. “Accuse me of treachery one more time.” 

Alfred swallowed, suddenly more selective of his words though he didn’t concede to the threat of Wyatt’s hands so near his throat by raising his own in defence. “You ask us to trust you but you don’t extend that same trust to us,” he spat.   

Theo took a step forward. “Why don’t we—”

“Fuck off your high horse,” Alfred said at the same time Wyatt growled, “Stay out of this.” 

Theo held up his hands, retreating. Hugh grimaced, looking ready to cut and run. This was absolutely going to make matters worse but fine, let them beat the shit out of each other, see if he cared. 

Alfred fists tightened at his sides. “I think—”

“As entertaining as this is,” Doc interrupted, pausing to look at them flatly, demonstrating just how unamused he found it. “Time is of the essence. Can we begin or will we need to find another set of hands?” 

“There is no one else,” Alfred said, still glaring at Wyatt. “The boys were doing forfeits tonight.” 

Wyatt held his ground one beat longer than necessary before releasing him wordlessly and turning his back to check on August. 

Alfred fumed. 

So that’s how it was going to be. 

“Alright, let’s each of you take hold of him,” Doc instructed. Alfred, the strongest holding his hips. Hugh held his ankles. Wyatt and Theo on either shoulder and wrist. 

“Are… are you s-sure this is necessary?” Hugh asked. “He’s o-out c-cold.” 

In truth, it felt ridiculous, taking such positions around the ghost of a boy on the table, but August came to immediately, “No, no, no!” He twisted easily out of Theo’s underestimated grip. 

“Shit!” Theo narrowly avoided getting bitten trying to catch the boy’s shoulder again. 

Hugh and Alfred scrambled to regain a hold as he fought. August would have fallen off the table completely if Wyatt hadn’t caught him by the waist, keeping him still long enough for Alfred to pin his hips again. 

“Steady lads.” Doc had his trousers almost to his knees which had the benefit of restricting his movements some, though he fought all the more for what ground he lost. 

“Please!” He kicked Hugh squarely in the chest when his ankle was released for the underbreeches to be taken all the way off, sending him staggering backwards. 

But as soon as Doc finally pulled away the fabric, he fell still, eerily so. If his breath wasn’t so audibly fast and ragged, Theo would have wanted to check it was there at all. 

One by one, they released him, watching his expression closely but his eyes remained closed, limbs as limp as before they’d started. Doc covered him with a sheet, folding one side to the middle to reveal the wound. 

Alfred hissed in a breath. “That ain’t pretty.”

Theo made sure not to look. 

Wyatt was as white as the aforementioned sheet, which did not bode well. He turned away, putting one hand against the wall and covering his brow. 

“All right, Hughey?” Theo asked. 

He nodded, expression tight. His gaze was stuck on August’s sleeping face, like he was trying to figure out how someone who looked near death could put up such a fight. 

Doc pushed his rolled sleeves up and ran his thumbs under his braces. He met Theo’s gaze and then glanced at Wyatt, eyebrows lifting. “Let’s give him a minute to rest while I step out for a smoke, then we start.” 

Alfred and Hugh all but jumped to follow him. Hugh didn’t even smoke but Theo understood his desire to escape this room. He was itching for a cigarette himself but Wyatt needed him more.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as restful a moment as prescribed. 

Every few breaths, August would whimper, tossing his head back and forth. “No more. Please, master. Please, no more.”

And each time, Wyatt would soothe, “Hush, lamb,” and place the boy’s limp hands on the bedsheets that covered him. “Nothing like that’s going to happen.” 

No sooner than August recognised himself to be swathed in the sheets, would he fall out of consciousness again. Only to come round once more, moments later and repeat the whole process. 

“August, lad, just rest.” Wyatt swept the hair off August’s forehead and the boy’s face crumpled, a sob escaping his lips. 

“Please, master,” he whimpered.

Wyatt stopped stroking his temple but the younger boy only sobbed anew at the departure, turning his head to chase the touch. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Wyatt breathed, hand hesitating in the space between them. He curled his fingers into a fist but not before Theo saw them tremble. Wyatt’s red-rimmed eyes flicked up to his and then to the door. He sat up straighter, burying his hands in his pockets.

“He’ll not remember,” Theo said, rounding the table and keeping his voice low enough that the others coming down the hall wouldn’t hear. “You’re doing right by him.” 

Silent tears started to fall steadily down August’s cheeks, his brow still creased in distress.

Theo wondered if Wyatt was going to make it through this. He would have suggested he step out for some air they were out of time. 

Doc instructed them back to their positions. “Let’s get this over with, lads.” 

“Pleasepleaseplease—no-no—” August’s eyes flew open as soon as they laid hands on him again but this time they were more prepared. 

The display of force against someone so vulnerable left a bitterness in Theo’s already-sour stomach. His fingers well overlapped the younger boy’s delicate wrist. 

“It’s imperative he remain still,” Doc reminded, raising his voice over August’s protests. “I don’t want to cause any more damage than has already been done.” 

“This gonna hurt?” Alfred asked, looking to Wyatt. 

But Wyatt only had eyes for August. 

He was sobbing, pleading only growing more pitiful. “No more, master. Please, I beg of you, I can’t—no more—” 

“Ready?” Doc asked. 

As ready as they’d ever be, which was to say not in the least. This was considerably worse than any of the times they’d held down a fellow comrade, drunk to his gills, so Doc could dig out a bullet. 

August howled when Doc’s blade met his wound. He thrashed against their hands with renewed vigour, twisting and pulling, desperate to find a point of escape. There was no question he’d have bruises for how hard he fought but Theo began to fear he’d wind up with worse, feeling the bones of his wrist twisting and grinding in his grip. 

“Fuck fuck fuck—” 

“W-why… why hasn’t he p-passed out yet?” Hugh asked, raising his voice to be heard. 

“He’s fighting it,” Doc said without looking up. 

Alfred snorted. “We’re shit out of luck if it’s as hard as he’s fighting us.” 

“Godfuckingdamnit—”

Doc paused to clean the blade and August stilled, breath ragged. He looked into their faces, one by one, as though he were looking for one he recognised. Wyatt took pains to angle his face away, gaze locked on his fingertips, white where he gripped August’s shoulder to keep him immobilised. 

August’s eyes were still glassy when they locked onto Alfred’s. “Please, please,” he begged breathlessly. “I’ll tell you anything. Just make it stop—” He screamed when Doc started again, head falling back onto the table with a thud, arching his spine and trying to twist away. “Nnngh—Make it stop!” 

“Interesting,” Alfred said, again looking to see what rise he could get out of Wyatt. “What have you got?” 

“I’ll not have you turning a medical procedure into an interrogation,” Doc said flatly. 

Alfred wouldn’t drop it. “If he’s willing to share…” 

“Please, anything you want—” August lifted his head again, gaze settling on Theo this time. “I’ll do anything!” 

“I’m sorry,” Theo told him, beginning to feel as though they’d had a hand in the original injury, torturing him so. It was grotesque. 

“I’ll make it good—Ah! Fuckk—nnnnghh—I can show you such a good time—” 

Hugh made a choked sound in his throat, drawing August’s attention.

“Don’t let them do this—” Tears started running down his face, voice straining as he held back sobs. Hugh looked to Wyatt but he wouldn’t look up. “Please, please, I can’t do this again. I can’t—” August’s words grew incoherent, mangled by cries that sounded as though they might tear his very lungs. He pinched his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth, fingers clawing at the air with every pass of the blade.

Theo hoped he was reaching his limit, that he might finally lose consciousness, and be saved some suffering. He must ask Wyatt about the chloroform later. 

“The infection is deeper than I thought.” Doc paused again, raising his voice to be heard over August’s sobbing. “It’ll be a bit longer.”

“Please, please, sir.” He’d found Wyatt this time. Had to lift his head and crane it back, bearing his whole throat, to catch his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, rushing to speak before Doc started again. “Please. I’m yours, sir. I don’t need it. I know I’m yours, sir. I’ll never run! I promise, sir. I swear. Please—”

August slammed his head against the table when the blade found him again, his expression twisting in pain. When he opened his eyes again, they were even less focused, tears running steadily down his temples but he still looked in Wyatt’s direction. 

Wyatt stared right past him, refusing to engage. 

“You promised,” August cried hoarsely. “You can’t even look at me. You lied. You’re just like him.” Alfred had the gall to force a laugh but even that didn’t get a reaction from Wyatt. August sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut as though he couldn’t bear to look at Wyatt anymore either. 

Theo hoped he might slip into unconsciousness now but he lifted his head, cracking it down on the table.

Wyatt closed his eyes. 

August hit his head against the table again.

And again. And again. 

“You’ll need to put a stop to that,” Doc said without looking up. 

“Stop him how?” Theo asked. “If we let go—”

“Now!”

As soon as Theo let go of his shoulder, August twisted against the hold on his wrist, lifting more of his right side off the table and using the momentum to slam his head even harder against the table. For a moment he was still, seeing stars. 

“Jesus Christ, Theo. That’s definitely worse,” Alfred said. 

“Oh, piss off,” Theo snapped, pinning August’s shoulder again while he was still dazed but it was only seconds before August was beating his head against the table again. “Doc, maybe if you give him a break—”

“I’m nearly finished. Just manage it.” 

“Wyatt, can you give me a hand?” Theo released August’s wrist instead, clapping his free hand over the boy’s forehead but as soon as he did, August reached up to claw his neck and face. 

“Ow! Fuck!” The feral thing managed to draw blood and catch him in the eye. He grabbed August’s wrist again but of course the lad slammed his head into the table again as soon as Theo had let go.

Hugh started shaking his head, eyes flicking between August and Wyatt. 

“Wyatt,” Theo shouted. “Fucking do something! Anything!” 

He was a statue at August’s side. 

“Shit. I think he’s made himself bleed.” Theo leaned over and sure enough, there were splotches on the sheet. “Doc—” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Alfred groaned. “I’ll pin him so you can stop him caving his head in. Hold on—” He hooked his foot around one of the chairs and pulled it up to the table.  

And Theo had thought this couldn’t possibly get worse for August. “You can’t be serious—Hugh, you gotta hang on. We need you with us.” 

Hugh pinched his eyes shut, giving up on any reassurance from Wyatt, his shoulders up to his ears like he wanted to block out the sounds too. 

“Wyatt,” Theo tried one more time. “Please, we need you. Help us.” 

Alfred already had one knee on the table but before he could straddle August’s thighs, Wyatt caught the back of August’s neck. He took hold of the boy’s hand, bringing his arm up across his chest and using it to keep him down. 

“August, look at me. I—” Wyatt cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts but we have no choice.” 

“I—I don’t—I don’t believe you,” he managed to gasp, breath thin and quick now that he’d doubled his pain. 

“I know.” His voice was as hollow as his gaze but August was in no position to notice. 

The lad let his eyes fall closed, tears still streaming down his face. Wyatt held him fast and little more than a few whimpers escaped his lips as Doc finished. 

“The worst part is over,” Doc finally said. “I’ll just—”

Wyatt let go of August and walked out. 

“I—sir—” His eyes swam as he tried to look for Wyatt. 

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Alfred grumbled. 

Hugh looked even more cross than Alfred. 

“Just…hang on—” Theo gingerly released August and, once certain he was staying still, hurried after Wyatt. 

It had just begun snowing outside. A dusting of white covered the messy streets, blurring all of the roughness of the city and leaving a clean slate to glow under the street lights. 

“Wyatt!” Theo called to stop him before he disappeared into the flurry. 

He paused but didn’t turn. 

“You can’t leave, not now. Not after that.” 

Nothing. 

Theo curled his fingers into fists. “Are you so blinded by whatever hold August has on you that you can't see what's going on?” He was yelling but still Wyatt wouldn’t turn. “We’ll be lucky if we see Hugh inside a fortnight and Alfred’s ready to—”

“Go back.” Not a request, a command. 

Theo’s blood boiled. 

Wyatt pulled his collar up and started walking but paused again. “For me,” he added, half turning toward Theo for a moment. 

“This isn’t how we do things,” Theo called back but he was just shouting into the wind. 

Masterlist

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion

@wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @hold-him-down was already taken lol

[artsyxbutterfly]

This image gets me cackling everytime I see it LMAOO

But I've sorta been wanting to talk about it.

This is just my opinion y'al, it's fine to disagree (just don't harass me pls 😭)

To me, Cole always has been sorta queer-coded. Like in the very beginning when he wanted his father to accept him for being a ninja and not a dancer was giving such coming out vibes.

And that Cole notoriously is the one ninja never really having a love interest. Sure there was that weird love triangle with Nya in season 3 but I don't think he really likes her tbh. Also; Vania. They were confirmed to only be friends by one of the writers, Doc Wyatt.

But that doesn't necessarily mean ppl cannot ship them. I personally don't bc I'm tired of every time in the show when a girl and a guy first meet they end up getting together (or at least having feelings for one another) and Cole and Vania seemed to have more of a brother- sister dynamic to me if anything :P

Geo and Cole look cute together imo!💜🖤🧡

These ppl on tik tok are probably the same ppl that stopped watching Ninjago bc of the design changes 💀 these ppl are afraid it'll take away from Cole's masculinity or whatever but I don't think it would do anything to his character except give him a boyfriend. He isn't gonna turn into a gay stereotype 😐

Also I find it funny that being alive but gay is just as equally as bad as being dead or being disappeared according to these ppl lmaoooo 😭

Also, this is mainly based on speculation. Nothing official has 100% confirmed Cole is actually gay. Whether he is or not, I'll still love his character!

Sorry for the mini yap sesh, lol. This isn't a post saying you should ship Cole with Geo, this is just my pov and me cackling at these delulu ppl on tik tok 😜

[bitchinbarzal]

the other woman | mat & mama

you’d had the best weekend with the kids and mat. It was nice to get away from being “doc” to just being a mom and wife.

you were on day two, standing at the end of the carpet waiting for mat to finish his interviews while wyatt slept soundly on your shoulder.

he finally made it to you, taking wyatt from you to give your arms a break.

the kids were all on a sugar high, antsy and looking around for the next thing to do. Bailey had run off, not wearing his cochlear so you chased after him, bringing him back to the family giggling.

Your spot now taken by a woman you didn’t recognise. Before you could introduce yourself you heard her say

“Oh she’s gotten so big! I remember when you were just a baby” a tickling a now wide awake Wyatt’s belly.

You frowned “and how do you know Wyatt?” You asked, taking the baby from her dad.

Mat and the woman looked at one another, Mathew considerably nervous looking “We um-“

“Molly used to come to daddy’s house!” Ryder, ever the one to throw dad under the bus. Mathew closed his eyes and sighed.

“Yeah this is Molly.. she’s a reporter for the league we went out once or twice last year” Mathew explains while Molly stands looking uncomfortable.

You smile “Well it was nice to meet you Molly”

“Likewise…” she trails “I’m gonna go” and takes off into the crowd to interview someone else.

You look at Mat who has those puppy dog eyes “Babe…”

“C’mon guys let’s go see the mascot’s! Uncle Jack told me they’re playing musical chairs” you exclaim, plastering on a fake smile to distract the kids from the obvious tension.

Before you could walk very far Mathew grabbed your waist “Hey! Don’t walk away-“

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” You ask, tears lining your eyes.

Mat couldn’t lie, not to you “Yes… we were separated though!”

“So all that shit about wanting to work on our marriage, how I was your only girl… that was all a lie? You just can’t seem to keep your hands off girls at your work”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“No Mathew what isn’t fair is you never telling me that! That I was at home worrying about my job, our kids and our marriage while you were out finding them a new mom?!”

He looks hurt “It wasn’t like that! Lets not forget you drafted the divorce papers”

And one last stab at his heart

“And I wish I hadn’t thrown them out now”

[blazeymc]

I wish I had a pic but ig on twitter, Doc Wyatt confirmed that the Teapot of Tyrahn is in the Land of Lost Things?

I want to make a fanfiction based after DRS2P2, when Jay is part of Ras’ team, where Ras finds the Teapot of Tyrahn and frees Nadakhan.

Jay is like “You? I- I don’t think I like you” and Nadakhan is like “You? Oh, I had so much fun with YOU >:)”

And when Jay begins getting his memory back, he realizes, points to Nadakhan, and says “WAIT YOU’RE THE GUY FROM THE DOOMED TIMELINE” and the rest of Ras’ squad is like “sorry what”

Nadakhan starts unveiling his master plan here to finally get back to being a Djinn King for infinite wishes, probably using that bit of Djinn Land from Arrakore, and there’s a reluctant team-up between Ras’ squad and the Ninja to take him down

Once they’re done the Ninja turn to Ras’ guys and just say “btw you guys are under arrest”

[notsosmug87]

This fucking guyyyyy

THIS GUYYYYYYY😀

“THE VISION IS IMPORTANT, IT IS A LONG GAME.”

THIS GUYYYYY MANNNNNN

[sepublic]

So how will the ninja defeat the Forbidden Five? They can be killed or imprisoned, but neither of these will put them down forever. It’s possible they’ll just have to destroy the Five and prepare for their eventual comeback, like what happened with the Overlord… But I wouldn’t be surprised if the Dragons Rising writers improve upon how a villain’s cyclical return is “resolved,” just as they improved on Cloud Kingdom’s writing.

And that gets me onto the matter of Jay, because by shattering his soul, the writers have put themselves into a situation where they can heal a person’s soul this way. And if Jay’s soul can be healed, why not others as well?

I think this is how the Forbidden Five will be dealt with permanently; Because the only way you can get them to stop committing evil is to remove that motivation to begin with. The best way to defeat an enemy is to make them your friend; It was the solution for Jay the last time he had to fight a fellow ninja in an elemental tournament, if you think of it.

There could be a flashback to reveal the Five as the Wyldness’ equivalent to the ninja; A plucky group of warriors who defended their realm from evil time and time again. Like the ninja, they sometimes had to pick up a new technique or gimmick to defeat the villains, and so like the ninja they consulted Rontu and Egalt for their teachings.

But things weren’t working out, so the Five devised Shatterspin, just as Garmadon was forced to learn it to save the day. They didn’t realize what it was doing to them, even as Rox mastered Theroxian magic. By that point it was over; It became exponentially easier to justify shattering their souls against the latest threat, until the Five became the ruthless conquerors we see now. We could see their appearances change, with Doc Wyatt alluding to Nokt being “corrupted” and thus not looking as wolf-like.

When the ninja mend Jay’s soul, they’ll realize this is how they’ll stop the Forbidden Five. Maybe Arin and/or Morro have something to do with this; Morro because he himself is proof. Arin because he’s dealt with Ras, who he’ll realize had no soul to shatter, so to speak; He naturally chose to be like this.

With their conscience and original forms restored, the Forbidden Five relinquish their ways. They relinquish Shatterspin and Theroxian magic, not wanting to be corrupted again. From a Doylist perspective, this also means that if the Five were to help the ninja, they wouldn’t be an easy solution to their problems because they’re weaker now; As Doc Wyatt said, the thematic idea was that evil is easier, so the Five will be nerfed following a change of heart. The Boss VS When you unlock him as a Playable Character.

Maybe the Forbidden Five will die after the fact; They’re dying and ready to proclaim their eventual return but then their souls are mended. A moment of clarity and relief because they’ve forgotten how good it feels, and then they realize what must be done; They allow themselves to pass away in peace. This could go hand in hand with Morro doing the same, as well as Morro’s return being a segue into how the Departed Realm situation works now, as well as how the Five ordinarily wouldn’t let themselves stay dead.

[arjengelly]

If Demon Slayer can reincarnate people, then so can we!!! 🥹

When Deku and Kacchan are in their 60s-80s, they run into some familiar faces.

Not everyone is reborn exactly (Touya & Sako didn’t die yet here). Also the reincarnated don’t have any memories of their past lives.

I wasn’t sure on the color scheme of everyone yet. 😅

Jin & Toga are reborn as siblings. Genji and Haruka. Genji can change people’s appearances & make them look identical to other people but if damaged it can melt off like Twice’s clones. Haruka can change people’s blood type depending on her mood.

Yoichi and Kudo are dating. They go by Yoite & Juuzou and are in Kotetsu’s business class.

Bruce works in UA as a very essential maintenance worker/sub. His name is Wayne. He usually tries to avoid Yoite & Juuzou.

Yagi and his mom get a second chance at life. The boy is now called Haji.

Spinner dies in his 60s but is reborn as his youngest grandchild, Iggy. Iggy is part of a rich family b/c of Spinner’s books.

Hana and Tenko are siblings again. Kana is about 7yrs older than Hibiki. Kana is Kotetsu’s girlfriend and can slap things into floating away.

Hibiki is best friends with Iggy and is always texting him or playing online together. The siblings get to go on family trips with the Iguchis.

Shirakumo is reincarnated as the grandson of Moe & Rumi. He’s rivals with Kotetsu b/c both want to be class rep. He spins into a flaming wheel almost reminiscent of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Shinomori, Banjo and En are a family. Shino, Dante and Enzo. Enzo is also in Ko’s class. His dads are Deku fanboys. Enzo and Kana mock Juuzou for being the only Dynamight fan of their group.

Kotetsu is the spitting image of Touya but it’s just the Himura genetics. He’s the son of Geten & Malu (making them old parents and he’s Star & Bumi’s younger brother). He’s initially thought as quirkless until his nephew Ichigo accidentally put him in a life threatening situation. Ko can freeze metal to the point it shatters into small pieces as soft/lightweight as snowflakes. (Ko himself is still oblivious to this).

Magne is reborn as Sato’s granddaughter, Maggie. She has a crush on Ko (he helps out in Nejire’s daycare center when Kana can’t). Maggie can emit a repulsing force that pushes people away certain distances depending on what she eats.

Mr. Compress and Ragdoll had a grandson that kinda looks like him. The kids just refer to him as Sako. He is quiet and stares off into space. His quirk makes things you’re looking for disappear (can be invisible in front of you or in a diff location).

This family is everywhere! The two blondes are Ichigo and Kira. They’re cousins and first years at UA while their uncle Kotetsu and his friends are on their last year there.

Kira’s uncle (Yao Kaminari’s lil bro) is Bumi’s sidekick Doc Hack. Kira interns for them while Ichigo acts as an anti hero at Villains for Hire, an agency run by Giran’s grandson, Bumi’s ex, Wyatt Okuta/Riot. Ichigo does this to mess with his mom (Spitfire/ Bumi). The entire family believes Ichigo to be quirk-less (except Kira who’s in on his secret). Ichigo’s alter-ego is Fennec and his quirk is flame whips.

Sorry for the bits and pieces of a long @$$ story…. I just don’t wanna forget them. 🥲

[mc-tummy-blur]

Watched Tomestone 1993 for the first time today and I know these were real people but from a film standpoint why do I feel like the framing of Doc Holliday's TB is an allegory for a Homosexual man with AIDS who is dealing with internalized Homophobia (this interpretation has probably already been made with how old the movie is but it makes me sick)

He's already in his sickness when we see him, but it's clear he's not looking good. When the doctor tells him he doesn't have much longer he tells him that he would need to stop his behaviors (drinking, gambling, smoking etc.,) to slow down the progression of the disease but Doc waves him off. But when his girl tries to get him back into doing his "bad habits" saying how she takes care of him, he says that she might be the AntiChrist. The motif of a woman being the Devil or related to the Devils goals is already prevent with the movie, with Josephine attracting Wyatt through the play where she portrayed the Devil, so the religious symbolism is not too far fetched for this. Especially how agents of the Devil will tempt those into "bad behaviors," in this case homosexuality being one of them, according to the Bible and beliefs at the time. So, in his connections to making her the AntiChrist, he inherently believes his behavior is bad, yet still does it.

His connection with Johnny Ringo is one of trying to one up each other in terms of masculinity, where Ringo will call him "Lunger", a derogatory term for him. They have a dick measure contest through the usage of their pistols, and Doc makes comments on how he thinks Ringo to be like him, and how he hates him. This is important as way later on in the movie, Doc talks about how Ringo has a hole inside him that he can't fill back through means of killing or stealing, but is trying to get revenge back for being born.

The framing of the movie, the line delivery and Wyatts reaction to Doc saying this, it's very much intended that Doc is not talking about Ringo, but rather himself, as he is protecting his self hate onto him. You'd could argue that he's just regretful of his past behavior and how he turned out and that this sickness is a curse that he wouldn't have gotten if he was never born.

But this is like, also very clearly similar to how man who has internalized homophobia talks. He regrets ever being born the way he was and wanted to try to fill up the hole he has inside of him to make up for it, to make up for this sickness that he has.

It's also here in this talk that Wyatt says "I know what I want and who and I feel miserable" you see Doc perk up at when Wyatt says "who", and with how vague the wording can be interpreted this could seem like a romantic intidication with Wyatt talking about his feelings about someone and Doc having feelings for Wyatt, where he hopes Wyatt is talking about him.

But those two are so vastly different from each other, with Docs behavior being described as hypocritical. The Bible mentions hypocrisy and how it detests this and Doc is very much and openly hypocritical man. When the priest comes by to say the last prayers to Doc, he recognizes this as much. Instead of trying to engage in what he usually does, that being poker, he doesn't want to. He wants Wyatt to leave him and doesn't want to be seen in that state.

Him being bedridden in the hospital alone is similar to how victims of AIDS who were gay would often be alone, and end up dying alone.

Doc reminisce about young love and how Wyatt should have that and to leave him alone so he could go on and experience that kind of love instead of trying to play poker with him. You could read this as a Gay man still having romantic feelings for a friend but he feels like he doesn't want him to be weighed down or to "lose expeirences" by being this way. With his last moments he doesn't want to engage in poker even when Wyatt tries to for him, even though it's not completely in his character to do so.

Val Kilmer has talked about how he sees Doc and Wyatt as two men who are on opposing political ends, but that it's a love story despite it. In that context, Doc was a repressed homosexual man who really wanted to live his hypocritical lifestyle (within the eyes of the church), and Wyatt wanted to uphold the law and "normality. They both love each other but not in the same way. And when Wyatt tries to engage in the same behavior that Doc does, playing that card game, Doc can see it's a meaningless gesture to try to comfort him before death. He just urges Wyatt to live the life that he wants. He knows Wyatt doesn't love him like that and knows it's pointless for Wyatt to even try to humor him.

[teruel-a-witch]

I'm gonna need to know more about the show those gifs are from. For research purposes,,, obviously 🤭

*rubs hands* certainly! i am glad to have an excuse to talk about one of the best shows that is sooo severely underrated. this got long, i'm sorry, and I barely scratched the surface.

the gifs in question are from a TV show called wynonna earp, it ran between 2016-2021 in canada and on syfy channel in the US, consists of 4 seasons, season 1 with 13 the rest with 12 episodes, and there's also a movie that came out in 2024 on tubi.

the show is based on comics, it's gothic western horror/action/thriller/suspense/comedy/drama monster-of-the-week type of show with an overarching arc and its own lore that keeps developing with each season. it's kind of like supernatural if it didn't hate women and was actually good. as someone who grew up with xena and charmed this show was exactly up my alley from the start.

the titular character is wynonna earp, who is a descendant of the legendary gunslinger wyatt earp, and she's destined to put down 77 revenant demons (outlaws that her ancestor killed with his magic gun peacemaker) in order to break the family curse, revenants are former humans that come back from hell as demons. this is just the starting point, it gets much better and more complex. wynonna is a loveable screw-up and a badass at the same time.

for lovers of old men and implied yaoi there's john henry holliday aka actual doc holliday from history and he's an immortal but also spent almost 150 years down a well as a result of an insane psycho-sexual love triangle between wyatt earp, himself and another guy (it's not explicit but it's basically what happened lmao, and they do 'jokingly' call him 'wyatt earp's boyfriend' at least once), he also happens to be wynonna's on again off again love interest but everyone is bi vibes and flirting on this show not including characters that are explicitly gay/queer.

there's a bunch of loveable main and recurring characters (honestly love everyone in this bar) but of course the main draw has always been the relationship between waverly earp (baby sister of wynonna and saying more about who she is would be spoilery) and officer and later sheriff nicole haught, known as wayhaught. they are basically the show's main romantic couple and they get the main couple treatment which was a first for me with a wlw couple. epic story and epic chemistry and it gets explored. they are basically known as horny monsters but also so in love that cupid himself commented on how in love they are. it's super refreshing to see two women who are allowed to be unabashedly horny for each other, the show doesn't shy away from that, and at the same time their relationship develops and grows deeper every season.

the thing is this show came on scene in 2016, at the height of the backlash to queerbaiting and the bury your gays trope in tv shows (2015-2016 season was particularly egregious with something like over 20 lesbian/bisexual women killed off across many different tv shows) and the fans were hurting and mistrustful, and the showrunner emily andras and the crew and everyone behind the show went 'no, we got you, we are not doing that', first they said that wayhaught will definitely happen without fear of spoiling their show (you have to understand the show barely started, it was like around second episode when nicole and waverly have their meet cute, one of the best ever, imo, and people watching the show, me including, were like 'aw they have such great chemistry, too bad it's not good to happen' and yet the showrunner told us that it will, right away).

and the second most important point is that they said outright that they will not kill off their lesbian/bisexual characters, so when nicole gets shot in S1 she is wearing a bullet proof west specifically as a response to other lesbian characters of other shows that weren't. this show embraced and welcomed a traumatised audience, the one that usually gets overlooked (remember how often shows that cater to queer women get cancelled) and was loved back dearly in return.

it will always have a special place in my heart and i wish it had 15 seasons to explore the lore and story they barely scratched the surface of. but even what we do have is wonderful and infinitely rewatchable, this is a rare show that loves its fans back and has no disdain for enthusiastic people who kept it on the air (there were campaigns too).

tl;dr: it's a great show that i highly recommend. one of my all time faves. found family, monster of the week, it's hilarious, it has heart and multiple queer characters. more people should watch it.

ps. if you have specific questions i'd be happy to answer it was just difficult to explain it all in one post and it got so long anyway.