#In which case we’ve come full circle

[extraemopossum]

Aroace sonic supremacy

[once-upon-the-earth]

Look I think I said it before somewhere but I need to talk about it again.

Aziraphale (in the show - his characterization differs in the book and I’m talking about show Aziraphale here) is a soft character. He started out as a soldier and he made the conscious decision to give the sword away to someone who would use it for protection, instead of keeping it to fight (leaving out the whole thing about War owning it later on cause that’s a different topic and definitely wasn’t what Aziraphale had in mind when giving away the sword). He also makes a conscious decision to look and act as non-threatening as possible, instead deciding to look soft and huggable and gay as hell a tree full of monkeys on nitrogen oxide. We don’t see him fighting anybody even when he gets the sword back - he just holds it and swings it around a little, he doesn’t even lift it when they face Satan (I think. I’d have to go back and watch again but I’m fairly sure he just stands in the background behind Adam with the tip of the sword facing the ground).

We know, or at least suspect from the scene where he fixes the hole in the wall that he’s physically strong and we know he’s still technically a soldier in Heavens eyes (Gabriel going „you’re a lean mean fighting machine“ and him having and possibly leading a platoon in Heaven) but he fully rejects that position in episode five to go back to Earth. He doesn’t want to be a soldier at all. He’s still a protector, we see this in season two with Jimbriel (he literally says „I said I would protect you and I will), but even THEN he doesn’t physically fight the demons entering the bookshop (he lights the circle but it’s Maggie and Nina throwing fire extinguishers and encyclopedias).

I know we as the fandom love badass Aziraphale. I love badass Aziraphale as well. I take a little bit of an issue with how him actually being badass is portrayed in fanfic sometimes because a lot of trying to make him physically fight demons comes across as trying to make him more masculine, more fit, less the campy, soft, kind character that he is and it annoys me. (A part of that is also how people try to make him more like Crowley, which I don’t like the undertones of either but that’s a whole different topic.) Both because I don’t like the implication that to make him badass you have to change that part of his character and because we’ve seen him being badass in the show already and it was either a) trying to protect humans/Crowley/Jimbriel, which involved a lot more threatening that him actually throwing hands or on one occasion b) him being bitchy (Furfur pronouncing his name wrong). It was him being kind and caring about people and their lives! And possibly their reading skills.

And I know there’s a lot of hope for more badass Aziraphale in season three, because hell yeah, Heaven getting obliterated from the inside? Absolutely. But when we get to see BAMF Aziraphale in season three (because I don’t doubt we will, in some form or other) I’d much rather see him be badass by outsmarting Heaven (magic tricks anybody?) and getting away with it or threatening the Metatron or whatever than by punching somebody in the face. And IF he does have to use physical violence, then I want there to be a reason for it and I want it to be portrayed as a bad thing. Like I want I to be the absolutely lowest point of the character because we know how much he detests doing it and he hates having to do it anyways.

In that case also want it to end with the Metatron dead in a ditch.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 23 | S.R

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A/N - the last part of this chapter is mostly taken from the first chapter with some additions. We’ve come full circle now! Things speed up a little now. Summary - Luke and the rest of the BAU make strides in their investigation. Meanwhile, Spencer’s paranoia reaches fever pitch and he makes a decision for your future which could lead to your inevitable capture.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - paranoid Spencer, mentions of past child abuse, pregnancy, Spencer giving up, swearing, guns, explosions.

WC - 5.3k

Chapter 23 - Catch Me if You Can

It was two weeks after arriving home from New York that things started to fall into place. 

Luke had convinced Emily to sign off on the request for extra security footage from Caesars Palace which had enabled him to track Spencer leaving the hotel room and into the parking garage which gave him a car licence plate of a Chevy Impala for which they’d had an APB out on ever since.

Luke had also discovered, through trawling police databases, two more bodies with similar MO’s to Green, Smith and Carlisle. Again it didn’t mean they were connected but it was certainly a pattern. Mary Dalton’s body had still not been found. 

But the strangest part had happened this morning when Luke walked into the round table room to find the rest of the team already there, a photograph of a middle aged man on the big screen and case files littering the table. 

JJ, Garcia, Emily and Rossi exchanged looks and seemed to be communicating between themselves without the use of words while Matt, Tara and now Luke himself looked on like the outsiders. 

“Uh, what’s going on?” Luke sidled up to a free chair but didn’t sit down, instead he gripped the back of it while his eyes flicked between the four veteran agents. 

“This man went missing two weeks ago. He left work on a Friday and was never seen again.” Emily pointed at the screen, her tone was a combination of frustration and dread. 

“Until this morning.” Rossi added. “Some campers stumbled upon his body in the Mojave National Preserve in California.” 

“He was stabbed forty three times.” JJ added, her brows pinched together. 

“Do we have other bodies matching the MO? Surely we haven’t been called in for a single homicide?” Luke frowned, still looking between the four of them. 

“We haven’t been called in at all.” Emily spoke again. 

“Ok, someone needs to fill us in because there is clearly something you guys aren’t saying.” Tara vocalised before Luke had a chance. 

Again the four of them exchanged looks, clearly trying to discern who would be the one to speak. Luke’s grip on the chair tightened, he knew whatever they said wasn’t going to be good. 

“It’s less about the what and more about the who.” Rossi ran his hand over his greying facial hair. 

Luke, Tara and Matt remained silent. 

“This,” Emily pointed at the screen again. “This is William Reid.” 

Luke’s eyes bulged a little, focusing on the photograph of the older man. There was something familiar about him, something in the eyes that Luke recognised distantly. And now he knew why. 

“William Reid.” He croaked, his mouth suddenly dry. “As in…?”

“Spencer’s father.” Emily nodded. 

“You think Reid killed his own dad?” Matt shook his head. “No, I don’t buy that.” 

“William went missing the weekend Spencer and Y/N were in Nevada.” Garcia rolled her lip between her teeth. 

“That has to be a coincidence. Why would he kill his father?” Tara sounded just as disbelieving as Matt. 

Luke stayed silent, unable to form any words that would be helpful in this situation. JJ let out a shaky breath, stepping slightly closer to the table. Her eyes were downturned, she looked to be fighting some kind of internal battle. 

“God I’d hoped I’d never have to repeat this.” She sniffed. “Years ago he confided in me. His father…he, uh, he sexually abused Spence. Probably other kids too. He told me once while he was high and I’m not even sure he remembers telling me. But I never forgot.”  

Luke, Tara and Matt turned to her with wide eyes and slack jaws. Judging by the lack of surprise on the faces of the other agents, she’d already imparted this piece of information on them. 

“Seriously?” Matt’s eyebrows were knitted deeply together. 

“Yeah, I wish it wasn’t true, trust me.” JJ swallowed, pouting her bottom lip. 

“Does this get us any closer to finding them?” Luke tried to stay on track and not get dragged into thoughts of a young Spencer suffering at the hands of his father. 

“This doesn't, no.” Emily shook her head. Luke sensed there was more. 

“But…?” He goaded someone to speak. 

“Garcia has finally found where they brought the Impala. It was a small used car lot in Cedar Rapids. Reid used a licence with the name Samuel Truman which we have attributed to multiple motel check ins across the country.” Rossi spoke. 

“It’s not yet pointed to where they are, but we’re getting closer.” Garcia looked at him with the most kindness she’d ever directed towards him. “We will find them, Alvez.” 

Luke felt a pit forming in his stomach. This was the closest they’d been to finding you and Spencer and he should be positive. But he had a sinking feeling that no matter how many leads they found it would never be enough. 

Maybe he’d never be able to free you from Spencer and it probably made him a fool for still trying. But he had to try and stay focused, and had to believe their break in the case would come. If he succumbed to the negative thoughts that were trying to consume him, he may never make it back. 

And he had to do this for you. 

***

Spencer had been on edge since you’d been to Vegas. His paranoia was getting the better of him, eating him away from the inside out. 

He was absolutely certain the BAU were involved in Jesse’s reappearance and he’d spent the last few weeks trying to piece together all the ways this could blow up in both of your faces. 

He kept detailed lists of all the ways the BAU could find you, any innocuous piece of information which could give you away. He barely left the house and when he did he was constantly looking over his shoulder. The Impala had been parked in the garage since Vegas in case it could be used to track the two of you down. 

He’d been anxious to say the least. He jumped when he heard the mailman, dashed to the window every time a car drove by the house. He wasn’t sleeping, nowhere near as much as he should anyway. You were starting to worry that he was devolving. And it hit a fever pitch nearly three weeks after your return from Vegas. 

You’d grown used to being alone in bed when you woke in the morning, usually finding Spencer in the living room staring at the front door with the SIG in his hand. This morning the living room was empty, as was the kitchen. And then you noticed the garage door was open. 

Padding inside in confusion, you found him slinging a suitcase into the trunk of the Impala. You folded your arms over your chest, a frown embedded deep in your forehead as you watched him close the trunk and turn to face you. 

“Oh good you’re awake.” He nodded at you, seemingly ignoring your confusion. “Get dressed, we need to leave.” 

“Leave? Where are we going?” Your frown only deepened.

“I have no idea. But we have to go. The BAU will find us if we stay still for too long.” He picked another bag up off the ground and opened the back door of the car before tossing it in the back seat. 

“So you’re proposing we just keep moving? We’re never going to settle down somewhere?” 

“Not for the time being, no. Once we’ve got them off our backs we’ll make a long term plan. Once they aren’t on our tails we can look into fleeing the country. But right now we have to keep moving, yes.” He spoke as though his words were making perfect sense.

“Spencer, we don’t even know that they are on our backs. You’re being paranoid.” You unfolded your arms and tried to reason with him. 

“I’m not taking any risks.” He shook his head. “They could come storming into this house at any minute. We’re sitting ducks, Y/N. I’m not making it that easy on them. So get dressed so we can leave.” 

The last thing you wanted was to constantly be on the run, bouncing from city to city and never being able to put down roots. But of course with the things the two of you had done that was never going to be a realistic path. 

You didn’t really think the BAU were onto you but there was a small possibility Spencer was right and running would be safer than the alternative. So instead of arguing, you simply nodded before turning on your heels and heading back inside the house to dress. 

Half an hour later the two of you were in the car and heading east, no real destination in mind. You were gone like the wind. 

***

Penelope tottered as fast as humanly possible towards the round table room, huffing and puffing and making little squeaking sounds under her breath. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor in the bullpen as she hurriedly made her way through the desks.

It had been a week since the discovery of William Reid’s body and nearly three weeks since she’d put the APB out on the Chevy Impala. This morning she’d gotten a hit on the APB from a speed camera on the I-95 as the vehicle headed east from

California. The team had been working all morning on trying to ascertain where you and Spencer might be headed. 

But Garcia had found the smoking gun. 

She quickened her pace up the stairs and along the corridor, bursting into the room at the end and desperately trying to catch her breath while the rest of the team turned to look at her. She fought to calm her breathing, still making strange noises and her hands were shaking. 

“Garcia,” Emily spoke somewhat sternly. “What’s going on?” 

“The thing…” Garcia panted, waving her hand in the air. “I found the thing.” 

“What thing?” Tara frowned at the blonde. 

“The thing. The thing we’ve been waiting for.” She took a few deep breaths, leaning against the door frame. “I know where Spencer and Y/N are.” 

Six sets of eyes widened on her as she tried to calm her erratic breathing so she could fill them in on her findings. Luke slowly rose to his feet and moved closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. 

“You found them?” He forced her to look at him and she nodded frantically. 

“The car…” she began between heavy pants. “Was seen just outside of Phoenix. And Samuel Truman just checked into a motel in Cave Creek which is like…thirty miles north of Phoenix. They’re in Arizona.” 

Luke’s arms fell back to his sides and he stumbled a little on his feet. He’d been waiting for this day but he’d never truly believed it would come. He glanced back at the rest of his team who were all slowly getting to their feet. 

“We found them.” Luke croaked, still sounded unbelieving of his own words.

“Well done Garcia.” Emily smiled at the tech analyst, before turning to address the rest of her team. “Wheels up. And not in twenty, now. Spencer Reid killed his father and Mary Dalton, probably more. We find him, we most likely find the murder weapon and we can build a case from there.”

“What’s going to happen to Y/N? She’s technically an accomplice, right?” Luke looked and sounded downtrodden.

“I don’t know, Alvez.” Emily shrugged. “But right now our focus is Reid. We can worry about what will happen to Y/N later.” 

With that Emily fled the room, the team following behind until Luke was left alone. It was easy enough for her to say they’d worry about you later but he hadn’t stopped worrying about you since the day you’d left the BAU. 

But he knew capturing Spencer was the main priority. And once they did Luke would continue on his mission of protecting you to the bitter end. 

***

You stood in the grimy bathroom of a seedy bar just down the road from the motel you’d stopped at on the outskirts of Cave Creek. You stared down at the item resting on the side of the sink through teary eyes. 

Since Vegas you’d been focused solely on Spencer and his devolution, you’d been so preoccupied you’d completely forgotten the thought Jesse had put in your head. 

It wasn’t until earlier that day when Spencer had stopped for gas and you’d found yourself in the bathroom on your knees with your head in the toilet bowl that it all came flooding back. While Spencer had been busy filling up the car you quickly purchased the test and stuffed it inside your purse. 

Now you were standing over the sink staring at the positive pregnancy test. 

It hadn’t even occurred to you to take the test at the motel. You’d stayed only long enough to drop your bags and then you told Spencer you needed some air before you found the closest building with a bathroom. 

You’d already been fairly certain of what the outcome of the test would be and you needed time to gather your thoughts and feelings before you told

Spencer the news. 

How the hell was this going to work? Spencer planned to pull out every trick in the book to stay one step ahead of the BAU no matter the cost. The two of you would be on the run for the rest of your lives, how could you possibly bring a child into that life? 

You knew he deserved to know, it was his child after all. But how was this going to factor into his escape plans? How would you and this baby fit into this? It was one thing for him to be bringing you along on this but a child certainly wasn’t part of his idea. 

You picked up the test as your tears overflowed. What did this mean for your future? If you even had one. 

***

Spencer stared at his reflection in the mirror, knowing it was only a matter of time. He’d told you he planned to run, and continue doing so until the heat died down but he’d been lying to you, something he’d promised never to do again.

But the truth was Spencer hadn’t fled California in the hopes of out running the BAU, he’d been purposefully trying to draw them out. 

He knew they would have figured out what car he was driving and would have a bulletin out on it. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the Impala was caught on camera and the BAU were alerted. He also knew they would have found where he brought the car which was why he’d checked into this motel under the same name he’d purchased the car. 

The fact of the matter was, Spencer was too tired to keep this up any longer. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life on the run. He’d accepted his fate, he just hoped you would understand. Although he didn’t intend to be around to find out one way or another. 

If he’d told you his true intentions there was no way you would have agreed to flea Twentynine Palms. He hadn’t wanted to lie to you again but this was for the best. As long as you were smart enough to talk your way out of everything, to put all the blame on his shoulders so you could get out of this and go onto live your life then that’s all that mattered. 

Spencer Reid wasn’t afraid of death. 

He wasn’t going to allow the BAU to arrest him, certainly not. But he knew you’d never willingly leave his side and so this was the only way he could think to get you away from him.

It was his way of protecting you. He knew you’d follow him to the ends of the earth and it just wasn’t fair on you. This was his only option to save you. 

It would only be a matter of time before the BAU had this place surrounded, he imagined they were probably already on their way here now. He just had to bide his time now. It was simply a waiting game. 

Come on guys, I’m making it real easy on you. Catch me if you can. 

***

The minute the jet came to a stop on the tarmac, six bodies were already standing and heading to the doors. Two SUV’s awaited them along with a few local cop cars. 

Emily was quick to dish out the Kevlar vests which they all hurriedly secured before splitting into two teams: Luke, Tara and JJ taking one car and Emily, Rossi and Matt having the other. Before her team could jump in the vehicles she gathered them around. 

“It is imperative we tread lightly here.” She looked at each one of them individually. “We apprehend them so we can make our case against them. Spencer’s not stupid, once we have them in custody he knows it will only be a matter of time before we gather enough evidence to send him down. Hopefully he will save us the trouble and confess to everything.” 

“Stop saying them.” Luke shook his head. “I’m not going to let Y/N go down for things Reid has done.” 

“And hopefully she’ll cooperate too and tell us what we need to know. But for now Alvez, she’s just as liable as Spencer. I want them both in custody and then we can go from there.” Emily gave him a look that told Luke not to fight her on this. 

He clenched his jaw firmly and took a step backwards. 

“Fine.” He spat, knowing now wasn’t the time to get into an argument with her about this. 

“Right, let's get this show on the road.” She looked over her shoulder and gave the local cops a nod of her head as the team split apart, hopping into their separate vehicles. 

Luke got behind the wheel even though he knew he was in no state of mind to drive but he hoped it would try and focus his mind. Tara got in the backseat while JJ sat up front with Luke. As he started the engine, he was momentarily halted by JJ’s gentle touch on his tense shoulder. 

“She’s going to be ok.” JJ told him as if she knew this for a fact. But her tone paired with the look she was giving him almost made Luke believe her. 

He nodded, exhaled noisily through his nose. And then he put the car in drive and peeled away from the airstrip, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. 

***

You watched as Spencer stumbled on his feet as the realisation washed over him. His eyes were flitting between your face and your stomach for what felt like a lifetime. 

When you’d dragged yourself back to the motel armed with your news, you hadn’t expected to tell him in this way. This news was so much bigger than these crumbling four walls. But you also hadn’t expected him to be on the brink of throwing in the towel, ready to give up. You had to give him something to fight for. 

The seconds seemed like hours as he continued to look between your eyes and your belly. Long, painful seconds in which you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. 

“Say something,” you choked on a sob, hands coming to cradle your stomach out of instinct.

Spencer opened his mouth before quickly closing it again, rolling his bottom lip briefly between his teeth before trying to find his words once more. Again, he opened and closed his mouth, the only discernible sound was a small whimper he let leave his parted lips. His hands were noticeably jittering, his thumb tapping against the side of his thigh as if the rhythm was helping calm him.

You stared at Spencer, waiting for him to speak, begging him with your eyes to say anything, anything other than just staring at you this way. You watched his eyes flit from your face to your stomach and back again several more times before they finally settled on your eyes.

“You’re…?” He croaked hoarsely. “We’re…?”

“Yes.” You nodded, using one hand to wipe the tears that were hindering your vision. “Eleven weeks.” 

He opened his mouth to speak again but this time before he could get any words out he heard something off in the distance. Judging by the way your eyes widened, you heard it too. Your tears fell heavier and Spencer turned back to the window, creeping towards it and cracking the curtains barely an inch. The pitch black desert was lit up by the unmistakable blue halos, somewhere far off but certainly heading your way. The wail of the sirens quickly grew louder as they closed in on the motel. 

“Shit.” He spat, hurriedly pulling the curtains again and turning to regard you. “Shit.”

“This can’t be how it ends.” You held your stomach tighter, even more tears now breaking free. 

Spencer made quick work of crossing the room to you and placing his large hands over your smaller, delicate ones. His own eyes gave away to his fear, and if Spencer was scared you knew to be petrified. Spencer Reid was scared of nothing. 

“I won’t let it, I’ll think of something.” He closed his eyes like that might help him form a coherent thought. 

Wake up, snap out of it. Or you may well never wake up again.

His earlier conviction for his death at the hands of law enforcement had flown out the window the second you’d shared your news. He couldn’t exit this mortal coil in such a way, not now he had a child on the way. He was not leaving his child like his own father had abandoned him. There had to be a way. There just had to be.

It was funny how one simple thing could change his mind so drastically. Spencer had been sure he was ready for where this was heading, ready to stop running, to stop fighting the inevitable. He didn’t think anything or anyone could change his mind. But this wasn’t just about him or you anymore. There was so much more on the line. Getting caught suddenly wasn’t an option. 

The sirens grew louder and he could hear the gravel under tires as the vehicles got closer. The blue light of the flashing beacons bathed the room ominously, he could see it even behind his closed lids.

“Spencer!” You cried, jiggling up and down. “Spencer, do something!” 

His eyes shot open and landed on the timepiece hanging on the wall. As he watched the clock roll to midnight, Spencer knew whatever he did next he had to be sure of. If he wasn’t then the three of you might not make it out of this alive. In a perfect world, you would all get away, but as long as Spencer could secure your safety then he would have to be ok with that. As long as you lived to bring their child into the world he could worry about everything else later. 

But he had to do everything in his power for all three of you to make it out of this. 

“Spencer!” You screamed as the sirens reached fever pitch, tires screeching on the asphalt outside as multiple vehicles came to abrupt stops outside the window. 

The blue light completely encompassed the room, glowing harshly against your skin. Car doors started to slam closed and heavy footsteps on the gravelly parking lot got closer. He was sure he could hear weapons being drawn, sharp intakes of breath as the people outside his room took aim. 

“Spencer Reid, we know you’re in there.” A voice sounded over a megaphone, causing you to gasp in recognition. “Spencer, we just want to help you, please?”

Emily Prentiss’ tone was stern yet held the sadness of chasing one of her own. You looked petrified and that was only intensified when Spencer started smiling. He surprised you when he took off past you back towards the bathroom. Frowning, you quickly followed. 

“What are you doing? Spencer!” You chased after him and found him standing in the bathtub on his tiptoes and toying with a vent above the shower head. 

You watched in confusion as he made quick work of the four screws holding the vent in place before yanking it off the wall and tossing it aside. He turned back to you with a smile.

“You think I didn’t scope out an escape route?” He chuckled, holding out his hand for you which you took as you stepped into the tub. “It’s just big enough for a human body to fit through on their front. It’s a straight path, the vent on the outside is already loosened, I made sure of it. As soon as you’re out, you’re going to run. Run as fast as you fucking can and do not look back. I’ll take care of the rest.” 

“Spencer Reid! If you can hear me, you need to come out with your hands up!” Emily’s voice sounded angrier now and he knew he didn’t have much time. 

“What about you? You’ll be right behind me, right?” You grabbed his face in your hands, cloying to him like he was your only lifeline. 

“Don’t worry about me, princess.” He smiled, bowing his head to capture your lips in a chaste kiss as he placed his hand on your belly. “I need you to focus on yourself and this little one.” 

“Spencer, do not get yourself killed.” You sobbed. “We can’t do this without you.” 

“And you won’t.” He tried to insist, although he wasn’t entirely sure of that fact himself. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

He kissed you again, this time laced with slightly more passion. Then he took a step back in the tub, bent down and placed a kiss on your stomach. 

“Reid, if you don’t come out in the next sixty seconds we will breach the room.” This time it was Luke’s voice that permeated your momentary solitude. 

“Spencer, I’m scared.” You whimpered when he stood back to his full height. 

“I know. But trust me when I say, everything will be ok.” He wiped your tears once more whilst reaching behind himself with his free hand. 

When he grasped your wrist and placed his firearm in your palm, you gasped, shaking your head frantically. 

“Spence?”

“Take it, just in case.” He curled your fingers around it before ushering you towards the vent. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you from behind, closer to the vent opening. You turned your head and placed one last kiss on his lips. 

“I lo…” you choked, quickly correcting yourself. “You’re my partner in crime, Spencer Reid.” 

“And you’re mine. But I promise you I will see you sooner than you think.” He hoisted you higher and you tossed the gun up inside the vent before reaching out and grabbing the ledge. 

He knew it wasn’t a promise he could keep, you probably knew it too, but he hoped it helped in any small way. 

You pulled yourself up with Spencer’s help and wriggled onto your stomach in the small opening. When his hands left your body you suddenly felt desperately alone, wanting to immediately drop back down, fall into his arms and never let him go. 

“Go, Y/N, please. You have to go.” He encouraged you. 

“Thirty seconds, Reid! Don’t be stupid. Come out with your hands up!” Luke’s voice engulfed you both and with a small whimper you started to crawl forward down the vent, leaving half of your heart behind. 

Spencer bent down and retrieved his second weapon from its hiding place inside his boot. He only had seconds to pull off a miracle. If this went wrong he would be killed, or worse, arrested. 

Quickly stepping out of the tub and opening the cabinet beneath the sink he pulled out the large canister he’d stashed under there earlier in the day. It had been his back plan of sorts, if for whatever reason he changed his mind and decided to fight this. And now he was glad he’d had the forethought. This could quite literally blow up in his face. But he had to try, for the sake of his unborn baby. 

“Twenty seconds!” Luke yelled again but Spencer wasn’t perturbed. 

Taking a deep breath he uncapped the bottle and rushed back into the bedroom where he poured two thirds of it onto the strategic pile of clothes he’d left on the floor next to the bed. He walked backwards towards the bathroom, drizzling a trail from the clothes to the bathroom door. 

“Ten seconds!” Luke called once again. 

Spencer dropped the now empty container on the floor and stepped back inside the tub. He manoeuvred under the shower head and clambered up onto the lip of the tub, only just able to grip the edge of the vent opening. 

His hand shook a little as he pointed his gun over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes on his target. One false move and it would all be over. He had one shot to get this right or he would never have the chance to meet his child. 

He curled his finger around the trigger at the exact moment he heard the front door come crashing down and a flurry of law enforcement breach the motel. He took aim, he tightened his grip on the gun. 

He swore as he pulled that trigger whilst desperately trying to pull himself to safety he saw Luke step over the threshhold of the bathroom, seconds before Spencer disappeared for good.

He left his old friend with a smile. A smile that conveyed he had won again. And then the explosion rang out in the small room, wracking the walls as the gas was ignited by the bullet propelled from the chamber. 

Spencer forced himself down the vent as the heat from the rapidly growing fire started to fill the room accompanied by the sound of screams. 

He’d pulled out every trick in his arsenal to make this last escape. He didn’t regret a moment of it, not a single one since starting this crusade. Because everything he’d done had led him to you and your future child. 

The BAU never stood a chance. And his last thought and he pulled himself to freedom was, you’ll never catch us, mother fuckers. 

Feeling you closing in,

Brushing against my skin.

Make you betray your eyes

When I hide in plain sight,

That's just the way I win.

I paved my path,

Somewhere hard to follow.

Outplayed, outclassed,

I said…

Catch me if you can,

I'm gone just like the wind now.

'Cause once I plant my feet,

Taking the lead,

Better believe,

You never had a chance, no.

So catch me if you can.

I pull out every trick,

I don't regret a thing, no.

You're runnin' after me,

Chasing apologies.

When you can't get a grip.

I paved my path,

Somewhere hard to follow.

Outplayed, outclassed,

I said…

Catch me if you can,

I'm gone just like the wind now.

'Cause once I plant my feet,

Taking the lead,

Better believe,

You never had a chance, no.

So catch me if you can,

I only feel at home when I'm on the run,

I only open doors just to pick the locks.

Too busy throwing stones at your fragile thoughts,

I paved my path,

Outplayed, outclassed.

Catch me if you can,

(I'm gone just like the wind now).

'Cause once I plant my feet,

Taking the lead,

Better believe,

You never had a chance, no, hah.

So catch me if you can.

So catch me if you can,

Woo!

'Cause once I plant my feet,

Taking the lead,

Better believe,

You never had a chance, no.

So catch me if you can.

So catch me if you can.

@bubblebuttewade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom @nomajdetective @rebelliousstories

[duckiemimi]

Do you think that when Kenjaku comes to battle and Geto sees Gojo in that state he can react and take possession of his body would be a great plotwist?

i do! i think it’s very possible!

i think it would be a well-executed plot-twist because we were introduced to the concept earlier in the shibuya arc.

now, unless gege added that choking scene just to drum up drama, then there should be a pay-off/resolution to this, especially in regards to the body-soul motifs we’ve seen in the series.

(in this case, kenjaku’s ct encompasses the physical body and mahito’s ct encompasses the intangible soul. which came first? the chicken or the egg? or did they spawn together?)

the first and last time we saw this happen was right before gojo’s sealing, and since then, kenjaku/geto’s body hasn’t seen gojo in distress. considering gojo’s distress was most likely the initial sight that triggered geto’s hand to move on “muscle memory,” perhaps staying away from the gojo vs. sukuna fight was exactly kenjaku’s plan, to avoid from this scenario happening again.

we’ve also seen how fiercely and impulsively geto’s reacted upon hearing news of gojo’s death in the hidden inventory arc. it was like he moved on autopilot, on muscle memory, until he couldn’t.

it wouldn’t be a lazy plot-twist for geto to “repossess” his body after seeing gojo in the state he’s in now—in fact, it would be thematically inline, like this part of the story has come full circle.

i also wanna add: this choking/seizing-back-your-power imagery has happened even before the shibuya arc, in the very first chapter of the series.

“whaddya think you’re doing with my body? give it back!”

three is a magic number in storytelling.

anyway, i’ll leave you with this poem.

[podfeels]

Podfeels Season 1 Retrospective

4/13/2024 marked the two year anniversary of Podfeels’ first airing, and in August, we will celebrate the three year anniversary of its inception as a project. It feels so strange, looking back on it all. To me, it feels simultaneously like its always been in my life, and also like it just started yesterday.

I’ve spent nearly three years now spearheading this project, and we’ve expanded from a team of ten to a team of thirty in that time, and have put out roughly four hours of highly produced, full cast, full sound effect audio drama.

That may not sound like much, but for a team composed almost exclusively of first timers at its inception, and with two big hiatuses out of everyone’s control, I’m pretty damn proud.

With Season 1 ending back in January, us currently in the exact two month midpoint between anniversaries, and Season 2 being worked on behind the scenes, I thought now would be a good time to release a bit of a retrospective on our first season. Talk about the process, what went wrong, what went right, and also release our assets for the public.

I’m splitting this into three sections so you can skip around based on what you give a shit about. 

Looking 8ack

Reminiscence about how I got into godfeels through a series of insane coincidences that make my heart feel warm.

2. Adapt8ion

Discussing the process of adapting the work into our medium.

3. Portr8s, 8ackgrounds, and Sound8ites

A release of Season 1’s art and sound assets for your perusal outside of the videos, use as desktop wallpapers, or what have you. 

Looking 8ack

In March 2020, I got covid for the first time. My workplace had no protections for it yet, so I lost my job. And while bedridden with covid, subsisting off a diet of lukewarm broth, saltines, and nyquil, I set my youtube Watch Later (ok, thats a lie, it was my Likes, which i used ((still use)) as a watch later instead of using the actual watch later function, BUT-) playlist to shuffle. And in this fugue state, I stumbled on the video that would completely change the trajectory of my life.

“What I Learned Writing 50,000 Words of Homestuck Fanfiction”, by Sarah Zedig. I vaguely remembered her from some video about the McElroys and from Hbomberguy’s stream, and I had put off watching this because at the time of its release, I hadn’t yet finished Homestuck. So I shuffled it away for later, and it found its way back into my lap at the perfect time. Having now finished the comic, read the Epilogues, actively reading Homestuck ^2: Beyond Canon, and five months in to my first ever real creative outlet in my semi-abandoned video essay channel, I was interested to hear what this goat had to say.

In the video Sarah went into detail about a ton of wider context about the Homestuck Renaissance that I was fully unaware of, and made a very strong case for her own postcanon work, godfeels. Her passion bled through and I figured, sure, why not, I’ve got nothing better going on, I’ll read the story of Spiderjeggings’ No Good Very Bad Transition. Why not!

55,660 words later, crying alone in bed, I was now a girl. Reading the scene of June making her list of wants the morning after Terezi’s return, I said out loud to myself, hoarse as can be, “I can’t put it off any longer.” 

After reading to current I ended up joining the godfeels fanserver, and from getting settled in these circles I’ve met so many people I wouldn’t have otherwise, and come into myself in ways I can’t begin to fully quantify. I went from one relationship to fourteen to now a stable four, the other person in my head shook back loose after a decade of suppression by me (sorry again, Aegis), I’ve become more cultured, I’ve gained more friends, I’ve gained more hobbies, and most relevant of all… I’ve gained Podfeels.

Podfeels proper actually started in a really funny and impromptu way. In Sarah’s video she mentions wanting to start a podfic adaptation of it, but with that being two years past with no more word, a conversation about it cropped up in the server, and it was revealed that it had been canceled for various reasons. Everyone immediately understood why that had to happen. It was an insane amount of work, especially now that Godfeels was entering the territory of a space opera. But the demand was there among all of us, and after almost a dozen loops of us all going “drat, would be cool. I wish someone would take the helm on that!”, I just went ALRIGHT I GET IT and opened up casting. Podfeels was actually originally a joke name made by someone in the server before I even entered the conversation, but we used it for so long during development that by the time we came to release day it just felt wrong to call the project anything else. The name just stuck.

After a few hours of people daydreaming about it happening, and me encouraging other people to take the helm, I finally gave in and opened up casting. Now, it’s important to understand, I had never directed ANYTHING like this before in my life. I made a really terrible sketch in high school theater class and that’s about it. I’ve always been a bit of a natural leader but never anything with the kind of scale this would require, and it showed. I crowdfunded almost all ideas for what to do and how to handle it, and my best idea for how to do auditions was “just send in a few lines of you doing whatever character you want”. And my language was… insufferably fawning. I was hedging my bets at every opportunity. Every development in the project was “tentative”, I was the “director” until someone else took charge, etc. Looking back its actually kind of adorable? 

Look at that sweetheart. She’s so scared. She has no idea the beautiful changes she is in for.

The casting process was an unmitigated DISASTER. Nobody there knew how to audition, and I didn’t know how to wrangle. We were an unstructured gaggle of doofasses stumbling into each other. And due to the limited pool, I was stretched kind of thin on where to put people. Obviously I stand by all our decisions and love our cast, but because I was pulling entirely from the fanserver, options were very limited. I wanted to get everyone who wanted one into a role, but having to do the math of “this person is 40% good at Character A and 60% good at Character B, but this OTHER person is 80% good at Character B and the closest runner up for Character A is only 35% good” was agonizing.

We ended up deciding to make a few demos first, to test our chops as actors and mine as editor. We had four planned. But after we fully produced our first two demos and had recorded the third… I decided we should immediately start chronological production.

Why did I make this decision, you ask? Well. We had a few months until 4/13/2022. If we immediately all went overdrive, me especially, we had the chance to get our first episode out on the 13th 4/13 anniversary of Homestuck, and like HELL was I about to let us pass that up. 

This was the right call, I think, but it did bring us into a BUNCH of complications. First off, it meant we never really tested our violence and drama chops on the houseraid. Second, if I had waited, we would have been able to dodge our first big hiatus, where I put us on pause for a couple months while we waited to see if our Terezi wanted to leave after she floated the idea, which she ended up doing. If we had stayed in prepro, we would have skipped a huge hiatus and not replaced a key character between episode one and two. It also meant that we didn’t fully solidify an editing pipeline, and I was handling practically all editing until around episode 3. Additional prepro time would have helped us iron that out, as well, rather than me breaking myself on the first couple episodes before bringing in help out of desperation. This rush ALSO led to us having to release episode 1’s video around a week after the audio’s release, and with a fucked up background because I was crunching so hard I didn’t notice I’d accidentally completely butchered John’s bedroom somehow! I think I somehow content aware filled the wall? Fucked if I know why!

This is an abridged version because I want to get us to the meat of the matter today and I feel a lot of the longer story is best saved for a video I plan on making down the line, when we’ve reached 50 hours of runtime. For now, let’s move on.

Adapt8ion

A few folks have asked for indepth adaptation notes for what we change in an episode and why. As a general rule, we make changes with three primary motivations. First, adjusting text-based ideas to sound-based. Godfeels plays with its medium in countless compelling ways that, when shifted to a different medium, are either clunky or incomprehensible. So our first job is to translate those into sound. Second, turning narration into sound effects. We don’t need to discuss sounds in the scene, or a character’s tone, when we can just hear it all ourselves now. This then expands into further issues, however, as some things DO need to stay as narration. There’s a lot of pathos in the narration, and often there’s details that can’t be conveyed through audio alone. But by removing just the audio cues, we are left with very clunky phrasing that does our source material no justice. So we have to rephrase entire sections to give them the same resonance, meaning, and clarity while also getting rid of all the things that are now extraneous in our medium. The third main type of edit is bringing it more in line with what comes later. Godfeels has been running a long time and has become a very different beast from where it began. I love this about it, but some ideas have ended up with insufficient preparation, and some thematic resonances are easy to see looking back but may be partially unintentional. We can take advantage of hindsight and bring certain things more in line with the work’s modern philosophies, such as putting an additional focus on the citizens of Earth C, introducing X as its own entity, playing with Dirk more as a villain, and introducing the question of “what happens to the leftover Junes in a retcon?”, all during Episode 6. 

I’ll be releasing a few other posts soon with detailed adaptation notes for every episode in the coming days, but I’ll leave it here for now and bring us to our final section-

Portr8s, 8ackgrounds, and Sound8ites

While the idea for video versions was a relatively late addition to our process, I’m very proud of the work everyone has put into making them what they are. Our art team and video editor do wonders. First up, we’ve got the talkpogs.

The talkpogs were my own invention, but I can hardly claim they’re an original idea. I’m sure something almost identical has been done before. What directly inspired me, though, was the old Polygon podcasts, where they’d have the hosts faces made out of polygons, with one loose and separated, synced to that host’s audio track. It was the first time I’d seen something like that and I knew I wanted something similar to indicate who was talking. From there it all fell into place pretty easily. The outer ring and the waveform is the character’s text color, and the background is their name color. If those two are the same (as they usually are), I apply a slight darkening to the background just for differentiation. The sprites, though, were all the art team. Unfortunately we didn’t have a base early on, so different artists drew to different scales. 

For the art style I told the artists to try to strike a middleground between Homestuck classic and girlpillz’s style which had just been shown in GF3.1.8.E, where godfeels got its first spritework. Otherwise, designs were largely up to the artists but we had conversations about them as a project. Overall I’m very satisfied with the work everyone turned in.

Backgrounds were a more complicated beast, but paradoxically also have less to talk about. We started out with one background per episode, which was pretty doable, but with the season 1 finale, and our expanded art team, we opted to expand out into a background per setting. The first two are just Pesterquest backgrounds I edited by hand, but after that we started having custom art. That was largely due to restraints lifting as the team grew, but it also turned out pretty good thematically, as the first episode with custom art was Episode 3, where June’s egg cracks. We left official art behind as June left the officially plotted course. I think it’s resonant.

Now we come to our latest introduction. KEY ART. We started doing this in Episode 6 and it’s so sick. Don’t expect these inclusions to be TOO common, but… we have some cool things in store here, and I think you’ll all be really excited to see ‘em. For now, here’s our first and so far only public piece of key art, Dirk menacing June against the tree. The final piece of art of Season 1, and the final piece of art of Season 1’s retrospective. It only seems fair.

Which now brings us to my own inclusion: sound assets. I’m very proud of the work I’ve put in to giving each character and concept their own unique aural profile. From the magical girl burning radiation of Jade’s magic, to the shattering static of June’s retcon, to threading the needle of Hammer, Sword, Plastic Toy, Dice, And Doomsday Device in June’s vrillyhoo. 

That’s all for today. In the coming week or so I’ll put together a few more posts, going over each episode in more detail, from point by point script edit notes, to specific art discussions. I also plan to bring in a few people who have been around since day one to talk about our experience setting up the project.

But for now, look forward to seeing more from us soon. Both in the upcoming devposts, and in Season 2. We've been on a hiatus to get our preproduction pipeline settled, and because we wanted to get a few episodes prepped so we can try to maintain a monthly schedule. But we're getting to the end of this phase now, and will be announcing Episode 7's release date very soon.

Until next time! :::;)

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Fairest Midnight - 3. The Same Red

Summary: Having lived for over a year, you really should’ve been more prepared for a vampire attacking you. But then, nothing could have really prepared you for an old friend appearing and saving you. Perhaps there was more to this situation than you had initially realized….

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire, Blood

Word Count: 1381

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

The morning that followed Halloween started rather abruptly, with my phone ringing. It was Epel’s mother, the woman who ran the shop right across the road, where I often helped out when I had the time.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry to call this early, but we’ve been waiting on a delivery since yesterday evening, and it still hasn’t come. We just got a call that there was a wreck involving a delivery truck not far from here this morning, and… Well, I would send Epel, but what with these murders of late and people going missing…..” 

She trailed off, the hesitancy in her voice clear, and I let out a sigh before responding with the question that I didn’t entirely want to ask, “Where’s the accident at?”

“Oh, Y/n! You’re such a dear!” With new vitality to her tone, she proceeded to give me directions, numerous apologies for the trouble, statements of how she owed me, a slew of “thank you’s,” and at least three promises of free apple juice when I next came by the shop.

But I honestly would have been worried if that hadn’t been the case. That was just the way Mrs. Felmier was, and her nature was no doubt the reason that Epel was so polite despite his rough streak.

And I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to send Epel. Her fears were well-founded. There had been a recent uptick in the number of murders and missing persons. 

I didn’t know the reason for the increase in crime. But I suspected that was the same reason Vil had scolded me quite so much last night. Which did imply that vampires were involved. But it was day, so there was little to be concerned about with this incident.

I was relieved, though, when I reached the road Mrs. Felmier had directed me to and saw the familiar delivery truck was not in a smoking heap. In fact, it didn’t even look like it had been involved in an accident. It looked more like it had broken down.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and trudged over, hunching my shoulders against the cold wind.

Frowning, I noted that the hood was raised and the driver’s door was open, but that the driver in question was nowhere to be found. 

I turned a full circle, looking around in confusion, until a slight motion, visible through the windows of the building closest to where the truck was parked, caught my eye. I stared through the windows, recognizing the jacket as that of the one that was worn by the group that did deliveries for the shop, before making up my mind.

I didn’t know why he’d gone inside unless it had been to escape the wind or get better reception on his phone, but at the very least I could ask him if he knew how long he’d be stuck here.

The door to the darkened building swung open with a pleasant jingle, despite the fact that the store appeared to be largely abandoned and cast off in the shadows of the street. 

I stepped in, glancing around to find exactly where the driver was as I began speaking, “Excuse m-” 

I froze, my eyes widening as the delivery truck driver fell to the ground from where he had appeared to be standing in front of the window. 

The body dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, totally lifeless. A woman wiped her mouth, leaving an ugly red smear across her face as she looked my way from over the body. My breath caught as I realized that the same red that was on her face also decorated the man’s neck.

I didn’t bother screaming when she smiled,  and her beauty was clear even as her fangs flashing slightly in the shadows that I now realized were probably the only thing keeping her alive. 

A small, logical part of me acknowledged that screaming would have just dragged some other hapless person into this mess for her to kill, and I even went so far as to silently question how a vampire had gotten herself stranded out during daytime hours.

The more frenzied part of me that followed my instincts had me turning to run as I felt adrenaline shoot through me at high speeds, kicking me into action despite my shock at what I’d found.

But this wasn’t my first time encountering a vampire. If I could just get out and into the sunlight, I would be fine, and then I could figure out some way to keep anyone else from going in there. 

The vampire released some sort of horribly cry behind me before taking off, slamming the door that I’d just tried to exit through shut with a loud bang as I fumbled backwards, my legs working overtime as panic fully seized me. Making my motions sloppy even though I desperately needed to be at my very best if I wanted to survive.

I’d barely even made it two inches before she’d reached where I’d stood, hissing at me like an insane person as she made to grab my shoulder. I pitched myself to the side and hit the ground hard.

I barely even heard her outraged shriek over the sound of breaking glass that filled the air. I rolled to look up at what I’d expected to be my last sight before death, only to find a familiar form slam into the woman with a power I hadn’t realized my friend possessed.

Rook grappled with the woman, her fingers tearing through his coat as if the fabric meant nothing to her. 

He grunted slightly as her hands clawed their way down his arms in a bruising manner, but he persisted in shoving her backwards as he struggled against her inhuman grip and fought to shove a pointy piece of wood downwards and into her chest.

I scrambled backwards, my widened eyes never leaving the scene before me as I dug my way back up to a standing position. 

The vampire shrieked, straining to either bite Rook or free herself, but was apparently incapable of either.

Rook, on the other hand, wore an expression of singular determination as he ignored her crushing grip and the way she snapped at him. Instead, focusing on killing her.

 It wasn’t the behavior of someone inexperienced, nor did he seem surprised at all by the situation at hand.

But then, I suppose I couldn’t entirely talk. While I’d been surprised to see a vampire during daylight hours, seeing one wasn’t actually odd considering my history. Though this was the first time I’d been attacked in quite some time…. 

Apparently, having been under Vil’s protection had inadvertently led to my becoming unprepared for such situations, even despite my past.

I found myself running forward, reaching around my friend to grasp the wooden stake and add my strength to Rook’s. 

I gritted my teeth, doing my best to ignore the shrieks of the woman that somehow drew no attention to the darkened building that now housed the three of us.

It felt like hours had passed in the span of mere seconds, but with a final shove, the wooden stake plunged forward and directly into the woman’s chest and I looked away. Blocking the sight with Rook’s back even though I could clearly hear the sickening squelch.

My throat was tight as I stumbled away from both Rook and the vampire.

I’d seen a lot and done a lot, but helping kill someone, even if that person was a vampire, was easily enough to have my hands trembling and my throat constricting.

The vampire gaped down at the wood that stuck out of her chest before looking directly up at the two of us and turning to ash right before our very eyes. The only thing she left behind was a signet ring that sparkled dully in her dusty remains.

Rook fell against a wall, his chest heaving slightly as his green eyes turned to look my way, and the reality of everything that had just occurred began to sink in.

I’d been attacked by a vampire during the day, and Rook, my longtime friend who had introduced me to my nightly vampire visitor, had just saved my life.

If you would like to read more:

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[ejzah]

A/N: Once again, a tiny idea morphed into a much longer than intended fic. Enjoy the angst!

***

Relapse

Kensi had learned after Deeks was tortured by Sidorov that in addition to withdrawing from everyone around him when he was in a state of distress, he forgot to take care of himself as well. It had taken her a while to pick up on the pattern, but now, especially after living together for three years, she knew all the signs. He tended not to eat often enough, his meticulous cleaning schedule became disrupted, and he either barely moved at all, or spent hours exhausting his body in an attempt to quiet his mind.

So one week in the middle of summer when Kensi noticed the counters hadn’t been wiped down in a few days, and the laundry hamper was nearing capacity—something that never occurred since they moved in together—she took note. It wasn’t a cause for massive alarm, but enough that she decided to keep a close eye on Deeks. They’d just come off a horrific case that lasted over three weeks and had them all running on fumes.

Maybe he just needed the time to recuperate, she reasoned. She’d certainly been on edge and snapped at everyone more than usual, including Deeks, who had the misfortune of spending their few hours away from work with her.

On Tuesday, they had a fairly slow day, the latter part of which they spent cleaning out in-boxes and catching up on the procedures that got overlooked during intense cases. It gave them a much needed opportunity to bond and unwind.

Inevitably, Sam and Callen ended up in argument over who had actually taken down their most recent criminal.

“Nope, I definitely reached him before you did,” Callen insisted in that tone that meant he was just arguing for the joy of watching Sam grow more irritated. Kensi dipped her head to conceal a smile.

“Are you kidding me? You weren’t even close. He’d still be on the run if we left it to you,” Sam objected, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I don’t know, Sam, Deeks is the one who distracted him,” Kensi pointed out. She waited expectantly for Deeks to jump in with his own comment, but none came.

Kensi realized he’d been quiet through most of the teasing and banter, when normally he’d be egging Sam right alongside Callen. His body was turned slightly away, gaze focused in the direction of the back wall. She wondered if he saw anything at all.

The silence grew long enough for it grow slightly awkward, and Kensi hastily added, “I’m just saying it’s a group effort.”

“Yeah, you can keep your “group effort”, Sam made air quotes around the last two words. “I’m the one who tackled him, and that’s all that matters.” He jabbed a button on his laptop keyboard. “And I’m outta here. Don’t even think of calling me before 6 tomorrow morning.”

Callen left shortly after Sam, followed by Eric and Nell, who seemed in a hurry.

“You want to grab tacos on the way home?” she asked once she finished her own paperwork, leaning across the front of Deeks’ desk. “I’ll buy.” She let her tone drop flirtatiously, shimmying her shoulders.

“Uh, I’m really behind on my LAPD paperwork,” Deeks answered without looking up. “I think I’m going to stay a little bit later.”

“This is the first night we’ve gotten out before 7 in weeks.”

Finally looking up, Deeks sighed heavily, swiping his hair out of his eyes with a careless hand. Even in the dim light, she could tell his eyes were bloodshot.

“I know. LAPD will get on my case if I wait any longer though. I’ll just be a couple hours, ok?” He gave her a pleading, regretful look, that Kensi was powerless to ignore.

“Ok.” She leaned closer, tipping his chin a little higher to kiss him. “Don’t be too long,” she said.

“I won’t,” Deeks promised, returning her kiss with a brush of his lips. “Love you.”

***

It was a full four hours later when Kensi heard the front quietly open and shut. She’d tried not to wait up, even going to bed, but too many thoughts and worries circled through her brain to get anywhere close to sleep. She tracked Deeks’ movement through the house; he stopped in the kitchen, got a glass of water, checked on Monty in the living room, then finally headed to their room.

Kensi rolled over onto her side when he walked in, knowing there wasn’t any point in pretending to sleep. Deeks stood by the closet, taking off his shoes.

“Hey,” she murmured. He stilled at the sound of her voice, shoulders caving for a second before he turned around.

“Hey. Sorry.”

She didn’t know if he was apologizing for possibly waking her. Or coming home late.

“It’s ok.” Holding out her hand, she waited until he was within reaching distance, and pushed herself up enough to slide her hand around his neck. He let her pull him down, releasing a slightly pained noise. Kensi slid her fingers up into his hair, finding the strands damp.

She didn’t call him on it, just holding him tighter when their lips parted. She felt the tension in his shoulders and back, so tight it seemed he might snap at any moment.

“Come to bed,” she told him, pulling back the covers. When Deeks slid in beside her, she curled around him, hoping took some comfort in her touch.

***

Kensi’s worry skyrocketed as she watched Deeks withdraw more every day. This time around, he tended towards movement, which meant he either woke up early (assuming he’d slept at all) or stayed after work to work out. At the same time, his appetite seemed to have disappeared.

She tried to combat it all by bringing him a donut in the morning or cajoling him into bed and doing her best to soothe him to sleep. It wasn’t enough, but she was hesitant to push too hard.

“Hey, I brought you some soup,” she said one evening as she came back from a food run. Deeks had very noticeably not requested anything.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, not even pausing considering the bucket she plunked down in front of him.

“Baby, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning. It’s after six. You need to have something.”

“Kens—”

“No,” Kensi interrupted sharply, forgetting her decision to remain quietly supportive, to say nothing. “You are tired, you’re not eating, you’re not talking, and I am done letting you fade right in front of me.”

His head sank forward for a moment, and he rubbed his hands over his face, emitting the deepest of sighs. When he looked up again, the shadows in his eyes were even darker, and Kensi’s heart clenched painfully for him.

“I’m just struggling a little right now. I’ll get over it,” he insisted dully. “I always do.”

“You don’t have to do it alone though. You have me,” Kensi reminded him, moving around his desk to crouch in front of him. She grabbed his hands, clasping them between hers. “Let me help you.”

“I want to…” he shook his head, tilting his head back with a sorrowful expression. “It just feels like everything terrible feeling is amplified by a hundred and anything good is dampened.” He smiled sadly. “Only thing that helps sometimes is when you’re holding me at night.”

“I’ll do anything you need, anything. But please don’t push me away. I can’t bear that.”

“I’ll try.” He nodded, eyes damp. Kensi drew his forehead to her shoulder, weaving her fingers into his hair.

“And eat your soup.”

That got a weak out laugh out of him. Drawing back, he grabbed the tub across his desk, popping the lid off.

Kensi knew that one meal wouldn’t magically fix everything, but as he slowly worked his way through the soup, it was a step the right direction.

Under the table, Deeks reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly.

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prev. / Next

Chapter 3 This couple, competing

cw: one suggestive implication

The young earl suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, impatiently waiting for the undertaker to stop his hysterical laughter. Undertaker's chest heaved, choking on his gasps of air. He had to support himself on one of his many coffins, wiping off drool from his chin. Amused, you observed the earl whose visible eye twitched slightly and only now do you notice the eyepatch peeking out from under his sidebangs. He hadn’t noticed you yet or was ignoring you on purpose.

The raven-haired butler stood right behind him but his calculating eyes were fixed on Satan. Three more people were with them - a man of Chinese heritage, a lady dressed in red from head to toe, and next to her another butler, timidly looking around and plain as the day compared to the rest.

“Ah, Earl. I was wondering when you’ll step through my doors again. And you couldn’t have arrived at a better time~” Undertaker had finally composed himself, stepping closer to the boy. “Is today the day you have come to see how it feels to sleep in my custom-made coffins?”

A scoff left the kid's lips “I didn’t come here to play arou-” A finger touching his mouth silenced him. “I know exactly why you are here, no need to tell me. Although you are not the only one looking for answers today~” Undertaker grinned, a subtle nod ordering all attention on the two of you.

The air tensed as Ciel Phantomhive narrowed his eye(s), glancing towards his butler, you, and the blond next to you, who had his gloved hand protectively on the small of your back. You raised your hand, waving.

“Who are you?”

“Ah, we’ve met briefly,” Sebastian threw into the room, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. You did the same with Satan, asking him if you should take your leave. He nodded and displayed a practiced smile “We remember, feel free to take no account of us, we were on our way out anyway.” He turned to Undertaker “Again, it was our pleasure. Until next time, should we not solve the case first.”

A bolt of lightning could be imagined between the two of you and them, an unspoken challenge.

You were watched when you walked out, Satan holding the door open for you and you couldn’t help the cheeky upturn of your lips when you passed the boy who looked like Belphegor, the ‘Queen’s watchdog’ Cavendish most likely had warned you about.

The funeral director hummed “The international press is surely committed these days~”

Ciel scoffed. As if some no-name reporters could solve his case.

True to your estimation, Satan was hooked. You spent the next couple of days researching suspects - experts from the medical field, from bourgeoisie to proletariat.

The thesis of the culprit being involved with black magic was also in the room (which was scarily popular during this time) plus there was the possibility of Jack the Ripper being more than one person - a statement by yours truly, so you had the honor of persuading this path on your own so he could make more background checks. With the help of the Sorcerer’s Society and the documentation of the Yard, you were able to narrow down the circle of suspects, even if Satan was way quicker thanks to him being a demon. Were you dragging him down? The avatar of wrath had answered your suspicion with a kiss on your temple and a reassuring smile.

After an exhausting day, you have thrown your jacket on the ground and let yourself fall onto the covers of your bed. Feet aching, your magical energy drained from teleporting and your belly full from the three-course dinner Satan invited you to. Tomorrow, you told yourself, will be a shopping spree day. After all, a promise was a promise, and you were still missing some souvenirs.

Satan joined you shortly after, his fingers grazing your back, playing with the hooks of your bodice holding it together.

“Tired, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, more so when he started to work on the knots of your trapezius. He chuckled at your soft sighs, slowly pulling off the fabric to touch the top of your spine with his lips. “Mhm, not that I don’t like this but I should shower first, don’t you think?” Satan gently turned you around, hovering over you, his blond strands framing his face nicely and green eyes longingly boring into yours.

“Right after, my dear wife.”

A fit of giggles fell from your lips in response to his kisses, suddenly not minding your exhaustion at all.

“We have a promising clue,” Sebastian stated, elegantly serving a new pot of tea to the guests sitting under the chandelier in the drawing room of the Phantomhive manor. “A doctor, knowledgeable in human anatomy, connected to a secret society or black magic: matching with the criteria for the Whitechapel case would be the Viscount Druitt - Lord Aleister Chamber Although he is a medical school graduate, he hasn’t worked in a hospital or been involved in this profession. He has hosted several seasonal parties in the near past, but rumors say various parties were only attendable by those close to him.”

Angeliana Durless alias Madam Red, Ciel’s maternal aunt, leaned back into the comfy parlor chair, finger on her chin “Viscount Druitt…come to think of it, I do recall he has been into black magic lately.”

“He is also suspected of running some sort of secret ceremony during his parties. There is a possibility of him having prostitutes sent in as altar sacrifices for dark rituals and, or selling their organs and body parts to his guests.”

Lau, the second guest argumented, sipping from the delicate cup in his hands.

“Appropriately, he is hosting a party at the 19th hour of this day as the seasonal period will end with it. The ideal time for an investigation, don’t you agree, young master?”

Sebastian smiled eerily, already knowing the answer. Ciel gripped his fork.

“Madam Red, you sure can arrange something, can you?”

She answered with a laugh “What do you take me for, my dear nephew? Aren’t I quite popular? A word here, a word there - I have an invitation in no time~”

/This might be our only chance!/

A few hours later, the carriage arrived at Viscount Druitt’s lavish manor. People in their prettiest gowns and best suits were guided inside.

Ciel Phantomhive crossed his glove-covered arms, waist arching from that torturously tight-laced corset he was forced to wear. For their undercover-mission, he had to pose as his aunt's niece from the countryside and Sebastian being ‘her’ home tutor. Lau, who was uncharacteristically dressed in a smoking suit, was Madam Red's lover for the night. Only Grell was left out from acquiring a new role.

“It seems tonight will be rather enjoyable.” Lau hummed, eyes closed.

/Maybe for you, you don't have to dress up like a girl!/

“Don't make such a face. You look so cute!” his aunt teased, bringing Ciel in a bone-crushing hug “I always wanted to have a daughter to dress up so prettily!”

The Earl blushed, annoyance over his face. /This is humiliating/

He had to wear a blush pink dress with white ruffles and black accents, decorated with bows on the dress itself and over his chest. The equally pink headpiece with a white bow had also pink roses attached and sat nicely on his long twintail wig, hiding his eyepatch perfectly from view. If he had to describe it, it was pompous and utterly girly. Something he'd associate with his fiancé.

“Don't tell me you don’t like it? A lot of cloth had to be used for this to happen, you know. In France, nonetheless. It's all in vogue!”

“Let go of me now, why would I like it?!” Ciel snapped.

“Oh my, shouting so loud isn't becoming of a Lady,” Sebastian immediately reprimanded him with a smile, a gloved hand pushing up his glasses. He too was dressed up handsomely, black suit over a pristine white shirt and an ascot wrapped around the high collar. “Did you not say, you would ‘use any means necessary’?”

Ciels skin took an unhealthy red color but he did remember. Viscount Druitt was a man with catholic taste after all, so him posing as a girl was the perfect coverage, wherever he liked it or not. This was for the case.

“Shall we go then, my Lady?”

As expected, security was tight but they went in without facing any problems. To say the ballroom was packed was an understatement. It would take a while for them to find Lord Chamber.

Ciel started to complain about his get-up, stating he wouldn't want to see his fiancé dressed like this.

“Wow, your headpiece is exquisite!”

“Oh, why thank you!”

The Earl groaned “I'm starting to hear things like she is-”

“Oh, there are so many pretty dresses, but yours looks the best so far! Like a princess from a fairytale!”

“Aren't you energetic? You look very cute yourself. Just make sure to not bump into someone while running around.”

“Will do!”

“...here.”

Sebastian and Ciel turned around at the same time with horror.

He had to jinx it, hadn't he?

Geeze, I wonder who Lizzy was talking to 🤔

I planned to put more plot inside but decided to cut the chapter I had planned (this already has 1,5K words, and I don't want to rush through it

Until next time!

[drivinmeinsane]

Lights ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Eight ※ Holland March / Jackson Healy

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: While he and Healy are stuck in a rut concerning a case, Holland's daughter suggests that the family go on an outing.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Established Relationship, Mention of Period-Typical Homophobia, Family Fluff, Holly March has two dads now

※ Word count: 1023

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

The sun is about to set, and the two men that make up the Nice Guys Detective Agency are still pouring over a case. March and Healy have been at it for hours now. To Holland, it feels as though they have done nothing but argue around and around and around in circles. He’s on the second to last cigarette in the pack, frustrated by the breeze rustling the papers spread out on the table. Healy had opened the dining room window about the third smoke in. The bruiser had cited not wanting to breathe in all that shit which led to a shouting match between the two of them about how Healy smokes cigars and has no damn right to say anything about Holland’s own smoking habits. 

They took this case on Wednesday. It’s now Friday. At the rate things are going, their relationship, professionally and personally, might be over by Sunday. Both men hear the door open before it slams closed. There’s the crashing sound of a bookbag hitting the floor.

“It’s Holly,” he says pointlessly. He can tell Jack is fighting not to give a sarcastic retort. His daughter comes bounding into the room and scares the shit out of both of them when she slams a piece of paper onto the table.

“Jesus!” Holland yelps, nearly dropping his lit cigarette into his lap. Across from him, Healy hits his knee on the wood and mutters something under his breath.

“Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Mr. Healy,” Holly says before hurriedly continuing. “I want to go to this tonight. You guys have been so busy with Mr. Elmer’s peeping tom, and I don’t think we’ve been getting to do enough as a family lately. There’ll be Christmas lights, hot chocolate, and stuff.”

“Don’t-” He starts. It's a reflex at this point. 

“There’ll be Christmas lights and hot chocolate.” She interrupts, glaring at him. Healy rudely chuckles a little and doesn’t even bother to try to hide it. 

Holland straightens himself up and sighs. “Look, honey, we need to get this case knocked out of the way.”

Looking like she’s about to give him the lecture of a lifetime, Holly crosses her arms. She is about to open her mouth to protest right as Jackson pipes up.

“I don’t know, March. We’re not getting things done sitting here fighting while you smoke like a chimney.”

“We’re not going to by screwing off either.” He snaps back. He immediately wants to suck the words back into his mouth at the expressions on their faces. Holly looks genuinely upset, and there’s a brief flicker of hurt in Healy’s eyes. “Fine! Jesus tap dancing Christ! We can go,” he relents.

Not even ten minutes go by before Holland finds himself sprawled out in the back seat. Healy is behind the wheel and Holly is riding shotgun on navigation duty. He lets himself whistle off-key for the duration of the drive and think. It feels as though he and his partner are right on the cusp of finding the answer to the case. Thoughts of their peeper situation keeps him distracted until they arrive at the botanical garden.

The property is swarming with people, all here to see the dazzling display of lights. Healy pays for the tickets while Holly strains her neck to look around the corner at a truly impressively done polar bear made of string lights. He is starting to feel less irritable. His daughter was right, it had been a long time since the three of them had done anything as a family. 

Almost immediately through the gate, they lose Healy. Holland has his hands full keeping an eye on Holly, but he does his best to scan the milling crowds for his partner. He’s about to snag his daughter and start shouting the other man’s name when he pops up at his side like a jack in the box. 

“Where the hell did you go?” He snaps, clutching at his chest. Were they conspiring together to give him a heart attack before midnight tonight?

“Drinks,” the bruiser says, shoving a warm paper cup into March’s hand. He passes one to Holly as well. Jackson has never been one to turn down chocolate, especially when it’s free.

Holland pops the lid off his cup with a sigh and tips a splash of whisky into the hot chocolate from the flask he keeps in his jacket pocket. He dismisses Healy’s disapproving stare. “This is the first drink I’ve had all day.”

The other man lets it go. March knows he’s been doing a good job at cutting back. He has stopped drinking before the sun sets which has been a massive improvement. The detective doesn’t plan to get plastered here either. Any other refills will be purely non-alcoholic. 

As they roam the botanical garden, Holly is oo’ing and ah’ing at the lights, completely entranced. Both men watch her fondly. Their little family is a happy one despite the baggage that each member is carrying. Holland can’t imagine life without his partner and without his daughter. Most days, they keep him from going under and not coming back up.

While watching his daughter spin around under a canopy of lights arranged to look like dripping icicles, Holland’s fingers brush against Healy’s. He turns to look at Healy, only to find the man looking up into the branches. He has a smile on his scruffy face.

“Sure is somethin’, ain’t it, March?”

The detective  hesitates, casting a quick glance around, no one seems to be paying them any attention in the darkness. He slots his fingers in next to Healy’s, wrapping intertwining them with the other man’s until they’re holding hands for the first time in public. Two middle aged men in the 70s. Jack twitches like he might pull away, but he just grips Holland’s hand tightly. He feels elated and terrified, but nothing happens. He just has the warm comfort of Healy’s hand clasped in his. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He sounds choked up even to himself, but why shouldn’t he be? He’s having a good time with his family and everything is okay.

[herohimbowhore]

With the year coming to an end, I’ve been looking back and reflecting. And while I could obsess over every little thing I did and the outcomes of those actions, I will not because I’m actively ignoring things that will give me a post graduation existential crisis again.

However, I have been looking back and reflecting on formula one events. One thing that stands out, at least for me, is how much we talked about Alex Albon’s appendix and the domino effect it had on so many different things this year.

While that is a great starting point for the dominoes that fell this year with the alphatauri drivers, if we want to look at Red Bull as a whole, then we need to trace it back even further.

The Red Bull organization’s 2023 driver woes did not begin this year, but have been in the making since Daniel Ricciardo signed a Renault contract instead of the Red Bull contract extension.

Red Bull wasn’t prepared for Daniel leaving and having to fill that seat, so they hadn’t prepared Pierre for the seat and he was promoted before he was ready. Similarly, Alex Albon was promoted unexpectedly to F1 to fill the Toro Rosso seat and then promoted prematurely to replace Pierre at Red Bull. Which led to Alex not having a seat in 2021 and Red Bull signing Checo. From that Alex was able to compile data based on his RBR performance compared to his predecessor (Pierre) and successor (Checo). Then there’s the obvious dominoes: Alex gets the Williams seat, has to get his appendix removed, Nyck subs in for him, Nyck gets the AT seat, loses said seat, Daniel replaces him, Daniel breaks his metacarpals, Liam comes in, etc.

(Ignore the spelling mistakes, I made this at like 2am)

Daniel leaving Red Bull after 2018 can be a starting point for Red Bull’s issues currently.

They were left with a lack of options and promoted too early, so now they have more junior drivers than they know what to do with and are downsizing.

The drivers they promoted didn’t work out as they’d hoped and weren’t able to fill the space Daniel left, so they looked outwards for a driver and got Sergio -> promotion from toro rosso/alphatauri stopped and the junior team was stunted

Sergio isn’t performing as they would like — while a case can be made for being P2 in the championship, it’s clear that his position is due to the other teams dropping the ball. The margin between P1 and P2 is the largest we’ve seen, whereas there was a fight for P2 with a significantly worse Mercedes car. So Red Bull is with a driver that’s underperforming given the machinery he has and there’s more drivers than seats available.

Now with Daniel back in the Red Bull fold, we can continue down this domino path or it could come full circle with Daniel back at Red Bull.

2018, in my opinion, is a significant year for Formula 1. We got the fight for five with Lewis and Sebastian, Charles Leclerc’s rookie year and signing with Ferrari, the first Fernando retirement, and the Red Bull/Daniel Ricciardo domino effect.

[givemea-dam-break]

you and me, in every story - chapter one

a/n: a lockwood and co au in which lockwood and lucy's roles are swapped! the idea was cooked up by the wonderful @portlandrowismyhome and @wellgoslowly (i contributed too i promise), and this will be a multipart series! i hope you enjoy :)

warnings: none words: 2.3K taglist: @irisesforyoureyes @neewtmas @aayeroace @locklylemybeloved @mirrorballdickinson @ettadear @gotlostinfiction @mischiefmanaged71 @oblivious-idiot (let me know if you want added to my taglist <3)

full series collection

Lockwood had lived his whole life in London, so it was safe to say that he was peeved when he couldn’t find his way to Portland Row.

Seriously? How hard could it be to find a little street north-west London? Very hard, evidently, because he’d been circling the same area for the past half hour like an idiot. Now, not only was he frustrated at getting lost – it was embarrassing for a native Londoner to get lost, in his humble opinion – but he was also tired, hungry, and his shoulders hurt from this stupid bag he had decided to carry around. Well, the bag wasn’t stupid. Just some of the contents.

Really, all he wanted was to get out of this sweaty suit, have a shower, and then have the best sleep of his life while having the security of a job. Was that so hard to ask?

Apparently so, but, even still, he persevered, map in hand as he trudged the streets of Marylebone. Curfew tiptoed closer and closer, but he was adamant. He would not finish the day without getting himself this job. He’d fight tooth-and-nail for it if he had to.

Not that this job was exactly a fantastic one. It was just something he’d plucked out of the newspaper, but he’d heard of the company a few times and figured that this would be his best shot after things went awry last time.

And, ah, there! Finally! Thirty-five Portland Row, standing tall and… well, not proud, not with its peeling paint and slightly overgrown flowers in the window boxes. But it was certainly something!

On the fence read a sign: Carlyle and Co. After dark, ring the bell and wait beyond the iron line. How inviting. If Lockwood was hired – of course he would be! – he’d petition to change the wording of that. It sounded awfully uninviting, and that just wouldn’t do. No wonder the company wasn’t popular!

Well, these opinions of his would have to wait. Heaving a deep breath, he climbed up the steps to the front door and rang the bell, waiting patiently.

Footsteps sounded on the other side, followed by the rattling of the doorhandle, and then the door swung open, revealing a boy no older than he. His dark hair fell in a mop over his forehead, resting just above a pair of black-rimmed glasses over dark eyes. Eyes that showed nothing but confusion.

“Are you Arif’s new delivery boy?” the boy asked, frowning down at Lockwood.

Lockwood dared not show his confusion. “No. I’m here about the job. Are you –“

“Mr Carlyle?” he guessed. He rolled his eyes, and Lockwood held back a frown. “No. If anyone did their research, they’d know that Lucy Carlyle is the owner. And she’s a girl.”

“Oh. Sorry... So, the interview?”

The boy shrugged, stepping aside. “I suppose. Come on in.”

There was a little flicker of unease in Lockwood’s chest, but he couldn’t afford to let it show. Instead, he glanced around the hallway, taking in every detail about it: the slightly outdated wallpaper; the square marks that indicated photo frames that used to hang there for a while; the umbrella rack holding rapiers much fancier than the one he currently carried in a case. Everything about the hall was elaborate yet, somehow, entirely out of place, like different decades trying to fit together. Who was he to judge, though? He didn’t even have a house.

“Okey-doke,” the boy said, gesturing to a door on the right. “Here we are. Luce, you were right. We’ve got another interview.”

A voice came from inside the room, distinctively not a London accent, but pleasing to the ear all the same. “No, George, I just checked. That was our last one five minutes ago.”

The boy – George – frowned, glancing at Lockwood as he came to stand in the doorway. “Then who’s this?”

Lockwood had little to no time to take in the cluttered living room before his eyes caught the girl in the centre, clearing up some paper from the coffee table.

It was like all the air had been sucked from his lungs when he looked at her. Lucy Carlyle. That’s what George said her name was. And, God, did it fit. She turned to look at him with warm brown eyes, her bobbed hair swishing around her face before settling. She was no older than him, if not a little younger, and he couldn’t help but notice the unprofessional outfit she wore – a blue jumper and trousers, along with some ectoplasm-stained boots – and all of a sudden felt a little out of place in his suit, especially next to George in his orange plaid shirt and graphic tee, but the feelings melted away when Lucy Carlyle smiled at him. Not one of those Oh, I’m so happy to see you smiles, but more of a reassuring one.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t have an interview, but I saw the job listing and I was in the area.”

Complete lie. He’d been halfway across London, desperate to find anywhere that would hire him. This was his last hope.

“I’m Anthony Lockwood,” he continued. “But I just go by Lockwood.”

Lucy Carlyle nodded. “Lucy. Well, I’m sure we can fit in one more interview. George, brew some tea, would you?”

George glanced back at Lockwood with a hint of distaste. “Thought I’d wait to see how well he got on before making any.”

“George.” Lucy shot him a look before returning to that reassuring smile. “Please go make some. Lockwood, why don’t you come sit? Don’t mind George. He’s sick of people, now, and he’s not had his biscuits. He gets tetchy when he’s hungry.”

Lockwood could only nod as he sat on the sofa across from Lucy, trying not to think too much about how unprofessional all of this was. If DEPRAC were to see how this company operated in front of applicants, well, they wouldn’t be happy. What with the lack of a uniform, the arguing… He loved it. And, by the looks of it, not a supervisor in sight. Even better.

“Here’s my CV,” he said, pulling the folded paper from his pocket.

Lucy reached out for it, taking it gently and opening it. Her dark eyes scanned over it for a minute, reading each meticulously chosen word, before letting it fall on the coffee table in front of her. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at Lockwood, sending a shiver down his spine. Something in her gaze had the ability to freeze him in place.

“So, you’ve got Sight?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s my strongest Talent,” he said. “Deathglows are what I see the best, and I need sunglasses for them sometimes. But ghost-fog, apparitions, all that stuff, I pick out quickly. My Touch and Listening are mild at best.”

Way to talk himself up.

“I’m a Listener,” Lucy said. “Strong, if other people are to be believed. George is an all-rounder, but he’s mostly our researcher. Where was your last job? I’m assuming this isn’t your first.”

“No. I worked at Fittes for a while.”

Lucy turned as George stepped through the door, carrying a tray with mugs of steaming tea and biscuits. “Thanks, George. Well, you two will get on grand. George used to work at Fittes.”

“Mmhm,” George said, sitting in one of the armchairs. Completely uninterested, he plucked a biscuit off the plate and sat back, opting to read a comic.

“Biscuit?” Lucy held out the plate to him. “George’ll only eat them all.”

Gratefully, Lockwood took one. He hadn’t eaten for hours, and he was starving. A biscuit wouldn’t do much, but it was a Digestive, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t just pass that up!

“So, Lockwood,” Lucy said, “I did have tests in place, but George pointed out earlier that they aren’t really inclusive of people with Sight, so I’m going to have to take you on your word with all of this. Do you have a reference from your previous supervisor?”

It was an effort to not choke on his biscuit. “No, I don’t. Everything happened sort of suddenly, so I’ve not had a chance.”

George sniffed. “You could take him to a haunted house, see how he does. Maybe he’ll run off.”

Lockwood teeth ground together, but he plastered on an easy smile. Whenever things were going wrong, that trusty smile of his could get him out of trouble. Surely it could help him deal with a self-righteous teen boy who couldn’t even eat a biscuit without covering his T-shirt in half of it.

But Lucy didn’t even spare him a glance. She was looking straight at Lockwood again, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she considered him.

Then the slight curve of her lips melted into a frown. “Did you say something?”

Lockwood blanched. “What? No?”

Lucy sat back; her eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, you did. You just called me – I’m not even going to repeat that! And, to think, I was considering hiring you with no knowledge of your skill.”

“I didn’t –“ He looked at George desperately. “I said nothing.”

And, for a moment, he worried that he had said something and not even realised. But what would he have said? He’d been far too busy being slightly disgusted with George’s method of eating biscuits to have even said anything to her.

To his surprise, George saved the day. “Luce, he didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, he did!”

“No, I swear I didn’t. I –“

Lucy stood and stormed around the coffee table until she was right in front of Lockwood. He worried what she was going to do, but she leaned over his shoulder and yanked open the zipper of his bag. She tore out the big silverglass jar he had stashed in there, holding it in both hands.

He hadn’t really thought anything of it when he stole it. It was just a jar with a source inside – a boring old skull that sometimes came to life when it could be bothered – but he had been so mad with how things had ended that he felt the need to take something from Fittes, just like they’d taken something from him. It had seemed a worthwhile steal, seeing as ghost-jars weren’t overly common.

Currently, the ghost inside was awake, swirling in bright green ectoplasm and pulling the crude faces Lockwood had grown used to these last few days. The past few mornings in his hotel room, he had woken up to see it leering at him and making horrible gestures with made-up hands, and though it had mouthed some obscenely horrible things that Lockwood couldn’t understand, he had kept it for some odd reason.

It was more active than other ghosts, and part of Lockwood hoped that somehow he had bagged a Type Three, as controversial as their existence was. He had started to fall out of that belief. Well, until now.

Lucy glared at the ghost inside, free of that easy smile she’d had mere minutes ago. “Excuse you? You’re a ghost in a jar. You’ve no right to speak to me like that! I’ll throw you into the furnaces myself, see how you like that!”

Lockwood and George shared a look, and the latter dropped his comic book on a side table, leaning forward.

“Uh, Luce?”

“What, George?”

“You’re talking to a ghost.”

“Damn right I am! Didn’t you hear what he called me? Prick.”

“Luce?”

“What?”

“We can’t hear anything he’s saying. That’s – that’s all you.”

Lucy’s scowl softened for a moment, and she glanced between the jar, Lockwood, and George, her cheeks growing red. Angrily, she slammed the jar down on the mantle top, shaking the little pieces of clutter that were scattered across it.

“You’re serious you couldn’t hear it?” she asked.

“No,” George insisted. His gaze turned on Lockwood. “Were you aware you were carrying a Type Three on your back?”

Lockwood hesitated. “Well, I thought, maybe, um…”

George huffed a laugh. “How did you get your hands on that? Fittes keeps them locked up securely. Like, really securely. Believe me, I tried to nick a one before I left.”

A strange thing to bond over, but Lockwood would take whatever he could get. He looked back over at Lucy, who was practically steaming from the ears as she stared at the skull. The horrible thing formed a hand out of the ectoplasm and made a particularly inappropriate gesture that had Lucy beyond seething.

“Well, we can’t just let you go back out on the street with a Type Three,” she said, and though he knew the anger in her tone wasn’t directed at him anymore, he still felt his face grow warm. “And I’m guessing it won’t be as easy as buying it off you.”

She wasn’t wrong. If that really was a Type Three, he sure as hell was keeping it on hand. But… Nobody could talk to Type Threes, nobody besides Marissa Fittes and she was long since dead. And here was Lucy, arguing with one right in front of his eyes as if it were a daily occurrence for her. Only George seemed shocked by it all, staring at both wide-eyed. He needed a job, and they wanted his ghost. It seemed as though there was a deal afoot.

“No. I want a job here. Then you’re free to do what you want with it.”

He spotted the mad flare in George’s eyes and shifted uncomfortably. The kid might not be able to eat a biscuit neatly, but Lockwood had every reason to believe he was somewhat a mad scientist.

“Well, anything within reason.”

Lucy glared at the ghost for a second longer before turning back to Lockwood. “Fine. We’ve a room free upstairs if you want to take it, unless you’ve got separate accommodations? Rent would be taken from your wage.”

He couldn’t seem too excited, so he simply pasted that smile of his on again and said, “That would be great.”

“George, shift whatever crap you’ve got stored in there. Lockwood, welcome to Carlyle and Co.”

[honey-tea-and-lemon-trees]

…bagels 👀

hello. below (and on ao3 because I don’t know how to write short lil drabbles apparently) is pure, silly, tooth-rotting fluff. established nace, same brain silliness. please enjoy <3

————————————

It’s been a long, frequently employed, running joke amongst their circle - how similar they are. 

Since the beginning, it’s been years of shared chuckles and rolled eyes as they observe Ace and Nancy talk to each other in half-sentences, communicating in a language only the two of them can understand. Cries of disbelief as Nancy finds Ace’s eyes across the room at exactly the right moment, and knows in her bones that he’d cracked the solution to a case; feeling his gaze on her seconds before she beats him to the answer; or best of all, when the only way to beat something is to swirl their thoughts together in one glass, the solve a well-mixed cocktail of them two of them.

It’s mostly limited to eyebrow wagging and shaking heads when their poring over murder boards, but stems into full blown outrage at family game nights.

It was established, fairly early on, that they weren’t allowed to be on the same team due to unfair advantage. 

‘What advantage?’ Nancy head yelled, disgruntled as she threw her legs across Ace’s on the couch. 

‘That thing you two do,’ Ryan had murmed with narrowed eyes. ‘We’ve collectively agreed it shouldn’t be allowed for fair and square games.’ 

Ace’s eyes had swung to Nancy’s, his mouth pinched in a, ‘ huh’ . 

Nancy raised a brow, to which he shrugged. 

‘Yes!’ Bess had clapped her hands furiously, ripping their attention away from each other. ‘That’s the thing!’ 

‘No couples allowed!’ Especially you two weirdos,’ George had said decisively. She waved a hand in Nick’s direction, on the other side of the room, as if to prove her point. 

‘I object,’ Ace said lazily, as Carson strolled into the Drew house living room.

‘Overruled. Sorry kids.’ 

Then, it was decreed they weren’t allowed to be on opposite teams because they both got too caught up and competitive until George snapped that they were giving her a headache and to ‘fucking chill out.’

One… particularly heated , incident gets them slapped with a ban from the next two game nights. Nancy’s left yelling on the doorstep, Ace’s jaw still hanging open as Nick closes the door to his and George’s house with a regretful shrug, with a stern dad look about his face.

Nancy scoffs and turns to Ace. They blink at each other in the soft evening light.

‘That was your fault.’ Nancy pokes Ace in the ribs and tries to stop her traitorous lips from curving into a smile.

‘I have no defense… Game Night Ace is a passionate guy. Sometimes he takes the reins and I don’t come-to until the yelling cuts through the trance,’ he mutters, looking convincingly sorrowful. Hair hanging over his wide, blue eyes in a gut-wrenchingly innocent puppy dog gaze. 

The smile blooms fully across her face, even as she rolls her eyes. ‘Game Night Ace is pretty ridiculous.’ 

‘You’re tellin’ me.’ He shakes his head as he offers Nancy his arm.

She snakes her hand around Ace’s bicep and embraces the magnetic pull of her body towards his, despite the still sticky heat of the evening. 

They didn’t bring a car, it’s not a far walk from Nick and George’s to their place. They stroll in companionable quiet until a townsperson inevitably stops them every few minutes and they have to engage in conversation. Nancy knows as many of them as Ace does, has reasons to like each of them, but can’t say she’d stop her journey for every single one, if not for the humanoid golden retriever she’s attached to. 

Nancy spends the walk, and intermittent conversations, tracing mindless patterns on the warm skin of Ace’s arm, shown off in one of his short-sleeved floral shirts that she loves, tinged golden from weeks of warm, summer sun. 

They’re nearly thirty minutes into their nine minute commute home, and yet Nancy doesn’t want to burst the bubble of the evening yet. She’s drunk on the laughter of her friends and family, the ridiculousness of getting thrown out of game night because of the man she loves. 

She nudges Ace’s shoulder with her chin as he waves to Mrs Feldman, finally retreating. ‘Do you want to see if Cindy’s still got the ice cream parlour open?’ She murmurs softly, nuzzling her nose against his shirtsleeve slightly.

Ace looks at her with an impossibly tender expression, a smile curling his lips and a hand suddenly clutching his heart. ‘You just read my mind, Nance.’

In the absence of game nights come bets.  

They start because there is only one blueberry bagel left. 

‘That bagel is mine, Drew.’ Ace looks at her with widened eyes, hands held out cautiously in front of him as he slowly shuffles towards her.

Nancy yelps as he suddenly darts around their kitchen table, narrowly missing his hand grabbing for her waist. She readjusts her hold on the plate where her bagel precariously resides.

‘Seeing as it’s in my hand, I don’t see how that can be true, Hardy,’ she muses, continuing to pace backwards around the table.

‘You acquired it through nefarious means and you know it!’ His voice is a scratchy, morning rumble.

She shrugs. ‘Nothing you can prove.’ 

‘Maybe so…’ He breathes a laugh, straightening and running a hand through his still sleep-mussed hair, the muscles in his arm bunching more deliciously than a blueberry bagel. 

This man plays dirty, it’s an attack on all of Nancy’s weak areas and he knows it.

Unfortunately it works. Her stomach is still fluttering even as she shrieks a laugh when this time, his hands do encircle her waist. He walks them backwards until she’s boxed in by his hands on the counter either side of her body, the plated bagel trapped between their chests. 

The corners of his eyes crinkle with lines that weren’t there when they first got together. Evidence of years of smiles just for Nancy, like a whisper in her ear, on a man who they’re hard to coax from. 

Gotcha , his smirk says now.

‘Fine,’ she mumbles grumpily, as Ace lets out a quiet victory laugh and drops a kiss onto her bare shoulder, where the strap of her tank top has fallen down. ‘I’ll share.’ She holds it out half for him, and he takes a bite without removing his hands from beside her, letting out a happy hum while he chews. ‘But only because I know how grumpy you’d be without your morning bagel.’ 

He huffs with his mouth full. Presses a blueberry flavoured kiss to her lips before he says, ‘Not exactly cutting coming from you, Nance.’ 

Her jaw goes slack with mock shock as she offers him another bite of bagel. ‘Excuse me?’ 

‘You’re grumpy as hell if you don’t get your morning bagel fix,’ he murmurs before he tears another bite off. He kisses the edge of her mouth again and pushes off the counter. ‘But you eat the rest of that, I’ll get dressed and go grab some more.’

‘Nope, you have it,’ Nancy says, holding out the plate to him, chin lifted indignantly. ‘And don’t worry about going out… I don’t need a bagel.’ 

Ace raises a brow at her. She mirrors his expression challengingly. 

He cautiously takes the plate from her outstretched hands, eyeing her carefully. 

‘In fact,’ she muses. ‘I won’t have any more bagels… this week!’ 

‘Nancy…’ he drags out her name in a groan that makes her chest flutter. He discards the plate on the table and grabs her waist. ‘I’m just kidding around. I’m grumpy without my bagel too!’ 

‘I know you were, but you presented a challenge. And I don’t back down from those.’ She smirks, winding her arms around his neck. ‘Do you think you could go without for a week?’ 

He blinks. ‘ Could and Wanting to… very different concepts here.’ 

She pouts her lips, eyeing him teasingly. ‘You couldn’t then.’ 

‘That’s not what I’m saying…’ 

‘Well, prove it then.’ 

Ace narrows his eyes. Nancy pokes the bear. 

‘I bet you cave before I do,’ she whispers against his lips. 

His whisper is immediate and cursing. ‘God dammit.’ 

‘What’s wrong with Nancy?’ Bess hisses at a volume she thinks Nancy can’t hear, but Icarus Hall (the newly established premises of the Historical Society, since Ace and Nancy found a place in town) is echoey as hell. 

Ace hisses back through the corner of his mouth. ‘She’s trying to win a bagel bet.’ 

‘In words we’ll all understand please, darling,’ Bess prompts.

‘We swore off bagels until the other caves and eats one. Haven’t had any in a week.’

‘Oh god…’

Ace hums consolingly. ‘We had to walk past the store and smell all the freshly baked cinnamon bagels. Mrs G’s new recipe… She isn’t taking it well.’ 

‘Ooh… those are to die for though.’

Ace groans, dropping his head onto the desk. ‘Don’t tempt me.’ 

Nancy swivels in her chair, calling across the room to where the pair of them are sitting. ‘He’s so close to giving in, I can taste it.’ 

‘I am made of stone. Nothing can break me,’ Ace says, completely deadpan.

‘Ha!’ Nancy shuts the door with a smug grin on her face, on Day 8 of the bagel bet. If the Horseshoe Baygles bag sitting on the counter were not damning enough, there’s a half eaten one hanging out of Ace’s mouth. Game over.

‘She got me! Mrs G cornered me and asked why I hadn’t been in! She said she’d been worried about us, Nancy!’ He collapses into a chair heavily, wraps his mouth around another hulking bite. ‘I was gonna just take the bag over to my mom’s but once I had that smell circulating in Florence… I was a goner.’ 

Nancy laughs, as she slips off her shoes and pads across the floor towards him. She nudges his knees so she can step between them, cradling his face to tilt up to her. 

‘You really can’t resist an old lady offering you bagels?’ She brushes a knuckle against his cheek.

‘I really can’t.’ He shakes his head gently in her grip. ‘May or may not have eaten three already.’ 

‘You’re going to have a stomach ache.’ 

‘I’d do it again. These are fucking delicious,’ he whispers seriously, coaxing another laugh from Nancy. 

‘I love you, strange man.’ She leans down and Ace smiles into her kiss. ‘Did you at least save me some?’ 

‘Do I wanna live to the end of the day? ‘Course I left you some,’ he mutters with a smirk. 

Nancy immediately leans over him reaching for the paper bag. ‘I already have ideas for new bets… I want to keep this winning streak going and I think I can beat you again.’ 

Ace chest rumbles with a rare, bursting laugh, tugging her waist until she’s fully seated in his lap. Nancy lets out a surprised yelp, barely keeping a hold on her bagel bag. 

‘I love you, strange woman.’ He gazes at her, and her chest throbs with the tenderness splayed across his face. 

Even after all this time, the loving him isn’t the slightest bit tiring. 

‘Tell me your ideas, Nance... But be warned. This time, I’m beating you.’

[justsleepyrune]

@fallenlondonficswap @thedandy-detective

I have no idea what Tobey’s like, but have a dog fueled misadventure! For the secret swap!

General rating | Tobey, Brett, the Grubby Kitten | 1040 words

“Tobey, come here, you can’t just run away,” Brett sighed, watching the small terrier stumble about, little legs trotting in the most abstract of lines. “We’ve got plans, remember?” 

The terrier didn’t listen, continuing to wind about. Perhaps he had his own plans, something involving tracing every fifteenth cobblestone as he wobbled about. Brett followed, easily keeping up pace with his dog, still not reaching to grab him. “This case is an important one,” he began to lecture. Tobey didn’t care. His nose twitched in the air. He darted away, following the winding path of the delicious scent that he had caught. 

See, Brett was a detective. Brett could solve a case, put clues together, chase down the faintest of evidence trails. Tobey was not. Indeed, it wasn’t clear if Tobey was even aware half of the time, as absinthe drenched as he managed to be. However, there was one thing that Tobey was excellent at, just the same as his owner. Tracking down whatever trail had caught his interest.

This, of course, wasn’t anything like a case. No, Tobey had caught the scent of ham. Tinned ham, specifically, an abomination of dubious origin, but one that certainly still smelled like meat. 

“Tobey, come back!” Brett was already falling behind him. Tobey wondered, for a moment, whether he should wait for him. However, he was far more focused on running in a straight line, not tripping over a stray cobblestone or a random passerby’s foot. 

His feet skid, barely retaining traction on the paved street. He looked back, just for a moment, to watch his owner nearly collide into two women on a stroll, only to collide into someone himself.

He hit the small kitten full speed, bowling her over and sending himself toppling over too. They flopped into the entryway of a small, grimy pawnshop, each window boarded over twice. Tobey huffed, trying to decide which direction was up. That one. No, actually, it was this one. He stood, shaking himself off.

The Grubby Kitten watched him, green eyes wide as she skittered backwards, ears flattening as she hissed in disapproval at his clumsiness. In a similar accent to a few of the urchins he had seen throwing rocks from the rooftops, she began to scold him. Something about how she wouldn’t expect much from a dreary creature as himself, but he was miserably failing even the lowest of expectations.

Tobey blinked. He wondered if he should be listening. He’d caught the scent of tinned ham again. He began to inch  away, stepping backwards, hoping to escape the shrill kitten’s long winded speech.

Suddenly he was being yanked upwards, his sense of direction scrambling in three different directions, finally collapsing back together as he was pulled to Brett’s chest. “I told you not to run off,” Brett sighed. He sounded a little out of breath. “I just ran into such a lovely couple, nearly spilled the poor woman’s tea all over her, and then,” Tobey tuned him out, trying to wriggle away again. While he couldn’t decide which way was down, he was pretty convinced that it involved getting away from Brett’s firm grip.

“Keep a better eye on ‘ur pup,” the Grubby Kitten hissed, prancing a little, as if she was older and more respectable than her small size and general bedraggled nature betrayed. 

Brett paused, before looking for a safe spot in the entryway to take a seat, safe from the general grime. Finally he found one, carefully sitting, Tobey still struggling in his arms. “Er, I’m very sorry, ma’am.” 

The Grubby Kitten sniffed, head held high in the air. Tobey swung his head back and forth, before attacking Brett’s arm with ineffectual headbutts and kisses. Brett barely blinked. “He knocked into me,” she grumbled, pacing again. Back and forth, she weaved, circling Brett, still watching him with big green eyes. “Don’t want any ‘alf-wit, useless apologies.”

Tobey rather thought that she was a dreadful creature. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t been looking where he’d been going, he hardly remembered to look at all half the time. But Brett smiled, because his owner was kind. His owner had always been far too kind. “Might I offer a secret, in exchange for your forgiveness? He can be quite clumsy sometimes.”

The kitten paused, tail flicking up as she considered, eyes alight with the idea of making a real trade. “I suppose I could forgive ‘im, just this once,” she finally grumbled. 

“Thank you, miss,” Brett smiled. She hissed a little at his smile. It was almost pathetically adorable, Tobey thought. She may have been dreadful, but she had some half of the skill that he’d learned early, of looking as cute as possible when a mess. In his case, drenched in absinthe. In hers, being an utter brat, filthy, and looking like something that had slept in the gutter. Obviously, Brett had much more refined tastes. Still, Tobey’s owner leaned down, pulling Tobey away from his reach for a moment, to whisper some secret in the kitten’s ear. 

Tobey’s owner was forever too kind.

The kitten’s tail flicked back and forth as she listened, before scampering two steps back, as if afraid that he would snatch it away in an instant. “You’re forgiven,” she sniffed, looking to Tobey. “Watch where ‘ur goin’ next time.” He wouldn’t. In fact, he thought that he’d barrel into her even harder. Even if, at the moment, he couldn’t quite decide where she was. 

He’d figure it out.

Brett stood again, saying a polite farewell to the kitten, who bolted before he’d even halfway finished. Urchin pets. They never had many manners. Tobey squirmed upwards, licking Brett’s face, as they walked away.

“Goodness, alright,” his owner sighed, scratching behind his ears, before begrudgingly setting him down. “If you’ll stop fighting our feline friends, let’s get on with our plans? I can’t miss this interview. It took a lot to get the devilless to agree to a meeting, I don’t think she’ll accept tardiness. Besides,” and Tobey had stopped listening, having caught the scent of tinned ham again. 

He bolted once more, ignoring the shout of his exasperated owner behind him. He was hungry and he had a ham to track down.

[herhighness-thequeenofhearts]

Obligatory spoiler warning for Good Omens S2.

Let’s have a chat about The Coffee Theory.

(don’t leave yet, it’s not what you think)

I actually have a little mini “coffee theory” of my own, but instead of Angel Brainwash Juice, The Metatron is serving up some Grade A manipulation.

Another person on TikTok and I briefly touched on the coffee possibly being kind of a “cult recruitment thing”, like getting someone to hold your pen. Get them saying “yes” to small things, so they’re primed to say “yes” to big things. And while I definitely think that’s part of it, I actually want to take that one step further, because I think it’s very notable that the Metatron chooses to serve Aziraphale coffee.

Now, I could be forgetting a scene (in which case this theory kinda crumbles 😅); I’ll need to go back and check. But I can’t recall a single instance of Aziraphale choosing to drink coffee on his own. Aziraphale (an angel after my own heart) is a tea and cocoa enjoyer. The only time he arguably comes close to getting coffee for himself is when Crowley orders his 6 shots of espresso, and Aziraphale expresses interest.

But, he doesn’t end up going with coffee. He gets the eccles cakes because they “calm people down” (probably also because he has a sweet tooth). He wanted something soothing, cozy, and sweet. And what else is considered soothing, cozy, and sweet? Tea and cocoa. That’s what Aziraphale likes, that’s what brings him comfort in a difficult moment, something soothing, cozy, and sweet.

So let’s circle back to the coffee. Something I find worth noting is that Metatron doesn’t just order plain black coffee, or even coffee with cream. He orders an oat milk latte with almond syrup. Something with a bit of sweetness to it (which Aziraphale likes), but something that is most definitely coffee, and therefore wrong. Not what Aziraphale likes.

Now, we could give Metatron the benefit of the doubt, he probably just didn’t know what Aziraphale likes to eat and drink. Except that not five minutes later, he mentions “observing” Aziraphale and Crowley’s history together. He’s seen all of the restaurant dates, the nightcaps, everything. So he almost definitely knows what Aziraphale likes.

There’s also the weird behavior from both Aziraphale and The Metatron in “the coffee scene”. Aziraphale is visibly unenthusiastic about the coffee, but Metatron is still insistent that he drinks it anyway (which is probably how a lot of people landed on “there’s something in the coffee”).

So, let me finally arrive at the point: I don’t think that the coffee was full of Angel Brainwash Juice, but the coffee is an important detail, considering how much attention they put on it. I think that the coffee is partially a “recruitment tactic” as I mentioned earlier, and partially meant to put Aziraphale in his place. He likes tea and cocoa, and he was served coffee by someone who definitely has the knowledge that coffee isn’t what Aziraphale prefers. I think that the coffee was essentially The Metatron looking Aziraphale dead in the eyes and saying, “you’ll take what I give you, you’ll shut up, and you’ll like it”.

And, well; Aziraphale does shut up and take it (both the coffee, and Heaven’s manipulation) even if he doesn’t like it. So by the time he and Crowley are finally poised to have their moment, Aziraphale has lost a lot of the progress we’ve seen him make and is right back under Let-Heaven-Walk-All-Over-Me-Mode. Right back to the same angel who let Gabriel, Micheal, Uriel, Sandalphon, and Metatron push him around in Season 1.

I think I like this theory better than the Coffee Theory because it doesn’t remove Aziraphale’s agency and responsibility for his own actions via Angel Brainwashing, but it also takes into account Heaven’s manipulation and Aziraphale’s trauma.

[strangefellows]

YEAHHH like you pointed out already limbus seems to be heavily focusing on lobcorp rather than lor since we’ve got two lc events compared to one lor event (although they could just be doing it in a pattern and the next one is lor)

I really hope they do start diving deeper into lobcorp lore because what the hell is up with the ordeals. what im getting so far is that ordeals are to abnormalities what peccatulum are to distortions, if that makes any sense. and the fact the white ordeals basically predicted the future with the library, and the midnight of white is an entire ass claw, how the hell did ayin get that?????

im pretty confident that a hypothetical sephirah meltdown event would firmly stick to the upper layer, mayyyybe tiphereth if we push it, but gebura would absolutely kick the sinners asses unless there are other nuggets around, which would be cool since the sinners have never had combat allies before

yeah yeah exactly!!! i think we might get more lor events, but the focus will definitely be on locorp -- that's the origin of the abnormalities, where it all began, and something we know little about in comparison to the library, which we saw built from the ground up firsthand more or less in lor; its lobcorp that still has so many mysteries around it, and given one of those is its ties to the smoke war, of which we have TWO (2) veterans of....it just makes sense to make it come full circle

which, again, ties into my ayin theory given that he is the beginning and so will be the end; the alpha and the omega.

YEAH tho the ordeals are fascinating, and absolutely how the fuck did the white ordeals happen. i think abel says something about them not being ACTUAL fixers/a claw but like. manifestations of the well of consciousness's representations something something. but even in that, like....how did they make them manifest???? and the lore we got in the event about how the ampoules/bullets work, that's delicious, and the bit about the regenerators....like, we're getting more lobcorp lore here then in lobcorp itself in some cases! esp about the agents!

which really really lends itself again to my theory because like, we're learning new things about lobcorp we didn't know IN lobcorp, while in the lor event nothing addressed there iirc was new to us, and that in and of itself says a lot.

yeah that could track bc they're the most straightforward in comparison to others in regards to mechanics. and oh my god oh my god that would be INCREDIBLE since thanks to verg in canto 6 we have precedence for npc assistance in battles. i would love that.

i just saw a post on twt relatedly talking about how strange it would be for ayin to see these randos show up to fight ordeals/etc and die and come back without his interference and god. GOD if we hear X on the intercom at some point i think i might just cease existing because that would be THE FIRST TIME IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING SERIES we hear him speak as a character because he had no voice in lobcorp and the narrator of the meltdown flashbacks was "A" not our boy X/the ayin i think is dante.

but like. fr tho. fr if we get a meltdown and dante does their thing like they do w the sinners thats it right there pack it up i win.

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 20

“People don’t change people, time does.” | Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: T Universe: Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) Words: 2030

--

A/N: This followed the original work (Dead Batteries)

--

Fili drove straight back to the clubhouse after he left Kili on the side of the highway waiting for a tow truck. A tow truck that would take Kili to his parent’s house. He stopped himself. It was Kili’s house. 

Kili’s house. 

He could not just go home after learning that information. If he went home he might download social media apps and search for Kili to see what he had been up to all these years. Something that Fili had consciously stopped himself several times over the years. It had been harder when he was younger and social media was new and everyone was on there posting photos of their shoes, their car, their lunch, their snack, their pet, any unhinged thing that occurred to them. And they attached actual thoughts or stories to those pictures, not just inspiration quotes that were taken straight from Pinterest or copied from a listicle. Things became less personal, and it was less enjoyable and informative and satisfying to stalk people online because there was content, but it told you less than nothing about the person in most cases. 

He thought about seeing who was on the after hours tow truck rotation. What he would do with that information he did not know. Take their place? Grill them for information? 

“Fili!” Nori called out when Fili walked into the great room of the club house. It was Friday so the room was decently full with members and their significant others. The room was different than it had been when Fili and Kili had been teenagers. There was no more cigarette smoke, the music was less loud, and it had been redecorated with Dis’ assistance fairly recently meaning that not everything was black leather, glass, and chrome. 

Fili grabbed a beer from the fridge and made his way over to join the cluster around Nori who was regaling his audience with a story about his previous weekend which seemed to have involved a lot of alcohol, a not insignificant amount of weed, and had ended with Nori passed out in his back lawn without any pants or underwear. Fili listened, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Kili. 

“So…?”

“What?” Fili asked, snapping back to the moment to find most of the little circle looking at him.

“I heard the call out come in.”

Fili raised his eyebrows, playing ignorant, “What call?”

“Kili.”

“Oh?” Fili raised the beer to his lips.

“You’re not cute,” Nori replied.

“Debatable,” Fili grinned.

“I know you know what I’m talking about.”

“Hmm?”

“He said you already diagnosed his car’s problem.”

“Mhm.”

“And?”

“It’s the alternator.”

Nori gave Fili a pointed look. 

Fili took that as his indication to leave. “I should get home, busy day tomorrow.”

Nori snorted. “Yeah, getting under the hood of a certain brunette.”

“It’s been over a decade,” Fili replied hotly. “We’ve both moved on. His car needs fixed. I’m on the schedule for tomorrow morning. You can go look for yourself. You can even come supervise me if you think I can’t be professional.”

Nori snorted. “That’s not something I need to see.”

“Fuck you.” Fili turned on his heel and left before anything else that he might come to regret came out of his mouth. Maybe home would have been a better choice.

He crammed his helmet on and then sat in the parking lot astride his big black bike connecting his phone to the bluetooth function in his helmet and then scrolling through music trying to find the right mood. He listened to a song for a few seconds and then skipped it. He sat there, focusing on that, calming down and not thinking about Kili,  until a text came in. 

Isa: Are you busy?

Fili: Maybe. Why?

Isa: The plans I had fell through.

Fili: Tinder boy a no show?

Isa: More like Tinder boy was a walking red flag. Isa: Literally

Fili: What were you thinking?

Isa: Drinks at the Green Dragon?

Fili: You buying?

Isa: Uh. What happened?

Fili: You’re not the only one who had something unexpected happen.

Isa: Color me interested.

Fili: Easier in person

Isa: I’m going to change and then I’ll be on my way.

Fili: Already on my bike

The Green Dragon was Bilbo’s pet project. Thorin had bought it for him as a birthday gift a few years ago. They still teased Bilbo that Thorin had given him a job to get him out of the house more often. But many of the club’s members frequented the pub. It filled a gap that many towns had. Bilbo called it “a third space” during the morning and afternoons people would meet there for book clubs, knitting groups, or just to grab a cup of coffee and people watch. Coffee, tea, pastries, some basic sandwiches, and salads were the main fare until after 5pm, when it turned more into a traditional bar space with a short and sweet entree menu, a rotating beer menu all from local breweries, and a daily desert. There was a small room, that used to be a coat closet, that Bilbo had turned into a Little Free Library / used book store.

The parking lot was already decently full when Fili pulled up.

Half of the space had been cleared of tables to create a make-shift dance floor (standard for Friday and Saturday nights) and there was something upbeat about rather being famous than dead pounding over the speakers. Bilbo had invested in a digital jukebox to help boost business post-COVID. Fili did not always love the music that the younger patrons picked, but if he really needed something a little more late-2000s, more punk, less pop, he could pay an extra fee and have his song bumped to the front of the list. 

Fili claimed a corner booth and ordered whatever was dark on tap for himself and an IPA for Isa. 

He drank is beer, ordered another along with some waters, and wait for Isa to arrive. He knew from experience that it could be a while. She said she was going to change and it really depended on how long it took her to pick a new outfit. 

Fili: I got a table. Corner near the door.

The college kid checked to see if Fili needed anything else and Fili waved him off saying that he was waiting for a friend. 

“I always forget how busy this palace gets on Fridays,” Isa said, sliding into the booth opposite Fili. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good thing, but… I’m just always surprised.”

Fili shrugged. “Makes it easy to talk without getting overheard.”

“That’s right,” she leaned closer, her bobbed dark curls falling forward, “You said something happened.”

Fili nodded and took a long drink, steeling himself to talk about this. He had learned to tease out the things that caused him any sort of distress rather than pretending that they did not exist and hoping that they would go away with time. 

“He’s back.”

“Who?” Isa asked, licking a bit of foam from her upper lip.

“Kili.”

Her dark brown eyes went wide enough that white surrounded her irises. “What?!”

“That was pretty much my reaction.” Fili drained the rest of his second beer. “On the inside.”

“I bet. Did he say why he’s back?”

“His dad died a few months back. He says he’s here to sort through his things.”

“And you don’t believe him?” 

“He hasn’t been back in over a decade, Isa.”

“Yeah. I see your point.”

“Plus he’s not just here for a long weekend or a week or two. He’s taken a job at the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So he’s probably sticking around for a while?”

Fili ordered another beer when the waiter came around again. “That’s what I figured.”

Isa pulled a face. “How do you know he’s back?”

Fili snorted. “He ended up stranded on the side of the highway heading in to town. I stopped to help before I realized it was him.”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“No. Probably not,” Fili sighed. “It’s just,” he exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s been a decade, you know? I figured that I’d done pretty much all I needed to do, everything I could do, to move on. And then there he was, standing in front of me, and I got those butterflies all over again like we were sixteen again for God’s sake.”

Isa reached out to rest her hand on his. “I’m sorry that this has upset you. Is there anything I can do to help? Other than listen, of course.”

Fili rolled his eyes, “I can hear the therapist talking.”

“Sorry,” Isa forced a scowl. “You should show him that you’re over him by…” she stopped and looked around the Green Dragon for the most attractive person, “taking that girl home,” she pointed.

“That’s Rosie Cotton,” Fili said with an amused smile. “She’s seventeen.”

“Maybe not her then,” Isa casts around for another candidate. 

“I see what you’re doing,” Fili said. “And, no, I’m going to do the well-adjusted healthy thing and go home by myself.”

“Good.”

“Besides, if you’re trying to pick the hottest person here, then you’d have to suggest yourself.”

“Flirt.”

Fili grinned.

“That’s good that you’re not even tempted.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I was going to be a grown up and not do the unhealthy thing. I make no promises about whether or not I look at porn when I get home.”

“Okay!” Isa exclaimed. “Too much information!”

“We’ve traded website recommendations.”

“I like to forget about that,” Isa sniffed.

“Yours were good. I still use them,” Fili teased.

“Moving on…” Isa nudged him. “So are you going to do anything about him being back?”

Fili pulled a face. “I don’t know. His car got towed to the shop and I’m working tomorrow morning, so I’ll probably see him when he picks it up, but he doesn’t have a way to get there so I might end up dropping it off at his place. Or… I don’t know, Isa.”

“I hear you.”

“Things ended so badly. We were both stupid. We both said things that probably hurt each other. I don’t remember things I said, but I remember things that he said. And I’m sure he remembers that last phone call. And everything that came before that.”

Isa frowned in confusion.

“I… I was not kind. And I hung up on him,” Fili stared down into the beer that had newly been refilled. “That was the night I got the DUI.”

“Speaking of that,” Isa said, “Just so this doesn’t have to come up later. Are you having another after that one? If so, I’m going to need your keys.”

Fili shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t even have this one, but I figured we’d be here for a while. I still have to hear about the Tinder boy.”

“In a bit,” Isa waved her hand.

“Like… how do we move forward from that? Do I apologize? Do I wait for him to apologize? Do we just pretend that none of it happened?”

“I think that depends on what you think your relationship with him will be moving forward.”

“Did I mention the butterflies?”

“I wouldn’t act like none of that happened then.”

“You’re right,” Fili sighed. He was silent for a minute. “So an apology. Then what?”

“I’d say just see where it goes. Time is what changes people. You’re not the same kid I met in State. I’m not the same girl. And I’m sure Kili isn’t the same either.”

“That could be a bad thing.”

“Or it could be a good thing. You said you got butterflies. Maybe he did too. Or maybe you can both be friends, neighbors, members of the same community without awkwardness.”

Fili snorted. “I doubt that last one.”

“You never know.”

“So tell me about Tinder Boy.”

“To start with the least problematic thing… he has / had a girlfriend …”

Fili drank his third beer a lot slower while he listened to the disaster that Isa’s date with Samuel the CPA had turned out to be. And it had only lasted fifteen minutes.

--

Taglist

Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @i-am-pinkie

Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen