#”you kill cops? Damn that’s so cool” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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The officer leans close, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “You’re damn lucky it ain’t ten years ago or one state over,” he growls. “You could be looking at a felony charge, serving 15 to life. We didn’t stand for this kind of thing in Hawkins when I joined the force.”

Steve just folds his arms and gives the officer a bored look. “Okay,” he says. “Good talk. Can I see my boyfriend now?”

The officer sneers, but he steps aside to let Steve through. They’ve got Eddie cuffed to the hospital bed with another gun-toting guard in the corner.

“Jesus christ,” snaps Steve. “He’s not gonna escape, he can’t even walk right now. Why don’t you clear out and give us a little privacy, huh?”

“Sorry,” says the guard, not sounding all that sorry. “It’s for his own protection.”

Fuck. He’s gonna have to hope Eddie can follow his lead. All that practice pretending to be a wizard or whatever has to be good for something, right?

He perches on the side of Eddie’s bed and takes his hand. He can do this. “Hey, gorgeous. How’re you feeling?”

“Uh,” says Eddie, eyebrows doing something hilarious. “Steve?”

“It’s okay,” says Steve. He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. This is the most they’ve ever touched, he thinks—the most that was just skin, no layers of denim or leather in between. Not even a layer of blood and dirt.

He swallows and keeps going, willing Eddie to develop freaky mind-reading powers all of a sudden. “I know you didn’t want to tell anyone about us, but I had to, baby. I’m sorry. I had to tell them you were, y’know, with me when…when Jason killed Chrissy.”

“You didn’t have to tell them about us,” says Eddie slowly. He’s giving Steve kind of an intense look. “Honey-pie. I’m sure there’s gotta be another way. One without as many consequences for you that you might not have thought all the way through.”

“There really isn’t,” Steve says. Thank god Eddie’s so quick on the uptake. Sure, he’s being a stubborn dick about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let anything slip.

“Fucking hell,” sighs Eddie. “Don’t suppose we can put that pesky little cat back in the bag. Okay. Darling angel, light of my life, corndog of my soul, who else knows?”

Corndog of my soul, Steve mouths to himself. “Just the cops. And Robin and Nancy, obviously. And—oh, remember Hopper?”

“Do I remember Hopper, he asks. Oh, pudding-pop. The late Chief Hopper and I spent so, so much quality time together over the years; he was practically a father figure to me. And just as with my actual dear old dad, his departure was cause for great rejoicing in Casa Munson.”

“Sorry to break the bad news, then. Hop’s alive, and he—uh, he knows everything.” Steve tries to communicate the scope of everything by kind of tilting his head back and forth. “He’s been…helping.”

“Huh. No shit,” says Eddie. Steve can’t tell whether or not he’s getting it. To be fair, there’s a lot to get. “Okay, gallant knight errant of mine, any news on whether or not I’m getting sprung from this charmingly appointed dungeon?”

“We’re…Hopper’s working on it. That’s why I’m. Y’know. Here. To tell you that they know about us.”

“Cool, right, understood.” Eddie closes his eyes, leaning back on his pillow. It’s so strange to see him in nothing but a hospital gown against white sheets. He looks like a wrung-out dishtowel.

There’s a commotion from outside, raised voices saying something like you let him what and haven’t even interrogated the Munson kid yet and not a legal status you fuckin—

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” says Eddie, mouth quirking up into the ghost of a smile. “Anything else you wanna say before they decide to upgrade my security?”

“Uh,” says Steve. He’d mostly been focusing on getting the basics of Eddie’s alibi across in a convincing way, and he can’t remember if there were any other details Eddie should know.

He hears the door slam open behind him, and panics. “Love you, bye,” he says, and ducks in to brush a quick kiss across Eddie’s chapped lips. The last thing he sees as he’s hauled bodily out of the room by a pissed-off detective is Eddie with his eyes gone enormous and shocked, lifting his uncuffed hand to his mouth, looking and looking at Steve like something is always going to be different from now on, forever.

(ETA: small continuation here!)

#dashed off 90% of this a little while ago based on a post that I now cannot find; I’ve been traveling and finished it up on a train this AM #but yes this is literally the same general premise as bonitabreezy's I Like to See You in the Morning Light #pls go read that instead #I know I’ve lied about this before but I’m really not planning to continue this at all! it is just a silly little thing!#also IANAL but afaik IN decrim’d sodomy in ‘76; 15 to life was the max sentence in MI for first-time & repeat offenders respectively iirc #steddie

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fangirl-dot-com · 4 months

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Incorrect Quotes

all of these were from Pinterest - cause I'm not this funny (I also couldn't wait for the next chapter to come out so here :D)

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are appreciated <3

TAG LIST IS OPEN! - 26 spots still open! (please send me a direct message to be added!)

Y/n: I’m cool Oscar Y/n: I’m THEE coolest Y/n: In fact, I was once arrested for being too cool *puts on sunglasses* Oscar: The charges were dropped because there was no supporting evidence. Also, your glasses are upside down.

Y/n: I have a very specific type Max: Oh yeah? Like what? Y/n: Y’know…polite, handsome, athletic…that sort of thing Arthur (on his fourth energy drink of the day) tripping over camera wires and holding his mic upside down: you little shit eating, damned pathetic piece of shit – now you listen here Y/n: *heart eyes* that one. I want that one. Max: *flabbergasted*

Lando: bet you’re standing in the corner because you’re scared that you’ll get turned down if you talk to anyone Y/n: please, I could fluster near everyone at this party if I chose to Oscar: oh yeah? Prove it. Go for someone borderline impossible and I’ll believe you Y/n, approaching Arthur: hey dumbass, hoodie looks kind of cute on you, wanna get out of here? Arthur: WH- I MEAN- UHHHH YEAH SURE Y/n: perfect Oscar and Lando:

Y/n: I brought a red bull Max: I don’t want a red bull Y/n: I didn’t bring this for you. This is my red bull. Max: then why are you telling me? Y/n: It’s a conversation starter. Max: That’s a lousy conversation starter Y/n: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate *sips red bull*

Y/n: *gently taps table* Logan: *taps back* Alex: what are they doing? George: morse code Y/n: *aggressively taps table* Logan: *slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

Lewis: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated Y/n: Killed without hesitation Lewis: nO!

Y/n: Is stabbing someone immoral? Mitch: Not if they consent to it. Max: Depends on who you’re stabbing. Christian: YES?!

Cop: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle. Y/n: Shit Logan: Wait, three? Cop: yeah? Lando: OH MY GOSH OSCAR FELL OFF!!

Max: Time for plan G. Liam: Don’t you mean plan B? Daniel: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties. Y/n: What about plan D? Daniel: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago. Max: What about plan E? Liam: I’m hoping not to use it. I die in plan E Yuki: I like plan E.

Christian: Did none of you think this was a bad idea? *Y/n, Max, Charles, and Arthur covered in navy and red paint* Y/n: Oh no, we all did. We just decided to do it anyway.

George: (in sunglasses and newest Tommy Hilfiger jumpsuit) *in the most posh accent* I’m too good for revenge Logan: (covered in bug spray, cowboy hat and overalls on, pumped full of Bang energy drink and high on freedom) *cocks shotgun* Well, I’m not. Give me the name.

Arthur: So what’s your type? Y/n: Kinda long blond hair, green eyes, dumb, dimples, funny, really thin waist Arthur: Huh, that kind of sounds like me! Too bad its not me! Y/n: did I mention dumb? Arthur: yeah, why? Y/n: just making sure

*Over Text*

Y/n: Hey pretty boy, what’re you up to? :) Arthur: Eating cereal in bed Y/n: And what would you be doing if I was in bed with you? Arthur:…I would still be eating my cereal?

Waitress: And what would you like to eat? Y/n: I wish to devour the unborn Fernando: Eggs, she would like eggs

Y/n: Do you think that when sheep go to sleep they count themselves? Lando: Or do they count humans? Y/n: Ooo, that’s a good question Oscar: GO TO SLEEP

Y/n to Max: because I am a mature adult *turns to see Mitch, Christian, and Vito shake their heads* *turns back to Max* Y/n: I am an adult

*Dinner with Max, Y/n, Charles, and Arthur*

Y/n: The food is too cute, I can’t eat it! Max: Charles: Arthur: You’re cute, but I’d still eat y- Max: ONE DINNER Charles: *sighs* here we go again Max: ONE NORMAL DINNER IS ALL I ASK Y/n: Charles, this pasta is also crunchy, I truly can’t eat this

Ollie: Good night everyone Arthur: Good night Lando: Good night Oscar: Good night Y/n: good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Tonight, imma fight until we see the sunlight. Tik tok on the clock, but the party don’t stop Oscar: I’M DONE

George (t-posing in the doorway): Greetings, parental figures and sister figure *Y/n, Lewis, and Toto walking past* Toto (not looking up from his coffee): Good morning, problem child

Christian: You see, Fernando, Y/n is at the age where she only has one thing on her mind Fernando (noticeably excited): Oh! Oh! Oh! Boys? Max (looking over at the dead tired rookie with revenge in her eyes as she looks at Esteban): No. Murder.

Y/n: Hey Liam, want some of this food? Liam: Sure, thanks! Yuki (storming in with the anger of the gods): WHO TF ATE MY LEFTOVERS THAT CLEARLY HAD MY NAME ON IT Y/n: WE did Liam: You surprisingly smart little mf

Y/n: Never have I ever…Been grounded by my parents! Arthur (exasperated): Every time. She makes disownment jokes every time and she always wins Max: Good one Kid. I always go for the ‘never had a dad who supported me.’ Charles: *stands up and walks away*

Y/n: I’ve only said I love you to four people. Christian, Vito, Arthur, and Max when I thought he died after he wouldn’t respond after a DNF. I only regret one of those Lando: Which one? Y/n: Max. He was just pressing the wrong button and walked out a few minutes later. He made me look like an idiot. Max: I let you win next race Y/n: still

(Y/n, Logan, Lando, and George trying to sneak into RB for more energy drinks after being banned from drinking more)

Logan: So what do you think Y/n will do as a distraction? Lando: She’ll probably, like, make a noise George: Or throw a rock. That’s what I would do *The door flings open and smoke follows. Screams of mechanics fill the air as they try to extinguish a small fire* Logan:…Or she could do that.

Y/n: When I die, donate my entire body to science Y/n: Except my middle finger, give that to Esteban

(max and y/n in a horror movie)

Max: QUICK YOU’RE LOSING A LOT OF BLOOD. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE? Y/n (bleeding out): tall, male, brown hair, dimples, caring, supportive, Monegasque Max: BLOOD TYPE DUMBASS Y/n: oh Y/n: (looks down at wound) Y/n: red

Lando: I wish we could block people in real life. Oscar: Restraining order Y/n: Murder

Christian: Y/n, we need to talk about your professionalism for media days Y/n (and a lot of media personelle she rounded up, all standing on chairs): those are some mighty brave words for someone standing in lava

Y/n (to Max while hiding behind some tires – regretting everything): and then I called him dad Christian (to Geri – trying not to cry while cameras are everywhere): and then she called me dad

Max: Christian, look what Y/n got me for father’s day *holds up generic #1 dad mug* Christian (glaring silently while sipping from his own #1 dad mug) Max: that lying rookie Vito (holding a worn down #1 dad mug): you guys are late to the party suckers

Criminals: We have your daughter and son Toto: I don’t have a daughter and Jack is right here Criminals: then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off their sandwiches? Christian: dear God, you have Y/n and George

Mitch: So Christian, you and Geri want to be a parents again someday? Christian: Someday? We’re parents right now. Mitch: Y/n is your employee Geri: She is our BLOOD

Christian: Max is late again Kelly: I woke him up at 8 and pretended it was 11 Y/n: I wrote a fake schedule saying we were starting at 9 instead of 12 Lando: I changed his clock from AM to PM Christian: I think you may have overdone it Max (bursting into the garage): WHAT YEAR IS IT?

Y/n: If I blended Red Bull, five hour energy, monster, coffee, and hot Cheetos into an energy smoothie...would it kill me? Logan: *shrugs* only if you die Y/n (getting out the blender): you're so smart Logan Max (running into the room): y/N STOP!

Lance: I got Netflix like you asked! Y/n: OH that's amazing! I've been mooching off Max's and Arthur's accounts for a while. This will be nice! Lance: Wait, what do you mean accounts? Y/n: Their Netflix accounts? Lance: Y/n: Like their profiles? I wanted one of my own, they're like $12 Lance: Lance:....Oh....You meant the account on the service... Y/n: Yeah, what did you think I meant? Wait...What did you buy? Lance: Lance:....Netflix...

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12

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pastanest · 6 months

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: I’ve got nothing to say except for the fact this is entirely inspired by the song

warnings: shrimp gets beat up pretty bad but you singlehandedly take out like 3 guys so xoxo

Holding Out For A Hero

The entire team, save for one, are gathered around Penelope’s monitors, holding their breaths. As the newest member of the team, you had anticipated that in a situation such as this, you’d be having the least severe reaction to the scene before you, but upon seeing Doctor Spencer Reid get thrown against a wall, you are entirely unsurprised by the squeeze you feel in your chest.

“Damn it, Hotch, we’ve gotta do something!” Derek Morgan yells, clasping his hands behind his head but unable to tear his gaze from the screens.

What should have been a simple task of meeting some witnesses regarding a local case has quickly become a hostage situation that none had anticipated.

There are unified gasps as a harsh kick is landed against the young genius’s midsection, and Hotch sighs, knowing that something has to be done, but the team are presently at a loss.

“Any presence recognised as official could get Reid killed.” Hotch reiterates, though it’s a fact none of you have forgotten.

Another kick causes Spencer to curl up in the corner, his form cowering on the monitors, and you decide that’s enough, storming out of Penelope’s office.

“Must be tough on her.” Emily glances sympathetically at the door you left through, the rest of the team nodding in agreement, seemingly accepting that you had to step out because you couldn’t stand to see Spencer get beaten up like that. While that isn’t entirely untrue, there is more of a purpose behind your exit.

Just a month ago, during your first case with this team, a local police officer had decided you were the object of his affections. While you’d dismissed his advances as politely as you could, Spencer couldn’t help overhearing the conversation, and his blood boiled.

“No need to be so stuck-up about it!” The cop huffed at you, and in the time it took for your eyebrows to shoot up, Spencer had arrived at your side.

“Speak to her that way again and I’ll have you removed from this case.” His words were cool, calculated, and enough to send the police officer shuffling away from you.

Looking up at Spencer with a grateful smile, you parted your lips to speak, but he smiled right back at you and interjected.

“I know what you’re going to say, and you don’t need to. All I did was the bare minimum, as a guy.” Spencer excused his chivalry with a bashfulness that you found beyond endearing, and have continued to do.

It seems that now, an opportunity has presented itself for you to perform your equivalent of the bare minimum for him.

Speeding through the office and over to your desk, you retrieve your overnight bag and head for the staff toilets. Digging through it, you find your emergency attire that’s typically reserved for undercover missions; a thin strapped, silky red dress that’s enough to stop traffic, and a pair of killer black stilettos.

Within five minutes, you’ve slammed the door of Penelope’s office open again and dropped your go bag on the ground, attracting the attention of the rest of the team.

“Well damn, mama, I didn’t think this would be the time, but-“ Derek begins, unable to resist a moment to flirt; with no time to spare, you cut him off.

“Button it, Morgan. Text me the location, I’m going to get Reid.” You instruct, not wanting to waste another second.

Penelope’s office is momentarily silent, several jaws falling open in shock. That is, until Derek speaks up again.

“What?! No!” He exclaims, outraged at your proposition.

You sigh. “One plus one is two, you need someone to get inside without raising suspicion - problem?”

Derek scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, actually!”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the only member of the team that’s aware of your applicable qualifications.

“Gideon?” You raise an eyebrow.

With a slow smile, Jason Gideon nods. “…She can do it.”

Derek throws his arms up in the air. “Am I missin’ something here?!”

Hotch is notably silent. Though knowledgeable on the ‘classified’ portion of your resumé, he does not know the details of your work prior to this team, save for your glowing letter of recommendation from your old boss; that, in itself, was enough to land you a place on this team.

You nod, reaching down to grab a small purse from inside your go-bag. “Yep. I’ll catch you up after. See you guys in 30.” Glancing around at the rest of the team one last time, you speed out of the office with a determination to match the loud clicking or your heels.

By the time you reach the parking lot, your phone has dinged with a text from Penelope with the exact location where Spencer is being held by the gang that are currently beating him senseless. Whistling a nearby cab, you slide into the backseat, give the address for the next street over to where you need to be, and apply the finishing touches to your outfit. With expert precision, you coat your lashes with thick layers of mascara, only to rub them, then hold your eyes open long enough to induce tears that cause trails of mascara to run down your cheeks. And with reckless abandon, you tear a slit up the right side of your dress. As the cab pulls up on the next street over to your destination, you step out with a grateful tip and begin your walk.

The closer you get to the only lit up house on the mostly empty street, you ensure your steps are unsteady and work yourself up enough, focussing your thoughts on what Spencer has endured until now to force fresh tears and actual upset to bubble in your chest. Approaching the house, you raise a shaking fist to knock on the door with deliberate weakness. The doorknob twists, and you sniffle. Action.

Standing in the doorway are the very men you’re here to see, and your bottom lip trembles as you give them your biggest doe eyes.

“H-Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you, b-but I was just wondering if I could use your phone? M-My boyfriend broke mine.” You blubber, holding your face in your hands for dramatic effect. Stuttering to feign anxiety and upset, mention of a boyfriend but purposely indicating mistreatment and vulnerability: you are no more than an easy target.

The men share a smirk.

“Oh, of course! You poor thing! C’mon in!” One of them says, ushering you inside with a cheshire grin.

These poor fools really think they’re lucking out with a punching and an upgrade from a sock.

Nodding gratefully, you stumble into their shack of a ‘home’, knowing this is just a temporary hold up for them, and mainly a location to hold Spencer.

“Wh-Who’s that?” You ask shakily, eyes widening with what should be pretend shock, but your surprise at seeing the sorry state of your favorite genius is as genuine as your intentions in being here.

At the sound of your voice, the one eye Spencer has that isn’t black with bruising, winces as it opens, then widens as much as it can to take you in. Are you real, or a vision from heaven? He’s asked himself that everyday since you joined the team, but that question has never felt more relevant than it does in this moment.

“Ignore him.” One of the other men instructs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and dragging you harshly over to a chair at the dining table.

That quick glance in Spencer’s direction was enough to bring him a second wind, a cause to fight to stay conscious. The mascara stains down your cheeks and the tear in your dress - which, on any other occasion, Spencer is sure would send him into cardiac arrest - cause alarm bells to ring in the mind of a genius. Who made you cry? Did someone hurt you? What are you even doing here? The questions in his mind are ordered in importance to Spencer, the blood in his veins that’s fighting to fix the wounds he’s sustained through his beating, burning under his skin at the thought of someone having harmed you in any way, despite his current circumstances.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” One of the men asks, and you pretend that the thought of your completely fictional boyfriend makes you wince.

“He stood me up.” You cry weakly, putting on the performance of your life.

Spencer wonders if his injuries have made him delirious as he now prioritizes whether his heart should have spluttered at your mention of a boyfriend he is certain - because he’s currently scanning through his eidetic memory at the speed of light - you have never referred to having before.

“Oh, now, what kind of man stands up a dime like you?” The man who had invited you in, jeers.

“Thank you.” Sniffling, a small smile reaches your face as all three men stand within range; one at the table with you, one against the wall to your right, the other standing behind your chair. Perfect.

The team crowd around Penelope’s monitors, the anxiety in the room palpable.

“What the hell is she doing?!” Derek yells, frustrated and confused by Gideon’s allowance for your reckless one-woman suicide mission.

“Trust me, if anyone can do this, she can.” Jason attempts to reassure the worries of everyone, a soft smile on his face as he watches you do what you do best: set your scene.

“She’s ballsy, that’s for sure.” Emily comments, undeniably impressed.

The air in the office is thick, the tension only capable of cutting with a knife; there’s a certain irony in that.

One of the men pats your shoulder with force.

“You stay with us, we’ll take care of you.” He laughs darkly, and you smile up at him.

Alright, show’s over.

Standing from your chair, you pretend to stumble over to the front door, before locking it.

“What’re you doing, pretty lady?” The man leaning against the wall asks you with a smirk.

“Actually, boys, I think you’ll find it’s me that’s going to be taking care of you. Or, to put it another way-“ Reaching into your purse, you grab a makeup wipe and quickly remove the mascara from your cheeks, smirking right back at all three men. “-I’ll be taking you out.” Looking to the corner of the room, you smile at Spencer. “Sit tight, handsome.”

He must be dead, he thinks. Doctor Spencer Reid, beaten to death and the best comfort his subconscious can provide him is the illusion of you calling him handsome.

Pulling the slit of your dress just a little higher, you retrieve the blade previously concealed in a particularly scandalous garter you acquired entirely for the aesthetic, and twirl it around your fingers.

“So, any takers? Let’s see, eenie-“ You point your blade at the man leaning against the wall, “-meenie,” You point it to the man who is standing behind the chair you’d sat in, “-minie,” You point it at the man sitting at the table, and as he reaches for something in his pocket, your eyes twinkle with mischief. “-mo!” You chirp, throwing your blade at the exact moment he raises his arm to you, pinning his wrist to the table.

In a fraction of a second, both of the other men lunge for you, and you manage to roll out of their way in the nick of time.

“Awh, c’mon guys, fair’s fair! At least give a girl a chance!” You taunt, kicking your killer heels off and chucking both at the larger man’s head, sending him stumbling backwards into the wall with the impact. One on one, much better.

Sights set on the only other person standing up in this room, you watch as his eyes dart to Spencer, and in an instant you’ve rolled back across the floor to stand in front of the corner that he’s cowered in.

“Don’t you dare.” You threaten quietly, icy stare fixed on the last man standing.

“Oh, but pretty lady, you’ve got nothing left to throw! You’re out of options.” He sneers, taking a step closer to you.

Very presumptuous to suggest you actually needed your props beyond your dramatic flair and desire to get this done as quickly as possible.

But, in the moment, you decide to humor him.

Pretending to cower further into the corner with Spencer at your feet, your eyes widen with feigned fear, the confidence in the idiot’s smirk growing as he takes another step.

“That’s it. We can forget all about this. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” The man’s voice softens with condescension, and you nod up at him with your doe eyes.

Does he seriously think you’d incapacitate both of his friends and then decide to sleep with him? Men.

Counting the seconds, you wait until his figure looms over with you, and you lean back against the wall. You hold his gaze, doe eyes widening and bottom lip trembling, until the facade drops like a mask. Fury is a woman, and she wears a torn red dress with a smirk, her heels having left imprints on some idiot’s skull.

The last man standing’s smirk drops to a confused frown, but he doesn’t have time to step back before you lift your leg and send your knee into his crotch with as much force as you can. And while he stumbles backwards, you kick him to the floor, then kick his midsection again for good measure.

With him dealt with, you walk back over to your heels and slip them on, but as the man they previously knocked out begins to stir, you issue a well deserved roundhouse kick to send him back to sleep. Strolling over to the man who’s wrist you pinned to the table, you find that he is very clearly in shock and losing a lot of blood, but not enough to be dead just yet; you left the blade in for a reason.

“My team are watching, and they’ve probably called an ambulance by now. Whether they’ll make it in time to save you or not, I don’t care. For your sake, though-“ You pull the blade out of his wrist, tucking it back into your garter and watching the blood gush against the table, leaning close to the man’s ear. “-I wouldn’t bother applying pressure to that, because if you live long enough to serve your sentence and get out, I’ll do much worse than what I’ve been allowed to do here on company time.” And with a malicious smile, you stand back up, then spin on your heel and rush over to Spencer.

Crouching down beside him, you brush his hair out of his eyes with your fingertips, tucking it behind his ears just the way he likes it.

“Hey, pretty boy. Sorry for the wait.” You give him a sweet smile, your tone gentle, far and away from the venom with which you’d been speaking throughout your cleanup operation.

Spencer tries to speak, but immediately starts spluttering and clutching at his bruised abdomen.

“Shh, shh, don’t speak, it’s okay. The team’ll be here soon.” You coo, continuing to stroke his hair behind his ears, though it’s no longer out of place.

“N-No, it’s important.” Spencer utters, voice hoarse and strained.

Your eyebrows furrow as you lean closer to him so that he doesn’t have to try speaking any louder. “What is it?”

Taking a deep, wheezing breath, Spencer manages to find his voice again.

“Think…I know someone…who can fix your dress.”

You blink rapidly, a wide smile spreading on your face as his words set in, before you start laughing heartily.

And Spencer struggles, but he opens his one good eye to gaze upon your smiling features above him, etching every detail to his eidetic memory.

“So, I can assume that you like the dress, then?” You ask rhetorically.

This time, Spencer doesn’t say anything. Instead, you watch in equal amazement and amusement as a smirk curls at the corner of his split lips.

Within a matter of minutes, the rest of the team pull up in government issue vehicles with police cars and ambulances close behind, your targets being tended to and arrested, while Hotch and Derek help carry Spencer out to the ambulance. Due to the severity of his beating, the paramedics advise it’s best to keep him unconscious and medicated for the journey to the hospital. Naturally, you sit at his side, holding his hand the whole way.

And that’s a gesture you continue the moment he’s been checked over, too. You stay at Spencer’s hospital bedside, holding his hand until he regains consciousness, at which time you relay his diagnosis from the doctors: no serious injuries or internal bleeding, just a large amount of bruising that’ll be substantially painful for a while. Spencer is relieved by the news, but mostly relieved by your presence. He’s so simultaneously exhausted, and taken by the way you glow at his bedside, he can hardly say more than a continuous mantra of “Thank you”.

Due to his lack of serious injury, Spencer is cleared to return to work without delay, under the advice of being careful of his bruises when out in the field. In truth, Spencer knows that as long as you’re around, he won’t feel an ounce of the pain that’s supposed to be plaguing him.

The very next night, the team are called back into the office for a case, and the smile on your face when you see Spencer has him questioning once again how you can possibly be real. You seem so much more like a vision from heaven, or of heaven itself.

It’s late and the flight to the location of the case is a long one, so Hotch instructs everyone to board the jet and get some sleep, assuring you all that he’ll wake you with enough time for a briefing before you land. And the ever-calculated Spencer Reid knows exactly how to use this to his advantage. Counting in his head the average time it takes someone to fall asleep, he waits for each and every member of the team fo fall asleep before he rises from his seat on the jet and crosses the cabin to sit beside you, visibly giddy.

“I was thinking about what you said to those guys.” He begins, words rushed because he doesn’t have the patience to greet you right now.

“Which part?” You ask with an amused smile.

“When you said you’d take them out.” Spencer clarifies quickly. “I’ve been thinking about those words a lot, and- well,” He chuckles nervously. This is about to be the cheesiest thing he’s ever said. “-I wondered if you might consider letting me take you out, but in a different way?”

Your expression flashes to one of surprise, the realization hitting you like the sweetest bullet. “Like a date, or a different method of incapacitation?” You ask playfully, accurately predicting the way Spencer’s eyes widen in panic at the thought of the double entendre.

“A date!” He squeaks.

You can’t help giggling, nodding at him. “I’d like that a lot. Thank you for asking, Spencer.”

The relief on his face is palpable. In fact, he’s never felt his face relax quite like it did in that moment. “No, thank you for accepting. Are you, uh, free on Saturday, by any chance? If we don’t get called away on a case?” Spencer enquires, desperately hoping that he isn’t coming across as too eager.

You grin. “I am.”

“Good.” Spencer answers, a shy smile on his face as the reality of this situation sets in.

“Are you going to sleep?” You ask him quietly.

“To be honest, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to sleep at all until Saturday.” Spencer chuckles nervously.

You giggle at that. “Well, it’s probably a good idea to try. Do you mind if I borrow your shoulder?” You question with a teasing smile.

“No! Not at all!” Spencer says without hesitation.

“Thanks, handsome.” You say softly, resting your head on his shoulder from where you sit beside him on the jet, bundling your blanket around yourself.

There it is again, Spencer thinks. Unless this plane crashed in a microsecond and killed everyone onboard, he’s pretty sure that this time, it’s not his subconscious creating a comforting illusion. You really did call him that.

And, in light of such a life-altering revelation, Spencer plucks up courage that he didn’t know he had.

“You’re always welcome, beautiful.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #SoundCloud

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mysterycitrus · 4 months

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Thinking about Jim, do you think he also gets this good cop good father protection because of Barbara Gordon's admiration of him? Reading it from Barbara's perspective like all her stories have Jim Gordon as the best dad and her wanting to be a cop or as a child being the gcpd little cheerleader. Like trying to tie that with her role as Oracle but then even thinking of like The Hill where Jim shot and killed a teenager and his response to the mother was that the kid was armed like... it is hard to think that she would have that blind admiration of him. I also think she is more willing to work with morally questionable characters since she has a history of working with those types of characters. What do you think DC needs to do with Barbara Gordon to get actual interest in her again?

the solution for babs is simple — she needs to be oracle again.

no ifs whens or buts — babs being batgirl again is such a spectacular downgrade from her time as oracle it’s almost unreal. babs as a character, her growth after being shot, her rediscovery and pursuit of her own autonomy, her vindictiveness, her need for control, her relationships with the birds and wendy and cass and steph, make her an infinitely richer and more interesting character than when she wears the cowl. that’s even ignoring the ableist rhetoric behind her “reclaiming” her power by getting an implant and leaving her chair, which like, vom, because it’s a whole other can of worms.

unlike batwoman where there’s a completely different identity and mantle that’s seperate from bruce, batgirl is unequivocally the subordinate to batman. the girl denotes her lack of authority. cass and helena come the closest to shaking this off, but it’s still a very deliberate character dynamic that dc upholds. batgirl 2009 also successfully orients the mantle around babs and steph, but a large part of that is that bruce isn’t present in the story.

babs was at least two years older than dick in the original canon. she was a librarian who had a life outside of the community. she was a support for other disabled women. she’d tell bruce to shut the fuck up to his face. she was singularly the most important resource to the league and all other hero teams. she was a complicated person with a lot of trauma, not the cool girlfriend archetype. i also dislike that she’s dating dick while he’s nightwing and she’s still batgirl. imagine if they made dick robin again and had him date babs as oracle. it’d be so weird!

wrt jim gordon— a lot of babs’s unequivocal support of him comes from dc’s general inability to admit that he’s a deeply flawed human being in a position of power. the narrative rarely actually criticises him over his decisions. however, i also think people forget that like…. a lot of babs’s politics is tied up with the police. she’s essentially a one woman surveillance state, and she historically struggles with boundaries around the people she loves. she does work with people that the other bats wouldn’t — isley, waller, etc, but i don’t think that necessarily separates her from the police because often the police or armed forces do the same thing. her modus operandi is also very similar to bruce in a lot of ways too.

in saying that tho, i do appreciate that she’s willing to just say fuck it, full throttle and getting a god damned law degree to bust bruce out of a murder charge. she’s an icon. let her be cunty again!!

#im in my hating cops era (i never stop)#barbara gordon #batgirl #batfam #dc comics #jim Gordon #the ask and the answer #dc meta

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ezekiel13 · 3 months

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Fallout New Vegas characters & the animal that I associate with them:

Courier: my first Courier would be a Retriever. Sixx would be a feral little house cat.

Boone: Elephant. They’re the kind of animal to watch. And get so ingrained in their grief that they almost die/kill themselves.

Veronica: Rabbit. Desperate for change, but optimistic. Also likes to wear dresses and dresses are so rabbit coded

Arcade: Ravens. They’re really damn smart & I think they’re fun. He would refer to them by their science name and Boone would almost shoot him.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Beavers. Can you name an animal more likely to get drunk all the time? I sure as heck can’t.

Raul: Tortoise. Long living, unable to reach places in time to save those who they care for. Some people think look scary but I see as kinda cute. (Raul please be my Grandfather.)

Lily: Buffalo. Large, protective, family/herd oriented. Also she looks after Bighorners and I think those are just fallout buffalo.

Vulpes: Fox. It’s the name. Either a fox or a Falcon. Falcons are fast and tricksy, and strategic.

Ceaser: Bull. It’s his whole identity man.

Christine: What animal sums up a loss of the self in a mission to protect others? I don’t know but my brain is thinking Jaguar. Also she’s cool.

Dean Domino: Weasel. I don’t need to explain this one.

Dog/God (NO GOD I DID NOT COME HERE FOR MONEY. MY SISTER MADE ME): I mean. It sounds like a cop out to pick a kind of dog. I think I’d choose a Rhino. Idk why. Just fits them

Follows-Chalk: Blackbird. No I don’t know why.

Waking-Cloud: Koalas. The way they protect their young. Also they’re fun and so is she. Koalas or a bear. Same reason. Also she hits people with a bear fist. Sadly koalas are not bears. So I cannot fit them as one.

If you would like any other characters please either reblog this asking/comment/send me an ask

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ladyredmoon13 · 10 months

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DCxDP prompt

The Legacy of Carrion Crow

Ida Manson has seen many things in her days. Many good and bad things that have passed before her eyes at moments without her control. She's just glad that the creation of the Justice League was one of the good things she could see happen in her life time.

Back in her day there was no JL, and it showed; but that didn't mean there weren't heroes. There were, just not as many as there were today. And as spread out as they were they would rarely cross paths with one another. She would know, she kept tabs on all of them.

Now back when she was young the thought of a woman fighting at all let alone fighting crime was simply not excepted. That didn't stop her though. Ida started the way most heroes now began. With a crime-infested city, a father in peril, and a desire to change things for the better.

She became something of an urban legend. The Mob feared her. The streets whispered about her. The police respected her, or rather the cops who weren't dirty did anyways. Hey, what do you expect from 1960's Chicago?

Anyways she was something of a Batman in her time. A vigilante, a detective, a hero to many, and a nuisance to many more. You couldn't prove she was real but you know she existed. There was just one difference between her and him though.

She's not proud to say it, but Ida had blood on her hands. Both as Ida Manson and The Crow. The number of times she had to take out a monster not worth redemption could be counted on one hand, but it was there all the same. This was how she got the name, Carrion Crow. She thinks that's why she respected the Bat so much. He never killed. He never thought there was no other option. No other way out.

Then again Batman never looked Richard Speck in the eyes and saw no hope. She's just happy she managed to find enough evidence to put him away for life. The cops were happy about that.

Working with the cops was also how she met her late husband. He was a detective and a damn good one at that. He had a 97% conviction rate but he never bragged about it. He was just focused on doing the right thing and helping clean up the city he loved. It was no wonder he became commissioner later on.

They met on the rooftop of the old Chicago PD building. The commissioner at the time, Johnson; introduced them and later made him the liaison between the police and the Crow. They hit it off. Like two peas they were.

She shared her identity with him and he shared his past with her. She knew he was the bastard son of a mob boss and yet she didn't care. He was a good man with a good heart and that was all that mattered. The fact he didn't mind and even encouraged her to be the Crow didn't hurt either.

Time passed, and she got older. Deciding to retire was a hard decision but one she was forced to make. Only for the youngest of her two sons to take up the mantle. She was mad, downright furious when she found out.

She should have expected it, of course. Out of the two he was the one that was the most like her. Her oldest son taking after Idas' late mother. As much as that annoyed her. She still loved Jeremy but goodness he needed to loosen up.

The decision to leave Chicago was a hard one. She was born here and grew up here, but her husband wanted to live someplace a bit quieter than the bustling city in his old age. So they moved to a quiet little town almost an hour away from the city.

Leaving the house to her youngest son so that he could still use her old Crows Nest. Jeremy didn't seem to mind much about his brother getting the house. After all he and his new fiance were going to be coming with them to Amity Park.

Time passed and she lost her husband. She became a grandmother and boy did her granddaughter remind her of, well her when she was young. And boy did little Samantha love her uncle. She thought he was so 'cool' and was practically glued to him when he came to visit.

He once jokingly said that if she keeps growing up the way she is we might have another Crow flying around. He made the mistake of saying that right as little Sam skipped into the room. They were forced to lie to her. She didn't want to but Jeremy didn't know about her nightly activities from years ago. Nor did he know that his baby brother was now doing the same.

So lie they did. Sam for her credit was very smart and had known that something was up, but still let it go because her 'awesome' uncle asked her to. And because he promised her ice cream, before dinner!

Tragedy struck not long after that. Her youngest son, her baby boy died. Not as the Crow though but in a motorcycle accident involving a police car chase of three bank robbers. They were devastated, none more than poor Samantha.

Crime got worse in Chicago after that. Apparently crime bosses were smart enough to realize that the Crow was gone but not smart enough to figure out who he was. She made sure of it. She had done worse than send mobsters on wild goose chases before after all.

Soon Sam grew into a spectacular young spitfire. Much to Ida's delight and her parent's chagrin, they could get over it. After all, it was genetic. Though she couldn't say the same for that little friend for her granddaughter's.

Yes, she knew all about Danny and his little secret. She suspected as much when she noticed him acting strangely not too long after his little accident in his parent's lab. An incident that coincided with his shift in behavior and after some digging Ida found what they were hiding. She was still a detective after all. Retired as she may be, but still sharp as a tac.

She decided to help where she could. Jumping in when she knew she could get away with it. She even began teaching Sam some martial arts when things seemed to be escalating. Then the GIW showed up and things only got worse.

Ida tried to get ahold of her some of her old contacts. She even tried some that were even affiliated with the JL, but nothing went threw. For the first time in a long time Ida was afraid for her family, for her home. Danny could only do so much for this town and she could see that it was weighing on the poor lad.

He needed help. He needed someone to watch his back. Not just the way she had been for almost a year now. Ida Manson knew what she needed to do and with a little convincing, she could manage to pull it off.

Once summer came Ida and Sam would go on a little pilgrimage to Chicago. Maybe take her friends with them if they can manage it. Once there this old Crone will take them down to the Crows Nest and do what should have been done long ago.

The Carrion Crow will fly again, and this time they're not coming for mobsters and petty thieves. She's coming for the GIW.

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp crossover #sam manson #danny fenton #tucker foley #justice league #justice leauge unlimited #justice leage of america

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i-smoke-chapstick · 2 months

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'COME ON EILEEN!, [PART ONE]

-GOTHAM!VICTOR ZSASZ X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You're not used to being seen, especially not by Jim Gordan. And especially not by Don Carmine Falcone.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!victor x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! This is a 4 part fic. LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is still in highschool). Some gore in the beginning. Takes a while for reader to meet Victor. Can I write a gotham fic without Victor being obsessive? Victor ends up getting REALLY protective later on. But also, eventual really soft Victor. Like, you're his world. Set during season 1.

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR,

Special thanks to @adalwolfgang for giving me the courage to write this teehee

♫ “You are far too young and clever.” Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners

Your life had been strange. Ever since you moved to this goddamn city. You're parents thought it would be such a grand idea; move to the city of innovation. With WayneTech and a good classy old fashioned vibe. More like the city of crime, you think. This place is an absolute shit hole!

Well, sometimes it's a shit hole. Other times you understand the strange appeal. The school wasn't half bad, aside from the weird drug dealers you saw counting money in the hallways.

You made plenty of acquaintances, but not enough, really. All of the gothamite students kind of stuck to their own. Rich cliques and street trash. You didn't really fit in as a new comer.

Everything got even more complicated one day after class. You decided to stay late at the library, brushing up on whatever homework you had. Apparently you stayed later than you thought you had, because once you were done, the night had clouded over into a cool darkness.

You knew you shouldn't be by yourself at night in gotham. It was the biggest rule to living in this city. So, you quickly packed your shit and left.

Coming outside, the parking lot was damn near empty. You gripped the straps of your book bag and centered yourself. It would be a small walk home. No harm no foul.

Well, your false confidence quickly died out when you heard a man wailing from behind you. You wanted to keep walking, but you couldn't. Damn you and your moral compass.

You made the decision to sneak a peak behind you. Just behind the overarching brick wall of Gotham high, laid a student. And another man hanging over him. With a bloody baseball bat.

Your ears began to ring as you saw the face of the student, practically decimated and beaten inwards. You could only make out the vague words of "Help me!" and "This will teach you to bring me my money on time." Their voices overlapped, and the sound of metal hitting skin in a loud ca-thunk and a crunch. The man getting beat looked at you for help; well, with what was left of his face.

You immediately knew this was a weird drug deal altercation, and also none of your business. You turned on your heel and bolted, running for your life. The sound of the baseball and the sight of your fellow student beaten bloody haunted you the whole way home.

The next morning, it was all over the news. Well, not all over the news. Front page scoops were reserved for "Maroni's new take over! What's next for Gotham's Underground?" and "Wayne Enterprises launches new aerospace tech!" But if you looked hard enough and switched a few channels, you'd see the headline clear as day.

"Gotham High Student Found Beaten To Death on Campus"

You couldn't eat your breakfast that morning. A few bites an you needed to throw it up. You couldn't erase the memory. You did nothing.

You mustered up the strength to go to school though, knowing you would have too, or your mom would kill you. You felt sick the whole time getting dressed, brushing your teeth, and closing the door. What's worse was the walk to school, seeing your steps retraced from the night before. The city seemed awfully more cheery in the daylight.

When you finally made it to the campus, your heart dropped. At least 3 cop cars pulled up, caution tape and flashing camera lights. The body of the man was in the same spot you'd seen him in.

A cop was instructing wandering and gossiping students to get a move on to class and to stop staring. You heard them whispering. But you stayed stuck, unable to move. The memories played in your head.

You could hear the muffled yelling of the cop telling you to move, but you didn't seem to register it. Neither could you register the gruff voice of a man telling the cop to wait a minute.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around in a spasm, coming face to face with Jim fucking Gordan.

You'd seen him on the TV before. He'd been the cities hero as of late. Took out the balloon man. Red hood gang. Even the Wayne killer. Tons of others. You swallowed.

In a surprisingly gentle movement, he firmly grasped your shoulder and guided you to a more private area, away from the judgey glances of other students and cops who merely rolled their eyes at him. One in particular, which you knew to be his partner, Harvey Bullock, let out an obnoxious groan while taking a bite of a Sandwich.

"Hello. My name is Jim Gordan." He spoke to you softly.

"I know who you are." The words came out more defensive than you intended them too. He backed up a little bit, mouth open and nodding. He politely removed his hand from your shoulder.

He flashed a small, awkward smile. It made you furrow your brows.

"Did you see anything that happened here last night? Anything at all." His voice lowered to a whisper. Something about his voice was gentle, charismatic. His words illicited the memory of the student in a pool of his own blood.

Jim studied you and your every movement, and when you flinched, his eyes lit up. But he kept the same serious and soft expression.

"You did, didn't you?" He urged, bending down just a tad to be at your level. You backed up. "Listen, I need you to tell me what you saw."

You stayed silent. He inhaled through his nose.

"No one is going to hurt you. I promise. Just tell me your name, give me a statement." His tone is more firm this time, and nods in the far off direction of his partner. "I don't want to have to drag you down to the station."

You mulled over what he said, before sighing.

You bit your lip, and spilled your guts.

He took note of everything you said eagerly. And when he was done, he gave you a small thank-you. You nodded, and assumed that would be the end of things.

Hah! You were wrong.

Almost half the student body had seen you and Jim Gordan talking. Before long, you were the talk of the town. The newbie in town was privy to a case with Jim Gordan.

When Gordan caught the culprit? Now that was front page news. One of Maroni's men caught in the act of beating an underage student half to death over a few milligrams of coke. Selling it to minors actively. It reflected poorly on the entirety of his underground empire. Apparently even criminals had a conscious.

And in a strange way, you also got to reap some benefits. You made a lot of new friends now, on both sides of the school. The rich cliques applauded you for helping rid the city of cretins and return it to its former glory. Some rumors had spread, and now the street trash students thought you were some badass who gave Gordan a tough time before helping him. It was all bullshit- you thought. You just helped with a stupid case.

But now, it seemed you were the only one with a hand in both pools of water. And god, it was a lot of connections. You knew about every murder cover-up the rich kids parents paid for. You knew about every ATM robbery and drug deal the street kids made. Every creepy teacher sleeping with a student. Every staff member who faked their taxes. You were a walking encyclopedia of all the crimes in Gotham committed by students and adults alike.

You didn't ask for it. But...you were glad you could help, in away. None of your friends were really real. No, the only real friend you had was Jim Gordan.

He'd made it a point to come to you for almost everything now. Figured you made a better information source than penguin. Plus, you didn't ask for anything in return. You were just thankful for the company.

He'd come down and meet you in the library when he needed you, after school, away from prying eyes. He'd sneak the both of you into a storage closet, before asking for your help.

You'd asked him a few times if you could get involved more; first hand. You thought you could do more than just being a reference. But he always just gave you that awkward smile. "Next time." He'd promised. Next time never came.

You were getting tired of your role as an informant. And you weren't the only one who noticed.

You damn near kicked and clawed. You woke up one day, blindfolded and strapped to a leather chair. Light leaked through the blindfold, and you went to scream. But there was tape covering your mouth

You knew you shouldn't have told Jim Gordan any of this shit. God, were you a snitch?!? A rat for the GCPD. Of course some gang was going to tie you up and kill you at one point!

You felt your chest heave as you struggled against your restraints.

A voice boomed, and it shut up your struggling.

"Miss L/N." It was a mans voice. Much older. "Forgive me for shocking you."

The blindfold was taken off your eyes by another figure behind you. You squinted as the light hit your retinas, and you stood face to face with Don Carmine Falcone.

You were rendered speechless.

"Let me give you some context here," He continued, and you felt your heart drop. "I have a proposition, of sorts."

You breathed against the tape on your mouth, deathly silent. A proposition. What the hell did that mean? Were you going to get to choose the way you died?

"See, I admire those who have methodical approaches. Good work ethic. You seem to have both." He circled you, standing up. "I heard whispers of a young girl that seemed to have wormed her way into the GCPD."

He paused, looking you directly in the eye.

"You are an incredibly useful asset, Miss L/N. Does Gordan tell you that enough?" The man urged. You felt your heart rate settle; and your mind do flips. No, you thought. He really doesn't.

"...I propose, you do a job for me. A small one, I assure you." He put his hand up. "You attend school with a student whose father is deep into Maroni's operation. I assume you know who I'm speaking of."

You do.

"I also assume you know all about where said man resides, with the rest of his crew. I want you to tell me where exactly that is. And, I want you to go there with Victor."

The words coming out of his mouth were terrifying. Victor...Victor, Victor, Victor. You repeated the name over and over. And then it clicked.

Victor Zsasz.

Oh god, this couldn't be happening. A million questions rushed through out your head. Jim had told you about his incident with him.

You managed to turn to look over your shoulder in the direction Falcone nodded too. Sure enough, there the man stood.

Victor looked at you stoically, leather hand coming up to wave at you, like this was a joke. A frightening smile played on his lips as he took in your shaking form.

You looked back to Falcone, and he gently tore off the tape covering your mouth, and undid the restraints on your right hand. You breathed shakily.

"Why do you want me to go with Zsasz? I get being an informant- why do you want me to go kill a bunch of guys?!?" Your voice sounded strained. You meant for it to be more confident. You flexed your wrist where the restraints had been.

Falcone nodded. "That's for me to know." He stated bluntly, obviously not further elaborating. "Do we have a deal?"

"And If I say no?" You wavered, watching the Don stretch out a hand to shake on it. Falcone merely pursed his lips and frowned.

In a swift movement, he motioned back to Victor who stared you down intently. Victor mouthed the words, "I'm gonna stab you." With a stabbing gesture of his hand.

You swallowed.

And then you shook Falcone's hand.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz headcanons #gotham victor zsasz #victor zsasz gotham

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physalian · 1 month

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A Case Against “Redemption = Death”

“Redemption = Death” is, in my opinion, one of the laziest “telling not showing” cop-outs you can write, and it happens over and over and over again. It’s manipulative, it’s cheap, it kneecaps the character’s development, it undermines the meaning of a true redemption, and it promotes a message that some people are so evil, the *only* redemption for them is the ultimate sacrifice.

**Taking an aside here to plainly ignore religious connotations and focus on the success or failure of a satisfying character arc**

I hate this trope. I have never seen a flawless execution of this trope in its basest form: Evil bad guy is evil for 99% of their story, and in the 11th hour has an out-of-character realization that they’ve done wrong and sacrifices themself for the heroes, whom they don’t actually care about, for ~drama~.

Today’s writing advice is pretty straightforward: Please stop doing this. It tends to happen in action movies like the superhero genre, but also in action-heavy sci-fi and fantasy where rich character development is sacrificed for spectacle and cool battles. I love action movies, even the stupid ones, and I firmly believe that they can do better.

1. It’s manipulative

A malignant evildoer who shows zero remorse for their entire story, commits heinous acts of violence and abuse, who murders, steals, beats, cheats, betrays, and uses other characters does not earn any shed tears over their ultimate sacrifice.

Time and time again, the big bad will do a 180 and leave the protagonist distraught over how to react to this, often with lines like “maybe he was a hero all along,” or “you know he really wasn’t that bad”. (a la Snape before we all woke up and realized he's a whiny Nice Guy)

Nope. He was actually that bad, and his final act of terror was convincing you to give a damn about him and regret not being able to save him (and it is always male characters. It’s always men. Find me a story where it’s a woman and I will gladly read it and complain about her, too).

This character has only themselves to blame for their Tragic Backstory. They were never a tragic hero, they didn’t fall from grace. There was never any hope or expectation that they could do better, the hero isn’t even trying to redeem them, it just happens in an attempt to engineer depth where there isn’t any.

2. It’s cheap

A hastily-written “redemption” tips the author’s hand, showing that they didn’t plan for or can’t conceptualize how to fix the mess they’ve made. Now, maybe the villain dies in the last chapter of the book and the story has no room for the aftermath anyway—that’s fine. It’s only a problem when the villain gets an unfounded “he wasn’t so bad” reflection by the survivors to scribble a deeper meaning and message for the story in the final lap.

If you’re planning from the start to have your villain be “not that bad,” provide any evidence other than them deciding maybe they don’t want the world to burn as the clock on the nuke counts down to zero.

This would be like if Gandalf told Pippin Denethor was actually a decent guy as the man flings himself off Gondor's tallest tower after nearly burning his son alive.

3. It kneecaps the character’s potential

Character deaths, whether they’re permanent or not, are generally treated by the other characters as permanent and final in the moment. There’s tears, there’s funerals, there’s grief and regret over what could have been, what might’ve been, what should have been.

And all of that development goes straight to the surviving characters, not the one that died.

Your dead evildoer can’t prove they’re trying to do better once they’re dead. They can’t show their remorse, they can’t show how they planned to fix all their mistakes, they can’t follow through with choosing the path of “good”. They’re dead.

You killed them to avoid the hard work of having to write them as a good guy.

4. It undermines the meaning of a true redemption

Self-sacrifice is a noble end, but self-sacrifice because a character can’t imagine actually committing to the long and bumpy road of fixing all their mistakes is cowardice. The people they hurt are still suffering, the wrongs they committed still need answering for, the damage they’ve done still needs rectifying and dying leaves all that work to those who survive them.

They’ve done nothing to prove they’re worthy of redemption except to stop digging their hole deeper and at that point they’re not “redeemed” they’re only marginally defined as a “tragic hero” by the skin of their teeth, depending on what catastrophe they prevent with their death.

5. It argues that some people aren’t worth redeeming

Ironically, “redemption = death” proves the exact opposite of the case you’re trying to make. They die because they’re convinced they must, because not a single other character could either talk them out of it, or cared enough to show them death wasn’t the only option.

“Redemption” is only for those who everyone thinks aren’t worth redeeming. But he’s irredeemable! Is he? Or do you just want to see him punished and have zero faith that he can’t at least try to right his wrongs?

This would be like if Zuko showed up at the Western Air Temple and instead of becoming Aang's fire bending teacher, he died fighting Combustion Man or Azula in a blaze of glory, all because Katara would not budge from her "he's evil and always will be" stance.

Or, if Zuko died in the last agni-kai, taking Azula down with him, as if the story said "yeahhhhh, we just gotta go clean slate here and expunge the whole Fire Family, but hey, Zuko did stop Azula in his blaze of glory".

—

But what happens when “redemption = death” is actually satisfying? Aka, not a redeemed villain, just a tragic hero. So let’s look at a famous example: Darth Vader.

This is a character that checks two boxes: He has one pillar of light determined to save him, and he’s shown before his moment of sacrifice to have some remorse. It doesn’t come out of nowhere.

He’s not redeemed, though, because his one act of murder-suicide may end the war (ignoring the sequel trilogy) but doesn’t undo all the damage and lives lost and planets destroyed. He’s just a tragic hero.

Sometimes, however, this character knows the only way all the evil ends is with their death. They know they’re doomed because by their continued existence, evil persists, and they literally cannot live on to fix things because things will never be fixable so long as they’re still breathing. Or, they’re terminally ill and incurable through their own machinations with the Big Bad and will die no matter what they do, might as well go out swinging.

Greed, from Fullmetal Alchemist fits here. He spent more time as a reluctant good guy occasionally doing bad and selfish things because his essence is chained to a good guy, but he cannot survive the story, because by his very nature, he’s a piece of the main villain.

But even then, Greed’s redemption comes *before* he dies, we all already love his character, this is just the tragic icing on the cake. His realization that, in his final act, he becomes the most selfless character in the show—the antithesis of his entire being.

Your mid-redemption character redeems themselves as much as they can while they still breathe. They help the other heroes, they teach the team everything they know, they show their plans for a better future and have even built tools to help the survivors thrive. They’ve dreamed about being a part of this future that’s barred from them. They’ve fully understood and accepted the consequences of their actions. They understand that their final punishment is never living to see the paradise they nearly destroyed.

Even if they can’t change the world with their actions, they’ve done all the emotional and personal labor they can manage with those that they’ve hurt. They’ve made friends, allies, even romantic endeavors.

And when they die and the heroes mourn, they mourn the hero that this redeemed villain became, not who they imagined this villain could be if they tried, if they'd made different choices. At that point, redemption didn’t even equal death for them, redemption was the short road to recovery before the consequences of their actions finally caught up with them.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #character design #redemption arc #character arcs #last airbender #atla #zuko #fullmetal alchemist #greed fma

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angelsanarchy · 6 months

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Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 12

Tagging: @ophelialaufey@madamemaximoff06@forever-not-gonna-sink@ajmiila02@liquidsmoothdomme@shady-the-simp @auggiethecreator

Oystein kept his distance for a day or two just to let Y/n cool off but by the time he made his way to the restaurant and saw her blank face staring at him coldly, he knew this was going to be harder to smooth over.

"Hey, I tried to call you the other day...I wanted to apologize." Y/n cleaned the table and walked away not even acknowledging him.

"Y/n please just talk to me for a second." Y/n walked through the kitchen door, letting it stop Oystein from speaking by adding separation between them.

"You aren't being fair in the slightest. I was a dick and I will admit that. I am sorry for saying what I said in front of everybody but I thought you understood." Oystein spoke through the door. It flew open, almost slamming into his face as she carried an arm full of napkins to refill the napkin holders.

"If you aren't going to eat, it's called loitering and you can be arrested." She mumbled not even bothering to look at him. Oystein watched her finish the napkins and followed her back to the supply closet before following her inside and standing in front of the door, blocking her exit.

"Please stop. Just...let me explain." Oystein put his hands out and she kept her eyes low, crossing her arms protectively over her body.

"I'm sorry I was an asshole. You didn't deserve that and I got carried away in front of the others." Oystein apologized again, something he never really did twice, even when he knew he was in the wrong for something.

"I didn't know Pelle was going to do that during the show. He's done it before but I figured maybe we had a few more shows before he opened himself back up again." Y/n finally looked at him sadly.

"Do you even hear yourself? Do you hear how absolutely fucked that sounds?" She asked pitifully.

"I don't know how to fix this Y/n. I can't control what he does, he's grown. All we can do is make sure he doesn't bleed out after the damn show." Oystein defended and Y/n kept her eyes trained on him with such a sadness, it made Oystein truly remorseful.

"This is not who I thought you were." She shook her head trying to grab the door handle but he stopped her.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Oystein asked confused.

"I mean that I didn't think you were this person. This blase about death or one of your friends offing himself just to get a crowd reaction." Y/n said finding her strength. Oystein let his head fall slightly.

"I told you, I can't control-"

"You're the leader of the band right? Mayhem is your band? You're the great Euronymous? Then tell me why you can't stop a member of YOUR band from trying to kill himself on stage? Why can't you find him some real help so he doesn't end up hanging from one of the trees in your front yard or with his blood all over the floor of the bathroom?" Tears stung Y/n's eyes and she hated that whenever she got this upset and angry, she couldn't control her eyes welling with tears.

"I thought you were this multifaceted guy Oystein, the guy who was a good son and brother by day, writing music about death and destruction only to preform it for his people at night, leaving all the blood and brutality in the notes that you played. I thought you cared about the people making art with you." She felt so stupid saying all of this out loud.

"I do care!" Oystein defended.

"You don't! You don't care because if you gave two shits about Pelle, you would have already taken him to hosptial for an evaluation." Y/n knew it was a cop out but he couldn't have it both ways. He can't claim to be the one in charge and have no say in what takes place at their shows. He can't say he cares about his friends and let them continuously harm themselves for an income.

"Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this because I hate that you're upset. I didn't even get to ask you what you thought about the music and that's what I wanted you to be there for." Oystein shook his head and Y/n could see the disappointment in his face.

"The music was amazing. You play with your heart." She put her hand on his chest and he took a deep breath.

"I think I could have listened to you play for hours but I won't be going to anymore shows. I just...I can't handle everything that comes with Euronymous." Now he felt like he had been gut punched.

"You were right and you warned me about reading you wrong. You are exactly who you said you were. Euronymous is not someone I want to be around." She stood firm in her words and Oystein clenched his jaw unsure of what to say. She finally gripped the door knob and pulled the door open, pushing past Oystein and leaving him in the closet alone.

Y/n knew it was a bad idea to get involved with Oystein. He convinced her things would be different but she had to experience that night to know it wouldn't be. All she could do was be happy that she didn't get more involved with him and that one of them would figure out a way to get Pelle some help.

She retrieve Oystein from the closet, eventually he stormed out of the supplies closet and out the front door of the restaurant, startling the current patrons and leaving Hammeed looking at Y/n for answers.

#R!Euronymous #Flim: Lords of Chaos #R!Euronymous x Y/n #Alkaline #Alkaline Series #One Shot Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #12/35

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

Text

The world is changing now. Soon, it will leave me and all the knowledge I accumulated during my life behind. It's not too late for me to get into the permanent record, though, with this information about a long-lost art of car ownership. I speak, of course, of the car stereo installation.

Nowadays, car stereos are largely an extension of your phone. And why shouldn't they be? Your phone can access any music you desire, conjure up pornographic visions from the ether itself, and tell you how to get out of the corn maze that you and your borderline-sentient 1979 Firebird Formula have gotten stuck in during your latest secret-agent shenanigans. Car manufacturers make terrible stock stereos, and so it just makes sense for them to step aside and turn them into "big screen that phone makes go."

It is for this same reason that, before the ubiquitous smartphone era, we wanted to swap the stereos in our shit-box Hondas. In the late 90s and early 00s, new standards were coming out practically every weekend. You didn't want to be the dope with an AM/FM/Tape combo when it was possible to be the brave technologist who accidentally bought a stereo on sale that only understood uncompressed Mini-Discs and the Diamond Rio 600. You could go to the store and buy a "head unit" (car stereo dweeb speak for "car stereo") and jam it into the dashboard, yourself. Sure, there were semi-professional installers out there, usually working at that very same store. Those installers cost money, though, and surely you can connect between 15 and 200 wires together in a way that doesn't burn your car down, right?

Wiring a stereo wasn't really that hard. It was just one of those death-by-a-thousand-papercuts deals. You pull out the old stereo, a task which ranges between "annoying" and "holy shit I don't think my car will ever go together again." Then, you unplug it from the wiring harness. They call it a wiring harness, because you get whipped by it and still somehow enjoy the experience.

It's at this point that the driveway-installing amateurs are separated from the driveway-installing pros. A smart person gets a little plug-in wiring adapter that translates from the car's wiring to the stereo's wiring. Someone who forgot to buy the little wiring adapter from the stereo store, and doesn't want to go back there because their car is torn into a million pieces, decides to hack and slash, twisting and soldering the car into the stereo permanently. This works too, but it will be a problem in about two weeks, when the MP3-CD player you just spent your paycheque on becomes obsolete, and is replaced by a Tokyo-24-HotSauce-WMV-DVD player.

Now comes the harrowing. You have just made your car's stereo harness much, much longer, and also likely much fatter. You gotta cram that shit back in the hole it came out of, ideally without getting in the way of anything else inside the dashboard. This is the point at which you must decide whether you will spend eight more hours routing wires, potentially re-doing the wiring work you just completed, or explain to your significant other that the heater controls only go two-thirds of the way to "cool" now. You will pass through this crucible and emerge a stronger, angrier person. You will have opinions on electrical tape for the first time in your life. Your neighbours will call the cops to have you killed after you swear loudly enough to wake their babies. The cops will laugh as you nearly pass out from heat exhaustion underneath your dashboard.

And in the end, you will be able to play an MP3 file from a burned CD. Congratulations. It was all worth it, until you go over a slight bump and the damn thing skips a bunch. I hear the new ones on the shelves now have a bigger anti-skip buffer. And those stock speakers, well, they sound like shit, now that you have this fancy new stereo blaring 64kbps Napster rips through it. Maybe pick up a new amplifier while you're at it, and an upgraded alternator to handle all that new current demand, and...

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garlimcbread · 14 days

Note

The gang + Tim meeting m!greaser whose like SCARY. Big, strong, resting bitch face and deep voice. Also m!greaser smokes cigars

What's each of the gang feelings/reactions to this guy?

OFC POOKIE!!! THIS LOOKS SO FUN WHAT....

Ponyboy

TERRIFIED.

Almost ran but thought maybe you were like a mountain lion and you'd go after him so he was just frozen in fear 💀

Just about SCREAMED when you talked to him

"Hey-" "PLEASE DON'T HURT MEEEE!!!! 😭"

Eventually came around...... eventually meaning years 💀

Sodapop

ALSO terrified

He probably saw you at the dx though so he couldn't even run or anything

he was SWEATING.

was polite bc he was at work and also bc he didn't wanna make you mad 💀

made Steve talk to you next time you came in

Darry

He's a man........ a man who is really scared 💀

Doesn't show it but he's for sure sweating

"If he threw a punch rn would I be able to win in a fight....."

on edge around you

BUT when you're under his roof you MUST follow the house rules...

you WILL get yelled at otherwise

Johnny

nothing to say he runs every time he sees you 💀

but fr though he would move as far away as possible and not even look at you bc he's scared

He thinks MAYBE Dally would kill you if you hurt him but Dally is low-key a little twig.....

If you talked to him??? He's shutting down he can't even scream........

If he's with Dally Dally puts him behind him

He'd hate it any other time but he's scared of you sooo

Dally

Has probably fought guys like you but he's still scared like??

doesn't let it show bc he's Dallas Winston but he's scared

As I said he puts Johnny behind him

I think he knows Johnny can defend himself its just???? YOU??

Avoids you tbh

Two-Bit

does NOT care 💀

This man smarts off to the cops he is ABSOLUTELY smarting off to you

He is SO lucky he's actually funny and you aren't beating his ass

I think he'd steal cigars for you as a peace offering

Steve

Gets forced to talk to you at the dx bc Soda is scared of you

Genuinely TWEAKS everytime Soda runs off to work on a car and makes Steve talk to you at the counter

Like he loves Soda but DAMN.

Respectful ONLY bc he's at work

He knows damn well he'd get his ass beat if he wasn't which is why he avoids you 💀

Tim

Like Dally but like...... he's a gang leader so it kinda balances out??

Asks you to threaten to beat Curly's ass if he doesn't behave

Buys/steals you cigars as payment

You're probably in his gang lets be honest

I think you guys are like?? cool with eachother??

You're not best friends but you're also not like enemies

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #darrel curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #dally winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #tim shepard

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superpeeboy · 18 days

Note

Top five reasons Good Cop Bad Cop are the best characters?

Oh man! You knew what would happen when you asked that. Here goes!

(lots of text below)

1. Concept

GCBC’s concept has always stood out to me. Even before I was obsessed, I looked at his design, and I thought it was cool! The combination of the Good Cop Bad Cop trope and a dual-sided minifig head is really smart! Those ideas combine so well, and without that idea as a basis, GCBC wouldn’t be GCBC.

There’s also subversion of how split-personality characters tend to act! Obviously, Good Cop is the good one and Bad Cop is the bad one, but its more complicated than that. Good Cop is still willing to melt Emmet, and he still works for Business and participates in the policework, he is still a villain despite being nice! And Bad Cop, while it isn’t quite as noticeable earlier in the movie, 100% redeems himself in the end! (And I think he still has moments where he isn’t just full-on evil earlier on, I’ll get back to that later.)

A peculiar fact I know is that they started GCBC’s design with the Good Cop Bad Cop trope, NOT the dual-sided minifig head. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like the natural progression would be starting with the LEGO feature and turning that into a character. But they didn’t do that. Originally, he was just going to flip glasses up and down from his hat.

The highlight of GCBC’s design is obviously their head. I love their outfit (maybe not so much when I’m rendering something), but there’s not that much to do about a police outfit. I only wish it was actually purple. BUT I’m getting distracted. I was trying to mention how GCBC’s faces contrast so much! Good Cop’s large glasses highlight his eyes, and his eyes show how nice he is, they’re round and soft and cute! To contrast Bad Cop’s sunglasses block out his eyes, and all you get to see is his big ol’ mouth. He usually has his teeth shown, with each tooth lined out. You don’t see outlined teeth on Good Cop. Outlined teeth are something I always got told not to do in art, because it makes characters scary. But of course, Bad Cop is supposed to be scary! So he has that trait! And I love to see it!

I’ve always been interested in character design. It’s not something I myself can do very well, but I love to see interesting characters. And GCBC’s design and concept are exactly that! Interesting! (And this whole thing is about GCBC, but I think a lot of the other characters also have really good designs.) What I especially love is how all TLM designs are interesting despite the limitations of being a LEGO. In fact, I think they’d be worse if they weren’t LEGO! The artists had to put a lot of effort into making these designs look good, even as minifigs. I think that’s awesome.

2. Story

Ough! It already hurts and I haven’t even typed yet! But of course, GCBC’s story is important. GCBC is given the most tragic story in TLM. They are forced to keep working for a corrupt boss, and they are the only ones (outside of robots) who are aware of the corruptness. But that is exactly why they have to just go with it, they know Business has the power to kill them and everyone they care about if they went against him.

And even then, even when they’re working for him the best they can, knowing far more than anyone else and having to act normal about it, well you know what happens. GCBC loses everyone. They obviously do not have many people that support them to begin with, but Bad Cop loses his parents and Good Cop! And that leaves him with one person, Business.

It’s implied Business has been so terrible to GCBC for a while. Good Cop is so scared of Business that he avoids the guy as much as possible, to the point Business needed to specifically ask for Good Cop, and even then he would keep switching out. And GCBC’s helmet is mostly for protection from Lord Business, not master builders. But what can GCBC do about their situation? Nothing! Business is the damn president, they can’t do anything about it. And they can’t join the master builders, they’re murderers, they can’t just join the good guys! GCBC is a victim of such unfortunate circumstance.

Isn’t that crazy!? They just add the most horrific abuse on GCBC to this movie!? It’s a movie about LEGO! And you can even see how this affected Bad Cop, if you look closely, and have worms eating your brain! But again, I want to get to that later!

3. Personalities

IT’S LATER! Obviously GCBC is two guys in one. I love that. I love it so much that it feels wrong when people seperate them! I’m getting more and more into my own interpretation and outside of what is actually shown/implied in the movie, but I think GCBC just wouldn’t work seperated. I feel like Good Cop and Bad Cop exaggerate each other’s personalities. Good Cop is really nice, which leaves Bad Cop to have to be the mean one. No matter how nice Bad Cop might try to be, he isn’t going to be able to match Good Cop. And their names are no help anyhow.

If they were to be seperate people, Bad Cop wouldn’t be as aggressive. He wouldn’t HAVE to be! And if he was, then he would just be a complete jerk. But when they’re connected, they both balance eachother out and contrast more. Good Cop allows Bad Cop to be mean and Bad Cop allows Good Cop to be nice.

Good Cop is the nice one. But he isn’t THAT nice. I think I said this earlier, Good Cop was totally okay with killing Emmet and he still works for Business. But he is less violent. He is the Good Cop, so he must be the sympathetic one, or else he wouldn’t BE that! He certainly is evil, but he also certainly is kind.

Bad Cop is the antithesis. He is the bad one, duh. But he also is not entirely terrible. He can be a little nice, as a treat. Especially after the loss of Good Cop. Now that there isn’t a Good Cop to be the good one, that leaves Bad Cop. And if you’ll notice, he does start acting a little nicer. He offers an easy way to Emmet, Wyldstyle, and Vitruvius in that Old West scene, he says thank you to what he THINKS is a robot, and obviously he brings back Good Cop at the end, he’s not entirely evil. But he definitely is a little bit.

During the movie, Bad Cop has a running gag where he beats up chairs. Aha, I’m really going into headcanon territory right now, but I see that as him taking his anger out on chairs instead of PEOPLE! Wouldn’t that be sweet? He tries not to hurt people! Amazing! He also melts people but I forgive him for that!

I love GCBC’s personalities. I love them on their own, but especially how they work together, as ‘one’ character. I love how despite being a Good Cop and a Bad Cop, they’re both more complicated than that. Man these guys are great!

4. Family

GCBC is the one LEGO character given a family. Obviously the story is about the Man and Boy upstairs, and they’re family, but no other LEGO gets that. Emmet and Business aren’t exactly related, even if they’re the LEGOsonas of Will and Finn. In a draft of TLM, Emmet did have a mom, Doris, but she was removed. GCBC gets parents though. And also, eachother, as brothers!

GCBC is a villain. But they have a family that they really do care for. Good Cop can’t bring himself to kill his family, when he’s entirely willing to kill Emmet. And Bad Cop is ‘willing’. But it’s more like he knows that if he doesn’t do it, Business is going to do it instead, and he’ll be punished. And he’s clearly apprehensive anyhow!

I already mentioned how Bad Cop reacts to losing his family, the only people who care for him, but there’s more! Bad Cop sings the song ‘Danny Boy’ after losing Good Cop. An old irish song about losing someone (usually by death) and wishing to be reunited someday. Cool man! I’m not crying! My eyes are sweating!

The fact that GCBC is given a family is very special! And the family really helps with their character. And everyone comes back in the end, but does that change how terrifying it would be to lose all your family, family who Bad Cop was especially close to?

5. Love

And now I talk about what might be the best part of GCBC. The love! Theres so much to GCBC, clearly the creators loved him. I love being able to see that. Despite being the villain, and not even the main villain at that, GCBC is included on lots of merch. GCBC is also included in lots of extras. And he’s included a LOT. GCBC is given so much by the creators!

Liam Neeson didn’t have to voice GCBC in single takes, but he did. Because he thought it fit the character. Because he cared about the character! He improvised that darndarndarnydarn thing because he cared about the character! He added all sorts of weird noises because he thought it fit GCBC! He didn’t HAVE to do that! He wasn’t getting anything from doing that! But he did it because he felt like it made the character better.

Isn’t that just darling? GCBC is not just a fan-favorite, I think he was a favorite of the people who worked on the movie as well! And I think those guys know a lot about TLM, ha ha! So, that’s 5 reasons why GCBC is the best character, in my opinion.

#good cop bad cop #gcbc lego movie #infodump #me #important

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arcsin27 · 1 year

Text

Reviewing all the stories in junji ito maniac because I can, fuck you :)

The strange hikizuri siblings - uhh okay. Not scary nothing even happened. Okay a guy was a jealous simp, little kids are just like that, some guy threw up bread dough ig, then a ghost stared at everyone for a while and dipped the end

The story of the mysterious tunnel - Jesus Christ that was pretty spooky what the hell. Lost my marbles when he assumed the drop was water, and the kid in the ceiling fucked me up with her voice (dub) and screams

Ice cream bus - im never eating ice cream again. Jokingly compared the driver to William afton fnaf in the beginning but he was somehow worse. The dad pushing the kid away jumpscared me, then horrified me, and I needed a break from the show

Hanging balloon - so absurd it was kinda funny. The nonlinear storytelling added a bit if spook as I slowly realized who was at the window but idk the concept was just funny to me. Also I was so happy someone finally showed up to a horror plot strapped until I saw the result. Sorry random Chad with a crossbow, wish you coulda helped…

Four x four walls - thought something horrific would happen outside and he wouldn’t hear it but it didn’t, thought soichi was famous for being scary but he wasnt, I think this was like a comic relief in episode form. No spook, kinda funny

The sandman’s lair - *laughs nervously* what the fuck. No clue what happened, why would you tape yourselves like that, let me see his dream form damnit, the nature of humanity is we reinvent homestuck etc

Intruder - these kids are based tbh. Balls of steel, don’t blame the redhead, just move on with their lives

Long hair in the attic - also based, i had wondered where her head had gone but i shoulda known by the title, that grinding sound pissed me off tho

Mold - thank. God. It was in black and white. I choose to believe its dust. Also idc about culture or taboo if your floor is coated in inches of ropes and pools of mold just wear your damn shoes. Jesus Christ

Library vision - this one felt like it was calling out all of my anxieties about losing the things and memories precious to me. Also 10/10 Sean chiplock that final recital of hell of thorns was incredible and spooky. Also what the fuck was the ending

Tomb town - im never driving again. Also just call the cops surely you get a reduced sentence for actually reporting the crime. Other than that not scary lol

Layers of terror - im never picking my skin again. god ALMIGHTY why did i bear witness to this. Fuck that mom bro she sucks. I was thinking about how the proportions of human anatomy change as you age and how a toddler with such short limbs and a thick torso could fit inside an adult but uh… then they answered my question. And then it got worse. Funnily enough the 2yo looked like a monster id design

The thing that drifted ashore - was this supposed to be scary…? Oh boy they turned into fish people and promptly fucked off good for them ig

Tomie • photo - wow what bitches lmfao. Idk why she has a face growing out of her scalp hut I didn’t need to see the removal process. Or how botched the removal process was. Based that the photographer just fuckin moved on. “Damnit the blood ruined my pictures :/“ incredible.

Unendurable labyrinth - probably woulda been scarier if they were lost for longer but to me it looked like they took five steps, found the brother, seven steps, “aaaah we’re lost,” two steps, “theyre looking at me!” then suddenly the mummies have eyes, fade to black. Cool

The bully - I was sooo ready for retribution, then I got reconciliation and got even happier, then it turned into child abuse and I wanted to kill a bitch

Alley - pfft idk if its based that she killed those kids or not but it was extra based that they got revenge on her lmao shoulda brought a ladder bro

Headless statue - Jesus fuck that’s gross. Stop it. Also smash the statues again it worked brilliantly earlier. Or maybe jump out a window idk

Whispering woman - mega based. The nervous girl gains support and confidence, the attendant is freed from her abusive friend, the abusive friend gets violently killed, its just wins all around

Soichi’s beloved pet - once again a comic relief episode but tbh it was pretty funny, soichi was a lot less hateable this time too!

#junji ito #horror #long post #junji ito maniac #japanese tales of the macabre #review

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writermask-0807 · 7 months

Text

dabi x reader {“it’s raining, it’s pouring...”}

A/N: OK I SHOULDNT BE POSTING THIS BUT I CANT HELP MYSELF AND JUST AHHH- somebody call the cops.

Warnings: shigaraki shaming. Swearing, but only like two words, female reader, a little bit of identity confusion?? Like touya is almost referred to as another person since this dabi views touya as another person, whom he used to be. And also Dabi’s very, very ooc. You'll understand once you get to a certain point in the fic but hey, I tried 🤷‍♀️ and it didn't work 😭

It’s raining.

Touya used to hate the rain, because it made his nose itch, because what was supposed to be a cool relief only blistered his sensitive skin even more, because the cold always seemed to worm into his bones and just stay there, freezing him inside out despite the quirk that warms fire at his fingertips.

Touya used to hate the rain, but Dabi- Dabi in all of his lazy smiles and cold-metal staples and purpled scars that always itch and crawl and burn in the rain- Dabi has learned to tolerate it. Love it, even, because after all, it is one of the things his pathetic excuse of a father hated, so Dabi grows to love it. He has learned how to grin through the itch and the crawl and the burn- because it fuels the anger despite the smile and anger is the only thing he has left to cling on, these days.

(Peeling skin and white hair and the familiar heat of this damning hellfire doesn’t count. Not anymore, because they are the remnants of a broken past, cremation ashes fluttering on the wind.)

Except, tonight he sickens of it. Tonight he sickens of the way the rain pours down in cold, aching sheets and chills him to his core, tonight he sickens of the way it threatens to re-open his scars, make them bleed once more, raw and burning and unbearable like the first time all over again.

It’s raining, and tonight he sickens of the way your frightened whimpers grate at his nerve-endings as you back into the corner of the dark alleyway.

Dabi doesn’t even know you; you’re just a nameless faceless nobody unfortunate enough to have crossed Shigaraki’s warpath, and he wouldn’t have given a damn about who his boss kills but you- you look so scared and lonely, your big eyes filling up with terrified tears as you beg for mercy and for a split second all Dabi can see is Touya, on his knees and crying and screaming, and doesn’t he know how that feels?

And Dabi freezes because yes, yes, he knows this feeling all too well and it’s ugly and painful in all of its familiarity because it feels an awful lot like Endeavor’s fist bashing his face into the harsh wooden flooring, it feels like an awful lot like the fire that had consumed Touya to ashes, and it feels like an awful lot like his mother’s weeping and as his tired eyes widen and adrenaline sparks fire at his fingertips, something deep and broken inside Dabi aches.

He’s shielding you before he can even think properly, and when he blinks almost all of Shigaraki’s fingers are digging into that veiny point in his neck that Dabi knows will knock him out before Shigaraki’s quirk would disintegrate him, if he wishes so.

Shigaraki peers up at him with too red eyes that gleam in the dark and hisses a vicious and ugly, “What? She’s mine,” before threateningly pressing another gaunt finger into Dabi’s neck.

Well aware of the situation he’s- well, you’ve gotten him into, really, Dabi looks down at him, eyes cold and carefully empty in the same way he hopes Endeavor’s used to be, hollow and yet intimidating all the same. “This one’s mine.” He says, tilting his head back so that his eyes light up in the moment of lightning that follows, bright and uncanny, his words punctuated with a steady calm he does not feel.

For a suffocating moment all Shigaraki does is just - stare at him, unreadable and equally scrutinizing, and just as Dabi thinks he’s done a shit job of keeping his pulse steady under those dangerous fingers, Shigaraki pulls away, apparently satisfied by whatever conclusion he’s come to. “Fine, but make it quick.” He says, making to leave the alleyway, and Dabi does not revel in the small breath of relief it grants him, despite the knot that loosens in his chest.

Instead, he turns back to you- you who’d been so obediently quiet in these past few minutes of negotiation- but now you’re a whimpering, soaked mess once more, cowering in the dark as you watch him with wide, petrified eyes and Dabi honestly can’t blame you for it, not when he knows this feeling all too well and - he should kill you - he should kill you right now and be done with it, flames billowing in the rain or his hands around your neck, but -

He can’t. Not like this. Not when there’s something suspiciously like gratefulness in your eyes under all the tears and wariness, not when you tremble but don’t run.

(It’s almost as though you know, like you’re peering into his soul, but that thought’s fucking ridiculous and Dabi shuts it down almost immediately, not wanting to face the raw vulnerability it would leave him with.)

Dabi sighs tiredly, runs a hand through his messy, dripping hair, reaching his decision as he takes one last at you; committing every detail that he can make out through the shadows, the terror and all, the color and shape and shine of your eyes, the wet locks of your hair thrown over your shoulders, the curve of your mouth - before he looks away into the tunneling exit of the alleyway, and already he knows that yours is a face he’ll never forget.

“He’s gone. Now scram.” His voice is hoarse as he digs his hands into the pockets of his coat, the rain drenching him in cold. He doesn’t look, but he hears the shuffle of your feet getting up, working hesitantly before you rush past him and zip out of the dingy alley, a bird free from its cage. He’s almost jealous, in a way. He doesn’t have that choice anymore, because that was what Touya wanted, and now Touya’s dead and this is Dabi now. Dabi in all of his lazy smiles and cold-metal staples and purpled scars that itch and crawl and burn in the rain that has, for the first time in a long time, let someone go.

It’s raining, and Dabi walks away feeling something strangely content fill up that gaping hole in his chest, something not quite happy, but fulfilling and warm all the same.

(And if it’s because Dabi heard something like a low, muttered thank you as your shoulder had briefly brushed past his, well, there’s nothing he can do but blame the rain for playing tricks on his ears.)

FIN-

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sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame · 1 year

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Summary: Marko makes you dinner sometimes.

Brought to you by; my personal philosophy on how much immortality would fucking suck, how much I want to bone the lost boys, and how much I love Italian food, although I like lobster ravioli with vodka sauce way more than stuffed shells u guys it's literally perfect. Also I decided to write a full fic for once lmao 🤪🤪🤪

Warnings: very brief mention of police brutality but the cops die lol, some mentions of sexual content, cursing, drug mentions, general violence, unedited ramblings of a madwoman who's procrastinating finishing the third draft of her novel.

Black reader, mention of reader wearing a bonnet and earrings, and having locs!! But I don't Think any specific gender stuff. ***Non-Black people are 100% allowed to read and interact btw just please don't be racist lol

Marko would cook you Italian food sometimes.

It would always come out weird, and he would only do it out of the blue.

It'd be in the middle of the night, when they'd all decided to completely raid your house because you'd worked an early shift that morning and were sleeping in entirely too late for their tastes.

They'd be clamoring and making a bunch of noise at first before they realized half an hour had passed and you were still snoring.

It was late, and they'd eaten already. They wouldn't go as far as to brush their teeth for you, but a quick swig from the now empty bottle of tequila belonging to someone at the bonfire would be enough to take away the taste of iron in their mouths.

Dwayne would buy gum every once in a while. He wanted you to feel it one day—the steel warmth of a fresh kill on your tongue melding with the taste of booze, weed, and the same damn thing on his, but he couldn't pretend there was no part of him that liked you not knowing.

None of them would if they ever decided to be honest with themselves about it.

Sometimes it was nice to hear you snoring.

You'd wake up, somewhere around three in the morning, you'd guess. You were still too tired to accurately read the clock on your nightstand.

You'd adjust your bonnet and step out into the living room, following the smell that'd permeated your home and made your mouth water in your dreams. You were never surprised to see them.

You'd say they'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you ever decided to be honest with yourself.

You were surprised to see Marko, standing at your stove in your green tiled kitchen, looking at your pink non-stick pans with a scowl on his face while the rest of your boys talked about where they'd go once you woke up.

The answer to their conversation was absolutely nowhere. You were still wearing the bamboo hoop earrings you'd forgotten to take off the night before and rubbing at the indents they'd left in your neck, shuddering every time you'd brush against the scars and bruises they'd left on you simply because you'd begged for it so nicely.

There wasn't a chance you'd step out of the house until Monday morning. Every shift made you wonder if you should just ask.

For their lives, or lack thereof, for their blood, for forever with them in the same town doing the same things until the sun exploded and you'd die with the people you'd grow to see as prey.

Every time you thought about it—Eternity—it was too much. Too big. Way too big a thought for three in the morning.

"Hey Doll," David drawled. You'd mumble out a hello back, a sly smile on your face as you shuffled towards him wrapping your arms around him—partially because the cool leather of his jacket and his big arms wrapped around you felt nice, but mostly because you were tired of supporting your own weight.

Paul was on you in a second, kissing whatever skin he could reach from his awkward position before you turned your head to make out with him, drowsy and horny and happy to be touched.

"Baby," he'd pout after you'd pull back, "you said we'd hang on the boardwalk tonight. That band you like is playing."

You scowl even then, "I like them, but not enough to go out after a twelve hour shift. You guys can go—" your words were cut off by an obnoxiously loud yawn, "—see them if you want, I'm off for the weekend thank god, I'll be here tomorrow."

Dwayne would come up to you then, rubbing your back and pushing a loc that had somehow escaped your bonnet back in place. He'd be frowning. He'd never get used to seeing you tired, or hungry, or thirsty, or anything near the realm of unhappy if he was honest.

He'd never tell you to quit though. He'd just imply it. And maybe imply how fun it would be to commit arson again to his men.

You'd jump a bit in David's arms when the incredibly kitsch Garfield kitchen timer you'd begged them to buy you with money they stole from someone that only a small part of you hoped was still alive. You regretted getting it often, but not often enough.

Marko reached to grab the dish with his bare hands and you had to yell to remind him to put on gloves. Even in your sleep-deprived state you were shocked he'd actually listened.

Soon you were being ushered to your couch, the still on tv in your living room playing nothing but static. You needled through your collection of tapes for all of two seconds before you picked up the first thing that looked like it'd be some decent background noise, shoving into your VCR and opening your eyes for long enough to watch that look they all got in their eyes when you turned on the tv.

You think David had seen one growing up, he'd mention he'd been around since sometime in the fifties, but from the way he described his child you were sure he hadn't owned one.

Dwayne, you think, worried a lot about it. He was the second oldest out of all of them and he'd seen things that you were sure you couldn't imagine, he'd been around since before this country was stolen and he'd lived through hells you wish you could erase from his mind but the cast of light from the screen on his face illuminated that glimmer of wonder and fear in his eyes. You hoped one day he'd tell you what he was afraid of.

Paul looked like a kid in a candy store nearly every second of every day. All you had to day was smile at him or lift up your top and he'd start giggling like a school girl. He quieted whenever you put on a movie on. He'd lift up his arm like he expected you'd always be there to take up the space next to him, and he'd go back and forth from staring at you and the tv like he wanted something he couldn't have. You didn't think he'd had many moments nowadays where he couldn't get what he wanted. If his smile didn't look so fake, you'd think maybe it'd be good for him.

Marko was old. You didn't think so at first, no one would. He had a baby face that would've gotten him carded at every event you went to if it wasn't for mind control and he acted on impulse more than any person or animal you'd ever met. There were wild, rabid squirrels that acted with more caution, thought, and patience than Marko. But he was old. He'd never told you how old, but you could see it. It hadn't taken long.

He'd always walk on the side of you closest to the road, he'd hold open every door, and he'd never let you pay for your own drinks, food, stuffed animals, arcade games—he'd practically jumped a carnie once to get you a stuffed animal that slept next to you in bed every night since then.

But they all did that, sometimes to a less dramatic extent, but it wasn't anything new.

You knew Marko was old when he stared at a stamp with the Mona Lisa on it and smiled, turning to you and saying something in Italian before wincing to himself and shaking his head. He refused to tell you what it was he said and dragged you over to go pick out a bracelet for him to shoplift for you.

You knew he was old when he stared at the water on the beach and told you how much he hates how murky it is here.

"I wouldn't have left if I'd known the water would look the same," he'd said.

He had told you when you'd asked that he meant Italy. He wouldn't answer when you asked him when.

Marko never looked at the tv much. You hoped it was because he didn't care, but you knew he'd never tell you.

You'd shoved half of a stuffed shell into your face, thankful you'd had ricotta and even more thankful they'd used the ground pork you'd started defrosting that morning, you wouldn't have had it in you to use it until next Sunday, probably.

"How is it, sweet cheeks?" He'd called you cocoa powder, chocolate cake, cocoa butter, and all other variants of food related nicknames a good three days into knowing you. It took a long conversation about race with you and Dwayne to get him to stop, and he'd settled for sweet cheeks. You wondered how he could go so long without realizing how bad things had been. You'd never seen him look more angry than when you'd talked about all the times the Santa Carla police department had followed you, threatened you, hit you, called you out your name. They all had, but he'd looked surprised first and foremost. He swore on that day when he'd come back with blood trailing down his face and emptied a bag full of police badges on to the ground in front of where you stood that he'd never eat a black person from that day forward.

"Reparations." He'd smiled. It was all red-stained teeth.

There wasn't much of you that felt bad.

"It's perfect," you said through a second mouthful of pasta. It wasn't, it needed salt, the shells were just a bit too undercooked, and there wasn't enough oregano for your tastes, but that didn't mean it wasn't heavenly.

He'd made it. He'd made it for you, because he'd wanted to. And you were tired, and a little tipsy from the glass of moscato someone had slid in your hand sometime after you'd climbed onto Paul's lap. It could've tasted like wet cardboard, you would've been thrilled regardless.

"Where'd you learn to cook like that?" You asked.

You were just coherent enough to see that sad look on Paul's face make it's way into Marko's. His big doe eyes creasing at the corners.

'He'll never get crows feet,' you thought, 'probably wouldn't if he was human either.'

You knew there was no answer coming, so you turned your attention to the little boy from the never ending story hiding out in his attic and beginning to read his book.

"Rome." He whispered.

You didn't think you were supposed to hear him, even though you were sure he saw you freeze after he'd said it.

You looked at him from the other side of your small, dingy couch you'd forced them to help you move, check for bedbugs, and reupholster—as a fun bonding activity, of course.

There was a blood stain on the fabric that hadn't come out somewhere on the underside. It was such a pretty green you'd felt bad using hydrogen peroxide, so, you pretended.

Just like you'd pretend Marko wasn't looking at you like you were perfect. Like if he could he'd tattoo every forehead wrinkle, every breath you took, every pimple, split end, and scar into his brain.

Like you pretend he didn't ever look at you and wonder what life was like.

You beamed at him, and took another bite of the pasta, watching as his eyes shifted and he became your Marko again. The animal who wanted nothing more than to keep you safe, and fed, and on his cock. Or his fingers, or tongue, whatever kept you distracted for long enough to not notice how little of him was left.

How many times had David lied to you and told you how thrilling existing without any attachments was? How many times had Dwayne offered you his jacket and whispered something under his breath about how you wouldn't be needing it forever? How many times had Paul pouted and teased you when you'd told him you needed to pace yourself after he'd tossed back his thirtieth shot?

How many times would Marko recreate a recipe his Nonna probably taught him and pretend the years he'd spent traveling the world made up for the fact that he'd never gotten a chance to see her again?

You cringed when you heard the little boy screaming as his horse drowned in tar, scrambling for the remote and sighing with relief when David started fast-forwarding through the scene, like he always did.

One day you'd ask them. If they actually did think it was worth it.

Maybe one day they'd be honest with themselves. Maybe one day they'd let themselves mourn.

That day would come long after you'd mourned for them. Probably not too long after you'd start to mourn with them.

But that day was nowhere close to right now. Right now you'd finish your pasta and use the two hours left before sunrise to make out with them.

You promised yourself at least once every week that you'd talk about these moments forever.

No matter how much it may hurt to talk about.

#black reader #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys marko #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x black reader #the lost boys x you #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys imagines

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