#hopefully the chapter will get done by sunday

[voltstone]

AYDF | progress update 2

Episode 2 & 3: DRAGON'S DEN & DRAGON'S BREATH

More of Ep.2, with some Ep.3 (since I hop around; helps with having everything be consistent and everything). Several updates will be like this, where it won't just be the one episode. No, for the sake of not being spoilery, I won't really give insight to which goes where. …now of course, if you're familiar with the seasons and the abandoned version, it may not be that hard to deduce. Lol.

But, will say, with each of these, the snippets may look very long (I mean, they are), but I don't lie when I say these are snippets. These chapters will spill over 20k words at bare minimum.

Progress Updates (Ep.2): 1 ; TBA

[dianagj-art]

Hey, yeah so it's slau's anniversary and I wanted to do something but I got something else going on rn so .... next week maybe

[the-kipsabian]

i just wrote 515 words in ten minutes tho yay

[slippery-minghus]

System Breach Sunday! #3

With only a brief thought to place the order, Connor hailed a taxi. The closest vehicle was not far for the suburb, and was due to arrive hardly a minute after Connor anticipated he would be ready to leave. 

He’d done all he could for his appearance, and he could not allow himself to waste more time than he already had. That he could not seem to pattern his skin to erase the pallor or shadows under his eyes, or angle his hair so that it did not hang limply over his forehead was… irrelevant. Neither aspect impeded his ability to function, and he had eight explanations loaded in his social buffer, ready to be deployed in the event that he needed to provide a reason for looking less than perfect. 

The last step before leaving for the precinct was to retrieve his shoes. He’d left them at the small table beside the home’s front door, alongside the Lieutenant’s boots and the crumpled flannel he���d dropped there some dozen hours before. Connor’s breath hitched—or it would have, if he’d let it—at the sight of the fabric. To his standard vision, it was unsoiled; but then he blinked, and the pile was saturated, glaring blue. 

Connor looked away, focusing on the task before him. The taxi was due to arrive any minute, and he was already going to be late as it was. Gritting his teeth against the lingering stiffness in his joints, he stooped to untie his shoes. 

When he stood, finally ready to leave, Connor turned towards the door—but paused. At the edge of his sight, something had caught his attention. 

Connor took a step back to survey the cluttered table. Between the collection of hats, empty travel mugs, Sumo’s leash, and packets of dog treats, sat a bowl that Connor’s sensors told him had the greatest usage. Further miscellany filled the bowl—Hank’s wallet and badge, car keys, and a matchbook from Jimmy’s—but none of that was important. Not really. Because at the bottom of the bowl, visible between the smattering of objects, was the glint of silver. 

Well, not real silver, to be exact. What had caught Connor’s eye was the familiar shine of copper-nickel alloy, circular, nearly one inch in diameter. 

With as much care as he could muster to avoid disturbing the other contents of the bowl, Connor reached in and retrieved his calibration coin. Almost immediately, his stress levels fell by ten percent.

Connor flipped the coin up into the air with his thumb and caught it in his open palm. The metal was cool against his skin, and he gripped it tight as he exited Hank’s home. 

The morning air was frigid, brisk, but Connor didn’t mind it in the least. Snow was piled high, but the municipal android crews had already cleared the neighborhood’s walkways, and the taxi was ready and waiting for him at the curb. 

The sky was clear, pale blue against the low winter sun. True to the forecast, the night’s storm had fully passed. Connor was certain, was determined, to ensure that the trajectory of his mission would be the same. 

There was no room for error now. Connor would not allow that deviant, and the flaw it had woven into his code, to get the better of him again.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

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prelude

“ask for forgiveness,

never permission.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags: acid rain wound, cannibals living their best lives in cannibal town, slow burn eventual: smut, violence, toxic themes

word count: 1.7k

hello world! i currently have alastor brain rot and felt compelled to jump back into writing fan fiction. i’m a little rusty and i’m not sure how many parts there will be; i won’t deny that this is purely self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy all the same :)

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

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Hell wasn’t what you had expected it to be. It was worse.

Thoughts of your grandmother rose to your mind, despite how desperately you tried to push them down. “Hell is the absence of God,” she would always say after one of her famous rants. A warning you perhaps would have heeded, had it been coming from a place of love instead of moral superiority. 

You had seen her on the streets of Hell a few times now, always sure to avoid catching her attention. The warm pleasure that bloomed in your chest was too precious to give up, despite knowing how good it would feel to rub her fate in her face. A lot of good all those Sunday mornings had done her, haughty bitch! You wondered how often your grandmother laid awake at night, desperate to know how she had ended up here. A wicked grin spread across your lips, revealing milky-pink fangs.

It was hard not to imagine the look your father would have given you if you could tell him she was here. He would definitely have scolded you, but you knew a small part of him would be amused. If calling her a bad grandmother was putting it lightly, she was an even worse mother-in-law. Hopefully you would never get the chance to tell him; Mother was waiting for him in Heaven, after all. And things should be much easier for him now, all things considered. Leaving him alone hadn’t been part of the plan, so all you could do was tell yourself that it had been worth it. Someday you would believe it.

Grandmother was right though, loathe as you were to admit it, and the feeling of loss burned through you every morning when you awoke. Every night, you dreamed of rain; the sound of it, the smell of it, the feeling of it coming down on you in the middle of the family garden. Oh, how you missed the garden. The dark, wet dirt. Blue puffs of hydrangea against stark-white azaleas, your mother’s coveted yellow roses. The Spanish Moss hanging like phantom sails off the branches of the huge oak tree in the corner, where your father had placed a bench and made a small pond. You would sit under that tree for hours lost in a book, listening to the sounds of the garden.

The fire and brimstone you could endure. It was the way everything else was twisted here that was grueling. As if feeling your lament, a drop of acid rain hit your window, quickly morphing into a full-blown storm. A frustrated growl erupted from you and you rolled onto your stomach, burying your head under your pillow and said a silent prayer to whatever force would grant mercy on your roof. You couldn’t afford to get it fixed again. The prayer had been answered just a moment after the rain stopped, when a drop of it fell from the ceiling and onto your pale, unsuspecting calf, your mattress absorbing the scream of pain that tore through your chest.

As the acid made its way through your leg, and eventually your mattress, all you could do was sob. Eternity… This was eternity. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If this morning had been good, the day could only now be considered grand.

There was really nothing quite like a post-rain stroll through Cannibal Town, witnessing the misfortune of partially-dissolved sinners who had been caught in the deluge being consumed on the streets by the lively, ever-hungry inhabitants. Alastor would never tire of this jovial bunch that called this part of the Pentagram home, reveling in the sound of screams, the crunching of bone, the almost-lewd and animalistic grunts of feasting.

Were Rosie not expecting him for tea, he might have allowed himself to join in on the fun. Alas, his only solace was that Rosie never served anything less than superb, being the excellent hostess that she is.

He was quite intrigued by her invitation to join her alone, which meant that this likely wasn’t anything to do with donating a small army of cannibals to aid in the fight against the Angels. Indeed, Charlie’s presence would be required once it was time to cash that favor in.

Not that he didn’t enjoy a casual visit (as casual a visit between Overlords could be), he couldn’t help but wonder. Thinking a few steps ahead was a must if one was going to thrive in Hell, and well, it was no secret that Alastor was doing a pretty fine job at that, all things considered. He began to whistle, earning a few gory smiles from cannibals who stopped mid-meal to enjoy the tune. A true honor.

Rosie opened the door for him before he even had the chance to knock, the “Closed for Rain” sign clattering against the glass as she cooed. “Alastorrr! Come in, come in, before it starts raining again.”

As if on queue, a roll of thunder tore through the clouds, drawing a cheer from the denizens of Cannibal Town in anticipation for round two. 

“Rosie, my dear, always an honor and a privilege to be deemed worthy of your company,” Alastor said, bowing his head as Rosie feigned a blush, leading him to the parlor where they would be taking their tea.

The usual pleasantries were exchanged between sips of tea, coffee, and candied organs, which Alastor forced himself to consume through sheer courtesy. It was all part of the art of visiting, one he quite enjoyed, and he would never shame his mother’s memory with bad manners. They had just finished a plate of finger sandwiches when Rosie leaned in slightly, the conspiring grin on her face letting him know that it was, at last, time for business.

“You’re always so good to indulge me, Alastor. It doesn’t go unnoticed,” she said, grinning as she motioned to a maid to come grab their empty plates. “I’m sure you’ve been dying to know why I asked you over here this afternoon.”

“Oh, Rosie, it’s purely selfish! You know how hard it is to find good company in this godforsaken place. I’m more than grateful to receive your hospitality,” he said with a trademark smile and flick of the wrist, leaning back in his chair as the maid cleared the table.

She had just turned to leave with their plates when the smile on his face nearly faltered. Was that… almond he smelled? It had been so long, but he was fairly certain it was. There was an underlying trace of blood, though that was common enough around here. But almond? It was too pleasant for Hell.

Rosie’s eyes darkened to match her grin, not missing the twitch of Alastor’s mouth. She knew he’d have been able to smell it. It seemed that so far only Hellborn could pick it up, but what would be the fun in letting him know that? 

“Divine, isn’t she? A walking pastry, but not much of a talker. I like to bring her around whenever a room needs some pizzazz! She would’ve been eaten alive had I not taken her in,” Rosie whispered cheekily, as the maid returned with a fresh kettle and a gelatin mold for dessert. Rosie, not missing a beat once the tray had been set down, turned to her with a smile. “Thank you dear, you can leave now. I’ll ring the bell if we need anything else.”

The maid gave a silent curtsy and left the room as instructed, her sweet scent clinging to the air. Since coming to Hell, he took pleasure in the taste of bloody iron, the bite of black coffee. But in life… Memories of marzipan and frangipane tarts swam in his mind. And hadn’t Mother used almonds in her cherry pie crust? It took Alastor all he had not to drool, unsettled by the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth. Ages had passed since he last thought of such sweet things. He cleared his throat with as much grace as he could muster. Rosie only grinned.

“Well, she’s certainly new, so I suppose it’s not surprising she doesn’t talk much. It’s quite easy to tell when a sinner is… adjusting. So morose! You’re very gracious to have taken her on.” Alastor took a sip of coffee, desperate to get that almond smell out of his nostrils. 

“We both seem to be rather gracious these days, don’t you think?”

And there it was.

Rosie sat back in her chair and crossed her legs as she continued. “I was actually wondering if perhaps she might fare better in that hotel you’re running. Don’t get me wrong, she smells incredible, but fuck does she suck the air out of a room once the novelty wears off. She was scaring away clients, and you know it’s pretty bad if cannibals are uneasy around you for Christ’s sake, which is why I had her start working back here, but…”

Alastor had to resist gripping his knee, putting all his effort into maintaining a pleasant face. He had expected to be asked for a favor of sorts, but never did he imagine that Rosie wanted him to take on an employee. She’s had sinners sign contracts for little less than a new parasol, let alone a job. There was something more to this.

And beyond being an air freshener, what good was she for, really? He could deal with quiet, but to have to put up with yet another sulky face! What he had done to deserve it, he didn’t know.

But he knew there wasn’t really a choice other than to take the poor creature into his charge. Rosie was an alley he deeply cherished, and he was already in her debt for the help she had provided just weeks ago. This was no doubt the first part of paying that debt back, a sign of goodwill. Not every deal was beneficial from the start; still, Alastor wouldn’t outright accept the offer. That was part of the fun.

“Well we already have a maid,” Alastor said gently, “but after the recent renovation, we are anticipating more sinners to check in. Not that I doubt Niffty’s abilities, but I suppose she could do with some help when business picks up. How long were you thinking of lending her to our cause?”

Rosie waved her hand. “Lend? Oh, honey, if you’re willing to take her, she’s yours. I’ve got plenty of helping hands, but it does me no good to have such a wet blanket hanging around. There’s just the matter of…,” Rosie trailed off as she reached into her purse, retrieving what Alastor already knew she had been grabbing for, “…her contract.”

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[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.  

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...  

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.  

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.  

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing. 

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew. 

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did. 

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.  

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact. 

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there? 

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.  

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her. 

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.  

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.  

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar. 

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.”  He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.  

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind. 

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.  

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”  

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.  

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.  

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.  

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.  

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest... 

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.” 

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.  

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.  

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined. 

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.  

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.  

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”  

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled. 

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.  

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap. 

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.  

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.  

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her... 

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.  

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.  

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat. 

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable. 

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.  

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time. 

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.  

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.  

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-” 

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him. 

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.  

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-” 

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...” 

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.” 

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.  

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.” 

“He didn’t lie-” 

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!” 

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.  

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.  

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”  

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-” 

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction. 

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.  

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”  

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.  

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.  

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.  

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.  

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him. 

Why should he try anymore? 

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another. 

Corbin and Asher.  

 “Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”  

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part I

Well, it happened... After trying to evade the hype for so long they finally got me 😂😂 This story has had me in a chokehold (haha, get it?) since I started toying around with the idea of it. Hopefully you guys enjoy it, let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future chapters and/or Sleep Token one shots!

WARNINGS: None

Part II

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link!

Credit to @spookyghostjelly for beta reading, ily bb 💗💗💗

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You sat with your feet propped up on the counter, one of the magazines you had yet to sell spread open on your lap. "Be fashion forward this fall." You read out loud to the empty store in a mocking tone as your eyes grazed over the pictures of chunky sweaters, jeans, and boring, brown leather boots. The bell over the door jingled as a customer entered the store, your eyes darted up, expecting one of your regulars. You were met with the sight of someone in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over their head. 'Great,' you thought to yourself, 'just when I thought I was going to have an easy evening.' You watched the man carefully, waiting to see what exactly he was going to stick in his pockets. Now, you normally turn a blind eye to shoplifters up to a certain extent, everyone deserves to have something to eat. But, being an independently owned store you could only take so much of a loss on your inventory. To your surprise, the man didn't pick up a single item. He took his time looking over the contents of each shelf, his hands never leaving his sweatshirt pocket. "Can I help you find anything, sir?" His head turned slightly in your direction, but not enough for you to see his face.

"What time do you close?" You were caught off guard by his British accent, it was an uncommon occurrence to get outsiders in your small backwoods town.

"Eight o'clock." He nods his thanks and hurriedly exits your store, almost bumping into one of your regulars on the way out.

"Everything alright?" He asks as the strange visitor leaves your store.

"Do you know him?" You ask quietly, as if he would somehow be able to overhear you despite having rounded the corner of the building already.

"Yeah, he's one of those… those cultists that set up shop in the woods." He explains. You were a bit shocked at the realization. You had been seeing headlines in the local newspaper for months as curiosity rose around the small group of men that had built a few Cabins on the very edge of town. Reporters didn't dare venture into their camp for an interview, but that didn't stop them from snapping a few pictures from the safety of the treeline. Four cabins sat at each corner of a small clearing, a large fire pit dominated the center. From what you could make out they seemed to have some sort of root cellar and a lackluster garden, which would explain why you hadn't seen any of them in person until this afternoon. "You be careful, (Y/N). Freaks like that might just try to sacrifice you to some goat demon they worship." He warns. You can't help but roll your eyes at the outlandish statement.

"Mark, those boys haven't done a single thing to bother anyone since they got here. They've been out there for months, if they were going to take someone they would've done it by now." You argue.

He chuckles, "Trust me darlin', I hope you're right. But until then me and a lot of other folks around here plan on keeping a close eye on them. You'd do best to stay away from them."

"You think I can't take care of myself?" You challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Now, Miss (Y/N), you and I both know you'd beat my ass to next Sunday if that's what I was implying." The two of you shared a laugh. "I just don't want something bad to happen, that's all. These strange men show up out of nowhere one day and no one knows where they came from, hell none of us have ever seen their faces. They all wear these black masks, least that's what the reports are saying. You can never be too cautious."

"I'll take my chances." You smile politely in an attempt to get him off his soap box. "Now, I take it you're here for your pack of Marlboros."

"Yes ma'am, and an extra one for Donnie if you don't mind." He responds with a nod as he fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket.

"You got it boss." The rest of your evening was spent rather uneventfully, save for the fact that you would practically jump out of your chair every time the door opened. You glanced up at the clock, there was about twenty minutes left until you closed. "Maybe he decided to not come back." You shrug. Moments later an old, beat up pick up truck rumbled into the parking lot. You watched as the driver got out, his head dipped low to hide his face in the hood of his black sweatshirt. He pushes through the door, the jingle of the bell the only sound to cut through the tense silence. "Welcome back." You tried to sound friendly despite your unease. He nods at you in response, not saying a single word as he makes his way quickly and directly to everything he needs. He approaches the counter, unloading his arm load of supplies before taking a step back. "You got a name to go with those big, broad shoulders of yours?" You ask in a bit of a teasing tone, trying to do what you could to lighten the mood. He remained silent, despite the fact you couldn't see his face you couldn't escape the feeling of his piercing gaze. You opened a bag, carefully organizing his contents inside. "$18.75, sir." He slaps a twenty dollar bill on the counter, not even waiting for his change as he grabs his bag and flits out the door. You watched as he drove off, not sure exactly what you were supposed to make of that interaction. You had a similar occurrence every day for almost a week. He would come in, grab an armful of groceries, put down his money, and he left. You would try and greet him whenever he would come in your store, it was always met with a curt nod.

"Vessel." You froze as he finally spoke up. You looked up, your eyes met with 6 slits on an odd looking mask. "You can call me Vessel." You couldn't think of how to respond at first. He had barely acknowledged your existence before tonight, what had changed?

"Vessel… (Y/N)." You stick out your hand to shake his. "It's nice to finally meet you." You smile as his hands clap into yours.

"You're different from the other people we've run into from town." He remarks.

"The reporters?"

"Some of them, a few others we just happened to cross paths with." You could feel him studying you. "You don't seem scared."

"Vessel, you've been coming in here for over a week now. If you were going to try and hurt me you would've done it by now." You notice the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smile.

"I guess you have a point." He chuckles. You finish scanning his items and give him his total. He places the money down on the counter and picks up his bag.

"How come you never take your change?" You ask as he's almost out the door.

"I know you run this place by yourself, think of it as me tipping a small business." He flashes a brief, brilliant smile at you. You try to hide your shy smile by fixing up your register. "Oh, and (Y/N)?" You glance back up at him. "It's nice to finally meet you too."

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

Tag List: @herripinkle @mustluvecho @jumpcauseimfroggy (If you would like to be tagged for Sleep Token stuff let me know!)

[asideoftrashplease]

Venti Can Do What He Wants is DONE at 25k words final word count (final chapter is 11k words omg) and has been turned over for betaing. Hopefully it'll be up in the next two days, but in the meantime, here is a snippet of one of my favourite scenes:

“I'm glad that you've finally come around,” Sister Victoria says, with as much genuinity as she can. “It's never too late to become faithful, young bard. Glory to our Lord.”

“Ah,” Venti says. “Indeed. Glory to our Lord.”

He looks about ready to flee, but at that moment, a strange impulse grips Kaeya. He reaches out, grasping Venti's wrist, before turning back to Sister Victoria with a sweet smile.

“I never really attended church regularly as a child,” he says, “especially since the winery is so far, but I’ve always wanted to attend. Please, tell me, sister, what usually happens during sermons?”

Sister Victoria perks up at that.

“We usually conduct Sunday school for children of the city prior to the sermons,” she says. “But you’re always welcome to sit in if you wish. A favorite to start with is, of course, the tale of Lord Barbatos’ ascension.”

Venti smiles a strained smile.

“Alright,” he says, “I shall leave you both—”

But Kaeya merely tightens his grip upon Venti's wrist.

“At the moment of His ascension,” Sister Victoria begins, “we were blessed with a host of auspicious signs, all of which were clear signs of our Lord’s divinity.”

For some reason, she turns at that, giving Venti a meaningful look.

“Indeed,” Venti says.

“The miraculous phenomena that happened at the time of his ascension were great,” Sister Victoria continues, still looking meaningfully at the bard. “Rainbows manifested in eight directions, flowers bloomed all around, and the magnificent shining light of his six wings blotted out the storm.”

“Mm,” Venti says. “Rainbows in eight directions,” he continues. “I see,” he grants, and then, after appropriate pause, “Miraculous indeed.”

“When he finally walked out of Decarabian’s city,” Sister Victoria concludes grandiosely, “leading the citizens of Old Mondstadt behind him, flowers blossomed in his wake, leaving a trail of a hundred colors.”

“Wow,” Venti says, “I’m not sure I could even name one hundred colors.”

Sister Victoria pauses for a moment, looking hesitant and, honestly, a bit offended.

“It must have been magnificent indeed,” Venti quickly amends. “Truly beyond human imagining.”

When Sister Victoria still looks unsure, he continues, “I suppose one must have been there to see it, to truly comprehend the magnificence of that sight.”

Sister Victoria hesitates for a moment longer, before she sighs.

“The goodness, mercy, and grace of our Lord is unlimited,” she says, still gazing upon Venti. “It is never too late to become more faithful.”

This is the best day of Kaeya's life.

FIC SUMMARY:

As Weinlesefest draws near, Mondstadt is alight in festive cheer. Kaeya notices a strange new mystery in the city of wind and wine — Jean and Diluc have been acting strange in Venti's presence since the Stormterror Incident.

Mischievously determined to get to the bottom of this new development, Kaeya soon makes a discovery that threatens to upend everything he thought he knew about the gods of Tevyat. In the process, he must come to terms with what it means to be Khaenri'an, and to simultaneously love a city that belongs to a god.

AO3 LINK:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56695480/chapters/144123427

[cjlouwho]

Uncle Eddie (part 5)

Our Juniper is growing up 😞 You can read this chapter below, or on ao3. All parts can be read together or as individual stories.

Eddie was pretty sure that this was the most nervous he'd been in his entire life.

Standing on the Buckley-Kinard porch, flowers in one hand and a poorly wrapped birthday present in the other, he let out a deep breath as he waited for someone to come to the door.

When the door finally opened and Tommy stood in front of him, he felt about two feet tall.

“You are in some deep trouble, Man,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

Technically, he deserved it. It was all his fault.

Juniper's tenth birthday was the first time she would have both parents, and her Uncle Eddie, off work for the whole day. Everyone was going to be at the party, even all of her very annoying ten year old friends, but she was most excited to show off her firefighting family, which very much included Uncle Eddie.

Except Eddie, after a very long and exhausting forty-eight hour shift, was asked by Smith if they could trade shifts. “I only have a twelve on Saturday, and I'd be willing to take your twenty-four on Sunday.” And damn if that didn't sound like a good bargain at the time.

It wasn't until he got back from a call on Saturday and checked his phone to see three missed phone calls and five texts from Buck that it hit him.

He was supposed to be at Juniper's party.

He was an idiot.

And should probably get his brain checked for forgetting the one thing she'd reminded him about over and over to the point of Eddie having to beg her to please stop reminding him.

So now he stood at the door with apology flowers and a present that would have been awesome yesterday, but would probably mean nothing today.

“Am I even allowed in the house?” Eddie asked, Tommy already moving to the side to let him in.

“Well, technically Evan was closer to the door when the bell rang, but he went out back instead of answering.”

Eddie stepped inside but stayed in the entryway while Tommy closed the door. “How mad at me are they? How mad are you?”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, thinking it over. “I'm down to about a four, but that's because of all the downright pathetic texts you sent me yesterday after Evan wouldn't respond to you. Juniper is probably a nine, but I think she's more sad than mad. Evan is... Well, Evan is Evan, so.”

“So I'm in really deep trouble.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“I guess I should get started on my apology tour then.”

“Good idea. The five apology texts you sent last night are enough for me, by the way. I'd start with Juniper today if I were you. Evan won't forgive you until she does.”

A sigh. “She in her room?”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

*****

Eddie knocked on the open door, standing in the doorway until Juniper hopefully gave him the all clear to enter.

She was facing away from him, sitting at her desk and carefully applying polish to her fingernails. The knock caused her to swivel in her chair, but the smile she had faded quickly when she saw Eddie there. She turned back around.

“I thought you were Papa,” she grumbled out.

“No, just me. Can I come in, Chewy?”

She shrugged. “Free country.”

For all the ways she was turning into her own person, she still contained so much of her dads attitudes.

Eddie walked into the room and over to her desk, setting the flowers down beside her. “That's part of my apology,” he explained, then he set her gift on the other side of her. “That's for your birthday. Your nails look very nice, by the way.”

It was something she had been getting into lately. She loved trying new polishes. Right now she was applying a shimmery blue, and she had done so almost perfectly. She practiced on Tommy a lot. His toes had a new color every week.

The present Eddie had gotten her was a new polish kit that had come out. It was apparently a huge deal with tweens... and she was supposed to have it yesterday so she could do all her friends nails.

“I don't know if- if you know this,” she said, twisting the cap back on her polish, “but my birthday was yesterday.”

Eddie went over to her bed, tossing some stuffed animals to the side before he sat down. “I know, Juniper,” he started, hoping she'd eventually look his way, “and I'm sorry. I made a stupid mistake, I know I did. There's no excuse, but I am sorry.”

Juniper sighed. She stared down at her nails, watching them shine as she moved them around. “Papa told me I should forgive you.”

“That's nice of him.”

“Daddy told me it was, um, it was up to me.”

“That... sounds like your dad.”

“Then Papa told Daddy that people make mistakes, and a- as long as people really try to do better and mean that they're sorry, we should forgive them.”

“That's good advice,” Eddie agreed.

“Then Daddy told Papa that certain mistakes shouldn't be made in the first place and people should make an- an effort to show up.”

“Well, everyone has the right to feel however they feel,” Eddie reasoned.

“Then,” she continued with an exasperated breath, “they kept talking back and forth so I just came in my room.”

Sometimes Eddie wished he could be a fly on the wall to see what kinds of conversations happen in this house.

This was not one of those times.

“Well, Chewy, I- I hope you do forgive me, but I understand if you need more time, okay? I'll make it up to you however I can, but if you want me to leave you alone for a while I will.”

When Juniper didn't respond, Eddie got up and started for the door. “I'll see ya, Juniper.”

“Wait.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see that Juniper was facing him now. “Yeah?”

“Are you really sorry?”

“I'm really sorry.”

“And you promise you won't do it again?”

“I-” Eddie paused, “I promise I will do my best to make sure I never make you sad again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is- is not the same.”

“It's the best I can do, Kid.”

She eyed him for a minute before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine. I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You said you'd make it up to me, right?”

There's always a catch.

“Yes... Yes, I did.”

She smiled brightly, folding her hands together. “Can we go to Fun Zone today? It's a trampoline park and it's like th- the best place to go ever! Can we go?”

Well, that didn't seem like too much of an ask.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let me clear it with your dads first, but I'm sure it'll be fine.”

She clapped excitedly, her nose scrunching up with her grin. “Yay! I'm gonna get ready!”

Eddie glanced at his watch. “We'll head out in a few minutes, okay? I gotta talk to your dad first.”

The look on Juniper's face changed. “Ohh,” she grimaced. “I think Daddy's more mad than me. Here.” She hopped off her chair and picked up the flowers Eddie had given her. She pulled out one of the miniature roses and handed it to him. “Give this to Daddy. It might help.”

Under any other circumstance, Eddie might have laughed at the serious expression on her face, but not this time. After all, Juniper got her stubbornness from somewhere, and that somewhere was definitely Buck.

*****

Tommy was on the couch reading a magazine when Eddie came out to the living room. “How'd it go?” he asked.

“I've been officially forgiven,” Eddie informed him. “Although it did take a bit of a bribe. We're gonna go to some trampoline park thing after I talk to Buck.”

Tommy perked up at the mention of the park. “You mean Fun Zone?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Tommy snorted. “Oh, she's good. She is good.”

“What?” Eddie asked nervously. “Why?”

“On Sunday's kids get endless free ice cream. Endless ice cream, trampolines, they've got zip lines, obstacle courses, rope climbing, stuff like that. Add it all together and-”

“And she's gonna vomit in my truck.”

Tommy nodded. “I'd take a bag.”

“She's punishing me, isn't she?”

“We must all pay for our sins, Eddie,” Tommy replied, dramatically flipping the page of his magazine.

“Is Buck outside still?”

“Mhm.” He nodded toward the rose in Eddie's hand. “Flower for him?”

“Junie's idea.”

“Hm. Probably should've gone for the whole bouquet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie turned for the sliding doors and headed out back.

Buck was sitting on the porch, staring out into the backyard ever so solemnly.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began with a slow approach toward him.

Buck said nothing, turned slightly to fix his gaze further away from Eddie, toward one of their trees.

“Just letting you know, I already talked to Juniper and cleared everything up.”

Still no response.

Eddie sighed. He scooted a chair beside Buck and sat down. “Buck, I'm sorry. I was overly tired when I took that shift and the party slipped my mind.” He held the flower in front of Buck's face so he couldn't avoid it. “Juniper accepted my apology. Can you?”

Buck stayed unmoving at first, but after a few seconds he took the flower from Eddie and stared down at it. “You only brought me one flower?”

“Buck.”

Finally, Buck turned to him. “That was a really crappy thing to do, Eddie. Junie looks up to you, she'd been telling all her friends about her Uncle Eddie. Told them you were the cool uncle that taught her Spanish, and then you didn't even show up.”

“Buck, I-”

“And I worked on that damn party for two months. You remember all the clipboards.”

“I do.”

“A vintage, early 2010's birthday party? That was the theme I was given! Whatever the hell that even means! Tommy and I spent two months figuring it all out, but all she'd ever talk about was the fact you'd be there. Tommy and I are just her dads, Eddie, you're the special, cool one in her life. You let her down.”

As if Eddie didn't feel bad enough already. “I know, Buck. I know I let her down, and let you guys down too. I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” Buck replied, face tense.

They were both quiet for a minute, until Buck's posture slowly relaxed.

“You know I wouldn't care so much if it was just me, but you hurt Juniper,” Buck explained. “She still enjoyed her party, but she was really upset you weren't there.”

“I know, Buck. I really am sorry, okay? I'm gonna take her to Fun Zone today for a few hours and- and maybe we can have all her friends come to the station sometime soon? Give them a class on fire safety and show them what we do.”

Buck thought for a moment, twirling the rose between his fingers. “And you'll be the one giving the class,” he replied. It was less of a question and more of a command.

“Yes, I will give the class.”

Buck sighed. “Fine. You're forgiven.” He pointed at Eddie, “Never do it again though.”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn't dream of it.” He groaned as he stood, his bones creaking in ways they never did when he was younger. “I gotta see if Juniper's ready to go. Mind if I steal your kid for a few hours?”

Buck shook his head. “No, but... Wait, did you say you're going to Fun Zone?”

“Yeah.”

“She's gonna puke in your car.”

Eddie closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever he had just gotten into.

“Yeah, I... I know.”

[wrongcaitlyn]

hey guys! so. i really really really hate to do this, but i've been thinking it over for the past few weeks and i've decided that i'm going to take a short hiatus from tyt. and by SHORT i mean that i will 100% no doubt be returning to this on the first sunday of january (jan 5), and will only be taking november and december off!!

reasons for this are quite a lot, both for the benefit of the dear reader verse and my personal life! just to briefly summarize:

college app's. i really need to prioritize these, and though i'll definitely be finished by early november, it will be taking up a lot of my time

arcane. this seems like a silly reason, but i'm an editor as well as a fic writer, and i just know that the arcane s2 release will consume my brain. i want to allow myself to fully enjoy the season release and not stress about also writing a fic so that i can edit to my heart's content :)

both of those are happening in november, but in december i will be having finals and will leave for a trip for two weeks!! as we all know (*cough* my summer vacation) i am not the best at balancing both writing and vacation, and again, i don't want to stress myself out too much on what is meant to be a vacation

other fics! i still have two unfinished fics, and i'd like to finally get those done instead of having them lingering over my head for another five months lmao

but the main reason is for the overall quality of dear reader and its upcoming one-shots!!! a whole lot of stuff is about to go down in the upcoming chapters, including several one-shots that detail other parts of the universe. according to my outline, in the next five chapters of tgol, i will also be posting 4-5 one-shots in the dear reader series (yes, two of those include the pollen lore!). i want to be able to do those stories justice, and the one-shots do tend to take a longer time to write than the tgol chapters just because i'm usually writing from new pov's and outlining a whole lot of extra plot (especially in those pollen one-shots - they're going into a completely different time period and i want to be able to confidently say i've put enough time and effort into them to be proud of them! i've been hyping the pollen lore up for quite a while now and i want to do them justice!!)

so yes. that's quite a lengthy explanation lmao but i'm justifying it to myself as well because of how much i adore tgol and don't ever want to accidentally abandon it <3 rest assured that i will be using the two months to hopefully get ahead of my outline and ensure a concrete posting schedule when i return! but for now, i will obvi still be active on here (as well as insta and tiktok, if you guys are interested in arcane content) to answer asks and ramble about tyt!!!

[throneofsapphics]

the moth and the flame part 12: the passing

poly!Nessian x f!Reader

summary: after meeting Nesta in a bookshop, you find the darkest parts of yourselves bonding with each other. Naturally, Cassian finds himself entangled with the two of you.

warnings: addiction/struggling with

a/n: I did tear up a little writing this last chapter, thank you all so much for your support <3

series masterlist

Biting back was easier said than done. 

You stood over the trash can, hand gripping the pill bottle. All it would take was one twist of your wrist, why was it so damned hard? 

You’d begged the doctor for these, despite his hesitation, ready to fall to your knees just to reclaim your nights but this wasn’t the way. 

This wasn’t how you were going to do it. There was a better way. 

Glancing at the clock. 7:43. You’d been standing here for exactly 51 minutes now. Better than an hour, you told yourself. A small consolation, but right now you’d take anything you could get. 

“For me,” you murmured, using your other hand to tip the bottle, the grip of the other seemingly white-knuckled for an eternity now. 

It didn’t feel like all of the self-help books you’d read said it would. Instead it felt like an emptiness, but a sweet sort of empty, the kind that brought comfort in its nothingness rather than oblivion. 

You knew it wouldn’t last, and thanked the gods the trash went out in the morning. You could last until then, you had to last until then. 

There was no way you’d be digging through your trashcan for those. You dumped some old compost you usually kept in your icebox until the last minute on top of it, then your bathroom trash. 

Hopefully that would deter you. 

You weren't entirely convinced it would. 

In your peripherals, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn’t you. 

Two lovers entwined, arms wrapped tightly around each other, your flushed face. Cheeks hurt from smiling aggressively all afternoon, from other things that reminded you just of her. 

She’d come into your life in a whirlwind and now you were entangled together so deeply nothing could separate the two of you. 

Only something had, and you’d never gotten a concrete answer on what exactly did it. 

Maybe you didn’t need one, not anymore. Perhaps you could survive without it. 

What would you give for five whole minutes with her? With him? With them?

An hour ago, you might’ve said a whole bottle of pills, but you’d already tossed those in the trash. 

But now ... there was nothing you wanted to give them, in this very moment. Surely your dreams would say something else but right now you could take some comfort in this small win, this small bout of independence and freedom from their hold. 

As if your thoughts had summoned them, wings flew past your open window. You hated yourself for running to it, running to see the figure disappearing in the distance. Flipping your middle finger up, you cursed audibly at them. You were surprised you hadn’t heard any complaints from your neighbors yet about your behavior. 

Bed, you might as well head to bed now. It was close to nine anyway, and you ... well you didn’t have to work in the morning but you’d find something to keep yourself busy. You’d needed to get good at that. 

You laughed as you poured a bit of wine into a pan, glancing at the recipe book balanced on a bookstand to your right. One Nesta had picked up for you since you’d taken up cooking more frequently. 

It was one of your favorite things to do with them, all of you try a new recipe together, and Cassian had started the tradition of it happening each Saturday night. Sometimes Sunday’s if they both had duties to attend to the previous day. 

Imagining the two of them with their arms wrapped around each other, watching you, perhaps with fond expressions on their faces, you turned around slowly. 

Smiling faces changed to twin looks of horror, bloodshot eyes, blood leaking from noses and mouths, eyes rolling back in the head - screams. 

Shooting up in your bed, you exhaled a shaky breath. The nights still belonged to them, they still haunted your fucking nights. After the first one struggling to sleep, you’d sought out those pills you stupidly threw away earlier. 

You wanted sobriety back, but right now ... you just wanted your nights back, to free it from their hold. Right now they had an iron grip on you and you needed to reclaim that space. There was only one way you could think of doing that right now. 

It was exactly 1:31 a.m. when you returned to stare at the trashcan, fingers tightly wound together to keep yourself from tipping it over. ‘Addiction is ugly’ the priestess had said so long ago, and she was right. You racked your mind for other things she said during your sessions, before they’d come to an end. 

“If a day comes when you need help, you can ring our bell seven times, any time of day and someone will be there.” 

Grabbing your coat, you swept it over your shoulders. Forgetting shoes, you didn’t turn back to look. Turning back to look meant you would go for the trash can, and you couldn’t reach that realm of desperation. Couldn’t let yourself. 

Just the ring of a bell, seven times. Seven movements of your hand. You could do that. You took off into the brisk night, uncaring of what your feet might touch. 

Nothing mattered except getting to that fucking bell. 

Streets bled together, you broke into a sprint crossing the Sidra, your breaths heavy as you reached the outside of the library. There was no fucking bell. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you crashed to your knees. She’d promised and lied. 

So many had lied to you. Said they’d love you forever, that they would be there for you no matter what, and where did it get you?

Barefoot on a city street, broken glass etched between your toes, the one true effort you’d made for yourself done in vain. 

A hand, scarred, reached in front of you. You knew who that was, and ignored it, letting your head drop to your chest instead. 

Minutes passed, glancing up through your lashes the hand was still fucking there. 

You didn’t need anyones help. Pushing your palms down on the cobblestones, you rose to stand. 

“What?” You didn’t bother sounding pleasant. He didn’t seem affected. 

Instead he jerked his head, a follow me, gesture.

Pressing your lips tightly together, you did follow. Despite them breaking your heart, you didn't think they’d try to kill you. 

He led you to a small alcove, a shining silver bell glinted. 

An angel of death led the daughter of darkness through the moonlight to sanctuary. 

-

series taglist: @breadsticks2004 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @rowaelinsdaughter @fightmedraco @acourtofbatboydreams @readinggeeklmao @krowiathemythologynerd @kooterz @anxious-study @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy  @idkmyoldonewasembarassing

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124 @callsigns-haze

acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in: September 29, 2024 ☀️

Sunday was wayyyy more productive than I had initially planned, and I still had taken a nap! I love those kinds of days so much!

What I Accomplished ☕️

worked a ~7hour shift (on a station I have never run before for a full shift, and dare I say I did wonderfully) 🍔

took an 1.5hour nap

completed and aubmitted my 2 pre lab assignments for chem

completed and submitted my weekly quiz for chem (got a 16/20, so I only missed 2 questions)

completed my part 1 and part 2 assignments for intro to business

completed my email introduction assignment for intro to business

took some psyc textbook notes

made some delicious boiled potstickers as a late night snack

video called my boyfriend

Random Stuff 🍄

didn't study japanese but am definitely going to create a consistent study routine now that I found a teacher I like on italki for Japanese

need to fill out my planner for the month cause I have so much that I forgot to put in there

I took the "second skin" off my tattoo cause it was kinda gross and dang it does my tattoo itch. I know that means it's healing but ughhhh, I hate the itching

I forgot to get my Netflix subscription back. my boyfriend and I are starting weekly video call date nights (so like watching a movie or TV show together over video call) and Netflix is the easiest so I gots to get it again

need to rewrite my budget to hopefully fit monthly payments for a Mac into my budget

on that note, need to research what MacBook I want to purchase when I get paid next because I think it'd be more beneficial to use for school instead of my current chromebook (especially since I have an Ipad)

gotta make time to do some adulting tasks this week

Stuff For Tomorrow, September 30th 📧

email my Dietetic mentor about my availability this week

fill out my planner with upcoming things

study for the TEAS Exam

study japanese

take accounting notes for chapter 7

finish psyc chapter 4, 5 and 6 notes

get chem notes from classmate for missed Wednesday class

workout

skincare AM + PM

guided journal AM + PM

do laundry

maybe take a nap??? before my lab???

take out bathroom trash + maybe kitchen trash if roommates don't do it

wash dishes

Gonna be a great week, i just know it. I'm finally locking in and getting shit done as it should be <3

til next time lovelies 🩷

[typicalopposite]

Here’s a lil schnippet

ok so I was tagged a ton on Sunday ( @nine-one-wanton @bidisasterevankinard @bangpop91 @onthewaytosomewhere @hyperfocusthusly @leashybebes & @rosyhoneydew ) but it’s Monday and since I am still behind on last weeks make me write AND it’s also the first day of RarePair week (which this technically falls under) I’m just posting something — a long something… this chapter is gonna be 👀 massive — from the Jonah Fic chapter THREE — hopefully it will be done SOON 😀

Heartache

also rare pair week day one - beginnings/endings !

chapter one | chapter two

TRIGGER WARNING: Abusive Relationships; Manipulation; forced heart condition; dom/sub undertones

Tommy pushed the door closed behind him

And waited for Jonah to wander out of the bedroom. He didn’t. He waited for him to call him into the bedroom. He didn’t. He took a deep breath and made his way to the bedroom instead. “Baby…” he said, pushing the door open. “He’s— Jonah…” Tommy stopped just inside the room, staring at Jonah standing ominously beside the bed. A black bag sitting on top of the mattress.

“Must be nice to get recognition for what you can do…” Jonah said bitterly. “To have people know you are actually good at your job…” 

“Baby… you’re amazing at your job! You know that.”

“I know that I know that, Tommy,” Jonah hissed. “It's them! My captain, my coworkers…”

“I know it,” Tommy counters. “I know that you are the most skilled paramedic out there. LAFD would be lucky to have you…” 

Words that should have never left his lips! But he hadn’t known— could never have known Jonah would leave his department for Tommy’s… 

“They would be… wouldn’t they?” Jonah said, slowly turning to face him. “Do you feel lucky to have me, baby?” 

“Of course…”

Jonah walked over to him, his hands held out to Tommy and Tommy quickly took them; he quickly latched on to the first hints of affection after Jonah had been so angry earlier. “Would you let me take care of you? Let me repay you for the sweet thoughtful gesture… even though you failed miserably and we now have to order take out.” Tommy didn’t even flinch at the insult laced compliment. He was so embarrassingly used to it… 

Jonah reached up and cupped Tommy’s cheek, still tender from earlier… Tommy leans into the touch— craves the gentle touch. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered.

“I know you are,” Jonah replied. “That’s why you’re going to do what I ask now, right?” 

“Anything.”

“Good boy.” 

He should have said no. He should have walked away.  

Jonah led him to the bed and pushed him down to sit on it. Then he leaned down and began kissing him. It quickly heated up and Jonah eased Tommy’s shirt up and off; he gently eased him back to lie on the bed, climbing on to straddle his hips. He continued kissing him, kissing over him, while Jonah managed to keep Tommy pinned down to the bed like a weight with a simple ‘Don’t move’. Tommy was defenseless against his orders. 

Suddenly Jonah was digging through the bag with one hand, pulling things out and sitting them beside Tommy’s body. He finally broke his lips away from Tommy’s skin and hovered over his face. “I want to try something with you, okay? But I need you to trust me…”

Tommy nodded.

“Use your words, Tommy.”

“I- I trust you.” 

With that Jonah pushed up enough to grab one of the things that were now touching Tommy’s side. A rubber tourniquet… he began to tie it around Tommy’s arm. “You know I would never hurt you, right?” 

Tommy nodded; Jonah glared. “Y- yes. I know that.”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“You’re a- amazing… at what you do baby. The best.” That made Jonah smile. He leaned down and kissed Tommy again, softly this time. Tommy tried to chase after him as he pulled away but he held him in place with one hand. “Jonah…” he practically whined. 

“Patience. I need to get everything ready.” Tommy watches as Jonah pulls on a pair of latex gloves, popping them to his wrist with an almost playful grin. He nervously laughed at it, and tried to steady his breathing. Then Jonah picked up a little glass bottle and a syringe…

“Jo- Jonah… what— what is that?”

“Shhh… you said you trusted me? Right?” Tommy didn't respond. Jonah didn’t seem to mind, too focused on drawing the liquid up into the needle. “I’m going to prove to you how good I am at saving lives.”

He puts the bottle down and flicks the syringe, squeezing the medicine inside up until a drop comes out of the tip. Then he begins to bring it towards Tommy’s arm. “I- I already know how good you are… you— you don’t have to prove anything to m- me.”

“Oh but believing and seeing are two completely different things, baby. I’m giving you the chance to see my skills in action.” 

Tommy could have fought him off. He should have fought him off. He laid there instead frozen out of fear… and obedience. “I- I’m scared… Jonah,” he admitted, partially anticipating it to piss Jonah off. It surprisingly didn’t.

“Here… I’ll hold your hand,” he offered smiling and there wasn’t a single trace of love or compassion… Tommy had never seen a more insincere smile— it was enough, it would have to be. Tommy stared at Jonah’s face, at that smile… and clung to the memories of the very beginning, when things were good, and the made up future he knew he’d nerved have.

It started to work so fast. Tommy gasped and began to hyperventilate. Jonah leaned over him and kissed his cheek. “Jo- Jo- Jonah…” Tommy managed, feeling a tear slip from his eye. “L- Love you…” just in case he never got to say it again.

Jonah didn’t say it back.

Tommy’s eyes closed.

Then he felt a sharp jolt as life rushed back into his body. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (let me know if you want to be added for the last chapter or removed 🫶) : @sunnywithachanceofbi @weewookinard @xtarmanderx @racerchix21 @sad-girl-hours23

@laundryandtaxesworld @swagmaster9k @iphyslitterator @adian-ua @littlepaws9

@exhaustedpirate @unhingedangstaddict

[mackeydoodledoo]

She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-Shirts: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bridget (Cheerleader AU) x (Fem!)Reader

Chapter Summary: Continuing on hanging out with Bridget, she invites you to one of her Cheer competitions, however, you have a band competition the same day...

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, Swearing

Chapter Key: Italics = Thoughts, +*+ = Time Skip, F/n = Friend's name, B/n = Band Name, Bold/Italic = Flashback

Chapter Theme: Aftertaste - Katie Gavin

A/n: n/a

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Y/n's POV* You walk into school Monday, everything going back to its bleak, bland self...

"Hi Y/n," Bridget comes up to greet you

"Hey you," You smile

The both of you walk around the school...

"Your Sunday go okay?" She asks

"Yeah, I just went to work and finished any homework I had yet to get to," You say, "You?"

"Yeah, I got to sleep in," She says

"That must be nice," You say

"Hey so I have a question," She says

"Yeah?" You ask back, "Shoot."

"This Saturday, I have a cheer competition with the town's independent competitive cheer team," She begins, "It'd mean a lot to me if you came."

Wait...

"This... Saturday?" You ask

"Yeah, why?" She asks

"Band has a competition," You explain, "The competition that determines whether our and goes to State Finals..."

"Oh," Bridget puts on a smile, trying to hide that she was sad

But, she was terrible at hiding her sadness emotion.

"I'll try," You say

"You will?" She asks

"Of course," You smile, "I've never been to a cheer competition before. So it's bound to be an interesting time."

The both of you stop at her first period.

"Okay, I'll text you the details in like... the next few days," She says, "Hopefully I'll see you there..."

She disappears into the classroom.

+*+

You sit at the front desk at the record store...

Man.... Working some weeknights sucks...

But, you were able to make a few extra bucks whilst being in high school.

But the entire place was dead, other than your manager who was in the back, doing god-knows-what.

Hey whatcha doing? I'm at work... So bored... You? Laying in bed, where do you work? The local record store. Oh! I didn't know you worked there. Guess I'll have to come visit ;) It would sure beat being in here by myself. Don't you have a manager with you? I do, but he's always in the office. Part of me believes he only goes back there to sleep and let me do all of the work. Do you want me to come in and keep you company? I'm off soon, so it wouldn't be worth it. 'Preciate it though :) Always. Anyway, I just wanted to text you the information

You watch as your phone dings with the address to the high school Bridget was going to compete at.

Epic, well, I'm going to head out of here and then to bed. Goodnight Pinky. Night Emo ;)

+*+

You walk into the band room, coffee in hand.. You couldn't wait to be done with outdoor band...

"Captain! There she is!" Your bass 5 member greets you

You sigh as you go grab your drum for a sectional.

"You're lucky your drumline instructor likes you all enough to get breakfast," He says, gesturing to boxed up food behind him

"I can take over until you're done eating Y/n," f/n says

*Bridget's POV* You wake up to your alarm and get changed into some simple sweats, but packing your independent cheer team outfit into your backpack.

"I'm heading out," You say to your parents who were at the table

"Okay, we'll see you there," Your dad says

You exit the door and plug in your music as you approach the car parked at the curb of your house.

"Morning Bridge," F/n greets you

"Morning," You yawn

"Want to get coffee before we head to practice?" She asks

"Sure," You sigh

"Hey, you're not your usual chipper self in the morning, spill," She says

"I invited someone I like... And she said she had something very important to do," You begin, "I'm worried she'll miss it."

"First, it'll be her loss," f/n chuckles, "Second, don't let it get to your head today. It's another big day."

You nod.

+*+

You sit with your girls as you all much on catered food.

Hey you, rehearsals going good? Yeah, how about you? We finished, we're packing our equipment into our truck, and then heading to the competition site.

"Okay girls, let's run the routine one more time before heading out!" Your coach yells

You all get up and follow each other to the padded floor for another routine run.

Good luck at your competition. Good luck at yours :)

You board the bus and sit in your own seat as you drive to the competition.

+*+

You step off the bus and follow the coach to check-in. You look at your phone, hoping to see a text from Y/n...

Nothing...

Must be at her competition by now... Or even out on that field...

You set your belongings in the designated area and begin to stretch your body.

+*+

*Y/n's POV* You quickly, but efficiently put your drum away and quickly change into presentable sweats and quickly make your way to your car.

*Bridget's POV* Anxiety runs through you as you travel throughout the school, heading to warm up areas and then to the competition floor.

You've competed in the little Regional class competitions before, and finally earned your wya up to Independent class....

Why am I so nervous?...

As you get into place you look up one more time, hoping to see Y/n in the crowd. Last second, you see someone rushing to the stands. You weren't able to wait any second longer before the music began.

+*+

Your friends split off after they hand you the first place trophy.

"Oh Sweety that was amazing!" Your mom hugs you

"Thanks mom," You sigh into a smile, "I just wish Y/n was able to make it..."

"Oh, you didn't see her as you walked off the floor?" She asks

You blink at your parents in confusion... However, your dad points over your shoulder. Y/n leans against the wall.

"If you're going to hang out with her, go on," Your mom tells you

"We'll see you at home," Your dad says

Without a second thought, you run down the hall.

"You made it!" You practically jump into Y/n's arms

"I said I'd try," She says, "I made it just before you started performing."

So... That person running to the stands was her...

"Do you want to grab a bite to eat?" She offers, "I drove straight here as soon as we got back to the school and I'm kinda starving, and with a routine like that, I'm sure you are too."

Your stomach grumbles...

"You read my mind," You smile

"Come on," She says, "By the way, where's the rest of your team?"

"They all left," You say

"What a shame," She sighs, "I'd wonder if your independent cheer girls would have liked me too..."

"Do you wish for every girl to gawk over you?" You ask

"No!" She says, "Not at all. But, it'd be nice if your friends I have yet to meet would like me."

"I didn't know you cared about first impressions," You smile

"I don't but... Your prized drummer shows up at a Cheer competition," She chuckles, "She's out of her element here!"

You giggle, "Come on, let's get you out of it then."

+*+

Y/n drives to the same diner, and the both of you sit in a booth.

"What's it with you and this place?" You ask

"Could never go wrong with a good burger," They say, "And it's basically the only place I know how to get to by heart."

"Also, how did the band do?" You ask

"We're going to state finals," She smiles

"That's amazing!" You smile back, "I didn't have ant doubts the band wouldn't. They have the greatest drumline."

"Well, not to toot my own horn but we did win the award for best percussion," She says, sounding full of herself

"The town's united Cheer team also took first," You brag

"With a cheer routine like that, I wouldn't doubt it a single second," She says

"When's state finals?" You ask

"Next week," She answers

"That soon?!" You ask

*Y/n's POV* "Well, yeah," You say, "It's beginning to get too cold to do band things. Even if the state finals venue is indoors."

"How will you be able to revise the show on time?" Bridget asks

"You underestimate the ability to change a show with less than a week," You chuckle

"I'm serious!" She says

"I am too," You say, nonchalantly, "There have been times where we have changed a drill set the day before a competition. We all had it nailed in like... Thirty minutes."

"Thirty?!" Her eyes widen

You nod, "You know, if you joined marching band, you'd fit right in with the color guard."

"Really?" She looks at you

You nod again, "They're graceful, badass, and beautiful. They're also scary at times, but that's mostly when we're crossing between them as they spin their props. Did I tell you that they also spin more than just flags."

"I've seen it," She says, "They're awesome."

"Maybe, you should consider giving winter guard a try," You suggest, "I won't force you, but I'll send you some videos from my guard friends. I do winter percussion... As the drum set player."

"Oh, I wonder how you got that part," She smiles

"Well, I started out doing auxiliary percussion, then moved my way up to drum set," You explain, "Drumset is simply an extension of percussion."

"I'd totally come to one of your winter shows," She says

"Well... The ensemble I'm with is out of state...." You sigh, "One of the top 5 groups in the entire country."

"I'll make the drive," She says

"There's a lot of car mileage and gas involved," You attempt to deter her away from making the drive you do

"I don't care, I want to see whatever show you do," She says

"Well then I will keep you updated on my indoor drumline endeavors," You chuckle

+*+

After dinner, you drive her home...

"Hope I didn't take you from family stuff," You say

"They didn't mind," Bridget says, "As always, thank you for driving me home."

"Anytime pinky," You reply, "I shall see you on Monday."

Chapter 4

[gay-for-the-snz]

Baggage (M, cold, pt. 1/3)

So I decided I wanted to do something self indulgent, so here we are! rewinding back in time a bit--a decade, in fact!--to explore what brought him to the west coast, and his initial few days there, meeting coworkers and trying to decide who he wants to be with a fresh start

First chapter POV comes from his boss, second will come from him. Slight CW for the fact that the Captain definitely views him as like...basically a kid, and addresses him as such, including in narration, but he is 19 here and of age, so dw about it

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

⁂

The baggage claim of an airport is not the most exciting way he could be spending his Sunday morning--in the wee hours, no less--but the travel cup of coffee he'd hastily made in those bleary moments before making the drive is starting to seep into him enough to actually take effect. Bill's instructions for picking the whelp up had been exceedingly vague of who he was looking for--nothing more than that he was tall, long haired, and "impossible to miss." Scanning the crowd of people as they filter in and then back out, he's starting to doubt that this is necessarily the case. The flow of people has slowed enough that he doubts there can be that many left to make it here. Only a few lonely suitcases remain on the carousel, and they're rapidly being picked up.

He's rechecking the flight information when a figure awkwardly makes its way to grab the last suitcase, and--

Oh. Well, perhaps he owes Bill an apology. He is impossible to miss.

He's a gangling youth, easily six foot but probably a few inches above, with a braid that hangs down past his ass and the same awkward disposition he'd ascribe to a newborn fawn.

"You're Elliott?"

"Uh--yes! I mean--yes, that's me. You're Mr. Addington?" He extends a hand to shake, a bracelet of tattooed pansies encircling his wrist.

"You can call me 'Captain'."

"Oh! Right, I'll, uh--I'll do that." He doesn't really look at him, avoiding eye contact like the plague. It doesn't do anything to make the black eye less noticeable, but he supposes he can't fault him for trying. It looks like a nasty one, shades of deep blues and purples ringed by the greens and yellows of healing that's already on its way out.

He opts to tactfully leave it alone for now. He's had a long flight, and a stranger grilling him about what on earth happened that's making him pick up stakes and move cross country with a couple day's notice likely isn't the way he's going to earn his trust. He gets the distinct sense that he's going to have to coax him out like luring one of the warehouse cats out of hiding to take it to the vet.

"Well!" He startles at the sudden transition. "Is that everything, or are we still waiting on any bags?"

"This is it."

He keeps his expression carefully neutral as he takes in the sight before him, this bedraggled kid who's got a black eye and nothing to him but two suitcases. It's sad. More than that, it's actually heartbreaking. "Alright. Did you eat anything on the plane? I'm thinking about stopping somewhere on the way back, getting a little breakfast, if you're not opposed to stopping."

"I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to get yourself something."

It doesn't escape his notice that he hasn't answered the question. That beanpole probably weighs a hundred thirty soaking wet. He's going to feed him, whether he asks for something or not. "Good! There's a diner close to home that should be just about open by the time we get there."

He takes one of the suitcases, despite the fact that he was very much not asked to, and drags it a few feet before hefting it up to avoid the broken wheel that doesn't seem to actually turn. "Come on, then, let's see if I remember where I parked."

"Oh, are you--"

"You can relax, that was a joke. I'm not so old yet that I'm going to lose my car at the airport." Hopefully. He hasn't done it in awhile. It helps that he wasn't flying this time, just picking someone up, well before dawn's bothered to crack.

By the time they actually make it out to where he's parked, he's beginning to half worry that he actually did lose track of it, but relief washes over him at the sight of the old pick-up. She's a beat up old thing, but she's beautiful to him.

"She ain't the prettiest, but she's reliable. More than I can say for my ex-wife!" Shockingly, the joke doesn't land. He just shrugs. Worth a shot to break the tension. "Hop in, we'll be out of here soon."

Elliott is, if nothing else, compliant. Not much of a talker, but he looks dead on his feet, and sinks against the door as soon as he's buckled.

"We've got about an hour and a half drive, so feel free to close your eyes. Not much to see at this time of day--a new coast is great in the daylight, but all we'll be passing for awhile are headlights and highway." And he could probably use the sleep.

"Oh, no, it's fine. If I, uhm, sleep now I don't think I'll get any sleep tonight. I wanna see what I can see." He scratches at the back of his neck, and straightens his posture somewhat, like he can't be caught being tired.

"Suit yourself." The radio is playing something soft in the background, static blurring the sound of Creedence with a commercial for something he can't make out. He gives it a few minutes before he leans over, offers him a cigarette. "You smoke?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good! Don't start." He strikes the lighter, then gestures with it towards the cigarette already in his mouth. "Mind if I do?"

"It's your truck, and you're already doing me a huge favor."

He throws it in the center console for later. "Speaking of!" Elliott winces. "Bill doesn't usually stick his neck out for anyone--he must be awfully fond of you."

"Oh! Well, that's nice of him. I don't think that I really, uh, have earned it, though."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen! I remember being nineteen. Long time ago, mind you--I was probably nineteen before your parents were even born."

"Maybe..."

He's striking out hard, here. Usually it's a bit easier to get someone talking. "Well, whether you think he's a good judge of character or not, Bill thinks pretty highly of you to call me up and tell me that he's cashing in a favor like this. Said he had a real good kid that needed out of Virginia in a hurry. Said that you're a good worker." When Elliott doesn't respond, he just continues the conversation anyway. "Now he uh, didn't tell me where you're gonna be staying. You've sorted that out, I trust?"

"I don't need any help with that."

"So where is it?" He stares out the window, doesn't even attempt to glance back towards him. "That's what I thought, yeah. Alright, well, you're gonna be with me at least tonight until we've got you sorted out."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Then it's a good thing you're not asking. I'm telling you." If he's got anything to say to that, he keeps it to himself, but he's clearly not thrilled by the prospect. He takes to braiding one of the locks of hair that frames his face, clearly an old hand at this the way his fingers deftly run through the motions.

There's few enough cars on the interstate at this hour that he feels comfortable letting his gaze linger on him in his peripheral, paying more attention to the kid in his passenger seat than to the road ahead of him. It's not a good habit, sure, but it's a calculated risk, and despite how he looks, he's always been pretty sharp when it comes to figures. The training of being in business, he supposes. It certainly hasn't hurt him.

"You got family out here?"

"No, sir."

"All back in Virginia, then?"

"I...guess, yeah. At least for now."

"Are they planning on falling you out here after you're settled?"

"God, I hope not." He crosses himself instinctively.

"Not a great relationship, I take it?"

"No, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir'. But I can sympathize--I've got some family up in Alaska, but not much anymore. Two sisters and a brother, and a host of nieces and nephews, and a couple of great-'s by now, even. No kids of my own, though--not that I'm complaining. I don't think it would've served fatherhood well to be gone most of the time."

"Could we--could we talk about something else?"

"Anything your heart desires."

"I think I might actually try and sleep. You were right--there's not much to see, and I-I'm kind of tired..."

He's squirrely, clearly dodging this topic in particular, but he's got enough sense to let the poor beast alone--for now, at least. He's gonna have to ask him later, both because he wants the gossip, but also because if he has to worry about whatever he's mixed up in, he'd like to know before anything happens. " 'course. You just get yourself a little shut-eye, and I'll wake you when we get there?"

"Thank you..."

He must be exhausted, because it's only a couple of minutes later that he's snoring softly, weirdly curled in on himself in his sweatshirt, arms crossed protectively over his chest and head leaned against the cold window. He doesn't disturb him, just drives in relative silence aside from the radio to let him rest.

⁂

"Hey. Elliott. C'mon, up we get." He waits until he sees him stir to try again. "Wake up. We're here."

Elliott rouses, albeit slowly, and does his best approximation of a stretch in the cramped quarters for someone so tall. "Uhm..." He sniffs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eyes to clear the vestiges of his nap from them. "Here?"

"Home."

"I thought we were--that you were stopping for breakfast?"

"I drove through somewhere. No point in stopping and getting caught in commuter traffic if we didn't have to." He shakes the paper baggie of McDonald's the same way he might shake a bag of dog treats for a wary pet. "It's just about breakfast time, I'd wager."

It's been breakfast time, the same way they've been here, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. The two cigarette butts drowned in the remnants of a water bottle are evidence, but there's no saying that he didn't smoke while he was driving. He clearly needed the rest, and is equally clearly someone who would apologize for trying to get it, so he doesn't present him the opportunity to have a reason to.

"Oh." In the daylight, he looks positively ghastly, the shadows under both eyes nearly the same shade as the bruising surrounding the one. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't get much further than to sniff and awkwardly get out of the car, stretch for all he's worth in the driveway.

"You're hungry, I'm sure?"

"I don't really feel like it."

"But?"

"No buts, just that I don't feel like I'm hungry."

It's gonna be pulling teeth to do anything nice for this kid, he can already tell. Well, whatever. He's not known for being shy, nor for being one to back down from a challenge. "Alright. You'll take something for the road, then."

"I don't--"

"It wasn't a question." He just won't give him a choice if he's going to make a bad one.

"Yes, si--uh--Captain."

"Good man! Come on, then, let's get your bags into the house." When he opens the door, he's immediately struck by the reminder that he had not been expecting company, nor has he hosted it in awhile.

It isn't a dump, by any means, but it's definitely a space that one might say "lacks a woman's touch". A collection of pipes and tins of tobacco on one of the shelves. A collection of mugs that haven't made it to the sink just yet, concentrated on the coffee table. The mounted crabs hanging over the mantel.

Elliott stares at it in what he can only describe as a mixture of amusement and repulsion.

"Well, listen, it's not everyone's taste." He carries the suitcase he's taken custody of into the house, gestures broadly towards the house as a whole. "Living room. Kitchen back there, bedrooms to the left, bathroom and laundry room to the right."

"It's very--uh--rustic."

He snorts. "Very diplomatic of you." He seems like a sweetheart, carefully walking on eggshells to be as tactful as he can about his interior design decisions. "You'll be staying in the guest room--it's nothing glamorous, but it's got a queen bed and a closet and electricity, and that's just about all anyone really needs around here." It also has some decor that some might describe as "tacky" or "hideous", but that's neither nor here.

"I still don't--you don't have to do this. I can just find a hotel, you don't have to open your home to me--I mean, I'm a stranger--"

"Anything you find around here is a dump and priced like it's the Ritz. You haven't got a car, and you don't know the town. If you don't want to stay, I'm not going to force you, but I am strongly encouraging you to just stay here." Perhaps he's coming on a bit strong, but there's so little reason to go somewhere else that he finds it difficult to imagine anyone would think it's honestly a good idea. He feels confident that it's merely that he doesn't want to impose--he's already said as much.

"...right. You're--you're right. I'm sorry. Thank you for opening your home to me. I'll--I'll pay for the time I'm here, of course, and help with anything you need. I don't, uh, take up a lot of space--I'm pretty quiet, and I'll probably just keep to myself--"

"We'll talk about this after you've had a chance to actually settle in. For now, go put your stuff down, take a gander at the house. Breakfast will be on the table when you want it."

Elliott doesn't seem entirely relieved, but he does seem to accept the order, and goes to drop his stuff in the room. In the meantime, he starts trying to clean things up somewhat. Gathers the mugs to the kitchen sink, and throws the coats that piled on the couch into the closet, and scoots the pile of newspapers into a slightly more organized pile of newspapers to clear a seat at the table.

It dawns on him that he's been at this for almost half an hour and still hasn't seen him return yet. The house isn't minuscule, but it certainly isn't large enough that he could've gotten lost.

He peers around the corner into the open doorway to the guest room, and is greeted by the sight of Elliott sprawled on the bed, having succeeded in getting as far as taking off his short cowboy boots and laying down to fall asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers. He's snoring, phone still loosely clutched in one hand where he'd clearly not been anticipating dozing off.

He just leans against the doorway to watch him for a minute, arms crossed over his chest. What did he get himself into here, taking on a stray like this? What did Bill get him into, sending him the kid?

He grabs an old quilt from the armchair in the corner, and awkwardly drapes it over Elliott, covering as much of his frame as he can with it, before he leaves him to sleep if he needs it. A car nap wasn't good enough--it doesn't sound like he really slept at all yesterday, if he's understanding the timeline correctly. If he's sleeping now, it's because he sorely needs it.

He's got things he could be doing, anyway. He hasn't hosted in a long while, and it shows in the fact that his house is very much set up for his use and his alone. He shoves shit into drawers in the bathroom to sort through later when he cares, throws a clean towel and wash cloth on the counter next to the shower, somewhat haphazardly wipes down the bathroom mirror with a little Windex to get it looking a little less grimy.

With that squared away, he turns his attention to the kitchen. Christ, what a mess. He isn't entirely sure how old some of these coffee mugs are, the remnants solidified into a gross sludge in the bottom of the ceramic. Luckily, it's mostly just the mugs, and then a case of tidying things up enough that there's enough space at the table for two, and he can actually see the countertop again, instead of piling it underneath the debris of being a busy man. Newspapers, and mail he hasn't thrown out yet. Keys, and receipts, and coupons. Things he comes in and sets down, and then they never move again until an occasion like this forces his hand to do something about it.

He whistles while he works, some jaunty little tune he only sort of remembers the origins of, and even less of the words to it, but slows down and lapses into silence to strain his ears. When he catches the faint sound of snoring, he takes his cue to slip out onto the front porch.

"...Bill! You sorry sonuvabitch, how're you?"

"I'm assuming you got the kid without any issue?"

"That's what I'm calling about. Now, I've got a whelp that isn't even old enough to drink sleeping in my guest bed, and I don't know a damn thing about him. He hasn't told me anything yet, and neither have you, so I'd say one of you had better start acquainting me with him."

He can hear the long pause on the line, and a deep sigh from Bill. He can picture him ashing his cigarette, taking off his readers. "I don't think it's my story to tell."

"But it's your story to call on me to intervene in? I'm not asking for every dirty detail, but I am asking for the broad strokes of it. He's not involved in anything criminal, so why was it so important he move out of state in such a hurry?"

"Legal trouble, but not his. Suffice it to say, family matters are complicated and he really shouldn't be sticking around to see them get any more complicated than they already are. There was trouble at the courthouse a week ago, and he called me in a panic and asked what he should do. I said I knew someone who owed me a favor and could hire him on until he found something else, and he packed up everything he had and got on that plane yesterday night."

"So I have to worry about someone showing up to my house looking for him?"

"Not unless he breaks out or gets paroled."

"Oy vey." He sits down on the steps with a grunt, letting the cool afternoon wash over him. "I don't suppose that's the source of that shiner, then?"

"He was reluctant to talk about it, but it seems to be the case. Look, Hyatt, I know this is a big ask, but you can trust me: he's a good kid. He's shy, but he's got a good heart, and he'll open up in due time. If he's underperforming, just hold onto him long enough to let him get himself settled with a new job--but I really think you'll take a liking to him."

Something makes him feel like he's getting snookered, but he's already got the damn thing asleep in his bed. He's in it deeper than he'd normally allow himself to be, purely because it's Bill making the call. "You know that I'm only doing this because it's YOU asking?"

Bill laughs, something warm and raucous. "I know. Hey, I never steered you wrong as your business partner."

"What about as my friend?"

"Ehh, we'll call that more often than not that I gave you good advice. And look on the bright side! Now you don't owe me anymore."

"I hope you go out of business tomorrow morning."

"Then I'll just be joining him in the guest room."

He can't help it--he grins. "Alright, well, I'll be calling you if anything happens."

"I'm looking forward to it. Hey, Hy, take it easy. I've gotta run."

He just sits there for a long moment, mulling over the information he's pieced together about his newfound tenant. Whatever his family member--a father? brother? uncle?--is involved in, it got him arrested, and he was so spooked by it that he jumped ship and left the east coast entirely just to avoid the situation.

He doesn't seem the type to get involved in anything shady--and Bill certainly isn't the type to employ anyone that he thinks is involved in anything untoward. He's a shrewd businessman, and fiercely defensive of his business--he would never let anyone work for him if he had reason to believe they were going to be bringing anything into it like that. So whatever the unnamed family was up to, either he wasn't a part of it, or Bill found out too late and the kid was remorseful enough to overrule his instincts not to get involved, and shipped him off this way.

And whatever happened at the courthouse or jail or wherever it happened, ended up with a fistfight, or something of the like. He seems like the last creature on earth to willingly get into a fight. More than anything, he looks like someone who's probably spent more time getting fought than fighting--the homosexuality practically oozes off of him, and rural Virginia doesn't seem like the most...nurturing atmosphere for that sort of thing.

He heaves a sigh, and heads back into the house to make himself something for lunch.

⁂

By the time he sees Elliott again, it's dinnertime. He's just about to go wake him when he sees the disheveled figure shuffle out of the bedroom, hair mussed from sleep and staring at him blearily, the quilt still clutched around his shoulders.

"Weeelllll, good morning there, Sleeping Beauty. You look like you slept well?"

He looks around silently, and he can practically see the gears turning in his mind. He can hear the dial up tones, the blanket lines on his cheek still visible. He slept hard. He brings a hand up from under the blankets to mash the heel of his palm against his eyes to grind the sleep from them. "Uhmb." There's a congested edge to his voice, and he coughs. "I didn't mean to."

"I didn't think you intended to, on top of the covers, in all your clothes."

He gently knuckles at his nose, still bleary-eyed as he shuffles a little further into the room. " 'm sorry. I didn't think that--that--? Hh-! H-hh'dDZzhhyue!"

"Bless y--"

"EedZZhhue!"

"Bless--"

"Heh-! heEHZzhhyue!"

"I'll just wait till you're done."

He teeters on the brink of it, brows pinched together in sneezy limbo for a couple wavering breaths until he ducks down into the quilt again. "heEDDZzhyue! 'DZZHhieww! ...guh! Excuse me."

He snuffles, the sound thick and wet, and he brings a delicate knuckle up to swipe at his nose. It seems a bit pink, now that's getting a good look at him, and the shadows under his eyes from exhaustion haven't really lessened any, despite the fact that he just slept like nine hours. "Bless you. You're feeling alright?"

"I feel fine."

He isn't sure how "fide" he could really be feeling, given the congestion rounding out his consonants into a soft, blunted sound, but he doesn't push it any. "If you're sure." He inclines his head towards the kitchen. "I made stew for dinner--I hope you eat lamb."

"Uh--sometimes. I'm not, uh, strictly vegetarian."

"Well that's a good thing, because this is not a vegetarian household." He softens slightly. "But it's never too late to learn. I could probably do to fit a few more vegetables into my diet."

"You don't have to change anything just for me. I'll eat anything."

"Anything?"

He looks sheepish, fussing with the edge of the quilt. "Uh, almost anything."

"Except?"

He looks like he expects to be shot dead. "Seafood."

Ah. Well. Yes, that would explain why. He glances sideways towards the fridge and freezer, stocked with more seafood than anything else. "I can work with that. I needed to get groceries anyway. As long as you can tolerate that my cooking is not Michelin star worthy."

"Oh, I can--I can cook for myself. You don't have to worry about me, I'm not--uh--you don't really need to do anything for me. Letting me sleep here is already more than enough--and I still need to pay you. How much do you, uh--"

He holds a hand up to stop him. "I was meaning to talk to you about that. I won't charge you rent, but you're going to have to work. Bill said you're a hard worker and that I wouldn't regret hiring you, so I'm going to trust him and give you a chance--but it's not a free ride. You're going to have to earn your job, and your stay here until you've found somewhere else to live."

"Of course! You won't regret it, I swear--I work to work, and I-I do a decent job, I think--"

His eagerness is equal parts endearing and pathetic. "Alright, alright. You don't have to pledge me a life debt, just don't make me have to fire you." He pushes a bowl across the table to the empty seat and gestures to it. "I didn't cook for nothing, so eat up--you must be half starved by now."

"I...don't feel hungry, but I'm sure I am. I'm sure it smells delicious." He looks around the kitchen, and awkwardly tears a paper towel off the roll to gently dab at pink nostrils. The color seems to be creeping in more every time he touches his nose, the pink soft but noticeable against the pallor of his skin. Was he that pale when he saw him earlier?

"Are you sick?"

Elliott seems genuinely taken aback by the question, almost defiant in his immediate rigidity. "I am definitely not."

He quirks a brow. "Is that so?"

"I can't just be a little sniffly, in a dusty guest room?"

"Dusty might be putting it strongly. I clean in there, even if there's no one staying." Well. Definitely not as often as he should. But he doesn't think it's that dusty in there--not enough that he thinks it should really be effecting anything like this, at least.

"I think it's understandable if I'm a little congested when I wake up, especially in a room that's dusty, after traveling all day!"

He can't fight the amused smile at how adamant and offended he seems by the notion that he's sick. "Alright, fine. I'm sure by the end of dinner you'll be feeling right as rain, then?"

It's the first real show of emotion he's gotten out of him that wasn't fawning or exhausted, a strange streak of obstinance. "I'm sure I will!"

Jee-zus. He really is a teen, even if he's an adult. "Good. Eat up, then."

He narrows his eyes at the challenge they've both locked themselves into now, and sits down with more of a dramatic huff than is necessary by a long shot. Once he actually starts eating, it seems like his body realizes how hungry he really is, because he starts shoveling stew like a ravenous beast who hasn't eaten in months.

"You're not a snake. This isn't your one meal for the next two weeks, you can take your time."

He pauses, the spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth, and stares like a deer in headlights. Color floods his cheeks, matching the shade of pink his nose has deepened to. "Oh." He sniffles, swipes at his nose with the paper towel in his other hand. "Yeah, I just--"

He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as his brow furrows and damp, pink nostrils flare. He sniffles again, the sound equally unproductive but more urgent than before. His lashes, thick and dark like he's wearing mascara--and, now that he thinks about it, he might actually be--flutter shut as he takes a wavering breath.

"huH-! uuUDDZzhhyue! huUHZzhhyue!" He sneezes twice into the bedraggled paper towel, now pretty well spent and ineffective--but he definitely doesn't seem done. The freckled bridge of his nose is wrinkled in irritation, breath scissoring as he takes uneven gasps towards the next one. "heEDDZHhue! eEZZhhyue! Huh-! huH-!? huUDDJZzhhuuee!"

He actually whimpers a little after that last one, cupped hands having taken the brunt of it, the sodden paper towel that's sitting limply in his palms of no use at all now. He sighs, sniffles, and immediately regrets it, because--

"heEZZHhieww! h-heH-! heEDDZZHHhue! ...guh! Oh my God--excuse me..."

He puts his spoon down, folds his hands on the tabletop. "Elliott."

He snuffles, a little bleary in the aftermath of the fit. "Captain."

"Is it still the dusty guest room?"

He nudges the sink on with his elbow to wash his hands--ugh, Christ, he can see the sheen of moisture on his palms from here--before tearing off a couple of paper towels to blow his nose into at such a soft volume he doesn't realize he's doing it at first.

"It might be."

"Elliott."

"It could still be! I'm sure I'll be fine by morning!"

Why this is the hill he's chosen to die on, he cannot possibly fathom, but it is. Fine. Whatever. "Have it your way."

⁂

He's just laying in his bed, listening to Elliott snore from across the hall. He could get up and close the door. In fact, he should go do that, and close Elliott's, too, while he's at it. But something about that feels too risky.

For who, he doesn't know. He highly doubts he's going to wake to discover that he's been robbed, nor that he isn't going to wake at all because he's been stabbed to death in bed. Nor does he think that Elliott is going to weep and gnash his teeth if he doesn't have the doors open as reassurance and comfort. But he went to bed with the door open, and it's some bizarre comfort to him as well to be able to keep tabs on what his new house guest is doing.

Snoring, mostly.

He's listened to him wake a couple of times, but he hasn't really done anything else, except to roll over and make the bedframe creak ominously, and to cough. Nothing horrid, and certainly nothing annoying, but something that since he's been paying attention, he finds impossible to miss.

He leans over, looks at the clock on the nightstand again, and lays back down with a sigh. At least one of them is getting some sleep tonight.

Eventually, he gets up and moves to the armchair in the living room, puts on some stupid "documentary" about something he's sure is bullshit, and lets the sound of someone whose accreditation includes "foremost psychic folklorist" lull him into sleep.

⁂

The light streaming in through the blinds is what rouses him--and as soon as it does, he is aware of two things. The first: the pain in his back and hip from sleeping in a recliner all night instead of laying in bed. The second: the sound of muffled coughing from the bedroom, chesty and congested.

His hip is barking at him, and he awkwardly gets himself up from the chair to go hobble into his bedroom to grab the bottle of aspirin out of the nightstand drawer. There's nothing to really do for it at this point, but he takes a couple of them to hope that it'll take the edge off of the pain.

He stares at it in his closet, and frowns before relenting and grabbing his cane. He hears the sound of Elliott walking behind him towards the living room, and throws a sweater and some socks onto his bed to get to later when he gets around to getting dressed, and follows him out.

"So about that cold that you definitely don't have..."

Elliott is standing before him, clad in pajama pants and thick socks and a heavy sweatshirt, and garishly cold-ridden. His nose is startlingly red and damp, the shadows beneath his eyes dark as a raccoon's mask. He's breathing through parted lips, chapped from the way he's been having to move around the congestion settled deeply into him. Just looking at him feels like he's going to contract whatever plague he's harboring within him.

"I might--" he interrupts himself to snuffle thickly and wetly, coughs into his elbow, "no, okay, I am sick."

"That much is obvious, but thank you for admitting it." He scratches his beard thoughtfully, mulling over his options here. He could try and spare him having to be out and about like this--and, in so doing, spare everyone else from his cold--but he's already made a commitment to going into work today, and dragging Elliott along with him before he puts him to work tomorrow. "Get dressed after you've eaten--we're going into work--not for a full shift, mind you. Consider it a tour more than anything else. I have to fax a couple documents over to a client, and you could use the familiarity."

"Yes, Captain."

He doesn't look happy, but it's difficult to tell if that's over the prospect of going to work, or if it's because he's being forced out while he's sick, or a combination thereof. It doesn't matter, really--he's sick, but it's a cold. He can't let him shirk any responsibility just because he's caught cold, even if it does look like a nasty one.

"Good man. Eat up and get dressed--we've got business to attend to." He claps him on the shoulder, and leaves him to get himself ready for the upcoming day.