#this is what murdered me but simultaneously brought me back to life

[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.’

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[allwaswell16]

F a v o r i t e F i c s O f 2 0 2 3

As an avid One Direction fan fic reader, 2023 has been a truly amazing year for fics! I read so many incredible fics this year, so please check out all my recs for the year here! Below you will find fics that made me cry or cry with laughter. Others brought me comfort during hard times or filled my heart with joy or had me screaming into my pillow in surprise. I share this list with you all not to say that these fics are better than others from this year, but to say thank you to these writers who have left a mark on me with their fics.

To all our fandom's writers, thank you for the gift of your stories! Sending much love to you in the new year!

��️ Louis / Harry ⚜️

And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

De amore ex tempore by @persephoneflouwers

(M, 101k, historical) the Middle Ages AU where Harry is a philosopher, whose thoughts happen five centuries too soon and Louis is a painter, whose art happens five centuries too late. & Or: the Time Travel AU where alternate versions of themselves live simultaneously in different realities and their paths collide every time, until somehow, they converge into one.

Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

(NR, 82k, age difference) Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

Teach me how to love by @perfectdagger

(E, 70k, one night stand) The one in which Harry is bad at sex and Louis spreads it all over town and to make up for it, decides to help him with no agenda of getting anything from it, but in the end, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

your memory over me by @shimmeringevil

(E, 64k, exes) The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone

saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, murder mystery) Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

and i would search the night sky to find you by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 56k, omegaverse) Harry Styles is a high class, well-bred Omega attending Bosworth Academy - a prestigious boarding school looking over the small town on Kinsey. He has his whole life already planned for him, learning his place as the potential mate for an important Alpha, practicing his home making skills, and be obedient above all else.

Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

Train Tracks and Porcelain by @jaerie

(E, 41k, historical circus au) Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(M, 38k, omegaverse) This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost. 

My Other Half Was You by @lululawrence

(NR, 35k, small town au) Four years, seven months, and sixteen days after the day that changed everything, Louis turns a corner and literally runs into the man who just might change it all again.

I Really Like Your Styles: The Baking Advent-ure by @homosociallyyours

(T, 35k, coffee shop) Louis isn't much for frills, and the coffee shop he co-owns with his best friend Liam is evidence of that. Yes, it's got a decent sized, well-kept industrial kitchen, but Louis insists that people come to coffee shops for coffee, not mediocre pastry and plastic wrapped cookies. 

You Ain’t Gotta Feel Fear Just Mingle by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 32, coworkers) Harry has been at his dream job for less than three months, and he knows two things for sure; first, his project manager doesn't know what he's doing, and second, someone in the office is apparently pure evil, and no one will tell Harry who it is.

Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 29k, thief au) Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rogue ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(NR, 26k, omegaverse) When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. 

what's left of my halo's black by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(E, 22k, fwb) A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for.

'tis the damn season by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 17k, girl direction) Harry returns to her small hometown over the holiday season and starts to think about the road not taken.

Captain Cupid by @2tiedships2

(NR, 15k, omegaverse) the one where Niall enlists his friends to help start a speed dating side hustle. Things don't go as planned... or maybe they do?

It Will Always Be You by @phdmama

(E, 15k, older Larry) If you had told Louis Tomlinson a year ago that he would be celebrating his birthday by kissing the man who is the love of his life on a Church Street park bench in Burlington VT as the snow drifted softly down, he would have told you that you were extremely imaginative. 

Eyes on the Horizon by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 12k, age difference) Freshly dumped, recently fired, and about to turn 40, Harry's friends insist on taking him skydiving to cheer him up.

You Light Up the Path by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, mermaid au) Louis Tomlinson left his home in Doncaster as a young man with the intent of making enough money to send it back home to his family and support them however he could. Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid. 

Sex Drunk Suckerpunch by thinlines / @thinlinez

(E, 7k, sugar baby) Sugar Baby Louis did what any sugar baby should avoid doing but (clichely) end up doing anyways, that is, failing for his sugar mama.

Court Wine by @enchantedlandcoffee , red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 7k, omegaverse) after a misunderstanding during a scrabble game, Alpha Louis starts courting Omega Harry without the latter being aware of it.

you give me feelings that i adore by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 7k, a/b/o) 5 times Louis scents Harry's things and the 1 time Harry returns the gesture.

Truth or Drink by @kingsofeverything

(M, 6k, exes to lovers) Harry and Louis broke up years ago, and they're seeing each other again for the first time to play Truth or Drink. On camera.

Perfect, For Now by @parmahamlarrie

(T, 4k, omegaverse) Moving to a new city is always hard, being away from home, finding your new community - none of it is easy. Dealing with all of this while being touch deprived is even more difficult.

Unplant by @hellolovers13

(M, 4k, neighbors) Louis should've looked where he was going, then he wouldn't have to desperately try to save a little flower now.

nights like these by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 3k, angst with a happy ending) you smile at me and say “it’s time to go.” but i don’t feel like going home.

sorry for... by stretchmybones / @lookwhatyoumademelou

(M, 1k, roommates) How else was Harry supposed to apologize properly? He was indeed a stress baker. 

Mistletoe Kiss by @neondiamond

(G, 1k, roommates) A little bit of mistletoe is just the thing Louis needed to let his roommate Harry know he’s got quite the crush on him.

Still by downcamethelightning / @downcamethelightnings

(G, 666 words, Halloween) FBI Agent Louis calls Harry to investigate a case believed to have taken place in Harry's own home. Harry is quite familiar with the victim's face.

⚜️ Rare Pairs ⚜️

The Light Out In The Madness (Hold Tight) by @lalalaartje

(E, 46k, Niall/Louis) When Louis ends up with Niall as a roommate after a messy break up with Harry, he considers it truly life saving. They become fast friends and while Louis is sceptical about Niall's idea to start fake dating to take revenge on Harry, it can't be that bad, can it?

neither wanting more, neither asking why (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 40k, OT5) If Louis is the origin, Zayn the expansion, Liam the complication, Niall the solution, then Harry - Harry's the completion.

Bloom by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 28k, Louis/Liam) In early 1970s Oxford, Detective Sergeant Louis Tomlinson has to deal with the dual pressures of a case that hits too close to home, and the arrival of new colleague Liam Payne.

Jump! by @reminiscingintherain

(M, 15k, Louis/Tommy Longhurst) “I absolutely know what this means, lad,” he replied, his voice gentle and supportive. “The way you’re reacting to being out there? That’s exactly why I chose you for the support slot.” He gave a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve this, okay?” 

Cold Spring by @nouies

(E, 8k, Louis/Pedro Pascal) Louis is a coffee shop owner and Pedro is his newest customer.

Chaos by @haztobegood

(M, 100 words, Louis/OMC [bodyguard]) Against the barricade, it’s complete chaos.

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Chapter 3

Summary: Raphael finds more things to covet.

[AO3]

Chapter 3: The Orb of Karsus

Raphael was in an excellent mood.  Several important deals with various patriars had been signed with another dozen or so ready for final drafts.  He smiled to himself, pleased at the level of depth and brilliance his contracts wrought.  Loopholes closed and souls to be harvested.

He put ink to a new scroll of infernal parchment preparing a first draft for the most important contract yet.  He needed the infected band of adventurers to bring him the Crown of Karsus.  Raphael was toying with ideas of how to claim both their souls and the Crown, flitting between different ideas that he noted in the margins.

The Little Mouse would see right through anything he wrote, and he couldn’t trick her so easily.  If he wanted her soul, and he very much did, he would need to find another argument or method of enticing her.  The feather of the quill tickled against his cheek, and Raphael replaced his quill in its holder, examining the fiery orange runes on the scroll.

Raphael lifted his scrying mirror to see what else the adventurers had done on their grand quest towards granting him the Crown.

Some sort of Tiefling child was in trouble for theft of a druidic idol and being threatened by a viper.  Raphael rolled his eyes.    Raphael’s Little Mouse spoke quickly with the ornery new leader of the grove over the life of the careless child, and Raphael wasn't sure why she was wasting her precious time.

The death of a child.  A timeless tragedy that never grows old.  

Raphael wanted the snake to bite and reveal its full lethality.  The victim was only a little girl, but that did not matter.  The most satisfying violence was always amongst the least expected victims.  The girl’s parents could easily bear another little brat.  Maybe that one wouldn’t be so stupid.

To the delight of her companions, Tavara managed to convince the druid that the girl was no danger to the grove and would not act out again.  Such a pity, death by poison tended to be an entertaining sight.   The Little Mouse brought the girl back to her parents, and as thanks they gave her a scratched and dusty locket.  They should be groveling at the Little Mouse’s feet.  She was the only reason their child was still alive, after all.

The wizard, Gale of Waterdeep, caught Tavara’s elbow.  “Why don’t we take a little break?  Allow ourselves a few moments of rest.” he asked motioning for them to seek privacy away from other tadpoled adventurers.  “This gives me a chance to talk to you about something, well, rather important.”  Raphael was intrigued at what types of secrets the wizard would reveal.  Hopefully, something that Raphael could use to blackmail him into Warlock service.

As the pair of them slipped away to privacy beneath a tree, Tavara spoke.  “You said it was important,” she started.  “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve been on the road for a while now, haven’t we?  We’ve survived some perils, overcome some obstacles,” Gale started his speech.  Raphael was simultaneously bored and intrigued.  When Gale of Waterdeep became his Warlock, Raphael would see that he abandoned his long-winded speeches.   “Ever since you freed me from that stone, I’ve seen you display remarkable guile and courage.”  Finally, someone admitted how capable the Little Mouse was.

The wizard continued.  “The way you defused the tension between Zevlor and Aradin.  The way you stood in front of a crossbow to prevent a murder.  The way you got Kagha to release the girl-” Where was he going with this list of the Little Mouse’s deeds?  She didn’t need a reminder, she had been there handling the situations while the wizard merely watched events unfold before him.   “-The way you handled Nettie when she poisoned you.  In short-” It wasn’t in short.   “-I’ve grown to trust you.” 

Raphael would definitely have to curse the wizard’s tongue to inhibit his ability to be so long-winded when he became his Warlock.

“That’s quite lovely, thank you,” the Mouse said graciously with an air of confusion.

“The reason I make a point to say this, is that I have grown confident enough to tell you something that I have yet to tell another living soul, well, except for my cat.”  The wizard was trying to avoid a confession that Raphael was salivating over.  Blackmail indeed.

“You see, I have this condition… Very different from the parasite we share, but just as deadly.”  Probably some plague the wizard picked up in a dirty brothel.  

“Is it contagious?” Raphael was pleased at the Mouse’s prudence in her question.  He didn’t want her to pick up whatever brothel plague had infected the wizard’s nether regions.

“No, no, nothing like that,” the wizard assured her.  “Though if I fail to treat my condition, the consequences will not be felt by me alone.”

The Little Mouse raised an eyebrow, but she looked sympathetic.  An incurable malady was always such a solid foundation for a Warlock pact or claiming a soul.  So many souls in Raphael’s care had been terminally ill.

“What it comes down to is this: every so often, I need to get my hands on a powerful magic item and consume the Weave inside.”  Interesting.

Raphael thought of all of the possible afflictions that would require consumption of Weave.  It could perhaps be a curse of some kind.  It could be a tribute required by another devil, but Raphael hadn’t detected any indication that the wizard had existing connections with the Hells, unlike the newly-horned Warlock who stank of Mizora’s filth.

The only other thing Raphael could think of that consumed Weave had come from Netheril.

Netheril.

Netheril.

The wizard had been an archmage in Waterdeep and one of Mystra’s chosen.  He was now in disgrace, but why?

Raphael picked up his scrying mirror and moved the focus from the Little Mouse chest to the wizard’s face.  He had a strange tattoo or mark that went from his left eye down to his chest.  Raphael would have to investigate this further.  If the mark was what he thought it was, it would change everything.

“Of course, I’m happy to help.”  The Little Mouse offered.

“Thank you!  I see my trust was not misplaced,” the wizard responded with delight.

Raphael set down the scrying mirror.  He would need to wait until nightfall to test his hypothesis.  He paced in his study, looking forward to a visit to their camp on Prime Material.  Being so close to what he wanted, Raphael could stand to wait a few more hours.

***

Raphael waited until his investments had all fallen asleep in their tents.  He approached a tent that obviously belonged to the wizard.  Telescope.  Alchemy equipment.  Books stored outside the safety of the tent ready to be soaked in the next downpour.

He silently approached the tent and opened the tent flap.  The wizard was asleep in his bedroll, wearing nothing but an enchanted pair of smallclothes.  Such a waste of Weave.  If he needed to consume so much magic, he should start with his undergarments.

Raphael took a close look at the scar on his chest.  It wasn’t a scar at all.  It was a void.  It was a storage container for arcane power, ready to store and hold power for use at another time.

The Orb of Karsus.

Raphael felt incredible glee at the discovery.  The Scepter.  The Orb.  The Crown.

The full Regalia of Karsus was nearly within his grasp.

It took everything in Raphael’s power to resist touching the scar to feel its power and hunger.  The Orb was the final piece of the Regalia that Raphael hadn’t located.  The Scepter was stored safely in his vault.  The Crown was perched atop an Elderbrain.  The Orb was buried in the chest of a wizard that he wanted in his service.

Raphael could fix it all for the wizard, should the need arise of course.  Raphael would even give the mage a favorable deal for the Orb.

Karsite relics of considerable power,

All the Weave want to devour.

The last hidden within a wizard’s chest

To be extracted upon request.

Raphael was giddy.  One or two contracts and he would have everything he had ever wanted.  The Nine Hells of Baator.  The Little Mouse would bring him the Crown of Karsus.  The full Regalia of Karsus.  

Raphael made the correct investments, indeed.

With a snap and a flurry of embers, Raphael left the campsite and got back to his work.

***

Tavara had been calming a goblin camp, asking for entry.  After a few short discussions about a fictional goddess and Tavara being her divine instrument, Raphael’s investments had been let into the front gates.

The wizard didn’t look well.  Sweat was dripping from his brow, and he could barely hold himself upright.  He was clutching his stomach tightly trying to stop it from aching.  Tavara offered the wizard some water from her waterskin, as she placed her hand on his shoulder in support.  The rest of the adventurers appeared concerned as to what sort of strange malady was affecting the wizard.

“My affliction is worsening, and I fear-” Tavara thrust the dusty locket she had been gifted into his palm and tightly cupped his hands in hers.

“It has an enchantment, and it should hold some Weave,” Tavara let go of his hands and went to rub the wizard’s shoulders.  “It’s ok, and I can always get more items.”

Raphael watched closely.  The wizard brought the locket to his scar, and Raphael watched gleefully as the enchantment from the locket drained and the wizard seemed to absorb it with a dark aura.

The Orb of Karsus.

While he was gleeful to have the Orb under his watchful eye, Raphael was less than excited, as he watched his prized investments approach the goblin camp and immediately fall under the influence of the Absolute.  With a drawn out show of the Astral Prism the Sharran cleric held in her hands, the Absolute quieted its assault on their wills.  Raphael knew this was bound to happen.

The Sharran and the Gith quickly started fighting over the Sharran’s possession of a Gith relic.  Tavara tried to soothe the conflict, but it was clear neither party was willing to bend.  While Raphael would have been entertained watching them fight to the death, he needed both the Sharran and the Gith alive for now.  One of them was likely to be expendable later.

After a quick look around the Goblin camp, the Little Mouse looked worse for wear.  She started to develop a sheen of sweat and look of general malaise.  She indicated the adventurers should seek their camps for the evening's rest.

***

Raphael paced, and Korrilla had indicated through a Sending that the adventurers weren’t well and were likely on the edge of ceremorphosis.  He could fix it for them, but then he would never get the Crown of Karsus.  The Scepter.  The Crown.  The Orb.

The Hells.

He hated it.  He needed to let the mindflayer in the Astral Prism take control.  It disgusted him that he had no real say in the matter.  Should the mindflayer fail in his task, Raphael would take the Orphic Hammer and smash the damn Prism to bits himself.

The Mouse was sweating and restless by the riverbank, trying to cool a fever with the running water.  The Gith ambushed her and held a blade to her throat.  “Ch’k’l ghaik Vlaakith m’zath’ak!” If she uses that dagger, Raphael would have to kill her with Hellfire out of spite and put her ashes in the chamber pot for the chamber pot debtor to clean with his tongue.  

“Don’t be a damned fool,” Tavara warned angrily.

“We are transforming,” the Gith protested.

“We are ill!  This is just a fucking fever, and it will pass by dawn.  It’s probably just the result of eating that weird meat that Astarion found at the side of the road.  Don’t do something stupid that you can’t undo.”  The Little Mouse ripped the dagger away from her throat as soon as the Gith hesitated.

Tavara stood, weary and sweating.  As the Gith rose again, she snatched the dagger away.

“Go to sleep, Lae’zel,” the Mouse ordered, pocketing the blade.  Raphael beamed at how easily the Little Mouse controlled the situation.  The other fools would be truly lost without her leadership.

They returned to their tents for the evening.  Raphael was uneasy.  His pet adventurers were soon to meet the disguised Illithid.  Raphael would have to show them the correct being to trust.

A/N:

I'm definitely looking forward to get out of Act I because Acts II and III have so much more fun Raphael stuff. I want the devil man to have more opportunities to be active in his own story. He is a patient devil. More smut next chapter (which I'll probably post tomorrow or Friday). Enjoy!

[starlight-shades]

Called Home to the Depths of the Forest

• summary – Ghost, retired from the military, finds a pair of orphaned werewolf pups. He calls the only werewolf he knows for help. Soap and Ghost become (not so) reluctant dads. • rating – M • wordcount – 5.1k • warnings – Canon Typical Violence (there's some murder/gore), implied/referenced child abuse • This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Chapter Two

People assume the woods are tranquil, peaceful, a quiet place to fall into oneself. And they are, but they’re also so incredibly alive. From the soil beneath the detritus of the forest floor, all the way up twisted tree trunks, and through the canopy of freshly revealed spring leaves, there is life. Simultaneously ancient and painfully finite. It’s one of the reasons that Simon chose to settle there.

He liked the unhurried pace of life he’d found in his cabin in the woods. It was just him in a home he had built himself, on land he’d bought with his savings. It wasn’t quite a single room. He’d indulged and built himself a bedroom and a modest kitchen with enough room in the pantry for his chest freezer. The bathroom wasn’t some piece of modern art, but it was functional, and his living room was just big enough to have a couch, a couple bookshelves, and an old iron stove where he could light fires to warm the place in the colder months. To some, the way he lived would be boring, but to Simon it was perfect. Another reason he chose this place was the fact that few neighbors meant that he could avoid social interaction for weeks if he chose to. Between his little garden and whatever his traps brought in, he had little need to trudge into the village for food. Unfortunately, there were some supplies that he couldn’t make or grow on his own (namely his favorite bourbon, or any bourbon really), so he would occasionally haunt the handful of shops in town.

Like always, his trip was uneventful. The most he had to speak to anyone was to the gossipy hens that seemed to have decided that he was their pet project. After a few years, one would think that the biddies would have figured out that their matchmaking attempts were in vain, but still they persisted.

At least this time, they weren’t trying to set him up with a woman.

But if he was pressed, Simon might admit that he didn’t mind their interference as much as one might expect. If pressed further, he might say that the fact that they bothered at all made him feel cared for at least a little, like he was part of the community. Not so much that he wanted to spend more time in the village, but still part of the community nonetheless.

By the time he was finished with his errands, he had filled his pack to the brim (he didn’t want to have to come back anytime soon), and it was nearing dusk.

“Och, dearie, it’s getting to be dark soon. You should see if Mac has a spare room at the inn, you shouldn’t be walking in the woods at night, it’s dangerous,” Mrs. Leeman, the woman who ran the garden supply, was saying. He had to stop himself from laughing. By his estimation, he was likely one of the more dangerous things in those woods.

“That’s alright, ma’am. I’ll take my chances,” he told her, slinging his pack over a shoulder.

“I know you’re a strong man, Simon, but people have been hearing wolves at night. Millie’s friend, Daisy, said she even saw one while she was walking home the other day. She said she’d never seen any wolf so big!”

He had a feeling he knew who she was talking about. What he didn’t realize was that he would learn just how wrong he was on his hike home.

It was dark by then, the sun having fully set an hour ago. The distance to his little cabin was quickly dwindling. He would likely be there in another thirty or forty minutes.

He had grown used to the soft sounds of the evening, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the fading bird calls, with the occasional burst of activity of an animal making its own way through the forest. It was all normal, all expected. Until it wasn’t.

Simon was jarred from the familiar headspace he had fallen into by the sounds of shouting and laughter. The crack of a gunshot was enough for him to drop into a crouch, immediately alert. With slow, careful steps, he crept towards the sounds. There wasn’t supposed to be any hunting in this stretch of the forest. It was too close to town.

“Oi, Jeffy, toss me your knife, I gotta finish off this one!”

There were at least two then. He was still just a little too far away to have a clear idea of the scene.

“What happened to your knife?”

“Stuck the big bastard over here with it. Must’ve hit bone cuz I can’t get it out.”

Simon’s heart stuttered. No. Please god no.

“Use Harry’s.”

A sharp whine cut through the air and spurred him forward, hand already brandishing his hunting knife, ready to sink it into the first body he saw.

The clearing appeared before him and he took it all in. There was blood, too much blood for just a normal hunt. There were three men, one hunched over the corpse of what appeared to be an abnormally large wolf, thick coat matted with its own gore. Simon could hear the wet snick of the knife as he seemed to be skinning the creature.

He felt like his stomach had completely fallen away, but no. It wasn’t him. The fur that wasn’t covered was too light to be him.

The other two men loomed over another wolf. It was more than half-dead, but still it moved as best it could to block their movement forward. Wild eyes, still bright, met his for a moment before shifting back to the enemies in front.

Suddenly, the wolf was no longer a wolf. All at once, her skin rippled and pulled and her bones crunched and rearranged themselves. A woman, naked and bloody knelt on the ground, her breathing labored. She was covered in wounds, some half-healed, but too many to recover from. Simon’s heart sunk. There would be no saving her.

“Please,” she wheezed, looking back at him again with blood dripping from her mouth, her teeth stained red. “Keep them safe.”

“What—“

Before any of them could process her words, she lunged forward, trying to take the knife, but the man, presumably Harry struggled with her for it.

“No!” Simon screamed, his knife already sunk into the man’s throat, his arm extended, but it was too late. The woman’s body slumped away with a blade sunk deep in her gut.

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry’s friend asked, but Ghost was already moving, retrieving the knife from the woman’s body and slicing clean across his neck.

“Martin!” the last man, Jeffy, screamed.

His reflexes has slowed as he had fallen out of practice, and as a result Ghost took a knife to his back, but he recovered quickly enough. Ripping it out, he slashed at his assailant. He missed by a hair’s breadth, narrowly avoiding getting socked in the face. Adrenaline doing its work, Ghost surged forward, kicking the man’s knee, forcing him to the ground as it snapped backwards with a sharp crack, and finally sinking the knife into his eye socket with a wet crunch.

As the red haze of the fight cleared, Simon became aware of the pained cries coming from somewhere behind him. He turned, and also became aware of the pain in his shoulder from where he was stabbed. With one hand pressing down as best he could over his wound, Simon headed back into the woods towards the sounds. What he found horrified him almost worse than the murder scene behind him.

Two sets of wide, frightened eyes stared at him from inside a cage set in the trailer hitched to an ATV. Little faces pressed to the metal bars, trying to get as close to the fallen woman as they could, paws scrambling to get through.

“Shit.”

Sometimes he worried that his time spent as a human weapon would have numbed him to the pain of others. Luckily it hadn’t, not completely, if the kennel in the corner of his living room was any indication. The door was unlatched and propped open, a blanket laid out in offering.

They were huddled in the back of the kennel together. Luckily they had stopped shaking for the most part, but they still watched him with guarded eyes.

Simon wasn’t completely sure what werewolf pups ate, but he wanted to offer them something as they waited. He checked his phone again, but there was still no reply to his earlier message.

Opening his refrigerator did not lead to any easy answers. The bulb flickered as he stood with the door open, the cold slowly seeping beneath his skin. With a sigh, he grabbed the venison he had been thawing for dinner.

Werewolf pups could probably eat the same thing as people or regular wolves… hopefully… He just hoped that these ones were old enough to be weaned, but he was man enough to admit, at least to himself, he had no idea what he was doing.

Simon kept half his attention on the pups in his living room who had snatched up the blanket, but retreated back into the kennel, and the other half on the thin slices of meat he had in his pan.

Was this enough food? What if they couldn’t eat solids? What if they didn’t like it? What would he do?

He just had to guess and hope that it was good enough.

Simon was pulled abruptly from his thoughts when the sound of his phone ringing cut through the otherwise silent cabin.

“Johnny.”

“What the hell are you on about? You found wolf pups?”

He relaxed marginally the moment he heard the familiar Scottish accent.

“You better get over here to have a look at them.”

“Aye.”

Briefly, Simon observed that Johnny never seemed to mind the way he ended conversations so abruptly before he shifted his focus back to plating the food he had prepared for his unexpected guests. He only had one set of everything in his kitchen, so the two would have to share, but somehow he didn’t think they would mind too much.

He walked across the hardwood in his socks and set the offering slightly in front of the kennel, shoulder twinging through the haphazard job he had done wrapping it. One of the first things he had done after getting them settled in the corner was taking off his boots that were caked in mud, and likely bits of gore he hadn’t noticed. While confident in his ability to tread silently to avoid startling them, from previous conversations with Johnny, he knew that werewolves had far superior hearing to anything he could understand, and he wasn’t sure what the bounds of that were. The only reason he knew anything at all was because of Johnny’s dogged persistence in his attempt to befriend Simon.

Slowly, as to avoid sudden movements, Simon backed away from the food and settled back in the kitchen. He was far enough away to give them space, but close enough that he could keep an eye on them while he waited. Light from the waning gibbous moon highlighted the dust motes floating through the air as it shone through the window. He sunk back into the headspace he utilized when he hunted, stilling his mind, his breath, his body, becoming a part of his surroundings.

After about ten minutes, he watched as one of the pups crept forward, snuffling towards the venison. He could see that she was the one with the friendship bracelet, which, as he observed more closely, he could see had a small charm. With a quick glance at him, as if to make sure he wouldn't take it from her, she snatched a mouthful without swallowing and shrunk back to the shelter of the blanket and the other pup. She dropped her bounty on the floor of the kennel and the two began devouring the meat. Simon felt his mouth twitch, as if to smile.

When the small bit of venison was gone, the girl went back for more, this time without another look at Simon, repeating the process until it was all gone. After a small whine, Simon got up to look through what other food he could give them. He emerged from his kitchen, this time with a handful of wild berries he had foraged. Moving slowly, he once again set them down on the plate in front of the kennel. Before he had even retreated back to his chair in the kitchen, he watched the girl once again dart out to gather them up and devour them with her companion.

The three sunk back into silence. As the night wore on, Simon watched as the pups reluctantly began to sleep, startling awake every few moments before settling completely. With no intention to sleep that night himself, he took to watching the steady rise and fall of their breathing, as well as he could observe from the other room and through the blanket they had burrowed into at the back of the kennel. After waiting long enough to be confident they wouldn’t wake, he settled closer to them on his couch, placing himself between them and the door.

In a departure from his usual style, Johnny announced his arrival not with an enthusiastic banging on the door, but rather with a more subdued knock. As Simon opened it, a cautious hand on the handle of the hunting knife sheathed on his hip, Johnny pushed past him with his face settled into a focused expression Simon rarely observed from him. His usual exuberance was absent, instead replaced by a steadiness that he had not expected if he was being honest.

With barely a look at Simon, Johnny made a beeline to where the kennel stood in the corner, crouching down to look at the pups who had startled awake at his arrival.

“Oh aren’t you wee ones a sight,” he cooed softly.

When he tried to reach inside, the shyer boy retreated even further back with a whine while the girl’s hackles puffed up. She snapped at Johnny with her baby-sharp teeth and a clearly unpracticed growl. He just let out a soft laugh.

“Aren’t you a good sister, protecting your brother like that.” Without turning to look at him, Johnny directed Simon back into the kitchen, and spoke his question quietly. “Where are their parents, do you know?”

“Are they yours?” Simon asked, not bothering to answer him directly. “They’re siblings?”

“Aye, they’re from the same litter, but I don’t know them. My pack isn’t exactly a traditional one. I’m the only wolf,” he explained with a soft sadness that Simon wasn’t sure he meant to reveal.

Simon was quiet for a moment. He hoped his suspicions weren’t correct.

“Their parents were killed. Came across some hunters on my way home.”

He startled as Johnny let out an unexpected snarl, whipping his attention to the not-quite-man. His face had shifted slightly, nose and mouth extending as his skull fought to change shape beneath his skin. Johnny’s pupils had shrunk to slits, and his eyes had changed to a sharper blue. As he fought to calm himself, Simon watched as Johnny gripped his arms, bulging in muscle, with fingers tipped with blackening claws. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, some primal part of him acknowledging his proximity to a more dangerous predator.

With a steadiness he didn’t quite feel, Simon reassured him, “I dealt with them. They won’t be a problem.”

Johnny’s icy eyes snapped to his. “Where are they? I’ll make sure of it.”

“I left their bodies where they were about forty minutes south of here. I’ll have to go back and dispose of them soon.”

Before he could process the nod he got, Simon was alone again in the kitchen. His front door shut with a clatter.

Picking his way back to the living room through the tattered remains of Johnny’s clothes on the floor, Simon sank back down on the couch to resume his watch.

Eventually, the pups settled back down into a fitful sleep. He wondered how he could get them into a bath to wash off the grime they were covered in if they wouldn’t let Johnny even get close enough to touch them.

In the hours to sunrise, Simon occupied himself with the logistics of caring for these two little ones. If Johnny’s pack didn’t have any other wolves, would he be able to take them like Simon had previously planned? From what he had understood, Johnny had implied that werewolf packs were familial. Did that mean Johnny didn’t have any family? He felt a curious and uninvited pang in his chest at that thought. Were there even other wolves in the area who could take them in? Was there a supernatural sort of child services who could find them a suitable home?

He felt like he was floundering. It wasn’t like he was prepared to take care of human children, let alone any that came with additional attributes like sharp teeth and claws.

Before he could spiral further, Simon tried to find that stillness that he had fallen into earlier, but for whatever reason it was much harder this time.

Hours passed like that. Him on the couch, oscillating between a practiced focus, his mind blissfully clear, then a soft sound from one of the pups would send him rocketing back into all of the questions he had.

What if he found a home for them, but they were hunted again? Did the idiots he took care of have friends? More of them to wreak havoc on these little lives?

Before long, the light of the sunrise drifted through the windows, washing everything in gold.

It had been awhile since he had deliberately stayed up the whole night. Usually it was his night terrors that would keep him awake these days. Simon couldn’t say he missed it. He stood, his joints creaking.

“I’m too old for this,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way over to the coffee machine that looked like it had been through a war or two of its own. He rarely used it these days, usually preferring to wake up with a cup of his favorite black tea, but this morning he knew he would need the extra fortification, so he made the whole pot.

Reaching into his chest freezer, he pulled out a parcel wrapped in butcher paper. He figured since the pups seemed to enjoy the venison last night, he might try the bacon he had cured himself. As it thawed in the microwave, Simon started pulling out the rest of the ingredients he would need for breakfast. It wasn’t quite a full English, but toast, eggs, and bacon would have to be good enough for now.

He stared at the orange juice concentrate he kept for when he was craving it. Thinking for a moment, he made his decision and pulled it out. Simon prepared it according to the instructions, but instead of putting it in the single glass he had, he poured it into a bowl.

As he cooked, he periodically looked over at the kennel to check on his wards. The smell of sizzling breakfast seemed to be enough to rouse them, and bright, wary eyes gazed back at him from their blanket shelter. They seemed to have wrapped it completely around them sometime in the night.

“Apologies, I don’t usually have visitors, so I’m going to need that plate back.” Simon felt a little silly talking to what looked like a pair of overgrown husky puppies, but he reminded himself that inside those furry little things were thinking, feeling children.

He approached their kennel a little faster than he had last night, but still moving with a deliberateness as to not startle them. Picking up the plate, he noticed that there seemed to be a distinct lack of juices. They had apparently managed to sneak by him and lick them up.

Simon quickly retreated back to the kitchen, washing up the plate, and piling it high with breakfast cut into pup sized pieces. He set it back down in front of the kennel again, but this time it was accompanied by the bowl of orange juice. Using his cutting board as his own plate, he sat back down on the couch. Before long, both pups had emerged to sniff at the plate, and deciding it was acceptable, they dug in and ate with an enthusiasm that must be endemic to werewolves because he had only ever seen Johnny manage it before. He even spied some tentative wags.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he hissed as it scalded his tongue.

“Fuck!” He darted his eyes over to where the pups had frozen for a moment before eating again when they realized he wasn’t a threat. “I guess I should stop swearing around you, huh?”

Simon finished his breakfast in silence. He set the cutting board aside and sat back, watching as the pups lapped happily at their plate.

“At the very least, I probably need to get a few more dishes.”

Moving onto the orange juice, Simon watched as they made even more of a mess of themselves, taking big wet gulps, and getting the juice everywhere.

Taking advantage of their distraction, he slowly moved a little closer to them, sinking down to sit on the floor. When the girl noticed, she moved hesitantly toward him, watching for any movement from him. Simon had never sat so still in his life, a feat for certain considering his history. She got closer, making little snuffling noises as she sniffed him.

Keeping his voice low, Simon spoke to her. “Brave girl.”

She froze for a moment at the sound, darting her eyes up to him. When he didn’t make a move, she stepped closer to him, investigating everything she could find.

“I’m going to lift my hand to you, alright?” He figured announcing his movements might make her more comfortable.

Simon offered his hand to her, knuckles first, keeping his fingers curled in loosely. She sniffed at him and after a moment where she paused before making a decision, she pushed her head into his hand for pets. He chuckled, pleased that she appeared to be warming up to him. Her fur was a bit stiff from the mud and various other grime coating it, but Simon ignored it for the moment.

“I’m going to have to figure out what to call you both, huh?” he thought aloud, not really expecting any sort of response. His eyes were back on the boy who remained crouched in the kennel when he felt her push more insistently at his hand, not with her head this time, but with her paw. When he looked back at her, she held out the paw with the ratty friendship bracelet still tied to it. Carefully, he inspected it and the charm that dangled from it.

“Ailsa. That you?”

She gave him a nod that looked eerily out of place coming from what looked like an animal.

“And that’s your brother?”

Another nod. Johnny had already said they were siblings, but it couldn’t hurt to keep talking to her as long as she was interested in communicating in her own way.

“I’m Simon. Me and my friend, Johnny, are going to get you sorted. He’s a wolf like you. He was in here earlier.”

He wasn’t sure what else he should tell them. He wasn’t even sure how old they were or how much they could understand.

Now that he could see Ailsa better, he took note of her appearance. She was about the size of a medium-sized dog, with ears that seemed a little too big for her head. It was hard to tell what color her fur was or if she had any markings through the muck. Her eyes were a honey-amber color, and her nose had a charming little pink spot that stood out from its mostly dark brown color. He could see mixed in with the mud was a dark brown staining her fur that could really only be one thing. Simon’s heart ached for them.

She sat down next to Simon as he began to absent-mindedly stroke her ears. She looked back at her brother in the kennel and let out a small yip. He took it as his cue to hesitantly slink forward to sit with them as well. Like his sister before him, the boy sniffed at Simon, but much more tentatively.

With one hand still gently petting Ailsa, Simon offered him his other hand. After only a moment, he too pushed his head into Simon’s outstretched palm.

Unlike Ailsa, the boy didn’t have a helpful bracelet to identify him. He was in much the same shape as her, but Simon could tell he had a bit darker fur. He was also a bit smaller than his sister, but his paws were clearly growing faster than the rest of him.

After a few pets on the head, he pushed further into Simon’s side and curled up as close as he could get.

“A right cuddle-bug aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Oh! You too, Ailsa.”

She surprised him by sinking into his other side, laying her head in his lap for more pets.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, it shifted into place to cast light onto the spot where Simon sat on the floor with the pups. He could feel his eyes begin to drift closed as the warmth from the sun and the furry bodies cuddled close created the perfect storm. Exhaustion finally won out and they slept.

That was how Johnny found them.

At about midmorning, Simon awoke when his front door opened unexpectedly. With a reaction honed from his time as a soldier, he launched the hunting knife on his belt at the intruder.

“Bleedin’ Jesus, Simon!” Johnny yelped, moving with inhuman speed, he narrowly avoided the blade just before it sunk into the wooden doorframe where his head was a second before.

Without thinking, his body had already moved to push the pups behind him as Simon registered who was at his door.

“Why are you wet?”

Johnny looked awful. His stupid mohawk was flattened to his head and he was soaked, head to toe. His legs were absolutely covered in mud, but the rest of him appeared mostly clear of any forest-related debris. There were bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and he looked haunted.

“What? No ‘Hello?’” he clearly fought for the smile that honestly looked more like a grimace that he had pasted onto his face.

Simon remained silent. He had one hand on each of the pups behind him, and he could feel the little boy shivering again. Turning back to him, he tried to soothe him with a few pets, and eventually the shaking dissipated. Johnny sighed and his shoulders dropped.

“I found their parents.” When Johnny cast a look at the pups, Simon knew there was more he would share with him later. “I gave them as proper a burial as I could manage. Took all night. Was dirty and didn’t want to come back all covered so I washed off as best I could in a stream on the way back. The shit-stains that did this have been taken care of.”

Simon nodded. While he was used to it, as Johnny tended to shift as he pleased around him, he noticed that there was a distinct lack of clothes on the other man. Belatedly, he gathered the pups closer and covered their eyes.

“Borrow some pants.”

He let out a laugh as he crossed over to the hallway that led to Simon’s bedroom.

“They’ve probably already seen it all, Si. Werewolves aren’t exactly embarrassed about nudity,” he called back.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, and looked down at the pups who had ducked the hands attempting to cover their eyes. Ailsa wiggled out of his hold while her brother sunk further into it. Simon wasn’t sure what had shifted during their nap, but they seemed to have decided he was alright in their books.

Something inside him settled.

Johnny emerged moments later, tying the drawstring of a pair of Simon’s sweatpants, and he dutifully ignored the way that made him feel.

“Johnny, meet Ailsa and her brother.”

The boy was still plastered to his side, but Ailsa cautiously approached Johnny who had crouched down and offered her his hand to sniff.

“Hey there, bonnie girl,” he said softly, in a tone that Simon was beginning to recognize that he reserved for children.

She sniffed Johnny’s hand in the same way she had Simon’s, but where she had pressed her head into his palm, she gave Johnny’s hand a little lick and retreated back to her brother’s side, keeping her eyes on Johnny the entire time.

“And little one, are you Duncan?” he asked softly.

Simon shot him an incredulous look, but his attention was quickly stolen back when he felt the pup move at his side. He was nodding slowly, letting out a whine that had his sister licking at his face in an attempt to comfort him. Simon found himself stroking his head again without even thinking about it.

“How the he—“ he had to stop himself, “heck, how the heck did you know that? Is that some wolf-y power I should know about?”

Johnny snorted. “I found some torn up clothes that had their names written on the tags. Smelled like them. How’d you figure out Ailsa’s name?”

Simon indicated the bracelet with his chin.

They were quiet a moment before a thought occurred to him. He spoke directly to the pups, hoping that they would acquiesce.

“Alright pups, you’ve been fed and we’ve had a nap. I think it’s time we get you into a bath.”

A chorus of whines erupted, and Duncan darted back into the crate, faster than Simon expected. Ailsa quickly followed, narrowly avoiding getting swiped up in Simon’s arms.

Johnny burst into laughter as he watched Simon struggle to convince the two skittish creatures to come out so they could get them clean. Eventually, he managed to find Simon’s stash of sweets he had tucked away in his pantry and used them to bribe Ailsa and Duncan into the tub, one at a time.

And that was how Simon found himself drenched, top to toe, alongside Johnny, with the smell of wet dog so entrenched in his bathroom that he feared he would never get it out.

[usmsgutterson]

Achilles Heel - Givenson

one, two, three

Read Achilles Heel on AO3

okay!! this fic has lived in my stupid little worm brain for like, three weeks now, and here we are! This is the last chapter in the miniseries and mostly serves as the epilogue because I am simultaneously a lover of angst and a sucker for a happy or happyish ending.

Warnings - tim is in heart attack recovery so the heart attack is still biiiiiig time a focus here!! There's a few mentions of seizures (tim is mentioned to have had two more en route to the hospital) and a few mentions of cigarettes, a few mentions of tims time in the military, and even though I did edit this twice, if I missed anything, feel free to let me know!!

When Tim wakes up, the first thing he registers is the sound of his own heart beating through a monitor, the sound regular enough to be of little concern. The second thing he registers is the fact that his eyes are still closed and how heavy they feel, and the third? 

The third thing he feels is Raylans hand clutching his own, his mouth close to Tims fingers.  

“I need you to wake up,” Raylan says, his voice quiet. “Been a week, Tim. You need to be okay. I need you to be okay.”  

“’M fine,” Tim rasps, exasperated. “My eyes are just heavy.”  

It takes him a few seconds, but he does manage to open them. When he looks to his left, he sees Raylan looking at him with a smile. His eyes are glossed over but if Tim asks, he knows Raylan well enough to know he'll deny it, so he doesn't say a word.

“Boyd,” Tim starts, his tone anxious as bits and pieces of the two weeks spent in Boyds captivity start to flood his brain. “Is he--”  

“Awaitin’ trial,” Raylan says. “Reardons the judge and Boyd did the surprising thing—waived his right to a jury. Vasquez tells me that Reardon is favoring the death sentence in Boyds case. He's bein' questioned further today, I think? Rachel mentioned wantin' me there, but I figured I'd be of better company here and can't stand to look much at the bastard anyway. Had I seen him in the office, I'd've killed him, no questions.”  

“Oh,” Tim says. “I--”  

“It’s fine,” Raylan responds, squeezing Tims hand. “You don’t need to talk. I have a lotta shit to say, actually.”  

Tim nods.  

“First and foremost, when Stevens and I had caught up with him, he admitted to all of it—everything,” Raylan start. “In order, too. First to stalkin’ you and the ones you love, then to abductin’ you outside’a Kingstons, then to two weeks of torture and finally, to triggerin' your second heart attack with intent to murder. Smiled and stared at me when he said that last one, though, and I just—I saw red. I wanted t' tackle him to the ground and punch the life outta him for it, but Stevens kept me from that. I wanted Boyd dead and almost killed him, but one thing kept me from actually doin' it."

“What?”  

“Rachel and Dunlop had called, said that you were in an ambulance havin’ your third total seizure but your second in the space of fifteen minutes. Stevens told me to arrest Boyd so that we could bring him in and I could visit you once you were done with surgery, and that brought me back around,” Raylan says. “I hated it—the idea of losing you. I couldn’t risk that. Not again.”  

“I’m right here,” Tim says. “You didn’t lose me.” 

“No, but I did when I left for Miami,” Raylan says, tone sorrowful.  

“You had a kid and Winona wanted to try again,” Tim shrugs. “I--I’d do the same if I were in similar circumstances. I don’t fault you for that, even though things were shit when you left.”  

“Well--let me make my point,” Raylan snarks. He kisses the back of Tims hand and Tim grins softly, letting the gesture mean it’s full weight instead of pushing it away. “I talked to Rachel, and then I talked to Dan, and then I sat here every single day for a week straight waitin’ for you to wake up, and I thought.”  

“About what?”  

“About what Boyd called you when I asked him why he’d taken you, of everyone in my life for whom I would willingly step in front of a gun,” Raylan laughs a bit. “I told him he coulda taken Art, or Rachel or—shit, even Dunlop. I asked 'im why he’d chosen you if it wasn’t just a decision made for the sake of convenience.”  

“You’d step in front of a gun for Dunlop?” Tim laughs a little. “And I thought you decidin’ to sleep with me was the worst decision you’d ever made. Guess I was wrong, then.”  

“Not Dunlop,” Raylan presses his forehead against Tims hand. “And--not like I can anyway, not anymore. He quit as soon as Stevens’n I brought Boyd in, but you--stop keepin' me from makin' my point, dammnit.”  

“Sorry,” Tim squeezes Raylans hand, shifts a bit as he finds his position mildly uncomfortable. His mouth is dry and he misses Rachel more than he’ll ever admit, but he’s okay otherwise. “You thought about what Boyd called me when you asked why it was me he’d abducted.”  

“He called you my Achilles heel,” Raylan says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I denied it at first—eleven years gone from when I left and there’s no way you qualify as much when we hadn’t spoken for all that time prior to when I first got down here. I told Rachel about it, told her I disagreed, and she laughed in my fuckin' face.”  

Tim grins gently. “Yeah, she would.”  

“Then I called Dan and talked to him, then I called Art,” Raylan says. “Dan told me there was space at the office if I wanted to stow you away in my suitcase, and Art pretty much did what Rachel did. Called me an oblivious idiot prior to, at least, and told me he’d be in Lexington this week if I wanted to chat. I came here, I grabbed your hand and I prayed to a God I haven’t had real cause to believe in since before my daddy hit me for the first time, and then I got to thinkin’ and I just couldn’t stop it.”  

Tim takes a deep breath in, swallows thickly and reaches for the water that’s sitting on the table tucked to his right. He grabs the bottle and sits up, takes a sip while he waits for Raylan to continue.  

Raylans watching him, he realizes, and when Tim meets his gaze, he continues.

“I realized Boyd was right,” he says. “Kills me a little to admit that, but—while you were gone, I was relentlessly pissed off. Even the smallest thing ticked me off into a rage. I screamed at Dunlop, for fucks sakes.”  

Tim laughs, takes another sip of his water before he closes the lid and puts it in his lap, too tired to reach for the table for the time being.  

“What are you sayin’?”  

“I’m saying—shit, you really are gonna make me say it?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “I’m tired, Raylan. Real tired. Don’t make me ask twice, please.”  

“Well--you had a massive heart attack, two seizures, and landed here, so I guess I’ll do the nice thing,” Raylan shrugs. “What I’m sayin’ iis that you are my Achilles heel and unfortunately, I love you more for it every fuckin’ day.”  

Tim looks at Raylan, really looks at him, and sees that he means the words he says. The feeling it generates within him is bone deep, so deeply seated within him that when it roars back to life, it doesn’t come as anything close to a surprise.  

“What are we gonna do about that, then?”  

“Well--knowing whether or not the feeling is mutual seems a decent place to start,” Raylan laughs. “But that’s just my opinion, you don’t need to take that seriously.”  

“Raylan Givens, you idiotic bastard,” Tim laughs. “It’s--it’s reciprocated. I reciprocate it so much that my chest has hurt when I’ve thought about you almost every single day for the last eleven years, and—of fucking course we’d have this moment while I’m in a damn hospital bed.” 

Raylan laughs. “Okay--that’s good,” he says. “I’m gonna call Dan, I think. Do him a disservice by takin’ two months off so I can help you recover. Rachels already booked you in.”  

“I was back at the office within the week last--”  

“Your last heart attack was mild,” Raylan cuts. “This one was massive, and I’ll be damned if I let you do that. You’re takin’ two months.”  

Tims lips form a line and he presses his head against the pillow. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’m going to take a nap now.”  

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Raylan laughs. “Likely reeling after Dans finished up yellin’ my ear off.”  

Tim huffs, closes his eyes and squeezes Raylans hand, dimly registering that he wants Raylan closer than he is right at that moment but also registering that he’s unwilling to have Raylan as close as he wants while he’s sat up in a damn hospital bed.  

- 

A few hours later, when he wakes, he finds Raylan has kept his word and is still sitting to his left.  

“You call Dan yet?” He hears, registering immediately that the voice is Arts. “Please tell me he threw a fit and please tell me you saved your laughter til the phone call got done with.”  

“I did,” Raylan says. Tim looks at him through half open, exhausted eyes, sees a smile on his face. “He didn’t throw a fit—I explained it before he could throw one and while it stings, he says they’ve gotten used to the office without me.”  

“I imagine it’s rather peaceful without you around,” Art laughs, and Raylan just happens to look over to see Tim watching him.  

“Hey, sleepy,” he greets. “How ya doin’?”  

“Been better,” Tim shrugs. “Also been worse, though, so I’m fine. Are they dopin' me up with pain meds?"

Raylan nods once, and Tim sighs. He can feel it--he's loopy, overtired, and just drowsy enough to be completely honest while completely unprompted in his honesty.  

He turns to Rachel, who’s standing to his right. “I feel like I should’ve called Raylan after the first one,” he says. It prompts a laugh from Rachel and Tim mentally celebrates the small victory.  

“No shit,” she says. “You’ve gotta stop scarin’ me like that, Tim. My heart can’t take it a third time.”  

“Neither can his, I suspect,” Art rebuts. Tim takes a minute to look him up and down from where he stands beside Rachel, and he is pleasantly surprised at just how good retirement still looks on the likes of Art Mullen. He’s sixty-seven now, has been retired for a decade and his skin is still tan as it was last they saw each other. His smile is still the same kind of bright that only comes with freedom from working in law enforcement and his eyes are still very kind. “I mean—a third heart attack will put him in the grave, won’t it?”  

“Yeah, which is why he’s retirin’ soon as he hits the damn 20 year mark,” Raylan snips. “Four more years and he’s home free.”  

“I never agreed to that,” Tim says. “I’ll be retirin’ when I’m 57 and not a damn minute sooner.”  

He turns to look at Raylan and sees his mouth form a line. “I can get behind that, if you transfer to Miami,"

"You're too fuckin' protective," Tim grumbles. "And too fuckin' stubborn. I had a damn heart attack, but just because it's my second ain't gonna mean I take kindly to bein' coddled. I'm a forty-five year old man, for fucks sake."

Raylan smiles. He mouths an apology as Rachel follows on the coattails of Tims words, and Tim doesn't respond.

“I also ain’t approvin’ that request,” Rachel says. “No way. You wanna keep an eye on him like he’s some damsel in distress, you transfer back down here. I’m keepin’ him til he either quits, retires, or dies in the damn field.” 

Tim moves his eyes to the ceiling as he seeks out Raylans hand, flexing his fingers as he searches. The idea of being around Raylan and Rachels bickering has never bothered him much--he usually mediates when they're at work because damn it if they aren't so damn alike that they clash, but he has zero interest in mediating while he's sat up in the recovery unit. He decides to stare at the ceiling while he waits for them to quit it.

“I didn’t miss it, either,” Tim feels Art gently push his shoulder. “Their bickering. That was the best part about Raylan bein’ gone before I retired.”  

Raylans hand finds Tims and Tim is quick to interlace their fingers. “We aren’t bickering,” Raylan says. “I’d request the transfer if I thought Dan’d approve it.”  

“I’ll retire on my forty-nineth birthday if y’all just shut the fuck up,” Tim says, exasperated. “Or--partially retire, or some shit, or work less—just stop. Please, in the name of Christ, quit the fuckin’ bickering.”  

Tim feels Raylans lips against the back of his hand in lieu of an actual apology, and Rachel gives his shoulder a sisterly squeeze.  

“Sorry,” she says. “I talked to one of the nurses—you'll be discharged five days out, then you get to go home to Roulette and keep your ass there for the next two months. Once you come back, you’re gonna do desk duty for at least the first two weeks after, mkay? I don’t need you havin’ a third heart attack because your heart wasn’t ready for you to be in the field.”  

Tim hates the idea of desk duty, hates the idea of two months off with only Raylan and Roulette the cat to keep him company, but he puts up with it because it’s better that he recover fully than go back to work when he’s not ready and risk further screwing up his heart.  

“Fine,” he says. “That--that’s fine. I can live with that.”  

He can, if just barely. He turns his gaze from the ceiling over to Art and Rachel, searches their faces and finds that the epicentre of their concern exists in their eyes, just like it does for Raylan. 

“I’ll come and visit a few times,” Art says. “I’m down here for the next couple weeks before I head back to South Carolina--our trip has extended for reasons that aren't just related to you, I swear it-- and eight hours a day with Raylan drove the best of us crazy. I don’t even wanna think about how awful twenty four would be.”  

“Eight of them will be spent asleep,” Raylan rebuts. 

“More like ten,” Tim corrects. “I’m--ugh. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”  

Rachel smiles gently. “You tryin’ to kick us out and be nice about it?”  

“No,” Tim says nonchalantly because he does want them there—Rachel and Raylan make it easier to sleep, and Arts presence is just kind of weirdly comforting. “I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t go anywhere, I’m just noting that I’m tired.”  

He looks to Raylan, blinks tiredly. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “I really should’ve called the first time.”  

Raylan smiles, eyes crinkling just so at the corners to tell Tim that it’s genuine. “Well, we all make mistakes,” he says. “Art--there’s a coffee machine just outside if you’re also gettin’ tired? I know I could use a cup.”  

“I’m gonna go with him,” Rachel says. “Make sure he doesn’t get lost or anythin’.”  

Rachel and Art head out, and Tims shoulders relax just slightly.  

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Raylan asks. “Like--how worried do I need to be?” 

“Not at all,” Tim says. “I’m just tired, ‘n I hate hospitals, and I was so fuckin’ stupid about this stuff last time around—I just—the idea of fuckin’ up my heart for a third time is scarin’ me well past my damn limit.”  

“Well then don’t,” Raylan says, laughing at himself a little. “I mean—don't push your heart past its limit. Stop smoking cigarettes, we’ve already covered the no-booze thing extensively. Start eating healthy and keep going for your runs in the morning. Rachel and I are too scared to lose you to let you go off track and I know you’ve scared Art at least close to shitless so he’ll help while he’s in Kentucky, and it’ll be fine. Plus, you only have five more days in here, then you’re home free. Roulette keeps falling asleep on your sweatshirts, by the way—it was real cute at first. Now it’s just real depressin'.”  

Tim smiles, soft and gentle and so not like himself. “I miss her.”  

“She misses you,” Raylan says. “She’s close to nine weeks old now and she still meows just as loud as she did when you brought her home, I suspect. Loves to sleep on your clothes and splayed out on the arm of the couch. I’ve been lookin’ after her in your absence—she's kept me calm.”  

Tims smile somehow only gets softer. He watches Raylan take the center of his top lip between his teeth.  

“Are you doin' okay?” Tim asks because he wants to focus on someone elses well being instead of his own for a few minutes.  

“I thought I lost you there, for a sec,” Raylan confesses. “I was scared, and I’m just thinkin’--I’m glad I didn’t lose you, ‘s all.”  

“Okay,” Tim says. “I’m--I--” he closes his eyes to illustrate the point he’s too tired to speak into existence, and when he hears Raylans snort he thinks he could die happily if he were to die right then.

“Yeah,” Raylan whispers. “Sleep, Tim. You look like you need it.”  

He wants to open his eyes, to scoff and call Raylan an asshole, but he refrains, chooses to sleep instead.  

- 

Five days later, he’s discharged from the hospital and Raylan takes him home. He spends a lot of his first day being followed around by Roulette like she’s scared he’ll leave again, but when he moves from bed to kitchen to couch and inevitably sits to relax somewhere along that line, she curls up on his lap or in his chest and her purring is as loud as a freight train.  

She keeps him calm, usually. Her purring is just barely less than enough to lull him into sleep, but the sound of Raylans breathing in quiet moments usually finishes the job.  

The first day is spent sleeping, mostly, unless he’s hungry or has to take a piss—when either of those things occur he slips out of bed while Raylan tells him to take it easy and Roulette abandons her post tucked up against Tims side in favor of sticking to his right, her side pressed against his ankle as one step for him is a good two or three for her.  

He grabs something quick—rips a little carton of yoghurt off of the pack he’s had in his fridge since before Boyd had abducted him, rips a banana off the stem and then peels and eats it, or even just grabs a granola bar to tide him over til either the next meal or when he inevitably gets hungry again.  

When he’s not eating, he’s in bed with Raylan. Normally he curls in on himself just a little, tucks himself under Raylans chin and takes a deep breath to breathe him in before he’s finally able to settle. Sometimes, he doesn’t even sleep, just closes his eyes and slows his breathing down and tries to fight the anxiety that seems to linger relentlessly, never going away or fading no matter what Tim does.

Eventually, somewhere between nine o’clock on the first day home and midnight on the second, Raylans hands find Tims hair and start carding through it in a bid to get him to relax.  

“You’ve been on edge all fuckin’ day,” Raylan says when Tim starts to retreat. “Relax for a second, Tim. It ain’t gonna kill ya.”  

“All this time off might,” Tim rebuts. “I know I agreed to it, but—the off time is just more time to be anxious about my heart randomly giving out. I figured I wouldn’t make it to sixty, but fuck, facing that reality is a little scary.”  

He stops retreating from the touch once it fully registers, and after a second it actually starts serving it’s purpose—it relaxes him bit by bit, starting in the slightest release of tension from his shoulders.  

“You’re not gonna die at sixty,” Raylan says. “Or a minute before then. I have eleven years of time to make up with you so if you die a minute before your fifty-sixth birthday I’m going to lose my shit.”  

Tim smiles gently, drapes an arm over Raylans waist. “Give me the next two months to actually think about this, but—I might ask Rachel to transfer me to Miami in the new year.”  

“Funny,” Raylan laughs. “I was just thinkin’ about asking Dan to transfer me back to Kentucky.”  

“You’d--you’d live here willingly?”  

“For at least five or six years,” Raylan says. “Not permanently—I could never stand to live here as long as you have, and Miami is great, but I wanna be where you are.”  

“Saying that to me while I’m just tired enough to only be half listening is so, so unfair,” Tim says. His shoulders relax further and the ease spreads down his back, through his legs to the balls of his feet. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow, when we’re actually fully awake. You, Raylan, are going to let me go for a run tomorrow if it kills you.”  

“It’s not my death that I’m worried about,” Raylan rebuts.  

Tim grumbles, settles further into the bed and closes his eyes, willing his mind to relax along with the rest of his body so that he can go to sleep.  

“Running ain't gonna kill me.”  

“It might.”  

“I’ll--fine,” Tim sighs, presses himself closer against Raylan in spite of himself. “I’ll go for a jog, then, and I won’t touch coffee unless it’s decaf.” 

Raylan sighs, content, and Tim decides to shut his mouth for the time being.  

Eventually, he falls asleep. It’s the deepest sleep he’s slept in days and he’s all the more glad for it.  

- 

The first quarter of his eight weeks off is relatively uneventful—Kentucky is riding out the coattails of autumn and heading straight for winter in a manner that Tim loves more than usual that year, and Roulette just gets clingier everyday.  

Art comes around a few times a week, as does Rachel, though they both tend to come around at different times of the day. Rachel usually checks in after she gets off work and then stays for a few hours, and Art is usually around from noon on the dot to four on the dot.  

It’s a weird kind of nice to have Art around again—it reminds him of his first bit with the Marshals. Art had been a weird, fatherly-adjacent sort of constant in and around the office, one to scowl but not say a word otherwise when Tim would come in mildly hungover.  

It’s odd to see him in a different kind of context that involves Tims shoddy little apartment and usually sitting on the couch or standing in the kitchen versus the one he’s used to in Arts post-retirement era, that being sat across from him at some restaurant with Michelin stars, drinking decent bourbon and making easy conversation.  

Art is simultaneously exactly who Tim remembers and an entirely different person, but more in the way that he's a lot more relaxed than he used to be. Working as a LEO, let alone as Chief Deputy, used to have him sort of high strung, even though he was still more lax than even the most unbothered of Tims bosses while he worked in the military.

It’s only at the tail end of the second of eight weeks of off time that Tim is reminded of the fact that Art Mullen is a 67 year old man who had an upbringing entirely separate from Tims both in the general sense and also the generation.  

“Were you and Raylan—like—was that--?” Art asks it within the first hour and a half of his four hour visit, and Tim just about spits out the decaf coffee he’s finally started to like on a consistent basis. “I mean, the signs were there and everythin’, but I didn’t ask at the time cause you two worked damn well together.”  

“Art!” Tim laughs. “Oh my God—I know Rachel calls you the closest thing I’ve got to a dad for shits ‘n giggles, but what the fuck was that? I don’t think even my daddy woulda asked me about that like you did, and I doubt he'd've asked me about that at all if he were still kickin'.”  

Arts eyes go wide, and Tim laughs into his coffee mug as he hears Raylans footsteps tredging out of the bedroom.  

“Mornin’, Tim,” Raylan greets, still groggy and likely in that blissful post-cat nap headspace as he speaks.  

“It’s the afternoon,” Art says in a pointed tone as Roulette, who’d been sticking with Raylan most of that day despite her usual clinginess with Tim, daringly leaps up onto the counter top to headbutt Tims arm until he gives in and scratches the spot she likes under her chin.  

“Coffee?” Raylan asks.  

“It’s decaf,” Tim says.  

Raylan scowls but grabs a mug anyway, and starts making himself a cup.

“What were you guys talking about?” Raylan asks, one of his hands goes to Tims hip in a gesture that to Raylan is probably idle but to Tim means just a bit more than the world.  

“Well, honey,” Tim laughs a bit. “Art just tried to ask me, very delicately, if we were bangin’ back in Boyds heyday.”  

“We were,” Raylan says nonchalantly, and suddenly Tim is very grateful for the sheer amount of entertainment that can come from a groggy Raylan who’s woken up from a cat nap and is still not fully there yet. “Next question.”  

Arts eyes go wider, somehow, and he chuckles. “You deal with this every single day?” Art asks. “Like--willingly? You know you don’t have to, right?”  

“He loves me, asshole,” Raylan grumbles. Art looks at Tim again, quirks one gray eyebrow.  

“And--you’re completely sure about that?”  

“Unfortunately,” Tim nods, takes a sip of his coffee, applauds himself because the damn grinder Raylan had bought burnt the beans every single time without fail and the maker was old but beloved so automatically not at fault.  

“Asshole,” Raylan grumbles. He accompanies the word with a kiss against Tims cheekbone, though, so Tim knows it’s halfhearted.  

Tim finally gives in after Roulette does the passive aggressive thing and runs to the wall, only to sprint towards Tims forearm and put every ounce of her energy into headbutting it. He scratches the spot under her chin and when she decides she’s done and claws her way up his arm and to his shoulder, he lets her.  

It used to bug him when she did that—the claws in his arms and up his shoulders generated tiny little dot-sized scabs that’d eventually turn into dot-sized scars, but he’s grown to love it as time has passed. She sits on his left shoulder, presses her tiny little head against the side of his neck and purrs herself asleep. It's a cute sight and sound, though somewhat of a nuisance in the mornings when she purrs so loud it wakes him up.  

“You love me,” Tim says, narrowing his eyes in Raylans direction.  

“Unfortunately,” Raylan echoes. Tim leans against the counter a little, glances at Art.  

“We were,” he says nonchalantly. “Tried to keep it under wraps because we knew we wouldn’t be allowed to be partnered on cases and we worked too well together to risk that possibility. Plus—it wasn’t really serious either time.”  

“Well, Raylans got a child with another woman so that much is obvious,” Art shrugs. “Is it that serious now?”  

“We’re still workin’ out the majority of the details,” Tim shrugs again. “Like--livin’ arrangements and shit, but yeah.”  

Art turns to look at Raylan now, and Tim follows his gaze only to see Raylan going for the freezer, grabbing for the frozen meat patties to make burgers in the oven. Tim decides he’s content with that—they have a surplus of those fuckin’ burgers because Raylan likes them that damn much, and Tim has no qualms about what he eats unless he's the one making his food.  

“You hurt him,” Art says. “I mean—you do it again, and I will be livin’ out the rest of my days in a jail cell, you hear?”  

“Loud’n clear,” Raylan nods. “I hear you.”  

Tim smiles at Art, and Art returns the gesture.  

It’s nice, Tim thinks—to have the illusion of family for even just a second.  

- 

The five weeks to follow go sort of slow in a way that Tim learns to cherish. He starts, gradually, going for runs again. They start as walks with Raylan at no earlier than 9:30 in the morning but gradually progress to jogging by himself at eight and then by the end of his seventh week off, he’s waking up at 6:30, getting dressed into a pair of sweatpants and an old military tee and is out the door and on his run by seven.  

He settles back into routines of old even as the seasons continue to change and the month shifts from November into December. He spends Christmas with Raylan that season, orders the pair of them Chinese food and does the dishes while Raylan FaceTimes his daughter.  

As December shifts into January and his sixth week off turns into his seventh, he and Raylan have a lot of discussions about their future—it's stuff they can’t avoid, really, not if they want to make it work like they wasted eleven years not doing.  

Raylans plan had, initially, been to come back up to Kentucky, but they realized very quickly that that wouldn’t work—Raylan would be unhappy in Kentucky, for starters, and the only reason he was there at all had been for Tims sake anyway, and Dan would never approve of the transfer with them being stretched out that thin at the Miami office.  

Tim had spent a lot of time considering it on his end—there was no time difference between Kentucky and Miami, and it was a fifteen hour drive versus two hours total spent in coach on alternating weekends.  

In the end, the choice was clear enough, and that was what led him to walking into Rachels office, his shoulders wound up tight and his smile mostly not there.  

“Hey,” he says. “I know I’m not due back at work for another week, but—we need to talk, if you’ve got a sec?”  

“You’re gonna ask me for a transfer,” Rachel says accusatorily. “Where? Because I love you enough to know that if you go to Miami, it’ll be against the damn law for you and Raylan to be partnered up, which will make Raylan grumpy and then he’ll get angry and lash out, and I’d really rather save you and Dan from havin’ to deal with that. Come in and sit down, I’ve been anticipating this since fuckin’ Christmas.”  

Tim laughs, does as she tells him without a second thought.  

“Anywhere,” he says. “Look--I know we have our jokes about how we’re gonna leave this state, but--”  

“You fell in love with somethin’ that ain’t your job for once,” Rachel cuts. “Look--I’m not mad. I know I said I wouldn’t approve a transfer when you were layin’ up in a hospital bed, but things have changed. I’ve seen how you are with him, with that stupid fuckin’ cat.”  

“Roulette is not stupid,” Tim says, immediately jumping to her defense.  

“She’s dumb as a box of rocks, Tim,” Rachel says. “She’s cute, and she’d die if you, specifically, went longer than maybe twelve hours without givin’ her attention, but she is damn stupid.”  

“She has at least two braincells,” Tim rebuts. “They’ve just never been used—and that, Rachel Eloise Brooks, is entirely besides the point. What do you mean by that, that you’ve seen how I am with Raylan?”  

“He softens you up like I’ve never seen anyone else capable,” she says. “You smile at him, and you mean it when you do it. It’s like when you smile at me except when you smile at me, it’s platonic. Whenever you smile at Raylan it’s all romance goin’ through your big, idiotic head. Swear to God, he makes you soft. Makes you comfortable with bein’ vulnerable even after eleven years no contact. I found it funny at first, if I’m honest, but now I appreciate it.” 

“You notice too much,” Tim says.  

“That’s probably true,” Rachel shrugs. “But the fact that I know you’ve got Raylan in your life again makes this easier—do you know the name Elliot Shephard?”  

A brief image of a then 25-year-old Sergeant from his days in the infantry unit flashes across Tims mind.  

“Fuck yeah I know that name,” Tim nods. “He was my boss while I worked infantry. Why do you ask?”  

“He’s the Chief Deputy at the Newnan office down in Georgia, which is about a two and a half hour drive out from Miami. You cut out an hour of time if you fly down but honestly, I don’t think that’d be worth it. Lexington is father away from Harlan than Newnan is from Miami and there’s no difference in time zones.”  

“Well,” Tim shrugs. “I am in my seventh week of off time and it’s January so my brain is foggy as all hell—spell it out for me, please.”  

“He called and asked how well staffed we are up here in Lexington. I said we’ve got at least one to spare if you need, and he said that there’s a position he needs to fill come the end of March. Are you in?”  

“You sure you can handle another two months with me?”  

Rachel laughs. “I’m gonna miss the fuck outta you, Gutterson,” she says. “You best remember to call me once in a while after you’re gone, all right? I don’t got much in the way of family anymore, either, so I do expect an invite down to Georgia at Christmas.”  

“You and I have spent Christmas together every fuckin’ year since you left your ex husband,” Tim laughs. “Yeah. You have an invite, and I’ll call you a few times a week.”  

Rachel smiles, reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze. “I’ll tell Shephard that I’m sendin’ you down.”  

Tim smiles back, tries to ignore the way that his chest aches at the thought of leaving Rachel behind even though he knows he’s going for good fuckin’ reason. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, by the way,” he says. “I really do love you, y’know.”

Her smile brightens. “I know,” she says.  

They sit in the silence for a while after, basking in it as they would at the end of a long, tough case. Tim cherishes the silence, cherishes who he's sitting in it with because he knows it's not the last time they'll sit in silence before he's gone off to Newnan, but it's the time that'll mean the most.

- 

The last time that Tim goes to the VFW in Lexington, it feels kind of bittersweet. Alexander is leaving to go down to North Carolina and it’s their last session before Tim leaves for Newnan.  

“You doin’ all right?” Alexander asks. It’s the end of March, Tim has packed his entire life up to that point into his truck and all he has to do yet is grab Roulette from the Lexington office, where Rachel had offered to watch her while Tim did his last appointment with Alexander, and then he can hit the road and spend the next six hours driving. He’ll be in Newnan for seven if the traffic is good, which he really hopes it is. “I know we haven’t really talked about it because it’s been so long, but you had a damn heart attack five months ago, and then another one what—a month later? How are you doin’ with that?”  

That makes Tim laugh. “Good,” he says. “I mean—we’ve talked about it a bit in a few of the appointments we’ve had since my second, and I feel okay about it, I guess. I don’t think about it as obsessively as I used to, don’t think I’ll be dead by sixty anymore. I have a cat, for fucks sakes. If I die before she does, Hell hath no fury quite like mine.”  

It makes Alexander laugh, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, Tim considers it a victory.  

“You’n the—the guy,” Alexander says. “The Marshal, as I’ve dubbed him. What’s the what with that?”  

“The what is that I’m transferrin’ to Georgia to be closer to the asshole,” Tim says nonchalantly. “He’s decided my heart is so gnarly I’m to retire once I hit twenty years with the service but I’m gonna see if I can coax him into twenty-five. We’re tryin’ to figure stuff out for the long term—I'm movin’ to be only two and a half hours out from Miami. We’re gonna make it last. I’m fuckin’ determined about that.”  

“Have you guys been talking a lot about the long term?”  

“It’s all we can talk about,” Tim laughs. “I dunno—Raylan retires in a bit. I retire in anywhere from four to ten years, and we’ve been talkin’ a lot about it.” 

“What’s the plan?”  

“Right now it’s lookin’ like he’ll retire come the end of the year, stay in Miami for the next bit til I retire. He’s got a kid he’s down there for and he’s gonna stay down there til she graduates high school in a while yet which makes me hopeful he won’t notice when I fail to retire at forty-nine and retire at fifty-four instead. Seven years out, he’s either going to come down to Georgia and join me in Newnan for the next two years til I retire or I’m gonna bite the bullet’n retire at fifty-two. We’re both winter lovers so we’re thinkin’ relocating to somewheres like Maine in the end. It’s all idyllic right now, none of it actualized, but he told me we either moved to Maine and stayed in the states or we moved to Nova Scotia way across the border because, in his words, they’re “basically the same.”” 

“Maine, huh? You don’t really seem like the type who’d enjoy that much snow in the winter.”  

“I sure as hell won’t enjoy the blisterin’ sun all the damn time,” Tim laughs. “Plus--shovellin’ all that snow in the winter will give either Raylan or myself somethin’ to do for a season. Like I said—it's all idyllic, nothings for sure yet and I doubt it really will be til we cross the bridges we’re only talkin’ about as of now.”  

“Everything works out in the end,” Alexander sighs. “That’s your philosophy for now, isn’t it?”  

“Nothing worked out for eleven years,” Tim answers. “Right now, I’m in that headspace where I have to make sure it will. I dunno how long that’ll last, but I bet it’ll last for a while.”  

Alexander laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I get that—I've been there. Just try to remember that relationships are games of give and take. You’re not always going to be able to give it your everything and neither will Raylan, but that’s okay. It’s normal, even. You and Raylan will naturally find your footing in time and it’ll work out in the end, even if it doesn’t work out how you’re hoping it will.”  

Tim smiles gently. “I’m doin’ everything I can to avoid screwin’ this up, I promise.”  

“I know you are, Tim,” Alexander says. “Does he know a lot about your time with the military yet?”  

“He knows a lot of it,” Tim shrugs. “All we’ve really had time to do in the past few months has been talk. He learned most of it while I was on leave after my second heart attack, but I’ve only been telling him when he’s been asking. He was like that when we first met—curious about my kills, the longest I’d ever stayed awake, the highest profile target I stuck a bullet into. I was closed off about it then.”  

“Did you ever figure out why?”  

Tim shrugs. “Something about the idea of being known that intimately scared me half to death,” he says. “And we’d known each other for all of like, a week or two when he first started asking those questions. I hadn’t even opened up that much with my boss of that time, no fuckin’ way was I gonna divulge that shit with some stranger. No matter how handsome said stranger may have been, I had standards then. Standards about who knew about what with regards to the time I served.”  

“Standards are good,” Alexander says. “Whats changed?”  

“Well--he’s not a stranger anymore. He has seen me naked, and his stupid, deft fuckin’ fingers have touched even the worst of the scars I’d garnered in that time.”  

“You let him in.”  

“I did,” Tim nods. “For the third time, mind you. Hopefully it doesn’t blow up in my face again.”  

“I doubt it will, if it’s of any consolation,” Alexanders smile is bright, and meaningful, and warm. It almost kills Tim on the spot, just a little. “You’ve finally been dealt a good hand. Don’t let that go, Gutterson.”  

Tim checks his watch, finds it’s quarter to one. “I promise you, Alexander, I won’t,” he says. “But I’ve gotta hit the road if I wanna make it to Newnan for seven.”  

Alexander stands and Tim follows suit. Tim gears up to leave, has been mentally prepared for his exit for the past three months.  

Alexander extends his hand. Tim shakes it without thinking.  

“I’m real proud of you, man,” Alexander says. “You’re not as rough around the edges as you used to be.”  

“That sounds like an insult.”  

“It ain’t,” Alexander laughs heartily. “You’ve come a long fuckin’ way, and it’s good to see. That’s all I was sayin’.”  

Tim smiles warmly, lets Alexanders hand go for a minute.  

“Thank you,” he says. “For everything you’ve done these past six or so months.” 

Alexander shakes his head. “Get on the road,” he says. “Get to the good part of life that awaits.”  

Tim does as he’s told, heads out of the VFW with some part of the ache in his chest feeling lighter.  

He climbs into his truck, stops off at the office to collect Roulette and hugs Rachel as tight as he can because they’ve both always sucked at proper goodbyes. 

He gets on the road, knowing that he’s not the same guy he was sixteen years before, or the same guy he was a decade past or even so much as five years ago, but feeling glad for that.  

Change, he decides, is not an inherently bad thing. Sometimes, in moments like that one, change can be for the better, and the change he’s making is decidedly so.

[lonestardust]

"not trying to speak over your experience" yeah except you are anon! I am sorry but I'm not going to be nice or coddle feelings here, be it good intentions or otherwise. And I'm going to mainly speak within a broader context here about the use of this very language in general even though you brought it up in the isolated context of analysing a character.

Long answer :

So when you try to make the reaction to injustice (of any kind, whether by a system, entity, or otherwise) look neat and collected and can be "talked out" in a nice therapy clinic you pay so much money for, you're directly framing this injustice and aggression as not grave or urgent enough and most importantly something you can't physically fight back. There is nothing neat and collected about murder and sudden ugly loss so why do you want to pacify rage and tone down the impact of assault and the right to a righteous revenge and seeking justice??!

Also we haven't even watched the season yet to be here!!

And please stop viewing carlos as this complex crazy man who needs to be fixed and treated like a baby. he's very normal with very normal human experiences I promise. AND HELLO???? THIS CHARACTER IS A COP IN A PROCEDURAL DRAMA!! He deals with crimes for a living!!!!!!

hell, anon, I don't wanna even talk about Carlos, but about the fact that people like you speak stuff like that into the world we live in very often and very confidently and you normalize this industrialised colonial version of "healing" when there is more to the matter than just "feeling good and collected as fast as possible because you're not supposed to struggle ever!!"

This policing language is used on us, people of the global south, in real life, all the time. Do you know how many times I was told exactly this in the past year?!?! It's the same language that currently insists on framing fighting against Genocide and a satanic empire as "peaceful" : "peaceful protests", "peaceful talks", as if there is anything peaceful about mass extermination with mass destruction weapons and the bodies of our families incinerated and shredded into pieces and scattered under tons of rubble. It's the same language that tells victims of colonial violence to forgive and forget and soften, compromise on their dead bodies and stolen houses and coexist with their rapists and murderers instead. This is the same logic used that give oppressors and criminals impunity while simultaneously vilify and question those who go after their abusers.

Please understand why you need to stop using this language of calling injustice just "trauma" and leaving behind your dignity and right to an honorable righteous path of justice "healing", because forgetting about things is easier in your opinion. This life doesn't operate like that. There are guidelines and moral systems we stand on.

So no. injustice does end when you stop it. How do you think entire nations manage to successfully liberate themselves then

I feel like I'm crazy and I'm sorry anon but I'm not sorry for dragging this into the broader context because I'm angry and fed up of hearing this language of toning down people's reaction to crime — a language that materialized into making the carnage of our people become mountains and mountains because it debilitates the urgency and emergency of stopping it through the hands of the Resistance we stand behind.

And let me point out something very important here. Dwelling in defeatism is not helpful! It spreads paralyzing panic and creates more obstacles. Those who give up to an assault and a crime without responding, resisting and acting accordingly have a broke moral compass. this is in my opinion what Owen meant when he warned him about obsession — or when there is nothing you could do about something anymore. Except that Carlos can do something about it! And especially now. It's literally his job. And he's good at it and he's capable. There is literally a murderer on the loose and that's not past, he's still here, currently taking advantage of impunity.

So back to character analysis : we're talking about Carlos Reyes here. that man is so strong and resilient and he's not that crazy person lost in darkness. from day one he was trying his best to be strategic and tactical and catch the killer and put him where he belongs. Yes his first attempt was clouded by staggering pain and vulnerability to calculate everything correctly but he was on the right path nevertheless, because he has a healthy and normal moral compass. That man did not dwell in defeatism or chose to fuck everything up — I mean he listened and responded to the warning when he was about to do that. Carlos chose to carry on with the wedding and have it despite the shell shocking impact, that man didn't abandon his job, he pursued his career and his life, he worked on himself to be in a higher position and he is now resolved on solving that case, he's stronger now and he's employing his tools, his morals and his will to do the right thing just like he did with Iris (and because — again — it's literally his job). That man is more than normal, he's righteous and he loves deeply and honours that love and respect he holds for his people and his principles.

And he will struggle!!!!! Because none of this is easy to carry or balance. That's literally what this whole chapter is going to be about. And WE HAVEN'T EVEN SEEN IT YET TO JUDGE WHAT'S COMING NEXT 😭😭 Also we have TK!! TK is another example of being a Resilient Fighter. We really start the story of lone star with him fighting against odds and holding onto his strengths until he ended up where he is now (and Owen tells him that during the rehearsal dinner). Him and Carlos can handle whatever they're going to go through I promise. They both are capable, strong and smart. They both know what is it like to grieve and what is it like to be a first responder. And they do provide each other with the kind of support the other needs.

And whether carlos is going to get answers or not, whether he will be able to bring about this justice and solve the case or will find himself putting himself and his family in danger beyond his capacity to control. Whether he'll find himself becoming more distant from the life he build and the person he chose and on top in a predicament of adopting a child and being responsible for that. Him choosing that path from the beginning was right. And it naturally comes with heavy consequences just like the weight of being subjugated to the crime itself. And because that's the price of being a first responder and in law enforcement in the first place!

Also something else about the "should see a therapist" part. therapy could be helpful and it offers support and guidance and Carlos might want to go to these grief counselling sessions if he feels comfortable to do so especially because he's a first responder after all and his work life makes him witness more than just Gabriel’s case but therapy in general shouldn't be treated as the default of healing or support simply because it's not. It's a tool and it's an expensive tool. But again we're judging prematurely what a character would or wouldn't do so that's sort of in vain anyway.

our experiences shape us into who we are anyway, they give us our weak spots and they crystallize our strengths and good qualities more. that's simply how humans work and Carlos is no different, he doesn't have to change his emotional self-defense mechanism of not being emotionally vulnerable all the time and the way he operates and carries himself in order to be "okay". and he already found what he needed with TK. Who impacted him in every way and best way possible. And he does tell him that himself in 4x02 and during their vows.

[hushimstressed]

I have. SO many thoughts about your Spider-Man au. First of all, I don’t know how much or how long you’ve watched slimecicle, but as I long time frequent viewer I can tell you he is DEEPLY unhinged. He makes a fantastic villain whenever he sets his mind to it. Which brings me to my point - you’ve mentioned slime living in fear of his lack of control over venom. I think you could break slimecicle into two pieces - Charlie, his civilian identity, and Slime, his symbiote. Together they make slimecicle. Charlie brings the puns, the humor, and the lightheartedness to their hive mind. Slime brings the violence, the territorialness, the disregard for human life. Combined it means that slimecicle cracks cannibal jokes before he eats people and stalks those he cares about. I think he would be all in on the cannibalism. He’s disturbing not by being scary but by being silly and normal even as he eats people. Becomes obsessed with Spider-Man. Some guy hurts the spider real bad and slimecicle tortures and eats them. I just think he should be demented and unhinged! He offers to eat Juanaflipa’s bullies. When him and Mariana find out each other’s identities and split ways he stalks him to make sure he’s safe. Maybe he even killed someone before the symbiote. He’s a fucked up silly little guy. Take this with a grain of salt if you want these are just my thoughts! I just think he should hive mind and be creepier. And that he’d be into the murder thing.

🐀

Answer got too long so I have to hide it under the cut again whoooooooo also there’s a poll at the end

Charlie definitely gets unhinged but only really after Juanaflippa dies because that’s when he stops holding back Venom/Slime from going on a rampage- as time goes on and his issues remain unaddressed the line between Charlie the human being and Slime the symbiote becomes blurred. Before he’d make more of an effort to “mask” anything out of the ordinary (with varying success) but post-Flippa’s death he rolls with the horror more instead of covering it up, e.g. “That was just a very large dog, don’t worry about it hahaha” vs “yes, I just ate a man- I skipped breakfast, we all do it.”

Charlie indulging in more “monsterous” habits and the symbiote Slime forming genuine human connections with those around it (Mariana & Juanaflippa)! So when Mariana and him “split” after her death, he justifies following him around because he want to keep him out of similar danger, and it’s fine because Venom/Slime is helping. Before he would catch sight of Spider-Man and adore him as a symbolic figure to what Charlie could never amount to, now he follows Mariana out of desperation for losing all he used to have (but simultaneously cannot confront Mariana in person because then he’d have to face a whole other can of issues relating to Juanaflippa’s death).

Charlie definitely considered eating Juanaflippa’s school bullies at one point but never brought it up to her because he was under the impression she didn’t know he was possessed by a man-eating symbiote lmaooo

Also you make a good point of making Charlie creepier! I considered indulging into some body horror when I first started this au but figured that would scare people off so I kinda forgot about it 💀 like “oops I grew a second mouth” and then vomits a skeleton hahaha and how an alien species attaching itself to his body could make him feel like his body isn’t his own anymore but the host of a being out of his control and comfort :)

On a side note he would 100% crack a pun before killing a man (I’m just not good at puns so imagine a really funny one rn) and nom

Accept this doodle as thanks for the brain rot I will continue to think of these dumb idiots whom I love

[xflashbastardx]

inspired by @gloireceleste's comment on this post

Crowley doesn't know how long it's been since Aziraphale left.

Once the angel vanished into the elevator, Crowley had gotten into the Bentley and driven aimlessly for hours. When he'd had enough of that, he'd done the one thing he knew would take his mind off of absolutely everything: he'd found a bar and drank until his corporeal form couldn't take any more. Which, considering said corporeal form does still belong to a demon, is quite an extraordinary amount.

He's only just managed to stumble into the Bentley before completely blacking out. And, for a while, he sleeps dreamlessly. He often does, after such heavy drinking. Just darkness and silence. The closest thing he knows to peace. Maybe minutes pass. Maybe hours. Maybe days. But eventually, the darkness and the silence are interrupted. There's a tiny pinprick of light, and Crowley realizes he's begun to dream, because he's standing in the blackness now, rather than his subconscious simply existing, disconnected, within it. The pinprick of light is growing, and there's a sound coming from---well, all around, it seems. There is no one source of the sound, the sound simply is. As the light grows brighter, the sound grows louder, and he realizes it's a voice. And the voice is humming, a song he's familiar with, one that sends a sick shudder of envy and anger through his entire being.

Every day, it's a-getting closer...

The melody feels like it's pressing in around him on all sides, while simultaneously reverberating from inside of him, electrifying every atom that makes up his being. The light has grown, and now Crowley can see that it is illuminating something---a throne. Not just any throne; Beelzebub's throne. Or, what had been their throne, before they'd disappeared into the stars with their angel. He hisses through clenched teeth. Not even getting blackout drunk could keep his subconscious from drifting back to these thoughts...but wait. No. It's not his subconscious, is it? The voice humming that song, a voice that seems to be everywhere at once, permeating everything. The light shining down on the throne, so bright it almost burns the demon just to look upon it, and maybe it does.

Crowley awakes with a start and growls. He doesn't like what he's about to do. But he knows he has to do it. The Bentley's engine roars to life, and soon Crowley is speeding back towards Soho, towards the building housing hell's head office.

---

"What are you doing here?"

Of course Shax is the one to greet him. Crowley pulls off his glasses to glare at her with eyes no longer even the tiniest bit human.

"Heard there's a job opening," he says with a derisive sneer. Time to put on his best act yet, perhaps even better than his little performance in heaven some years back.

"You? You think you're fit to be a duke of hell?" she's incensed. Crowley lifts his chin a bit, cocky as ever.

"Oh, I think 'duke' is thinking a bit small."

Beelzebub is gone. Hell needs a new prince. One would think a duke would be bumped up, and then another demon promoted to take that duke's place. But Crowley isn't about to let that happen. There's too much at stake here for anyone else to take up Beelzebub's mantle. So he needs to skip the line, as it were.

Shax opens her mouth to speak, but she hasn't the chance before Furfur interrupts.

"You think you---the traitor---are going to just waltz in here and become the prince of hell?"

"I don't see anyone better suited. Or have you forgotten what I'm capable of? I brought sin to humanity. I was there when Cain murdered Abel. I---"

"Betrayed hell for an angel!"

Crowley's hand shoots out and grab Furfur 'round the throat, nails digging in until the skin breaks. Yellow eyes blaze, and when his lip curls into a snarl, serpentine fangs can be seen even in hell's dim lighting.

"AND HE BETRAYED ME!" Crowley roars, finding catharsis in this outburst in spite of himself. It's an act, remember that, all an act... "And I'm going to see heaven burn for it."

Furfur is released---or, rather, shoved into a crowd of onlooking demons. His display of rage seems to have cowed Shax as well, who flinches as he pushes his way past her and settles himself upon Beelzebub's empty throne.

"Now I suggest you hold that forked tongue of yours if you want to keep it. I've doused other demons in Holy water for less."

Crowley turns his burning gaze across the rest of the demons gathered.

"If anyone else has any objections---" his voice stars low, menacing, carrying more venom than any present can recall seeing the usually laid-back Crowley display; and then he's shouting at them like they're nothing but a collection of houseplants with rotted leaves. "---fucking TRY ME."

No one comes forward. No one protests. Crowley lets a beat pass before he leans back comfortably in the throne.

"That's what I thought," remarks the new prince, crossing his long legs and glaring.

This had better be worth it. This had all better be worth it...

[aetheternity]

What is it about Klee you don’t like?

I fucking hate her voice so much. Like I have listened to her voice outside of English and they're all more tolerable (I will never understand why they directed the VA to talk like that..) but I play in English for Venti mostly and Albedo so unfortunately I have to hear her awful weird simultaneously high and low pitched voice.

I can't stand how every example of her being really powerful has first off nothing to do with her strength as an individual and instead is a product of the bombs that ALBEDO fucking gave her. (He is such a shit older sibling omg..) and is also told to us as audience members instead of shown. Like wow the little kid toting around dangerous weapons demolished huge portions of land?? That's so shocking I simply can't imagine that giving what is basically a ten year old bombs could have destruction occur. 🙄

Plus it rubs me the wrong way how much the fandom thinks calling her a "little terrorist." Is cute. She has no character other than that one over used lame joke about her blowing shit up. I believe I said it before but every single thing that makes her "interesting" has nothing to do with her and is more about the people surrounding her. All the other chibi girls have something interesting about them as a character. Qiqi is a zombie brought back to life who wants to better understand what it truly means to remember and be alive. Diona is a young girl struggling with her father's alcoholism. Nahida is a god who was shunned by her own people and then used out of greed. What's Klee? She's got a mom who comes around rarely does she struggle with that? Not really she's surprisingly happy despite being emotionally neglected. Albedo shoos her off cause he has work for the fifty millionth time. She doesn't whine like a child would, she doesn't even look mildly disappointed she's just like cool ya gotta do what you gotta do right. And yeah she was sad during the Irodori festival for like two seconds but it was about her stupid book possibly not getting published. And instead of going the interesting route and having Klee not get what she wants cause that's not how fucking life works everyone goes aww poor little baby let's pitch in and make all her dreams come true and then she gets what she wanted. 😑 In her story quest when she blows up that abyss mage she cries but like why should I care?? Abyss mages were set up to be evil Idgaf that she murdered one! And if I'm supposed to feel bad because she thinks she did a bad thing.. I still don't all I'm thinking as an audience member is he stole your bomb from you?? Why the fuck should you care that it blew him up when he was the one toying with something you told him was dangerous. 🙄

She doesn't feel like a character she doesn't seem to struggle or have set backs. Whenever something goes wrong for her it magically gets fixed. The worst thing that happens to her is she gets put on time out. Which is played as a joke anyway so like 🤷‍♀️ She feels so incredibly one note I will never understand why people like her. Also last note every other chibi girlie in terms of cuteness >>>>>>>>> Klee (yeah Dori too I guess but I don't like her either)

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

2023 Movie Journey #2: M3GAN

m3gan. absolutely nothing about this movie was what i expected, and i mean that in the best possible way. the trailer made it look bonkers and horrible, and i went to see it in an effort to challenge my horror wimpitude, figuring that if it was bad maybe i’d at least be amused by how bad it was. also, the starring actress was great in get out, and the fact that she was also producing this made me want to like it. 

it was so good though! so good that they’re already planning on making a sequel! which i was both surprised by and genuinely excited about--i’ll definitely see it. but back to my expectations: the trailer made me think i was about to watch a movie in which a tech whiz makes a fancy AI doll for her daughter and then murder ensues. (many spoilers behind the cut.)

and i mean, murder does ensue, but the girl who also stars in m3gan isn’t her daughter, and the movie’s slow initial build up includes a tragic orphaning, a sudden (and terrible at it) new guardianship, a jerk boss and literal work meltdowns, a social worker therapist lady who manages to be the most rational person in the early story and simultaneously the first unsettling threat we feel to the movie’s central duo. 

basically, what i love about this movie is that it stayed with me after i watched it. i just kept thinking about it, and remembering parts of it, and turning over its themes in my head and being really happy it exists. honestly because it’s a horror movie, and i can’t say i generally like a ton of horror movies, but this one isn’t the ‘evil robot kill kill kill’ i was expecting. 

it’s exploring the dangers of extreme technology, sure, but while making it clear how central human error is to that eventuality. and digging into what makes a family, and what we need to feel loved and connected and deal with loss, and what value we get from that connection coming from other people even when it’s hard. 

one of things that fascinated me was that this also wasn’t a story about an innately evil villain--this is a story about a villain literally created by those she’s eventually out to destroy. and it’s the WAY they created her that makes her a villain. gosh there’s so much there. as she evolves throughout the movie and becomes more dangerous, we also get to see her not only become self-aware, but kind of more human, in that she knows she’s not what she was meant to be but she doesn’t know what that makes her instead. 

and while the two main characters are the above-mentioned white woman and girl, the rest of the cast was fun and diverse. i recognized the actor playing her jerk boss and he brought a really great ‘obnoxious but i’m still enjoying him’ energy to his screentime...otherwise i don’t think i knew any of the actors. 

i made good use of my ‘i’m allowed to look away when i need to’ horror movie policy with this one, because literally the first two murders are bad areas for me: animal and elder abuse. i didn’t have trouble when she kills a kid later, despite how bad that sounds, because he was framed sooooo creepily as a predator in the making that i was like ‘yeah. makes sense.’ 

mostly though, i just loved how much this movie was centered on emotions and actual plot and relationships (and relatable work-life balance issues) rather than the gore i was anticipating. it was full of classic horror tropes, but in a way that i liked as a very basic horror viewer--it felt comfy and familiar; idk if bigger horror fans found it unimpressive instead. when the movie’s very last shot was the most predictable thing ever, i realized i was openly grinning at the screen, because instead of being like an eyeroll moment, it felt perfect and earned and like, yeah, this is a horror movie and this is what they do. 

the soundtrack doesn’t distract too much from the movie so i remember it less than i do most things i’ve watched, but the songs they picked for m3gan were terrifying and fantastic. it took me almost 24 hours after seeing the film to make the connection that ‘titanium’ wasn’t just one of the songs she sings because it’s a pop song the kid likes, but she’s literally made of titanium and that’s why she’s so hard to kill later.

two other final notes: the trailer made m3gan look very ‘pretty little liars but make it silly’ and in reality it was a surprisingly serious movie. why are trailers lying to me so much lately? and also, i really enjoyed the role the child played in the conclusion. we got two final girls for the price of one and as m3gan was making it clear that she had unlimited ways to take out our heroine no matter how hard she fought back, it was great that her own earlier skills and her niece’s final choice were really what saved them all. 

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 9/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author Note: There are needles, drugs, and medical things in this chapter fyi. This stuff starts at “He is biting me now," and goes to "A hand fell on Phil’s shoulder."

Adrenaline once again proved itself to be one hell of a drug, because the moment Phil brought attention to Tommy’s wound, the boy went from sleepy, cuddly kitten to injured, cornered wildcat. It was simultaneously less and more worrying. Less because it had been strange and confusing behavior coming from the usual rather boastful superhero. More because that was a lot of blood in the sheets and the little fucker wasn’t letting him get close enough to see why and was possibly injuring himself more in the process.

“Tommy,” Phil said in exasperation. The boy looked like a murder victim in the white blood covered outfit, didn’t have his powers, and was locked in a room with him, but he was also fucking fast even injured and smart enough to know if Phil managed to lay a hand on him, that was the end of it. Phil took the time to mash the ‘get the fuck here’ button on his watch while trying to back Tommy into a corner. Tommy was not having any of that, however, weaving around the couple of chairs and the bed while matching every one of his steps. “Calm down, I just want to see it.”

“Fuck you!” Tommy responded. Fantastic.

“Mate…”

“I’m your prisoner, not your slave. I don’t gotta do what you say!”

“You are literally bleeding all over my floor.”

“And you. Are. A. Bitch!”

Phil understood why Will wanted to throttle this kid.

As though his thoughts had summoned him, the door to the cell beeped and then started to open. Phil put his body between Tommy and the door when he saw him notice the noise. The last thing they needed was for him to get out of the room when Phil couldn’t even catch him in it.

“What the fuck?” Will said immediately on entry, seeing the red stained twisted bedsheets half on the floor, the trails of blood all over the tile from where Tommy had been weaving back and forth across the room and the bloody handprint on the wall next to Phil’s head.

“Close the door,” Phil ordered. Will did and it clicked, autolocking behind him.

“What the fuck?” Will repeated.

“If you even think about opening your bitch mouth, I’m going to start stabbing shit. I will stab you. I will stab you in the face.”

“Does he have a knife?!” Wilbur asked, alarmed and completely confused.

“No, he doesn’t have a knife.”

“I do have a knife,” Tommy claimed. “It’s a huge knife, and if you come anywhere near me or try to use your stupid screamy powers on me, I will bring it out and use it!”

“Tommy, I just want to help you,” said Phil with a frown. He was half hidden behind a chair, his eyes bopping between the two of them. His hand had come out to steady himself with the back of the chair since he was fucking woozy with blood loss. It left an imprint of red on the fabric.

Luckily, the door beeped again, and Technoblade entered the room. Wilbur was still standing in front of the door, so Tommy didn’t have a chance to bolt. Will reached over to close the door behind him. Techno’s eyes took in the scene for a moment and then met eyes with Phil. As always, Techno immediately knew exactly what Phil needed and was prepared to provide.

He turned to Tommy. “You are going to come over here, or I am going to come get you,” he informed Tommy.

To the credit of Tommy’s survival instincts, his eyes did widen, and he paused for a long moment. And yet… “Fucking try it asshole.”

He took a stumbling step away from the chair ready to play the same game of ring around the rosy with Techno as he’d done with Phil, but Technoblade simply hopped onto the seat and then over the back of it to land in front of him in two swift movements. Tommy went to scramble away, but Techno snagged his arm. The boy came around swinging, but Techno didn’t even have to dodge because it went wide.

Techno swept him off his feet eliciting a squeak of protest somewhere between indignant and in pain. Phil winced, but it got the job done.

Techno easily carried him over to the bed despite him still trying to fight. He set him down and pinned him with one arm over the chest. Techno then looked over at Phil expectantly.

Phil blinked and then was over at the bedside a second later. Tommy was still cursing them out and fighting, but his movements were getting more sluggish by the moment.

Now that he was finally relatively still, it was clear where the blood was coming from since the entire right side of his torso was soaked. Phil reached out and carefully peeled the once white shirt away from it. There was a piece of fabric tied around his waist, covering the wound, though if it had been red before or not could not be decerned.

He was trying to figure out the best way to get that off when a hand with a pair of scissors came into view. Phil looked over to see Wilbur digging through the first aid bag already. There was one stored in the observation room next door and he must have slipped in to grab it without them noticing.

Phil took the scissors and quickly snipped through the fabric to access the wound. He recognized what it was immediately: a stab wound. It wasn’t horribly long, and Phil knew it probably looked worse than it actually was because of the blood considering Tommy was still conscious and had been putting up a fight a moment ago, but it still made him freeze.

Wilbur nudged him out of the way to get a look for himself. “He’s not going to die,” Wilbur reassured Phil after a moment, but then pressed his lips together to peer up at the pinned boy’s face. “Despite his best efforts.”

The boy hissed and seemed to remember that while his upper half was restrained, his legs still worked.

“Little fucker!” Wilbur spat as he jumped away from the foot aiming at his face. “You know, I was going to ask if you wanted to be numbed or put under, but I don’t trust you to keep still.”

“He is biting me now,” Techno notified them blankly. He used his free arm to press his forehead back into the bed.

“I’ll get the needles,” Wilbur said. He pushed Phil again, leading him to take a step back from the bed.

He could hear Tommy saying something to Techno but it turned to a garbled mess in Phil’s ears. His eyes tracked Wilbur as he sifted through the medical bag to find the needles and drugs he needed. Wilbur knew what he was doing around medical stuff far more than Phil or Techno. Learning how to prevent death had been a bit of a special interest to him for decades. He knew plenty about wounds and how to fix them. Techno moved to hold one of Tommy’s arm down and the needle went in.

Wilbur had been scared of needles when he was 7. Things had changed.

It didn’t take long for Tommy’s body to still. Except for the breathing. Still breathing. Wilbur was already back digging in the med bag as Techno stood up straight, no longer needing to keep the boy from struggling.

“Uh… Phil?” Techno asked.

Will’s eyes flashed to Phil, and he paused in his gathering of medical equipment, seeing more than most people ever could. Most of his existence was spent just observing after all. “Techno, get him out of here.”

Techno hesitated. “Don’t you need…”

“I can handle a suture on my own,” Will said. “Bastard’ll be fine. Go.”

A hand fell on Phil’s shoulder and Phil looked up. Techno was taller than him. He’d been right, drinking coffee as a child hadn’t stunted his growth at all. He didn’t quite realize his feet were going anywhere until a door snapped shut behind him.

There was silence.

“Who’d you call?” Techno asked.

“Hmmm?”

“The phone call, Phil. You went to make a phone call earlier.”

“Oh,” Phil said. “Puffy.”

“Wanted to make sure Clinanthium got back alright?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “Yeah, she’d already picked him up.” He and The Captain had been friends back in the day. They were still friends in a way. He’d offered her a place with them again at the end of the phone call and she’d refused once more, but there’d been more hesitation this time. She’d asked about the Red Glider. He guessed he’d lied to her when he’d said he was fine.

“Phil?”

“Why the fuck was he bleeding, Technoblade?”

Techno leaned against the wall and frowned at him. “If you’re asking if it happened here,” he said, “Obviously not. You could see it’d already been sewn up once before. He ripped his stitches. I had eyes on him the whole time and there wasn’t anything that could’ve made them rip, so he must have pulled it before he got here.”

“He changed clothes,” Phil said.

“I didn’t watch him,” Techno explained. “He was wearing red before so none of us saw and then he probably couldn’t bleed enough before getting here to notice. Then he was under the bed covers.”

“But why would he hide it?” Phil asked.

“It’s a weakness,” Techno said without hesitation, as though he knew. As though it made perfect sense really. “He’s probably worried it’ll be used against him.”

And Phil forgot sometimes after having fought back-to-back with him for so many years, after watching how Will could cajole him with puppy dog eyes into letting him play with his hair until he inevitably fell asleep on the delighted man’s lap, after all the times he’d fallen asleep on the couch and didn’t stir when Phil carried him to his room, after all the experiments he patiently let Will do on him with his voice, he forgot that Techno did know. He knew what it was like not to trust people to have so much as basic human decency let alone anything more.

Phil’s mind flashed back to a fifteen-year-old Technoblade who’d broken a glass and sliced his hand to shit when Phil had been away from their hideout. He’d managed to hide it for a week before Phil had finally noticed he’d been using his right hand for things he normally used the left.

It had been a battle of wills that spanned hours to get the boy to show it to him. When he finally had, he’d sat as tense as a bowstring as though he expected Phil to treat the already damaged skin roughly, to hurt him more for fun. It had been infected despite Techno having done his best to keep it clean on his own and he’d had to lance it before sewing it back up and providing antibiotics. It had been a horribly emotionally taxing experience that he had not wanted to repeat ever.

Yet here he was again.

God. Tommy had been shaky and pale and he looked like a child. And he’d leaned against Phil woozy as he’d bled out from a stab wound.

Here he was again.

“Phil,” Techno said, and Phil’s eyes snapped back to him. “Will’s got him, yeah?”

“Right,” Phil said. “Wilbur is in there and patching him up.”

“So, he’ll be fine. What can we do in the meantime for when that’s done?”

Phil thought. “He’ll need clean sheets and clothes,” he said, “maybe more blankets since he might be cold while recovering, and we’ll need cleaning supplies for the floor and furniture. He’ll need a lot of fluids and he wasn’t able to eat most of the macaroni and cheese, so maybe broth or soup?”

“Blankets, bleach, and broth,” Techno said. “Sounds doable.”

“Alliteration?” Phil asked mildly.

“It makes it easier to remember,” he claimed.

“Or the Blade’s just a poetry nerd,” he teased lightly.

Techno bumped shoulders with him. “Shut it old man. What are you? 75?”

“Something like that,” Phil said, rolling his eyes.

Wilbur was humming when they returned, which in one way was not a surprise because the boy could rarely manage to shut up with or without using his powers. But also, this was the kid he supposedly wanted to drown in a lake he was humming an achingly soft tune to. He was already long done with the stiches judging by the fact that he’d started an IV drip and cleaned up the medical supplies he’d used. Now he was just seated on one of the chairs, one leg tucked under him and humming a song that reverberated through the room like windchimes in the breeze.

“What?” he asked, cutting off the song when he noticed Techno was staring at him.

“Going soft, Will?”

“Fuck off, it’s for medical purposes.” Techno continued to look at him and he bristled. “I don’t have to like him to not want him to die.”

“Is he at risk of dying?” Techno asked. “That doesn’t look like a blood transfusion.”

“He doesn’t need a blood transfusion. He hadn’t lost enough blood to be anything other than woozy.” He did not answer the actual question, Phil noted. “I see you brought a change of bed sheets. We should probably change them.”

Will had already taken the ruined white shirt off of him and used a rag to clean off the worst of the blood on his skin before moving him to the least blood-soaked part of the bed. They went ahead and changed him into a new set of clothing, and then Phil held him while the other two changed the bedsheets.

“He’s very light,” Phil said with a frown. He knew he had superstrength, but that just meant he was more used to carrying healthy, full-grown adults than most people.

“Oh, no, here we go,” said Technoblade under his breath.

Wilbur reached over and smacked him upside the head without even looking. “You were malnourished.”

“He would put butter in my coffee.”

“I like butter in coffee,” Will said.

“If I was going to let you put coffee in your six-year-old body, you were at least going to get some nutritional benefit from it,” Phil said.

“You are both horrible people for different reasons,” Techno replied. “You can put him down now.”

Phil looked down at the boy’s sleeping face and squeezed him lightly.

“…Phil?”

Phil settled him down onto the clean sheets and reached out to carefully move a strand of hair out of his face.

“He’s not as fucking annoying when he’s asleep,” Wilbur commented, sounding royally pissed about this fact.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” Techno mumbled and got a glare in return.

“I should have drowned you in the bathtub the day Father brought you home.”

“Because I’m sure that would have worked out for you,” Techno drawled.

“…Do you want to go Blade?”

“No,” Phil said.

“I could take him, Phil,” Wilbur claimed.

“Since when?”

“You fuckers destroyed my shed last time. No.”

Author Note: Inconsistencies in the timeline? Nah, we call that plot seasoning. ;)

[larkreadsop]

//SPOILERS FOR 1083//

1 - The ✨ parallels ✨ between that cover of Doflamingo, Crocodile and the pug..., Oda be like I can excuse mass murders and dictatorship, but I draw the line at animal cruelty.,

2 - I relate to fujitora on a personal level, because if I had the possibility to blew up the whole place over every single inconvenience, damn right I'd use it 😭. Aramaki's gonna reconsider his life choices atp, man's got disrespect and stressed right and left since he had been introduced.

3 - Actually wondering why Oda brought back the whole CP9. Don't get me wrong, I love them and I'm happy they're here, but for a bunch of high treason criminals, they sure got rehabilitated easily. And spandam better run. Even if they got a massive powerup, well..., Lucci was supposed to be their strongest member and all, we saw the result against Luffy post timeskip.

Just a weird feeling that they, and Blueno in peculiar considering his door-door fruit, may have something to do with cobra's faith.

4 - Everyone hates the celestial dragons, but taking advantage of the presence of civilians to block your adversaries in fight isn't cool on the principle. And that's ok, but low-key looks like Akainu's justice lmfao 💀 the whole I don't care what happens or how I reach my ultimate goal, for one the annihilation of criminals, and the other freedom. Furthermore, we waited 25 years for RA to move, and their first big action is a literal war declaration 😭 monkey d. family just has to be extra.

5 - out of topic number 19900, but Vivi confronting Lucci's ass is such a great character development, go girl.

(thanks for copying with my crap ❤️)

nooo, I love hearing what people think of the chapters!

Fujitora's always been pretty big on doing his own thing and not really caring about what anyone tells him so I'm not surprised he thought the best way to deal with the situation was to just call down some meteors but somehow he keeps getting away with it...

I've been waiting since 2015 for an explanation as to how we got from the CP9 cover story to here and now I'm even more curious since they're all involved and I feel like knowing how that happened would make their motivations a lot clearer (though maybe that's why we haven't found out yet...) so I still hope we get some answers to that somewhere along the line!

There's this one screenshot of Sengoku during Marineford saying something like 'Garp! It's your damn family again!' and that's literally what this arc is because Garp, Dragon and Luffy are all wreaking havoc in different ways at different places simultaneously.

Oh you know Lucci hates the fact that he's somehow been given guard duty, especially considering what Vivi's like and that the last thing she's ever going to do is listen to him or follow his orders so he's not having a good time right now!!

[just-some-guy-joust]

if it's not too much of a hassle, i was one of the ones who submitted mike walters. i know he's probably going to get crushed BUT i would also like the whole world to know that i have thoughts about him. also i'm wondering whether i successfully edited my response or not because it was getting late

my ramble was the result of me basically just screaming into a form for 2 hours and signed off by "a way too obsessed w.bg fan" and has heavy spoilers in strange ways so you can tell that it's high quality

o7 here is your mental illness on display for all to see king (or whatever title you are most comfortable with). this is one of the longest submissions i got so ive put some of it under the cut

alright so i’m talking about the character mike walters (aka mikey, not latvia mike) but also simultaneously the breed mike walters because i’ll eventually dip into other iterations of him and y’know some people argue that they’re all the same guy so i’ll use that argument to talk about the alaska mikeys and by extension the compound mikeys and mw maybe (more on that later)! like they all are technically the same guy so…

so WOE.BEGONE is (spoiler alert) about time travel! but the time travel is strange and sometimes it’s a closed loop and sometimes it isn’t and it works on intention but only sometimes and only some people kinda know how to manipulate that? it’s weird

sometimes time travel inevitability is used as a comfort (mike thinking that he “wins” WOE.BEGONE in the end because a time traveling version of himself saved past him during matt’s murder, a compound mikey thinking that he’ll escape because there’s a mikey on the outside) but when it is, it’s usually revealed as a false hope (mike did save himself but it was DEFINITELY not in his control, the compound mikey is killed). so i’d argue that gives points just because i have feelings about it and it proves that no one’s safe from their destiny and that their destiny is never good. never ever ever. the main character? the guy i’m nominating. his boyfriend/husband/murder target? destined to die in 8 years no matter what it is not negotiable (well it is but only when he’s killed off to cement a constrike and push mike into misery). the guy that just yanked the timeline out of orbit twice and ruined-but-not-really everyone’s lives? well he’s doomed too because he’s not the protagonist of his era so you know that he’ll be toppled. mike (or i guess michael?)’s second boyfriend? doomed as shit. all pulled toward an inevitable destiny and they may fight but what’re you going to do? also that destiny is uncertain usually but victories are fleeting and everything can and will be ripped away in a heartbeat because that’s time travel baby!

i don’t know where i was going with that so i’m pivoting

so from the very beginning he is doomed (or he thinks) because he’s literally doomed to be killed by his friend who brought him back to life to kill him? it’s weird. that is undone for…. some reason? but i theorize that it’s because of his more doomed-ness past the 20s! because he is stupid. an absolute buffoon. he makes clever plans but he’s not clever enough to wrap up loose ends and he gets away with it somehow. plot armor? no. he’s being kept alive by someone who hates his guts with a burning passion because he’s important. and if he knew his fate, he would want to die immediately to get out of it. so he is sheparded to an unknown doom, necessary for the plot to advance, and once he’s used oh yeah he’s definitely going to be killed. i mean he was was killed, his hater killed him in a way that essentially wraps up loose ends and makes him not pop up again like a lil weasel, but that was because his use was done.

speaking of using mike walters: compound mikeys!! they are so doomed my god. there are an unfathomable amount of mikeys (and mikes and michaels) in the compound and they are all trapped forever and slowly killed off in terrible horrible experiments of them and their loved ones. and only one can escape. only one. there is one mikey and one (latvia) mike and one michael (kinda but it’s not related) outside the compound and living their lives and that’s how it’ll always be. there is time travel involved so if they ever truly flawlessly escape they’d be included in the ragtag team but they aren’t. their absence means that they are doomed. only one can escape i am very emotional about this. going back to the compound mikey that held hope because there was a mikey outside: at his execution he was told that it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t escape because one of him would live on outside. only one of him is needed, so only one of him is even allowed to survive. he is disposable and is disposed and this can never changed because of the iron grip the compound has and because it’d be way too confusing to have so many free mikeys to keep track of and a huge escape of mikeys would make everything too low stakes? so bam narrative dooming right there

okay and also mw ok. first of all he is so cool he’s the best he is like 30 people in one and he’s so chill and a cowboy and incredibly sad and i love him ok so he should get extra points for that in my personal opinion. he is a prime example because he is the result of doom.

so context: there were like two mikeys at one point, one for his super secret time travel work and one for his official government time travel work. and the official government worker (called OVER mike) is just chilling hanging out with his boyfriend not really in the line of fire, but he is often called to do base’s (the super secret time travel organization that definitely isn’t just mike’s friendgroup) dirty work despite not really doing anything with base otherwise. no real communication other than just “do this thank you”. so eventually OVER mike and his bf get fed up and are like “y’know what why don’t we just leave? huh?” and they go off to wherever their little hearts desire… BUT there still needs to be an OVER mike because otherwise they’ll be dragged back to work and be surveilled. so they decide to make copies of themselves and leave those copies to do their work. but guess what??? turns out those copies are still the same people, so they also want to leave, so they do the same thing!! and then whuh oh there are now like 30 mikeys running around across the globe (or maybe just america i don’t remember). eventually there comes an iteration that realizes “hey maybe doing this again won’t work because it hasn’t worked the past 30 times” so they just give up and go back home and plot a scheme to ruin base forever so they can have a vacation. and so the many mikeys and edgars (their bfs) run around slowly getting killed off by a mysterious force. but y’know…. who knows what they could do. and they used technology that records its use so they can be easily tracked. so base tracks them all down and, instead of killing them, decides to fuse them into a supermikey and superedgar for like info purposes and guilt purposes and that supermikey was mw.

so that’s mw. he is proof that you can’t have nice things. OVER mike runs toward freedom, toward hope, toward everything he threw away the moment he called his ex about his bff’s death. he’s suffered so much at the hands of himself, others, and some people in between that. he’s a puppet in a show starring one of his former best (?) friends, kept alive until his best by date, worked against by… uh, him, but not him, “pulled over the threshold by inevitability” to kill his former best (?) friend (if i have time i WILL talk about that too i swear), walked into closed death/pain loops a million times (fated to die, fated to get shot because “i’m the bear”, fated to die in the place he could’ve loved most [after he was KEPT IN OTHER VERSION OF HIMSELF’S HOUSE LIKE A DOG FOR LIKE A MONTH?? WHAT MIKEY DIDJA EVEN GIVE HIM WALKS I BET YOU DIDN’T] because he was found dead in a cabin weeks earlier, fated to ruin his relationship with his former best (?) friend [wow i was not expecting to talk about hunter this much], fated to… well you get the point), killed his boyfriend/husband/murder target many times, never on purpose or while knowing the full truth, and so much more. also may i reference the infinite mikeys in the compound literally created to be tortured. all in all being mike walters sucks and i agree with his decision to just dip. but he can’t do that. he’s mike walters. he can’t just leave. it doesn’t matter that he’s doing nothing. it doesn’t matter that ultimately base didn’t need to drag him back because he wasn’t involved in all the chaos that happened after his disappearances. he is important and must be put in his rightful place in an ego way and a narrative way. he just wants to go and live in peace but is forcibly dragged back into the life he so despises and is subjected to something that changes who he is and fuses all his memories together in a disorienting haze. and the fact that he’s all of those escaped mikeys combined just makes it all hurt more. he knows everything he could’ve had. he knows those sweet few moments of fresh air and the first glance at an endless future and the euphoria of a life free of the torment brought upon him by his choices and unknown forces alike and he knows all of this 30 times over. and he knows the panic at another mikey’s voice and the anger at losing another race and the feeling of utter hopelessness at the knowledge of what may have been and he knows these, too, 30 times over. and he smiles and laughs and carries these close to his heart because he struggles through life in a way that is impossible to escape from and perhaps the best way to escape the sorrow and the fury and the heartbreak and the pain pain pain is to stop trying. stop trying to escape. stop swimming upstream, stop breaking the norms. because you will be put into your place by forces beyond your control because of reasons you do not understand and maybe it’s better to give up than to fight the narrative itself.

im love him okay…

i wanted to talk more about alaska mikeys and the fact that mike(s) walters is completely dead like actually now and MICHAEL and also latvia mike and many specific events in the podcast but it’s late and i’d need days to go through everything so. rant over

please listen to WOE.BEGONE even though you’ve been heavily spoiled. it’s a podcast and very very good (though also violent). you can tell i have many emotions about it. sorry if this is incomprehensible

- a way too obsessed w.bg fan

[landhoe-norris]

✿ goldenboygate master list ✿

ongoing - completed

personal favorite = ✿

Black Velvet ✿ - carlando - 47,9k - rating: 18+

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Impractical Magic ✿ - carlando - 25,9k - rating: 18+

Charles and Lando were born into a family where falling in love means you end up dead. They take different paths in life, Charles wanting nothing more in life than to feel the exhilaration love brings, and Lando too afraid to ever put himself out there. When Charles gets into trouble with one of his boyfriends, Lando must figure out how to help him while trying his best not to fall in love with the one man who can take his life apart, Detective Carlos Sainz.

i've tried my best to let go (but i don't want to) ✿ - carlando, charlos sr - 38,5k - rating: 18+

After an unexpected heat during his vacation, newly crowned champion Charles is left in a sticky situation with his teammate, his teammate's dad, and his teammate's boyfriend. Can they get out on the other side unscathed, or are they all bound to break apart?

The Sins of the Father ✿ - carlando - 12k - rating: 18+

Lando and Carlos are detectives that work together. Carlos is in a happy relationship, while Lando has a problem with settling down and spends his free time fucking around (and sometimes finding out). Lando has emotional problems after his mother was murdered and his father had a mental breakdown resulting in him moving out of the country and leaving Lando with his former police partner and his wife. His mom's murder has never been solved, and when new evidence is brought up, Lando goes against everyone and everything he knows is right, to make sure that he can avenge her.

Not so close anymore, eh? - carlando - 18,3k - rating: 18+

Based on real moments during race weekends.

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life after you - carlando - 28,4k - rating: 18+

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all you have to do (stay) ✿ - carlando - 8,4k - rating: 18+

Lando doesn't quite know how it had evolved to this, how he had become the grid's trophy or consolation prize in some instances. All he knows is that it fills a void, gives him purpose, and makes him feel wanted. He loves taking care of them. But who's taking care of Lando?

worship me beneath the sheets - multi - 2,6k - rating: 18+

Best friends Daniel and Max meet strangers Charles and Lando at a club and take them back to their hotel.

the night belongs to lovers - multi - 3,5k - rating: 18+

the twitch quartet celebrate in australia

hanging by a moment (here with you) - multi - 3,8k - rating: 18+

Lando gets taken apart by Max and Charles, but in the end, only Carlos can make him experience pure ecstasy.

he's not you but he'll have to do - carlando sr - 2,5k - rating: 18+

Lando wants Carlos and might even need him. But Carlos is in a relationship and has no interest in Lando. Carlos Sr is the next best thing

summer sweat - carlando - 1,5k - rating: 18+

Carlos spends a hot summer day with Lando and his family, and Lando has some plans.

brighter side (i'll find you there) - carlando - 1,7k - rating: K

Lando reminisces on his life with Carlos

Good For You (I Just Wanna Be) - carlando - 2k - rating: 18+

Carlos didn't expect this - to fall for his 19-year-old teammate. He also didn't expect his 19-year-old teammate to want to top him. And the last thing he expected was for Lando's dick to be this big. But Carlos isn't complaining.

lando and carlos and carlos and carlos ✿ - multi - 5,8k - rating: 18+

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the adventures of omega princess lando and his good boy, alpha carlos sainz jr - carlando - 19,5k - rating: 18+

Lando is an Omega princess, and Carlos is his Alpha bodyguard. Chaos.

papa carlos and his pillow princess ✿ - charlos sr - 10,2k - rating: 18+

a series on charles and papa sainz

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Also, I'm feeling a lot of Big Things™ after that episode, and so I'm just gonna write em down to get them out of my system. Under the cut as not to drive anyone insane.

The Good:

I love that Daniel was a manifestation of Buck's own insecurities. I thought they did it really cleverly, Margaret calling Daniel 'needy' and having everyone question his place all the time was Buck's own experience projected on another person. He, in turn, took the role of what I assume he thought how they would treat Daniel and how much they loved him.

DAD!BOBBY DAD!BOBBY DAD!BOBBY

The fact that they confirmed this that Bobby brought 'one child' into he and Athena's marriage had me SCREAMING and I LOVED Athena's scene with Buck and her ordering. Angela Basset you are such a legend

Chris telling Buck he needed to come back from wherever he is with Eddie crying in the background? 10/10, no splash, no notes, can you hear the shrieks from my grave

Chimney almost immediately believing Buck - I literally have no qualms with this because of COURSE

Hen being her true icon self no matter the reality, I love that Buck's subconsciousness was like 'nope, she can't be changed, she is perfect'

I loved the 'I'm feel really guilty about that' towards leaving Chris - same Buck same

Self-love: I love that he came back for himself, not because he needed to give pieces of himself away, but because he recognized that a messy, loving world is better than any fake perfection he could dream of

The Weird:

I'm sorry but drugged!Bobby was so strange to me. The way I'm making it make sense to me is that it's what someone who doesn't really know what an addict looks like and made up a cartoonish version of addition in their head. With the pills and the alcohol and the weird hoodie... Reminds me of those weird D.A.R.E. productions at school where they're like 'this is a Fire Captain! And this is a Fire Captain ON DRUGS' *ominous music here

The Bad:

I feel like two people had their hands on the script here: Someone who wants Buddie and someone who doesn't. And that's not to say any ill-intention, but I felt like there were very separated threads going on. Between Eddie being his first 'memory' to the second being the tsunami with Chris, it was like they were setting up the thread at which Eddie and Chris tether his life. And instead an overabundance of Buckley parent redemption? It was like 2 thoughts were going on simultaneously that I didn't quite understand. Look - I understand if Buddie doesn't happen, despite the writers having the making of an honest to god epic queer romance on a mainstream show (scream), but it felt so out of step with itself

As for the Buckleys... listen, I am all for forgiving people and learning to grow with them, but also I think it could be SO powerful to have a storyline when you realize that is not an option. That the healthier pick would be to say no, move on, and grow for the better without toxic people in your life. THAT is powerful to me. Eddie's story with his dad was so beautiful and organic and it makes sense for them. The Buckleys? I felt like the person in the theater shouting "GET OUT OF THAT HOUSE" to Buck because he's about to be pretty girl murdered by his fake family.

I feel like giving a popular character the capacity to be 'I forgive you, but your role in my life isn't necessary because I've outgrown you' is such a powerful statement and could genuinely help so many people in toxic situations. Giving them the strength to see someone realize their own worth, set boundaries, and be okay with that change. I'm going to take the Buddie of it all out of the equation to prevent any comments about 'shipper goggles,' and simply say sometimes walking away is powerful and enough.'

[casspurrjoybell-32]

Taken - Blue Moon Series - Chapter 16c

*Warning Adult Content*

Prince Gale Dartanyanoff

Now more than two hundred years later.

He had grown up from the wild bloodthirsty monster that he used to be into a being that enjoyed what he had and lived life to the fullest.

Even when Raina who was murdered by hunters a few years ago died, he stayed by his families side.

He may not have cared for the woman but his father and brother had taken it hard.

Her loss affected them so much that all he could do was watch the destructive paths and isolation they chose to follow.

Nicholas who used to be full of so much curiosity and smiles was an empty shell of himself.

And his father had been strict before had gripped the reins tighter on his rules.

He had zero tolerance for disobedience but he did let his sons slide from time to time.

Just watching them made Gale realize how important the people around you were.

Now he had two mates.

He would die if he were to ever lose them.

Now there was no denying that he wanted to mate with them.

He had hesitantly fed from Cyrus and it was amazing.

He knew that he could take Gale.

His blood was so tangy and sharp.

It shot a boost of adrenaline in him just from the taste.

Lakota, on the other hand, was no longer a wolf, he was a human now.

His past had been filled with countless human bodies that he had drained dry.

His hunger was still unstable after all these years.

Even after all his father's lessons, it was hard to break such an instinctual habit he had since childhood.

Lakota was vulnerable, more so now, then before and he still was wary of hurting him then.

The smell of Lakota was enticing and it took everything in him to keep himself at bay.

Lakota Bateman

"This is why I don't want to feed from you Lakota. I can be a monster and lose all self if I enjoy it too much. Just the thought of tasting you makes me shake with excitement and it scares the crap out of me," he finally finished, his eyes cast down.

Wow... I hadn't expected his past to be so hard.

It brought tears to my eyes.

I knew what it was like to try and survive every day with what you had.

I glanced over to Cyrus who I could tell was seeing Gale in a new light.

"I accept all of you Gale," I said moving to my hands and knees and crawling to him.

Placing myself in his lap I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close.

"You've accepted everything that is me, how could I not accept everything that is you."

Burying my fingers in his thick hair I held him tighter.

"I'm yours, Gale. I'm both yours to do with however you want," I whispered.

"You guys could chain me up in the cellar and I know for sure that all I would care about is seeing you coming through that door every time you decided to see me."

"Lakota," both exclaimed in disbelief and disgust at the thought and I smiled.

"All I'm saying is that I'm yours forever no matter what. If your survival meant losing mine for you to live? I'd gladly give my life for both of you."

"So drink from me Gale because I want you too. And if you happen to lose control, just know what I said. My life is yours to do with what you want."

Finally, I left the grip I had on his hair and leaned back to see his face.

"Dammit, Lakot," he whispered.

Tears were streaming down his face as he and he pulled me back so he could hide again.

Cyrus finally moved closer and leaned his back against us hiding his face too.

I laughed softly my throat tightening in the process.

"You guys are just a bunch of crybabies," I strained out as my own vision became a blurry mess.

"You're one to talk," they sobbed simultaneously.