#Death's Judge

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 4: Darkest Night [C1]

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

A/N: It's day four of Rickmas and IT'S TIME FOR TURPIN! 😍😍😍 Honestly, this year, every fic is taking a turn I wasn't really expecting - Turpin story isn't any different, I'm apparently changing things up a bit this year? 👀 Well, it's all the more fun when you don't really know what's going to happen, isn't it? 🤭🙈

It's currently 8am as I write this note, hubby is in another country and I'm sipping on my coffee while my daughter is gobbling up her breakfast like a champ - chatting about the Christmas calendar story we're reading (multitasking over here 😅) - and as soon as I've dropped her off at preschool I'll be posting and then digging into work. I hope you're having a great start to your day and that you're ready for some Judge-Love 👏❤

(Also, I am IN LOVE with this OC - she is a hoot to write, and I hope you'll adore her and the never-ending bad luck following her through life 😂👏)

Tags/TW’s: First Meeting, Instant Attraction, Black Cat Energy, Bad Luck Afflicted FMC, Minor Injuries, Lost In the Woods, He Saves Her, Toppled Carriage, Travelling/Looking For Marriage

Word Count: 1.8k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Darkest Night

“Well, this is rather unpleasant,” I murmured as the wind picked up speed and my cloak floated about my thick dress. “Why must things always go astray? Can I not, for once—” I glared at the cloud-covered sky above “—have some form of peace? Hmm? Is that too much to ask of this wretched world?” the wind howled at me and I huffed. Apparently…

The woods were dense around me, the narrow path covered in ice and snow hard to traverse as the minimal daylight of December faded. “No matter, no matter. I shall find my way, as I always do, one way or another. No more to it.” My words were perky but my insides had gone stiff with knotting nerves.

I was not one for foolish adventures, or unplanned strolls through dark woods drenched in snow — yet, as always, I found myself up against the faiths and had no choice in the matter. A common occurrence, truly. No matter the endeavour, no matter the situation, I always found myself in a worse state than intended. Bad luck, some would say. I was not much for such sentiments of the faiths favouring through the roll of a dice with only two faces — if I were, I would still say they were wrong. Bad luck would be an understatement regarding myself.

I trudged on, the darkness tightening, and I held out hope for the road leading me toward London not being too far. I needed to find help, not that there was any rush to it. My coachman lay dead in the snow, the horses had broken legs so I had shot them to spare them the misery of a slow death and what valuables I had with me in the cramped carriage were not of significant monetary value but a sentimental one.

“It is merely walking, no danger or true hardship to it,” I said to myself in an effort to calm the nerves knotting themselves ever tighter in the pit of my stomach. “I shall find help, and that is all there is to it. Nothing to fret about.” Yet my hands trembled as I gripped my coat and purse — that I would not leave behind, given the money father had sent me off with to keep myself fed and with a roof above my head for my little journey.

⁛•⁛

I was utterly lost. The dark of night coiled around me and no matter how hard I tried to see the road beneath my feet it was all darkness. My cheek ached from a branch that had snapped against my face, my feet from the never-ending trudging, and my very bones seemed chilled. I drew a deep breath and stopped. “Well, this is no good,” I huffed between shivering breaths. “I shall find myself more lost if I keep on.” What else I was supposed to do, I did not know. But running around in the woods in the pitch dark was not a good idea.

Something bubbled in me. Something horribly strong and in need of release, right this instance. I swallowed and drew a deep breath to stave it off. It would not yield to my wishes. A blood-curdling scream of anger rose from the depths of my soul and burst from my lips as all the so-called bad luck of my entire existence of twenty-six very long years on this wretched earth demanded to be let loose.

I screamed and huffed, stomped my foot and kicked the snow beneath as the rage I always managed to hide and fight decided enough was enough. I screamed again, my voice breaking into a quiet sob as the rage gave way to fear. I screamed once more with all the strength I had and all the pain of an ever-elongating list of things going wrong grew once more.

“If there is a god up there among the clouds and stars, you best believe I shall come up there and wring your eternal neck if you do not help me right this instance! I have suffered enough!” I snarled with my eyes fixed on the dense darkness above. It was, beyond a doubt, the darkest night of my life thus far and whatever powers were at play — or whatever unearthly powers played with my life — I was no longer in the mood. If I am to perish here, in the dark and cold, then you best believe I’m going to make sure you lot up there or down below get what you deser—

A glimmer flickered to life, far off in the dark. An orange, tiny light drew ever closer before it turned into two little lights. The smallest sound of bells reached me, carried by the wind and I stood transfixed as the lights grew brighter and bigger. What in the world?

The sound of hooves pounding snow and reins smacking came the moment the lights were bright enough to show the shape of two horses as they pulled a runner-adorned carriage through the snow. “Anyone there?!” called a man. “Hello?!” he called again. “Here! Sir! Here!” I called out, waving my arm as the carriage drew close enough for me to see the coach.

The man said something I could not hear, his head turned as if he spoke to whoever was inside the grand carriage painted black with golden details. The black, giant horses trotted toward me and I felt such relief I wished to cry. Finally, thank you!

The carriage stopped and the coachman climbed down from his seat, I moved closer to meet the man. “My lady, are you well? We heard screams,” the man said. “I have been wandering these woods for hours after my carriage toppled. I am so thankful to see someone come,” I said, my voice brighter than it ought to have been but that was my way. “Your carriage toppled, my lady?” “Yes, quite a ways away I believe.” “Were is your coach?” the man asked, his eyes wide as he took in my most likely dishevelled appearance. “You are bleeding, my lady.” I blinked at the man, a bit confused. “I am?” “Your head— My lord! The lady is injured!” the man called back toward the carriage as I reached to touch my head.

I felt no wetness, just a crusty sensation atop my skin and a jagged gash in my scalp told me all I needed to know. Why, of course, I am injured, why ever not add that to the list of things gone wrong? I sighed and felt the biting wind nip at my cheeks as the man steadied me by grabbing my elbow gently. “My lady, we shall—”

The door to the carriage opened with a bang, pushed from the inside. I jolted at the sudden noise, the coachman releasing me instantly while straightening as a large man with broad shoulders and elegant movements stepped out. The snow crunched under his boot-clad feet and a breath lodged itself in my throat. He was older, but by the heavens, he was handsome in a striking — imposing — manner.

The regal nose, the grey locks peeking out from his top hat and the beautiful attire he wore with golden detailing highlighted by the black fabric it was stitched into formed a striking image with the flicking lantern flames granting a golden hue to everything it touched.

He strode up in three quick strides. I could not find my words or manners for a moment as he gazed down upon me with steely eyes and his lips set in a thin line. “My lord,” I finally said, curtsying deeply before straightening. “Injured indeed,” he said and I could have sworn mother nature took a great part in his voice — as if she lent a bit of her thunder to the man. “Come, we shall not have you out in the cold in such a state,” he said harshly, in a commanding manner I had never heard the likes of before. “Thank you, sir,” I said in pure reflex, ingrained as it was in me, while my mind lingered on the question of who this incredible man was I found myself being saved by in the dead of night in the woods.

“My lady,” he said and looked down upon me with those harsh eyes I found myself wanting to bow beneath — he was simply too imposing. “What may I call such a lovely creature?” he continued and I blinked, suddenly struggling to find my words even though that had never been an issue before. “Julianne Brimmer, my Lord.” It felt strange to not have my usual bright voice yet in his presence a need for a more subdued manner seemed to overtake me. “Mrs Brimmer—” “Oh, no, sir. Miss, Miss Brimmer.” He arched a brow as I spoke hastily to correct the man of his assumption regarding my marital state. I understood, given my age I ought to have been married to a gentleman by now — that was, after all, why I was headed to London. Finding a gentleman at the Christmas Ball or New Year Festival was my last hope before yet another year would be added to my life and even fewer prospects would appear.

The stoic man with a rigid posture fit for a grand man arched a brow at me. “Miss?” I nodded. “Indeed, my lord.” “Well, Miss Brimmer, in the carriage, if you would. The night is dark and one never knows what horrors hide in it. The world is a dangerous place, miss.” I gulped. He spoke so harshly yet there was something utterly alluring that I ought not to have been feeling drawn toward at all. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, sir,” I said quietly as his glare was harsh and his aura far too intimidating.

Yet, despite it all, I found myself climbing into the man’s carriage with the help of the coachman. The Lord himself came in after and the door was shut, stealing most of the light from the out lanterns and giving my heart a spike in its thumping.

I sat as straight as I possibly could and my eyes found his already gazing upon me, unreadable in their harshness yet utterly captivating with their secrets hidden so well. “Sir,” I began quietly. “May I ask who it is that is saving me on this darkest of nights?” He arched a brow at me. “You are unaware? Not from the area, either, perhaps?” “No, sir. I have travelled for three days by carriage to attend the Christmas Ball and New Year Festival, I am afraid I am not familiar with the London area in the slightest.” His lips quirked in a slight smirk. “I, Miss Brimmer, am Judge Turpin. High Judge of London.” “A judge?” I asked, feeling relief flood my blood with warmth. “What a relief to be saved by such an upstanding citizen as you, Judge Turpin.” And such a handsome one at that, too. Perhaps the winds are changing and the bad luck others blame me for being afflicted with is turning?

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

NEXT PART » Prompt 8: Never-ending Consequences [C2]

A/N: She really has no idea, huh? 👀 Let's see what happens next time around, if the bad luck is really turning or if our dear Miss Julianne Brimmer is in way over her head and utterly unaware of it...

Either way, I love her and I'm itching to keep writing this story 😍👏 What do you think? Is her luck turning, or no?

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus  @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @ankhmutes @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos @sanji-simp

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[69-toojay]

My favourite genre of gay people is "They didn't have bdsm sex onscreen but, bdsm elements are always lurking in the corner and haunting the narrative through thinly veiled visual metaphorical implication."

[ciderjacks]

dad issues

+

(I think they were all fundamentally affected by what they saw and just collectively decided not to share the upsetting details)

[samipekoe]

your honor. Anonsoyo

[sukibenders]

When other Yellowjackets fans, majority who are poc themselves, talk about how weird and frustrating it is that the writers introduced a random yte character and gave them a storyline when there were two (technically three but they killed off Lottie even when there was an opportunity for more) woc, who have been around since s1, that could've fit the mold instead (like Mari) and have actual personalities outside of building up/being the lapdog for another character. Or how often times many of the, limited, poc characters are often either treated poorly and killed off, or pushed to the side (Simone, reduced to the disposable black girlfriend trope and is nearly killed by her partner because she's in the way of a ship; Travis, since s1, had his trauma dismissed or ignored and was overly hated but no one talks about how he was SA'd by the girls he's now stuck with on top of having to eat his brother and not be able to grieve over it). How Taissa's whole storyline is just revolving around Van even with all the potential, especially given she's fighting to be free from her own mind, how Lottie's mental illness is treated so poorly as if it's not the butt of a joke then it's met with heavy criticism (and the only time she is met with sympathy for it, it's through the lens of a yte character embodying her and having an emotional conversation with her father). How you can have all of these reasons (and more) for being annoyed by Melissa's character or the direction of the show, and be met with #those fans downplaying these concerns, or just being overly antagonistic just because they find yte character #243 entertaining so obviously these conversations don't have merit. But this fandom has always had an...."interesting" way in which it discussed the poc characters on the show, so I'm not surprised.

[berensreverie]

Elendil, Gil-galad, and Elrond <3

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

I Sentence You (dpxdc vers)

Danny Fenton defeated the Joker

Danny Fenton not Phantom

As a civilian

Not a Vigilante

How?

Well even with all these vigilantes working against the Joker it was getting them nowhere

Always the same game of cat and mouse on repeat for what seemed eternity.

So he chose a different direction

" I sentence you Jack White also known as the Joker to death. May God have mercy on your soul. "

Swinging his gavel down with a resounding bang that seemed to echo in all of Gotham as people everywhere watched from their TV's or listened from their radios.

" Judge Danny Fenton defeated the Joker. "

[nadiuu]

[aingeal98]

“Oh my god.” Steph says, and Cass doesn’t need to look to feel the distress radiating from her.

She’s said Oh my god three times now. It’s the only thing she’s said since she jumped off her bike, each time more choked and horrified. Cass wants to look at her, wants to hold her and comfort her, but there is a man on the ground dying and she can’t look away.

She doesn’t understand it. She can’t. They were chasing a truck full of guns that Two Face’s men were smuggling through Gotham, an ordinary bust. Then two men climbed on the roof of the truck and began shooting. Not unusual either. Cass wasn’t even worried about Steph getting hit, both Batgirls well used to ducking and weaving from choppy, poorly aimed gunfire at this point.

And then. The older man, big and muscled. He grabbed the lankier gunman and threw him right off the van. Right onto the road in front of them.

Cass saw it coming. The second he grabbed his fellow gunman she could see what his arm was going to do, and she braked with her typical borderline inhuman reaction speed. But Steph…

Cass yelled out to stop, of course she did. But Steph was only human. The second the smaller henchman was thrown she swerved and pressed the brakes, but it was too late. The taller man’s throw had been deliberate, much better aimed than any of his shots tonight. His colleague hit the front of Steph’s bike with a sickening crunch, and Cass remembers the sound just like she remembers her own scream of horror.

Now here they are. On the side of the road, with a man two minutes away from dying.

Cass doesn’t have great first aid knowledge, a few lessons and her own unique body reading abilities are what she’s working with. Steph has experience, has training. Cass watched as she moved around the man, turning him on his side, analysing his injuries.

She’s known the truth the whole time. But she waited and let Steph work anyway, hoping for a miracle. 

Steph isn’t working anymore. She’s just staring at the man, side by side with Cass.

One minute.

That’s how long he has to live. They’ve called for help, called for anything that could save him. Oracle’s voice had been heavy, even through the vocal modulator, when she said that there was no one free to get there in time. 

Cass finally wrenches her eyes away from the dying man. Steph is watching him, trembling with tears in her eyes. There is a look of terror behind the tears. A fear Cass is intimately familiar with, one she never wanted any of her loved ones to feel.

In fifty seconds Stephanie Brown will understand the feeling Cassandra Cain-Wayne did at eight years old: Watching a man dying and understanding despite all arguments and logic people present, that it was your fault.

This is not something Cass would wish on her worst enemy. It is most definitely not something she wishes for the girl she loves to experience. They’re alike in many ways, but their differences are just as precious to Cass as their similarities. No human should have to go through this.  

Steph doesn’t know she only has forty five seconds left. She’s a better healer, but Cass will always be able to understand the body in ways no one but Shiva can.

She tried calling for her biological mother. No answer. Cass can’t say she’s surprised, she’s already deep in debt with that particular relationship. All out of favours.

Thirty seconds.

The man is dying. All Cass wants is to save him. She wants to stop time, to take him away until people with healing hands can work magic or science to keep him breathing. But Oracle said that no help is coming, and if there’s one person she trusts to have exhausted all options it’s Barbara. There is nothing Cass can do to save him. All her body reading can give her is the knowledge of when the light is likely to leave his eyes.

Stephanie is crying now. Shaking and crying and keening, a horrible grief filled noise. It breaks through Cass’s shock and denial, filling her with a deep sadness. Not grief. Not yet. There’s still twenty seconds before she has to give in and start grieving. Nineteen seconds for a miracle to occur.

Stephanie will be haunted by this for the rest of her life. Cass knows that she herself is not normal about death, that her reaction to any and all death is “extreme” even among most vigilantes, but she knows for sure that this isn’t something Steph can walk away from the same as she was, even if it’s not quite as life shattering as Cass’s first kill. It’s close enough to wreck her, close enough to fill her with guilt and horror and disgust. At herself, at the man who threw his colleague, at the world and at humanity. All those negative emotions that Cass spent years carrying with her even as she ran millions of miles around the world, Steph will experience them in ten seconds. It’s a jail sentence with no defined end time, just you and your mind and the moment the light leaves his eyes replaying constantly over and over.

Eight seconds. Steph looks like she’s about to throw up. Cass can see it settling in, the weight of it all. Six seconds until she’s doomed, and there’s no miracle in sight.

Five seconds. Four.

Steph still doesn’t know. There’s still a sliver of hope in her eyes, praying for the impossible.

Three. Two.

They’re out of time. This man is dead and Steph will forever be a killer and all Cass has done is watch. Useless and motionless.

One.

Cass reaches forward and snaps the man’s neck.

Stephanie screams. Cass doesn’t flinch. She looks down at the man, memorising his face, the horror and fear and grief on it. He knew his time was up, and yet he still hadn’t been ready. Cass stole that one extra second from him, and she will punish herself for the rest of her life and carry his face in her mind just like she carries all her kills, right back to Faizul in the office. She is cursed, damned. Evil trying and failing to be good, to be human. Some nights it’s a success when she can blend in.

Tonight she can’t. It’s not a success, but it’s something else as well as a failure. A thing Cass has no word for. No name.

“What did you do?” Steph gasps out.

The fear has turned to shock and horror. Good.

“I killed him.” Cass replies, voice steady as she gently reaches over and closes the man’s eyes.

“Cass.” Steph says her name slowly, like she doesn’t trust that the woman in front of her is her best friend. It stings, but Cass knows it’s better than the alternative. “Cass, why did you do that?”

“Because I’m a killer.” Cass meets her eyes head on, no tears or shaking pupils. “And you’re not.”

She sees Steph’s face morph as it clicks, shock to relief, back to horror then to anger and then sadness. But not the expression Cass fears most. Steph will never wear that expression as long as Cass is alive and able to do something about it.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Steph says, far more gently than Cass deserves. “That scumbag killed him the second he threw him off the truck. I killed him by not braking fast enough. You snapping his neck doesn’t change any of that.”

“He could have lived.” It’s an easy lie to say, because even though there was only one second left Cass still believes it’s true. “He could have lived despite what the man did and what- What happened with the bike. But I killed him. Me. Not you.”

Steph doesn’t believe her. Cass can see it in her shoulders, in the curve of her mouth. But there’s also hesitation in the way her brow wrinkles, confusion in her clenched fists. She doesn’t know he only had one second left. She understands what Cass has done but she doesn’t know for certain just how close Cass left it. Probably can guess it was the last second, but Cass will never confirm that. She can’t. As long as that second exists, there was still a chance. Still hope the man could have been saved. Still a beat where something could have happened to change his fate and Stephanie’s.

Cass interfered. She moved and now the man is dead. She is a killer and Stephanie is not. It’s as simple as that. It’s as complicated as that.

The death will still haunt Steph, Cass has no doubt about it. There is guilt rushing back in with every moment that passes, Steph’s spine curving as they sit in silence at the side of the road. Steph knows Cass, knows she wouldn’t have done it if she believed there was even the most narrow chance of a miracle occurring.

Cass is a creature made of guilt. It stole her soul when she was a little girl, hollowed her out deeper than the hunger as she ran. But she is more than that now. She has love. The guilt has not lessened, not really. But it’s changed its form, a different shape in her body. There’s room for coexistence now.

She loves Stephanie. She will not let Stephanie feel that hollowing guilt. She cannot save or fix everything, and she can’t accept that but she can handle the harsh reality slightly better nowadays. Less like a tsunami crashing over her body and more like a pit in her stomach that will never truly fade away.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Stephanie is angry now. Cass expected that.

“It’s done.” Cass replies. There’s nothing else to say.

“Why?” Stephanie spits, because of course she does. “What gives you the right?”

Cass could walk away. Maybe she should. She definitely would have when she was younger. When she wasn’t as comfortable with this. Love and bonds and relationships outside of utter devotion to a parent. She’s older now. Can speak clearly and use more words than she ever would have dreamed of, back in the day.

But she still prefers to keep it short and simple. People talk too much. A few words are normally all that’s needed to say everything.

“Because I love you.” She answers.

Stephanie’s glare doesn’t diminish. If anything it gets stronger. Cass meets her gaze with a calm stare, utterly unrepentant.

“Fuck you.” Stephanie whispers.

Cass deserves that. Deserves worse, deserves cruelty Steph will never give her. She stands up and holds out a hand. There are sirens getting closer. They can’t be here when the police arrive. Oracle will already be planning how to spin this, coming up with media headlines that will make Cass sick to even look at.

“Let’s go home.”

Steph is still furious. Furious and heartbroken and sick with the same nausea Cass feels so deeply in her bones. There is no forgiveness to be found there, not for herself and not for Cass. But there is the beginning of an understanding, the reality that life didn’t end for both of them when this man died, even if part of Cass wishes hers had. They have to keep moving on, have to react to everything and feel everything and learn to live with every terrible emotion this night created. 

She takes Cass’s hand, and together they begin the long walk towards the sunrise.

[dailyhmsw]

loop 215

[heshmmity]

guys im crazy this is gravity falls x Dear Evan Hansen crossover. is this. is this anything guys. guys please.

stanley is connor stanford is zoe fiddleford is evan and bill is jared (for fun) and this makes so much sense in my head please i cant stay silent about the parallels

[ganondoodle]

(WIP)

a rough basic idea for a centaur character i have had floating around in my head for a long time, it doesnt fit with my main OC world but wouldnt call this another project bc its literally just "what if centaurs bc centaurs kinda cool" with little story or worldbuilding other than its all centaurs lol

(the only background is really a vaguely noble couple wanting to hire a new soldier/guard after their previous one is retiring but not being able to afford any highly valued ones (build, color, training- the kind of things horses are often priced with) so they opt for the cheapest to hire they can find which is this enormous draft centaur (vaguely based on the blue roan coat type) that no one wants bc he doesnt talk and never really responds otherwise to being talked to (so he dumb haha (he isnt)- to be clear he DOES what he is told but he doesnt like, sign an ok, he just "stares" and then wordlessly does it), doesnt have any well known parents and is too big to fit comfortably in most buildings, also a little unkept (mostly just in his fur looking pretty rough, not caring much for treating scratches etc- though its not that clear in this sketch)

over time said couple both falling for him, completely seperately/not aware the other also has, bc they actually started to get to know him instead of just going with what he was "sold" as and treating him accordingly (badly)- leading to him being caught in a very awkward "triangle" he doesnt know what to do with and just goes along with everything (hes very calm and stone faced in public but privately socially awkward, always been extremely lonely/isolated and never had to deal with any sort of interest in him as a person instead of just how much he can pull/work until collapsing)

[nataliescatorccio]

"Why am I the only one not getting off on this boring back-to-the-land bullshit? I suck at this stuff, and I know that. And I don't belong here, and I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this." @yellowjacketsnetwork event 06: arcs

[sofapup17]

Homoerotically staring into your eyes and promising that I'll find out whatever you're hiding you murderer

[lazylittledragon]

hi i'm unw el l

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I went to court but the entire jury, defense, judge and my lawyer were all fish. The sentence? I had told someone that fish fingers weren’t actually fishes’ fingers. I was found guilty and sentenced to death by lawn mower. I still don’t know what that means.