#Firing shots to keep the rent low THIS IS A COMFORT SHIP

[helltrskelter]

‎17 ‎March ‎2023, ‎28 ‎January ‎2023

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[pippastrelle]

“A Not-So-Simple Story in Deapriffe”

Chapter One | Chapter Two | CHAPTER THREE

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Chapter Three: A Not-So-Easy Evening

[4k Words]

Kalyani wished she could have been more horrified to find Ahmed with a black eye. She was horrified. Still, at the same time, she couldn’t argue she was shocked. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from Ari and Barry. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from the company. She wished she couldn’t have expected that from the whole of Deapriffe.

She also wished she couldn’t have expected to have to convince Ahmed to get an ice pack before he returned the assembly line. As much as they needed him, Ahmed coming back from Clarke’s office with a black eye would have done nothing but stoke fires. Kalyani herself had to prepare her best ‘deferential secretary’ voice for when she returned to her office. The fierce emails and calls had already arrived for Clarke. She had to hold herself up through a whole afternoon of “Yes, Sir”s and “Mr. Clarke said”s while the four-hundred she and Ahmed needed hammered deeper and deeper inside the back of her skull.

Kalyani met Ahmed on the factory bus to head back home. It was packed with their – rightfully – furious colleagues. They protested the payments amongst themselves and to everyone else listening. She knew they deserved to. She knew everyone was just as stressed. But the noise reached into her nerves and injected her whole body with anxiety until it felt like she had a dozen vipers crawling up her back, constricting around her throat and piercing every inch of her skin. She had to keep her earphones in for the whole trip. Ahmed sat next to her. He shot her an understanding furrow of his eyebrows and lift of his lips whenever she caught his eyes while he mediated what light conversation he could with the others.

All through the bus journey, all through the stroll past Lord Way, all through the lift up to their third-floor flat, the four-thousand followed in their shadows. It festered and buzzed in their ears, until they shut the flat door and it was all the silence had.

They slipped off their shoes as usual and Kalayni hovered, only a few steps into the main room. They’d squashed the living room and kitchen into one. A low sofa and television took up one corner while a half-square of countertops ending in an oven and a fridge took up the other. They usually ate on the sofa but they had two plastic wheelie chairs propped against the kitchen counter too, which Ahmed would use to wheel around on whenever he wasn’t relying on his foot. She stared at her bedroom door. “I’ll…I’ll grab my laptop. We’ll look at the budget. See what we’ll need to do to get four-hundred.”

“Cool…I’ll go grab another ice pack before this starts getting worse again,” said Ahmed, indicating the sore cloud over his eye.

While he headed for the fridge, Kalyani forced her feet forwards. Her stomach churned, the floor a tipping ship, and the sensation didn’t let her go even after she had her laptop and was sat on the sofa. She gripped the laptop’s edge. She took deep breath after deep breath until, finally, she could turn on the screen.

“Okay. So. Since our savings aren’t enough right now to get two-hundred for either of us, the first thing we can do is take the money from our food budget. We can cut down how much we buy in a week and buy cheaper versions for the next month or two. Cut down on going out with people too. Even if it won’t get us much, it’ll get us something. We can do the same for any toiletries or clothes or things we’ll need. We’ll be fine,” she said, quite aware of her creased forehead and the hands covering her mouth failing to convince even herself.

“We’ve got four days to make up the rest of the money,” Ahmed added. “I can easily do more shifts tomorrow and Friday. That’ll get us some more.” He rose from the fridge with a bag of frozen chips pressed to his face. He’d had to put his sock between his cheek and the chips to protect his skin from the cold.

Kalyani’s eyes were boring into the digital budget. As her heartrate continued to spike, her hands shook over her keyboard and she swallowed. “I’ll– I’ll ask around the neighbours. Hopefully, they’ll have some sewing they can pay me for before Monday. I’ll work on my breaks and in the evening so I can get us a bit more before we have to also have to think about paying the rent next week which will take most of what we’ve saved right now and…”

“Kalyani, Kalyani, deep breath.” Ahmed rested a hand on her arm and joined her on the sofa. He took a deep breath with her. Kalyani nodded to herself and pulled her knees up to her chest. Ahmed offered her a bright smile through his makeshift ice pack. “We’ll be okay. We can do this. We’ve just got one tough month to get through then everything will be back to normal. We can do this.”

She nodded along. When he put the ice pack down and opened his arms for a hug, she gladly fell into them. They held each other close for a few silent ticks of her watch, willing to hide from the world in their embrace.

“I love you,” she said, the white ring on her left hand clicking against the black ring on his right.

“I love you too,” Ahmed murmured. He leant his head against Kalyani’s soft hair. He didn’t speak again. She held him closer, realising he needed her warmth as much as she needed his.

“If we can’t earn enough money by Monday, we can sell things too,” he said, his voice lowering as the held cheer slipped away. “We’ve got some decorations but…” He sighed. “It’s probably the console that’ll get us enough. Maybe the screen too.”

Kalyani glimpsed at the television and game console stacked in the corner. Games they’d been collecting longer than they’d lived together piled high in a neat, rainbow-coloured tower by its side. Selling them would certainly get them Clarke’s money. Selling their weekends of laughing and shrieking as they declared victory over the other would certainly get them Clarke’s money.

Her heart weighed her to floor. She closed her eyes with a weak, sad laugh. “It’s funny. The reason I asked you for a job at Clarke’s Motors in the first place was so I wouldn’t have to worry about the Sharks…”

Ahmed furrowed his eyebrows down at her. “You want to move?”

After a few seconds silent, she shook her head. “It’s just as bad everywhere else in Deapriffe. There wouldn’t be any point.” Her lips tightened as her eyes darkened. “It’s not like we can do anything to change it either. Not at this rate. Everyone’s used to it, and no-one’s going to be the one to get shot for a message. The police have probably been in the Sharks’ pocket since we were born. Wouldn’t be surprised if the local government too…”

Kalyani was hardly conscious of what she was saying. The anxiety built to a balloon’s pressure in head and all it could do was pour out of her mouth. Still, as always, Ahmed listened, his shining eyes unmoving from her. Kalyani shifted. “I’m best at Clarke’s. You don’t have to worry about me leaving. I know you’d never anyway.”

“No,” Ahmed agreed. He replaced the frozen chips on his eye and stared up at the ceiling. His lips twitched, but the circumstances restrained his usual smile at his thoughts. “I still remember the first time Dad let me sneak into the assembly shop with him. He was holding my hand the whole time so I wouldn’t run off but he went through how all the cars were made with me, who everyone was, and how it all worked and it was incredible. I thought it was the coolest job in the world. In school, everyone was telling me to ‘aim higher’ but being able to do it now with my own hands, I love it. I love getting those car shells and transforming them into something you see on the roads, knowing how every car’s constructed, seeing all the parts and effort that went into every one of them.”

Kalyani enjoyed the fire rising in Ahmed’s expression. It was so bright yet inviting, like a campfire, as if he couldn’t wait for the other person to get as lit up as he was. When he looked back, he offered it to her.

“I know there are things wrong with the company. I know stuff like welfare and the pay could be better. But I love the work so much. I love who I work with. I don’t want to have to give up on that if I can do anything to help it.”

Kalyani sighed and closed her eyes. “Yeah. Exactly…” She shifted against him and for a few seconds, she didn’t stir. Her chest glowed with Ahmed’s comfort yet her anxiety kept pumping her heart and turning her stomach. So, in the dark of her mind, she rummaged furiously for a solution. She pulled the whole flat into view, pricing everything in every drawer until she could find something enough for Clarke on Monday. Anything other than their precious games. And she found it. The thought dulled every sensation in her body.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a sec,” she said. She hugged him one last time before she left to her bedroom.

Ahmed waited. When she returned, she returned with a neat, varnished, square box. His face fell. “No.”

“I never wear it anyway. It might as well help us.”

She opened the box to reveal the beautiful necklace inside. The glittering, engraved gold was a celebration of craftmanship with its thick chain of interlocking segments and plaits and the heavy adornment in the middle that seemed carved with every flame in the sun. She’d inherited it from her grandmother. She’d never worn it, just like she never wore any jewellery, but she’d kept it for all years Ahmed had known her.

“It’s real gold. If we sell it, it’ll definitely be enough.”

Ahmed rose. He closed his hands around the necklace’s box. “Thank you. Thank you so much…I know just what we’re going to do.” He projected reassurance through every inch of his face for her. “We’re going to pawn it! They do that over at the horse races. We’ll pawn it, get the money for Clarke, then work for the rest of the month to get it back! I can do more shifts, you can do more sewing, and we can even sell some small things to help if we’re struggling by the end. We’ve got thirty days. We can do this!”

“Yeah,” Kalyani said, her voice wavering. “Yeah.”

“So we’ve got our plan! I can go to the racetracks on Sunday morning to pawn the necklace. That way we’ll have these four days and a whole month to save up to get your grandmother’s necklace back. We can do it.”

He hugged her again.

Enveloped in his arms, Kalyani murmured, “You can pawn it on Saturday afternoon instead. In case something goes wrong and we need Sunday to try something else.”

“Alright.” He broke apart so he could see her try a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too.” Ahmed cocked his head towards the kitchen. “Alright. Now, do you want to do the cooking together tonight or do you have some work to finish?”

“Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I can do the cooking too. I’ve got that one jumper to finish but I can do it tonight.”

“Or, how about you sit on the sofa and do that while I cook? That way we can still chat.” He poked her in the chest, pretending to be stern. “Remember? You’re going to sleep at a decent time tonight so you can have breakfast with me in the morning.”

She chuckled. “Fine.” She clutched her grandmother’s necklace box to her heart. She drummed her fingers against the old wood as her chest swirled with equal stress and relief, each cutting the other down whenever they rose. Four-hundred was still so much money to get, but they had her grandmother’s necklace to pawn, but…

Kalyani’s quiet exhale deflated her. She rested against Ahmed one more time and he held her in kind.

“Elise’s family has been really struggling since her husband’s accident,” she said.

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“And Łukasz is only nineteen.”

“Yeah…”

*

On the other side of Deapriffe, Thresher was just as miserable. For the evening, she’d found herself in the Mary Rose: its status as one of the city’s finest dining establishments evident by the mass of chandeliers, silverware, columns, and arched windows. It had the architecture of a cathedral, but one refurbished in the ‘modern’ image of square polished and glass surfaces, and the night’s guests had filled its every corner with a raucous chatter. The restaurant was a luxury most of Deapriffe’s population would never see. Still, Thresher could hardly appreciate it with loud Sharks and trembling waiters all around her.

Outside the wall of windows they had gazing out onto the city, the nearest billboard was dead. The road was in lockdown and the Mary Rose should have been as well. Except, when a procession of the Shark’s white cars pulled up outside your doors, you weren’t allowed to stay shut. A sea of black and white suits filled every gleaming table across the restaurant floor. Laughter and catch-ups washed the air, covering the few meetings beneath it. Discussions that would go on to dictate lives melted into inanity for passing ears.

Thresher sat on a central table alongside her mother and twin. She couldn’t even wear her frustration on her face. Eyes from every corner flicked to the Shark boss and her children before hurriedly moving on. Even the waiters, who looked upon the mass of Sharks with indiscriminate terror, noticed how the attention warped around the three of them. They skirted away accordingly, until a lift of a hand had one darting over to take care of anything any of them wanted.

Sandra Vaughan reclined in her seat with a wine glass in hand. She ran through the other major Sharks for her children, supplying anecdotes for how she’d dealt with each of them. Thresher played the part of an interested listener. She kept her attention on her mum, she smiled, and she recognised enough of the names to add comments of her own, each of which Vaughan worked off with a proud glint in her smile. Every one wore Thresher down further. Her moments of success hit her harder than the failures: the moments where she realised she could dress up as the perfect, cisgender, Shark son her mum wanted forever, and she did not know how to deal with that prospect.

Finley, on the other hand, made no show of anything. He didn’t bother to hide his boredom at the sound of politics. He tilted back in his chair and texted his friends across the restaurant, enjoying the sight of the waitresses. Many of the women had caught Thresher’s eye as well, the restaurant’s black uniform blouse and pencil skirt a gorgeous shape on all of them. However, she stuck her attention to their table and continued draining her glass. The attention of a musclebound Shark never came as welcome to civilian women like them.

“Clarke made a decent point about Letizia Fulgoni,” Vaughan was saying. “She’s been raking in the profits recently. Shake that down and you’ll have yourself a nice bit of extra income.”

Thresher raised an eyebrow. “‘Shake that down’?” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t even have to bother. Fulgoni’s got no history of trouble. She’s got the new location but without any real safety nets, she’s not going to risk disobeying us. There’s no need to waste the manpower threatening her.”

The lines across Vaughan’s face flattened. “Watch yourself. It’s a pit trap too many Sharks fall into. Going easy on the businesses because things are ‘comfortable’ is the surest-fire way to losing everything to whichever upstart’s nearby. The biggest mess I’ve ever had to deal with was in Wobbegong’s–”

Finley snorted loudly. “God, these names are stupid!”

“He’s a stupid man,” said Vaughan. “Wobbegong earnt his name. The only reason I didn’t kill him was because I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his brother’s inevitable revenge and lose me my best bookkeeper. Wobbegong, the pathetic bastard, had all his businesses ‘banding together and refusing to pay’. Bryson had to take over and double down on the whole road to get things back in line.”

Vaughan caught Finley’s exaggerated slump in his chair to her side.

“I understand. I understand. When I was your age, I didn’t want to have to care about all these names and faces either. People learnt their lessons through fear and all I had to consider were the drinks and the men I wanted that night.”

Finley burst into laughter. “Is that why you left Dad at home tonight?”

“Shush,” Vaughan chided – smirking. “Tonight’s for the family business family. You’re controlling your own territory now. Knowing the names and faces pays off in the long run. You’ve got to know what it takes to piss people off, what they’ll do when you have, and where you hit to hurt them the most. Sometimes, it takes a burnt-down house. Sometimes, it’s a simple punch to the gut.”

“Do we have to worry about Clarke at all?” Thresher asked.

“Please. Clarke would rather cut off his other ear than be an issue for us. He’ll stay in line. Meanwhile, you’ll get some extra cash out of it.”

Finley spun his knife between his fingers. “Shame. He looked hilarious this morning. Let’s increase the pay next month. I’d love it if he didn’t get the money.”

“So, if we don’t ruin our most useful asset,” Thresher continued, with a pointed turn away from Finley, “you’re saying we can rely on Clarke. We’ll use his decades of collaboration to our advantage. Let Fulgoni know any disobedience from her will just profit Clarke and there’ll be no risk of them banding together. This way, we get all the benefits without bothering about the extra Sharks and potentially agitating the Deapriffe police chief living in our territory.”

Vaughan’s lips twisted behind her wine glass. She set it down and flicked her hand for a new round. “James Dunn is firmly in our pocket. I make sure of that. He hasn’t done anything against the Sharks in all of Deapriffe. He’s not going to start because it’s affecting a business down the road. The only thing you’re risking by acting is a few civilians’ bones. That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.” Her gaze settled on Thresher’s face. Thresher turned to avoid it but Vaughan ordered her back. “You know what I’ve been hearing.”

“I know.”

“Thresher…” Vaughan groaned through her teeth, caught between her care and frustration. “Listen. When you look weak, it makes me look weak.”

“I know.”

“You’ve got to start showing your backbone. You already have everything you need. If something broke out here right now, I’d trust the two of you to come out on top. All you have to do is make it so no-one’s got any doubt of that in the mind. Keep your efforts on that, then everything else they could say becomes irrelevant.”

Thresher caught Vaughan’s significant look. She raised her eyebrow. “Wondering if I’m gay again?”

Finley sniggered. Vaughan didn’t say anything.

Thresher rolled her eyes, not that it could stop the constriction of her heart. “No need to ‘worry’, Mum. Trust me. I am not interested in men.”

A stiff waitress arrived with their drinks. Vaughan took hers with an understanding gesture towards Thresher. “Take some direction from Finley. This job is all about experience. Keep getting fights under your belt and it’ll become second nature.”

“Yeah. Sure. That must be– Oh, I didn’t order a rosé.” Thresher passed her glass back to the waitress. “This must be for another table. I’ll have whatever white you’ve got.”

“Oh.” The waitress – a beautiful woman with red snuck into her uniforms in her locs and her heels – stopped. Gingerly, she collected the glass and Thresher’s face fell at the look of cold disgust piercing through her made-up eyes. Then, she cursed herself for not having expected it. The waitress attempted a civil, service worker nod before leaving to get Thresher’s drink. Vaughan’s hand snapped around her wrist. The waitress yelped.

“What do you call this service?” Vaughan demanded.

Thresher’s heart punched against her ribs. She rushed to take the rosé back. “Mum, I don’t care about this.”

Vaughan refused to loosen her hold on the waitress’s wrist. “Tell me your name.”

“…Sofia.”

“Full name.”

Sofia tested Vaughan’s grip before realising she was trapped. “Sofia Gálvez Moreno, Ma’am. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll get him his white right now.”

Vaughan hauled Sofia’s arm forwards and Sofia crashed against the table in front of Thresher. “We’re in no rush here,” Vaughan said, as if delivering Thresher a present. “You’ve got the time to teach Sofia some respect before she goes get you the right drink.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped up, wide. “No! Please, Sir, it was an honest mistake!”

Thresher put on a scowl for her mum and brother. She leant back in her seat, as if she couldn’t care less, and growled. “Get me my order.” She raised the rosé. “I’m keeping this. Come back with my white, on the house, then stay out of my sight for the rest of the evening.”

Sofia nodded like a child’s toy pulled too many times. “Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!”

Once again, when she attempted to leave, Vaughan refused her. Finley leant over the table towards Thresher. “Here’s some of that ‘direction’ for you. You’re not teaching nursery.” He slapped her bicep. “All that time at the gym isn’t for show. People remember a broken arm way more than any of your wittle mean words.”

“No! Please!” Sofia cried. She met Thresher’s eyes, pleadingly. “Please, you have to understand. I’m just tired! I’ve been on my feet since seven this morning and I haven’t been sleeping well for weeks now. I’ve been busy looking after my sister’s baby! My sister’s got a heart disease and she’s in hospital while her son is very young. He’s only a few months old. My sister doesn’t have any other family in Deapriffe so I’m the only one who can watch him nights and look after her and–”

The words stabbed dagger after dagger into Thresher’s heart, horror painting her face uncontainably. Meanwhile, Vaughan and Finley sank deeper into their exasperation and incredulity as they heard the next rambled sob story on a list the length of a motorway. Vaughan put her face in her hand and groaned. “Enough!” She tightened her fist. Sofia cried out in pain.

“Mum–!” Thresher started.

Vaughan uncovered her tired expression. “Just shut her up!”

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” Sofia begged.

As Thresher looked around helplessly, Finley banged his hand down on the table. “For God’s sake, Thresher. Look! It’s easy!”

Thresher’s eyes shot wide. “Finley!”

“No!” Sofia recoiled.

Finley rose.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Thresher roared. She wrenched Sofia out of her mum’s hand. Sofia stumbled onto her heels past Thresher and the talk in the restaurant blew out like a bulb. Thresher faced Sofia, thrusting her hand at the exit. “Get out of here! No-one is going to follow you or they’ll have me to deal with.”

Sofia needed no convincing. With a final glance to Vaughan and Finley, she fled as fast as she was able to in her heels. Thresher watched her until the fire exit door had clattered shut. Her blood pounded like gongs in her ears. Her breathing rusher in and out of her chest. Neither succeeded in disguising how quiet the Mary Rose had become.

As instantly as they had stopped, the surrounding Sharks made a point of continuing their conversations and keeping their eyes on their own tables. Vaughan and Finley, however, had nothing to distract from their rage. Finley held his fists so tight his knuckles were white. His teeth seemed ready to crack against each other. The severe lines on Vaughan’s face cut through her skin as if freshly torn.

Finley tore his eyes off Thresher, facing his mum. “I don’t need him. I can do this by myself–”

“No! We do this as a family,” Vaughan snarled. Thoughts burnt behind her eyes. She pulled her voice down into something low and even. “Finley, when I tell you, take your brother out into town. I want him back with a kill. We’re going to get through his block.” She slammed her fist against the table and levelled her finger at Thresher. “And you are going to man up!”

Thresher’s eyes fell. She didn’t move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two

I’m only posting three chapters for now. I might post more depending on what feedback I get!

Also, guessed the film I based this off? DM me with the correct film and I’ll draw whatever character you want for free!

[seagrassthiccass]

》rules《

》 tae, 30, she/her, but in the not cis way

》 I’m Timid with other people, I am mainly here to fuck around with my wife, and as such i have co-opted her rules page, and they are laid out below. While written by her, and not fully indicative of me as such, consider them my own ---

》 im a violently sex positive socialist anarchist. im not nice about it. i will kill you.

》 I don't tolerate conservatives, centrists, terfs, racists, pedos, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, etc, s****de baiting, doxxing, or harassment. if I'm interacting with someone who has partaken in one of these feel free to let me know, but I reserve the right to assess on a case by case basis. There are a lot of abusive people in these spaces who will falsify accusations and write callouts for clout.

》 I refuse to take sides in the anti/pro ship war as it is the most terminally online bullshit I've ever fucking seen, but again I am extremely sex positive, and a lot of those involved are just self-deluded christian fundamentalists wearing activists clothing. I don't fuck with you. Get lost.

》 im (my wife is) a fat femme presenting person irl and i will kick your fucking ass if you try to disparage feedism as a method of self reclamation against fatphobia because you met some shitty straight guy chubby chaser that one time. get over yourself.

》* (edited for my interests) im into monsters, transformation, sizeplay, furries(ish), primal play, pet play, and a whole lot of other specific noodly shit

》 dont talk to me about religion and spirituality. yes yours too, even yours. deeply traumatized exvangelical. what beliefs i have are my own and im not interested in yours. (I am not these things but also Do Not talk to me about them as im mainly here for the wife and id rather not fuck her up accidentally because of your stuff on my blog)

》 triggered by addiction/alcoholism, spiritual talk and imagery, slugs & snails, demons & angels, dungeon meshi, gorey imagery that involves pain. if you post these continuously I will unfollow you. (see above parenthesis)

》 unless you already know me like that im not RPing sex with you. that's only for close friends and partners. Kink however is a different story. Feel free.

》 if I don't like what you do I will erase any contribution you've made to this blogs canon without warning.

》 I need extensive communication when I rp. I expect you to be willing & able to retcon or alter any shit we do together if it hits a snag. I will extend you the exact same courtesy. mun comfort comes before muse continuity in all instances. no exceptions.

》 I tag triggers in the form of #trigger // if you need anything tagged please hit me up. I will also be trying to tag #nsfw // in this way. I won't apologize for missing some horny posts tho. that's par for the course here.(i will do my best for triggers, i make no promises for nsfw content)

》 if you made it to the end of these, thank you. I'm actually much more timid than these rules make me sound. I try to be nice. but this community is full of really batshit people. gotta fire off shots to keep the rent low.