#this case is so recent and far from solved

[kazu-naito]

i watched the burning sun documentary by bbc and man i really hope that's not the path garden of eden is taking (cause it sure looks like it)

the gap between making it work and just being disrespectful and insensitive asf is soooo small

[gremlingottoosilly]

Slasher!König who’s amused watching his best friend!/or girlfriend!Reader trying to figure out who’s behind all these recent killings, unaware that it’s him. Imagining Detective!Reader where she’s the one assigned to crack the case to bring him in, completely oblivious to the fact that the killer is closer than she thinks.

Konig is a nice guy next door. A soldier, a veteran - still going to deployments from time to time, surprisingly not spending all of his money on booze and hard drugs. Surprisingly nice to meet you for the first time in some bookshop and help you get the book you wanted from the tallest shelf. It was another dissection of Zodiac's killings - you chuckle nervously, saying it was a hobby of yours. Trying to solve the unsolved cases, always searching for the truth. Konig laughed a bit nervously too - a good boy, a shy boy. Got you coffee after and let you order for the two of you. Listened so intently to your ramblings about recent murder cases, you thought he might actually be interested. You smiled at the thought. There are women going missing. Found out, much later - dissected, thrown into rivers. Bags on their heads and pretty dresses that you thought might be to your tastes if they weren't dressed on a corpse. None of the clothes belonged to them - and you felt ill looking at them. More and more of the girls were looking like you - but no one actually believed you when you tried pointing that out. These were women from other cities, from other provinces. You think some might even be found in Germany - no killer would go as far as to literally drive for hours to snatch a kill. You're just paranoid. Konig tells you so. Buys you a pretty dress because you look too stressed lately. It's easy to fall into his embrace. He is shy, harmless, adorable even. Presses kisses all over your face and smiles when you whine just a tiny bit. Asks you to be his girl and to move in with him - you ramble so much about killing and disappearances, he starts to worry about you. Probably thinks you're crazy and wants to observe you from a safe distance, so his pretty girl wouldn't get hurt. You don't care, can't care when he is hugging you tightly. He smells like bleach and fresh laundry. His house is clean, always smells like detergent and stain remover - you think he might be the first guy to actually know how to clean a house properly. It brings you comfort. Finally found yourself a nice guy. Konig presses kisses on your shoulder as you read about another disappearance. Girl looks like you, almost. Wears almost the same dress. No. Wears your dress. A little stain on the left, your pitiful attempt at being a proper housewife, and remove sauce from the skirt. Konig smells like metal today. Like blood. Tangles with a ring that has some weird stains on it. Kisses your forehead. "There is my smart Schatzen" You can't even scream before he drags you down.

[stressfulsloth]

I've seen a couple of takes about Disco Elysium being copaganda going around recently, and beyond the fact that DE is relentlessly critical of the police force in general and makes explicit reference to the failures of the system that allow the officers in game to abuse their power, I also think it's important to note that there very literally is an in-world version of copaganda that the writers of the game use to parody that romanticised view of the brutality of policing. The RCM at their inception were structurally inspired by in-world copaganda- their culture, their "fashions, even weapon preferences, borrow heavily from classic Vespertine cop shows." Every investigation is it's own little drama, every officer imagining themselves to be the bad-ass hero of their own crime serial. Detectives name their cases like they're naming episodes of a TV series in a "robust but literary system"; a title that "draws inspiration from snoop fiction and Vespertine cop show staples". They give themselves nicknames to sound like cool, suave fictional officers- Ace, Dick Mullen, etc.- from the cool, suave world of copaganda.

The legend of the RCM's inception, the "point of contention" over its uncertain origins, is even an extention of that; the whole organisation is shrouded in this self-fictionalising mythos that allows for distance that in turn obfuscates much of its violence to the officers that participate in it. They get to convince themselves that they're not abusing their power; they're the hero of the story! The dichotomy of "good guy" taking out the "baddies," a manifestation of the libertarian fantasy of the "good guy with a gun" who does what it takes, just like in Annette's detective novels, and at the same time who rails against oversight bodies like Internal Affairs/'the rat squad' because due process slows down the immediate satisfaction of Swift Justice, despite Internal Affairs existing to protect the citizens from overreach on behalf of the police. "Wanton brutality" from police in their real world is a cold bitter reality but Dick Mullen was "made to crack skulls," "bend the rules and solve cases no one else can," and which version of that story is more comforting to the overworked, underfunded officers of the RCM?

The level of fantasy and detachment required for the cops to still see themselves as the good guys after everything that they do in the line of duty mimics The Pigs and her breakdown too; she parallels Harry so clearly. Both "did right by the kids" in the past, hoping for a better future- Marianne (The Pigs) by looking out for Titus and the Hardy boys when they were young, Harry in his role as a gym teacher. Both abandoned and left behind by the system that the RCM uphold- a brutal capitalist landscape with no safety nets. Both turning the source of their trauma into a costume, a performance, a shield, shaped by "radio waves and cop shows." The Pigs uses RCM items scavenged from the Esperance where they'd been thrown away, while Harry uses the Dick Mullen hat that Annette gives him but both are essentially in costume.

Harry identifies himself with the fictional detective as a kind of wish fulfilment; Dick Mullen is "wicked smart." He doesn't fuck up his cases and when he's sad it's not pathetic; it's effortlessly cool brooding and everyone sympathises. Everyone loves him. His violence- "skull crack[ing]"- is justified because he's a "good guy" enacting that violence against the victims of police brutality sorry "bad guys". He doesn't ever face repercussions; "Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some legal niceties!" So if Harry is Dick Mullen then his failures, his breakdown, they're all just a part of being a "bad-ass, on-the-edge disco cop." He's not wrong, he's a hero! This idealised fictionalised idea of the police force, this "new, sadly better, reality" that both Harry and The Pigs cling to is "escapist stuff," "receed[ing] into a ludicrous fantasy world," so far removed from the brutal material reality that they're in.

My point is, idk. Disco Elysium is so far from being copaganda. It is a multi-million word long dissection of it, of the purpose of policing, of state sanctioned violence and its interaction with capital and the fallout experienced within the wider community as well as the trauma cycle created for individual officers. A dissection of how copaganda interacts with RCM culture and perception, and by extension how we interact with irl perceptions of police through that lens.

[colourstreakgryffin]

asks are open!😘 How would L lawliet react with a shy I mean very shy girlfriend shes short about 5'2. And recently joined the task force to help her boyfriend

💕L💕

Omllll yeeessss! Another Death Note request! Let’s go, I like L too and I was waiting for him! Let’s do it!

Lawliet L

L was very against you trying to join the Task Force. This is definitely the most dangerous case in human history and you’re the last person he wants to risk to try solve it. He doesn’t care to risk his own life, but not yours

When L loves something or someone, it’s permanent and it’s strong, he was very against Watari joining, but he knows he needs Watari and the older man is not as included. L is a stubborn man and he won’t fold to your persistence

How did you manage to get onto the Task Force? L had no choice but to let you join, Light already seen you and his hands were tied by the members thinking a new Detective has joined. He couldn’t fly you out since it’d draw far too much suspicion. For the first time ever, the world’s best detective was stunned as he had to agree on terms he didn’t make

L supposes he doesn’t really mind having you around, it’s bad but not as bad. You’re intelligent, your skilled and you know how to handle yourself. Though, he isn’t a fan of you being apart of the Kira case for obvious reasons

Repeat it, L loves short girls so his significant other being shorter than him is like his actual dream. They are cuddle-sized and easy to keep track off. Even with how hunched he is, L is still packing quite the height and he towers you so suspect him to rest his chin on your head

“Aaah~ my favourite pillow has arrived. I am aware that I’m using your head as a headrest, you’re a suitable ‘small bean’ for the task. Why yes, I do remember what people your height are called and I’m called a ‘beanstalk’”

L is not a teaser about height, he’s a helper. You’re struggling to reach something high, he’ll get it for you. He will analyse the situation and suggest using a step next-time but at the end of the situation, he’ll help in anyway he can

L is a introvert so he understands your overall timidity. If you don’t want to be around the others, he will set up a private room for you that none of the members can access, including him if wanted. He has the money and power to do whatever the fuck he wants, and he is the spoiling type of boyfriend

Yes, I mean that L would send you money if you need it, he will rush around the headquarters to find your favourite blanket, he’s out the door the moment you mention a milkshake you’re carving. He will do stuff for you since you do so much for him, by merely being apart of his life and changing from him a glorified machine to a real human

The way you shyly approach him and Light to hand over the documentation files Watari gave to you whilst he was baking, is just so cute. Internal L is laying on the floor joyous at how adorable you behave, whilst external is politely thanking you

L isn’t built with any muscles(besides dem legs for real) but he isn’t above being protective over you, because he is. Light scared you with that one time he impersonated Kira to a horrifyingly good degree, L is gonna calmly argue with him then get into a fight

“Light. Could you please silence your strangely accurate impersonation of Kira. You’re frightening Dokusha— Hm? What reason do I have to ask of such a request? Well. She’s my partner in business and in life, she is important. Don’t do anything like that again”

L is slowly growing accustom to affection, please give him a break if he doesn’t respond or give it back. He does like it, he just isn’t trained nor knowledgeable enough in couple things. He puts research on those topics into his list so he can do better for you

Though, nobody else can do these things with L. Hold his hand, brush his hair, hug him. Nothing like that is allowed for anybody besides you and well to a degree, Watari but that’s different. You are always allowed in his private research room, most of the time, he wants you there besides him as he works

A cute weird thing L lets you do is latch onto his back. He does have a BAD back from the ten+ years of hunching but he loves feeling you clung onto him like a Koala. You are too shy to do it around the members but that won’t stop L from throwing you onto his back himself. He misses it

L keeps track of everything you like, do and more. He basically has a encyclopaedia of you and can recall every little detail. To him, knowing you like the process of scrubbing through hours worth of camera footage, is important as it shows how devoted he is to you

So tell him everything. He won’t forget any piece of info and he’ll write it down later as a needed backup, like he does for everything else non-Dokusha related. There’s two parts of his mind; Detective and Dokusha. He likes the Dokusha section a lot more

L is very loyal. Do you think he has anybody else waiting? Most women call him a freak for his looks and/or behaviour. You’re his one and only, he can’t throw you away, he just wants you sat besides him all the time. Where he can turn around and know you’re still with him

L shares his sweets with you more, as compared to somebody like Light, and you know he’ll get Watari to deliver whatever you want, whilst the other members get only what L requests for them. You are treated specially and he could care less that it makes him seem favouritistic, he is

L has a habit of mimicking you, kinda like a child. He follows you since your word is a lot more trustworthy. When you eat vegetables and meats with a smiley reaction, he is eating it too whilst waiting for your praise (Watari would struggle here, and he is a bit frustrated that his son listens to his gf, not his father

“Good morning— hm? I seem frustrated. Well… I am. Why is that? Don’t pretend like you don’t know the answer to that question, Dokusha. Yes, yes. I understand you fully. You don’t want me to die but this is my profession, and you shouldn’t be apart of this case. It’s too dangerous, you know how intense my feelings for you are”

[covidsafecosplay]

Article date: September 12, 2024

With the approach of fall and cooler weather across the United States, officials say the risk posed by the H5N1 bird flu virus could rise — and they’re taking steps to prevent the creation of a hybrid flu virus that could more easily infect humans. Fall and winter months present more opportunities for H5N1 to spread and change since both cows and other flu viruses will be on the move. While most human infections in the current outbreak have been mild and self-limiting, each new host gives the virus a chance to get better at infecting people. “To be clear, we have no evidence so far that this virus can easily infect human beings or that it can spread between human beings easily in a sustained fashion,” said Dr. Jennifer Nuzzo, director of the Pandemic Center at the Brown University School of Public Health. “If it did have those abilities, we would be in a pandemic. “The second we know that someone gave it to someone else relatively easily, that’s a new pandemic, and it will be around the globe, probably in a matter of weeks,” Nuzzo said at a seminar hosted by the Health Coverage Fellowship. The concern comes as scientists are urgently trying to solve the mystery of how a person in Missouri who had no contact with animals became infected by a type of bird flu. Few details have been released. The person had “significant underlying health conditions” that probably made them more susceptible to the infection, Dr. Nirav Shah, principal deputy director of the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said Thursday. The patient tested positive for the flu after being hospitalized August 22, was treated with antiviral medications and has since recovered and returned home. Additional testing by the Missouri State Public Health Laboratory confirmed that the person had a type of H5 flu, which is an uncommon subtype. Only 13 other H5 infections have been reported in humans in the US this year. Aside from the Missouri case, all have been in farm workers who had been in direct contact with infected birds or cows. The CDC has confirmed that the Missouri case was an H5 infection and is now trying to sequence the rest of the virus’ genome to find out whether it is related to those infecting poultry and dairy cattle. It’s not clear whether the agency’s scientists will be successful, since there was little virus in the patient’s samples to work with. So far, CDC scientists had been able to sequence only part of the virus’ genetic material. “The data that we do have and that have been generated thus far show an H5 virus that is closely related to the H5 virus circulating among dairy cows,” Shah said. Investigators have also interviewed the patient and are tracing their recent contacts. There’s no indication that the person passed the infection to anyone else, and there’s no unusual flu activity in the area where the person lives, Shah said. “Seeing that someone is in the hospital with possible H5N1 heightens my worry,” Nuzzo said. “It not only heightens my worry for the farm workers,” who are most at risk from infection, she said, “but it also heightens the worry that this we’re allowing this virus to gain new abilities.”

(Continue reading at CNN Health)

[archivomeow]

scars of the past.

worldwide issues || read on ao3 || writing masterlist

a/n: please read the warnings on this one! also i’m thinking about making this couple parts, so we’ll see.

description; you’re the new addition to the BAU team, after Derek Morgan left, Reid and Penelope hate your guts, but when you and Reid get paired up to visit the coroner’s office together he learns something about you, something you wanted to keep a secret and it changes the dynamic between the two od you.

warnings; mention of scars, sh, razor blades, swearing.

— THIS WORK IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

You were new to the team, when Agent Morgan left a spot opened and you got it, the excitement you felt was indescribable, you wanted this job forever and now it was your chance to become a profiler, to help the FBI, to meet other profilers. Your first day was rough, you were late and no one really talked with you except Emily, but you just shook it off as them being focused on the case, later on Jennifer also started to talk with you, you felt more comfortable knowing the two a little bit made you feel less alone and alienated.

The days passed fast and you had to admit the job wasn’t turning out how you imagined. You obviously were profiling, that part lived up to your, for a lack of better word, expectations. However the team wasn’t. You made two connections, you couldn’t even call that friendship. Jennifer and Emily tolerated you, they respected you and treated you with kindness, but the rest of the team was not a fan of you. Spencer always had an attitude when it came to you, as far as you noticed he gave it to no one else and no one defended you, except that one time where Emily had to stop him, because he was going too far.

Penelope treated you like air, like you didn’t exist and if she had to acknowledge your existence she did it as fast as she could, just so she can go back to pretending you don’t exist. It was crushing you. Every time you had to talk with Garcia or Reid the knot in your stomach tightened, it was there present all day long at work, but it was the worse when it came to those two. You knew there was another open spot for the BAU, that still remained empty and you wondered if another person would have to deal with this shit to and your heart just broke for them.

Since you joined the team you have solved one case so far, the way back on the jet was peaceful, everyone was exhausted and you just couldn’t wait to go home. Going home was your favourite time, drinking a glass of wine, catching up with your pet, watching TV, quite literally anything that would shift your focus from the terrible anxiety you were feeling, every fucking day at work.

Next day at work it shocked you to see more people around the table, you weren’t that surprised to see David Rossi, he took a time off because he got hurt during a mission, before you joined the BAU and you haven’t had the pleasure to meet him yet, but the other woman you didn’t recognise.

“Okay, so everyone is here. This Doctor Tara Lewis, she will be joining us on this case, alongside Rossi.” As Emily spoke, you glanced at Tara and smiled lightly as she looked at you, you felt at ease when she returned the smile.

On the other hand you ignored Reid, you could feel his eyes on you again, drilling a hole in your head.

You fucking hated this job.

The jet ride is always calm, not this time. David called shots this time and unknowingly of the situation put you with Reid, he wanted to protest, but David shut it down so he just glanced annoyed at you.

“What’s up with that?” Tara whispered to you, the two of you talked more, she noticed how disconnected you were from the team and when Emily mentioned you joined recently she felt at ease, knowing she wasn’t the only “outcast”.

“Great question, wish I knew…” You shrugged, you really didn’t know why Reid disliked you, but the problem was not on your end.

You and Reid were headed to the coroner’s office, to examine the victims bodies. The ride there was quiet, you didn’t know what to say and he said nothing.

You listened to his observations about the wounds, the two of you examined the body. What stood out to you were the scars on the women’s arms, you knew those very very well, you had the same ones on your shoulder. It was warm, but as long as you could you wore long sleeves, so only you knew for now.

“Hm.. Those scars, are they fresh? Was it a knife or another weapon?” Reid looked up at the coroner, but before he could speak you answered his question.

“Razor blade.” You just stated, but the silence made you glance both at Reid and at the coroner. “Um… Those are razor blade scars… They’re deep, but still narrow, a knife could do it, but probably not with this much precision.”

Reid looked back at the coroner and the man just nodded.

“Yeah, your partner here is right. These are most likely from razor blades, those scars are about a month old, most likely not connected to the UnSub, but both women had similar scars in different stages of healing.”

You two left in silence, but the ride back was not silent. You jumped up when he spoke at first, no radio and a quiet street combined with his speaking out of nowhere scared you.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You cleared your throat, he was focused on the road, very focused, his eyebrows were frowned and his brown eyes looking ahead as he repeated what he said before.

“I asked about what you said at the coroner’s office. The razor blades.”

You frowned, that was not the hole you wanted to dig under yourself. “What about them?”

“How did you know so fast?”

He knew? Did he? He was a genius, but you weren’t sure, that didn’t stop your mind from racing with no proof. Can you lie to a profiler?

Your chest started to feel heavy, an imaginary pressure was applied to it, your lungs were heavy as if filled with sand, you could feel how your heart sped up and how the temperature of your body rose up.

“I- um… I just did…” You managed to mumble out, fucking anxiety, you were a terrible liar, even worse under pressure.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you prayed he let the topic go.

“You clean now?” He glanced at you and back at the road.

That question made you want to jump out of the moving car, that was in fact not his business and you truly didn’t want the team to know, what’s in the past is meant to stay there. You didn’t know what to say to that, you opted on being a bitch untill he drops the topic.

“That is so not your fucking business… And who even said I- I did that.” You scoffed looking out the window.

You’re okay… You’re okay…

You kept repeating in your head that fucking phrase, but you were in fact not okay.

“Well, you do wear long sleeves always and in this weather you must be hot… Your eyes immediately focused on the scars at the coroner’s office… You knew the blade, you can know everything in theory, but you were sure of it… You pretty much told on yourself….But if it’s not you, then it’s someone close to you.”

Fucking profilers.

“Just focus on the road.” You said firmly, you did tell on yourself, especially when you claimed it was “none of his business”. That didn’t matter now, you couldn’t say anything to go back. He was right, but you didn’t want him to know, not him, not anyone. It was definitely too late now.

[harmonysanreads]

Hello there! 👋 I really like your al haitham fics and I was wondering...

if you could do a yan! al haitham with a reader who's sweet and friendly? (Basically a sunshine reader cause I like sunshine characters to balance out the cold characters)

(Hope your having a good day! :) )

Apricate

yandere alhaitham x reader

cw(s) : general yandere themes

no because I'm so soft for this pairing too (T▽T) Sunshine x Sunshine Protector so trueee

Alhaitham has found himself in a predicament as of late.

Well, ‘predicament’ as far as the time it's requiring him to decipher the case — which, if he was honest, has snowballed further than what he deems efficient of himself. Whenever Alhaitham finds himself in a pickle, his tactic is to assess the weakest link of the situation, so that it's solved with minimum energy and action. However this time, doing that had just resulted in him being stuck in his head for weeks, vacillating between the plethora of methods to integrate your existence with his — without any repercussions.

And by which, he means for your hand in marriage.

Now, this questionable phrasing appearing to be a misnomer for a rather harmless intention for someone of his age, would've sounded less absurd if the conditions for a proposal with such social importance were met — you know, if both parties were familiar and shared adequate affections to escalate to that stage. The Acting Grand Sage is not delusional, you and him barely know each other (or at least, you do) but does that stop him from planning ahead?

No, not when he's certain there'd be no such gap remaining once he's finally cracked the code.

If Alhaitham was being honest, he truly has achieved it all : academic accomplishments, a stable job with a handsome wage, a spacious house, his title as one of Sumeru's heroes and his looks as the cherry on top — the only thing lacking now, is someone to bring warmth to his house (and no, his leech of a roommate does not count). It's fairly recent that such an idea or need occurred to him, being most content with his own presence for all his life, he had thought that he could pass the rest just the same.

Had it been the images of lovers strolling along the streets of Sumeru hand-in-hand that he'd previously paid no heed to? Had it been the children coddled alongside their parents and the passing thought, could he have that, too? If he tried? Or was it just you, who'd become the challenger of his views?

He's well-aware of how he's seen at times ; an emotionless rock. Which is why his late-grandmother had been concerned at the earlier days, even the most self-sufficient human is bound to crave connection at one point and who would accept him, if he continued to be like this? Alhaitham had thought about it long and hard, does he need to change himself to be accepted by you, at least? Would his brooding bluntness dent your amicability?

Alhaitham has only talked to you thrice, but three times is all he needed to confirm that no, he needn't put on a facade when you can just become the flower blooming alongside the rock ; balance his flaws and in turn, he'll balance yours. And what better way to ensure that equilibrium than through the sacred bond of marriage?

Now, if only these other pests could stop leeching off of your attention.

Alhaitham watches from his peripheral, there is you, surrounded by a group of people again. It seemed as though you came to the library for something important but instead got swarmed by your ‘friends’ asking for help with this and that. Normally, you delightedly handle these crowds, solving each of their dilemmas with grace. Today though, it seemed your urgency weighed more.

Disappointing as it is admirable in a way, people of all kind seem to always flock around you. The Acting Grand Sage understands better why they do, your luminous countenance has drawn him to this pit as well. But unlike those fools, at least he isn't blind to your personal space. The predicament as a result, is like this : how can he form that connection with you if you're always surrounded by these self-serving idiots and achieve his greater plan of a peaceful, fulfilling life?

He notices your attention shift to his person at the corner of the library, you're quickly giving apologetic smiles to everyone surrounding you, pushing past the crowd and making your way to him. If you looked back, you'd be able to see the array of flabbergasted faces, some then morphing into distaste when they see who exactly you'd abandoned them for — but you don't, as per the Scribe's advice.

Alhaitham pretends to be taken aback when you sheepishly greet him and ask if you could sit with him, he responds in the positive and you heave a sigh of relief.

You did it.

“I did it. I did as you advised me.”

The corner of Alhaitham's lips curve slightly, his gaze flickers between the page of his book and yourself before him.

“And how do you feel?”

You halt for a moment, as if processing your very being from the inside out to answer that question.

“I...I feel free, strangely.”

This time the Scribe fully settles on the writings of the book, taking his quill and running it along the surface of the page in a crossing motion.

“I told you so.”

Alhaitham gains the solution at last ; he needn't get rid of them himself, he merely has to make you see the bad influences of your life and have you cut them off by yourself.

First step : achieved.

[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!

[copperbadge]

Every time, you guys. Every time I look into alternatives to Lulu.com for self-publishing I come up with “Wow Lulu really is the best of a bad set of options, huh?” 

Recently, Draft2Digital bought Smashwords in order to bring a print book company under their aegis; they’d formerly only done ebooks. I thought I might investigate them as an alternative to Lulu, which I’ve used for about twelve years now. For ebooks I would venture D2D is probably top of the line. For print books they are....not. 

I’m writing this out half so other folks can see it but half so that in the future I can look this up and remind myself of why I’m still with Lulu. 

TLDR: Not only does Draft2Digital want 60% of my print book royalties where Lulu takes 0%, and $30 for a proof that costs me $11 at Lulu, but I also appear to have solved the problem of why Lulu was making me price my books so goddamn artificially high. Which is like. Honestly the best anti-anxiety drug I’ve experienced this week. 

Basically there are a number of elements that go into self-publishing with a print-on-demand service. For some publishers, there’s a “setup fee” which doesn’t really set anything up, it’s just there to be a fee, everything is done by computer on the back end. Traditionally, Lulu has not charged a setup fee. Smashwords used to charge $50, but Draft2Digital currently waives it. I was heartened by that because the setup fee was keeping me from migrating, since I can afford $50 but I balk at knowing I’m paying them $50 for nothing. 

Next is the cost of printing -- what it costs the company in paper, ink, machinery, labor, etc, to just make a book with no profit. Lulu’s price calculus isn’t super clear and I’ve never bothered looking at what the breakdown is, because they’re pretty up-front -- they tell you in the process of setting the book up how much it’ll cost. In this case, a 140-page 6x9 trade paperback, no frills, which is how all my books are printed, is $5. Draft2Digital doesn’t tell you the flat price anywhere but they do offer the breakdown information; it costs $1.22 flat plus $0.0133 per page. So, for a 140 page book, the at-cost is $3.08. So far so good. 

Now, if you’re going to sell through Lulu, the “at cost” is the minimum price. You won’t make any money but you CAN charge just $5 for a $5 book. Any pricing above that is your cut. So -- let’s price this 140 page trade paperback at $13-$15. That’s a bit high to be honest but let’s just see. At Lulu, your take is roughly $6-$8 based on those prices, because you’re just dropping out the cost of printing from the retail price. 

At Draft2Digital, the same 140-page trade paperback, which remember is quoted as costing roughly $1.20 less to print than Lulu charges, gets you $2.75-$3.50 in royalties per book.

....wait, what? 

So now we need to sidetrack a little but I promise it’s for a reason. One of the motivations for looking into a change to Draft2Digital is that I didn’t like that Lulu was setting higher “minimum prices” than I was accustomed to -- they would tell me the book only cost $5 to print but require me to sell it for $12 or similar, and I couldn’t work out why. I’m an idiot but the penny did finally drop: it’s because when you distribute them outside of Lulu (say, on Amazon or Barnes & Noble or similar) your royalties drop like a stone. $7 in royalties purchased through Lulu comes out to like twenty-five cents purchased through Amazon. So Lulu forces you to price the book at a point where you even GET royalties and don’t end up weirdly owing Amazon money. The “global distribution” is what’s driving that minimum up. 

So in price-quoting a competitor I actually solved the problem with Lulu. 

Which is good, because the fun doesn’t stop there. If you want a proof copy of a book from Lulu, it’s the at-cost of the book, plus tax, plus postage. Buying a proof copy of this book from Lulu would cost me $11. Lulu makes you order a new proof copy every time you make a change, which is shady, but usually I only need to make 1-2 changes across the life of a book, so at most the cost will probably be $35 and for that I’ll get three copies of the book. Draft2Digital doesn’t give you an option. If you want a proof pre-publication, it’s $30 flat. If you want to publish and then buy a copy you can, but you can only make one change to the book every 90 days once it’s published. If you want to make more than one change, it’s $25 every time you upload a new version of the manuscript within that 90 day period.

So Draft2Digital’s books cost less to print but they take a massive cut of your royalties out of the retail cost of the book. If the book costs $3 to print, and I price it at $15, that’s $12 in profit on the book. Of that $12, however, I only receive $4. Draft2Digital literally wants 2/3 of my royalties per book. They want $20 more than Lulu to send me a proof copy. If I need to correct the proof, the correction is free, but I’m assuming the second proof will also cost me $30. Any changes after that, within 90 days, will cost $25 plus $30 for a new proof.

Which means my upfront costs at Lulu are about $35 per published book; to do the same thing at Draft2Digital is between $60 and $105 depending on whether I need to make changes after the second proof copy. And even after that, my royalties at Lulu are just about twice what they would be at Draft2Digital per purchase. 

So, well, Lulu it is. And the problem I was having with Lulu is solved if I decide to just retail through Lulu rather than selling globally. Which...selling globally has done two things that I’m aware of:

1. Fucked up my author page so badly on Amazon that one of my books is still attributed to Kathleen Starbuck, and one of her books is for sale on my author page. 

2. Raised the minimum price I’m allowed to set my books at by like, 40%. 

So I think probably what’s going to happen is going forward my books will be for sale only on Lulu. I can still assign them ISBNs and they still will ship worldwide, and the prices will fall significantly. My deepest apologies to those of you who have paid an artificially inflated price for the last few books; I’m going to fix that going forward, I’m going to go in and try to fix it retroactively in the books that are already on Lulu, and if it’s any consolation at least the cash came to me, and TWO THIRDS OF IT didn’t go to Lulu. 

It’s gonna take me a little time, untangling Lulu’s relationship to other retailers is tricky, but eventually the Shivadh Omnibus and Twelve Points should come down significantly in price, and there ought to be a dollar or two drop for the older books as well. 

This is why it always pays to do the math, even if like me you are dreadful at it. 

[morganwrites12672]

1999 - Seventeen Years Old

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Working with the Winchester's to solve a case brings up old, unresolved feelings.

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: Blood. Canon typical violence. Dean being an absolute menace. Minor injury. A tiny bit of kissing.

A/N: This is the longest part yet! I hope you enjoy it! Also, you can read this without reading the rest of the series here: 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤.

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The old library computers were slow as hell. She passively sorted through the archives of newspapers from this town. She had begged her father to let her go out and do anything else, maybe even try and get some of the witnesses to talk, but he hadn't let her. No, he had made her go to the library.

Spending the entire day the library hadn't been something she wanted to do. Even if on any normal day she would be ecstatic. The library was a magical place to her, most of the time. Definitely not right now.

She has spent hours sitting in this stupid, uncomfortable chair. She had found nothing. Whatever spirit was killing people was well hidden in the records. No strange deaths had occured at the hotel where people had started dying in extremely. . . odd ways.

All of the victims had been stabbed to death while they slept. And, the people were all so different. Different ages, races, home towns, etc. So far, she hadn't been able to find a connection between the victims. Neither had Sam.

She pauses her search for a moment and looked over her shoulder. Dean was flipping through a more recent newspaper while sitting at one of the small tables. His feet were propped up on the table, he was leaning back in his chair.

She snapped her gaze back to the ancient computer in front of her. She still had a lot of work to do. She peeked over at Sam's screen. He hadn't found anything either.

"Anything?" She asked quietly, even though she already knew what the answer was.

Sam sighed and looked away from the computer screen glowing in front of him. "This is stupid! There has to be something," Sam said with a huff.

But, there wasn't. Not yet at least. She nodded and went back to scrolling through the archives. After several dozen key word searches (and another hour), she found something. She sat up straighter in her seat as she skimmed through the article. A woman who had been murdered while she slept, at the hotel. It looked like the hotel had tried getting this article buried.

She was about to say something, but she heard Dean's chair scrape across the floor. She didn't have to look back to see what he was doing. She could feel him hovering over her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat at the proximity. She hadn't been this close to Dean since the apple orchard.

"Finally," Dean's deep, velvety voice murmured into her ear. "It only took you all night."

She abruptly turned around in her chair. Who was he to criticize how long it had taken her to finally find something? This had been a difficult case so far. She had been the one to finally find something, not Dean, Sam, her father, or John.

"You were supposed to be helping!" She snapped at Dean. She heard the sound of Sam shuffling in his seat and looked over. Sam had his backpack alung across his shoulder. He walked over to the table, escaping the argument.

Sam's reaction made her feel bad. She was about to say something to the younger Winchester brother whenever Dean opened his stupid mouth again.

"You and Sam are the eggheads," He said. Dean had his signature cocky smirk plastered on his face. His favorite thing in the world seemed to be pissing her off. There was nothing he loved more than seeing her like this, well that or pinning her against an apple tree.

She rolled her eyes as she began writing down the main details of the article she had found. She quickly pressed the 'print' button afterwards. She then gathered her things from the small surface area of the desk she had been working at. She was tired of dealing with Dean. There was no in-between with him. They were either all over each other or arguing.

Dean fumbled for words as he watched her leave. He watched as she stood by the large, noisy printer and waited on the documents she needed to finish printing. He hadn't been expecting that. Usually he would piss her off until she gave in and kissed him.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, crossing the room in a few strides.

She sighed in annoyance as she yanked the freshly printed pages off the tray. She wasn't in the mood to exchange a few insults and snarky remarks with Dean. She was tired and anxious. This was one of the few hunts her father allowed her to come on. It was a recent thing too. Bobby was strict about letting her tag along, even if she was useful.

"Back to the motel."

"How?" Dean asked. "I drove you and Sammy here."

She looked back at him, "I'm walking back."

Her words made a brief sense of panic seize Dean's chest. The thought of her walking back to the hotel, alone, and in the middle of the night made his blood run cold. Maybe he needed to stop being such a dick for a few minutes.

"No, I'll just drive you."

"No," She snapped. She didn't want to spend fifteen minutes in a car with him right now. However, the long walk back to the hotel didn't sound all that appealing. She didn't say that to Dean.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "No- wait." He let out a huff. "Just let me drive you. Your dad will shoot me for letting you walk home in the middle of the night." Dean used Bobby as an excuse for a reason to drive her home. He didn't want to have a rom-com moment with her in front of Sam.

She begrudgingly agreed with a sigh.

While she had been arguing with Dean, Sam has finished packing everything else up. He was ready to get back to the hotel. Listening to the bickering of his brother and the girl his brother liked was annoying as hell whenever he was this tired. Normally he didn't mind it that much. It was obvious that the two idiots liked each other.

The drive back to the hotel felt like it was hours long. The soft hum of rock filled the car. Anytime she had tried changing the music in the last when driving with Dean, the older Winchester always replied with the same exact words; "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts their cakehole."

Once they finally arrived at the hotel, she practically jumped out of the car. She clutched the printed article in her hands as she walked through the parking lot. If her father was back yet then she could give him the information.

She had figured out almost everything they needed. She hadn't figured out where the body was buried though. It has been too late, she would leave that part up to her father. Bobby could probably dig it up in a measly hour. He was incredible at figuring things out quickly.

Whenever she finally made it to the hotels elevator, Dean and Sam had caught up with her. She wasn't surprised that Sam had. He was all long legs and wobbly steps. He reminded her of a baby deer sometimes.

She pressed the button for the floor before Dean could get to it. It wasn't often that she stayed at hotels when her father was off hunting. Motels were much cheaper, and that was were they always ended up. Getting to work a case at a hotel was like a vacation. Even if she felt out of place here.

The elevator came to a stop and she practically leaped out. She needed to get the papers to her father as soon as possible. She finally arrived at the room her father was staying in and knocked. Bobby and John had decided to stick the kids in one room together for this hunt, so she didn't have a key to her father's room.

"What do you Idjits want? It's two in the goddamn morning," Bobby grumbled. Seeing his daughter and the Winchester boys at the door to his room in the middle of the night was not pleasant. He was glad that he was the one who got up and not John.

"I think I figured out who the spirit is."

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It had only taken Bobby an hour to figure out where the woman was buried. While Bobby had been doing that, John had discovered the pattern between the victims. They all shared the same birthday, different years but the same month and day. Further investigation revealed that the woman who had been murdered also shared that birthday.

It didn't take her long to hack into the hotels records. She quickly found someone, the last someone, who matched the description.

The group was split up. Sam going with Bobby to salt and burn the bones, and she was with Dean and John to prevent the spirit from killing anyone else at the hotel. Bobby had argued like it was his last day on Earth for his daughter to take the safer route and go with him. Eventually, John had gotten Bobby to let her stay at the hotel.

She stood outside the soon to be victims door alone. John was handling something else, she had no clue what. And, Dean was gathering up iron weapons from the trunk of the Impala. She only had a rock salt shot gun and practically useless iron switch blade. She knocked on the door. It wouldn't get an less nerve wracking. She adjusted how the duffel bag crammed with bags of salt rested on her shoulder. It was heavy, twenty pounds of salt tended to be like that.

"Wrong room kid," A woman said as she opened the door.

"No, this isn't. This is going to sound insane, but I need you to trust me. Uh, there's been an issue with the pipes," She blurted out. She needed to get the woman to leave. Now.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Damn kids," she muttered and began closing the door. She thought that this girl was just trying to mess with her, completely oblivious to the serious threat to her life.

She mumbled a curse before sticking her foot in the door. The woman looked at her in shock. Before she could explain anything, or come up with some bullshit excuse, the lights began flickering. The usually warm hallways temperature seemed to drop them degrees in mere seconds. A chill ran down her spine.

Shit.

The spirit was already here. She wouldn't be able to get the woman out safely. She knew that her plan had been incredibly unrealistic to begin with. Things never went according to plan in this lifestyle. It just didn't happen.

"W-what the hell?" The woman said with a gasp.

"Move," She muttered to the woman and shoved last her into the hotel room. She dropped her bag and grabbed one of the salt bags. She quickly formed a circle. "Stand in it."

"You're fucking insane!" The woman shrieked and turned to leave. That was whenever she saw it.

The spirit knew what was happening. She wouldn't stand by idly while her bones were burned. The spirit let out a horrible wail, her ripped and bloodied dress flowing behind her, as she charged for the woman.

The kickback of the rifle left an ache in her shoulder as she shot the spirit. It screeched even louder before disappearing. She knew that this wouldn't last long. She quickly touched up the circle of salt.

"Oh my God! Oh my-"

"Get in the damn circle!"

The woman quickly jumped into the circle. She was clueless on what was happening. This was supposed to have been a nice little vacation, not a night of hell!

"What's your name?" She asked the scared woman in a softer voice even if she already knew the answer. She didn't want to freak the woman out anymore.

"S-Stacy. Stacy Jean," She stuttered out.

Stacy was wide eyed as she stood in the salt circle. She stared at the girl who had shot the ghost. It was weird as hell to her that someone so young was capable of so much.

"W-what was that thing?" Stacy asked.

She reloaded the rock salt shot gun before answering Stacy's question. There was no easy way to do this. Stacy had seen the spirit. She wouldn't be able to lie to the woman. It was better to come clean about what was going on.

"It's a vengeful Spirit," She said to Stacy.

Before either one of the two woman could say anything else, Dean burst through the door. He looked like he had ran straight here. Finally. Dealing with a pissed off ghost on her own had been unpleasant.

Stacy was in too much shock to do or say anything else. The woman simply stood in the circle, body trembling from fear.

She sighed, quickly reaching for the duffle bag that Dean had brought with him. She hoped that he had brought something useful.

"Took you long enough," She said under her breath as she sifted through the contents of the bag. She took the iron blade out and watched the way the dim lighting of the hotel room was reflected.

"I-" Dean's words were cut off as the lights began flickering again. "Shit!" The spirit reappeared after a couple of seconds, ready for a fight.

There wasn't any time to try shooting at it. She lunged with the blade. Before she could actually stab the spirit, the spirits blade nicked her arm. She hissed in pain before swinging her iron blade. The spirit let out a horrible shriek before vanishing again.

Everything had happened so fast. The seconds had blurred by. The only thing that grounded her back to the present moment was Dean's hand pressing against the small wound on her arm. His brows were knit together as he assessed her injury.

Something that closely resembled panic covered the features of his face. He moved his hand away, his fingers coming off covered in blood. Covered in her blood.

She was frozen in place as Dean darted across the room to get to the duffel bag he had brought. He quickly found the item he had been looking for, a small roll of bandages. He tore off a piece and approached her.

"This is gonna hurt," He said in an oddly gentle voice as he wrapped the bandage around her arm.

A whimper escaped past her lips whenever he tightened the bandage. It made tears sting her eyes. She swallowed thickly, trying to think about anything else.

Dean's jaw had clenched sometime since she had been injured. Her injury pained him almost as much as it did her. Every single time she'd draw in a sharp breath, or he'd catch the slight wobble in her lips, his heart broke. It felt like someone had ripped his chest open.

"There you go," Dean said, thankful that he was finally done. Her wound would still need to be cleaned out and properly bandaged later. This was just for until the Spirit was handled.

"T-thanks," She replied before clearing her throat. Her left arm now ached. It was more inconvenient than anything. She just wasn't used to having injuries like this. Her father rarely let her do anything that might result in one.

She held her iron blade, ready to take a shot at the spirit whenever she would reappear. Hopefully Bobby and Sam were able to find her bones, and quickly. She was buried out back, or at least that's what the article said. The small graveyard shouldn't be that hard to find.

"Why don't you go stand in the circle?" Dean asked her.

"Dean, I can-"

"I'll do it too."

She rolled her eyes but agreed. It was a bit of a tight fit. She stood in the circle with Dean and Stacy. The poor woman still looked completely terrified. Not that anyone could blame her. Finding out about the Supernatural was a horrible experience. Even more so whenever someone finds out while something's trying to kill them.

She shivered as the temperature of the room dropped even more. An invisible forced blew through the room, the curtains billowing in the guest of air. The salt circle had been blown apart and was now useless. Dean took a step to the side, positioning himself between where she stood and where he thought the source of the ominous puff of air had come from.

The spirit flickered into view looking just as pissed as she always was. Her anger radiated around her, leaving a sense of dread inside of everyone who occupied the room.

The spirits dress was covered in blood. The delicate material was also covered in rips. Looking at her, it was obvious what had happened. The pale and graying skin of the spirit seemed to almost glow in the moonlight that had coated the room after the curtains had been blown open.

She almost felt bad for the spirit. What would it be like to die like that? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't have anymore time to waste sympathizing, the spirit charged towards her and Dean. Stacy was cowering behind the two.

Before the spirit could finish the job, she fell back shrieking. Orange flames overtook the body. The spirit let out a horrible wail as her bones were burned.

It was finally over.

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The rest of the night had went by in a blur. Stacy had left the hotel, leaving most of her things behind. She had helped Dean find John, who had been in the basement. Apparently the older man has thought that maybe the bones could have been hiding down there. He had been wrong.

Sam and Bobby had successfully managed to locate the bones and burn them. A simple salt 'n burn. The small graveyard hiding out back had been relatively easy for them to find. And now, everything was over. Everyone was safe.

Other than the small wound on her arm, she was fine. The cut has been hidden by her flannel so that her father hadn't seen it. Now that the adrenaline had faded the pain had increased. It was only a small wound though. She had already taken a few Ibuprofen pills for it.

That didn't stop Dean from fussing over her.

She was sitting on the ledge of the sink in the motels tiny bathroom, Dean stood in between her legs. She had discarded her flannel and long sleeve shirt earlier, leaving her in a tank top.

Dean poured antiseptic over a piece of gauze before wiping it over the wound. The sudden burning sensation made her eyes water. She suddenly understood why her father always made her stay in the motel.

"Shit, shit. I'm sorry. This won't take long," Dean said quickly. He tried to get this done as quickly as possible without doing anything incorrectly.

As Dean cleaned the cut, he racked his brain for ways to distract her from the pain. He leaned in a bit closer, one hand resting on her upper thigh. He still hasn't addressed his feelings for her.

Kissing her in the apple orchard had been one of the best days of his life. His lips connected with hers had just felt right. He couldn't say that about much. With how hectic his life was, nothing felt right anymore. It wasn't like that with her.

"Does it need stitches?" She asked Dean, around eye level with him since she was sitting on the counter.

Dean chuckled, "No, don't worry about that."

She nodded as he grabbed the roll of bandages. He wasted no time in quickly bandaging up her arm, making sure that it wasn't too tight.

Now that she wasn't so distracted by the pain, Dean's proximity made her heart race. He was so close to her that it made her cheeks heat slightly. A light pink blush creeped up on her neck.

"Something got you flustered?" Dean asked in that stupid velvety voice of his that made her melt.

"Obviously," She mumbled under her breath.

Dean placed his other hand on her thigh too. His gaze finally met hers. Their eyes met and it felt like they couldn't control themselves. Dean's lips quickly connected with hers. The two fell into a rather familiar pattern.

One of her arms wrapped around his neck. She threaded her fingers through his short hair. He groaned into the kiss whenever she gave a slight tug. The kiss didn't last long before she pulled away breathlessly.

"I want this to mean something," She said quietly to Dean. Now it was her turn to make his cheeks turn red.

Dean responded just like she had thought that he would. He pulled away even further and stated at her, jaw slack. It was no secret that he had a tiny bit of commitment issues. But, over the past year, ever since that day in the apple orchard, things had been different.

"I-I don't know," Dean said finally. He didn't believe that she actually wanted that, wanted to be with him. There would be obstacles. Neither one of their dads would approve.

"Dean, I've given you a year!" She said a little bit loudly. She quickly lowered her voice so that Sam would not hear anything she said. "You don't get to kiss me in the motel, and then act like we don't mean anything to each other."

Dean stepped back, considering her words. He didn't want to lose her. If he was being honest with himself the thought absolutely terrified him. She meant a lot to him, more than he would ever be able to admit.

"Okay," he said. "I want to be with you... but your dad might shoot me, no, your dad will shoot me if he finds out." Dean ran a hand through his hair, fixing it from where she had mused it.

She moved forward, letting her feet hit the floor as she left the counter top. She moved until she stood directly in front of him. One of her hands gently caressed his cheek.

"I never said that I wanted my dad finding out."

Dean leaned down, letting their lips connect once again. This kiss was different than the last. It was more desperate, more needy. Dean invaded every single one of her senses. All she could feel was Dean's hands roaming her body, all she could smell was his aftershave, all she could do was grasp at his shirt, her fingers wrapping around the cotton fabric.

Deans lips moved to her neck, lightly suckling on her soft skin. He was careful not to leave any makes that wouldn't be covered by a t-shirt. He lightly dragged his teeth a ross the skin below her collarbone, his lips never leaving her skin.

She had begun to lift his shirt up whenever she was interrupted. A loud knock on the door made her and Dean jump apart from each other in shock.

"Are you two almost done in there?" Sam called out impatiently. "Hurry up already! I need to take a shower." Sam had tried getting to the bathroom first, Dean had kicked him out though. The older Winchester had claimed that fixing up the wound would only take a few minutes. It had been a lot longer than just a few minutes.

Sam was covered in dirt from helping Bobby dig up the grave, and he smelled like a campfire. He had began to knock on the bathroom door again whenever it flew open.

A pissed off looking Dean walked out.

She followed behind him. She gave Sam a sheepish smile before following after Dean. Sam rolled his eyes before walking into the bathroom. He didn't have enough time to question what they had been doing. He was tired of their antics.

She had sat down on her bed, Dean had sat next to her. Her face literally up as his hand rested on her knee. The two began chatting about how the hunt had went, and well, they might have exchanged a few quick kisses. Getting caught by Sam wouldn't be pleasant.

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A/N:

Tag List: @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @lmhf1 @espressovz @illicithallways @tranquilitybasegrunge @ryoiii @delulu-101

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[sunflowersandsapphires]

Lifeline

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: When Matt starts to shut down, your stubbornness saves him.

warnings: swearing, angst, panic attack description, pining buffoons, pre-relationship, Matt's mental illness and fear of abandonment

a/n: This is a short birthday fic for the wonderful @abucketofweird who wanted a fic similar to Renegade with Best Friends to Lovers. I hope you enjoy, my dear! 🥳🥰❤️

I know it's short and pre-relationship but there is plenty of angsty Matt! (Also, yes she calls him a million nicknames, but they're not ~explicitly~ together in this). Please let me know if y'all are tired of seeing me write crying!angsty!Matt because I know I write that a lot.

w/c: ~4k

Matt could still remember the day that the Devil had first emerged. It was before his accident, after witnessing a group of teens bully his elementary school classmate on her way home from school. Years of seeing his dad throw hits and his own unwavering moral compass had forged a new being within his own; his rage overtaking his consciousness, forming shaky fists and a flower across his face. 

At the time, he hadn’t known how to fight properly and had gotten his ass kicked. A few decades had passed and, though his ability had grown, his rage had stayed the same. 

Fury was a useful tool, most of the time. Allowing him to push through discomfort and injury until he’d taken down whatever evildoer he’d gone after that day. It was his wrath that kept him going, but it was also his biggest inhibition. 

The desire to beat powerful criminals bloody was overpowering. His gut boiled with anger anytime he heard someone crying for help, knowing that, more than likely, the only thing sparing them from that cruel fate was him—a blind Catholic with a chip on his shoulder and lacking self preservation skills. 

It was his rage that caused tunnel vision. Which in turn caused sleep deprivation, which led to more injuries. The cycle didn’t end there though, at least not recently. His tendency to prioritize his alter ego over his own health wasn’t something that could be solved by a simple nap these days. Not when he had people worrying about him, and when his efforts to meditate or find another outlet for his emotions remained futile. 

More injuries meant it was more difficult to hide them. A bullet wound in his stomach, a sprained ankle, these were more noticeable to his coworkers, to you. While you were eternally patient and understanding about his double life, his business partners were not. He tried his best to ignore Karen’s gasps and Foggy’s pointed stares every time he limped into the office or winced while pouring his coffee. Despite his efforts, it always aggravated him, fueling his rage and thus perpetuating the cycle further. 

This week, Foggy had snapped. Yelling at Matt for putting himself in danger, for jeopardizing their recent case—they’d had to postpone a meeting with the prosecution given the state of Matt’s face—and their firm. In return, Matt had lashed out. Screaming about the greater good and Foggy not trusting him. It quickly became an all out brawl, both men hurling insults at the other despite Karen warning them that they were going too far. But her intervention came too late. 

“You claim to be so worried about people leaving but I don’t see how that’s fucking possible when you try so hard to scare us off, Murdock. Guess what!? It’s working!” Foggy snapped, throwing his hands in the air with a huff. 

Logically, Matt knew Foggy didn’t mean that—at least not in the way Matt heard it—but his throat felt swollen anyway. His heart pounded, the argument sitting on his tongue dissolving as his mouth grew increasingly dry. Loosening his tie, Matt stalked to his office to gather his things. 

“You know what, I think I’ll work at home for a few days.” He spoke stiffly, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

“Matt,” Karen took a step towards him but he refuses to acknowledge her placating tone. 

“I’ll see you in court next week. I’ll drop off my opening argument tomorrow night.” Without waiting for their responses, he retreated to his apartment. 

With every step along the damp Manhattan sidewalk, his irritation grew. His brain was flickering back and forth between despair and indignation, his hands itching to hit something. Tonight would be productive, that much was clear. 

Though he usually waited until the late hours of the evening to go out as Daredevil, his argument with Foggy had ignited an impatient buzzing beneath his skin—his muscles clenching and anger bubbling until he caved to the Devil. It was risky, dashing from roof to roof in his suit at dusk, but his patience had worn out hours ago. 

The night felt endless, yet it was over far too soon. He raced through the streets, taking down thug after thug, until a serrated blade caught him off guard. With a jagged rip across his thigh, he made for his apartment—planning to crudely stitch the wound before finishing what he’d started. 

As he approached his loft, his ears locked on to a familiar heartbeat, its pattering mulling about his place as he grew closer. Foggy had sent in reinforcements, he supposed, though he wasn’t thrilled about it. 

Opening the rooftop door, Matt stomped down the stairs, hurling pieces of his suit across the space as he ripped them from his overheated body. Pretending not to care about the spike in your heartbeat, courtesy of his pounding steps, he tore the mask from his face, setting it beside the sink before filling a glass with water. 

Fidgeting with your sleeve, you approached him slowly, saying nothing as he downed a glass of lukewarm water before jutting his chin at you. 

“Say what you’re going to say, then leave.” His voice was harsh and deep, the Devil still fully in control. 

You inhaled slowly, not scared of his current state, but clearly unhappy all the same. “What makes you think I have something to say?” 

Matt bit back a scoff. “Foggy sent you, which means you’re on his side and are here to tell me off.” 

“On his side…Christ, Murdock.” You were a few paces in front of him, just behind the counter, your clothes rustling as you crossed your arms in frustration. 

“Why else would you be here?” Matt stormed around you and into his bathroom, unbuckling the bottom half to sew himself up. If anyone else had been here, he might have been more worried about modesty, but you’d seen him in more compromising positions than this over the years. 

Gritting your teeth as you trudged after him, your arms remained folded against your chest. “Because I care about you, asshole. Karen told me what Foggy said. I was worried.” 

Your heart thumped steadily with your honest admission, eliciting a pang of guilt deep in Matt’s subconscious. He remained silent, rubbing a damp cloth over his wound to clean it up before he attempted suturing it. At his lack of response, you scoffed, “Don’t know why I was so worried. You’re clearly taking it very well.” 

Spinning to face you, his lips curled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means exactly what you think it means, Matt.” You snapped back at him, regretting it when his jaw twitched in response. Sighing, your voice softened. “You are so strong, and I know that Foggy and Karen give you a hard time but they’re not entirely wrong. It’s ok to ask for help.” 

“I don’t need their help.” Matt muttered, leaning against the cold porcelain sink in the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” 

“No one is saying that you’re not.” You tried to reason, but he refused to listen. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Foggy was saying, actually. How would you even know? It’s not like you were there.” He bit out, resentment prickling through his words. 

Ouch. He was right. You weren’t there. Because you’d taken a new job across the city. And he clearly was still not ok with that fact. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” You spoke gravely, brushing away a smudge of dirt on his cheek with your thumb. He tensed under your touch, but didn’t flinch away. “But you know that I don’t agree with what Fog said, right? Regardless of whether he meant it, it was wrong for him to imply—“

Shoving your hand from his face, his lips formed a scowl once again. “What? That it’s my fault? That people leave because I make them? Maybe he’s right.” 

“Matt, that’s not true. You know—“

“Don’t tell me what I know!” He roared pressing into your personal space, eyes blazing with fury. 

Breathing evenly, you shifted your weight away from him. Not flinching out of fear, just a natural reaction to his behavior, yet the movement still stung. Retreating from you, he picked up the cloth and refocused on the gash across his thigh. 

“Go home,” He spoke your name coldly. This wasn’t a question, it was an order. 

“Matt—“ You started but he glared at you. 

“Go.”

You nodded, pacing back into the living room to grab your purse from the couch. “Call me if you need anything, Matty. I’ll be around.” You spoke softly, your soft footsteps fading as you left his loft. 

Biting back an irritated snarl, Matt tread into the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey. Taking a full swig, he pushed his guilt and pain aside and picked up a needle. 

Burying your face in the collar of your jacket, you scrunched your nose as a particularly fierce gust of wind smacked you. Soldiering forward, you sped down the street towards the dimly lit building you were aiming for. 

It might be a mistake to return to Matt’s loft, but you couldn’t leave him there alone when he was so distraught. At least, not in good conscience. 

You respected his request for space, absolutely—taking time to return to your own apartment and retrieve his worn Columbia sweater, which you’d stolen a few weeks ago and simply not given back. It was soft and oversized, for you at least, making it ridiculously comfortable. But it was clear Matt needed that comfort more than you did right now. 

After tucking the garment in your bag carefully, you headed back out into the blustery evening to pick up a large order of food from Matt’s favorite Italian place. 

If he still didn’t want you there upon your return, so be it. But the man wouldn’t go cold or hungry on your watch, dammit. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him to take care of himself, you just recognized that self-preservation wasn’t a priority for him when he was…like this. Brooding. Angry. 

In the decade and a half you’d known him, you had started to piece together Matt’s various moods and this was a common one. His heightened senses igniting something inside him that pulled him into fights all around the city. You couldn’t imagine the pain he felt hearing innocent civilians in trouble constantly. But eventually, he’d stop restraining himself. Sleep less. Eat less. Go to work, go out as Daredevil, and do it all again the next day—even when he was a jumble of exhaustion and bruises. 

In these moments, he was no longer your beloved Matthew Murdock. He was a candle, with a burning wick and a torch at his base. The wax slowly melting away, until his sanity was nothing but a distant memory. 

This was something you’d seen a handful of times when working with him and Foggy, even back when you three were just interns at Landman and Zack. It was the thing about Matt that you and Foggy argued about most these days. 

See, Foggy believed the solution to these episodes was to remove Daredevil from the equation altogether. You couldn’t necessarily blame the blond for thinking that, given how Matt’s vigilante antics impacted his work and his ability to be a good friend. 

Despite understanding Foggy’s concerns, your faith in Matt didn’t hinge on his nighttime activities. These periods of great stress were a sign that Matt needed support. Not an indication that he was no longer able to lead a double life. 

While the average person might snap or cry when they were overwhelmed, Matt would force himself to take more on. You assumed this was a symptom of the manipulation he’d endured during his youth. 

Matt hadn’t disclosed much about his childhood mentor, but you knew that he’d been encouraged to work through periods of distress, simply bottling up his feelings in order to ensure productivity. Given that he’d never had those beliefs challenged until well into adulthood, it was second nature for him to add more to his plate until he couldn’t anymore—whether that was because someone forced him to rest, or he was literally comatose. 

He’d confessed to you once—on another night like tonight when he was so tired of fighting everyone that he caved to your questioning—that rest wasn’t something that came easily to him. It was almost an enemy, in his mind, preventing him from helping as many people as he could. Resting meant he was a failure, and failing meant people would leave. 

This conversation lived in the back of your mind every time the dark haired man frustrated you. Every sleepless night spent pulling your hair out while you waited for him to text you that he was alive, every morning spent patching him up in the conference room because the walk to work had pulled his stitches out. Each and every time Matt’s other identity impacted your life, you reminded yourself that, in his mind, he didn’t have a choice. 

This time was no different. 

Though it probably didn’t help that Foggy had insinuated that he was thinking of leaving Matt. Not when Matt’s subconscious was desperately trying to pretend his life was balanced to keep everyone happy. Which is why you allowed yourself to be more stubborn than usual this dreadful evening, worming your way back into Matt’s home so he knew that he wasn’t in danger of being alone. 

Removing one ungloved hand from the safety of your fleece lined pocket, you yanked open the door to the restaurant, smiling softly at the hostess as her eyes met yours. 

“I have an order for pick up?” Giving her your name, you curled both hands back into your pockets, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you waited, somewhat impatiently, for your food. 

After what felt like an hour, the hostess handed you two bags stacked with containers, grimacing apologetically. “Sorry about the wait!”

“Not a problem!” You shrugged, grabbing the bags. “Thank you!!”

Dashing around the crowd forming behind you, your feet carried you the few remaining blocks to Matt’s building. Treading up the stairs slowly, you panted, taking a moment to breathe before making it to his door. 

Here goes nothing. 

You bypassed waiting for Matt to open the door, instead choosing to knock gingerly and use your spare key to unlock the door. 

“Matty?” You called softly, receiving no answer. 

Inhaling deeply, hoping you weren’t about to irreparably damage your relationship with Matt, you stepped over the threshold and into his space. Shuffling around the corner at the end of the hallway, you peeked into the loft, scanning it for any indication of your overworked friend—but there was no sign of him. No obvious one, at least. 

As you blocked out the muffled sounds of the city that had managed to penetrate the walls of the loft, your ears picked up a hushed sound from somewhere in the kitchen. A rapid whooshing—like panting, or choking. 

Rushing around the counter, your eyes widened in shock as you found Matt curled against the dark wooden cabinets. He was seated, but hunched over his knees, his hands tightly wrapped around his shins to keep his body in the position as he rocked back and forth. There was a jaggedly stitched line along his thigh, surrounded by mottled skin and goosebumps. Given his lack of clothing—he was only wearing his boxers—and the frigid temperature in the room, the poor man was shaking violently. A combination of his harsh breathing and his low body temperature, you assumed. 

As your presence became more noticeable, Matt tilted his head up, chin wobbling, eyes frantic and shining. Calling your name shakily, his weak plea almost made your own eyes well up. 

Crouching before him, you set the bags in your grasp aside, opening your palms to him. “It’s me, sweetheart. I’m right here. What happened?”

“D-don’t know. Can’t breathe.” Matt choked around the words, leaning towards you as you scrambled closer. 

“Can I touch—“ You asked, hesitant to take any major steps without explicit permission. 

“Yes. Please,” He sobbed, collapsing against your chest as your arms opened. 

“It’s ok. You’re ok, sweet boy.” You rubbed a hand over his back in a circular motion, using your free hand to guide one of his palms to your chest. “Feel my breathing?” 

Matt nodded against your chest, nails digging into your shoulder blade as he tried to get his breathing under control. 

“That’s my guy. Doing so good for me, handsome.” You praised softly, tracing your hand up his back and into his hair in the way you knew he loved. “That’s it, nice even breaths.” 

Unwinding your body from its squatted position, you sat on the cold floor, spreading your legs to allow Matt to fall into your lap. Perched across your thighs, Matt’s slowly stopped heaving. He was still covered in goosebumps and bruises, but his probable panic attack had been avoided for now. 

“There we go. Good job, honey. Feel a bit better?” You scratched diligently at Matt’s scalp, his skull knocking against your fingers with a nod. 

“Yes. Thank you.” He murmured, hot breath hitting your collar bone, a contrast to his icy skin. 

“Ok, sweets. Are you cold?” 

Another nod, making your lips twitch with a tiny smile. “Yah, stupid question. Here, put this on.” 

Pulling your bag over to you, you yanked out the sweater and handed it to him, mourning the loss of contact as he sat up to slip it on. After his chest was covered, his brow furrowed, a hand coming up to trace the text on the front of the hoodie. “My sweatshirt?” 

Cupping his stubbled cheek, you stroked a thumb over his jaw. “I brought it back. Thought you might need it tonight. C’mon honey, why don’t we go lay down, hm?” 

Allowing Matt to crawl off your lap, you drew him from the floor as you stood, laying your arm around his waist and holding him upright as he hobbled to his room. Tumbling onto the mattress, he haphazardly threw his sheets over his bare legs, curling into fetal position. His body was stiff, as if he was clenching every muscle to prevent writhing in pain. Sitting next to his waist, you fussed with the covers, drawing them more tightly around his rigid form. 

“There, that’s better. Just close your eyes and—“ you attempted to encourage the weary man to rest but his small voice interrupted. 

“You came back.” Matt spoke lowly, blinking back a new wave of tears. “You came back when I told you to leave.” 

“Do you need me to go? That’s fine, Matty, I’ll just—“ 

“No!” His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. “Please don’t.” 

“Ok, sweet boy. I’ll stay here. As long as you want me to.” 

Matt nodded once, tears trailing down his face again. “You came back.” No longer talking to you, it seemed that he was trying to make himself believe that he was no longer alone. 

Sliding down to face him, you ran a hand over his arm, letting him murmur silently to himself until he spoke to you again.

“I don’t think they’ll ever be happy.” 

“Who won’t be happy, handsome?” You asked quietly, propping yourself up on an elbow to study his face as he answered. 

“Foggy and Karen. Maybe you too, I’m not sure.” His voice cracked, tears pouring down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey, hey,” You shushed, drawing him back into your chest. “Oh, Matty—“

“What am I supposed to do?” His hazel eyes reopened, revealing a hopelessness you were shocked to see. “I hear people screaming for help and I…I can’t just lay here doing nothing. I don’t know how. And I try to explain but no one understands. I don’t know what to do,” When he uttered your name this time, it was a desperate request—to confirm that you understood, that you wouldn’t hold his actions against him. 

“Oh, Matt, honey, I’m so sorry.” You rested your chin atop his head as he sobbed into your collarbone. “Sweetheart, you are so good at what you do. You’re a fucking hero. No one is mad about you choosing to use every ability you have to help people, we just worry about you, sweets, that’s all. And, I can’t speak for the others, but you shouldn’t have to worry about making me happy, ok? As long as you’re alive—“

“He’s going to leave me.” Ah. That’s where his mind was getting stuck. The words were broken, Matt’s voice strained beyond recognition as he voiced his fear. “He’s going to leave me like you did.”

A lump of emotion clogged your throat, tears wavering against your waterline. “Matt, you know I didn’t leave because of you, right?”

He shrugged against you, body still trembling as he cried. 

“Matty, I adore you. I loved working with you and seeing you every day, sweets. I just couldn’t live on pies and hand-knit gloves in one of the most expensive cities in the country. I needed income, not an escape. I’m still here. I’m still yours.” 

Heaving out a shaky breath, Matt nodded. Caressing his cheek, you asked. “What did my heartbeat tell you?”

“Truth.” He whispered. The two of you sat in silence, your hand absentmindedly running through his mussed hair as his body stopped shaking. Just when you thought the fear of abandonment had been swayed for the night, he piped up one last time. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“About Foggy?” You clarified, biting your lip when Matt nodded. With a sigh, you brought your fingers to his silky hair once again. “Matt, I am not psychic, I don’t know what the future will look like for the two of you, but I know that Foggy loves you. So does Karen, and so do I. And you don’t leave the people you love. You talk it out, you forgive them for their mistakes.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Matt whimpered. 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. But I’ll be right here with you through it all, ok?” Pressing your lips to his forehead, you brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. “I don’t want to scare you, sweet boy, but I have to go into your kitchen for a moment. I brought some food with me that I’m going to put in your fridge for later. I’ll get you some water too. Anything else you need?” 

“Aspirin.” He murmured, blank eyes glossy with tears. 

“Of course, sweets. I’ll be right back.” With another brush of fingers over his scalp, you wriggled out from under him and hurried to the kitchen—shoving the food into his bare fridge while grabbing water and pills. 

He took the medicine you handed him diligently, his expression uncharacteristically blank. Draining the glass of water, he handed the empty cup to you without a word. You could see him slipping away into the recesses of his mind, trying to shove everything down once again, to handle it all himself. 

Sliding under the covers next to him, you wrapped him in a tight embrace as he buried his damp face in your neck. 

“Talk to me, sweets. What do you need?” 

“Just you.” Matt choked out, fisting your shirt in his hands as if worried you were imaginary. “Please.” 

“I’m right here. Always.” Kissing his crown, you ran a hand along his spine, humming softly as his breathing evened out. 

He wasn’t through the rough patch yet, but that was ok. You were going to be here regardless. And you’d tell him that every day until he believed you.

[soppingwetrat]

I've been seeing a lot of people complaining that tmagp isn't independent from tma, as in, you need to have watched tma in order to understand what is going on in tmagp, but i don't really think that's the case. for example:

- when Sam got and emali from "Jon", tma fans understood that this is a ref to Jonathan Sims. non-tma fans don't have that understanding, but they understand that this is clearly weird, as no one with that name works at the OIAR. the effect is the same

- when Gerry and Gertrude appeared, both non-tma fans and tma fans understood that Gerry used to be in the institute as a kid, and that Gertrude is reluctant and untrusting of Sam and Celia. there is no additional context from tma needed to understand that scene

- the character of Celia is suspicious regardless if you've seen tma or not, her weirdness is very well established outside of the fact that she also appears in tma (keen interest in the incidents, waking up in random places, weird questions etc)

- Gwen's last name (Bouchard) is also something that tma fans would recognize immediately, but recently they specifically mentioned the "Cheshire Bouchards", clearly trying to draw attention to her last name. tma knowledge is no longer needed to understand that her name Means Something

- all the other characters from tma that appeared have (so far) been completely different people. they're an alt version of themselves, so knowing them from tma is not required to understand any of their scenes or dialogue

the only thing that you could make a case for is Chester and Norris' voices and connecting them to Jon and Martin, but even that could be easily solved with a quick google search. all u need to know is that they were 2 main characters from tma, whose faith is left ambiguous at the end of the show, and now their vas are voicing Chester and Norris, the 2 ai programs

so far all tma references have only allowed tma fans to catch on that something is sus quicker, but it's clear that the writers put effort in dropping different clues other than just "this character used to appear in tma too!" and I'm sure there'll be even more as the series goes on

if anyone knows something i missed, feel free to point it out, im very interested! but from what we've seen so far, i really don't think a tmagp-only fan would be confused by the direction of the plot, as i feel that things are well established outside of their connections to tma

[comicaurora]

Hey red, what's your opinion on some modern writing that's very lamp shady? And do you have any advice on how to avoid "Well that just happened" dialogue?

It's an interesting question!

The thing is, lampshading exists for a reason, but it's not the reason it gets used a lot of the time. Writers might lampshade a narrative choice they're insecure about, while characters lampshade because the things they go through in a typical story are kind of bonkers, and we might expect them to notice. If a character signs on for a simple mercenary expedition and ends up discovering they're the long-lost prince of a kingdom they've never heard of, that's weird and they probably feel weird about it. If an ally is determined to 1v1 their super overpowered nemesis with no help from their friends, those friends might have opinions about how dumb that is.

This is a form of lampshading that doesn't break immersion because it's entirely in-character and doesn't lean on the fourth wall. There's a difference between a character noticing how weird their life is and a character pointing out how cliched a recent experience was. In the latter case, the character is treating their life like a story, and while it IS a story, they shouldn't know that.

There's a spectrum here, with "complete sincerity and taking every turn of the plot at face value" defining the 0-point and "complete self-aware uninvestment" at the far end, but healthy levels of lampshading live somewhere in the middle. Characters at the 0-point accepting everything that happens without question can feel just as weird as characters that won't stop pointing out the TVTropes entry they're currently living. It's about what it makes sense for the character to find disruptive or noteworthy. A hardened badass probably won't see the need to point out how bonkers a recent fight scene was, but a newcomer to the Cool Bombastic Adventure scene might be really excited when they pull off a cool special move and want to point it out.

I think this is why the recent D&D movie worked for a lot of people, because while the main characters all lampshade their lives to varying degrees, the way they do so makes sense for all of them. Edgin is a bard and storyteller so he has a slightly meta perspective on a lot of things, purposefully avoids playing along with certain narrative conventions and sometimes responds to other people's dialogue by critiquing their dialogue instead of just responding normally; Holga doesn't really care to understand how the world works and so keeps pointing out that they should just use magic to solve their problems, which is probably the most popular lampshade in the whole genre; Doric and Simon don't get a ton of time to shine character-wise, but they'll both occasionally poke holes in the pretense of the story they're in. The thing that makes this all work is Xenk, who plays absolutely every moment completely 100% straight and is entirely immersed in the objectively ridiculous setting of D&D. Same goes for most of the villains, except for Forge, who's probably the wackiest and most self-aware character in the entire movie, but in a way that makes him feel callous and disregarding of the people around him, like he's uninvested in the world not because he knows he's a fictional character but because he has too much money and power to care about anything. The ways each character does or does not lampshade their surroundings make sense for who they are as people and reinforce their characterization and place in the world instead of undermining it.

I recently watched a couple episodes of Stargate Atlantis and noticed something similar - the main character and, to a lesser extent, the rest of his associates from Earth have a tendency to make wry observations about his objectively bizarre life and the eccentricities of the people around him, which helps contrast against the extremely serious and businesslike Cool Space Warriors they keep accumulating, which helps make them feel (a) distinct from each other and (b) relatable considering all the weird stuff that happens. And the protagonist switches off the quips as soon as things start looking perilous for his team, so you never get the impression that they aren't invested in the story they're living, and as a result the various quips and lampshades come across more as a habit or a coping mechanism than a disruption to the narrative itself.

So basically I think you can get away with a lot of lampshades as long as the character doesn't feel like they know they're in a story.

[osakanone]

"How realistic are mecha, really?": They aren't, but not for the reason you're thinking of or the one adjacent to it. Trust me.

Crossposted from reddit, since people seemed to like it. Like in the thread, I am very happy to answer questions about any esoteric weirdness.

Hold my beer. Again

They're not becoming a possibility. Yes. I know. This sucks. But stick around. Its not for the reasons you think. Well it is, but it also isn't. You'll see.

The robot needs the technology more than the technology needs a robot.

the technologies which the robot needs will improve and alter the doctrine of every other platform

This creates a doctrinal lock-in where the potential functional space for them to exist is unmet -- that they are so far ahead, that nothing new can emerge that isn't just other platforms becoming more generalized (eg, a post-stall recovery aircraft, or a helicopter with high impact landing-gear and a rigid rotor/jet engine design to act as a surface-fighter -- a tank which walks or manoeuvres like a robot is just flat out of the question: Tanks are made to be simple-as-fuck boxes which tank hits, and shoot and acquire asap and rumours of their deaths as a doctrinal weapon are exaggerated by recent events where obsolete weapons which aren't maintained properly who's crews aren't adequately trained were fighting very clever civilians with drones)

What you consider "realistic" (5th/6th) is just as if not more unrealistic than other gens purely because of their smaller size and very bizarre relationship with the environment -- they're just both too big, and too small to make sense, sitting in a size niche which is just very weird

If such a vehicle does exist, its going to be defined by its functions rather than a humanoid appearance

we know this because specialized platforms tend to beat specialized platforms historically until specialized platforms mature and become generalized

thus, the closest you're probably going to get is some weird variation of DARPA's Ground X Vehicle Project meeting with Gravity Industry' style mobility in limited cases, hybridized with smaller robots and wingsuits, which mix manoeuvring operation styles, with some rocker-boogie mechanism elements for terrain handling: It won't be humanoid, whatever it is.

This is assuming you can magically solve the square-cube law of volume-mass which is partially negatable with certain custom topologies exceeding graphene but actually manufacturing them would be miserable work probably not even be something you can make without microgravity

Energy flat out isn't solvable with what we know about right now. Nothing with that energy density can exist that isn't going to simultaneously make for an incredible fragile, dangerous and problematic source of power given the forces involved. Cooling is also a horrifyingly unsolvable problem on this scale, as is radiation management: You can't just dump molten tungsten in emergency cooling mode - you'll not only proceed to alert everybody who has even the vaguest IRST capacity to your position, but you'll also probably set fire to the environment and cook off your own ammunition. *

Motors aren't well suited to the tasks of such bodies (its like trying to make a slingshot out of dental floss), and we don't have an effective way to turn electricity into a form of motion which corresponds with the shock absorbing and motion control qualities which are actually desirable yet

Even if we did, the actual means of ensuring it doesn't fragment every time it moves don't exist. Every time an A10C fires its main gun, the fuel lines micro-fracture and have to be replaced after it lands. Metal, when you subject it to high physical forces ends up feeling and behaving closer to how you would think of glass. You'd need a material capable of repairing itself too, atop the quasicrystalline property which again, just isn't doable, let alone simultaneously.

So in terms of our mindset going into this?

Its... Probably not happening barring a very, VERY extreme change to how we understand physics to function, or some really kick ass (and actually entirely possible) changes in how engineering achieves outcomes (which could happen if the greatest threat to the mecha didn't exist)

Combat is moving towards information dominance. 

That's drone swarms, and role modularized long range travel, and the idea of fighter beyond-visual-range combat extending out to infared search and track systems which are networked to one another, which we're already seeing in singleton weapons and their mounting strategies even on the personal scale, which DARPA is currently investigating which everybody wants to mate with the gravity industries gear for boarding ops so the most likely avenue is to scale up from people, rather than scale down from vehicles as the development pathway -- but there's probably going to be multiple pathways with competing niches once the technology becomes cheap enough.

Costing

Ultimately its down to "how much money do I have to spend to defeat something more expensive than myself?" -- because our current structure of war is defined by cost, and by making the other guys surrender by using economic, and military violence (private, and publicly funded) instead of convincing them that we (NATO members, etc) have good opinions purely because of the natural benefits of "doing as we say" (which we see with basically any conflict in the last 70 years, which are usually feigned as ideological but pretty much always about disrupting market competition, dominating markets, or controlling a pressure position in another country to achieve those two things).

This isn't because they're particularly excellent weapons, but because they're cheap relative to the strength they offer, and how we define cheap is very different to how we defined cheap 100 years ago -- both in good, and terrible ways (such is the way of history).

Mecha are kinda the ultimate boondoggle. They are very very expensive, and just don't make sense.

They're cool as hell, yes.

But they don't make sense.

DISCLAIMER: If you're prone to depression, are dealing with a lot right now, or don't want your day ruining, you should stop reading NOW. What comes next is a psychosocial hazard and could be very bad for your mental health. LAST CHANCE . . .

The "real" reasons

If conflict some how became a meritocracy of leading by excellence rather than intimidation, and about human outcomes instead of cost outcomes, then things could change, but we don't live in that world.

Remember, violence exists to end human conflict (not to be confused with military conflict, which violence is the primary instrument of): Human conflict is when two parties oppose one another and communicate about what their goals and intentions are. Violence happens when communication stops. Communication stops, because parties cannot come to terms, or because nobody wants to be reasonable because the inherent request is unreasonable to the interests of the other party.

I'd love to say physics is the greatest threat, or maybe our concept of conflict but its not: * Its economics.

The concept of private-equity (not to be confused with venture-capital investment) is kiiiind of the dominant economic system on the face of the planet which dictates the interest of every nuclear power's actions against every non-nuclear power) is functionally dissolved, and investment models as we know them magically become better regulated OR a better economic system comes along which totally undermines private equity.

Its an economic finger-trap where most of the money that would be reinvested into people and technologies to push the world forward ends up getting swallowed up.

It also has private armies) and simulates the economy and political events in order to control them for maximum profitability. Yeah.)

We already live in Armored Core, folks.

And that economic system knows that if it gave free agents like ravens any kind of military power, it would functionally undermine itself, which is why it will never happen.

Private equity benefits from not having technology change, because its primary goal is wealth extraction. It leads to the collapse of every business you've ever seen go under, its why products undergo enshittification, which is coming for everything.

Its why the housing crisis happened, why the banking collapse happened, and its why there's an incentive to continue industrializing diseases like insulin instead of curing them.

tl;dr:

The one thing AC gets super wrong is you can either have the depressing relatable low-saturation late-stage hyper-capitalist dystopia where life is cheap on planet earth and everything terrible about South Korea times a thousand covers the whole world, and you need to have your own organs brought from you and leased back to you to lock you in to a lifetime of debt the same way everything else works...

OR

you can have the robot;

You can't have both.

e: I'd pick the robot any day

--

Apologies for any inaccuracies, I haven't edited this and I threw the original together in the space of around 40 minutes. Questions very welcome: I enjoy giving long detailed and substantiated answers.

If you enjoyed this, please consider reading my other work on the theoretical design factors of mecha, their control systems, and my fictional writing in mechposting.

[spdrvyn]

anxiety & arachnids — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( this is going to be a lengthier one than my usual one-shots / snippets / fics / whatever you wanna call them since it has more plot !!! what is the plot? read the fic and find out motherfucker !!!!!! this is also mostly spoiler-free as per usual i think ))

The intensity of your job, the late-nights to the point where you've had to stay back at the precinct, and your overbearing coworkers really wanted you to find a way to travel back in time to prevent yourself from enrolling into police academy.

Were you the best detective out there? God, no. Definitely not. Though even if you weren't, you'd like to think that you excelled most of your acquaintances and fellow investigators in your job. Although among the long web of cases that you have solved over the years, there was a particular file that haunted your desk.

To most, large files were someone's nightmare. So overwhelming and rife with information but that was what you and other detectives just loved about them, you barely even had to lift a finger at times to catch perps or criminals because the file did most of the work for you.

However, the one that you'd been trying to crack for months was only one page thick, the only recent addition being a small sticky note that adds a witness's testimony of events.

You didn't have much of a problem with Spider-Man, you understood that he was just trying to do his job and save lives whatnot even if his methods were rather precarious—

But to find out that there are multiple Spider-People out there? The idea gave you migraines by just thinking about it.

Even for how many that might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for trouble to strike so that they could swoop in and save the day, this file only gave you less than a fraction of what you needed.

At least, you had one picture but it was low in quality. Captured by a civilian's cellphone, one of the older models judging from the camera, they were trying to get away from the commotion as well resulting the subject in the photograph to appear blurred.

Under closer inspection though, you could make out some details but you definitely knew that this wasn't your Spider-Man. Whoever it was, they were wearing a navy suit highlighted with red. A muscular build, blades sticking out of their suit. There was also a big circle behind them; a dizzying array of colors, which was safe to assume that it was a portal.

Spider-People, odd creatures, possible other-worldy travel.

Was this really what you had signed up for?

You curse under your breath, bringing your half-empty cup of coffee to the edge of your lips before it's quickly taken from your grasp. You're prepared to lecture whoever even dared to lay a hand on your drink before you realize that your captain is the one with the mug in their hands, whatever unholy grail of swear words you were about to unleash was now silenced.

Your captain let out a defeated utterance of your name, "Working until you die again?" They stare disappointedly into your mug. "Is the coffee supposed to speed up the process?"

With a harsh bite to your tongue, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. It's not like they were as pesky as the people you've come to known over the years of working in this place, far from it but their demands for "self-care" and "work-life balance" made your head spin a lot more times than you'd like to admit.

"Go home. I don't mean to discourage you but why work on this case still? It's so cold that it's practically freezing."

"If nobody is going to work on it then I will."

"Of course, it's good to take responsibility but the only thing that's been added to this file over the last two months is a sticky note. A sticky note. I appreciate your persistence more than anything but above it all, I appreciate self-respect more."

Clueless. You felt so damn clueless, with this situation, with the nonsense advice that your captain was giving you. All you could do is look back at down at the folder, staring at it with such an intensity, secretly hoping that an entirely new page would appear.

The dismay that emanated from their sigh practically pierced you straight through your heart.

"It's clear to me now. I hope it's clear to you soon that working yourself to the bone over something like this isn't what we do. Get yourself together and get some rest."

The click-clack of their dress shoes drove you to near madness as you heard them leave the precinct. Maybe rest was what you needed, not like you had much of a choice anyway as the morning shift was about to come in soon.

You pack your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. It would probably be better to take the stairs at least to get rid of the energy you got from drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine tonight.

Speaking of caffeine, that was possibly the only edible item that you've consumed during your whole shift. Starving yourself was a habit that you were guilty of, getting so wrapped up in your work that even eating slipped your mind.

However let it not be said that you were picky, you opted to just pass by a fast food restaurant on the way back to your apartment.

It was the dead of night once you actually got your hands on some food, originally you were going to take it back to your apartment but the growling in your stomach told you that dinner was more of an urgent matter in the more.

You open the small box, taking the burger you ordered in your hands and about to take one juicy, delicious bite until—

"Incoming!"

Your delicious meal interrupted as someone was slammed through the windows of the establishment; gasps echoed the walls of the place as people didn't even hesitate to bring their phones out. All the employees run into the backroom.

Instinct just kicks in as you reach for the badge attached to your belt, as you attempt to reassure the innocent customers who were probably having just as much of a tiring night as you are.

You're about to approach the person that was slumped against the counter of the cashier until you register the robotic tentacles sticking out of a machine stuck to their back. Immediately, you pull your gun out.

This was all so confusing, you were so sure that your colleagues had arrested Doctor Octopus so many moons ago. Yet, why was he laying before you? He looked so different. Did he break out of prison and get a magic makeover or something?

Your heart rate skyrocketed through the roof as you catch a faint glow of red from the corner of your eye.

Without hesitation, you turn around and point to the figure behind you; who looked like they were about to continue whatever shenanigans they were engaging with Doc Octopus before stopping dead in their tracks at the sight of your weapon.

"Freeze! Don't move an inch,"

As the figure freezes, you are finally able to get a good glimpse at them. The suit matches the one you saw in your case file, it's never really processed in your head how tall they might actually be. This Spider-Man could easily tower over you, perhaps pointing a gun at him wasn't really the best choice.

That idea was really hammered into your skull as the Spider-Man 'raises an eyebrow' (at least, signalled by his mask) and looks up slowly, you've nearly forgotten that there's a real criminal right behind you.

Your gun is snatched immediately out of your hands as you turn your head once more, it's effortlessly crushed under the grasp of one of the Doctor's tentacles. They scowl at you through tinted goggles.

Shit.

Akin to the way that they were thrown into the eatery, your back harshly hit the area where they deep fry their food. The small basket tips over and spills hot oil onto the floor, the impact spits some of the substance onto your face and hands causing you to wince in pain.

Thankfully before you're about to lose your face, as one of the tentacles reach for you, your hand reaches for the same basket and smacks it hard. Some of the oil melts the coating of the robotic appendage.

You take a peek from below the counter and the people that you saw a while ago had disappeared, they all ran away. You wanted to die, there went your witnesses...

The Doctor yelps at the damage done to it's attachments, about to send yet another attack to your disheveled body, it's cut off (quite literally) by the slice of a blade.

The Spider-Man that you familiarized yourself with a while ago had sliced it off completely only angering the enemy further.

You want to help, even if you won't be able to catch whoever this guy is, there was a bigger threat right now.

Unfortunately as you try to stand, your legs give up on you from how brutally you were thrown and you fall back onto your behind once more. Though you weren't completely rendered useless, you attempt to crawl to the back. Telling one of the staff to call the authorities but once you got a glimpse, there was nobody there either. Were you the only one with any form of responsibility here?!

You reach for your own cellphone, only to find it unable to function from— once again— the impact of how you were thrown. Perfect. This was perfect.

It got even more perfect as the Doctor practically came in sliding into the back walls of the building, you panic and quickly move backwards until you realize that they're wrapped in some form of webbing.

The Spider-Man breezes past you, holding down the seemingly now unconscious criminal. Your ragged breath hitches as his gaze meets yours, you were defenseless. Besides some kitchen items that were littered across the floor from the scuffle but none of them could prove useful to you.

Your head was actually spinning now, you brought a fist to your forehead in a sad attempt to quaell the throbbing but no use. Your eyes begun getting droopier and droopier.

Your heart spiked more as a portal opened to the left of you, came in swinging in another Spiderman.

He seemed to be wearing a worn-down jacket and a regular spider suit but replace the pants with sweatpants. He had an empty baby carrier strapped to his chest.

"You're late."

"Fashionably so! Now, where is he?"

"Right here."

The one in navy kicks the body over to the more musty looking Spider-Man, he takes a step back. "Are you kidding me?! You dealt with him already? I put Mayday down for a nap like ten minutes later than I'm supposed to and you just—"

The less well-dressed Spider-Man catches sight of you, eyes as wide as saucers as he points. "Who's that?"

"Detective."

Not even two seconds later, he's kneeled down before you. Holding, only God knows how many fingers up, their whole conversation is going one ear out the other with you.

"Seems like they have a concussion and a couple of burns. Did anyone call an ambulance or somethin'?"

"No, they got chased out like squirrels by the anomaly."

"You know that we should probably deal with them, right?"

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

You can't even care enough to listen in to their interaction anymore, your head falls forward. The aching in your ribs, the stinging on your hands, it's too much to bare as you slip into the hold of unconsciousness.

[sitp-recs]

Could you please recommend a fic where Harry falls for Draco first and Draco wasn't pining for all those years?

Sort of like a temporarily unrequited love.

Thank you

Hello! Absolutely, love me a smitten Harry. Here are some recs for you:

Solve Us Like a Mystery by tryslora (T, 11k)

When Harry stops in at the bookstore where Draco works, they find a surprising shared interest in mysteries. Draco doesn't expect to see Harry again, and he definitely doesn't expect to become the subject of unexpected investigation that may endanger the life of his unborn child, and at the same time, may bring him the kind of happiness he never thought he'd have after the war.

Voices From The Fog by noeon (E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by calrissian18 (T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 29k)

Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.

Take the Air by dysonrules (M, 51k)

Someone or something is attacking Muggles and leaving them for dead. Auror Harry Potter is assigned to the case, but with his usual partner unavailable, he is stuck with the most annoying Auror ever to walk the halls of the Ministry.

Modern Love by tackytiger (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Azoth by zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

Turn by Saras_Girl (E, 306k)

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.