#brutus howell

[dreamatbash]

(1/5)

"Listen here you little shit."

[stone-wall-ivy]

Brutal ‘’no nonsense’’ Howell, The Green Mile (1999)

[angstycrow-chan]

Let's be thankful that the shawshank redemption and the green mile are dead fandoms, bc oh boy imagine the rule 34 ships and at if the fandom was popular

[incorrectgreenmilequotes]

Percy: Am I right, Brutal?

Brutus: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair I wasn’t listening.

[thoughtfulangeltidalwave]

You and Me (Part 18)

The dim light of the cell cast long shadows across the stone floor, the faint sound of the guards’ footsteps echoing down the hall.

Y/N sat at her desk, pencil in hand, a sketch of Mr. Jingles slowly coming to life on the page. Her thoughts, though, wandered elsewhere.

The door creaked open, and without a word, Dean stepped inside. He settled himself on the cot beside her, the weight of his presence familiar, comforting even in this place. He didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter, and she appreciated that.

“Hey,” he said quietly, drawing her gaze from the sketch to him.

“Hey,” she murmured back, offering a faint smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

He watched her for a moment, his fingers fidgeting slightly, clearly unsure of how to begin. “You know… I’ve been thinking about the kids,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if the words carried more weight than he was used to sharing. “Lily’s been fussing a lot lately, always crying, and I just… I can’t help but want to give her the world, Y/N. To keep her safe. Danny too. He’s a handful, but he’s got such a big heart. I just… I’m scared I’m not enough for them, you know?”

Y/N could hear the sadness in his voice, the fear that came with being a father, even one as dedicated as Dean. She set her pencil down, her fingers tracing the edges of the paper as she thought about her own children.

“I get it,” she said softly, her voice distant. “I’ve had a lot of moments where I didn’t feel like I was enough for them. But we do the best we can. You’re doing the best you can, Dean. And that’s all they need, really. To know you love them.”

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on her. “Yeah… it’s just hard, sometimes. My wife… she’s not exactly the most attentive. She’s got her own things to deal with, and I feel like I’m the only one holding it together. I just don’t want to screw them up, you know?”

Y/N looked at him, her heart aching for him. She could see the weight of it all in his eyes. She’d never really thought about how much Dean must carry every day. His family, his responsibilities, his own fears, all hidden behind that tough exterior.

“I don’t think you could screw them up, Dean,” she said gently. “You’re too good. You’ll figure it out. We all do, one way or another.”

He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile, as if even that small bit of reassurance wasn’t enough to ease the burden he carried. “I wish it was that simple.”

She shrugged, offering a small, understanding nod. “It’s never simple. But you’re not alone in it.”

He nodded, as if that small truth, shared between the two of them, could carry them both through the hard times ahead.

But as Y/N glanced down at her sketch again, the small comfort of their conversation started to wane. The weight of her own past—the ghosts of her children, the memory of her husband—crept in quietly, and she clenched her hands into fists.

“I miss them,” she whispered, barely audible.

Dean’s expression softened, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Come here” he said softly, holding out one of his arms to her. 

Slowly she took it, moving from the desk to her cot where she lay with her head in his lap as he held her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this, but here even in her cell in his embrace she felt safe. 

“I know you miss them,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But you didn’t do this. I know you didn’t, you aren’t a killer” he safe resting his head on her shoulder.

She couldn’t help but let the tears well up, though she kept them from spilling over. She was so tired of carrying the weight of everything alone. But there, in that small moment, with Dean’s words hanging in the air like a fragile thread between them.

“I am Dean,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

“I don’t believe you” he did didn’t say anything else, he just held her as tear fell down her face.

As the silence between them deepened, the weight of the moment bore down on them both. Y/N was being destroyed by her secrets and Dean felt powerless to help.

But just as Y/N was starting to feel courage to say something, the sound of the door sliding open broke the quiet.

“Y/N,” Paul’s voice came from the threshold, warm but with the usual undertone of authority. “Your sister’s here to see you.”

———————————————————————

Paul escorted Y/N to the meeting room. She’d been waiting for Sophie’s visit for a while now. Though she was grateful for the support, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety.

When she entered the room, Sophie stood up quickly from the table a look of defiant confidence crossing her face. “I’ll leave you two to talk, but I’ll be just over here if you need anything” Paul said in a low voice to her.

Y/N hesitated, her hand resting on the edge of the door frame, and then she stood tall, gathering her thoughts, trying to steady herself for what was to come.

Sophie walked over to her, her posture immediately stiff with purpose. She was the same as always—serious, but with a warmth in her eyes that made Y/N feel safe, even if it was hard to admit it aloud.

“Hey, kiddo,” Sophie greeted softly, walking over to Y/N and wrapping her in a brief hug. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N tried to smile but failed. “I’m making it,” she replied, the words feeling hollow.

Sophie pulled back, studying her face. “I’ve got some news. Good news, I think.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She tried to steady her breath. “What’s that?”

Sophie paused, her eyes flickering with a hint of hesitation, before she spoke. “I’ve been talking to John, Sebastian and his team in New York. They’ve been working on your case, trying to get a clearer picture of what happened with your husband. And, well… they’ve got a solid case, Y/N. They’re building it up, piece by piece. Your husband… he wasn’t the man he appeared to be.”

Y/N’s stomach clenched. She wanted to feel relieved, wanted to believe in the hope Sophie was offering her, but the memory of her husband—his anger, his cruelty—was still so vivid. It made her feel small, insignificant, despite everything she’d already been through.

“They’ve found evidence that he was an abusive alcoholic. Sebastian’s team they… they tracked down witnesses, people from the old neighborhood, and they’re pulling together enough to make a real case. You’re not the monster they tried to make you out to be, Y/N. Not even close.”

Y/N’s hands trembled, and she bit her lip, trying to keep herself together. “I didn’t… I didn’t want it to be like that. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just—I wanted to protect my children.”

Sophie’s expression softened, and she took a step closer, her voice low and comforting. “I know. And that’s why we’re going to keep fighting for you. Because you did what any mother would do. You saved them.”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes again, this time not from pain, but from a release she hadn’t realized she needed. For so long, she had carried the weight of everything, questioning her choices, her actions, even her worth. But now, there was a glimmer of something—hope, maybe—that she could finally hold onto.

“I’m scared,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that no one will believe me.”

Sophie reached out, gently resting her hand on Y/N’s. “They will. I promise you. This is just the beginning.”

As Sophie spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but glance over at Paul, who had quietly stayed in the corner, watching the exchange with a thoughtful look on his face.

Sophie noticed the look, following Y/N’s gaze. “You know, I spoke to that Mr Edgecomb before I came in. He’s got your back, Y/N, apparently all the guards in the Mile do. And you’ve got his. Don’t forget that.”

The words settled over her like a soft blanket, but Y/N still couldn’t shake the sense of being lost in this maze of memories, of guilt. She wanted to believe in the future Sophie was painting for her, but the past held too many shadows. Still, for the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself a small glimmer of hope.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered to Sophie, the words carrying the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

Sophie gave her a small, knowing smile. “We’re not giving up, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

[gildorsonofinglor]

I’m just a gender fluid person who loves seeing tiny assholes being manhandled.

[darktiger0049]

updated

[chucklepea-hotpot]

Mr. Jingles: *does anything*

Basically everyone in Cold Mountain:

[whydoilive69]

YOU CANT TELL ME THAT THEY WERENT JUST A ~LITTLE~ BIT FRUITY

[dreamatbash]

(2/5)

Percy: *touch*

[ghoulish-art-tendencies]

happy ides of march everyone I hope you get in a good stabbing

[angstycrow-chan]

One of the weirdest parts of the mini fandom in the green mile is that there are ppl who ship Brutus Howell with Percy wetmore, even tho the book AND the movie explicitly shows Brutus hating Percy, it even states that In the book, Paul had to stop Brutus from almost killing Percy after dels execution

[fishwithteeth]

I stumble across this sometimes on my Tumblr and literally what does this mean I lay awake at night thinking about this. This is like something that I would dream up with a fever of 101. I'm not mad I'm just scared.

I saw the stupid peach time meme and then this happened

[incorrectgreenmilequotes]

Brutas Howell Headcanons

——————————————————————————

He has a younger sister named Dorothea Jean

He loves reading

Give him a book and he’ll finish it in two days

Big man has big feelings

The biggest softy

He has a giant dog named bear

Will either cry or kill you if you yell at him

[thoughtfulangeltidalwave]

You and Me (Part 1)

First time doing this. Severe lack of Dean Stanton content everywhere so if you like it I’m happy🩷

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The van rattled down the cracked, uneven road, its tires crunching gravel as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Inside, Y/N sat on the cold metal bench, her wrists bound in chains that bit into her skin with every jolt. She barely noticed. Her gaze lingered on the small, grimy window across from her. Through it, she caught fleeting glimpses of the outside world: fields fading into shadows, a rusted barbed-wire fence that stretched endlessly, trees with branches outstretched, and the occasional flicker of sunlight painting streaks on her face.

But it wasn’t the scenery she saw. It was her children.

She could almost hear their laughter, clear and bright like church bells on a Sunday morning. She could see the way her youngest grinned when he lost his front teeth, the way her eldest scrunched her nose when she concentrated on her drawings. Those memories felt like they belonged to someone else now, someone who lived a lifetime ago, someone who was supposed to be happy, someone who wasn’t her. And yet, the warmth those fleeting memories brought her was bittersweet, mingled with the ache of knowing she would never see them again.

Her fingers curled into her palms, she felt a dull pain… but that was all she’d ever felt, pain was the only thing that she knew would be with her forever. But she couldn’t let herself cry. 

Not here. 

Not now.

At the front of the van, Dean Stanton glanced into the rearview mirror. His eyes lingered on the woman sitting quietly in the back, her face bathed in the amber light of the setting sun. She didn’t look like someone who belonged in chains. There was no defiance in her, no cruelty, no bitterness, no hate, just a calmness that he couldn’t quite place, like she’d already made peace with the worst.

It unsettled him.

Dean shifted his grip on the steering wheel, his mind racing. Over the years, he’d seen countless prisoners come through the gates of Cold Mountain, each one carrying their own unique weight of guilt or resignation. But this woman… She was different. There was something almost fragile about her, like she might shatter if handled too harshly.

And yet, there was a strength there too, buried deep beneath the surface, she wouldn’t cry, she just seemed so distant.

The van came to a slow stop inside the gates of the prison the clang of the metal doors locking behind them sent a shiver through Y/N, pulling her back to the present, back to her end. 

Dean stepped out first, his boots crunching on the gravel. He walked around to the back and unlocked the doors, his movements steady and unhurried. When the doors opened she didn’t look at him, her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. Dean had seen it before, fear, fear and the knowledge the mile was all that was left. He slowly climbed into the van and sat opposite her.

“You’ll be alright,” he said, his voice low and calm as he met her eyes. “The guards on the Mile…we’ll look out for you. Anything you need, you’re safe with us”

For a moment, Y/N could only stare at him. No one had spoken to her like that in years—not with kindness, not without an ulterior motive lurking beneath their words. Her throat felt tight, and she forced herself to look away, but after a breath her eyes met his again and she felt brave enough to manage a soft, “Thank you” before looking away again

Dean nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that lingered.

The moment shattered as Percy Wetmore strode up from the front of the van, his smirk already plastered across his face. Always the indelicate man he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, his gaze falling on Y/N like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Well, well,” Percy drawled, his tone laced with mockery. “Look what we’ve got here. Hope you’re ready for the grand tour, sweetheart” he drawled.

Y/N stiffened, her muscles coiling with unease, she knew that tone, it reminded her of Him. Percy reached for her arm, his grip too firm despite Y/N trying to pull away, but before he could pull her out, Dean grabbed Percy’s wrist.

“That’s enough, Percy,” Dean said, his voice firm but measured. Percy let go and Dean was able to throw his wrist away causing Percy to stumble out of the back of the van, though he regained himself quickly he was undoubtedly shamed. 

Dean turned his back to the younger man, blocking him from Y/N entirely. Reaching out, he offered her his hand.

“I’m sorry about him, I promise he won’t touch you again. Just take your time,” Dean said, his tone softer now, his eyes never leaving her. 

“Watch your step.” Y/N hesitated, her gaze darting between the two men. Percy’s scowl was dark, his lips curling in disdain, but Dean’s calm presence felt like a shield, a small reprieve from the sharp edges of the world. With his hand still outstretched slowly Y/N took his hand. His grip was steady, warm, comforting, and it steadied something in her, she hadn’t even realised was trembling until he put his other hand on her waist slowly and steadily guided her out of the van.

As her feet touched the ground, the towering walls of Cold Mountain loomed before her, stark and unyielding against the fading light. The weight of the place pressed down on her chest, she shouldn’t been here…

But for a fleeting moment, the memory of Dean’s kindness cut through the suffocating fear.

Percy muttered something under his breath, stalking ahead with a sour expression, but Y/N didn’t hear him. Her focus remained on the building before her, the place where she would meet her end. And then there was Dean, who walked beside her as if to silently promise he wouldn’t let her face this alone.

The gates of E block closed behind them away with a deafening clang as the van rode ,and Y/N knew she was stepping into a new kind of hell. But for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest glimmer of something she couldn’t quite name.

Maybe it was hope.

[gildorsonofinglor]

HMMMMMMMM