911:Lone Star 4x18 (aka season 4 finale) spoliers
How I imagine how the writing of this episode went.
One Writer - Okay so we should have more scenes with Carlos and his parents.
Another writer - I agree. I mean we’ve been wanting him to go higher than a patrol officer for a awhile.
One writer - Oh we could have his father want him to become a Texas ranger and get some drama from that.
Another writer - I love that idea and then the rest of the episode could be a wholesome wedding.
Kevin - I have an idea to guys.
Kevin - What if Carlos asks his dad to be his best man.
One writer - I like that idea.
Kevin - I’m not done. And then we have him and Carlos’s mom have a cute little scene as he prepares for the wedding.
Another writer - that sounds good.
Kevin - And then Carlos’s mom says there’s a delivery at the door and Carlos’s dad goes to get it.
One Writer - I’m not sure how this is relevant but okay.
Kevin - And then when he opens the door he gets shot point blank in the hearts and dies.
Another writer - …
One writer - …genius.
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Hear Me Out Gabriel (Tarlos 4x18 coda)
3k | AO3
Summary: Carlos’s has been grappling with the idea of his father’s legacy. Does he follow in his footsteps and become a ranger? Does he stay in the job he always thought was right? Does he go for the detective job? With all the applications laid out before him, he doesn’t know what to do. Thankfully, his husband knows a thing or two about trying to live up to a father’s legacy.
Special thanks to @marjansmarwani and @lire-casander for encouraging and reading over this. Love you both for all the help and support with everything that’s been happening .
The loft was silent, eerily so. It was rarely like this. There was always noise. Car horns echoed up from the streets below. Neighbors downstairs shuffling about. People knocking and coming over, loud and excited. Hell, even the lizard in his cage usually let out soft sounds, his claws scratching against his glass.
But not tonight.
No.
Tonight was silent.
It was not welcome. There had been days in the past weeks where it would have been. When there were too many people coming and going. Too many worried faces knocking on the door. Too many muffled cries and sniffles. Too many condolences.
But not tonight.
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. It came away damp. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. He’d been too focused on the various papers and files in front of him. It was a familiar sight, yet very different tonight. He cleared his throat and poured another shot in his glass. It had been a gift. From someone. He didn’t remember who. There had been lots of gifts over the past month, for good and bad reasons.
He knocked the drink back, relishing in the burn. Tequila . Not his drink of choice. Not straight. Not like this. But it was someone’s favorite. Before. He poured more.
The papers stared up at him from the coffee table. He hadn’t been back in this spot in awhile. Not since the night he’d argued over what it would mean to be a Texas Ranger. And now, well, he was starting at the damn application. It felt like a standoff. It felt pointless. He sipped at his drink.
Continued on AO3
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THE BASTARD
pairing: joker! reader x Miguel O'hara
trigger warn: graphic. reader is male presenting, and is referred as john doe. homophobia.
setting: pre!across the spiderverse,
How does a son out of wedlock,
a son of an affair,
a bastard, ever live as a normal kid?
Because, if we think of it, since childhood, there are people who hate them, who pray every night that a thunder bolt will strike them down, no matter what. That will do anything to make their life a ginormous rock as a punishment for being born, they have to roll to the top of the mountain.
But-
What would a bastard do to take revenge on the cruel life they were harshly born into?
Now, that’s a real one.
But here’s one; Miguel O’hara.
a groan, the sound dogs use to express discomfort, anxiety.
“ugh, Lyla, prepare some coffee please.” the sound of water automatically being poured and being boiled was heard through the kitchen. “lyla can you lightly open the blinds?” he spoke up again, interrupting the atmosphere “‘s too dark in here” the blinds opened quickly, bathing the room with sunlight.
“you have 1 message. from the public eye .” lyla appeared next to Miguel’s groggy form, his steps pattering against the cold floor, there was a bell sound and he grabbed his cup with ‘automatic coffee’ in his mug, one with ‘World’s greatest brain’, he nodded at the hologram and took a sip.
If we’re honest here, Miguel O’hara hated the public eye, they were basically hunting him. each time Spiderman was there to save the day, the public eye was there to have his head on a stick. he groaned loudly, rolling his eyes at the thought
“....could you read it to me?” a buzzing noise was heard in return “citizens of nueva york, there is a new threat” threat? “but remain calm. it is advised to stay inside of your homes, we’ll be sending more information through most media, i repeat it’s advised to stay inside during night.”
“what threat could it be?” he muttered to himself, he then took another sip “lyla, what is this…threat?” some holographic screens appeared in front of him, displaying some files of the public eye.
“it seems that they have found a serial killer, miguel.”
He hummed, acknowledging the news, taking another sip of coffee.
“Do they have any modus operandi?”
“It’s too early to say, but I’ll get more information.”
“Thank you Lyla”
He placed his coffee on the sink, and retreated back to his room, to get changed. he admired his own body on the mirror, his horrible teeth, he didn’t even like them as a kid, before he turned into this. He looked straight into his eyes, his blood red eyes, it was actually haunting, he could see himself many times and just see that.
As he put on his pants, there was a bell sound on his holocel, a message from alchemax, they needed him quickly there.
[O’hara, the public eye is here.] it read [they need to talk to you, right. now.]
His head cocked to the side while reading the message, he pulled on a shirt, and left for his office.
After quickly making his way to his office, there seemed to be many people harassing him with their eyes, as if he had done something wrong. He barged into his office, only tk come face to face with the public eye.
“Mister O’hara.”
“Sir, can I help you?.”
“Actually, you can” Darryl King began “You’re a geneticist, am i right?”
“yes”
“very well then” he paused for a second, standing up from miguel’s desk “did you know that dynastor darius, a type of butterfly, has a pupa that looks like a python?”
“...how can i help?”
there was a pregnant pause
“...i believe you are a dynastor darius, miguel, can i call you that?” his heavy, clacky steps echoed through the room, miguel didn’t respond, just glaring holes into the man in front of him. “i believe that you are a python, who’s actually a butterfly, miguel.”
“i believe you are weak.”
“you know, we’ve had our eyes on you, after a tragic death.” the man stopped smiling “Gabriel O’hara’s death, Conchata O’hara’s death.” Miguel’s eyes widened
“What are you trying to say?” he sneered
“that you had something to do with the dea-” before he could finish the word, he was already on the ground, MIguel O’hara on top of him, hitting him.
the color red filled his senses, completely enveloping him, his mind, fists, his office, wait.. his office? boots stamped against the floor, overwhelming his senses, and the second he looked behind-
clack! black out cold.
why were they here again?
“wake up”
“wake up!”
“WAKE UP!”
he opened his eyes and on reflex tried to stand up, he jolted, he looked down, he was bound to himself, he tried moving, he was shaken.
“wake up”
he growled and tried to scream, but his words were muffled against the mask.
“shut it, o’hara, stay still”
Miguel was seething, he was confused, he was bound to himself. he looked around a white hallway with cells, everything sterile, everything clean and pristine. something was wrong, something was awfully wrong. he tried to look into the cells, in each one there was… wait-
there were people in them.
everything suddenly clicked, the dulled out people, the smell of chloride burning in his nose, and the straightjacket.
he was in a fucking psych ward, a fucking ashylum.
he began jolting, he began fighting against the restraints, he even had a muzzle, miguel tried speaking, he tried biting when the guards began holding him down, screamed, he began scrambling, until he received a blow on his head, he received even more than he could count until he heard a voice, and footsteps running down the hall, something along the lines of ‘stop!’ and ‘hold him down!’ he felt as they grabbed his head and pulled it away, showing his neck, until he felt a prick on his neck.
“easy- easy..” slowly, he felt his head drop, until his eyes were the only thing he could move, and he saw the shoes of his ‘savior’
he had black shoes…
with fucking butterfly socks.
with stupid shiny colors and with
“fucking butterflies…”
“take him to my office.”
“on it.”
“why is he here?”
“he attacked Darryll King, we just wanted for him to help us with the killer”
"....tell darryll, i'll be on o'hara's case".
DON'T COPY MY FUCKING WORK
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