#as insurance he says telling him to sell it if anything happens to him

[patrice-bergerons]

Trying to remind my brain that writing time is a scarce resource best optimised to serve the projects that I want to complete and that it does not need to write a fic for every tv series with compelling characters and boy it's a struggle

[snarp]

Real True Law Stories

This is heavily-paraphrased because 1) it happened a while back, and the conversations were longer and involved a lot more of me going "no! no! augh," and 2) the case was not actually about Ale-8 bottles, but its actual focus was similarly-specific, which would have made it really easy to look up.

Dad: Can you value a collection of old Ale-8 bottles for me, honey?

Me: ...possibly, but I'm not going to. Is this a blasting case again? Did someone's designated used Ale-8 bottle shelf fall over?

Dad: No, they got stolen. He had this shed or big closet or something totally full of collectible Ale-8 bottles, he's got all these insurance photos, he'd had them appraised by the national Ale-8 bottle expert -

Mom: Dear...

Dad: No, he's definitely really upset about these lost Ale-8 bottles! He's traumatized! Do you think I don't deal with liars? ...He thinks his estranged drug-addict relative stole the Ale-8 bottles.

Me: No. That did not happen.

Mom: That's probably not what happened, dear.

Dad: Drug addicts steal stuff all the time, what is this -

Me: Dad, no, this is fucking logistically -

Dad: - don't, I'm telling the story, stop it - "logistically" -

Me: A drug addict would not steal and hock a huge collection of Ale-8 bottles! They're heavy and fragile and that's a ridiculous specialist hobby, logistically it'd be way too -

Mom: The bottles were definitely stolen, dear?

Me: Why wouldn't you just steal, like, the TV? Or the car or whatever?! You don't steal the Ale-8 bottles!

Dad: They were stolen! He was gone! He'd had a fight with this person, he couldn't get back into the house for a while, he came back and the bottles were gone, he was heartbroken!

Me: No! You don't steal the collection of Ale-8 bottles, that's not what you steal!

Dad: No, they knew he really liked these bottles, it was revenge or something? Seriously, he keeps asking me why I can't make the police go and arrest this person and find out where they put the bottles, he's really angry! He misses his bottles.

Mom: *sigh* Okay, dear. So the Ale-8 bottles were stolen and insurance won't cover them.

Dad, to Me: So you're going to try and value the Ale-8 bottle collection for me. It'll be easy.

Me: I am not.

Dad: He has a spreadsheet.

Me: No. - You said he already had it appraised!

Mom: Before the Ale-8 bottle heist...

Dad: He did! I mean. There's this guy who writes Ale-8 bottle valuation books, he lives - somewhere, and the client knows him over, I guess, an Ale-8 bottle club? Ale-8 bottle mailing list? On the internet. - and he came on this road trip to just look at these Ale-8 bottles in the guy's shed or closet! Does that make sense?

Me: If this is an actual collecting hobby that other people engage in, and not a scam - if Ale-8 bottle collecting is something that's real - then yes, that's normal if you've got a valuable collection, I guess? How much did he say all these Ale-8 bottles were worth, is this even a sane case to be taking if he's telling the truth?

Dad: [a very large number]

Mom, who has been quietly thinking about this while we do our manzai routine: Well, there are definitely other Ale-8 bottle collectors, honey. [name] likes them, I think?... That seems awfully high. He had them in a shed? Like a garden shed?

Dad: I've seen the book! He showed me the Ale-8 bottle book! It was a shed or a garage or a side room or something. They weren't outside.

Me: If what you're trying to figure out is whether this guy and the appraiser are for real, I'd just... look around online and make sure there are actually people buying and selling these things, and talking about them to the extent he says there are, I guess?

Mom: If there's a real community and a real buyer base.

Dad: The Ale-8 bottle book had numbers in it, like values.

Me: The numbers don't mean anything if his buddy wrote the book and if they're the only two people who care about Ale-8 bottles!

Dad: You know, you're awfully suspicious of these Ale-8 bottles...

Me: It's a completely ridiculous story. - You're suspicious of them, too! That's why you even asked me to value Ale-8 bottles!

Dad: You're just not a trusting person. You're paranoid. You know, I trust all my clients completely -

*My Ale-8-bottle-related-outrage HP drops too low and I die.*

Mom: No. What she's saying is that their book value -

Dad: Yeah, that's the word, their book value! Like a Kelley Blue Book value for a car, that's what this other guy does, he does the Blue Book for the bottles. So all I have to do is show the insurance company the Kelley Bottle Book, right?

Mom: No.

Dad: It's fine! The insurance company will be completely cooperative. What are they going to complain about, it's right there in the book.

Mom: Does the book reflect the market values of the bottles? The street values? Are these the prices that people pay on eBay or wherever when they're buying the bottles?

Dad: I don't know.

Mom: Are they the prices he paid for them?

Dad: I don't know. Probably.

*I finish my corpse-run and resurrect.*

Me: There's got to be an actual market for there to be market prices. People who buy the things and have opinions about how much they're worth and stuff.

Dad: Can you research that for me, honey? Research the Ale-8 bottle market?

Me: I'm not going to do that. You have [name] in the office, right? You are paying her money to do this stuff for you, correct?

Dad: You never want to help me. Help me research Ale-8 bottles. I don't know why my daughters never help me.

Mom: And then you have to prove all this stuff to the judge and jury. Will they believe that Ale-8 bottles are worth anything?

Me: Please show us how you will emotionally convince the jury that these Ale-8 bottles are worth money. Make it sound like you're really sad about the loss of the valuable Ale-8 bottle collection.

Dad: Nnnno! *laughs* Oh, my god, they're such bullshit! They're these little bottles! And he had zillions of them! He must have some sort of trauma in his past, I'm going to ask [Psychiatrist Who Acts As An Expert Witness In PTSD Cases] to examine him... - Well, this is some southern thing, like the little toy stock cars that guy had. I don't know, maybe a southern jury will buy it?

Me: Say that "a jury of your peers" means "a jury of Ale-8 bottle collectors."

Mom: Yeah, hope you get a collector on the jury or on the bench.

*- several months later -*

Dad: So do you want to hear what happened at court the other day? With my Ale-8 bottle guy?

Me: You're going to tell me about the Ale-8 bottle guy regardless. Did it turn out to be insurance fraud?

Dad: No, actually! - well, I don't know. "A reasonable doubt for a reasonable price!"

Mom: Dear.

Dad: So obviously the insurance guys are like, "this is bullshit! It's bullshit! Ale-8 bottles aren't worth anything, the whole thing is bullshit!" And I'm like, okay, well. And they don't want to go to mediation, and they give us this lowball number to settle, and, obviously, no.

Dad: So we go in front of Judge [X] the other day, and I'm like, *solemn expression* "Judge. My client has had his extremely valuable Ale-8 bottle collection stolen, and his insurance will not pay for it even though he had it personally appraised by The Ale-8 Bottle Man."

Me: Who is his buddy and who may well be artificially inflating the prices of stuff he and his friends have a lot of, sure.

Dad: You don't know that!

Mom: And opposing counsel said…?

Dad: So, [Other Lawyer], he got up there and he was like, "Well, Judge, I mean. Ale-8 bottles, right? They're Ale-8 bottles." And they start - but then the judge goes, "Actually. I wanted to say, I was looking over the documents in this case. And, well, I've got a bit of a collection myself - I've got the - 1492 Foofrall-something Bottle and a mint-condition Bluh-buh-buh Bottle, and" and then he just sits there and lists all these Ale-8 bottles he's got for like, several minutes.

Me: Is this a joke. Did this actually happen.

Dad: It happened! It did happen!

Me: Mom!

Mom: I know, dear. It happened. He is not making this up.

Dad: So I get out of there and I go over and talk to opposing counsel, and just! The looks on their faces! They looked so defeated.

Me: They've got to be really suspicious of you right now.

Mom: "Is this why he took the case? Did he know?"

Dad: No! I had no idea! I was just as flabbergasted as they are, I've never heard him - okay, did you know this terrible fact about Judge [X]? Did you know he was one of them? The Bottlers?

Mom: I did not know this. I knew that he golfed.

Dad: So, long story short, I kind of think that this case is going to settle?

Mom: Unless the bottles are just in his basement, and he posts a picture of them to his Facebook without thinking.

Dad: Huh?

Mom: Like your other guy.

Dad: Those weren't bottles.

[chaoticbug]

Part of my job for the last 9 months was analyzing far right content to understand how they push conspiracy theories and motivate their voters and I have one major takeaway.

By eroding the trust in news media and journalists, Trump created what was essentially an alternate reality of people where extremists created their own "news media" filled with right wing ideology as the "only trusted news source"

If you thought Fox News was bad, you have never had to bear witness the awfulness of Real America's Voice or One America News. These are places where I swear to god a daily part of their news show is to sell you "medical emergency kits" with ivermectin in it because "you never know when the next medical emergency will happen" implying that the government will intentionally try and poison it's citizens if they have proper health insurance. They say the FBI is lying to you about crime statistics, they tell you every crime is being committed by illegal immigrants. They lie about the economy and tell you to invest in gold if you want have any money in the future. They say constantly that Trump's trials were a conspiracy against rights against him to be used as way to start to round up anyone who supports him.

The amount of times that Steve Bannon and Peter Navarro would claim that they "went to prison so you didn't have to" was immeasurable. These people committed crimes and were held accountable and twisted it to say they were victims "protecting the American people"

There are thousands of unhinged right wing podcasts that stream for hours every day on a site called Rumble which I guarantee most of you have never heard of. These shows get hundreds of thousands of views daily. And they legitimize themselves by having sitting congressmen and senators on their shows frequently along with "experts" from right wing policy groups you have never even heard of. Then, they legitimize each other by showing up on each others podcasts.

All this to say is that there are hundreds of thousands of people who only get their news and any information here. These are people who will praise Trump's "they're eating the dogs line" because it was memorable and therefore it means he won the debate. This alternative media market has insulated these people from ever seeing the truth. It is impossible to convince someone of something if they are in the most tightly held echo chamber where all they hear are lies and they are being told anything other than this specific "alternative media" is lying to you.

Simply put, there is no left wing alternative to this. These people live in an alternate reality where the truth has been drowned out. We need to create that left wing alternative to bring truth back

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

It looks like the rewind Theory might be coming true

There are many variations of that theory, but yes.

Honestly, it is badly needed in the story if what Horikoshi is aiming for is an ending where the kids and the villains survive.

Introducing a character that can undone damage is always insurance for the author. You have to be careful to not overuse it to the point it loses its impact. If no one ever dies and everyone keeps on resurrecting, the predictability becomes boring.

The good thing is that bnha doesn't overuse Eri. They don't use it to rewind the damage done to the characters when they lose an extremity, for example. It didn't work on Nighteye. They didn't try to use it on All Might—and if they did, I can't remember when it happened.

The point is that I liked that Horikoshi left Eri's quirk to the end of the manga. That way he could make the characters give their 100% without it meaning sure death. It scares the readers, like it should, it creates tension. Knowing that Eri's quirk might not work is another good decision. Even if she shows up after the big showdown, the public doesn't know who is going to survive.

Now, when I say there are many variations...

I'm against the version of it where the villains are turned into kids. Where is the fun of it, uh?

It erases the complexity of each character and all they fought for. What was the point of fighting so much if you're gonna erase what happened? If there's no consequences, no accountability? Any story should grow from the risks of the actions taken. We want to know there's something to be lost, that's where the adrenaline comes from. That's the entertaining part!

The version that completely heals their wounds is also kinda... bland. I'm a fan of bnha because the story doesn't solve most disabilities with magic.

If a pro-hero loses a leg or an eye, they'd have to learn to fight with the cards they were dealt with. Like I said before, those wounds tell a story of the risks they took. Aizawa cut his leg to survive and see another day with Eri and his students. Mirko lost most of her limbs giving her absolute all!!!!

It's the same for villains. It moves you, the way those villains would sacrifice themselves for their goals. Compress' lost arm tells the story of how they lost Magne. Giran lost his fingers when he refused to sell the League, so their absence is the evidence of his loyalty.

I want irreversibility. I want permanece. I want to see the growth that comes with accepting what we do in our lives and how we have to keep going.

My favorite version is the one that heals enough for the person to survive, but not much more. It is not going to take you to step one, it can't erase all you did and all that was done to you.

A second chance, but you have to make it from where you were left. No shortcuts, no easy way out. Either you commit to it or you're over.

I don't want to see Touya without his burns. That is boring! I don't want squeaky clean Touya, all perfect and smooth skinned and whatever. That is not him. He's the boy who burned in the flames of his passion, right or wrong. He's the boy who is supposed to be dead, but survived because he was a stubborn bastard.

The story can lessen them, of course. At this point Touya is more scrap put together by metal than anything else. He cannot possibly survive like that, so he needs to be healed enough to live. The burns can even lessen with time, fading as Touya heals, but I want the memory to last. I don't care if he forgives Enji, I want him to be forced to look at the burns every day knowing how they're there.

Another example?

Tomura's scars tell a story. You cannot resurrect his family, so don't go erasing the scar in his eye or in his lip. Don't go erasing the evidence of his struggle.

To be fair, Tomura has changed a lot since his first appearance. I remember him with yellow teeth, all skinny to the bone. It shows that no one cared for him. Well, maybe enough to keep him breathing, but there was no delicacy involved. It's funny to think how he got better and better the more time he spent far from AFO. That and the surgery he had to undergo...

Which is a wonderful terrible concept. It's about the cleansing, how AFO was preparing Tomura's body to be his. Body modifications to assert ownership, that's a horror favorite. The idea of being "cured" to the point you can't recognize your own body. You know what I mean.

I'm glad that when rewind was used on Mirio, it cost him something. He lost his quirk for a while and he had to make an effort to go back to who he was. I'd say that the nature of the story helped him bounce and that's a chance we didn't see his struggle a bit more.

Anyway, that's my opinion on the matter. I hope it'll be a variation I like and not something that's gonna leave me sweating cold every time I dare to remember it.

[daughterofcain-67]

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (pt. 3)

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Beau wraps up at least one end of his case, he finds that there’s more and he may be sinking into some sort of rabbit hole. It’s his job to get Helena Montana out of this mess and safe once more with Hoyt’s help. Meanwhile, you’re getting more friendly with Andre and you start to wonder if you should be setting your sites on someone who has the time for you. What will you do when one of the two men in your life actually asks you out?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: mentions of some characters in season 1. Kidnapping case and discussions of human traffiking. Beginning of the love triangle. I think that’s it?

Beau and Jenny found Irene’s grandson, evidently named Sean, driving the green SUV down the road. They followed him and they were able to stop him at one of the many back roads of Helena Montana.

When the car was stopped, Beau and Jenny got out of Beau’s car and of course the two officers were cautious. They had their arms ready just in case.

“Sean? We need you to step out of the vehicle.” Beau said, a little wary of what might happen.

When the car door slowly opened up, a lanky looking red head with curly hair and freckles carefully stepped out of the vehicle with his hands up.

“I-I know why you’re here. And I’m so sorry…” This poor kid couldn’t have been older than nineteen. Fresh out of high school, could be a freshman in college.

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you down to the station. We just need to talk about a few things.” Jenny said.

Sean nodded and he stood still and put his arms behind his back.

“Oh, there’s no need for that. You aren’t under arrest.” The deputy promised and it took everything Beau had in him not to say the words “not yet” afterward.

When they got Sean into the car, they made it to the station about thirty minutes later. They got Sean’s fingerprints before getting him into the interrogation room.

Jenny and Sean sat down across from one another while Beau was a little too antsy to have a seat. He just wanted to get those two women found before anything bad would happen to them.

“You said you knew what this was about, right? So, Sean, why don’t you tell us what happened, tell us your side.” Jenny said. Beau supposed she was trying to play good cop for once since this was practically a kid.

“Well… All of it was just so I could help my grandma pay her hospital bills. She just had both her hips replaced several months ago but for whatever reason her insurance and social security couldn’t cover all of it. The co-pay was a little too much for her to afford. She’s also really far behind on some of her other bills.” Sean began and he looked down at his hands.

“So you’re trying to be a good grandson. What did you do?” Beau asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I-I made a mistake… I met this guy at a bar. He didn’t give me his real name. All I knew him as was Ace. And Ace told me that I could help pay for my grandmother’s bills if I just… did some driving for him.” Sean said.

“Driving? To where? What were you transporting?” Beau’s brows narrowed.

“H-He is a part of some gang. I don’t know what gang or what they wanted, but I was supposed to take whatever ladies he had blindfolded and take them to this site. It was different every time. I-It was like they were selling people for whatever reasons.” Sean continued.

“The Syndicate? Was that who it was?” Jenny asked, remembering the case with the truck driver, Ronald Perlman, and the state trooper, Rick Legarski.

“No, I think it was someone else. Maybe someone who buys from the Syndicate or something. Maybe it’s something similar to whatever Syndicate you’re talking about? I-I don’t know for sure. I’m sorry…”

“How long does it take for the buyer to get to the site?” Beau questioned, voice growing more stern.

“It depends on how fast we can get them to answer, or rather when Ace can get them on the phone. He got them on the phone three days ago. The buyer is supposed to come by sometime early next week. I think in about two days if their on schedule.” Sean said.

“Do you remember where the site is? Can you take us there?”

Sean was a little hesitant. He seemed unsure about something and he was shaking his leg under the table. Things weren’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be simple. An easy payday so he could take care of his grandmother.

“I-If I show you, is there any way I can get protection from these guys? Or protection for my grandmother at least?” He asked.

Jenny looked up at Beau who’s brow was raised in the air, arms still firmly in place over his chest as if he hadn’t moved the whole time.

“We can get the FBI involved and let them know the Syndicate or someone similar is hitting up Helena again.” Beau said, “We’ll see what we can do about your grandmother at least. I don’t know what deal they’ll offer you since you were an accomplice.”

“I’ll take it! As long as she’s okay.”

“Great. Hoyt, grab some reinforcements and call some backup in case there’s any conflict. Time to hit the road.” Beau instructed and walked out of the interrogation room.

Beau had grabbed a bullet proof vest and proceeded to put it on before stepping outside to get into his vehicle. When he did, Beau realized that it was already dark outside by this time. If this case were simpler, he would be at your house watching that movie with you. there was nothing else he would rather be doing right now. He would have loved to be under some random throw blanket he had with you beside him.

But this was his job and this was his priority whether he liked it or not.

It was time to get Sidney Ferguson and Ember O’Riley back to their families. They’ve been under enough stress for this past week and it’s time to put an end to this. At least an end for their means.

Yet for some reason, Beau had this unsettling feeling that whatever group this was, they weren’t done with Helena just yet.

You were sitting on the couch with your sister and Andre. Sure enough, Cassie wasn’t able to make it and of course Beau had told you from that phone call that he and Jenny couldn’t make it tonight. So it was just the three of you watching The Shining and you had forgotten just how good of an actor Nicholson was in this role.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Cadence got up from her seat next to you on the couch.

“I’m grabbing a drink. Can I get either of you anything?”

“Sure, I’d like one if you don’t mind.” Andre said.

“I’m good.” You replied, then you watched your sister leave to go to the kitchen.

You looked at the tv again, but you weren’t exactly sure why your mind was suddenly drawing a blank. You knew you would be sitting here enjoying the movie with your sister and your guest, but you couldn’t help but think about the sheriff.

What kind of complications were there? Had he finally gotten a break in the case? Was he going to be able to find those girls? Would he come out of this okay?

“You’re thinking of your sheriff friend, huh?” Andre’s voice broke you from your thoughts. You looked at him for a moment and you have a half of a smile.

“That obvious? I’m sorry, you must think I’m really rude.” You apologized and looked down at your hands in embarrassment.

“No, that’s alright. I’m just curious… is he more than a friend to you?” He asked and you could feel his gaze on you.

You shook your head, “I don’t think he’ll ever be more than a friend. My sister is kind of an advocate for something to happen between me and him, but she has to face the reality that his work is his priority. I can’t stand in the way of that. What he does is important, and all I can really do is hope that he is at least safe with whatever case he’s on.”

“So… not more than a friend but you wish that wasn’t the case, hmm?” Andre asked and you looked over at him and grinned.

“You’re awfully nosey with me and him aren’t you? You and Cadence could bond over that.” You rolled your eyes, “But no, I don’t want him to be anything more than a friend. A person like him would make a much better friend than anything beyond that.”

You may have been lying through your teeth, but if you said the lie out loud maybe you could actually believe it one day. Beau would make a much better friend for you. You couldn’t get attached to him of all people, at least not romantically attached.

“I see.” Andre began but you watched him tuck his bottom lip between his teeth as his gaze went down to the space between the two of you. You could see the gears turning in his mind before he finally spoke again.

“So, hypothetically, if I were to ask you out on a date.. would you refuse?”

The question stunned you. Honestly you were speechless. You weren’t even sure if you were ready to hop back into dating but that was when your sister came into the room again.

“Of course she wouldn’t refuse! She hasn’t dated in forever and she really needs to get out more.” Cadence piped up and answered for you. You looked up at her wide eyed, wondering why the hell she was answering a question you weren’t even sure about.

“Really? How long has it been?” Andre asked and you looked back at him before you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Let’s just go with a little too long… so when do you want to go out on this date? And what do you have in mind?” You asked.

He smiled at you, apparently glad that you were willing to go along with this even if your sister practically volunteered you into this, “Why don’t we leave that as a mystery for let’s say… tomorrow morning? I’ll pick you up at nine.”

That soon? You didn’t know Andre was quite that ambitious but why not go for it? It’s not like anyone else was lining up to date you really. And it was just one time right? How bad could it be?

“Sure, nine sounds great.” You agreed as Cadence handed Andre his drink.

Then you could hear an unfamiliar ringtone and you saw Andre fish his phone from his pocket.

“Is everything alright?” You asked and you could hear him sigh seemingly out of aggravation, if that was the right word for it.

“Just when we were having a good time, I get a message from an associate. He says we need to have a meeting and it’s pretty urgent.” He said.

You smiled a little. Honestly you weren’t sure if you could complain. You weren’t sure what the jewelry business was like so you didn’t know if Andre would be as busy as Beau. Then again if he was and the two of you continued after tomorrows date goes well, you could understand that he was still starting to get established here in Montana. That would take some time.

Then again, that was all in the hypothetical and if everything would work out after tomorrow’s date.

“It’s getting pretty late anyways. We can always watch this another time or something. Go ahead for your meeting.” You said.

Andre smiled at you before he leaned in. You felt the warmth of his lips on your cheek, which sort of startled you because it was an unexpected gesture. When he pulled away, he grinned, “Thank you for understanding. I’ll be here by tomorrow morning.”

Then you watched him get up, causing you to stand as well so you could walk him out to the door. When the door was opened, you looked up at him, “Be safe on the way home, or to your meeting, or wherever the meeting is taking place whether its at home or not.”

“You’re rather adorable when you begin to ramble, aren’t you?” He chuckled, “But I’ll let you know when I get home. So don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

With that, you watched him leave and step into his truck before driving into the night.

You smiled to yourself. You weren’t quite sure where things would go between the two of you, but you hoped that maybe this could help you move on from the sheriff since that didn’t really seem to be going anywhere.

Somehow, though, it felt almost like you were cheating on Beau in a way. You didn’t think Beau knew you had feelings for him, but you wondered if this was right.

All you could do for the time being was wait and see what would happen next.

Beau, Jenny, and the other officers that were called to the site where Sean dropped the women off were successful on their mission.

Both Ember and Sidney were safe and sound, finally, and Jenny was talking with Sidney to see if there was any information on this Ace fellow that she could gather.

Ember was sitting on another ambulance with a blanket around her while a paramedic was checking on her. Both the girls would end up being taken to a hospital to check on their well being. As well as Ember’s baby. Beau knew that James would be elated to have his bride back. As for Sidney, you knew Lidia and their parents would be eager to see their family member again.

He was just glad that he was able to get these two women back safely. He just hoped that these girls could give them some kind of information.

Beau watched as the paramedics took the two girls away and Jenny walked towards him with her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

“What’d you find out?” Beau asked.

“Well, not a whole lot. Sean was wrong about this Ace fella buying from the Syndicate. I think it’s an entirely different operation. It’s still related to trafficking, but it’s a different organization. They were planning on letting Ember go anyway because apparently expecting mothers aren’t in the criteria. But they didn’t let her go because they figured she’d tell authorities.” Hoyt explained.

“I think we’re gonna have to figure out how to get in contact with Ace. Or at least locate him and we can figure out how to get them out of here before someone else gets taken.”

“That’s a great idea and all, but we’re gonna have to wait on some DNA results. We collected some cigarette buds and we think that any saliva collected could help us figure out if Ace is in the data base anywhere.”

“Well what are we supposed to do until then? Just sit around on our hands and hope for the best?”

Jenny sighed before she reached up and adjusted the jacket Beau was wearing, “We celebrate this victory. Ember and Sidney are safe and they’re going back to their families. And who knows, maybe this whole thing might be over when this Ace fella finds out that their operation was compromised and they may not come back to Helena.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“So, a way you can celebrate, Arlen, is you can get your ass down to Y/N’s house and apologize to her about missing out tonight. Find a way to make it up to her. Because you know damned well that ladies like her don’t stay single forever.”

Beau thought about it for a moment and he thought about how you sounded disappointed in that phone call when he said he wouldn’t be able to make it that night. He knew you were the understanding sort, so would you actually hold it against him?

“Yeah.. I suppose I could go over. She’ll want to know that Ember and Sidney are safe now.” He nodded.

So that was exactly what he did.

When Beau made it to your house, he saw that the porch light was still on. He half expected it to be turned off considering it was getting close to midnight. We’re you alright?

He stepped out of his car and looked down when he realized the bulletproof vest was still on. He took it off and tossed it into the car and shut the door. When he made it to your porch, he lifted a hand and gently knocked on the door, hoping that you would answer.

After a few moments of waiting, the door finally opened up. He saw you there with a messy bun, an AC/DC shirt and some sleeping shorts. You looked like you were ready for bed even if you looked wide awake.

“Beau? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s alright… I just wanted to check on ya.”

“Check on me? What for?” He heard the slightest chuckle in your voice and he smiled a little before he shook his head.

“Never mind, Darlin… I did want to say that we did finally get those two girls back. They should be on their way home either tonight or tomorrow morning once their released from the hospital. They had one of those routine checkups done as far as I know.” He admitted and he saw a smile appear on your face.

“That’s good. I’m glad things were able to work out. But you know you could have told me that on the phone. So why are you really here?”

Beau couldn’t help but wonder why he felt so hesitant now. Why was he there? What was he doing on your porch close to midnight? All of this could have been done over the phone, but he just wanted to see you, he supposed.

“I um… I wanted to apologize for missin’ movie night.”

“You know I’ll never hold the job against you, Beau. You did well tonight and I’m glad you guys were able to make sure those girls got back to their families before something bad happened.” You promised.

“Right.. but uh… I was wondering if there was some way I could make it up to you?” He asked and he watched you tilt your head to the side a little.

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I have the day off tomorrow. Maybe we can do something?” That was when he saw the expression in your face change.

“Um… tomorrow won’t exactly work for me. I’m supposed to be going on a uh.. friend date tomorrow.”

“A friend date?”

“Yeah, it’s with Andre. I’m just going to be showing him some of the fun spots in town. Nothing too fancy really.”

Beau felt this twinge of jealousy within him and he hated it. He didn’t like that you were going on a date with a guy you just met a couple of days ago. We’re you insane?! What if he was dangerous? What if he was just going to use you somehow?

All of these scenarios were playing in his mind and he wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

“Oh.. I see…”

“But if you still want to make things up to me…” He heard you trailing off for a moment, “This weekend, you and I should have a movie night at your place. Just the two of us. I’ll bring some marshmallows to roast and we can make s’mores.”

This was your request? You two have had plenty of movie nights together since Jenny or Cassie couldn’t make it once in a while if they were caught up with their own lives. But he couldn’t exactly recall the last time you said it should just be the two of you.

“I think that ought to be doable.” Beau smiled down at you.

“Good. So… I’ll see you at the coffee shop until then?” The hopefulness in your voice made that aching feeling in Beau’s stomach subside a little. He still didn’t trust Andre one bit. But at least he had something to look forward to he supposed. You did say it was just a friend date, whatever that means.

“I’ll be there.” He promised, “Now try and get some sleep. You shouldn’t be wide awake this late at night.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes a little before you stood taller on your tipped toes. Suddenly he felt your soft lips on his scruffy cheek, taking him by surprise.

“You need your sleep too, Sheriff. You’ve had a long night and you deserve the rest.” He heard you say and he gazed down at you.

“I’ll do my best, Sweetheart… Goodnight.” He said with a softer tone.

“Goodnight, Beau.” You replied and he watched you slowly shut the door.

Beau sighed and he ran a hand through his hair before he turned around and went to his car.

While he was walking, though, he got a phone call, causing him to let out a grumble to himself. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered while he got into the vehicle. “Arlen. What’s happening?”

“We need you to get to Irene’s house. I was wrong. I don’t think this is over, Beau.”

Hey guys! Thank you for reading! I hope you guys are enjoying this series so far! There’s more to this case than meets the eye and one has to wonder just who this Ace is. We’ll see where this goes!

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @fanfic-n-tabulous

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at home:

I had a very good birthday yesterday…went to a coin expo and geeked out with my dad, I bought a proof set of Irish and Norwegian currency (pre euro, nothing wrong with modern coins but it’s just neat to see what used to be minted) found a proof set of Vatican coins that were probably just novelty but it’s still cool (minted 1952)

There was a very nice gentleman who sold antique 925 silver jewelry that I bought a few sets of vintage clip on earrings from.

I’m going to pause, and preface this story with the universal truth that being patient and kind will pay off in the end.

Anyway, the first time I’m going through the jewelry that Very Nice Gentleman has to offer, it’s my first circuit of the whole expo, I want to budget accordingly, and there might be something that Pops Out to me later that I Just Have To Have. So I spend my first $70, circle around (I’ve been coming to this specific expo for about three years now so I recognize the vendors who have what I like) pick up my proof sets, and land back at Very Nice Gentleman’s booth.

I tell him straight up “Well, you guys definitely have the best jewelry selection in the whole expo.”

VNG: Oh, you should see the whole three boxes of stuff that I brought and haven’t even priced yet. I’ll sell you anything you want by weight.

Me: *spends the next hour helping an 80+ year old man sort literal sandwich bags full of antique silver jewelry, talking shit about living in New Mexico, and learning a fuck ton about Native American artist stamps, while his son (50s, economics professor in Fairbanks AK, talked shit about living in Alaska with him as well) checks on us periodically*

My dad, in the middle of all this: *catches my attention* Hey. Doin’ alright?

Me:…wanna see what your birthday present to me looks like?

My Dad: …yeah, alright. You like the same kind of stuff my mother did, so it’s at least going to be interesting. *proceeded to buy exactly one bracelet that was made out of “plantation 1948” silverware because “the only good thing that’s come out of the South in the last 50 years is their food. I hate the way they vote but good god they make some AWESOME ribs.”*

Me: *spends another 30 minutes sorting jewelry with VNG before birthday calls start coming in, I’m getting hungry, SO and mom and siblings all want to meet up, Dad is mia* hey, I need to check out or pay up, I’ve got my family wanting me, so I need to take off now.

VNG: Oh, yeah, let’s get you started then. *proceeds to ring up my purchases in the most painfully slow manner possible because he’s 80+ and all analog* (literally he had a calculator that printed out the receipts, it had a bunch of finger grime on the number keys, he’d clearly been using it for decades, honestly it was so awesome but super frustrating)

Me: *being patient, being nice and kind and friendly, regardless of the situation*

VNG: *rings me up, gives me my total, then WINKS and throws in a $50 pair of vintage clip-on, lapis lazuli with gold inlay earrings*

Me: *KARMA, BITCH! Be fucking nice to people All The Time Regardless of Circumstances!!!! VINDICATION!!!*

My Dad, after I found him again and told him the factual events: Sweet deal! Sometimes I’m actually glad when you don’t listen to me!

My dad’s advice to all of you would be “don’t ever say anything, at all if preferably, but only give yes or no answers to anyone who works in insurance or government.”

[n0ncooll2]

cartman is very improved in the special +kyman it is very late but i forgot about it

so the special starts with cartman at the doctor hearing about weight loss drugs but cartmans mom says she can’t afford it and you won’t believe it cartman doesn’t even argue with his mom about it omg cartman being not spoiled? but the doctor says he’s out of luck and cartmans a bit frustrated but instead of lashing out a lot he just begs the doctor saying that he hates the way he looks and not even being manipulative then the doctor proscribes him with Lizzo then the next important part of the special is in school and butters cartmans amazing friend realizes cartman is sad about something so he tells kyle and at first kyle says who cares and then after further inspection he says and then kyle thinks from his previous experiences “is this a trick?” see he does learn @wendytestabrat so then kyle gets mad at the worlds insurance company and their bullshit well either that or #KYMAN GET YOUR TEE SHIRTS HERE EVERYBODY but then they get to the place and the guy filing their claim or whatever is an absolute GOOF i’m sorry i had to say awful word and he’s typing so very slow and then they basically just say that but they won’t pay but then there is a way all they have to do is navigate the American healthcare system and it is A LOT of work now you might be wondering why is kyle filling out every form and doing everything he can well the answer is #KYMAN GET YOUR TEE SHIRTS HERE but then they’re basically tired of this shit so then kyle goes to rant to stan and kenny how it’s not fair how slim celebrities can get them but fat cartman can’t there’s a lot of kyman on kyle’s side in this but then they make the idea to MAKE THEIR OWN DRUGS AND SELL THEM for good intention ofc and stan and kenny don’t even question why kyle wants to do this so then they think they finished the drugs so then after some nice music and wannabe action movie quotes they inject it in cartman and then kyle says they should make more to help more people and another thing is cartman doesn’t say something like “Woah why do other people need these i want them all to myself” he just doesn’t do anything I thought i would add that but then all the sugar produced food companies get mad at the drugs which make you eat less as we see from randy not eating and cartman not eating the entirety of a “cereal bomb” don’t ask so after cartmans dream of being normal sized so he can say anything he wants and nobody can respond with “shut up fatass” or “oh yeah well your a fat fuck” anymore so cartmans about to take his second dose and then a gang off moms steals all their stuff anyways now they’re trying to get a new supply but something DEVASTATING happens cartman gave up and he’s about to end it all with an oppenheimer it’s a cereal bomb but with twinkies and gravy so after kyle says he’s not giving up and gives cartman a pep talk #KYMAN GYTSH but when then evil cereal mascots who practically lace their food with sugar and make people crave it want to put a stop to these drugs as they make people not crave so they find a really cheap supplier stans gang was relying on and they massacre the suppliers and since cartman gave up he decided an oppenhiemer wasn’t enough so he goes for some not 7 not 8 not 9 but 10 times more destructive than an oppenheimer word on the street is that it’s called a stormy daniels and kyle says he has a solution but cartman says the iconic phrase “forget it i’m goin DOWN with a stormy daniels” kyle says he found more weight loss drugs and that’s enough to convince cartman but there’s a small problem the mom gang + randy trys to steal it but randy does the right things and gets the weight loss drugs away from them but they chase him down with guns so after stan’s gang joins randy the cereal people com to destroy the drugs again so randy tells stan to shoot them and he denies but kyle says he will so after kyle shoots everyone cartman notices an obesity drug that fell on the vehicle and since the window was broken he went for it but failed … tumblr says i can’t write anymore so part is out rn on my blog

[luminouslotuses]

q!jaiden song dump………there’s a lot

anxieties (out of time) - the regrettes

what can i, what can i do? / can somebody give me a damn clue? / fear on my body like glue / can’t move, i can’t move, i can’t move / what can i, what can i say? / tellin’ myself that i’m okay / colors come after the rain

all of these anxieties / come over me, just let me breathe / are we just forever runnin’ out of time? / missin’ how it feels to really be alive / knock me down-down, up, back down / knock me down, i won’t back down

paint - the paper kites

this house has never been the same as before / it’s never felt warm, never felt warm / there’s something moving through the windows and walls / i’ve seen it before, seen it before / you left me living with a lingering soul / how little you know, how little you know

see where i am is where i’m wanting to be / i know what i need, know what i need / and there are many different places to see / i know how to dream, know how to dream / still there’s a wound and i’m moving slow / though it don’t show, though it don’t show

12345 - em beihold

and my neighbors’ screams are deafenin’ / so i’ve got the music blastin’ / feel the skin, the floor / the matches light the candle / hope it passes, smell the / one plant i can’t believe i kept alive / this must be what victory tastes like

instead of findin’ purpose / i could just sell insurance / or join a pyramid scheme / whatever the hell that means, oh / “you need a hug, are you alright?” / “nobody’s loved you much tonight” / only the mirror tells me i’m fine

before the line - dodie

i have an entire post on this one :]

not strong enough - boygenius

black hole opened in the kitchen / every clock’s a different time / it would only take the energy to fix it / i don’t know why i am

the way i am / not strong enough to be your man / i lied, i am / just lowering your expectations / half a mind that keeps the other second-guessing / close my eyes and count

there’s something in the static / i think i’ve been having revelations / coming to in the front seat, nearly empty / skip the exit to our old street and go home / go home alone

happy - mitski

happy came to visit me, he bought cookies on the way / i poured him tea, and he told me, “it’ll all be okay” / well, i told him i’d do anything to have him stay with me

i was in the bathroom, i didn’t hear him leave / i locked the door behind him, and i turned around to see / ooh, all the cookie wrappers and the empty cups of tea / well, i sighed and mumbled to myself, “again, i have to clean” / i sighed and mumbled to myself

and when you go, take this heart / i’ll make no more use of it when there’s no more you / and if you’re going, take the moon / then, maybe i will see you; in the night, i’ll see you

body and mind - girl in red

i’ve been in the deep end since i realized / there is a difference between body and mind / i’ve been at my lowest for the longest time / knowing my existence is not one of a kind

but i’ve had / my deepest cries for now / my heart’s out / my guard’s down

making the bed - olivia rodrigo

they’re changin’ my machinery, and i just let it happen / i got the things i wanted, it’s just not what i imagined

push away all the people who know me the best / but it’s me who’s been makin’ the bed / i’m so tired of being the girl that i am / every good thing has turned into something i dread / and i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head / but it’s me who’s been makin’ the bed

$20 - boygenius

pushing flowers that come up into the front of a shotgun / so many hills to die on

(take a break, make your escape) / gas, out of time, out of money / you’re doing what you can, just makin’ it run / (there’s only so much i can)

wait on me, i’m not ready / i still have to change, have to change, have to change

snow angel - reneé rapp

first to arrive, last to leave / what’s misery without company? / it’s hard to laugh when it’s hard to breathe

smiles hide what secrets keep / can’t tell a lie if you never speak / look in the mirror, she looks like me / but half-alive and twice as weak

if it kills me, i tried / if it kills me, i

[dunkzillla]

New Tricks for an Old Dog (9/10)

William Regal x Wheeler Yuta, Chuck Taylor x Wheeler Yuta

I’m so sorry this chapter took a little longer to get out! I ended up getting sick and I didn’t want to put out a half hearted attempt at anything while I was in pain med induced delirium! I hope that you enjoy this anyway, we’re so nearly at the end! Thank you for all your love and support!

Title: New Tricks for an Old Dog

Pairings: William Regal/Wheeler Yuta, Chuck Taylor/Wheeler Yuta

Ratings/Warnings: Language, Eating Disorders/Disordered Eating, Derogatory statements/langue about Sex Work.

Word Count: 4,087

Summary: A painful conversation, a bag of McDonald’s, and a happy ending.

Parts: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT

“Wheeler, I’ll ask again, who the hell was that?” Chuck asks again, and for the first time in a very long time, Wheeler sees the anger etched into Chuck’s features. Chuck hasn’t been angry in a long time, not since he got laid off from his job, and never, ever has he been angry at Wheeler.

“Could you just sit down please? So we can talk?”

Chuck dumps the laundry bag he’s brought with him at the end of the bed and sits down into the chair Regal was just occupying in such a heavy way that the feet scrape loudly against the floor.

“You’ve been cheating on me, that’s what this is, isn’t it?” Chuck accuses, arms crossing against his chest.

Wheeler feels sick to his stomach, and this time it’s not because of the pain medication he’s on or the horrible hospital food he’d eaten for lunch this afternoon. His face hurts, his wrist hurts, his body hurts, and his mind is a little fuzzy thanks to the concussion. Chuck confronting him about Regal is the very last thing he wanted at this moment in time, even though he knew it was going to happen sooner or later. But he can’t make himself wish Regal didn’t come. Because seeing the man made him feel a million times better than he did when he woke up this morning, the first thought of waking consciousness being that he’s missing work, and that he couldn’t afford the hospital bills with no insurance.

“Yes… but not, not in the way you’re thinking.”

Chuck scoffs at him, “Yeah? What’s the excuse then, Wheeler? You slipped and fell?”

It’s cruel, given the circumstances, but Wheeler feels that he does deserve it in some way. He has been cheating on Chuck. Chuck has a right to be upset.

“I’ve been… I was an escort. I didn’t work at a gas station, it never existed. I was on the street, selling myself so we could afford to live.”

Wheeler can feel Chuck looking at him but he can’t meet his eyes, he’s looking down at the bottom of the bed, where he can see his feet sticking up under the blanket.

“You’re joking with me. Wheeler, tell me you’re joking.”

Wheeler feels that thick feeling in his throat, the tell tale sign that he’s about to cry, and he shakes his head, trying to stave it away.

“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, but it was, it was really good money, Chuck. Money that we desperately needed. Sometimes I made more at night than I did in a week at Starbucks.” Wheeler tells him, still looking down at the end of the bed because he can’t bear to look at Chuck, who’s face must be twisted with horror and disgust.

“How long? How many men?”

Wheeler swallows, fiddling it’s the end of the bandage on his wrist. It’s burned from the milk, apparently, that spilled all over him when he passed out. It’s sore and itchy and all he wants to do is rip the bandage off and scratch at it with all his might.

“Nearly a year, but I can’t tell you how many… I never kept track,” Wheeler says, feeling disgusted in himself in a way that he never has before. “Six months ago I met Regal. He came to see me one night, and he paid more than any other man ever has. He kept coming back, I became his personal escort. I attended a charity event as his date. He paid me a lot of money Chuck. Money that kept us with a roof over our head and a tiny bit of food in the fridge.”

“You didn’t need to cheat on me to do that, Wheeler.”

“Maybe not, but I was desperate, Chuck. Do you actually know how much debt we’re in? How much it costs for you to sit in the apartment all day running up the electric bill?”

“We’re not that bad off that you had to sell your fucking body, Wheeler!”

“Yes we are!” Wheeler raises his voice, instantly regretting it as his head throbs. He rubs at his eyes with his uninjured hand, feeling them damp with tears and sore from exhaustion. “Why do you think I’m in here, Chuckie? Without me working two jobs we can’t make rent, let alone any other bills and food. I’m overworked. I’m exhausted, I’m malnourished, because I don’t have the time or money to eat. I eat what I can at work. But it’s not enough. Working the street gave me the kind of disposable income that meant I could pay the rent, the bills and buy food. Regal fed me every single day, so much that I actually started putting weight on.”

“If he’s so great, how did you end up here? You didn’t suck his dick right? So he stopped feeding you?”

The words are cruel and callous but Wheeler understands that Chuck is hurt and lashing out, so he takes each blow as he picks at his fingers.

“A few months ago Regal told me that he has feelings for me. He asked me to stay with him, he told me he’d take care of me.” Wheeler says quietly, and there’s a heavy feeling in his chest as he remembers that night. How wonderful the night was until Wheeler ruined it all.

“Oh, did he now?”

“And I said no, Chuck. I said no because I knew what I was doing was wrong, and that it wasn’t fair to you. I said no because I have feelings for him too and I realised it had gone too far, so I left. I stopped escorting and I was going to look for something else, something better. I’d got a good chunk of money left from what he’d given me so I knew we’d be okay. Then we had the flood, and you spent the last of it on your set up so I had to get another job. The restaurant is real, Chuckie I promise you. The day I told you I got let go from the gas station is the day I stopped seeing him. Today is the first day I’ve seen him since then.”

Wheeler finally looks at Chuck, who’s got his head buried in his hands trying to make sense of everything that he’s being told.

“You love that old man?”

Wheeler doesn’t think he’s let himself utter the word love about Regal. Regal told him he loved him the night that he left, and Wheeler knows the feeling he’s got inside of him definitely is love, he’s just, not said it before. Not to himself and not to Regal.

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Wheeler answers instantly. It’s automatic. He does love Chuck. He does. He did, he always has. It’s just. William Regal is the light in his life that he so desperately needs, that he’s so desperately been searching for. He always used to see the way his father’s face lit up when he came home from work, and his mother was at the stove or helping Wheeler with his homework at the kitchen table, he’d look at her and drop everything, his briefcase and suit jacket and just embrace her, kissing her and telling her how much he’d missed her, how happy he was to be home. Wheeler’s always been searching for that feeling, and maybe he thought he found it with Chuck at the beginning of their relationship. When Chuck would get home from his stuffy office job and collapse on the couch, telling Wheeler about his bad day and saying how great it was to finally be home.

He realises now that that was just normal coming home from work talk. That as soon as Chuck started playing his video games for work that feeling went away, Wheeler was the one coming home wanting to talk about his bad day and curl into Chuck but Chuck couldn’t look away from his games long enough to hold Wheeler in his arms and make him feel better. So Wheeler lost that feeling that his father clearly had about his mother. But seeing Regal. That really did feel like that feeling. Every time he saw the Rolls Royce on the side of the curb it was like there were thousands of butterflies in his stomach, erupting into a frenzy at just the mere thought of getting into the car and seeing Regal. That’s the feeling he’s been chasing, the one he doesn’t get with Chuck.

“I do. Chuck I do love you, but, the way I feel about him is… it’s completely different.”

“Yeah, it’s to do with the size of his bank account.”

“No, no it’s not. I couldn’t care less about the size of his bank account. He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. He cares about me, he cares about my day and my health and he listens when I talk —“

“I do all of that!”

“You don’t,” Wheeler’s voice cracks on the words, and he feels tears start to run down his cheeks. He’s never, ever wanted to have to confront Chuck about his failings as a boyfriend. He’s gone above and beyond just to let him live his dream, the life he wants, he never wanted this to happen. “You sit on your PlayStation more than eighteen hours a day. When I come home from work most of the time you barely spare me a glance, and when you do you’re usually trying to start something, when I’m tired and don’t have time. You eat every single bit of food I can afford and you never, ever save anything for me, you don’t make me anything or get me anything if you order food. You complain about me being skinny and tell me to eat but you don’t do anything to actively take care of me, Chuck. I pay the bills. I take care of the apartment. I work. I do everything, everything, just to let you live out this crazy dream of playing video games for a living. I resorted to selling myself, because you didn’t see that winning barely two hundred dollars a month isn’t enough to keep a roof over our heads!” Wheeler feels his head throb as he gets worked up, as he thinks about how he’s been living for the past year.

“You should have come to me before you decided to get fucked by other men for money, Wheeler! I would have sorted something, gotten a job or —“

“No you wouldn’t.” Wheeler almost whimpers, rubbing furiously at his eyes. “When the apartment flooded and I begged you not to use the money I’d made to buy your set up, I told you to get a job and pay for it yourself and what did you do? You spent the money! That’s why I had to take the job at the restaurant. The money you used was my last bit left over from Regal and I was trying to ration it until I could get a better paying job than Starbucks. I asked you to get a job and you didn’t.”

“I think if you’d have told me you were having thoughts of being a whore for money I would have gotten a job, Wheeler.”

Wheeler shakes his head. Chuck doesn’t see it, does see that he basically gave up his own life for Chuck to have his.

“I love William, Chuck. And I don’t care whether he’s got a massive bank account or not, I’ll work until the day I die to make my own money because I’m not looking for a pay day, I'm looking for someone who loves me more than anything in the world. And I’m not saying you don’t love me, but William… he… he would do anything for me. And I mean anything, whether it had monetary value or not. He will go to the ends of the earth to make sure I know he loves me.”

“So you’re leaving me, huh?”

“Chuck, I’m sorry, I love you I —“

“Honestly Wheeler I’d say I can’t believe it but Trent and Orange warned me about you, and I guess I was too stupid to see it.”

Wheeler nearly gives himself another concussion with how quick he whips his head to look at Chuck when those words come out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“They always said you were looking to be a kept boy. I mean, you had nothing when you came to this city, and they always said you made a beeline for me cos’ I look like a big dumb bear who’ll fall for anything. I took care of you, I looked after the little lost kid who was sleeping on the floor of a friend's apartment. I helped you when you had no one else, Wheeler. And they always said you’d leave me when you could but I always told them they were wrong, that you loved me. I should have listened to them.”

Wheeler feels something inside of him crumble and crack. He’s always known Trent didn’t like him, there was just something about him that made Trent pick at him whenever they were around each other, especially if there was beer involved. Orange wasn’t much of a talker, and he’s generally a laid back guy who didn’t make Wheeler feel like there was any animosity at all. So to know that both of them have been talking behind his back, telling Chuck that he’s looking to be a kept boy, that, that really hurts.

“Chuck, this is not about —“

“You say you love me but you’re leaving me for a man who has all the money in the world to give you what you want, you whored yourself —“

“Don’t you dare! I know you’re angry and I know you’re upset and you have every right to be but do not make this out to be something it’s not. I never, ever looked at you as someone to take care of me like that. I did not and do not want to be kept by anyone. I fell in love with you the day I met you, you were this big, loveable goof who made my cheeks hurt from smiling and my stomach cramp from laughing. I wanted to build a life with you, we started to build that life, I worked, you worked, we managed to buy our apartment, we were creating something special, Chuck. I have never, ever asked you to take care of me. I gave my quality of life for yours, because I loved you so goddamn much, I loved you so much that seeing your face when you talked about getting accepted into tournaments and winning money made having to cram myself into footwells of cars in the middle of the night sucking random dick for twenty dollars worth it. I did absolutely everything and anything I could to give you your dream life. It has damn near killed me. You can be angry at me for cheating on you and falling in love with someone else, that’s fine, but don’t you, or your stupid, enabling little friends, ever, ever accuse me of wanting to be yours or anyone’s kept boy.” Wheeler spits the last words, they taste horrible and dirty in his mouth.

“Wheeler—“

“Just, go, Chuck. Please just go.” He says, exhausted and hurt, both physically and emotionally.

A voice that Wheeler wasn’t expecting speaks instead of Chuck, the door to the room opening.

“This lowlife causing trouble, kid?”

Jon Moxley is standing in the doorway, an overfull bag of McDonald’s stuffed under his arm. He’s staring at Chuck with a hard look on his face, the hand on the door handle is white from how hard he’s clenching it.

“Mox, what—“

“This someone you fucked for a box of twinkies?”

“That how much you think he’s worth, Chuckles? Doesn’t surprise me, considering you’ve melted your brain away playing a goddamn kids game.”

“It’s not—“

“I don’t give a shit. Get outta here. And if you show your face again I ain’t letting you walk away with it intact, got it?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Chuck is pushing his way past Mox and leaving, his tall frame disappearing out of the door and down the hall. It’s not the end of it, Wheeler knows that, there’s still a million more things he could say, that Chuck could say, but they won’t change anything, so it’s enough for now. It’s about as much as Wheeler can take right now, anyway.

“What are you doing here?” Wheeler asks as Mox dumps the McDonald’s bag into Wheeler’s lap and slumps down into the chair next to the bed.

“His lordship needed someone to bring his car here seeing as Bryan drove him over. Thought I’d bring you some real food while I did, I know this place gives out slop and calls it high quality food.” Mox says, his hands shoved into his pockets and his whole body relaxed and loose in the chair.

“Thank you,” Wheeler says, and he opens the bag, finding it crammed with boxes of fries and burgers. He takes out a pack of fries and a cheeseburger before handing the bag to Mox.

“I brought it for you, kid.”

“I’ve been eating a wheat cracker and out of date sandwiches for months, I won’t be able to eat all this. Eat with me?”

Mox makes a face before reaching for the bag. He digs into the fries like a man with no food manners at all. It makes Wheeler smile, because the first thing he thinks is that Regal must tell him off all the time, he can practically hear it in his head. Wheeler unwraps the burger and takes a small bite. It tastes heavenly. He hasn’t eaten McDonalds in so long.

“I’m sorry, for how I treated you.” Mox says. It’s quiet and around a mouthful of fries, but Wheeler hears it.

“You don’t—“

“Nah, I do. It wasn’t fair. I’m very protective of the old man, found him in a bad way when we first met and me, Bry and Claudio don’t want anything to happen to him to get him back that way. And I saw a lot of guys take him for his money, he’s a soft touch and he’ll just hand it out like he’s candy. I don’t wanna see him taken advantage of,” Mox says as he munches down fries.

“But I didn’t listen to him when he told me you weren’t like that. Shouldn’t have called you a whore, either. I had… my own stuff with em’ once upon a time but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” Mox says. Wheeler takes another bite of his burger, savouring the taste and not wanting to get full up too quick by eating too fast.

“Thank you, but I understand. I’m glad he’s got people like you and Bryan to look after him. He is generous, way too generous, but it’s a big reason why I love him.”

Mox shoves half the burger into his mouth. “You really love im’?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Wheeler says. Just because he hadn’t said it or really thought about that word concerning Regal before now doesn’t make it not true. He does love him. He loves the man so, so much. “And I want to be with him, in any way he’ll have me. I promise I’m not trying to take advantage of him. I'm not looking for his money. I know it’s probably empty words from someone who was paid to be with him but… I really, really love him.”

“You walked out on it when you knew it was getting rough. He told me you wouldn’t let him give you anymore money. I know, kid. I’ve just been a stubborn ass.” Mox sighs, finishing off his food and tossing the wrappers into the paper bag. Yuta takes another bite of his burger and chews on a couple of fries. His stomach’s already starting to get full but he knows that he’s not going to be wondering where his next meal comes from, and that makes him feel so, so much better.

Mox talks to him while Wheeler eats, managing to finish the burger and only leave a handful of fries, which, once he sees Mox eyeing them he offers them to him and they disappear.

Mox is in the middle of telling him about his boyfriend Eddie’s three am drunken antics when Regal comes back into his room, his eyes widening a little at seeing Mox sitting in the chair.

“Jonathon, what are you doing here? If you’ve been harassing—“

“Ah don’t fret, old man. I brought you your car like you asked, and got the kid some McDonalds cos’ I heard he’s malnourished.”

“Thank you, Jon, for bringing my car, though Wheeler needs real food, not your American fast food, to build up strength.”

Mox rolls his eyes, “Yeah yeah, Swiss is already working on some stuff. But look at him. Brighter already!”

“What happened with Mr Taylor?” Regal steps further into the room, and Mox stands up to give him the chair.

“He was being a huge asshole so I told him to take a hike.” Mox grumbles.

Regal looks at Wheeler and takes his hand, which is still a little greasy from the fries. “Are you okay?”

Wheeler nods. “It wasn’t easy, he said some really horrible things. Like apparently his friends always thought I was trying to make myself his kept boy and he’s completely disgusted by me but. I said what I needed to.”

“Trying to make yourself a kept boy? You worked two jobs to —“

“I know, I know,” Wheeler says, squeezing Regal’s hand to calm down the anger that’s so clearly threatening to boil up. They don’t need to do that right now, he just needs him, by his side, making him feel like he’s walking on air. “It’s over now. I’m yours now, William, if you’ll have me.”

“Always, darling, always.”

“Okay gross I’m leaving. Old man, your car’s on the top floor of the parking lot, like the fourth row down on the end.” Mox says, passing Regal the keys to his car. He takes them with one hand, the other is still cradled in Wheeler’s on the bed.

“Thank you, Jonathon. I appreciate it, I really do.” He says, and Wheeler knows he means more than just dropping off his car for him.

“Ah don’t, it’s nothing. I’ll see you back at home. Take care of yourself, kid.”

Wheeler smiles. Mox has some misplaced anger at escorts, and misplaced fears about what Wheeler is really like, but he’s trying to make up for that, and he’s thankful for it, and glad that he’s so fiercely protective of Regal. “Thank you.”

Mox gives them a wave before he’s ducking out of the room and down the hall. The room falls silent for a moment, both of them watching Mox disappear before Regal turns back to him.

“Oh darling. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Wheeler squeezes his hand again, lifting his injured one up to run through the short hair at the side of Regal’s hair. “I’m sorry I left before. I really thought I could fix everything, that Chuck… might change.”

“My love, I understand, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. It was selfish of me to ask you to stay like that when we hadn’t even spoken about our feelings for each other, and you were still with Chuck, no matter how rotten he is. That was selfish of me and I’m sorry. But we can put that behind us now, Wheeler. And if you are mine, I’d really like to start building our future.”

“I am yours, and I’d really like that too.” Wheeler says, and he does, he really likes it, he really, really likes it and he wants nothing more than to just be with Regal.

Regal kisses his palm. “May I kiss you, darling?

Wheeler feels all his insides warm and his heart tries to burst through his chest. He’s missed this feeling so much. Missed the feeling of waiting to be kissed by Regal, missed the feeling of being kissed by Regal. Missed being loved by him, and now he gets it back. He can have Regal.

“Forever William. You can kiss me forever.” He whispers.

[writingcorvid]

Skin And Bones

It was an odd thing, when that letter arrived. It was mid-October, and during a bored day of being cooped up in my apartment, I had a letter come through the mail slot. The return address was some insurance company I can’t remember the name of, and enclosed within were the details of an inheritance. It took me a couple of reads to remember exactly who it was talking about; a semi-distant relative of mine, an uncle on my mothers side. We didn’t see much of him, as he spent most of his days living in a sequestered little valley way up north. My mom didn’t talk about him much though, as he was much older than her. In high school by the time she was old enough to have memories that lasted that long, and he was long gone to college before she was even ten. 

Details get muddy there. He had a habit of falling into weird, esoteric occult-type stuff, from what I heard. A common fear among my grandparents was that he joined a cult, and that fear transitioned into him potentially becoming the new Ted Kaczynski once he wrote a letter saying he was going off grid. Bought a plot of land near some mountains up north, and decided that a more simple life was better for him. Thankfully, no such thing happened, but contact from him was sparse. Cards came at Christmas or for important birthdays, more often than not arriving either a week early or week late, and usually accompanied by some odd gift. A necklace made from a bucks antler, a wolf’s tooth, or something similar. Well-made, to his credit. On my 18th birthday, he even sent me an old buck knife. Weird, but not totally irresponsible. 

It became clear though that over time he was doing worse and worse. His handwriting became a bit less smooth and more scratchy, occasionally repeating words or even entire sentences. The quality of the gifts at Christmas became worse and worse, and before long, they stopped. And of course, the letter I held in my hands that day confirmed what happened. He passed in his sleep at a hospital in the nearest town to where he lived. The exact specifics were a bit muddy, and it was hard to tell exactly why he was there. The main suspects were either some sort of accident like falling down a hill, or even being attacked by an animal. 

I earned a small settlement of cash, but alongside that, I earned the right to his property up to the north. Life had me burnt out, and I welcomed a change of pace. Not as if I had anything else to do, I did have to head up and see what I wanted to do with the property anyway, be it to keep it, rent it out, or just simply sell it. I talked to my job, and they gave me a month off as “grieving” time. The next day, I packed some bags, loaded up my car, and drove northward. The drive itself was almost 6 hours, and it was an interesting change of scenery. My familiar urban setting of tall, bland office buildings of steel and glass, to the occasional humble farmstead every few kilometres, and eventually finding large, mountainous hills around me. 

I swapped towers of metal and glass for towers of stone, capped with snow. The property itself was within a small valley between two such hills, driving up a dirt road and cresting around the outside of a quaint little pond. Tall pine trees surrounded me on each side as the car gently rocked back and forth as I approached the house. Or at least, it’s what my uncle called it. It was well-made for sure, but quaint. Humble and simple, a log cabin with a faint metal chimney stack emerging from the far left side. A bit to the right and behind it was a small wooden shed, a wire of some kind running from underneath the shed door to the back of the house, and partially obscured by snowfall. I could see a few small windows running along the side of the house as well, curtains drawn. No lights appeared to be on.

The shed was the first place I checked, hearing a low rumbling as I approached. At first I was scared, thinking it was some kind of animal growling or something. I pulled open the door, and thankfully my fear was abated. Just a generator rumbling, with plenty of full gas cans beside it, and the generator itself seemed to be quite stocked up on fuel. From there, I went to the front of the house, and to the door. I walked up, unlocked the door, which I had the shoulder-check to get to properly open. Suppose that meant it kept the cold out well enough. 

The space clearly hadn’t seen much use in a while. A small but fine layer of dust covered just about everything I could see, with a few of my uncle’s old things still present. A spare coat and pair of boots sat next to the door, a couple family photos hung up on walls or sat on shelves. To my left was a wood stove next, and to the right of that was a large window, facing out into the woods. There was a bear-skin rug on the floor, with a few chairs positioned there, and a small table with a radio on it. Suppose he used that to keep up with current events. 

To the right of the furniture was a large bookshelf, crammed full of various books, old and new, with seemingly no rhyme or reason behind organization. Survival guides and manuals were intermixed with books about indigenous legends, and the odd novel for entertainment. Mostly horror and mystery type stuff, if I had to guess about them. 

A hallway led down to the right, revealing a doorway to a kitchen on the right, another closed door beyond that, and two other doors on the left, and a last one at the end of the hall. The first on the left was a bathroom, then a bedroom, and a simple closet space. Turning to the final door on the right, I was instantly hit with a foul stench and almost gagged as I turned to open the door. I covered my mouth and nose with my coat before opening up the doorway. 

I was met with a room buzzing with flies and filled with old, rotting meat. Clearly some sort of butcher room for whatever animals my uncle caught and killed to eat, evidenced by the pelts, furs, horns, antlers and other such inedible pieces. It seems he didn’t have the time to clean it up before being hospitalized. I retreated outside before I gagged too hard and began opening the windows and doors to start wafting out the smell. 

I spent the next hour or so pulling in boxes and bags from my car, both to package up my uncle’s old belongings and to unpack my own things for the month I’d be staying here. A room filled with half-rotted animal carcasses definitely won’t help the resale value. I thanked God and myself that I packed some masks, though they didn’t do much to keep the smell out, and I began to remove what was left out. I wasn’t too sure how to dispose of it all. I was certain that uncle just tossed pieces out to decompose and feed the soil or wild animals, but I doubt he threw it several garbage bags worth. It took me another hour just getting what I could into garbage bags without vomiting, and dragging it out as far into the woods as I could without getting lost. I didn’t want a bear or something to follow me home, after all.

I plugged in a fan next to the room to air out the smell through the open window, grabbed a mop and plenty of soap, and began to wash it down. By the time I was done and the smell was finally beginning to dissipate, it was well into the night hours. The moon was high in the sky, and devoid of light pollution in the surrounding area, I could clearly see both it and plenty of stars. A beautiful sight to at least put a bit of a better mood into a day mostly filled with what felt like endless driving, or half-rotting gore. After liberally spraying air freshener around the room, I retired to bed. Sleep came surprisingly easy with how tired I was from the day’s work. 

The next day, I took a very long shower to fully make sure the stink of rot was washed out of my clothes, and walked over towards the butcher room. The smell was slightly better from last time, but definitely needed more time to air out. I turned to leave, but noticed something just outside the window. I walked over to get a better look, and was more than a bit confused by what I saw. Hanging from a partially protruding nail was what looked to be a dreamcatcher. Small but ornate, sticks and twigs held together by blades of grass used in place of twine. 

I didn’t recall seeing it yesterday, but I figured it wasn’t too out of place. Uncle was very much into this bizarre spiritualistic type of stuff, so I thought nothing of it. I decided to let it hang while I opened up the window and let the fan continue to air out the horrid smell. In the meanwhile, I turned to the main area and began to put together my uncle's old things that I figured no one would want. Better to be donated and get some use. He was all about taking as little as he could and giving back as much as he could, so I figured he wouldn’t mind donations of old clothes, boots, and coats. 

I had gotten about 45 minutes into packing boxes full of my uncle’s old belongings, before I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I assumed I had just left the window open for so long that I got cold, but it wasn’t that. Everything else felt about room temperature. A sense of unease washed over me, a sensation like I wasn’t alone, a creeping dread in the back of my mind. 

Was it just some odd bout of homesickness? Being out in such alien and unfamiliar territory? Or was something truly wrong here? I sat up a bit more and looked around the room, and I swore for the briefest of moments that I saw an antler outside the main window of the living room. I blinked, and it was gone. I instantly shot up, grabbed my coat, and ran outside. 

I ran around to the side of the house, and before I rounded the corner, the smell hit me. I turned and saw the bag of rotting animal parts I had dragged out last night. It was now sitting, slumped up against the side of the house, ripped open and about half of the gorey mass within now gone. Not spilling out across the ground. Gone. The bag was ripped into, but why was it still so bizarrely neat? Why was it here? How was it here?

There was not a track in the snow nor a drop of gross meat-drippings in sight. With a huff I grabbed a pair of gloves and began to drag the remains back out into the woods, this time turning the raw pieces of carcass out into the snow and aimed to dispose of the empty bag once I had gotten home. 

I walked back towards the house, and saw another one of those dreamcatchers. Hanging right above the door, which was still open a crack. I froze outside the doorway, my heart stopping and breath hitching in my throat. I was certain that there wasn’t one there before. I wasn’t taking any more chances, and pulled out my phone to take a picture of the front of the house. Two dreamcatchers, one at the window of the butcher, and one just outside the main door. 

I went back inside and thoroughly examined every inch of the house with my old buck knife in hand. Thankfully, nothing out of place, nothing missing. Not even a speck of out of place dirt. I checked the closet, bedroom, every possible crawlspace where anything could have hidden, and thankfully found nothing. 

Thankfully, nothing else had really happened through the rest of the day either. At some point I made myself some dinner with some edible food stored in the kitchen, but most of the day was spent continuing to pack boxes full of stuff that no one else would take. I decided to leave the books. No TV or cell phone signal out here, so books would probably be the best thing to pass the time out here. Not that I was really complaining, I had plenty of books I had been meaning to read for a long time and simply haven’t had the time. May as well utilize my month off to the fullest.

I was done by the early evening, so I sat on one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs and began looking through the books for anything of interest. I wasn’t surprised to see Hatchet there, and began reading that. It seemed fitting, considering the circumstances. I sat there, read, and did my best to relax for the rest of the evening. But now that I wasn’t focused on work, that bizarre, creeping fear crept back into my mind as I processed the day's events. Why was there another new dreamcatcher? I was gone for only about half an hour, how could someone have come by and placed it there, without a trace? And doubly goes for the rotting bag of meat. 

I was only able to get a couple pages into the book before I really stopped reading, and did my best to think about it all. Eventually I decided to just sleep on it, sprayed a bit more air freshener into the butcher room, and went to sleep. Maybe those dreamcatcher’s aren’t so bad, as sleep came fairly quickly to me. That or I was more exhausted than I realized from packing boxes and lugging another bag of rotting meat around. 

I awoke on my side facing towards the window, and almost screamed when I saw it. Another one of those dreamcatchers. How many of those things were there? How were they getting there? I sat up with a shock and ran towards the window, looking outside. Still no tracks as far as I could tell. 

I looked back up more at it, and my heart fell into my stomach as I looked closer. It wasn’t just made from twigs, sticks, and leaves anymore. Small bones adorned the bottom, hanging like some kind of macabre windchime. I quickly went out, throwing my coat on and ran out towards the back of the house. I took another picture of the back of the house, and then the sides. I was already certain that dreamcatcher wasn’t there already, but that was definitive proof that I truly wasn’t going insane. There should be only 3 dreamcatchers, definitively, and now I have evidence of it. 

I looked around the side of the house and found no tracks that really indicated anything. Only what seemed to be deer tracks based on the hooves, but I wasn’t any sort of hunter or expert tracker. They sort of snaked around the house in a weird pattern, almost like the deer wasn’t entirely sure how to walk yet. But they seemed too large for a newborn, and it wasn’t dragging snow like it was lame or limping. Eventually they snaked back off into the woods, disappearing through the treeline. 

I decided I had enough of whatever weirdness was going on, and got in my car, driving off towards the nearby town. A quick little trek for some food and drink to stock up a bit better, and I bought some trail cameras to place around the property to hopefully get a better understanding at just what seemed to be going on at night around here. Whatever it was, it was quiet enough to not wake me despite being so close to the house, and it didn’t leave tracks, but I knew something had to be going on out there.

I pulled into the valley to start driving towards the house, and saw a deer of some kind staring at me from behind a tree. I think it was a deer, anyway. It stood almost awkwardly, and its eyes shone like tiny yellow pinpricks in the dark cover of the trees. It just stood there, staring at me as I passed by. I checked the rearview mirrors, and the thing was gone. Just thinking about it sent a chill up my spine. 

Once I arrived at the house I unloaded the food, and then took a little trek in the woods, both to get some fresh air and hopefully clear my mind, but also to set up these trail cams and see if they would catch anything. 

I had three of them, and set two up at the front left corner, and back right corner of the cabin respectively, capturing one of the smaller sides as well as either the front or back of the house. The third I brought in deeper with me to where I dropped the bag of rotting meat, which thankfully was almost completely gone save for some pink-colored snow where I dumped the contents out. I set it there, watching out around that area, affixing them all to trees and stumps to get as clear of a view as I possibly could have. I hoped that it would work.

I made my way back to the house and sat down on one of the chairs in the main room to relax, and my eyes wandered to the bookshelf. Chock full of weird, esoteric type stuff, as was fitting for him. Plenty of old folklore tales about old Indigenous myths and other such things. Was he onto something with all of this? I didn’t consider myself very spiritually inclined, but even I couldn’t help that he knew something more was going on out here. And he was closest to this place than anyone else, much more than I was at the very least. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as we thought. 

I leaned over and turned on the radio, seeking to drown out my thoughts with music in an effort to relax. Some kind of oldies station came on, cheesy but the nice tunes helped to recenter my mind and help me relax a bit. And I didn’t know much about old radios like this to really desire to flip between the various channels. Overall, not the worst thing I could have been listening to at the moment. 

I closed my eyes to relax, and in doing so, let my mind wander a bit too much, and wound up falling asleep. I began to stir awake, hearing a low thud of some kind from outside. It came again, much louder, and I jolted awake. I rubbed my eyes to let them adjust, and they turned to the window to try and garner what time it was. It was pitch black outside, as far as I could see. I got up and stepped outside, only to be practically blinded when I opened the door. It was about mid afternoon, the sun beaming right down to the front of the house. 

At first I was confused, and then absolute terror set in. I ran over to the side of the house, and almost fell flat on my ass when I saw what was there. It was a carcass, draped across the side of the house, of what looked to be a young moose by my guest. An entire back leg was missing, and it looked like it had been torn apart by… something. I wanted to assume maybe a pack of wolves or even a bear, but why was it here? How was it here? Did it try to flee up the side of the house only to succumb to its wounds? I ran out to the trail camera on that side of the house and retrieved it, bringing it inside to see the photos. 

It was obviously still bright out when the photo was taken, so it was blurry. I couldn’t see much of the treeline itself, but I could see the spot where its body would end up. The motion activated camera took only one picture, the moose body mid-motion, almost as if it was being launched towards the roof and edge of the house. It offered no insights, but at least it confirmed one thing for me, and it’s that something, somehow, put the corpse there. Or more aptly, managed to launch the corpse there. 

I sat down for another few minutes, gathering my thoughts and courage to get back out there, as the steady realization that I so willingly ran out towards… Whatever caused that settled into my mind. I counted myself lucky that I wasn’t strung up and torn apart like the moose just outside. 

I took a breath and collected myself, slipping back outside as I cautiously crept to the other side, thankfully seeing nothing else except the torn apart carcass of the moose, still oozing blood along the side of the house. I walked over and placed the camera back where it was, and not taking my eyes off of the moose. I found what looked like a large tree branch, and used it to push the body off of the side of the house, falling and crumpling to the ground with a few wet, stomach-churning slaps. I did my best to hold back a couple of gags. 

I simply stood there in amazement and bewilderment at the body. What could have done such a thing to it? I looked up at the edge and saw it worn away at some of the wooden logs that built up the house, denting and splintering off some pieces. Moreover, what the hell was I going to do with an almost entire moose carcass?

I paced back and forth as I considered my options. Should I call somebody? What would I even tell them, that a dead moose fell on my roof? It looked young and a bit small, so I could have dragged it out into the woods to decompose and let other woodland animals eat it. Clearly my fears of not letting a bear or pack of wolves or some other predator too close to the house were unfounded, as they were content to chase a moose all the way over here. 

Eventually, that’s what I settled on. Maybe if I gave them some food they’d be content to leave me alone? I know I’ve heard people talk about not wanting to feed wild animals, but I assumed that was more for urban settings so they don’t run into people's backyards and trash. Here, the animals were already in my backyard. If anything, I moved into theirs. I assumed that if I gave them the food, they’d see it as some kind of peace offering and leave me alone, play nice? I dragged it out a bit further into the woods just so that I wouldn’t be disturbed by wolves or bearings tearing it apart.

But… I had no clue how correct that assumption was. After another thorough shower, I went to bed, doing my best to get the image of that… torn apart animal out of my head, and I awoke to an animal call. It was still the middle of the night, pitch black as I looked out the window. This time not a stand in for another moose corpse, this really was the outside as I could see the trees bathed in the moonlight. 

It sounded like some kind of animal call, I think? I couldn’t place what it was, but something about it sent a chill up my spine. Was it sick or injured? Starving? 

I heard it again, this low, dissonant wail. And that’s when I realized it almost sounded like a person imitating it. Fury filled me as everything sort of clicked in place to me. Of course, this must have been the prank of some dipshit teens with nothing better to do. Probably caused my uncle to have an accident. Impudent little brats. 

I got dressed, threw on my coat, and grabbed an old rifle that was hung up on one of the walls for hunting. I stepped outside, and began yelling into the night. 

“I know you’re out there, and I’m armed! This is my property, so I’ve got the legal right to shoot at anyone trespassing!” I started barking out, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to tell that I had absolutely no idea how to shoot a gun. I heard footsteps, twigs breaking and leaves crunching. 

“Come on out here and show yourself!” I barked, when they stepped out into the moonlight, staring right at me. Not a person, not entirely anymore. My heart dropped in an instant and my eyes practically bulged out of my skull. 

A humanoid figure stood at the edge of the tree-line, staring right at me. It looked like a woman, but emaciated, and impossibly tall. She was wiry thin and looked to only be skin and bones, but she must have been almost 8 feet tall. Maybe more. She wore only a simple loincloth across her breasts and groin. Her head wasn’t human at all. Some kind of deer skull, with massive antlers, and pinprick yellow eyes staring right at me. Her hands ended in massive claws that would no doubt tear me to shreds. And her legs were large and furred like some animal, ending in hooves. 

I almost fell over in sheer shock as I scrambled back inside, slamming the door shut behind me. I heard more footsteps, and watched as the figure came to the side window. I gripped the rifle and kept aiming there, hoping it would serve as some intimidation factor despite being completely empty, I think, and myself having no clue how to even fire it. It stood there, staring at me. It’s head tilted as if in curiosity. The small, glowing yellow eyes didn’t blink. And just like that, she turned and walked back into the woods.

I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. I held it so long I almost passed out, and my heart was beating so fast that I could feel my head pounding. I swear I could almost hear it. My hands were shaking and I fell down against the wall, doing my best to process whatever the hell I just saw. I pinched my forearm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, just in case. But I was still there. 

I sat huddled up against the wall until morning came, completely still until I heard any sound which made me jump. Once morning came I made myself the strongest coffee I could stomach to give myself a bit of energy, before heading back out there. I could see the prints it left, and quickly took a picture of them. They looked like hooves of some kind, and almost the same size and type as the ones left around the outside of the house the previous day. 

I immediately set out collecting the trail cameras, thankfully not encountering that… thing the other day. As I set out to collect the one where I’ve been dumping the various bits of gore. The remains of the body were gone. I gathered all three up, brought them back, and began to review the footage. The one on the right side of the house didn’t catch anything interesting, just a hare of some kind running away and a couple of nocturnal birds swooping by which caused the motion sensor to activate. 

Next, the one observing the dumping grounds. A few pictures were taken of me dragging the moose carcass out there. A few small woodland creatures passed by, taking small nibbles. And then she wandered into the frame, and tore it to pieces. It was a horrifying feeding frenzy as she tore into it, taking another leg, and leaving the head nothing more than a stump. She dragged it back out of frame, and then walked past the camera towards the house. The third and final cam caught her there as well, walking out of the treeline and beside it, her strange, furred thigh almost completely obscuring the camera's view. 

My eyes wandered back to the bookshelf as I recoiled back from my seat after looking at the images. He really was onto something. I kneeled before it and pulled out book after book, flipping through the pages, before finally finding what I was looking for.

A wendigo. That’s what she was. A creature of Indigenous myth, a person who transforms into a monster with an unending thirst and hunger for blood and gore. Believed to be a sort of divine punishment for those who partake in acts of cannibalism. They’re driven mad by an uncontrollable hunger, only truly lucid in the final moments after devouring a kill. They’re so hard to find because they rarely leave any trace of themselves. They devour everything. Down to the skin and bones. Fairly ironic, as they themselves typically look wiry thin and emaciated, another sign of how such ravenous hunger consumes them. 

Part of me was absolutely horrified and counting my blessings at the fact that I wasn’t torn apart at my doorstep. I read a bit further, and did manage to find one interesting tidbit. Strangely, those that willingly feed wendigo are often known to bring it back to some semblance of lucidity. It knew that I was the one feeding it, that’s why all it did was stare at me. It was perhaps even friendly towards me. Or as close as an 8 foot tall ravenous monster could be. 

I sat there and thought, more and more. Previously this was an entity thought to only exist in fairy tales and old indigenous folklore. And I had living proof of it, walking around in this valley like it owned the place. If I had concrete evidence of such a thing… I’d be world famous. I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this ever again. I had photos here, but I knew I needed more than just some trail camera photos that people would think are just doctored images. 

I went out into the town again that day, got myself a proper camera, and picked up some pieces of raw meat from the store. A whole chicken, a pack of ground beef, some cuts of pork, everything. I set an alarm on my phone, laid down, and took a nap to recoup my strength. My phone began blaring at 8 AM, and I quickly pulled out the meat, and went out. 

I freed the raw meat from its packaging, and began throwing it out onto the ground in front of the house. I retreated back inside, holding my camera, and sat, and waited. I must have sat there for about an hour before I heard the footsteps again. I peered through the tiny crack in the door I had kept open, watching and waiting. She slowly wandered out, before falling to all fours like some animal, sniffing at the meat. I didn’t give her an opportunity to even take a bite before I fully stepped out to take a photo.

Only to discover that I had left the flash on. A blinding white light shone across the front step and illuminating her. She instantly screamed and recoiled, a horrid sound like the death cry of some sort of bird. I froze in place as she stood on all fours and charged at me. I tried to run back inside, but too little and too late. She launched herself at me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. 

She was straddling me, and I let out a scream, absolutely certain I was going to die as I instinctively raised my hands. Through them, I could see even like this, her antlers almost grazed the roof. She huffed down at me, an exhale that washed warm air across my body, and she leaned down. Her mouth opened, unveiling a surprisingly clean maw. Two rows of jagged, razor sharp teeth filled it, and a long, inky black tongue came out. It dragged across my fingers, licking them. I hadn’t noticed some juices from the meat leaked onto my hands. 

She licked away, almost polishing them. The sensation was almost ticklish, until she stood up, and crawled back outside. She quickly devoured the meat I left out, and I stood there, shocked. My eyes wandered to the camera. Shattered on impact, the photo gone. 

She ate, and then looked back to me, and wandered over. She fit herself barely inside the doorway and stood up at her full height, looking me over. She was bent over in order to fit in the abode, staring at me with the same curious look. 

I wasn’t sure what to do, and all I did was stare back. Her eyes wandered around the dwelling, before she sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. She reached out and grabbed me, pulling me into her. My head sat against her chest as I now sat on her lap. A content sound, not unlike a purr emanated from her. Some small, affectionate thanks for leaving out the food for her to at least partially satiate her hunger. 

We stayed there for a while, and I wasn’t sure if I stayed out of fear or curiosity. But at least she knew not to bite the hand that feeds. 

And so, that became our routine. When the snow began to melt, I started a small garden. We had, bizarrely enough, a bit of a relationship. She kept pest animals away from the garden. In turn, I fed her whenever I went out into town. Some nights she lived out in the woods.

Others, she was with me, reconnecting to some small semblance of humanity that lay within her, somewhere. As strange as it sounds, we loved each other. She began to imitate my voice, a scarily accurate mimicry that she used as best as she could to communicate with me. I showed her music, books, art and technology. She seemed mostly confused, and seemed to care more about me. That was all she really wanted. Just to feel the warmth of someone that wasn’t fleeing in terror from her, or trying to hunt her, calling her a monster.

I never did take another photo. Maybe it would have helped for the memories, as the month began to come to a close. It took a while for her to understand that we wouldn’t be seeing each other again for a while. I planted a small kiss on the top part of the deer skull, and she let out that familiar, happy purr. 

It was then that I told her that I loved her. In truth, I did. She most definitely was unusual, but I figured that some irregularities were exactly what I needed at this point in time. No better way to break the monotony of the life that I lived. She told me back, in a croaky imitation of my voice. 

I packed my things, and she presented me with one last dreamcatcher, which I happily accepted. She watched as I left. 

She left me with a lot of mysteries and questions about the world. But I knew one thing. And it’s that I couldn’t wait to see her again, and I drove back home with a smile on my face. Maybe I’ll see about making my job a bit more long distance.

[uniqueoneinca]

It's November

So, a lot of things have happened since I wrote. I am currently on disability due to my job. It's short-term, of course. I am really happy that I have some time to work on myself in dealing with what I get while at work. I have been being abused and feel stupid that I didn't realize it. I'm so used to trucking along through it all and just realized a few weeks ago what was happening. It affects you so much mentally when this toxic environment and narcissist boss happens. I did not realize that it happens as much as it does. I get on Reddit to look at the forums a lot and I saw so many posts that have a lot of the same situation going on. They even have groups about this shit.

I have a new psychologist and she said that I need to get out of the company asap. I need a job first, of course. I have been looking for about eight months and haven't found anything. I am still trying though, you can't give up. I told her that I would like to work on coping skills and my delivery. I have pretty much no filter and I say what is on my mind. Some people don't like that & others do like it. I like it when I communicate with people.

I talked to an ex-coworker yesterday and found out that she is now on disability as well due to the boss she had and I still have. She was fired by my fucked up boss about a year ago. A lady started working at her current job and is just like my boss and it brought back the trauma. That's pretty bad when you have been away from the person for that long. Mental abuse is rough. My boss needs to be stopped so she doesn't do this to anyone else in the future. There have been three people quit and two get fired due to my boss. It's disturbing.

My husband isn't a great support either. He tells me to suck it up. Way easier said than done. I don't need him barking at me while I am going through this. It's like double stress in my life.

I did get my health and life exam passed though, so this is great. Now I just have to do the livescan and apply for my license and I can sell health and life insurance. I have a company that I will be going through. I will see how that turns out. I planned on doing that part-time. I can't start until after I am off the disability though. I am on for a couple more months. I can do some field training in the process, but I won't be able to get paid. I have researched the company and it's legitimate, but they are like so overbearingly positive that it's weird for me. I don't get excited like they do. I have a certain way I want to do things when I am trained as well. I won't pressure people, I will educate them on their financial needs regarding life insurance and building wealth. I will have over 25 insurance companies to work with through the company I am going to be training with. I have a possibility to make a lot of money if I work real hard. The part I don't like is involving my family and friends. I always tell them when we will do a practice consultation they are in no way obligated and to say no and be firm. Sales people can't hound you. You can report them to the insurance commissioner with their license number.

While I was taking the test, it wasn't totally like the course I took to prepare myself, so I was thrown off. They use different wording in the exam. I'm just really happy that I did pass. It was like getting a C, but it's still a pass.

So, Trump won the election and that makes me super happy too. I was really worried about Kamala winning and am relieved that she didn't. The country needs to get better and Trump will help us get there. So many people hate him and it's unfair, but they don't hate him as much as they thought, because he got voted in.

[the-firebird69]

We go ahead and we put restrictions on BJA and several others i'm sending the list in now.

- Here's several things going on firstly Dave running around with a carriage with nuclear weapons what's not really something they knew about and it's something we knew about. John Remelard thought it would be code he could use and then he thought it would point us out and he he means himself so they're going back and forth terry Cheesman and him and he doesn't want to do it which usually means that he does and he comes back around after cheeseman puts him away and we feel he sends the car. And it is code that he's using and he's trying to say our son is roboticized and dumb things like that that BG has been saying he's he's also insane and dangerous both of them are nuts and we're going to fill them full of holes but the timing is right with September 22nd trump would be out probably for a week and he would come back running for Terry Cheesman and he would use trying to hit cheeseman as cover and he would try and get us to agree to hit achievements areas because he's good at it and stuff like that now that makes sense but he would have to have money to drive a car around you need insurance and you need gas and it does not explain that and he'd simply have to sell it and people don't believe it but that's what it would happen because the monthly insurance is too much it's about a $120 a month or $100 a month and it's too much. It's too high here anyways. Maintenance and gasoline make it a prohibitively expensive so really it's putting a cart before the Horse and I don't think that he would even tell them that he's going to sell it so he doesn't tend to do that he wants to get the car and have it brought down here and he'll sell it and you can sell it online and then come down and examine it and they'll give you probably $1000 less than what it's worth and people say that's not right and he says that's what I would do because you're asking me to cut my own throat and they say you could sell an ebay for a year of Insurance and he says the E bike is my insurance for the year it says what do you care i'm gonna sell it whether you **** know it or not. And yeah it'll get Ronald de Rudy out of the Social Security office and Terry Cheeseman would make it happen it's funny it's gonna be but then he says we intend to get money to you and he says 20 grand from Social Security is all the old it's not enough and it will it will come in pieces and it's not gonna help He says with the car I was spending like an extra $200 a month a month but $300 a month I wasn't saving that much let's say$4000 a year. Grade school math. So we're listening to this and we're going to hit this **** **** **** in their store and the other one and if they if they bring it down and hand the title over that's good if they don't who cares they can drive anywhere they want they do it all day long we think you can get about 10 grand and he likes that that's good he needs that kind of money and he doesn't care what you say trump you're an idiot he doesn't care if it's your master program everything is hinging on it he's going to sell it because of that. Anything to get at you. and your a moron trump

we use this he is so damned dumb. and yeh will bring it anyways. and is stupid. lol. nd tons say it sold the car at a loss to save moneya dn he is daft. now we look need another ebike non needs to save money. and cant too well. we help shortly.

Thor Freya

Olympus

[lowtaxsa]

A Night on the Town

Let me tell you, folks, last night was one for the books, or maybe for the trash, who knows? So there I was, at my favorite dive bar, the one that smells like a hobo's armpit and serves beer as flat as the Earth – according to those flat-earther nutjobs. And then, bam! The bartender, the almighty gatekeeper of booze, cuts me off! Me, of all people! Like I'm some kind of degenerate, when really, I'm a staple of this fine city, a cornerstone of cultural decay.

Now, I don't take that sorta thing sitting down, no sir. I let him have it, served him a heaping plate of Lowtax's wrath, which tastes a bit like stale nachos and desperation, if you're wondering. But then, whaddaya know, he tosses me out on my ass like I'm yesterday's garbage! The gall of that man!

So, screw that guy and his high horse, or high barstool, or whatever. I stumble, wobble, and saunter my way to the next dump, and it's full of fancy drinks with ingredients you can't even pronounce. I mean, who needs a Smoked Hibiscus Elderberry Sazerac anyway? Not me, that's for sure!

I was sitting there, lost in a haze of booze and self-indulgence, the bitter stench of spilled alcohol permeating the air as the bar seemed to sway with each resounding note of "Piano Man." It was one of those nights, where reality and delusion collide in a cacophony of Hunter S. Thompson-esque debauchery. A night where I could almost see the good doctor himself, perched on a barstool in the corner, clad in aviator sunglasses and chewing on a cigarette holder, muttering something about the American Dream and the cruel mistress of intoxication.

And then, like some deranged fairy tale, I meet the strangest cast of characters. There's the guy with the raccoon, trying to sell me the freaking "Mona Lisa," or some crap like that. Then, Mr. Pretentious Poet, spewing nonsense about the moon and the stars and other stuff nobody really cares about. Well, one thing leads to another, and I'm trading blows with this wordsmith – turns out I'm a poet with my fists, who knew?

Anyway, so I'm stumbling around like a drunk marionette, and I meet this other guy, a regular Indiana Jones, talking about hidden treasure in an old warehouse. Treasure, you say? Sounds like a terrible idea, sign me up! Off we go, into the night, or maybe it was daytime, who can even tell anymore?

And there it was, the warehouse of legend, filled with gold, or rats, or, uh, moldy newspapers. It's hard to say. I don't know how it happened, really, one minute we're playing detective, the next minute we're amateur arsonists. Accidental, I swear! My lighter must've been possessed by some fire demon, or maybe it was just faulty, who can say?

So there I stood, watching this beautiful inferno, a veritable symphony of destruction, with the flames licking at the sky like the Devil's own tongue. It was a sight to behold, like a twisted work of art, or maybe it was just an old warehouse burning down, who can even tell?

But hey, no harm, no foul, right? Just a bunch of rats and pigeons out of a home, and it's not like they were paying rent or anything. Maybe they can file for insurance, or get a nice little nest egg from FEMA. Yeah, that's it. It's all part of the circle of life, or the circle of property damage, whichever comes first.

So that's my story of a night gone haywire, all because some self-righteous bartender thought I'd had enough. Well, joke's on him, 'cause I've got a hangover that could slay a dragon, and memories that'll last me 'til the next bender. And you know what they say, when life hands you lemons, just burn down a warehouse and call it a day. Or something like that.

[the-golden-ghost]

Updates on Sam's Family

Jerome: Sam's dad. Has some kind of Evil profession like idk selling insurance. Social-climby. A thorough and complete bastard who would sell all his kids to Satan for a corn chip and has tried to do it!

Blanche: Sam's mom. A timid and ineffectually polite little woman with a love of crafting and antique dolls. She also sucks, for reasons I won't elaborate on.

GEN 2

Herman: Formerly Jarvis but I never intended that to be his final name lmao. He MIGHT be Faith's dad depending on what route I end up taking but if so she and Anya have different mothers. He basically is just his dad's replacement. Whether he wants this or not has never been relevant to Jerome. He peaked in high school and has no morals but he doesn't do anything outright EVIL either. Actually he just doesn't really do anything, at all.

Winslow: The elder of The Twins™ and the Nutcase Sibling. We could compile a list on everything Wrong with Win but we'd be here all night. He's failed at everything in his life from college to career building to parenting but he IS a mechanical genius, and well, talent is talent! He made a career of harnessing The Horrors to build deathtraps and doomsday devices of all shapes and sizes. All on commission, of course, never for his own use. He's not a monster, after all (in his own words), and it pays the bills.

Maxine: The younger twin and also The BESTEST and SMARTEST and SUCCESSFULEST sibling (just ask her!) She managed to make a high-paying career as a defense lawyer WHILE the Horror Apocalypse was in full swing and she's damn proud of it. Not just anyone can do that. Anyway she's fabulously wealthy and so blinded by her own awesomeness that she refuses to admit that anything might be wrong with her. A non-insignificant portion of her job involves Keeping Her Twin Out Of Prison For Aiding In What Could Be Called "Murder"

Samuel: The shop owner ever. He had one dream in his pathetic little life: to open a humble pawnshop, get married, and raise a family. Unfortunately his DICKWEED FAMILY decided to open ALL THE HOSTS OF HELL and that kinda ran his business into the ground and caused his wife to leave him which led to his eventual suicide. Which led to the haunting of the shop, which led us to the plot.

Cecilia: The baby of the family. Anything fucked up that happened with the family both before and after The Horrors got unleashed has been hidden from her view with a web of carefully constructed lies to keep her Pristine and Untouched and Untraumatized. She's the perfect child, the perfect wife, the perfect mom, the perfect sister. She's also damn aware of how much her family sucks but she wants as much as they do to keep up the facade. She was the one they CHOSE to live the perfect life, after all. Shouldn't she play the part and be happy to be in it?

AND FINALLY... GEN 3

Anya: Herman's daughter. 19 years old. In college to become a claims adjuster. Not her chosen profession; she'd rather be in paranormal studies but her father wants her to have a stable, normal career and a good life.

Emmeline: Cecilia's daughter. 7 years old. She was born just months after Sam died. She's also an absolute MENACE and likes to collect bugs (alive and dead), crown herself the Swamp Queen (covered in mud and leaves as is fitting) and tell anyone who listens about the beheadings of medieval monarchs in GREAT detail.

Bianca: Win's daughter; still working on her so I don't know much yet but she Exists that's all I can say

[teawaffles]

The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 1

Setting off from Piccadilly Circus, Laura walked through Trafalgar Square, then headed down the Strand and Fleet Street. Without looking left nor right, she kept moving eastward across London.

Laura seemed to have been deeply affected by something; as they tailed her from behind, Sherlock let out a small laugh.

“Ha, she is really is a kid after all. Heading straight to her destination like a fool after sensing the slightest bit of danger. And not even considering the risk of being followed like this.”

John, who was walking beside him, spoke up.

“The way you’re talking, it sounds like you know where she’s going.”

“Of course. The address Wiggins said earlier — something’s hidden there. The stray dog sneaking into the building was just an outright lie, yet she turned pale upon hearing it.”

Though John understood what had happened earlier, Sherlock’s words completely eluded his grasp.

“What on earth do you mean, Sherlock?”

At his partner's baffled expression, the detective cracked an exuberant grin. Then, while keeping up the pace, he began to explain in a low voice.

“Well then, let’s start pulling back the curtain. In order to smoke out this shadowy ring of thieves, I used Wiggins and his friends to lay a trap.”

“The Irregulars?”

“Yeah. I asked them to search the slums; but at the same time, I also instructed them to spread a certain piece of information — that the stolen goods from the arrested thieves were being kept at our apartment. As such, there was a chance the other thieves would pay us a visit to retrieve the items.”

John thought back to the jewellery sitting on the sideboard. That had looked pointless at first, but in fact, there’d been a good reason why they were there.

“To be honest, it was a gamble — even I thought there was only a fifty-fifty chance it’d work, but it was a resounding success.”

Sherlock looked at the figure of the girl up ahead, and John was incredulous. At that moment, the pair had just walked past the facade of St Paul’s Cathedral.

“You’re talking about Laura? You mean, that child is one of those thieves from the slums?”

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a child. However, judging from how nervous she’s been, I’d say she isn’t one of the thieves exactly; I get the feeling that she’s been forced to follow their orders.”

Hearing that, John thought back to the scene at the cafe.

When he asked Laura if she’d been hiding anything, she had frantically denied it. Placing that reaction in the perspective that she had actually been trying to hide how she was abetting the thieves, it did make sense.

However, John was starting to get confused by all the unexpected revelations, and he fired back doubts of his own.

“Sherlock: to start with, how did you know Laura’s from the underclass? From her appearance, one would think she’s from the middle class.”

“Oi oi, isn’t that obvious? Her fingers were strangely brownish, weren't they? That trait’s often seen in merchants who shell walnuts and sell them on the street.”

“……I see.”

Hearing the detective’s precise analysis, John nodded in admiration. He had first noticed that peculiarity of Laura’s at the cafe, but Sherlock had spotted it right at their first meeting, and seen through her guise straight away.

“Let’s say you’re right. But then, why did Laura disguise herself like that?”

“It’s simple: the thieves knew that I was fairly certain they hailed from the slums, so they wanted her to hide her status just in case. It’s not clear whether she bought those clothes herself, or the thieves stole them — but anyway, that disguise didn’t fool me,” he quipped. “And you should also know that the details — her cuffs, thumbs, nails, and shoelaces — were extremely important and provided a wealth of clues.”

“But even if she is from the underclass, isn’t it at least true that she came by to ask us to search for her dog?”

“That’s a natural question, but I’ll tell you later why that was a lie.”

Putting aside the truth behind her request for the time being, Sherlock continued to explain his reasoning.

“Getting back to the topic: right when I dangled the bait, that kid showed up. But at that point in time, she hadn’t come to take the stolen items by force. Together with Miss Hudson, we were three adults against a child — the difference in physical strength was obvious. As such, our opponents definitely had another plan up their sleeve.”

“A plan…… Do you mean the search for the dog?”

“Precisely. In all likelihood, it carried three meanings.”

Sherlock raised three fingers.

“First: a simple reconnaissance.”

Hearing that, John agreed right away.

“They had to confirm if it was really you looking after the stolen items, rather than the Yard; so Laura visited us on the pretext of making a request.”

“Correct. It looks like you’re starting to get it. Then, reason two: under the guise of having us search for her dog, she wanted to make us both leave the flat.”

“……Ah.”

John finally understood what Sherlock had meant earlier — and he shuddered.

“If we’d left the apartment with her, then only Miss Hudson — a lady — would’ve remained behind……”

“The thieves were probably banking on that opportunity to break into the flat. Although we’d still only be three people even if we stayed behind, it’d be smoother if there were only one woman in the house. Hence, their ruse to have us ‘search for her dog’ was genius. It’s a reasonable request, coming from a child; moreover, it’s not something on a level where you’d go to the police, so it only feels natural for her to approach a detective about it.”

“These thieves sure have a horrible way of thinking, huh……. But as I said before, these are all premised on the assumption that Laura’s request was a lie: they’re still just hypotheses.”

“And as I said, I have definite proof that it’s a lie,” Sherlock replied. “But I’ll tell you about it later……. In the end, the thieves weren’t able to achieve the two goals I mentioned. And that’s because I anticipated their motives, and turned down the request. As insurance in the event of this scenario, Laura’s visit also carried a third meaning…… Sorry to break it off halfway, but we’re almost there.”

Just as Sherlock was about to reveal the final answer, it seemed Laura was nearing her destination.

She had arrived at a set of disused, run-down warehouses along the bank of the Thames, near the Tower of London. [1] The girl looked all around her carefully, then headed deep into the silent industrial district.

Then, she stopped before an abandoned warehouse, and stood there in a daze. Apparently, some kind of excessive shock had made her mind go blank. And upon seeing it, John — who had yet to know the full picture — was also shaken.

Before the girl’s eyes, in the open space before the warehouse—— stood dozens of people, their dirty clothes lending them the appearances of vagrants. Among the group were several hooded figures, whose faces couldn’t be clearly distinguished.

Upon seeing Laura, the vagrants all moved toward her in unison. Sensing the gaze of the crowd on her, she shrank and took a step back.

“……U-Um, why is everyone here? I thought we weren’t supposed to gather here in large numbers, since the bobbies would get suspicious……”

John was presently concealed somewhere behind the girl. From the way she had spoken, it was apparent that the crowd of people was familiar to her. Furthermore, at the very least, she had done something that would draw the attention of the Yard.

At Laura’s question, a middle-aged man stepped forward from the group. And upon seeing his eyes, John felt a glimmer of recognition.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. What the hell was that?”

The man’s tone was one of formidable menace, and Laura shrank further and further away.

“W-What’re you talking about……?”

At that vague reply, the man tutted in frustration.

“……Then I’ll explain it to you. In the evening, I came all the way here to hide the cash we recovered from that softhearted chap.”

The man stared at the warehouse behind him, as if glaring at it, then returned his gaze to Laura.

“Then when I went into town, I heard some brats saying that there were stray dogs making mischief near these warehouses. I got curious and came back. But for some reason, the others also gathered here one after another. And when I asked them, they all gave me the same story about dogs or burglars or something showing up nearby.”

“Stray dogs……”

With a start, Laura spun around. Then Sherlock stepped out of the shadows with a dignified air, and revealed himself before the crowd. John still didn’t fully understand what was going on; but for now, he placed his belongings on the ground, and went to stand beside Sherlock.

“Dr Watson, and Mr Holmes? ……Did you both follow me here?”

Her own mistake finally dawned upon her, and she paled. But in contrast, Sherlock smiled like a child whose mischief had succeeded.

“It’s about time you realised. It seems your horizons are rather narrow: you should pay more attention to what’s behind you next time.”

At his suggestion, all Laura could do was to groan inaudibly. Then, the man who’d been speaking to her spat out a curse.

“This brat, getting completely tricked like that — what useless scum.”

Sherlock’s tone became derisive.

“Oi oi, a good adult shouldn’t talk like that to a kid, y’know. Still, you got the gist of my trick, right? I got the Irregulars to follow some of the vagrants in the parks, and that’s how I identified this place. As for the remaining people I’d investigated, who seemed to be your accomplices — one by one, I made them overhear rumours that all established the idea that this place was under threat. Then, as planned: everyone got antsy and gathered here in one friendly bunch.”

Trembling, Laura asked him a question.

“That boy Wiggins from earlier: was that your doing, Mr Holmes……?”

“Exactly. But as for the rest of these guys, I didn’t think it’d succeed this brilliantly. You all got way too panicked at the smallest sense of danger. But I’ll give you credit for hiding the loot in such an old warehouse; it’s no wonder we couldn’t find them, even after searching the slums down to its corners.”

Sherlock gazed at the warehouse in admiration. Speechless, Laura just stood there, rooted to the spot, and the man gnashed his teeth in frustration.

Standing beside Sherlock, John listened to their conversation while watching the man with the sharp gaze closely. A doubt arose in his mind, and he observed the rest of the crowd standing petrified before the warehouse — when he gasped in surprise.

Among the group, was the old walnut-seller from Regent’s Park.

The other people he’d bought items from, and given money to in order to obtain more information about Laura’s dog — John also recognised their faces in the crowd.

As he stood dazed, Sherlock patted him on the shoulder and revealed the truth.

“Now you know the third meaning from before. In other words, it was as though they were trying to recover their stolen goods — they used sightings of the dog as bait, and worked together to cheat you of your money. It’s a sly trick; and considering the odds of success, just getting it to work the first two or three times would already be a big achievement. But since you’re more of a softy than they anticipated, it seems you gave them nearly every penny you had.”

“…………”

As he recalled, every time he had decided on their next destination, Laura had confirmed it in an excessively loud voice. He himself hadn’t noticed; but in all likelihood, Laura’s accomplices had been in the vicinity, and that’d been a way of communicating their next location so the group could get there ahead of time. The cash the man mentioned at the start probably referred to the large sum that had disappeared from John’s wallet.

At long last, John understood the whole picture. But more than indignation at having been tricked, to have completely fallen for that: he felt ashamed at his own idiocy.

The man before them was now cornered. Even so, he regained his composure and spoke.

“Hold on, Mr Detective. It seems you think we’ve committed theft, but that’s all a misunderstanding.”

Opposite Laura, who was standing with her head drooped, the man launched into an eloquent speech.

“It’s true that we’re all working together. But as for our relation to this place, it’s just a meeting spot in the event of an emergency. Even if you were to search that warehouse and find stolen goods inside, that would just be a coincidence. It’s all just a series of misfortunes: in the end, you have no proof that we’re the thieves.”

He emphasised that it was all a fluke, though his assertion was a little forced in terms of logic. In itself, there was no issue with the group assembling before this abandoned warehouse. Of course, the amount they’d cheated from John had all been freely given by his own hand — as long as he didn’t ask for his money back, it wasn’t as if a crime had been committed.

However, just as Sherlock had declared right before they’d arrived here, he had the ammunition to shoot down that clumsy argument. Languidly, he approached the girl; and without hesitation, he reached into her pocket.

“——Then, what’s this?”

Footnotes:

[1] This seems to be the St Katharine Docks, which are located right beside the Tower of London. They had their heyday in the early 19th century, and so were probably in decline by this point. (A London history blog)

Translator’s notes

Laura’s path across London

Here’s a rough map of her nearly six-kilometre journey:

A: Piccadilly Circus

B: Trafalgar Square

C: The Strand (a street)

D: Fleet Street

E: St Paul’s Cathedral

F: Tower of London

G: St Katharine Docks

[rhysismydaddy]

Hey love, I adore ur nessian fics and was wondering if you could bless us with some Cassian being super hurt/sick and nesta taking care of him(fluff + hurt/comfort yknow)?Ooh and nesta giving him a pep talk when he says he feels worthless-bat boi needs some comfort -(nesta bathing cassian scene for bonus points). Thank you so much! hope ur staying safe and healthy!

thank you <3 hope you’re doing well, too

___________________________________________

Nesta leaned a hip against the doorframe of her bedroom, frowning when she found it empty. “Cass?”

No answer. 

She still searched the place anyway, since he was bad to play music in his headphones too loud and never hear her. She went to the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and even out the back door of her tiny place, but to no avail. 

He wasn’t here. 

Which was odd, considering he wasn’t allowed to drive, and he’d been here when she left for work. 

She grabbed her phone and called him, but no answer. 

Annoyance bloomed as she threw her shoes back on and snatched her keys, then drove the five minutes to his place. By the time she got there, the annoyance had blossomed into full-on irritation, so she didn’t bother knocking, just used the key he’d given her a year ago and marched in. 

When she found him in his bedroom, she paused, and all that pent-up anger whooshed right out of her. 

Beneath the mass of purple bruises decorating him, he was white as a sheet as he struggled to get his sock off. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain, but didn’t stop until his hand grabbed his foot.

Nesta rushed over, kneeling in front of him. “Cass, you’re going to pop a stitch. What are you doing? Why’d you leave my place?”

He didn’t say anything, just pushed her hands away when she tried to help. 

“Cassian-”

“I’m fine, Nesta,” he snapped, grunting as he ripped the sock off and started on his pants.

“Clearly,” she shot back, standing and crossing her arms. 

She’d been taking care of him for almost two weeks, and this was the thanks she got?

He got the sweats off easier, and her heart pinched as the cast over his broken knee was exposed. With brutal efficiency, he wrapped it in the extra-long trash bags they’d bought at the store, then reached for the duct tape.

Noticing it was a little too far away, she grabbed it and handed it to him.

Golden eyes surrounded by black shot to hers, and she took a step back at how angry they were. “Jesus Christ, Nesta, I’m not an invalid. Stop mothering me.” 

Taking a shaky breath, she nodded and stepped out of his way as he used his uninjured leg to stand up. She knew it was self-hatred and the anger of being injured, not that he was actually pissed at her, but it still hurt.

She’d known his recovery would be difficult, that it would test their relationship, but it was still a shock to her system to be on the receiving end of his rage.

It was horrible to watch as he used the wall to hobble to the connected bathroom, but she maintained her distance and kept quiet. 

But no matter how mad he’d be because of it, she couldn’t stop herself from rushing to him when he started to fall. 

Nesta reached him just in time, catching him around the waist and bracing him as he started to tip forwards. But he was over two-hundred pounds of solid muscle, and though she slowed him down, she couldn’t stop him entirely. 

Her back slammed into the wall next to the tub, the air getting knocked from her lungs in a harsh breath. 

“Goddammit,” he growled, pushing off the wall with one hand and all but throwing himself into the bathtub, somehow managing to keep his wrapped up leg from getting wet. Water sloshed over the sides, but he didn’t seem to care.

Bracing an elbow on the edge, he put his head in his hand and avoided looking at her for a long time. 

She could feel the rage inside him building, feel him turn it on himself. 

“I’m sorry, Nes,” he murmured a few minutes later, still not looking at her. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, coming over to sit on the space behind his head. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling his head back until his eyes met hers. “I know you hate being injured, but you have to stop being so hard on yourself Let me take care of you.”

“I don’t like you seeing me like this.”

She scoffed. “How many times have you taken care of me?”

Cassian shook her head. “That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. And it isn’t why you’re so upset.”

She knew there was something else causing him to lash out. He’d been injured before, but he’d never acted like it was anything besides a mild annoyance.

His gaze shuttered, but there was such pain, such emptiness in his eyes. She couldn’t take it. 

“Cassian, please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Don’t... don’t shut me out.”

It had taken her forever to open up to him, and she couldn’t stand the feeling that they were moving backwards. 

His head dipped forward, and she released his hair with a sigh, letting him go. 

She was about to leave, give him some alone time, when he said, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Her heart started to pound, and his gaze shot to hers like he could hear it. “Work, baby. Not you.”

Nesta nodded but stayed quiet, giving him time to figure out what he wanted to say. 

“I don’t know if I can go on another tour, watch men die all around me, get shot and almost die for a cause I don’t believe in.” He looked down. “But I can do it, and I feel like I’d be letting my men down to stop.”

He was in the Marines, and his platoon had hit an IED and been ambushed in enemy territory with no backup. Cassian had fought his ass off to get every member of his unit out alive. 

His knee had been broken in the explosion, but he’d gone back for his injured partners, not even stopping when he got shot in the shoulder. 

He’d saved six people.

He’d always been driven by duty, by honor, but hated that it was now causing such turmoil inside him.

“Oh, Cass,” she murmured, stroking his curly hair away from his face softly. 

“But even if I do quit, I... I don’t know who I am without this, Nes. I’ve been a Marine my whole life; it’s all I am.”

She scowled down at him at that. “Cassian Azara, if you think that’s all you are, you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

His mouth opened to answer, but she shouldered on. “You are the most selfless, generous, kind, hilarious, handsome, and intelligent man I’ve ever met. All of those things make you a great Marine, but you’re more than some random military title. And if you don’t want to be a Marine anymore, then quit.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You’ve saved those guys’ asses more times than I can count, and while no one will ever be as good of a leader, someone will step up. You’ve done six tours; no one would blame you for choosing yourself. Do what you want, not what you think you need to.”

“It’s all I know how to do,” he murmurs, looking away from her, but not before she caught the shame in his eyes. 

“No, it’s all you’ve done.”

“What do you mean?”

She put a palm on his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “You enlisted when you were eighteen. You’ve never done anything besides be in the military. But that doesn’t mean it’s all you could do. You could do a million things”

Some of that darkness left his eyes as he looked up at her. “Like what?”

Nesta shook her head incredulously. “Just with your training alone, you could be a personal trainer, teach self-defense classes, or fight professionally. You graduated at the top of your class; you could go to college and study anything you want. You could be a mechanic like you were in high school. You could fly a rocket to the fucking moon.”

Cassian’s lips twitched. “I don’t know about that one.”

“I do. NASA would be lucky to have you.” He didn’t look quite convinced about the point she was making, so she said, “Baby, with your personality and that face, you could sell car insurance to the Amish.”

He laughed in surprise, and the sound soothed the ache in her chest. 

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “And with how fucking stubborn you are, you’ll be the best at whatever you choose. You can do anything you want. Now say it.”

He looked down at his broken knee and muttered, “I can do anything I want.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Now say it like you mean it.”

His eyes rolled back up to hers in amusement, even as he said confidently, “I can do anything I want.”

She smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “Yes, you can. And whenever you need reminding of it, just tell me.”

“I love you,” he said against her lips, making her smile. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, still grinning. “Now shut up and hand me the shampoo. You smell worse than you look.”

He threw his head back and howled with laughter, then splashed her and handed her the shampoo. She worked some of it into his hair, the froth slick beneath her hands, and moved his head to lie against the edge of the tub. 

Nesta kissed his brow, knowing that whatever they went through, they’d do it together. “I love you, too, Cassian.”