#should be fired and possibly jailed

[lifblogs]

Hey, hey, Apple. I have something to say to you.

BITCH.

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[shivroygirls]

can i just say something? at this party here there are maybe 40 of the most important people in america and you have just walked all around, all evening, telling them all that i'm gonna get fired. no, it was implied, lightly, as a little... god! part of a tactical kind of joke. will you explain to me, the joke? because i don't get the fucking joke. MY GOD, TOM! i don't get the joke, i don't get the joke. it was something that he said, that isn't true, that we needed to say. but you stood by his side, and he said it, and you were like "okay, well, that sounds good to me." fuck's sake, i'm not doing this right now. you know i'm in serious trouble, that was a play. you will be okay because you are a tough fucking bitch who will always survive because you do what you need, you will do what — are you even listening? i will be okay? — you will do whatever you need. yeah? really? yeah, you sure you're not projecting, because that is actually you. should we have a real conversation? with a scorpion? no. that was a friendly thing. that was a friendly thing. yeah. sure. real friendly. yeah, no, i'm a scorpion, you're a hyena, you're a... you're a street rat. actually, no, you're a fucking snake. "here's a dead snake to wear as a necktie, tom", "why aren't you laughing?" (pause) i wonder if we shouldn't clear the air. yeah? yeah. sure. i think you can be a very selfish person and i think you find it very hard to think about me — what the fuck? — and i think you shouldn't have even married me, actually. what the fuck? what the ACTUAL fuck? you proposed to me. you proposed at my lowest fucking ebb. my dad was dying, what was i supposed to say? perhaps "no"? i didn't want to hurt your feelings. thanks! thanks for that! yeah, you really kept me safe while you ran off to fuck the phone book. fuck off. you're hick — and then, and then.. — conservative hick — you hid it, you hid it because you were so scared of how fucking awful you are. you were only with me to get to power. you got it now, tom, you've got it! I'M WITH YOU BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! bullshit, you're fucking me for my DNA, you were fucking me for a fucking ladder because your whole family is striving and parochial. that's not... thats not a fair characterization. no? well, your mom loves me more than she loves you, because she's cracked. you want to... you want to actually clear the air? fine. you betrayed me. YOU WERE GOING TO SEE ME SENT TO FUCKING PRISON, SHIV! AND THEN YOU FOBBED ME OFF WITH THAT FUCKING UNDRINKABLE WINE AND YOU WON'T HAVE MY BABY BECAUSE YOU NEVER EVEN THOUGHT, HONESTLY, THAT YOUD BE WITH ME MORE THAN FOUR FUCKING YEARS, I DON'T THINK! YOU OFFERED TO GO TO JAIL! YOU OFFERED TO GO TO JAIL BECAUSE YOU'RE SERVILE! you're just... YOU'RE SERVILE! YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF THINKING ABOUT ANYBODY OTHER THAN YOURSELF BECAUSE YOUR SENSE OF WHO YOU ARE, SHIV, IS THAT FUCKING THIN! oh yeah you read that in a book, tom? YOU'RE TOO FUCKING TRANSPARENT TO FIND THAT IN A BOOK! you're pathetic, you're pathetic. youre a masochist and you can't even take it. i think you are incapable of love, and i think you are maybe not a good person to have children! well, that's not very nice to say, is it? i'm sorry. i'm sorry, but you... you... you have hurt me more than you can possibly imagine. and you, you took away the last six months i could've had with my dad. no. yes. no! yes. you sucked up to him and you cut me out! it's not my fault that you didn't get his approval. i have given you endless approval and it doesn't fill you up because you're broken. i don't like you. i don't... i don't even care about you. i don't care. have we cleared the air, huh? feel good now? yeah. yeah. fucking great. tip top. you don't deserve me, and you never did. and everything came out of that. so fucking flat.

[deans-angel67]

Bruises and Surprises

Summary: When Eddie is acting off and then comes home late Evan and Y/N start to worry. But when they find out why he's been acting off, it causes some problems.

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x fem!reader x Evan Buckley

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing possibly, mentions of violence and injuries

A/N: This was inspired by @megalony Late Night Fights. I hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for the support.

____

The four of them sat at Eddie's kitchen table that morning. Both Evan and Y/N had the day off, Chris was going over to a friends house for a sleepover today. And Eddie decided to pick up an extra shift at the fire house.

"You know you didn't have to take that shift Eddie." Y/N says as he pours coffee into a turmos mug. It was rare that the three of them had a day off at the same time. So naturally she was a little disappointed when Eddie said he chose to do an extra 12 hours.

"I didn't realize you were off today, I'm sorry mi amour." He says dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"You got all your stuff ready Chris?" Chris nods at Eddie's question and then gets up to go grab his things.

"You know there's no harm in taking a day off right. I mean you've been working a lot lately." Evan pitches in concern evident in his voice. As he puts his mug down on the table.

"You should be taking better care of yourself Eds." She said putting a hand on her stomach, masking a slight discomfort that made it's appearance.

"You two are blowing this way out of proportion." Eddie had been acting off lately. He was shorter tempered and he had been picking up a lot of extra hours. He was tired and overall frustrated often. They were both a little worried. Y/N hadn't seen him act this way for a long time. She was getting really worried.

The last time Eddie had acted this way she ended up getting a call say that he needed to be bailed out of jail. But she hadn't seen any bruises or marks on him, maybe she was over reacting.

"Why don't you call in sick?" Evan proposed, only to receive a scoff from Eddie.

"I said I'd be there, Buck. Come on, Chris!" Eddie gave them both a quick kiss before his son finally entered the room. Y/N and Evan said goodbye to Chris and just like that the house became quiet.

"He's acting strange right?" She asked Buck, her hands wrapped around the mug as she stared at the dark liquid before glancing at him.

"Yeah, he is." Evan confirmed.

~~~

Y/N stood in the kitchen cutting vegetables for supper. Two hands made their way to her waist and then her front. Buck leaned his chin on her shoulder as she hummed along to the song playing.

"Why don't you go sit?"

"Babe, I'm fine." She told him pausing to look up at him, kissing him on the cheeks.

"You were sick all morning." He presses. She put the knife down and turned in his arms so she was facing him. Her hands came up to cup his jaw.

"I promis, I feel fine. Good even." She spoke softly giving him her full attention. He let out a sigh searching for something unusual in her features only to find nothing.

"You promis? And if you start to feel even a little off you'll go sit?"

"Yes baby, I promise." She gave him a sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, then let me help. What can I do?" Evan asked going over to the sink to wash his hands.

"You can take over cutting while I get started on the sauce." She took a pot out and placed it beside the one with water. They didn't get to cook together often. It was often Buck or Y/N never Eddie. They were scared they wouldn't have a kitchen by the end of it, or taste buds.

By the time everything was ready it was 8pm. Late compared to 'normal' hours but their schedule was so weird that they got used to eating at odd hours.

"Shouldn't Eddie be home by now?" Y/N asked looking up at Evan with worry.

"His call must have run late. It happens all the time." He reassured her wrapping a hand around her waist and hugging her, his head going down to her neck.

"We should wait for him."

They ended up eating an hour and a half later. Without Eddie.

It was 11pm when Y/N wanted to go to bed but was to busy paissing their living room.

"This can't just be a call Evan."

"Sweetheart-"

"Theres no way he has been on a call for over 3 hours!" He was also getting worried, he just didn't want to show it. It wasn't impossible, but another unit would have gotten there and they would have been able to go back to the station, and back home.

"Baby stop, please." He gently grabbed her arms stopping her movements.

"How about you go to bed-" she shook her head and open her mouth to protest but Evan stopped her.

"How about you go to bed and try to sleep, and I'll go down to the station and see what's going on." She let out a sigh, hesitating.

"Your exhausted and you have work in the morning, Sweetheart. I wasn't really asking." Evan made himself more clear. Her hands went to his biceps and his to her waist.

"Fine."

~~~

It was dark in the house when he came home. Using his hands to make sure he didn't run into anything.  When he reached the kitchen he turned the light over the sink on. He grabbed the first aid kit from the top of the fridge groaning from the pain it caused.

He took his shirt off letting it fall to the ground, he looked down spotting the dark bruises painting the various parts of his body. He took out some rubbing alcohol and cream setting them on the counter.

"Eddie?"

He turned around to find Y/N standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was just about to fall asleep when she heard the front door.

"Baby where have you been? Why didn't you answer your phone?" She rushed forward only for her to stop a few feet away from him. A small gasp left her when she actually took the time to look at him.

"A call ran late, I'm sorry." He explained. She approached him gently running her fingure tips over a bruise on his stomach to which he winced.

"Eddie..." His name was spoken so softly he barely caught it.

"It was a rough one. It looks worse than it is, mi amour." He said, he put a hand on her arm trying to comfort her. But then she caught sight of his bloody and bruised knuckles. She took in a sharp breath standing up straighter. It all clicked in her head.

"You've been fighting again, haven't you?" She looked at him disappointment flooding her eyes.

"What? No, of course not." The slight hesitant in his voice told her otherwise.

"Edmundo, do not lie to me." She said angerly, tears welling up in her eyes despite her attempts to stop them. He took a deep breath closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly up.

He wasn't planning to do it again but a few weeks back an old buddy from back when he did illegal fighting contacted him. Said then needed someone because some guy left last minute. It was supposed to be a one time thing. But one turned to two, and two to three until it got out of hand.

"Baby-"

"Why!? Why would you possibly do that again?!" She was livid, rightfully so. She took a step back until she hit the kitchen island.

"It's complicated." He said looking back at her. Letting out a sigh, he didn't want to explain.

"Complicated? How could it be Complicated? This was in the past, we left it there, with the lawsuit, and the heartache and- and jail. We talked about this." 

"It's not the same. I'm careful I know what I'm doing." He tries to explain, but it wasn't good enough.

"You also knew what you where doing when you broke that guys nose!" She yelled, not hearing the front door over their arguing.

"That's not fair."

"Look at yourself!" He swallowed hard. He was littered with cuts and bruises. He knew he shouldn't come home looking like this.

"Eddie?" Evan stood at the other end of the kitchen, his voice caused them both to look over at him.

Y/N kept a concern look on her face but a weight on her shoulders was lifted knowing that Buck was home and okay, it was one less thing to worry about. Eddie seemed surprised, he though Evan was sleeping.

"Thank God, your okay. I've been looking everywhere for you." Evan drops his keys on the counter and rushed to hug his boyfriend. Y/N letting out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

Eddie inhaled sharply as Buck hugged him and winced. He returned the affection and then pulled away a little.

"Buck." It was strained and said through gritted teeth because of the pain. When he finally pulled away he got a good look at Eddie.

"What the hell happened?" He said anger in his tone. When no one answered he turned to his girlfriend for help.

"You don't talk about fight club right?" She said sarcasticly causing Eddie to roll his eyes.

"What?" Bucks face filled with confusing looking between the two.

"He's fighting again." She explained moving to the other side of the island to create space between her and the boys.

"What!? Why?" He turns to Eddie brows furrowed, he wasn't there when he did the fights in the past. Y/N was. He had heard of some of them from her, like the one where he broke a guy's nose so bad he choked on a piece of cartilage.

"Can we please not have this conversation again." Eddie felt like they were going around in circles, and it didn't help when his girlfriend just pick up the conversation where they left off when Evan arrived.

"They know what there doing as much as you do. How do you know how it's going to end? Next time it could be you, and they won't stay to help you, they'll leave you there." She didn't want to fight with her boys tonight, not with all the stress that she was under. Today was supposed to be a good day, and it only seemed to take a turn for the worst.

"Y/N-"

"She's right, I thought you were donne with it Eddie." Evan cuts in, concern and confusion evident on his face and in his voice.

"Apparently not." She muttered her hand rubbing her temple

"Do you know how much you scared us tonight?" Evan tried to make him understand. Y/N started to feel a slight discomfort, but she was unsure from what.

"I'm sorry." He really did feel bad, he knew he was extremely late. The missed phone calls and texts were unlike him.

He fished his phone from his pocket and set it on the counter. The screen was shattered and the back metal panel was missing a few pieces falling out of the phone as he sets it down.

"Eddie you can't start doing this again, I wasn't there when you did it before but Y/N told me it got pretty brutal." Evan explained his concern about his past, scared that it might repeat.

"Look it's just a few fights, and they help. I come home and I'm not angry or impatient." Eddie tried to reassure them but it wasn't working. He ran a hand through his hair.

"No, you come home bloody and bruised. Like thats any better." Y/N pitched back in sarcasm lassed in her voice. A hand going to her stomach now understanding where the discomfort came from

"Eddie you can't keep doing this, not after tonight." Evan almost pleaded.

"You don't get it!" He argued back, getting more frustrated by the minute. Y/N winced gripping the counter with her free hand.

"Then explain." Evan continued to try and reason with him but nothing seemed to work.

"I can't!" Eddie shouted, the two boys to engrossed in their argument to see the clear pain their girl was in.

"This isn't healthy, I though you talked about it with your therapist." Buck continued to try and understand.

"Evan-" He was cut off by Y/N.

"Uhh! Will you two stop!" She was hunched over, one hand still on the counter for support the other on her stomach. A pained look on her face.

"Y/N?" Eddie turned to her and took a few steps in her direction.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Evan was extremely concerned. He rounded the island and stood beside her placing a hand on her hip.

"You two are stressing me."

"Mi amour, that can't be stress." Eddie gently rubs circles into her back.

"Since when does stress cause you pain?" Evan asked, she stood back up straight.

"Since I've been pregnant."

They both look at each other, wanting to have confirmation they heard the same thing.

"Pregnant?"

"Baby, are you sure?"

"I was hoping for a little more excitement boys." She remarked.

"Okay, how about we get you to the couch?" Eddie spoke looking at Evan.

Once she was seated on the couch the boys sat on either side of her.

"How long have you known?" She looked over at Buck and took a deep inhale.

"A week." She leaned back until her back hit the couch and looked between the boy. Trying to see both their reactions.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was going to, but you both have such a hectic work schedule that I was trying to find the right time. And then Eddie decided to work today so... This isn't how I wanted to tell you." She looked down at her hands in her lap.

She had spent so much time trying to plan the perfect moment. Tonight was gonna be it over some dinner the three of them. So they could figure out how to tell Chris together. But everything went wrong, it usually did with them. The execution was terrible, but the result was always good. Buck set a hand on her shoulder squeezing slightly to give her a little comfort.

"Where does it hurt?" Eddie asked concern painted on his face.

She looked over at him and set her hand on her lower stomach to show him. He reached over lifting her shirt a little and pressing a hand in different areas. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"I'm sorry baby." He apologized glancing between her and Evan. He hated that he had cause this. The stress and pain. He never wanted this to happen.

"It's just you two are constantly risking your life at work. I don't-"

"Hey, I get. I won't go to the fights anymore, I swear." Eddie stopped her to explain. He understood how much this meant to her to both of them. She gave him a small smile before it turned to a frown when she spotted Evan leaning down to be slightly above her stomach

"Now, you gotta stop giving trouble to your mom little guy." She let out a giggle running her hand in his hair only to lift his face and give him a kiss

"I don't think thats how it works Buck."

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

Next Part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy

[stevesbipanic]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 18: Right Person, Wrong Time

"And then these big birds come and rescue them!" Eddie splays out his arms like wings.

"That's so cool! Then what happened?" Steve asked eyes wide.

Eddie shrugged, "Not sure yet, councillor said I had to go to sleep. I'll tell you tomorrow though don't worry."

Summer camp had been the best summer ever in Eddie's opinion, and meeting Steve had made it even better. They had been inseparable even if they'd been assigned different cabins.

"Will you write me letters when summer is over? I don't want to miss any of the story," Steve said poking the fire.

"Of course I will, you'll be sick of seeing my name in your mailbox. Will you write to me too?"

"Of course, best friends forever right?"

"Forever, Stevie."

Scrawny handwriting on scraps of paper passed between the boys hands on the last day of camp. They were so excited to get home to send their first letter.

What they didn't know was that over summer Al Munson had been sent to jail, and with his mother gone it was Wayne that would pick him up from camp. Eddie's little home in Tawny Brooks was now on the road with Wayne until they could settle down somewhere. He held onto that paper like a lifeline.

In the meantime Steve was writing his first letter, begging his mother for a stamp and excitedly dropping it in the mailbox at the post office. It came back a couple weeks later with the words "Return to Sender". He shoved it into his desk, hurt, but hoped Eddie's letter would come soon, maybe he'd written his address wrong.

It was Steve who had written his address wrong though, dancing letters that made things hard to read changed the w in Hawkins to an m. Eddie didn't stand a chance when he dropped his letter in the box explaining he would send his address as soon as he was able. When he landed in a trailer in a small town called Hawkins the possible mix up didn't even cross his mind. He joked that Hawkins and Hamkins should be closer so they could see each other again not knowing Steve was only a short drive uptown.

Both boys ended summer hurt the other never replied. By the time their ages aligned with the same school they were different. How could Steve know that the boy with long curly hair who jumped on tables was the same Eddie with a buzzcut who told him about magical worlds? How could Eddie relate his Steve who had sun bleached highlights and who loved listening to Eddie talk to being the same named asshole who wandered the halls of Hawkins High? No, their friend was somewhere else in Indiana, lost forever.

"The shire is burning, so Mordor it is."

Mordor? Steve had heard that word before.

"That's Lord of the Rings, right?" Steve asked as they made their way to the Lake.

"Steeeeve Harrington knows Lord of the Rings?" Eddie asked in return, confusion written on his face.

"Yeah, um, this kid in summer camp used to tell it to me, I wasn't very good at reading, still aren't."

Eddie stumbled on his step, eyes meeting Steve's properly now, "Stevie?"

"Forever, Stevie."

"Eds? You've been in Hawkins this whole time, you're my Eddie!? You never wrote to me!"

"Stevie, sweetheart, you spelt it Hamkins. And sorry I didn't think King Steve was the same Steve that listened to me talking about hobbits."

"You moved, didn't you."

"Wayne picked me up, would've never gotten your letter."

"It's in my desk."

"Still?"

Steve nodded.

"I'd love to read it when this is all over, Stevie."

"If you promise you'll tell me how the story ends? I hope it's a happy ending."

"I hope so too, sweetheart, I hope so too."

[seungfl0wer]

*𝙄𝙫𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Angst (Happy ending of course)

Warnings: Abusive father! Violence, Blood, Alcohol, Sick mother, Lots of cursing. Father is a real piece of shit and puts hands on reader multiple times. Sorry for any mistakes or missing tags.

Just for another warning because I think it’s important. This has content that could trigger some people. Please please read the warnings. If any of them make you uncomfortable please don’t read. Also a reminder. You’re not alone. No one ever should be laying their hands on you. I love you. You’re loved. You don’t ever deserve anything like this.

Find The Request Here

-🖤

Changbin wrapped his arms around you pulling you close to him. He kissed your neck tenderly nuzzling himself into your neck. You both were snuggled up on the couch watching a show. “My angel” he said softly before softly kissing your neck once more. When you were with him it felt like nothing else mattered like the world was alright. Your moment of happiness was short lived though seeing your phone buzzing. It was your father. Just seeing his name flash on your phone made you anxious.

After your mother had passed away your dad became an even bigger monster. He was always a good for nothing, But now not working as much as he did he stayed home drinking. Your mother had told you before the only reason she had stayed with him was because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Her family was from another country, she didn’t have much money or friends. She was such a brave woman though. You don’t know how she dealt with him so long but I guess him never really being home helped. He had gotten fired from his big job because of his drinking and anger problems. Going to work one day hungover and punching a coworker so hard it broke his nose. He had to pay a hefty fine for that. Now he has a slow job where he only works a few days.

One of your earliest memories of him being his asshole self was him telling you how he hated that you were a girl. He hated that in his words ‘that useless bitch couldn’t even give me a boy.’ He wanted a son so badly and he made sure you knew that. He never really bonded with you however he’d be damned if you didn’t respect his authority. The first time he ever laid hands on you, you were 9. You accidentally knocked over a table braking the lamp that was placed on it. He grabbed you by the wrist smacking you across the face. ‘You stupid fucking brat! Look what you did, you’re just like your fucking mother!’ He spat pushing you away from him.

After that day it just kept going. Having to wear long sleeves at school to hide the bruises. At one point you had to stay home for almost a week. You had stepped in front of him to protect your mom when he hit you square in the face busting your lip. It stayed swollen and bruised for a while. Tooth slightly cracked from the incident.

You wanted so badly to tell someone. Confide in a teacher anything. You were scared to though. Scared they’d blame your mom, put her in jail and take you away. So you endured it. As your mom started to get sick he turned more of his attacks on you. Although a complete peace of shit he wasn’t stupid. He knew if he did anything to her the doctors would see it.

After she had passed you kept yourself from the house as best as you could. Not going home as much as you possibly could. You got a job at a cafe down the road and that’s how you met changbin. He was a regular who once you started talking admitted to only coming so much to see you.

You kept your home life a secret to him as much as you could but one day you were getting intimate you forgot about the bruises. When he had lifted your shirt his smile dropped. He looked at you with wide eyes “what the fuck? Who did this to you?” He said clenching his jaw. All you could do was sob he held you in his arms rubbing your back. “I’m sorry for raising my voice I just- y/n please- what happened?” He asked.

Through your sobs you told him, you unloaded everything in a word vomit of sadness. He would and wanted to go find your father. To beat him senseless, to show him how it feels but he knew you needed him more. He held you so tightly, feeling his own heart breaking from your words. Knowing a family member could do this to someone they were supposed to protect. To love and cherish just broke him. He was such a family oriented person and now he realized why you never wanted him to meet him. Never talked about him. He asked why you couldn’t just leave explaining to him how your mother wasn’t from here, how you had no family and no one else to rely on.

“Shit- it’s my dad” you said frantically picking the phone up.

“Where the fuck are you? He spat.

“I’m- I’m just at a friend’s house” you stuttered.

He laughed “sure, you’re probably slutting around. Get your fucking ass home.”

He hung up leaving you shaking. “I gotta go.” You said picking your keys up.

“Y/n you don’t have to” Changbin said with pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You said before heading to the door.

Your brain wondered what was going on. Why he needed you home. As you pulled up coming through the door you saw him slumped in his usual chair. “About fucking time” he hissed. “Do something useful and go get me some more beer” he demanded.

You stood there almost dumb founded. Before he hissed again “don’t make me say it again!”

You nodded heading down to the store and getting it for him. When you got home again you sat the beer beside him. He gave you a smirk “glad you know how to listen” he chuckled. Your nose twitched at his smell, you hated being close to him. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes and B.O. always radiated off of him. He motioned for you to leave and you did slinking back to your room to text changbin.

Him: Y/n! Text me back! I’m worried!

You: I’m fine. He just wanted beer

Him: I swear I’ll end him one of these days

You: I’m gonna go to bed ok? I’ll see you in the morning! Love you!

Him: Love you to beautiful. Text me when you wake up🖤

You fell asleep shortly after always finding peace in sleep. The next few days were the same old. Going to Changbins after work going home late when you knew he’d be passed out. Today though. You had to run home for your wallet. When you walked through the door your dad was in the kitchen. You took one look around and realized something had to have happened. Things were thrown around. Smashed. Your body froze before you could go to walk back out he saw you.

“Where do you think you’re fucking going!” He yelled. He made a bee line toward you.

“I’m- I’m picking up another shift at work I just came home to grab something.” You lied.

“Bull fucking shit!” He spat.

He grabbed you by your throat lifting you up against the wall. His eyes were dark, knuckles bloody from punching the wall. “I get fucking fired from my god damn job only to come home to see you running back out? For what huh? To go fucking whore around some more?” He said. “No! There’s gonna be some fucking changes!” He screamed.

He dropped you to the floor before grabbing you by your wrist dragging you to the kitchen. “You’re gonna get another fucking job, you’re gonna start paying the other bills!” He spat. “You got it!”

When you didn’t answer right away he slapped more like punched you across the face. “Answer me bitch!” He said gritting his teeth. All you could do was nod scared for your life. You felt a warmth running down, your nose was bleeding.

“You’re fucking pathetic you know that, just like your fucking mother! That bitch. That bitch fucking deserved what she got! I’m glad she’s fucking dead!” He spat. Something had come over you at that point. You shoved back making him stumble backwards. You made a dash to the door luckily in his drunken stupor he stumbled getting back up. You ran. Not even bothering getting in your car afraid it take to long.

So you ran. You ran as fast as you could until you couldn’t anymore. You hid yourself in the bushes at the park panting. Trying to catch your breath as you fumbled to call changbin. “Hey angel” he said happily but when he heard you breathing heavy his heart sank. “Y/n what’s wrong? Are you ok?” He asked.

“I’m- I’m at the- park down- down the road- please” you stuttered out.

“Stay there I’m just down the road!” He said before grabbing his keys speeding to you.

He gripped the steering wheel afraid for what had happened. “Angel? I’m here!” He yelled out.

You peaked your head out, when he got a good look at you anger filled his body. ‘That mother fucker’ he snarled. There was no time to be angry right now though. You needed him. So desperately needed him.

He sat beside you pulling you into his arms. He took his jacket placing it around you as he whipped away the blood from your nose. He noticed the handprint mark around your neck, he gritted his teeth seething. You sobbed, holding onto him for dear life. He rubbed your back “ssh sh it’s ok angel, I’m here, I got you.” He said.

He rocked you back and forth letting your sobs subside before asking you anything. “Does it hurt?” He asked lifting your face to him looking over your nose and neck. You nodded. It hurt to swallow, hurt to breathe, everything just hurt. “Can I take you to the hospital?” He asked. You were hesitant but you nodded.

The car ride there all he could do was watch over you. Scared something could seriously be wrong. Cursing at himself for not being there. He was in the process of finding a new place. A new place so you could move in with him. The only reason you didn’t live with him now was for the fact he had other roommates and if the tenant found out about you they all could be evicted. He was gonna surprise you today with the good news, that he found a place. Close to his work and close to a bakery you had wanted to work at.

When he had gotten to the hospital they all looked at him like he had done it. They checked you over asked him a million questions. The cops being called from below to ask him questions. They weren’t completely shocked when they heard your dad’s name. He was notorious for his anger outbursts and violence. He had a list of charges that had gotten one being the man he punched at his old job. They wrote everything down, took pictures of your bruises and wounds. Asking you lots of questions before leaving.

“Y/n did you know you had a broken rib at one point?” A nurse asking you.

You shook your head.

“Looks like it happened a while ago, it fused back but not properly. You ever have sharp pains?” She asked.

“Yeah, she use to complain about side pains but they kinda just stopped.” Changbin chimed in.

“How is she right now?” Changbin asked.

“Nothings broken however you’re lucky, the pressure he had around your throat bruised your vocal cords. Any harder you could be looking at serious damage”

The nurse had left to grab some papers changbin took your hand into his. He kissed your cheek softly rubbing his thumb over yours. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there” he said softly.

You shook your head “I don’t want him hurting you either” you said looking up at him.

“I’m proud of you though, pushing back and getting yourself out of there. Your mom would be proud” he said with a small smile. His words made you smile a bit. “She definitely would.”

“I had some news to tell you” he said hoping this would make you smile.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m moving. Well we’re moving” he said with a smile. When you looked at him a bit confused his smile grew “I got a place for the two of us. Wish it could have happened sooner but-“ he said.

You wrapped your arms around him hugging him tightly “we’re gonna live together? I’ll get to spend all the time with you?” You said eagerly.

“Yep! Got the keys today!”

When the door opened you thought it was the nurse however it was an officer. “Y/n we have your father in custody. Do you have a place to stay for the mean time?” He asked looking over at your boyfriend.

“I do, but can I go back and get something’s you asked.

The officer nodded “I’ll have to escort you because it’s a crime scene now.”

You nodded.

“Whenever you get discharged we can go alright?” He said before walking out.

After you went to the house grabbing your clothes, laptop and a few things you smiled saying good riddance to this place. You had the few things from your mom packed, having nothing more in this house for you.

Moving in with changbin was something to get use to. However he helped you every step of the way. You got into much needed therapy and after your father’s sentence you felt like things were going up. As a little house warming gift Changbin had surprised you with a cat. You had bonded with him with the many times he had taken you to the cat cafe. You always said how much you wanted him and now you had him. You had your little family now.

Changbin showered you in love as usual, never missing a chance to compliment you, praise you and tell you how much he loved you. You knew in your heart your mom wherever she was, she was happy. Happy seeing her little girl finally get out of the situation. To live her life to the fullest.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

So...... If we are playing fair then, that means every single person that Biden just Pardoned is 100% guilty, including Milley and Faucci?

I see I see. Btw. I've said this before but I'll say it again. Blanket pardons should not be legal. You should have to define a crime prior to giving a pardon. Unless of course the person is already in jail in which case you can pardon them for those crimes.

However. It is the case that people who were supposedly guilty of trespassing on public property mind you, have been rotting in jail for years while literal pedophiles abusers and want to be dictators roam free. Like Gavin newsom. Who should be guilty of gross negligence given his lack of response and lack of preparation for the LA fires. Or Andrew Cuomo. Who killed up to 15000 people in nursing homes by putting covid positive patients into those places. Along with at least four other governors. And then there's Faucci. A man who literally helped fund gain of function research which has been illegal to fund or participate in for a while now.

Stack that on top of experimenting on beagles by letting flesh eating flies eat their faces after you cut their vocal cords and I would say that it is very possible that this man deserves to be in prison for a litany of things. But, I do not believe in any capacity these people deserve to walk. Because the difference between them and the January 6th people is the fact that a lot of the people arrested and put in prison didn't even do anything wrong. Most got changed with "trespassing" despite never having qualified for that charge. Meanwhile people have done sit-ins in pelosi's office aoc's office and several other locations by storming in and just sitting in. None of them are in jail for freaking trespassing. Same building no less. The only difference is the political leaning. And that's after we found out more regarding the FBI's participation in January 6th. No fewer than 26 agents on the ground mostly people meant to incite as well as informants.

Trump should find a way around the pardons to get Faucci. And it's more impressive to me that the liberals actually want to spare him considering that he's partially responsible for covid since he helped fund it. If nothing else he should be charged for gross and negligence. And a blanket pardon should never be a thing. You should only be able to be pardoned for things that are able to be proposed. And it doesn't have to be "admittance of guilt" it can be, "potentially charged for". But every single state should press charges against Faucci.

[telomeke-bbs]

BAD BUDDY – PAT GETS SHOT (A PLAY-BY-PLAY)

In honor of December 24th being Bad Buddy Pat's shottiversary of the gunshot that really wasn't, I've decided to do a play-by-play with commentary... 😍

(above) Ep.9 [3‌/4] 11.42 Pat grapples with the world’s first pageant king/rugby captain gunman (while the camerawork goes all artistically shaky, just in case any of us couldn’t figure out that this is a Death Fight Full of Danger™).

‌

(above) Ep.9 [3‌/4] 11.46

A shot is fired, Korn roars up from behind, Hunky Gunman Ham reels in surprise (yes, Kim Goodburn’s rugby gunman is named Ham), and Pat has a moment of clarity that the cinematographer ever-so-subtly decides to highlight with the streetlight glowing behind our hero’s eyes. "You SHOOT Miette? You shoot your shot like a rugby ball? Oh! Oh! Jail for Hammy! Jail for Hammy for One Thousand Years!!!!"

‌

(above) Ep.9 [3‌/4] 12.13

Drama (and Baseball) Mama Pat, Faculty of Engineering but majoring in Performing Arts (see Ep.10 [1‌/4] 18.46 🤣) falls melodramatically to the ground even though it’s only a graze wound (as we find out later at Ep.9 [4/4] 1.54).

‌

(above) Ep.9 [3‌/4] 12.05

Hunky Gunman, gunless and realizing the potential for criminal charges, turns and flees the scene.

‌

(above) Ep.9 [3‌/4] 12.12

Headcanon Time! In between watching Ham run away and grimacing from the pain, Pat takes a moment to gloat in the moment. I now have it in my head that Pat must have known the gunshot wound wasn’t life-threatening, but decided to play it up anyway…

Pat is a people person, adept at sizing up other people and situations (see his rescue of Pran’s LogTech presentation in Ep.3 for one example), and I think he correctly read that with the gun wrested away from his grasp the outwardly boorish Ham, inwardly a coward, will be psychologically defenseless without his big boy crutch and is going to flee (especially when confronted with the possibility of assault/murder charges).

Pat’s right, and I think this one moment of preternatural calm shows he knows he’s right.

‌

(above) Ep.9 [4/4] 1.16

Aaaaand… Switch! Less than two minutes of screentime later and our sunshine boy is back to his antics (stealing a kiss from Pran here). 😍

‌

(above) Ep.11 [3‌/4] 17.18

So two episodes down, and there’s no sign of that gunshot graze anywhere, anymore. Judging from where Pat was clutching his side at Ep.9 [3‌/4] 12.21 and Ep.10 [1‌/4] 18.42, it should be just above the edge of that blanket – but no…

Maybe it was as superficial as that sudden twist of the narrative? (Pat gets shot! But not really. 🤣) Or maybe production decided not to mar the perfection of Ohm’s abs and intercostals? (My money’s on the latter. 😂😍)

If anything, Pat getting shot (but not really) may have been another example of Director Aof playing with the Bait-and-Switch, written up here. 💖👍

‌Anyway Happy Patgotshottiversary to all the Bad Buddy fandom and to all who celebrate BL high holidays!

‌

[carriesthewind]

"At least one facility is in an evacuation warning zone—Barry J. Nidorf Juvenile Hall, a San Fernando Valley detention center holding 96 children. The building complex sits slightly more than a mile from the Hurst Fire.

As of Thursday evening, none of the nearly 100 kids incarcerated in the facility have been moved to safety, a spokesperson for the Los Angeles County Probation Department told The Appeal. The probation department oversees the county’s juvenile facilities."

"Protect children" - unless they're 'bad' kids, in which case, if they didn't want to die horribly, they shouldn't have decided to become criminals, should they?

[imagines--galore]

Can you please write a zuko x reader hurt/comfort fic please? I’m not sure what prompts you have for it. But take as much time as you need and feel much better soon.

Pairing: Zuko x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: Ok but this broke my heart a little but it turned out so sweet in the end!

It never got any easier.

Every time you went to see your father it would end in disaster. He refused to speak with you, or even acknowledge your existence. That you were standing there and speaking to him.

Nothing.

No reaction.

And it broke your heart a hundred times over.

It happened every single week. And you knew there would come a time when you would simply stop coming to him. There was so much going on in your life that you couldn't possibly keep coming to see him.

Your father. The war prisoner. One of the top generals when it came to cruelty against everyone who was not Fire Nation.

The man who had been condemned to jail for the rest of his life.

By the Avatar no less. And yet you could not bring yourself to feel anything other then acceptance of the fate that had befallen your father. He was cruel, through and through. His crimes against humanity were too long to list, and there was no power in the world that could free him from his prison.

And you were glad of it.

Which made you feel guilty.

                                           ————————–

Sighing deeply you entered the Fire Nation Palace from a hidden door and leaned against it, heaving a small sigh as you did.

Yet another unsuccessful visit. You had visited him, spoken to him. Though when you had mentioned the new Fire Lord, your father had made a response.

And that was to spit on the floor.

Your heart clenched in your chest and you slid down the wooden door, burying your face in your hands. It was hopeless. Aang had said so from the beginning. Had told you that your father's soul was too corrupted by his own cruelty and evil that there was no coming back from it.

Probably the reason that compelled him to remove your father's firebending abilities.

Still you had tried. Tried to talk to him, make him see the evil he and the rest of the Fire Nation had been doing. But all your words fell on deaf ears, and you were beginning to give up. Perhaps you should give up. Perhaps you should refocus your attention towards more meaningful projects.

Such as helping the new Fire Lord rebuild the Fire Nation. A daunting task for one so young such as yourself and the Fire Lord. And yet, one you were willing to tackles and would see to succession.

Surely it was much easier to achieve world peace then to connect with your father once more.

All of a sudden you felt someone rest a hand on your shoulder. Startled you looked up, only to catch sight of a familiar figure standing there.

"Hello Zuko." You spoke lowly in greeting, tilting your head back so you could look at him properly. It was still strange to see Zuko back in the Fire Nation Palace. After having been gone for so long.

You had barely seen him over the years, since his father had banished him. There was the odd run-in when he would dock where your father would be stationed, and you would take the time to speak with your friend.

Of course that was all a ruse to hide your true purpose.

A source of information to General Iroh, esteemed member of the White Lotus. Your mother had been a member, one of the few females to hold the title. And while you had never been closer to your father, your mother was a different story.

When she had died of a sudden illness, you had vowed to keep carrying out her mission and provide information to the White Lotus. You hoped your news had helped save lives.

It was the least you could do considering how the other people of your nation treated everyone so cruelly.

Once the war had ended, General Iroh had advised Zuko to appoint you as a member of his Council. You had agreed to his offer, saying you wanted to help him rebuild the world. And during those first few months, your long-lost friendship with Zuko had ignited once more.

In front of the rest of the Council, the Elders, and anyone of prominence, you were Fire Lord Zuko and Chief Advisor Y/n. But once duties were done for the day, you were simply Y/n, and he was Zuko. You had worried that things would be different between the both of you now that Zuko was Fire Lord, however, it seemed he was still the same old Zuko, the one you had played with in the palace gardens as a child.

"Did you go to see your father again?" He asked, sitting down next to you. You sighed and gave a nod. Reaching up you ran a hand through your unruly hair. You had unpinned it before going to see your father. Less chance of people recognizing you when you had your hair down.

"And still no progress." You responded to which he nodded in understanding. "I'm having the same trouble as you are. Father won't give up Mom's location." The despair in his voice caused you to forget about your own pain momentarily. It would still be there to be wallowed in after you figured out a solution to Zuko's problem.

"Need me to go in there and extract the information from him?" You held out your palm to allow a small fire to erupt between your fingers and allowing it to flicker there. "Fire is an excellent form of torture."

He knew you were only joking, which was why he only shook his head at you before reaching out to engulf his hand with yours, putting the flame out. "I think he will tell me eventually. But for now, let him stay where he is."

You hummed in agreement. "Let them both stay where they are. I mean we're both amazing children to even want to speak to them after what they did to us." While Zuko had suffered physically at the hands of his father, you had been subjected to mental and emotional torture while living with your father. The man had never once said a kind word to you. And you would've been happy never visiting him again, but Iroh had been the one to urge you to speak with your father.

To try and make amends.

"Do you think our father's were born bad or that it was because of circumstances that they turned out the way they did?" You asked, allowing your body to relax against his as you leaned your head on Zuko's shoulder.

Thank goodness the both of your had removed the uncomfortable armor for the day.

"I believe they were both given a choice, and they picked the wrong one." He shrugged. "Or perhaps they thought they picked the right choice because it would benefit them. But then again, it does make them selfish doesn't it?"

You heaved a deep sigh and nodded. "Well I suppose it is a good thing the both of us have each other to get through this." Perhaps trying to look on the opposite spectrum would give you the little pick me up that you needed. His hand, which was still holding yours, squeezed your fingers a little, as he hummed in agreement.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, Zuko finally spoke. "I'm glad I have you by my side Y/n. Its made things easier for me here." Being back here still felt strange. He had spent so many years traveling that being inside the palace was a little unnerving to him. But somehow, your presence seemed to make things easier for him. And not just the Council. You were always listening and observing even if Zuko wasn't, and you would always fill him in if he missed something.

And as for you? You were just happy you had your best friend back.

Though Iroh had suggested that the both of you take a step further when it came to your friendship.

Crazy old man.

"You know I sent my own sources out. To try and fine your mother." You admitted to which he gave you a surprised look. You smiled at him. "What? Did you think I wouldn't look for Lady Ursa once I heard she was alive? I recall being her favorite at times when you did something she did not approve of."

It had been a soft of playful rivalry between the two of you, to see who would be pronounced as the favorite of the day. Lady Ursa had become something of a surrogate mother to you during the years of your mother's sickness. Sometimes you missed her just as much as you missed your own mother.

Zuko's answering smile was soft and adoring as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Thank you Y/n." You smiled, leaning into his embrace, enjoying the way his hand fit into yours, and how the very scent of him had you calming down.

"Thats what friends are for." He pulled back only to raise an eyebrow at your words and the teasing glint in your eyes.

"You do remember our status has changed since the marriage was arranged?" He asked, prompting you to shrug.

"So? Doesn't mean our friendship has to be effected. You're still that annoying boy I met when I first came here." You reached up to playfully muss his already disheveled hair. He playfully batted your hand away, grabbing your wrists to stop you, he pinned you with a look.

"But it does mean I can do this." A quick peck on the lips, followed by one of each cheeks, which had you feeling a little flustered. "An added bonus to our already established relationship." You declared, grinning at him, all your previous worries forgotten.

[stardust948]

Urzai adopts the gaang au

Ozai, mumbling: Where is that idiot?

Katara: Zuko's upstairs.

Aang: I think Sokka went shopping.

Toph: Aang is right here.

Aang: Hey-

Ozai: I meant the spider-fly that I was chasing but thanks for the information, I guess.

~

Ozai, for months: *Debates whether or not he should leave Zuko*

Zuko: Maybe we should split up-

Ozai: ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! How dare you suggest such a thing! *proceeds to go on a 20 minute rant about the importance of staying together*

~

[After the Gaang destroy another cabbage cart]

Cabbage Merchant: You again! You and your brats took everything from me!

Ozai: I don't even know who you are.

~

Lu Ten, out of curiosity: How did all six of you even convince Uncle to team up with you?

Aang: I accidentally blackmailed him after escaping jail.

Sokka and Katara: We showed up at his house in the middle of the night drugged.

Toph: I stalked him so his long-lost wife would quit nagging me.

Zuko and Azula: We're his only biological children and there's no refund button.

~

Ozai: *says something sarcastic*

Sokka: *responds in sarcasm*

Ozai and Sokka: 👀

Katara: Oh no.

~

Ursa: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone.

Toph, after Azula read it out loud: Mine just says "Toph no."

Ursa: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

~

Sokka and Azula: [develops a plan]

Ursa: ...That sounds like a war crime.

Toph: It’s never a war crime the first time.

Ozai: We'll change the laws later. Continue.

~

Ursa: You are our emotional support children.

Zuko: Running across rooftops at top speed and breaking and entering is the first and only option.

Sokka: My favorite weapon is a curved piece of steel that can knock my head off if I don't catch it in time.

Azula: Who needs therapy when you have blue fire, lightning bending, and a bone to pick with the Firelord?

Katara: Nothing you can do will stop me from starting riots and committing ecoterrorism.

Toph: I run con schemes for fun.

Aang: I love announcing to enemies I'm the one they're looking for.

Ozai, sighing: …and you are also the reason we need emotional support children in the first place.

[skufdaddyswansea]

I’m genuinely curious what you would do if you were in Curly’s shoes for the week leading up to the accident. This isn’t a malicious question, I’m just obsessing over his inaction because genuinely considering the circumstances, what could Curly have done to prevent the tragedy? They’re a few months in of a year long expedition— too late to turn back, too early to try and make it to the finish line— and your estranged best friend has done something unforgivable. There’s no temp jail on the ship either. You’re all being fired after this. There’s no way for Anya to get any sort of pregnancy care or an abortion procedure on the ship, and she may well give birth during the trip. It’s like… genuinely, what do you do?

It's hard to say when you're on the outside looking in. When you're looking at someone else failing to do something, and knowing the consequences, it's easy to say "Well, I would have done this differently." But obviously I'm not actually under the same pressure, with a clock ticking over my head or anything, yknow? So all I can say is what I hope I would do.

Ideally, I'd like to think I'd strip Jimmy of his rank. No access to the cockpit, to be accompanied at all times (or at least as much is reasonable. But then I don't know how successfully you can rope Swansea and Daisuke into going along with that.) I can't say how that would turn out for the long term, 8 months is a long time. Especially with everything else going on. So plenty of time for someone to slip up somewhere.

I'd also tell Anya she was welcome to sleep in medical room since it can lock. If I'm being honest she might even be able to convince me to give her the gun under the right circumstances, but I don't really think that's a good thing, that could just as easily become a disaster.

As for the pregnancy that's... much more difficult. There really isn't anything Curly could have realistically done about that by the time he found out. Especially because Anya herself is the nurse. Swansea could potentially have the experience to give her support there but tbh I get the feeling he wasn't particularly involved in that process with his kids either. (...Does Curly have kids?? This is making me realize we don't really know what his family life is like. I get the feeling he's a bachelor though, it probably would have come up if he had a family to worry about. Anyway.) I guess the only thing to do would be to make sure to actually check in on her and give what ever support is possible.

And again, who knows if any of that would have worked out for the better, or if I'd be able to stick to it. No matter what you do it's going to be a bad time.

I guess in the truly ideal situation he'd have spotted the red flags in Jimmy's behaviour and done something about it long before it reached that point, but there's no way he could have known how bad things were going to get that far in advance.

So I get what you mean, I don't envy his position at all lol. Thinking about this did make me realize that I think the way I've been framing my Curly analysis has been a little overly judgemental. I just kind of assumed most people went into the game with the idea that Curly was totally innocent like I did, and then over-corrected to make a point. I still stand by my overall interpretation, but I probably should have been a little more balanced. After all, one of Mouthwashing's strengths is being able to put you in the shoes of someone who does awful things, and showing that they're still just a human with flaws, while not glossing over the ramifications of their actions.

[jessicas-pi]

Bo and the Blueberry AU incorrect quotes

Bo-Katan: How’s school going? Ezra: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there. Bo-Katan: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes. Ezra: …you shouldn’t be condoning this.

---

Ezra: If history repeats, I'm so getting a Mythosaur.

---

Sabine: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done. Ezra: When we were kids, you convinced me eggs weren't real. Sabine: They're not. Ezra: Haha, very funny. Sabine: I'm serious. Didn't you hear? Ezra: No… what happened? Sabine: …Why would you fall for this again-

---

Din (after Ezra becomes Mand'alor): I think I mostly want to see what happens when this whole place breaks apart.

---

Sabine: You know what’s funny about Ezra? He’s my best friend, and anyone who’d hurt him is someone I’d murder, probably.

---

Bo-Katan: We'll talk about this later. Ezra: Ok, I won’t be listening.

---

Tristan: I found an old note that said Note to self: Get revenge on Ezra. Tristan: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for. Tristan: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it. Ezra: Hmm… I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either. Tristan: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though. Ezra: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it. Tristan: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

---

Bo-Katan: Come on, Ursa. Nobody actually believes that Din is in love with me. Ursa, to the other Mandalorians: Raise your hand if you think that Din is helplessly in love with Bo-Katan. *Everyone raises their hand* Bo-Katan: Din, put your hand down.

---

Korkie, looking at his friends: I need to become a therapist faster.

---

Ezra: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Tristan: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

---

Ezra, to Sabine: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Sabine: … Ezra: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

---

Ezra: Your smile? It makes my day. Sabine: Your happiness? I live for that. Korkie: A room? Get one. Tristan: Hotel? Trivago.

---

Ezra, texting Bo-Katan: *sends a voice message* Bo-Katan, texting back: I’m a little busy, is it urgent? Ezra: No, don’t worry, just listen later. *later* Bo-Katan: *presses play* Ezra's voice message: THERE’S A FIRE-

---

Sabine: Relationships should be 50/50. Ezra tries to be Mand'alor while I sit on the armrest of his throne looking intimidating.

---

Ezra: I need life advice. Korkie, sipping Space Gatorade and eating cookie dough: You came to the right person.

---

Sabine: Okay, I’m going to make sure the flower decorations have arrived. Ezra: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear. Sabine: … Sabine: You mean ring bearER, right? Ezra: … Sabine: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

---

Bo-Katan: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone. Ezra: Mine just says "Ezra no." Bo-Katan: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

---

Tristan: Why is Ezra making me do the dishes again? You haven’t washed them in a week, Sabine! Sabine: It’s because I’m Ezra’s favorite. Tristan: I hate you.

---

Korkie: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Sabine: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Ezra: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Korkie, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

[britt-kageryuu]

All Four Turtles are one the stream, their models are on a couch all in onesies.

The game play box is set above them on the screen.

They're playing Overcooked....

It's amazing that everyone is still unharmed!

"STOP! LETTING! THE! FOOD! BURN!!!" Has been shouted at least 50 times.

"Dee, get the Lettuce! Red server those meals faster!" Mikey shouts as he runs around the cooking stations.

"I'm washing the plates!" Red says while leaning a bit away from Mikey.

Leo was manning one of the cooking stations that was separated from the others. It was the best excuse to get Mikey to stop yelling at him this round, since no one was passing him food to cook.

Donnie moved quickly to get the prepped veggies to Leo, then goes back to getting the next order ready. They regret agreeing to this game, but they will admit it's kinda fun... when Mikey isn't screaming in his ears.

Raph grabbed the orders, and delivered them, then helps with washing the dishes. Hopefully he doesn't overcook the food again.

Mikey was trying to focus on getting things perfect, he was a master chef, he should be a master at this game aswell.

×××××××××××××××

The ended with just 2 Stars instead of 3.

Mikey stares at the screen, the others side eyeing him feeling nervous.

"We are redoing this level!"

"Mandarin, please! We agreed to get through at least 10 newer levels this stream. We need to move on." Leo says with a bit of exasperation.

"No we need every level to be Perfect! We will keep replaying each level until it's all perfect!" Mikey says with a scarily calm voice.

Donnie quickly moved them onto the next unlocked level, "Oh look. This level has us on a boat again!" They say to hopefully distract Mikey, and get moving with the game.

+++++++++++++

Because of a level hazard the kitchen kept catching on fire, it didn't help that Mikey kept forcing them to replay the levels.

After retrying for the 10th time Leo grabbed Mikeys controller, and Donnie got them to the next level.

Though it lead to Mikey tackling Leo behind the couch. Raph just grabbed them both like they were fighting cats, seperate them, and place them on opposite ends of the couch.

The chat if filled with *air jail* emoji.

=============

Much yelling still ensues as the Disaster Twins are on one half of the divided kitchen, and they kept passing over the wrong things or wrong food combination, just to mess with Mikey.

This was why Mikey was put on Raphs right, while the twins were on his left.

"If you two don't stop this middle child nonsense, you will have to play a game of My choice next!" Raph shouts at them, while holding down Mikey with one hand.

#############

The game was put on pause because it was decided that they needed to calm down, and bring down the possibility of someone getting maimed.

So they were having some food, while talking about some random gossip they heard from coworkers.

"-And the guy leaves the country to live with a new lover, taking all the money with them!" Mikey tells them, the others leaning forward in interest.

Donnie finishes their food before talking, "Sounds like something Wyvern told me. Only it was someone trying to skip the country for trying to sell faulty tech."

The audience was asking for more, they wanted more Tea! The chat was even filled with *Tea* emojis.

------------------

Masterpost

This didn't come out too bad, considering I didn't have the full context for how Overcooked was played until I wrote half of this, and just slightly reworded a few small things.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Hope you’re having a lovely day, Pumpkin!!! 💕 It’s been too long since I’ve sent an ask!! 😂 Ahhh! I’m in the mood for some SHENANIGANS tho, and there ain’t nobody on this site who can do it better!

Ahem.

*plops a magic 8 ball in front of AGSZC*

Cloud: Not that I usually believe in these things, but....magic 8 ball, will I ever pass the SOLDIER exam?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: As I see it, yes.

Cloud: Cool! When?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Outlook not so good.

Cloud: Uhhh. What?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Watch out for Sephiroth.

Cloud: THE FUCK?

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

Zack: Alright! I trust these things with my life. Magic 8 ball, should I dye my hair blue?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Yes definitely.

Zack: Uh...Magic 8 ball, should I get a tattoo of a chocobo fighting a zolom?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: As I see it, yes.

Zack: Huh? Magic 8 ball, should I rob a bank?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Yes definitely.

Zack, nervously: Should I join a gang?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: As I see it, yes.

Zack, panicking: Am I gonna go to jail?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Without a doubt.

Zack: I have decided to become a criminal.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

Angeal: Magic 8 ball, who ate all the brownies I left out to cool in the kitchen?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Ask again later.

*He beats the ball against the counter*

Magic 8 ball, disoriented: It was Sephiroth.

Angeal: I knew it.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

Sephiroth: These things are a scam. They cannot possibly predict the future nor can they accurately tell the truth.

Sephiroth: Magic 8 ball, is my mother dead?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Signs point to yes.

Sephiroth: Hm. Magic 8 ball, is my hair silver?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Yes definitely.

Sephiroth: ....Magic 8 ball, will I ever find a purpose in life beyond that which was bestowed upon me?

Magic 8 ball: Outlook good.

Sephiroth, excited: Magic 8 ball, what will my future look like?

Magic 8 ball: Very doubtful.

Sephiroth, frustrated: Magic 8 ball, should I trust the voice in my head that often urges me to burn everything to the ground, betray everyone, and rule this planet as a god?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Calm down edgelord.

Sephiroth:

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

Genesis: Magic 8 ball, am I better than Sephiroth?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: My reply is no.

Genesis: Hmph! I just need to rephrase it. Magic 8 ball, is Sephiroth better than me?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Without a doubt.

Genesis: .......

Genesis: No, that's simply a coincidence. Magic 8 ball, is the coat I'm wearing red?

*He shakes the ball*

Magic 8 ball: Yes definitely.

Genesis: .......

Genesis: Magic 8 ball, will I ever surpass Sephiroth and become the greatest hero of all time?

Magic 8 ball: Lmao.

Genesis: EXCUSE ME—

*He sets the ball on fire. No more magic 8 ball fun*