If the label on ur plant says it's illegal to take cuttings bc it's Your plant really, I want u to know that my first thought is about all the great cuttings I'm taking off the damn thing to grow many many more.

In reality I am Way too lazy, but if I wasn't I'd be powerful and overrun with baby plants.

With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart, and that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart (Ch.1)

Buggy and Catherine (OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series) were spending their evening at a bar. He was busy all week with his circus, so they hardly saw each other (yes, this happens too). A simple game leads to their first fight. 

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Warnings: Arguing. Drunk Buggy. Sadness.

Words: 1730

The title is taken from "The Way You Look Tonight" by Frank Sinatra

Taglist: @gingernut1314

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“Tails!”

Buggy tossed a coin. “Heads! I won again, my cotton candy.”

“Because you are cheating!” Catherine pushed Buggy in the shoulder. 

“I’m not! Don't blame me, baby. Blame the Universe,” he laughed and sipped his beer. “Ok, it’s your turn to answer. Tell me about.. your worst date.”

“Of course it's my turn. You tricked me again and I'm answering for the fifth time in a row. Ok.. My worst date.. My worst date.” Catherine set the chin on her hand and thought for a moment. “Jimmy Bimmy Bean!”

“Jimmy Bimmy Bean? Gosh! He’s already won the award for the stupidest name ever!”

“He has his mom to thank for that. But he was cute. So.. He invited me to an amusement park..” Catherine ran her finger over the wine glass.

“But it's not so bad.” 

“Shush, clown! I haven't finished yet. But I don't know if he decided this date would cost him too much, or if I wasn't worthy of riding the merry-go-round with him. All in all, he took me to an ordinary park.”

“Bastard!” Buggy said in a mocking tone.

“Shut up! This isn't the end of the story. His mom was following us. She was hiding behind bushes, trees, benches and other shit. And when he tried to kiss me, she showed him how to do it, standing behind some oak tree. Imagine, someone’s arms are hugging you, a face is approaching you, but at the same time this face is looking somewhere sideways, where his mother was standing and showing what to do.” Catherine laughed and took a sip of wine. 

“I don't want to imagine that,” Buggy's face changed, he pouted. 

She stood up from her chair, came behind him and hugged him. “O-oh, don't be jealous, my silly clown. It was many years ago! I was 20.”

“I’m not jealous! Jealousy is for teenagers. I'm an old grown man!”

“Yes, yes. You're a grown man.” She kissed his cheek and buried her forehead in his temple. “You know, I’m so happy we can finally spend some time together. I haven't really seen you for the whole week because of your show rehearsals. I’m ok with that. But I missed you.” Catherine gave him three quick kisses on his cheek. 

“Baby, I told you, you can come to my circus tent at any time. I know where we can hide there and have some fun.” He turned his head towards her and winked.

“You're disgusting sometimes, you know that?” She pecked him on his temple. “Well. Feel better now?”

“No, your scary story about Jamboo Bamboo has deeply traumatized me. I will never be the same again and it’s your fault now, because you fell in love with me completely differently.” He turned around on the chair, made puppy eyes and hugged her around the waist. Catherine rolled her eyes and kissed him on the lips. 

“Stop grabbing my ass, jerk!” She removed his hand from her buttocks. ”And what are you laughing at?”

“You should see your face now,” he laughed loudly and ran his fingers over her lips, wiping away any traces of his lipstick.

“Oh, fuck you. I hate cosmetics, and because of you, now I’m always smeared with your makeup in every possible part of my body. Even in those that are embarrassing to talk about.”

Buggy chuckled mischievously. 

“Hate you. Better order me one more glass of wine.” Catherine clapped her hands lightly and sat back. “O-okay! It's my turn now! Heads or tails?”

“Heads!”

Catherine tossed the coin.

“Yes!! You finally lost, little asshole! Ha-ha! Tails!!” She happily spun around in her chair twice. “Ok-ok.. Oh! I know! When I was about 15 years old, my friend and I had a fight. To be honest, I don't really remember what it was about. But at that time I perceived our quarrel as a betrayal on her part and almost as the most tragic story in my life. Then I was afraid to talk to her for a very long time to make things better. So here's my question. You're all strong and brave. But you have to be afraid of something, right? What is the main fear for Buggy The Most Handsome Clown?”

Buggy's mood changed in a second and he answered rather dryly. “You know, I don't want to play anymore.” 

“What? Why? What's wrong? What did I say?” She looked at him with surprised eyes.

“Nothing. I’ll order more wine for you.” He showed “the refresh sign” to the bartender. 

“W-what? Are you offended or what? Come on! It’s just a silly question. Buggy….” She took his left hand. “What's…”

“Heeey, boss! Hi, Cath!” Suddenly two men approached the bar counter where Buggy and Catherine were sitting. One was a tall slender man with light green hair that covered a half of his face, he was a large checkered scarf. The second was with a muscular torso and thick lips, he wore a fur vest that covered the area of his chest. 

“Cabaji! Mohji! What are you doing here?” Buggy's face was relieved and he patted them both on the shoulder happily. Catherine smiled slightly and nodded her head at them.

“Decided to spend the evening with beer and girls.” Cabaji smiled and made an order to the bartender. “I'm sorry, are we interrupting you?”

“Actually, y…” Catherine didn't finish her sentence.

“No. Of course not. Sit down.” He waved his right hand and the nearby chair and pulled the other out of Catherine’s hand. “Oh, your wine, sweety.” He moved the glass to her. 

While Buggy, Cabaji and Mohji were talking and drinking one beer after another. Catherine gently hinted to the suddenly appearing guys that there were cute girls in the bar and they were looking at them. She rose from her chair and stood between Buggy and Cabaji. 

Placing one hand on her boyfriend's back and the other on Cabaji's shoulder, she cleared her throat. "Look, Cabaji, I don't want to be rude, but we're kind of on a date here. I just.. Can we…”

“Oh, sorry. He just said..” he suddenly blushed. 

“He won’t go anywhere!” Buggy’s drunk voice rang out. 

“You know, I think you’ve had enough beer for today.” Catherine said calmly and tried to take the glass from his hand. “Let's go home?”

“And I’m not going anywhere. Oh, I know! Let’s throw a party in your honor! Let’s have some fun!! ” He pulled the glass out of her hand. 

“All the fun of the bar is already inside you.” Catherine glanced at him.

“Baby, we’ve just started our evening. Sit down. I’ll order one more glass of wine for you. Or two. Do you want two glasses? I can order you all the wine in the world because you’re with me and you are lo-o-ovely.” He barely touched her hair with his hand and immediately took a sip of beer. 

“No, Buggy. I don’t want one more glass of wine. Now I want to go home because my boyfriend is acting himself like a complete jerk.” She grabbed her belongings. 

“Where are you going, my biscuit?”

“Home. And you can stay here and drink the whole bar down.”

Catherine left the bar and went home. She spent three hours on the couch, covered with a plaid. Occasionally getting up to make tea. She didn't know what pissed her off more, the fact that he didn't explain the strange reaction to a simple question or something else. 

"Damn you, clown. Catherine, you promised yourself you wouldn't become the kind of girl who freaks out over little things. So why are you reacting this way? Of course, instead of explaining something, he went out of his way to answer an innocent question and started drinking with his friends. But maybe you're freaking out over nothing." She muttered to herself.

She heard someone trying to get the key in the keyhole. Finally the door opened and she heard shuffling sounds. Buggy padded drunkenly into the living room and collapsed on the couch next to Catherine. 

“I’m back, my Cathie-pie,” he tried to kiss her. "Why did you leave? Do you know how sad I was without you?"

"I noticed. You know, I'm usually amused by you being like this, but right now, please get your hands off me," she tried to get up from the couch.

"Don't walk away from me, my biscuit. I love you so much," he pulled her back.

"Buggy, what the fuck?" Catherine jumped up from the couch. "Fuck, during our relationship I've never reproached you for staying late at your rehearsals or coming home drunk. I wanted to spend one evening with you. What's the bottom line? Everything was ok but you suddenly freak out over some stupid question. God, I didn't want to offend you. And what? I was trying to find out what I did wrong. Instead of telling me the reason for your weird reaction, you start drinking with your buddies. And I'm sitting in a chair like a complete idiot because I didn't know what happened. Score!”

"Baby, jeez, it's just..." He tried to get up from the couch, but fell over. "Damn, the floor's moving. You're going overboard with your desire for fucking romance. Stop overreacting." 

She sighed heavily. “Thank you for saying that shit about me. Now I really don’t want to talk to you.” She went to the bedroom and lay down under the blanket. 

Buggy came into the bedroom a few minutes later and lay down beside her.

"My cotton candy, stop pouting," he poked her in the shoulder. 

She jerked back. "Don't touch me, what if my, as you said, overreaction causes pink unicorns to come and trample you." 

"Oh, Lord, lie here and take offense till morning." He turned his back to her and closed his eyes. Suddenly he heard a soft sob from the other side of the bed. 

“Catherine.. Baby, why you...” He asked, turning his head back. She didn't answer. 

It was the first (and last) time in their relationship that he had heard Catherine cry.

God why is it so hard for my mom to take cuttings from my beloved childhood willow tree and send them to me. Does she really just value me and my interests and the things I hold dear so lowly she won't just pop down less than a block from where she currently lives and break off some sticks and wrap them in moist paper towel in a ziplock bag and mail them to me??? My newfound toddler years interest resurgence of tree propagation is the only positive I've talked about in my life since I lost my baby girl. It's the only passion I've had available to tell her when she wants small talk about "the good things" in life. Willow is easy as fuck to propagate. Every two months it seems she'll mail the closest equivalent they have to chic tracts but apparently something I grew up with that makes me happy is too much to ask. Not to go full blown psychotic tangent but grandma and grandpa would have sent me cuttings to propagate. Might have even propagated them for me first and mailed them the fancy proper way. I don't know.

I'll have mom talk about the oak trees my grandparents planted and "I wonder what happened to them" and how they were planted so close together they sorta grew into each other and then in the same breath doesn't understand that I want to share in a memory with her like that. She used to garden!!! Even included me!!! What happened??? Suddenly she just doesn't want to encourage this? It was her that helped make sure my saplings didn't die way back when. This is an actual positive memory I have together. She says she wants a relationship with me but just... I don't fucking understand anything. Conditional love? Apathy? Inability to empathize with me and my values? God. I am so tired.

This is the one thing I fucking care about right now but she just doesn't support. She remembers when we propagated pussywillow cuttings and of how they had to be fucking murdered out of the yard. Chemical warfare shit. because the neighbors were worried about their plumbing. We literally discussed this. How we literally in the past propagated a similar species from cuttings. And she's in the same breath acting like she's incapable of sending me cuttings from a very important tree in my life. Now I'm terrified that she's doing the thing she literally did with all my childhood dogs that I explicitly told her was fucking destroying and hurting me badly and that those cult bastards who bought the school murdered my tree and she's trying to hide it from me or some shit. Just like everything fucking else. "Best" case scenario (in regards to her) she's literally doing the same grief traumatization denial shit I've gotten after her for over and over and over again. Worst case scenario she literally doesn't want to take a detour walking her new puppy to mail me some damp sticks when she literally mails me guilt trip shit no problem. And honestly I prefer the worst case scenario because if those bastards killed my willow tree after everything else they've done I am going to fucking riot.

I'm waiting on a surgery to help me live with one of my many fuck shit chronic conditions, it's coming up to the one year anniversary of my beloved service dog's fight with cancer ending, my roommate's car apparently can't make the drive there, etc. I can't just go back there to take plant cuttings myself yet. This would be the tiniest gesture to give me a massive amount of comfort right now and just... Nope.

I keep thinking about going back there and propagating cuttings of literally every single emotionally significant from my childhood plant that I can get my hands on. The cherry trees, the three trees, the walnut trees, the chestnut trees, the fruit trees from the front yard of the Spot house, etc. Clone every single tree I have a nostalgic memory of and then grow them in my bedroom under grow lights and maybe I'll fucking have a reason to live again. I want to make a bonsai of a cutting (identical clone) of the willow tree that I train to look like the willow tree. Bring it with me. That tree, among others, was so important in my life. It had like a religious status in elementary school.

Also on that topic I could propagate cuttings from whatever is still surviving on my grandparents farm. So even if they never fucking let me take it over and it continues to rot into the ground I can still have identical clones of the beloved windbreak trees and the oak trees and the crabapples.

And yeah. I don't just want to "find a different willow tree" when you can literally clone the one that's so important in my life. I couldn't possibly take the whole tree with me, it's too big and the roots are too vast and the cult weirdos would freak out. But identical clone? Yes.

But yeah thinking about it now and my mom saying she "might" try to look for acorns but not take cuttings from the willow tree doesn't make sense because comparatively the willow tree is much more convenient.

So now I'm terrified that the willow tree was murdered. Its root system was the only thing preventing the school grounds from turning into a lake in the spring though so at least I know those bastards will suffer for it.

I’m Getting You Out

Warning/s: Familial Abuse, Implied Depression, Sex, Not proofread

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Pairing: [MODERN AU] Eren x F!Reader

AN: I’m still practicing on writing smut I promise. English isn’y my first language so...

Eren promises to get you out of that f*cking hellhole

Statistics are numerical figures resulting from research. And statistics show that one in seven children are exposed to abuse at home.

To become a part of a whole is to be subjected in a fractional value in a case of one of many. Just another victim. Just another unfortunate case.

You have wished for nothing more but to be treated as a person, a human being. Society should have spared people like you from becoming into something inanimate. When at home, you are nothing but an object of captivity, breed to become an investment in a capitalistic dystopia.

You grew up feeling nothing but a bruised porcelain doll. They used you, in many ways you couldn’t even count. From being treated as their personal punching bag, to an insurance that is meant to project the contradicting state inside of your home whenever you face your parents’ friends.

Every moment you make is monitored by invisible cameras. That’s why they say the walls have ears, and the ceiling have eyes. Do you even get to decide for yourself? Everything you do has been regulated to their ideals. “It’s because we love you.”

You are nothing but a dumbed down version of a golden child. Used as a puppet, nothing more and nothing less. They do it because they love you. And you believe it.

You have never prayed for anything, God is nothing but a being who abandoned you. But for once in your life, you have never wished for something, and its in a form of a young handsome boy named Eren Jaeger.

The irony of wishing someone you once hated. You hated him at some point, but only because you know what he said about your family is true. That “your family is nothing but leeching bastards who even sucked their child dry.”

Deep down, Eren’s straightforward comment haunted you. And hearing it from someone so transparent, made you anxious. You needed to hear it, but the creeping anxiety says otherwise.

And because you blame yourself for being like this, you hated Eren Jaeger.

Eren was wrong, for saying it straight of the bat. He even got Armin to hit him for saying something overwhelming.

He was wrong for saying it right out of the blue, but what he said is nothing but the unequivocal truth.

He knows your parents, leechers of society. Leeching of his wealthy father. He hated them, but not as much as you do.

He saw you in the winter of his sophomore year in university. There you stood like a statue, with restrained movements. He wanted to hate you too, but seeing that you’re your parents worst victim. Made him see them as devils.

He didn’t pity you, Eren and freedom are one. He believed that you should be free of the cage that reduced you into your parents’ slave. He knows you have your wings, and you can fly. You just need help.

He talked to his therapist once, about a bird with their claws tied. He knows that the only way for the bird to fly is if they used its wings, but he wants to help it destroy its cage.

So he did, the moment Eren decides to become your friend, you felt there was something wrong. Something wrong in the status quo. Like a change in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t sudden per say, but there is a shift. And you don’t mind it.

Having Eren is like finding comfort in a state of distress, it felt like breathing fresh air in an area saturated with pollution. For you once in your life, you get to feel what freedom is all about. That you get to be unorthodox in a way your parents wouldn’t imagine.

And maybe that’s how you fell in love with him. As much as you believe that God should beg for your forgiveness, you begged him to let you be with the person you love.

The attraction wasn’t one-sided. That the more Eren spent time with you, he gets to be with the you that the universe failed to see. The you who made the mundane things in life enjoyable. The you who’s eyes light up in watching every studio ghibli film. The you who is Eren’s girl. His girl.

You have sought his heart and he is willingly giving you every piece of vulnerability. Because you are the girl that the Eren Jaeger loves.

And now he gets to say it, confessing your love under an oak tree in campus. And he gets to say it to you, whisper it to you in the secluded corner of the library where you get to share kisses in secret.

And he gets to say it out of the blue, when you order your coffee and you ask for his. “Baby, I love you so much.” And every letter and every word never fails to trigger the butterflies.

And he gets to say it with you at night, whenever he sneaks into your room. His touch claiming every piece of your skin. His kisses traveling all over your body. And when he’s deep inside you, he whispers his love to you.

“I love you baby, God I- Fucking love you. Feel so good around me.”

“You’re so- so good to me baby f-fuck.”

And you’re beautiful like this, getting lost in the pleasure he gives you. “Baby please cum for me- baby please.” And you do, he fills you of him straight after, marking you as his with his cum.

You’re his, and he’s yours. Such simplicity in complexity.

Eren is no good person, he knows he would kill for you, set the world in flames for you. But as much as he wants to fall into his instinct, he respects you so much, that he has become your loyal servant. Ready to go to war for you.

That’s why every time he consoles your crying figuring, reasons of what they had done to you, again. Everything turned red, the word “fight” repeating in his head again and again until you begged him to just take you into his arms, and fuck you until you forget the horrors of in the form of the people who gave birth to you.

But on this particular moment, something was off. Seeing the bruises on your skin has completely set him off. God forbids he sees your parents, because he will become a criminal you’ll hate.

But you don’t want him to kill for you, because killing means he’ll be dragged away into some worn down prison, and you fear for him. But you fear for losing him the most.

He place his hands on your cheeks wiling away the tears that continue to betray your godly eyes.

“I promise to get you out of there baby fuck- I PROMISE” And he embraced you once more, because this time he’ll forcefully open the cages to your prison.

He kept his promise, because two days after that, you left everything behind. Destroyed all your photos that tells of your life in this hell. They don’t get to remember who you are. They don’t deserve that.

And from that day, the bird flew with its wings. Claiming back its freedom and happiness. Now with the person you love.

Hello, me again (sorry 😅), the requets still open? I thought of a scenario with Bo, where his s / o is jealous of Carly, going into a distressing / painful situation and in the end a lot of love and fluffy 😳 I need angst and fluffly in my life with Bo 🖤

Sorry this has taken so long to put out, I just haven’t really been in the headspace for angsty writing tbh. Now just letting you know this is a lot more angst than fluff but here we go into destressing situations lol.. Also had a thought while finishing it, if this is the same reader as in ‘the kitchen floor’ write I did, then this would be probably like a year before because the bastard wont say ‘I love you’ yet

MASTERLIST

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

A slow tear burned across your cheek as you sat in the upstairs bedroom, lost in focus on the duffle bag you had hastily packed, the screams and gunshots outside were muffled by your own thoughts.

-- the way those pretty lips curl --

His southern accent ripped through your skull like a bullet. You were upstairs unbeknownst to the man who had the woman tied up in his ‘playroom’ when he had said that. It was your man. Bo Sinclair. The one you fell in love with a few years ago under the oak tree outside of Ambrose. He promised you that no girls would ever go down there anymore, those days were over, he was past that, you were the only one for him. Guess not.

How many others have there been? Was it just the pretty little redhead? Did he want something new? Someone more beautiful?

Each thought stung more than the last, choking on your breath and spilling more tears into the aged bed sheets. You smelt him here. Smelt you together in the dim lighting. Every memory flooded your brain, the good, the fights, the blood, the tears, the love, it made you want to throw up at the thought of him giving that up. Luckily - or not so lucky - the front door slammed closed and heavy boots fell against the hardwood of the old home, the man’s yelling and cursing filled the air. Now was probably the worst time to approach your lover but the pain coated your common sense, and you made your way down the creaky stairs.

A loud thud made the rage-filled man turn around. A dark duffle bag was thrown and you came into sight.

“Bo --” You spoke bravely, captured by the wild look in his blue eyes, they were different tonight. Hardened, dark, lustful, painful and coated in anger. “I- I’m... I’m done” you shook. This broke you but broke him more. Bo’s worst fear was losing you, and tonight it was coming true.

“Wh-what do you think you’re doin?” He tested, taking in your appearance it made him want to melt but his pride and anger was too strong. “Where the fuck did you get this idea?”  

“Bo I can’t fucking do this anymore..” Your voice breaking you started to drag the bag to the front door but were slammed against the wall instead. Your breaths left you and your lungs were filled with Bo’s deep exhales. Huffing in your face like a bear, the crazed look in his eyes and the smell of blood and sweat was animalistic against you.

“The fuck did you just say?” Bo deeply asked, every word coated in venom as he pressed his forearm against your chest, while the other was on your waist like a vice. This was a different man than you had ever seen before. Half man, half beast. Squeezing you like a python forcing everything out of you, Bo needed it, wanted to devour every word, chew it and spit it out in your face.

Hot tears flooded down your face watching the man snarl inhumanly at you. Fear and pain shook you to the core as you brokenly whispered “I’m done”

It was silent for a second, too silent, until Bo let go of your waist and slammed his large fist against the wall next to your head, making you yank your head to the side and cry out like a wounded dog. Bo’s chest rose and fell heavily with ragged breathes, pushing his forehand against the side of your head and neck, taking in your smell that battled against his, one last huff and he spoke, almost a whimper into your hair “please.... please”

The anger and pride had shattered like glass and there he was, just a broken man, laced with insecurities and rooted in fear. He was sick, but so were you to love him. Every day this love burned and twisted like a knife.

Resting your head against the cold wall you bit your lip to try and stifle the wails that wanted to surface. Your small hands painfully made their way up his shaking back, feeling every muscle twitch and every bone of his spine rise like blades. One of your hands moved to Bo’s sweaty curls, drawing small shapes along his skull, as he moved his large hands around your waist.

Feeling each others breathes and becoming encapsulated by the pain, you held each other, and it was a while before you managed to speak, your thoughts still running hot in your mind “Bo... w-why was she down there? you promised me.. no more you said” the silence lasted and you continued “Baby, what was it about her? I heard you. Wh-”

Before you could finish Bo’s lips crashed onto yours and he cupped your head. He was desperate, wanting to devour you and every breath your lungs held. Pulling away you could see the tears stinging in his eyes, the redness making the baby blue pop like stars in the night sky “She meant nothing to me... At the end of the day, you’re the one I want to come home to... You're the one I kept and hold... she’s dead now, she’s gone”

The intensity in Bo’s eyes made you break and start new tears breaking from your lashes, grasping at his shirt you held him tightly, clawing at his back almost trying to become one with him. “I- I love you Bo”

“ssshh... I know baby.. I know” He held you tighter and ran a thick hand through your hair, squeezing his eyes, praying that one day he could say the words you spoke to him.

Slowly Bo picked you up and took to the couch, having you lay on his bloody chest. Just holding each other was enough tonight. You were slowly becoming the wound that would never heal in his skin and Bo bit his tongue bloody at the thought.              

The Heartless: Chapter 1

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Read on Inkitt

(A/N: HOOOO boy here we go, after five years of staring down the barrel of this thing it’s finally done! Important question: does it matter to y’all if I don’t post the text of the chapter directly below the cut in the future and just link to Inkitt? I ask because formatting for tumblr was beyond annoying and I’m not looking forward to doing it for like 20 more chapters. But if it’s necessary for accessibility reasons, I’m willing to do it.)

Chapter I: in which the story begins

When the winter first melted into spring, Basil and I crept to the edge of the woods behind our houses to pick wildflowers in the meadow. It was still too early for raspberries; in the summer, we’d fill our baskets and our stomachs with them until our mouths were stained red with juices. Our mothers would bake pies in the afternoon and we’d eat them in the evening, cleaning every last scrap from our supper plates with the promise of a sweet dessert. Now, the earth was still cool beneath our bare feet, our toes wiggling in the soft dirt. Once we’d filled our fists with flowers, we settled in the tall grass and began weaving together goldenrod, daisies, and violets into flower crowns and daisy chains.

Basil presented his work and beamed at me, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with the back of his hand. “Take it, I want you to wear it,” he urged, thrusting the flower crown into my lap.

“But you worked so hard on it,” I replied.

He shrugged and brushed the dirt from his tanned knees. “I want you to have it,” he insisted, reaching forward and taking the crown from my lap to place it gently on my head.

I stared down at my own work in my hands; it was not nearly as beautiful as the one Basil had made. Some of the stems had split, and many of the flowers had lost some of their leaves and petals. I didn’t have the same steady hands that he did.

“In that case, I want you to have mine, too,” I decided, pressing the crown onto Basil’s head as a couple more leaves fluttered to the ground.

Basil grinned a mile wide, practically radiating sunshine with every inch of his being. “Now we match,” he beamed.

A peaceful silence fell over the meadow. Behind us, the trees rustled in the woods. Insects hovered in the grass, hopping from flower to flower; Basil jumped when a bee buzzed past his face to land in the flowering raspberry bushes that bordered the tree line.

“We’ll be friends forever, right, Basil?” I asked after a while, sheepishly adjusting my flower crown.

"Of course we will,” he responded. “Even when we’re old!”

 “How old? Like, eighteen? That’s super old!”

Basil laughed. “Yeah! Eighteen and then even older!”

I smiled hopefully. “And we can still make flower crowns like this?”

“Ace, when we’re eighteen, I’ll still make you all the flower crowns you want,” Basil decreed with a grin. “That’s a promise.”

* * *

The warmth of the sun and Basil’s innocent smile faded as I woke up to last night’s rain dripping down on me from the cracks in the ceiling above. Bertrand stood over me, jostling me awake with one hand while the other held a vial of another one of his concoctions. I assumed I had fallen asleep after supper, because the dishes remained untouched by the washbasin and twilight was just pouring in through the window.

“Drink up,” Bertrand commanded in that voice of his that just begged to be disobeyed, holding the potion in front of me expectantly as if to remind me of the curse that filled the vacant space within me. He stared at me with piercing eyes over the top of his dull gray beard, swishing the vial back and forth for emphasis.

I grabbed it from his wrinkly hand and sloshed the red liquid around in disgust before shutting my eyes and downing it in one gulp, just to appease him. Even so, I could not resist the urge to lay a hand against my chest, but still I felt nothing. Shaking my head, I rose from my cot and pushed past Bertrand, grabbing my bow and arrow off the hook by the door and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Bertrand called after me.

“Out,” I answered, already halfway out the rickety wooden door.

“It’s past nightfall, Ace, it’s dangerous out there!”

But I was already gone, walking away from the old house as the door slammed shut behind me with a satisfying thud.

Over the seven years I’d spent under Bertrand’s leaky roof, I had slowly become disillusioned with the idea of ever finding a potion strong enough to light a fire in my ribcage. Bertrand had tested a lot of his spells on me throughout my life, but the love potion had always proven to be the least effective.

But I suppose that is to be expected when you do not have a heart.

The Village of the Heartless was smaller than the town where I grew up. A single dirt road ran from the village gates to the top of the hill, through the neighborhood before coming to a stop at the edge of the woods that surrounded the kingdom of Amistadia. We were a close-knit community, learning to provide and look out for each other through thick and thin, through every harsh winter and plentiful spring.

Bertrand’s house stood at the edge of the village, where the hill dropped off toward the gates below. At the base of the hill stood a large, sturdy oak tree where I perched some nights with my bow and arrow on the lookout for trouble.

Nights in the Village of the Heartless were always dark, as we could never afford enough oil to keep all of the town’s lamps lit, but they weren’t always quiet. Kids from neighboring towns sometimes wandered the area at night, brandishing knives in their grimy hands, looking to stir up trouble. Tonight was no exception; as I neared the village limits, I caught a glimpse of a pair of boys making their way down the road, and a thrill shot up my spine. I climbed swiftly up the oak tree and perched in the shadow of its lush, leafy branches, fingers itching for my bow.

The pair dragged a child behind them by the arm, yanking her across the dirt with them as they cackled and cheered triumphantly at their prized catch. The girl held tightly to a canvas sack, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her captors.

“Get away, get away!” she shrieked, dodging a blow as she fell to the ground, clutching the bag to her torso desperately.

“What’s the matter, little runt?” one of the assailants sneered. “You’re not afraid of a couple of kids, are you?”

“I just wanted something to eat!” the girl cried out as a likely filthy knife narrowly missed her cheek.

If I had been in my right mind, I would have simply shot the pair of boys in the shoulder, snatched up the child, and run away, but Basil’s face kept flashing in my mind; an anger was boiling in my gut that demanded confrontation.

“Hey, ugly!” I shouted, pulling back an arrow and pointing it in their direction.

The kid with the knife froze, eyes darting up to my place on the tree branch. I was yards away, but I could see the glint of light from the last of the setting sun on the knife as his fist tightened around it. His partner, as well as the child still laying on the ground with the sack clutched to her chest, stared wide-eyed as he

“Who’re you talking to?” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” I quipped, hopping down from my perch and tightening my grip on the arrow. “Just let the kid go.”

“Why should I?” he retorted, nonetheless taking a step back when he saw the arrow aimed directly at his head. “Y-You’re not really going to shoot that.”

“How do you know?”

The other kid called out, “Hey, let’s just get out of here.” He was ignored.

Pointing to the little girl, Knife Boy puffed out his chest and continued, “There’s no way you’re really worried about her. You Heartless are all the same; you don’t feel a damned thing. No way you’d go out of your way to save her.”

I allowed myself a bitter, self-indulgent smirk, too brief to be seen in the thick darkness. “If that’s what you believe, that I am entirely emotionless, then wouldn’t it also stand to reason that I would feel no remorse about ending your sorry life right here and now?” I drew my bowstring further; the wood audibly creaked. “If that’s the case, then it would seem you had better start running.”

Knife Boy froze, taking a few steps back before he and his friend took off running in the direction they came. “Cursed bastards!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hopped the gate and disappeared. Once they were out of sight, I let my arms drop to my side and slung my bow back over my shoulder. I felt my brow furrow in frustration; life in the village had become so mundane that I was almost hoping for a fight. I quickly stifled that selfish thought, pushing it to the far recesses of my mind; the girl, who had stayed completely still on the ground throughout the whole ordeal, now scrambled to her feet, still clutching the bag in her white-knuckled hands. Now, no longer squinting through the dark, I recognized her immediately.

“That was awesome! How did you know what to say?” she beamed, slinging the canvas sack over her shoulder and wiping the dirt from a pair of ratty pants that fell three inches from her ankles.

"Petra, you’re the one who I keep hearing has been stealing food from the neighboring villages?” I asked her, and her expression soured immediately at having been caught.

“Yeah, that was me,” Petra admitted under her breath. Then, scrambling to justify herself, she added, “But I only do it because there’s not enough food in the village and I gotta eat something!”

I nodded, mulling it over. “Sure, now I suppose I can’t blame you for that, but stealing is wrong. You’re plenty old enough to know that.”

“Of course, I know that, but I needed food!”

“Fine, I get it, I get it,” I sighed. “Just don’t make this a habit, got it? I promised Annie I would keep you out of trouble.”

Petra pouted. “Fine,” she mumbled. I started back up the hill, with Petra trotting silently alongside me.

At thirteen years old, Petra had been living in the Village of the Heartless since she was a baby—which was still longer than I’d been in town—left outside the home of one of the village women, Annie, in the middle of the night. I’d met her several years ago, and she quickly became enthralled with my stories of life outside the village. Annie was dead several months now, leaving Petra to fend mostly for herself, though the community kept a watchful eye over her (Not watchful enough, I thought ruefully).

“You didn’t tell me how you knew what to say to that kid,” she urged, struggling to keep up with my strides.

“I used to spend time around those kinds of people a lot when I was a kid,” I explained, deciding to humor her. “I’ve learned how to turn their own words against them by now.”

I did not tell her that had I learned how to do so sooner, things may have turned out a lot differently.

 * * *

I eventually sent Petra home with a warning that I’d be watching to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. When I crossed the threshold back into Bertrand’s musty old house, the palm of his hand came down hard across my face, leaving a sharp stinging sensation behind on my skin.

“What on earth was that for?” I yelped. Bertrand grabbed me by the wrist and dropped me into one of the rickety dining chairs in the center of the room, bearded face practically sparking with rage.

“You must not keep doing that!” he scolded.

“Doing what?” I asked innocently.

“Getting into confrontations with… hooligans! What else?”

“I did what I had to—”

“Don’t think I wasn’t watching, Ace! I could see the entire ordeal from the window!”

 “Well maybe if you’d actually done something to help instead of just watching—”

“Unlike you, Ace, I value my life and am not going to get myself killed just to feel like the hero!”

I couldn’t help but bristle at his comment. Something in my soul shattered, and I sprung to my feet, the wooden chair tipping backward onto the stone floor behind me with a loud clatter that would have rang through the eaves had I not immediately erupted into theatrics.

“What do you mean you value your life? All you do is sit around making futile potion after potion and you still think it’ll work next time!” I clenched my fists at my sides, willing the confrontational energy in my veins to burn out before it swallowed me whole. “So maybe I need to tell off some asshole every once in a while to finally feel like I’m doing something meaningful. So you can keep pouring bile down my throat all you want, but I can assure you it’ll never make me happy!”

Bertrand’s face fell, and I knew deep down that I had hurt him, but I could not bring myself to feel guilty. He had it coming, I thought, stalking across the room to my cot by the window. I sat down on the thin mattress, kicked off my boots, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

“Ace—” Bertrand, having followed me, reached out a hand as if to lay it on my shoulder, but I flinched away from the touch and he retracted the appendage as if he had been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered, directing my gaze out the window at the dark, lonely night creeping across the landscape. “Just leave me alone.”

With a sigh, Bertrand retreated from my bedside, retiring to his back potion room to conjure his demons away, and I sat back against the wall, longing for home and the warm voices of my parents.

That night, I dreamt of Knife Boy, and his words reminded me of Carita, the girl who kissed me under an oak tree when we were younger and told me I was weird for flinching

Next chapter releases 7/25!

COFFEE SHOP AU PT4

SEGMENT TWO

Now let us visit the manor shall we, I should also point out the way the manor is positioned in this au is very Edward Scissor hands like, you know high atop a hill overlooking the town, just personally feels more fitting to me anyway like, Hat wants to stay away from most people but watches over them like the evil overlord he is, just my thought though shrugs.

Cruentus had ran, he didn’t stop until he was inside Hat Manor, back pressed to the door, was he breathless? Hyperventilating? At this point the hellhound could barely tell the difference, head in hands and sliding down the door, he damned God, he damned him because if this was some kind of trick to torment him…

Could even God be that cruel?

Knees now to this chest and arms around his waist he shivered, snow falling where it had collected on his coat, leaning his head back he couldn’t believe it, was his baby Lulu, his pup alive…no…no he was dead, had he become so absolutely sleep deprived he was imagining his son?

The oil lamps and their flickering lights made the lobbies deep red paper shimmer…akin to blood oozing from the walls…if it was appearing like that, there was a chance Black Hat was not in the best of moods himself…this house seemed to express his masters moods after all…no it was not oozing…the way it appeared to spill, meant he was bleeding emotionally.

It was selfish, but sometimes he wished he didn’t know how Hat felt, sometimes he wanted to just ignore him, Acylius had never blamed Hat for his impending death, but as a Father who lost his son…on bad days, really, really bad days, there was a part of him that did, even though he knew Acylius would have been miserable and unhappy without Black Hat.

It was his own selfish want to have his pup here and be his Father…but in all honesty, when it came down to it…when Acylius had told him to let him go, even though they knew what would happen when he left that day, no matter how much he wanted to stop him, reach out and beg him not to go…

Cruentus could not have denied that soft smile of his son who stood before him a soldier…no…a king who was willing to die, to turn the tide and save the Elderichts, change what the world had done to them as well as give the Legion demons their own freedom, to not always be eternally bound or the less fortunate ones who were sold off…after all not every Legion demon had been born rich and with privilege.

He remembered, his sons hands on his face, telling him it was alright and that he was ready to die, that he’d accepted it the moment he’d seen Hat standing there in the rain, that if the happiness he’d had with Amadeus came with this price, every single time he would be willing to pay it…what if this was Acylius…

Would fate be so cruel as to make his son pay it again just for being with Black Hat?

Or would Acylius even end up with Black Hat this time…he could try and play matchmaker, after all he had a friend or two who would treat Acylius as if he were as precious as the universe itself…

No these were desperate thoughts.

Cruentus knew that if Acylius wanted Black Hat.

There would never be anyone else for him…

Didn’t mean he couldn’t maybe try and put out something tempting on the table, after all Caspian was always a kind soul who wanted to look after Acylius and had held a candle for him even if he had never outright said anything, he’d never been blind to how the glass demon was practically always humming a happy tune at the prospect of seeing him.

He let his head fall back against the door, this was all too much, his world felt like it was spinning, it might not be him, reincarnated Acylius would mean there was an entirely different life bound to him, he would be Acylius but different in so many ways.

Was it the Acylius they’d known finally spat out of purgatory?

That fucking place had a habit of playing games with people and leaving gaping holes in their memories and placing bets on how long it took them to remember if they ever remembered at all.

Then the last question was it even Acylius? Hope could be a cruel thing after all.

The idea of going to bed was unbelievably tempting, go to sleep and pretend this was all a very real dream of his son, but he knew at this hour everyone else had already retired apart from a few scientists who were lost in their work coming up with the next dastardly thing to sell to villains.

Perking his ears up he stilled, eyes closing he listened, as suspected scientists were busy with their work but he was not searching for them, his hearing focused on Black Hats office, his room, his study but there was nothing there, no grumbling, pacing or turning of a page, not even a scrawling of his quill signing paperwork, just Acylius’s old grandfather clock that ticked in his office.

So if Amadeus was not in the manor…

He lay on his side and listened there, the mourning room Black Hat had made for Acylius ran along the complete under side of the manor, Amadeus, had made it into a museum with glass cabinets including little plaques.

As much as Hat seemed obsessive, he had earnestly tried to move on as Acylius had asked of him, he’d had short term relationships that just didn’t last, he’d found happiness in many ways, but nothing had ever lit that spark in the short demon as Acylius had, no matter how much Amadeus had tried, it was clear that his mourning might never end, much as a swan who mated for life and there would never be another to fill that space.

He would be lying to himself though if he denied ever visiting Hat’s shrine to his son, he was the only other person who had access to it and that was just because he was Acylius’s Father.

Ah yes there he was, that heavy forlorn sigh, slightly ragged and in pain, if the bleeding walls were not a clear sign alone that it was a low day for his friend then that would have said enough.

Cruentus would have shadow travelled to him but Black Hat had enchanted the place to stop fools from trying to break in.

Making his way to the entrance, he went down the spiral staircase with black iron bars decorated with gold leaf decorations as vines twisted around them, his palm open as a fireball lit the way, down at the bottom a blue walk way carpet in a hue only Legion demons could see, so of course it would just so happen to be Acylius’s favourite colour, he’d wondered what it looked like on many occasions as to both he and Hat it appeared only gray.

Of course his son had tried to describe it as being close to the sea only more divine.

Grand oak doors greeted him at the end, opened slightly still, he closed his hand, snuffing out the fire and made his way in quietly, his heart was racing, how was he going to tell Amadeus about the man he’d met, the possibility Acylius was back, well first he had to find him in this place it wasn’t exactly small after all.

Black Hat was currently sitting on the bed he’d shared with Acylius, fingers brushing over the covers, recalling how once upon a time it had been infuriating how much Flug moved in his sleep until he reached a day where sleeping without some part of the blasted tree draped over him was nigh on impossible.

Of course he’d slept since Acylius’s death, but it’d never been peaceful, sometimes he only rested because he could imagine that disapproving look…which if he’d been alive he’d have also been picked up and carried to bed whether he wanted to or not, in the end he’d always been thankful that the tree had because he just knew, he just always seemed to know when he was exhausted or needed to just rest.

Flopping back he sank against the pillows, a faint scent of his doctor still lingered on the linen, staring up at the four poster canopy he wondered if the Flug he’d met was simply a doppelganger, sometimes these things happened, a creature taking a face when no longer in use and sometimes those memories attached to it would bleed into their memories.

He closed his eyes, hands to his chest, sighing solemnly, wouldn’t it be wonderful just to have him here for one more night, to say good bye in a way that would be soft and tender…his dear tree had entered this world in pain and left it in the same manner.

When Amadeus opened his eyes again he found Cruentus staring down at him he let out a more than undignified scream hand to his chest only to then slap Cruentus’s face, the Hellhound of course had no reaction, after all it was a more you bastard for making me jump but I’m not actually angry at you but how dare.

“Sir if it is time for you to rest I can fetch you a hot coco or single malt, all depends on what you wish for, tonight.”

Hat recomposed himself and sat up; damn it, only his tree and the damn hellhound could sneak up on him like that.

“Sir, you and I both know your heart is not in your chest.”

Cruentus smiled, biting back a laugh.

As Amadeus watched the hellhound’s ears express just how funny he’d found making him jump was, he could not be mad, no it only added to the sad longing of just wanting to be beside that idiot who was down at that wonderful little café Amongst The Stars.

Of course Acylius had learned to express with his ears from watching his hellhound father, he even wondered sometimes if he’d picked up on it to himself and even how to control and hide his emotions with them, but what he missed most was seeing them wiggle every time Flug was happy, it had taken Black Hat so long to realise they always moved like that when he entered the room…

Did Acylius ever know just how much his heart fluttered at the sight of him?

He could not recall if Flug’s ears had moved like that when he saw him today or yesterday, he’d been too lost in just seeing him, trying to grip onto reality, it was a phenomenon to just see Acylius walking and breathing, being alive.

It left him in a wonderful dreamy daze, he could barely take his eye off him, Amadeus so desperately wanted the barista to turn around and smile at him like he used to…that was probably a heartbroken and desperate wish…but still if it took wishing on every star for a moment he would ask each and every one of them until it came true.

He like Cruentus knew there was the very real possibility of another life attached to this man; still the question they both wondered was he reborn or spat out of purgatory?

Could this Acylius even be a man he could love or love him?

What if Acylius felt nothing for him…no he would not despair, one could not know the answer to something if they did not at least ask or try to find out.

Hat blinked as snapping fingers brought him from his thoughts

“Hey now, what’s on your mind, Gremlin?”

Cru asked softly only for his hear to lay back as the anime dark blue cloud of oh dear I done bad hovered over him as he was on the receiving end of one of Hat’s famous dark looks, of course only Acylius was allowed to call him Gremlin.

He tilted his head though when Amadeus didn’t do anything and watched him flop back onto the old bed, yelping as he was pulled onto it with a black tentacle wrapped around his waist and plopped onto the other side, the tentacle immediately disappearing afterwards. (The side where Hat used to sleep as Amadeus was currently taking up the side where Lulu slept.)

“Acylius is on my mind, what else…I have something very important to tell you Cruentus.”

Oh so Black Hat did know about the coffee shop?

“What is it sir?”

“I think…I am not sure, but Acylius might be alive, reborn, back from purgatory or pulled from wherever Legion demons go when they die, but I also want to call him a doppelganger. As much as I want it to be him…we cannot trust it at the same time…though his scars…can someone match them that perfectly?”

Cruentus lay there listening to him, staring up at the canopy; it was embroidered with silver stars that glowed in the dark, no matter Flugs age, his boy had always loved lights and things that’d glowed, heh he remembered hearing him asking Amadeus to open his mouth one night, how in awe he’d been of his glowing fangs…that was his pup alright.

“I saw him my way home, he was putting out the rubbish…I’m numb and yet feel everything at once, still my thoughts and feelings have come to stand still as I process it all, I can’t tell if we’re just finally losing it and starting to just want him back we’re imagining him there.”

The Hellhound didn’t face Amadeus; he thought he might just break down right then and there, how could he tell him, Acylius had remembered something from his childhood at this moment when it was clear he’d not said a thing about Black Hat.

No he would tell him tomorrow…but would that be a good idea, should he mention it…would Black Hat understand if he told him he’d been afraid to as the last time had been the final step into Acylius dying…yes, he would probably understand.

He would never tell him though and Acylius would never forgive him for making Hat feel that guilt when it was never his fault, when Acylius wanted to do something he did it, every step had always been his decision.

He would lie, a white lie, a simple one of he just wanted to make sure.

Closing his eyes and settling against the pillows Cruentus shared a moment’s silent until he felt Black Hat move beside him, he cracked open an eye and watched him turning on his side to face him.

“I understand completely, but we need to find out, carefully though mind you, if we rush his memory back it could genuinely do more harm than good…but I am willing to wait even if it only leads to heartache for us, we will regret it so much more if we don’t even try to be there and he remembers us.”

Cruentus only nodded to show he was listening, after all that was a good point.

Black Hat propped his head up with a hand, looking up at the star canopy in thought, a small hopeful smile creeping across his features

“If this Acylius and I are compatible, then I will gladly work on wooing him, learning all about him and his new life and new him, because no matter what he will always be my husband.”

(Send me messages if you want me to ever write their secret wedding, you can do it on anon btw <3)

“Is that not perhaps sir, a little obsessive and possessive?”

Cruentus returned, turning his head to face him only for Hat to look down at the still laying flat Hellhound with a brow raised

“So you are fine with the idea of him calling someone else Father…yes I know if it makes him happy and he is happy you would let him while your heart silently breaks, but I am not good like you…or even like he was , but Acylius always knew that.”

Cruentus’s brow furrowed, tears stinging his eyes, the idea of someone else being called Father or Papa…the notion was agonizing, but Hat was right , if Acylius was happy he’d let him go…no matter how much it hurt.

“You won’t make him be with you though, if he comes to realise he does not love you in this life?”

That was when Amadeus’s whole demeanour changed, sitting up his form turned completely to shadows covered in eyes and open maws, all moving, gnashing teeth and slit pupils focused on him, the one set in his skull was bloodshot and vibrating as Black Hat barely held his temper

“I trust you know me better Cruentus than to assume…I would ever do anything like that rat Vincent.”

The Hellhound was not afraid, but he himself knew it had been a cruel comment to make, looking up at him with bright yellow eyes he stayed still as the darkness of the room pressed in tightly around his body.

“I am sorry Amadeus, that was a truly uncalled for comment, I know you would never force Acylius to do anything he did not want, forgive a hurting Father who wants only what’s best for his son, but punish me if you see fit…”

He place a hand on Amadeus’s arm where fangs were but the maw did not open or try to bite him

“I know how much it hurt you what Vincent did that day, how much you still blame yourself no matter what Acylius said , you could never accept the fact that it wasn’t your fault it was Vincent’s…how he took advantage of the situation.”

A tentacle covered in razor sharp spikes whipped through the air as Black Hat let out an inhuman screech, only stopping a breath away from Cruentus’s face.

“I could never hurt you…Acylius would never forgive me if I did so.”

The shadows coiled back in, washing away as he returned to his old small form, after all he’d never grown the height the world saw him as was all for show, he really was still that four ft five Gremlin Acylius had loved so much, he was just too tired and emotionally drained to keep up that façade right now.

“Not even if I deserved it?”

Cruentus asked softly, oh Amadeus really was suffering; it was not often when he resorted back to his root form to rest.

Looking down and pulling his knees up to his chest his face hidden by the brim of his top hat and answered him quietly

“No, not even then, now go make my tea.”

He used a tendril to push Cruentus off the bed; a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the hellhound fell unceremoniously onto the floor and heard the somewhat pained groan of

“Yes sir.”

End of segment two of three

Segment one

Doctor Harry X. Corto

A/N: This is just for those who care about The Golden Girls’ story too :) Thank you to everyone who reads and for the feedback. I really appreciate it! 

J hangs the towel I let him on the line I set on my balcony. I set it myself because there’s something so comforting and relaxing for me about watching clothes hanging from the line. I think it reminds me of my Nana because she always seems to have something on the line. That’s crazy, really, because there was just my Nana and my Papa so it’s technically impossible that they had washing every day but that’s what I remember. It’s just costumbrist and I like it.

With his short blond hair still wet he takes a seat in front of Coco and me. He told us both the story between sobs and fits of crying on the way home. The bastard of David had dumped him forty minutes away by car from Grad because Jason told him he had gotten an acceptance letter from a hospital in New York. It’s for an internship in the summer, two months in New York learning Medicine. And the bastard, instead of being happy and proud, threw him out of the car. I’ve tried to keep it together and not tell him I’ve planned nine different ways of killing David and get away with it. He probably doesn’t need to hear that now. His green eyes are still bloodshot from all the crying but his breathing is back to normal. The warm shower did him good. He smiles when his eyes finally set on us.

“Thank you, guys, really. I don’t know what would have been of me without you girls.”

“Marie would have gone pick you up.” I tell him.

He smiles and nods but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Coco asks.

Jason gives her a look before he sighs and shrugs.

“Embarrassed.” He confesses. “And silly and humiliated.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to break up with him, obviously.” He raises his eyebrows at my question. “I mean I’m not even sure we’re still together. I should have told him about the internship sooner.”

“What?” I can’t believe him. “That has nothing- absolutely nothing to do with what he did. What he did was wrong and he’s sick. I mean, even if you had told him something wrong, which you didn’t, but even if you had told him- I don’t know that you had cheated on him- it doesn’t justify that he fucking dumped you in the middle of the highway, J!”

“I know. I’m not saying that.”

“You’re justifying him! Again!”

“I’m not!” He yells.

I know Coco is uncomfortable by the way she’s sunk down on her chair but I don’t care. Jason needs to hear this.

“Yes, you are! You keep trying to turn him into this guy he’s not!”

“You don’t know him, Indie!”

“That’s right! He doesn’t let us! He keeps trying to take you away from us! I mean what kind of boyfriend doesn’t try to get involved into his partner’s life! He’s never even tried to talk to me.”

“Well he knows you have an opinion.”

“Of course I have an opinion! He’s a violent abuser!”

“He suffered a lot when he was a child! Do you know what it’s like to be abandoned by your dad? No, you don’t!” He cuts me off when I’m about to talk. “And he’s good, he just has a bad temper and anger issues but he’s trying to get better, okay?”

“Is he? Is he even going to therapy?”

“He doesn’t believe in therapy…”

I chuckle a mad laugh of crazy woman.

“That’s what they all say, J. Abusers justify their abuse with a dark past and they made you feel sorry for them so they can still hurt you over and over. He’s manipulating you, can’t you see it? You have to take that idea of your mind that you’re going to fix him because you won’t! He needs help, professional help, and you can’t give him that. I’ll tell you more, you’re perpetuating his toxic behaviour by allowing it.”

“That’s rich coming from you. You’re just projecting Javier on him, but David is not Javier, Indie.”

“Yes, he is! And I know because you’re doing all the things I used to do! Don’t you remember? You told me to break up with him a thousand times and I didn’t because I loved him and I also thought he was good deep down because he could be sweet too but that was only him being manipulative too… And I thought he would change for me too, that he loved me… But… It’s not your responsibility to try to help someone who keeps hurting you. Moreover, you can’t even do it. This is dangerous for you and for him.”

“Don’t even try to pretend like you care about him.”

“Of course I don’t. I care about you. And I’m not happy with what happened to you today, Jason” I start seeing him blurry until I can’t see him anymore and so I wipe my tears away with my hands. “But you need to break up with him, he’s no good for you or for anyone and he needs to get his shit together. What he did to you today was sick, J. You cannot forgive that.”

I feel his arms wrapping around me before I take my hands away from my eyes. And he rests his chin on top of my head like he had done so many times before. JJ’s always been there for me. He was there when Dylan died and he was there during his funeral and during all the months that follow that seemed to be my own slow, never-ending funeral; and then he was there for me every time Javier would do something twisted and when I left him too. I wrap my smaller arms around his broad back and rest my ear against where his heart is, feeling that old familiar heartbeat.

“I love you, Indie.”

“I love you too.”

“Aww.”

Jason laughs and tilts his neck to see a teary Coco. My sister is so emotional all the time, just like my Mum. I feel his chest rumbling when he laughs.

“Get in here, Coconut.”

She smashes her face against mine and from the corner of my eye I can see her smiling with her eyes closed. She loves a hug, too.

We hear my Mum’s laughter before we hear our friends coming. She walked with them towards my wing.

“Baby, the girls are here.” She says on the door. “Coco and I are going out but order something for dinner for you guys.”

It’s not strange for me that my mum speaks English to me. Usually we speak Spanish but she always says she remembers how she felt when her English wasn’t that good and she would hear my dad’s family speak English and laugh but wouldn’t understand much. She says she doesn’t want our friends to feel like that. 

“What time is it?”

I haven’t checked my phone all day.

“It’s 4 pm, honey.” She smiles. “Are you high?”

I roll my eyes at her and she giggles. She knows I’m not. Coco kisses Jason’s cheek before she gives a quick hug to Ollie and Marie and follow my mum outside.

“Hasta luego, Blue.” 

“Bye, doofus.” My sister grins as she leaves.

Despite being twenty years old, sometimes she acts like she’s twelve.  Marie and Ollie fight like a married couple about who locked the door when they went out before Ollie deploys an army of candy and junk food on the table. Jason looks at them amused.

“We brought the break up kit.” Olivia smiles.

“Because we’re breaking up with David Dick, aren’t we?”

My eyes widen at Marie and Olivia kicks her feet “discreetly”. Marie’s lips part and her eyes widen in horror of her realization too.

“Is that how you guys call him?” Jason tries to keep a straight face but the three of us see his hidden smile.

“You did say he had a big dick.” Ollie shrugs.

“And he’s a dick.” Marie adds.

Jason finally bursts out laughing. And the three of us join him before Olivia motions for us to hug him and the three of us surround him like he was an oak tree and we were trying to get positive energy.

Then the four of us sit on the table and eat chocolates and lollies without even realizing Jason and I haven’t even had lunch. Jason tells Ollie and Marie the full story and the two of them tell him David’s such a jerk and that not him neither anyone deserves that kind of treatment.

“Anyway what happened last night with Mario?” Jason asks Ollie.

I tilt my neck slowly so I’m facing my friend and she avoids my eyes looking down at the liquorice she’s eating. The last time we talked Mario was Mario who? and had clumsy hands. I suck my lips inside my mouth trying to hide my smile.

“So?”

“We didn’t have sex.” Ollie blushes.

“What?” The three of us ask in unison.

“It didn’t go well?” Jason asks.

“Wait, I need some context!”

“Right, you weren’t there.” Jason’s eyes widen.

“Mario came with Harry. Apparently they were together in O’Clock so when Harry said he was going Mario asked if he was going to see you and he said yes because apparently Harry’s got verbosity” Marie tells me and I chuckle. He really does sometimes. “And so he tagged alone in case you were with Ollie. Isn’t that romantic?” Marie looks at me like the heart eyed emoji and I smirk.

“But you were talking to that guy.” I interrupt.

“Well, we stopped talking.” She shrugs. “I don’t know what’s going on with your lips, Indie.” She points out all my hidden smiles. “But yeah then he came, we were drinking we danced, we kissed and I went home with him.”

Maybe he really does have clumsy hands and that’s why they didn’t have sex but then why is she leading him on?

“It didn’t go well after you left?”

“It was perfect.”

“Then?”

“It didn’t happen.” She shrugs.

There’s something going on with Mario for Ollie to act this way. I’ll ask Harry. Mario and Harry are friends and Harry’s nosy beyond believe. He’ll tell me.

“And you?” I ask Marie.

“What about me?”

“The redhead.” I smile.

“He burped.” She pouts as her eyebrows frown like Emile Clarke’s. 

We all burst into laughter but she keeps pouting despite her growing smile.

“And you can’t judge me because you dumped Álvaro for no reason and he was so cute.”

“And Spanish.” Olivia adds.

Jason celebrates Álvaro’s nationality too and I roll my eyes. I don’t care that he’s Spanish. I mean I like meeting Spanish people because they remind me of my mum’s heritage and I can speak Spanish to them but there’s nothing else you know about a person if you know they’re Spanish. I mean you know where they were born. That’s it. Then for what is worth, every person is their own person.

“But you left with Harry, didn’t you?” Olivia’s eyes widen.

“Wait were you with Harry when I called in the morning?”

I nod.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry! I didn’t know. I thought you guys had cut things off.”

“Yes, but a leopard never changes its spots.” Olivia shrugs.

I roll my eyes. My eyes set on Marie and I can read her disapproving expression.

“He offered to drive to get you in the morning.” I defend him. “And he…” 

I was about to tell them about how he showered me with compliments but I decide that should stay between us. I don’t have to prove anything about him to Marie or to anyone else for that matter. 

“That was sweet of him.”

Thinking about Harry makes me think I haven’t checked my phone all day. Maybe I should call him? Let him know everything’s fine? But what am I thinking? That he’s going to be waiting for me to tell him about my adventures with The Golden Girls? I blush at the idea.

“You’re not falling for Harry, are you?”

“What?” I frown. “No! Of course not! He’s such an idiot!”

Because he is. Sometimes. When he guesses things about me assuming I’m a posh bitch or when he tells me I have many flaws or when he pulls away for no better reason after confusing me with affection. Plus, he’s said it himself; it’s just sex.

“If only you felt something for him…” Marie adds.

Her words shock me.

“What?”

“Well if you were dating maybe the rest of doctors wouldn’t look down on you as bad as they will when they know about you two.”

“They won’t know.”

“They will too.”

“Does Harry burp, Indie?” Jason changes the topic, God bless him, and the three of us chuckle.

“Not in front of me, no.”

“But anyway I didn’t know about this redhead, Marie.” Jason wiggles his eyebrows but she just rolls her eyes.

“There’s nothing to know, Jason.” She sighs and rests her chin on her hand. “I need love, not burps.”

“You need to stop thinking your prince will arrive on a white horse and fuck some guy so you’ll forget about it.” Olivia tells her.

I laugh at her cheekiness.

“What Olivia’s trying to say” I correct “is that being single is also fun. You don’t need to have a boyfriend, Marie; but maybe your obsession with finding love is overshadowing it?”

Maria shakes her head.

“No, it’s not that. I know I don’t need a man but I just… I want to be in love, you know? And I want someone to love me. I’m tired of being alone…”

I give her a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t lose hope, Marie Anne” Olivia wraps an arm around her shoulders and rest her cheek on top of her head “it’ll come.”

“Love?”

She looks up at Olivia, confused that our less romantic friend says that. To be honest, I’m confused too.

“No, sillyhead, mind-blowing sex.” The three of us laugh. “Like the one Indie has with Harry.”

I chuckle and roll my eyes. She’s such an idiot. I don’t know why I’m laughing.

“Did you know he’s from Bellamond?” I tell them.

The three of them look at me with wide eyes and I tell them the little I know about him. Jason hands me my phone over.

“Talking about the devil…” He smirks.

I’ve never replied faster to a text. 

Harry: How’s your friend?

Indie: A lot better, thank you.

“Look at that smile!” Jason teases and I swat him away playfully.

Indie: Thanks for asking.

Harry: No problem 😊 And you? How are you?

Indie: I’m good thanks

Harry: My blunt Indie

Indie: I’m not yours.

Harry: haha you’re so curt is even funny

Indie: I’m sorry I didn’t text you back before. I’ve been with my friends all day.

Harry: No problem.

Harry: What are you doing now?

Indie: We’re just hanging at my house

Harry: Would you like to have a drink?

Indie: All of us?

Harry: I mean it’s you I want to see but they can come too

“Aw, he’s adorable!”

When I lift my head from my phone, I see my three friends are behind me reading my texts. I blush and bring my phone to my chest covering the screen.

“Guys, you’re the worst!”

Jason stands up and walks towards my room. He comes back with his shoes on his hands.

“Tell him we’re coming and ask him for the location.”

“Yay!” Marie throws her head back. “Indie, do you have lipstick?”

“But you bite your lips a lot and stain your teeth!” Olivia reminds her.

“But what if Harry has a cute friend? Or what if the waiter is cute?”

Jason rolls his eyes and Olivia and Marie disappear on my bathroom in the search for my lipsticks.

“Are you sure you want to go?” I ask him.

“Damn right.” Jason smiles. “It’d only do me good.” He shrugs. “Plus we can’t leave your man like that.”

“Harry’s not my man.”

“Whatever.” He chuckles.

Indie: Where are you?

Harry: Cahoot

The pub is dark like the ones Jason likes and there’s quite a lot of people inside but it’s not suffocating. I spot Harry straight away. He’s leaning his elbow on the bar and is talking to Mario who gives us his back. I look at Ollie and find her talking to Marie and doing a scan of the bar, surely looking for possible prince charming for the brunette.

I wonder how I’m going to greet Harry. Should I give him a hug? Or a kiss? Or shake hands? His grin widens when he sees me as I reach him in the bar.

“Hello, Indie.”

I smile back. Okay so no hug, no kiss, no handshake.

“Hi there, Indie!” Mario seems happier to see me than Harry himself.

“Hi, Mario. How are you?”

“I’m good, good.” He smiles. “How are you?”

“I’m good too. Are you guys alone?”

Jason greets them both and so do Marie and Ollie. I notice the way Mario’s hand rests on Ollie’s lower back as he presses a kiss on her cheek but my friend looks away.

“No.” Mario shakes his head. “We’re on that table there. There’s a bunch of people from the hospital. You might know some of them.”

My eyes widen as I look at Harry. He knows I don’t want people to know we’re sleeping together in Uni but he just shakes his head and frowns as if dismissing Mario’s words. The Golden Girls order our drinks before we join them on the booths they have taken on a corner of the pub.

Harry’s got an empty spot beside him and I wonder whether he did that on purpose or whether it just was there because after his greeting I doubt he even wants to sit down next to me. I also notice, even from afar, the beautiful blonde sitting next to him. She’s everything I’m not. She’s thin, like, extremely thin actually, and her skin is paler than mine. She’s blonde but her hairstyle reminds me of my own, she has long opened bangs that skim her cheekbones just like me and her face is just perfect. Yeah, that’s the way to describe her, perfect. Her lips are full and pink and her nose is small and delicate and her eyes are olive green.

Olivia motions to Marie for her to sit down next to Mario so she doesn’t have to but Marie refuses to and even though I don’t agree with whatever the hell it is she’s doing with him, I take that seat before they give a scene- and so I don’t have to sit down next to Harry too. I see him frown from the corner of my eye.

“Hello, I’m Rose.” She’s nice too.

“I’m Indie.” I tell her.

“Indie?” Her green eyes widen. “Where does it come from?”

“It’s… It’s a colour.” My face contorts in embarrassment. “My name’s Indigo Blue. And it’s my mum’s favourite colour. She’s a painter.”

“Wow!” Rose smiles. “That’s so cool.”

From the corner of my eye I see Harry smiling next to her. Olivia sat down next to Harry eventually but he isn’t paying any attention to her and he must be the first man to ever do that. Instead, his eyes are on me the entirety of the night.

We all talk about music and Mario seems interested in Extremoduro. I tell him about them and about my favourite Spanish artists and he asks me stuff and even gets his phone out to type down the songs I tell him. See? He’s such a nice guy. I widen my eyes at Olivia and point at him every time he says something cute but she just gives me warning looks and cuts the air in front of her throat threatening to kill me.

Marie wants to dance and she takes Ollie with her who’s dying to get out of the table anyway. Jason’s been chatting to another two guys about God knows what and Harry’s been mostly quiet even though as nosy as he is I suspect he’s been eavesdropping every conversation on the table. Rose’s chatted to him some too but she’s also been talking to another girl who’s sitting in front of me. I think her name is Cris.

My eyes meet Harry’s but I quickly look away and turn to Mario yet his brown eyes are set on Olivia as she dances. I look at my friends too before I give him a sympathetic smile.

“Olivia is…” I start.

“Incredible.” He cuts me off.

I smile. Yeah, that too. But I wasn’t going to say that.

“Where did you go when you guys had dinner?”

That seems like a good way to start coming around it. I normally wouldn’t be so meddling but alcohol removes my inhibitions like autumn takes the leaves of a tree. I rest my elbow on the table and then my cheek on my hand so I stop taking glances at Harry from the corner of my eye.

“We went to this Indian restaurant she suggested...” His brown eyes narrow as he thinks about the name. 

My blood freezes on my veins.

“The Siddharta?” I fear.

“Yeah!” He smiles. “That’s the one.”

“Oh.”

“You know it too?” He chuckles. “She seems to go there so much even the waiter knew her.”

“Jack?” I can’t believe her.

“Yes.” He looks at me as if we were very strange people. “You guys love Indian food, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do.” I try to hide how angry I am. “I’m gonna order another drink, you want one?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Do you want me to go with you?”

Stop being such a good guy! Olivia’s gonna hear me.

“No, that’s fine. Thanks.” I give him a smile.

I need another drink. Especially because I need to calm down before I yell at Olivia. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that he’s using Mario like that. Well, yes I know; because that’s not what you do to people and I don’t want my friends to be terrible people. My frown feels heavy as I wait for my Bulldog gin and tonic.

“That was an interesting seat choice.”

Harry’s voice makes my belly flip. I swallow at his proximity.

“Your greeting choice was also interesting.”

I shut my eyes internally but on the outside I just look away from him. Why am I such a bigmouth when I drink? When I look back at him, he’s grinning. He presses his body against mine and corners me against the bar.

“Did my girl want a especial greeting?”

“I’m not your girl.” I frown.

“Then why do you want a special greeting?” He’s still grinning.

“Because… Well, because, you said you wanted to see me so…”

“So?” I want to slap that stupid grin out of his face.

“So I was expecting…” I bring my hand to my forehead but mostly to protect my face from his because I’m desperate to kiss him. “Actually, I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Well” He tacks a strand of hair behind my ear “I, on the other hand, can tell you I was expecting you to sit next to me.”

“You seemed busy.” I look away again.

What am I doing? I can’t be jealous. Wait, am I jealous? What the hell am I doing? I need to get out of here.

“I gotta go.”

But his fingers lift my chin and his lips press against mine. I drink from his mouth contently and my breath catches on my throat when I feel his tongue parting my lips. His hands snake around my waist and he pulls my body to him as we kiss and my hands find the back of his neck.

“Hello, baby.” He smiles against my lips.

He’s intoxicating.

“Hello.”

“You said you didn’t want people from the hospital to know.” He shrugs. “That’s why I didn’t kiss you.”

“No, yeah, you’re right. I am just drunk.”

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t mean that. I wanted that kiss and I would kiss him again, drunk or not. But I don’t want things between us to get… complicated.

“As lovely as usual.”

“I need to talk to Olivia.”

“Fine.”

He moves aside so I can walk away from him and towards my friends, already angry and anxious. When I reach them, they’re both dancing to some lame background song and of course they’re the centre of attention of a group of guys.

“Olivia” I grab her elbow and push her even farther away from Harry’s friends “why did you go to The Siddharta with Mario?”

Her pink cheeks confirm my suspicion. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Marie’s lips parting as she stares at Olivia too. I let her talk even though I know the answer. 

“It’s a good restaurant.”

“You don’t like Indian food.”

“I thought he might like it..”

“You went there to get Jack jealous?” She swallows and looks away from me. “Olivia! It’s been a year!”

“I saw him the other night.” She explains. “I… He was with her and they went to my dad’s jeweller’s. He did that on purpose.”

“And you played his game?”

“What did you want me to do, Indie? I just wanted to get back to him! And I was going to go out with Mario anyway. The only thing that changed was the place.” She shrugs.

“Is that why you keep leading him on? You said he had clumsy hands and that you didn’t like him and you went home with him last night. Do you just want him there so you can get your ex jealous?”

“Indie, this is none of your business.” She looks away from me but her lips are set on a thin line.

“Well someone has to tell you you’re acting like a bitch.”

“What? I’ve had enough, Indigo. Go fuck yourself or better be the canned vagina you are these days.”

Her words freeze me to the spot and I feel a hurricane unleashing on my chest until it reaches my throat. I can’t believe she just said that. She’s been doing this fuck-and-leave thing for a year now and not even once I’ve judged her and now she throws this at my face? Is that what she really thinks of me? Is that what Harry thinks too? Is that even what I am?

I walk away before she sees me crying, I won’t give her the satisfaction and I don’t stop walking until I’ve turn the corner. I left my jacket inside and it’s rather cold now but I’ll text Marie to grab it for me. 

I’ve never been punched on the throat but I reckon this is how it must feel like. It’s hard to breathe and I feel betrayed, beaten and dirty. I walk home. My tears keep rolling freely down my cheeks while my mind goes into a frenzy. 

Jason’s words resound in my mind “you’re not falling for Harry, are you?” No, of course, I’m not. We have nothing in common, other than Medicine, but that’s in no way reason enough and he’s nothing like what I... I’m not looking for that. Now or ever. 

And then it hits me why it bothered me to see him with that Rose girl. It wasn’t jealousy, it was just the fact that I’m not ready to be a canned vagine. I mean I thought I didn’t care at all that he would be with other girls and I don’t think I do but for him to be with other women and for me to see that are two different things. The fact that he called me and told me to come over even if he didn’t event plan on kissing me, then why the hell did he call me if he was with other girl? 

The thought that he might have wanted a threesome with Rose and me flahes through my mind like a falling star. He’s clearly into sex in a way I might not be ready for. He probably has done it before too and maybe that’s what he wants from me now. 

My head aches too and I feel it dull and full and suddenly I feel so tired and cold and I just want to cover my head with my blanket and cry myself to sleep. 

That’s what I do.

Vodka Aunt Nomura

@kalajorn sent in an ask:  Headcannons for Nomura low-key adopting Jim as her nephew?

This story answer the asks and addresses some of my other related headcanons. 

Nomura grunted as she watched the Trollhunter and Claire spar. The road to New Jersey was a long one, and the opportunities for the young couple to train were few and far between, so Nomura insisted on using every moment to work on their skills. Blinkous had taught Jim the basics. Draal had taught Jim the proper forms. Strickler had taught Jim how to fight dirty. Now it was Nomura’s turn. 

“Sloppy Trollhunter!” She barked as Jim’s riposte fell short of Claire. 

Zelda Nomura had trained herself, spending decades learning everything she could about sword play. Now she was going to impart as much of that as she could to Jim and Claire, even if she had to drill it into their heads personally. 

Claire readied her rapier while Jim readjusted his footing. Nomura was about to instruct them to begin when she felt a vibration. She pulled her phone and glanced at the screen to see who was calling. Stricklander. He was most likely calling just to check in, but there may be something important he needed to discuss. 

“Keep working on that maneuver.” She said as turned away, pressing her phone to her ear. 

“Ah, how I have missed your dulcet tones, Ms. Nomura.” Strickler’s voice sounded smug even over the phone.

“What do you want Stricklander?” Nomura snapped. She hated small talk and would as soon get back to correcting the Trollhunter’s footing if there was no pressing emergency back in Arcadia. 

“I just wanted to keep you apprised of how the, eh, exterrestrial situation is progressing here.”

“Go on.” Nomura stepped away from the small clearing where the two kids were practicing. 

“It would seem Mr. Domzalski has made contact with our guests.” Strickler’s voice settled into his usual business like tone. Nomura listened closely as he spoke. “He vouches for their character, but did let slip that they unfortunately have quite the bounty on their heads.” 

“And I presume that some of the unexplained disturbances, the last couple of months before I left were caused by bounty hunters?”

“That is my assumption as well, though I have not confirmed.”

The Janus order always kept careful tabs on any strange or unexplained events that took place in Arcadia. They had to make sure whether these events presented any threat to the changelings or their plans. The extraterrestrial known as Stuart had a massive dossier due to his frequent and erratic career changes. When Strickler and Nomura were the only remaining members of the Arcadia Oaks branch of the Janus Order that task fell to them. 

Of course monitoring alien activity took a back burner to preparing the Trollhunter to face Gunmar, all while hiding any trace of troll activity. Now that Gunmar was dead and the trolls gone from the city, Strickler was working on rebuilding the branch, and reestablishing the files maintained on any “newcomers” to the city. 

“Watch your back old man.” Nomura growled softly. 

“I also do.”

“No I’m serious! Don’t get yourself into some dumb situation when I’m not there to drag your ass out of it!”

“And I here I didn’t think you cared.” But his tone had changed. “My safety notwithstanding, how as the journey East been?”

“Slow. The trolls move slower than a limbless goblin. And I never thought I would miss being able to change forms this much. Our only guides forward are a child and a bastard. I’ve had nightmares of the Darklands that are more pleasant than trying to get Merlin to do something he doesn’t want to.”

“Hmm.” A slight chuckle in his voice. “And what of our Trollhunter. How is Young Atlas handling the journey?”

Nomura turned to look where Jim was training. He and Claire had both obviously stopped taking the training seriously as soon as she had turned her back. Now the Trollhunter was showing off, trying to impress his Juliet. Claire for her part was eating it up, her laughter echoing around the clearing. Nomura smiled to herself for a moment before answering. 

“Little Gynt is...adapting.”

“That’s a high compliment coming from you.”

“He’s been through a lot. Less than a year ago I fought him in his kitchen.” She snorted to herself. “If you can even call it a fight. He’s faced so many challenges since then and has grown to over come every one.”

“Is that fondness I hear in your voice, Ms. Nomura?”

“You shut your fucking mouth Stricklander!” She snapped in reply. 

Strickler switched to speaking Changeling. 

“You don’t have to hide from me, sister. I know the effect he has on people first hand.”

Nomura sighed and rubbed her hand down her face. Jim was currently holding a cheering Claire on his shoulders as he jumped from tree to tree. She couldn’t help her smile returning to her face as she watched them play. 

“Little Gynt… he has a way of making you want to be close to him, of him worming his way into you heart.”

“Considering adoption?” Strickler said with a laugh. 

“What did I tell you about shutting your mouth? You know kids have never been my style!” Nomura snapped switching back from the changeling language she had been speaking. She continued in a slightly calmer tone. “Maybe I could be something like the cool aunt who shows up already drunk to Christmas.”

“Ah, I belive Tobias refers to that as the vodka aunt. Perfectly suits your demeanor.” Nomura could hear the sound of a baby crying in the background of the call. “Ah, well as much I would love to continue this discussion, I’m afraid duty calls.”

“Gross, you made that joke on purpose.” The only answer was a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Give Barbara my love, Stricklander.”

“Coming from you that sounds unfortunately literal.”

“You know my type.” Nomura said with a smirk. 

“I sure do. Farewell Zelda.”

Nomura returned her phone to her pocket as she watched Jim and Claire goof around. She was tempted to reign them back in to continue working on the Trollhunter’s poor footwork, but she decided to let them have their fun. And just because they were having fun, doesn’t mean it can’t still count as training. She jumped into a nearby tree and snuck towards them.

Excerpt, “Caught Between Your Teeth” [Toliodas x Elizabeth, Arranged Marriage/Language Barrier AU]

i guess it’s about time i talk about this, because it’s been sitting in my docs and i need to actually do something about it lol

so, about forever ago, my friend @lemaskadra talked about this idea where not only do Elizabeth and Meliodas get into an arranged marriage but also speak different languages. her idea was that Meliodas (and the demon clan) would speak German, while Elizabeth (and the goddesses) would speak French

and i wrote in the server this trashy smutty one-shot, featuring bastardized German and Toliodas, because i found that i like the idea of Meliodas actually looking older and taller. i love this one-shot. i hope to finish it, along with everything else i have planned

warning/tags: breast feeding, pining, and baby!Tristan.

For a moment, there is silence. 

Granted, this is not much of a surprise, as this is a library and silence is often a requirement for all kinds of study. It’s precisely one of the reasons the babbling golden haired baby in a green onesie crawls inside and towards a bookshelf, intending to hide. With little grunts of effort, he sits up and listens, arms flapping as he looks around with gleaming, wide blue eyes and babbles softly in a language only he seems to understand. 

A sound goes out behind him, making him let out a squeal before tilting his head downward, his mouth spread into a toothless smile as he tries to hide his face, as if that would keep her from seeing him, and he waits. Not too long after, there comes a familiar clack of shoes against wood beneath velvety skirts, entering slowly into the library and pausing right in front of the shelf the little boy is hiding behind. He lets out a little gasp.

“Tristan,” she croons in a near song, her warm voice echoing in the vast library. “Tristan, dear, are you here?”

When she gets close enough, he snorts and giggles, before moving his small hands from his hands to his mouth. Tristan won’t risk it this time; he will not lose.

“Oh, where has my baby gone off to?”

Tristan giggles, though it’s muffled behind his hands, and he flails a little in his amusement. He’s certain she doesn’t see him, that she doesn’t know he’s even in this room. From the corner of his eye, he sees the toe of heeled shoes, the hint of a dark purple skirt and creamy petticoats, and he freezes. Tristan sits up against the bookshelf, nearly glues himself to it, even as some of his powers pour out without him realizing it. His power is different from hers, much different— not opposite exactly, more of a mix—but it reaches out for hers automatically, the way all children do for their mothers.

She snorts, soft and warm. Then she is poking her head around to look down at him, her eyes blue like his, like the sky and her hair long and so pale it looks almost white. “Found you,” she coos with a warm smile. 

Despite losing the game, Tristan lets out a squeal and removes his hands to flail them joyfully at his side. Then he lifts them to reach for her, curling his fingers, and she lets out a laugh before crouching down to lift him up. She settles him in her arms and looks down at him with eyes that gleam like jewels.

“Hello, my sweet baby,” Elizabeth says to him. “Did you have fun?”

Tristan babbles something unintelligible, his lips spread into a smile as she laughs. “Yes, I did too. I’m sorry for being so busy lately, but I had to take care of some last minute things for the party tonight.”

“Party” is a word Tristan has only heard a few times in his short life (so far), and though he doesn’t know precisely what that means, he knows that it is associated with lots of people, different clothes he has to wear, and pleasing sounds that many people move and sway to. One time, not too long ago, there was a party where Tristan (and many others) received gifts from everyone, around a tree lit up with pretty lights. Though this was back when he had to be held all the time, Tristan  remembers this vaguely enough that it registers as pleasant. Hence, when he hears his mother mention a party, he begins squealing and flailing his arms, until one closed fist goes to his mouth. 

Elizabeth nods. “That’s right, a party! You’re finally going to meet your grandmother, and even some of my friends. It’s been almost two years since your Maman has seen them, so this will be...interesting, to say the least. Oh, they’re going to love you,” she adds softly, nuzzling Tristan’s cheek. 

“Ma-mah,” Tristan attempts to say, turning his head to rest his mouth against her cheek in a mimic of a kiss. “Pah-pah…?”

This gives Elizabeth pause, her eyes going wide before she pulls back to grin down at Tristan. “Yes, they’ll visit your Papa too! Although…”

She leaves the comment hanging, her smile turning awkward as she rolls her eyes to the ceiling in thought. Tristan puts his hand back in his mouth and starts suckling on his knuckles, his eyes round and bright. He wonders what she’s thinking. Could she be thinking of his Papa? He has been working in his office all day, the way he usually does. Tristan doesn’t understand exactly what his father does, or who he is, but he knows that he works a lot and doesn’t always have as much time to play as Tristan’s Mama does; so, Tristan concludes as best he can, his Papa must be someone very important. 

Actually, if Tristan really thinks about it, he hardly sees his Mama and Papa together— unless it was breakfast or dinner— and when they are in the same room, they don’t...well, they don’t act like a lot of mommy and daddys do when they’re together. Tristan’s uncle and aunt are always kissing and stuff, even when they’re watching him; even Uncle Monspeet and Aunt Derieri can’t seem to stop touching each other. But Mama and Papa hardly even speak, can’t seem to meet each other’s eyes for long; and when they do it looks...weird. It’s like they don’t even know each other.

And this is what Tristan wonders, as much as a baby can, seeing this day after day: Do Mama and Papa like each other, at all?

(Tristan paused in his crawling in the hallway when he stopped hearing his Mama follow him. He sat up and turned to look, his eyes blinking when he saw Mama pausing in front of Papa’s room, the light in her eyes dim and mouth frowning at the locked oak door.)

He mouths at his knuckles some more, a habit that will soon be painful once he begins teething, his eyes wide. Tristan really hopes they like each other. He certainly likes Mama and Papa; they are his favorite grownups.

Very quickly, however, whatever resembling worries Tristan seems to have about his parents disappears once he feels a familiar hollowness in his belly. He pulls his hand away, his mouth setting into a frown, lips trembling before he releases a whimper, his eyes wide. Elizabeth quickly takes note and her eyes go wide before she lets out a soft coo, her mouth quirked into a smile.

“Oh, my sweet love. Hungry already?”

Tristan’s whimper becomes a soft cry, his hands reaching out for her as his voice pitches. Elizabeth snorts, then giggles as she kisses his forehead and then his cheek. She moves the hand at Tristan’s back, gently caressing him into a calm before looking around the library. When she sees a chair that will be comfortable to sit in, Elizabeth says a soft “ah-ha,” and slowly walks over.

“I swear, you are more ravenous than a kitten,” she says while settling them down. Elizabeth lies Tristan in her arms, his head resting in the crook of her elbow, and then uses her other hand to unclip the front of her dress, her swollen breasts spilling out. With that same hand, Elizabeth offers one teat to her son, who flails until his mouth lands on point and begins suckling. 

One of Elizabeth’s eyes twitches as she winces at the sting of pain; of all aspects of motherhood, she won’t exactly say that this is the best. Still, Elizabeth is happy to see Tristan calm, his blue eyes swimming as he hums against her. He will probably need a nap after this, it has been a long day and they have been playing for a few hours. It amazes her that such a small baby has such energy. Elizabeth snorts, wondering what he will be like when he’s older, if he’ll begin resembling her or his— 

She nearly jumps when the door opens, her eyes moving to catch who’s coming in, only to widen at the familiar form standing tall in the doorway. Speak of the Devil, thinks Elizabeth with a tight throat, her heart aching.

“...Sorry, I hadn’t realized anyone was in here,” says Meliodas in her language, his expression stony as always.

“Just us,” replies Elizabeth, putting on a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “He got hungry after playing hide and seek.”

Green eyes gleam a moment, something more than the usual chill as Meliodas glances downward. He steps forward to stand behind Elizabeth, looming over her to look at their son. She watches him, only allowing herself to show a hint of affection in her soft smile; regardless of their relationship, Elizabeth can’t help but notice the change in Meliodas’ expression. His eyes are wide, and the sides of his lips twitch into a smile, resembling a near boyish wonder at the life they created together— which looks rather endearing, compared to the intense expression he usually wears on his handsome face—and not for the first time, Elizabeth wishes he could look at her like that.

But that will never happen, because King Meliodas does not love her.

Hi!!!! First of all, thank you for all you do, you really rec the such good fics!! Secondly, I’m pretty new to the fandom and was wondering what all the staple, fandom classics that everyone has read are? (And if there’s any that aren’t classics but you think should be) thank you!!!!!

Hello there and welcome to the fandom!!

Okay so here a handful of the most popular and most read sterek fics (they all have at least 300k hits on ao3). I couldn’t list all of them as there are so, so many great fics but these are some of my personal favorites as well. Hope you enjoy!

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death.

The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was.

So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

Gravity’s Got Nothing On You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Prince Among Wolves by Rawren (Deshonanana)

Looking for full day/evening sitter. 2 twin boys age 4. Must have exp. w/werewolves. Must be human. No pedophiles. No teenage girls. Pay negotiable.

DILF by twentysomething

“Today is Scott’s first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified.”

Every Step You Take by Nokomis

Stiles accidentally ends up magically bound to Derek. It’s super.

Cupboard Love by mklutz

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

Stilinski’s Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

—

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

No Homo by orphan_account

Stiles’ sophomore year starts something like this:3 FourLokos+ 1 peer-pressuring cat- 1 best bro to end all best bros= 1 Craigslist ad headline that reads “str8 dude - m4m - strictly platonic”.Derek is the fool who replies.

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he’s on the run with. But he’s pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Cornerstone by Vendelin

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn’t step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That’s easy as pie, right? Right?

Crash Landers by gyzym

In which Stiles learns to Stalk That Stalk. (Or, how to accidentally woo your unfriendly neighborhood alpha in roughly five hundred handwritten steps.)

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories_archive

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Stiles is Scott’s best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Fireman Derek’s Crazy Pie [Cheeseburger Baby] by owlpostagain

“He can’t blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible.“

Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant.

"Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things,” she agrees, nodding towards her brother’s name on the menu. “Derek won’t let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the eye candy.”

“Send them my way,” Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie. “Apparently I’m incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance.”

There is a Brotherhood by minusoneday

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles’ orientation leader had promised it would be, and the dude guarding Scott’s dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when she’d insisted that Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so it’s all her fault that Scott ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Or, the one where pledge brothers Stiles and Scott start a prank war with Derek Hale’s fraternity.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There’s something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can’t quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There’s something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Cooter Lice

           The flare of first sunlight broke the treetops. Tolbert shielded his eyes and took in the view from atop the towering sycamore, a good eighty feet in the air. A high gust of October wind rippled the turning leaves. When Tolbert squinted, the blazing colors made the holler look like it was on fire.

           Thin wisps of blue smoke quiled out of the cabin below. Tolbert got a whiff of chicory.

           No denying, the near finished cabin would have been a fine one. Three rooms, maybe. White oak. Pitched roof, full-scribed notching, and chinked tight. Plumb and flush. A handsome stone chimney rising off the side like a Pinnacle Rock postcard. Excepting the pile of timber for the half-built springhouse off to the side, it was something to see. A real beaut. And they'd never have known it was there if Floyd hadn't crossed the river for some new boots and heered talk of the fancy cabin being raised by some boys near the banks of the Tug Fork.

           Tolbert regretted not getting an earlier start. They was already up.

           Something whistled and ripped through the leaves at his feet. The steady chew of his brothers' crosscut saw down below was interrupted by the report of a firearm echoing through the holler. He'd been spotted.

           Tolbert gave the knot a final tug to make it fast, undid his climber belt and monkeyed down the rope. Another pop and splinter exploded off the trunk halfway down. He caught the smell of burnt gunpowder as he dropped from the lowest branch and rolled up into a run, calling back over his shoulder.

           "Keep your heads down, boys. They spied me."

           He knew his brothers were safe for the time being. The old tree sat back on a patch where the slope leveled out, back enough so as to provide a natural cover. Floyd and Jim, already working themselves into a lather, alternated grunts as they pushed and pulled the saw, its teeth half-sunk into the green bark of the barrel-thick trunk.

           Tolbert pulled some snagged rope free from the sycamore's branches and ran with it toward the stack of cut lumber next to the springhouse along the south side of the cabin. He could hear commotion inside. The scurrying of boots, clatter of metal, scrape of moving wood. A whispered shout to "get up you whisky sot." What sounded like a mewling cat. Peeking over the woodpile a-mite for a better look, he saw the long muzzle of a single-shot pokestock edging onto the sill of the far window.

           He coiled a bundle of rope slack and threw it up and over the new cedar shingling to the north side of the cabin, then ran to retrieve it and took off toward the outcropping of rock forty paces back, where Alifair was hiding with the mules. Tolbert chucked the rope over the rock and ducked behind it.

           Alifair was sitting on her haunches feeding a tater to Gabby, her favorite.

           "They shooting this way?”

           She scratched herself and spat. “Nothing yet.”  

           Alifair was almost seventeen, a momma now, with a new baby boy. Tolbert was less than a year older, but to him she'd always be his baby sister. Chip-toothed grin, too many freckles. He’d been soft on her since she was a turnip, and to be truthful, a titch afeared. She was headstrong and easily riled. He'd heard it many a time. Alifair was sumptin' else.

            The sawing had stopped. Over the soft rush of the Tug Fork now echoed the thock of swinging axes, Floyd and Jim making fast work of it. Whoever had been shooting weren’t now, likely because they couldn’t see who to shoot.

           Tolbert began to haul in the rope. The quicker he could get it pulled taut over the cabin, the better their chance of staying hid.

           When he got the rope running tight from the top of the giant tree, he hitched it to the wooden yoke fitted on Gabby and Gwinever. If his brothers kept up the pace, there were no sudden gusts of wind, and the mules put their backs into it and drug as they were told, they’d have this show-off of a home bust to flinders in no time. It was Floyd who’d thought the whole thing up, fellin’ the tree and all. Said he figured it would be more fun than just burning the place down.

           Tolbert left the rope and picked up the rifle he’d stashed earlier. “I’m gonna cover ‘em in case somebody decides to come out shooting.”

           He'd just reached the springhouse when the sight of a white shirt tied to the bald end of a broom came waving out a window.

           “McCoy!” A voice like gravel in a tin can.

           Tolbert heard Jim answer with his signature hoot. Part hog call, part rebel yell. “Sue-wheeee-hawwww!”

           “Which one is you? Ole Ran’l’s eldest?” the white flag asked.  

           “Don’t matter. McCoy is a McCoy!” Floyd this time.  

           There came no answer. A distant bobwhite filled the silence. And then the same mewling he’d heard earlier. Only it weren’t no kitty, it was a crying baby.

           The man with the white flag stepped out onto the porch. Wispy gray mutton chops, stovepipe boots. Woolen trousers suspendered over a coffee-stained undershirt.  

           “We can see your intent. We got a newborn in here. Her momma broke her water early and died giving birth two nights back. Her daddy’s left yesterday to fetch a wet nurse."

           “That ain’t our affair,” Floyd called back. “Consider this payback for leading revenuers to our mash."

            “Ain’t no Hatfield co-operating with the guv’mint!” Mutton Chops fired back.

           “Hell you ain’t. The tree blazes that showed the way to Daddy’s still are the same color as your door.”  

           Mutton Chops took a step forward. “We is calling a truce on account of personal tragedy. You boys best honor it. Let the child be. Give us time to get her strong enough to get somewhere safe, and then we can kill each other dead.”  

           “This tree’s coming down.” Floyd yelled. “If you got any sense you boys’ll make a run for it. You’ve been forewarned. I won’t be accountable for the little ‘un if’n you stay."

            “Show some mercy, McCoy. This baby won't survive going nowhere.”

           Tolbert’s brothers answered with another whack to the sycamore. Tolbert hid behind the springhouse, keeping his sights on Mutton Chops. Odds were good if there was gonna be a skirmish, it would be busting out right about now.

           The high-pitched caterwaul of the screaming baby wailed from inside the cabin. Something touched his arm, and Tolbert jumped. Alifair had snuck up from behind.

           "That baby ain’t et, Tolbert,” she said. “You can hear it.”

           “John Brown it, Alifair," he whispered. "Get back to them jennies!”  

           “They’re tied up. You heard him. That mama died two days ago. Those boys ain’t got no milk, and that early-born's got to eat or she’s gonna die."

           “That ain’t our business.”

           “The hell it ain’t. My boy at home can’t come close to drinking up his mama’s titties. I been walking around with more milk than a prize Holstein.” She hefted her breast. “These jugs are fixin’ to bust wide open.”  

           “Alifair, do as I say and get back behind them rocks."

           His sister stepped forward to where Mutton Chops could see her. “That baby’s starving, plain as day. You boys hain’t got nothing in there to feed her but chaw, shine, chicory, fishing worms and possum. If’n you try and feed that girl any of your own slop you’ll kill it.”

           Floyd bellowed from up the incline. “Goddangit, Alifair, get back!”

           Mutton Chops addressed Alifair, low, cold and somber. “Go away, girl, before one of you’ins gets hurt.”  

           Alifair took another step toward the porch. “I’m full of milk. Take me to her.”

           Floyd took a fit. “Grab hold of her, Tolbert!”

           Tolbert hesitated, not wanting to put down the rifle or reveal himself.  

           “Leave me be!” she yelled back, pushing past Mutton Chops, who turned and followed her into the cabin without another word.

           Tolbert joined his brothers underneath the half-cut tree. Floyd put in a chaw. Jim kicked dirt.

           “Why didn’t you stop her, Tolbert? She is disgracing our name.”

           “You know damn well there ain’t no way to stop that girl without a bullet."

           “Daddy would be sick.”

           The three sat watching the front door.

           The baby shrieked, and then fell quiet. The bobwhite whistled in the distance, a breeze shushed through holler, a spinning whirligig seed landed gentle on Tolbert’s shoulder. Not far off, the Tug Fork gurgled and rolled along.      

           A good part of an hour later, Alifair appeared on the porch, and clomped up the hill to her stewing brothers.

           “Hells bells, Alifair, what on God’s green earth has got into you?"  

           “That baby don’t know a McCoy from turtle soup. And I won’t have no part letting an innocent die on my conscience.”  

           “Alifair. Your conscience best be concerned with avenging Uncle Asa."

           Jim leaned in close to Alifair’s outstuck chin. “And don’t forget that bastard Johanse Hatfield what left your beloved sister Rosanna with a busted up heart and his own baby girl to die."

           Alifair wasn’t having it. “That baby died from the measles. One baby dying don’t justify killing another. They’s babies.

           "I’ll tell you something. Sitting in there rocking with that little purple face girl sucking on my chest, I realized it was time for this foolishness to stop."  

           Floyd spoke softly towards the ground. “Blast it, Alifair, these are the same folk who broke into Mary Elliott’s house and switched her with a cow tail.”  

           “Listen to me. That baby in there, or mine neither, is innocents. Neither one of them stole that damn pig, or fired no shots. By the time she’s of age to do any harm, ole Devil Anse will be sleeping cold in the ground. And if we put an end to all this, she won’t have to reason to.  

           "We both sides killed, and been killed. Why pass this on to progeny who had no part in it.” Alifair scratched and spit. “Let this end with us.”

           “I’m just glad Daddy ain’t here, Alifair,” Jim said. “You’re talking out of your head.”

           “I’ll tell him to his face what I tell you. I come today and left my boy on the other side of the river because you needed a fourth hand for the mules. Ain’t been fed all morning. Bawling by now. ‘Cause of what? Knocking down a tree on a little baby girl."

           “Alifair, our lot is to avenge our family and our dead.”

           Alifair kicked Tolbert to his feet. “I’s a proud McCoy until I’m pushing daisies. I'd just rather us live long lives, that’s all. We got the best of these boys today, now it's time to pack up and go home."

           Jim reluctantly hoisted his axe and the crosscut. Floyd spat. “How’s that I’d like to know? We done backed down."

           Alifair gave a lopsided grin, showing her broken tooth. “We did no such thing. With no woman there, them boys are having to fend for themselves, and from what I can tell they don’t know how to do much but swallow and fart.”

           “Yeah, what of it?” Jim said.

           "There was a basket of clean clothes in there. There weren’t no flies on it so that’s how I figure it’s fresh off the line. I'm guessing that woman must've done some laundry before she died. Thinkin' quick, I slipped out of my knickers, sly fox like, and when no one was looking, I buried ‘em deep under all them britches and skivvies."

           Alifair reached under the hem of her worn cotton dress, exposing a quick flash of yellow pubic hair and gave it a scratch.

           “I may have fed a Hatfield young-un, but before the sun goes down tomorrow, the rest of them boys are gonna be ate up to their sacks in cooter lice.”  

           Tolbert shouldered his rifle and went back for the mules. His baby sister was sumptin' else.

[Fic] Me Tangere (Jack/Parmak)

Continuing with this since a bug kinda bit me on the pairing. Still for @borg-apologist who I want to give such massive undying thanks to for being so encouraging with this ridiculously self indulgent series. I don't normally do romance but I love this damn sappy over the top gooeyness of this universe and these characters.

Anyway, this is a sequel to Dear Jessie which is from Parmak's POV and can be found HERE

Note: This does feature C132 Parmak (Don’t know what that means? click HERE for the in depth but basically it’s an off canon version who’s different from traditional canon Parmak) and a LOT of headcanon made up stuff.

Summary: Ten years after moving to Cardassia Jack often finds himself reflecting on all the Good things in his life sure to keep his timers for them all. Two and a half kids, one Kelas, and a perfect morning in the garden, and he still can't quite believe it's all real.

Warnings: Fluff to the max, intersex Parmak who's pregnant in this story, talks of Jack's mental, impulse control, anxiety, augment issues, Jack's POV so it's very stream of conscious and Julian still doesn't come off too well because it's Jack's POV, past bad parenting and implied child abuse, Alternate Reality (mainly the same universe but averted Dominion War and some characters meeting under different circumstances), brief sexual content too

So if you wanted a sequel, here's your sequel :)

Juggling was one of the first things that he learned to do when he became aware that he was “different”. His father used to have all sorts of euphemisms that he would use aside from “different”. His father, his mother, any number of black and whites rushing around the busy house like one of the old gala scenes in the movies that he used to enjoy watching. His father would also say that juggling was a Supreme Waste (capitals!) of the gifts that he’d been given and Jack - Jack of all trades he liked to call himself using his middle name instead of the dull old John J”-  said if the old man paid all that money he could do anything he wanted and if he didn’t sleep he’d have more time. The old man didn’t rightly have an answer to that one, Jack winning, counting the score down as he learned to juggle eleven knives at once by the time he was thirteen.

Time, time was something the old man used to rail about. Brevis tui tempu est his old man would drone at him while his mother smiled and told him to listen because the old bastard was very wise. He’d go on about a lot of things often, frequently, all the time Very Loudly until Jack started hiding from him considering the matter of time on one of the high branches of the old oaks where they couldn’t easily reach him; at least not until they cut every one of them down. Jack considered that mutants like him should live longer if anything. But the old man didn’t like his Truths contradicted firing decrees from behind the old mahogany desk like a God himself. That desk was huge, austere, like the old man himself all dark eyebrows, dark eyes, sometimes turning into some giant owl in his vision or morphing to The General telling how some animals were more equal than others.

Jack was more equal than others. Jack was special. Jack was the investment of a lifetime buy sell buy till the old man jumped out the window just like one of those old fat cats in the twentieth century. Didn’t jump so much as pushed but that wasn’t anyone’s business but Jack and God’s and there was no God so it was Jack’s and Jack’s alone, damn right! Ah, amend that amend that, his business was his bondmate’s business too. Bondmate, husband, jailer warden, ah no, Incorrect thought with a capital “I”. Those Incorrect thoughts are fewer and fewer nowadays. Correct thought: Kelas is… everything. Kelas, Jessie, Kiss, and-

“Focus.” Jack hears the child’s voice and looks down, seeing his oldest looking up at him and he sets down all four of the large pots he’s been juggling, one after the other onto the sand. Jessie is nearly five now and is old enough now that ze recognizes when Jack’s mind needs to be tugged back with a small cue; like now. Kelas taught zem that, his brilliant Jessie picking it up so quickly. Correction, he thinks as he looks over to Kelas kneeling in the sand next to Kiss (“Kiss” because Jessie couldn’t say “Kesya” when ze was first born) adding water to the white sand to make a castle little by little. Their  child and Jack’s goddamn genius – is he or isn’t he a mutant little smirk ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’- bondmate is four months pregnant with their third. “Theirs”. That’s the correction that he makes. He’s gotten much better at those Johnny on the spot mental corrections since he met Kelas over ten years ago.

Kelas looks over at him and there’s this soft little smile, this look on his face that’s identical to the one he gave him in the Replimat the day they met, when Jack said he was blind and that Cardassia needed better optometrists if he couldn’t tell the difference between Jack and Julian with those spectacles and... shit... God there’s no God, no proof for God except that smile.  Jack had yelled at him with a jump off the table and Kelas had just laughed and then Jack was right there in his face and he’d stopped and looked down because he was just a little taller than Jack but he could see that Kelas was looking at him not afraid but like somehow Jack’s outburst was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen… I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. No, that’s Keats, not God Jesus, Mary, and Joseph same difference!

Jack thrives on the exercise he gets in that sprawling sand garden, succulents and other desert plants like one of the Zen gardens he’s seen pictures of making it a magical place like falling through a looking glass and finding the gardens of Ginkaku-ji on the other end instead of Underland. Well missing most of the coveted trees but he and Kelas and their family have spent years building it beautiful and art brought to life any why couldn’t the old man pay for some natural artistic painting enhancement because he can speak every language he tries to learn but he can’t capture Kelas or his children in more than memories. Ah right, because life isn’t perfect and if it was it would be dull and Jack is Absolutely not dull. He’s the Best Daddy as Jessie says and Kiss repeats and their children aren’t liars so that’s that. Every morning he’s out here barefoot in his loose trousers -how novel is that for him of all people not to be wearing a shirt?- with katas, with tumbles, sweat drenched before the sun is too high and his pale skin in has to be doused and drenched in sunscreen. Jack hatessunscreen.

He usually walks around the city with his big black UV umbrella.

Sometimes Jessie likes to drag the rake through the sand to make the patterns in the sand of the shared garden; this one is more secluded, closer to their modest dwelling than the others. Sometimes ze and Kiss fight over the rake; sometimes Jack joins in too though more often than not Kelas thwaps his shoulder with a book and tells him playfully to behave. Kelas will raise the big tome kissing him long and sweetly behind it, those full lips begging to be bitten ‘til they’re flushed dark gray, It’s one of many games they like to play, kissing until one or both kids yell “Aha!” declaring they’ve been spotted. They laugh when the book lowers and Jack is red and Kelas is just beaming with his glasses half askew. They have endless ridiculous little games they play and Jack is always amazed by how Good this is. Jack doesn’t remember his parents ever… doesn’t remember old George and Martha ever… old swampy ever being anything but cold to each other snip snap at the table clattering spoons and little presses of napkins to mouths.

“Right here, Jessie Jess mmhm. Your turn?” he asks going to one knee, letting himself be knocked backwards when ze yells “yes!” because they’re outdoors and outdoors they can be loud as they want. He gives a good dramatic death yell as his back hits the ground, holding his baby close a moment as he falls. Almost five, Jessie always corrects him, not a baby, Four years nine months nine days ten hours five minutes three seconds... and Jack watches his mouth, ensuring that any kisses are Cardassian presses of two quick fingers – index and middle – to each other. Things around his mouth make Jack anxious because he wants to nip and that leads to gnawing, to biting and that’s only acceptable if it’s Kelas.

Sometimes Kiss or Jessie will give him little nips to the rings on his fingers to show affection and he… doesn’t know how he feels about that because it’s special and theirs but it’s not typical as Bashir says with those castigating hidden expressions that he thinks that Jack can’t see just like he says it isn’t healthy for them to see the marks and the blood when he and Kelas kiss hard but they don’t get upset, they only laugh at how silly yadek and his red mouth look and… and Jack is Careful, always careful with the two of them because he would sooner die than hurt them and Kelas will tell him that he’s too most conscientious delicate and it isn’t necessary to self-flagellate and if he doesn’t knock it off he’s going to start calling him “Dimmesdale” which is absurd because Kelas is no Hester Prynne in any sense of the character and he should understand that  it absolutely is necessary to be careful because he broke too many children when he was a child even if he didn’t mean it and-

“Focus.” Jessie repeats, this time with a tap to his nose giving him a terribly weighty look; Jessie takes “helping daddy fix his head” very seriously. Jack blinks and nods. That’s a very serious second warning there!

“Right! We’re going upside down today hm hm?” Jessie nods excited, scampering off him, jumping at Jack the moment he stands back up. Jack catches zem easily around the waist, his baby a little monkey climbing up his shoulders. The air on Cardassia brings him alive even if it is warmer than he’s used to. Kelas says with a face, a precious Kelas face that he makes when something irritates him - cute, so cute will always be adorable a hundred two hundred, Jack doesn’t care - that the air of Nokar is the purest most amazing smell. He knows that Kelas still thinks about going back, away from Central, away from the southern continents to the Steppe, to the cold and Jack thinks it’s the funniest thing that a Cardassian would long for the cold but he understands it’s so much more than that.

Kelas is a misfit, a mutant too but a damn perfect one and Jack will fight anyone who disagrees.

But for all the stares and the whispers - which he can hear, always hear with his enhanced hearing - Jack has never found a place more of a home than on Cardassia Prime. Bashir, passing normal Federation mutt, Bashir asked him if he didn’t miss all the comforts of the Federation, the food, the culture, the people who didn’t glare or condescend and a list that went on and Jack had an epiphany. It was brilliant. He wrote it down he was pleased, he read it to Kelas, he read it to Lauren and Patrick and Sarina and a full audience around an evening bonfire to cheers and chirps in fact. Bashir wasn’t a mutant passing as normal, he was a basic passing as One of Them. Jack didn’t read it to Bashir because Bashir wouldn’t get it and the hell with him anyway! Jack didn’t have a lifetime of Federation comforts. He had a prison, he had walls and bars and “do this do that step jump sit behave be Normal!” He had a lifetime of people backing away from him making the sign of the damn cross and ha joke’s on them, mutants aren’t vampires and he could still bite throats out no matter how much garlic they used!

Jack grins big, wide, toothy, vicious as he wants when he looks at his children, when he looks at his Kelas and there’s nothing, no drug, no “Federation comforts” no religion, nothing that could ever bring him the high that their fearless answering smiles brings him. He walks through the streets with every damn one of these Cardassian Morlocks meeting him with a level stare, a sneer, a challenge to prove that he’s their equal. They challenge him when he recites his poetry. They aren’t afraid to shove at him in the crowded markets. They’re not afraid of confrontation, they revel in it, every Sunday morning Jack going into the city to argue with the same old woman selling flowers about every damn thing in the world and no shrinking back when he’s loud, no “shut up” no “behave” no belts no smacks to the mouth nothing but the same irritated arguments that they fling at each other.

Jack keeps grinning like a damn idiot as he looks up, feeling Jessie putting small hands in his ready to be raised up to the top of Mount Parnassus to meet the fabled muses. Jack can see a bit of a tremble of zes arms, but he shouts encouragement, a babbling string at his little hatchling - Kelas says “hatchling” though not properly hatched but that’s pedantic so shut up Jack! - turns himself upside down, holding a count of five before ze flops, Jack catching zem easily, the both of them laughing. It’s a life he never dreamed that he could have and no amount of holofeeds of the “successful augment doctor” like old technicolor popcorn matinee propaganda reels could ever convince him that he and that stupid smiling thing would ever be the same. As long as he lives, Julian will never know what it’s like to have people afraid of him and fuck him anyway. The sharp sound of a clap catches his sensitive ears, head jerking, that instinct relaxing in a split second seeing Kelas applauding him.

Applause isn’t a Cardassian custom, occasionally chirrups or a stamp of feet signify massive approval but Kelas thought the gesture was novel when he learned of it and Jack sees Kiss following along after him when he sets Jessie down. His children love “doing acrobatics with Daddy” and he’s just in awe of how far ahead their development is without being augmented. He teaches the children in their little community they’ve built too and he’s not just biased when he says that Kiss and Jessie are the best of the excitable lot.

“That’s my Jessie Jess hm! Shoot off the guns like Buffalo Bill! There’s a cowboy hm hm! We’ll have you swallowing swords for Emperor Wu mmhm!”

“Ze’s going to be a doctor!” Kelas calls out emphatically with that irritated face.

“Then an acrobat doctor hm. Think if the money you’d pull in adding a few flips to your routine hm. Climb that Bashir beanstalk like a diving board hm hm hop skip splash!”

“Splash!” That’s from Kiss before diving into the half-finished sand castle an explosion of wet sand everywhere on both zem and Kelas. Kelas laughs even as he spits out a mouthful of sand.

“Ah, right, definitely sticking with my usual practice, I think,” he says brushing sand from his lap.

Jack is sure that his face hurts from smiling, Jessie running past him bowling clear into the mess, into Kiss with a yell of “Splash!” the two tumbling around with their little growls play fighting, a little tinkling of beads reaching his ears too as they clank together. Jessie is slim, all limbs like Kelas, a wiry little worm as the two of them wrestle. It seems that Kiss will take after him, stockier, strong - nearly as strong as Jessie at three years six months fifteen days five hours nineteen minutes three seconds. His head is a constant count of every moment of their lives because every atomic second passing by is one that he wants to be thankful for. Kelas suggested that when he told him about the constant numbers and figures and unwanted thought intrusions that he might fill the space with everything positive in his life that he wants to track instead- fill his head so full to bursting that there isn’t room for anything else. So he does.

His head is full of clocks of all colors, shapes, appearance, a clock to count his children’s’ ages, to track the time since he and Kelas met, the time since number three (working title “Seska” still in progress”) was conceived, the time since the community where they live was completed, the time since their petition was approved for Lauren, Patrick, and Sarina to be remanded to their care (take that Nursed Ratched!), and at least half a dozen other events, tracking, counting, numbers flashing but these are Good numbers. Good numbers, good thoughts, his mind is usually a jumble of thoughts, numbers, followed by blinking impulses, little hands that pull at his limbs, his arms and legs, his mouth and make his body sometimes act outside his thoughts. It’s those impulses that he knows make Bashir say that he’s unpredictable and Dangerous and sometimes those thoughts intrude and lock him still afraid to act at all until he can pull himself out of it.

He has one now but it’s not a violent one. He hasn’t had a violent one in years and that one had a very specific trigger. That one was Elim Garak and wasn’t his fault no matter what Bashir said. That was one of the worst ones. That was one of the last ones and Not His Fault! It was Garak. It was Garak’s fault and Jack hates that Bashir thinks it’s some alpha male posturing poppycock that’s completely beneath him but according to Kelas it’s not on his place to speak to Bashir on the wicked devil that he takes to his bed. (Le Démon ! - c'est un Démon, vous savez, ce n'est pas un homme.-that’s Rimbaud predicting the wicked Morlock centuries in advance!). Anyone who scares his Kelas like that… anyone who causes his Kelas to flinch like that, anyone who makes that flash of fear cloud over his eyes is a devil no ifs and or buts and they’re dead!

The first time that he saw Kelas look at Garak, stop, panic, swallow and nearly take a step back terrified he lost it. Jack blanked out. He didn’t think at all. His hand was already moving for Garak’s throat by the time Bashir had tackled him because Bashir wasn’t as fast as him or as strong as him and if it wasn’t for Kelas asking him softly to please forgive it they’d see just how dangerous an augment that he was because no one including him hurts the family he went through hell to have. They used to tell him that he didn’t have empathy, that he was a monster incapable of understanding other people and he almost, almost believed them, but if Frankenstein’s creature wasn’t a monster, if Jack could weep silently, his head buried in Kelas’ lap when Kelas told him softly what Garak’s old iron monkey on his back, what his old man had done that had made him have that fear then he... no... no bad thoughts, not now. This is a Good place and a Good day and those thoughts are banished.

When Jack has that unconscious impulse now it’s to join in that raucous and he turns to Kelas, seeing him shaking the sand off the top of the long sleeveless tunic he’s wearing. meeting Jack’s eyes a moment.

“Splash,” Jack says in a rush and he catches those blue almost violet eyes widen in surprise and his mind would yell at him careful careful but he’s already moving with his hands on Kelas’ shoulders pushing him back to the sand. His mind corrects, his enhanced reflexes able to catch up with that recrimination that caution he’s pregnant he’s old he’s delicate he’s… laughing as Jack lands on top of him. Kelas is laughing loudly.

“Ah I should have known you were going to wait until the sand was gone. You always love getting me dirty!” He exclaims with a laugh as Jack in a rush of expelled nerves puts his face into Kelas’ neck sure he’s getting sand in his own hair now.

Kelas reminds him at least twice a day that he won’t hurt him- that he may be over a hundred but that doesn’t quite mean the same in their years and in any case their skeletons are more dense and durable. Sometimes he demonstrates it. Sometimes Jack even believes him. Jack turns his face about to say something to that but Kelas is already turning, kissing him silly, breathless, swearing at him in that melodic Northern tongue that’s like a slip of hisses, or angry snakes circling his ears.

“…sorry,” he says instinctively because sorry is what they always told him to say when he Did Something and he said it so much he used to like to see how much of a curse he could put behind those words.

“No you’re not,” Kelas mutters, trying not to smile, his hands sliding sandy, gritty over Jack’s sticky sweaty back holding him there on top before Jack can scramble off. “Mmm but that’s alright, I think your punishment should be to finish what you started.”

“Yadek has one baby you can’t give him one yet, Daddy!” he hears Jessie yelling at him and that only makes Kelas laugh even louder, the lines around his eyes crinkling, ridges flushing darker as he just… smiles up at Jack.

“Ah well… perhaps we’ll have to wait then,” Kelas says not moving his hands from Jack’s back in the slightest. His hands are strong, slightly calloused with the work that he does in the lab with Lauren now. He kneads at the muscles with determination and Jack feels like he might pool into goo dripping, soaking into the sand or into Kelas. That’s an idea- totally perfect idea.

“That right hm? No making new babies til this one’s done hm hm?”

“Can’t have two at once,” Jessie confirms terribly seriously. Jack smiles while Kelas keeps kneading at his back. Well, his little hatchling may have a numerical point but there’s always room for more practice because number three took so long it surely was because they hadn’t practiced enough and number four… ah impractical meandering illogical thoughts but-

“Maybe if we make you into an ovipositor... I bet Sarina could do it,” He hears Lauren’s voice and doesn’t ask how long she’s been standing there because Lauren is like the wind flitting in, out, hot, cold, but always there in some form. He doesn’t say that she’s like his sister but he hears their neighbors calling her that without correction and it’s strange but it’s Good and there’s a counter running for the first time someone called her his sister: three years two months five days four hours eighteen minutes thirty four seconds…

“An ovipositor? Ha! You couldn’t make a Kranessan fly hm!” The Kranessans, he learned were famed for their elaborate zip lines through the mountain passes.

“And you couldn’t make old Jala a rich woman if you tried,” she fires back with an arch of her eyebrow holding out her only to have Jessie and Kiss rush past her towards their house. She shrugs with a sigh. “I’ll see that they get to their lesson. Mr. Gok is teaching today and…” She pauses there, letting the old familiar rejoinder slip away unsaid. It’s become more of a small joke between them now.

There’s buzzing that Jack hears just then and he watches as a large dragonfly double wings gold, glistening in the sunlight as it hovers into the yard. Ah, right the little attendance drone, one of Patricks dozens of creations flying, beeping, walking around their compound. The newly elected council’s relaxed restrictions on sedition and unlawful assembly years back were what allowed him and Kelas to work tirelessly into one of the first communal living spaces outside of Central. There were more that had cropped up always monitored for radicals but as more sprang up, as more shared spaces came with their family dining halls and sand gardens and families sharing the grounds outside their modest homes, the more accepted they were.

Ah acceptable as Northerner and outcast refuse but there was no better refuse and no better life and Jack reaches up to sign off on the PADD the dragonfly is holding that Jessie and Kiss will be in class today outside with the other children. He snorts thinking of old Jala and older Gisha (and how Kelas always gets so hotly indignant when he calls them that saying they’re hardly older than he is) always hovering around chattering whenever he and Kelas make love. He’s heard them over stone walls, through fences, once catching their eyes with a curious blink before they waved him on and that… isn’t Normal, he thinks but he sometimes catches other couples or other triads outside their homes together in some partly secluded space with little mind paid. Sometimes he’ll hear a rattle of beads and he can always tell when Jala and Gisha are jabbering at each other about whether it’s better or worse for fertility if one is silent or loud. Jala thinks silent. Gisha thinks loud.

Kelas is always loud and Lauren says the two of them have a bet each time on which it will be.

Jala has yet to win once, and Lauren lets them know she has her data prepared whenever Kelas is ready to go over their new formulations for perfume tonics they’ve devised – fragrant and flavorful particles that confer different effects when “scented” from the air. Kelas looks thoughtful as he hooks an ankle around the small of Jack’s back, pushing that swollen belly up against him completely undoing him.

“Thirty minutes should be enough,” he hears Kelas say thinking sand is a challenge and rough and irritating and sand is nice beneath his bare feet but a cruel menace elsewhere and his hands are already beneath Kelas’ hip with a hurried murmur of “other leg other leg,” getting to his knees. Kelas wrapping around him like a beautiful pale vine, his hair half out of it braid, those glasses already mussed. Jack thinks he hears some impressed click from the other side of the wood fence marveling at his augmented strength.

He prefers to take it slow, to savor every touch, every press of Kelas’ mouth to his chest, every sigh, every push into Kelas’ body and Kelas into his too. Time is short, so short but the longer he can drag every perceived moment out, the closer to immortality in a beautiful vacuum where seconds aren’t ticks but instead Kelas’ breaths and slow steady beats of his heart. Ah, but now time is a rush and it always surprises him how excited his body is for Kelas in ways it is for nothing else.  Ah, the old women think they’ve seen strength? They haven’t seen anything, Jack holding that full weight with one arm now panting, quickly tugging himself free from trousers, from undergarments. Kelas is already whining as Jack starts biting his shoulder ridges hitching the hem of his tunic up with that free hand, Kelas squirming into position, a loud breathy cry when Jack enters him halfway, readjusts with both hands on his ass like he weighs nothing, driving right deep to his center.

And for that moment, time stops.

Tharanion helped me a lot in the city, before the arrival of the Falathrin, commanded by my mother. She came with my father. Thranduil went to Balar along with Oropher, Amidir, and the elves of the two houses.

Handir, the chief of the Edain of the house of Hador, the most populous among the Edain who came, bothered to build stables and take care of the horses. It seems they are very good at it. Those tall, blond men were even stronger than those of the other houses, and smiling even after so many miseries that nearly decimated the Edain from the face of Arda, they labored with great vigor on the side of our people.

My mother took over the work and put the healing house to work, and the orders of that lady, Falathrin pride, were heard throughout the city, and Eldar and Edain obeyed as children.

It was in those days that I felt sorry for the race of men. Those poor refugees, with their women suffering and faces down, the patchy and dirty children, the most sick. The second-borns had not been graced by Eru as the firstborn. I understood the meaning of my father's teachings: "We have to protect them, and, at one time or another, ennoble their race with our blood."

Elwing, kind and helpful, helped us take care of the children. The healers of the house were very interested in learning about the diseases and physiology of the race of men, and thanks to the Valar, Tharanion brought with him two Doriath elves who were experts in the healing of humans, and had lived with them in Brethil.

With disguised horror, we watched two women give birth to their children, in excruciating pain. Me and Elwing thought we would lose those women, but the healing elves told us that it was normal that screaming and the pain with which they gave birth. And after those horrible hours, the poor little ones were exhausted as if they had fought all day with orcs. We were thrilled when one of the mothers, soon imitated by the other, held out to us her wrinkled, eye-closed baby, like a puppy's calf:

- Elven princesses, bless my son so that he may have a good destiny!

I think they imagined that all elves had magic gifts, and we did not have the courage to deny them. Elwing took the baby girl and I picked up the baby boy, and we did a simple prayer, which we did when we received one of our rare Elvish children. The mothers seemed to marvel at our little gesture, and I was happy to give them some happiness in that sad, short life. I bent over the bed and gave the child to the mother:

- Your son will be great among men. Give it the name of Gweston, and it will grow strong like an oak tree.

Elwing gave the name of Thrassel to the girl, so that she too was strong and vigorous, and we both hoped that our blessings could help mothers and babies.

My mother and I took a week to leave town, and I had the opportunity to talk a lot with Elwing, to help her in her mourning. That was how I knew she had brought the Nauglamir necklace with the Silmaril set. I shuddered when she showed me the jewel. I did not want to touch that. She insisted that I play because I wanted to see how my beauty would grow, but I said no. I tapped lightly on my chest and said,

- I already have this magnificent necklace that was given to me by Oropher at my wedding. He also belonged to Elu Thingol, and I use it with pride and love. I want nothing with Firnrod Felagund's necklace and this stone. This has already caused a lot of destruction. You should have left him there, let some of the bastards take him!

I stood up, disturbed. Elwing quickly tucked the necklace into her purse, and placed it inside a cupboard in her new home.

- I'm sorry, but I could not let Fëanor's children get what they came for.

Calmer, I sighed:

- You're right. Who knows in your hands, the Silmaril can serve the true purpose. Just do not tell anyone. Who knows?

- Only Lord Oropher.

I laughed and shook my head.

- Then no one knows!

We continued to serve in the city until everyone was well and settled. There was a lot of sadness in the air, but also relief and a bit of security. I still talked to Elwing, if she would not want to go to Balar with us, but she preferred to stay in the town, which was now called Havens of Sirion. Many elves who survived in the region of Arvernien, from the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, also came to the city, and most Noldor.

At least the town had stayed the way my father had imagined it to be, a haven for elves and men without distinction of race. Good for him, but no good for the mood of the city, where Sindar and Noldor looked at each other with suspicion. However, the Edain Hadors were happy because they also built vessels with dexterity, and were able to learn much from my father.

My mother and I waited for the arrival of our ship home, when Tharanion came to us and asked to go and live in the village that I had built for the soldiers of Doriath. With him came some families, disgusted by the growing presence of the Noldor.

- I remain elected representative of our people, so I think I have to make this trip between the island and the city many times. However, I and these here want to get closer to our Falathrin brothers and Lord Oropher and Lord Amdir. And in no doubt do we wish to live under the protection of the venerable Círdan of the Ports, the oldest among us.

My mother waved her silver head, the diadem of pearls and diamonds gleaming in the coastal sun:

- No doubt it is an honor for us, Master Tharanion. Come with us. I suspect that soon we will also have the company of some of the High Lord of the Council, because if I know them well, they are also troubled by Noldor's presence.

Fifteen families paid tribute to my mother, the Lady of Balar, and I was thinking of enlarging the buildings in the village of the old post when we saw the ship coming.

My father had built a remarkable port and the ship could dock easily, which made me wonder at the slow maneuvers of the pilot. Who would be at the helm? It certainly was not Rausthar. What was not our surprise to see my husband, cheerful and chivalrous, dock the ship with studied precision. These maneuvers are always the hardest, but he did very well. We laughed and applauded a Thranduil in his light sailor clothes, hailing us from the rail. My mother waved to him:

- Then my son-in-law finally learned to sail in the open sea. Now, Thranduil is a real Sinda. - glad she said jokingly - Permission to embark a few more passengers, Captain Oropherion!

I had not seen him in over a week, and I realized how much I missed him.

Web http://www.robert-sherriff.com/All money raised goes to, PLEASE BUY SALES FROM THIS BOOK GO TO ADELAIDE HOSPITAL CHILDRENS WARD (leukemia) Robert Sherriff Author of NOBODY’S HOME Robert Sherriff Author of Dirkbell—CHILDREN’S BOOK https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/87171469-robert-sherriff https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Dirkbell-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639342 Dirkbell the squirrel lives at the top of a huge oak tree near the sea, with his wife and their twin babies. Every day he scampers around the woods, collecting enough food for his family. He is friendly with the nice family who owns the bakery at the foot of the tree but when Cooper, a brown terrier who lives nearby, scares off Tom the cat, then Cooper takes matters into his own hands. Can he persuade Cooper to mend his ways? Will Tom come back if he does? It’s up to Cooper to save the day and the peace and quiet of his neighbourhood by convincing the unruly pup to value friendship and to be considerate towards others. Robert Sherriff Author-Poet Actor -AVAILABLE NOW Robert Sherriff Author of Dirkbell – CHILDREN’S BOOK https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Nobodys-Home-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639335 … https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Dirkbell-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639342 https://wordpress.com/view/robertsherriffauthorpoetactormodelsingerhistorian830946476.wordpress.com Dirkbell by Robert Sherriff https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Dirkbell-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639342 AUSTRALIA https://www.amazon.com.au/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AGAZ3PKJ3SOCCMPCCEJVIQZYHOCQ USA: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1912639297/ UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1912639297/  Web http://www.robert-sherriff m/ Robert Sherriff-Australian - Actor-Model-Poet- Author-Singer- Historian - Photographer Robert Sherriff Author of NOBODY’S HOME Robert Sherriff Author of Dirkbell – CHILDREN’S BOOK - Part of Wolf Creek TV series 2015 Part of Movie ‘Maurice’s Symphony’ 2015 Motivation Speaker Movie - Snuff 2016 Movie - CULT 2016 Australian Copyright Act 1968 0466246021 https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/87171469-robert-sherriff Robert Sherriff Author of NOBODY’S HOME please buy PLEASE BUY SALES FROM THIS BOOK GO TO ADELAIDE HOSPITAL CHILDRENS WARD (leukemia) Robert Sherriff Author of NOBODY’S HOME Robert Sherriff Author of Dirkbell—CHILDREN’S BOOK https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/87171469-robert-sherriff https://www.imdb.com/user/ur93657913/?ref_=nv_usr_prof_2 PLEASE BUY AND FOLLOW ME CLICK ON LINKS TO BUY ONLINE PLEASE BUY SALES FROM THIS BOOK GO TO ADELAIDE HOSPITAL CHILDRENS WARD (leukemia)                                                                                  Father’s Love My Father didn’t admit to having a past. The story of his early life was a mystery lost in his lack of words and an inability to expose anything that could be a vulnerability, humanity or even shows any kindness. The devil was his only friend. Even this friend would abandon him. My Mother would eventually and begrudgingly supply me with a few details, but this only provoked more questions. He was an enigma to the end; leaving no suicide note, no apology and no peace for those who survived him. I am only certain of one thing. My Father’s hate for me was virulent. My hate for him would grow to where I would consider his murder every day of my teenage years. The dynamic of the real family is rarely the all-encompassing love of the fairy tale or the softness of the detergent commercial, but my family was extreme by any standards. Violence was our currency and the absence of genuine love left a void that was filled with darkness, betrayal and humiliation. We were an Australian family and Australia was an uncompromising place in the sixties or at least that is how I thought. In those days everything was black and white. They told us we were growing up in the lucky country. We were told we could achieve anything through challenging work and spirit yet I was being brutalised and made to feel worthless by the people I loved the most and trusted. I often thought to myself was I born evil? It would happen at night. I was small for my age, a premature twin, the smallest to survive in Victoria at the time; I was easily carried out of the house and into the garden by someone of my Father’s build. He would be drunk, clumsy and rough. I would be hastily stripped. My clothes were torn from me and I would have to stand defenceless and naked in the yard. I would have to take my chances. I wouldn’t wait to see if he would stop at the humiliation and spare me the violence, he never did. I would take advantage of his drunkenness and feel for his grip to loosen or slip and then I would go. I would run through the neighbourhood to escape the attack. Was I worried about the neighbours seeing me naked? Hardly, this had happened so many times before. I knew what it was to run barefoot on cracked bitumen that was baking from the day’s biting sun. I knew running naked in the near-freezing winter nights too. I knew what it was like to be running for your life. I spent a childhood running the streets and I’ve spent a lifetime escaping my Father. My Father was born in South Australia in 1929. He was the son of a prostitute and born out of wedlock. He must not have known his Father in any meaningful way, but he will have had suspicions about the 100’s of men who visited his Mother’s house. My Father had inherited a large build, olive skin, deep brown eyes and a tremendous capacity for anger. My Father’s hair and mood were black for his entire life. Father is him as a boy holding a black dog. He had the patience with animals he could never show to people. He was tall and skinny with a mop of black hair. This child would develop into a man of six foot four with a powerful build clothed in skin scarred by the Australian sun. He was mutilated emotionally and carried a pain that could infect anyone in his vicinity. His hands would grow to be huge, always at least twice the size of mine yet he was graceful in his movements and well kept. He was clean shaven and took pride in his appearance. At home, he dressed in casual jeans and shirt and he insisted that they were clean and ironed which meant my Mother would often discover lipstick stains on his collar. A fight would then ensue with the devil rising into those brown eyes and consuming the man. My Father’s childhood was as fractured as any other part of his life. He would always be on the move, change jobs and locations and even personalities but his consistent companions were alcohol and misery. They christened him Robert Sheriff, the same name he gave me. He left school early and worked a succession of tough, unskilled jobs. He was a station hand and a fruit picker and went from one manual labour to another building calluses and emotional hardness. The one anecdote I know from his youth is an incident where he nearly drowned. At age nine someone pulled him from the water at Port Pirie. Pirie was and still is a small industrial town in the shadow of grain silos and a lead smelter. About a two-hour drive north of Adelaide where grain shipping and industry had called for unskilled immigrants to come and build a town. All of life in Pirie takes place with the backdrop of the smell of sulphur, a soft scent of hell from the lead smelting process. One day my Father fell into the water that carried the grain ships and plunged toward oblivion in the waters that reflected the belching chimney stacks. A man walking past at the time saw my Father fall and dived into the water to save him. The story made the local press where it describes my Father’s saviour as a hero. This stranger’s act has ensured thirty-five descendants, and I exist because of him, my children and grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, my sisters, my beloved twin brother were all offered a chance of life because my Father didn’t drown that day, but I wonder if my Father appreciated his rescuer and those bitter and soulless years he lived until he met his maker at his own hands. My son Robert (3rd) recently found photos of my Father I had not seen for over forty years. I shuddered I freak out I still fear him as I still think he can hurt me. Silly you say but believe me, it is a fear I would want no man, woman or child to live or relive and relive. Mother’s Love In defence of my Mother, she was a dreamer. I understand that now I have made it to adulthood. I got through my life by constructing a future (A plan) where things would better. It was an impossible dream that allowed us to disengage from reality and to survive it. From an early age, she wanted to escape the poverty of her upbringing and the limits of her class. But there was a dark secret my Mother did not want to get out. On my Mother’s side. My Great-Great-Great-Grand Mother was a half cast. My Mother did not want the world to know. A white man could not marry an aboriginal back then. My son Robert 3rd tried to go back on my Mother’s family tree. He could only go back as far as my Mother as they were all born bastards. born out of wedlock same as my Father. She wanted to be better, different and special. She dreamt of Hollywood and imagined being a singer or a movie actress. She would constantly play records on an old gramophone I now keep in my current home. They brought us up to the sounds of Al Jolson, Crosby, Sinatra and many other artists. And my Mother in duet with me echoing through the house. I do a great tribute to Al Jolson. My Mother would imagine being one artist she played, an international superstar. There is nothing wrong with dreaming. I think she must have imagined that life for me too and that way she didn’t have to acknowledge my reality. In her head, I was with her on the stage. I was famous, rich, happy, and she didn’t have to feel any guilt. I shared her dreams of being anywhere far away from where I was and inherited her ability to live in a constructed fantasy rather than face the pain of my real life. It is a method for those of us who have very little light. We descend into the darkness where we have to imagine stars.                                                                                            My History Then on my Father’s side, my bloodlines go back to Scotland. I am part Australian Aboriginal. On my Mother’s side. My Great-Great-Grand Mother. Her Mother was a half cast. She got pregnant to My Great-Great-Grand Father. I was part of the Stolen Generation. Then on my Father’s side, my bloodlines go back to Scotland. I only went to grade three. I am self-educated. I have been for married 38 with six children ten grandchildren two great-grandchildren. I am sixty-three-years old. My wife’s name is Carol. I believe in God. I am retired they call what I am doing my bucket list, Robert Sherriff 0466246021 Robert Sherriff 2016 Australian Actor-Poet -Model-Singer- Historian Part of Wolf Creek TV series 2015 Part of Movie ‘Maurice’s Symphony’ 2015 Australian Copyright Act 1968 Motivation Speaker Movie - Snuff 2016 Movie - CULT 2016 Movie - Time of Zoe 2016 Movie - “ZOE – A ZOMBIE SHORT” 2017 Singer old songs Still (Model) Photo Shoot SA Health Robert Sherriff [email protected] 0466246021 38 Browne ct Craigmore 5114 South Australia                                                                        Nobody's Home By Robert Sherriff A memoir by Robert Sherriff This is the story of an ordinary man who pulled off an extraordinary feat of survival. I am part Australian Aboriginal. I was part of the Stolen Generation. Born into a working-class family in post-war Australia Robert Sheriff was premature, small and physically frail. He was also at the epicentre of his father’s drunken rage and hate, his mother’s indifference and his societies ability to live in denial. Just as Robert was understanding just how dangerous his home environment was, he was ‘saved’ by the state and placed into the care where violence and sexual abuse were systemic and rife. Robert survived the darkest period in South Australia’s institutional history where young people and predators were placed in facilities away from scrutiny. Robert’s story is honest, brutal and horrifying but it is a story of hope. Not all the children in the system survived. Few of the adults they became were emotionally unscathed, and Robert lived through mental health challenges, alcoholism and homelessness to eventually become a successful husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Robert’s story is in a country growing up. He was born into a traditional blue-collar family and rubbed shoulders with the counterculture and its hedonistic excesses. It is a reflection on a life that’s been hard, far from fair and challenges the notion of the lucky country. It is told without self-pity, without malice and spite and it celebrates the love that Robert found on his journey and has rediscovered now in his later years. I believe this book would become a huge commercial success where I would change things to suit the USA market. I had a phone call from the Prime Minister of Australia he rang me. I became involved in a Royal Commission that has been held in Australia for the last four years. Mr Malcolm’s Turnbull thanked me for my time I was involved. Mr Malcolm’s Turnbull also stated that he was laying down the law to the States where they would pay correct compensation to all the victims of sexual abuse. Malcolm’s Turnbull will make an announcement sometime this year in Australia. This could cost the States millions of dollars. Mr Malcolm’s Turnbull stated that he knew it was hard for me to tackle domestic violence and sexual abuse. Mr Malcolm’s Turnbull asked me to send him a copy of the book. We were on the phone for twenty-five minutes. I have a publisher in England I have a contract. 38 Browne ct Craigmore South Australia. Australia 5114 [email protected] 0466246021 https://indaily.com.au/news/2018/10/22/adelaide-abuse-survivors-welcome-apology-but-action-must-follow/ https://www.sbs.com.au/news/sa-abuse-victims-tell-their-stories                                                                               Dirkbell By Robert Sherriff https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Dirkbell-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639342 Dirkbell the squirrel lives at the top of a huge oak tree near the sea, with his wife and their twin babies. Every day he scampers around the woods, collecting enough food for his family. He is friendly with the nice family who owns the bakery at the foot of the tree but when Cooper, a brown terrier who lives nearby, scares off Tom the cat, then Cooper takes matters into his own hands. Can he persuade Cooper to mend his ways? Will Tom come back if he does? It’s up to Cooper to save the day and the peace and quiet of his neighbourhood by convincing the unruly pup to value friendship and to be considerate towards others. Robert Sherriff Author-Poet Actor -AVAILABLE NOW Robert Sherriff Author-Poet Actor - Dirkbell—CHILDREN’S BOOK - PLEASE BUY https://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Dirkbell-Robert-Sherriff/9781912639342 AUSTRALIA https://www.amazon.com.au/gp/profile/amzn1.account.AGAZ3PKJ3SOCCMPCCEJVIQZYHOCQ Robert Sherriff Author-Poet Actor -AVAILABLE NOW Robert Sherriff Author-Poet Actor - Dirkbell—CHILDREN’S BOOK - PLEASE BUY USA: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1912639297/ Web http://www.robert-sherriff.com/ Robert Sherriff Australian - Actor-Poet Author-Singer- Historian Part of Wolf Creek TV series 2015 Part of Movie ‘Maurice’s Symphony’ 2015 Motivation Speaker Movie - Snuff 2016 Movie - CULT 2016 Australian Copyright Act 1968 0466246021 http://www.robert-sherriff.com/ [email protected] https://twitter.com/SherriffBook https://twitter.com/Lloyd8754Rob https://storywrite.com/R_sherriff_poet https://allpoetry.com/R%20sherriff%20poet https://www.facebook.com/kellie.sherriff.10   https://www.facebook.com/robertlloydsherriff871954 https://plus.google.com/u/4/117577792823049426575 Dirkbell https://www.imdb.com/user/ur93657913/?ref_=nv_usr_prof_2 https://www.linkedin.com/in/sir‐robert‐sherriff‐actor‐poet‐author‐singer‐a956a6166/

After

Darkness closes around me. I feel a change in motion, a force moving me; I feel weightless as I am lifted from the wetted ground. My attackers, are they moving my body as I die on the tainted alleyway filled with rain and my own blood? Do they not find satisfaction that I am dying as it is; must they continue to defy my soon-to-be-corpse further? “Sick bastards,” I think to myself. “Let my final moments be peaceful.”

A warm breeze rushes across my face, an odd change as I was just feeling the cold bitter embrace of both death and the storm around me. I no longer feel the weightless sensation as if I’m being dragged along the streets. My eyes remained heavy, but when I grip my hands, I feel soft grass at my touch. My feet are touched by the warmth; I can feel my legs again! Joyous, excited, but suspicious.

Not entirely suspicious. I never doubted the existence of an afterlife, I was just never entirely sure what was in store for me. My head raises, eyes slowly open, and I bask in the wonders before me. I’m gazing at an endless field of grass, the wind causing the green fields to dance in an unpredictable, yet relaxing, motion. A forest lays behind me, with trees taller than the ones that surrounded my village in Alaska. A forest of what looks to be oak trees, as well as a vast selection of other species; pines; weeping-willows; even maple. The sky is painted as something considered to be perfection: clouds are robust and making outstanding shapes, the sky shines a type of blue I can only describe as not too light, not too dark. In the distance is a house with a pillar of white smoke pouring from a chimney.

I pick myself off the ground. Natural muscle memory dictates that I pat myself off after sitting down, getting the dirt off my clothes. As I check to see if I had cleaned myself, I notice I am not wearing my rustic clothes. I am wearing a beautiful set of white robes, etched along the edges of my robe is a significant celtic-link design of gold thread. These white robes were utterly clean despite sitting in grass and dirt.

I’m quick to feel around my chest. There wasn’t any blood either on the robes, nor was there a knife protruding from me.

It’s clear what has happened to me. I am dead; this is Heaven. It’s strange that I am not standing before any golden gates that many stories have shared would happen. It’s more strange that I am not before Saint Peter too. It couldn’t be that elves are exempt from having to answer to the gate-keeper.

Maybe the answers are at home I see in the distance. I can make out two people standing on the porch, and they seem to be waving at me. I return the gesture and wave back at them, and proceed to walk myself to the kind folks.

…

A hand is placed on my shoulder before I am able to clearly see the couple on the house. The hand was not some form of greeting, rather, it was a type of stoppage. The hand yanks me back a few paces. I thought it to be some kind of devil to drag me to Hell, but I am relieved when I see it’s just Austin, my angel friend. “How’s it going, Tak buddy?”

“Austin,” I said with a nod, brushing his hand off my shoulder with a shrug.

“Surprised you’re here so unexpected,” he says, slowly putting his hand down to his side, tucking both hands into his pockets. He wasn’t wearing robes like I was, he had a gleaming white suit on.

“Unexpected?”

“We honestly didn’t expect to see you here until you were aboooout -” Austin stopped. I think he was about to tell me the age I was expected to die. And possibly how I would’ve died. Knowledge of which doesn’t matter now, because I’m already dead. “Nevermind! Point and fact is, you’re here now. Which is exciting, but also, a bit problematic.”

“I figured you would’ve been waitin’ forever for this moment. Why’s it problematic suddenly?”

“Because, Tak, it’s a matter of why and how you’re here right now.” “Why? How? I was stabbed in the heart; that kills just about anything that ain’t some kind of immortal being.”

“Correct. It’s a matter of who did it though! Which were, dot-dot-dot.” He pauses. “Demons!”

“You’re saying this like I don’t already know.” I make fake horns with my fingers on my forehead. “Odd colored skin and horns coming outta there heads makes it painfully obvious they’re --” “Not what I meant,” he cues in, interrupting my sarcasm. “It’s the significance of the demons. You might’ve noticed that each demon represented a circle of Hell.” “No. That I did not catch.”

“Your attention to detail has gone down a bit since the 90’s, hasn’t it?” Laughs Austin. “So, yes. Each demon was a circle of Hell, and from what some have reported, all rings were present at the time.” I had to chime in a detail. “There were only eight.”

He responds, befuddled. “Huh?”

“There were eight. There’s nine circles, Austin.”

A long extended pause follows. I see visible confusion written on his face, as he tries to find a way to explain this. With a snap of his fingers, he says “Safe to say purgatory wasn’t there.”

“That makes sense. It’d be weird to bring a baby to a fight.”

“Back to the point I’m making though.” I didn’t realize he was trying to make anything. “The demons, right? Hell is supposed to be Hell, meaning no order, no nothing.”

“But what about Marquette?”

“That’s business. ‘Cause you know, you can’t spell business without sin.”

Being a father, I tell bad jokes. Not sure if it comes with the title of being a dad, or if it’s just something I say. Being on the receiving end of a bad joke made my brain cringe. I didn’t like this feeling. “Go on,” I grunt.

“These demons banded together. Look what they did too; they killed you!”

“There was eight of ‘em, though. I was out-numbered.”

“You took on thirteen vampires, who were armed with ammunition and firearms to their teeth! The way you did it too, it was like thorough choreography!”

“‘Cause I had a lotta time to think to myself about how I was going to hurt ‘em. It festered, and it grew into something unable to be tamed. Like a wild animal.”

“That animosity you showed that night is what caught the eyes of a lotta us up here, don’t you remember?” Austin shakes his head, trying to pick up where he left off. I do this a lot too. “Back to the matter! They banded together, and that’s bad for us. Imagine if they could work together to take you out, imagine if hundreds got together. Or even thousands. Almighty Lord forbid that they all form together.”

“Not all demons are bad ya’ know.”

He raises a finger, shaking it in my face. “They may not be bad, but deep in their roots they’re ready to be controlled. Luckily the only one that can control them is frozen in the deepest pits of Hell, chained for eternity for his crimes against humanity.”

I decide not to say anything, as to not derail him. Austin is sometimes easily sidetracked by small matters. “Though this isn’t the first time demons have banded together. It’s just a rarity, you understand? However, they usually pull together to do something massive against humanity. A world-war, an act of terrorism, and even the enslavement of hundreds of men and women.”

“So you’re tellin’ me you’re all gonna deal with this then?”

“On the contrary; you are.”

“Huh?”

“When demons work together, they do massive damage. But these ones worked together to kill just you, and you alone. Nothing and no one were hurt, ‘sides you. We figured, who else to send to investigate the murder of you, than you. Who else to stop the demons, than the champion of Heaven.”

“I wouldn’t call myself the champion of Heaven. I know for a fact there’s hundreds else that have a calling from angels to do this business. But ya’ know. Passing away has been somethin’ I’ve been quietly looking forwards too.”

“To see your family; mom and dad?”

“Yeah, actually. They got taken away from me too early for a boy’s life.”

Austin puts his hand back on my shoulder, turning me towards the cabin with two figures on the porch. They waved once again. “You can take a guess who that is, yeah?”

“I didn’t wanna assume, but thanks for the clarity.”

“I can understand wanting to see them after losing them like you did. But, think on it, Tak. You’re being given the chance to go back with the family back on Earth. Would you be able to live knowing you had a chance to return?” He pats my back as I stare into the ground, thinking hard about what was just shared. “Do you think your parents would want that?”

“Y -- No. No you’re right.”

“Glad you see it that way,” Austin says, leading me away from the cabin. I gaze one last look at the home. I can’t say that I’ll be back soon, but I can say that I’m eventually coming back for good.

…

Austin and I walk for only a minute before he stops the both of us. “I’ll send you back as soon as I get this little briefing done. Your priority, from us, and from guys way higher in command than I am, is to find and eliminate those demons by any means necessary. Do not get caught off-guard, and do not get yourself killed again, because we will not send you back.”

“Will y’all be helping me in anyway?”

“The best I can give you is the names of most demons that were present. Take this paper here,” he says, whilst giving me a letter of parchment, tied with twine that wasn’t wiry or messy.

“You have Lucia, the demoness of Lust. I’m sure you remember; purple skin and a skin-tight suit that showed off her “best features.” Our reports say she owns one the largest brothels in the second circle, where damned souls are rumored to become the infamous succubus or incubus. Her place of business is called the Domus Meretrix; whore-house if you understand Latin.”

“I do actually.”

“Praeclarus! The fattest and fullest of the demons is Goluba. He has gone into hiding, so finding him will be a challenge. Careful around him, his hunger cannot be sated by man, angel, or even demon,” added Austin, with a peculiar look on his face that was filled with disgust.

“How is it you know all this, Austin?”

“We have eyes in a lot of places around the worlds of existence. Continuing is the imp called Salamendoza, the demon of Greed. Don’t assume he’s powerless; he has many ties and powers within the ranks of his circle. He probably has some manipulation over whether or not your friend Demetri has a good day at work or not.”

“It’s Hell, I’d imagine there ain’t no good day.”

“We all have our good and bad ones, even up here. After you died, he has been going around looking for a lost artifact to add to his hoard. Up next is someone quite new to us. Demons have taken the liberty of calling him Atan, whose very nature is able to cause a good amount of demons to fear his presence. He has been spotted all over the place, which should make him an easy man to find.”

If he’s able to be anywhere, I think that’d make him a little hard to find. “Heresy. Gothel. By some means, he was freed from the prison of the sixth circle. Shortly after you died, he managed to get put back into his old cell. I’m sure you can arrange some way to get close to him.”

I’ll think of it as time comes. This is a lot of enemies to process. “Who’s next?”

“In this case, violence is the answer. His name is Gash; he’s tall, muscular, and has tattoos all over his body. Gash has been a massive problem, and we’ve been unable to deal with him; just too strong. You should have no problem finding him though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he wants to fight you. Word will spread about your return to the living, and he will want to find you. Just be careful, we’re not sure what he’ll do. Finally you have Archibald, the man of Fraud. We have never heard of him till now, and honestly, we’ve got nothing on where he is either.”

“That doesn’t sound very helpful.”

“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re right. So who’s eh, treachery?”

“The last demon? Well, person. We have tried to find out who that individual was. We cannot determine if they were demon, or human. Whoever they are, they want to remain hidden. Odds are, maybe interrogate the other demons about who they are. One of them is bound to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll see what all I can do I guess, since I’m going back and all. What’s the eh -- process for doing that anyways?”

“Oh well, it’s as easy as doing this,” Austin says, as he pushes me enough to cause myself to fall backwards. I was expecting the impact of the ground to hurt pretty bad, but, there was no ground beneath me. It was strange, I could’ve sworn there was more field of goldeness in our path.

I see him waving as I plummet down a tunnel of stars and celestial constructions. The gleaming light of Heaven slowly fades away, and the bright sky of Earth begins to illuminate the void around me; the stars fading away.

...

I open my eyes and see the world around me. I’m in Alaska, I know this for a fact. I’m where my village was destroyed all those years ago, like I requested. To my left, I see a dug open grave, and the coffin I rested in, exposed to the snow around me.

They buried me in something that I could handle as formal. A suit, but with a turtleneck instead of a button up and tie. There were patches of dirt on the suit; I appear as if I had crawled myself out of my own grave.

I should get home and change.

Shit. How am I going to get home?