As the World Falls Down...

If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...

YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.

Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.

If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".

Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.

YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.

Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.

But Elmo, after cheerfully surrendering his old toys, sees that the children who swapped toys with him are playing with his toys “wrong”! They’re imagining entirely different make believe scenarios! They’re pretending the football is a dinosaur egg instead of a rocket ship! Aaahhhhh!!!! And this is so distressing to poor Elmo that he does the unthinkable: He does swapsies-backsies and takes all his toys back!

This being Sesame Street, he learns that you can’t control how other people play pretend, but you can join in if you want to! And if you don’t want to, that’s ok, you can just play pretend your own way by yourself or with someone else who wants to play that way too. You can still be friends with people who play pretend differently than you (and aren’t being mean/harmful/etc, do not bad-faith-read this 🤨).

no sign of turning

pairing: apocalypse au! andrew “pope” cody x reader

content: set in the last of us | mentions of cannibalism | human trafficking | gore | start of stockholm syndrome | pope is holding reader captive | pope is growing an unhealthy attachment to reader

🟡 author’s note: phew! work has been taking up a lot more of my time lately, but here is part two, i had a lot of fun writing pope in this au

previous part. part two. next part.

—

the codys had a surprisingly healthy reputation in the safe settlement of jackson hole. they had earned the respect from other settlers for being known as the ones who’d make risky runs to bring back much needed food and supplies. that reputation also applied to pope, despite his unsettling demeanor, many tolerated, and even admired him for his resourcefulness.

smurf operated their runs and trades like a strict business, acting as though she was selflessly willing to risk the safety of her precious sons in order to keep the community thriving. however, it was simply a facade to hide the secret smuggling operation that kept her greedy soul well-fed and well-armored. she conveniently divided the dirty work between her sons. smurf deemed deran was the “nice one”, therefore he was assigned to lure vulnerable people to follow him out to wyoming. craig and baz were tasked to split the work of handling the approved trades for the town, while discretely delivering fresh organs to buyers. which left pope with the role of “break-down” and “containment”. his obsessive compulsion to detail made him suitable to dismember the bodies, as well as handling the loose ends that the others were too afraid to touch.

as he stared down at your unconscious frame, he felt a flicker of annoyance at the burden that was shoved onto him. if it had been him who led you out here, he would’ve noticed your wound instantly and properly disposed of you before you reached the cabin.

baz soon arrived as backup after deran filled him in on your ambiguous wound, a cocky smirk on his face as he was presented with an opportunity to once again outdo pope.

“i need you to take the two live ones to colorado first,” pope muttered reluctantly, hating the fact that he had to depend on baz.

baz gave him a small nod. “done,” he replied easily, his gaze moving over to you. “you can handle her for the next forty-eight hours to make sure she’s clean, right?” baz teased.

pope let out a quiet huff. “of course, i can,” he said stiffly, rolling a large piece of cloth over your body before lifting you up.

once pope and baz emerged from the cabin, craig and deran were already outside mounted on their horses, the three euthanized bodies neatly wrapped and strapped to a small wagon. “c’mon assholes, we don’t have all day. smurf wants these organs harvested by tonight,” craig groaned.

pope swung your limp body over the back of his horse, before glancing over at baz, feeling a flicker of worry for his step-brother.

“be cautious when you deliver to those cannibals. make sure not to let the captives wake up until you get to colorado either,” pope warned.

“relax, i got it. just make sure you deliver her on time,” baz said, gesturing towards you.

pope gave him a nod before climbing onto his steed, letting out a soft grunt as he headed back to the settlement with craig and deran.

the heavy, guarded gates of jackson hole creaked open as the cody brothers approached. the settlers were blissfully unaware of what they were truly transporting as they trotted into town, their false perception of them masking the sinister truth.

the cody compound was tucked away in a secluded corner of the town, allowing them the needed privacy to run their fucked-up business. smurf greeted her boys with a sickening smile, a silk robe wrapped around her as her arms were folded against her chest. “i’m guessing everything went well?” smurf questioned.

deran nervously glanced towards pope, before looking back at their mother. “uh, yeah… apart from one small thing… but we got it handled,” he assured.

smurf let out a hum in acknowledgment before turning to head back into their home. “dinner will be ready in a little bit. pope, make sure you get started on the bodies, baby. i need them done by midnight, someone will be here in the morning to pick up the organs,” she called out.

craig had the decency to help pope drag the deceased bodies into the shack behind their home, right before scrambling back into the warmth of their home. despite the lingering stench of blood, decay, and preservation solution, the tension bled from pope’s shoulders. this space belonged entirely to him. it was a place his brothers couldn’t ruin and make a mess of, a domain even his mother couldn’t cross.

his rough hands moved your complaint body to the corner, finding a nearby chain to shackle your ankle to the floor, before starting his oddly comforting routine of deconstructing the human body.

you finally woke up near the end of his gruesome process. your eyes caught a glimpse of human hearts, livers, and kidneys neatly stored in a freezer, before registering the mutilated bodies discarded in a heap a few feet away from you.

you flinched, a sharp gasp escaping your lips that gained his attention.

he slowly turned to face you, his torso was wrapped in a bloodied butcher apron while his hands were draped in black heavy-duty gloves.

“shhh… relax, don’t make me slit your throat,” he threatened softly, kneeling down in front of you.

you followed his gaze, looking down at your neatly dressed and bandaged calf, the bleeding finally contained.

“are you—are you going to kill me?” you whimpered quietly.

he stilled, his eyes meeting yours in an unsettling manner. “no,” he answered. “unfortunately, you’re not mine to kill,” he replied bluntly, his hands coming towards your face.

you let out a shaky breath, the chain heavy around your ankle as you fearfully scooted back against the wall.

“take it easy,” he muttered gruffly, closing in on your personal space once more. he discarded his gloves to the side, before his hands cupped your face. his touch was stern but surprisingly gentle as he clinically examined your face. his gaze traced your features as though he’d be able to detect if you were infected simply by reading your expression.

pope hated to admit it, but some small part of him was already becoming attached to you. it was sick to say that he took comfort in your quiet company as he tackled the bloody process of breaking down your fellow companions, but it filled a void in him he wasn’t aware he possessed.

sure he had brief encounters with women who’d give him scraps of affection, but they were all superficial. by the time they stuck around long enough to see glimpses of the real him, they’d turn tail and run.

with you, there was nothing to hide. your first encounters with him had already exposed you to his darkest secrets. and it didn’t help with his infatuation that you just seemed so sweet and obedient under his command.

you shook in his hold, your wide, teary eyes flitting between him and the messy pile of torsos, heads, and limbs just behind him.

“shhh… relax, bunny,” he whispered, wanting to be the one who could soothe your frayed nerves.

he pulled back slightly, checking the watch on his wrist, noting it was just an hour before midnight. now that he was finally done with his “work”, he realized that his stomach had been rumbling. that also made him realize that you must be starving as well.

“i’m going to get us some food. you be good until i get back, ‘kay?” he asked, giving your knee a soft pat before moving to stand up.

“wait—you’re leaving?” you asked, feeling a sharp spike of anxiety at the thought of being left alone with the unsettling sight of your dismembered peers. you were well aware that the man standing in front of you was the monster that had brutally harvested their organs, but that didn’t stop your hand from clinging onto the denim of his pants.

“please, sir, don’t leave me alone,” you pleaded, hot tears running down your face.

pope let out a soft huff, his brows furrowed at the sight of your tears. “you’re so sensitive… you just—why do you cry all the time?” he huffed, craving to see you in a state where you weren’t so distraught. “…and it’s not sir. my name is andrew,” he added.

he knew it was a bad idea, establishing a form of relationship with you, but he really couldn’t help it. he’d been so deprived of honest connections in his life; how was he meant to turn away when you were pleading for his presence?

“i can’t take you with me,” pope said softly, drawing a small cry from you. “it’s for your own good. if smurf saw you, she’d make me skin you alive… but here, you’re safe. no one but me comes in here.”

he crouched back down in front of you, wiping away the tears on your face. “do they scare you, hm?” he asked, nodding towards the corpses. “i’ll be back in a few minutes, i promise. i’ll bring you some food and grab some blankets, okay?” he said, his detached demeanor quickly shifting into one that wanted to completely own and protect you.

after a few minutes of hushing you and easing down your sobs, he finally stood up, taking a step back as he hung up his butcher apron onto a hook mounted on the wall. before he left the shack, he grabbed a nearby ratty cloth, draping it over the pile of body parts to hide it from your sight.

the door shut with a solid thud once he stepped out, leaving you in the dim, chilly shack alone. an eerie silence settled over the space, your awareness of the corpses that were just a few feet in front of you didn’t help your raging anxiety either. you were already desperate to have pope back in your proximity, that way you wouldn’t feel so alone. it was evident that there was something incredibly wrong with this man, but you couldn’t help but fall into a sense of safety when he was with you. the way he firmly caught you when you ran from him in the blizzard, the way he cradled your face to examine you… he seemed so capable, strong, and dependable, like he could shield you from the corrupt, apocalyptic world that consumed your livelihood.

it was a grueling twenty minutes spent in isolation, before you heard the door push open, your mood perking up at the sight of pope returning. his hands carried neatly stacked blankets, on top sat a tray of delicious-smelling food.

he carefully set it down in front of you as he read your body language to see if you were still skittish, if you would flinch away from him again. he let out a small breath of relief as you stayed rooted in your spot, if anything, you were leaning towards him as he sat in front of you.

“go ahead and eat, we won’t stay here for long. after the traders come in the morning to pick up the organs, i can move you to a stronghold outside of jackson,” pope informed.

you glanced down at the food, hesitating as you remembered the canned soup that led to your group’s tragic end.

“it’s not drugged,” he assured, taking a forkful of the pasta into his mouth as proof.

you eagerly dug in after you watched him swallow the food, filling up your starved stomach as pope kept his intense gaze on you.

after you cleared your plate, you finally registered his words. “you’re moving me? is it because you still think i’m infected?”

he shook his head, “i know you’re not. if you were, you’d at least have a fever by now,” he answered. “it’s just protocol, that’s all. need to keep you away from everyone for the first forty-eight hours.”

“…and then you’re taking me to them, aren’t you? the cannibals?” you asked fearfully, a deep sense of dread filling your chest.

he turned away from you, his jaw clenched as he gave you a brief nod. “baz, my brother, took two of your friends down to colorado. smurf promised them three… so they won’t give us the medicine or guns until i deliver you. and smurf has a reputation to uphold,” he answered, his heart stuttering at the thought of relinquishing you to some other sick bastard.

you were hit with a wave of nausea as you processed his answer, slinking back into your corner.

after a moment of frantic thinking, you looked over at him. “i don’t want to go, please. i’m scared, andrew,” you whispered, unable to contain your confession.

he stiffened at the sound of his name being spoken, glancing over to meet your eyes. your soft pleading overrode the last rational scrap he had left in his brain, a look of determination settled over him as if he made up his mind. he’d come up with a way to deliver the final person to those cannibals if it meant he’d get to keep you. he could pick up one of those cultists who hid in the woods, maybe abduct one of those traders if he had the opportunity to, he’d even kidnap one of the townspeople if it came down to it.

“okay,” pope answered, his rough hand awkwardly resting over yours. “that means you’ll stay with me,” he said bluntly. “you’ll have to—you need to listen and be good, yeah?”

you eagerly nodded, relieved at the thought of not being sacrificed to the cannibals. pope couldn’t help but let his mind flood with possessive thoughts of you as you cozied up to him in gratitude. he could see himself making you his wife, building his own home on the opposite side of jackson hole, far from the cody compound where he’d teach you how to properly fulfill your wifely duties to him. he’d make sure you learn how to clean and cook. he’d keep a close watch on you so that no other man could ever lay a finger on you, or even look at you the wrong way. he’d pump you full of his cum every night until you were carrying his kids. and most importantly, he’d protect you from any lurking threat.

“andrew?” you called out softly, interrupting his domestic fantasy of you. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he replied as his hand moved to gently cup your face. “better than okay, bunny.” the nickname suited you, he thought. you were skittish as hell, but you were also sweet, docile, and easy to tame.

“…what are you going to do about the cannibals?” you asked, your mind still an anxious mess.

“i’ll take care of it. you and i will go on a trip to colorado tomorrow, okay?” he said, already planning to snag some poor sucker on the way down to fill your place.

“…okay,” you agreed, not having much room to object.

Ownership meant a physical copy. Now you own nothing and can't find what you want across multiple streaming platforms.

She's fat and gets the guy and no one bats an eye.

She's fat and the hottest chick in the sorority and that's normal.

She's fat and an actress and she gets good roles.

She's fat and she's funny and she has character depth and growth.

She's fat and the main character and no one mentions her weight once.

1. The court holds Google responsible for statements made by its AI, considering them Google's statements (search engines have limited liability for results in their engine as they're the words of other sites/companies/people), meaning when their AI lies/hallucinates they're liable for the defamation/harm resulting from those statements.

2. Google's defense that customers are generally aware of the lack of reliability and are responsible for fact checking was dismissed. As the court pointed out, that would "significantly diminish" AI Search's stated purpose and it can't be distinguished from Google's business practices/statements as a search tool.

3. Studies have found about 91% of Google's everyday AI responses are accurate, leaving millions of searches per HOUR with potential liability for falsehoods. 56% of correct responses weren't supported by the sources the AI listed. Both of which mean Google is now liable for a LOT more AI "errors."

4. Google was held liable for 80% of court costs in this case and this precedent is expected to reverberate around the world. This is a massive shift from the 3rd-party search provider role Google has previously played and it comes right as they've tied ALL searches to their AI search.