#woe what a shitshow

[hislittleraincloud]

Caveat: I don't know exactly what the voters need to be looking for when judging this shit. And for all I know the paint blood F/X thing is more of a responsibility for the people behind the camera who want things to look good in the frame.

But really...I honestly cannot believe that this incongruous piece of shit makeup work from 'Woe What a Night' that I always point and laugh at when it's on my screen big or small won a goddamn Creative Arts Emmy for Outstanding Contemporary Non-Prosthetic Makeup...because shit like this exists in the episode:

In the earlier part of the scene, it's watery paint. We can see that, and we can see how it dripped onto Ortega's face in that thin film, full face coverage, then right after her vision, she zips out of the ballroom intent on getting to Eugene.

But then some ✨creative✨ thought that it would be cool to mix up actual stage blood and then dump it onto Ortega's clearly clean face, even though the paint didn't have that thicker consistency at all (because yanno...Stupid Viewers Are Stupid and Won't Notice, it's not important, so long as it looks okay! which I've never thought that it does 💀). I wouldn't take issue with this if they had just used the stage blood to begin with, but there are pro rules for that too, with professional makeup artists warning not to misuse stage blood:

"...Misusing fake blood can also quickly make a realistic design appear overtly fake. When designing a look, consider the optimal color and thickness of any fake blood you intend to use. It should closely resemble the wound or effect you are trying to create.

Pro Tip: To make a special effects makeup look more realistic, consider the direction that blood would flow from a wound, or how the blood would splatter. Don’t simply spray blood in every direction. In real life, this doesn’t happen NEARLY as much as you’d think."

I can't be the only one annoyed by the difference, SINCE WEDNESDAY EXPLICITLY SAID THAT SHE WAS DISAPPOINTED THAT THEY COULDN'T EVEN SPRING FOR PIG'S BLOOD. "IT'S ONLY PAINT." And it wasn't just on Ortega's clean face, it's on Ricci's clean face too:

✨But Tor, it LOOKS BETTER TH --✨

NO.

NO, IT DOESN'T.

This is just some bull💩 if the Academy thinks this was better contemporary makeup work than The Last of Us, AHS, or Picard. As much as I like and tolerate this show, its continuity is HORRENDOUS, as I've pointed out in Fuck Those Propmasters.

...So congrats(?) on casting some kind of spell over the voters for the win. I haven't even mentioned the CAKE on Ortega's face throughout that erases all of her freckles. Yes, I get it, she had to do whiteface since Wednesday is pale/dead looking, but there was just too much in some places that was really noticeable. (It's most evident when she talks to Enid at the beginning with her Murder Board and when Xavier makes her ask him to the Rave'N. But then it isn't caked during the Rave'N itself. It's actually not as caked on in other episode scenes, like when she's opening her snood gift. Perhaps the makeup of the Rave'N was a factor since it was nice, especially the Nightshade girls and Enid.)

Anyway, IDGAF if I sound like a raging cunt. I expect things that win awards to be legit worthy of recognition...this was not. Not for this, at least. Contemporary Costuming, fair, I guess (I mean...the Nevermore uniforms seem like an homage to Beetlejuice, the cat costumes Batman Returns, but otherwise, costuming seemed rather boring to me, but whatever, maybe it was the contrast between Wends and her colorful roommate that made it stand out). But not makeup, it was just way too inconsistent and there were better nominees.

ETA: I had to re-edit this because some of my other edits didn't save for some reason.

[janiehellion]

Wildflower Woes

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon hates you. Or does he? And do you only love the flowers that grow in your own garden, or do you love the wild ones too? Because with eyes watching in the darkness of the night, nothing is ever quite as it seems.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: S1!DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HURT / ANGST / VOYEURISM / MASTURBATION / EXHIBITIONISM / DUB-CON / LANGUAGE / CUM PLAY / SEMI-PUBLIC

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.000

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: NON-CON ELEMENTS

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

As you walked behind Daryl, your eyes drifted from the road ahead to the ground beside your feet, where something caught your eye and distracted you rather fast from everything else around you—a bunch of wildflowers that had bloomed along the side of the road. They were not only the kind you’ve always loved, but they were also a small reminder of what life really was like not so long ago.

Without a second thought, you decided to step off the path, with your fingers reaching out instinctively to touch the nearest blossom in silent admiration.

"They’re still so beautiful, despite everything," you whispered quietly to yourself, not wanting Daryl to hear what you were saying. "I remember how I always thought these were just pretty-looking weeds as a kid because Mom and Dad always had them everywhere in our garden. God, I miss them so much."

Kneeling down beside the flowers, you allowed yourself a quiet moment of peace, thinking back to a few weeks ago when everything was still normal. To those weekends gardening with your mom while your dad cut the lawn or filmed you and your mother to capture memories for the future. The time when your parents were still alive.

But that short moment of peace was quickly shattered by an all-too-familiar sound that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver through your body. Spinning around, your eyes locked on the rotting figure of a walker emerging from behind a tree, and panic flooded your mind.

"Shit!" You screamed, stumbling backward and falling hard onto the ground, and in your desperate attempt to avoid being bitten, you reached for your weapon, only to realize the handle was tangled with the strap of your backpack. Despair washed over you as the walker got closer, its hands reaching out to dig its fingers into your flesh.

Just then, Daryl heard your scream. He spun around, his crossbow aimed at the walker, and in the blink of an eye, the creature dropped dead at your feet with a bolt in its head.

"What in the hell were ya doin'?" Daryl shouted, his face full of anger as he rushed over.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stumbled to your feet, your voice trembling. "I… I just noticed the flowers! I’ve always liked flowers and these—"

"Flowers? Ya nearly got yerself killed over some damn flowers?" His eyes narrowed in frustration.

Daryl’s voice was bitter, full of anger, as he grabbed your arm and pulled you roughly back onto the road. Before you could react, he stomped his boot into the patch of flowers, grinding them into the dirt in front of your eyes.

"Can't believe ya'd risk yer life for this bullshit!" He said, as he pulled his bolt out of the walker and walked back to you again.

His grip on your arm tightened, and he yanked you forward. "Look at ya," he growled, full of disgust. "Ya think this is some kinda shitty garden party? We're fightin' to survive, and yer out here actin' like a pussy over a bunch of fuckin' flowers! ‘S that what's gonna save us? A fuckin' bouquet?"

His words made you flinch, and you were unable to hold back the tears that had already formed in your eyes. When you looked back up, Daryl's face was only inches from yours.

"Oh, look at ya, so delicate and pure!" He taunted with disdain. "Yeah… Ya gonna stop this shitshow with a bouquet, huh? Gonna wave 'em around and make all the walkers bow down to yer flowery grace? What’s next, princess? A fuckin’ garden gnome to guard the damn camp?"

You tried to steady your voice, fighting back your sobs. "Listen, Daryl… Thank you for saving me, really! But I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble! I just... I just wanted a moment of beauty that reminded me of—"

"A moment of beauty? Ya think yer gonna find some happy endin' in the middle of all this shit? It's like yer livin' in a fuckin' fantasy! Newsflash: This ain’t a damn fairy tale!" Daryl cut you off with a mocking laugh.

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "Oh, I see. Ya got this big-ass plan, don't ya? Ya gonna sprinkle some petals ‘round and charm all the dead assholes with yer pretty flowers, huh? Hell, why not add a unicorn that shits glitter while yer at it?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his insults didn't even give you a chance. "Oh, wait, I got it! Ya gonna build a fairyland where everything is perfect and we all live happily ever after! Ya gonna knit a quilt with flowers on it, and everyone will forget 'bout the damn world fallin' apart! That’s yer big-ass plan, ain't it?"

Listening to him, you struggled more and more to hold back your sobs, but you finally found the confidence to respond. "That's not true! And I didn’t say that. I just thought—"

"Thought what?" Daryl interrupted again, his voice almost yelling in anger. "Ya think that’s gonna change anything? Get real! Out here, ya don't get to have yer shitty moments of peace. Ya either get yer head outta yer ass or ya die!"

He shook his head, scoffing at you. "Tell me! What’s next, huh? Ya gonna start singin' lullabies to the walkers? Maybe ya should bake ‘em some cookies and ask ‘em to join the damn camp," he spat out, finally turning away and leaving you standing in the middle of the road, knowing that you’d follow him one way or another.

And you did.

Aside from Daryl's few mutterings of frustration, the walk back to the camp was quiet. He didn’t offer you an apology, nor did he ask why you seemed so fascinated by those wildflowers in the first place. Instead, he simply continued to walk ahead, throwing you angry sidelong glances from time to time, while his annoyed curses and angry mumblings barely reached your ears anymore.

You allowed the minutes to pass, and just as you were beginning to accept being his supply run partner a little bit more, Daryl's voice was heard again. "Quit yer damn whinin'! Pretty flowers ain't gonna keep ya alive!" he said, his anger not yet gone. "All this fuckin' bullshit just makes ya look weak! Ain't nobody got time for that. Ya gotta get that into yer head!"

He looked ahead, and with a sudden, quick move, he lifted his boot and stomped down on another few wildflowers growing along the side of the road. Your jaw dropped in disbelief, and your eyes widened in shock and hurt. The purpose behind it—to obviously hurt you—only made you clench your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms.

But you stayed silent; the last thing you wanted was to give him any more reason to bully you and to fuel his anger. Instead, you focused on keeping your breathing steady, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you continued to follow behind him.

As you both finally approached the quarry, Daryl’s anger reached its breaking point, and in a rather sudden decision, he stormed off the path, disappearing into the woods without another word and taking the rest of the supplies with him.

"Yeah, yeah, run away, you fucking dickhead," you whispered to yourself before putting the backpack down next to the RV. "What a damn idiot! Just because he’s got a stick up his ass doesn’t mean he is allowed to shit on everything that others care about. He thinks he’s so tough, but he’s just an asshole who’s always acting like he’s the only one who matters around here! And here I was, thinking I might actually like him and have a soft spot for him. Guess I was just kidding myself. What a fucking joke!" You continued and let the sadness come out quietly as you were left standing alone.

"Can’t believe he thinks this is some kind of, I don't know, redneck survival training. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m so tough! I’ll just destroy whatever makes you happy!’ Well, newsflash to you too, Dixon: You’re not the only one who’s capable of surviving! Jesus…"

The sudden sound of footsteps approaching stopped your rant, and you turned to see Dale walking towards you with a look of concern. "Hey there," he said with a smile, taking the backpack into his hands. "You look like you’ve had a rough time out there today. Is everything okay? Where’s Daryl Dixon?"

You hesitated for a moment, the situation that has happened before making it hard for you to find the right words. Finally, you sighed and responded.

"I couldn’t give less of a fuck where that man is right now! I mean, listen, Daryl’s been—well, he’s been a jerk, like always. He got mad about a few pretty flowers that I found. You know, the wild ones that I showed you the other day when you were talking with Shane? Well, Daryl ended up stomping all over them because he had to save me from a walker, since the flowers distracted me and nearly got me killed. And now he’s just gone off into the woods without a word. He even took the rest of the supplies we’ve found with him. Can you believe that, Dale?"

"Oh, yes, I do remember the flowers; very nice to look at. My wife would’ve loved them as well, believe me," Dale’s eyes studied you as he listened to you, trying to understand what had happened, "but I’m sorry to hear about what has happened. Sure, Daryl’s got a lot of—let’s call it rough and tough edges. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon with the supplies; don’t you worry about that."

His words and warm smile helped to calm you down a little. "Yeah, I guess you’re right," you sighed, feeling a little better. "Thanks, Dale. I just needed to let off some steam. And maybe Daryl's right, some of those flowers weren’t meant to survive this cruel world…"

Dale nodded once more but looked slightly concerned because of your answer, though he decided not to address it, nor did he press any further. "Anytime. Now, let’s get these supplies sorted. I bet that Daryl will calm down soon enough as well."

You couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "Yeah, maybe. And pigs might fly too."

Soon enough, you were busy sorting the supplies when you heard footsteps approaching again. This time, it was Daryl who did come back from the woods, but his face showed that he was still annoyed.

"Here," he snapped, tossing his bag of supplies onto the ground. "Forgot to leave 'em here. Don’t expect any flowers or fairy dust."

You looked up from the supplies, sighing loudly. "Yeah, thanks," you answered quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. "I guess it’s good you’re back. The camp needs those supplies."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ya know, if ya spent less time daydreamin' and more time focusin' on what’s important, then we wouldn’t have to deal with this shit."

"Is that so?" You shot back, struggling to stay calm. "And what exactly is ‘important’ to you, Daryl? Destroying everything that reminds people of normalcy?"

He snorted at you. "Normalcy? Ain’t no such thing in this world no more. If ya can’t handle that, maybe ya should stay behind."

His words hurt, but you forced yourself not to fuel his anger. "Well, maybe if you weren’t so hell-bent on destroying everything that might still matter to others, you’d see that sometimes people need a bit of hope, however small."

Daryl stared you down. "Hope? Hope won’t keep ya alive. Only havin' a pair of balls and havin’ a clear head will do that. And from where I stand, ya got none of that."

"I guess we’ve all got our own way of coping with this new world," you said quietly, not really knowing what to answer him anymore. 

His eyes studied you. "Copin'? Ya think I’m just ‘copin'’ here? I’m tryna keep us alive, and all ya do is mess 'round with flowers like it’s some kind of goddamn gardenin' hobby."

You took a deep breath. "I’m just trying to hold on to a bit of what makes me human. I know it might seem pointless to you at the moment, but those flowers... they remind me of something good, something that I miss."

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, good for ya. Maybe ya can save the world with yer damn flowers, while the rest of us are riskin' our asses."

Before you could respond, Andrea approached you, having overheard the conversation. "Hey, is everything alright?" She asked, her eyes looking from you to Daryl.

"Just a little disagreement," you answered, forcing a smile. "Nothing we can’t handle."

Daryl took a step back and shook his head. "Yeah, well, I’m done wastin' my time here. Gonna get some rest."

As he walked away, Andrea rolled her eyes and turned to you with a smile. "Don’t let him get to you. He's an asshole. But you’re doing the right thing by holding on to what makes you feel human. You’ll get used to him eventually."

Later that evening, as the campfire was burning down slowly and the rest of the group went to go to sleep after their meal, you sat quietly on the side, lost in your thoughts. Daryl had withdrawn from the group, sitting alone by a tree as he stared into the flames from afar. Eventually, you stood up and walked off to your tent, but the next morning, a flower appeared by the entrance, carefully placed where it was visible but not too obvious.

"Is he for real?" You said to yourself, not really sure why he'd even continue to make fun of you like this in the first place.

While you were helping with camp chores a short time later, you spotted Jacqui kneeling by the water, washing the clothes. Taking the chance to get some answers, you approached her.

"Hey, Jacqui," you began, trying to sound neutral. "I found this wildflower in front of my tent. Any idea who might be leaving them? I don't know if Andrea told you, but I had a problem with Daryl yesterday, and I thought he left the flower there just to keep on making fun of me."

"Of course Andrea told me, how come you think she wouldn’t? You can’t keep secrets around here!" Jacqui looked up, laughing out loud. "But come on, are you for real? You think it was Daryl Dixon? Really? Come on, that's too funny."

You blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Wait, you think it’s funny that I’m even considering Daryl after him acting like a total dickhead? I just thought—"

Jacqui laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh, come on. Daryl? Why should he continue to make fun of you like that? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him to throw a beer can at your head, or leave a skinned squirrel in front of your tent or even under your pillow, but flowers? You're overthinking things. Honestly, I'd bet it's Shane."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Shane? Seriously? That’s what you think? But Daryl literally bullied me because of them."

Jacqui stood up, stretching her arms. "So, what? I’m just saying that sometimes it’s better not to overthink things, especially when it comes to the Dixon brothers. There's nothing that'd benefit him in mocking you any further. Anyway, I’ve got clothes to get back to." With that, Jacqui wandered off, leaving you confused and a bit embarrassed.

"Hey! It’s not like I expect him to start a flower shop anytime soon, okay? It’s just super weird!" You shouted after her, shaking your head slightly, before you caught sight of Daryl from a distance, kneeling over his crossbow. The sight of him—mumbling to himself and clearly busy with whatever he was doing—irritated you, and you decided it was time to confront him directly.

"Daryl, can we talk for a second?" You finally asked and approached him hesitantly.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Whaddaya want, woman?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration you felt about him still being angry with you. "I found this flower this morning. Right by my tent."

"Yeah? And what’s that gotta do with me?" Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his tone defensive.

"I just thought that maybe you’d know something about it. I mean, I didn’t think it was a coincidence, since the flower is like the same from—" You started, but he didn't let you finish.

"Hell, I dunno nothin’ ‘bout those damn flowers. Ya think I’m runnin’ ‘round playin’ flower fairy for ya now or what? It wasn't me. Keep dreamin'," Daryl cut you off, his jaw tightening. 

His voice was harsh, his tone dismissive. "Just stop pissin’ me off; yer just lookin’ too much into shit. It’s just flowers. Quit tryna make somethin’ outta nothin’."

Your frustration was growing, and you took a step closer. "I’m just trying to understand. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to understand something. Look, it doesn’t make sense for this flower to just—"

Before you could finish, Daryl cut you off again. "Hell, just drop it! Got enough problems without ya comin’ at me with this bullshit. Ain’t in the mood for yer crap no more."

Just then, Shane appeared with a wide smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, leaning against a nearby tree. "I couldn’t help but notice you looking a bit stressed. You up for some fishing? Could use some company, if you’re interested, that is."

You glanced between Shane’s big smile and Daryl’s scowling face, and with a small nod, you agreed. "Yeah, that actually sounds nice. I could definitely use a break right now. And it’d be nice to eat some fish every now and then."

Shane’s smile widened. "Perfect! We’ll have a great time, I’m sure of it; even if we don’t catch anything, it’ll still be fun. I’ll go get everything ready and come back to get you when I’m done."

"Why don’t ya both just try to drown while fishin’ then? I’m sure ya’d both do a great job at it," Daryl suddenly mumbled, turning back to his bag.

"Excuse me? What was that? What did you just say?" You asked, trying to keep your voice calm, but your confusion was obvious as you watched Shane walk away. "And what the hell are you even doing there in the first place, Daryl?"

"None of yer damn business," he snapped back at you with annoyance. "Maybe ya should spend less time bein’ a pain in the ass and more time doin’ somethin’ useful. Like catchin’ more than just one damn pitiful fish with that Romeo ya got over there."

You shook your head, feeling your frustration boil over. "You think you’re the only one who cares about survival? We’re all trying to get by, Daryl. But as a team! Together, as a group of survivors! And you? You’re just being an asshole."

Daryl’s gaze hardened. "Oh, that so? And what’s yer excuse for bein’ a pathetic, whiny mess? Thinkin’ yer entitled to shit? Get over yerself."

Before you could respond, Shane reappeared with some of the fishing gear. He then noticed Daryl’s bag next to his crossbow and raised an eyebrow. "Thistles? What the hell are you gonna do with thistles, Dixon? Prick us to death?"

"Guess we’ll be havin’ a fancy-ass thistle salad for dinner. Real gourmet shit," Daryl answered sarcastically. "Ya can eat parts of 'em, if ya so keen on knowin', but I bet ya knew that already, ain’t that so officer fancy-pants?"

Shane’s face turned serious as he glanced between you and Daryl. "Dixon, you got a problem with something? ‘Cause you’re acting like a real jackass for no goddamn reason at all!"

Daryl turned back to his bag. "Nah, just tired of watchin’ ya’ll pretend to be so high and mighty. Don’t need no charity fishin’ trip from ya, Shane."

Shane’s jaw clenched slightly, but he tried to sound calm. "Funny, Daryl, really funny. Maybe you should take a look at yourself before you start a fight you can’t win."

Daryl’s expression grew darker. "Ain’t here to be ya damn buddy, Walsh. Got my own shit to deal with, so why don’t ya just keep yer damn opinions to yerself?"

"Alright, alright. You do you, Dixon," Shane answered, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile as he looked at you again. "Come on, let's go fishing then; I’ll ask Jim to be on the lookout in the meantime."

You watched Shane walk away, then turned back to Daryl, who was now looking at the thistles in his bag.

"Great, really great. That went well," you sighed, shaking your head, but Daryl didn’t respond and instead continued to fumble with the thistles. You soon walked away, joining Shane by the water. 

"Let’s get this set up," he said, handing you a fishing rod. "We might as well make the best of it."

As the time went by, the conversation drifted to other topics. Shane talked about his past life, even sharing police stories that made you smile despite yourself.

"Thanks for this," you soon said. "It’s nice to get away from the group a little, even if it isn’t far, and just... be."

Shane nodded, focusing on his line. "Yeah, I figured you could use a break. Daryl’s got a way of being a pain in the ass."

"I guess that’s one way to put it," you laughed back. “But he isn’t the only one around who isn’t very great to get along with. The real pain in the ass around here is Ed, and that’s a fact.”

“Ed, yeah, don’t remind me. But you do realize that talking about Ed would be a pain in the ass just as much, don’t you think?” He smirked, casting his line again. "But speaking of Dixon, you know, it’s actually funny. Because I’ve seen that asshole sneaking around your tent more than once. Creepy as hell if you ask me."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait, wait, wait... What are you talking about? What do you mean? Daryl Dixon? What? When?"

Shane shrugged casually. "Well, I’ve already seen him lurking around your tent when you first got here weeks ago, like he’s some kind of damn stalker. Even seen him hide behind some of the cars at night. Also quite funny, because Jim was the one who caught him near the RV first, since he’s more or less the mechanic around here. Did you know that being an auto mechanic was Jim’s job? Who would’ve guessed?"

You frowned at him, processing this new information. "Shane, could you please stop trying to change the damn topic for a moment? This isn’t about Jim right now! Just tell me if you’re serious about Daryl sneaking around my tent!"

"Relax, relax! But yeah," Shane laughed and shook his head. "I mean, Daryl’s always been a bit of a freak, but that... that was something else. Fucking creep."

You bit your lip, feeling confused. "I don’t know, Shane. I mean, sure, he’s rough around the edges, like Dale pointed out before too, but..."

"But? But what?" Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You hesitated, then sighed. "It’s a little stupid, okay? But when I first got here, I kind of had a fleeting thing for him. But not for long; I mean, I didn’t know anybody around here; you were all just strangers, so of course I didn’t know what he’s actually like."

Shane’s face quickly showed disbelief and a bit of anger. "You’re shitting me, right? That piece of shit who literally told us to drown? You had a crush on him?"

You shook your head, feeling quite embarrassed. "No, listen, it wasn’t exactly a crush! Please, don't call it a crush, okay? I simply thought there was more to him, you know? Maybe under all that anger, there’s someone who… cares."

Shane shook his head, his jaw clenched so tight that you could see his muscles twitch while he was gritting his teeth. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That hillbilly dipshit? He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, just like his brother Merle. And now he’s got you thinking he’s some kind of misunderstood hero? That piece of shit couldn’t even fit into the anti-hero category if he wanted to! I already told Lori and Carol to keep Carl and Sophia away from him and his brother! Because they’re both a bad influence!"

"It’s not like that, Shane! I know he’s very difficult, but..." You started, but he cut you off once more.

"But nothing!" Shane snapped. "God, you sound just like Dale! Please now, just listen to me. You deserve better than that. Someone who actually gives a damn about you. Not some freaking weirdo who creeps around your tent at night. I know that I should’ve told you sooner, and I’m sorry. But you think Daryl’s going to change just because Merle’s probably dead? Nah. He’s just going to keep treating you and all of us like shit. But I’m here, and I actually care about you and the rest of us. And I did care right from the start."

You shook your head, feeling overwhelmed by his words. "Shane, please, this really is turning into an awkward conversation right now. I just need some time to think and not a motivational coach with a shotgun and a fishing rod."

"Fine. But just remember what I said. Daryl’s not the guy you think he is." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "And you know what? The two of you are a perfect pair of fuckin’ clichés. The tough redneck guy and the naive dreamer princess. It’s pathetic."

You hesitated, unsure of how to continue the conversation. "Okay, okay, I got it! Stop! I meant to ask you a different question anyway! About a flower I found by my tent. Did you leave it there for me?"

Shane shook his head. "Me? Leaving you a flower? No. Don’t have time for that. I have to keep this group safe, after all."

You sighed, feeling a bit of relief. "I know, I know, it's just that... Jacqui thought it might've been you. Guess she was wrong."

Shane shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to talk any further. "Yeah, well, let’s just finish up here and head back."

A short time later, you and Shane packed up your gear and headed back to the camp, where the rest of the group, apart from Daryl, was already sitting around the campfire and talking. about the usual things, all the while you couldn’t stop thinking about what Shane had told you as you stared into the fire.

And as the night finally fell over the Atlanta camp, Daryl found himself in the shadows and lost in thought. He had withdrawn from the group throughout the rest of the day, thinking about how Shane and your fishing trip had annoyed him and left him feeling more than just pissed.

He moved quietly through the trees, his steps almost making little to no sound while his mind was full of conflicting thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last. He was still angry with himself over everything that had happened—his rage towards you, Shane’s arrogant attitude, and his own pushed-away emotions that he couldn't really ignore.

Standing by the edge of your tent, he looked around to make sure he was alone and out of sight before he crouched down, pulling out a small bundle from his pocket—another wildflower, the exact kind that you liked so much.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," he mumbled to himself and snorted. "Here I am, sneakin' 'round like some kind of goddamn lunatic."

He put it gently on the ground, just near the entrance of your tent, where you had to notice it one way or another. His fingers moved along the petals of the flower as if it could somehow help him feel better with his guilt. "Goddamn it, Daryl," he whispered to himself. "Ya really fucked it all up, like ya always do. Stompin' on 'em flowers like a fuckin' idiot. What were ya even thinkin'?"

His eyes narrowed as he remembered how he had responded and how he had used his insults and rage to try to push you away. "Ya didn’t mean it," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Ya were just so pissed off. Shane’s up her ass all day, and ya had to be the one who’s had to do somethin'. Hell, she's gonna think it was him now anyway, with the way he’s been actin' 'round her, that's for damn sure."

He stood up, avoiding stepping on the flower. "But ya know what? It ain’t 'bout him. 'S 'bout yerself, ya fuckin' idiot. Ya can’t just keep watchin' her and expectin' her to see ya for the piece of shit ya really are."

He looked around when he heard a noise, seeing you coming from a distance, and quickly moved to hide behind a nearby tree. His heart was racing in his chest; adrenaline and shame were rushing through his body, but he couldn’t let you see him; he couldn’t let you know that he was here, after all.

Daryl crouched down low, pressing his back against the bark of the tree he was leaning against. "Every damn night," he whispered quietly, "watchin’ her shadow. Shit, she doesn’t know. Fuckin’ hell, if she knew... I’m a goddamn creep. But I can’t stop. I just—I need to see her. Need to know she’s there."

His eyes followed you as you got closer, but he didn’t move. He was observing you and watching to see if you would notice the flower immediately, or if you wouldn’t until the next morning.

"She’s gotta know it’s me," Daryl thought, his mind racing and his body beginning to sweat all of a sudden. "She’s suspicious already. Can’t let her know the real reason why. She’d hate me for it."

His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists tightly. "I’m a fuckin’ idiot. That’s what I am. Tryin’ to make it right with damn flowers, but I’m still the asshole who’s watchin’ her like a damn perv. She’s got no idea," he whispered to himself again. "No fuckin’ clue what’s really goin’ on. Hell, if anyone 'round here knew, they’d run me outta camp. Can’t have that. Don’t want her to know; don’t want anyone to know."

"Why’d ya let things go this far?" He continued to tell himself. "Why’d ya let yerself get so fuckin' close to her? Ya think she’s gonna understand why yer such a fuckin' creep? Fuck, think again."

As you opened your tent, Daryl's eyes were watching you with nervousness. Even though he knew it was wrong, he was unable to accept the fact that he had been watching you most of the time at night, unable to take his eyes off your tent.

"Ain't gonna make excuses," he muttered. "Been an asshole, and I know it. Been watchin' her—sometimes even more than I should. Fuckin' hate myself for it. Every damn time I see her, she reminds me that I’m a damn bastard, and I can’t stand it."

Thoughts of how he had treated you kept coming back again and again to his mind. "I act like I don’t give a shit, but I do. Hell, I care more than I wanna admit. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so goddamn hard on her. Dunno. Maybe I thought it’d keep me from feelin'... this way."

Daryl stayed right where he was, watching you leave your tent open as you eventually got inside. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. "This ain't right. She deserves better than this. Deserves someone who’s not a fuckin' creep. Can’t help it. I keep comin' back here, leavin' these stupid fuckin' flowers, hopin' she might see some part of me that’s not completely fucked up."

He sighed, feeling his thoughts pressing down on him. "Yer a mess, Dixon. And ya know it. Yer leavin' flowers to try to make up for yer own damn behavior, and it ain't ever gonna be enough."

Upon entering your tent, you did notice the flower that was lying by the entrance. In fact, the flower was too familiar, and the thought of Daryl lurking around nearby made you shiver, but you didn’t acknowledge the flower directly. Rather, you purposefully chose to ignore it because Shane's remarks regarding Daryl had made you feel a little uneasy, which you could not quite shake, but it also somehow excited you to no end.

"Alright, let’s make this good, and let’s see if he really is sneaking around here," you then murmured to yourself with a smirk on your lips as you thought about your plan. "I’m gonna give him a show he won’t forget anytime soon."

You began to undress slowly, your fingers sliding over your skin as you glanced at the open gap of the tent, a deliberate choice to keep it ajar.

"Is this what you want, Daryl?" You whispered to yourself as you pulled off your shirt and slid your jeans down. "Do you want to see me like this?"

With every piece of clothing that you let fall to the ground, the blush on your cheeks turned redder. The thought of him possibly watching you from the shadows, all hidden and quiet, made you shiver with excitement and nervousness, because of the other dangers that might be hidden in the shadows. “Don’t think about anything else right now; I’m safe. I’m safe.”

Your fingers fumbled with the hooks of your bra, and you let it fall from your shoulders before you squeezed your breasts with your hands, the feeling of your fingertips brushing over your hardening nipples making you moan. "Look at me," you murmured, "see how I’m touching myself, how I’m getting so fucking wet because of you right now."

Your hand slid down your stomach, your fingers sliding into your panties, with the wetness of your pussy making you gasp as you started to rub your clit in slow circles. "You like this, don’t you? Watching me at night, knowing I’m thinking of you?"

You soon pulled your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, showing yourself off completely before you laid down and spread your legs, giving a full view of your wet pussy. With two fingers, you traced the outer folds before slipping them inside, letting out a quiet moan. "I know you’re out there," you whispered, "watching every fucking move I make."

As you began to fuck yourself slowly, your other hand continued to pinch and tease your nipples. "I can almost feel your eyes on me," you mumbled, "watching as I fuck myself. Is it turning you on, Daryl? I bet you're already so fucking hard."

You added another finger inside, curling them slightly to stretch yourself more and tease your G-spot with each thrust. "I bet you’re dying to feel what this is like," you taunted quietly, "to be so so fucking deep inside me right here, right now."

Your fingers moved faster, your hips moving in time with the thrusts of your fingers, and you were already getting closer to the edge just by thinking about the fact that Daryl was probably watching you. "I bet you’re imagining how fucking tight I’d be around you," you moaned. "I know you’re just as fucking turned on as I am."

Among the trees, Daryl remained hidden in the shadows. His eyes were locked on you, unable to look away even as his heart pounded violently in his chest. The way your fingers moved over your breasts, the playful, almost desperate way you touched your hard nipples—it drove him wild, and the image of you parting your pussy and pushing your fingers into yourself was nearly unbearable. Every little movement you made seemed to burn itself into his mind.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mumbled while his gaze shifted a bit as he attempted to stand up from his position without making a sound. He forced himself to remain motionless, but his hand went almost automatically to his zipper.

The simple sight of you, all naked, completely defenseless, and so vulnerable, was making him lose his mind. He could see how your body tensed and arched with every touch, and his eyes tracked every movement of your fingers as they slid in and out of your pussy.

"Fuck, not again; why’m I doin' this?" Daryl grumbled to himself, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock inside his pants. "This ain’t right. She’s right there, and I’m just—fuck!"

He glanced down at his own body, his cock pushing hard against his pants. It wasn't easy to ignore the pulsing need that was building up inside him—a need that seemed to only grow with every quiet moan you let out. His heart was racing, and he could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead.

Daryl’s fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants; he was trying to calm himself down at first, but the sight of you getting yourself off was making it nearly impossible to think straight. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered again, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "Ya can’t just give in. Not yet. Ya gotta keep control."

He watched you spread your legs wider, your fingers moving faster now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from making any noise. His eyes locked onto the way your body responded—how your hips bucked with each thrust of your fingers.

"Look at her. She’s so fuckin' beautiful," Daryl let out quietly. "So damn hot, and here I am, just watchin'. Like some sick fuckin' perv."

With a quiet, frustrated growl, he tried to regain control of himself, his hands clenching more tightly. Even though his cock was begging for attention, he was unable to let himself go.

"Keep it together, Dixon," he told himself, his voice trembling. "Yer not gonna just—give in. Not yet. Not like this. She’s... she’s right there. Goddamn it! Fuck!"

But Daryl's control was breaking fast, each breath that he took only making it harder to keep his impulses in check, and it was pushing him past the point of no return. The temptation was just too great, and he couldn't control himself any longer. His hands, which had been clenched tightly into fists, now finally moved to undo the zipper of his pants.

His cock sprang free, the sight of it being so hard making him shudder, and the moment his hand wrapped around it, he let out a quiet groan.

"Goddamn it," he mumbled, his voice full of frustration and lust as he started to stroke himself slowly. "She's gonna fuckin' kill me."

He couldn’t help but imagine your hands being on him—almost in the same way that you were touching yourself. He could hear your every moan, every breath, every whimper, and it only made him grip his cock tighter, his strokes becoming faster and more needy.

"I bet ya like that, don’t ya?" He grumbled to himself. "I bet ya fuckin' know I’m here."

It was impossible for him to ignore how badly he wanted to be the one touching you, to be the one making you sigh and moan for him.

"Jesus," he panted out and gasped. "Ya just keep fuckin' doin’ that, don’t ya, princess? Fuckin' hell..."

Struggling to remain silent, his free hand felt for the tree next to him, and he pressed it against the bark to steady himself. Though he was getting close to the edge and the tip of his cock was coated with pre-cum, he was determined not to cum just yet.

"Damn it, Dixon," he hissed at himself. "Look at ya, gettin' off to this all over again. Yer a fuckin' mess. Fuckin' pathetic."

There was still a part of him that wanted to stop, and he battled the shame and guilt that was building up and rising within him. But as your moans grew slightly louder and as you suddenly whispered his name into the darkness, it only pushed him further into his own desperate need.

"Hell’s she sayin'?" Daryl mumbled to himself, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus and concentrate on your voice. "Shit, she’s sayin' my fuckin' name..."

The sound of his name on your lips, even if it was only a silent whisper, made his cock twitch and pulse, and his strokes became more urgent with the intense need to finally cum.

"Fuckin' hell," he growled, his breathing coming out even more uneven. "She's gonna make me lose my shit. Just... just keep talkin', princess."

The way you were saying his name, the thought of you knowing he was watching, made it impossible for him to stay still. Finally, he couldn’t resist any longer. He stepped closer, his throbbing cock in hand, and let out a growl to make you notice him as he slipped inside your tent. "Ya really thought ya could just tease me like this?"

With your fingers still buried deep inside of you, your eyes snapped open. "Daryl?" Even though you knew that he was watching you, you let out a gasp, and your voice trembled slightly.

"Yeah," he said, taking another step closer. There was something else that turned him on even more than just the shock he could see in your eyes. "Thought ya could put on a private show for me, huh?"

You swallowed hard, your eyes never leaving his as he stood directly over you, his cock still hard and pulsing with every stroke of his hand. "A show?" You asked, your voice sounding a little shaky.

"Damn right. A show," he answered with a small smirk. "With me seein’ everythin'. Couldn’t stay away."

You pulled your fingers out of your pussy and tried to stand up, but Daryl pushed you back down with one of his boots on your shoulder. "Stay where ya are," he growled. "Don’t ya dare stop."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as you looked up at him, your heart racing. The realization about the rawness of the moment hit you, and you nodded slowly, your fingers sliding back into your pussy as you lay back down in your tent. Your eyes were locked onto his, and he could see the mixed feelings of shock, excitement, and lust in your gaze.

Daryl’s hand soon moved in rhythm with yours again, his strokes becoming faster and more urgent as he watched you. The sight of you, so shameless and wet for him, made him lose himself even more. "Ya know," he said, his voice still low and rough. "Ain't thought I’d see this day. With yer all spread out like this, knowin' I’m here, watchin' ya fuckin’ yerself. 'S a damn mindfuck."

You moaned in response, your fingers working in and out of your pussy with an increasing speed of your thrusts. "And you think you can just walk in here?" You taunted back and teased him. "You think you’re gonna get what you want, Dixon?"

Daryl’s eyes never left yours, his cock throbbing with need. "Ain't just here for the damn show," he growled. "I’m here to fuckin' claim ya. Ya got that?"

Your eyes widened, and you barely held back a loud moan, your fingers pushing deeper into your pussy. "And what makes you think I’ll just let you?" You challenged him back, your eyes wandering from his cock to his face again.

"Oh, I think ya fuckin' will," Daryl said, his voice full of confidence. "'Cause I fuckin' want to. And it’s my turn to take what I want."

Every movement, every quiet moan, and every word you both whispered to each other heightened the lust and need for the both of you. Daryl’s strokes on his cock became more frantic, and he could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls growing with every stroke, but he was determined to hold off until he had fully taken in the sight of you.

"Gonna make sure ya know who’s watchin'," Daryl said quietly. "Gonna leave my mark on ya."

He positioned himself above you, and without saying another word, he pointed his cock at you, making sure that his cum would land where he wanted it to.

"I ain't done," he growled, his eyes locked on you. "Not yet."

He took another step closer, his hand still jerking his throbbing shaft, while his other hand reached out, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up slightly, just enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

"Do ya want me to finish like this?" He mumbled, his voice already hoarse. "Or do ya want me to make a fuckin' mess 'round here in yer tent?"

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he let go of your hair and moved his cock closer to your body again. He had seen enough, felt enough—he was on the edge and couldn’t hold it back any longer. With a low groan, he started to jerk himself off harder and faster, his eyes never leaving yours, and without warning, he came hard, his hips bucking wildly and his cum shooting out, landing across your body, most of it on your breasts and chin.

"Fuck," he muttered, still stroking his cock, but slowing down. "Look at ya. Just a fuckin' mess now."

You lay there, slowly pulling your fingers out of your pussy, your body covered with his cum. "You know," you suddenly started, your voice quiet but teasing. "You might be the first wildflower that might leave a thorn in my side."

A smirk formed itself on Daryl's lips due to the mention of the flowers, but it was quickly replaced by a look of embarrassment, and he shifted uncomfortably as he put his cock back into his pants. "Shut ya damn mouth, woman."

Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed your head roughly by your hair, and yanked you up to meet his eyes. You couldn’t help but whimper as he was staring at you up and down, so dangerously close.

Daryl grinned at the noise you made and grabbed your neck with his other hand, the thumb going to your chin and gathering the rest of his cum that was slowly sliding down on it.

"Eat," he insisted, but before you could answer or protest in any way, he put his thumb against your lips and pushed it inside your mouth, waiting for you to suck it off.

And just as he pulled it out again, his mouth came crashing down on yours in a rough and primal kiss. It was demanding, and his teeth moved against your skin as he went down to the side of your jaw, sucking on every bit of flesh on his way down to your neck before biting down hard into it, leaving his mark.

His gaze then fell to your fingers, still glistening with the juices of your pussy, as he held you in a tight grip to keep you from falling due to your trembling legs. Slowly, teasingly, he reached out and brought your fingers to his mouth. His tongue slid over your skin, licking and sucking them off intensely, devouring every bit of what was left of you on them.

Daryl enjoyed the taste of you, and his eyes never left yours as he pulled back a little, his hand roughly grabbing your chin. "Don’t ya fuckin' forget this," he growled, letting go of you and watching as you stumbled back onto the ground in front of him before he finally turned to leave. "Yer mine in ways ya don’t even understand yet."

TAG-LIST: NONE. BECAUSE MY WRITING SUCKS.

[reds-writings]

crashin' the party

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: a bit of a whopper that had me stumped for a bit. i sincerely hope you like it. i didn't plan to go this far with the jj universe but the more i do the more fun i have with these two! i'm going to rearrange my masterlist a bit and put these parts in a more chronological order! this part technically takes place before the events of if only tonight we could sleep. feedback is always cherished and my requests are open!

word count: roughly 6.7k

warnings: cursing, fighting (verbal and physical), two idiots being dumb, miscommunication trope, the boy's a liar, guns, mentions of drugs, rust self-sabotaging, marty being marty, ANGST, making up at the end, things can be a lil toxic, reader gets the shit end of the stick in most of this, etc

You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something rather egregious was brewing behind your back over the past several days. Starting with the unfortunate shitshow that was Marty’s young thing of a mistress letting Maggie in on his line of transgressions due to a fit of spite. The fallout was more than unsavory which had him plenty distracted with trying to hopelessly pick up the shattered pieces of his now blown-up marriage. 

Then, Rust decided to take a few week's leave in the middle of the case. Which came completely out of left field given his obsession with having this all solved more rapidly due to the ever-shortening time limit Quesada had set for you all. A dying father in Alaska or something along those lines. He hadn’t exactly informed you of it directly himself until you rang him up the night he was supposedly set to depart. 

“Heard you were takin’ leave.” You idly twisted the phone chord between your fingers as you sat atop your kitchen counter. One of your coworkers at the precinct had mentioned it off-handedly earlier in the day and you were more than curious as to why everyone else seemed to know of Rust’s so-called last-minute trip and not you. 

“Yeah.” Rust’s static voice sounded back to you, sounding stranger than what was his usual. More dazed and gruff.

“In the middle of this case?”

“Mhm…”

“...Mind sharin’ why?” He was being more elusive than usual and it was starting to grate your nerves further by the minute.  

“Visitin’ my father. Anchorage. He’s dyin’.” 

Oh. 

“I’m uh...I'm sorry to hear that…when are you headin’ out? Need me to drive you to the airport or somethin’?-”

“Marty’s takin’ me. Tonight.” 

That made you even more surprised. It wasn’t like the two were necessarily all that chummy. You tried not to let it sting that there seemed to be a purposeful choice in having Marty take him instead of you. The dynamic between you two wasn’t at its most idyllic but you hadn’t thought it to be too strained despite recent events. Things with the investigation were just piling up, getting trickier and more stressful to manage as time ticked on. 

Sure, you guys hadn’t exactly been able to elaborate further on what was the bomb of feelings he had all but dropped on you but you hadn’t been taking it personally. At least not until now. Maybe he was starting to regret things. This was probably him pulling away so you’d get the hint to not be so keen on him moving forward. Were you coming off as desperate?  Suffocating?

Realizing you’d yet to say anything you cleared your throat a bit, “Thought Marty would’ve been too busy dealin' with winning back Maggie and everything...” The couple already managed to give you more than a migraine or two since things went to shit. On top of Marty’s deep-seated 'woe is me' bullshit, Maggie had managed to stop by demanding answers in a hysterical flurry to things you had no knowledge of or frankly any business in. 

“I won’t be back for a bit.” It was becoming apparent that he wanted to finish up this conversation sooner rather than later. 

“Okay…I guess I’ll keep lookin’ for leads and whatnot. There might be a girl I know from way back who’s tied up in the kind of crowd we’re lookin’ at. I’m hopin’ she might be familiar with Ledoux or somethin’. If there’s anything you want me diggin’ into just give me a shout I guess.”

He was silent for a moment you considered too prolonged.

“I gotta head out. Keep track of what you find. Marty’ll be watchin’ my place.” 

“You got it.” 

More silence.

“Bye, Y/n.” 

“Bye-” The line went dead before you knew it. 

Geez. 

The dial tone mocked you as you sat there in curling embarrassment. You don’t think he’d ever blown you off so bluntly before. Not even when you two first met. Your neck and face started to grow warm as you fought off the increasing sense of rejection brought on by your own insecurities and his sudden callousness. You were just overthinking things. Rust’s father was dying and it wasn’t like you could expect him to properly express what it was he was going through. You just had to be somewhat okay with standing by on the sidelines until he was ready to open up on the matter. 

You hadn’t heard much about Rust’s parents or his upbringing but from what little tidbits he managed to drop it wasn’t anything to be envious of. Things seemed complicated from the sounds of it so you had no doubt Rust was probably just having a tougher time trying to navigate what he felt in anticipation of the grief that awaited him ahead.

Meanwhile, after hanging up on you, Rust couldn’t help but bring a heavy hand to his eyes as he sighed through his nose. Marty eyed him warily as he sat across from him in the depressing confines of his partner’s apartment. 

“So you lied to her.” 

Rust didn’t bother meeting the blonde’s disappointed look. 

“You don’t think that oughta blow up in your face? She’s sharper than you may realize…ain’t some fragile thing who can’t handle her shit-”

“Don't need her on this, Marty.” Rust tried remaining passive at the mention of you. 

Things were becoming too complicated. A consequence of his pathetic failure to keep his baneful desires in check. Giving in to those false hopes had him feeling increasingly weak and cheap the longer he had time to sit and torture himself over it. To entertain such notions with you was cruel to an extent he found himself severely uncomfortable with. It wouldn’t work. Not in this lifetime or perhaps any other that would exist in the infinite hell that was the universe. If he backed away now perhaps he could still hold onto whatever little semblance of control he had left. 

“Don’t need her on this or don’t want her on this? There’s a mighty big difference, buddy.” Marty didn’t necessarily know about the recent developments between you two but it was apparent he was becoming aware that something was afoot. The pair stared at each other long and hard.

“This is a two-man job. No need for added weight.” Rust broke first, taking a long drag from the cigarette pinched between his nimble fingers.

“Sure, if that’s what you need to tell yourself. This is her case too and I don’t appreciate you havin’ me be part of some lie-”

“I can remind you that you haven’t had much of a problem with lyin’ as of late-” 

“Oi, don’t get all judgy with me just cause you’re scared of somethin’ you ain’t got the emotional bandwidth to fuckin’ handle on your own. Y/n’s a smart girl. Strong. It would be unwise of you to underestimate her abilities because of some holdup you’ve got-”

“Marty.” Was Rust’s final warning. The steeliness of it had the blonde’s hands going up in mock surrender. If Rust didn’t want to unpack his growingly obvious partialness towards you then he wouldn’t bother pressing. It’s not like he was much in the mood to help out the pissy curmudgeon he called a partner with any hypothetical advances toward you. Marty saw you as something similar to that of a little sister. He wasn’t sold on the idea of romance, if Rust were even capable of the notion, happening between you two. In his opinion, your heart was just too big for the likes of Rust. He didn’t want to see you put in the monumental effort of caring for the hopeless loner only to be sorely disappointed in return. 

The days following the odd phone call had that intuitive feeling in your gut growing all the more sour. You tried your best to find more on Ledoux but the bastard was practically a ghost. Any and all traces left behind were either long gone by now or slipping from you faster than you could blink. Marty wasn’t being much help either, hardly showing up at work or being in a perpetual state of buzzed when he did actually bother to grace everyone with his presence. 

Though, anytime you did really manage to catch him he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye for longer than what he deemed necessary. Either the obvious bout of drinking he was throwing himself into was reaching a dangerously depressive territory or he was feeling guilty about something else entirely. He never was the best at bluffing when it came to things outside of the job. It was even more rare to find yourself in a situation where he had something to lie about to you in the first place. 

Something was definitely up. 

“Maggie talk to you yet?” You asked, setting down a styrofoam box of takeout in front of him as he sat miserably hungover at his desk. He took a peek inside and mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before deciding to dig in.

“No…she ain’t answerin’ any of my calls. Her pops told me to fuck off plenty already so he ain’t an option of gettin’ through to her neither.”

“It’s a pretty big deal, Marty. It’s best to probably just…give her time to feel angry. Your constant pokin’ at her is only gonna drive her away further. Goin’ to the hospital huffin’ and puffin' like you did didn’t help your case either.” You sipped your coffee as you watched him rub at his eyes.

“I just needed her to hear me out. Hell, I even got Rust to go-” His stocky shoulders locked up suddenly, seeming to have caught himself in revealing too much before settling on shoveling more food into his mouth. 

Your eyes tightened in suspicion.

“Speakin’ of, you heard anything from Rust while he’s been away?” 

Marty shook his head a little too fast to be considered convincing, “Not a peep,” Obvious lie, “can’t imagine the intense bouts of angst he’s brewing up for himself all the way where he's holed up.” 

“Mhm. How’re you holdin’ up at his place? Need me to bring by anything? I know it ain’t necessarily the Hilton-”

“N-no! I’m good. No. I uh-...I got some groceries the other day. It’s a mystery how that guy survives with what little he keeps in his damn fridge. Just ridiculous.” He coughed and took a sip of his own coffee, avoiding your growingly pointed glare. He could feel sweat start to form on his brow and he knew he needed to head out before he fucked everything up even more. Having Maggie angry at him was already enough to deal with. 

“I bet. Listen-”

“L-Look I gotta get goin’. Regrettably, I drank too much last night and it’s honest to God catchin’ up to me right about now and I don’t need Quesada givin’ me shit. Sorry to bail on ya but I’ll see you later, a-alright? Thanks for the food.” Marty scrambled to get his stuff before semi-hurrying to scamper off. He could feel your eyes burning at the back of his head but he didn’t dare to look back. 

Unfurling your arms you sat your mug down and reached for the receiver on your desk. It was a last-ditch effort, dialing Maggie, to see if Marty’s slip of the tongue about Rust meant anything substantial. If they were chatting here and there while Rust was away that was fine. If Marty was having Rust get through to Maggie all the way from where he was that was fine too. If Rust wasn’t in Alaska at all then you’re sure that ugly sensation building within you would multiply tenfold easily. After a few rings the line clicked with an answer.

“Hello?” Maggie’s soft lilt came from the other line. She sounded a little less upset than when you last saw her but still tired nonetheless.

“Hey, Mags. It’s Y/n. Just wanted to see what you were up to. How’re you holdin’ up?” You tried to maintain an air of complete casualness. No ulterior motives to this call whatsoever. 

“Oh, hey! I uhm…I’m doing okay I guess. Trying not to let everything catch up to me all at once, y’know. It’s been hard…keeping what I can away from the girls. Marty just won’t quit it with trying to wear me down. It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah…I told him to leave you be but he never was much of an avid listener. We may work together but just know I ain’t takin’ his side on all this.” You offered up and it was true. Marty may have been your coworker for several years now and something close to a decent friend but this wasn’t something you were gonna coddle him about. The consequences of his petty adultery were ones he had to deal with entirely on his own. 

“Thank you. You should try telling Rust that. Marty’s resorted to having him try to talk me down too, if you can believe it. Not that it worked or anything but I’m getting tired of feeling like I’m the one who should feel guilty for walking away when Marty decided to fuck it all up in the first place.” The woman’s tone grew a touch more frantic as her rant went more into detail but you stopped listening at the mention of Rust. 

Y’know, the one who was supposed to be thousands of miles away right now. 

“He got Rust to talk to you?” You interjected, only feeling a tiny pang of guilt for cutting in.

“Y-yeah. It uh…well it didn’t go to well. Y’know him. He didn’t try to blow smoke up Marty’s ass too much but he brought up the kids which more or less set me off. I said some harsh things but he just wouldn’t quit it with the whole ‘men and women don’t work' thing and 'our only purpose is reproduction’ or whatever bullshit spiel he had on his list of many-”

“When did this happen?” 

“Earlier today. We met at some diner but it didn’t last long with him walking out. I do feel bad for getting ahead of myself but…I don’t know. If you see him could you tell him I’m sorry? I don’t want things being more uncomfortable than they already are between all of us…” 

Ice started to spread like some nasty disease in your veins. The way your heart was stuttering out of rhythm had you grasping at your chest. You held the receiver between your ear and shoulder as your mind went blank at her simple confession. You didn’t know if what was actively consuming you was pure rage or a deep sense of betrayal. He had lied. They both lied. Like it was nothing. 

Why?

Forcing yourself to sound unaffected you spoke up again, “Sure, I can do that for you. I’m sure he ain’t too hung up on whatever it is you said so I wouldn’t beat myself up over it. Sometimes he oughta be put in his place for what he lets slip out of his mouth.”

“You’re probably right. Thank you, Y/n.”

“No problem. I’ll check in with you later alright, Mags?” Your chest was starting to rise and fall at a rapid pace. You needed to get out of here. 

“Alright, Y/n. Thank you again. Take care.” Was her warm reply before you set down the phone almost robotically. 

They had really fucking lied.

It was well into the night by the time you found yourself parked outside of Rust’s apartment. The throbbing in your skull had grown exponentially since your chat with Maggie and the muscle in your chest had yet to cease its sickening pace. It felt as if you were experiencing everything from outside of your body. As if you had no control over your limbs when you clambered out of your car and nearly slammed the door off its hinges. 

They wouldn’t lie to you like this. This was just one big misunderstanding. It had to be! You’d rather be angry for nothing than have the impending doom of betrayal strike you in a way that you felt would be irreversible. 

They just wouldn’t do that to you.

Raising a shaking fist and pounding on the door, it sounded like you were there to raid the damn place like it was police business. You attempted to steady your breathing but as your impatience grew you found yourself pounding again when there wasn’t a fast enough answer. Marty and Rust’s respective vehicles were both here so there was no chance of no one being home. 

Before you unleashed hell on the door once more it swung open to reveal a frazzled Marty. He stood there frozen, jaw opening and closing, visibly at a loss seeing your figure standing in the doorway. He looked ready to just about shit himself. 

“Y/n! W-what-”

“Now, I know you know I ain’t stupid. So if you’ve got somethin’ you’re hidin’, which I know you are, you best 'fess up now-”

“I-I don’t know what-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth. I called Maggie. I know he's here.” You felt like some feral cat with its hackles rising by the minute. It was a rare occurrence to find yourself this upset.

“Y/n that ain’t-”

“If you have nothin’ you’re lyin’ about, if he's really not here then let me in.”

He opened his mouth only to be cut off, unsurprisingly, again. 

“Now, Martin.” 

The two of you stared at each other and Marty felt an unsettling sensation lick up his spine. There was no stopping you, especially not when you were like this. He must’ve hesitated for a hair too long because before he knew it you were slamming past the doorway, nearly knocking the wind out of him in the process.

The sight before you had you halting in the middle of your warpath. There stood Rust, still as a statue, looking like a full-blown tweakin’ asshole biker as if it were second nature to him. In the back of your mind, info from files about him being involved in undercover narcotics work for quite some time sparked recognition but you couldn’t seem to connect it with what was playing out right in front of you. All you knew was that something was obviously about to go down and they hadn’t even the slightest intention of making you aware. 

It felt like one devastating punch to the stomach. 

“What’s goin' on?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. It felt like your head was being held underwater as you stared down the man opposing you. 

No one made a move to answer. 

“I said what the fuck is goin' on.” Your tone grew stronger and both men had the nerve to look sorry at your state of distress. 

“We have a line on Ledoux.” Rust ground out, having a hard time connecting with your gaze. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not tonight. Not ever. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need the distraction nor your wrath towards his pathetically selfish reasonings for not letting you in on any of this. 

“And it just slipped your mind to give me the heads up? In case you might’ve forgotten I happen to work on this case with the both of you dipshits too. If there’s a tip towards that meth-head fuck then I’d think it’d be common knowledge that I oughta know too.” You snapped, venom bitterly coiled its way through you as the rage taking up space in your body had you hardly seeing straight.

“You didn’t need to be involved. It’s undercover work to get a way in with Ledoux. I don’t need both you and Marty to worry about when I’m dealing with-” 

“Oh, fuck you! Fuck you both! That ain’t for you to decide. I can handle my shit just fine. You're tellin' me you two can throw yourselves into whatever shady bullshit it is your plannin' that could have you killed but I have to sit back like the clueless fuckin' idiot? Make that make fuckin' sense!” You were up in his face shouting now and it infuriated you that he was rearing back like some spooked horse to avoid your anger. 

Fucking coward. 

“Underestimatin’ me like this makes you just as bad as the rest of them in the department. If you think I lack the capability for any of this then you be a man and take that up with me. You don’t make that idiot over there lie for you.” You grabbed firmly at the worn leather of his stupid jacket and he just took it. His heart was hammering and he suddenly felt ill. This was all going wrong and his mind couldn’t keep up. Nothing wanted to pass the threshold of his lips. 

Seeing that he wasn’t going to reply you let go, feeling sudden shame wash over you at your burst of hysteria. Your eyes were starting to burn intensely as the weight of the current circumstances started to settle down on you, making you take a few steps back.

You felt like nothing. It wasn’t an experience you were necessarily new to but having it come from them had you more blindsided than ever imaginable. All you could keep asking yourself was: why? Marty’s never doubted you or gone behind your back. He was one of the only ones who believed in you when you first started out as some newbie of an investigator. You’ve known him for nearly a decade and looking at his pitiful expression now only had you feeling disgusted.

Rust you couldn’t even bother to pick apart any further. You had the impression he respected you enough on the job but that had been debunked in nothing short of just a few hours. Where did he get off? You weren’t some burden who’d just weigh the whole process down with your implied inferiority. None of this was making any sense and your heaving shoulders failed to stop their jittering as you took in the room surrounding you. An old red toolbox sat on the carpeted floor between two lawn chairs with a few guns, random documents, drug baggies, and whatnot scattered around. A black satellite phone on the dining table’s surface caught your eye and a sharp exhale left your nose. Your eyes drifted back to Rust. The bated silence that had blanketed the room was unbearable to the two men. 

“Whether you like it or not you’ve earned yourself an extra set of eyes. I’m sure Marty can catch me up on everything on the way to Tweakersville since y’all tell each other everything now durin' your lil’ sleepovers.” You snatched a pistol from the floor and tucked it into your waistband before stepping out. 

“Dyin’ father in Anchorage…what a crock of shit…” Were your departing mumbles as you disappeared out the door.  It took everything in Marty’s being to not let out the pettiest of ‘I told you so’s’. 

Rust only moved to bring trembling fingers to check his pulse. 

The resulting car ride between you and Marty was deathly quiet as you stared out the window. You could tell he wanted to speak up but finding the right words wasn’t coming easy to him. It wasn’t until you pulled up to the shithole that passed as a dive bar that he worked up the courage to blurt out his defense.

“I didn’t wanna lie to you.” You just scoffed and shook your head wryly.

“Yet here we are.”

“What we’re doin’ ain’t necessarily legal-”

“So? It’s ain't like I’m sheltered from the ways of a dirty cop. I’ve done my fair share of shit over the years.” The skin around your nails was becoming raw at your incessant biting and Marty ignored the urge to swat your hands away from yourself. 

“This wasn’t done out of thinkin’ you weren’t capable. You have to know that.” 

“You can say that but I’m still havin’ a hard time workin’ out any other reason why you’d try to fuck me over like this.” You fixed him with a hard stare and he could only sigh. God, were you stubborn when you wanted to be. He needed to save his own skin on this one, Rust be damned. 

“Hon, Rust’s throwin’ himself back into some old gang mess for the sake of this case. Now, from the looks of it, I’d say he ain’t too keen on having to do it at all in the first place. I’m sure you’re aware of what working narcotics can do to the mind of a man for the minimal time he’s set to do it out on the field. Let alone what it could do one working at it for four years nonstop. The man nearly died doin’ all this shit on more than one occasion. Shootins...cartel torture. Which brings me to my next point.” Your partner watched you intently as if to make sure you were fully listening. 

You made no signs of ignoring him so he continued,

“I don’t know what’s goin' on between him and you, if there even is somethin' going on, but it shouldn’t be hard for you to imagine that he’s strugglin' with it a whole lot. It’s obvious he don’t know how to come to terms with most of what he’s feeling so it’s hard to determine just what the hell he’d do when it comes to being interested in a woman. Let alone you.”

“I fail to see what you’re gettin’ at.” You knew exactly what he was implying but childish insolence held priority.

“Rust doubts you the least out of everyone around here. Perhaps out of everyone he’s encountered ever. You challenge his way of structure. All the Debby Downer bullshit he tells himself starts to lack any sense. Not bringin' you on this was an act of piss-poor self-preservation. He may not admit that and you may not bother to believe it but that’s just what I see. You know I wouldn’t vouch for him on shit like this out of charity.” 

The words sank in deep as you ruminated over them. It made sense but out of pure stubbornness, you didn’t really want to acknowledge it right then and there. When you had a clearer head you could probably find yourself empathizing with Rust’s decisions but you felt like you did enough of that already when it came to any other screw-up of his. This instance cut deep for another reason. Your trust had been breached to an awful extent and it just wouldn’t work if you had to fear it happening again. Romantically or professionally. It wasn’t up to him to make these choices for you. Especially when it came down to your line of work. You couldn’t tolerate that type of interference. 

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Is what you settled on before turning to people watch out of your rolled-down window. 

“I really am sorry, Y/n.” He spoke up again but you were too worn out to accept anything else at the moment. Even if you knew he was being sincere.

You ignored the nagging in the back of your mind that things would likely go terribly wrong sometime tonight. It annoyed you that being as mad as you were you still had half the mind to pray Rust didn’t end up getting killed doing whatever it was he was doing with that gang leader Ginger. You'd be devastated, fight or no fight. Marty had tried assuring you this was all meant to be quick and easy but you didn’t believe it one bit. 

Minutes passed before you and Marty made your way to split up inside the bar. Marty wanted to keep an eye on Rust and you just wanted to make sure Marty didn’t do something stupid. It was safe to say he stuck out like a sore thumb in his bright Pink Floyd shirt and trucker hat amongst the throngs of burly, tatted bikers prowling about. Your expression remained neutral as you felt the number of greedy eyes growing on you while you slinked around. The music was too loud and the thick haze of smoke stung your eyes. The smell in here was more or less repulsive, having you fight the urge to wrinkle your burning nose in disgust. Rust didn’t seem to be anywhere around inside, meaning he was striking the ‘deal’ somewhere out back where the other hoards of folks were hanging around.

It didn’t take long for a commotion to rise up with the unfortunate cause of it being Marty. He was bumbling out apologies as some big oaf all but dragged him out of the bar with people hollering after him. You tried your best to briskly follow, making it out in time to see the man get thrown onto his ass. Miscalculating your gait you just about slammed into the scary man from behind at his sudden stop. 

Meaty hands yanked at your shirt and slammed your poor back into a post near the entrance. “Just what the fuck are you doin', bitch.” 

Trying not to gag at the state of his breath you attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, “Was just tryin' to leave so you can get right up off me-”

The man shoved you again and took his huge mitt of a hand to your throat, “You and your punk ass friend don’t belong sniffin’ 'round here.”

“I don’t know that son of a bitch so fuckin' let go!-” A burst of stars entered your vision as his fist nearly sent you sailing down the old wooden ramp. A boot or two kicked at your curled-up figure, catching you in the ribs and stomach a few times. One even clocked you in the jaw and you hoped you’d still have teeth left if you were lucky enough to make it out. Heavy footsteps boomed against the growing crowd’s uproar and your adrenaline kicked itself up a few notches. The giant's paws cleared the way and jerked you up again, the force of it having your feet leave the ground for a split second. You were struck again, then once more before your hand fumbled behind your back and got a good grip on the pistol in your jeans. 

Cold metal jabbed into the grand protrusion that was his belly and it had him stilling almost immediately. 

“Unless you want a bullet or two in your fatass gut, I suggest you let me go.” You spat.

When you didn’t get an answer fast enough, the cocking of the gun’s hammer sure as hell had him dropping you fast. As soon as he did you smacked him across the face with the butt of it and sent him to his knees. A naive soul or two began to make a move but you were quicker in aiming the gun at them in warning. Blood from your nose leaked like a faucet into your gaping mouth as you struggled for air. They sure managed to get you good. The growing pain you felt all over attested to that fact. 

Once you were sure no one else would pounce, you spit on the big man and backed away with your gun in the air. You nudged Marty with your boot to make him get the hell up before you two booked it back to the car. According to him, Rust got roped into going down the Bayou with Ginger so you two had to make it out quick.

So much for quick and easy. 

You couldn’t even bother to check the time as you sat reclined in the car to wait for Rust’s signal. Marty parked at some mostly empty lot near a grocery mart and scurried inside to grab you a few things. The bag of frozen peas didn’t do much for your rapidly swelling eye or aching jaw. Your nose didn’t seem to be too broken but with all its nerves it made no difference in hurting like a bitch. The bleeding from both your nostrils and mouth had started to clot thankfully but you still sat wheezing from your abused ribs. 

“So much for being able to fuckin' handle yourself.” Marty huffed as he flipped through a tattered copy of Rust’s Nietzche. What was intended as a laugh came out as a wet rattle instead, making the blonde look at you in alarm.

“He let go of me, didn’t he? Not like you were much use.” Your tongue rolled around in the space of your mouth, forgoing the taste of copper in making sure none of your pearly whites were at risk of falling out. 

“How’re you gonna explain this at work?”

“I dunno. I’ll say I took a tumble down my staircase or somethin’. Who cares.” It was likely your lazy nonchalance was the result of a possible concussion. It was getting harder to keep yourself awake as you two were made to wait patiently. 

“Oh yeah. Casual tumble down the stairs. Makes perfect fuckin’ sense-” Marty’s bickering was cut off by the satellite phone’s sudden shrill ringing. You both shot up, adrenaline entering your systems once more, before he hurried to answer it. You could faintly hear a shouted line of demands before Marty confirmed what he heard and peeled off toward the location Rust had given him. You willed your hands to steady as you fumbled with the map you pulled from the glove compartment, making sure you weren’t going the wrong way.

The ninety seconds Rust gave was more like an eternity before you skirted up to the neighborhood that felt like an active warzone. As he was nearing the vehicle with a stumbling man in his clutches, who you assumed was Ginger, you leaped out of the car to open up the back and usher them in. You raised your pistol in a one-handed grip, keeping the other on the door as they stumbled inside. There was shouting from figures out following in the distance and gunfire that was making its way closer and closer. When they found themselves situated you slammed the car door shut and sent off a warning shot or two to keep the approaching group away. Responding bullets were your only answer, having you all but swing back into the passenger’s seat as they whizzed past you. Only one had managed to skim past your ear in sheer dumb luck, leaving your ear ringing something awful. 

With you safely inside, Marty sped off again at Rust’s sharp command. You couldn’t really hear their yelling over the pounding of your heart and the fact your right ear seemed to be temporarily out of commission from the narrowly missed bullet. 

You couldn’t dwell too much on the fact that with an inch difference it would’ve been your head. 

Hours later, daylight agitated your vision as you waited in the new setting that was Rust’s truck. After seeing the state you were in he all but hauled you with him to wherever he planned on taking Ginger, declaring he had some first aid kit he’d need to use on you. You didn’t bother putting up much of a fight when he ordered you to wait in the truck outside of the diner you stopped at after patching you up in the limited capacity he was able to. You were just too exhausted. You hadn’t even mustered the curiosity to get a good look at Ginger tied up in the back as you had driven. Probably safer that he didn’t get a good look at you anyway. 

Rust’s plan b with Dewall didn’t seem to pan out too well either as he came back to the truck with a deep-set scowl. Shoving Ginger back into place all bound up before climbing in up front. There was still hope that Marty would successfully trail the cook to wherever his hideout may be but Rust’s silence was conceringly heavy. Though, now wasn’t the time or the place to get into it with him all over again. You must’ve dozed off somewhere during the ride because when you opened your eyes, well eye…the other having swelled completely shut by now, you were pulled over on some trail. Rust just sat staring out at the scenery, more than likely lost in a swirl of his own thoughts, taking a moment to collect himself. Ginger's form was long gone from the back. 

At the sound of you rustling in your spot, he merely glanced your way before looking away again. There was a tick in his jaw that didn’t escape you and you sighed knowing you’d have to be the one to buck up first. 

“It looks worse than it feels.” Lie. Even the scratchy croak of your voice called you out on it.

“I didn’t want you here for a reason. What good is it if you wind up dead-"

“What you want isn’t always what you get. Next time don't take me for some fool-” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid-”

“And don’t you talk to me like you’ve lost your goddamn mind just cause of your pride,” You nearly thundered as you stared him down, “What happened, happened. It’s over. We pulled through with your wild-ass cowboy mission. Your panties can untwist now.”

A warm hand came to grip at your ribs, not violently, but firm enough to prove his point when the pain from your bruising nearly blinded you. Your own hand snapped up to grip at his arm as if playing a fucked up game of chicken. Who would break first? You’d be damned if it were you. Though the look in the man’s eyes had you faltering. You’d seen it before. That deep-rooted fear that bled out against his own will when it came to you more often than not. It seemed to hit him harder now that he was getting a good look at your battered and bloodied face in the afternoon light. Marty’s words from earlier felt mocking as they rang in your head. 

Rust doubts you the least out of everyone around here...not bringin' you on this was an act of piss-poor self-preservation.

The idea of anything with you made him scared. Scared for you and scared for himself.

“Why did you lie to me? Truly.” Your voice fell quiet, the fight in you left just as quickly as it had found you. 

He just blinked before letting his hand drop from you, however, yours stayed on him, “You’re a smart girl. You can work it out for yourself I’m sure.” He almost sounded sardonic.

“Maybe. But I’d like to hear it from you.” It might’ve been foolish to expect confessions of pure honesty from him but you’d keep giving him that option should he ever choose. 

When he said nothing you brushed a knuckle beneath his eye then across his sharp cheekbone. His tired eyes fought themselves from fluttering, trying not to let your touch utterly consume him whole. It proved to be even harder when your thumb swept feather-light over his chapped bottom lip before retreating completely.  

“Anything can happen, y'know. Anywhere, anytime. If you find yourself fearful of that fact pertainin’ to me then you need to let it go. If the idea of this,” You made a small gesture between you both, “is too much for you or you’ve realized you don’t want it anymore then that’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can handle just about anything. Your sanity and the sake of our professional partnership hold more priority over my whims. I don’t want my existence scarin' you to where it creates this big rift or you go to these dumb lengths to push me away.” 

Those long fingers of his fiddled with the ends of your hair, grounding himself with what little contact he was able to allow himself in the moment. He was still undecided on what he wanted to do with you. What he wanted to be with you. The paleness of his skin covered by the sheen layer of sweat from the comedown of whatever he likely took in the company of Ginger had him looking gaunt. Aged even. He found himself drifting between somewhere far away and being present here with you.

“This can’t happen again, Rust. Whether we’re something or not. Especially if we find ourselves workin’ together for however long down the road. It won’t work for me no matter the circumstance. Best believe I’ll be firm on that.” You flicked at this chin lightly, hoping some of the damage from the last twenty-four hours could be undone. 

“I’m-...I’m sorry.” Came the only remaining thing that could sound from his throat. And you’d take it for now. 

“I’ll get over it. Eventually. It might be a tall order but you need to get in the business of regulatin’ how you respond to your own emotions more.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” His final response was slightly choked but he didn’t give much else away after that. Sniffling, you leaned to the side on the truck's leather bench seat to rest your head on his shoulder once he twisted forward to face the wheel. An arm circled around your frame, his large hand finding purchase in your hair and you let yourself go for a moment as the truck began to roll forward. 

You continued down the path in a more comfortable silence where Marty would be waiting for you at the end to scout for Ledoux’s hideout. Soon this could all hopefully be over and done with. What would come after, though, you hadn’t the slightest clue.

a/n: forgive me, babes. they'll be happier (until 02). thanks for reading! i'll probably go back and edit this a bunch of times bc i'm neurotic like that!

[wilcze-kudly]

Give me more Beifong family angst over Kuvira and Baatar Jr's betrayal. And with them living in the estate again.

Give me Huan locking himself in his room, sculpting countless jagged statues as he tries to somehow express the frustration he feels like he can't express otherwise. Give me Huan forcing himself out of his comfort zone to spend time with his younger siblings, because he feels like he needs to step up as an older brother.

Give me Huan feeling guilty and useless because all he had been able to do while his siblings were fighting for their lives was evacuate. Give me Huan getting between Baatar Jr and the rest of his siblings and feeling like now he has to be the older sibling they deserve. Give me Huan being overprotective of Opal and the twins, because he hadn't been able to protect them when it really mattered.

Give me Opal staying away from Zaofu for longer and longer periods of time. Give me Opal feeling more at home in the Air Temples because Zaofu no longer feels like the place she'd known when growing up. Give me the guilt associated with that.

Give me Opal having a mini panic attack everytime she calls home and someone doesn't pick up right away because anything could be going on there, because she fully beileves Kuvira as capable to harm the family. Give me Opal waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare where her family dies in captivity.

Give me Opal feeling like she has to forgive Bolin because he helped rescue her family despite how hurt ans upset she still is with him.

Give me the twins being disillusioned by metalbending and their family's legacy after seeing how destructive it can be. Give me the twins not being able to find joy in playing Power Disc anymore, because it all feels so hollow after almost dying and so childish and wrong when people have suffered. Give me the twins feeling unsafe living with people who almost killed them. Give me the twins wondering what would've happened if Lin hadn't been fast enough when she saved them. Give me the twins developing trust issues after their closest family betrayed them. Give me the twins feeling safe only in one another's company.

Give me Baatar Sr wracked with guilt over not noticing Baatar Jr's woes earlier. Give me Baatar Sr feeling directly responsible for his oldest sons actions. Give me Baatar Sr throwing himself into work trying to personally rebuild all that his son has destroyed. Give me Baatar Sr feeling like he failed as a father because his children were but in danger time and time again. Give me Baatar Sr trying to support his wife despite feeling like her efforts to fix their family are hurting their younger children.

Give me Suyin walking on eggshells around her children, feeling like the slightest slip up could have tragic consequences. Give me Suyin trying desperately to keep the family she'd worked so hard to build together, to the point where she's forcing them together. Give me Suyin so distraught that she abandons common sense, trying to pretend everything is fine, not noticing how it's hurting her other children. Give me guilt, the mild insanity, the delusion, the hypocrisy.

Give me Kuvira and Baatar Jr realising that they've destroyed the home they used to have. Give me Kuvira and Baatar Jr realising that, because of their actions, none of them can ever truly come home, because what they did has shaken the very core of their family.

Give me Lin watching this shitshow from the sidelines. Give me Lin, who'd just recently become part of this family again, not knowing how she fits into this. Give me Lin worrying over her niece and nephews, seeing their discomfort and understanding how it feels to be hurt by your own family. Give me Lin quietly offering Huan and the twins that they can stay with her if they ever feel unsafe in their home.

Give me Lin finally snapping and calling Su out on all this. Give me Su breaking down.

Give me- *gets shot*

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I'm a bit delirious now but regarding the lumber incident, is that the one last 2017? I read that Canada placed tariffs on US gypsum exports in retaliation, and even planned to impose tariffs on coal and other products made in Oregon (the hometown of that senator who advocated for tariffs against Canada but I can't remember the name). but I remember that the book I read about this was by Thomas Oatley

anyway, NA bros pettiness 😭

So preface: This is one of those topics where I am blatantly a Canadian. Like violently angry about the US bullshit on this. Like you want a topic that instantly makes me a blue-flannel, blowing-up-busts-of-queen-victoria Quebecois stereotype, this is it. My family has been seasonal loggers for literally centuries and my ancestral plot of old growth trees was obliterated in a fire this past summer so this is an emotional topic for me. That said, its BC that gets fucked more in the ass every time this happens nowadays but still.

The Canadian side is absolutely as petty about it but the consequences on the Canadian side are profound. The lumber industry beef goes back to.... fuck. The Conquest really. It's older than the US or Canada as independent states but where it really came to a head was back in 1982. But tbh, on a civics level, what it comes down too is a difference in how two nations exercise sovereignty over undisputed, internationally recognized territory. In Canada, the government, represented by the crown has automatic ownership over the vast majority of land where softwood lumber farms exist, rather than being in private hands like the US. It's an inherent aspect of Canadian democracy that often moderates our politics. And the Canadian lumber industry is a fucked up thing, I might call it evil, and GOD knows there's labour exploitation but there are usually more and better unions, labour negotiation and working conditions on the Canadian side of this argument that get shaken everytime this shitshow resurges. And it fucks over indigenous peoples and people of colour especially.

In the US, the lumber industry has a powerful lobby that takes what has often been a series of difficult but more or less even handed agreements between two governments at least pretending to operate on a more or less respectful level by using institutions like NAFTA and the World Trade Organization to negotiate. Instead of moving forward, these people turn it into a nationalist shit show that takes US economic power and says "oh you want to be a fully recognized neighbor? fuck you. take your beating and say thank you or you'll get another."

Like tbh save the Northwest Passage which in practical military terms Canada likely won't have choice but to cooperate with the US and its giant defense budget this is one of the issues where the US really allows capitalism to fuck us up in the face of American law and international trade standards. And honestly in the grand scheme of things, God knows we've got it better than pretty much anyone else who lives next to a large superpower but its really sad to see that a majority of Americans in the last few years would rather take a nationalist stance, blame Canada for being 'communist' than take their own corporations to task. Its yank consumers getting fucked over here too. It should be a fucking solidarity issue on both sides, with workers and unions demanding the adoption of more and better legislation but instead its devolved into a nationalist shit show. On both sides, honestly but its kind of hard not to feel a lot resentment when people I've known for years as kind, cooperative, pro-labour people start parroting fuck Canada over they're dirty foreign communists like its 1924 all over again.

I generally try to shy away from headcanons about specific and more current stuff like this but considering its been a major contributer to Canadian economic woes and global inflation, its a topic where Matt vomits blood and Alfred says "have you tried not being a socialist?" and gets a mug thrown at his head. They're both fucking assholes but Alfred is still driving a tank to a knife fight.

[hunterssm00n]

Beyond the Stars

chapter 2 of ??

also on ao3: here

*cw include smut, interspecies relationship, canon-typical violence/gore, explicit language, past drug use, offensive language, xenomorph things, past abuse, dark themes* MDNI - 18+

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

"Fear... The sense of isolation / The reason of it all / The weakest generation / The dark of the day / The lies and the illusions / The end of what we know / The fading generation / The dark of the day" ~ 'Dark of the Day' - Semblant

Chapter 2: Dark of the Day

Layla was slowly shuffling back to her room, the nurse in tow wearing her already thin patience even thinner. Therapy had been... eventful today. Not for nothing, but she didn't want to spend her time sharing her story of woe in a group. If she had to tell, she would have much rather done it in a private setting. Not every living soul aboard this flying shitshow needed to know her business.   

The only blessing was that today they hadn't even gotten to her, if you could call what had happened instead a blessing. Layla didn't think there was enough coldness in her heart to wish what had happened today on anyone.  There hadn't been time for her to "share" her experience (which she almost always either declined or made something up - her business was her business). The circle for group therapy  had barely gone halfway around before they were dismissed, abruptly. 'Unforeseen outburst' was what they were calling it. They weren't wrong, technically. Outbursts were common amongst the junkies. This particular program was only a pilot; it had never been done before. For a pilot program, there had to be guinea pigs, and in this case it was druggies coming off of their high's and acting manic. Sudden fits were expected, much like when dealing with a group of patients in an asylum. Sometimes Layla felt like this was a nuthouse.  

Todays particular outburst had come from a normally very quiet woman, Sharon. Middle aged, dark hair with silver streaks, bright green eyes in a shy face - Layla had never spoken to the woman, but could sense her calm energy. She wasn't sure exactly what had set off the normally mellow lady, but she had gone into hysterics. Her words almost seemed to be riddles; they held meaning, but that meaning wasn't easy to figure out.  

It had been quiet, at first, when the therapist had called upon Sharon to share her stories. Everyone had looked to her, some with interest, others pretending to pay attention (because you couldn't sleep in therapy). Out of nowhere, it seemed, she burst into tears. Nobody really bat an eyelash; again, this was not uncommon, even for the quietest person. The first time Layla had cried in front of everyone, she'd hated herself. No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary until she'd started talking about eggs.  

Yes, eggs.  

It sounded silly; sounded normal, but that was what was weird about it. Especially since Sharon normally kept to herself, and had never displayed such hysteria before. It was nerve-wracking, to say the least. And it wasn't just a few tears; the lady was full on sobbing. Gasping for breath, wailing, on the verge of collapsing out of her chair... disturbing.  

"The eggs... so many, we're - We're-" Sharon had stammered out, her voice cracking and high pitched, terrified sounding. A murmur had started going around the group, inquiries and hushed anxieties being expressed. A nearby nurse quickly came over to help, grasping on the the harried woman's shaking shoulders, cooing softly into her ear.  

"No - NO-" Sharon sputtered, batting away the hands trying to soothe her as her voice became more shrill. "It's real, I swear to God, oh Jesus-"  

"Honey, it's alright," the nurse murmured, ushering for the orderlies that had just come in through the sliding metal doors to assist her, "There is nothing that's going to happen to-"  

"We're all gonna die," Sharon shrilled, her crying becoming more frantic. That was the moment that Layla truly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "They're gonna kill us all, I don't wanna die like that ohh God-"  

"We're going to need a sedative!" the nurse had to practically shout to be heard over the crying woman, security guards and orderlies swarming into the area around her.  

"We're going to dispense with this group for the remainder of the afternoon," the lead therapist said, his voice calm and at normal volume despite what was happening around him. "You will all be escorted back to your rooms promptly."  

And that was that. Layla briefly noticed Sharon being wrestled to the ground, her cries having turned into screams at that point, and then they were all shut out of the room.  

Once the door slid shut, it went eerily silent out in the hall. The screams seemed to have ceased abruptly due to the soundproofing on the steel doors. For a moment, it was utterly quiet. Then, the nurses and orderlies left must have remembered they had jobs to do, and forced themselves to shake off the effect of the pure terror emanating from the woman in the room. The whole way back to her bedroom, Layla wondered what the cause of the breakdown was. Surely it had to have been something significant. She'd seen Sharon every single day for the past three months, and never once had she shown any indication of breaking under the pressure of this place. Layla also deduced though that since she was a very quiet person, she probably internalized things, and no indication of stress would have been shown.  

Layla couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, and felt even more of that dooming sense in her gut as she stepped through the sliding door to her room. What could have happened to cause such an attack of hysteria? What had the other woman seen? What did she know that everyone else didn't?  

"Call if you require assistance," the nurse with the clipped English accent sent her off with, turning to leave before she'd even really entered the room.  

"Hey, wait," Layla called out, voice scratchy from lack of use. She cleared her throat as the lady turned around, looking less than pleased at being kept from wherever she needed to hurry off to so fast. Holding her gaze evenly, albeit a little confrontationally, Layla inquired, "Any idea what Sharon was talking about in there? Something about eggs?"  

The nurse, Kathy, Layla could see on her nametag, suddenly straightened, eyes lighting on the young woman with an almost wary edge. ... the fuck is this old bat's problem? 

Kathy seemed to catch herself, giving a musical (fake) laugh, her previously cold demeanor melding into light-hearted regard. "Oh, probably the scrambled batch this morning that went out to the rooms. My stomach's feeling a little off too; no doubt she was just overreacting!" She smiled, as though trying to make it more convincing; trying to be reassuring, was the vibe Layla was getting. "Hell, this food is enough to drive any of us crazy!"  

Sensing that she wasn't about to get any more out of 'Kathy', and that she was being very poorly lied to, Layla smiled back at the other woman. If the nurse couldn't see how terrible her story was, then there was no way she'd be able to tell that Layla's smile was just as fake as hers had been.  

"Get some rest, hon!" Kathy chirped, lingering a bit longer with a forced look of affection, before turning on her heel and striding purposefully down the hallway back the direction she had come. Layla also lingered, watching her until she disappeared around the corner. She stepped into her room, that sense of unease becoming even more prevalent the more she considered the events that had occurred in the past two hours. What the hell was going on in this place?

                                                                 ~

Hot. It was hot. Ridiculously so. The blankets were sticking to her bare legs, the fitted sheet beneath her damp from sweat. Why was it so hot?  

Layla opened her eyes blearily, glancing around the dark room.  

Wait. Dark. She had fallen asleep to the ocean scene reflecting off of her walls, the full moon shining bright on her right side and creating a night-light like effect around the room. It was also silent, and she remembered being soothed into slumber by  the lulling sound of gentle tides. The hell? 

She tossed back the blankets that had been covering her body, squinting to attempt to see anything in front of her. She sat up on the side of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge trying to reach the floor. While the air in the room was hot and humid, the floor was blatantly cold, a stark contrast she noticed when her toes finally touched the hard surface. She held both hands out, taking careful steps forwards and to the sides so as not to run into anything. There wasn't much crowding the room, but now she was paranoid. She knew she'd had that damn ocean scene on her walls - the waves were the only thing that could lull her to sleep.  

Layla made her way towards the glowing, dim green lights on her door, hoping she could get them to open for her. If they were green, it was a good sign that they might. They were normally red, stopping her in her tracks; a warning. The lights indicated that they still had power; power loss would override all door access, and they all would have been wide open. She was counting on the possibility that it would still open for her - she needed air. This also helped her conclude that  power loss was not the reason for her ocean scene being gone from the walls; there was something else at hand.  

Her right hand suddenly touched something almost directly in front of her, and she jumped back with a squeak. Reaching her left hand out, she felt the end of the memory foam mattress on her bed. Whatever she had just walked into was at the foot of her bed. Which has never been there before... 

With a gulp, Layla made herself brace and stepped forward again. Her right knee touched it first this time, and she lowered her hands to feel for the top of it. She didn't have to lower them far- it was large and tall, up to her ribs. The top of it was puckered, strangely, and when she slid her hands further down to explore, she felt that it was also slimy. Disgusting. She almost gagged at the feel. It also had a very odd smell; not bad, per say, but unlike anything she'd experienced before.  

"What the-" When she felt movement under her hands from inside the giant thing, she jumped back with an even louder shriek than before, "Fucking fuck! Oh-" She gasped out, not sure if she had imagined it or if it had actually happened. As she had been feeling the thing, noting it's shape, plus the shock of movement, it kind of reminded her of an egg. 

Layla felt a massive chill go up her spine at the thought, her brain connecting the events from earlier. She didn't believe in coincidences. Especially not when they happened like this. Events that were this close in sequence, this similar in cadence...  

She'd decided at that point that she'd had enough, and quickly as she could in the dark, took off towards the door. There was a wet squelching sound coming from behind her, and she practically cried as the door did in fact open for her. The hallway was dim as well, but the few fluorescent lights at the tops of the walls for emergency purposes served to light the path she needed to take. Not even caring if her door closed behind her, Layla took off at a steady lope down the hall, her bare feet pounding on the floor, clanging over grates as she hit them.  

Near the end of the corridor, another patient's room door beeped, indicating it was about to open. Layla slowed her run, hoping they knew something she didn't, like what the hell was going on in this place. What came out the door though, she hadn't been expecting, and it made her scream and stumble back against the wall across from the door.  

There was a patient standing in the doorway, but there was something on his face. It kind of looked like a giant spider covering his entire head, absolutely fucking terrifying. Layla kept screaming, all rational thought leaving her head as she tried to edge past the guy. He was pulling at the thing's tail around his neck, reaching for her with the other hand. Torn between running and attempting to help him, she reached out and took his hand just as he collapsed onto the floor. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" She dropped to her knees next to him, hands pulled back near her chest, wondering what on Earth she was going to do. He didn't appear to be moving, but she could see his chest rising and falling even in the dim lighting. Tears in her eyes, she realized that she had never in her life been this terrified. "H-HELP!" She screamed, looking behind her to see if anyone else was about to come out of their rooms. Aside from the gentle hum that always emanated from the ship, it was completely quiet.  

A squeak sounded from the direction she had run from, and she turned around just in time to see something fly directly at her head. She couldn't stop it before it encased her in total darkness, the force of whatever it was hitting her face causing her to fall back on the floor, writhing as she attempted to pull it off, her screams muffled. That lasted for about twenty seconds. Then, she felt a different kind of darkness pulling at her - the kind that stemmed from exhaustion and terror. She succumbed to it, falling into blackness, her body slumping against the cold floor.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

AN: I do not own the Alien franchise or any of its characters, but Layla is my own OC, as well as a few others in this story.

The header above was made by me**

chapter 3

[hislittleraincloud]

No, they didn't rob you of anything.

Two women were in charge of "Quid Pro Woe": Gandja Monteiro and April Blair.

Actually, three women were in charge if you count Ortega.

It's anti-Ortega for you kids to glom on to a characterization that is the opposite of what she worked so hard to craft for us, changing lines and admitting to changing lines in the script [for "Woe What a Night"] because she knew what Wednesday would and wouldn't say and do and is "very, very protective of her".

And it repulses me that a trans man would saturate the scene (and the entire book) with fanonist, anti-Ortega crap that never happened on screen to queerbait. LGBTQIA+ people who deliberately queerbait a popular franchise in the entertainment industry aren't doing us any favors. Queerbaiting has always been bad, but it's 2024 and we're supposed to be aware of it/be enlightened about it.

And more, a trans man shoving his hands into something women created and fucking with it so that the main female character is nearly unrecognizable in an officially published take is offensive to me as a feminist.

It is extremely disrespectful to their work, especially when women who write and direct still have to work harder in the industry to be seen, their work often overlooked in favor of what the men put out. You don't ever see anyone talk about Monteiro, this shitshow is always Burton's:

I'd tell you to stop it but I know you won't. It's like watching y'all run right into the pretty, rainbow-ringed Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone. I keep telling you not to fucking jump in, that you'll get burned (and worse), but you're blinded by those cute little swimming goggles that you fully believe will protect you.

[aressida]

Old entry: "The Tyrant’s Hypocrisies." - Aressida. 22.9.21.

How much more do you need to see Their own hypocrisies before you start getting that it is all a show, more likely, a fucking shitshow? You and all of your chauvinism, get bent.

Personally on my watch, most people do not even understand their own motivations, same woes year after year, so, how could they understand someone else’s? You and Them are just on borrowed time.

These tyrants are only more worried about Their back pocket. This is what They do, infiltration everything, not the invasion. It is all inverted.

“Safe and effective” is a marketing slogan. Not exactly received an informed consent about the dangers of this vaccine, masks and PCR tests. Not at first, so is this why the Covid-19 is technically a mass trauma mind control to everything today?

Have you looked up this word ‘vaccine’, that derives from the Latin, “vacca”, as in meaning, “cattle.” See how this word ‘vacca’ was anglicised. Lol. Wake the fuck up.

Our Rights are slowly being diminished and freedom to be eroded right before our eyes. This is terrorism. They do not serve you or the people. It is destroying lives all over the country. We are all here forcing the enemy into the light. This is why we are taking back this country.

And you people who are getting defensive because your paradigm is deteriorating. Your insanity on repeating the same actions over and over and expecting a different result. What you are doing is called idolatry, and “grasping at straws.”

Heh, I look forward to revising this issue with you when the outcome of that is known.

[ghostsxagain]

affiliated with @thefvrious

full name: mateo vedran luis jimenez nickname: teo, matty birthday: february 27th age: 29 gender/pronouns: cis-male, he/him/his hometown: chicago, illinois sign: pisces religion: catholic orientation: pansexual occupation: bartender/criminal, former sex worker family: lola jimenez (mother), ivan horvath (father), dario jimenez (brother), gael jimenez (brother), elena jimenez (sister), mabel jimenez (sister) +: imaginative, adaptable, compassionate, adventurous -: temperamental, escapist, oblivious, impractical info: the oldest of five, mateo was born into quite the shitshow. because his parents were young and broke, they lived with their family. eventually due to financial woes the house ended up consisting of both sets of grandparents, two aunts, an uncle, and a few cousins. it was quite chaotic, not that mateo ever minded much. he rolled with all of the changes with relative ease, even when things worsened. ivan was a criminal and was often in and out of prison. lola, a sex worker, struggled with her mental health and was in and out of the hospital. as a teen, mateo took it upon himself to help look after his family, both the elders and the young ones. he took after both parents, engaging in whatever illegal activities brought the most money home, eventually dropping out of high school so he could work full time. his actions caused conflict with one of his aunts, who criticized him heavily and called him 'dirty.' when she married a wealthy man, she left the house with all of mateo's siblings - refusing to accept him for his 'blasphemous' actions. it's been him and his remaining grandmother for a few years now, though her health has been declining. he's unsure what he's going to do with himself when she leaves him, though he tries his best to maintain optimistic that he'll find a good life for himself.

[shell-senji]

Look, maybe it’s just me, idk, but there’s something decidedly *not sexy* about describing a woman as “convulsing” during orgasm. Makes me think she needs medical attention, not being “impaled” by her partner’s “blistering” flesh. 

[vinnival]

The post you did answering someone else's ask about "the worlds dying and im dying" but with 2BDamned

OOOO OKAY!

Wow i accidentally posted thus sont mind it ILL FINISH IT I OROMISE

RECONSIDER BUT

WITH THE MAN THE

MYTH THE LEGEND

2BDAMNED !

Of course he's gonna notice if you're struggling

Especially when he's the one PATCHING YOU UP CONSTANTLY

He is Especially Suspicious because you always deny medical help

Like you'd have a major blood vein cut open and you'd be like

"I'm good dont worry babe :-)"

Looks like 2B now has to bring out his Mental Doctor skills

He finally catches you alone one day, and requested you to speak in private with him

You obliged, not knowing what he was gonna talk about

He brought you outside, and led you to a secluded spot, quiet and calming

"Look, I want you to be fully and completely honest with me, understand?"

As soon as he said those words it Clicked

You attempted to leave the situation, but 2B wouldn't let you

"2B, please, I have to go,"

"Go where, hm? You seemed willing to talk to me prior to this point."

You stuttered, and then sighed

You reluctantly explained your problems and woes, and 2B adamantly listened

When you finished, a thoughtful "hmm" came from him

He reached out and grasped your shoulders firmly, "Nevada is definitely a shitshow, I can see where you're coming from. But why give in just for that?" His hands made its way to your cheeks, and his thumbs brushed across them tenderly

"You have so much unseen strength in you. There IS a reason why you've survived thus long and how we let you into our group. You're stronger than you seem. Try not to doubt your life when you've took it by its neck and shown it how it's done for so long already. Got it?"

You hesitantly nodded

"Good. Try to MAKE life more fun, even if it is difficult. I'll always be here for you, wonderful." He leaned in, and placed a chaste gentle kiss on your lips

You smiled after that, "I'll do my best, hon."

we gonna ignore the "oops accidentally posted" thing yeah?

[allieebobo]

I just found your games and absolutely adore them already! I think you really nail the warm yet casual vibe of the slice of life genre. The characters really felt like people you'd meet so the interactions and dialogues with them felt natural. Tbh I also have a soft spot for Merry Crisis. I'm not Singaporean but as a Filipino-Chinese who is apparently being too ""western"" or American already (lol), I kinda relate the MC's woes about reconnecting with the family and the homeland.

Ahhh! Thank you! I'm so glad that the game feels like inhabiting a real world, and really happy that the game is coming off as warm and casual!! I love that, because I feel like sometimes in life, we need reminders (or pockets?) of 'chill' - spaces and narratives that celebrate the idea that life's a great big shitshow-carnival and everything's gonna be alright.

And yay! So glad you relate. I feel you. I sometimes think about what it means to belong, and how much it's possible to contest the idea of what it means to be Singaporean, without losing one's credibility as a Singaporean in the first place (when do people just start saying "psh, you're not Singaporean/you've become too westernised"). It's a fine line and a never-ending struggle!

Thanks for the ask!

[frxgments-of-frxgments]

Wilf skids in. "BEHIND CLOSED DOOR FER DANTE."

The DA really should’ve seen this coming.

The first time he asks them about their and Dante’s “break up”, it’s while he’s teaching them to roller skate, and they laugh so hard that they almost fall on their ass. Thankfully, the near miss is enough to distract Wilford from the question, and the DA had hoped that would be the end of it. And for a time, it was!

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

A pleading look complete with puppy dog eyes and a pout. A promise of free drinks for the rest of the night if they let them in on the gossip. Popping out of nowhere in the middle of trying to steal the Artifact just to ask if now was a good time for that chat yet. Hijacking wormholes in hopes of sharing secrets. Pushing Old Mark out of the space diner booth to sip a silly straw milkshake and offer a sip for the low, low price of information. The DA had lost count of the ridiculous methods Wilford had resorted to in the search for answers. But they are nothing if not accustomed to the strange. They refuse to give an inch, side stepping every cajoling plea and threatening gun shot that he has to throw at them. He’ll get bored eventually, surely? Move on to more interesting things?

But Wilford Warfstache is not a man easily dissuaded. And the DA is only human. Or at least, they used to be, once.

When they decide to bite the bullet, it’s in the Midnight Roller, sitting atop their usual barstool across from Wilford’s spot behind the bar. They’re going to need to be completely fucking hammered in order to even begin having this conversation. It’s five drinks deep before they start, thankful they’ve waited until after closing, so there’s only the two of them to hear this complete shitshow.

We never dated. They suppose it’s as good a place to start as any, waggling their half empty cocktail to almost splash Wilford’s disbelivingly sputtering face. No, I’m not kidding. We were... Friends. Best friends. Took me years to admit it, but he was. I would never have been the District Attorney if it weren’t for him. You know, I never even thought I’d actually be a lawyer? Figured I’d end up some clerk or assistant in a law firm somewhere, pushing papers and keeping my head down. He was the one who brought it up. Said I didn’t have to settle, when I had so much potential. That I could really be something.

An impossibly fond smile crosses their face at the memory, the space in their chest where a heart used to be aching.

No one had ever believed in me before. Not even myself. But... He made me want to try. To make a difference. To help him make a difference. All the stuffy parties, infuriating beuracracy, late nights, voting dramas, campaign woes... It was all worth it just to see him win. See him smile. I would’ve done anything to see it. I would’ve given him anything. I did give him everything.

... And then he left me.

They stare down at their drink, tilting it just to see the light flicker and dance as it catches through the glass. They can see their not face reflected in the alcohol, discordant and jumbled, unfamiliar and unsettling, a constant reminder of what they had lost. What Dante had taken from them. They tip their head back to swig the rest of the drink just to feel it burn down their throat. The glass cracks where they slam it back atop the bar.

You know what the worst part is, Wilford? I thought he was coming back. For years, I really thought that if I just kept waiting, kept believing, kept right where I was, he’d keep his promise. That he’d just show up, and everything would be fine, just like it always had been, because he wouldn’t betray me like that, right? Everything else might’ve gone to hell, but I could always count on him to have my back. Like I had his. Even when I couldn’t remember how long it’d been, or how I’d got there, or where I was, even when I forgot my own fucking name, I always thought he’d. Come. Back.

The glass is splintered in their grip, hand clenched so tight that they can hear it creak and whine.

I saw him in those stories. He mocked me. He knew that I was trapped there, just a pawn in a game, he could find me, he could reach me, and he just watched. Made an appearance just to remind me that I was a prisoner. That I could never escape. That even in the only solace I had, it was all just a lie, and no matter how much I lost myself in the role, how hard I tried to forget, how badly I wanted to just pretend, he’d always be there to remind me that I’d damned myself for someone who didn’t give a shit about me!

The glass implodes into shards. If the DA had a real body, they’re sure that they’d be bleeding terribly right now. But instead they feel nothing. Just... Nothing. They simply stare at the remains, hand still shaking with white knuckled rage before they draw it back to rest on the bar.

I know he’s not that man anymore. He’s... He’s trying. Trying to apologise, to make things right, but...

They sigh, slumping against the bar. They’re tired. They’re so, so tired.

I don’t know. I just don’t know, Wil.

[dickspeightjrs]

Guardian Angel - (au / 3.2k words) *check tags for warnings*

ao3 link

Dean could see his breath cut through the air in front of his face. It was a weird feeling knowing that it’d be gone soon. 

He walked further along the river, the city lights reflecting off the still night water. So many people amongst those lights and not one of them would notice when he was gone. 

He was done. In every way. Life was drowning him. It had been pulling him under the water for years. Every time he thought he could stay afloat another hand came to grab his ankle and tug him under again. 

Dean hated to seem all woe is me, he knew other people had it so much worse than he did. It was that thought that had made him bury his inner turmoil for so long. 

That, and his brother, Sam. Life hadn’t been great to either of them but Sam had made it out of their small middle-of-nowhere town and to Stanford for college. He’d been there for two years now and Dean couldn’t be prouder. 

But, Dean also hadn’t seen his brother for those two years. It was safe to say he hadn’t been as successful as Sam. He’d been stuck in their home town with their deadbeat dad. Dean couldn’t afford to get out to California and he sure as shit wasn’t letting Sam use his money to visit. (It may also have something to do with the fact that Dean didn’t want Sam to see what a shitshow his life had become.)

So, Dean had been struggling but he got through on the thought that, once he saved enough money, he’d join Sam in Palo Alto and kiss this crummy town (and their dad) goodbye. 

That was until today at least, when Sam called Dean during his lunch break to tell him that he’d asked his girlfriend, Jess, to marry him. He was flustered because it had been a spur of the moment thing but the first thing he’d done after was ring his brother. 

Dean was over the moon for Sam. Until Sam told him that him and Jess, of course, would be moving in together. 

“But it’s okay,” Sam had said.

“You can still come out here,” he’d said. 

“We’ll find you your own apartment,” he’d said. 

Dean’s stomach had dropped. He’d been saving all the money left over after bills (which wasn’t much on a basic mechanic’s salary) to pay for the first few months rent on a place with Sam. He’d just needed enough to cover him while he found a job. Finding somewhere new and on his own would be even more expensive. It was going to take even longer now for Dean to get out. 

He’d congratulated his brother and ended the call as soon as he could. He could have broken down right there but he had to get back to work and couldn’t lose his job, now more than ever. 

Later, he’d trudged through his front door. He’d spent all afternoon thinking of what he could do now his plans had changed. But nothing motivated him. 

He’d been so in his head that he hadn’t noticed the state of his apartment at first. Once he’d entered the living room, he saw that everything had been overturned. The shelves and cupboards had been ransacked. 

Immediately, he’d felt sick when he saw that the tin he kept his savings in had been emptied. He knew straight away who had been there. His dad. John was the only other person with a key and there were no signs of a break in. Dean cursed himself for even giving John a key in the first place. John didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about stealing from his own son. 

So now, Dean had nothing. No plan. No money. No brother or father. Nothing. 

What was the point? 

That’s how Dean had ended up here. On the outskirts of the city, walking towards the bridge that led into town. 

Sam had a new life and it didn’t include Dean. It was obvious, but it was okay. 

He took a deep breath as the bridge came into view. He took determined strides towards it. He knew that if he hesitated for even a second, he wouldn’t go through with it. He’d chicken out like always. And for once in his life, he wanted to get something right. 

Blinded by his tunnel vision, Dean failed to see the person walking towards him. He only snapped out of his determined walk when he collided with the person’s shoulder. 

On instinct, Dean reached back to steady the person - a guy it seemed. “Sorry, man,” he apologised. “Wait. Cas? Is that you?” He couldn’t believe it. Castiel Novak. He’d recognise those blue eyes anywhere. 

Those blue eyes squinted back. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Dean’s heart sank. 

He and Cas had known each other in high school. 

They weren’t necessarily the best of friends. They were partnered for biology class. Despite what his appearance of tattoos and piercings might have made people think, Castiel wanted to be a doctor. He was smart as hell so he already knew it all. And Dean, well, he’d already figured out by then that he’d never amount to anything so he just didn’t try. 

The two boys would sit at the back of the classroom and mess around like two teenagers would. Cas was known around school for being a bit of a class clown and he easily managed to pull Dean down with him. 

They never spoke outside of biology. Castiel had his own friends and Dean, well Dean didn’t have any friends really. To anyone else, it was as if they didn’t know each other at all. But, regardless, those lessons with Castiel were oftentimes the highlight of Dean’s day. He always knew he’d leave school that day with something to smile about. 

Unfortunately, once biology classes ended, so did their fleeting friendship. Dean assumed Cas had gone to some top college and hadn’t looked back to their shitty town. 

But now he was back. 

And he didn’t remember Dean. 

Of course, once again, the friendship meant more to Dean than it did to Cas. Would anyone ever care about Dean the same way he cared about them?

Dean let his shoulders slump and he turned to carry on his journey towards the bridge. “Forget it.” he mumbled. 

He cursed himself for thinking, perhaps hoping, that maybe seeing Cas at this moment was a sign not to go through with this. A sign to keep fighting for something. 

What an idiot. 

He started walking away when a hand grabbed his wrist. “Dean,” Cas’ voice came from behind him, “I’m sorry. I was just kidding, messing around. Like we used to in high school? Of course I know you. I couldn’t forget you.”

Dean turned around to look at Cas. He could see Cas’ lips carry on moving with speech but the sound didn’t reach Dean’s ears. He didn’t know what to think or feel or say. 

When he still hadn’t said anything, Castiel stopped his ranted apology to take a breath and look at Dean properly. Dean didn’t know what the other man could see in his face but whatever it was made Cas’ expression change from one of confusion to soft concern. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel reached back across the gap between them and touched Dean lightly on the back of the hand. 

Was he okay? 

God, how could he answer that question? 

Am I okay? Dean asked himself. No I’m fucking not okay. 

The adrenaline that had been pushing him through the last hour after finding his apartment trashed, left his body. The whiplash of emotions he’d been feeling drained the energy out of him. He didn’t want to die but he couldn’t carry on with this blackness tethered to him. 

Am I okay?

I’ve never been okay. 

Before he could stop them, tears began to fall from Dean’s eyes. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “I’m not okay.”

With no hesitation, Castiel pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean struggled to speak through the sobs that had started racking through his body, so Castiel just squeezed tighter and stroked a comforting hand through Dean’s hair. 

When the sobs subsided, Dean pulled away from Cas and immediately cringed at the scene he’d just created. 

“Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry, man.” He wiped the tears from his face. “Look, just forget this happened. It was good to see you. I gotta go.”

Dean tried to leave again, turning once again to face the bridge. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice cut through the night air. “I’m not letting you go anywhere right now. Not when you’re like this.” Blue eyes looked at his earnestly. “Please, Dean, if something happened now, I’d never forgive myself.” He looked behind Dean, at the bridge looming.

Dean didn’t know if Cas had actually figured out his plans but it had been so long since someone had asked if he was okay and actually seemed to mean it. 

Maybe, Dean was being naive. Maybe this would lead to disappointment again but he had nothing left to lose. The bridge would still be there tomorrow. Nothing would change if he left it another day. 

Castiel could see that Dean had relented so he reached out to quickly squeeze Dean’s hand. 

“Come on, there’s a 24 hour coffee shop on the corner. We can talk if you want? Or just have coffee.” He didn’t wait for an answer, which Dean was grateful for - he wasn’t sure he could speak even if he wanted to. 

*  *  *

Half an hour later, saw the two men sat opposite each other in the corner of an empty coffee shop. The only other person was the guy behind the counter, who seemed fixated on cleaning one of the coffee machines. 

Dean’s leg was bouncing under the table and he resisted the urge not to bite his nails. Anxiety coursed through his body and seeing his reflection in the shop window didn’t help. The lights in the room showed the harsh truth of the toll today’s events had taken on Dean. 

Castiel hadn’t said much, other than asking for Dean’s coffee order, which Dean was grateful for. But, Dean knew Castiel hadn’t only been offering coffee when he’d invited him here. 

“So,” Dean started, “you’re probably wondering what the hell that was all about..” He smiled self deprecatingly. 

Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s sitting on the table top. “Dean, I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

The feel of Cas’ hand on his made Dean want to cry all over again. The gesture was so small but it had been so long since someone had touched him with any kind of affection. 

“No, Cas. It’s okay. I guess I need to tell someone.”

And from there Dean spent the next hour just spilling his guts to Castiel. Every gory detail of his entire life. 

And Castiel just sat there and listened. Dean had never felt so heard. Normally, someone would listen just long enough to be polite and then change the subject to whatever they’d wanted to talk about. 

But Cas, this dude Dean hadn’t seen since high school (who he’d barely even known then either), had sat for an hour and listened. And he never let go of Dean’s hand. Giving him the anchor he needed to stay in the moment, to feel stronger than he had in years. 

When Dean finished (he’d left out what he’d been planning to do right before he’d bumped into Cas, though he imagined Cas had guessed) he felt like a weight had been lifted. 

He looked to Castiel and saw tears forming around beautiful blue eyes. 

“Thank you for telling me, Dean,” he breathed. “I can’t imagine what this must have been like for you to live with all these years.”

“Thanks, man. I don’t like talking about it much. I know other people have got it worse, y’know?” Dean shrugged. 

“Someone else’s problems don’t erase yours, Dean.” Castiel moved his hand to link his fingers properly with Dean’s. “I promise you.”

Dean shrugged again but kept hold of Cas’ hand. He didn’t agree but he wasn’t going to argue with Castiel. 

“Now,” Castiel continued, “I do have an offer for you. You can think about it, you don’t have to say yes. And I understand that it won’t just magically fix all your problems and -”

“Cas, you’re rambling, dude,” Dean smiled. 

“Sorry,” Castiel blushed. “Well, I’m only in town for a few days - I live in San Francisco now.” 

Dean’s stomach dropped. Of course, the one ray of light he’d had in days was leaving for fucking California of all places. Fuck California. 

Castiel must have seen the shift in Dean’s mood again, because he lifted Dean’s chin from where he’d been focused on the scratches on the table. 

“Dean, let me finish,” he said, softly. “As I was saying, I live in San Francisco but my roommate just moved to live with her girlfriend. So, if you’d still like to be close to your brother and have a fresh start, the room is yours.” 

Dean stared wide-eyed at Cas.

“D-Dude, are you sure?” 

“Of course.” Cas assured him.

Dean saw nothing but sincerity in his expression. 

“Look, I can’t guarantee I’ll be the best company most of the time. I’m not used to actually living with someone anymore. Unless you count my dad, I guess, but he’s gone most of the time, God knows where.” Dean shook his head. 

“It’s okay, Dean. We’ll figure it out together.” Cas smiled, shyly. 

A thought occurred to Dean. “But, dude, I have no savings now. I wouldn’t be able to pay rent until I find a job,” he sighed. “And mechanics are probably dime a dozen there. I ain’t special.” He shrugged. 

“Dean, look at me.” 

Dean took a breath and met Cas’ gaze. He still felt so uncertain about his place in this world and he was so used to the rug being pulled from under him. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe would drop. 

“You are special.” Castiel implored. “We may not have seen each other in years, and we weren’t even that close back then, but I can see it in you. You are special. You are talented. You deserve to have a future. In whatever way you want it.” 

“But Cas.” Dean sighed. 

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” Castiel frowned. It was a statement not a question. 

Dean couldn’t get over how well Castiel could read him, after so little time spent together. It was like he could see into Dean’s soul. He glanced down at their clasped hands, he certainly didn’t know what that meant but he was grateful for the source of comfort. 

Squeezing Cas’ hand, Dean looked out the window at the street lights shining up at the intimidating bridge above. “I guess, I don’t.” He smiled, softly. 

Silence cushions the two men for a few moments, Dean continues to look out of the window. It’s late so there’s barely anyone out but there’s a few stragglers walking the street, a couple of people rushing home after a super long day at work. And two people walking hand-in-hand along the water edge. They seemed so into their own little bubble that a meteor could hit and they’d be none the wiser. Dean’s mouth lifted at the edge. 

Maybe he could have that one day. 

Fuck it. 

“I’ll do it.” He turned back to make eye contact with Castiel who had been patiently waiting for Dean to gather his thoughts, softly stroking Dean’s hand. 

The responding grin from Cas shone brighter than any of the street lights could ever hope to. 

*  *  *

Two days later, Dean packed up what little possessions he had in his car and started the road trip with Cas back to San Francisco. 

Castiel had insisted that Dean didn’t need to give him a ride, he’d happily fly like he’d originally planned, but Dean wasn’t having any of it. He saw it as a perfect opportunity for the two of them to catch up and learn each other. (Plus if he had to do the drive by himself, he was scared he’d change his mind and turn right back around.)

Dean decided not to contact Sam and tell him about his move just yet. He wanted to be sure it was going to work out before getting him involved. He left a note for John but he doubted his father would ever see it. 

It turns out Cas is still as funny and goofy as he was in high school. People shouldn’t be fooled by the tattoos that covered his arms (which Dean looked forward to seeing more of when they got to know each other better). He looked all the part of a punk ass dude but really he was a dork who had a slightly questionable obsession with bees. 

Dean laughed more on that road trip than he had in years. 

*  *  *

It was early evening by the time they arrived at Castiel’s apartment. The sun was casting an orange light through the windows, which made the whole place quietly glow. 

As soon as Dean walked through the door he knew he was home. He wouldn’t be turning back. 

Castiel took Dean by the hand and showed him to his new room. Forgetting the room itself for a moment, the view from the window was beautiful, the evening sun filtered across the bed. Dean could see himself being happy here. 

“It’s not much,” Castiel said, “but it’s yours now and you can do whatever you want with it.” He smiled warmly at Dean. 

Dean beamed back at him. “I’ll wait until I’ve actually got a job before I plan any home improvements,” he chuckled, “Gotta start paying rent first.” 

“Dean, take your time, honestly, it’s ok-” 

Dean’s finger on Castiel’s lips stopped the other man from speaking. “Cas, dude, first thing tomorrow I am job hunting. You’ve given me a chance when I probably didn’t deserve it. I’m going to spend the rest of my life repaying you.” He blushed slightly at what his last few words sounded like, though the idea wasn’t completely unwelcome. 

Castiel understood the unintentional double meaning too, if the pink on his cheeks was anything to go by. 

*  *  * 

Dean still had his bad days. Days when he couldn’t help but feel like such a burden to everyone around him, Castiel especially. Days when all he wanted to do was pack up and run away. Even some days when he wanted to look for the nearest bridge again. 

But for every one of those days, Dean had plenty more that made him keep fighting. For every day that he fell to the floor, he had someone to fight his corner and pick him back up again. 

And, in the end, Dean never needed to redecorate his room. It turned into the guest room less than two months after he arrived. 

-

A/N: I went on a bit of a rollercoaster with this one! First I hated it, now I quite like it and am thinking of doing a couple of timestamps/sequels in the future maybe.

If you liked what you saw, REBLOG! and consider reserving a prompt from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ challenge, or just send me your own prompt you’d like me to fill! 

- 

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @saltnhalo @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @jhoomwrites @breathingdestiel @simplymisha @thekingslover

(just tagging a bunch of cool peeps, let me know if you want to be tagged/removed in future works)

[kahvileib]

If I recall right, you have been a mother for about a year now. Is it okay to ask what has been the most surprising thing in motherhood, and have you experienced any unexpected challenges during this time?

What a lovely question, and you recall right. A full year and four months almost exactly, and we're expecting our second for February 2022.

I'll list a few things as they come to mind, first concerning surprising things:

1. The most surprising thing about motherhood for me has probably been how it has shown me the exact limits of my patience and what sort of violent outbursts (not towards my child, but inanimate objects) it can bring out of me in the most emotionally and physically draining situations. I'll return to what these situations were when I get to the challenges.

2. Another thing that has surprised me is how intuitively easy it has been. I haven't had to second-guess my approaches or read up on correct things-to-do before I've implemented some child-rearing strategies at any developmental stage. Though I admit, I do have a tendency to check the literature to see if some of my approaches are actually considered constructive after I've been using them for a while. So far so good, I haven't had to make any notable course-corrections.

3. A third thing that comes to mind is how much I enjoy spending time with my son and seeing him explore the world and figure out things. I was never a person who particularly likes to hang around babies or children, and I expected that at least for the first few years I would be motivated more by sense of duty rather than honest enthusiasm. Of course, I still retain my desire for me-time so that I can actually focus on my own private thoughts and interests, but it isn't nearly as pressing as I thought it would be.

Then the unexpected challenges:

1. I hadn't properly braced myself for the possibility of a C-section. After being in labour for over 40 hours I then had to consent to a male obstetrician (I was told there were no women available at the time) who strongly recommended it. So I then 'had' to consent to that. I decided to trust him, but it had been my only explicit hope before the birth that I would be able to deliver naturally.

Because I hadn't mentally prepared myself for this possibility, I ended up slightly traumatized by the whole ordeal and it took me close to six months to fully process and come to terms with the experience. Everything about the operation went well for me and my son and I recovered without physical complications, but I had not expected that this could be a major source of post-partum woe for me.

2. The four-month-sleep-regression was an absolute shitshow for a few weeks for us, and being unable to console my child or get him back to sleep for hours at a time caused me to stomp the floor and kick the walls so hard that I am sure the whole house vibrated. I also yeeted a number of things across various rooms and fantasized about breaking every porcelain or glass object in the house. To my credit, I never broke a single thing except my own vocal chords when I would occasionally scream my lungs out to relieve some of the pent up rage and frustration. Nothing before or since has ever come close to how difficult those few weeks were before our son finally adapted to his new brain chemistry. The upside of this has been that all subsequent challenges have felt like a breeze. Very few challenges all in all, but these two that stand out were brutal. A BONUS: Another pleasantly surprising thing in light of thinking about the challenges is how much easier everything became after our son turned 6 months old, and then again at 1 year old.

[sinnhelmingr]

Is Hel manipulative for using glamours? Discuss // anonymous

I have... Literally had this go-around in another fandom, in which case a writer depicted a fae character’s journey to present herself as she wishes. Not to be stripped of her glamours by one controlling employer, not to be forced to wear them to be a part of her own society, but to have the choice of whether she wants to wear her glamours or not. The consensus by 30-somethings seeking a ‘not like other girls’ narrative to build up their own misogyny masquerading as empowerment (’I only support you as a woman if you make choices I personally deem acceptable,’ that kind of fandom crone discourse, retire bitch) was that this writer was being transphobic, misogynistic, and parenthetically evil for having this character choose to present in her more traditionally beautiful glamoured form instead of her plain jane natural form.

Now reframe that entire narrative with the knowledge that the writer of this arc identified as a trans woman at the time of publication, and has since come out as genderfluid. Only to be defamed in the modern era as somehow writing a transphobic narrative in a woman choosing her own presentation, free of outside pressure or expectation, by people whose understanding of feminism has not evolved past a super flawed 90s grrrrrl power perspective. All of this to say that yes, the discourse surrounding Hel’s glamours would be an unparalled shitshow.

Fandom would sling mud left and right about Hel’s in-character choice, erasing the fact she is wholly comfortable with her form depending on the time period and is instead glamouring herself for the comfort others. If she happens to be in a relationship and be depicted as glamoured, then she’d be abusive and manipulative as a partner and they should be with someone less ‘vain.’ If she’s single and glamoured, then it proves the point that men (and it’s always men, why be a woman if not performing for men?) don’t want ‘fake’ women. She has poor self esteem for not embracing herself despite, again, the narrative making clear she’s perfectly comfortable with her form and simply taking the comfort of her non-divine associates as a priority when interacting with them. She should be ugly and able to get a man! Which isn’t even anything resembling the point of her narrative, but it’s the sweet, sweet hit of serotonin that someone’s strawman gets what they deem an acceptable ending for a character by means they alone consider acceptable.

God help any writers in the event Hel was canon and depicted as wearing glamours. Male writers are fetishizing her and saying ugly women don’t sell, woman writers have internalized misogyny and aren’t helping The Cause, any other identity should Know Better in that condescending tone that says a 35 year old fandom mom knows more about identity struggles than every trans writer in the business. Everyone would have a random friend they can call upon who can tell us all just how damaging this representation is -- but only via their cis friend transcribing them without naming them or a url, but they’re totally real, guys.

The discourse would be freezing, the takes sub-arctic. Woe be a Hel who was actually a character in any of the 20th century media she’s usually a part of, because she would be eaten alive, waiting for a modern era where feminism is for all women, not just those who make choices that people agree with.