#or tried somewhere he would be given the death sentence

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 003

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[10.4k] A court hearing leaves the pogues scrambling for anything to get John B out of jail. And fast.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, corrupt law enforcement, mentions of murder, mentions of suicide, graphic depictions of injuries,

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ A lot of questions answered in this chapter and I think TR was such a girlboss here

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE FIVE OF YOU SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COURTROOM, hidden perfectly in plain sight. John B was arrested yesterday, Shoupe and his men leaving you all distraught and soaked in the middle of the woods. They had to cuff John B’s unconscious body and basically load him into the back of the squad car. 

You were sat at the end of the row, next to JJ who’d wiggled between you and Pope. You had on a hoodie and shorts, the hood pulled over your head as you slouched in the pew. You kept taking glances across the court room, Rose and Ward sitting on the other side, acting oblivious and innocent.

“This is such bullshit.” You scoffed, playing with the strings of the hoodie. 

Suddenly, a bony hand grasped your shoulder, making you turn around, coming face to face with an old woman. She pointed in your face as she spoke. “You’re in public, young lady. You may want to watch your mouth.”

You made a face at the woman, turning further in your seat to look at her. “You may want to watch yours. Your dentures are segregating themselves from your gums, you old, senile-”

“She’s sorry about that.” JJ cut in, pushing your shoulder forward and shooting the woman tight lipped smile as her jaw dropped and she put a hand to her chest. Once you were facing forward, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We’re already down a person for a crime, let’s not add elderly abuse to the list.”

You waved him off, slouching in your seat again. Just then you heard Sarah sigh, the four you looking at her at the other end of the pew.

“When are they bringing him out? His hearing was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago…” She said, seemingly mainly to herself as her foot tapped against the floors.

Right on cue, the doors opened, one brawny officer guiding John B to stand next to his lawyer as a hush fell over the courtroom. The cuffs around his wrists jingled as he shuffled towards the court appointed lawyer he was given, standing next to the woman awkwardly. 

The judge thanked the officer, peering over her glasses as she read the documents in front of her.

“John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section fourteen, you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances." The statement made you cringe. "If convicted, the maximum sentence would be…” The judge continued, elevating her gaze to look at John B directly.

“...the death penalty.”

…

What?

The entire courtroom broke out into hushed chatter, your hand curling into a fist in your lap. The death penalty? Was this some kind of joke? That didn’t even make any sense. 

Without thinking, you stood from your seat, hands gripping the back of the pew in front of you. “He’s seventeen, you can’t do that!” You shouted, the courtroom falling into mild chaos as some people got up to leave and others stayed behind, voicing their opinions.

“Hey, c’mon…” Pope tried, a hand on your arm as he tried to escort you out of the courtroom along with the other people who were leaving.

“They’re trying to give him the death penalty, Pope. They’re going to try to kill him.” You said, trying to push the boys hand off of you. “He didn’t kill anybody!” You shouted over his shoulder, the boy using more force to guide you outside.

“John B, we’re gonna figure it out!” JJ pointed at John B who was looking back at the five of you with an expression somewhere in between pity and pure terror.  The judge slammed her gavel down, demanding order in the court just as Sarah seemed to snap, pushing her way through the crowd calling for John B as the bailiff carried him away, Kiara escorting the blonde out of the court with the rest of you.

“Is this a joke? Are we in hell, or…?” Kie said, walking down the steps.

“...I should’ve never come home.” Sarah said, voice muffled from her crying. 

Right then, Ward walked by you all, another couple trailing him and Rose. You made eye contact with the Cameron man for a brief second, sending him the meanest glare you could muster as the couple behind him talked. “I’m sorry that this is what you and your family have to go through. Thank God the system works…”

He couldn't be serious.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” You jumped in, stepping towards the man. “You think a minor being presented death penalty is the system 'working'? Of course you think the system worked because it was made to protect you and people like you. I mean, who shows up to a court hearing they aren’t apart of in a suit, just to kiss the ass of the only actual murderer here?” You spat, pointing directly at the man in question.

He simply adjusted his suit, tilting his chin to the sky. “Your friend will have his day in court. A jury will decide.”

“He doesn’t belong in court!” You objected, eyes drifting towards Ward. “The real people who should be up on that stand are Ward and his psychotic son!” You ranted, Shoupe and his deputies that were on standby rushing in between the five of you and the four of them. 

“I know you’re upset. Okay? I understand.” Ward tried, Rose hanging onto his arm as he played victim in front of half the island. “He’s got you all fooled-”

“You don't understand shit. And the only people being fooled here are your kiss-ass neighbors.” You mocked incredulously, swiping the hood off of your head. “You wanna see upset, Ward?-” Was the last thing you said before swinging on the older man, your nails swiping against the skin of his cheek, but doing no damage, before Shoupe wedged his way fully in between, pushing you and your friends back.

“Show some respect!” Ward pointed, patting his cheek to make sure he was unharmed.

“You're going to hell!”

“Get off of her.” JJ lightly shoved Shoupe back, the officers hands falling away from you. “Why don’t you take down the Kooks for a change?” JJ suggested, almost intimidating the older man. 

“You wanna get arrested?” The man asked, hand on his hip, right on top of his gun holster. “Go home. Now. All of you.”

“...’s is bullshit.” Kiara mumbled, eyeing Ward and Rose as they walked away. 

“No wonder his daughter’s walking with us...” You called out, the statement making Ward pause in his tracks to look back at you with deadliest look in his eyes. You looked the man up and down before turning around and walking away with your four friends.

“...I’M GONNA TESTIFY UNDER OATH.” Sarah announced with conviction, arms crossed as she paced the patio of The Chateau — rain pouring outside. “I was there. I just need to get ahold of my sister…”

The four of you surrounding her sighed, shifting in your seats. “Sister…” JJ muttered under his breath.

“Kie, do you have your phone?” Sarah asked the girl closest to her, taking the device from her hands when it was offered to her before turning to face JJ. “Wheezie is the only other person who knows that Rafe wasn’t home that day.” 

“...Wheezie?” JJ reiterated unbelievably. It was the most serious, flat, annoyed tone you’d ever heard him speak in. 

“I don’t know what else to do!” Sarah threw her hands out. “I got us into this mess. I’m gonna do my best to get us out...” She proclaimed sadly before entering the home and isolating herself from the four of you. The sky was a sad mix of dull grays and icy blues, the sounds of raindrops hitting the ground and thunder filled the silence until JJ spoke again.

“Wheezie…” He scoffed, crouching and leaning against the wall. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Well, she’s right about one thing. We gotta do something.” Pope said from his place in a lounge chair.

“John B is being held captive by the enemy right now.” JJ said, using his hands for emphasis, his face turning a dangerous shade of red as he ranted. “Our boy is sitting in a cell, being scheduled for execution. Are we really just gonna sit here?!-”

“Okay, well what’s the plan?!” Kiara stood up from her seat, taking steps closer to the two boys. “What? We kidnap Shoupe?”

“Maybe!” JJ retorted. “That’s not the worst idea-”

“That is actually the worst idea.” Pope piped up, still seated. 

“It’s pretty bad…” Sarah added from inside the house — the window to Big John’s office was wide open, allowing the girl to pitch in on the conversation.

The three of them continued arguing back and forth about shitty ideas and previously failed plans and who was more to blame than the other. You just sat on the loveseat, playing with your fingers and biting the inside of your lip. 

You and JJ’s conversation about the evidence was still fresh on your mind. You’d gone through everything about Big John’s case. The evidence was hard — an entire confession. But you still had yet to go through your father’s files. And knowing how Kildare’s Police Department operated, you’d have to play this smart. You needed more than a confession. More than anything, you needed to persuade Shoupe.

“I still have the tapes.” You interrupted, looking up at your three friends who had turned to you, Sarah peeking out of the window.

“...I’m sorry.” Kiara started. “What?”

“The tapes that I stole from my mom’s law office. I still have them.”

“...And you didn’t think to say anything? This whole time?”

“Of course I did.” You said bluntly. “But let’s not kid ourselves. We brought Shoupe an entire gun. The gun that was used to kill Peterkin and he did nothing.” You retorted matter of factly. “A couple of confessions won’t make a difference. Ward is Shoupe’s friend, he’ll just conjure up some deluded explanation in his head. We have to bring him undeniable proof, connect the dots for him.” You explained, sitting up straighter in your seat. “I went through Big John’s files but I still haven’t opened my father’s. If Ward had anything to do with what happened to my dad, that links him to at least four murders in the last year, right? That plus the tapes? That’s something Shoupe can’t deny-”

“Yeah, well, we don’t really have time for that anymore.” JJ cut you off harshly, snatching the hat off of his head. You stumbled for a response, eyes on the blonde.

“It was literally your idea.”

“That was before they put John B on the chopping block-”

“They aren’t gonna lethally inject him tomorrow, JJ-”

“You don’t fucking know that!” He shouted, the outburst sending a hush over the five of you. They’d never seen JJ yell at you before. Because he never had. You never knew what it felt like to be at the sharp end of his irrational anger. And although you knew this was far from the worst of it, it still formed a pit in your stomach. “You all can sit here and sort through papers ‘n shit. I’m gonna do somethin’, make somethin’ happen.” He said scoffing, standing up fully and walking towards the porch steps, his eyes on you and you only. “Even if I have to do it by myself.” He finished, swinging open the screen door and leaving towards his parked bike. 

You looked out at nothing, semi-shocked at what happened while Kiara sighed. “Look, I’m gonna hit my parents, see if I can get money for a decent lawyer.” She said, grabbing her jacket as the sound of JJ’s bike pulling off echoed through the trees. You couldn’t help but look back, watching the blonde drive away with a sinking feeling in your chest.

“Right.” Pope nodded. “I’ll dig into anything I can find out about this key that Limbrey was talking about in case your plan doesn’t work out.” Pope said in your direction, you nodded in reply. Pope had explained that during his time with Limbrey, she was borderline interrogating him about key she thought he had in exchange for a tape she has that could exonerate John B. 

All of your evidence pointed the finger at Ward, it didn’t necessarily prove John B didn’t do anything. Hopefully, you could change that by the end of the night.

THE OLD BOX STARED YOU BACK IN THE FACE WITH NO REMORSE. You were in the living room of The Chateau, planted on the sofa as your fingers drummed nervously against the skin of your thighs. Everyone else was out on some kind of side quest, aside from Sarah who took a stress walk down to the pier in the backyard, anxiously trying to get a hold of Wheezie, leaving you in the house alone.

Even taking the box down from the top of the fridge had your hands shaking — it was heavier than Big John’s box. Which meant you were in for a much longer ride. 

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you edged closer to the coffee table, your bottom almost hanging off of the sofa. In one swift motion, you took the top off of the box, letting it clatter against the wooden table. Your eyes scanned over the items inside — another cassette tape, one small USB drive, and one manila file folder. Everything was inconspicuously labeled — the tape was labeled WCCT 2/2 and the folder was labeled OG Report, both in your mother's distinctive hand writing. It looked like there was more than just papers in the folder. And you weren’t too eager to open it up.

You didn’t know where to start or what order to go in. But something told you that this wasn’t as hard as you anticipating it to be. You figured it best to start with the tape, having experience with them. Picking up the blue tape player that you’d found all those weeks ago, the same player you used when you found out what happened to Big John, you picked up the tape.

You weren’t quick to let it play, giving yourself a moment of pause. You were seriously debating putting all of this shit back. But then you remembered what you were doing this for. Who you were doing this for. And you pressed play.

...

“...Are you ready?...Okay, then. Please, state your full name and why you’re here.” Your mother’s voice echoed in the living room. It’d been so long since you heard her voice. At all.

“Again?” Ward’s voice rang out. “Is that necessary?...*sigh*. My name is Ward Cameron and I’m here to confess to the murders of Big John Routledge and Owen Carter.”

“Okay. You can continue now. Tell me what happened to Owen, starting from after you disposed of Big John’s body.” You wondered how she could sound so calm collected while sitting across from a murder, asking him to detail how he killed her husband.

“...After I threw Big John overboard, Owen was hysterical. He wanted to call someone and I kept saying no, that we couldn’t. What was done was done. He called me a monster, said that I shouldn’t have done it. He was right and I knew that. I was getting frustrated because Owen wouldn’t stop yelling. I turned around and pinched my eyes shut, I don’t know for how long, I was just trying to drown him out when I heard something hit the water. I didn’t even realize he’d stopped ranting. I turned around and he’d taken the lifeboat and was already feet away, it didn’t help that the damn thing had a motor. I didn’t think before turning the boat around and going to follow him, but he was gaining speed and putting so much distance between us. We were already hours away from the island, I didn’t think there was any way he’d make it all the way there on that small boat…”

Your hands were shaking as you listened, your bottom lip held hostage between your teeth.

“...The sun was going down by the time I got back to Kildare. I’d lost sight of Owen hours ago and when I got back, his truck was already gone from the parking lot. Owen was a family man over everything, so I figured that if he was in danger, the first place he’d go was home to make sure that he could protect his family. I got in my truck and went to his house. By the time I got there, the street lights were on and it was dark and raining. The front door was wide open and I pulled up just in time to see Owen racing out of the house with two duffel bags in his hands, about to put them in the trunk. I couldn’t hesitate, I didn’t have the time. So, I jumped out of my truck with a gun in my hand and hit him in the side of the head from behind. He fell limp to the ground and I wanted to go back in time and fix everything. I didn’t want to hurt him-”

“Stay focused, Ward. I’m not here for your sob story.” Your mother reprimanded.

“…After that, I threw him in the backseat of my truck and drove off as fast as I could. But I didn’t know my way around The Cut and I had no idea where I was going or what the plan was. I ended up on the shore of the Marsh. It was an empty area, surrounded by sand hills and tall grass, a couple palm trees. I didn’t want anyone to see me. Owen must’ve woken up at some point during the drive because when I went to get him out of the backseat, he jumped up and punched me square in the jaw. We got into it for a minute and I knew that Owen was stronger than me so when I could, I grabbed the gun from my waistband and aimed it at him. He just seemed betrayed and hurt. Kept asking why I did it, why I was going to do it again. He even promised to not say anything…if I let him go so he could be with his daughter. I thought about it, even considered it. But Owen was too good. He had morals and beliefs and I knew that eventually he’d say something. So, I lied and said that I would let him walk. I thought maybe I wouldn’t feel as bad if I knew he died thinking he was going home to his child. So, when he turned around…I shot him.”

You couldn’t suppress your sobs. The worst part of it all was that your father didn’t beg for his life, he begged for you. The one thing on his mind in his last moments was going home to you. You thought that was enough to make you hate Ward Cameron for the rest of your life. He didn’t kill his friend. He killed your father.

And he killed a part of you, too.

“...I knew dumping his body so close to the island was risky, so when I realized that it didn’t look like he’d been shot in the head, I slit his wrists to make it look like he’d killed himself, then I pushed his body into the water and left him drift out. Everything from that point on, you already know.” Were the last words Ward’s voice detailed before the cassette stopped rolling, a deadly silence filling the living room as tears rolled down your cheeks and hit the floor, one after the other.

You’d never felt so angry in your entire life. Not when your father went missing, not when his body was found, not when the police told you he’d killed himself. This was real anger. Because if you could figure this out and get some kind of justice for you and John B’s father’s, then the authorities just had to have not cared enough or at all. Two men from the cut go missing and they have one common factor between them but no one bats an eye?

It was bullshit.

Complete and utter bullshit.

Sobs broke through your throat as you swiped glasses and other miscellaneous objects off of the coffee table — everything but the box of evidence. Glass shattered against the floors as you kicked the leg of the furniture and hurled something random at the wall, watching it break into shards as you clenched your jaw, teeth showing like a violent dog. You felt like you could barely breathe, fists curled so tightly that you were sure your nails were cutting into your palms. Falling back down on the couch, slumped against it as you tried to regain your composure.

Once you felt okay enough to resume sleuthing, you sat up straight. You disgustedly pushed the tape player away from you, letting it rest in the corner of the table. Reaching into the box, you clutched the USB drive between your fingers. Luckily, you had your laptop on the coffee table from the night before, researching all the possible outcomes for John B, even though nothing indicated the outcome of today.

Opening the device and plugging in the drive, you let the files appear on the screen — a folder titled KCPD. Clicking on the file, it revealed two MP3 files to be listened to:

KCPD_Dispatcher276_1042pm.mp3

KCPD_Dispatcher276_1143am.mp3

Your brows furrowed in curiosity. Police files? Why would your mother need police calls to protect Ward? And more importantly, how did she get them?

Turning up the volume on the computer, you double clicked the first audio file, letting it play…

“Kildare County Police Department. This is Dispatcher 276, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?”

“What took someone so long to pick up?! My husband, he’s gone missing! I think he’s been taken, I don’t know-”

“Okay, ma’am, calm down for me, please. What’s your address?”

“Its…8702 Oak Valley Street.” If there was any doubt in your mind before, there wasn’t now — this was your mother calling in to the police department the night your father vanished. And that was your old address, on The Cut.

“Okay, I’m sending police out to you now. Can I ask your name?”

“It’s Rebecca. Rebecca Carter. My husband, his name is Owen, Owen Carter.” She sounded panicked, like she actually cared. You guessed this was the point in time when she did.

“Alright, Rebecca. I need you to answer some questions for me that will help police in locating your husband, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You said his name is Owen, right? What was Owen wearing, do you know?”

“Um, dammit…I think he had on a, um, yellow-ish button down? And a pair of, like, jean shorts and these shoes I’d just bought him, they’re just generic white sneakers, I can’t remember the brand.”

“Okay, that’s fine. And how old is Owen?”

“He just turned thirty-five yesterday. Oh, baby don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be fine, the police are gonna find him…” She was talking to you. You remembered that night so vividly, you were crying so hard with no idea as to what was going on.

“Is there someone else there with you Mrs.Carter?”

“Yes, sorry. It’s my sixteen-year old daughter.”

“Did she see anything? Can I ask her a couple of questions?”

“No. No, she didn’t see anything, she was asleep and she’s not okay to answer any questions.” She sounded appalled that the operator would even ask. “You can ask me.”

“Okay, I’m just trying to get as much information as possible.” The woman on the other end assured. “Did anything happen leading up to your husband’s disappearance?”

“No? I...He said he was going fishing with some of his buddies. He was gone from around noon until around ten tonight.”

“And do you know exactly who he went fishing with?”

“Not all of them. I know that Big John Routledge was there. They’re friends and he lives down the street, our kids are friends, too.”

“And have you tried contacting Mr.Routledge?”

“Yes. His phone went to voicemail both times. Oh my- Y/N, call John B, make sure he’s okay.” That was the worst night of your life. Especially having to call one of your best friends and find out that he hasn’t seen his dad either. You took the worst of night of your life and split the pain with John B. 

He called his dad a million times that night.

Every single call went to voicemail and by the end of it, Big John’s voicemail box was full.

“Did your husband say anything before he disappeared? Was he acting strangely?”

“He was just rambling. He just kept saying we had to leave, something about it not being safe. He told me to wake up our daughter while he threw our stuff into bags, when my daughter and I came outside, he was gone and the bags were on the driveway then some truck sped away with it’s tail lights off.”

��Can you describe the truck? Were you able to catch the license plate?”

“No, it was too dark. I just know it was black and it looked almost like a pick-up truck.”

“Okay, we’re gonna do our best to find your husband, Mrs.Carter. I need you to stay on the line with me until the police arrive, alright?”

“Okay…I think I see them now, I can see lights down the streets…Okay, yes, it’s them, I see them. An officer is approaching me, now. Can I hang up?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Then the line died out. It was odd to hear that side of your mother again, it seemed so foreign to you now. But you were still left wondering why this had anything to do with your mother covering for Ward? It was just the 911 call. Nothing incriminated Ward himself or her. Maybe it conflicted with the suicide theory? Maybe it made your father’s death look like foul play.

It only made you more eager to listen to the next file, mouse already hovering over the audio. Clicking it twice, you let it play, the familiar static of a phone call sounding out once more before voices were heard. 

“Kildare County Police Department. This is Dispatcher 276, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?” It was the same dispatcher from before, same line and everything. Was this the same call or a different one? A quick look at the label had you realizing that it was indeed the second file.

“...I need police.” It was your mother. Again. With the same dispatcher? Maybe the operator on the other end couldn’t say anything or mention the familiarity in her voice, but it was so distinct, there was no way she missed it.

Your father and Big John were the talk of the town for months during everything, I’m sure the operator remembered your mother’s original call.

“What’s your emergency?”

“I found a dead body.” Her voice was so flat. 

“...O-okay…Where are you ma’am?”

“Near the Marsh. Behind Ollie’s, that abandoned surf shop off of Deerfield Drive.” That was where they found your dad.

“And are you sure the person is dead?”

“...I’m positive.”

“I’ll send an ambulance as well, just to be safe. What’s your name, miss?”

“I’d like to remain anonymous.”

“Okay…that is your right…” The operator sounded skeptical, but it wasn’t her job to dig any deeper. “Are you comfortable attempting CPR on the victim, miss?”

“...No.” She said firmly. She almost sounded annoyed. “Look, he’s dead. He’s gray and bloated, he’s barely recognizable. Half of his hair is even missing, he’s dead.”

“...Do you know the person in question?”

“What?” Your mother snapped, her voice biting even in the poorly recorded audio. “No, I don’t.”

“Right…well, I need you to stay on the line with me until the police arrive, ma’am. They’re having trouble finding the location.”

“No. No, I can’t do that. How far are they?” Now, she sounded worried. Why call the police in the first place? If she was covering for Ward, why not just push the body back out? Was this a way of controlling the situation?

“They’re not far. I really need you to stay on the line with me-”

“Look, his body’s on the sand. They’ll know it when they see it but I can’t stay on the phone or here. I’m sorry.”

“Ma’am-”

The dispatcher failed in getting your mother to stay connected, hearing the line go dead.

What did these calls have to do with anything and why did she need them? This second call had your head spinning. Why even call at all? Wouldn’t handling it herself be better for her deal with Ward?

It didn’t make much sense but you doubted you ever get the chance to get it from her directly.

There was really only one thing left in the box — the folder. You were hoping, praying, that this had something you could bring to Shoupe, something to bring your circle of evidence to a full close. 

Picking up the folder, something rolled out in the bottom of the box.

A plastic bag with a bullet in it. You dropped the folder. Letting it slide to the floor, eyes wide as you pinched the top of the plastic bag between your fingers and held it up, letting it swing in front of your face. A small, bronze bullet sitting inside — spotted with dried blood.

You swiftly used your other hand to pick up the forgotten folder, letting the bullet bag fall back into the box, flipping the folder open, revealing just one thing inside — an autopsy report. 

…But this couldn’t be the one the police had on file. This one completely went against what the department said was your father’s cause of death. It documented the gunshot wound to the back of his head, the apparent blunt force injury from when Ward hit him the first time, alongside the slits on his wrist that documented as ‘not consistent with self-inflicted injuries’, as well as noting that they were done post-mortem. 

Everything on the paper in front of you pointed to your dad’s death being a homicide, even ruling out any kind of drowning theory considering it says there was no water found in his lungs. 

But the best part of this was the fact that you had the bullet. You had the bullet and the report. This? This was evidence. A bullet that could be traced back to Ward’s gun, your father’s DNA on the bullet, and the original autopsy report to prove it all.

You could clear John B. And you could take down Ward.

This wasn’t something someone would be happy about. And considering everything you’d just learned, you should be curled up on the floor balling our eyes out. But you win some you lose some, right? 

Knowing how your dad died dampened your heart, of course it did. But nothing could be done now. You could get him some kind of justice and let him rest while getting one of your best friends out of jail. And when it was all said and done, maybe you’d break down crying or throw something else at the wall. But for once, it felt like you were on the winning team.

As soon as you stood from the couch, ready to march down to the Sheriff’s Department, the front door swung open, an angry Kiara throwing her backpack down onto the floor as she paced with her hands atop her head.

“Kie?” You startled the girl. She whipped around with wide eyes, a hand on her chest in shock.

“Jesus…” She breathed, letting her hands fall against her sides. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I just finished looking through my mom’s things. You won’t believe what I found-”

“Not to be rude or anything, I just really can’t pretend to care right now. My... elitist parents just fucking kicked me out.” She interrupted, drawing her lips into a thin line and turning around as she walked towards the fridge, swinging it open and pulling out a beer. “I mean, they’re acting like I was gone for weeks. It was like two freaking days. Can’t they just be grateful that I’m even alive?” She ranted, taking a long swig of the drink, wincing as it went down.

Your eyes followed her as she walked to place herself on the far end of the couch.

“Like I’m sitting there telling them about John B and how he needs a lawyer and they start talking about how everything I do is for ‘those boys’ as if they aren’t my fucking friends. So, I told them I hate living there and all of sudden I’m homeless. My mom told me if I wanna be a pogue then I can go live like one. And you know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna. She wants to kick me out so I can live like a pogue? I’ll show her a pogue. Next thing you know she’ll be pleading for me to come back home…” She shrugged, her monologue finally ending as she slumped into the couch.

You were gobsmacked at her words. She’ll show her a pogue?

“Wow…” You reacted, eyes impossibly wide as your jaw went slack. Kiara simply cocked an eyebrow at you, gulping before opening her lips to speak.

“What?” She asked, shaking her head as to say ‘spit it out’.

“Nothing, nothing…” You scoffed. “While you were off claiming your pogue card I actually found something that can clear John B, if you even care-”

“What do you mean claiming my pogue card? Am I not a pogue?-”

“Apparently only when it’s convenient for you to be one.” You cut her off. “You really think I, me, someone with nothing but a couple hundred dollars to my name and no family left but a dog. who by the way, got taken, wants to hear you complain about being kicked out of your single family home because you are choosing to be a pogue?” You told her, tone harsh. “And then you have the nerve to brag about living like a pogue solely to piss off your parents like you don’t have five friends going through hell right now.”

“...Just because I have money doesn’t make me any less of a pogue, I still go through shit just like the rest of you-”

“Why is that all you care about?!” You shouted, hands balling into fists at the sides of your head in frustration. “Pogue this, pogue that — you wanna be real for a minute, Kie? You aren’t a pogue, okay? And your obsession with proving that you are one is really starting to get old. By means of all the laws in the pogue handbook, you’re a kook. And you’re really starting to show it right now.” You explained, looking her up and down. “So, you can sit here and mope. I’m gonna find JJ so we can get our friend out of jail.” You spat, swinging the front door of The Chateau open and walking out, leaving a stunned Kiara behind.

YOU BANGED ON THE PASSENGER SIDE DOOR OF THE AMBULANCE WHEN YOU RAN UP,  A head of blonde hair visible through the window. JJ’s gaze whipped to the side, muttering under his breath as he pushed the door open for you. Hopping into the passenger seat, you shut the door behind you, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Finally decided to hop on the ‘get John B out of jail’ train, then?” He sassed, grimacing at the end of the sentence as he avoided your eyes.

“You must be at the wrong station because that train has already left.” You retorted, you saw his eyebrows pinch in on each other before he turned around — eyes going wide as he saw the plastic bag pinched between your fingers.

“...What is that?” He asked, eyes fleeting between the swinging bullet and the folder in your lap.

“This is the bullet the medical examiner pulled from my father’s head. Shot from Ward’s gun and coated in my father’s blood. And this?” You picked up the folder. “Is what I’m assuming is the original autopsy report that proves that my dad was killed.”

“...Why are you so happy about this?” He asked, face downturned into an expression of pity. 

“Not sure.” You said, letting the items fall into your lap. “I think it’s either that it hasn’t kicked in yet or I just don’t have any real shock left in me after everything that’s happened. Either way, this is our ticket to getting John B out of the dog pound. So, whatever plan you’ve conjured up, abort it.”

Suddenly, JJ was sucking in air through his teeth. “No can do, princess.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m still mad at you.” You told him, deadpan expression on face.

“Which I still don’t get why-”

“Look, we can talk about it later. Don’t hold me to that because I still want to shove my entire foot up your ass-

"Wait, how did you find me?"

"...I have your location, JJ."

"How did you get here? I don't see your car-"

"I walked. Well, ran. My car didn't have gas-"

"You know I hate when you walk around at night by yourself-"

"Aw, boohoo, as if you actually care."

"Uh, as a matter of fact, I do. You know I do."

"Yeah, right." You scoffed.

"If you were planning on acting like this, why did you come find me?"

He had you there. "...To make sure you were okay. But that's not important, okay? You need to drop your plan and we need to get to the police station so I can give this to Shoupe-”

“Again, no can do. I already stole my cousin’s truck, I have to go through with Plan A.”

“Which is…?”

“...We break Bree out of jail, to put it mildly.” He shrugged, avoiding your gaze once again. 

“...Weren’t you the one telling me that we’re already down a Pogue and not to add any more crimes to the list?”

“Well, I was left with no other choice.” He replied, throwing his hands up.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an impatient little shit-” You stopped talking when a police car pulled up next to the ambulance, the road empty aside for the two vehicles. The two of you fell into silence, immediately dropping the conversation and looking ahead of yourselves nonchalantly, or at least attempting to.

“...I hate when it’s slow like this, you know?” The officer in the squad car beside you started conversation. You and JJ both turned your heads in sync.

“Tell me ‘bout it, man.” JJ said cooly, resting his hands atop the steering wheel.

“Hey, what happened to Ricky?” The officer inquired, leaning further in his seat. Ricky was JJ’s cousin, the one he stole the van from. “He bang out?” 

JJ exhaled, sticking his head out of the window to talk to him more clearly. “Somethin’ like that?” 

Fortunately, a female voice broke through the radio inside of the ambulance. “One three Eddie. We got an unknown at KC Detention.”

JJ was quick to pick up the radio and respond. “Uh, yep, ten-four. We’ll be right there. Thank you so much. Over.” Slipping the radio back into its holder, JJ turned back to the officer in the squad car. “Duty calls.” He grimaced, sending the man a light-tipped smile. “I’ll see you later, Officer. You have a good night, though, okay?”

He shifted gears and prepared to drive off while you looked out the passenger side window, fist against your lips. 

“Hold up…” The man demanded, your heart dropping to your ass. “I got nothing to do. I’ll pace you.” He smiled, shifting his own gear and driving off.

JJ whipped his gaze between you and the road, you threw a hand out in the direction of the windshield. “Well, don’t look at me. Follow him.”

ARRIVING AT THE DETENTION CENTER, The guard at the front gate inspected the inside of the ambulance quickly through the driver side window, simply shining a flashlight inside and waving it around before giving you both the green light to proceed into facility.

“I thought this was supposed to be the most advanced security system on the planet.” You muttered under your breath, joking mainly to yourself but you caught JJ smile smally to himself in the corner of your eye.

Reversing the vehicle into the loading dock, a woman approached the driver’s side with a clipboard in her hands, motioning for you and JJ to get out and follow her. You gave each other one last weary look before exiting the vehicle, the woman waiting on the both of you as you came to a stop in front of her.

Her brows pinched together, looking you both up and down. “Where’s Ricky?”

“Ricky?” JJ inquired back, eyebrows raising high as he swung the keys to the van around his fingers. “Food Poisoning.” He shrugged. “Y’know Ming Dynasty off of Highway Twenty-Five? Them egg rolls, dude…They’ll get you good.” He covered as the woman seemed to buy it, nodding her head.

“And where’s your uniform?” She was directing her question towards you.

“I’m…” You dragged out, hands in your back pockets as you searched for the right thing to say. “Training. Yeah, I’m...not certified, just his ride along for the day.” You said cooly, not trying to seem to eager.

The woman seemed to accept your answer as well, sighing and turning around with clipboard in her hand as she walked you further into the loading bay.

“Patient fell out. No LOC but he’s orthostatic.” She explained to the both of you. “Stage four lymphoma. He’s been in and out of chemo for the last three months.” At this, you and JJ exchanged glances. JJ had explained that his idiotic plan of the day was to break John B out of jail. Since when did John B grow a stage four lymphoma?

Your questions were answered when the jail door buzzed and an officer came out, rolling an inmate out in a wheelchair that had too many years under his belt to be John B. JJ’s key swinging stopped as he eyed the patient in the chair, clearly not who he was hoping for as you drew your lips into a thin line and shot the blonde the most disappointed look ever.

“Uhh, is that the only patient here tonight, ma’am?” He asked nervously, peering harshly into the small rectangular window in the door.

She just chuckled as she and the officer wheeled the man closer to the van doors. “Why? You wanna take more than one tonight?”

“I mean, I would if I had to.” He perked up, spinning around to face the woman. “I’m just saying, I was called in because my patient had appendicitis?” He tried to reason, taking the hat off of his head.

It was clear to see that the woman was now skeptical, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms. “...This is our only patient.” She said simply, eyeing the two of you back and forth. “Where did you say you work?”

“Kildare County.” You shot out while JJ was too busy stuttering. You shot the woman a lazy, welcoming smile. 

“I worked over there. Never seen you.”

“Like I said, I’m new and not even certified yet. And my superior here, he just transferred from another facility, right? That’s what you told me, isn’t it?” You turned to JJ, trying to play into the whole power dynamic role here.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right.” He said, fitting the hat back onto his head and pulling out the keys. “Look, I would love to sit and chat but we gotta get our patient to the hospital-” He rambled, walking over to the double doors of the vehicle and attempting the first key.

“JJ…” The man in the wheelchair slurred. “Is that you?”

JJ simply looked to you and then the man in the chair before averting his eyes to the woman. “He’s delusional as shit.” No one seemed to see it as a red flag, allowing the blonde to continue trying to open the door to the vehicle. “We just got new rigs up at our facility, so…” He tried to avert any suspicion. 

You don’t know how JJ didn’t know what key opened the door but luckily, you did. When you were younger, his cousin Ricky used to let you, JJ, and John B go for joyrides in the back. The key to open the van was the only silver key on the ring. But you didn’t want to raise suspicion.

“Hey, let me.” You told JJ, holding your palm out. “I broke the key ring the other day, remember? So, the keys are all out of whack, sorry about that.” You directed your apologies to the two people on standby. Isolating the silver key and entering it into the slot, the lock turned easily allowing you to open the doors.

“Alright, let’s get him on up there.” 

JJ assisted the officer in loading the patient into the back of the van just as the phone on the wall began to ring. JJ’s eyes snapped to the phone and to the clock, obviously worried.

“Where’s your partner?” The woman asked JJ. His eyes went to you as he pointed in your direction. “No, she’s not a certified EMT. You need another certified EMT to look after your patient while you’re driving.”

“Can’t she drive?”

“No…” The woman said skeptically. “Again, only certified EMT’s can drive EMT Mandated Vehicles. Do you not know your own policies?”

“No, I do. I do, Uh, what about you officer? Can’t you drive?”

He simply shook his head. “No, he’s an inmate. I gotta be in the back.”

“Okay…Hold on, officer. “JJ started, clearly taking the high moral ground approach. “You’re saying that you’re gonna be responsible for me not taking care of my patient and not giving my ride-along her needed experience to get this oh-so important certification? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” He continued, actually seeming to do a good job of convincing the two. “Look at him. He’s weak, feeble, and...pale and shit. And I gotta do medical stuff on him, and show my partner how to do medical stuff on him, or else we’re gonna lose him, okay?” He said, hopping into the back of the van as he tossed the officer the keys, holding out a hand to help you up as well.

You took it, using his assistance to get into the vehicle. “You don’t want that on your hands, do you?” He egged on the officer, the man looking back at the woman in charge. 

“...This didn’t happen.” He told her, hesitantly rounding the car to get into the driver’s seat as JJ closed the doors while the woman went to answer the phone. The two of you stared out of the window in the back at her as she talked on the phone, her eyes whipping towards the vehicle you were in just as the officer started to drive off. Her eyes were as wide as golfballs.

As the van exited the loading bay and passed the entrance gates, you and JJ sat down in the van across from one another when a thought crossed your mind. Nudging JJ’s thigh with the tip of your sneakers, he looked at you.

“What?”

“The folder.” You whispered, jutting your head in the direction of the driver and passenger seat. 

“What about it?”

You sighed, smacking your teeth and rolling your eyes. “It’s in the passenger seat, JJ. The folder is sitting in the passenger seat next to the officer.”

Then his own eyes were going wide. “Well, why did you leave it there?” He whispered back harshly.

“Maybe because I didn’t think a police officer would be driving the van while we camped out in the back playing paramedics!” You whisper-shouted back. Just then, a voice broke through the radio up front, it came from the officer’s personal radio.

“10-63 in progress. I repeat, 10-63 in progress. Do you copy?”

“...Copy.” He replied.

“Continue with the patient onto the hospital. We have backup on the way do you copy?” The woman on the radio copied back, you and JJ looked at each other, worry clear in both of your eyes. 

“I read. Ten-four.” He said finally, his eyes peering at the two of you in the back through the rear view mirror.

JJ cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Officer, everything good up there?” The man didn’t respond, simply sliding the plastic cover shut that allowed the people within the different sections of the van to communicate, leaving you and JJ in silence. “...Officer?”

You took initiative and got up, pulling at the handle to see if it would open from the inside.

It wouldn’t.

Just then, blue lights and police sirens gathered your attention, looking up to see at least three police squad cars tailing the ambulance. “Shit…” You cursed, finally starting to let the panic kick in. “JJ.” You turned to the blonde behind you with his hands on his head.

“Get a hold of Pope or Kie or Sarah, tell them where we are, and to find out a way to stop the van. If I lose that folder, we lose everything.”

As JJ texted, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the police cars. It felt like everything was going wrong at once. You finally had what you needed to potentially end this nightmare and it was all going down the drain.

Were you all paying for the sins of the people in your lives that came before you or something? What could a couple of teenagers do to deserve a life like this?

Just then, you and JJ went flying forward as the van came to an abrupt stop. You landed on top of the blonde who landed on his back, your foreheads butting painfully.

“Go! Get out of the way!” The police officer yelled to whoever caused him to stop, you and JJ getting up simultaneously when Kiara’s faint voice filled the air, muffled.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” Without hesitation, you and JJ bumrushed the door, basically breaking it open and hopping out. You knew you couldn’t go anywhere without it, so in one swift motion you ran to the front of the vehicle, swung open the passenger seat and took the folder, the officer too busy yelling at Kie to even notice, even you carefully let the door shut on its own. 

You eventually caught up to JJ, the two of you booking it into the woods without a single cop on your trail. Hopefully, Kiara would take the hint and meet the two of you on the other side.

And that she did.

Coming out of the trees, you spotted her SUV parked and waiting on a secluded street, you and JJ practically rolling inside.

“Go! Go!” JJ urged, slamming the door behind him as you both straightened in the back seat.

“Where?!” Kiara asked, pressing her foot on the petal.

“The police station.” You told her, folder in your lap as you made sure everything was still there. “Go to the police station.”

“AND YOU’RE SURE THIS’LL WORK?” Pope piped up from the passenger seat as Kiara pulled to a stop in front of the police station. You sighed, looking out of the window and up at the building. 

“No.” You told them bluntly, looking at the three people in the car. “But what other choice do we have?” Those were the words you left your friends with as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the Kildare County Police Department.

Walking through the double doors, you spotted a female officer behind the desk, her eyes shooting up as you stood in front of the counter. She eyed the folder clutched to your chest, then looked at you once more.

“...Is there something you need?”

You swallowed harshly, holding the folder tighter against your chest. “I need to see Sheriff Shoupe and Pathologist Daniels.”

“LISTEN, KID. THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT ‘CAUSE I GOT A WHOLE LOTTA OTHER SHIT I OUGHTA BE DOIN’ RIGHT NOW.” Shoupe warned as he settled into the wheelie chair behind his desk. A man, who you assumed was the pathologist you’d requested, stood on the right side of the man in charge. He looked too calm for your liking.

You were sat in the chair across from Shoupe, the man cocking an eyebrow as he settled into his seat and clasped his hands atop the desk. “C’mon, now. I ain’t got all day-”

“You’re the pathologist, right? M. Daniels?” You cut off Shoupe, eyeing the man behind him. You were calmer than you thought you’d be. He failed to respond but the answer was clear when Shoupe looked at the man to his left, who was staring at you.

He shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have on any kind of uniform or coat. He didn’t even look like he was on the clock. “...That would be me.”

“Okay.” You said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Do you recall performing an autopsy on Owen Carter? The man who went missing along with Big John Routledge almost a year ago and was found dead?”

He scratched his head, looking to Shoupe for a brief second before looking away and gathering himself. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And what were the results of that autopsy?”

“Ah- I…don’t believe I’m allowed to disclose-”

“Just answer her question, Daniels.” Shoupe sighed, almost annoyed. “It’s his daughter.”

The pathologist’s eyes went wide, lips falling apart. He swallowed harshly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “To the best of my knowledge, it was concluded that your father’s injuries were consistent with suicide. There were two sizeable slits made to each wrist which severed several arteries and veins, which he bled out from.”

You nodded suspiciously, sitting up straighter in your seat. “Mhm. And what about the other two injuries?”

“...What?” The man’s faux obliviousness only made you feel better about your next move — flipping open the folder in your lap and placing the original document on the desk for Shoupe and his employee to examine.

Daniels looked like he was wrong move away from shitting bricks, a bead of sweat immediately forming on his hairline.

“The other two injuries.” You reiterated, pointing at the autopsy report on the table as you spoke. “You see, in this report, there are four injuries documented — the two slits on his wrists, which were concluded as not consistent with self-inflicted injuries, alongside the blunt force injury to his right temple and a gunshot wound to the back of his head with no exit point-”

“Now, hold on just a minute-”

“I’ll get to you in a second, Shoupe.” You snapped, piercing eyes gazing into the Sheriff’s before they drifted towards the pathologist once again. “In this report, signed with your signature, it’s concluded that my father’s cause of death was the gunshot wound, not the slits to his wrists that, in your own written words, were ‘made post-mortem’.”

“Alright, alright,” Shoupe cut in, leaning forward on the wooden tabletop. “You can’t just come in here with some unofficial documents claiming that, what exactly, he covered up your father’s death?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The paper is right in front of you, Shoupe-”

“That paper don’t mean a damn thing. You could’ve printed this out at the local library for all I know.”

You simply scoffed. This man was truly unbelievable. Denial was one thing, blatant disregard was another. “You know what? You’re right. I could’ve have just printed this out and ran down here in hopes to accuse some random pathologist of covering up my father’s murder. But if that were the case…” You dragged out, lifting the plastic bag with the bullet inside up for the two men to see. “Where would I have gotten this, Shoupe?”

“The hell is that?...” Shoupe squinted, eyeing the swinging object as you sat it down the desk and pushed it towards him. The pathologist was visibly shaking at this point. 

“The gunshot wound I mentioned? That’s the bullet that made the injury. The bullet that, Doctor Daniels here, extracted from his skull and basically pawned off. Along with the original autopsy report.”

Shoupe looked up at the man from his seat — Daniels face was a dangerous shade of red, sweat dripping down the sides of his face now. Then, he was turning back to you. “Pawned off to who exactly? Where’d you get all of this?”

“That’s the easiest question you’ve asked me all night.” You quipped. “I got all of this from my mother.”

“...Don’t play games with me, kid.”

“No one is playing games, Sheriff.” You assured. “Haven’t you noticed that she hasn’t been dragging me around Figure Eight for the last couple of weeks?" You pointed out. "I figured out she’d been working with the man who killed my father, taking payments from him periodically ever since my dad died in exchange for her legal services. I got all of this out of a locked drawer in her law office. Haven’t been home since.”

“Working with the man who killed your father? Now, why would she do that?”

“Beats me. My theory is the money. Or maybe because he’s too powerful of a man to take down alone. You actually know him quite well.” You told him. “Ward Cameron?”

Shoupe scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “...You’re trying to tell me that…that Ward, killed your father and then recruited your mother to help him cover it up?” He asked incredulously. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I’m aware of how it sounds.” You hissed, squinting your eyes meanly at the man. “But you cannot deny what’s in front of you, Shoupe. I know Ward is your friend and you want to trust him but we’ve been trying to open your eyes for weeks now. Just consider the facts.” You reprimanded, planting your hands on the desk. “The day Peterkin was murdered, Ward’s plane was the one leaving the tarmac. Gavin, the man me and my friends saw him kill? That was his pilot and he had the gun that Rafe used to kill Peterkin, the same gun we turned into you that he was blackmailing Ward with it. Big John and my dad? They were both out on the water with Ward that day and somehow, Ward was the only one who was still alive a day later." You explained, laying out the pieces. "Can’t you see, Shoupe? He’s playing you.”

“No...” He shook his head, standing from his seat as you followed. “This don’t make any sense…”

“It does. Just listen, for once. Even if I’m wrong, which I’m not, this connects Ward to at least four crimes within this year alone. That has to be enough to bring him in for questioning.”

“Questioning?” He laughed, hand on his forehead as he paced. “Question him about what? Some autopsy report you dug up and a…random bullet?"

“It’s not a random bullet.” You snapped, eyes on the pathologist who was frozen in place. “You didn’t immediately change the report, did you?” The man shook his head despondently, probably silently coming to terms with the fact that his career and life was over. “You changed it when my mother came to you, she wanted you to forge the report to say that my father killed himself and to give her the bullet. But you couldn’t, because you’d already sent it off to the officer on the case to be sent to ballistics, so all you could do was alter the autopsy report, right?” You theoreticized frantically. “Right.” You concluded when he nodded silently, eyes back on Shoupe.

“So, what does she do next?” You threw out, eyes following Shoupe’s frame as he walked slow circles around the room. “The only way she can get the bullet is to go to the officer in charge of the case. She pays them off and secures the bullet before it’s placed into evidence. Her only mistake? The ballistics report had already been processed.” This got Shoupe’s attention, his pacing ceasing as he made eye contact with you. “I read your departments policies online. This county’s police department doesn’t allow files to be deleted without authorization from their superior. They can be deleted from an officer’s personal desktop, but the file is ultimately sent to the trash bin within your computer to be deleted completely if you choose to do so. So, there’s a very good chance that, since you are now the superior following Peterkin’s death, the ballistics report that never made it back to her, is sitting on your computer right now.” You said all in one breath, motioning for the closed laptop on his desk.

Shoupe’s eyes went between you and the laptop before he seemed to cave, sighing heavily and basically slamming himself back down into his chair and opening the device. He typed and scrolled and clicked for a few moments before you saw a visible change in his demeanor. You were still standing, looming over the older man as he searched. 

“...There’s a deleted ballistics report from the officer that was on your father’s case.” He sounded defeated. “The bullet examined was extracted from the body of Owen Carter and was concluded to be fired from a… Colt Rail gun, serial number 18J…Dammit, Ward.” He sighed, clearly realizing the truth. At least you knew he’d at least looked up the gun in the system when you all gave it to him. It was about damn time he did his job with integrity. “What the hell I’m supposed to do with all this, kid? Huh? You just made my job a whole lot harder…”

“I want you to drop the charges against John B.” You told him firmly. “If you need to run the bullet again, run it. If you need to analyze the autopsy report, do it. I don’t care. John B didn’t kill anyone and you know it. You have a minor sitting in jail right now with the death penalty hanging above his head. And I am telling you right now, Shoupe. If John B dies," You warned, walking towards the door

"...I will kill Ward Cameron my damn self and take your entire department down with me.”

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

#SoundCloud #jj maybank x reader #svn #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #obx jj x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #obx jj #jjpope #obx jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x black!oc #jj maybank x heyward!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank x black!reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x y/n

[fandom-drake]

Jason Todd isn't using guns just because he wants to piss off Bruce. It's part of it yes, but not the only reason. It's not just to stick it to batman.

He started using guns partly due to the influence of the league and due to his own decisions about the no kill rules.

He doesn't believe in Batmans version of justice, where they lock up bad guys and they just keep coming back, where the abuser cannot be stopped by conventional means. Their first fight on the no kill rules was about Felipe a rapist with diplomatic immunity who pushed his victim to suicide if I remember correctly. This was before the Jason's own death, one of the reasons he ran away and while Jason may or may not have killed the guy, he did not regret the death.

That's what the fight is about!!! He believes that rapists like Felipe and mass murderers like Joker have to be dealt with permanently.

The current iteration of Red Hood keeps by the no kill rules due to his own attemps to make amends with the family and due to DC trying to make him a hero again. But his reason for killing is still there.

#Personally i dont believe that people with no oversight like super heroes should have the right to decide who lives and who dies #but the joker should have been atleast sent far far away from gotham and earth itself #or tried somewhere he would be given the death sentence #to just keep him in Arkham is so fucking stupid no wonder jason was mad #this is just rambles pls dont pick a fight with me based on it #Jason Todd #Red hood #dc #batman #og

[spnhunter4life]

Not So Bad

Summary: Bad information on a hunt leads to a tense situation that ends in confessed feelings.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

I sighed as I flipped through the pages of the dusty old book I’d picked up out of a mix of nerves and boredom. The Winchester boys and I were in New York of all places. I hated it here. The constant loud noise of the bustling city, the air that was so far from the fresh country air I’d grown used to at the bunker, and, worst of all, the tall buildings that blocked out the sky mixing with the thick crowds of people made me feel severely claustrophobic. 

But there was a monster here that needed to be killed, and the Winchesters always went where they were needed. And wherever they went, I went. So here I was, sitting in the library while the brothers went off to kill the thing. It was some sort of demi god named Daemon. 

I’d never been much of one for fighting. I preferred to be the designated researcher, helping out in a mental capacity instead of physical. Both brothers insisted I at least learn basic self defense and worked with me on occasion, wanting me to be able to defend myself if the worst were to happen, but they never pushed me to come face down monsters with them.

The book I was currently looking through was one of the three I’d been able to find in this library about Daemon. I’d already found the information I was looking for and reported it to the Winchesters. But now my options were to sit here and wait for the hunt to be over so the boys could come pick me up, or make my way back to the motel on my own, and I was perfectly comfortable where I was. Or at least, comfortable enough that it wasn’t worth braving the crowded streets.

I turned another page, skimming the words quickly, barely absorbing what I was reading. Somewhere in the back of my mind I made the distant realization that I was in a library and could go find a more interesting book to pass the time. I didn’t give the idea much thought, knowing that it would be difficult to lose myself in a book when my boys were in danger. I knew how long they’d been living this life and how capable they were, but that didn’t make it any less scary anytime they took off. I knew every time could be the last, and I didn’t take that for granted. 

I was about to close the book and at least find something to occupy myself that wasn’t a detailed explanation of the very thing the boys were facing down, when the sentence I’d just read actually registered in my mind. With a sharp inhale, my eyes darted back to the beginning of the paragraph.

It is a common misconception that Daemon is susceptible to oak stakes dipped in lamb’s blood – a rumor no doubt started by the mischievous deity himself – which is actually quite harmless to him. What most do not know is that Daemon is not a demigod at all, but the offspring of a demon and a faerie. As such, his one and only weakness is a silver blade dipped in holy water.

The blood drained from my face. I’d given the boys the wrong information and now they were off to face an angry demigod – or faerie demon hybrid, apparently – with weapons that may as well have been toothpicks for all the use they would be. 

How could I have been stupid enough to not double check the information? I should know better than that!

I didn’t have time to wonder if maybe this bit of information was the incorrect one. Something in my gut told me it was right, and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t risk letting them go to their deaths, thinking they had the upper hand. I pulled my phone out and immediately dialed Sam’s number. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. Cursing quietly to myself, I tried Dean instead. Voicemail again.

Fear for my boys overrode everything else. They were all I had left in the world and I absolutely could not lose them. I couldn’t live without my sweet, steady Sam. He was an invaluable source of knowledge on all topics imaginable and he had a calm, comforting disposition that seemed to instantly ease everyone in his vicinity. His sense of humor may not have been as pronounced as Dean’s, but I appreciated it just the same and wondered what would happen if I never got to hear his laugh or see his smile again. 

And Dean. I couldn’t even let myself think what all I would be losing if he was gone. To an outsider, our relationship looked perfectly polite and comfortable. And it was, I suppose – we always got along well and never had a bad word to say to each other – if not a little strained. Although, that may have been just on my end. He never did seem to feel the tension that I did. I couldn’t blame him for not noticing either. After all, I did everything I could to keep him from knowing just how much I cared for him. Just how much I loved him.

Without stopping to think about it, I quickly exited the library and rushed out into the crowded streets I so despised. I ran in the direction of Daemon’s lair – we had known its location since early in the investigation and had only been working on the details of how to kill him – roughly shoving through crowds of people when necessary. 

I was severely winded by the time I reached the abandoned building that Daemon resided in. I was panting in short breaths that seemed to fill my lungs with fire. I didn’t have time to stop though. I spotted the Impala parked in the alley and fumbled a key out of my pocket. I threw the trunk open, grabbed a silver knife and poured a generous helping of holy water over it. I barely remembered to slam the trunk shut before rushing inside. 

I slowed down once I was inside. The building was large and I had no idea where any of the current occupants might be. I was just peeking around an open door, knife held at the ready, when a huge crash followed by a yell of pain sounded off to my right. My heart stopped. That was Dean. 

Please let him be ok. Please let him be ok. And Sam too. Let them both be ok, I pleaded to any god who would listen.

I crept as quickly and quietly towards the sound of distress as I could, sounds of a fight leading me there. Fear like I’d never felt before ran like ice through my veins, but kept me moving forward. I rounded a corner and felt my heart stop again before picking up a racing rhythm at what I saw. Sam was sprawled on the ground. He’s only unconscious, I told myself. The alternative was unacceptable. Across the room was Dean, pinned to a wall by Daemon, straining to break the hybrid’s grip and thrust his oak stake into its side. Daemon clearly had the upper hand and wrenched the stake away from him, throwing it behind him. I barely stopped myself from calling out Dean’s name. 

“You think you can kill me? A puny man, kill a god?” Daemon spat, the rage clear in his voice. 

I charged towards them, knife raised and ready. I was only a few steps away when Dean saw me over Daemon’s shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise before he could stop the involuntary reaction. I saw him immediately look away again, not wanting to give me away, but it was too late. Daemon had seen it. He whirled around to face me and knocked me aside without a thought. It was as easy as if he’d been swatting at an irritating fly. Dean yelled my name just as I collided with the wall. My breath, which I hadn’t even quite gotten back after my long sprint here, left me in a whoosh. 

I watched in fascination and horror as Dean took advantage of the momentary distraction to rush at Daemon. He kicked his legs out from under him before climbing on top of him, pinning him to the ground. They struggled for a few seconds before Dean was able to snatch the oak stake from where it had been discarded on the ground. 

“No, Dean! The knife!” I yelled to him. I had dropped it at some point between Daemon’s blow and hitting the wall. Dean didn’t question me, didn’t hesitate before dropping the useless weapon and searching for the knife. But it was out of his reach and it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold Daemon down much longer. I started to struggle to my feet to grab it for him, but before I was able to, a large body ran into my line of sight, blocking my view of Dean, and stooping to pick up the knife. 

I tensed, terrified that there was some unknown second thing to deal with now, but soon realized it was only Sam. He picked up the knife and turned to his brother. Without speaking a word to each other, Dean rolled out of the way just as Sam plunged the knife down into the heart of the monster. 

Dean was red faced and breathing hard – and who could blame him after wrestling with a being with supernatural strength – but otherwise seemed alright, so I turned my attention to Sam who was closer and who I worried could have any number of injuries after being knocked unconscious. 

“Sam, are you-”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean demanded. Stunned at the hardness of his voice, I turned to look at him and realized that what I’d mistaken for exertion was actually anger. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry, at least not with me. Why was he angry? This completely unexpected reaction left me feeling small and confused.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean? I was just trying-” 

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He yelled. He took a step in my direction and a grimace crossed his face as his leg seemed to struggle slightly under his weight. He grunted, the only sound he would let escape. I remembered his yell, the noise that had guided me in this direction to begin with. He was hurt. Dean, who sat stoically with teeth gritted, never letting more than a grunt escape while Sam dug bullets out of him or sewed up horrible gashes, had cried out in pain. That had scared me more than anything else tonight, the idea of how badly he must be hurt to not be able to hide it.

“Dean,” Sam started in a warning tone. He might have been about to defend me or to tell Dean to cool his temper so we could talk calmly, but I would never know. Anger flared up in me, completely overriding the confusion and uncertainty Dean’s words had caused. 

“Well you nearly were killed! So I guess it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” I shouted back. I wasn’t actually angry, I knew, just reliving the terror of the last half hour mixed with the relief of seeing them both ok and the worry at their injuries. In short, I was overwhelmed and Dean yelling at me had frayed my already shot nerves. 

“We would have been fine.” Dean deflected.

“No you wouldn’t have! When I got here Sam was on the ground, dead for all I knew, and you were hardly about to win in a battle of strength. And even if you had, your weapon was useless. You would have died!”

“You’re the one who decided you didn’t want to fight! And that’s fine, you know we’re ok with that. But you can’t just not train and then run into a fight with no idea what you’re doing!”

“Guys, maybe we should-” Sam tried again.

“No!” I yelled. I saw a look of surprised hurt in his eyes. I felt bad for snapping at him when he hadn’t done anything wrong, but I was too fired up to backtrack now. “If Dean hasn’t had enough of a fight tonight, then let’s fight! I may not be trained in hand to hand and weapons the way you are, but I assure you, I can yell at you all night long.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and I saw the muscle jump in his jaw. 

“Sam, can you give us a minute?” He asked in a forced calm tone. 

Sam hesitated, looking back and forth between the two of us before agreeing. “Alright. But you’ve got ten minutes before I’m coming back in after you to make sure you’re not strangling each other,” he warned before leaving the room.

We glared at each other for a minute, neither of us speaking. After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and only a moment, Dean started talking again in that tone that was an attempt at being calm, but I could clearly hear the tenseness and anger underneath.

“You can’t just-”

“You said that already,” I interrupted immediately. His jaw ticked again, and I knew shouting at him when he was trying to deescalate the situation was not appreciated. He tried again in that same infuriating tone, a little more strained this time.

“Sam and I hardly need you jumping in to protect us. We know what we’re doing.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” He yelled back, patience worn thin.

“It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not because you couldn’t have won! I was doing some more reading after you guys left and I realized I gave you the wrong weapon.”

“Then you call us! You don’t come running in after us!”

“I did call you! Neither of you picked up! I couldn’t just sit there and wait for you to die!”

“Of course you could have! Don’t you think we’d rather take our chances with bad weapons than to have you in the line of fire?”

“What would you have done Dean?” I screamed at him. “If it were you sitting around knowing that I was going after a monster with a weapon that wouldn’t kill it? What would you have done?” I felt confident this would be the end of it. After all, there was no doubt in my mind what he would have done, and he couldn’t possibly deny it.

“That’s not the same thing,” he said. He was still angry, but he said this in a quieter voice, the kind of quiet that meant I’d truly struck a nerve. 

“Why?” I asked, ready to swoop in with the metaphorical killing blow and win the argument. “Because I can’t fight, so of course I’d need you to come save me?”

“No.”

“Hypothetically saying I was as well trained as you then. Or that it was Sam. The point still stands. You would have done exactly what I did. You wouldn’t just sit back and let us die, so why would I?”

“I told you, that’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “How do you think we would feel if something happened to you? What if we couldn’t protect you and you got hurt?”

“How do you think I felt, Dean?” I stomped over to him, getting right in his face, letting him see how much I meant what I was saying. “I didn’t know if you would be alive or not when I got here.” I stopped for a breath, the intensity of the emotions I’d felt in that moment hitting me once again. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand what it would feel like. I know exactly what it feels like.”

“It’s not the same,” he said again, stubbornly.

“How is it not the same? If anything, it’s worse for me. You and Sam at least have each other. If I lose you guys, I have no one. I will not lose you. Do you understand me? If that means putting my own life on the line, I’m ok with that.” 

“I’m not!”

“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it, because it’s my life, not yours!”

“You’re not understanding me! If you would just let me explain-”

But apparently I wouldn’t. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but I just needed him to understand what I was saying. So I cut him off in the middle of his request that I not do so.

“No, I told you that I understand perfectly. It’s you who isn’t understanding! I’ve never been more scared in my whole life than I was when I heard you yelling in pain.” In the back of my mind, I registered that Dean’s expression had turned from anger to determination. But my brain didn’t seem to fully process this fact, not that I would have known what to do with that information even if I had. My emotions were driving me now, and there was no stopping the words pouring from my mouth.

“I thought that whatever happened, it must be really bad. And maybe I was too late to save you. And it’s my own stupid fault you needed saving in the first place. How could I-”

This time, Dean cut me off. It was only fair, after all I’d done the same to him. This was a much nicer, much more pleasant, much more unexpected way of interrupting though. He leaned down, crashing his lips against mine. As my body seemed to be running on instinct and adrenaline right now, I responded immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck, meeting his demanding kiss with enthusiasm. 

I ran one of my hands through his hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between my fingers. My other hand ran down over his shoulder, to his bicep, then over to his chest, loving the strength I could feel in all those hard earned muscles. His hands were wandering too, in my hair one second, traveling over my back the next, and then on my waist.

My brain, which seemed to have shut down for the past few moments – minutes? – decided to start working again, practically screaming at me that this was Dean I was kissing. Dean, apparently experiencing the same returning brain function as me, pulled away. He took a careful step back, creating some space between us. That was probably good. I couldn’t think with him so close. Not after that. His cheeks were flushed red for a whole new reason now and his hair was sticking up in an annoyingly attractive way. I could see by the surprise in his eyes that he hadn’t been planning on the kiss being that intense. 

“It’s not the same,” he repeated, his voice as calm as if we were having a normal conversation on any old day. As if we hadn’t been arguing minutes before. As if he hadn’t just given me the most mind numbing, spine tingling kiss of my life. “Because I love you. And I know that that probably wasn’t the best way to go about telling you, but I need you to understand what it would mean to me to lose you. If you lost me, you’d lose a friend. It would suck, but you would move on. But you’re more than that to me, and I don’t know how I could survive losing you.”

“Have you not paid attention to a thing I said?” I asked him, taking a step forward to eliminate the space he’d put between us. “I told you, if I lost you and Sam I would have nothing.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really true. You could make more friends easily enough.”

“But you’re not just my friends. Sam is my best friend, true, but I love him like he’s my brother. Losing him would hurt me just as bad as losing an actual brother. And you… I couldn’t move on from you any easier than you could move on from me. I love you too.”

“Yeah,” Dean winced. “Like a brother. I know.”

“Not like a brother,” I said, wrinkling my nose a little. “Do you really think I would kiss you like that, or at all for that matter, if that’s how I thought of you?”

“I would hope not,” he agreed. 

“So, basically, you’ve been yelling at me this whole time about not understanding you when, in reality, I understand perfectly, just like I said from the beginning.” I couldn’t help but gloat a little at being right.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched slightly in a repressed smile. 

“You know, I think you owe me for scaring me nearly to death earlier,” he said happily.

“I owe you?” 

“Yes. When you came running in here I swear my heart stopped. And then I had to watch you get thrown across the room…” He winced at the memory and I could tell how upset it made him, but he quickly shook it off and kept up his cheerful tone. “I think you took at least three years off my life. Lucky for you I’ll take payment in kisses. One for every year less I’ll live thanks to you.”

Part of me wanted to argue, but the other part was too giddy to even care. 

“Alright,” I agreed easily. I stretched up onto my tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I wanted to continue the intense kiss from earlier, but there would be time for that later. This seemed like the appropriate response to his gentle, teasing tone. “There’s one.”

I kissed him again, and then once more, feeling like I could burst with joy the whole time. 

“There,” I said after the third kiss. “Does that make us even?”

“For now,” he smiled. “I have a feeling I’ll be finding lots of excuses for more in the future.”

“How’s this for an excuse? I think you took at least five years off my life. I’ll be needing some compensation here as well.”

He grinned. “And I fully intend to pay up. Once we’re home though. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

I was a little disappointed to have to be done kissing him. But I knew he was right. We should get out of here. I knew he was in pain, and I still didn’t know how Sam was doing. Besides, it was only a temporary stop. Once we were home I would have as much time with him as I wanted.

Home. Just the mention of it made me long for it even more. But even though I couldn’t wait to be back, even though I’d spent the whole time here waiting for the moment we could leave, the past few minutes with Dean had made the whole thing worth it. 

Maybe New York wasn’t so bad after all.

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

#not so bad #supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #confessed feelings #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x original character

[reds-writings]

if only tonight we could sleep?

the dora lange case had come to a close...but was it really ever over?

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: inspired by getting lost in the sound of the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me album. this is set somewhere in the same world of jealousy, jealousy!. your feedback, as always, is greatly treasured!

word count: around 2.6k

warnings: angst, canon-typical death (mentions of what happens at the Ledoux shootout), nudity (showering together!), cursing, dread, etc (minors go away)

The Dora Lange case had finally been closed once and for all. All the bullshit and danger that had accumulated over all these weeks could finally cease to continue. You’re sure that even within the next twenty something odd years or so when all of this would be well blown over and buried you would never be able to truly process the fucked up-ness of it all. 

Your mind was thoroughly numb and all of your limbs ached to no end. You could feel everything you’d endured catching up to you as your body finally allowed itself to let go. Adrenaline and sheer will had been what kept you from fully crumbling during the case’s most crucial and final moments. The shit Rust and Marty decided to pull with that druggie Ginger had already left you worse for wear. Discovering Ledoux and the horrors that were transpiring in that shithole was something you couldn’t let yourself dwell on for too long lest you wanted to find yourself having a complete mental breakdown. Bodies and skulls being blown to bits right in front of you. The sight of rich blood and scattered brain matter sprayed to stain onto your boots. Finding those kids like that…you’d never get over it. One was sentenced to a life of trauma that left her catatonic and the other one deceased. You’d had the naive thought more than once telling you if only we'd all been a bit quicker…

But there was no point in dwelling on all the ifs and maybes. That was a guaranteed one-way ticket to self-induced insanity. 

You should feel relief that this is over. The weight of one of the many atrocities committed in the world removed from your down-trodden shoulders. Solved. A monster taken down and put into the earth where he couldn’t return to cause more strife. Why couldn't it feel over? Where was the relief?

You didn’t know much of what Rust and Marty felt on the matter, too busy dealing with keeping your stories straight on just how you all had come across Ledoux’s hideout instead of finding the time to have a heart-to-heart on how much this might’ve permanently screwed with your heads for ages to come. You knew well enough that ending the case like this wasn’t easy for either of them given their respective standpoints when it came to kids. Marty discovered those children and both men had carried them back. Rust had shouldered the burden of carrying that poor boy. A small choice of action that had your heart twisting even more painfully than you thought it already had during it all. The Texan could go on and on about the world being shit and there being no control over the horrors one would be put through trying to live life but you found that it was he who tried the hardest to shield others from said pain and horror whether he was aware of it or not. He cared a lot more about the human race than he let on but it would be more than ineffectual trying to convince him of that particular truth. 

Things with Rust had been all over the place since the fiasco of a night you had after the bar as well as any event that followed afterwards: surprise, surprise. The time you’d initially aimed for to really sit down and decipher where it was exactly you saw the two of you headed had found itself slipping away at every possible chance. Neither of you was to necessarily blame, as the nature of your work was in constant demand of your full attention, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

You guys weren’t even truly anything yet and it was already this arduous. What kind of shelf-life did a pairing such as this really have down the line? It was more than likely that acting on any idea of pursuing Rust romantically was destined to never end in your favor. He was your coworker for Christ’s sake. Yes, there was no one else who could probably understand what it is you go through like each other but it was harder to separate other crueler aspects of your lives as well. Everything would get in the way of professionalism. It already had when it came to the showdown with Ginger. 

Trying not to let your thoughts go down the usual Rust rabbit hole it found itself in you decided that you’d take the longest and hottest shower you hadn’t had the luxury of taking in weeks. Any extra time you had lately was reserved for quick and cold rinses to keep yourself up and at 'em’. Relaxation in any sense of the word was hard to adjust to after long stretches of work such as these. It was like your body had forgotten how to just be. Nothing was chasing you and there was no clock ticking over your shoulder to mock you that time to get shit done was running out. The empty quiet that followed would never not be unnerving to you. You had nowhere to be and nothing to do. 

Where was the fucking relief? 

With a huff, you set aside the jack and coke you’d been cradling out on your front porch in the dwindling evening light. The air was more balmy than the stifling hot you’d experienced day in and day out though your skin still held that essence of a humid dew that kept your hair and clothes sticking to you like a second skin. Dusting off your pants you made way to get on up from your depressing reverie only to find the outline of a familiarly limber figure at the end of your driveway. How the hell hadn’t you heard him pull up?

“Are you gonna stand there like a regular ol’ weirdo or get up here?” You feigned nonchalance at his sudden presence but your heart told another story with the quickening pace it decided to adopt. 

Wordlessly, Rust ventured his way up the pathway and onto your shabby porch. He eyed the abandoned drink you had by your side so you offered it up to him. He loosened the tie around his neck and undid the first two buttons of his dress shirt before accepting the silent offering. It took two long gulps before the glass was drained.

There was a heavy silence for longer than what was comfortable. Where could you even start? You didn’t want to catch yourself in an awkward fumble trying to gauge what it was he exactly needed from you as it was clear there was a purpose in him showing up without a warning. The set of his posture made it seem like he was curling in on himself more and more by the minute. He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, fearful that it would be his complete undoing. This visible deflation in action made you feel panicked for not knowing what assistance you could offer without having him pull away.

“...D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Rust shook his head softly as if in a daze. His eyes growing glassy and increasingly distant while he stared at your porch’s floorboards. 

At a loss, you cleared your throat shakily, “Well I was just about to hop in the shower. You can come inside…hang around if you want. We don’t have to talk or nothin’...o-or we can if that’s what you wanna end up doin’ after havin’ some quiet.”

No reply.

“Well, there’s beers and whatnot in the fridge if you choose. Don’t be shy to helpin’ yourself.” You got up and squeezed his hand gently, warm and calloused like you’d been dreaming about since they held you. That already felt like ages ago. He still made no move.

“I’m here.” Was all you could say and with that, you loosened your grip and headed on inside then upstairs to your bathroom. After setting out some comfy clothes and shedding out of the day’s stiff attire for all the press work that entailed you waited for the shower to reach its desired heat. The person looking back at you in your steadily fogging mirror was almost unrecognizable. Bruises from recent incidents had barely begun to make their way towards the fading process. Skin so sullen and hair even duller. When had you started to look so tired? This beaten down? You felt sorry for anyone who had the displeasure of viewing your walking corpse as of late. 

The spray of the showerhead above you was nothing short of heavenly. Any pain and misery melted away to be forever cast down into the depths of the tub’s drain. Your bones felt like lead as you let yourself stand there, waiting to gain the sense of motivation to start washing yourself clean. It could’ve been ten minutes or even ten hours before the sound of the bathroom door clicking ajar had you opening your eyes. The silhouette of the cause of your heart’s aching and beating stood beyond the fogged glass as if at a loss of what to make himself do next. You said nothing, not wanting him to feel as if he was unwanted or on the other hand forced to join you. To expose himself beyond what a casual act of nudity could display already. 

It was another elongated moment before you heard the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothes being discarded. You were so far gone that it hadn’t occurred to you he was about to see you at your most vulnerable. He’d witnessed you at some of your lowest, shittiest points but this was crossing into an entirely new territory. 

And yet you didn’t feel as scared as you thought you would. You didn’t find Rust to be as judgemental about the physical as he was about the metaphysical. 

The shower’s sliding door worked its way open and you didn’t turn around until a few moments after it had closed. The look on his face was similar to the one you’d been subjected to all those weeks ago after the bar. One of true fear. Fear of being seen at his very core. Open and raw. Fear that you’d take this all in and decide to turn him away in disgust or disinterest. Rust’s eyes didn’t wander down any further than your face. He wasn’t here out of primal desire. He needed something…someone…you to help him hold himself together for just this moment. Any and all strength he usually had keeping him upright had escaped him after the weight of everything finally penetrated his psyche. 

You found your hand making its way up to his face, tracing dampening tendrils out of his line of sight before cupping his jaw. That empty blue fluttered closed, giving himself a moment or two before completely relinquishing himself to your gentle touch. Your other hand met the other side of his face before you leaned forward to touch your forehead to his. The downfall of water in the small cubicle drowned out any other possible thoughts or worries that could’ve been had in the current moment. There was nothing and no one else that mattered. 

One kiss to his nose, then his chin, and finally his trembling lips had large palms come up to rest on the supple flesh of your hips, steadily gripping you as if you’d float away from him. You separated for a moment as his hands traveled up to clutch at your back. Before he could bring you closer you kissed him gently once more before succumbing to his grasp. Settling with leaving barely-there imprints of your mouth on the expansive skin of his chest and neck, your own hands brought themselves up to return his embrace. You felt the soft press of a peck linger on the side of your head as his grip grew a bit tighter. Seconds passed until the subtle shaking of broad shoulders had you clinging to him impossibly tighter. His sobs were not all that audible but the shuddering breaths he’d take in every now and then were more than enough to clue you in on just how much he was hurting. Tears began to burn behind your own eyes as your pain melded with his. 

Here you were, just two broken people who gave up all notions of stoicism to completely and utterly crumble in front of each other. Fully at each other’s undeniable mercy. 

- - - -

You didn’t know how much more time had passed after holding each other but as the water began to grow more frigid you made haste to help each other wash up. You both stepped out so you could wrap yourself in your own towel before making your way to your linen closet to fetch him one as well as to not have him left wet and cold for too long. With your mind a bit clearer from the emotional release experienced, you finally came to realize the presence of the exceptionally athletic physique in front of you. He seemed to be in the same state of appreciation towards you and you caught yourself feeling hot in the face as you clumsily thrust a towel in his direction. 

“You don’t have to be shy in front of me.” His voice sounded raw from lack of use. The first words he’d uttered since he’d come here.

You tucked a wet piece of hair behind your ear, trying to casually meet his stare, “I know. Just didn’t expect us to end up here when you showed up is all. It’s just catchin’ up to me…” The pinch of your chin between long fingers drew you to kiss him again. 

“You’re everythin'...and then some.” 

You fought a self-deprecating scoff but he said it as if it were the most simplest fact in the world. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Let’s just find you some clothes. I am in dire need of one looong hibernation after everythin’. You too, mister.” You flicked his chest then slinked out of the bathroom. You finished any of the necessary preparations for bed by the time he had wandered into your room. The window you cracked open let in a gentle breeze while the warm glow of the few candles that had been lit danced in the haven you created. Whether you wanted a form of light for the sake of your own comfort or it being done out of some subconsciously innate need to keep Rust out of the dark for the night, you didn’t care to unpack. 

Climbing into bed once and for all, you lay facing each other. Letting peace and stillness settle in. 

“We did it y’know…it’s over. We can be okay.” You couldn’t help but say. Feeling the need to find something to reaffirm the so-called fact that should’ve been comforting at the end of all this. Anything to soothe underlying anxiety as the heavy shadow of the unknown and incomplete loomed over you. It should’ve been over but Ledoux was but a small piece to a hugely fragmented puzzle. Both of you knew it deep down but hadn’t the strength to confirm it out loud. Afraid to shatter this sense of temporary false security.

This was far from being done and dealt with. From being fully uncovered.  

Rust didn’t say anything else as he pulled you into the warmth of his chest. Caging you in with no choice but to surrender to the silent feeling of safety he was trying to provide you. You could only pray that the two of you could make it through anything as you both found yourselves victims to the passing of time and any other trials it had ready for you.

Especially with whatever was waiting for you on the other side of Carcosa.  

----

a/n: ahhhh! hurt/comfort is always a guilty pleasure. sorry for the immense dread at the end. i'm thinking of cooking up another fic that draws back to what exactly went down with our trio and ginger if that's something of interest to you all! thanks for reading!

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective season 1 #rust cohle imagine #rust cohle x reader #true detective imagine #matthew mcconaughey #true detective

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #82

So I found out that besides beating the absolute tar out of Jason, Bruce also dragged him back to Ethiopia to relive his traumatic death/revival in hopes of finding a way to bring back a recently dead Damian[???]

Mind you, I absolutely hate thinking about how abusive Bruce is towards his kids and would rather pretend he’s a parent who tries, you know? But fuck if that cursed kernel of knowledge spark an idea:

There’s been a couple of fics that play with the idea that forcing a ghost to relive their death is a major taboo in the Ghost Zone, severely punishable and all that jazz.

Now it’s the aftermath [however that was, Idk], peeps are probably rejoicing over Damian’s revival [right?] and Jason’s most likely somewhere, you know, coping I assume. 

Until Walker is knocking on their door and demanding their presence to the Court of the Dead [Don’t remember if it had a name, this sounded pretty cool lol] stating that Batman’s presence is required to receive his sentence.

As all things are when it comes to Walker, he doesn’t give them a choice.

Jason’s call comes a bit more peacefully, mind you, but given it’s an eyeball, it probably wasn’t much better.

Cue Jason poofing onto some chair in some courtroom, thinking he’s the one in trouble, cue Batman poofing in that giant glass cage [You know, the one Vortex was stuck in upon his intro]

Everyone, predictably, are unarmed.

Jason is unsure what to feel at the sight of them.

Walker in all his weird size shifting glory, steps forward to loom over Bruce, large book in hand and sneering down at the human trapped before him, “Bruce Thomas Wayne, alias Batman, founding member of the Justice League, you’ve been summoned to the Court of the Dead to receive your sentence.”

“On what charges?”

Walker’s sneer deepened, “On what charges?, he says.”

The book in his hands quickly sift through pages, one after the other until it comes to a stop, popping up in a screen for all to see its contents, Death’s Echo, the chapter title says.

“Why, you’ve committed the ultimate taboo, human. Victim of the Echo: Jason Peter Todd, alias Red Hood alias Robin II, date of birth August 16th, 1993, date of death April 11th, 2008, date of awakening October 27th, 2008. Date of the crime d/m/y.

You’ve forced a ghost to relive their death, violated the peace of their core, potentially destabilizing a ghost’s existence. Upon Death’s Sermon, or for the betterment of your puny human understanding: You broke a law, a law punishable by termination.”

“He’s not dead.” Despite what become of their relationship, all the bloody conflicts that have followed, Bruce can’t stand the idea of Jason dying. 

One of the many eyeballs that seem to take up the majority of the court, steps - ahem! floats - forward, and despite lacking any other facial features, gives him what is noticeably a look Alfred would give him when he’s being particularly bull-headed, “That is irrelevant. The boy still carries the mark of death with him, therefor is still a denizen of the Infinite Realms, therefor still falls under our jurisdiction.”

“And all rights to the Court’s defense.” Walker adds, closing the book in his hand with a pointed snap, “You’ve been out ruled, punk.”

The batfam are looking around them as the entire room full of ghost clamor for Bruce’s termination, angry and indignant alike.

Tim - despite all his years of training - panics and doesn’t think twice before standing from his seat and calling the large ghost’s attention, ignoring Dick’s frets, “And where’s your evidence? Where are your witnesses to back up these claims, do you even have any?" 

The sudden silence is almost smothering, and Jason can’t help but watch as all eyes turn to the boy in question.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know how to feel about all this, about Bruce being charged for what basically amounts to torture in these creatures’ eyes, not even over the fact that he still seems to be considered dead. 

"For a genius, for a detective, you don’t seem to know much about death, do you?”

The ghost all seem to straighten at the sound of the voice, almost like they’re a classroom being called to attention. Despite its calm volume, it carries throughout the whole room, demanding everyone’s attention, their respect.

The bats immediately zero in on the source, a large chair big enough to be considered a throne sits in the first floor, enshrouded by shadows, the lighting of the room doesn’t seem to touch it at all, only lit by the green flame of a crown. Showing them measly impressions of a man’s face. 

The man stands, steadily walking forward till he’s standing in the light. He’s tall, broad, looks about Bruce’s age, and is donning black armor. His presence fills the whole room.

He bothers Bruce only a glance as he passes him before he fixes his attention back on the boy. 

“Now I know you’re not naive, Tim Drake. Death is everywhere, no matter how seemingly clean, no matter how peaceful, there’s no place on this planet death hasn’t touched; death is my domain, I see and I hear the voices of those who have passed - do you know what that means?”

“You have eyes everywhere.” Tim concluded, uneasy in what this might mean.

“I do. Now I can show you and your siblings the whole event, but for the sake of Jason’s continued peace of mind, I will not. Point stands: This is not a trial, Timothy, this is a sentence - your father does not get defendants or supposed witnesses to offer evidence of his supposed innocence, there isn’t any.”

Tim doesn’t know what to feel when the man turns his attention towards Jason, who despite the harrowing experience, has remained utterly silent throughout the whole endeavor. Jason despite his mass and his known capabilities, looks meek under the ghost’s attention, bracing for whatever he might say.

It’s off-putting.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, detectives, that very much includes the victim in question. Now Jason, I want you to answer me honestly, and I promise you that you’re safe here, can you do that?”  

Jason’s eyes swept over the whole room, glancing at his siblings before stopping on Bruce, still silent, still ever brooding and angry, before offering a small shrug in response, “I guess.”

“Did he force you to relive your death and subsequent revival?”

“………He did.”

Jason thought it was a chance to join in on a collaborative mission, all hands on deck and all that jazz, hoping for reconciliation, to mend things.

“Did you give your consent on the matter?”

He just wanted to move on, to leave all that anger and resentment, all that pain, behind him. He thought Bruce wanted the same, but apparently not, Bruce didn’t seem to care about what he was asking of him, he just wanted some chance to get his son back.

Like Jason never mattered.

Jason offers a small shake of head in response, trying to ignore the way everyone stared at him, “No.”

The man gives him a reassuring smile, bowing his head in gratitude and Jason only feels relieved to be rid of the attention as the king looks towards the rest of the family

“Lucky for you, however, Bruce is still very much human. So he won’t be facing termination,”

“Your highness -” A swift hand silence the skull faced ghost

They don’t relax, they can tell there’s more to the offered appeasing.

The family sits in silence as this kings dishes out Bruce’s punishment. 

Any further interaction Batman has will be on Jason’s terms, he will not seek Jason out, he will not make demands, he will certainly not impose his will on him.

Along that, he is no longer permitted to step foot in Crime Alley and anywhere else that might be considered Jason’s territory [haunt, they called it haunt, it felt daunting being showed the ghostly significance in it.] without expressed permission. If there’s a moment in time where Batman’s presence suddenly becomes unwanted, Jason apparently possesses the power to evict him.

Bruce is stripped of any sort of control he might’ve had over his wayward son. The court is in Jason’s favor for once, it seems.

Batman is not allowed to use anyone else in his favor. 

Bruce Wayne certainly isn’t exempt from these demands. The Ghost King seems to know them very well [Eyes. Everywhere] and seemed to be prepared for them to seek out any loopholes.

Any attempts to disregard these demands and he will be guarded. Heavily. By shadows, and by his very own ghosts.

The ghost king derives a lot of pleasure in informing Bruce that his parents never left his side, watched his struggles, watched his successes, his relationships with partners and children alike. 

Jason almost wants to say it seems cruel to throw in Bruce’s face the disappointment his parents feel in Bruce’s…..less stellar parenting methods.

He’s still trying not to think about the fact everyone is apparently being haunted by the souls of the people most important to them.

Bruce remains utterly silent, looking for all the world like the weight on his shoulders has double, troubled as the time pressed on, until he utters.

“And how long will this sentence be?”

“Until you both can completely trust - no wait, scratch that, Jason already trusted you, had faith in you, something of which you had no remorse in taking advantage of. No, until you learn how to trust him.”

The bats try not to wince at that.

#bones submissions #dpxdc #uh hi bones here #hey homie what the actual hell this is a whole ass fic #im in awe #just casually drops over 1k like its nothing #i respect and admire you homie

[angeart]

I am trying to be a patient anon and not send too much before you finish your Mimic/Juni rambles before asking for more rambles (I love him, he did A Big Bad but I love him)

but you called attention to it so what happened to Scar's ear?? D:

(honestly wasn't sure if I should ask you or Link cuz its Link's art but I saw your post first this morning so.... :x)

-🎀

HELLO there is no need to hold back and be patient <33 I love seeing you in my asks and always get excited! Also also also! So happy to hear you love our Juni even though he did Big Bad. I promise the main Mimic Arc Rambles Part II will have a snapshot of what happens to him after all this. 

Anyway! For now, to answer your question about the feather earring!

Some time after reuniting (after the whole Juni thing), Scar and Grian find a cave with a hot-spring, where they take shelter for a little while. Things happen, and somewhere along the lines, Scar asks Grian to mark him in some way. (Scar already marked Grian—) 

He says: Show the world I’m yours.

And so Grian does the avian thing. He touches his wings, willingly and deliberately, without the intent to harm them—something that hasn’t happened in so long—and he picks a nice-looking feather. And he gifts it to Scar. To say that yes, they’re connected. That they belong to each other. (And oh, how much it means for Scar to have access to this part of Grian; to be given something so monumental, something others are willing to kill for, yet they’re not allowed to have it.)

At first, Scar tucks it behind his ear, because he has no other way to keep it on him and have it safe and on display (something they can afford for now, in the privacy of their little cave). He checks with Grian, to make sure if that’s okay, and… Honestly, it’s complicated. 

Tucking a small snippet of our mini-rp about this below the cut <3 (but if you’re interested only in what happens to Scar’s ear after, feel free to skip that!)

RP snippet:

Scar

"Is this okay?" he asks, a tad timid with a big, bashful smile. "I mean like, am I supposed to wear it?" 

It's a loaded question, he knows. Not only is it a public display of their relationship, but it's a public display of a bright violet feather, and Scar knows how troubling that can be for Grian to show off, so he can only imagine the complicated nature of having his own portion of that for show. (He thinks of the hunters and their bejeweled weapons, feathers tied to them in boast. It makes his fingers twitch slightly, aching for his claws.)

(Mournfully, he finds himself wishing this was Hermitcraft (a thought he tries to avoid), and he could wear it proudly to show off to his friends. That Grian is his and he is Grian's.)

-

Grian

Grian waits until Scar pulls away, content to stay pressed close to him. But then Scar presents a question, and Grian's face burns, eyes flicking up to bask in the sight of the feather behind Scar's ear. "I— I um—" he stammers. He likes having it on display, and all the implications of it. It makes something in his chest purr with happy warmth. But— Is Scar supposed to wear it? Grian's never done anything like this before. He actually doesn't know.

His fingers reach, but he doesn't touch the tucked feather. Instead, his fingertips brush Scar's earlobe, and he wonders how wonderful it would feel to see Scar proudly wear the feather as an earring.

But then the reality crashes in. Grian's fingers tremble and pull away, and he swallows thickly. His eyes are big and vulnerable, with a touch of deep-rooted fear, when they find Scar's again. "I—" he stammers again, in a completely different pitch this time.

His wings slide off of Scar's back, reclaiming their spot behind Grian, making themselves smaller. (And yet. And yet they're still not as tightly pressed to his spine as they used to be.) 

He thinks of a bright spot of violet, permanently tied to Scar, on display. In a world where that particular brilliant shade is as good as a death sentence.

"I don't know," he finishes in an unsteady half whisper, heart hammering painfully in his chest.

-

Scar

Scar's ear flicks when touched, but the feather remains tucked where it is; he even twitches upward to make sure of it. He watches Grian fumble with his words and how his wings retreat, nervous and almost ashamed of their gorgeous hue. Scar finds that he really does not like that.

He meets Grian's eyes, steady even as his own are still red from shed tears. "Do you want me to?" Then, softer, serious. "I want to." His eyes flick downward, pondering his next words carefully before seemingly resolving to something. He looks back up and adds, unwavering. "Maybe dangerous, but... feels good. Feels… right."

-

Grian

Grian doesn't even have to consider Scar's question; he knows the answer instantly. Yes. Yes, he does want that, but—

He can't. He can't say that. He can't bear the implications, the possibilities. He can't stand the thought of making scar any more of a target than he already is.

He feels his eyes water as his heart is locked in this hopeless fight. Scar tells him he wants to do it, and that it feels right, and damn, Grian knows it feels right—it feels so, so horribly right for Scar to wear the feather on proud display.

And still. Grian's eyes close, sending tears tumbling down. His head dips as he shakes it no, suddenly so very afraid.

He doesn't want Scar to get hurt because of him. Because of this. Because of a silly, sentimental foolishness.

-

Scar

Scar pauses, heart aching at the display of complicated emotions that shower over Grian's face, shifting and moving until he lands on something all too close to despair and dips his head low.

Scar chews his lip, also dismayed by the reality they live in, before pulling his little avian in close again, pressing him to his chest where he can cry. 

"Maybe... just for now," he whispers, secure in their current privacy. "And we'll figure it out?"

--------

Eventually, after many talks and reassurances and sinking, fearful feelings, Scar ends up fashioning the feather into an earring. He already has one ear pierced, and easily uses that to have the feather on him. 

It’s a security risk, in a way. But Scar needs it, needs to be able to proudly proclaim that they belong to each other. That whoever might want Grian’s feathers would have to go through him first.

And they do. Go through him first.

There’s an incident where a hunter gets grasp of the feather and yanks it. (They want that feather <3) It takes the whole earring with it, sending a spike of pain through Scar.

There’s a lot of blood.

Scar doesn’t care.

All he cares about is the fact that this hunter now has Grian’s feather in his grasp, and he’s not meant to have that, he can’t, it doesn’t belong to him.

(He once promised Grian that nobody can have his wings, and that extends to this feather, too. To any part of Grian, really.) (And yet Grian gave himself over to Scar so fully, so willingly.)

And... yep. Scar goes a little feral. As a treat.

He takes that hunter down.

In the aftermath of it, he clutches the bloodied earring close to his chest, needing to feel it, to shield it, to make sure it’s his, nobody else has it, just him. He is determined to fiercely protect it, because of everything it means. And because Grian gave it to him.

Speaking of, Grian’s inconsolable. He’s very, very upset; this just adds to his fears that he’s only ever going to get Scar hurt. That nothing good comes from his feathers. That they’re just an omen bringing blood and death. (Something that’ll be reinforced later, too <3) 

He doesn’t want Scar to be in that firing line. He doesn’t want Scar to get any more hurt because of him. Not for a single feather. (Even if that single feather means everything.)

All he thinks about is that he was right— His feather did lead to Scar getting hurt. And it’s awful, and he feels sick, and guilty, and so very hopelessly, fearfully sad.

But Scar isn’t deterred. He doesn’t care; he’d willingly fight the whole world for this. (For Grian.) He stubbornly pierces his other ear, and it bleeds too, but it doesn’t matter. He puts the earring right back in. (Yep, this is how the earring swapped sides—)

Of course they talk about it. And it’s a mess. It’s even more complicated than before.

Scar ends up saying, “Grian, if it really makes you uncomfortable I’ll— I’ll keep it hidden, but if it’s only for my sake, then no. Please let me wear it.”

And… Well, Grian has no idea how to feel. 

He doesn’t want to put Scar in danger. But also, seeing that feather? Seeing Scar wear it? It reinstates everything they are to each other, every whispered, sobbed-out promise, every comforting touch and press of lips, every small, hard-fought laughter. 

Scar wearing the feather both soothes Grian immeasurably, and makes him sick to his stomach with dread.

But ultimately, he leaves the choice in Scar’s hands.

And Scar decides to wear it. (He’ll take down anyone who tries to touch it <3)

#ange answers #ribbon anon #hhau #feather earring #scarian #link might have some art for this :3c #hehe

[gabessquishytum]

I was struck by an idea for an au. So this would be similar to thw warprize!Hob au's, but a little different.

So Dream is a prince in some kingdom and he's recently came of age (I'm going with old laws and going to say 21 here) and because he's come of age, he's allowed a concubine of his choosing. Dream being Dream, he's very picky.

But one day a bunch of revolutionaries are brought in and tried in front of the entire royal family for treason after an assassination attempt on the king, queen, and crown prince (Destiny) while they were on a trip of some sort.

Hob is looked to as one of the leaders of this revolution, with him being very action oriented, practical, and friendly. But because he's one of the leaders, he's one of the first to be tried. And the moment Dream lays eyes on him, he knows he must have Hob.

It takes a bit of convincing (and Dream owes Death a favor for her part in convincing their parents) but Dream manages to get the king and queen to spare Hob's life in order to have him serve Dream.

Hob is very confused by all this, but as the rest of him companions were sentenced to death, he's not exactly complaining too much. As much as he'd love to die for his cause, he firmly believes that living for it is a lot more productive way to go about things. And he's not entirely opposed either, of course it might not be an ideal situation but he's not opposed to being Dream's concubine. He finds Dream very attractive and he might be a little more into the fact that he's going to spend the forseeable future being dommed by a man about 10 years younger than him than he's ready to admit.

When Dream first interacts with Hob, Hob is surprised to find that his first concern is that Hob is okay with this arrangement (which Hob answers with a shrug "beats the hell outa rotting to maggots in the ground"). For all Dream appears to be no better than his parents (and some of his siblings), he's very gentle with Hob and is always making sure that Hob is getting something out of their arrangement (lets switch up a common trope in this fandom and let Hob be a bit of a pillow princess here)

As time goes on, Dream and Hob become closer and more like friends than master and servant. For some angst, maybe there could be a whole scene where Hob is like, "I think I know why you spared my life, it's not cause you wanted a concubine. You were looking for companionship. I think you're lonely" and of course Dream blows up and runs off but then comes back quite soon because Hob isn't wrong and doing anything to prove that Hob's wrong would basically sentence him to death and Dream really doesn't want that, so he comes back and admits that yeah, they're friends now, but that they can't go telling people that.

Anyway, but cause they're friends, Dream spends quite a lot of time around Hob and Hob tells him about their attempted revolution and why they did it and all that and eventually gets Dream over to his side. It really wasn't that hard because Dream knows that his parents are pieces of shit. As Hob and Dream spend more time around each other, they fall in love but have to try to keep it a secret as best as possible (not from Death though, she supports them) and they also have to deal with all sorts of things like people saying that Hob is manipulating Dream and all that. Maybe those rumors also make Hob really upset and so Dream has to reassure him that he won't let anyone take Hob away from him because Hob was "manipulating" Dream. Excellent opportunity for a very possessive Dream to remind Hob just who he belongs to.

At some point Dream (and so Hob as well) is given leave by his parents to go live somewhere else and while he's there, he and Hob may or may not start raising a revolution of their own, this time because it's backed by a prince and his own small army, it gets a lot more support from people who are tired of the tyrants in charge. They end up overthrowing Dream's parents and both Destiny and Death agree to step down (neither wanted the throne anyway). Then together, Dream and Hob establish a government that's a lot more democratic and fair (I'd go into details, but I'm tired and thinking up a whole ass plan for a government takes more energy than I have right now) and they also make it so that they can legally get married and then there's a wedding and they live happily ever after

I love this idea for an intriguing, slowburn fic!! They're fucking the whole time, as they slowly become allies and then friends and finally admit that they're in love... as if it wasn't obvious by the way they hold hands as Dream gives Hob the most amazing series of orgasms he's ever had in his life. Hob loves being dommed by his Prince and Dream loves having that element of control, because the rest of his life is so carefully orchestrated by his family or advisers.

Hob honestly saves Dream, and although he thought the revolution was a bust and has completely failed, the ideals that he and his fellow plotters had espoused are actually coming true? Both for Dream (free of his parents control, able to live as he pleases) and for the rest of the country. Hob really can't believe that he's actually managed to have an impact on the fate of the country and make a difference! That was all he ever wanted!

The best part is that they can be properly public about their love for each other, and Hob can still get to be a lil pillow princess! Dream is his husband now and they probably both deserve a nice long honeymoon tbh!

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[befuddled-calico-whump]

T$$ Dystopia AU: Part Two

previous ///// T$$ Masterlist

cw: aftermath of whipping/beating, referenced public torture, institutionalized violence, adult language

× × ×

Joy didn't often bother with the floggings or the stocks or the other punishments inflicted by the police state. As shitty as it was, they happened too frequently for her to expend the resources to help every victim. Better to focus her efforts elsewhere and try to stop it altogether.

This was different though.

One of her scouts reported a whipping, and whatever, it was practically a daily occurrence at this point, but then they'd added that the kid on the post had already looked beaten half to death before the first crack even came down. That was just a little too cruel for her to ignore. She figured she'd at least check up on him, make sure he knew where the unsanctioned medic huts were and that he had the means to reach one. The rest of her guys were busy with other taskings, so Joy decided she'd pay him a visit herself.

Only when she arrived at the square, what must've been an hour at least since the flogging had ended, the poor guy was still on the post.

Security was posted around the perimeter, watching their prisoner with a body language like they'd shoot down anyone who tried to help.

If they were going to all these lengths… who was this guy? Just a victim they'd decided to be especially cruel to? Or was he something more?

Knowing the police corp as well as Joy did, she knew either option was equally as viable. Either way, she was gonna rescue the kid, and either way, she'd need some backup.

And fast. Fuck knew how long the poor guy would be able to hold out for.

It took less than a sentence of explanation to get Jericho on board, along with enough guys to distract the cops and give them an opening for the rescue.

It took longer than she would've liked to get everyone in place, but they wouldn't be any help to the beaten kid if they got arrested en route to him. It was another hour before the group was at the square’s edge, poised to act.

The rear guard gave the signal, and Joy darted forward, Jericho and a pair bolt cutters at her side. 

Up close, the sight of the kid’s back was far more gruesome; layered blacks and reds gouging every inch of it. Torn to shreds. How many had they fucking given him? What had he even done to deserve this in the force's eyes?

The whipping alone should've been enough to kill him, let alone the dark bruises covering his ribcage, let alone being left like this for hours. But this kid was a fighter. Though shallow and wheezing, he was still breathing.

“I got him, Jer. Cut him down.”

Her friend cut through the chains linking the guy’s handcuffs together, and he collapsed onto Joy. She winced when she saw his face, half of it basically one big bruise. It would be hell on his wounds to carry him out of here, but they needed to get back underground fast, or there would be no saving him.

Jericho slid the cutters into his belt, reaching to take the unconscious man from her, but as the bigger man started to lift him, his hand closed around Joy’s arm.

“Stars…” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Th-they lead to you.”

Fuck, he was delirious too. Not that she was surprised by that. Joy nodded, not knowing how else to respond.

“Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

Behind her came the shout of her men, and she knew they needed to get moving now. Joy gently removed his fingers, allowing Jericho to sling the leaner man over his shoulder. She kept a few paces behind her friend to watch his back, her pistol drawn in case any of the cops saw them and moved to close in from the rear.

Somehow, the whole group made it back to the clear zone without pursuit. Joy sent a few guys on to fetch a medic, and accompanied Jericho to one of the safe havens. The havens were usually occupied by those who'd been wrongly accused of criminal intent, and needed somewhere to hide for a while, as well as people who had nowhere else to go. As far as she knew, their rescue checked both of those boxes, but she wouldn't know for sure until he regained consciousness.

…if he regained consciousness.

Jericho carried him to one of the empty rooms downstairs, carefully depositing him stomach-down on a bed.

“Thanks, Jer,” she said, cutting away the tattered remains of his shirt and gently removing them.

“Happy to help.” He sighed. “Never thought they would take things this far. Not in public. I mean, an execution is one thing, but this…”

“I know.”

“Do you think they would've let him down at all?”

Joy shook her head, letting her gaze fall to the unconscious man on the bed. “Cops've been doubling down lately. Wouldn't be surprised if they just wanted to make an example of him.” Her medical knowledge was limited, but she figured she should try her hand at cleaning him up. Who knew how long the medic would be?

“There's a silver lining then. They know the resistance is a threat,” Jericho said.

“How is that a silver lining? It'll only make them strike harder, do shit like this.”

“It means we stand a chance against them, and they know it," Jericho said. "Why else would they be lashing out?”

Joy pressed her lips together. “You're right.” She tore herself away from the bedside, checking one of the room’s cabinets for supplies, and coming away with a small stack of gauze and a bottle of water. “But fuck, man, we need to get the upper hand before there's a death on the whipping post.”

“We will,” Jericho said. “We have to.”

Joy sure fucking hoped so.

She wet one of the thicker gauze pads and started dabbing at the wounds on the man's back, trying not to let it get to her when the muscles there spasmed in pain and the guy let out a weak whimper.

“Easy does it.”

She hadn't covered much ground before the real medic arrived, patching up his ragged torso and giving him a morphine injection. Their stock of drugs and antibiotics was getting scarily low, but if anyone needed it, this kid did. 

They'd have to set up another raid on the upper-ring hospital soon. Dangerous for sure, but necessary to keep people alive.

“Will he live?” she asked as the medic started to leave. They answered with an apologetic shrug.

“He's made it this far. Keep a close eye on him, but… I wouldn't set my hopes too high.”

Joy nodded, clenching her jaw. “Thank you.”

As the medic left, she turned back to the bed. The man there looked marginally better, his thin form wrapped in heavy bandages that masked the worst of his injuries. He'd live. He had to. The cops couldn't win this one.

“I'll take the first watch,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Jericho asked. “How long have you been awake?”

“Few more hours won't kill me. I'll send for someone else soon, I promise.” She dragged a chair to the foot of the bed, and planted herself there, fidgeting with a paperclip she’d found in her pocket, bending it into different shapes until piece by piece it broke into nothing.

Sometime around midnight, the kid began to stir; little shifts and twitches and groans. Joy grabbed another water bottle. They didn't have the supplies for an IV line right now. As much as she hated to drag him out of his rest, if he was gonna live, he'd have to take liquids by mouth.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a light shake on his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

“Ffff-fuck off,” came the shaky reply, and Joy nearly cracked a smile.

“You need to try and drink something,” she said, unscrewing the cap and sliding a plastic straw inside. “Can you turn your face towards me?”

After a moment he did, bruised eye and cheek pointing in her direction. She set the straw against his lips, careful to avoid the spots that were cut up, and waited.

It seemed to take a lot of effort, but he managed to swallow down some of the liquid.

“Cool,” she murmured, then hastily added, “good, I meant, that's good.” One step forward.

“You can drink more if you want,” she said. “If not, I'll let you sleep.”

He spat out the straw. It was enough of an answer for Joy.

“Got a name?”

“Hu-Hunter,” he muttered.

Behind the bruises and blood and swollen lips, she swore she saw him grin.

“Joy,” she replied. “Welcome to the resistance.”

× × ×

tag list:

@theonewithallthefixations

#joy: everyone is a kid until proven otherwise #whump writing #aftermath of whump #recovery #caretaking #t$$ dystopian au #dystopian whump

[pxlvrxs]

CITY MOUSE, COUNTRY MOUSE walker, masters of horror

content warning(s); suggestive + dark content just to be safe!!!, kidnapping, implied murder (not reader tho), fem!reader and gendered anatomy, no smut, predator/prey dynamic, reader is nicknamed 'mouse' , written and edited in less than six hours

w/c; 2.2k

a/n; after making this post, i looked and there are hardly any fics for him. (s/o to the ppl who did write some, ily) hopefully the warren kole hype will give this ep more attention because i need more content. also, the entire time i wrote this all i could think abt was this edit. the brainrot is real.

It’d been two days. She could tell from the orange hues painting the horizon. The sun was dipping beneath the mountains for the second time since she’d been chained to the bed.

Her head pulsed with pain. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, thumping. It could have been from dehydration – she hadn’t had a sip of water in at least two days – or from the hard hit to the head. Her hair was matted with congealed blood. The wound had stopped bleeding by now, but she definitely had a concussion.

The mattress springs dug into her spine. A cold draft blew in from the windows and door. Gooseflesh prickled up all over her body. The clothes she’d been wearing had been stripped from her while she was unconscious.

He left her a pair of cotton panties, a bra, and the long socks she’d worn beneath her boots. Her sweater and jeans sat on the chair across the room, neatly folded and stacked. Her boots sat next to the door. He was mocking her.

He’d left her mostly unscathed. Save for some bruises and the nasty gash on her head, she was fine. Now it was just a question of what would kill her first: The cold or the dehydration.

She’d given up screaming a day ago. The only response to her cries was the hoots of mourning doves and the rattle of a woodpecker. There was no one to hear her, no one to rescue her.

It would be a torturous way to die; succumbing to dehydration and starvation. If the adventure books she read as a kid were correct, only one more day before her body would start to shut down. More than three days without a sip of water was a death sentence.

She wondered if he was watching her from somewhere. Watching her fade in and out of consciousness, writhing as hunger pains shook her whole body.

She was unconscious when she heard boots on the rickety porch. There was the steady creak of footsteps on the rotting wood before the door swung open. Her eyes fluttered, head lolling to the side. He was back. He was going to kill her.

Oh, god, I’m gonna die.

Thank god, it’s over.

Her mind flipped like a coin, unsure whether to feel fear or relief. Her heart began to thump against her ribcage.

“Oh, c’mon,” He slapped her a few times, not enough to sting but enough for her to open her eyes. She let out a shuddering breath at the side of him. “There you are, mouse.”

He’d taken to calling her that. He never got her name, he didn’t give her the chance to tell him. He’d introduced himself as “Walker” as he ducked into her passenger seat. The second the door had shut, he slammed her face into the steering wheel.

“Naive little city mouse.” He called her as he dragged her from the driver’s seat. “You trust too easy, darlin’.”

“You look rough.” Walker pulled a flask from his waistband, shaking it. Inside, liquid sloshed about. Reflexively, she jerked toward it. Pain tore through her shoulders and wrists. The ropes were tied too tight around her wrists, twisting her joints as she tried to lean up. “Easy girl,” He laughed breathily, pulling his knife from its sheath.

She shrunk away at the sight of it. The edge of the blade was still crusted with blood from when he sliced through her temple. He set the flask on the bedside table, leaning over her.

He gripped both of her wrists in one large hand, pinning her. The knife tore through the rope binding her to the bed frame. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth, her whimpers died in her dry throat.

He pulled away from her, standing up straight. He remained there for a moment. He watched with an amused grin as she lowered her wrists from the bedframe and sat up straight. She curled into herself, hoping to preserve what little modesty she still had.

She didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the ache in her shoulders. Bringing her arms to her lap made her wince in pain. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit’s. She was too exhausted to act on her fight-or-flight impulses. Sitting up made her head spin.

He reached for the flask again, uncapping the lid. He held it toward her, a silent offering. There was a smear of blood along the side. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her pupils dilated with fear.

“Oh so now you don’t trust me,” He took a quick swig from the flask, making a show of him swallowing. “Look, safe.” That was the only confirmation she needed. When he pressed the flask to her lips, she took greedy gulps of water, throat clicking with each swallow. It was warm and tasted slightly of dirt. There was a lingering aftertaste of malt liquor. He’d emptied the contents and filled it with water from the creek.

“Really, mouse, you think I would go through the trouble of bringing you here, just to poison you?” She soon fell behind, the water filling her mouth quicker than she could swallow. Her lungs began to burn with the lack of oxygen. He kept tilting the flask higher and pulling her head back by her hair. “Drink up.” He urged her, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Instinctively, she took a breath. Water filled her airway, burning. She jerked forward, coughing and sputtering as water spilled into her lap. He pulled the flask away, laughing. Water dripped from her nose and lips once the coughing fit subsided.

She took a shaky breath in, coughing once more. Her eyes brimmed with hot tears, but she refused to let them slide down her cheeks. Her bound hands gripped into her thighs in a futile attempt to stop her trembling.

Walker reached out, pulling the hair away from her face with unexpected tenderness. He dragged his finger down the cut next to her hairline, his touch featherlight. He lowered himself to get a better look at the wound. The gash had stained her face with streaks of browning blood and dampened the roots of her hair. It’d closed since he inflicted it, the edges glistening red with fresh blood.

Walker let out a low whistle, calloused fingers finding their way to her jaw. He twisted her head toward him, blue eyes boring into hers. His grip was bruising, threatening to mar the soft flesh of her cheeks. His hot breath fanned her cheek.

“Gotcha’ good, didn’t I, mouse?” Walker liked to admire his work, bragging about it even. He’d recounted his last kill as he tied her up in the trunk of her own car. The knots had been second nature to him, virtually muscle memory. His deft hands made quick work of tying her up, all while he watched her hazy expression. “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty,” He cooed mockingly, releasing his grip on her.

It wasn’t the first time he called her pretty. When she rolled down her window, he’d leaned in, asking what a pretty girl like her was doing traveling all alone. Then, the compliment made her face flush and smile. Now, it made her stomach churn and her skin crawl.

“Would it kill you to speak?” He asked, his irritation etched on his features. She shook her head. Walker cocked his head to the side, not needing to vocalize his demand for her to understand.

“No.” Her voice was weak from disuse and dehydration. Walker smiled again. He had a charming smile, even she couldn’t deny that. It was no wonder she’d unlocked the car door. Picking up a hitchhiker was the dumbest decision someone could make. Hitchhiking hadn’t been safe since the 70s, and even then, it was iffy.

“Good girl,” He mused, pulling his face away from hers. “So I was thinking, mouse,” He spoke casually — like she was a friend, not his prey. “I’m sure it’s been awfully boring in this cabin, all alone.”

Her stomach began to twist into knots.

“How about we make things exciting? Play a game?” Something told her he didn’t mean Scrabble.

He pulled her wrists toward him harshly, bringing the knife to the rope. The blade sawed through the rope with ease. It fell into a pile on the mattress, revealing the raw skin beneath. Walker dragged a finger over the red and bloody skin, ignoring her wince as he did.

“You run, I chase.” He said it so flippantly, like they were kids on a playground. “If you win, you can do whatever you want. Go to the cops, tell ‘em everything.” 

 He paused, licking his lips.

“If I win, I get to do whatever I want.” That sentence alone made fear grip her throat like a vice. “Whaddya say? Yes or no?” It wasn't a question of what she preferred, she knew that. There was a wrong answer.

She nodded and Walker let out a displeased groan. His hand shot up, wrapping around her throat. He didn’t apply enough pressure to cut off her breathing, just enough to get his message across.

“Words, mouse.”

“Yes,” She choked out, hand wrapping around his wrist in a weak attempt to free herself. He let go of her neck, standing to his full height.

“I’ll give you a five-minute head start, just to keep it fair.” His back was turned to her, his knife in hand. If, by some miracle, she collected her wits and strength, she could’ve taken him out at that moment. But she remained on the bed, unsure what to do. He looked over his shoulder expectantly. “Time’s ticking, mouse.”

That made her spring into action. She lunged for the clothing on the chair, hurriedly pulling the jeans and sweater over her body. She didn’t bother to lace up or tie her boots, just yanking them on and running through the open door. As she ran, she looked over her shoulder to ensure Walker hadn’t lied.

The leaves beneath her feet had been reduced to mush from the recent snow. The bitter cold made its way through her sweater, sending a shiver down her spine. She continued on her straight path until the cabin disappeared into the trees.

Going straight will make my path easy to follow. She stood still for a moment, looking in all directions. Her head start had surely run out by now. It wouldn’t be long before Walker was on her tail. She dashed to the right, hoping it would bring her to the edge of the woods.

The mud squelched under her boots and her heavy breaths fogged in front of her face. Night had fallen by now, shrouding the woods in thick, inky darkness. An owl hooted in the distance.

She ran in that one direction for a few minutes, weaving through the trees. Her bootlace caught on a stray branch, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mud splashed all over her clothes and coated her skin. She brought a sleeve up to wipe the dirt from her face to no avail.

Somewhere to her left, a branch cracked.

“I heard that, Mouse!” He was gaining on her. Fast.

She leaped up and continued running. Her chest burned and side stitch was beginning to set in. The adrenaline dulled the pain but didn’t completely end it. She took deep gasping breaths. Her malnourished body couldn’t keep this up forever. She needed to find the road, now.

The trees began to thin out, giving way to the pavement. She clambered up the bank on her hands and knees. Pushing herself to her feet was laborious, but she forced herself to do it.

“Help!” She shrieked. “Someone, please!” Down the road, headlights illuminated the treeline as a car approached the curve. She waved her arms above her head, ignoring the pain.

Before the light was cast on her, a body slammed into her right side. She fell to the ground, rolling down the bank. She cried out as her ankle twisted with a sickening crack. Even more mud smeared her face and she gasped for air. Briars tore shallow cuts through her skin and snagged her already-ruined sweater.

She landed on her stomach, face pressed into the wet leaves. Next to her, Walker lay face-up, in slight shock from the fall. The rumble of the car engine grew louder and the headlights grew brighter. Groaning, she dragged herself forward. 

 “Hel-” She was cut off with a calloused palm clapping over her mouth, the knife pressed against her throat. The knife traced over her pulse point. A warning.

With teary eyes, she watched the car roll past. Her only hope disappeared down the road, fading into the night. Once he was sure the car was out of earshot, Walker removed his hand from her mouth. He grabbed her shoulder, flipping her onto her back.

She weakly slapped him, yelling incoherently and flailing. He grabbed both wrists, pinning them to her chest. He moved to straddle her, thighs holding her in place.

“Please! Please don’t kill me!” She sobbed, thrashing in his hold. He laughed. A genuine laugh. It echoed through the desolate woods. His head tilted back and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He pressed even more of his weight onto her chest, keeping her pinned to the forest floor.

“Oh, who said anything about killing?”

#.pxlvrxs #im so normal about him #warren kole #walker warren kole #warren kole x reader #walker x reader #masters of horror #walker masters of horror #phillip graves #tw; dark content #phillip graves x reader #.my writing

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

yet another thing that ofmd does so well is how awkward and nervous all the dialogue is during all the romantic confession scenes we get from our three canon relationships. like it's so fucking relatable. watching those scenes makes me think of the (admittedly very few) times in my life when i have made these kinds of halting, nervous confessions. i can feel how the adrenaline is making their hearts pound and their hands sweat and their faces flush with heat. trying to sound casual while there's a heavy lump the size of a dodgeball trying to claw its way from your chest to your mouth.

Black Pete starts off stammering, "So... uh, listen." He veers too close to genuine, revealing too much when he says, "I-I thought I was gonna... lose you," and when Lucius responds jokingly, he tries to backtrack a bit, play it cool. "Exactly! And uh, and... uh—death, yknow..." He shrugs, tries for nonchalance and doesn't quite make it. "I'm used to death. But, um..." And Pete's barely been able to hold Lucius's gaze this whole time, his eyes constantly flickering somewhere to Lucius's left, but here he closes them, steels himself. "But not, um..." A beat. When he says, "your death," he opens his eyes again, looks right at Lucius, and the surprised little smile on Lucius's face is almost too much.

Olu's been listening to Jim's tragic backstory, hurting for them and understanding them on a deeper level than he ever has before. When Jim says that their nana is their only family, Olu's face goes on a journey, here: his eyebrows furrow in concern, then twitch upwards as he thinks about how lonely that must be. He hunches in on himself, shoulders to his ears and hands in his pockets, and he rocks himself to the side as he gathers his nerves. "Well, look..." he begins, moving half a step closer, "if you wanted–" his eyes land on Jim's for only a moment, then he's looking above them, around them. "I could be family," he says, shrugging and spreading his hands, like he's showing Jim what he has to offer: himself, just himself, and his desire to be someone Jim can lean on. "I just..." There's no ending to that sentence, he didn't know where he was going when he started it, so he trails off as Jim glances away, then looks at him from under the rim of their hat, considering.

(And Jim is so lucky—but also, it's what they deserve—that they get not one, but two confessions from Olu. When they come back, when they ask him why he gave their room away, Olu's demeanor goes from "happy to see his friend alive and well" to "nervous boy asking their crush to prom" in an instant. "I, um..." His hands bounce at his sides, his eyes flicker all over the room. When he finally meets Jim's gaze, his hands are still moving nervously. "I-I missed you.")

And Ed. Ed. He enters the scene by walking over and sitting so close to Stede, close enough that they could be touching. He sits in Stede's space like he belongs there (and he does; Stede doesn't move away, doesn't react like Ed's proximity is unexpected or unwanted). He looks at Stede and smiles at him as he offers reassurances, but once he looks away he doesn't look back for several minutes. As he dismisses Stede's self-deprecation and answers Stede's questions he alternates between fiddling with the sand in front of him and gazing out at the sea. There's nervousness there, things going unsaid that have been ready to jump from Ed's tongue at any moment. And Stede gives him that moment when he asks what makes Ed happy.

But despite how desperate Ed is to tell him, there's still hesitation. He meanders his way towards giving Stede his answer, starting with, "These past... few weeks?" as if this isn't something he's given much thought to. "Have been... th'most fun I've had in ages. Years." His voice is soft, his face scrunching casually as he speaks. He still doesn't look at Stede, because the nerves climbing up his throat right now would choke him into silence if he did. So he stares at some fixed point in the distance, maybe a specific rock or blade of grass, as he says, "Maybe ever," with a surprised twist in his expression.

And as he moves into the next part, into the important part, those nerves in his throat climb higher. "So," he says, firmly, but that's the last thing he manages to say with any force. As his nerves go higher, so does his voice, but the volume becomes softer.

"So–uh... I reckon. What makes Ed happy..."

He feels Stede's eyes on his face, and that nervous fidgeting is gone, replaced instead by a stillness that his heart doesn't emulate.

"Is..."

Ed's been run through many times. He's been held at gunpoint, had rope tied around his neck, been stranded for days without food. He's watched the life drain from his father's body as a result of his own violence.

But for some reason, this is possibly the most nervous Ed has ever felt, the hardest his heart has ever pounded. The only moment that competes is when he watched four men in red coats point their rifles at Stede's trembling body.

"You."

OUGHUHUFHUGHUGH..... i know EXACTLY how they feel and it makes all these scenes hit so much harder. and SO MUCH OF IT is how fucking good the acting. if you just read these lines as flat dialogue, taking out all those pauses and stammers that the characters are trying to hard to hide, so much of the flavor is lost:

"Death, y'know, I'm used to death. But not your death"

"Well, look: if you wanted, I could be family."

"These past few months have been the most fun I've had in ages, weeks, maybe ever. So, I reckon what makes Ed happy is you."

like these are cute lines, but they're also awkward ways to stumble around just outright saying "I Care About You" and it's so real and incredibly relatable. i know EXACTLY how it feels to nervously try and tell someone you like like them and ofmd does it so so well

(bonus tag game: if u reblog this and ur comfortable w it, PLEASE tell me about an awkward confession you have given or received, i love shit like this. i will, of course, add my own story in the tags of the original post)

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #our flag means gay #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #tealoranges #edward teach #s1e06 #s1e07 #s1e09 #txt #mine #meta #og #oluwande boodhari #jim jimenez #black pete #lupete #my fic #ok so confession: i know imlike ''ugh i know EXACTLY how they feel in these scenes!!'' but like. i dont rlly catch feels lmao #it's mostly just I'd Be Down If U Asked w friends. & freshman year of college i had a friend like tht and one day a mutual friend says #that he'd asked her how to casually offer a fwb relationship w someone. and the mutual friend was p sure he was talkin abt me #so that puts my ''i'd be down'' feelings up to a ''OH SHIT IS THIS HAPPENING???'' so i text him to see if i can ask him smthng irl #we walk from our dorm to the campus deli and are heading back and i CANNOT MAKE MYSELF ASK im just rambling abt bs #when we're almost at our dorm he's like ''ur running out of time to ask me ur question lol'' and im like haha. ha! yeah lmao!!! #so im like ''i heard from. someone. that you were asking abt a fwb relationship'' and he was annoyed that she'd told me but he was like #''yeah i was.'' and i was like ''was the person u were thinking about... me?'' and he was like ''... yeah it was." and im like #''is that still... where ur at?'' and he's like ''um. no.'' and im like ''OH okay!'' bummed but not like </3 & he asks ''where are YOU at'' #& i say ''im down for whatever you are!!'' meaning dating/fwb/just buds. anyway he said he didnt want to ruin our friendship

[m00nz-artpad]

May I stand unshaken

Amid, amidst a crashing world

Did I hear a thunder?

Did I hear you break?

I can't quite remember

Just what guided me this way

Arthur had tried to make Olivia go with John and get back to her family, who were already making their way back to Canada, but she couldn't just leave him. He was weak and leaving him now would certainly lead to his death sentence.

So Olivia stayed, and she fought. She took down more enemies in that final fight than Arthur did due to her still being perfectly in her prime but Micah had gotten the best of her and thrown her off the cliff onto the ledge below. She tried to climb back up but she was still fighting off whoever remained until Micah and Arthur fell onto the ledge.

Liv helped Arthur fight but he still succumbed to his tuberculosis and the injuries that Micah had given him and she was ready to finally kill Micah but Dutch shot her in the back mutliple times and she collapsed.

After coming to, she found Arthur trying to drag himself to the rocks and she aided him in doing so, holding him as he took his final breaths and watching the sunset with him. At that very moment; she promised to herself to kill both Micah and Dutch for what they'd done.

sketch

I apologize for disappearing again, but I promise it's not without reason. I'm actually currently working on the fic for this crossover au, so I'll finally have more. I'm also going to be posting some 2000's RDR2!Olivia soon because I jist love putting her in slay little outfits. Plus her relationship with her younger stepsister Melanie would be so totally different due to the trauma she's received from her experiences in the Van der Linde gang.

This part of the story will never not make me want to cry. Not only because Arthur tried to be better in the end and find his redemption, but also because Olivia lost one of the most important people in her life and she was only able to comfort him in his final moments.

I actually contemplated what lyrics to use for this post, because I always associated Somewhere Only We Know (the Lily Allen version) more fitting for Olivia and Arthur's relationship, but I decided on Unshaken by D'Angelo because it's the longer version of Crash of Worlds. It also feels so fitting for both Arthur and Olivia.

Also I know the colored version isn't exactly the best. I don't actually enjoy doing lineart or color in traditional but I wanted to at least try it. Plus I just wanted a reason to color Olivia's golden hazel eyes because they're so pretty.

#olivia hope howlett #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr #rdr2 fanart #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption fanart #red dead fandom #x men oc #x men #x men movies #x men comics #x men evolution #xmcu #xmen #marvel oc #marvel #crossover #crossover au #au #alternate universe #oc #original character #oc art #art #artwork #artist #artist on tumblr #artists on tumblr

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

So, you see that scene with Edith and Thomas' ghost at the end of Crimson Peak ? Yeah, well it inspired me to write Terzomega angst. Again. I'm sorry. It got way longer than I originally planned but oh well.

Warnings : angst, hurt/comfort but it's not really a happy ending either, mention of blood and a one line description of a wound (because Terzo's death, ikyk)

Omega is hidding.

He has no right to do so, of course. He failed. Failed his pack, failed his Papas. He, the guardian, the trusted ghoul, the Third's favorite, the unofficial head of the ghouls, couldn't save the Emeritus brothers from Imperator's ploy.

Couldn't save the Emeritus bloodline.

Couldn't save Terzo.

Curled up in his nest that he hasn't left in days, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurts, Omega tries not to think.

At that too, he fails.

Delta is slipping away. Grief accelerated the decay of his physical form, quintessence that doesn't belong to him tearing his body appart, and it's like he doesn' have the will to fight it now that the Papas are gone.

Omega should have done better. That this was the first elemental transition ever attempted isn't an excuse. He should've made sure Delta would walk out of it whole and unharmed, instead of a shell of who he used to be, a death sentence hovering over his head.

Alpha is letting his rage consume him. He lashes out at any given moment, three rugs and twice as much curtains were already lost to his fury. It's a wonder no one tried to banish him back to the pit yet - on his worst days, Omega wonders if that's Alpha's goal. To be forced back somewhere where instincts prevails upon feelings, where the physical hurt will overpower the emotionnal one.

Omega should be able to find the words to comfort him. To appease him. Better yet, he should not have let the Papas get murdered, he should have stopped the Clergy from ripping Secondo away from Alpha just as they were starting to do something about the tangled mess of feelings thickening the air between them.

Mist sank to the bottom of the lake a week ago, and she hasn't resurfaced even for a second. No one dares to dip even a finger in it ever since, the fear of being torn into pieces keeping everyone away. They should be grateful she had the restraint to distance herself.

Omega should be able to coax her out, to help her find an outlet for her feeling of betrayal, her grief, her sorrow. He should be able to soothe her, to remind her that there still are things to live for.

But he can't. How can he comfort when he himself feels so broken ? When each breath he takes feels undeserved, stolen ? When the weight of his failures that keep piling up is crushing him, the guilt eating him alive ? When he's heartbroken, missing Terzo with every fiber of his being ?

People whispered, when Omega went down on his knees in front of Terzo's coffin, forehead pressed to the cool, dark wood. No one could hear the aplogies and pleas for forgiveness he breathed in between quiet sobs. But they didn't need to.

The Third's favorite.

And a bit more than that.

But of course, calling Omega what he really was to Terzo would have been far too scandalous.

Now, hidding in his room like the coward he is, Omega doesn't dare asking for forgiveness again. He doesn't deserve it.

The tingling feeling at the back of his neck telling him there are eyes on him is what makes Omega finally move for what feels like the first time in hours - and it probably is.

He sits up, glances toward the darkest corner of his room, and does such a violent double take he nearly gives himself whiplash.

It's Terzo without really being him.

Hovering more than he is standing, his silhouet unstable, see-through and wispy, as if about to disolve. He who clothed himself in vibrant purple, stark white or deep black adorned with golden details, is now a washed out color, hesitating between grey or dirty white, with rust-colored accents. And this horrible line of red on his neck, crimson smoke curling out of it in thin ribbons.

His eyes, though. His sad eyes, gazing at Omega from under pale furrowed eyebrows, oh his eyes are the same. Green and almost glowing white, full of worries and tenderness.

Terzo isn't back, not really, but he's here, and it's enough for Omega to slide off the bed and onto his knees.

"Terzo."

Omega should look away, but he cannot. He drinks him in, this version of Terzo that's wrong but still Terzo enough that he's rendeered powerless, a puppet on a string called love.

And Terzo, or what's left of him anyway, glides closer, translucent tears billowing like colorless smoke out of his eyes, oh his eyes. Omega didn't know he could still cry after days of doing so, and yet his cheeks are wet again.

"Rise, my dear ghoul, my beloved."

Though it's distant, echoing as if they were standing in an empty room, Terzo's voice too stayed the same. It makes something in Omega's throat burn. His knees shake while he gets up. But he does, because Terzo asked him to.

It's difficult to meet the mismatched eyes staring back at him, but Omega does. He almost doubles over in pain at the amount of love he finds there, adoration even through the veil of death. Terzo's lips quirk up in a sad but soft smile.

"There you are, amore mio, there you are. I know what you're doing. Blaming yourself, as you always do."

Omega's insides twist painfully at that, but before he can open his mouth to object, Terzo is speaking again.

"You are no Atlas, beloved. You don't have to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, however strong they are. Omega, my dear Omega, I do not blame you. I could never blame you. And neither do your friends, your pack. They worry about you just as much as I do."

Omega's lower lip wobbles, his voice thick with tears.

"But I need to take care of them and I can't, and I need you here, fully here, but I failed you and now- now you're-"

Terzo glides closer, grasps Omega's chin in his barely-there fingers. The ghoul almost startles at the solidity of the touch, at odds with every other aspects of Terzo's presence at the moment.

"Omega. What happened happened. And no one but yourself blames you for it. I know it's hard. I miss you terribly. But you are still alive. So live. Take the time you need to recover, take care of yourself for once, and live. One day after the other. Let people take away part of your burden, don't beat yourself up for things you are not responsible for, and live. When all is said and done, when your existence topside reaches its end, I will be waiting for you with open arms and a heart as full of love as it's always been. For you. I love you, Omega, and I want you to have a good life. You deserve it."

Oh, how freely Terzo speaks. Before- before his death, he would have danced around it a bit more, the fear that an outright love confession would jinx it lingering at the back of his mind. But now ? It is clear that he has nothing left to lose. And it makes Omega crumble. He falls forward, curls on himself until he's small enough to be held. Terzo's ghostly but firm arms wrap around him, letting him cling to this strange, barely material body.

"I miss you, I miss you so much," he manages to mumble in between sobs. Terzo rubs comforting circles on his back, shushing him softly.

"I know, I know."

There is, despite the pain, a form of peace, of acceptance in Terzo's voice, which somehow soothes Omega, even if only slightly.

"I love you."

It comes out as a broken whisper, raw like pulled directly from his bleeding heart. Terzo's embrace tightens.

"As do I, Omega. Always."

"Always."

Omega feels Terzo's form disolve more than he sees it, with how his head is tucked in the crook of the man's neck. Still, Omega clings onto Terzo until there is nothing left to cling to.

Nothing but the smear of ghostly blood on his uniform and the memory of Terzo's words. Live.

And so Omega will live.

#the terzomega feels are strong today #i swear i love them but i can't stop writting them hurting #omega ghoul #terzo #papa emeritus iii #terzomega #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

[inf1nyxw0rlds]

ouuugh thinking about runaways au again... maybe i will tell the rest of you about runaways.

in regards to prev rb, i have a hc that shadow has multiple safehouses in various secluded locations that nobody knows about except for him – rouge and omega included. his experiences with GUN never left him; they killed maria, and when he emerged from stasis in a foreign world they hunted him. he's stuck under their thumb (or, so he thinks. more on that later) as they want to keep him under control, but while they aren't trying to lock him up or experiment on him right now, he can never rule out the possibility and they still treat him as a lesser being while simultaneously praising his ultimate status. he doesn't trust them, and his justified concerns that things could go south anytime are what prompt him to discreetly make sure he has somewhere to escape to should the situation call for it.

he's scared. he feels trapped. he will not say either of these things. shadow will tell you, and at times, yeah, he'll show you that he does what he wants, but the trauma and inherent, programmed "do as you're told" instinct remains, too. why doesn't he leave, if he's the ultimate lifeform?

he's keeping an eye on them, he would say, and it isn't entirely a lie, just not the full truth either. he also has just... resigned himself, almost. he wants out, but out would mean being hunted again, out would make him vulnerable, out is... frightening. because, sure, death to all who oppose me sounds cool on paper – but he doesn't want to go through that again. why make his life harder? he pushes back where he can, shadow doesn't take shit, but he's also stuck in a big power play situation where unfortunately full "freedom" would actually be more limiting.

so. then we get infinite. war criminal, tyrant, world's most hated. secured by GUN and sentenced to imprisonment for his crimes. but it doesn't stop there, of course. it reeks bad news from the moment he's captured. it's about justice, sure, shadow thinks. totally just justice, and not the all powerful rock in his chest. naturally, they don't just want to subdue infinite, they want to run experiments, and take the ruby for themselves.

unfortunately for them, they can't get it out; it's fused to him with an unbreakable force, and they're left with several options... try and shape him into another living weapon, using him to utilise the ruby by extension, kill him in hopes that breaks the connection, or cut their losses and continue with other research.

option one is a bust. infinite is far more resistant and deemed far more dangerous than shadow as a result. he won't cooperate, he can't be properly controlled. they decide to get as much information out of him, verbally or via tests, as possible before considering executing him. it's mostly the tests that yield result. infinite's not much of a talker.

he's outfitted in power restricting cuffs and a shock collar intended to zap him if he tries to activate them despite a lack of effect, or in any instance where he lashes out physically. a warning, a threat, like training a dog. it doesn't stay that way. shadow walks by some soldiers having a laugh in the hall, and they're talking about infinite; about how funny it is when they rile him up, or how he jumps when he's zapped, how defeated he looks, how he deserves this. it's disgusting and alarming and however he feels about infinite, something in him urges him to do something about it.

he could go to the commander. he could report that the guards have been abusing their power. but would he listen? would he care? he may not know about this, but he had to given the go ahead for the experiments and the collar and who knows what else. he's beginning to feel rather sick. this could have been him. maybe rouge could keep watch on the guards, but she has other assignments.

things don't get better. and, maybe, shadow has lost his mind – but he can't just pretend he knows nothing, do nothing. so he finds his way to infinite's holding chamber. no windows, just the flicker of a flourescent light illuminating his form; malnourished and slouched, a picture of exhaustion. still, his eyes sharpen when he raises his head. the first thing out of his mouth is a low snarl, tail lashing, and a word spat through sharp teeth: "you."

his aggression doesn't phase shadow much. he expected it.

"finally decided to send in the executioner, did they? or are you just paying me a visit? want in on the action?" he hisses.

shadow doesn't waste his time with unpleasantries.

it's a stupid thing, freeing infinite; an incredibly stupid, impulsive, reckless thing. the jackal seems to be grappling with his disbelief and distrust, but the collar is pried from his neck just as the alarms start to blare. he makes quick work of the restrictors, as well, after a moment's hesitation. and after barking at infinite to move it, jolting him out of his shock, they run to the sound of angry shouts and screeching sirens. he isn't afraid.

they make it, barely. infinite is in terrible shape, collapsing to the ground as he coughs and wheezes, gasping for air. his fur is tangled and dirty, bones prominent, in no position to be exerting himself. shadow is, under his own shock, a little impressed.

he just let infinite loose. he let infinite escape, helped him escape. he aided a terrorist. there's no way GUN would let this go unpunished, infinite is still infinite, unpredictable and probably even more hateful of the world than he was before. the jackal pulls him from his spiralling thoughts, with a raspy "why?" and he looks at him again, beaten down and shaking with adrenaline. infinite may be infinite, but he's barely capable of standing right now. he can shelve that particular concern for a little while.

"what they were doing to you was wrong. i wouldn't wish it on anyone. even you."

infinite casts his eyes at the ground. it feels like such a ridiculous justification when he says it aloud.

they both understand that they need to stick together; infinite can't hold his own (something that infuriates him), and if he gets caught, this is all for nothing but severe punishments for them both. they're both wanted, now, and they're better off as a combined force, even though fighting is not on the table. infinite hates running, and shadow isn't keen on reliving this nightmare, but he thinks of his safehouses and has never been more relieved that he set them up.

they travel together, often utilising chaos control, though at first GUN are tracking them with suspicious ease, giving them no room to breathe. they chipped infinite during one of their experiments, something he was unaware of, and utterly disgusted by, seething with rage. shadow gets tasked with ripping it from the back of his neck and crushing it underfoot.

they move on, and things get easier from there, shifting between hideouts. they start talking more at length, actual conversations. in the meanwhile, GUN are freaking out, sonic and the others are freaking out, because there are two incredibly powerful people on the loose and nobody knows what's going on, or why shadow freed him to begin with. but in freeing infinite, shadow also did the thing that he was too afraid to do. he freed himself.

it's about as shitty as he imagined, but having someone else share the struggle with him is weirdly comforting, even if that someone is infinite. they don't have a longterm plan, but for now, this is sustainable.

and if they start bonding over trauma and developing feelings that they don't know how to deal with that's just the way it goes

#transmission #infinite tag #shadow tag #runaways au #idk i meant to keep this short. its still watered down

[thesilverlady]

do you have any book!alicent/book!viserys headcanons?

I never thought I'd see the day of anyone asking me 🥺 Buckle up anon, I definitely have some!

book!Alicent & book!Viserys headcanons

1) With Alicent becoming the old King's companion and with Viserys being named heir before Jahaerys death, the two definitely were in each other's presence and that's how they started having interest to one another

2) Viserys and Alicent started interacting waaay before Aemma passed away. Remember that rumor about Daemon, taking Alicent's virginity? or that other rumor about Alicent having affair with Old King when he was ill? Yeah, those affairs were actually her and Viserys.

3) Both of them came up with ways for Alicent to interact with little Rhaneyra befohand, so when the announcement of their engaged would be officially made, she wouldn't be shocked or outrageous.

4) Alicent is the only person Viserys shared his feelings about the loss of his dragon, balerion. Alicent comforted him by reminding being a targaryen is more than having a dragon. His reign as a king would be a proof of his worth. Not his dragon.

5) They definitely bonded over the sense of otherness; Alicent had not a single drop of Valyrian blood and that added pressure - especially when the alternative bride for Viserys was the beautiful Laena Velaryon. Meanwhile, Viserys was nothing like his brother nor his father. He was never a warrior and would never be.

6) During Alicent's first pregnancy Viserys had a big fear of her having a miscarriage. Despite the reassurance from the maesters he appointed one to always be near Alicent in any case. Her and Viserys bonded over their excitement for the babe and Alicent encouraged him with the idea that she'd bear a son. During the final months, Viserys had taken up to telling Alicent and her belly old Valyrian stories and songs.

7) Speaking of Valyrian, somewhere before Aemmas' death when their interactions were made to be very circumspect, Alicent started learning some words and sentences in Valyrian to surprise him. He was very fluttered and eager to help her with learning.

8) While Alicent and Rhaenyra became more antagonistic over the years, Viserys tried to remain neutral and keep the peace. There were many moments however where unintentionally he'd end up leaning more towards one's side. That would usually be Alicent, which as a result would create a gap between him and his daughter.

9) At some point, Alicent was insecure that eventually Viserys' eyes would start to wander to other ladies. After all the court didn't lack beautiful women. And if he couldn't remain completely faithful (even emotionally) to his first wife, what would stop him now? Alicent had given him son and he hadn't made any of the heirs. In her mind that meant her children hardly provided the security she had originally thought to have. Of course all the worries were for nothing. Viserys never looked any other woman the way Alicent had feared and he never wasted a single day to not remind her how beautiful she was.

10) As it was typical, Alicent was raised to be proper and dutiful. She never expected Viserys to not only continue having interest in her after bearing children but to often displays his affection. Alicent loves it when he holds lavish tournaments and celebrations in her and their children's honor.

#alicent x viserys #Viserys x Alicent #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #viserys i targaryen #my headcanons #⚠ this is based on f&b NOT hotd #tried to keep this happy because we need some joy in the world

[into-september]

Lost scene from the film uncovered in tie-in novel: The Gorilla canonically speaks words, Nathalie worries about Adrien, Adrien has some Thoughts about his father while Gabriel does it all because he can't stand to see Adrien so sad

From the German tie-in novel to the film, translated by yours truly and yes I AM skipping unimportant things too wonky to fit into English sentences without a lot of thinking.

Now, this scene is interesting in the way it pulls in backstory that isn't obvious from the film but seems instead to be taken from the TV show. Some of it comes across as kind of contradictory to the film's depiction of the involved, but there's some interesting depth given to Adrien and Gabriel's relationship in the film in here

CONTINUATION OF THE SCENE WHERE NINO INVITES ADRIEN TO THE FAIR:

Before Adrien could reply, a gigantic figure appeared behind them.

"Monsieur Agreste," it rumbled. It was Adrien's bodyguard.

Nino cowered in fear. "I didn't see the Frankenstein behind me," he quipped.

"See you later," Adrien said and followed his bodyguard outside.

"Don't forget the fair tomorrow!" he heard Nino call after him.

His father's fancy limousine was already waiting in front of the school. Adrien let his body fall against the seat - facing Nathalie, his father's assistant.

"How was your first day, Adrien?" she asked.

"Good, thanks for asking," he replied.

"And... did you make any friends?" she continued the topic.

Adrien instantly thought about the girl in the library. She was funny. And a bit weird. And cute. And Nino seemed pretty nice.

"Oh well, I have..." he started, but then he interrupted himself. It would be better to keep his new aquaintances secret. Who know what would happen if his father learned about it. He would only sentence Adrien to stay at home again.

"No, I haven't," Adrien replied, "I'd rather be alone."

"Well, you won't be alone this evening. You'll have supper with your father," Nathalie announced with an encouraging smile.

"Really? My father is there?" Adrien asked in disbelief.

His father, Gabriel Agreste, was the most successful fashion designer in Paris. The whole world followed his creations, his sketches, his collections, and his father was usually travelling the the whole world. When he wasn't off presenting his newest work somewhere, he usually locked himself into his office. Everyone knew his father - only Adrien felt like he didn't know him at all anymore. Because of that, he didn't allow himself to be too excited at Nathalie's announcement. So far, his father had always managed to disappoint him.

(meanwhile Gabriel is off getting onimous jewelry at the Louvre)

As usual, Adrien had spent the afternoon alone in his room. He couldn't stop the growing hope that maybe he really would get have supper with his father. His father was the only familiy Adrien had left after his mother's death, and he missed the feeling of having a family. To have someone he could talk to about his day, his fears and his sorrows. He knew of course that his father probably would never be that person, but a dinner together could always be a beginning.

He suddenly heard his father enter through the front door on the floor below. He recognised his steps. Adrien ran straight to the stairs as he heard the voices of his father and Nathalie. The two of them stood in the foyer and didn't notice him. Adrien kept quiet and listened.

"First thing tomorrow is an important interview," he heard Nathalie say. Her hands held tight to the schedule. Adrien sometimes wondered if she was afraid of his father.

"Good. Thank you, Nathalie," Gabriel Agreste absently replied. "Was there anything else?"

"Dinner with your son, Monsieur."

"No. I'm busy," he countered.

"He needs his father," Nathalie carefully tried to convince him.

Gabriel Agreste impatiently snubbed his assitant: "Mind your own business!" [note: comes across as far less rude in German]

With those words, he disappeard into his office and locked the door behind him. Nathalie kept silent for a moment, and then she turned around - and discovered Adrien on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Adrien," she said.

Adrien just shrugged. "I know how it is."

(he mourns Emilie's absence, regretfully without wistful memories in decrepit theatre stages but does make clear she was a stage actor)

Behind the doors of his office, Gabriel Agreste sat at his desk and stared at an old family photo, lost in thought.

How happy the three once had been. He missed his beloved wife Emilie so much. And what had become of this cheerful, happy child? As a father, he had without a doubt failed miserably.

If there was someone who missed Emilie more than him, it was Adrien.

(he goes down to monologue at Emilie's corpse in true show!Gabriel fashion)

"I can't stand the sadness in his eyes."

He once again thought about the family photo, of his once happy family and about the peculiar piece of jewelry, which he now held as hope in his hands.

And then, his eyes one last time on his unconscious wife, he spoke: "If this piece of jewelry really has the power to bring you back... then I'll burn the world and lose myself in the flames. He needs you more than me, Emilie."

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous the movie #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #mira #blah #ml awakening #miraculous ladybug & cat noir das buch zum film

[thyandrawrites]

Aren't the villains just as dismissive? Tbh I don't think there is any way of getting through to the villains even if they shown empathy. I hope I'm wrong though but this is the final arc and nobodies stance has changed and I don't see it changing but fingers crossed that things will change but I think there needs to half way meeting between both sides before things begin moving forward if it does.

It's true that the villains aren't stepping down from their points, but it's not on them to do that. The villains are not the ones responsible for the social injustice of their system. They are canonically a minority that the HPSC has repeatedly tried to silence with state-sanctioned assassinations.

And while it's also true that there needs to be a middle ground somewhere (the villains cannot be saved so long as they keep killing and the heroes can't save so long as they kill their targets), please note that the ones actively seeking a dialogue here are the villains.

Dabi's broadcast was aimed at people thinking more critically about the blind trust they put in heroes. He wanted them to ask heroes for more accountability in his stead, because he knew heroes would never listen to him. He didn't just want justice for himself or he would've simply killed Endvr. He wanted a fairer society to stop people like Endvr from doing what he did for two decades and getting away with it.

Shigaraki made a whole speech on the battlefield of the first war about how heroes constantly trample over the individuals for the sake of an abstract greater good. He addressed how thinking only of the masses creates pockets of evil under the heroes' noses. Shigaraki's whole shtick is that he was kidnapped and groomed by a supervillain because he was left wandering the streets for days, bloodied and traumatized, and the heroes of his neighborhood had so many bigger fishes to fry that they never noticed he needed help too.

And though we might argue that as an adult he's now vowed to cause indiscriminate destruction without dialogue because that's what AFO groomed him for, we can also argue that when Shigaraki is not directly under his abuser's influence, he makes choices that show us he actually does want that dialogue. Remember, he seeked out Deku at that mall and explained his whole villain manifesto to him. He told Deku all about how their society functions on this search for an abstract greater good and ignores individual in immediate danger. And he demonstrated it, too. He had deadly fingers on Deku's throat and no one blinked twice or stepped in to investigate, because "heroes would deal with it". He wanted Deku to acknowledge this. This is such a hangup of his that he brings it up again in the war arc as well. And no has given him an appropriate response still.

Then there's Toga, and she's the one who most clearly proves this. The heroes' argument is that they can't listen to the points presented to them because the villains hurt their friends. So long as the villains don't own up to their crimes, they say, that sours any good argument they might've had. Which is hypocritical as hell. The heroes also killed Toga's best friend and refused accountability for it. In fact, they let Hawks stay a hero.

Yet, despite all this, Toga was still able to put her grief in a box and set it aside for ten minutes, and seeked out Uraraka to attempt a dialogue anyway. A villain, who the heroes keep referring to as an immature, hedonistic and selfish freak, had more emotional maturity than any of them. She went to Uraraka to understand what a villains' life is worth to heroes. Ochako's response confirmed her suspicion; to their society, Jin wasn't human enough to deserve compassion. His death served the greater good, so it doesn't matter if he left friends behind, if people cared about him. It doesn't matter if heroes hurt Toga's friends, but it's a death sentence if Toga hurts the heroes' friends.

So.

Why should the villains act less dismissive? They tried fitting in and it didn't work. They tried setting out a conversation with heroes and it also didn't work. What the heroes wanted from them is what hero society always wanted from any disturbance to the status quo—either take it in silence, or to get erased as a threat.

The villains are literally fighting for their lives here, meanwhile the heroes are just fighting to maintain their privileges. It's not even remotely a fair fight. That's why it's on the heroes to change their attitude first

#Ali replies #my post #I get that this isn't a popular opinion but like #The heroes are using self-righteousness as a shield #They don't want to change #But they want the prize that comes after changing #And that simply cannot work #If it didn't for enji it can't for them either