#gotta love cross pack integration

[lightningzbolt]

Red & Black All Time Low Hoodie

Was gonna take new screenshots of this one, but my SSD died, so. :) Had to get a new drive and I do have some backups but a month+ old so that's a problem I have to deal with, but you can still have these from last October when I was using Alex to complete the Strangerville storyline, so he was allergic to the spores and possessed. Forgive the bulge of his pants, it's not ideal but it's all I got. :v Based on a real hoodie I saw, but I also added more swatches to it, up to 14, just in case you want color variety. Why is this the only reference I can find of it now.

SimFileShare

[dirtyoatmeall]

The ways I love you (Matsukawa x reader)

A/N: I love Mattsun so much. I think out of all the characters, he’s the one I’d most likely end up actually dating, not to mention time-skip mattsun is a whole nother conversation. anyway I hope you enjoy, I just really love him.

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader (gn pronouns but references to reader being able to be pregnant)

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Mentions of 18+ activity as a joke, spoilers for s2 (spring preliminaries), me not proof reading, me not knowing how to describe coming down from your tiptoes

--

Matsukawa liked to think he was observant both on and off the volleyball court. But as he watches you laugh from afar, head thrown back, holding onto your friends shoulder for balance, he can’t help but think, how did he not notice you before? It was enough to stop him in his tracks, unconsciously tuning out the sounds around him, blatantly staring at you as you continue to talk to your friends, a wide grin on your face as you gesture wildly, pausing every so often to laugh at the story you were telling. It took Hanamaki walking in front of him, blocking his view of you, for him to come back to his senses. He heard Hanamaki calling his name, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Hey earth to Mattsun, you okay bro?” He nodded in response, still thinking about your laugh, he wanted to know what you were talking about. He wanted to know your name. Hanamaki turns to look at where Matsukawa was focused so intently on before, grin breaking out when he saw your group. “Ahh, so that’s what’s got your attention? And which one was so lucky to literally stop you in your tracks?” He rolled his eyes in response to Hanamaki’s teasing, when Iwaizumi appeared next to him, raising an eyebrow at Matsukawa. “What’re you talking about?” Hanamaki is happy to fill the spiker in, and Matsukawa returns his gaze to your group again, before furrowing his eyebrows.

He watched Oikawa saunter up to your group, he must have called your name since you turned to face him, eyebrow raised. The setter says something that causes you to roll your eyes, hands on your hips and you respond, teasing smile evident. In true Oikawa fashion, he responds by pouting dramatically before scanning the courtyard, face lighting up when he spots his group of friends. He grabs your wrist, you wave to your friends before following and Matsukawa’s eyes widen when he realizes Oikawa is bringing you over to them. Did Oikawa see him staring? Were you somehow dating the setter? Matsukawa wracks his brain for any memories on a new fling when you two finally reach the group.

“Iwa-chan! (Y/N)-chan still won’t agree to being the manager! Won’t you convince them?” Oikawa says dramatically, letting go of your wrist in favor of attempting to lean on Iwaizumi, who promptly shoves him off, rolling his eyes. “And why would I do that? I don’t want to subject them to dealing with you anymore than they have to already.” You laugh at Iwaizumi’s insult as Oikawa cries out in offense. (Y/N), Matsukawa repeats your name in his head, wanting to commit it to memory. Though all thoughts immediately halt at the sound of your voice.

“I never said I wouldn’t, I just asked how you were gonna make it worth my while?” Your voice had a teasing lilt to it as you raised your eyebrows in anticipation of the setters response. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes again, grumbling about you egging him on. Oikawa brightens up, a flirty smile adorned as he leans closer to you, eyebrows wiggling up and down. “I know exactly what can make it worth your while.” You throw your head back, loud cackles of laughter filling the air, Hanamaki and Matsukawa chuckle as Oikawa pouts, crossing his arms childishly. After a few moments your laughter dies down, you make a show of wiping tears from your eyes before smiling. “Alright, just because I’ll get to more chances to make fun of you, I’ll do it.” Oikawa seems to ponder being excited or offended by your agreement, choosing the former and hugging you while Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Thankfully Hanamaki says what was on both of their minds.

“Soo, are you guys like dating or something?” He tries to be casual, eyebrow raised when Iwaizumi snorts, “I can tell you there is no chance of that happening, ever.” Oikawa sputters as you nod, nose scrunched in disgust.

“Let me put it this way,” you pause, thinking before your lips raise into a sly grin. “I would rather be spit roasted by the coaches of Shiratorizawa and Nekoma before I’d hold hands with Tooru romantically.”

Oikawa jaw drops as the rest of them crack up at your words. “(Y/N)-chan! You have to be spending too much time with Iwa, you didn’t used to be this mean!” You roll your eyes playfully before turning to the duo to clarify.

“In all seriousness, I used to live in the same neighborhood as Tooru and Iwa when we were kids, we went to school together up until middle school, when I moved to Fukushima, but I’m back now! And I gotta make up for all the time I missed preventing him from getting a big head, obviously Iwa hasn’t been doing his job.” Said ace narrows his eyes at you, grumbling before Oikawa cuts him off. “It was horrible not having you here (Y/N)-chan! We’re never going to let you leave again!” You smile softly at his admission, and Matsukawa wonders if he’s sick, why else would he be sweating in the middle of November?

--

Months later Matsukawa realizes that he wasn’t sick on that chilly November day in his first year, he was, much like now, infatuated with you. While he wasn’t sure exactly what his feelings for you were, he knew he had it bad. Ever since he noticed you, he started seeing you everywhere. In the hallway, when he was glancing out the window during class, anywhere he was, his eyes always found their way to your form. It didn’t help that Oikawa stuck to his promise, and you became an integral part of their group. He was seeing you at all times of day, even when he closed his eyes at night, images of you, laughing and smiling softly, danced behind his eyelids.

And of course, it did not go unnoticed. Hanamaki was, unsurprisingly, the first to find out. Now whenever he caught Matsukawa staring at you, he’d grin amusedly at the middle blocker, wiggling his eyebrows. Iwaizumi was even seeming to catch on, a knowing look on his face, small grin present whenever Matsukawa would flush slightly after contact with you, whether it was a seemingly innocent hug between friends, or you hanging off his arm dramatically while teasing Oikawa. Speaking of the setter, he was, without a doubt, the last person Matsukawa wanted to find out about his, whatever they are, feelings for you.  But he hid it well, only a few moments of weakness compared to all the other times he kept it together around you, however hard it was.

--

It was in his third year that Matsukawa was able to name his feelings for you, love. Love in the way his heart skips a beat whenever you laugh, in the way his hand twitches to lace his fingers through yours, in the way he can’t imagine not seeing you every day, in the way he fantasizes about a life with you; seeing you first thing in the morning, slow dancing in the kitchen to a song no one can hear but you two. He no longer hid it well, openly gazing at you with a fondness anyone could see was only for you. It seemed the whole world knew of his feelings, except you.

Oikawa found out about 6 months after you returned, the setter vowing to keep it a secret, saying something about letting fate bring the two of you together. Matsukawa no longer tried to hide it, though he wasn’t going to confess anytime soon, he wasn’t above shameless flirting, lingering touches pairing with his love-stricken gaze. Either you were the most oblivious person ever, or you knew but elected to stay silent. He wasn’t sure which he preferred.

It all came to a head the day they lost their chance at nationals.

The loss to Karasuno was hard on everyone, the third years especially. After Coach Irihata talked to the players, you step forward, getting their attention. Unshed tears shining in your eyes you smile sadly at the team. “I’m not a coach, and obviously not a player, so I know my words don’t hold as much value as they would if I was. But I don’t care. I am so proud of all of you. You worked so hard to get here, and even though the outcome wasn’t what we hoped for, I don’t want anyone blaming themselves, not a single one of you. You gave it your all, and I want you to be proud of that. I’m obviously not planning on being a motivational speaker after we graduate, but you get the idea.” A few of the players chucked, and more of them looked tearful than when you started.

For a moment you worry your words did more harm than good, until Iwaizumi steps forward, enveloping you in a hug. You let out a strangled cry/laugh when Oikawa follows his lead, the other third years joining and eventually the whole team, and you smile despite the tears running hotly down your cheeks. Over the 3 years you’ve been manager you have come to love and be loved by the team. As the group hug disperses to pack up for the bus ride home, you and the other third years linger, sharing bittersweet smiles.

The bus ride home is silent. The loss having drained the energy from the team, as many of the players are sleeping. You sit next to Matsukawa, head resting on his shoulder. As you start to drift off you slip your hand into his, sighing contentedly before succumbing to sleep. He looks down at your sleeping form, squeezing your hand as he smiles sadly. The day before he had briefly entertained the idea of confessing if they win nationals, but now, especially after your speech, he knows he can’t wait.

He gently shakes you awake when the bus arrives at the school, his heart stutters when you blearily look up at him, a tired smile gracing your features. He doesn’t let go of your hand when the two of you disembark, the first years telling you to go home when you try to help put stuff away. You tear up again, in appreciation for your underclassmen, looking up when Matsukawa squeezes your conjoined hands. He smiles and tugs you along, waving goodbye to the team before the two of you join Hanamaki and walk to the train station.

The train ride is peaceful, Hanamaki and Matsukawa talking quietly while you resume your place next to the latter, leaning into his side. You wave when Hanamaki gets off, and you sit in comfortable silence until your stop comes up. You look at Matsukawa, confused, when he gets off the train with you, He tugs you forward. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.” You try to ignore the butterflies in your gut and the heat in your face as you nod.

A few blocks from your house he stops under a streetlight, gently pulling you in front of him. Your eyebrows furrow as you search his face for any tell for his actions. You don’t know what to make of what you find instead, blush deepening when he takes a step closer and cups your cheek with the hand not occupied with your own. “(Y/N),” He sighs, and you think it sounds the prettiest when it comes from his lips. “Originally I wasn’t planning on ever telling you, and I thought about doing it at nationals,” He pauses, and you nuzzle into his hand, shifting your other hand to intertwine with his, a quick squeeze urges him to continue. “but since that’s not going to happen, now seems as good a time as any.” He takes a deep breath, taking another step forward, now toe to toe with you.

“I’m in love with you, have been for who knows how long. Well, I guess I do.” He huffed a laugh, “Probably since first year honestly. I remember the first time I saw you, I literally stopped in my tracks you were so beautiful. God, I sound so lame.” You laugh with him this time, tightening your grip on his hand. He clears his throat before continuing. “I know we haven’t really discussed our plans after graduation, but I wanted you to know, just in case there was some possibility. And when I say I love you, I mean it. I love you in the wake up next to you every morning and make you breakfast kinda way. The buy a cat together kinda way. And I understand if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want you to feel pressured, I just couldn’t not tell you, ya know? I think it would eat at me for the rest of my life if I didn’t.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore, choosing to look at your joined hands instead. Your free hand comes up to cover the one on your cheek, and he looks up to meet your gaze.

He wasn’t expecting the shine of unshed tears or the tender look on your face. You smile, and his heart does the little back flip it does whenever you direct one at him, but there’s something different about this smile, it holds unspoken promises behind it, ones he wants so desperately to hear come tumbling from your lips. “Issei,” You breath, and he shudders slightly hearing you say his name with so much emotion. “I love you too. I love you in the wake up next to you every morning smiling even though you have the worst morning breath,” He snorts and your smile grows as you continue, “I love you in the adopting two cats together kinda way, because we didn’t want it to be lonely when we’re away. I have loved you since the day you told Tooru you were my baby daddy,” You laughed brightly as you recall the memory, the horror on Oikawa’s face when Matsukawa went along with the prank.

“You fell into the role so effortlessly, and yet I never regretted a prank more, because after feeling you pull me against your chest, wrapping an arm around my waist for the day, I was hooked. Constantly thinking of ways I could touch you again.” Your face was a deeper shade of pink, bordering on red, and Matsukawa smiled as he recalled the memory, and how you were more touchy afterwards.

You turn your head, softly kissing the palm of his hand, eyelashes tickling his fingers. Your hand moves to lightly grasp his wrist when his hand moves to your neck, resting on the side for a moment before cupping the back of your head as he leaned down slowly, committing the sight of you; eyes fluttered closed, lips slightly parted, to memory. Impatient, you push yourself upward on your toes, closing the small space between you as your lips finally meet.

You untangle your hand from his, moving to bring both upwards, over his chest and around his neck as you tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss. His hand tangles into your hair and his other hand moves to settle on the small of your back, bringing you closer as your lips move against each other slowly, pouring years of love and pining into the kiss, savoring the feel of the other. After what feels like forever, you part, panting slightly, out of breath. You rest your weight back on the balls of your feet, smiling as Matsukawa follows you, bending down to rest his forehead against yours. You close your eyes for a moment, processing what just happened, and what it means for the future.

You open your eyes as he kisses you again, this time shorter, but no less sweet. You have a dopey smile on your face when he pulls away, standing to his full height. He untangles his hand from your hair, running his fingers through it for good measure and takes your hand, which had fallen back to your sides, before nodding in the direction of your house. “C’mon, I said I’d walk you home, and we’ll be here all night if we have it your way.” He teases at the pout on your features when he pulls you along the street. 

You turn to him once you reach your steps, hesitant to leave. His hand cups your cheek again, directing your attention back to his face. “Hey, what’s wrong? You look like I’m gonna disappear if you leave.” You bite your lip slightly instead of answering, though he can see it in your eyes. He smiles softly and pulls you into a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise. I’m not going to miss out on a chance to rub it in Makki’s face that I got a girlfriend before him.” You laugh lightly into his chest, heart swelling at the word. You breath in the scent of his cologne, squeezing your interlaced hands before stepping back,

“Okay, tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He grins at the obvious reluctance present on your features. He lands a quick peck on your cheek, ruffling your hair. He waits until you close the door behind you before leaving. He checks his phone as he walks, cursing as he realizes he only has a few minutes until the last train of the night departs.

[lostcoves]

ft. bodyguard!goshiki tsutomu x fem!gang princess!reader

genre: smut

wc & warnings: 1.5k | drunk!(y/n) in the beginning, gun violence, murder, gangs, mention of arranged marriages, cunnilingus, blowjobs, cum swallowing, mommy kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, virgin!(y/n) and virgin!goshiki

premise: as the daughter of one of japan’s most notorious gang leaders, you have a duty to protect the integrity of the gang. but when your father proposes an arranged marriage to a rival gang’s heir, you turn to your bodyguard goshiki tsutomu for a shoulder to cry on.. and something more.

note: my contribution to @theehoneybunii’s back to the streets collab! it was a joy to write! i wanna thank @ultimate-astridwriting​ for beta reading this piece for me, you’re the best <3 remember to filter #lostcoves.nsfw if you’re a minor and DON’T INTERACT WITH THIS!!!

the casino was buzzing with energy, as bodyguard goshiki tsutomu watched you play craps drunkenly with other attendees. you let out a holler of victory after winning another round, happily accepting your winnings. 

goshiki sighed and checked his watch, “miss (y/n), we gotta get going,” he whispered to you, “your father will be expecting you open soon. wouldn’t want to anger him with tardiness.”

“that old man can suck it,” you spat, your words slurred. goshiki ran a hand through his bowlcut and gently grabbed your arm, “please, miss. (y/n).. i don’t want to get in trouble if we show up late.”

your expression softened, “okay, let’s go.”

goshiki helped you pack up the cash you won and placed it in his bag. he offered you a smile and promised to you, “we can come back to the casino tomorrow, miss. (y/n).”

“you won’t be going anywhere,” a security guard approached the two of you, stern and arms crossed over his beefy chest. goshiki stood in front of you protectively and asked the security guard, “is there a problem, sir?”

“your little girlfriend is under suspicion of cheating,” the security guard answered, reaching out for your arm, “she needs to come with me for questioning.”

goshiki latched onto the guard’s arm and glared, “whenever she’s going, i’m coming with her.”

the security guard pulled out his gun, “you’re a dead man, goshiki.”

goshiki smirked and quickly disarmed the security guard, taking the gun and putting a bullet between the guard’s eyes. a loud bang echoed throughout the casino, attendees screaming in terror and scattering about. 

“did you really have to kill him?” you asked, pouting slightly. goshiki looped his arm around your waist and smiled, “see that tattoo on his wrist?” he gestured to the dragon tattoo on the dead man’s skin, “it’s the sign of the kokuryū, your father’s rivals.”

“i see,” you replied, as the two of you exited a panicking casino. a limo pulled up and goshiki opened the door for you, you entered the limo with goshiki and took a seat. goshiki signaled the chauffeur to drive.

“here,” goshiki handed you some crackers and a bottle of water, “to sober up.”

“thanks,” you gulped down the water and ate a few crackers.

“your father has news for you.”

“he does?” you asked, eating a few more crackers.

“just don’t get- we’re here,” the chauffeur announced your arrival to the residence of the white jackals. goshiki exited the limo and did a perimeter search to clear the area before letting you out. 

“goshiki,” your father- shiro- greeted his daughter’s bodyguard upon entry to the white jackals’ headquarters. goshiki bowed respectfully to shiro, “boss,” before stepping aside. you embraced your father tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “daddy!”

“there’s my precious angel,” shiro squished your cheeks, “it’s good to see you in one piece. did you win anything at the casino?”

“about ten grand,” you smiled.

“that’s my girl,” your father chuckled, “now, let’s get to business.”

“goshiki said you had news for me,” you stood beside goshiki, nervous. you hoped it was good news. your father nodded and answered, “i do. i have arranged a marriage between you and the heir to the blue dart frogs gang.”

“you.. you what?” everything froze.

“it’s necessary to secure our position as a gang, especially since the kokuryū has been gaining more influence,” shiro explained to you, “i don’t expect you to be loyal to your husband and neither does he but i do except you to maintain a public appearance of love with him.”

“daddy..” tears formed in your eyes, “i.. okay,” you admitted defeat.

“thank you for being understanding,” your father sighed, “i’ll be sure to buy you something nice in return. goshiki, take (y/n) to her room.”

“yes, boss!” goshiki exclaimed. he held out his hand to you, “let’s go.”

you took his hand and goshiki led you back to your bedroom. inside, you collapsed on your king-sized bed and sobbed into your pillows. an arranged marriage!? was your father insane?!

“miss. (y/n)..” goshiki sat down next to you on the bed.

“go away..” you cried, your voice muffled by the pillows.

“is there anything i can do for you?” goshiki asked, stroking some hair out of your face. you looked up from your pillows and sniffled, “stop this marriage for me, goshiki.”

“you know i can’t do that,” he responded.

“i know,” you muttered, hugging goshiki for dear life. he held you close and gave you a kiss on the top of your head, “i’ll be here for you, every step of the way. i promise that.”

“goshiki..” you cupped his cheeks, “i love you.”

“(y/n)..” goshiki looked scared. how would your father react if he found out about this? you smiled fondly at goshiki and whispered in his ear, “i’m not married yet. it will only be one night.”

“have you sobered up?” goshiki didn’t want to take advantage of you.

“i have,” you began nipping at his neck, “make love to me, tsutomu.”

“okay,” he answered breathlessly. quickly, goshiki got up and locked the door before returning to your bed. the two of you exchanged passionate kisses, as you stripped one another of their clothes. 

“you’re beautiful,” goshiki hummed to you, admiring all of your body. he loved it all, especially what others would consider to be imperfections. to him, you were a shining star.

“so are you, handsome!” you giggled, gesturing to his toned abdomen and lightly tanned skin. goshiki smiled at your laughter, it was warm and joyous. he wanted to hear you laugh more. 

“kiss me,” you told goshiki. 

“your wish is my command, princess.”

goshiki pressed a trail of kisses against your skin, kissing up your legs towards your face. you giggled more at the sensation, goshiki felt his heart flutter at your giggling. he ended it with a tender kiss on the lips, holding you close. 

“you’re wet,” he murmured, his slender fingers rubbing your soaking cunt.

“a- ah! be gentle..” you asked goshiki, face heating up. 

goshiki crawled down and kissed your clit, earning a wanton moan from you. eager to please you, he began lapping up your slick juices, nose bumping into your clit.

“f- fuck!” you came, extremely sensitive from being a little virgin baby. 

“thanks for the meal!” goshiki thanked you. 

“my turn,” you pushed goshiki down on the bed and attacked his neck with kisses. he moaned happily, as you trailed down his body and towards his hardened cock. you took his cock in your hand, admiring its length and thickness, before giving it a few strokes.

“sh- shit..” goshiki moaned, also a little virgin baby.

“want mommy to kiss your cock? mhm? make you feel good with my tongue?” you purred to goshiki teasingly. he nodded rapidly and cried out, “yes, mommy! wanna feel your tongue and mouth on my dick!”

“alrighty then!” you took goshiki’s length in your mouth, slurping and sucking to the best of your ability. it was a bit awkward at first but you managed to figure out to suck dick properly after a few tries. goshiki’s moans made your cunt wetter, as you bobbed your head up and down on his dick. 

“coming!” goshiki yelled before shooting his load down your throat. it tasted funny- was this the taste of cum?- and you swallowed it. you removed your mouth from his cock and informed him, “tell mommy that she did a good job.”

“mommy did a great job!” goshiki praised you, hugging you tightly. you chuckled and told goshiki, “my baby boy did a great job, too.”

“can- can i put it in?” goshiki asked of you, his cock still red and hard.

“of course you can,” you laid back on the pillows and spread your legs, showing off your dripping pussy to goshiki. 

“this.. this would be my first time,” goshiki confessed to you.

“mine as well so be gentle,” you reminded your bodyguard.

goshiki nodded and pressed a kiss to your cunt before lining himself up to your entrance and sliding himself in. he bottomed out with a shaky breath and checked to see if you were okay, your face already contorting from a mix of pain and pleasure.

“fuck me good, tsutomu!” you shouted, as goshiki thrust himself inside your pussy. your walls were sucking him in like a vice, goshiki nearly came from the sensation. yet, he held out and pounded into you, groping your breasts to stabilize himself.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” he chanted, “-you’re so tight, mommy! so tight and warm! i love you, i love you, i love!” goshiki sobbed.

“i love you too, baby boy!” you exclaimed before you two came, goshiki shooting hot seed into your womb.

you collapsed in goshiki’s arms, as goshiki pulled his softened cock out of your cunt. some seed spilled out of your pussy, goshiki smiled at the sight. he kissed on you on the forehead and whispered, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whispered back.

[bowiebond]

A Preview to my Winged!Sam & Wolf!Bucky AU fic…

(with a dash of prince!Sam, T’Challa & Bucky being siblings™️ and SarChalla cause I’m self indulgent)

Sam glared down the hill as his feathers ruffled in the wind, shifting them to tuck them in closer to his back.

“That’s a harsh mile long stare, big bro. What’s plucking your feathers?” Sarah mused as she stood beside him, her own wings giving a shiver and shake against the breeze, morning sunrise orange and yellow feathers vivid and warm under the sunset behind them.

“Nothing,” Sam grunted as he uncrossed his arms to appear less peeved. Sarah gave him a knowing look, the tip of her wing caressing his tightly bunched ones. A dark red to stark white ombré wing smacked back at hers as he huffed, but loosened up enough to brush against the green grass.

“Come on. I’m all ears.” Sarah assured and Sam laughed softly.

“Miss Chatterbox, all ears, huh…” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m just… admiring the view.” Sam shrugged and Sarah followed Sam’s gaze over to the two men across the field. She squinted — Sam had always had sharper eyesight then her, the lucky bastard — and quirked a brow.

“How long have they been going at it?” Sarah queried, sounding a little judgemental and Sam chuckled.

“An hour. Two maybe?” Sam spread his wings apart so fast it made Sarah jump. She glared.

“You gonna tell them to scram?”

“I’m gonna get a closer look.” Sam said without a hint of shame and launched into the air and made the distance in mere seconds before he was landing down on the soil. The grassy slope cut off into a fresh expanse of dark earth and Sam made sure to keep the white ends of his feathers up from the dirt. Fresh soil was hell to get out of such a bright white!

“Boys,” Sam greeted as T’Challa shoved Bucky into the dirt, perky white furred ears stained as dark as Bucky’s hair. T’Challa’s black, rounded panther ears flicked about in a miffed gesture even as he smiled. The man was patient, but he did not enjoy having his ‘play time’ cut off, it seemed.

“Sam!” Bucky grinned as he saw the man, ears flipped up and down against his head like the flapping of wings in his excitement. A habit he picked up after so many brief encounters with Sam.

“Your majesty,” Sam nodded in greeting to T’Challa who gave a small purr of acknowledgment, his claws on display.

“Samuel,” Sam quirked a brow and T’Challa tucked his claws away behind his back politely. Ever the diplomat.

“Bucky, yes, that’s me, I’m great, how are you guys?” Bucky drawled and scrambled back onto his feet to punch T’Challa’s shoulder for the last body slam. The prince scowled lightly and rubbed the offended area once Bucky turned his grin away from him, onto Sam.

“How long you been watching us, your highness?” Bucky’s thick tail, matted with damp dirt, swung side to side as he stood at attention under Sam’s gaze. Sam preened internally, wings puffing up to make himself appear slightly larger.

“Watching wouldn’t be the right term. More… glancing by. You realise you’re in our territory, right?” T’Challa had the nerve to look scolded, sleek black tail curling around his own waist.

“I apologise. My father does not appreciate our… roughhousing, where others may see us.” T’Challa bowed his head in apology.

“His dad doesn’t like the subjects knowing Challa’s a dirty cheat and beats on poor wolves.” Bucky scoffed.

“I do not cheat—“

“You do so!” Bucky huffed and cross his arms, the left arms black and gold vibranium on display. Sam resisted to urge to touch it; he would not give into the stereotype of birds loving shiny things. Even if he did. Greatly. If his mother wasn’t so fond of his natural wings and he himself so fond of the sky above, he’d decorate them until they were so heavy he could barely lift off.

“So you will both just return home covered in dirt. How very… prestigious, of you both.” Sam grinned.

“Uh, well… I didn’t think that far ahead.” Bucky flushed a delicate pink in his embarrassment, scratching the back of his head as his ears flicked about nervously.

“Neither did I.” T’Challa admitted, sounding just as embarrassed even if he hid it better.

“You can both take a dive in the stream before you head back if you want. Just don’t let anybody catch you. You know you’re not supposed to be on this side without royal decree.” Sam warned.

“Couldn’t you just say a little old royal decree for us now?”

“That’s not how that works, Buck,” Sam chuckled.

“Darn, what a shame. At least you’re royally pretty, angel,” Bucky battered his lashes with a flirtatious grin and T’Challa had to step in before Sam even opened his mouth to shoot right back and make him malfunction.

“We should bathe and head home. It is getting late, James. Your highness,” T’Challa nodded respectfully to Sam with a small smile. Sam closed his mouth and returned it with a polite smile of his own.

“Oh, okay, uh, bye Sam! I mean, prince Sam — your highness,” Bucky gave a wave over his shoulder as T’Challa steered him further away from Sam and Sam’s wings curled around his shoulders as he smiled.

He felt the presences of his sister behind him moments later and turned to her. She was grinning.

“And they are your…?”

“Acquaintances.”

“A cat. And a wolf?” Sarah filled in herself and Sam rolled his eyes.

“A panther. He’s the son of King T’Chaka. Prince of Wakanda, our neighbouring kingdom.” Sam shrugged. “He’s nice.”

“And the wolf? He’s got a pretty cool arm, but we don’t have any wolves around here, Sam.”

“He’s a refugee. He’s living with the royal family.”

“A wolf living with the Black Panthers? How did he score that kind of deal?” Sarah sounded shocked. Sam shrugged once more.

“A friend of Bucky’s — a lion named Steve from across the way over in Avengers Kingdom — apparently had some connections. Helped out the royal family a while back so T’Chaka agreed to take him in when he wasn’t coping well with the integrated community.”

“We haven’t visited the Avengers Kingdom in ages. I don’t know how all those different species get along in such a tightly packed place.” Sarah sighed. “And there’s barely any flying ranges.”

“It’s where people go to make money.” Sam rationalised. “Lots of job opportunities there for all kinds of people.”

“You know, you seem to know a lot about these guys,” Sarah narrowed her eyes at Sam. “You met them a few times, huh?”

“A couple times. Bucky wanders and T’Challa keeps an eye on him.” Sam joked.

“Ah, a lost kitten.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Sam laughed. “He’s still got a few years before he takes the throne. Let him have his fun with his new peculiar friend.”

“His wolf friend. What is up with that arm, seriously. It’s so shiny,” Sarah acted too mature to pout, but Sam could tell she wanted to.

“It is, ain’t it?” Sam chuckled. “Bucky told me it’s a prothetic. Lost his arm in a war zone.” Sam frowned. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“You’re so tense, Sam!” Sarah tutted. “You like the doggy or something?” She teased.

“What? No!”

“Oh my god. You do, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” He hissed and she cackled.

“That’s cute. He’s cute. You should go for it.” Sarah encouraged and Sam’s wings wrapped around himself in a comforting gesture as he sighed.

“I can’t. I gotta marry another bird here or make an alliance, you know that.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun before you do, though.” Sarah nudged him softly with her wing before curling it around her brother. “Live a little. You’re twenty one. You got plenty of time to have some fun, learn about what makes you happy,”

“…I do deserve to have a little fun. Just a little.” Sam caved and Sarah beamed.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sarah smacked his shoulder playfully. “While you’re at it, send the cat my way. He’s a cutie,”

“I don’t know if he’s ready for you, lil’ Sarah,” Sam joked and Sarah winked.

“Doesn’t hurt to test my luck.”

Sam laughed and wondered when he’d see Bucky again. And his very shiny arm.

[motherfingtitan]

Ignorance is Bliss

"When a routine holodeck security inspection goes wrong, new chief of security Jodie Sherret finds out what happened to her predecessor in the worst way possible.

"Are you coming to management training?" Billups’s voice broke her concentration as

Jodie Sherret looked up from her PADD.

"You mean senior crew karaoke?" She replied to Andy.

He shrugged, and they both continued down the hallway. Sherrets first weeks as the Cerritos new chief of security had been an emotional jumble of excitement, fear, joy, and sadness.

Quite a bit of sadness

As a Betazoid human hybrid, Jodie didn't have the telepathic abilities that full Betazoids had, but she was an empath. For the first week, every crew member she talked to radiated with sadness. Even during her first senior crew meeting, she was pounded with a mangled mess of depression that left her exhausted. She knew something tragic happened to her predecessor, but she felt it was inappropriate to ask so soon, especially when the ship had only left dry dock four weeks ago.

She knew a few things. Her predecessor was a Bajoran that went by Shax. He called his security crew the "Bear Pack," and after reviewing tactical programming, he loved to eject warp cores.

"Ransoms going to sing that song he heard while vacationing in Spain. I'm sure every glass in the bar is going to shatter," Billups continued, waving his hands around to emphasize just how bad Jack sang.

"I'll have to catch up with you later. I have to do an inspection on the holodeck. Some ensign, Bumford, I think" she twirled her right hand in the air. "Used all the crew's private logs to create a perfect holodeck simulation. I have to make sure there's no sensitive information in it before I delete it." 

"Oh, Boimler! I remember him. He and his friends really saved us that day…." He trailed off.

And there it was again, that uncertain sadness that filled the space around them. She so badly wanted to understand what happened.

"It should only take me an hour, then I'll meet you guys" she tried to break the silence.

"Sounds good! The party will just be getting started. I'll save you a seat next to me" they reached a fork in the corridors, and Andy went left. 

He waved as he turned another corner, out of sight. Jodie walked over to the closest turbo lift.

"Deck 8"

The turbo lift began moving, and the ambient sounds filled the air. She loved being alone, as it gave her time to take a break from many negative emotions. The lift slowed to a standstill, and the door slid open. Out she walked down the hallway, passing through ensigns work assignments. Arriving at the door to the holodeck, she rechecked her assignment.

"Computer, access holodeck program Boimler 7."

'This program requires authorization.'

"Authorization Sherret Beta-Four-Delta-Delta"

'Authorization granted, please specify which subprogram.'

"The hell?" She mouthed as the computer began listing out dates on the display. She scrolled up and down the different programs. The last date on the list caught her eye, stardate 57894.8, precisely a day before the Cerritos went into dry dock. 

Maybe it was curiosity or just a random place to start, but Sherret chose that subprogram.

'You may enter when ready."

The door slid open to reveal the bridge. Freeman sat in the captain's chair with her legs crossed. Ransom was just walking in, flashing a smile to Freeman and handing her his PADD. Sherret stepped into the program as the doors slid shut behind her.

"These are the officers that are in the running for the Sacramento promotion," Ransom started.

Freeman waved him off. "I'll check it after we sort out this distress call from the Solvang. I can't believe Dayton's had that ship for a week, and she's already had an Ensign accidentally sit on the distress beacon button."

The Solvang? Jodie heard that that ship had been destroyed in an attack and lost all crew. Despite it being a holodeck program, her gut sank as she knew the inevitable was coming. They wouldn't get there in time.

Jodie began to walk over to the conn behind the captain's chair. The equipment and displays were slightly different, likely upgraded after the ship went into the dry dock. Behind the conn, two officers stood. The first she recognized as Billups, but the larger one next to him she had never seen. A glance at the two gold pips in his collar, and she realized that he was Shax. He was quite a bit taller than her and a great deal more intimidating. She started to look at the touchscreen on the wall, making herself look busy.

A lieutenant spoke, "Captain; we’re just about at the coordinates of the distress call."

"Drop to impulse."

After dropping to impulse, the view screens show a sight of rubble against a red, menacing backdrop.

"Shields up, red alert!" Ransom called out as debris hit the ship, causing all the officers on the bridge to stumble.

Shaxs spoke, "Collision alert. Impacts on decks Three, fifteen, and twenty!"

She stared in terrifying awe at her predecessor. His intense demeanor was a contrast to her more nuanced approach. It was surreal knowing that all of this had happened just a few weeks before Sherret first boarded the ship. 

Looking over at the viewscreen, a large piece of debris that looked as if it had just gone through an explosion came into view. The words USS Solvang were plaster across it. 

"My God! Is that the Solvang?" Freeman spoke.

"Not reading any life signs. The whole crew, they've been wiped out." 

Suddenly, a mechanical arm grabbed the remaining piece of the destroyed ship. It pulled the rubble back and attached it to a much larger ship. Looking around, every officer on the bridge had looks of shock and fear in their eyes.

"They're harvesting the wreckage!"

The large ship began to shoot at the Cerritos, causing the decks to tremble. 

"Evasive maneuvers!"

The next minute was a blur as the Cerritos tried and failed to escape the enemy or even send out a distress signal. 

Shaxs was carefully monitoring damage reports, which at this point, we're coming in from all over the ship. Something alarmed him.

"Captain, they latched on to the port nacelle with some sort of mining arm!"

"Warp! Get us out of here!" Her commander's survival instincts kicked in.

"No! Shut down engines!"

"But we'll be sitting ducks!" Ransom tried to reason with the captain.

"Dayton would have thought the same thing, and look what happened to them. Shut it down!"

Both operations officers behind the conn tapped in the codes to shut down power. Just as the lights were growing dim, the ship jerked violently, Sending Sherret, along with the rest of the crew, flying across the bridge. The lieutenant managed to grab the chair’s arm to the left of the captains when she slammed into the ground. Sparks flew, and fires broke out, creating a disorienting haze. Hearing a scraping noise, Sherret looked up to see a metal ceiling plate about to rip away from the wires and fall.

"Captain, watch out!" Holo Freeman followed Jodie's eyes to the metal plate as it fell. The scream was sickening as the metal landed on the captain, cutting into her side. 

"Computer, pause program!" 

Everything paused. Sherret reoriented herself and sat in a more comfortable position. 

"Do I really want to see this?" She spoke to herself. Everything in her screamed to stop the program and inspect something else. Just a boring old day that would put her to sleep. One look at Shaxs, who was bracing himself on the conn, made her change her mind. 

"Computer, resume program."

One last jolt sent her flying back into the side of the chair before the ship eerily stood still. Two ensigns ran over to the captain as Billups turned auxiliary power back on. Jodie was just helping herself up when a menacing figure showed up on the viewscreen. 

"We thought the Enterprise was strong. We are strong!"

Freeman’s voice wavered as she spoke, "This isn't the Enterprise; this is the Cerritos."

The figure took off its helmet "We thought you were the Enterprise."

Pakleds? The technology pillagers that took Geordi LaForge hostage in 2364? Sherret thought that they were a joke. Something to laugh about. The captain tried to reason with the Pakled, to no avail.

"We will cut your ship apart!" The transmission cut out as the Cerritos was pulled towards the other ship. 

One of the Ensign, Boimler, who created this program, stated that the Pakleds had technology from over 30 different species.

They weren't a joke anymore.

The ship was brought into a repair bay of some sorts as a jolt was felt throughout the ship. 

"They're phasering the hull!" Shaxs shouted.

Sherret ran to the conn that Billups was sitting at and looked at the force field integrity.

"Emergency force fields are holding, but I have no idea how long they're going to last on auxiliary power!" She spoke. 

'None of this is happening right now,' she thought to calm herself down.. 'It happened before, but right now, Ransom is singing terribly, Freeman is uninjured, and the ship is safe.'

Mariner then stepped up and suggested a plan. A crazy dangerous plan, but a plan that worked considering that the Cerritos is still in one piece. Installing a program to disable the enemy ship was brilliant, and Sherret made a mental note to talk to Mariner about transferring to security.

Bright swirls of light appeared all over the bridge. "Intruders beaming in! Very slowly beaming in!"

'Safety protocols are offline. Extreme risk of injury or death.'

Jodie's blood drained from her face. "Computer, end program!"

'Unable to comply.'

"Computer, pause program!"

'Unable to comply.'

Boimler spoke, "Trust me, I really wish this was a program too!"

'No, no, no no no' she tapped on her combadge, desperately trying to get in contact with anybody, but nothing was getting through.

"We gotta go!" Mariner rushed everyone into the turbo lift.

"Deck 7," Shaxs practically roared.

The armory was located on that deck but all the way on the other side of the ship. How were they going to make it in time with Intruders beaming in all over the ship? The captain was already growing weak as she leaned on Shaxs for support.

'Come on! Somebody come in!' The tapping on her combadge grew more frantic as the turbo lift slowed to a stop. The doors slid open, and Mariner led the way down the corridor. Wires stuck out everywhere, sparks coming from them.

'Freeman, Ransom, Billups. Anyone come in!' 

"We have to get to the armory!" Shaxs spoke just before all of them were cut off by Pakleds beaming in from all four directions. They were trapped.

"Looks like we'll have to repel them the old-fashioned way. Setting my fists to stun in my kick to kill." Mariner rolled her eyes back as she pulled off several different sheets of metal plating from the walls and ceiling. Numerous pieces of contraband, mainly consisting of weapons, fell from the compartments. 

"Hey, we got all this" she kicked some weapons towards the group. The rest of the officers quickly started to arm themselves. "All the way in the back too!"

Sherret spotted a Glavin rolling towards her. She picked it up and placed it on her right hand, trying to get used to the weight.

"How much contraband have you hidden on my ship?" Holo Freeman asked.

"I don't know, a lot!" Was her only reply before the Pakleds started to materialize.

Sherret got in her fighting stance, fists and weapons up. The Intruders materialized and started running towards the group. In a split second, she dashed towards the Pakleds, swinging her weapon and hoping someone got her com call.

...

If there's one thing Commander Ransom thought he was good at but wasn't, it was singing.

Yo te amo y ahora perdóname

Solo recuérdame

Te amo, te amo, te amo

Te amo, te amo

The man was absolutely tone-deaf. The vast majority of crew members in 10 forward were internally cringing but trying to put on a pleasant facade because Jack was the first officer. All the way in the back corner, swirling his glass around but not taking a sip, was Commander Billups.

He glanced to his right, where Sherret would have been If she were here.

"What is taking her so long?" He spoke to himself, tapping his glass and watching the ripples that it made in his drink. 

She was supposed to only take an hour, but it had already been nearly two. Staring at the seat for a moment longer, his combadge came to life. 

"Help! Someone help!"

He nearly jumped before tapping his badge. "Commander Billups here. Report!"

The voice that came back was filled with fear and breathing heavily. "Oh, thank God! It's Lieutenant Sherret. The holodeck program I was running is corrupted. Safety protocols are offline, I can't get out of the program, and Holo Pakleds are attacking me. I need he-" a scream cut off the call. 

Billups jumped from his booth and ran out of the bar, bumping into a few officers along the way. He sprinted to the nearest touch screen panel.

"Computer, what program is running in holodeck two?!"

'The program running is Boimler 7. Safety protocols are currently offline.'

"Turn safety protocols back on!"

'Unable to comply.'

"Initiate Chief Engineer override. Billups Alpha-Delta-Four-Four-Seven. Shut down holodeck two."

'Unable to comply.'

"What the heck is wrong with this thing?" He was nearly pulling his hair out looking. "Billups to Rutherford" he commed

"Rutherford here"

"Meet me outside of holodeck two. We have a serious problem with a corrupt program."

"On my way."

He ran back into the lounge, trying to act as normal as possible. He spotted T'ana, a deadpan expression plastered on her face with the occasional side glare to Nurse Westlake, who just shrugged in return. Coming up from behind, T'ana suddenly felt herself being pulled away mid-drink.

"Dammit! What the hell?" She snarled.

"Sorry, need to borrow her for a second," Billups said to nurse Westlake, who just raised an eyebrow in return.

"Ok, what the hell was that!" The doctor snapped when they finally stepped out of the lounge.

"Sherret is stuck in a dangerous holodeck program. She commed me midway through the program, and the last thing I heard was a scream. She might be injured."

T'ana stood looking at him for a moment, observing the worry in his eyes. "Alright. I'm sure it's nothing major, but I'll get a team on standby.

...

The scene was insane. The sound of weapons hitting surfaces and the grunts from the Pakleds and the crew muddled together for disturbing background noise. Sherret was currently swinging her weapon at two Pakleds, landing several decent hits. 

There were just so damn many of them!

Shoveling her glavin into one of the pakleds stomachs, she was able to kick it in the knee, causing him to collapse. Behind her, Shaxs was throwing bodies at one another and, at one point, literally head-butted one of the enemies. While looking over at Shaxs, a Pakled came up from behind and swiped her. The force throwing her across the hallway, and blood seeped out of her newly formed wound. 

"Little fucker" she mumbled, gripping her wound. 

Another was charging after her. Sliding out of the way at the last second, the Pakled slammed itself into the wall, where she was able to shove the weapon directly into its lower back. 

"Mom!" Sherret glanced up, seeing Mariner across the hallway running to the collapsed captain. 

There was so much blood, with the sticky liquid pooling on the floor. Mariner tried to pull her up before the entire ship shook, and a bright phaser beam tore through the hallway. Shaxs ran over to the captain and picked up her weak frame. Both him and Boimler ran towards sickbay. 

"Ransom! Get our backs!" Mariner yelled out before following her mother.

"Way ahead of you," he side kicked another Pakleds, causing it to fall and mumble, "my leg!"

"Hey! Any particular reason you two aren't using weapons?" Sherret swung at the Pakled, being pinned against the wall by Billups.

"I only need my hands as wepo-" Jack was cut off by a punch to the face. Falling to the ground, he managed to use both of his legs to kick the Pakled off. "Double leg kick!"

More yellow energy beams appeared in the hallways. 

"Guys, we have more beaming in!" Billups yelled 

"How many of these guys are there?" Sherret stood in a fighting stance.

"I don't know, but whatever happens, do not let them get past sickbay!" Ransom threw his signature kicks and punches.

Though they were able to get a majority of the Pakleds off their backs, a few pinned the three right against sickbay doors. Just as she had crushed another holo Intruder's kneecap, the sick bay doors slid open, revealing Shaxs with Rutherford over his shoulder. They began to run down the hallway.

'This is my chance,' Sherret thought. She could finally learn what happened to her predecessor.

 She took off running, desperate to keep up with them. She had only ran about 10 ft before getting cut off by a large yellow phaser beam. It was so bright that the lieutenant had to cover her eyes temporarily. Without seeing it, someone snuck up on her.  Something forcefully tugged at her hair, throwing her off balance and onto the ground. Her eyes shot open, but it was too late.

 From there, she was picked up and shoved into the wall. Suddenly, the Pakled put immense pressure on her neck. Looking down, a metal bar pressed against her throat, most likely a handle from an old weapon. The Pakled lifted her from the ground, her only support being the metal bar choking her and her hands trying to tear it away. The pressure was insane, and every breath felt like it was only getting a drop of oxygen.  She flailed their arms back and forth, desperately clawing at the metal, trying to get the bar off of her before she blacked out from lack of oxygen.

...

"Well, what did he say?" Mariner ran down the hallway, trailing behind Rutherford.

"He just said it was a serious problem with a corrupt holodeck program," Rutherford replied, making a sharp right turn. He saw Billups frantically waving at him from the other side of the hallway.

"I hope whoever is in there is going to be okay," Tendi added.

"I'm sure everything is going to work out," Mariner replied as the three ensigns skidded to a stop at the end of the hallway.

Rutherford rushed over to the holodeck control panel, where his boss was already trying to type in different commands to end the program. "What program is running, sir, and who's in there?"

"Boimler 7, Lieutenant Sherret was doing a routine inspection of it before safety protocols failed."

Rutherford knew that program, as ever since he got his new implant, bits of memories were coming back. He started working on the code in the system. But something was wrong, and it looks like it had been messed with in ways that Boimler wouldn't do.

"Sir, I think someone went in and edited the program, and that's why the safeties failed. The entire coding of it is off" he glanced over at Mariner. 

It wasn't too far of a fetch, as Mariner had gone into that program and edited it to make her movie. But why would safeties go off? It's not like any of them got injured there.

Except for the side of Rutherford's head and her lips.

Oh shit.

Billups and T'ana eyes followed Rutherford to Mariners. "what in the hell did you do?" T'ana asked

"I reprogrammed Boimlers holodeck program so that I could do some much-needed therapy in a movie. I don't know what disabled safety protocols."

"Is that why both you and Rutherford showed up to my office bleeding that day?"

"Yeah"

Billups pinched the bridge of his nose. "You messed with a holodeck program, came out bleeding, and you didn't tell anyone!"

"I get thirsty after holodeck therapy sessions! And then I forgot…."

"Well, you're forgetfulness could get another security officer killed!" He shouted. 

T'ana stepped in between them "Both of you need to calm the fuck down before I deem you medically unfit to continue duty," Billups opened his mouth just to be cut off by T'ana, "and don't give me any 'I'm the CHENG' bullshit. Let’s just figure something out"

Mariner used this as an opportunity to dust off her contraband. Pulling a panel on the wall, many bits and pieces from different places fell out, including a crowbar. "Sometimes you got to do with the old-fashioned way" she swung the heavy metal crowbar around.

"And just where the hell did you get a crowbar?" T'ana irritated voice cut through the tension.

Beckett shoved one end of the crowbar into the space where the closed doors met and began to push against the metal bar. "Stole it on shore leave a couple of weeks back. Are any of you gonna help me pry this door open before knock-off Troi gets impaled?"

Tendi ran over and began to pull on the other side of the crowbar. Grinding filled the air as the door slid open a fraction of an inch.

"Someone check what's going on. I can't hold it for long" Tendi and Mariner put their entire weight into the bar. 

Billups was able to see through the tiny slit. Scanning the scene, he finally spotted Jodie in a battered and slightly bloody state. A holo Pakled held her against the wall with a metal pipe. Gasping for air, she desperately clawed at the bar, arms and legs swinging. Then with a grinding noise, the door slammed shut, throwing D'vana and Beckett to the floor. 

T'ana irritated expression softened when she saw all the blood drain from Andy's face. 

"That bad?" 

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, it's recreating the Pakled fight. Rutherford, go down to engineering and see if you can cut the power off there. I'll stay up here and keep trying."

Rutherford ran off, and Billups took his spot, quickly resuming the work that his ensign had already started.

...

Jodie's vision began to darken around the edges as the pressure on her neck increased with every second. Her holo enemy had nothing but malice in his eyes. Just as she began to feel limp, the pressure released.

"Side kick! Double punch!" The holographic version of her first officer had disarmed the enemy and knocked them out. Sherret dropped to her hands and knees, gasping sweet oxygen in as fast as she could.

"Lieutenant!" He helped her up. 

"I'll live," she croaked out, hoping that statement was true. "How many more?"

"I think we got most of them," Holo Billups leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

The turbo lift doors on the far end of the corridor opened, revealing a few straggler Pakleds, likely coming from the bridge.

"Are you okay to fight?" Ransom asked

Sherret nodded, barely having a voice to speak anymore. She picked up the metal pole that was held against her neck moments ago off the ground and held it at an angle against her body. 

"Billups, catch!" Ransom threw a battle-ax at him as the Pakleds closed in. 

In much of a Ransom style, he simply put his fists in a fighting position. "You guys ready to get the last of these assholes out of here?"

"Ready when you are!" Billups replied, and Sherret nodded as they all took their first swings.

Sherret slowly realized that neck injury might have been worse than she initially thought, and she noticed her fighting was way weaker than average. Every swing of the pipe brought uncomfortable pressure to the front of her neck, and even though she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the pain, it still made her fighting speed much slower. Billups and Ransom, however, were fighting at full strength, making up for her slowness. 

"How much more do we have!" her voice sounded terrible.

“Just these idiots,” ransom yelled with two enemies surrounding him.

 "We will tear you apart, just like we tore this ship apart," the Pakled yelled.

"I don't think so" Moving slightly between them; he was able to kick one of them in the crotch, causing the intruder to collapse and let go of his weapon. Ransom grabbed the weapon just as the first intruder was falling to the ground and managed to hit the second one on the head. Both fell into the same pile. 

Ransom hitched his leg up slightly and let his footrest on one of the bodies. "That'll teach you all not to mess with Commander Jack Ransom!"

"Jack, you may want to look at this," Billups called out. Towards the outside light coming from the end of the hallway. Sherret followed, and Ransom trailed behind.

"The shuttle" Ransom ran over to the window at the end of the corridor.

There, the shuttle floated aimlessly around the ship. Peaceful even.

Boom 

The explosion of the pakleds ship shook the already weak Cerritos to its core. The light engulfed the entire hallway and sent all three officers stumbling to the ground. 

It was breathtaking in a terrifying way, and as Sherret looked at that giant explosion, she knew what happened. Shaxs never made it back to the shuttle. He died in the blast.

She just watched her predecessor die.

"I sure hope both of them got out," Billups spoke up as the noise finally quieted down.

"They both did. Shaxs isn't going to be taken down that easily" Ransom slowly stood up. He was still trying to find his balance.

"Commander Ransom," his combadge sparked to life, "We just pulled the shuttlecraft back into the ship. She's in pretty bad shape, sir. You better take a look."

"Acknowledged, I'll be right there" he turned to Billups. "The lieutenant and I will go down to the shuttle bay. You get to engineering and make sure we aren't leaking radiation."

The run to the shuttle bay was excruciating, not just because of her neck injury but because she knew what would happen. Shaxs wouldn't be in the shuttlecraft. She'd be forced to see everyone's reaction and to see why she was even assigned to the Cerritos in the first place.

Shuttle bay didn't look much better than the rest of the ship, with much of the equipment on the walls busted and ripped out. There, being pulled into the ship was the Sequoia in all its glory. As soon as the shuttle stopped moving, Ransom ran to the side and pulled the door open. Each movement filled Sherret with more dread.

Stepping into the shuttle, both officers saw Rutherford collapsed on the ground with his implant ripped out. 

Ransom yelled, "Get him to sickbay!" Medical personnel came in and picked Rutherford up.

Ransom paced around, trying to see if Shaxs was there. Ransom knew he wasn't, as he would have seen him when he first entered the shuttle, but the denial was getting to him. The realization hit him like a truck. He pulled back his fists and slammed them into the console out of anger while screaming.

Tears began to fill Sherret's eyes. Not like this! She didn't want to see the crew like this. She didn't want to know what happened like this! She leaned against the shuttle wall, dizzy and still in shock.

'Safety protocols restored.'

The scene changed, and instead of leaning against a shuttle wall, she leaned against the back wall of the holodeck. It was over, but it didn't feel over.

...

"Rutherford, I need options now!" Billups was starting to panic now, as every program he had tried had failed to shut the holodeck down.

"Sir, the fastest thing I could do is shut down power to that section of the ship and then turn it back on. That should be enough to shut the holodeck program down," he said through the comm.

"How long would power be shut down to this section?"

"Approximately 1 minute" 

"Then do it. Use override if you have to."

The hallway went dark, the only lights being emergency lighting. Time stood still for what seemed like ages as Billups kept his eyes glued to the control panel.

"Restarting power, sir, I'll be right up there" Rutherford ended the call from engineering. 

The power slowly came on, illuminating the hallway. The control panel came back online and cleared any existing programs running on the holodeck, including Boimler 7.

"Finally!"

The doors finally slid open just as Rutherford ran down the hallway. The bright light made Sherret turn around to face the door. Her eyes widened in shock as tears rolled down her face. T'ana, Tendi, and Billups ran in, leaving Mariner and Rutherford standing just outside the door. 

The lieutenant began to sway from weakness and dropped to her knees. The other officers surrounded her. 

"T'ana, is she ok?" Billups voice filled with worry

"Does she fucking look ok? Don't ask stupid questions!"

Sherret held her neck, thinking that somehow, just maybe, the contact would help the pain go away. Billups looked at her oddly when she kept holding her neck.

"Her neck!" Billups realized "she was choked"

"Pull her hair up. I want to check it."

Billups gently gathered her undone hair and held it at the top of her head, careful to avoid pulling on the cut on her hairline. T'ana made quick work unbuttoning the torn jacket as Jodie's bruised neck came into view. A blotchy mess of bruises and bloody abrasions replaced what was ordinarily pale skin. It was a sight that made both senior officers' eyes widen.

"Holy shit. We need to get her to sickbay! Tendi, load a hypospray." T'ana commed nurse Westlake to get a stretcher to the holodeck ASAP.

It was so painful for Jodie. With the adrenaline wearing off, each gasp felt like needles running down her neck. 

"Is, is that how it happened?" Sherret spoke between gasps. Her voice hoarse from being strangled. "Is that what happened to the ship? To sha-"

"Don't talk. I don't want you to permanently damage your neck" T'ana worked with Tendi loading a hypospray. 

Andy let go of her hair and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Come on, Jodie, stay with us. Stay with me."

Tears still ran down her face, hitting the holodeck floor.

T'ana walked over with a hypo. "I can't have her jerking her neck around," she pressed a hypo against Sherrets neck. "Sorry, kid"

The world faded into darkness as sherret slumped forward right into Billups’s arms.

...

 "She's waking up."  

"Get me a hypospray. She’s going to want painkillers."

Jodies face scrunched at the cold hypo being administered.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Welcome back!" Tendis smile was the first thing Jodie saw.

"What the?" Her eyes started between the four people standing over her. "This isn't my quarters?"

“Nope, You’re in sickbay,” Westlake spoke.

"You were on the holodeck being attacked by Pakleds. Rutherford and Billups managed to get you out, though." Tendi continued.

“So that's what happened." Jodie attempted to sit up before being pushed back down by T'ana. "Take it easy. You got the crap beaten out of you in there. I don't know why you can disable the safety protocols on the holodeck. Damn death traps."

 "That's not the worst thing I saw in there." 

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. 

"Tendi, finish that paperwork from the blood samples earlier. Westlake, cover for me while I finish this"

The two nurses exited one of the few private medical rooms in sickbay. Tendi wished the officer a fast recovery before closing the door. Beeping came from the medical tricorder as the doctor scanned her patient.

"You're looking better. When you first came here, you had strangulation injuries along with some lacerations and a couple of bruised ribs. Your vocal cords were damaged, though, and the only thing that will heal that is time. And yes, you're going to sound like a dying Tribble for the next couple of weeks."

She crooked "How long was I asleep for"

"12 hours. I tried to get your friend to go back to his quarters, but he wouldn't budge."

"Oh," she mouthed, looking over at the exhausted yet relieved state of the chief engineer. 

"I still want you to stay here for another day. After that, you're on light duty for the next two weeks."

Jodie took a deep breath. "Is that what happened?"

Unnerving silence

"Is that what happened to your former-" she was cut off by T'ana

"I heard you the first time. And yes, that is what happened." She pursed her lips. Trying to think of what to say next. "I wish you could have found out differently." 

She pressed a button on the biobed, allowing it to incline to a 45° angle. "Ok, kid, I gotta check up on some other stuff. I'll give you another hypospray soon." She turned to Billups, "and you have fifteen minutes. You look like hell, and your jacket looks like it's been through a murder scene." She left the room.

"Is that my blood?" Jodie looked at the smear of red extending from Billups’s shoulder to his chest.

"Uh, yeah. You had a cut on your forehead when you passed out and fell into me. It's ok, though. I have tons of jackets. Engineering gets messy."

"Does the entire ship know?" She avoided eye contact.

"No one but us. Captain just knows you were in a holodeck accident."

"Thank goodness" 

'Deep breath Jodie, '  she thought before continuing, "I knew something bad happened. I could feel it every time I talked to anybody on the ship for the first two weeks. But seeing it. Seeing it happen just makes everything worse."

At this point, Andy had pulled a chair over to her bed. 

"And you guys went through it; you were there when Shaxs died. I just went through a holographic version of it."

"Everyone on the ship is still upset about what happened. I know I am. Shaxs was like a big brother to me, and I miss him. You shouldn't feel bad, though. No one views you as just a replacement. You're doing an amazing job as a bridge officer." He ran a hand through his untamed hair before reaching out and grabbing hers, "and for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."

Sherret chuckled weakly. "Thanks. For everything, you really saved my ass back there."

"Don't mention it. I was also wondering, and I was going to ask this before the whole holodeck thing" he fiddled with the blanket in the bed with his free hand, "after you're all healed up, and your voice heals a little bit, did you wanna do dinner in my quarters?"

Her eyes widened. "Commander?"

"If no one's around, you can just call me Andy."

"Oh," she mouthed, "I would say the same thing, but I think you already called me Jodie in the holodeck."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

“I had a feeling you were going to ask. Ya know, the whole empath thing.”

He chuckled in return, and they sat in silence for a few moments, feeling the warmth in each other's hands. They knew Billups would have to leave soon, as T'ana was notoriously strict about timing and visiting hours. Silently, Jodies raised her arms. Confusion spread across Andy's face before realizing she wanted a hug.

Gently, as not to disturb her neck, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled in for a hug. Unknown to both of them, T'ana had walked in the room to kick Billups out. However, seeing this made her change her mind just a little bit. A slight smirk spread across her face.

She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "I'll give him another 5 minutes."

...

This was originally thought up in early spring, long before we even got the first teaser for season two. Needless to say, its only season one canon compliant. 

Special thanks to @antzonian for all the help, especially dialogue

[jauneda1]

Highschool Of The Dead Fanfic

:Just a heads up I do not own any characters or the anime/manga this fanfic is based on:

Ch 3 In the dead of night and a happy reunion.

It's been two hours since the separation Ita's been on foot and dealing with zombies the entire time there's a horde of them on his ass. But he can't stop he needs to keep moving his father's gun shop is near by. If he hurries up he can get there and grab his stash that his father had prepared for him incase of something happened. Luckily his father used to be ex-military but he always spoke of terrorists or invasion the crazy bastard but god he loved his parents. After about 20min of jogging the horde still following him. After getting inside using his spare key he locked the door behind him. After looking around it was definitely clear. After getting to the back and checking for his disaster bag as his father once called it he found a not addressed to him.

Kazuhiro Shirou Note: "Hiro if you get this first off me and your mother are both fine where heading to the Takagi's estate. Second please look after your cousin we weren't able to find Takashi's parents but we still have faith in they're survival. There's reports of looting, rioting, and murders that are happening all over the country. Please arm yourself and keep safe, we'll see each other again. I've gone ahead and modified your old rifle when you used to go hunting with me in the states I've fixed a gun suppressor to it and put 3 back ups in your pack along with 5 magazine's that should be enough to get to the estate. Be safe I love son my little Hiro."

Ita was moved to say the least he knew what he needed to do. Knowing his parents where alive this gave him the hope he needed to continue on. It was looking real bad for him earlier.

Ita: "God I gotta hand it to you dad your a life saver."

The weapon: is a Black AR-15 .50 Beowulf, FN-57 integral surrpressor with five mags total.

Ita: "Welp I look like I'm going to war. I wonder if Hirano is gonna gun nerd out over this."

After hearing up Ita headed out the horde is no where in sight so he headed out on foot he knew he needed to get to the east police station but he should probably take Onbetsu Bridge it would be the easiest instead of head through the towns. After hours of jogging and walking it was mid-day and Ita just about fucking had it with all the walking.

Ita: "Arghhhhh! IVE BEEN WALKING FOR FUCKING HOURS AND NOT A SINGLE GOD-DAMNED SOUL!"

As if God had said stfu and take this L every zombie in the area came out from hiding enough to make Ita sigh and rethink how stupid he was fro that.

Ita: "Me and my big fat mouth."

After another hour he finally made it to the bridge where he could see his school's bus. Thank God was his only thought at that moment. As he made it to the bus he knocked loudly on the door and Saeko saw him and couldn't control her happiness and swung the door open and jumped into his arms they hugged for a few moments exchanging greetings.

Ita: "SAEKO. I'm so happy to see you!

Saeko: "Don't ever leave again."

After there little reunion It's got back on the bus geared up and surprising everyone who saw him Hirano was going insane asking alot of questions regarding how he got his hands on those two firearms. But that didn't matter they needed to cross the bridge and meet up with Takashi. After also hearing that Shido is basically creating a cult in the back.

Ita: "Then we need to leave Shizuka your coming with us where's Naomi?"

Takagi: "She's one of his cult listening to him and believing his lies."

Ita said in a loud tone Naomi we are leaving if you want to come with us your more then welcome.

Naomi: "I-I rather stay on the bus with Mr.Shido."

Ita could tell that Mr Shido had his hands on Naomi but he let her make her own decision.

Ita: "Okay. Be safe."

Mr.Shido tried to stop us or atleast convince miss Shizuka to stay because she was the doctor. But Hirano made sure he didn't come any closer. Guess the guys got balls after all.

Ita: "Cover our backs... Hirano."

Everyone noticed that It's never called him Hirano it was always Kota or fat ass. But now he had respect for the guy especially since he kept Saeko and there group safe.

After a an hour of walking and a short battle with the undead and a quick reunion with Takashi and Rei. Ita was down to 4 mags, and more blood and dirt on him then he wanted to be. The group we're all talking about what to do next, but Ita was inspecting one of the zombie they had killed. No one noticed it but he could of sworn he saw this one in particular was running towards them, but Ita snapped onto his head and blew it's brains out with his rifle before it could get anyone's attention.

Ita: "GUY'S! I think we've got a problem.

Saeko: "What's wrong? Did you find something on him?"

Ita: "Miss Shizuka back at the school you confirmed that all who where bitten died of there wounds and where considered dead afterwards right?"

Shizuka: "Yes. All of the students who where bitten where turned."

Ita: "Would you say that they had complete motor functions. Like could they move faster then the clumsy and weak one's where used too?"

Takashi: "What are you asking Ita they're dead why does it matter?"

Takagi: "If they're dead then they should have restricted motor functions. Why does it matter?

Ita: "Then there's no explanation to why this one was running in a full sprint towards us. I couldn't confirm it at first because I acted on instinct and shot him before he could get anyone. I-

???: "ROAR!!!"

Out of nowhere everyone was shocked by the sudden roar from behind them. As they all spun to the direction of the roar they saw one singular zombie with bright orange eyes as he took out into a full sprint towards them. Hirano lifted his right hand and fired off the Smith and Wesson revolver at the zombie only for the bullet to hit him in the shoulder knocking it to the ground mere meters away from Ita. It looked as if he couldn't get up after the bullet to the shoulder as if it had crippled him. Ita walked over rifle in hand he then kicked the zombie in the face put his foot on it's chest then effortlessly blew it's brains out with out even trying.

Takashi: "What the actual fuck was that?"

Ita: "I-I don't know but I rather not stick around to find out why it acted like that."

With that the group headed towards miss Morikawa's house or her girlfriend's house as she calls it.

[ffhseries]

Tales of Far From Home: Yggsmas in Killarney

da link

The park had been decorated for weeks now. Strings of lights wrapped around trees while shiny baubles hung on their branches. Festive wreaths and ribbons adorned the park benches and rubbish bins. Elaborate, massive strands of evergreen garland connected lampposts to each other. Green and gold, red and silver, the colors of the holiday season were everywhere.

And I absolutely hated it.

If you had asked me last year, hell just a few months ago, I would have felt differently. It used to be one of my favorite times but here and now…it felt like some gross farce. Like the universe was twisting the knife.

Because this wasn’t Christmas, and this wasn’t my home.

Don’t ask me how it happened. Don’t ask me why I’m here instead of Earth. Just know that this isn’t it. One moment I was storming out of my house after a fight with Ma. Thunder crashed just as I turned to answer her. The next moment, I was so dizzy I nearly passed out on the street. It took a few minutes for my head to clear and to get my bearings. Finding out the world had grown all around me nearly took my breath away.

Coming face to face with a dragon didn’t help matters.

It was the worst day of my life. Everything, and everyone, around me was absolutely gigantic. Oversized pigeons and sparrows were mingling with dragons -honest to God DRAGONS- while a gigantic woman fed them popcorn from her seat. The look she gave when she saw me among the flock would be seared into my memory forever. Like she had just seen some mangy rat pop out of the sewer and flip her off. It was the first disgusted look I’d earn in this world. It wouldn’t be the last. I had barely made it to the underside of a massive park bench before she threw more popcorn for the birds and creatures.

I’d been living in the park and underneath that very bench ever since.

The original plan was to couch surf on a mate’s couch until my temper cooled off. I had the row of a lifetime with Ma and I couldn’t be under the same roof with her. I had clothes packed for the week and my guitar. Busk on the corners for pocket change if I really needed it, maybe play a gig or two if the opportunity came up. I would’ve been home soon enough. Despite my anger at that moment, I loved Ma and needed to make it up to her somehow. After we had a long talk.

That was months ago. I miss her more and more each day.

All the festive decorations didn’t help.

Christmas was a time for cheesy songs, gorging on piles of food, and keeping good company. Ma would blast her favorite Christmas carol as she woke me up to open our presents. I took to making us breakfast in recent years. The day was spent happy and full and surrounded by friends and loved ones.

This “Yggsmas” was more like a prolonged parody of everything I missed.

One of the few good things about this world was staring into my eyes at that moment.

About a week after I arrived, I was given another surprise of my life. I had already become accustomed to the comings and goings of the Giantfolk, as much as I hated to admit it. At least enough to manage a nap after cramming fistfuls of a giant crisp. Not the healthiest of meals, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was a cool day and I was content to snuggle inside my jacket and rest for a bit.

“Um, hullo there. Gotta minute to talk, do ye?” a voice asked just as I got comfortable.

I could’ve sworn I was already dreaming. There were many things I expected when I turned my head to answer. More Giantfolk to play for, maybe. A dragon or pigeon looking to share the shade, sure.

But another human being? After days on my own in a giant world?

I almost kissed him right then and there.

He would have to settle for the tightest, longest hug I could’ve mustered instead.

“Heh. Guess ye havne seen another human in a while, huh?” he asked after a moment. He was just as quick to return the embrace, and I almost cried. I thought I was the only human here. I thought I was alone. I thought I’d never see anyone my size again. Never hear a familiar accent that didn’t come from someone who towered over me. “I get it, mate. It’s all right. I’m here. There are other humans here too.”

“Waseem. I’m Waseem McCarthy.” I offered eventually. “Most everyone just calls…called…me Waz.”

“Tylar Fitzgerald. Everyone just calls me Tylar.” he replied.

“Erm, and I’m Georgina Gaogao. Georgie, rather.” a different voice added after a polite cough. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the presence of a Giant nearby but I was still caught off-guard. I let go of Tylar when she offered an awkward wave. “H-hullo.”

I returned the wave and took a step back. There was something obviously up with these two and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t in swiping distance just in case. Tylar earned a side-eye from me as well.

“We just wanna talk to ye, really.” Tylar said, putting his hands up defensively. He took his own step back as well. “We heard ye were here an’ thought ye might need some questions answered, is all.”

“‘We’?” I asked.

“Hullo again!” the Giant named Georgie said, waving once more. Her eyes crinkled with the broad smile she offered. She made sure to slow her movements and kept her hands in plain sight. Her fingers were entwined before she laid them on her lap.

“We can leave if ye want. I just doona…” Tylar began, slowly taking something out of his back pocket. I half expected a knife. The best defense I had was to clonk him with my guitar before I dashed off. Wouldn’t know how far I’d get if Georgie gave chase. It came as almost a relief to see a pamphlet in his hand instead. “I doona wanna leave ye out here without knowin’ what’s what, mate.”

I carefully took the pamphlet and read the front.

WELCOME TO TERGAIA:

WHAT TO EXPECT AS A HUMAN

AND WHAT WE’RE DOING TO CHANGE THINGS

PRESENTED AND DISTRIBUTED BY SAIH

(THE SOCIETY FOR THE ACCEPTANCE AND INTEGRATION OF HUMANS)

“Ter…gaia? What’s ‘Tergaia’?” I asked.

“That’s where we are. This world is Tergaia.” Tylar answered. “Ye may wanna sit down fer this one, mate. It’s a lot to take in.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The pamphlet was brief but still managed to say almost too much. Humans from Earth “Crossed Over” to Tergaia by magical means. Magic. There was magic here. The Giantfolk weren’t just too damn big, they could cast spells too. Wasn’t that just grand? Humans had been popping up here, seemingly randomly, for over 500 years. We were considered similar, if not exactly like, their “dæmons”, ancient enemies to their pantheon. It explained why so many of the Giantfolk…the Tergaians…reacted like I was some roach crossing their path. Others considered us cute and even kept humans as pets. A shiver went down my spine at all of the cooing folks I’d encountered in the days before. Their gentle praises no longer felt awkward yet encouraging but nauseating now.

But worst of all was the news about a way back home.

There wasn’t one.

It took several tries of reading the same paragraph before it sunk in. Something about the veil between worlds protecting itself from humans breaking its magic. Whatever the exact reason, it meant one thing: the door was locked behind us with no key to be found.

I didn’t bother to read the rest of it. What good would it have done? I’d never see my home again.

I’d never see Ma again.

“I know it’s…upsettin’.”

“Why are you even here, bruv?” I asked, trying to hand him back the pamphlet. It looked worn and hand-printed. Almost like it was the only one he had. They had. Whichever.

“Because ye shoodne be out here by yerself an’ confused or scared or anythin’.” Tylar said, pushing the paper back to me. “Ye should know what life is like right now but more important what it CAN be like. We wanna help where-!”

“So, what, are you HER pet or something? Is she forcing you to do this?”

It would be the first time I’d see his frustration rise to the surface. Tight lips, a furrowed brow, and angry huff through his nose.

“No. I volunteered fer this. I wanted to help others like ye. Like us.” he stated. “Ye need time to process this. I get that. We can stay here if ye have questions or just…need someone to yell at.”

I stared at him, waiting for the perfect retort to come to mind. For something, anything, to be said.

Tylar made his way back to the Giant, to Georgie, before a word could escape my lips.

“Look, we can come back tomorrow, or inna few days, to check up on ye. Anything ye wanna ask, or scream, or whatever. In the meantime, will ye at least accept this from us?”

I watched as Georgie slowly extracted something from her pocket and held it out for Tylar to take. It was equal parts disturbing and fascinating to see Tylar effortlessly walk up to her hand and retrieve the item. It would turn out to be a worn but cared for backpack.

“It’s not much-!”

“For right now!” Georgie added quickly. “We’re still gathering donations.”

“But it should help.” Tylar continued. “It’s a pack, and set-up fer a lean-to, and a spare canteen fer water. There’s a box in there ye should get to when ye have the chance.”

Before I could say anything else, he was sitting in a Giant hand, waiting to be picked up. My stomach turned at the sight. I couldn’t imagine doing anything of the sort just then. Not after what I’d read.

I thought for sure I’d never see them again. See him again.

But they returned. The next day, and at least once a week afterwards.

It eventually became a routine to see Tylar at least once a day, if not have him spend the night. At first, it was just us discussing the world we were living in, and SAIH’s attempts at helping change the perspective. Over time it was more about the two of us than about the rest of the world.

Selfish, I know.

“I doona s’pose ye gave it any thought?” Tylar asked softly and cautiously. I loved the sound of his not-quite-right accent and the familiar lilt in his voice. It was more comforting than he knew.

“You need to narrow that down a bit, luv.” I replied, entwining my fingers with his. “There are a lot of things on my mind right now.”

“…Findin’ someplace safer to hunker down fer the winter.”

“Tylar.”

“I know, I know. Ye like yer set-up, ye like bein’ on yer own. But there’s s’posed to be a bad storm in the next few days. Ye know how much I worry about ye.”

“I love that you worry about me. But really, I’ll be fine. I’ve lasted this long out here, haven’t I?”

A giggle was held back as Tylar let out his frustrated huff. It was cute.

“Ye’ve been lucky. REAL lucky.” he admitted after a moment.

It was the understatement of the century.

My first day of being here made me realize just how tough finding food was going to be. The wildlife wasn’t just immense, but they had their own routines. They knew where to find their meals: waiting for those who threw popcorn and bread, scrounging in the bins during the quiet times, or simply hunting other animals in the park. I thought for sure the dragons or other carnivores would try to make a snack out of me. They seemed more interested in other prey or scraps than me, thankfully.

If it hadn’t been for my idle guitar playing and one of the Giantfolk liking my song, I wouldn’t have earned my first sausage roll. From then on, I played for food. Scraps to the Giantfolk were a few meals to me. Sharing what leftovers went bad or I simply couldn’t eat with the other animals seemed to help. They almost never bothered me otherwise.

Even the park employees didn’t bother me after a time. Most of them, again, thought I was something cute to gush over or be amazed at. The park director himself didn’t mind my being there. Not that he went out of his way to show it, but still. Only one of the park attendants seemed especially irked by my presence, and even he was made to stop. For the most part.

Especially after what would turn out to be the chance encounter of a lifetime.

The lady had popped out of the blue one day. I was still under my bench playing when she stumbled over. A bright jumper, a blue bag, messy hair. Didn’t seem out of the ordinary to me. Not that anything was, really, any more.

“Urrrrgh…I am REALLY starting to hate magic…” she grumbled as she laid herself on the ground in front of me. It took her a moment before she realized I was sitting there. “Oh. Hey man. Sorry about that. I uh…can explain. Kinda.”

“Guessing by your accent you’re not from around here, bruv?” I chuckled.

“Oh God no. Bridget Bradley, from New Jersey. USA. Earth.”

“Waseem McCarthy, Killarney, Ireland.”

It would end up being a short chat with me giving her directions towards “civilization” before I went back to my routine. A few hours later, one of the Giantfolk followed suit: popped in, stumbled, laid to rest on my bench. Gave me a shock when he knew an Earth song and repaired my guitar’s strings. Was glad for the food and the spare canteen he offered. Didn’t think much of it, really.

Until a few days later.

“HOW DO YE KNOW THE KING?!” Tylar and Georgie yelled from out of the blue. I nearly jumped 10 feet in the air from their sudden appearance. Georgie always made it a point to announce her presence before kneeling down to “my” level. Tylar was already hopping off her hand when my heart started beating again.

“…Who?” I asked as he ran over to me with a backpack. It was large, and brand new. Definitely a sight better than the one they gave me weeks before. “Nice. New donations, I take it?”

“Well, yes, SAIH received some as well but that one is specifically for you!” Georgie replied, pulling out a letter. She began to read before I could ask why. “‘Dear Miss Gaogao, I want to thank you again for taking the time to talk with me about the Society for the Acceptance and Integration of Humans the other day. You are a passionate and well-informed young woman and I hope to speak with you and your associates soon on the matter properly and more in-depth. My assistant, Miss Cassidy Gabon’ -that’s my cousin- ‘will work with you to schedule a meeting. In the meantime, please accept these donations for your organization as well as this check to help your efforts.’ -it was a TIDY sum, let’s just say- ‘I ask, if it is not too much trouble, to present the specially marked bag for someone I met in Killarney Park. His name is Waseem and he plays a guitar underneath one of the benches. He was a previous recipient of your generosity and mentioned your organization by name. I hope he is familiar enough to you that this will not be an unreasonable favor to ask. I had hoped to do it myself, but I fear royal duties must come first. Thank you once more and best of luck to you and yours, signed King Colm Matthew Alexander Brian Arcadi, FIRST KING OF FATHACH.’”

“I…what? I don’t know anybody named…” I began, claiming the letter attached to the new backpack. The envelope was addressed “To Waseem the Guitarist” in an unfamiliar script. The handwriting was quick but legible. My confusion cleared up the longer I read the note inside.

“Dear Waseem,

I hope this letter and bag of supplies finds you well. I wanted to thank you again for your assistance the other day in Killarney Park. Your song and your directions were a great help to me when we met. I hoped to return the favor once again. While the canteen and the sausage roll may have helped you at that moment, I felt that I needed to show my appreciation in a more sustainable way. Inside this bag you will find plenty of supplies to help you live just a bit more comfortably in this great big world of ours while I try my best to make it more hospitable for all of Fathach’s people, Tergaian and Human alike. There are notes on everything with an explanation for what they can do inside the bag. I would like to point out in particular: the enchanted tent, the barrier protection rope, a set of vaccines, a copy of the Faol Scouts Survival Guide, and most importantly, the Jumper Stone. If ever there is an emergency or you need a warm place to stay or you would like to drop by for a visit, you are more than welcome at Castle Arcadi. Simply squeeze the stone and it will Jump you directly here. I hope you will consider staying in touch using the ImmediaNote pad provided.

Thank you once more and best of luck,

King Colm Matthew Alexander Brian Arcadi

First King of Fathach”

There was a second note written at the end of the page from a different person’s hand.

“P.S. Consider all this stuff from me too, thanks again for everything! Signed, Bridget from NJ”

It took a few times rereading everything for it to sink in.

“…Holy Shit. I know the king.”

That one brief encounter left me with a much better set-up. The tent was warm, sturdy, and big enough to keep me and Tylar comfortable whenever he slept over. The barrier rope kept unwanted creatures at bay when set around the tent. It certainly helped when strangers or a surly park employee came by. There had been more inside the bag than I could’ve guessed, and it helped me feel more…well, not at home. And comfortable didn’t sound right either.

But it certainly didn’t hurt.

“I just doona like ye pushin’ yer luck, is all.” Tylar continued. “If somethin’ happened to ye out here, I…I’d never…”

“It won’t come to that, I promise.” I replied. “Besides, if I’m not here, who’ll make sure Robin gets fed?”

“Robin is a fox who can feed himself. Ye doona have to keep makin’ excuses fer stayin’ out here.”

“I’m not making excuses.”

“Arne ye? Why else woodne ye wanna be under a real roof fer a lil’ while?”

“Why won’t you tell me where you were born?”

It was a cheap shot. I knew it. He knew it. I hated saying it. He hated hearing it. But it was the only way I knew to change the subject. It wasn’t the first time I asked the question, but it was always something Tylar avoided answering. His accent, while familiar, always threw me off. I thought for certain he was Irish. But it also sounded too much like the “Fathish” accent the Giantfolk had. I don’t know why it was important to me.

I just knew I needed closure one way or the other.

“…Stop tryin’ to deflect, arsehole.” he countered instead.

“I’m just asking-!”

“Um, Tylar? Waz? Are you down there?” Georgie called out from outside the tent. “If you’re staying the night, I just need to know now. I don’t want to be stuck in the Yggsmas market crowds again.”

Tylar was up and getting his boots on in an instant.

“I’ll be right there, Georgie!” he yelled out as he buttoned his coat. Tylar tried to keep his voice steady as he continued talking. “Look, I like ye a lot, Waz. I do. An’ I doona wanna see ye out here alone again. But if yer gonna keep tryin’ to push me away, one of these days I may decide it’s not worth it to push back.”

“Tylar, wait, you don’t-!”

“I’ll see ye tomorrow, Waz. Maybe. Ye’ve got yer Jumpers if ye need them. Or at least head fer that temple up the road a few blocks. They’ve started letting humans in to hunker down too.”

He was out of the tent before I could stop him.

I did want to stop him.

Really I did.

But he didn’t understand.

I tried being around the Giantfolk. Truly I did. During my first weeks in the park, I’d wandered farther than usual. I ran into a pair of park attendants as they were leaving from their break room. One went back in to grab something “fer the lil’ fella tuh eat” while the other kept watch on me. He tried to make conversation. Condescendingly, and almost like I was some stray he was trying to keep calm rather than another person. I tried to say something. Even when he offered me the biggest chip butty with malt vinegar I’d ever seen in my life. I was tempted. But all kinds of thoughts came to mind as I stared at the plate of food. Was this a good faith offering? Was it a trap? Would he swat me to the ground before I stepped closer?

Robin saved me from making a decision.

The fox liked to follow me around on my walks. Knew I could be relied on for scraps if he needed them. He grabbed the sandwich and dashed off in the other direction. It diverted the Giants’ attention while I scarpered off into the dusk and shadows.

Even when I was invited to the Yggsmas market opening with Tylar, Georgie, and her cousin Cassidy, I tried. At the end of November, after their “Fall’s End Festival”, the public square was cleared and sectioned off. The market was set-up in the middle of the park, full to bursting with vendors of all sorts: seasonal food stalls, artisans, carolers, and more. The usual buskers moved there as well, hoping to earn some extra coin in the crowds. The smells and sights and sounds should have helped put me to ease. Despite the occasional stare. Sitting on Cassidy’s shoulder, any Giantfolk shoulder, was disorienting, but I’d managed. Even from up high, there was a lot to take in.

“I’m going to find the gaudiest, most ridiculous thing this market has to offer even if it kills me.” Georgie had stated when we passed under the elaborately decorated entrance.

“Georgie, Auntie Mo is not worth all this effort.” Cassidy sighed. She had visited with Georgie and Tylar a time or two, and seemed alright with my being on her shoulder. It took some getting used to on my end. Literally and metaphorically. The light freckles against her dark skin seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Auntie Mo gave me a damn sock for Yggsmas last year because she thought I’d like the color scheme and tried to explain it away as a ‘heartfelt and handmade’ gift. She is getting the worst ‘Fuck You’ knick-knack I can find.”

“Georgie-!”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to do the same. What’d she get you last year, paint thinner?”

“It was her home brewed perfume.”

“For Caduceus’ Sake, how can you NOT want to throw that back in her face somehow?”

“…Maybe I can find her a scented candle she’ll hate.”

“That’s the Yggsmas spirit!”

As we perused the booths, I did my best to enjoy myself. There were plenty of trinkets and art and toys to admire. Plushies ranged from teddy bears to dragons to unicorns. Porcelain dolls dressed in their Yggsmas best sat next to wooden lawn decorations. There were a few food stalls and drink cotes littered among the artisan vendors. From what I saw, it was almost like the Christmas markets from home.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t home.

And I didn’t want it to be.

I tried to be good company for their sake, but it wasn’t the same.

If I kept my distance, if I stayed an outsider…I would never have to get used to this place. Would never have to fully accept that this was my life now.

I could keep pretending there was a chance I’d see Ma again.

The best way to keep the bad thoughts at bay was just to play. Maybe I’d be able to earn some more “Yggsmas” treats before the night really settled in. By the time I’d climbed the elaborate metalwork that constructed the bench, the sun was just setting. There was still a good 30 minutes before the lamps and decorations were lit, and people still walked the paths. Many were coming to and from the market for their last-minute shopping. According to the Tergaian calendar I had, it was Yggsmas Eve. And Christmas eve. It still amazed me how some things coincided with Earth, like the names of the days and months, and even some of the holidays.

“-and make sure they’re set properly. Iansa could send her winter storm any day now and I won’t have the park paths unusable.” a voice said as I settled into my spot on the bench. The top of the bench’s back should have scared me, and at times it did, but it was the best way to be seen and avoid getting hit in the face by windblown leaves or trash. For the most part. “After that you can – Oh, good evening.”

I gave the park director a wave before I started playing “Silent Night”. The man was polite enough, and didn’t mind my playing for scraps. Even before the King had sent him a letter about me as well. He almost treated me like any of the other Giantfolk buskers that worked the park. If he had any doubts about my living under a bench, they were gone in the wake of the King’s praises.

“You can head home for the night afterwards.” he continued, his attention back to the park attendant. It was just my luck it was Rogers, the only park employee to outright hate me. I tried to ignore him. He had been pretty hostile when I first arrived. And he still held on to that resentment, despite the manager and the King’s letter. “Good night, and Happy Yggsmas.”

“Right on, sir. Happy Yggsmas to you too, sir.” Rogers replied as cheerily as he could. A sneer returned as soon as the manager left down the path. He spit in my direction but went about his work. Kneeling down he placed his hands on one of the park’s crystal rocks. There was at least one placed between all the benches. When I first arrived, I thought they were some kind of art piece or memorial. Something to give the park style, maybe. Rogers was about to demonstrate how wrong that original assumption was. “Heat.”

The crystal gave a faint glow at the sound of the spell.

Magic was real here. The Giantfolk knew magic and it didn’t even seem like that big a deal to them. The first time I saw it, I hadn’t realized what I was looking at. One of the regular performers at the park was a street magician. I’d stopped to watch during my initial trek around the new, too-big world. He did the usual tricks: guessed at cards, pulled an “endless” string of handkerchiefs from his hand, and the like. Despite my best effort, I had been spotted by the street magician. He barely flinched, however, and found a way to incorporate me into his act, if only for a moment. With a series of hand gestures and simple words, he managed to turn a single flower into a bouquet, from something that barely fit into his arms only for it to somehow appear in mine instantly. I almost dropped the flowers the second they appeared in my hand. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t have been. After the applause ended, he retrieved the flowers without ever bending down or reaching for them. He simply gave a nod and returned to his work, leaving me awestruck.

Magical Giantfolk. Who would’ve thought?

Rogers muttered a few more spells into the crystal before he continued on his way. He spit once more as he passed me. I gave him a certain hand gesture in return. Rogers would’ve retaliated, I was certain, if other Giantfolk hadn’t arrived. The pair sat on my bench, warm drinks in hand, and actually seemed interested to hear what I had to play. Earth holiday music was just different enough to Tergaian songs that many found it, well, a novelty to hear. I’d been practicing their Yggsmas carols thanks to a portable wireless set I was given, but usually stuck to what I already knew.

Within a few hours, I’d managed to earn a piece of peppermint bark and a veggie tart. It was a good haul. I would’ve loved to share it with someone. I wished Tylar was there. I wished Ma was there…

Oh Ma.

What were you doing right then? Where you sick with worry? Angry? Did you miss me as much as I missed you? After what I’d said…did you miss me at all?

“OH YGGBÍL, OH YGGBÍL, HOW LOVELY ARE THY BRANCHES!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” I grumbled. The carolers had come back around. It wasn’t the first time that day, let alone in the last few weeks, that they insisted on singing near my bench. There was usually a “code” among the buskers and street performers: don’t overlap on another’s turf, especially when you had similar “shows”. The only upside was knowing I wasn’t the only one the group had been intruding on. I know the park director had to reprimand them for intruding on others’ acts. If the performers hadn’t chased them off themselves, in their own way. I knew for a fact they were pursued by a flock of the magician’s doves the first time they tried singing near him. The downside being, well, their Giantfolk voices always managed to drown out my songs no matter how much I tried. One voice got lost in a chorus of many, after all.

I was ready to call it a night when the Giant man sat down on my bench.

He wore a dark red coat that matched his flat cap, with white accents throughout his outfit. It certainly looked like the typical holiday fashion I’d spotted throughout that day. Even the inconsiderate carolers were dressed in Yggsmas colors. The man set his bag down beside him and got comfortable. The carolers took this as a good sign and focused their attention on him, ramping up their song.

“Excuse me, but isn’t it rude trying to sing over another performer?” he asked in a strong tone. “I can’t hear the young man play.”

The carolers, for once in their lives, were stunned. Some grumbled and others shot a dirty look or two, but started down the path towards the market. They picked up their song and were out of earshot soon enough.

“Got any requests, bruv? I’ll do my best.” I asked once we were settled again. There was no way I was going to leave without offering something in return.

“I wouldn’t mind something bittersweet, if you can manage.” the man sighed, leaning back against the bench. Strands of tinsel were intwined in the dreadlocks he swept over his shoulder. “It would just be nice to not hear Yggsmas songs for a little while.”

“Say no more. I think you’ll like this one.”

It was an oldie but a goodie, and one I knew by heart. God forbid it should happen, but if ever I lost my hands, I was sure I could still play the tune with my feet. It was one of the first songs I ever learned to play.

It was the first song I ever played for Ma.

“Do you know what Yggsmas is supposed to be about, lad?” he asked after a while.

“Something about…a tree? Ygg…something. I don’t remember the whole thing. Sorry. I know it’s important.”

“Would you like a summary, young man?”

“All right.”

“It’s the day our Mother Tree, Yggbíl, sprouted into existence. Light and warmth came into the world at her arrival. It would take her 7 days before she grew her first fruit, the first forms of life.” he explained, staring off into the distance. His attention turned to the decorations all around us. “Yggsmas is a celebration of her birth, so to speak, and to remind us there is still light and life to be found even during the darkest and coldest times. The year is started off with noise and resolutions to encourage new beginnings and to chase away past regrets.”

The similarity to Christmas and New Year’s celebrations was both comforting and distressing.

“But when you start to really think about the ‘reason for the season’…it’s hard not to get a little cynical around the holidays. Yggbíl’s first fruit…they were what we call the dæmons. They were her first attempt at life, but…she was too young. She wasn’t strong enough to keep them on her branches to grow. They fell before they were ready. And once they hit the ground, well…it wasn’t good.”

He heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes. It was almost like he needed a moment to collect himself. Maybe he was a teacher or a theologian who had lectured this same lesson countless times to students. Probably the first time in a long time to have someone interested in what he had to say. I wasn’t there to judge. Just trying to earn some bread. Literally.

“With no magic of their own, without that needed connection to their Mother Tree, the dæmons rampaged across the land. Maybe it was out of anger, or pain, or…loneliness. They lashed out until Yggbíl was strong enough to create the gods who would defeat them. Or at least, to keep them contained. Many think of it as a good thing, a job well done. Divine triumph and so on. But…was it? The dæmons never asked to be born. They didn’t know how life would be for them in their…imperfect forms. They just wanted to live. How can anyone blame them for trying to survive?”

“…is that why you Giantfolk see us as demons too? Because we’re not…magic or connected or whatever?”

“Another thing I don’t understand. This world isn’t exactly logical sometimes.”

I snorted. I hadn’t meant to, but it came out. My grip tightened on my guitar just in case I needed to make a mad dash for it. I had experience making my way down the bench by then, it would’ve been easy. It was just a matter of being faster than the Giantfolk. It, unfortunately, wouldn’t have been the first time I needed to make a quick escape.

The man’s gentle laugh was a relief.

“Understatement of the century, lad.” he chuckled. I kept playing the bittersweet song he requested, almost on a loop. Not that anyone would have known the difference. The calm mood was broken soon enough. “Something on your mind, son?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought I was the only one feeling melancholy tonight but you seem a bit down yourself.”

There was a part of me that wanted to lie. To ignore the feeling and just keep playing.

“…understatement of a lifetime, bruv.”

“I don’t mind listening if you don’t mind talking about it. You did just hear me prattle on after all.”

I turned towards the Giant, hoping to shrug it all off. Talking about your personal struggle with someone who saw you as some party trick wasn’t exactly a good idea. But as I locked eyes with him, there was just something about him. It could’ve been the earnest look of interest he wore. Or the pair of scars on his cheeks that interested me. Or maybe I just needed a stranger I’d never see again to lend an ear.

“I…I miss home.”

It was enough for everything to start pouring out.

“I mean…I guess most of us, most humans, miss home. Everyday. It’s not like I’m the only one. It’s just…the last person I saw before…before I ‘Crossed Over’…was Ma. We had a fight about…it doesn’t matter. I was being stupid. I was upset over…over something I probably shouldn’t have been, really. I said…I said something…something awful to her before I left and…and now I’ll n-never…I’ll never get to apologize. Because I’m here. I’m stuck HERE and I can’t make it up to her and we’ll never see each other again. I’d…I’d give anything to j-just…to just be able to tell her I was sorry. Or to take it all back like…like it never even happened. I just wish I had a chance to make it right.”

The tears ran down my cheeks without my knowing it. I tried my best to wipe them away but my efforts weren’t enough.

“Sorry bruv, you don’t…this isn’t what you’re here for. I can keep playing…”

“Here.” the man softly said, offering something from his enormous hand. Laying on a fingertip was a handkerchief. When I picked it up, begrudgingly, I saw it was embroidered with an elaborate “C” in the corner. “Take your time, lad.”

I’m afraid to admit it took longer to calm down than I wanted. Once I was all cried out, I made to give the handkerchief back to the man. The man waved my attempts off.

“Yggsmas is…it’s an awful lot like Christmas back home. Not the exact same reasons but…close enough. And same ways to celebrate. Gifts, and songs, and food, and fam…family. This’ll be the first Christmas away from home…away from Earth…and away from Ma. I can’t stop thinking of what’s happening back home. Did Ma decorate this year? Is she alone? Does she…does she think I’m dead? It’s…it’s hard, that’s all.”

My fingers brushed against my guitar strings but no song came to mind. Even strumming random chords felt out of place. The energy was gone.

“I can only imagine what you must be feeling.” the man stated, breaking the silence. “If it were possible, I’d make sure every human who wanted to return to Earth would.”

The sentiment was appreciated. And needed. But I couldn’t help but get hung up on the odd phrasing. “Every human who wanted to”. What human would want to stay here if given the chance to go home?

“Did…does your mother have a favorite ‘Chrizmush’ song? Or a tradition you associate with her?”

“…yeah. Of course.” I replied eventually.

“Think of it before you go to sleep tonight. It may just help.” he stated, rummaging around in his bag. He pulled out a package and studied it carefully. “Don’t suppose these guitar strings would be of any use, would they?”

“They’re practically perfect, bruv.” I answered as he held the package up for me to inspect. “They seem like premium strings though. I’d feel bad if you had to give them up for lil’ ol’ me.”

“You don’t ‘give up’ gifts, you present them.” he stated, shrinking the package down in a flash and holding it out once more. I was less hesitant to accept something from his immense hand this time.

“Thanks, bruv. And…thanks for listening.”

“This world can be illogical and hostile towards you and your kind. It won’t be an easy life here. Please try to keep in mind, there is kindness too, when it decides to show itself. I know it’s not much, but I hope it’s a small comfort for you. Have a good night, and Merry Christmas, Waseem.”

“Happy Yggsmas, mister.”

…Wait.

Did I tell him my name?

The Giant man was already gone before I turned to face him.

I was already making my descent down the bench when I heard the carolers returning. If they were so determined to sing that night, they could have the spot. They’d be gone by the day after. Might as well let others drive them off in my stead.

As I touched the ground, a series of loud sniffles caught my attention. Standing tall and gangly, his scarred nose searching around him, was a fox I knew all too well. Robin was a friend, in a way, since my first days in the park. I came across him on my travels around the park one day. The fox had gotten himself caught in something while snapping at a badger. I was scared at first, but it didn’t seem right to let the poor tod not have a fair fight. Especially when the striped bastard took a swipe at his face. I managed to get his leg free before anything more could happen. Afterwards, he seemed to follow me whenever I walked around the park or managed an overload of food for the day.

“Hey there, Robin.” I called out. The massive fox took a few sniffs my way and got excited. He yipped a few times before he turned his attention to the scraps on the ground. “Go on, boy. All for you. I’m good for the night.”

Robin set to eating the leftover bark and tart right then and there. I turned to enter my tent when I felt his nose on my back. The first few times he had done so, I was terrified. I thought for sure he decided mouse-sized meant mouse-meal too. It took a while to realize he was trying to be friendly. I gave him his now-expected pats and scratches before too many people stopped by. Once there were more Giantfolk than scraps, he dashed off into the night.

It was hard getting to sleep that night. The wireless played as I tried to doze off. The Yggsmas carols were comforting but disconcerting. They were strange and familiar and out of place but recognizable all at once. After a while, I gave up and turned it off. As I rolled over, a hand instinctively reached out for Tylar. Nights were easier when he was around. Days were easier. Life was easier. I’d have to find some way to make it up to him, too. If ever he decided to come back.

Ma would’ve known what to say. She was always good with these sorts of things. God knows she put her foot in her mouth enough times through the years. Ma always found some way to patch things up in the end.

Oh Ma.

I miss you more than you know.

The Giant’s suggestion soon came to mind. What harm could it have done?

I began humming the first verse softly to myself before letting the lyrics pour out. It was Ma’s way of waking me up on Christmas Day if I hadn’t rushed into her bedroom first. We were born and raised in the town it was named for, after all. It was a cheesy song, but it was her favorite. I wasn’t even halfway done before I finally felt drowsiness overcome me.

Maybe there was an expectation to relive old memories. To remember the good times from days past and hope that would be enough.

What I didn’t expect was to find myself home again.

Everything seemed as it ever was: worn but carefully maintained furniture, knick-knacks dotting the mantel alongside family photos, and the smell of something absolutely delicious in the oven. A Christmas tree sat in its usual spot in a corner, decorated but barely. In fact, there were fewer decorations than usual. Enough to celebrate, but only just. I took a chance and carefully walked from the living room to look into the kitchen. Standing at the sink, her face towards her task, was a short, squat woman with graying red hair tied into a braid.

It was her.

It was really her.

“Ma?”

The figure stood still for a moment. She almost seemed ready to turn around, but thought against it. The dishwashing continued instead. I took a cautious step forward, crossing the checkered linoleum until I stood next to her. Even then, she kept her eyes to the sink.

She slowly handed me a plate, still wet but clean from her scrubbing.

I took the drying towel, which hung from a handle nearby, and started drying. Just like I used to do every night after dinner.

The silence was overwhelming and tense but…it was Ma. It was home. I couldn’t be happier.

Now if only she’d talk to me.

“I’m sor-!”

“I’m so sorry, Waseem.” she stated quickly. There was a moment as we both tried to process what was said. She breathed a sigh of relief soon enough. “I mean it. I’m sorry I said what I said and did what I did.”

“I’m sorry too.” I replied. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. It wasn’t worth-!”

“Don’t you lie to me, Waz.” she interrupted, handing me a bowl. “You know damn well you had every right to be angry. Don’t tell tales just to make me feel better. I raised-! …That is, you know better than that.”

As I wiped down the bowl, I tried to think of something to say. Months to think about how I wanted this conversation to go, thinking I had every possible angle planned…and I was still drawing a blank.

“…You’re right. I was angry. And it WAS my right to be angry. But that doesn’t mean I should’ve…I shouldn’t’ve said you weren’t my real mum.”

The silence was tense as we continued to clean and dry and set the various dishes into the drying rack.

“…Ma? Why didn’t you ever tell me about them?”

She hesitated. For a long time, there was only her washing the same platter. I thought for sure I’d never hear her speak again.

“Amina never wanted them to get their hands on you.” Ma finally said, handing me the next piece to dry. “Her family was…there was a reason she eloped, and a reason she left him, and a reason she stayed with me.”

“Because she loved you.”

“Aheh. Yes. Because she loved me. Because she loved you. And because Amina knew they’d do everything in their power to take you from her.” she explained. A soft smile crossed her face at the memory. I never knew my birth mother, but Ma did. She started to tear up soon enough. “I’m so stupid. I should…I should have told you ages ago. I failed her. I failed you. I failed in ways I never meant to.”

“Ma, you didn’t. I promise. You did your best and I turned out alright. Mostly.”

“I said I’d always protect you and…and I couldn’t even do that. I wanted to make sure you were never called…that word…for as long as I could. But I couldn’t stop that Calvin from when we lived in London, could I?”

“…The first time I was called that was when I was 9. By Cousin Bentley. But I settled it right away.” I explained. There was still that terrible feeling all over just remembering it. That lump in the pit of my stomach, the racing of my heart, the ache of someone I knew hurting me so deep. That first time I heard my rat-faced cousin call me that, it was like a slap in the face. “I mean, you didn’t really believe he slipped and got his face stuck to the table with his model glue on accident, right?”

“…What.”

“Ma. C’mon.”

“What.”

“There was a reason I gave him bottles of glue for his birthday and Christmas. It took him a few years to get the point, but he apologized. I promise.”

“That little son of a bitch.”

“Ma, that’s your sister. What’s past is past.” I said, trying to calm her down. Her ears were turning as red as her hair. She was ready to blow like a kettle if she lingered on the thought for too long. “Calvin got what he deserved too, remember. I’d still like to shake the hand of the guy who beat his ass though. Never did figure that out, did we?”

It came as a surprise to feel Ma slip her hand into mine instead of another plate. The realization only dawned on me when she started to shake our hands up and down.

“Ma.”

“That chav cunt had it coming.”

“MA.”

“I wasn’t about to let him get away with letting those words fall out of his mouth. He’s lucky his teeth didn’t follow close behind.”

“Ma, he went to hospital! Had stitches and, what, a broken rib? How’d you avoid going to jail for assaulting a kid?!”

“A teen!”

“STILL!”

“I told his mum if she tried to file charges, I’d tell her husband about all the comings and goings from her house while he was at work.”

“…Holy shit, how’d you know she was cheating on him?!”

“I didn’t. she just assumed I knew something.” Ma chuckled, a smile returning to her face. She set down the teapot she was trying to clean. “God Above, but this was a good dream.”

“Ma?” I asked gently, trying to catch her eyes again. They had remained on our task the whole time. Never once did she turn her head. Not even try to see me from the corner of her eye.

“I’ve had it before, you know. At least once a week since you disappeared. Rightly disappeared, even. No one but that mental Missus Wilson saw you just…vanish. They wouldn’t believe me when I tried to explain. Everyone thinks you just took off and I was having a mental break or something.”

I just kept drying the same bowl, waiting for her to continue.

“Every time, you would call ‘Ma’, and every time I would turn to see you. And…and every time you would just…just disappear again. I thought maybe this time if I didn’t turn, if I concentrated on just…just washing the dishes, you’d be able to stay. For good. Forever.”

“What makes you think this is a dream this time?” I asked, more to myself than her. It all felt very real. Maybe I was home. Maybe I was back to the life I knew and loved and Ma would be alright. We would be alright.

But…that meant Tylar would be gone too…

“You remember this teapot?”

I looked at the one she held. It was familiar. More than familiar, actually. It was one I had made for her in a ceramics class. It was a simple, ordinary shaped pot but brightly colored and covered in garden flowers and bugs.

“I broke it during our move back to Killarney from London. I hadn’t meant to but…I still did. I glued it back together but told myself it would stay in a special place from then on. But here it is, all in one piece. Like I’d never dropped the damn thing.”

Tears started coming down her face. And seeing her cry just made me want to cry too.

“I want to stay, Ma. I never would’ve left if…if it meant I would never see you again.” I explained. She choked up at the thought, and the tears ran like rivers. “I miss you so much. All I want is to come home.”

“Oh God, you’re dead. You’re dead and…and…”

“No, no, I’m alive. But where I am…I don’t think I can make it back. I want to. It’s…it’s not much of a life but…I did meet somebody. I think you’d like him. But it’s not the same. And…I want you to know, all right? Every day I think of you, and miss you, and want to be home. Please remember that: I love you Ma, and I always will.”

Ma finally turned to face me. Streak marks were already showing up on her cheeks from the tears. Her eyes were red, and wide, and searching, and desperate, and the deep green I knew and loved. When she saw I was still there, she dropped the teapot into the sink. With a speed I never would’ve expected from her, she reached for me.

“Maybe if I hold on to you this time…maybe you’ll stay…” she explained, wrapping her arms around me.

I didn’t argue.

I wanted it to be true, too.

I returned her embrace. It was the tightest hug. It was the best hug. It was the longest hug.

It would be the last hug we’d give each other.

The tears were already falling before I woke up.

I heaved great big sobs, just letting the emotions wash over me.

I had gotten my wish after all.

It took ages for me to stop, and to calm down. It felt like swimming in a whirlpool of relief and sorrow. Ma knew I was alive. I knew she was all right. We’d had our say, no matter how short it was.

What was next?

“Apologize to Tylar, for one thing…” I mumbled to myself. He deserved that, and more, but it would be a start. I didn’t know how I would make it up to him, but I knew I had to. I hadn’t been the best boyfriend the last few days. If he came to visit today, I’d make him feel as special as I knew him to be.

It was as I was getting dressed that I finally noticed something odd.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Checking the time, it was a little after 7 am. At the very least, there should’ve been the cooing of pigeons or growling of dragons or other signs of wildlife. Maybe the thundering of joggers and runners as they made their way down the path. Something had to be wrong. I was cautious, slowly unzipped the tent flap, and peeked outside.

The world was pitch black.

“Oh no…” I muttered. I let the tent flap fall back in place as I reached for a spare lantern. It took a few tries to get the damned thing lit. The crystal chip inside gave off a strong glow on the third try. When I went to inspect the outside, my worst fears were confirmed. In the bright light, I could see exactly what caused the darkness: snow.

The storm had come early.

The bench was surrounded by walls of snow. I could only imagine how bad the outside looked in comparison. The Giantfolk could write it off as only a meter at best. To me, down here, it was enough to cover a house at least. Some of the flakes still trickled in through the bench slots above, but barely. There was a light dusting on the ground but the walls worried me the most.

I was trapped.

A cautious testing of the snow proved it was solid enough. Maybe. Even if I had a shovel, digging myself out sounded like a bad idea. There was no telling if I’d cause an avalanche or a cave-in during my attempts. Worse yet, with it being a Giantfolk holiday, who knew when someone would walk by. I was on my own for this.

I needed time to think.

Packing up was my first priority. Everything, with the exception of a few key items and my guitar, made it into the special backpack. Apparently, it had a spell on it that made it bigger on the inside. More than convenient, if you asked me. Especially when it came to stuffing my favorite blanket inside. It was a handmade, knitted gift from one of my “regulars”. She was a sweet old lady who appreciated good music when she heard it. It wasn’t something I wanted to leave behind. Using the lantern, I double-checked the area. The snow was packed all around, creating an unintentional igloo without an entrance.

I stared at the stone chip in my hand. It was part of that very first donation from Tylar and Georgie. He explained it was part of something called a Jumper Stone. The SAIH folks didn’t have the resources for full working stones to distribute, but the stones and crystals could still hold magic when broken apart. Inconvenient for the Giantfolk, but adequate for us humans. I was warned it would be a one-shot deal though, and to use it wisely. It would teleport me to wherever Georgie and Tylar lived.

“Here I come, Tylar.” I muttered as I squeezed the chip.

I don’t know what I was expecting. A “whoosh”? The ground dropping away from me? Every atom of my being to tear apart and mesh again?

What I didn’t expect…was failure.

The stone chip did nothing as I tried squeezing it over and over.

“Ok, that’s…that’s fine. Just use the other one.”

The other one was, as Georgie explained, a proper Jumper Stone. Shrunken down, of course, but much better than just a chip. This one in particular was of the highest grade, capable of multiple “Jumps” if needed. It was the one from the king’s gift package. The one that would bring me far away to the king’s castle.

I admit, I hesitated taking it out of its box.

“It’s…it’s fine. You’ll be fine. It’s an open invitation, and it’s not like you’re moving into the place. You just need to interrupt the king of a Giant country on a Giant world on an important national Giant holiday so you don’t suffocate to death under a snow bank.”

With a deep breath, I squeezed and hoped for the best.

What I got was…not the best.

“…What the Hell is going on?” I said, squeezing the stone over and over again. It took a moment to notice the note stuck inside stone’s carrying case.

It read:

“This Jumper Stone will bring you straight to Castle Arcadi when squeezed. Be sure to recharge it by setting it under sunlight or in water or buried under the earth. Do this once a week for anywhere between 1 hour to 6 hours for a full charge.”

“Shit.”

I’d kept both the chip and the stone hidden away in their boxes for the last few weeks.

“SHIT!”

The swears and insults came fast and loud. I couldn’t help it. I was doomed. How was anyone supposed to find me in time? Was this really how I was going to die? Underneath a park bench in the middle of nowhere? On Christmas?!

That’s when the walls started caving in.

“AH!”

Well, one wall.

“What the-?!”

Well, part of a wall.

The snow came crashing down and I was running in the opposite direction in an instant. I thought for sure the entire structure would fall from the sudden force. The other walls managed to stay in place however. The snow must have been packed well enough to keep them steady.

I turned to face my savior.

YIP YIP

“Robin!” I yelled as the fox dug his way through. He shook himself free of the snow in his fur before sniffing his way towards me. I gave him his usual pats in appreciation. “Oh, thank God for you, you mangy ol’ tod you.”

Robin didn’t seem interested in the pats or the insults for long. He sniffed his way around the area, making paw prints in the snow. My guess was he heard my voice and hoped some of the usual scraps could be found too. He gave another yip before he made his way out from under the bench. I didn’t blame him.

We both had other places to be.

Heading towards Georgie and Tylar would’ve been a good idea. Crossing the market space probably would’ve been easier with everyone elsewhere for the day. And, naturally, it would’ve been quite the surprise for them to see me turn up on their doorstep.

If only I knew where their doorstep was.

Georgie mentioned an apartment near the university, but I didn’t know what building let alone an apartment number. Who knew if she and Tylar hadn’t left to visit her family already?

I couldn’t risk it.

I decided to head north, towards the Giantfolk temple. Tylar said they were letting humans hole up in their halls for the winter, after all. Hopefully they’d find me in a few days or weeks. The idea of not seeing Tylar again for a long time hurt. But I couldn’t stay.

It took a bit of effort to climb out of the hole Robin made. When I reached the top of the snow bank, I was surprised at what I saw. Mostly confused, truthfully. The storm had clearly hit, the piles of snow were evidence of that. But the usual walking path and benches looked like the oddest chess board imaginable. Every other bench was covered and piled over like mine had been, while others were mostly clear. The path randomly had clear patches of road among packed snow and ice. A barely made trail zig-zagged through the patchwork snow piles. There must have been at least a few Giantfolk who had the guts to traverse the blizzard’s aftermath.

“HOW IN CADUCEUS’ NAME COULD YOU SCREW UP THIS BADLY, ROGERS?!” a familiar voice bellowed as I slid down to the ground. Coming my way was the park director with Rogers close behind him. It was quite the sight to see them carefully making their way down the trampled trail. “YOU HAD JUST BETTER HOPE NO ONE HAS FALLEN OR FROZEN TO DEATH IN ALL OF THIS!”

“Sir, forgive me, you have to believe me, this could never happen unless-!” Rogers began, stammering out his excuses. He spotted me soon enough, and pointed an accusing finger. “Unless something messed with the crystals! It had to be him, he’s here all the time! Done it to make me look bad, I know it! Nasty little díbeartach shouldn’t be squatting-!”

Something snapped. I wasn’t going to be insulted with Giantfolk slurs, and I wasn’t going to take false accusations.

“OH YEAH, YOU FOUND ME OUT! I DID IT SO I COULD BE BURIED UNDERNEATH THE SNOW AND DIE OF ASPHYXIATION AND HYPOTHERMIA! HOW DID YOU EVER GUESS?! FUCKING MORON.” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“How dare you-!”

“ENOUGH!” the director interrupted quickly. “Even IF he damaged the crystals, WHICH I DOUBT, it would still fall on you for not casting the proper spells to reinforce them! I had you maintain them all week for this reason! Now go grab a shovel from the equipment shed, and clear this all up the Gan-Bhrí way if you want to keep your job!”

Rogers, thankfully, clammed up and followed the suggestion. I wouldn’t miss him, that was for sure. Maybe in time, he would be a little humbler.

But I doubted it.

“…And where are you off to?” the park director asked. He had noticed my walking away from the bench. “The area should be clear soon enough.”

“Actually, I, um, I think I’m going to find somewhere else to uh…stay. Until the snow melts, anyway.” I found myself replying. The look on his face was…well, it was a surprise. He looked almost crestfallen at the news. It wasn’t something I was expecting from any of the Giantfolk.

“Oh. Will you be back?”

I wasn’t certain why I felt it was important to answer his question. Let alone sincerely.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will. I mean, if you don’t mind me coming back, bruv.”

“As long as I’m director, you’ll always be welcome. I do admit, I will miss your songs. Your bench will be waiting for you when you return. Safe travels, lad.”

“Thanks. Happy Yggsmas, bruv.”

It took some time to make it to the park entrance. I stopped to take breaks along the trampled snow path. I managed to catch sight of Robin along the way. He was hopping through the snow, much like when he dove into the snow to free me. Not that he saw it, but I waved my goodbye as he passed. Hopefully he would be here when I came back. Life was going to be a struggle for the both of us. I was lucky that what few Giantfolk I crossed along the way stopped to let me pass or made sure to carefully step over me. It was terrifying, to say the least.

But not as terrifying as reaching the public street.

Flashbacks to that first time came rushing as I reached the curb. Doubts flooded in again as I looked around. There would be immense horses pulling carts or carrying riders. The other side of the pavement felt like a kilometer away just looking at it. The Giant guard standing in the crosswalk didn’t help matters either. She seemed to be directing traffic as best she could while the main road was blocked off. A Yggsmas parade perhaps? It was hard to tell and I wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing. I had a goal in mind. When the light changed, I screwed up all my courage and made a mad dash.

Screaming all the way.

I didn’t even make it half way before I had to stop.

“A bit dramatic there, doona ye think?” the Giant guard asked when I stopped. Her eyes were still on her job as I caught my breath. I waited by her, until she gave the all clear to cross again. As I set off, screaming again, she made one last comment. “…Humans. Pfft.”

One corner down at least.

The pavement was manageable enough. There were Giantfolk out, making their way to wherever they needed to be. I kept to the curbside, just in case. Most of the stores were closed, thankfully. I couldn’t imagine making the trek with a large crowd.

“Oh shit, what’s the spring going to look like coming back?” I mumbled to myself as I reached the next corner. The temple was getting closer in sight, thankfully. The street was a little too busy for my liking this time. So, I did something I never thought I’d do.

I took a chance and asked for Giantfolk help.

“Erm, excuse me, miss?” I called out to the Giant next to me. She was dressed to the nines with leather and spikes. Colored appropriately for the holiday, of course. It took all I had not to swat at the jingle bells hanging off of her boot laces. The over-sized crock pot she carried was sure to have something delicious inside. “Think you can help a fella out?”

“How’s that, m’man?” she chuckled once she caught sight of me.

“I, um…I don’t suppose you’d mind if I crossed the road with you? I don’t think I can make it on my own in time.”

“Doona think I can carry ye an’ me pot at the same time.”

“What if I…what if I rode from down here instead?” I asked, staring at her boots. There were enough belts and buckles on them after all. They had to be good for hand and foot holds, right? I took the chance and climbed onto the side of her boot, swatting a bell in the process. “I’ll hop off as soon as we reach the curb. Sound all right?”

“All right by me, mate. Hang on tight, aye? Here we go!”

She did her best to keep her footfalls slow and steady. The rise and fall of each boot was intense. It was like riding some slapped together carnival ride where you just heard several screws come undone. I was grateful of course, but as soon as we reached the other side I hopped off.

“Thanks again, bruv!” I yelled out, waving a quick goodbye. I took a moment to catch my breath against a lamppost. “Holy shit, I am never doing that again.”

The next corner would be the last one I needed to cross.

The road was busier this time, with carts and wagons and carriages and riders practically filling the street. The temple was a busy place to be, it seemed. It felt more like a taxi stop in front of a train station. Many people were being picked up and dropped off, or directed to park somewhere else. I wasn’t sure if I would make it across by myself again.

“Da, look!” a voice called out from above.

I dreaded to turn my head, but turn it I did. The Giant kid had his eyes on me. Ignoring him wasn’t an option. If I didn’t keep on my toes, I would be grabbed. Kids attempted it before in the park. Why would here be any different?

“Yes kiddo, a human. Leave him be now. We have to cross the street, all right?” the father gently said. He had another child in his arms while the curious boy held onto a loaded basket of goodies with him. Otherwise, I was sure he would’ve just picked the kid up. He tugged the basket, in the hopes of urging the boy to start walking. The kid kept watching me instead.

Inspiration struck.

I swung my guitar from its place and started strumming. When the kid giggled, I made sure his eyes were still on me. I ran a bit ahead, strumming a tune. The kid was more eager to cross the street now, with his father in tow. I almost laughed when the Giant dad mouthed the words “thank you” in the middle of the road. Traffic waited for us, as no one was going to make a parent and their children rush across the road. The father distracted him at the last moment so I could make my “escape”. They were halfway up the temple stairs when I hopped up onto the pavement.

“…Oh shit.”

The stairs.

I hadn’t taken literal, Giant-sized steps into account in my plan.

Aches and pains were already creeping into my legs. A few minutes’ walk to the Giantfolk was hours for me. The idea of climbing each step was exhausting just to think about. Maybe this was doomed for failure after all.

“Taking a rest too, my friend?”

I turned to see an older Giant sitting on the steps. His pipe was filled with something sweet and pleasing and comforting. A prayer rug sat rolled up tight in his lap.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum.” I greeted automatically. Not that I expected him to know the saying. But a part of me wished he did.

“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.” he responded kindly.

“I…I was just trying to figure out how to take on these steps, bruv.”

“Hmm. They are a worthy opponent indeed. These old bones certainly don’t carry quite like they used to.” he said with a puff of his pipe. He gestured to something behind me. “Though I do believe that was made to help you and yours.”

It looked like a slide running down the stairs. A box was set atop it with a cable attached towards the temple. It certainly looked out of place. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? Maybe because I was more worried about making it here alive.

“Oh. That’s…huh. Do you need any help, br…sir?”

“Probably. But I’ll be fine. I just need a few moments. Don’t you worry about me.”

The box would prove to be more than I expected. On closer inspection, I saw a door cut into each side. There sat a bench within, and small crystal chip within reach of the seat. Once I was in place, I took the chance and touched the crystal. It jerked forward in an instant, and slowly made its way forward and upward. It was the most excruciating rollercoaster I’d ever been on. I tried to concentrate on anywhere but outside the box. An eternity later, it finally reached the top of the “hill” and stopped. I scrambled out and watched as it slowly returned itself to the bottom of the steps.

“Oh dear God, never again.” I said aloud. Once my heart started beating again, I turned toward the temple entrance itself. It was tall, and grand, and looked like some kind of Greek or Roman structure on the outside. What little I could see of the interior reminded me more of the cathedrals from home. Glimpses of reliefs, and statues, and stained glass caught my eye.

Now that I was there…I wasn’t sure what to do.

Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Welcome, young man.” a voice called from above. A Giant in monk’s robes was standing nearby. She seemed to be the temple greeter, welcoming the other attendees and offering directions or answers when needed. “Do you need any help?”

“I…um…” I started, not sure what to ask or how to ask it. My brain shorted out, I admit. A step forward activated something beneath my feet. Tiles, recently added, now stood out from the ancient floor. A soft blue glow led into the temple and around a corner. It took a moment to realize it was a path meant for humans hopping off the make-shift tram. I turned my attention back to the monk. “There’s a man down the steps who could use a hand, bruv.”

“So there is. Thank you for pointing him out for me. Why don’t you show yourself in and get warmed up?” she offered, gesturing along the blue glowing tiles. The monk was already making her way down the steps before I could thank her. I was glad to hear her once more before I entered the building. “As-Salaam-Alaikum!”

The inside of the temple was busy and overflowing with Giantfolk. The center of it all seemed to contain colossal statues surrounded by worshippers and piles of gifts. Food and trinkets made in offering? I would have to ask for sure once everything settled down. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I would continue following the path before me. It rounded a corner near the entrance and led to an alcove. I should have been interested in the lights hanging above the area, or the drinking fountain that had tubes and ladders and a platform hanging from its side. The paintings and wall mosaics would have been a sight too.

But I was more stunned by what was set up along the wall instead.

Humans.

There were other humans here too.

Familiar lean-tos and tents and bed rolls lined up next to each other. A couple of people were surrounding a fire nearby. No. not a fire: it was another crystal structure. Giving off light and warmth as they sat on benches made of random Giantfolk detritus, it seemed. Boxes and spools and the like. If I hadn’t felt like some kind of Borrower before, it certainly felt like it now. I caught the eye of someone by the crystal, who nudged another next to them. They all turned to look at me.

I offered an awkward wave. My heart jumped for joy at the sight of them returning the gesture.

“WAAAAASSSSEEEEEEEM!”

The rest of me jumped at the sound of my name.

I had barely turned to see who called out for me when I was tackled and spun in place.

“WASEEM! YER ALL RIGHT!” Tylar shouted as he hugged me. I automatically returned the embrace. We were kissing soon enough, but he managed to insult me with each breath. “Ye stupid MWAH idiot MWAH arsehole MWAH bastard MWAH I was MWAH so worried MWAH about ye!”

“We…thought…blizzard…park…bench…cave-in!” Georgie stated from behind him. She was kneeling on the ground, on the other side of the blue tile path. A full basket sat at her side as she tried to catch her breath. “You were…and then…park director…said…headed north…temple…glad you’re…okay…”

“We ran here as soon as we saw the state of the park. We saw yer bench an’ feared the worst, especially with those fox tracks! Thought that damn Robin did something to ye!”

“Heh. He was the one who got me out, actually. I can tell you the whole story.” I replied. “Thank you both for worrying about me. And…I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting, luv. I was an arsehole and I want to make it up to you in any way I can. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Yer gonna have to work hard at it though. I am very demandin’, ye know.”

“You’re worth it.” I chuckled. I pointed towards the encampment and the other humans, who seemed both anxious and curious at our reunion. “Wanna help me with the meet and greet and pick out a good spot for my tent?”

“I would be happy to. Ye may wanna offer yer thanks to the gods first, though. Tergaians consider it bad luck not to thank’em fer the Sanctuary they provide.”

“You guys go on…I have to make my offerings too.” Georgie said, finally rested. She grabbed her basket and set off in the other direction, waving one more time.

“Oh, do we…uh…do we need to give something to?” I asked as Tylar grabbed my hand and started to lead the way. His confidence in navigating the Giantfolk crowds was both terrifying and amazing.

“Nah, Tergaians and their gods doona expect it. Still, ye shoodne take the chance. I’ve seen the weirdest shit happen when ye doona pay yer respects.” Tylar replied, leading us towards the closest statue. I couldn’t make out who or what it was supposed to be and craning my neck hurt in the attempt. Tylar pointed towards something attached to the base in front of us. It was a poster -no, a photograph- of the very statue, with a summary of who they were and what they did. It didn’t look professionally done, but it was still made with care. “One time, me an’ mum saw an apple sour right in the hands a’ someone who dinna ask befer takin’ from the pile. Ankou may be the Solemn One but he doesne hesitate to act.”

“So, you know all this stuff by heart already, huh?”

“Well, when ye were born an’ raised in an Ankou temple, ye tend to learn a thing or two about the process. Especially when ye canna escape the bellowin’ lectures of Elder Zachary.”

Tylar was keeping his eyes on the statue infographic when I glanced at him. I admit, my jaw had dropped to the floor at the revelation.

“…I dinna mention it cuz ye seemed really hung up on if I were from Earth or not. I…was scared ye’d hate me if ye knew I’m Tergaian-born…” Tylar stated softly. “I dinna wanna lose ye over it.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel the need to hide it. It was…it was stupid of me to think it was so important. I love you, no matter what.” I replied. “And I want to hear all about it, your life and your parents and even Elder Zachary’s proselytizing.”

“No ye doona. Elder Zach was one Hells uv’a blowhard.” he chuckled, turning to face me. I gave him a quick kiss and squeezed his hand. “Mum was born here too. Dad’s from someplace called California. So…I know of Earth but not as much as I’d like.”

“Well, I don’t know as much as I should about Tergaia so…who do you recommend I thank?”

Tylar really opened up as we toured each statue. He gave his summaries and his reasons for thanking each of them. Ankou, a god of Death, for staying his hand that day. Dao-Ming, a goddess of Luck, for the abundance I seemed to have. Kismet, a goddess of Destiny, and the Queen of the pantheon, for writing me a safe path in her book. There were more, and they each received a word of thanks in the “proper way”, as Tylar called it.

It wasn’t until we reached the final statue, the biggest of them all, in the center of the temple. The others were lined in a circle surrounding it, and had been easier to walk between. We had waited for the crowds to dwindle enough to race towards it. The offering pile was immense compared to the others, and for good reason. The picture didn’t look nearly as intimidating as it did from my angle. The man was dressed in a toga, with odd marks on its cheeks, and plaited hair. This statue was of Caduceus, the king of the Gods, a god of Healing.

Healing.

It was definitely something I had needed.

My heart still ached for home, and for Ma, and for how life would be for me in a world of Giantfolk. But something about last night, whether it was the confession to a stranger, or the dream, or even the trek from today, that helped.

The healing process had begun. No matter how small it seemed.

“I…I think I’ll make an offering to this guy.” I said, taking off my backpack. I began rummaging for something, anything to give in thanks. “What do you recommend, luv?”

“It could be anything, really. Just so long as it’s heartfelt or sincere.”

An idea popped to mind. Maybe it didn’t have to be something physical.

“Um, Caduceus, god of Health and Healing, hear my…prayer. I don’t have much in the way of an offering, but I want to thank you…and the other gods too…for letting me stay here. And for looking out for me today. I think. I mean, I avoided death several times today by mere centimeters, so it had to be by some kind of divine providence. Whether it was God, or you, or the other gods, or just…I dunno, the universe.”

The Giant who was kneeling nearby in his own prayer glanced in my direction.

“It’s a long story, bruv.” I told him, grabbing my guitar once again.

“…Humans.” the Giant muttered, returning to his prayer.

“So, just in case you and yours were looking out for me today, I’d like to play a song. It’s a Christmas song. Christmas is…a long explanation, but trust me: it’s in the spirit of the holiday. It’s…it’s my Ma’s favorite, and I miss her a lot. Hopefully it’s…it’s good enough for you, and for these halls.”

With a deep breath, I started playing the first few chords of the cherished tune.

“The holly green, the ivy green The prettiest picture you've ever seen It's Christmas in Killarney With all of the folks at home

It's nice, ya know, to kiss your beau While cuddlin' under the mistletoe And Santa Claus, ya know of course Is one of the boys from home…”

As I sang, I thought of all the Christmases past. Of Ma belting at the top of her lungs to wake me up. Of presents, and discarded gift wrap piles, of cooking breakfast afterwards. Of other holidays, of birthdays, of the good days, and the bad days, of how much I was going to miss her.

Of how hard it was going to be moving forward.

But forward I would go.

I couldn’t stay in one spot any more. This world was mine now, and I was going to learn whatever I needed to.

Not just to survive.

But to live.

To live a life Ma would be proud of.

“…It's nice, ya know, to kiss your beau While cuddlin' under the mistletoe And Santa Claus, ya know of course Is one of the boys from home

The holly green, the ivy green The prettiest picture you've ever seen I'm handin' you no blarney No matter where you roam It's Christmas in Killarney With all of the folks at home!”

Polite applause was heard as I finished up. It wasn’t a surprise to see Tylar showing his appreciation, but the Giant congregant was unexpected. He left soon enough to be replaced by other Giantfolk. By then, me and Tylar were making our way back to the human alcove. Living with people my size, living among humans was something I had wanted for months. The prospect was terrifying after living in the park. But I wanted to make the effort. I needed to make the effort.

I wanted to be normal again.

And I wanted to be normal with Tylar, no matter how long it took.

“…Luv? Would you like to help me write a letter to the king?”

The End

[jjba-hell]

Remember the Time...

Ah, a reader-insert? On my blog? It’s more likely than you think...

Definitely a difficult piece for me so it ended up a post-mission, hurt/comfort kinda thing. 

A bit more mild with the trigger warnings: alcohol abuse, blood, kinda gory, at home medical procedure, some suggestive conversation, prostitution (mention but not expanded on- yeah I know I should probably get some better mafia entry but I think things might lighten up a bit more in the upcoming pieces) ANGST

We taggin’ @a-nonnie-mousse​ cuz I know they LOVE this mans (tho I don’t blame ya) Also to @lasquadraweek2020 and @giogio-gucci-gangstar​ cuz I need to interact more with my mutuals. 

Reader is GN! 2,2K words, good luck

You pushed past the entrance to the squad base with a groan. You were actually just after the medical kit Risotto kept in his office so you figured it would be empty but instead Illuso sat like a lazy cat in front the TV with his feet up.

“Well now don’t you look shit.”

You kicked the door shut behind you. “Of all people why did it have to be your turn to keep watch at the base?”

You passed by behind the couch he was sitting as steady as you could but the bullet wound in your side was insisting on some medical attention.

You got into Risotto’s office and ducked into the metal cabinet in the corner for the medical kit. Sitting down on the couch brought another searing sting to your side but you pushed through and peeled your bloody shirt off of your body.

“Care to share how the mission went?” Illuso’s voice rang from where he was leaning against the door frame.

You didn’t bother answering as you pulled on some gloves and doused them in disinfectant.

“Wait, what are you-?”

You went in with your finger after the bullet in your side, trying your best to ignore the pain, clenching your jaw shut at an attempt to hide what you were feeling. Showing any inclination to your pain would just prove the bastard in front of you right- that you were the weak link between them. You had clawed your way up the food chain in Passione only to end up here, Risotto telling you that this was the equivalent of ending up in exile- where they did the dirtiest work for the least amount of money. It annoyed you to no end but you couldn’t think about that way. You needed to push forward, as of now your goal was to compete against Prosciutto for second-in-command of the squad.

“Fuck, could you give me some warning before you start fingering your wound?”

Those words fell from his mouth two seconds before you got a grip on the bullet and with a scowl you looked up at him and brought the bullet out of your side with a sly smirk. “I know my way around fingering holes, LuLu. I could teach you sometime.”

You curled your hand around the bullet before tossing it aside.

Illuso gave a disapproving grimace as he watched the blood splatter from the bullet in a line over the concrete floor between you. “Relax- if it were serious I’d be bleeding out on the floor right now. Why don’t you do me a favor and go get me some booze?”

You had said that as a way of taunting him but Illuso simply straightened from the door frame and moved to Risotto’s desk. He pulled out a bottle of vodka and tossed it between his hands. “I’m not particularly good at fishing foreign objects from flesh but I can staple you shut.” That same smug smirk came back to plague you and for once you could actually laugh at that.

The last mission you Illuso had been on was after a particular plastic surgeon that knew a bit too much about the organization and the drug OD’s on the streets. The two of you were assigned to shut him up real nice.

Illuso had taken it literally with the stitching stapler before you finished him off and disposed of the body. It was sadistic, maybe, but the guy was mouthing off at Illuso in the lobby for a bad jaw job he never had- how do you walk away from that kind of disrespect without some form of punishment?

You finished clearing off the dried blood off of your side before getting up to sit tall on the arm rest of the couch.

Illuso took the stapler and rather knowledgeably disinfected the equipment before gripping your shoulder and looking at you head on. He wasn’t easy to read- it almost looked like what he was asking was more of an afterthought. “Let me know when it feels wrong.”

You were about to make a sarcastic remark but instead decided to brace for impact.

It burnt like hell but it was allot easier than getting stitched up for the little cuts like when Melone did it. It was quick.

Literally three painful staples in your side and he was done- feeling perfectly fine. Or at least so you had thought before the support from Illuso’s hand on your shoulder pulled away and you suddenly felt lightheaded.

You suppose he had taken a hint to your immobilized form on the couch and got more disinfectant and gauze. You let him wrap you up, keeping yourself upright to properly patch you up before he tapped against your injured side as if to signal him being done.

“There.” Was all he said with a stoic expression as he cleaned up the medical supplies.

You took the opportunity to hop off your seat and reach for the bottle to just try and dull the pain.

“Not so hard to take the help offered is it?” Illuso started, that same sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“Oh?” You took a swig straight from the bottle. “That was you offering help?”

You handed the bottle to him to which he reciprocated with a swig himself.

“I’m not hearing a thank you.”

You shrugged, deciding to fuck with him a bit. You stepped up and leaned in- giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for stapling me up, baby.”

Illuso dramatically rolled his eyes at that. “You have been spending way too much time with Formaggio.”

You took the bottle from him and walked out of the room. “I’m too drunk and too tired to drive home so I call the base bed.”

By that you meant the double bed in one of the rooms where the lookout for the night would spend the night.

You moved into the said bedroom and started looking for something else to replace your top- landing on an old band T-shirt.

“Nice choice.” You nearly leapt out of your skin at Illuso’s voice over your shoulder.

“Do you even make a noise when you walk?” You shouted behind you at Illuso’s kneecaps.

“Most of the one-night stands we bring over end up in that shirt in the morning.” He continued as of you didn’t just yell at him. He calmly turned around and walked away. You dropped the dinky shirt and ended up going for the plain purple one- hoping that you wouldn’t hear more history about the shirt you were wearing than absolutely necessary.

You came into the kitchen and found Illuso had left a bowl of pasta on the counter for you and it wasn’t some unexplained mystery how or why.

Now La Squadra, contrary to their profession, was actually a tight-knit group- some of the closest teams you’ve met. So when you came in, it was hard to try and meld into a group you dared say had no room for you but you’d be lying if you said they didn’t do anything to try and integrate you.

Prosciutto would lend you cigarettes or ask you if he should buy you a pack at his next stop, Ghiacchio always offered to give you a ride if you needed to get somewhere, Melone would offer checkups after injuries- granted that came with his lecherous side comments. Formaggio would even ask you for play bets when his game was on but Illuso had seemed indifferent to his teammate’s kindness until now.

You placed the pasta in the microwave with a heavy heart at your mistreatment of the whole team up until this point. You weren’t exactly doing anything to return their kindness.

So you brought the pasta bowl with you to sit beside Illuso as he stretched his feet onto the coffee table.

“Thanks for the pasta.” Was all you said as you sat cross-legged beside him.

“Don’t get used to it- that was my dinner scraps.”

Deflecting the thank you, should have known directly wasn’t the way to go.

So you didn’t bother saying anything else in favor of eating. Finished with dinner, you stretched out the same as him. “The bed’s yours.” Was all you said.

Illuso chuckled. “You’re easy to read, you know that?”

You didn’t react. It was a known fact that you flubbed like a fish when you didn’t know what to say or think.

“Listen, I’m a nice guy. Most of us do expect reciprocation but that doesn’t mean anything serious right now. I’d rather ask how you’re not used to this kind of treatment.”

You turned to him. “What do you mean and why?”

“You’re telling me you’re not used to the whole ‘newbie’ treatment?”

You scoffed, “Newbie meant getting life three times harder than necessary, not easier- you guys really are making a weird like that... Besides, why do you care?”

Illuso turned to you this time, that smirk on his face. “I deal with information. Recon and shit.” His face slowly soured into a scowl. “But since I landed on this team the rest of Passione had been closed off from me.”

You reached over to the forgotten vodka bottle on the table, sitting back and flicking the cap off. “Let’s talk then.”

You took two swigs per question, starting with: “Well then how did you end up here?”

Illuso laughed with his bottom lip against the vodka bottle. “I fucked a capo’s daughter.”

You laughed with your head back. “Figure’d you’d get here by being sleazy. But how’d you get caught?”

“Uh uh uh uh!” He took his two swigs then handed the bottle back to you. “You gotta answer a question for me first.”

You took it reluctantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Now you tell me how you got here.”

You didn’t exactly have an answer for that, but recently you had developed a theory. “I think I rose the ranks too quick- I was aiming at getting into Unita Speciale but that squad needs to be personally approved by the boss.”

You took to swigs and gave the bottle back- the quick succession of drinking started to make your mouth a bit more loose.

“So how’d your dumbass get caught?” You asked Illuso as he took his two swigs.

“Bitch drugged me when she found out I was fucking her friend. Got my ass handed to me halfway through the mirror- literally.”

The image of Illuso’s butt naked ass hanging out of a mirror in an attempt to get away made you snicker. “That’s too bad.”

This time you took the bottle yourself and waited for the question.

He cleared his throat and looked at you head on. “Do you ever wish you never got into this shit?”

You frowned at him, already feeling shaken by the personal question- should have known he’d want to delve deep while you were too drunk to keep your mouth shut. Didn’t stop you you from bringing the bottle to your lips. “Yeah. Who doesn’t?” You were extra generous with the swigs you were taking before Illuso tipped the bottle back down and took it from you.

“Save some for me you selfish fuck.”

He took his own swig but not nearly as much as you.

You didn’t say anything for a moment as you wondered if you were going to act out on your drunkenness or would you just excuse yourself before things got too personal. Of course your curiosity got the best of you, so with slurred words you asked- “How’d you get into Passione, anyway?”

Illuso gave the bottle a last gulp and without missing a beat answered. “I killed the bastard that was sleeping with my partner. Didn’t know however, that their murdered side piece was part of a gang. So when you have a on your tail and you’re too much of a coward to face them yourself, you run to Passion for protection. And you end up like me.”

You gave a satisfied hum and got up. You fucked up and you knew it- now he was going to ask you how you ended up in Passione.

“Where are you going?”

“The vodka is done and so am I.” You lied.

"Like fuck you are.” Illuso stumbled after you but once he was up he was much more steady on his feet than you were, trailing behind you as you wobbled through the hallway to the bedroom. He grabbed hold of your shoulders and turned you around- making you grab onto the wall for support.

The two of you, properly saturated with booze, leaned against the wall with your shoulders as you gazed into each other’s eyes. “How did you end up in Passione?”

You were pretty drunk- but not drunk enough to forget the pain that came with that question. The booze only helped to make you more emotional and more likely to spill the beans but you tried to turn around back to your destination once again but he grabbed hold of your hand again to stop you in your tracks.

“Pretty please. I spilled my guts now you get to spill yours.”

You balled your fists and tried to say as stable as possible as you turned to look him in the eye. “MY boyfriend had debts to pay to this shithole gang and he sold me as collateral.”

Illuso seemed to process your words and then almost victoriously said. “So THAT’s why you’re so fucking stuck up! The bastard stabbed you in the back, didn’t he?”

The words hit you and in response you pushed him away- it was lucky he was too tall for you to push over in your already weakened state but he did stumble back a few steps. “Fucking prick! Is that all you wanted to know? Why I don’t trust anyone? Why I keep to myself? I didn’t want to have my brains fucked out for the rest of my life so I clawed my way up through the ranks! Only to end up here! Which wouldn’t be so bad ‘cause I thought-“

You clenched your first again and turned around. You’d babbled enough at him.

“Y/n.” Illuso took a few steps closer again, propping himself up against the wall. “You thought what?”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat- might as well finish what you started. “I thought you guys weren’t so bad. You didn’t treat me like an idiot so I figured you must have had some kind of respect for me.”

There was a beat of silence as you two stared each other down- a scowl on each of your faces. Then, rather awkwardly, Illuso’s hand landed on your shoulder again and perhaps it was just because both of you were too far gone to have inhibitions but you moved into his chest, pressing your chin into the nook of his neck- his hand moving up your back to hold you in a strangely comforting hug, Illuso slightly bending down to allow you to let the pain subside into him.

He rubbed over your back softly then spoke against your temple. “I know.”

There was some understanding between the two of you. You quietly separated and he guided you to the bedroom where you ungracefully face planted down in typical drunk fashion onto the bed. Through the pillow on your face you shouted-

“Don’t go.”

You thanked whatever was ruling the universe that he didn’t ask you anything. He tiredly moved away from the door, moving you to make room for himself beside you. He kicked off his shoes and splat down stomach first onto the bed.

He didn’t lull you with lies about being able to trust them. He didn’t reassure you that it was going to get better. But you suppose knowing he understood was all the comfort you needed. As the night passed you over, you woke up with a headache only to see Illuso’s hand cupping yours in the space between you.

So you laid your head back down and slept it off- feeling at ease.

[slo-liveblog]

Witch’s Heart: Bonus Stage Final Thoughts

Hello hello! Honestly I can’t believe I finished Bonus Stage after all this time... took me quite a few months, oof. Many thanks to the handful of you that stuck around during all that, and to the few new people who popped in too! Hope you’ve all been taking care of yourselves, and don’t mind the long post.

CHARACTERS

Claire: After finishing the first game, I didn’t know it was possible to love Claire even more. I was absolutely wrong. The way she took charge at the end was incredibly powerful and I’m so fucking proud of her, even if it’s sad as hell. I really really like how the game both criticizes and respects her unconditional empathy, I think there’s definitely room for both conversations and they’re both incredibly fascinating. I do think she suffers from some of the most writing pitfalls out of everyone, though. Like I said while playing, there’s really no reason given why she wouldn’t confide in Leon, or at least acknowledge that he’s likely the person there she can trust most. In addition, I found it really bizarre that Claire just... never tried to talk to Reynaldo or Sirius after learning about their pasts. Like, at all. I understand why the emphasis on Ashe was important, but it was jarring and kind of unsatisfying to see Claire act so uncharacteristically by not even really acknowledging them after their stories were over. It’s more of a story problem than a character problem though, I think, and I understand why it had to be that way especially considering the conclusions will touch on a lot of the missing pieces- I just wish there could’ve been more of a justification for it. The way her personality was explored through her interactions with everyone, and how other characters were depicted based on their reactions to her ideals, was incredible and I would die for her.

Ashe: Oh Ashe. Fuck Ashe. I do appreciate the depth given to his character, he’s definitely far more complex than I expected and kudos on that. I don’t really empathize with him as much as I do the other four mains, but I do think his writing is incredible and his relationships with Leon and Claire continue to be some of the most interesting to see play out, if not THE most interesting. Star shaped carrots man. Fucked up. Super excited to see how his dynamics with everyone continue, and he’s probably the character I’m the most interested to see make decisions going into these conclusions. His arc feels the most... unfinished, he’s never really reached any sort of closure at any point of the story so far and especially not bonus stage so it’ll be cool to see where he ends up.

Reynaldo: MY BOY. I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF HIM... going into bonus stage my expectations for him were pretty much rock bottom from the moment I realized he didn’t have a single line in the opening scene outside of saying his name. Like, I kinda made my peace with the possibility that the writer just wasn’t that interested in developing him, and would rather spend time on the rest of the mains. But holy SHIT did he pull through in the second half of the game. The subtle but noticeable build to him deciding to side with Claire was so, so well done. I still wish there was a little more solidity to his characterization- I do have to reach way further to understand him than I do any of the other mains- but I think what we DID get for him was wonderful and god, I appreciate him so much. Definitely the character that improved the most for me from the first game to bonus stage. I can’t wait for his conclusion, here’s to hoping we do in fact get it this year. The way his similarities with Claire were set up makes me SO excited to see how their relationship develops when it’s actually the focus, and how he’ll be fleshed out more in general so we can finally have a clearer picture. Because to be honest, as much as I like the development he was given in bonus stage... there’s still a LOT of gaps to fill in with him.

Sirius: continues to be the perfect human being 1000000/10

Leon: Sweet baby boy whose expressions always make me cry. Leon is still a character I’m sort of on the fence on. Like, he’s very well written and easy to sympathize with. But I realized I’m always far more interested in how OTHER characters react to HIM than the other way around, though. He’s not really a character I personally would find interesting in general, he’s a little simple for my tastes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not 100% invested in seeing him end up happy... eventually. Something tells me it might be a while.

Charlotte: I feel like Charlotte definitely got the short end of the stick in bonus stage, moreso than any other character. Her only memorable scenes that I can think of off the top of my head were when she told Leon he could kill everyone but Claire, when she thought about how Ashe probably can’t be saved, and when she reacted to Claire after the completion of Ashe’s backstory. None of those scenes even come close to hitting the same level of intrigue or emotion as the sparse Charlotte scenes had in the first game, even if that last one does have some interesting bits in it. I said at the end of the first game that we’d only really scratched the surface and I was interested to see more from her and, well, my opinion hasn’t changed. I don’t think there was much I would’ve wanted out of her here anyway unlike the boys, so I’m not especially disappointed. Just hoping we get more excellent Charlotte moments somewhere down the line.

Zizel: I would’ve liked Zizel’s deal to be... a bit more built upon, to be honest? I could just have missed things along the way, but her triumphant moment is a little harder to get in to when we know almost nothing about her or the way she thinks beyond stuff reveled about her in the same scene. I could definitely see that her siding with Claire was being foreshadowed, but I think there needed to be juuust a bit more characterization given to her for that particular development to have the impact it seemed to be going for. Still, it was a good moment, and I think it definitely made up for a lot of the sore lack of Zizel in both games. Can’t wait to see what she does from here.

Lime: Goddddd. Okay look, I still love Lime probably more than I reasonably should. She’s wonderful and I love her design and her personality and her backstory and her motivations but... yea she’s a very very bad person. Bonus stage did really make it clear that she’s not just lashing out occasionally, and this isn’t anywhere near harmless teasing. She’s full on the primary villain of the game, in some ways, and has been doing pretty horrific stuff knowing (and intending for) exactly what she’s causing. Which we sort of knew in the first game anyway, but now it’s very explicit. And like, damn dude... I do wanna see what’s gonna happen with her. It’s tough, wanting to see a character get their comeuppance and stop hurting others while simultaneously just wanting good things for them. this really is how y’all ashe stans feel huh

Side Characters: I gotta say, I really loved a lot of the smaller characters introduced in bonus stage and the way their presence added to the development of the mains. Dorothy and Nicholas, the old dude and the thief woman (I didn’t actually realize until just now but nobody in Wilbert’s backstory had a name, huh. It may not have been intentional but considering that he might literally just not remember that far back I actually really like that decision.), and Ashe’s family and friends were really smartly integrated into the story’s themes and I appreciated that a lot. also lucy and coco rights

Overall This one gets a fucking 10/10 from me chief, some small issues certainly but as close to perfect as they get, in terms of the kinds of stories I like.

STORY

I debated breaking this up into chunks, like I did in the first game with the scenarios, but I feel like the writing quality is more or less consistent throughout the game so it would be a little redundant. I definitely need more time to think on bonus stage before I have a really solid opinion, but at the moment I kind of think the story was even better than the first game? My only major issue was the aforementioned use of Claire’s character, where she’d only really react to the boy’s backstories as she finished hearing them, with the exception of Ashe’s. And her not confiding in Leon. But other than that, it was a constant rollercoaster, with pretty much every scene being jam packed with 3000 layers of character development and relationship building with lore sprinkled in. The elements that were amazing in the first game, like the fun dynamics between the characters and the subtle and unobtrusive exposition, are nothing but improved upon. I do wish we got to play more with the idea of the demon girls living alongside the mains, I think that aspect was severely downplayed almost immediately after it was introduced, but I’m crossing my fingers those potential dynamics get some time in the conclusions. Once again, my biggest gripes with the story are just that I feel like there’s so much more to explore and I can’t wait to see how the rest plays out. still giving this bitch a 10/10 on this one it was everything I wanted and more

GAMEPLAY

Combat: This was kind of... not even really utilized in bonus stage, which I didn’t actually realize until just now. There weren’t any real “boss battles” in the way there were in the first game, the closest thing to it would I guess be Dorothy’s showdown. Considering I didn’t even notice, I think that was a perfectly fine decision. The climax worked well without any actual fights. The battle mechanics continued to be functional and everything, just... not much of a thing.

Demon Requests: It could just be because I played a lot of bonus stage at a very different pace than I did the first game but the demon requests didn’t feel as frequent or intrusive this time around. I was always really excited to get to the request portion anyway cause of the photo booth and all the cool new areas, I had a super fun time using the deep sea bubble and I think overall the stuff that was added to the fantasy spaces was really neat. also lucy and coco rights

Minigames: Very hit or miss. It felt like the minigames were either so quick and easy they were hardly memorable or so tedious they made me wanna die. Take that with a grain of salt, though, I’m really bad at video games. There were very few of them anyway so it doesn’t matter much, but I guess it would’ve been nice if the minigames were less... Like that. To be fair, they were all still pretty charming or cool conceptually. Can’t really complain about getting to fucking shoot people as Dorothy even if it was hell to play.

Overall The demon requests were actually really enjoyable this time around, but the minigames and combat were kind of downplayed. Not to big of a deal, though, it’s not as if they were a focal point of the game to begin with. 7/10

ART & SOUND

Character Design: Not much to say that I didn’t already say after the first game, but the special bonus stage outfits are absolute bangers and I wish they got shown more often. And maybe I would’ve liked the guys to have a little more variety to their suits. But that’s nitpicking, Claire and the demon girl’s dresses are absolutely gorgeous.

Sprites and BGs: The overall art quality definitely got shaky in places but I gotta say, they pulled out ALL the stops for the sprites in this one. Ashe just fully has an entirely new set of them, and everybody else gets tons of new expressions too, all of which are super super good at conveying incredibly specific emotions. All I’m saying is, this would be a totally different game for me without the sprites, and I was always ecstatic to see new ones and figure out what was going on in the character’s head based on them.

OST and Sound Effects: Again, pretty much the same deal as the first game. I think there was a bit of a higher frequency for songs that made me immediately want to search for them so I could listen to them later though, thank god for that. So many good tracks.

Overall Continued to impress me, and then some. Only a slight improvement from the first game, in my opinion, but even that is pretty impressive since I didn’t have many issues with the first game to begin with. 8/10

So uh, in other words, I really really loved this game. Cannot WAIT to start best boy’s conclusion!!!

[sethrine-writes]

I Will Fight This War For You (Hold On), Ch. 5

Pairing:  Connor x  Female Reader

Words:  2428

Chapter Warning:  Discussions of murders (pertaining to investigation),

Story Summary: “Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two.”

Your investigation into the string of deaths of both humans and androids takes a drastic turn when a victim is purposely left alive. The killer’s intent is the same, to prove a point you have yet to figure out. The change, however, is the power of choice.

Stress and exhaustion lead you astray as you and Connor are both thrust into a war between the mind and the heart. You can only hope everyone involved makes it out alive.

IMPORTANT A/N:   This is a repost of a DBH fic I started over a year ago in response to a challenge a friend of mine posted up, at the time. I’ve also gone through and edited/cleaned up each chapter for a better reading experience! I’ll be posting a chapter or two every day until I’ve posted all current chapters, and then I’ll be updating with a brand new chapter for the first time in nearly a year!

Inspired by the song Torn In Two by Breaking Benjamin.

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Chapter 5 - Is This the Way It’s Gotta Be?

The DPD, unsurprisingly, was rather quiet, save for the few night officers who came and went from time to time, rotating like clockwork. Stella was rotating in, having already returned from the crime scene and taking up her designated desk to file a report. You would have greeted her, but you felt completely worn out from everything the night had thrown at you.

As it was, you were on the fast track to passing out in Connor's desk chair while waiting for him to return from wherever it was he had disappeared to, head leaning against a propped up arm and eyes fighting to stay open. Hank was pacing anxiously as he stewed in his own thoughts, and watching him move back and forth like that was making you feel dizzy, even more nauseous then what you had been for most of the night. Your stomach grumbled in agreement to your thoughts, though it was a wonder you had anything left in your system, considering what had happened earlier.

Suddenly, you were struck with an odd thought. When was the last time you had eaten, exactly?

“Your last proper meal was three days ago, unless you consider the single piece of toast you ate yesterday morning an adequate one,” Connor answered as he approached, holding items that could only have come from the break room. Your cheeks flushed slightly, realizing you had asked your question aloud, and you grimaced in slight embarrassment.

Connor seemed unfazed, however, and proceeded to give you what he was carrying, a pack of peanut butter cracker sandwiches and a cold bottle of water from the vending machines. He smiled as you took them and gently caressed your cheek with a stroke of his thumb.

“It's not much, but it'll help settle your stomach until we can get you something more substantial to eat.”

“Thanks,” you murmured without hesitation, tearing open the crackers with weak, aching fingers and downing four from the pack of six.

Connor watched you for a moment, seemingly placated that something was finally getting into your system. He waited until you needed the water, reaching out to open the tightly sealed cap before moving to stand right behind you.

He had been acting strange since returning to the station. It was sort of subtle, but the difference was still there. Connor was hovering, in a way, staying rather close to you and absentmindedly touching you whenever he could. It was welcomed, of course, and much better than the cold shoulder he had been giving you beforehand, but it was also a bit startling, especially when he was one to give you space when you were both at work.

You didn't have much to go on as to why he was acting this way, but if you were taking a wild guess in the dark, you believed it might've coincided with what he had said to you in the parking lot of the E.R. over half an hour ago.

 “I love you."

Just thinking about it, how Connor had spoken those three little words with such conviction, how he had gazed at you with absolute adoration and relief, even after you had just got done fighting-

It scared you, and you didn’t know why.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked, one of his hands reaching out to rub along the back of your neck, fingers lightly digging into the tense muscles there.

A groan nearly escaped your lips, but you were able to hold it back, both grateful for the touch and slightly embarrassed at your reaction. He continued the light massage for only a moment longer before his hand was moving down and across your shoulders, touch light as he rubbed across the upper portion of your back.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, clearing your throat before continuing, “I'm good. Just trying to piece things together in my head. Where…where did we leave off?”

“Cyberlife's involvement,” Hank spoke up suddenly, pausing in his stride to cross both arms over his chest as he looked to you and Connor, “are we ruling them out, or what?”

Hank had eyeballed Connor's closeness as well as the soothing touch he was still applying against your back; you could see the Lieutenant’s eyes flicker to the movement before looking between the both of you, almost as if he wanted to say something.

Strangely enough, he didn’t say anything at all, no teasing remarks or snippy, playful comments about PDA in the work space. Hank's favorite passive response usually involved reminding you just what Connor licked up at a crime scene whenever the android made to kiss your cheek, and yet, even with an ample opportunity, he hadn’t so much as hinted at the affectionate closeness.

He seemed much more worried about the new details involving the investigation, at the moment. You understood. The whole thing had suddenly been thrust into a whole other ball park, and the curve balls just kept coming.

“Not completely,” Connor answered as his hand made its way into your hair, the sensation of fingers lightly grazing your scalp causing your eyes to flutter closed. “With the new android laws being set into finality later this week, it’s a possibility Cyberlife could be trying to sabotage the proceedings in some way.”

“Delaying the inevitable,” Hank scoffed with a shake of his head. “They just don’t know when to give up, do they?”

“While it is a possibility, Lieutenant, the likelihood of their involvement is rather low."

“How can we explain the prime suspect being your model type, then? You think they created another one of you without all the free-will?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Connor began slowly, brows furrowing in contemplation even as he continued to carefully run fingers through your hair. You were relaxed and pliant under his touch, so much so that you were barely keeping up with the conversation, having to really focus on your partners' words.

“They’re restricted in what they can create, at the moment,” Connor continued. “Assembling another android is out of the question, but it’s possible there are still inactive androids we haven’t yet freed.”

“More androids, huh? Speaking of, just how many of you were running around, anyway?” Hank asked curiously. His gaze flickered to you briefly, eyes softening at your relaxed features.

“Considering I was their latest prototype, Cyberlife kept me strictly within the Detroit area to test my capabilities. It wouldn’t be wise to have multiple RK800 models running amok, should there have been complications with any of my programming.”

“Mm, wait...wait, didn’t they keep several RK800 androids on-sight and inactive?” you asked, words mumbled as you fought to open your eyes and sit up a bit straighter in the chair. “Like you said, it wouldn’t do to have an army of Connors running around, but they surely had replacements, if you happened to be injured beyond repair.”

“This is true,” Connor answered as he looked down at you, “though there was only ever one available replacement at a time. Again, because I was a prototype, they couldn’t risk creating too many models at once.”

“So there were only ever two functioning RK800 models in the world, at once,” you continued to mumble. “You think they still had one over at Cyberlife HQ?”

“I don’t think so,” Hank interjected. “That night the androids won their freedom, I had a fake Connor use me as leverage against our Connor. Probably Cyberlife's last-ditch effort to stop the revolution. Long story short, he didn’t make it out of that tower.”

“He would have also been the last of my model,” Connor started up again, “as Cyberlife wouldn’t have had time to compose another, not with the outcome of the revolution in favor of androids. And with their every move being watched, compromising any remaining integrity would be out of the question.”

So far, everything was making perfect sense. Cyberlife had the means to pull off something like this, but it would risk any further relationship with the public as well as possible development for future projects, whatever they may be. With society mostly in favor of androids as people, too, doing anything to negate the peace would end badly, on their side.

The issue, then, didn’t lie with who was behind the operation, but more on how.

How had the RK800 model been activated? How was it possible when all evidence was pointing to Connor being the last of his unit?

Connor as a suspect would seem like a logical assumption, one that would usually warrant a further look into, but you and Hank already knew it wasn’t possible, not even a probability. Connor was always with either one of you, and timestamps and sound alibis could prove his innocence completely.

Another thought struck you, one that had you sitting up a bit straighter as you mulled over the likelihood of it.

“Is it possible one of the damaged models somehow came back to life?”

Connor looked at you in mild surprise, the motion of his hand in your hair pausing as he thought it over.

“Extremely unlikely, but, statistically speaking, it’s a possibility. Markus is a prime example of defying the odds, in such a way. We…may have to look into it.”

“Great,” Hank bemoaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “that's fan-fucking-tastic, just what we needed! A rogue Connor on the streets, back from the dead and, apparently, pissed off about it.”

And that was quite the horrifying thought to dwell on. Connor was an advanced prototype; he was fast, strong, more advanced than the androids meant for police work, and equipped to take on the challenges of a detective and officer with relative ease and adaptability. He was a force to be reckoned with, and to have such a force on the side of criminal intent only made things much more dangerous, even more difficult.

Still, there were more questions that hadn’t been answered yet, ones that would most likely be the driving force into finding out how to catch the rogue android.

Why was this RK800 model kidnapping, killing, and forcing others to kill? What motivated him into doing all these things? Why humans and androids, and not one or the other?

There was also the matter of whether or not the RK800 model was deviant or not. From the evidence so far, it would seem that he was, in fact, attacking of his own free will. While everything seemed meticulously thought out for each case, it was clear to see that there was a variable change in the RK800 model's tactics. His intent had stayed the same, as he seemed to want to prove a point. What changed was the power of choice, giving a single victim a chance to choose one life over another.

But, why?

The first two cases were cut and dry. One android, tied to a chair with a gunshot to the head, and one human, dead by the same means and sprawled out on the floor. It would’ve almost looked like a murder-suicide, as only the human's fingerprints were pulled from the empty gun, yet the evidence concluded that the human victim had been shot through the back of the head at an angle that suggested a third person had to have pulled the trigger. It was all the evidence needed to hint toward a double homicide, instead.

On top of that, it was concluded that the human victim was forced into shooting the android victim by means of torture. The right arm was a vast web of dark blue veins, almost like ink, trailing up the limb as if to show the trail the poison took when it was injected into the wrist.

Case number three showed the first use of the power of choice, as well as the same method of torture by means of blue blood injection, most likely to push them into making a decision between the two other victims. Anthony had survived, merely because the power of choice had shifted, and a false sense of control had been given to Winny, who had become a nuisance in the eyes of the suspected android. Lauren would have survived, most likely, had she not tried to attack the RK800 model behind her kidnapping.

The most recent case yet again gave the tortured victim the power of choice. While you didn’t have all that much information, seeing as how things had escalated between you and Gavin on the scene and you were forced away, it wasn’t too hard to guess what had happened, going by the other cases. The woman had made the choice to shoot one of the other victims, somehow managed to do so in her heavily poisoned state, and both she and the android had been freed and spared.

Choice had become an important factor, but as to why, it was still unclear. Maybe it was the RK800 model lamenting his choices and making others enact them. Perhaps it was simply as easy as saying he found some twisted joy in it after finding his first two tests fruitless in entertainment.

Whatever the reason, it was clear that he was now targeting groups of three persons that knew each other in some way, one of which was an android. He had to know their routines in order to kidnap his victims without complication, meaning he must have been watching them for-

 “Detective, please, be careful... He's…he's watching."

You nearly fell out of your chair from sitting up so quickly, eyes wide as the words Anthony had uttered to you played in your head on a loop.

He's watching.

He's watching.

Anthony had given you the warning, and you hadn’t even realized he had been talking directly to you.

“Hey, kid, take it easy!”

You looked up at Hank, who had moved just a bit closer, his expression one of worried confusion at your sudden movement. Connor was faring no better, having shifted to put you in his direct line of sight, panicked brown eyes zipping over your body. He was no doubt analyzing you at that very moment, becoming aware that your heart had picked up speed and that you were showing extreme signs of stress.

God, how could you have been so stupid?!

“I can’t work this case,” you whispered, words barely leaving your lips as the clarifying thought reached you.

“What's wrong?” Connor urged again, reaching out to touch your arm. You looked at him, eyes wide with uncertain fear.

���I…I need to talk to Fowler,” you stuttered, swallowing thickly. “I can’t work this case, anymore.”

[zenithlux]

Cadence CH 4

Catch up on the story here!

I’ve gotta keep the calm before the storm, I don’t want less, I don’t want more Must bar the windows and the doors To keep me safe, to keep me warm

Head Above Water - Avril Lavigne

While Aki was only a few blocks away, Dante’s endless chatter made the walk feel miles longer. Vergil didn’t quite understand it. His brother had always been a talker, even as a child. Most of the time, Vergil simply ignored his ramblings, but Roxy was responding to everything. And that didn’t make much sense either, as she was clearly embarrassed and still in pain. Every few sentences, she’d suck in a sharp breath, regain her thoughts, and finish with a much quicker answer than she probably wanted. 

And, as much as Vergil wanted to ignore both of them… his mind wouldn’t let him. Because Dante was asking all the right questions, and that bothered Vergil more than the chatter. 

“So he was a gift from your father?” Dante said.

“Yep,” She said. “Tenth birthday.”

“So your dad worked with demons or…?”

“He studied them, yeah,” She said. “His best friend was an old demon witch doctor.”

“Is that so?”

“Diadona,” She said. “We still talk now and again.”

“What about demons interested him?”

“Dad believed that he could harness demonic energy to heal others,” she said. Another sharp breath, but this time, she continued as if it hadn't happened. “Since most demons have much stronger healing factors than humans, my father was testing the possibility of using blood to cure certain illnesses or even transplants to save a person’s life.”

“Transplants?” Vergil said. Now that was something he hadn’t heard of. The idea of implanting a piece of a demon into a human seemed… peculiar. It wasn’t like his and Dante’s devil forms that they could slip in and out of with little effort. This was figuring out how to integrate demonic organs into an incompatible host. “Was he successful?”

“On a very small scale,” She said. “I can’t recall any human tests, but he had been working with primates around the time of his death so…” Her eyes fell to Dante’s shoulder. “I was hoping I’d get his work as part of the inheritance, but it all vanished before I could see it for myself. Diadona was furious, and blamed my mother. But mother blamed me for… well…” She paused. “It’s too long of a story for this walk.”

“Naaah we get it,” Dante said with a light shrug. Roxy winced, and Vergil noticed an actual spasm in her lower back. Regular humans wouldn’t have seen it. But when Vergil’s eyes locked with Dante’s for the briefest of moments, he knew he had felt something too. “We don’t talk about our pops very often either.”

Vergil bristled at that. He expected the questions to start the second that sentence left his brother’s lips. Who’s that? Where is he? Do you know? On and on and on... He could think of dozens on his own. But, Roxy’s curt nod and quiet smile caught him completely off-guard. “I’m glad I got to spend the time with him that I did. He told all kinds of amazing stories.” She paused again. “I guess it helped me see the world a bit better.”

“What was his favorite story?” Dante said as they rounded the corner. Aki had migrated to the rooftop at the end of the block, staring down into a plaza. Vergil heard the faint sounds of lesser demons and knew this agonizing walk would be…

“He met Sparda when he was a teenager.”

Vergil nearly choked. Dante burst into laughter. Roxy blinked, confused. “Is something wrong?”

“What did he think of him?” Dante said. 

Roxy tilted her head in thought. “He said he was in awe at first, and really nervous. But Sparda was welcoming, and answered all of his questions.” She shrugged. “He only saw him once, but I think that’s what convinced my father to pursue that line of research.” 

“Did you meet him?”

“Sparda?” She shook her head. “Father said he disappeared about 15 years before I was born.”

Vergil assumed that was around the time their parents met, as Sparda had chosen to seclude the family in an attempt to protect them. It had worked for a while, but…

“How old are you?” Vergil said.

Dante practically screeched to a halt before whirling on his brother. “Vergil!” He said with a disappointed click of his tongue. Roxy winced after another, small spasm. This time, however, Dante didn’t notice. “You never ask a lady her age!”

“32,” Roxy said.

Dante groaned, glaring over his shoulder before he turned back around. “You can’t let him get away with that.”

“It’s a simple answer.”

“Well sure, but...”

“Enough,” Vergil said as he blinked to the end of the path. As expected, a group of three empusas were there, drinking an absurd amount of blood. Demonic, Vergil thought. The smell was undeniable. The red sacs on their backs were engorged with fluids, but Vergil could see swirls of black beneath; an excess of demonic blood. They wouldn’t last long. 

“Weaklings,” Vergil muttered. 

“Works for me,” Roxy slid gracefully off Dante’s back. She flinched as she landed, but walked past them both with confidence. Again, the twins exchanged glances. Except this time, Vergil wasn’t certain what was going through Dante’s mind. He was still smiling, but his eyes were clouded in thought. Was he concerned with her well-being, or lost in some other random idea that had nothing to do with the situation?

Vergil shook the thought off. No use considering it. 

“So, sunshine,” Dante said. "What's the plan?" Vergil glared at him, and Dante rolled his eyes. “Why did you of all people respond to that?”

Vergil huffed and looked away. Roxy held her hand up and whistled; a loud, short sound that echoed more than Vergil expected. The empusas’ heads shot up in confusion. A streak of purple shot off the rooftop above them, and Aki chirped once as he dove straight for her hand. A milli-second before they collided, he vanished in a flicker of bright light. In his place was a gray bow that rippled with demonic energy. Purple light swirled around the strings in an endless pulse of energy between both sides of the weapon. Metallic, purple and gray feathers fanned out from the otherwise simple grip. It was much larger than Vergil expected, given the small stature of the demon that had turned into it. But Roxy held it with ease, unbothered by the fact that it was only about a foot shorter than she was. And, to be entirely fair, it was less ridiculous than most of Dante’s devil arms, so it really wasn’t all that fantastical.

The fact that she could summon it with such ease despite her weakened state was infinitely more interesting. 

No, He chided himself. Not interesting. Insightful.

He imagined Griffon snorting at that. “Whatever you say, Shakespeare.”

“Damn,” Dante said. “That’s pretty nice.”

Roxy chuckled as she snapped her fingers. A trio of arrows appeared. A couple of empusas scrambled away. One just stood there, either too full of blood to move, or too brainless to realize what was happening. “I do apologize,” Roxy said as she nocked all three arrows with little effort. The bow shifted to accommodate as her fingers wrapped around the strings. “I can’t show you much today, but I’d love to join you again sometime.” 

As she pulled the strings back, she tilted the bow gently to the left. Energy pulsed along her arms and vanished as it reached her head. One quiet breath later, she let go. The arrows shot forward at blinding speeds, each one darting in separate directions. The first empusa died before it had time to react, the arrow piercing the sac of blood. The other two shrieked, but they too were impaled within seconds. Roxy snapped her fingers and the arrows pulsed with electricity. The creatures exploded. Demonic blood burst in all directions, congealing in the all too familiar red orbs. They hovered for a brief moment, before darting straight at Roxy. 

Dante’s eyes widened. “Wait…”

Vergil grabbed Dante’s arm, yanking him back before he could get in the way. When the orbs reached her, they vanished, just as they did for Vergil himself. And as the last of them swirled into her body, her back straightened, her shoulders relaxed, and Vergil heard a content sigh as she stretched her arms out for the first time that night. A quiet pop echoed back, but it only seemed to add to her relief. “Much better,” She said as she tossed the bow into the air. It transformed back into Aki within seconds, and the demon landed on her shoulder with a purr of satisfaction. 

“Y-you…” Dante stopped short, shook his head, and continued with that not-quite-at-ease-but-I’m-trying smile. “You absorbed them?”

Vergil resisted the urge to roll his eyes by crossing his arms in disapproval instead. “That part was quite clear, brother.”

“But I thought humans couldn’t do that.”

Roxy rubbed at her neck, breaking their gazes. “Technically,” She said. “Aki’s absorbing it. It just looks like I am.”

While that excuse seemed to satisfy Dante, Vergil’s eyes narrowed. A devil arm absorbing energy was plausible. But using that same energy to heal her? Impossible. At least, it wasn’t something he’d ever heard of. Humans couldn’t tolerate demon blood. Most who tried either went mad or turned into demons themselves. But there was nothing demonic about her, as far as he could tell. There would be more obvious signs. Her heartbeat would be different. She wouldn’t have such random aches and pains. She’d smell different. She’d probably act differently…

“Earth to Vergil!”

He blinked once before glancing at his brother. “Yes?”

Dante shook his head. “What world did you just go to? ‘Cuz it sure wasn’t this one.”

Vergil didn’t answer him. “Are we done?” He said, turning back toward Devil May Cry before either of them responded. “As fascinating as that display was, I have things to do.” He dripped that sentence in as much sarcasm as he could muster. Still, it wasn’t enough, for Roxy simply beamed at him with pride. His heart skipped in what he assumed was exasperation. “We’re going…” 

Demonic energy swept over him before he finished that sentence. A portal snapped open behind him, and a large pack of empusas spilled out in a chaotic mess. Dante sighed dramatically as he summoned his Devil Sword and propped it up on his shoulder. “Time to take out the trash,” He said. Roxy’s eyes widened for a brief moment before she yanked her gaze away. “I’ve got some magic of my own, Sunshine,” Dante said with a grin as he clapped his hand on her shoulder. 

She gasped in pain as her back spasmed. She stumbled away, fumbling for the closest wall. Except she didn’t make it, crumbling to her knees only a few steps away. “Dammit,” she hissed, hands hitting the ground. “I wasn’t ready for that.” Aki chirped in a panic, rubbing his head along her lower back as if trying to heal her. Instead, she convulsed one last time before rolling sideways, arms stretched as she stared blankly at the sky. 

Dante stared at her, dumbstruck. “What the hell…?”

She scowled at nothing. “Don’t mind me,” She muttered. “Just figured it was a good time to rest.”

“Riiight,” Dante said as he took many large steps back. “I’ll let you take care of her then, Verge.”

“What? This is your mess.” But his brother had already leaped into battle with a whoop of delight. The waves of empusas were seemingly endless, but this was child’s play to him. Vergil wouldn’t waste his time fighting over it. 

Instead, there was the problem of the woman lying at his feet. 

“So…” She said, eyes flickering toward him. Except he was out of her view, and she gave up within a few seconds. “I’m currently looking to hire a semi-friendly escort back to safety if you’re up for it. I’ll even pay extra since you’ll have to carry me.”

“Carry you?” Vergil said. “And ruin your rest?”

She sighed in defeat. “This street isn’t the most comfortable place in the world. I’d much prefer a bed."

Vergil glanced at his brother, but Dante was too engrossed in the fighting to care. And when a much larger empusa queen stepped out, Vergil knew he would be busy for quite a while. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” He muttered. 

“I mean you could leave me here,” Roxy said. “But then I’d probably get eaten, and that’s on you.”

“Technically,” Vergil said. “This is Dante’s fault.”

“Also true,” She said. “But I have a feeling you may be a little more careful with such a delicate situation.”

Vergil couldn’t decide if she was naive or painfully accurate. His mind settled on the former. “What is this strange illness of yours?”

“Long story,” She said. 

“We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, wincing. Aki hopped onto her chest and pressed his forehead to her chin. “I’ll probably fall unconscious in about… two minutes.”

“... You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

Vergil rubbed at his temples, trying to shove away his irritation. It didn’t work. “And how long will you be unconscious for?”

“A couple of hours,” She said. “It’s only my legs that don’t work, by the way. I can hold on to most anything with enough warning.”

With another, almost longing glance at his brother, Vergil sighed. He lifted her with ease, and was almost amused by the shocked look on her face. “I know I don’t weigh much,” She said wearily. “But I didn’t know I was that light.” 

Vergil said nothing, trying to ignore the painful thudding against his ribcage. If she expected him to say something else, she didn’t show it. Instead, she curled her head toward his chest as her hand half-heartedly clung to the lapel of his jacket. “Thank you,” She said, her eyes fluttering. “Hopefully next time, I’m not so much of a burden.”

“Next time?” Vergil echoed. But it was Roxy who returned the silence, as she fell asleep within seconds. “Infuriating,” Vergil muttered. 

“But at least now you’re enlightened!” 

If Vergil could strangle the bird, he would. But the fragmented memory cackled before slipping back into his subconscious where it belonged, leaving him to trudge back to Devil May Cry. 

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

Roxy left around three in the morning, and Vergil didn’t try to stop her. She’d been quiet enough, after all. If he slept even halfway like a normal person, he wouldn’t have noticed. He did, however, wander downstairs the moment he felt Aki’s presence fade away. It was the only time he could get Dante’s miserable amount of paperwork done in relative peace. It was also a good time to think. Or maybe stop thinking. He wasn’t sure which one was more important at the moment. 

But as he reached Dante’s desk, he stopped, bewildered. For there, sitting between three mounds of paperwork, was check and a bookmark.

His mind went blank for far too long before he picked it up. It was different from the last one. There was no glossy finish or smooth, plastic covering. Instead, this one was made from thick paper and laminated. The picture - a water-colored, sunset sky over mountains and a lake - looked to be hand-painted. Then, there were the words painted in perfect cursive with black ink; the same calligraphy that Vergil recognized from the cover of the book she’d given him.

Hold infinity in the palm of your hands, And eternity in an hour.

He flipped the bookmark in his hand and wasn’t surprised to see her phone number again. This time, however, she had signed her name: Roxanna. Had she made it herself? It was possible. The paint, while dry, smelled fresh, and the cursive on the front matched the name on the back. But that just confused Vergil even more. Did she often hold onto bookmarks for random people? Why would she give him another one after he’d ignored the first? What was her goal? Her plan? Did she even have one? Was he…

“So are you going to call her this time?”

Vergil flinched, but that was the only startled reaction Dante would ever get from him. “What are you talking about?” He said as he went to tuck the bookmark away. But Dante plucked it out of his hand before he had a chance. 

“Damn,” He said, followed by a low whistle. “That’s a pretty impressive second chance.”

Vergil snatched it back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never messaged her, right?” Dante said as he crossed his arms. “Guessing you ran into her on your way home or something?”

“Why does it matter?”

“You still haven’t used that number.”

“Again,” Vergil said. “Why does it…?”

“At least put it in your phone.”

“What?”

“The number.” Dante shrugged. “You’re clearly interested. At least a tiny bit.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“You carried her back,” Dante said. “Instead of asking me to do it.” 

Vergil said nothing. Dante chuckled. “You want to be a part of this world, right? Here’s your chance.” He pointed to the bookmark. “A friend.”

“A friend,” Vergil echoed. 

“Yep,” Dante sighed wistfully. “My big bro’s growing up.”

Vergil rolled his eyes, but quickly realized how tense he was. His grip on Yamato was so tight his knuckles had turned white, and the muscles in his shoulders were practically shaking from the tension. But why? What was this feeling? Anger was his first guess, but he hadn’t been angry at Dante’s teasing in months. So why…

“Don’t be afraid,” Dante said.

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then put that number in your phone.”

Vergil stared at him. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Dante watched him expectantly, tapping his foot in something between amusement and annoyance. Again, Vergil found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She had proven him both right and wrong on multiple occasions on the same day. She was a weak, injured, clueless woman who would likely drag him down. Yet, she was strong enough to wield a devil arm with incredible precision and absorbed demonic power as he and Dante did. She clearly trusted people way too easily… but she hadn’t given up on him.

“What would V do?” Dante said.

Vergil frowned, but his eyes fell back on the bookmark. Did he even know the answer to that question? V’s memories were there, of course. Always tugging on his mind whenever he tried to make such decisions. But they were rarely clear. At least, not in moments like this. Though he supposed that he hadn’t had many moments like this, so that wasn’t fair. There hadn’t been any hard decisions since returning from the Underworld. Everything just… happened around him. He took the jobs. Sent the money where it needed to go. Failed to get along with his son. Argued with his brother. That was life. 

But surely that’s not all you want?

Vergil held back a sigh and threw the bookmark at Dante. His brother snatched it out of the air before it hit - a shame, really - and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do with it?”

Vergil glared at him. “I do not… possess that knowledge.”

Dante snorted. “Dramatic as always.” He tossed his own cellphone into the air in a needless display of something and spun it twice as it landed between his fingers. His was much different than Vergil’s. Whereas Dante had gone for every upgrade under the sun - touch screen, fingerprint scanner, and a million other things Vergil didn’t care about - Vergil’s was simple. A sliding phone with a keypad which was, arguably, still more than he needed. “So you open it,” Dante said as the screen flickered on. “And you find the button that says, “Contacts.” He wiggled his fingers under the phone as if summoning a demon. 

“Quit with the theatrics.”

“But that’s the best part!”

“Do you want me to do this or not?”

Dante rolled his eyes but walked him through the rest of the steps in the most business-like tone he could manage. And while it took a few minutes, as Vergil hadn’t really looked at the phone beyond answering the occasional call, he eventually figured it out. By the end, he was left staring at his nearly empty contact list: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Nico and…

Roxanna. 

He snapped the phone closed. “There,” He said. Dante stared at him in pure horror. Vergil twitched. “What?”

“You’re not gonna message her?”

“Why would I do that?”

“How do you think she’ll get your number, dumbass?”

Vergil bit back a response, unwilling to admit that he hadn’t thought that part through. But when he reached for the phone again, he hesitated. He did not, however, miss Dante’s not-so-subtle eye roll. “Just say ‘hello’ or ‘this is Vergil’ or ‘I’m the idiot that spent two weeks ignoring you’.” He grunted as a summoned sword careened into his shoulder, but grinned back as he put his hands on his hips, not bothering to remove it. “You know, something straight to the point. Just like you.”

Vergil’s eyes drifted back to the phone. And after another long moment of silence, in which his thoughts were both frustratingly chaotic and entirely unhelpful, he tucked it back in his pocket. “Later,” He said as he blinked to the stairs. Dante sighed behind him, and Vergil was certain he heard a muttered ‘you’re hopeless, bro’. But the older son of Sparda ignored him as he slid back into his room, locked the door, and grabbed a book to calm himself. His frown deepened when he realized which book he’d grabbed: her gift that he had yet to read. But it was the only book from his small collection that he hadn’t poured through yet. Her first bookmark slipped from the back, and his eyes fell to her number once again. 

Thank you. Hopefully next time, I'm not as much of a burden. 

Vergil's hand shifted toward his pocket but stopped short.

Why? 

Why are you so… infuriating? 

Frustrated, he set the book on the bed and teleported out the window, more interested in the random demons of Redgrave than his thoughts.

[playunderground]

Introducing OVERSOUL: An Interview with Derrick Saladino

Last month, I had the pleasure of sitting down with Derrick Saladino to talk about his brand, OVERSOUL. When he pitched OVERSOUL to me in his initial email, he described it as “a lifestyle brand created from identity crisis,” and that “counterculture/subcultures like anime, gamer, emo-punk, euro-techno, and underground hiphop/b-boy culture heavily influence the brand’s creative direction.” I stared hard at the first two influences, and then stared not-as-hard at the rest of the influences, wondering how these various subcultures could overlap.

My brain being comprised of worms and dirt, I assumed that the anime and gamer influences meant that the designs were going to look like Bart Drinking Lean or Sasuke Wearing Supreme. (In other words, a caricature of anime-inspired Instagram ad streetwear.) This assumption changed quickly after taking a look at OVERSOUL’s site. Their first collection, ISEKAI, is comprised of three pieces. The logo tee and hoodie both look great, but the third piece was what really caught my attention: it’s a button-down tee adorned with daggers. At a glance, it looks nothing like anime- or gaming-inspired clothing. This was the point at which I snapped out of my irony-poisoned haze; the world of memeified, ironic-but-not-quite-ironic hentai tees and Goku Smoking Weed edits had calcified my expectations of what forms of inspiration a brand could and couldn’t pull.

It makes sense in the context of the rest of his influences and the ethos that he operates under – to get ahead of myself for a second, Derrick had this to say of his interest in various countercultures:

"When people express their passions or life to a certain degree, it just pulls me in. It’s like, ‘Okay, I don’t know what the fuck it is, but show me. Let me indulge.’ That’s really how I get into things."

In talking to Derrick, on and off the record, I saw a talented designer who was unapologetic about what he was interested in and passionate about. He’s also a huge geek that runs a bi-weekly Smash tournament at a local nightclub.

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

"Okay, wait, first and foremost, my name is Derrick Saladino and I am a fucking gamer. Before being a designer or anything, I am a fucking gamer. "

Daniel: What is OVERSOUL? 

Derrick: OVERSOUL is about identity crisis. It’s my experience dealing with that personally. Growing up, I never really fit in to particular popular groups. Every time I would attempt to make new friends, I would stumble upon the randomest shit: anime culture, gamer culture, I’d end up becoming friends with a lot of emo-punk kids, techno. Nothing that I fell into was mainstream, popular culture. It was a lot to do with being lonely and trying to make friends. With OVERSOUL, thinking about all that kind of shit, dealing with identity crisis – obviously there’s a lot of people who’ve been through that – I want to create a new identity or community of people who share similar values and, you know, take pride in it? 

I mean, even the name, OVERSOUL, I ripped the word from this really old anime that I used to watch growing up, Shaman King.

Shaman King? What the hell, like 4Kids shit?

Yeah. That wasn’t the first anime that I ever watched, but it was something that I was really into. From being like 12 to even later in my high school, I just loved it. The concept was so cool – taking a soul and imbuing it in an object to make it powerful. It just looked fuckin’ sick. When people wear my clothes, I want them to feel empowered. That’s how I want people to see it. Soul being clothing, putting it on yourself, there you go.

Spirit Integration is, I don’t think the tagline to the brand, but it’s also part of it. Spirit Integration is mind, body, and spirit, and for anyone into the spiritual side of life, that’s what makes us. Our thoughts and mind and DNA – that makes us who we are.

When I read the description on your site, I noted that you referred to OVERSOUL as not just a startup streetwear thing or a brand, but a conceptual design experience. What does this encompass, and why did you pick this specific wording?

None of the stuff I make or have made in the past is very conventional. It’s been pretty avant-garde, I would say. I’ll have an idea, and regardless of whatever trend is going on right now, I just fucking do it. When I make clothes, I’m not making clothes for the public, really. My mentality is more like, “You know what would be sick in a game? If the costume looked like this.” That’s why I say it’s a conceptual design experience.

Has being involved in the industry and working behind the scenes affected how you understand your own brand after launching? What about how you understand customers and other brands, now that you know what the design process is like?

First-off, let me just back up and go over a history of what I did before OVERSOUL. In high school, I made clothing because I hated what everyone else was wearing. This was 2011-2013. During that time, that’s when I had a brand and brands like Obey, Diamond Supply, and The Hundreds – literally peak Tumblr hypebeast, Zumiez, starter pack shit – were around. I looked around at everyone else and was like, “I can’t click that, it’s not resonating with me.”  I had two other brands after that, and then came OVERSOUL. So I have this history of kind of knowing the market, even being a consumer, and evolving as a businessman and designer. I don’t think anything has changed. I think I’ve always stayed true to doing my own shit, rather than trying to compete with everybody else. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll notice what other designers are doing and some things I’ll take note of or inspo from but I hardly think about other people, to be honest. I respect everyone’s hustle, I just can’t be doing the same shit.

Give me your top 3 video game fits.

Top 3, oh my god. Snake from Metal Gear Solid V – very techwear, utility as fuck. My previous brand before this was techwear, and I had to stop it because techwear is so hard to sell. 

I’m really into draping fashion. Cloud, Final Fantasy VII, it was the movie Advent Children – you play Smash, right? There’s two costumes in there: the black, and like this, not really skirt, but it covers up somewhat? All-black, huge sash going on, it reminded me of Yohji Yamamoto.

Something that I’m going to make in the future is inspired by Naoto from Blazblue. His outfit, I looked at it and I was like, “Yo, this could be fucking, like Chrome Hearts, like what the fuck? I’m just gonna abuse this character design, it looks amazing.” I think that fashion right now, what really gets people’s attention on social media, is just some crazy shit, I don’t mean dumb shit, but like, just has to be very bold, and I think that’s what Naoto’s character design is. His pants have this huge cross on them. I think that’s one of the most crazy things I’ve seen in awhile.

Let’s talk about Anime-den! It’s this thing that we started roughly 5 months ago. One of my best friends here, he actually works at Fortune [Sound Club, a nightclub in Chinatown], and he’s a music producer. We really bonded over clothes, anime and gaming, and we had this idea – I think we were just high as fuck one day – and I’m like, “Yo, you know what would be fucking dope? If we brought weeb shit into the club.” I think he was just joking around, but he was like, “That would be really fun to set up, we can do it.” 

[Weeb being short for weaboo, a pejorative term referring to those obsessed with Japanese culture to the point of fetishization and idolization. It’s been ‘reclaimed’ by some fans of anime, used ironically as a form of self-deprecation.]

So, the next day happens, we’re talking, and he asks me, “Do you actually wanna do it?”, taking it seriously. I’m astonished. I was fucking joking, you know? We were just some high guys. He pitches the idea to Fortune and they approve it. At this point, we’re like, “Okay, we gotta actually invest all our effort into this,” because we’re actually gonna do something that I personally haven’t seen anybody do before – bringing a game into a club, anime into the club.

It’s really cool. Just yesterday, the commentator from Vancouver Street Battle came to Anime-den. Pride? He commentated for Battle of BC 3 and Pinnacle. He has ties with Animebae, too. [Animebae is a local anime-inspired startup streetwear brand.] Who would’ve thought that this guy would come through? And he brought his friends. He was telling us that what we’re doing is sick, and hearing this from a guy of that calibre in the gaming or Smash community, it really shook us. We’re actually bringing in people who play the game seriously here. 

How has setting it in a club made it different from other tournaments that you’ve been to? How does the dynamic change?

It’s a little different because when it comes to actual competitive events, people have a different mentality when they enter. They’re there to win and they practice hard for it. As for Anime-den, it’s the total opposite. It’s very casual, we’re all just drinking, blazing, whatever. It’s just the environment where, you know, dim light in a club, there’s music going on in the back –I guess to some gamers it can seem distracting? But I think people, they don’t care. They just play. They’re just there to have fun. Totally different dynamic from an actual event. 

I think that the purpose of Anime-den is to bring people together. That’s literally what Anime-den is for.

Yeah, I just noted here that I think it’s consistent with your brand, in that you’re translating the intangibility of these digital spaces like anime and gaming that people bond over, and you’re putting it into a physical space and letting people actually further develop what these subcultures would look like in person. Like, when you think of anime or gaming in real life you think of Anime Expo or cosplaying or some shit – and that’s fine, people have fun with that [Editor’s note – I think it’s fun!] – but it’s not the only mode of expression. With events like this, I think it’s cool that you’re saying, “If you’re a gamer, there’s another avenue for you. You don’t have to dress up or anything…”

I mean, walking in today and meeting you, you wouldn’t have gotten the idea that I was super into anime or gaming. I just look like a regular dude, right? And my clothing gets inspired by it, but I don’t really look like I’m cut from the legit anime cloth. Choosing these lifestyles and putting it into this real aspect, I think it can appeal to everybody. People tend to judge a lot of things, but once you step into the Anime-den room, whatever perspective you have about anime to begin with, I’m pretty sure that changes. Man, the crowd, they look all the same as you do too. We’re all normal people, we just like cool shit.

I think we should talk about ISEKAI.

OVERSOUL’s first small collection was ISEKAI. Translated to English, it would be ‘a better world,’ and I named it that based off of the anime genre, isekai. When you watch these sort of things, it’s usually someone going to another world. For my first collection, I wanted to welcome people to my world. That’s why I chose ISEKAI. One of the big graphics for the brand was the blade shirt. [On the site, it’s name is the Beginners Dagger Shirt.] My reference for that was playing MMORPGs. Typically, the first weapon you get [in MMORPGs] is a short sword or dagger. I wanted to be like, “This is the start of my brand.” This is your starter item. It’s funny, when I tell people this – they’re always like, “I never thought…”

[laughs] It’s really cool!

That’s why I went with ISEKAI. This is what my world is. One of OVERSOUL’s long-term goals is actually establishing ‘my world,’ if that makes sense? There’s only a handful of designers who have, like, captured a signature silhouette. For example, Rick Owens. When you see [a Rick Owens piece], you know it’s Rick Owens. If Zara did the same shit as Rick Owens, you would look at it and be like, “That’s Rick Owens.” You wouldn't call it Zara. That’s what I’m trying to establish for myself, to create that silhouette for myself eventually in the future.

What’s up next for OVERSOUL? 

Hmm, how should I put this... should I leak something? I’m going to drop an accessories part sometime soon. That’s in the design process right now, but I’m looking forward to doing my next big collection.

There’s this one song that I found in the past during my peak weeb days: Plastic Love by Mariya Takeuchi. A couple of months ago, they released the first official music video for it, after like 35 years, which is fucking insane – they should have done that a long time ago. I totally forgot about the song until I saw the music video. It’s something that I could relate to before and can relate to now, and I definitely want to build my next collection based on Plastic Love.

I think Plastic Love works really well because I’m surrounded by that scene in Vancouver – I work in Yaletown, and that’s the Yaletown lifestyle. It’s very lustful, but you don’t care. It’s all fake shit, really. That’s what Yaletown culture sorta is. I wouldn’t say that I’m like that, but I think that I could definitely expand on the topic through my brand. It’s not necessarily identity crisis, but the genre and artist kind of make it a subculture.

There’s also a few collabs on the way. One with a music group, another with a tattoo artist. What I really wanna do with the tattoo artist – he does anime tattoos – is ero art. Like, erotica. I think it’s a slept-on art style. It’s not generally for the public, per se, so I think that it would be something worth making. Super ecchi, maybe line art. I want it very exaggerated, even bondage-type shit. 

There’s a lot of things where people are like, “Oh, that’s too much!” But you know what, it could be sick! This is why I do things solely for myself. As long as I get a reaction from somebody, I’m happy with that. Wanting a response, not even approval, just being acknowledged, that this shit exists, it motivates me to keep doing what I do. 

I thought about doing graphic design shit; anime erotica art goes really well with techno. That kind of scene, the way that European style posters are, if you take the art and fuse them together, it works really well. I’m like, “How come no one has done this yet?” 

So you’re treating it more like art and not just a part of anime culture?

I view anime as its own respective art, and with art, there’s no rules, so I can just take this and this, and bang. At the end of the day, everybody wants to see new and cool things. People are always going to have their own subjective opinions, but as long as you have their attention, you’ve already won the battle. That’s the mentality that I carry, that everyone has their own opinions. 

Last question: what are your top 5 video games?

You know, I was trying to prepare for this interview – I didn’t even think this would come up.

[laughs] Come on, man.

I’m gonna put Super Smash Bros. Melee on there – I’ve been playing it for so long, it’s literally been bonded with my DNA. 

I don’t wanna say Ocarina of Time, because I think that it’s everyone’s favourite, but I mean, it’s still up there. It’s an all-time masterpiece, but I enjoyed Majora’s Mask a lot more. The concept of the world being blown up by the moon, in-game time, the moon crashes in like 3 days, and you keep going back in time, skipping whatever, I think it was so much fun, so yeah. 

I really like Fire Emblem: Three Houses. It’s very recent, but I have so many hours on it already, and I can’t stop. I haven’t felt this way about a game in a long time. It’s so replayable. Once you finish Ocarina of Time, you probably don’t touch it for a while. When you play FE, you’re like, okay, let’s do the next one. There’s three houses! Even after doing all three, it’s like, “Oh, I’m gonna try again, but I’m gonna make this character like this.”

I grew up playing a lot of Roller Coaster Tycoon, unfortunately, but it’s fun. It’s not a typical gamer thing, but I love it. 

I might put Final Fantasy VII on there, too – when Aerith died, I real-life teared up, like, “Dude, no way, you’re really gonna kill her off like that? You gotta save her!”… and then she dies. I’m pretty sure after that happened, I didn’t touch the game for a week. I was actually emotionally harmed. I’m really into RPGs – being able to emotionally attach yourself to characters, I think it’s a beautiful thing. 

Any last things you wanna say?

I want my brand comparable to Chrome Hearts, MISBHV or Rude [Vogue]; when they have their own aesthetic and that’s what they do, that’s what I want to build as well. The idea that I take a lot of inspiration from gaming, it really shows.

Maybe I’m hungover, so I can’t really find the words right now, but for anyone trying to do fashion, music, whatever, as saturated as the community seems at the moment, you just have to get your foot in the door and start. Yeah, there’s competition, but to be honest, with all the people here who have brands, I’m friends with all of the people who make them, and I have no judgement about if their clothes are wack or not. Some things I don’t agree with, but everyone’s on the same hustle.

OVERSOUL’s ISEKAI collection is available now online at oversoul.online. 

[omniversalobservations]

Fandom Mashups Are On The Rise

Fact: Two fandoms are better than one. When your favorite fictional worlds collide, it’s a mashup made in fandom heaven. Fandom mashups are becoming more popular, with crossovers popping up in TV shows and movies, fan art, original cosplays, and even new collectibles, making pop culture hybrids a top trend in the geek world.

Fandom mashups have such a powerful impact because they join together two groups of extremely passionate fans — or two halves of your own geeky heart. While products and entertainment moments that feature themes from two separate worlds may be a little more niche —  not every Dungeons & Dragons fan would get schwifty with Rick and Morty — they have the ability to draw fans from one property into another. And the most accessible way for companies to pull off this concept is with gotta-have-it merch — and lots of it. With the right properties and the right fan bases, the collaborations can be seamless and maintain the integrity of each brand.

Take FOCO’s line of Game of Thrones MLB Bobbleheads, for example. The cross-licensed series pairs Major League Baseball players and mascots with Game of Thrones characters and settings. The first series merges three distinct bobblehead styles — the Iron Throne, the Night King, and the Ice Dragon Viserion — with mascots and branding from all 30 MLB teams.

“We definitely think it’s an emerging category, this cross-licensed mashup that we’re going to explore,” says Matthew Katz, licensing manager at FOCO. “… We tried to make sure we had the right balance. You don’t want to go too far one way or the other because you want to capture the people who are superfans of either baseball or Game of Thrones, and then capture those people in the middle as well.”

The bobblehead collaboration started off as a partnership for MLB’s theme nights, during which every fan who walks through the stadium gates gets a promotional item, like a bobblehead. The promotion opened the door to a conversation on how to expand at retail, especially for people who couldn’t make it to the promo nights or desired a more high-end collectible than the ones handed out at the games.

A unique aspect of pop culture mashups is that it gives the creators a bit more freedom in playing around with storytelling. The Night King was an ominous Game of Thrones villain, but he’s a bit more lighthearted when he’s wearing team-themed armor and ditching his spear for a baseball bat made of ice with the team’s logo on it.

“Developing a non-traditional product line like this gives a fresh perspective and allows a fan who has love for both brands to get a refreshed look,” says Josephine Fusezi, MLB’s vice president of global consumer products. “Being able to play with key elements from both baseball and Game of Thrones gives the consumer something different and refreshing. It also gives us an opportunity to have a little fun with our fans.”

Response to the first bobblehead series was so positive that FOCO quickly developed a followup series in just six weeks, featuring characters such as the direwolf, the Kingsguard, and a White Walker, available now for preorder. New MLB theme nights began in June for a Netflix Stranger Things collaboration, too.

Fans will also know exactly who to call with Hasbro’s new Ecto-1 Ectotron figure. The Transformers universe already has heroic Autobots, evil Decepticons, and now ghosts! The iconic Ecto-1 Cadillac from the 1984 Ghostbusters movie is now a Transformers robot — a converting Paranormal Investigator called Ectotron. The figure comes with its own Proton Pack and Slimer accessory, and it converts between Ecto-1 and robot in 22 steps.

This year marks the 35th anniversaries of both Transformers and Ghostbusters, making it an ideal year to combine the best of both franchises. A five-part origin story from IDW Publishing will also be available this year, giving fans insight on Ectotron’s background.

“Brand anniversaries not only allow us to celebrate a franchise, but we can also tap into nostalgia around a brand,” says Tom Warner, senior vice president for the Transformers franchise at Hasbro. “The Transformers and Ghostbusters brands are filled with waves of millennial nostalgia as new parents share the toys and brands they loved as children with their own kids.”

Ectotron preorders sold out within 24 hours after the figure was revealed at Toy Fair New York in February, so additional preorders were made available. Fans should also be on the lookout for other potential Transformers and Ghostbusters collaborations soon, according to Warner.

“On the surface, the Transformers and Ghostbusters franchises may seem vastly different; however, they share more in common than one may expect,” Warner says. “Both have two passionate fandoms, sharing a mutual bond over out-of-this world storytelling rooted in science fiction. When combining both worlds, our goal was to create stories and a product that stays true to the origins of both brands.”

The Avengers movies are probably the most well-known, most popular crossovers, but they weren’t the first. Think of all the “most ambitious crossover event in history” memes that circulated around the time that Infinity War came out — and how we were reminded of Disney Channel’s That’s So Suite Life of Hannah Montana, which came out in 2006, or 2003’s The Rugrats Go Wild, in which the band of babies met Eliza and her family from The Wild Thornberries, on Nickelodeon.

Entertainment crossover content is so successful because fans of these franchises can see all of their favorite characters interacting in situations they normally wouldn’t, like when the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles visited Gotham in Batman vs. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2019). In this movie, the heroes in a half-shell and the Dark Knight team up when Shredder joins forces with Ra’s al Ghul, and all of the heroes need to work together to defeat the combined might of the Foot Clan and League of Assassins.

These crossovers can also span multiple age groups, such as Sesame Street’s “Respect Brings Us Together” campaign. Two commercials launched in April featuring Elmo and Cookie Monster, one of which starred the notably at-odds Lannister siblings from Game of Thrones. And if anyone can convince Cersei and Tyrion Lannister to get along, it’s Elmo.

Fan demand for this type of content is loud and clear, as is the case with The CW’s DC Universe. The network has created crossover content yearly since 2014 through its DC TV shows, starting with Arrow and The Flash. At the time, in December 2014, the two-part Arrowverse crossover between the two shows was the most-watched December telecast in seven years for the network, and the most-watched episode for both shows since their respective series premieres.

In 2016, the network’s #DCWeek event delivered The CW’s most-watched week in six years, featuring a four-night DC crossover between Arrow, The Flash, Supergirl, and DC’s Legends of Tomorrow. The CW’s fifth-annual Arrowverse crossover last year, Elseworlds, introduced Gotham City and Batwoman into the mix, and concluded with a tease of the Crisis on Infinite Earths crossover, set to air this fall.

The ratings for The CW’s crossover events clearly show that fans crave this content, and it’s safe to say we can expect more of it in the future.

Pop culture mashups also come from the most important community: the fans themselves.

While manufacturers and entertainment companies have the power to bring pop culture mashups to the masses, fans can express themselves through cosplay and fan art — without the shackles of licensing rights getting in the way. And here, creativity is key. Out-of-the-box fan mashups, including one-of-a-kind cosplays and stunning illustrations, all have one thing in common: They fuse two things that would likely never be together otherwise.

Eric Proctor is a digital artist at TsaoShin who draws vibrant fantasy pieces, with a heavy focus on pop culture artwork. His gallery features bright, fun, and whimsical pieces that incorporate characters, such as Stitch from Lilo & Stitch and Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon.

“For me, the crossovers are a Venn diagram where the two circles completely overlap of things that I absolutely love,” Proctor says. “So, any crossover that I’m currently doing is going to just be just that I love A and I love B, and I’d love to see A and B together.”

Proctor is currently working on an ongoing Grumpy Cat and Disney series, which had accidental roots. Proctor bought a new rig and tablet for his illustration setup and was practicing with his new equipment. He sketched out the iconic The Little Mermaid scene in which Ariel is singing on the rock with water splashing around her, and because he doesn’t like drawing people, he drew in Grumpy Cat as a last-minute decision. He showed it to his friends, expecting to delete it, but then people asked him what Disney scenario he was going to put Grumpy Cat into next — and the series was born.

“I say that I love both of those things, but one of the things I felt so guilty about making that particular series is that I really, really love Disney, but I’m putting Grumpy Cat in a scenario where it’s just ruining it,” Proctor says. “It’s this little bit of dark humor where you’re like, ‘I really love Disney, but honestly if Grumpy Cat was in it, this is probably what would happen.’ So it’s taking something that’s a little sacred and then ripping it to shreds a bit. I think the humor was one of those things I had to play around with.”

Proctor is currently working on his next Grumpy Cat Disney installment, a Cinderella-themed piece titled “Bippidi Boppidi No.” It will show the scene from the animated film in which the fairy godmother grants all of Cinderella’s wishes, but with everything completely ruined, such as a pumpkin dress, Lucifer the cat being the size of a horse, and other mishaps.

“It’s one of those situations where it’s so easy to imagine a lot of those crossovers together; they seem so real and fitting that it just feels like a marriage of two ideas that you’ve enjoyed both of those things so much,” Proctor says. “For me personally, when I look at a crossover that just succeeds so well, I just get so happy because someone else saw the thing that put those two things together and they made that real.”

With pop culture mashups, fans get to express themselves in a whole new way, and manufacturers and entertainment companies are taking note of the increasing fan demand and creative potential. The possibilities are limitless.

Source: The Pop Insider

(image via DeviantArt)

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt. Four: Ha! Ha! Said the Clown

Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow; Sunday, May 2nd 1991

Malky gave the big chauffeur a sideways look, crossed his arms, casually leant on the door post and refused to shake the extended hand.

Gorringe wasn’t offended, just mildly surprised. He looked at his unshaken hand and frowned. He ummed & ahhed, looked left and right and spoke hesitantly, rubbing his neck as if about to ask a contention question, “Erm... see, the boss sent me ‘ere wiv a proposition... ‘E instructed me to... that is...” he paused, stepped up so that they were face-to-face and pleaded for relief with beseeching eyes, “Lissen mate, can I use your lavvy? I’ve been on the road fer ovah-an-hour ‘n that last cuppa I ‘ad before I left the ‘ahse is abaht to bust me bladdah!”

It was an old salesman’s ploy and Malky knew it, and the chauffeur knew he knew it, nevertheless he cringed and gritted his teeth, “No messin’ guv - I’m this close to pissin’ me strides!” He seemed genuinely stricken, so after a second or two’s deliberation, Malky decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and stood aside, issuing a caution as he dashed by, “Straight in-and-out, mind. And don’t use the urinals – they’re not plumbed-in yet – use one of the stalls! OK?”

Gorringe already halfway there, “I don’t care if it’s a bucket -- I gotta go!”

Just as the door to the gents closed, Zindy walked through from the kitchen, “Who is it? Sales rep? Reporter?” she asked, wiping her oil-blackened hands with a rag, her elfin face smeared with black smuts. Malky was still at the door, looking out at the darkened windows of the Rolls, “... no, he’s somebody’s chauffeur. You should see the car he’s driving.”

Zindy lifted the waiter hatch and struggled through, “Ooow, I’ve been bent over too long, I’m all stiffened-up!” she groaned, clutching the small of her back with both hands so that her swollen tummy popped out of her denim shirt revealing an oily palm-print on the ivory-white skin of her bump. Malky closed the door, “There’s quite a draught – you can look out through the window.”

“For God’s sake a bit of sea air will do me good!”

Malky tapped her butt, “Aye, because you’re doin’ bloody auto-repairs on the kitchen table and the place stinks to high-heaven of gloss, varnish, engine oil and Swarfega! That child o’ mine must be gettin’ high on the fumes!”

Zindy made yakety-yak signs with her hand and said “I’m trying to save us some money, it’d cost us a bomb to take that van to a mechanic.”

“... because you’ve fallen out with all the local mechanics, haven’t you?” he chided ironically, “There isn’t a garage within a 30-mile-radius who’ll touch it, is there? Anyway, it’s a false economy. It’ll breakdown in the middle of nowhere and you’ll have to ring one of the garages for a tow-truck and the whole shebang will cost us three times as much as it would if we’d gone to a garage in the first place -– that’s not factoring-in the chance of an accident - or you gettin’ stranded high and dry – then whoosh – your waters break!”

“Jeezus Christ! You’re startin’ to scare me!” she cried.

“It’s a possibility -- like what if you breakdown and you fall getting out of the van -- or somebody comes round the corner too fast and hits you or something leaks in the engine and it goes up in a ball of flames...?”

“Why dontcha just swaddle me in bubble-wrap, pack me in polystyrene, stick me in an air-conditioned coffin and feed me through a tube til September! Oh I say, tally-ho, chaps,” she’d seen the stranger’s car, “a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, no less,” she said, appreciatively, looking out of the window, “who comes to a place like this in a car like that?”

Meanwhile, Brooster was listening at the parlour door, “What’s goin’ on?” a voice whispered behind him, making him jump and almost fall over. It was Sammy, the silver-bearded, blood-spattered ghost of the inn’s elderly barman, crouching behind him with his hands on his knees. Brooster looked him in the eye and asked him with a thought: Why are you creeping about and whispering when only I can see and hear you?

Sammy stood up, stroked his beard and mused aloud, “Aye, I s’pose that’s true... Well then – I’ll just do this!” He walked through the wall, into the occupied cubicle, looked the urinator up-and-down and shouted to the old dog, “It’s a chauffeur. Big bloke. Ex-army – British army – he has a regimental pin. Big dick, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Broo wasn't at all impressed by the resident phantom’s crude behaviour – one of these days the stupid old fool will walk in on a Sensitive and scare the life out of them (actually, that eventuality would be fortuitous – because escape from This Life and Ascent into The Next requires a death within the parameters of the haunting and in the three years since Sammy had been shot and killed by Barry McKee, the only candidate so far had been an elderly deep-sea fisherman suffering with angina and a bad case of hay-fever who died two days later after a particularly violent sneeze –- at home in his own bed. Sammy whined as he opined: “Why couldn't the auld eejit have snuffed-it here?! Some people have no manners at all! At this rate, I’ll have to wait for Malky to croak - and he’s got another ten years in him at least!”).

The chauffeur exited the gents and convened with Zindy and Malky. Zindy was friendly and bright and offered him a cup of tea; Malky was cagey and glum. But that’s Malky. Sammy, reclining on the couch to watch the movie, actually made an insightful comment, “He’s an Englishman and Zindy misses the company of Englishmen. She’ll bend his ear for an hour and then he’ll be off back to whoever he drives for: probably some auld oul’ banker or one of those rich pop stars who've been buying houses over here lately.” He pointed at the remote, “C’mon, turn the sound on. I love the old black and white fillums!”

The old dog was paying him no heed. He was enjoying familiar feelings of excitement and trepidation, that tingle in his pelt that told him the visitor was significant and he should prepare himself for important news. And sure enough, the chauffeur didn’t thank his hosts for the use of the amenities and return to his vehicle, he was taken to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat!

Sammy was still harping on, “Dog?! D’ya hear me? Hit the button that turns the sound back on!”

Oblivious, Brooster snuck down the hall, took-up position at the kitchen door and listened.

Sammy shouted from the parlour, “Ach, c’mon, you know I can’t press the buttons...?” Broo ignored him and harkened to the conversation around the kitchen table.

Once Gorringe had completed his ablutions and emerged from the gents refreshed, Zindy introduced herself and took him into the kitchen for a cuppa. They hadn't had much company lately and this was the first Englishman she’d met in ages so she was chatty and vivacious. Malky was characteristically sniffy and suspicious. He wouldn't sit down and slowly paced the floor by the backdoor and let Zindy do all the talking. She began by apologising for the engine parts on the kitchen table, told him to park his arse and have a Mikado. He took a biscuit, but kept well back from the table lest oil, paint or any other petroleum-based-product come into contact with his immaculate whistle, “Is that a Lancashire accent I ‘ear?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Zindy grinned, “Aye - Salford! ‘Ow can you tell?” she said, ironically.

“Heh-heh, two of me best mates is from Salford! Salts of the erf, they is, diamonds to a man. We ‘ad a couple of tours in Cyprus in the late fifties and then they was sent to... umm,” he suddenly stopped talking. He realised he was in the Republic of Ireland talking to a pair of total strangers about old friends serving in an occupying force and quickly changed the subject. He beheld her swollen belly and asked, sheepishly, “Ahem, ‘ow many mumphs ‘ave you got before the big day then, sweet’eart?”

“I’m due in late July or early August,” she replied, she replied, “Just wait til I’m at full-term, I’ll look like a two-legged Space Hopper in a pink-wig!”

Malky lost patience, coughed theatrically, walked forward and put an end to the sparkling repartee, “So, Mr Gorringe, what can we do for you?”

The chauffeur put up a hand and waived the formalities, “Oh, call me ‘Erbie, please, Mr Calvert. Nobody calls me Gorringe ‘cept the boss when ‘e’s in a bad mood. Everybody else calls me ‘Erbie.”

Malky sighed, “Then, what can we do for your boss, H-erbie?”

“Malky! - don’t be so rude!” Zindy snapped.

Herbie shook his head, “Nah, ‘e’s got every right to be wary, sweet’eart. I’m beatin’ arahnd the bush, as it were, I really should explain meself,” his face took on a pained expression of someone who knew that what he was going to say next would either elicit gales of laughter or get him forcibly ejected from the premises forthwith; he carefully set down his teacup, laced his fingers on his lap and spoke without looking at his hosts, “Well, y’see, my boss, see... ‘e’s not a superstitious man by nay-cha but, ‘e’s got it into ‘is ‘ead...” he sighed heavily, looked up at Malky and bit the bullet, “Look – ‘e thinks the ahse ‘as been invaded by ‘a poltergeist’ and ‘e wants a consultation. Y’know, whether you can confirm or deny, that sort of thing.”

Malky’s heart sank. He threw up his hands and whined, “Fer cryin’ out loud! Another crank! A rich crank, but a crank nonetheless!”

[In the aftermath of the Barry McKee case, there had been numerous requests for newspaper interviews, TV documentaries and even a book deal with movie-options that would have set them up for the rest of their lives, but Malky had rejected them all out-of-hand. Zindy was slightly exasperated but mostly impressed by his innate integrity and refusal to exploit his adventures - then sometimes she wished he had his price, just enough to afford a decent refit. But he doggedly kept to his Code and slowly-but-surely, the phone stopped ringing, people stopped arriving at the door and they settled into what was, in Malky’s case, blissful isolation in a place he loved as a child; for Zindy, it represented normality and domesticity, something she needed after years of living in the fast lane.]

She was too taken with their visitor to dismiss the offer out of hand, “Wait til you ‘ear what Herbie ‘as to say before you go on a rant, Mr Sour-Balls!”

Malky leaned against the fridge and crossed his arms, “He can say what he likes but it won’t make a ha’penny’s worth o’ difference. We live by a Code remember?”

“’Code?’” Herbie looked from one to the other.

Zindy harrumphed and rhymed-off Malky’s charter to their bemused visitor, “Malky’s Code: he won’t have anything to do with the supernatural stuff... he won’t have anything to do with the media... he won’t write a book even though he’s been offered a lotta money...”

Malky: “-- and with good reason! Once you make contact -– you let them in! They’ll be writing begging letters, making pilgrimages to our door!”

Herbie, slightly embarrassed that he’d caused trouble in paradise, assured them, “You come very ‘ighly recommended, y’know – by the Gardai commissioner ‘isself, no less...”

Malky’s jaw dropped, “What?!” he gasped.

“Oh gawd, I knew this would be a nightmare...” Herbie muttered under his breath, grimacing like a man tiptoeing through a minefield wearing a blindfold; he elaborated in an apologetic tone, “... a couple o’ weeks ago, the boss was at one of them grand-banquet dos they ‘ave in Dublin City where the top-nobs can ‘obnob -- y’know the sort o’ fing, VIPs, the politicians an’-all-that-lot. Well, the commissioner was seated next to the boss and they got talkin’ about strange cases and your name came up, an’ when ‘e mentioned that Barry McKee business a few years ago, the boss wuz all ears 'n ‘e got the commissioner to get your address...?”

Malky was furious, “The Barry McKee case was as weird as they come, but it wasn't anythin’ to do with the supernatural -- it was to do with the fact that he’s a schizo who liked to kill little girls.”

Herbie raised his eyebrows, “So all that tawk abaht ‘im bein’ possessed is just bollocks?”

“Well, he thought he was possessed, he heard voices...” Zindy was about to elaborate when Malky shot her a what-the-hell-look.  She took umbrage, “So what did happen, Malcolm? Why don’t you explain it?”

“You should know -- you were there -– we nearly died!” Malky snapped back.

“Yeah -- but who ‘elped us?! ‘Ow did the dog find them bodies in the woods? Who told 'im where to go?!”

Sensing trouble in paradise, Herbie reached into his inside-pocket and took out a large brown leather wallet, “Look, I tell you wot, if it makes it any easier,” he pulled out a folded slip of paper and set it on the table so that it stood like a little greetings-card, “the boss gimme this blank cheque ‘n awforised me to offer ya 7 grand to come up to the ‘ahse and ‘ave-a-butcher’s. If you can get rid of the spook, he’ll give you anovver free grand. That’s 10 grand! More, if ‘e’s really pleased! ‘Is pockets are deep, believe me.”

“Something strange in your neighbourhood? Who you gonna call...?” Malky sang.  

“I don’t think even the Ghostbusters would get 10 grand for one night’s work?!” gasped Zindy, £-signs in her eyes.

Heartened that the hostess seemed keen, Herbie went for the hard-sell, “7 grand just to ‘ave a shufti, 10 grand if you get rid of it. What would money like that mean to you two?” he said, looking at Zindy’s bump.

Malky saw his better-half look around the kitchen, read her mind and reminded her with a wagging finger, “Don’t start...!”

Zindy wagged straight back, “The Code of Silence made sense in the beginnin’ when we wuz inundated with whackos, weirdoes ‘n’ wankers of every stripe – before we ‘ad money trouble and baby on t’way!”

Malky pointed and laughed sardonically, “Did you just say that? Who the hell are you?!”

The chauffeur turned to Malky and spoke softly, “Lissen Mr C -- I fink the old man’s barkin’ up the wrong tree too, but ‘e’s at his wit’s end – ‘e finks there’s an ‘evil spirit’ out to get ‘im! Now, I ain't seen anythin’ myself, just the aftermaff - but ‘e says fings fly across the room, y’know, ornaments ‘itting the wall, books falling from shelves, that sort of fing. E’s afraid to go rahnd the ‘ouse on ‘is own. If it goes on for much longer, ‘e’s likely to ‘ave a stroke or ‘eart attack, the poor old git.”

“Who is 'e?” Zindy and Malky asked, in perfect harmony.

Herbie paused for a second then said: “Oliver Laphen.”

“Ollie Laphen?! ‘The Quare Geg’?!” cried Malky; amazed and delighted, he duly eschewed his standoffishness, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“The old movie star? The hellraiser?” asked Zindy, only slightly impressed.

“Yip, that Ollie Laphen,” said Herbie, sheepishly, as if confessing a cardinal sin.

“My God. Ollie Laphen! That takes me back a-ways...” Malky enthused, whimsically, looking up, as if viewing the memory in a thought balloon hovering just above his head, “...in Belfast in the late 50s when me ‘n me younger brother Dessie were kids, we used to see his films at the Roy Rogers’ Movie Club at the Curzon on Saturday mornings and we loved the ‘Laffin Boy’ shorts he made in the early 30s when he was still called ‘Ollie Laffin’. Jeez, we must’ve seen them all at least 10 times each...!”

Zindy left Malky to wander down Memory Lane and got down to business, “And ‘’e’s willing to pay Malky 7 grand just to look round ‘is ‘aunted ‘ouse?!”

Herbie smiled and nodded.

Although mightily tempted, Malky still wasn't moved, “Nah – it smacks of exploitation. I’m not goin’ to take advantage of an old man who’s probably in the primary stages of senility... Oh, sorry, Herbie...”

The chauffeur shrugged and nodded, “You’re singin’ to the choir guv.  That’s what us lot reckoned, too - but in every ovver respect he’s fine. ‘E’s cantankerous and narky like ‘e always is, but ‘is memory’s fine - e’s workin’ on a one-man-show and ‘e don’t even ‘ave to look at the book. ‘E reads all ‘is contracts – even the small print - ‘e writes ‘is memoirs... If it is senility, then this poltergeist fing is the only symptom.” He winked, “Tell-you-wot -- why dontcha meet ‘im ‘n’ see for y’self.”

Malky had to smile. It was like being coerced by an aging Artful Dodger. He now knew how the big chauffeur had kept a job for so many years: Herbert Gorringe has made a career out of getting the boss exactly what he wants, by hook or by crook.

“Lissen, if you fink it’s all a loada ol’ cobblahs, you can tell ‘im so - take the money - and I’ll drive you ‘ome. No ‘assle. No one will ever know. Mr Laphen certainly won’t be tellin’. You know ‘ow much ‘e ‘ates the press.”

Zindy looked at Malky and batted her eyelids, “No one will ever know and you’ll have a great story to tell our kids.”

“Oh – you’re not coming?” said Malky, with a raised eyebrow.

Zindy indicated the engine parts on the table, “No time, lover –- we need the van back on the road by mornin’ cos I ‘ave to go to Arklow and pick-up the grocery order and fetch more paint from the DIY store. Incidentally, I’ll be ‘using’ t’credit card - you know the one I mean -– the one we owe £3,400 on?”

“My God woman, have you no shame?!” said Malky, semi-seriously, shaking his head with exasperation.

Herbie held up the cheque and flicked it with a finger, “A lotta lolly for a few hours’ work, my friends.”

“C’mon, Malk. Like ‘Erbie says, the ol' boy’s loaded and it’s only one night...?”

Malky stared at his paint-spattered hands and had a rethink: you’ll to get away from the smell of varnish and gloss, meet the great Ollie Laphen and have a look round his house...  “Well... I suppose one night wouldn't be so bad... ?”

Deal sealed, Herbie sighed with relief, got to his feet and shook Malky’s hand. Malky looked at Zindy and shook his head, “You know you’ll never hear the end of this, dontcha?”

Zindy grinned, “Careful Ollie Laphen’s poltergeist don’t drop summat ‘eavy on yer ‘ead, chook!”

Malky held his sides and pretended to cry tears of laughter.

“Oh yeah - one other fing,” said Herbie, looking around, “The commissioner-bloke told us that you usually work wiv a free-legged German shepherd...?”

Right on cue, the beast in question nosed the door open and sauntered into the room, someone call?

[Broo and Malky had a semi-telepathic link; they couldn't communicate directly, but over the years following the Barry McKee saga, they’d developed an intuitive sense of what the other was thinking.]

Malky glared, you heard all that didn’t you?

The old dog grunted, I can hear the rats building a nest three-doors-down, you twit - of course I heard. And I must say, it’s about time we had a case...

“It’ll be a bit of a lark, won’t it?” chirped Zindy, putting Malky’s toothbrush and shaving kit into his overnight bag. She gave the once over and shook her head, “you’re a walkin’ disaster. Things wrinkled as soon as you put them on.” She lifted the comb and tried to do something with his hair.

Her other-half still hadn't warmed to the idea, “Lark? It’ll be no laughing matter for me, wandering around some creaky, chilly stately-home all night with that grumpy hound at me heel.”

Broo growled back.

She stooped slightly and pointed the comb at the old dog, “Now listen – Broo – you be patient w’ ‘im and remember that ‘e ‘ates all this kinda spooky stuff,” she turned back to her man, “and Mal, you remember that Broo is old and crotchety and prone to snarkiness.”

How dare you madam! I’ll have you know my intellectual capacity is at its peak! The father of your child is the one with questionable mental faculties, not me!

Standing on tiptoe, Zindy cupped Malky’s cheeks and gave him one of her pep-talks, “Listen, chook... take a look round, if you don’t find anythin’ or it looks like a set up, or it don’t feel right -- whatever -- I’ll understand if you don’t take the money, OK?”

Malky was confused, “Then why....?”

She put a finger on his lips, “I’d appreciate a little time on me own, OK? Nothing sinister, just some time to meself. We've been in each other’s pockets day-and-night for 2 year now, so tonight -- for one night only -- I’m gonna finish workin’ on the soddin’ van, ‘ave a bath, write a coupla letters and get an early night. Meanwhile, you get to spend the night in a luxurious mansion in the company of yer boyhood hero.”

She wants a break from you, and who can blame her.

Malky shot the dog a reproachful glance, then smiled when he turned back to his better-half, “You don’t need to explain, Zin. You've got what’s commonly known as Calvert Fatigue.”

She pushed him out onto the landing, “Now fook off. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Broo surveyed the stray cats lined long the parapet of the old burned-out cinema. They had gathered to watch the Rolls roll by, just like they had at the time of the McKee affair: further confirmation, to him at least, that this journey was significant. He resolved to pay attention to every detail and use all his powers... to get to the bottom... of (yawn)... whatever....zzzzzzz He was asleep within 10 minutes. Malky looked over his shoulder and scowled. Lazy sod.

Herbie took the scenic route and drove slowly. The hedgerows bustled-by lackadaisically, the dry-stone-walls refused to become a grey-white blur as £400,000 worth of Rolls Royce shook ‘n’ shimmied along bumpy country lanes and pot-holey side-roads at a leisurely 32mph. He was enjoying the view of the misty Wicklow mountains, and despite the nip in the breeze and the baleful skies, he wound down his window and leaned out to take the air -- which reeked of compost and slurry, but which was entirely to his taste -- “Aaaaah! Smell that?! Laaave this cahntryside, I do! Y’know, at least once a day, I stop what I’m doin’ ‘n give fanks that we landed back ‘ere and not blahdy Swizzer-land. Swizzer-land,” he sneered. “I ‘ate blahdy Swizzer-land. The boss wuz a tax-exile for a while y’see...” He went on to list the many shortcomings of the Swiss in his bouncy cockney twang. Malky repressed the overwhelming urge to shout for Christ’s sake shut-up and step on it! and tuned him out. There he was, on his way to do something he didn’t want to do for people he didn’t want to know in a place he didn’t want to be, and the longer it took to get there the more the prospect bothered him. Bloody cheek, that Gardai Commissioner handing my name & number out to all-and-sundry – I should sue! ... Bloody hocus-pocus and hoodoo-voodoo... but as usual, money talks and principles go out the window... money, money, money... she’ll be setting up a Supernatural Detective Agency next... She’ll be advertising it in the paper...

Seemingly oblivious to the ennui emanating from the fidgety heap of grumpiness beside him, Herbie continued to natter away about getting acclimatised to the snail’s-pace of pastoral Irish life after so many years spent in the fraught, hustle-&-bustle of Hollywood: “They’re as nice-as-ninepence to ya just so long as yer putting bums on seats and bags of lolly in the bank – if not - they’ll drop ya like ‘ot potatah! Fankfully, the boss is always bankable – you put ‘is name on a marquee and you’s guaranteed a profit! ‘E still ‘as a core fanbase of millions who’ll come to everyfink ‘e’s in!”

Malky grunted a hollow, listless “Oh really?”

Unfazed, Herbie whispered in Malky’s ear: “Lissen, mate, if you wanna take the edge-off - ‘ave a drop of Irish. The boss keeps a flask in the glove-compartment for emergencies.”

Malky was caught off-guard and answered in an embarrassed stutter, “Er, no thanks, I don’t drink...”

“‘Recovering alcoholic’, are ya?” Herbie asked.

Although wholly nonplussed by the man’s audacity, Malky replied without raising his voice, “Let’s just say I had a problem at one time and leave it at that, shall we?”

But Herbie continued to pry, “Don’t take this the wrong way, pal, but you have the look of a man who’s no stranger to --”

“Oi! Enough!” Malky barked (Brooster woke up with a start), “Keep yer eyes on the road, Jeeves! Just cuz yer boss is willin’ to pay 7 grand for my services doesn’t give ye the right to dig into me personal life!”

Herbie was visibly taken aback by this unexpected tirade; he pulled down the peak of his cap so that it covered his eyes, straightened up in his seat, took the car up to a steady 40, and after a brief pause, spoke in a more professional tone, “I wuz only makin’ conversation, sir. If I’ve offended you in any way, I ‘umbly apologise and beg yer pardon, sir.”

“Forget it.” Malky turned away and looked out of the window.

A minute or two passed, and as the little surge of adrenalin dissipated, so the embarrassment sank in and he decided to restart the conversation, “Did I hear you tell Zindy you were in the army?”

Still somewhat narked, the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road and gave his name rank and number with the clipped diction of a well-drilled soldier, “Queen’s Royal Irish Fusiliers, 17 years: Corporal Herbert Valentino Gorringe 2063 reporting for duty, sah.”

Malky smiled, “Valentino?”

Herbie made a face, “It was that or Rudolph. My ol’ mum was a big fan. She was in-con-sole-able when ‘e died, grieved fer days, apparently.”

Where was another protracted pause, until Malky said, “I used to meet a lot of Tommies in Belfast in the early days of the Troubles. Seen a good few murdered, too. Bad times.”

The chauffeur turned slightly so that he could look Malky in the eye, “You wasn't chucking the ol’ Molotovs, was ya? You ain’t an ex-IRA man or anyfink like that, ‘is ya?!” Au contraire. Malky told him he was an ex-RUC policeman. Herbie was very interested, visibly relieved and wholly amazed, “Really? If you don’t mind me saying so - you don’t strike me as the type...?”

“My ambition was to be a detective, but I never made it out of uniform. I quit after my partner was gunned down right beside me and I went off the rails a bit and... Well, y’know...” Malky’s voice trailed off.

Herbie shook his head, “Gunned down right beside you? That’s rough that is.”

“But surely you’ve had near-death experiences yourself, Herbie, especially after 17 years in the army...?”

“Well, I wuz too young to serve in the war. I turned 17 the day after VE day. I didn’t join-up til the September of 46. And I never did no tour of duty in Norvern Ireland neevah, I was mostly overseas in Cyprus and the Middle East. We was part of a UN peace-keeping force tryin’ to keep the tribes apart: Jews, Muslims, Christians – not to mention the Greeks and the Turks! Bit like Belfast, but wiv loadsa sun, sand and bearded blokes in pyjamas wiv machine guns. Mind you, I saw the aftermaff of a lotta bombs, I saw fousands killed in genocides... terrible, ‘orrible it was... But I never really saw battle, just ‘minor skirmishes’. Luck, I suppose. It was during a tour of Norf Africa in 64 when I first met the boss!”

“Really,” asked Malky, suddenly interested, “you met oul’ Ollie while you were still in the army? You've been with him that long?”

Herbie was back on his favourite subject and relishing the opportunity to impart his favourite anecdote to a captive audience: “Oh yeah, it was me firtiefth birthday and I was on a day’s leave, so me and a couple of the lads went to Casablanca to paint the tahn several shades of crimson... and after a bit of a pub crawl rahnd the Kasbahs, I got separated from me mates, and while I was lookin’ fer ‘em, I strolls into this dark little tavern and sittin’ there in a corner was Oliver Laphen! Would you Adam ‘n’ Eve it?! ‘E was supposed to shootin’ an adventure movie wiv David Niven about archaeologists in World War Two called Diamonds in the Dust –- but he was skivin’-off cuz he’d ‘ad a row with the director and ‘e was layin’-low -- he didn’t wanna ‘ang round the ‘otel, so ‘e’s ‘iding-out in this dark little Kasbah, trying to be inconspicuous – wearin’ a black wig, big black shades, a kaftan and a fez - but I knew ‘im the minute I set eyes on ‘im! See, our CO was a big fan. He ‘ad all the reels of the comic shawts from the late 30s and some of the feature films the boss made for Paramahnt in the 40s – he used to get ‘em sent ovah and screen ‘em for the lads on a Satur’ay night! Anyway - there ‘e is, in the flesh, so-to-speak! Oliver Laphen! Jolly Ollie! So I go over an’ I say, ‘Can I ‘ave your autograwph Mr Laphen, sah?’ and at first ‘e‘s fumin’ – ‘e goes-off-on-one! Then ‘e calms dahn and says to me – ‘’ow the eff did you know it was me?!’ and I say ‘It’s the way you’re ‘olding your drink!’ Cuz ‘e’s always had this way of curling back ‘is little finger as if ‘e’s drinkin’ from the finest choy-nah. E ‘as these delicate li’l ‘ands, see...”

As he watched the chauffeur get more-and-more animated, Malky came to understand how a sensible, seemingly-well-balanced ex-squaddie like Herbert Valentino Gorringe could forsake marriage, family and blissful conformity just to spend his life at the beck-and-call of -- if popular opinion had it right -- a detestable, despotic, volatile, cranky little egomaniac like Oliver Laphen. Well, now he knew. Herbie wasn't just a fan – he was in love with the man. The pair’s long-term relationship had outlasted all of ‘The Quare Geg’s’ marriages put together. No wonder the story was related with such gusto and attention to detail, it was, after all, an epic romance.

“.... any’ow, at 400 hours, I ‘ad to get back to base, but before I go ‘e takes me to one side an’ ‘e says – ‘’Erbie, if you quit the army ‘n become my chauffeur and personal bodyguard, I’ll guarantee you a 50 knicker a week for starters, bed-‘n’-board - all the skirt you can ‘andle – plus -- you’ll get to see the world without ‘avin’ to worry abaht gettin’ yer ‘ead blown orf!’ So I laugh ‘n’ say I’ll fink about it. I fanked him for the best night of my life and we say ta-ra. I go back to camp finking it wuz all the blustah and idle boasts of a booze-‘ahnd and forgot abaht it.  But it didn’t stop ‘im. When ‘e asked for the fird and final time, I quit and I’ve been at ‘is beck-‘n’-call ever since.”

“Was it worth it, Herbie?” Malky asked.

The chauffeur thought long and hard about the question before answering. When he did, his voice was more mature and thoughtful, “E can be an ‘andful sometimes, but artistic people is prone to temperament, it’s ‘ow they’s able to do the fings they do. But I’ve learned ‘ow to balance it aht. I’ve been all over the world, visited all the major cities ‘n’ ‘istorical places... I’ve met a lotta Very Important People – besides movie stars an’ showbiz folk, there’s been world leaders, presidents, kings and queens, writers, top sportsmen – so whenever people awsk ‘’ow do you put up wiv ‘im?’ I say ‘take a look at me passport, me photos and me bank accahnt, moosh - there’s ‘ow!’” He turned to Malky and told him earnestly, “See, I’ve gotta lotta great memories. I’ve seen ‘istory bein’ made. I’ve supped Earl Grey wiv Picasso and knocked back bourbon wiv Dean ‘n’ Frank. I’ve made an omelette fer Einstein an’ cocktails for Noel Coward. I’ve played cards wiv Kate Hepburn for two straight days - and lost. No matter what the ol’ boy gets up to, I wouldn't trade those memories for the world.... Umm...” Something crossed his mind. When he spoke again, it was in a more tentative tone, “Look, before we get to the ‘ahse, I’d better mention the incident on Friday night wot started ‘im off.”

“Why? What happened on Friday night?” asked Malky, a little disconcerted.

“I was away visitin’ a lady-friend in Dublin, an’ apparently all the lights went aht and the ‘uge grandfavver clock in the lobby fell over and smashed on the floor -– the boss was frightened outta his wits -- fought it was burglars – so ‘e pressed one of the panic buttons and Charlie, our ‘ead of security, drove up to the ’ahse right away. But the power-cut musta shorted-aht the alarm system cuz ‘is swipe-card wouldn't work and the master key wouldn't turn in the lock! So, finkin’ ‘e’s under siege, the ol’ man pressed the button that calls the Old Bill, but by the time they got there, Charlie ‘ad managed to get in ‘n’ calm the old man down. Then the lights come on again – not just the lights that wuz on when the power went aht – but every single light in the ‘ole ahse including the bedrooms, bathrooms, the ballroom -- everywhere. By this stage, the boss is goin’ mental. Really, really scared.

“When I got back I got a right bollockin’ as if it was all my fault – like I ‘ad the temerity to ‘ave a night off! Any'ow, me ‘n’ Charlie searched that ahse from top to bottom; the cops  ‘n’ the security lads looked round the grounds, but we come up empty... there wuz nothin’ up iv the fuse-box, no sign of tamperin’ or anyfink dodgy.”

“Would the grandfather clock be easy to topple?” said Malky.

“Well, it’s set into the wall ‘n’ it’s solid, antique Bavarian pine, 9 foot tall wiv a ruddy great bell in it; it’s got a solid gold pendulum and it weighs around a two-and-an-‘alf ton, I couldn’t pull it dahn on me own.” Gorringe coughed then said, “And that’s the ovver fing... the boss’ been back on the bottle ever since, and if you know anyfink about the boss, you’ll know that ‘e’s a bit... volatile when ‘e’s on the sawse. So, ignore any strange behaviour, if y’know what I mean.”

Malky was a trifle miffed at being apprised of these tidings so late in the day; he was about to ask if there was anything else he should know when Herbie suddenly brightened and declared, “And ‘ere we are, my beauties! My little ‘ome-from-‘ome!”

Herbie slowed the limo to a funereal crawl as they entered a particularly picturesque little village, “Ahhh, ‘ave you ever been a little place like this before?” he asked, with a little smirk that hinted at a rhetorical question.

Malky honestly confessed, “No. I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

“You wouldn’t ‘ave. This ‘ere is a protected community, see. Only a few people know about it.”

It was beautiful, rows of whitewashed thatched cottages with black gloss doors, all flowers beds and hanging baskets with a little square with a little roundabout in the centre, bedecked with a floral clock depicting the flag of St George (?); aside from the copious vegetation, there was very little sign of life and almost no sign of the 20th century. “What’s it called?”

“Bogmire. Pretty lousy name for such a laavly little ‘amlet, innit?”

If it wasn't for the faded & peeling Coca Cola sign stuck to the inside of the window of the post office-cum-newsagent and an old bicycle leaning against the bench outside a ramshackle little country pub (the Black Water Rat), they could be back in Tudor England. Malky made appreciative noises.

“It’s like a little oasis from bygone days, innit? You feel as if you’ve slipped frew a time-warp – eh?! But the funny thing is – it ain't Irish! See, most of the people ‘oo live ‘ere are descended from English peasant stock! Most of ‘em is originally from the wilds o’ Cornwall! The Duke of Roxborough brought ‘em ovah to build Pagham ‘Ahse ‘n ‘e built these ‘ere cottages for ‘em – and believe it or not, they lasted through the rebellion cos of a pact between the Irish rebels and the Roxborough family ‘n they’ve been ‘ere ever since. When ‘e bought the ahse the only proviso wuz that we keep the staff and let the Supplicants – that’s their religion, that is – live ‘n’ work on the estate.” Herbie went on to tell of the locals’ strange customs and bizarre lifestyle in a disbelieving tone, “... and they've been doin’ it fer 200 years straight!”

Malky looked around, “And this is all part of the estate?”

“Yep, it came with the ahse!”

This didn’t surprise Malky one bit. For an Irish ex-pat, the old man wasn't renowned for his patriotism; in fact, he was a close friend of Princess Margaret and during the height of the Troubles in the 70s he was renowned for making disparaging noises about the Republican movement in Ireland from the safety of his Bel Air mansion (when Lord Mountbatten was murdered by the IRA he told a NBC TV news reporter that the terrorists in question were ‘like a bunch of weasels attacking a lion’ and that Britain should ‘string ‘em up’), he was frequent visitor to the Whitehouse when the Republicans were in office, and was often mooted to be an anonymous sponsor of various right-of-centre US politicos -- he backed Nixon over Kennedy, was close to Ronnie Reagan since his  days as chairman of Screen Actors Guild, and was a frequent house guest of George Bush senior -- all of which made him a potential target for disgruntled boyos on both sides of the pond. It made sense that he’d want to live out his twilight years in a little slice of England transplanted into the heart of the Irish countryside, it suited his style: contrary to the end.

Herbie pulled-up outside a dainty little general store called The Peppermint Poke. The window was full of candy jars and pastries neatly arranged on little lacy paper doilies, “Dora oo runs the Poke is an Outsider, meanin’ she’s married to one of the Supplicants so she’s allowed to run a shop. None of ‘em is allowed to ‘ave a shop or make profit from their work, so the outsiders tend to do them fings, like business transactions and that. The local garda sergeant is an outsider, too -- he lives in that li’l cottage ovah there.” he pointed to one of the gleaming residences across the square...” Herbie opened the door, “I’m just gonna go in and get the Sunday papers ‘n’ a tube of Polos... I’ll only be a sec.”

Malky wound down his window to inhale the compliment of delicious odours to accompany the view: flowers, mown lawns and more flowers, “very restful. Then he heard a rumble outside the car -- a motorcycle had pulled up alongside and its rider, wearing a helmet with a dark visor, was looking through the driver’s-side-window. What’s this? Malky shrank back in his seat....The rider casually unzipped his black leather jacket and reached inside – for a second Malky flinched -- but instead of a weapon, he produced a video camera. Malky knew a maverick paparazzo when he saw one and immediately flew into a rage – he lunged out of the open widow, shook his fist and yelled, “Piss-off ya bastard! Get that f**kin’ thing outta my face or I’ll put my foot in yer arse!”

The shouting roused Broo from his slumbers. He saw the motorcyclist, heard Malky screaming and instinctively barked loudly and forcefully -- until he sensed that the stranger posed no threat and Malky appeared to be overreacting. He stopped barking, gave himself a shake and tried to get his bearings. The cameraman was quite small, dressed in biker’s leathers like Zindy’s biker chums, but these were more expensive and unsullied by general wear-&-tear. Then, as the bleariness subsided and his eyes refocused, Broo saw something that both startled and alarmed him. At first he thought it was the motorcycle’s exhaust fumes, then he realised the figure was shrouded in what he could only describe as a purplish-halo -- whatever it was, it was unlike any aura he’d ever seen before.

Malky was fit to be tied, “I’m not gonna tell you again, friend! If you don’t fuck aff immediately I’m gonna come out there and stick that camera where the sun don’t shine!!”

“That’s a take!” The biker cried, packing away his camera, “Thank you sir! Have a nice day!” he said and roared off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke in his wake. “Bloody paps – see – this is what happens when you do somebody a favour,” grumbled Malky.

Broo was still drinking in the atmosphere and looking for anomalies. Having been in places like this all over Ireland, the old dog had noted that each dainty village and township they visited had its own peculiar little ripples of the past shining through the present. On his travels he’d heard the echoes of ancient battles in the silence of the first light of dawn; he’d seen the children of ancient tribes playing on a busy motorway at noon; he’d seen 16th century Spanish galleons off the coast at Cork -– but Bogmire was a spiritual desert: there was absolutely nothing to sense or feel beyond the here and now. It was clearly old, spotless and brightly painted, but utterly devoid of soul. And that smell... beneath the floral scents and peat smoke, lay an ever-present stench that marred the otherwise wholesomeness of the place. Even for a dog that usually salivated at the stink of putrid flesh, it was hard to stomach. Most unusual...

Just then they heard the little tinkle of a bell and Herbie emerged from the shop with a bundle of newspapers under his arm and a Polo mint in his cheek; he got back in and offered one to Malky, “Did I ‘ear a mo’orbike?” he asked, “I was chattin' to Dora and I could've swawn I ‘eard a rumblin’ sahnd...?”

“Just a guy askin’ for directions,” said Malky, “so I told him where to go...”  

At that very moment, 3000 miles away, in the kitchen of a townhouse in North York, Toronto, Canada, the man of the house appeared in the kitchen doorway, barefoot in his pyjama bottoms, unshaven, hands deep in the pockets of his bedraggled dressing gown. 

“Emil! What the f**k?! Go get dressed – we’re late as it is!” shouted Fran, ever the fiery redhead, dressed to the nines in her Sunday-best, rifling through her purse in search of her car keys, “I told you to get ready an hour ago!” They were supposed to be going to her niece’s christening and they were running 10 minutes late. She looked under the cushions in the lounge; she looked in and under the couch; she checked every pocket in the coat rack. “Where the f**k are they?!!”

Emil watched her, his arms hanging by his sides, and said, “I’m not going. I have the shits.” 

Did I just say that? What the f**k?!

Fran, currently poking through the trash in the pedal-bin with the salad-tongs, threw her head back and mocked him in an ironic voice, “Hah! I knew it! Mom warned me – ‘he won’t go – he doesn’t even own a suit’! Well, it suits me – I don’t have to watch you get drunk and throw up in the swimming pool or make a pass at a waitress... Owww-ouch!” she’d cut her knuckle on the edge of a jagged tuna can, “F**k this!” she kicked the bin and ran to the sink to rinse it, screaming, “F**K! F**K! WHERE THE F**K ARE MY F**KING KEYS!!”

He knew exactly where they were. They were in his pocket. He was holding them in the palm of his hand; but for some strange reason he didn’t hand them over. It wasn't that he didn’t want to, it was because he couldn't. And no matter how hard he tried to communicate, his body wouldn't respond; he let her go on searching and said nothing.

She went to the knick-knack drawer in the welsh-dresser, rummaged around in the back and eventually emerged triumphant, “Ah - hah! The spare! I knew I’d put it somewhere!!” She had one last look in the mirror to check her mascara and top-up her lip gloss, “... If you go out make sure you turn on the alarm.... and if you go back to bed - don’t f**king smoke! That’s a new quilt and I don’t want it looking like somebody’s used it for target practice!” She strode down the hall to the front door; a few seconds later she came stomping back, madder than ever “You f**king asshole! You've done it again!! You've boxed me in! I can’t get my car out!” 

Emil remained silent. 

“Emil!” She approached him and looked up into his dull, blue eyes, “EMIL! You have to move your car! Are you listening to me?!

He stood and stared.

“Emil!”

“See you later, legislator,” he said, without smiling. It was a catchphrase he used when they said goodbye on the doorstep in those early days when they first moved in together; but here & now it just sounded weird. She gave him a sideways look, “Are you stoned?”

“Take my car.” He dangled his keys on his pinkie.

She grimaced at the smell of his breath, glowered and said, “Listen... I don’t know what the hell you’re on or what you are trying to pull, but my mother will be frothing at the mouth -– I was supposed to pick her 15 minutes ago -– this is a crisis!”

He dangled his keys.

She drew herself up and bawled in his face, “GET OUT THERE AND MOVE YOUR F**KING CAR!”

He jangled his keys.

She slammed her key down on the table and snatched his in one frighteningly limber move, “RIGHT! – I’m calling your bluff, asshole – I’m taking your beloved Porsche! You can take my Volvo -- I wonder what all those cutesy little students of yours will think when they see the delectable Dr Labatt driving through campus in a busted-up soccer-mom-mobile?!”

Emil stared back, unblinking and blank, and said, “I’ll miss you, Fran. You’re alright.”  

“F**k you, asshole!” She thrust the finger in his face and stormed out.

The slamming door was the last thing Emil heard before the darkness descended...

A few miles from Bogmire, along a road that was little more than a narrow lane, they arrived at a long, narrow lane lined on one side by yew trees concealing a tall, ivy-covered, red-brick wall that contained the entrance to Pagham House (or Paggum Ahse, as Herbie called it, making it sound like a particularly nasty proctological affliction), the stately-home of Oliver Laphen. Herbie reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and produced a small remote-control which he used to open a pair of inconspicuous but heavily fortified, solid iron gates, “As you can imagine, the boss is fanatical about security,” he pointed to the CCTV cameras perched atop the pillars either side of the gate, “this place ‘as got more cameras than Fort Knox.”

Inside of course, it was different story entirely: acres of well-tended lawns as smooth as billiard-table-baizes; vast flower beds moistened by a huge sprinkler system; topiary styled to resemble the figures in the Ascent of Man leading to the entrance of an extensive privet-maze; an enormous, ornate white-marble fountain with alabaster cherubs pissing into the air. It was all very tastefully ostentatious.

Like most of the world, his knowledge of Oliver Laphen was based on sensational gossip-columns he’d read in tatty magazines in various waiting-rooms over the years and the odd interview on Parkinson. Because Laphen was such an intensely private man, there were no official biographies and he used the services of an extremely litigious LA law firm to stymie any scandalous tomes that might shed light on the mystery he’d carefully nurtured over the years – a tantalising question: where did this fiery, working class, comic genius come from? The more reclusive he became, the more public interest increased, the more speculative the press became about his private life, the more outrageous the rumours -– the more tickets he sold. His career was indestructible. Not that everything was rosy on the home front. Enigmas, especially rich, volatile enigmas, are pap magnets; a good picture will fetch upwards of $10,000 so he was tabloid fodder from the day he stepped into the limelight. Editors from LA to Tokyo dispatched an army of dedicated investigative journalists to Dublin where they pored over thousands of files in public records offices in an attempt to trace the Laphen family line, but they always drew a blank: Jolly Ollie’s pedigree remained a tantalising mystery. He was certainly an Irishman by birth but refused to say anything about his childhood other than he was ‘educated by sadistic nuns’; he never talked about any parents or siblings and nobody knew where in Ireland he was from -- his accent was hard to pinpoint and changed as often as his anecdotes, the most famous of which was the story of his emigration to America when he allegedly stowed-away on a liner bound for New York at the age of 13 in 1929. After evading processing at Ellis Island he hitched his way across the States east to west and landed in Hollywood, where, according to (his) legend, he slept on the beach and did whatever work he could find during the day. At night he’d ‘hone his art’ performing slapstick in vaudeville, readying himself for stardom; two years later, at the age of 16, he was discovered by the celebrated ‘King Of Comedy’ Max Sennett. The talkies were the new big thing, and at a time when most silent stars were finding it impossible to ‘sound funny’, Ollie’s cartoonish Irish accent was a godsend and Sennett gave him his own series of 15 minute shorts. As Laphen retold this story over the subsequent decades, the narrative was wont to evolve until the embellishments rendered it wholly unreliable.

In the mid-30s when he traded under the moniker Ollie Laffin, he was happy to mug and gurn for the downmarket rags and Pathé News presentations; then, when he got ‘serious’ in the late-40s/early-50s, he stopped playing the fool and became a semi-reclusive thesp. The post-war world was a different place: screwball comedy and slapstick was old hat and Ollie was too canny to go down with the ship. When he returned to movies in ‘46 he went under the name of Oliver Laphen, stopped doing interviews and avoided all ‘that red carpet bollox’, preferring to leave the PR to his co-stars and directors who’d either guardedly sing his praises or proffer equivocal comments that were actually thinly-veiled digs, such as: ‘[working with] Mr Laphen was an experience I’ll never forget... but I’m trying.’ (Lauren Bacall) ‘He brings a piece of himself to every role and playing the villain comes so naturally [to him]...’ (David Niven), but one vox-pop in particular had stuck in in Malky’s mind: "He kept us mere mortals waiting for 4 hours before gracing us with His Presence, we went $4 million over-budget, 4 producers suffered a collective nervous breakdown and 2 of the crew died from heatstroke, but when you hire [Oliver Laphen], you get the best and some studios are prepared to set aside a few million to ‘feed the beast’.” Regardless of what his fellow-travellers thought of him, and how big a pain in the arse he was, Ollie Laphen = Box Office Gold.

“There she is!” cried Herbie, like an enthusiastic tour guide. The Rolls had rounded a bend in the driveway and Malky got his first glimpse of Pagham House.

“Jeez –- house is too small a word, Herbie! This makes Windsor Castle look like a B&B!” said Malky, when confronted by the huge, sandstone edifice of palatial proportions, with rows of latticed gothic windows, draped with thick beards of ivy.

The chauffeur chuckled, “Impressive, eh? It used to belong to the 10th Duke of Roxborough til ‘e fell on ‘ard-times ‘n the boss made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. We rent it aht when we’re ahtta town. It’s very popular wiv the Arabs ‘n the Chinese. It’s got 30 rooms, swimming pool, gym, ballroom, sauna -- it even has its own church -- the works!” They pulled into a gravel forecourt and parked at the foot of a huge white marble staircase leading up to a tastefully-weathered, balustrade-lined terrace. But Malky’s attention was drawn to another vehicle parked to the right of the steps: namely, the same Harley-Davison touring bike he’d seen in the village, and sitting on the steps was the mysterious rider/cameraman filming them as they drew up!

Malky was furious all over again, “What’s he doing here?”

“More to the point, ‘ow the ‘ell did ‘e get in?!” said Herbie, slowly unclipping his seat belt and opening his door, “I’ll ‘andle this...” Herbie got out, straightened his cap and walked toward the diminutive figure, “Can I ‘elp you, mate...?” Malky heard him ask, and then he and Broo watched as the biker promptly stopped filming, jumped down and met the burly chauffeur head-on -- he took off his helmet, grinned, opened his arms and the two embraced like they were very pleased to see each other.

“Uncle Herb – you look great!” trilled a cherub-cheeked, heavily-freckled, copper-headed American kid in his mid-20s, brimming with childlike-enthusiasm, speaking quickly and excitedly, “Listen - we’re gonna be shooting in July! I’m here to scout for locations and do the final negotiations...!” The lad stopped short when he noticed Malky trudging across the gravel.

“Sorry, Mr Calvert sir, I got a bit distracted then,” said Herbie, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “This ‘ere’s Kristof Katz, Mr Laphen’s grandson. Kris – this-‘ere is Mr Malcolm Calvert ‘oo’s come to... erm... sort out a little... plumbing problem...”

The young Master Katz took off a leather gauntlet, shook Malky’s hand, chattering incessantly, “Very pleased to meet you sir, I’m very sorry for the candid camera incident, but when I saw the car I thought my grandfather was inside and I wanted to catch him unawares but I caught you unawares and once you started to rant I couldn’t resist capturing that intense anger! I guess it’s the habit of lifetime -- Herb here will tell ya -- I’ve hadda movie-camera in my mitt since I was old enough to lift one – isn’t that right Uncle Herb? I’m a total geek!”

Malky gaped at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

“Yer caffeinated up-to the-eyeballs again!” said Herbie, playfully clipping him round the ear and scolding him like a naughty schoolboy, “jet-lagged, ridin’ rahnd windin’ cahntry roads on a bleedin’ two-wheeled deff-trap?! Are y’ off your trolley, boy?! You coulda been killed -- there’s farm vehicles on these-‘ere roads, you coulda turned an ‘airpin bend an’ wahnd-up in the blades of a combine ‘arvester or summink!!”

Kris apologised for his over-enthusiasm and slowed down, “... anyhow, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Calvert,” he turned and pointed behind him, “welcome to Ollie Towers, The Laphen House -- Xanadu -- whatever you wanna call it.”

Now that he was up close, Malky saw the family resemblance; the lad was short, around 5’ 5”, the same steely-blue peepers and winsome dimples that had graced millions-upon-millions of magazine covers since 1930. Malky felt compelled to comment, “I must say, you are the spitting image of your granddad.”

Herbie was gushing again, “Not only that -- but he’s in’erited his talent too! Kris is a movie director!” he tweaked the lad’s cheek and pretended to punch his jaw.

Kris went all aw-shucks and kicked at the gravel with the toe of a leather boot, “Well, I’m about to direct my first full-length feature. I’m very excited. It’s been in development hell for 3 or 4 years and now it’s finally in pre-production.”  

“’E’s like a son to me!” Herbie put an arm around Kris’ shoulders, tweaked his cheek again and beamed, “when he was a nipper ‘is mum used to leave ‘im wif me on those days when she was... erm... uvverwise occupied...”

Kris, utterly unfazed, merrily took up the slack and filled in the blanks, “What Herb won’t tell you is my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen - had a lotta ‘substance abuse issues’ at the time, Mr Calvert. She used to unload me onto Herbie for weeks on end when she went on a jag [Now that the lad had mentioned it, Malky recalled reading something about one of Laphen’s daughters getting arrested for possession in the late 60s. In fact, from what he could remember, all 8 of the Quare Geg’s children had ‘issues’ of one kind or another]. Thankfully she’s been clean and sober for the past 6 years and now she’s counselling other women with similar issues...” he squeezed the hand dangling on his shoulder, “So I have this man to thank for givin’ me a relatively normal childhood! We used to play on the film sets in the studios when gramps was making a movie - that’s where I got my training!”

Herbie blushed, “Ach, it wasn't ideal, but where else was I gonna take ya? You know your granddad always ‘as to ‘ave me arahnd to fetch and carry for ‘im. And watchin’ a film get made is like watchin’ paint dry, if you awsk me - it’s a wonder it didn’t put you off movies for life!”

They were distracted by the sound of paws hitting gravel. The old dog had finally exited the Rolls but didn’t join them; he kept close to the car and watched from a distance. “Whassup wiv the pooch, ‘e’s gawn a bit shy, ‘in ‘e?” asked Herbie.

Malky called out to him: “What’s the matter with you, Hopalong? What has you all cagey, huh? Come over here and say hello!”

“Aww, look, he’s only got three legs,” crooned Kris, in a childishly sympathetic voice. Broo whimpered as he watched the glowing boy walk toward him, stooped and spoke softly as if addressing a bashful toddler, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, boy, I wouldn't hurt a fly! No I wouldn't...” he reached out

Broo recoiled and whimpered: Get off me, you idiot... you’re killing me!

But Kris carried on, unaware of the old dog’s distress, “Easy, boy, I won’t hurt you...”

AARGH!!

Kris cuddled him, stroked his back and made silly noises, “Eh? Who’s a handsome fella, then? You must quite the VIP, huh? A German Shepherd who’s so important he gets to ride around in the back of a limousine...?”

Mercifully, he was rudely interrupted by a loud voice from above, “Where the f**k have you been, Gorringe?!”

The boy stopped petting and turned away – Broo (unseen) wobbled for a second then keeled over.

There was an elderly man in a gaping, black silk kimono, electric-blue satin boxer-shorts, and bright green unlaced baseball boots standing at the top of steps; he pointed at Kris with an accusing finger, “and what-the-f**k’s that wee ginger gobshite doing on my property?!”

Malky looked up and regarded their prospective client. His collar length grey hair was thinning and unruly as if he’d just got out of bed, his heavily lined face clenched in distaste; but underneath the grizzled exterior and the bizarre attire, was none other the Quare Geg Himself: the fun-loving Ollie Laphen, former Crown Prince of Comedy! Looking at him now, though, it seemed there was little to laugh about, but you wouldn't know it to hear his grandson.

“Gramps! How-the-hell are you?! It’s me, Kris!” The boy put the helmet on the seat of the Harley and joyfully bounded-up the steps two-at-a-time, “so goo-ood to see you, dude...” he embraced the frail, bristly figure - who immediately pushed him away. “Gitcher filthy hands affa me, ye wee shite!! I’m not senile yet -- I know damn-well who you are!” Laphen put his fists on his hips and sneered in a high-pitched whine, “Whaddya want from me this time? Money, is it? Well, you can feck-off back to La-La Land - this bank is closed! Go and ask that crooked auld kike of a father o’ yours – oh yeah, I forgot – he’s back in the bankruptcy courts -- yet-again -- after yet-another one of his half-assed business-deals went tits-up in the water – still - why break the habit of a lifetime, huh? Once a loser, always a loser!” he stuck his little pug nose in the air, stuck out his chin and tied the belt of his silk kimono, like a superannuated prize-fighter squaring-up at a weigh-in. 

Doing his best to suppress a fit of giggles, Kris reassured him in a sober tone, “S’OK gramps, don’t have a cow, man. I don’t need any of your filthy lucre, after all -- we've got a backer! And for the record –- I’ve never asked you for anything in my life, you old goat -- and you know it!”

Laphen stepped closer, “Why are you here then?”

“To see you you...” said Kris, smirking.

Laphen went nose-to-nose with his grandson and growled, “So, you don’t need me?! Well! You've seen me! Now piss off!”

Kris put a hand on the old man’s shoulder and smiled, warmly, “C'mon, we’d better get you inside, it’s quite chilly out here and we wouldn't want you catching cold, now, would we?”

The old man swatted the hand away like a particularly stubborn piece of lint, “Stop treatin’ me like a feckin’ invalid! I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ unaided – I’m not in a feckin’ wheelchair yet!” in the same breath, he broke away, looked down at Herbie, pointed at Malky and barked, “Is this the guy?”

“Yessah!” Herbie replied, standing to attention, as if addressed by a superior officer, “this is Mr Malcolm Calvert, the, erm... consultant from Brodir.”

“Well – don’t just stand there like a spare cock at a hen-night! Bring him in!”

With that, Laphen stomped back to the house with Kris walking alongside him, chatting incessantly despite the cold shoulder.

As Herbie fetched his overnight bag from the trunk of the Rolls, Malky watched them walk off and commented, “Chirpy little git, isn't he?”  

Herbie slammed the lid shut and explained in a low voice, “Don’t let the ol’ Scrooge act give ya the wrong impression, Mr C. Kris is the apple of the old man’s eye - ‘e dotes on that boy. This is the way they speak to each uvvah. There’s no real malice intended so it’s best if you just let ‘em get on wiv it. Neevah wants to admit that it’s all a big contest to see who’ll crack first –- it usually ends in ‘uge laughs all-round. Only fing is the old man’s been ‘ittin’ the bottle again. I’m afraid ‘e’ll end-up sayin’ somefink really ‘urtful to the boy and ‘e might never come back. Kris is the only grandchild ‘oo ever comes to visit, see -- so for all of our sakes -- I ‘ope they chill-aht 'n have a civilised conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” Malky grunted, distractedly. The more he heard, the stronger the temptation to hand back the cheque and book a taxi back to Brodir, but he was so hungry now he had no choice but to reserve judgement until after dinner.

As they climbed the steps he suddenly realised they’d forgotten someone; he looked back and saw that his trusty companion was finding it hard to drag himself up, “Och, c’mon Broo, they’re not as steep as the stairs at the inn -- and you manage to climb those when you fancy a drink from the bog!” said Malky, turning away.

Broo could barely stand, let alone climb a flight of steps. When the young leatherman approached to indulge in a spot of light-petting and the strange, purplish halo enveloped him, Broo was instantly numbed -- he felt a sensation akin to sinking into a vat of virulent, viscous quicksand; a toxic vapour overwhelmed his senses -– and when the boy eventually let go, the dread feeling went with him. Alas, the men were too busy to notice him collapse in a heap, having been distracted by the sudden appearance of an angry old man who smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and bathsalts. Then something strange happened: when the younger man climbed the steps -- the aura around him grew more transparent –- by the time he embraced the old man - it had evaporated completely! One second it was there, the next – nothing. This was most perplexing. And if his senses were to be believed, aside from a few passing crows, there were none of the usual creatures one would find on an estate as big as this. Just like the village, there was no livestock or wildlife in the vicinity at all. Not only that, but as his head cleared, he realised that something else was missing: there’s no sign of anything Other in the ether either, and that bothered him most of all. The sky was darkening for dusk, the shadows were lengthening and the sun was low, so why are there no apparitions in the Golden Hour? Where was the shimmering residual energy of past events that can only be glimpsed through the rays of twilight? In a land such as this, historically ravaged by epidemics, tribal violence, famine and murderous invaders, there should be at least a few ghostly children playing in the fields... And yet, there’s nothing. If the Barry McKee case had taught him anything at all, it was to Beware Spiritual Vacuums. Bad things happen in Spiritual Vacuums.

... at that very moment (12:56 US Eastern Time), approximately 3600 miles away, at a checkpoint at the Canadian/United States’ border, on the Peace Bridge at Fort Erie, between Ontario and Buffalo, New York State...

“Sir? Sir... hello...

“Sir?!

“Wind down the window, sir!”

Somewhere... off in the distance Emil heard a man’s voice and a clicking sound. Metal on glass...

It wasn't like waking up, more like someone switching on a light. He was sitting in Fran’s Volvo, at what appeared to be the US/Canadian border!

“Sir, would you please wind down your window?” the muffled voice barked “SIR?!”

In his peripheral vision, Emil discerned a uniformed figure peering through the window. A US border patrol guard?! Holy shit?! What the f**k is going on?! 

But the inner-turmoil, dislocation and downright terror didn’t register on his face: on the outside, he was deadpan, ice-cool and composed. The inner-Emil watched his own hand reach out and push the button that wound down the window; he felt the crisp breeze buffet his face and arms as the glass descended.  If this is a dream, it’s very vivid. The guard stooped, leaned-in and sniffed the inside of the car. The outer-Emil remained unfazed, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the wing-mirror, he soon realised why the guard was so suspicious.

He appeared to be wearing an unbelted towelling bathrobe, pyjama pants and his XXL Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt -- the ensemble he wore when he was slouching around the apartment... Shit -- you gotta be kidding me -- no briefs?! He desperately wanted to grab the hem of the gown and tuck the tails between his legs, but his arms refused to budge!

The certainties: it was daylight; he was at the border. I’m driving my wife’s 1979 Volvo estate dressed like an extra from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! This has to be a dream! I’m gonna wake up at any minute...

Meanwhile, somewhat surprised that he couldn't smell any liquor, the guard returned to the business in hand, “May I see your passport, sir?!” he asked, acidly, in a thick New England accent. He was leaning on the roof now, the midday-sun gleaming off the chrome-plated badge on his cap; despite the dazzling flashes, Emil’s eyes refused to blink. The Inner-Emil wanted to grab his tie and shout: Stop me! I’m out of my mind! but his lips remained firmly zipped; his body remained still. For all-intents-and-purposes, he was a puppet with no mind of his own.

So who’s pulling the strings?

The guard was getting impatient; he pointed at the passenger seat, and snapped, “Your passport, sir!!

Emil’s outer voice said “Passport?”

The guard pointed, “It’s there. Right beside you, sir.”

His head turned to the right and he found himself looking down at the passenger seat; sure-enough, sitting atop an array of various official papers, was his passport. He saw his hand reach out, pick it up and hand it over. Maintaining eye-contact, the guard took the little booklet, ceremoniously shook it open and read it with a disdainful look. Emil had taken many acid trips and tried every psychedelic he could get his mitts on, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his voyages through the Doors of Perception. So what does that leave? Sleepwalking? He tried to make the fingers of his left hand pinch his thigh... but nothing.

“What brings you to the US, Mr Labatt?”

Emil heard himself say, “Doctor Labatt. I’m on my way to visit an elderly relative, if you must know. She’s very ill. Dying. It’s an emergency.”

What?!

“... Are you planning to drive all the way, Dr Labatt?” the guard asked, doubtfully.

The inner-Emil wanted to cry out: I don’t wanna drive anywhere! I don’t know why I’m here or what I’m doing! Please call my wife, Frances – she’ll come and get me!! In fact – arrest me! Take me into custody right now!!

Instead he heard his outer voice reply, dryly, “Yes, officer. Driving all the way.”

The guard handed back the passport, sighed heavily and asked pointedly, “Dr Labatt, have you been imbibing today? Narcotics, alcohol, have you taken any prescription drugs that might affect your ability to drive?”

This could work to his advantage: if I’m cheeky enough they might arrest me on suspicion of DUI! Alas, the invisible ventriloquist kept the voice calm and answered succinctly, “I most certainly have not been imbibing, officer. I’m a well-respected forensic scientist and a senior lecturer at the University of Toronto. I’m on my way to Baltimore to see an elderly relative with a terminal illness. It’s matter of some urgency. I need to get on.”

Baltimore?!

The guard handed back the passport and enquired, brusquely, “Carrying any foodstuffs, livestock including pets, liquor or sundries that may be considered contraband by the United States of America?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, would you mind popping the trunk, sir?”

Emil didn’t stir.

“Sir... pop the trunk?”

“This is my wife’s car and I don’t know where the trunk popper is.”

‘Trunk popper’?! Listen to me! Arrest me, you fool! I’m frickin’ nuts!!

Shaking his head, the guard reached in and groped under the wheel; “There she is,” and tugged the lever.

While the guard searched the trunk, the Inner-Emil tried to think logically: Could I have been inadvertently poisoned at the lab? Unlikely, he was very careful about sterilisation and wore a mask at all times... Have I ingested something in the course of my work... a fungus...? A spoor that causes one to act out in some way...? But he was ignoring the obvious: there was a taste in his mouth -- a taste that was as familiar as it was bitter and earthy that usually preceded the bouts of sickness. In fact, it had been happening ever since he’d got back from the dig in Kildare 2 years ago when they discovered the bog mummies (he’d abandoned the annual expeditions after his little fling with Niamh). Lately, he’d been prone to intermittent lapses in consciousness and bouts of short-term memory-loss. He’d find himself staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours on end. Fran thought he was smoking too much weed, but not even strongest strain of mary jane could induce blackouts like this, and nothing would leave a taste in his mouth this bad.

The trunk slammed shut. The guard returned, “Everything seems to be in order, Dr Labatt...” he leaned on the roof and spoke close, “Listen doc, if I was you I’d stop at the first motel I came to and I’d get myself a couple of hours sleep. Then I’d have a shower and a change of clothes and I’d drive the rest of the way feeling wide awake ‘n refreshed. I wouldn't want to fall asleep at the wheel and maybe kill myself or some innocent folk who were unlucky enough to be travellin’ the same road. Whaddya say to that, doc?”

An uneasy silence followed. The inner-Emil waited for his body to respond but nothing came: his eyes remained unblinking, his mouth stayed shut. He prayed that this was a turning point -- that he’d do something so outrageous they’d have to take him in -- but it never came. Finally, the guard sighed and patted the roof with the flat of his hand, “Welcome to the United States, doctor.”

Before the lights went out, Emil heard his voice reply with a curt, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” He felt his right hand release the handbrake; he felt his foot gently depress the accelerator. He watched as the Volvo taxied through the checkpoint; he paid the toll and ventured onto the open road... that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness descended again...

Malahide, Dublin: The Somerville family were going to Mass.

“Put on yer seat-belt, Cate, luv. You don’t have to sit in the baby-seat but you still have to strap yerself in,” said Somerville, getting into the driver’s seat.

In the back, Cate turned to her younger sister, “See, Cathy – he called it a ‘baby’ seat!’”

“Mommeeeeeeee!” Cathy wailed.

Pat got into the passenger seat and took control: “Ssshhhh, Cathy.... Cate don’t tease Cathy! You’ll start her off -- then baby Clare will start!” She playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder, “That’s your fault, daddy! It’s a CAR seat not a BABY seat, silly -– it even says so on the little label ‘Car Seat’ –- so-there, Miss smarty-pants-Caitlin -- you were wrong!”

“Daddy said it not me.”

“It was a slip of the tongue, Pat.”

“He didn’t mean to say it, Cathy. I’ll never hear the feckin end of this... will you be more careful what you say!”

“I’m not a baby I’m 4 and 4 months! I have to sit in it cuz I’m too wee for the seat belt!”

“That’s right! You tell ‘em Cathy! It’s a seat for small people, not babies! Cathy’s very sensitive and unassertive and I’m trying to build her confidence!”

“Daddy, what’s ‘police brutality’?” asked Cate, apropos of nothing.

“Where did you hear about ‘police brutality’?” said Somerville, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

“One of the older girls shouted it when Sister Marie dragged her into the bogs to wash her face.”

“Toilets, Ladies, loo or lavatory, please, Cate, dear. What are bogs?” said Pat, sternly.

“Sorry mommy: ‘Bogs are Irish swamps...’” Cate sang, rolling her eyes.

Herbie led the way through the huge front door into a huge, cavernous sandstone vestibule lit by a quartet of gothic, arched windows, not unlike the narthex of a Christian church, but cluttered with precisely the sort of tone-lowering kitschy bric-a-brac that one would expect a working-class-boy-made-good to put on display -- as much a screw you to visiting nobs & snobs as it was a totem to his wealth and wilful nature, to wit: a suit of armour wearing an American Indian headdress, a deep-sea diving-suit with a stuffed monkey’s head in the helmet; a pair of large Persian vases filled with strange umbrellas. One item in particular gave Malky cause for pause: standing to the left of the adjoining Gothic archway, stood a life-sized waxwork of the Master of Mirth himself, fashioned and dressed to represent his ‘hey-day’ in the 30s; this waxen Laphen was the youthful, joyful Jolly Ollie Laffin, grinning that trademark  squidgy-grin, complete with pinchable dimples, the rash of freckles across the bridge of his little pug-nose, the glassy sky-blue eyes gleaming like sapphires – you couldn't help but smile. Malky couldn't help but remark, “Whatever happened to that sweet li’l guy, eh?”

The burly chauffeur didn’t take the bait and doggedly maintained his chummy, sunny disposition, providing information with the patter of a well-informed tour-guide, “That used to reside in the foy-yer at Madame Toussauds in Lahndahn! They replaced it wiv a more recent model in the 70s an’ the boss brought the originals back ‘ere when he bought the ahse. This one was done in ’38, just after his first full-length feature: Ollie and Molly Strike Oil!” Herbie moved to the right of the connecting archway and unconsciously adopted an almost identical pose to the grinning effigy on the left, “This way, Mr Calvert. I’ll take you to yer room and you can freshen up ‘n that ‘n we can tawk about the ‘situation’ over dinnah.”

As they walked through a slate-floored lobby lit by muted spotlights, it was more of the same: a veritable Ollie Laphen museum exhibit; an autobiography laid out chronologically -- from glass-cases containing newspaper columns, magazine covers and PR stills from the slapstick days of the 1930s -- to the chin-stroking thesp (a framed headline in The Irish News: ‘Laphen’s Lear is a masterclass!’). The dark, wood-panelled walls were lined with framed photographs of Ollie pressing flesh and embracing some of the greatest movie-makers, movers-and-shakers of the past 60 years: FDR, Bogart, Monroe, Gable, Jackie O, Bing, Hope, Groucho, Einstein, Fidel, Vidal, Hitchcock, Wayne, JFK, Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger, Elvis, the Dalai Lama, the Beatles, the Queen of England and various royals – as far as the 20th century is concerned, Ollie is the OED definition of ubiquitous. As they passed through the connecting archway, Malky got quite a jolt - enough to stop him dead in his tracks. Dead being the appropriate word, for in the shadows of the dimly lit reception hall stood a menagerie of dead things ready to attack -- lions, bears, tigers, panthers -- feral, snarling, glassy-eyed, posed in a stance of attack; ugly birds-of-prey hung on wires from the rafters, talons bared, poised to swoop; and to be certain that arachnophobes didn’t feel excluded, there were a few tarantulas strategically attached to various pillars and posts.

Malky gaped and gasped, “Wow! Did Ollie kill all these himself?!”

This time Herbie did seem a wee bit uncomfortable, “Nah, ‘e commissioned ‘em from a taxi-dermist’s in Sarf Africa where they can get you anything...” He sniffed and shook his head, “I ‘ate it too, to tell the troof – I never come frew ‘ere if I can avoid it. It’s the old man’s sense off ooma, see – he likes to lull visi’ors into a false sense of security then - aargh! They get the shock of their lives,” he reached behind a curtain and threw a switch -- the animals’ eyes shone bright red and and roared in their respective voices. “The boss ‘ates animals, see –- he got rid of all the livestock ‘cept for stables when ‘e bought the ahse. ‘E ‘ates ‘orses most of all. ‘E got thrown by a donkey when ‘e was doin’ a cameo in Around the World in Eighty Days in ’55 or ’56 –- ‘e walked orf the set and refused to ‘ave anyfink to do with animals evah again! Animals and kids. If he could get ridda the crows he’d be ‘appy.”

Broo found the menagerie obscene and growled accordingly.

Their attention was briefly diverted by shouting in a room somewhere further in: “... Will you quit naggin’ me – ye’re worse than a feckin wife!”

“NO! I won’t stop til you see sense! If I don’t say it – who will!?! You’re cracking up!! You’re a delusional... egomaniacal narcissist! You’re like Stalin without the people-skills...!”

Herbie quickly ushered his guests into the lobby and closed a connecting door turning the voices into incoherent murmurs, but Malky had heard enough. Herbie’s stoic exterior slipped, he got jittery and muttered something about an ‘Inquisition’ under his breath. Malky was about to ask what he meant when he quickened his step and led the way through another archway that led to a lobby at the foot of a huge white marble staircase cleft with a dark scarlet runner. On the bottom step stood the other waxwork of Ollie dressed as a tramp holding the Oscar statuette for his role as a shady boxing promoter in the movie Knuckledusters. In an alcove in the rear wall to the left of the staircase stood an imposing, but badly-damaged grandfather clock; the glass insets covering the face and pendulum case were smashed, the hour-hand hung limp on the wheel and part of the ornate, intricately hand-carved casing was cracked down one side.

Herbie stood next to his guest, looked up at it and said, “Big f**ker, innit?”

Malky was inclined to agree that it was highly unlikely that such a huge piece of solid timber could be toppled so easily by a man as old and small as Ollie.

The bickering voices were making Herbie very uncomfortable, there was a pained expression on his big, weather-beaten face. As they climbed the staircase, he said, “Look, Mr Calvert... I don’t know ’ow to say this... what I mean to say is.... you might ‘ear certain fings whilst you is ‘ere... and I don’t like ‘avin’ to ask... but we’d be grateful if you would sign, for the want of a better phrase, a gag order.”

Malky shook his head, “Like I said, Herbie, I hate the press as much as ‘oul Ollie, but I don’t feel comfortable signing that sort of thing. Cuz if there is anythin’ iffy goin’ on – I’m not sayin’ there is – but should we detect signs of chicanery or skulduggery in the course of our ‘investigation’ -- like, say, we uncover a plot to get the ol’ bugger certified and bleed him dry or rewrite his will -- a gagging order could severely hinder an official investigation, and, when all’s said and done, I’m on the side of law and order.” He held up his right hand, “But if it makes you feel any better – as far as petty gossip and scandal-mongering is concerned -- my lips are sealed,” he turned, looked down at Broo and added, glumly, “... can’t speak for the dog, though...”

Broo grunted, still too stupefied to take anything in.  

In light of such an earnest assurance, Herbie relaxed a little and explained, “Um well, the ‘Inquisition’ I mentioned refers to some recent sackin’s in the last week or two. ‘E’s fired a coupla security guards, the assistant gardener and the young gal who ‘elps out wiv the ‘ahsework on Tuesdays ‘n Fursdays!”

“Why did he sack them?”

“Cos somebody leaked some gossip to an American tabloid ‘n it could only ‘ave come from the staff, so ‘e hadda clear-aht.” Herbie took a deep breath and spoke in a half-whisper, “So you can see how bad it is ‘ere. It’s got to the point where the only people ‘e trusts is me and the ‘ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes - and ‘e only trusts ‘er cuz she’s from the village and they believes all this ’aunted ‘ouse bollox.”

Again they were distracted; this time it was the jingle of unbuckled buckles and the stomp of motorcycle-boot-heels on the chequered tiles below, “Uncle Herb! Is it true? He’s sacked Scanlon?!” Kris shouted from the hall, clearly incensed. The three turned and looked down; Herbie maintained eye contact but didn’t answer; his uneasy silence said it all. “He has?! Shit! Where did he go?”

Herbie lowered his head, looked at his shoes and said, “Nobody knows. He packed up ‘n walked aht wivvaht a word ‘n we’ve ‘eard nuffink since.”

The lad stamped his foot and punched his thighs with his fists in a sudden fit of anger and disbelief, pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, as the implications hit him one by one, “This is such bullshit, Uncle Herb -- I was working with Scanlon -- he was helping me with the movie -- what did he do?!”

Herbie’s head dropped, “Look Kris, yer grandpaw’s been ‘avin’ a bit of bovver lately and...”

“And where’s the cat? Don’t tell me he’s fired him too?!”

“He ran away.”

“Huh?! Fey Ray ran away? I not friggin’ surprised! The entire estate is a no go area for anything with more than two legs!” yelled Kris, without realising how odd it sounded, and stomped off in a huff; a few seconds later they heard him shouting at the old man in another room.

“Do ever stop and think: ‘hey, maybe I’m the problem?’ – cuz unless you straighten-out you’re gonna die a very lonely old man...” “Ach, blow it out yer arse, ye ginger shite-hawk...!”

A door slammed and the squabbling voices became muffled and unintelligible again. Herbie put a hand to his brow and groaned to himself, “Kris, son, you couldn't-a picked a worse time to pay us a surprise visit...”

“Who was Scanlon? The butler?” asked Malky.

“No, groundskeeper, but he might as well’ve been,” Herbie replied, unhappily, “’E did all the odd-jobs arahnd the ahse. Lifetime’s service – gone - jus-like-that - phfft! Kris an’ ‘im wuz thick as thieves too. ‘E knew all the stories about this place. Kris used to sit up for hours on end listenin’ to ‘im but Scanlon and the boss never really got along – Scanlon came wiv the ahse, see, just like all the servants – but ‘e wuz a bit of a law onto ‘isself. When we checked, we found ‘irregularities’ in our finances. The boss confronted him, he couldn’t answer, ‘n that was that.”

They reached the second landing and the old retainer ushered them along a long corridor with row-upon-row of sky-blue doors with ornate brass name plates, the panelling in-between bedecked with gold and silver discs, “Were all these recorded by Ollie?” asked Malky, genuinely impressed.

Herbie, pleased to have a diversion, nodded and cheerfully slipped back into tour-guide mode, “Oh, people forget ‘e was a great crooner. In the 50s he recorded loadsa LPs and they wuz big ‘its all ovah the world - not-so-much in the US or Britain - but ‘ere in Ireland ‘n France ‘n’ Germany.  Can’t walk dahn the street in Japan. We go over to Tokyo every now-‘n’-then and ‘e records all these TV commercials for ‘em. Liquor, potato chips, candy bars, mostly. ‘Big bucks for a load of ol’ bollox!’ ‘e says.”

“I know how that feels,” muttered Malky, thumbing the cheque in his pocket.

Herbie opened a door with an engraved plate bearing the legend The Wonderland Suite and put the case on an ottoman by the door. The room was weirdly magnificent, in an oversized, child’s playbox type-way. The floor was a chessboard, there were huge cushions in the shape of chess pieces scattered around the floor; the walls were decorated with blow ups of Tenniel’s drawings of Alice in Wonderland characters; an emperor-sized four-poster swathed in white satin sheets patterned with black diamonds; and a large, white tallboy with outsized, bright red knobs and drawers that were shaped to look warped and uneven, like a prop from a kids’ cartoon. “’Ere’s the TV,” he said, opening the doors of a huge white sideboard to reveal a 38” screen, “If you wanna take a walk round before dinnah -– go ‘ead, nowhere’s off limits -– oh, part of the east-wing’s locked-up, but I can get the keys from the safe and take you down later. There’s some PJs ‘n wot-not in the dresser drawer and fresh towels in the en suite. There’s the phone,” he pointed at an ornate, art deco phone, “just dial 9 for an outside line.”

Astonished by his surroundings, Malky could only gaze and nod his head.

Herbie clicked his heels and stood to attention, “There’s plenty of ‘ot-wa’ah if you wanna ‘ave a showah and a shave or wot-evah. Dinnah will be served at 8pm sharp (it was presently 5:50pm), I’ll bang the gong. In the meantime, make yerself at ‘ome 'n I’ll see you at 8,” said Herbie, brightly, closing the door behind him.

Malky sat down on the edge of the bed and examined a brass plated console next to the headboard; he pressed the first button: the curtains closed; he pressed the second: the curtains opened; he pressed a third and the lights either side of the bed came on; he pressed the fourth and the drape across the canopy over the bed rolled back to reveal a full-size, horizontal mirror. “Bit sordid for a room that looks like a nursery,” Malky opined, flopping down and looking up at his reflection, “God, I’m getting old. Remind me to close that curtain before I go to bed – if I wake up and see meself in the morning I’m likely to scare meself to death.” He kicked off his shoes and writhed in the welcoming sea of satiny-softness, like a Labrador pup in an unfurled toilet roll, “Oh, I just wanna sleeeeep... wake me up in September when the baby’s born...”

Broo growled quietly, that’s right, you have a nice relaxing catnap while your tiny, put-upon wife labours over a hot engine just so that she can get that wretched old banger of a van back on the road in order to buy provisions and decorating materials to build a nest for you and your unborn progeny.

Malky sat up, “Hmm. maybe I should ring her. This is our first night apart since we moved in together. I’d better give her a progress report.” He rolled over, picked up the art-deco phone and called the inn.

“Well, what’s Ollie’s house like?! Is it dead grand or what? I wanna know everything!”

He gave her a detailed description of the house so far, right up to and including the mirror in the canopy over the bed, “... the stories are true, though -- Jolly Ollie is one grouchy oul’ shite. I don’t think I’ve ever met such an obnoxious old git in all me life.” he said, shaking his head. “Zindy, what the hell am I doing here? This isn't me.”

Zindy had obviously been thinking about it too, “Listen luvver, this ain’t a justification or an excuse, but both of us know that there’s certain things we can’t explain away with logic. I mean, look what ‘appened with Barry McKee? Just put yer Sherlock hat on and look at it from a detective’s perspective; treat it as a sorta murder-mystery weekend. What about Broo? He should be able to let you know if there’s anything spooky about the place?”

“I dunno, he seems a bit drowsy, like he’s half-asleep,” said Malky, giving the old dog a cursory glance.

Of course I’m sluggish, you oaf -- this place is sucking the life out of me! Can’t you tell?!

But the semi-telepathic link remained infuriatingly out of order, “It was a long drive. He’s probably knackered.” Then, much to Broo’s chagrin, they forgot about him and exchanged love yous, miss yous and take cares before hanging up.

“Have you noticed somethin’?” said Malky, rhetorically, going to the en-suite and turning on the light; he looked around, “Hmmm,” he opened the bathroom cabinet: the mirror was on the inside of the door. “Whilst me ‘n Zindy were talking, it suddenly occurred to me -– there isn't a mirror to be seen around the house -- even the one above this bed is covered by a curtain.” Malky nodded, “It’s ironic, isn't it: the big Alice in Wonderland freak who doesn’t have Looking Glass –- an egotist who treats you to a personalised autobiographical stroll through his glory days but doesn’t like to look at his own reflection? I find that somewhat strange...”

5 minutes ago: Zindy put the receiver back in its cradle, sat back and winced, “Settle down, kiddo,” she said, patting the elongated face of Jimi Hendrix stretched across her bump, “I still have a gearbox to sort out before we ‘ave a nice bath ‘n go to bed.” She sat at the kitchen table, radio tuned to a classic rock station (Malky listened to nothing but BBC Radio 4) and sang along to Deep Purple’s Child in Time, wailing like a banshee as she screwed and unscrewed oily nuts and rusty bolts: très cathartic. She felt a little guilty, but surely she was entitled to a night on her own. She looked down at the bump: I mean the two of us. I’ll never be alone again

Zara ‘Zindy’ Lindsay, you see, was an accident; everybody told her so.

Ever since she could understand rudimentary English, her aunts and her mother would mention it regularly - usually after something burned down or yet another little boy’s mother had arrived at the door complaining that she was demanding dinner-money with menaces. When she was old enough to understand the mechanics of human reproduction (hard not to when you live on a farm), they’d tell her she was the result of a drunken one-night-stand with a Spanish scout master (visiting Burnley on an exchange-visit) that no one had seen or heard from since. Fortunately for Dory, the Lindsays were/are a well-to-do family with links to the cotton trade that go as far back as the 17th century, so they had the wealth and power to cover it up. After a secret birth, mother Dory and baby Zara were spirited away to a remote farmhouse in the heart of the Lancashire countryside under the care of a pair of huge, lumbering maiden-aunts. Unlike the petite and genteel Dory, Maggie and Lottie were tall, mannish land-girls with no time for molly-coddles and sentimentality -- what’s more they didn’t care what their niece got up to so long as she didn’t burn the place down or leave a gate open (she could drive a tractor by the age of 6). When she was 7, Dory married and moved out, but Zindy didn’t like her new stepdad and he didn’t like her (a snooty, middle-aged bank manager who read the FT and went to Mass twice a week). She preferred Dory’s long-term boyfriend Tam Horsham who drove the Mother’s Pride bread van; but he was too common, apparently, “He eats his dinner off a tray and smokes in the bath!” said Dory, tartly, when asked if Zindy should start calling him dad. So, after numerous tantrums, she was allowed to stay at the farm and enjoy the relative freedom of life with the ‘Looney Lindsay Sisters’ (as the locals called them). Then puberty hit, so did a lifelong passion: motorbikes. She found a broken down old ‘39 Triumph Tiger in the barn and with some help from Lottie (“It belonged to an old boyfriend who left it here in ’42 when he went to war... but he never came back for it so I assumed the worst.”) she cleaned it up and replaced the missing parts. It took 8 months of scouring scrapyards and hard labour, but she managed to restore it to its former glory. She was in the Gazette! ‘Tearaway Tomboy Triumphs!!’ Consequently, she met dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts and a lot of them just happened to be Hell’s Angels. That’s when she first got that weakness in her knees. Big, fat, hairy men. Her pals were aghast. It could've been a father-daddy complex or just a weird perversion, but she could get enough of grizzled, over-weight geezers most girls would cross the road to avoid.

In spite of her aggressive side, she was quite the artist and spent hours quietly painting and sketching the scenery behind her great-aunts’ farm. According to her second year teacher in her annual report (Zindy refused to go to boarding school and went to the local comprehensive): ‘She has shown a flair for art and is very intelligent – when she wants to work, which isn't often ... for the most part she is headstrong, opinionated, brusque and quick to temper; a girl who sees life as a big adventure ... it may be a symptom of her diminutive stature that she feels she has to be brash and contrary, but if she continues in this fashion she may face expulsion....’

Zindy just couldn't be tamed. She was up before the magistrate on a regular basis, mostly for driving without a licence or brawling with boys twice her size. On her 18th she stood on a table in the Flat Iron pub in front of her closest friends and allies and vowed never to settle down to a life of domesticity, to forsake motherhood and be a free spirit for the rest of her life. Three weeks later, she moved in with a recently divorced woodwork teacher 17 years her senior. He proposed (‘wanna shack-up?’) and she couldn't say no. So began her lifelong ‘thing’ for older men – the daddy syndrome, probably.

The cohabitation with the woodwork teacher was as passionate as it was incendiary – he turned out to be a secret drinker – there were vodka bottles hidden all over the flat; she tried to keep up for a while, but all they did was fight. Things came to a head with the couple spending a night in the cells of Bottle Street nick. The desk sergeant told her he was a lost cause – “He’s dried-out 3 times -– and he’s still the same mess he was when I first started in here 15 years ago! My advice lady – run as fast as them wee legs can take ya – find a fit young man with a good job!” She took this advice to heart, and a in a few months she met a recently widowed sculptor at a Henry Moore exhibition –- this time 40 years her senior; tall, with long grey hair who dressed like Tom Wolfe -– and got swept up in a whirlwind romance. ‘Whirlwind’ in the sense that the trail of destruction they left behind: various foodstuffs were hurled, crockery was smashed, household utensils took flight and embedded themselves in walls. Zindy loved it. She loved him. Alas, his kids, two of which were older than her, did not approve and weren’t shy about letting her know. It was grist for Zindy’s mill; it only strengthened her resolve. She thrived in adversity; she lived to Fight the Good Fight and persevered with the relationship without a thought for the toll it was taking on the poor man’s heart. Of course, like most Spring/Winter love affairs it ended with a lonely vigil in a draughty hospital corridor listening to the impassive beep of medical machinery whilst his own flesh & blood hold his hand as he drifts over. Previously estranged siblings now united in their grief against a common enemy: “The stupid bitch is still sitting out in t’corridor.” “She’s only after ‘is money.” “She looks about 9, makes you wonder...?” She heard every word, approached and told them in no uncertain terms she didn’t want or need his money – all she wanted was to organise the funeral in accordance with his last wishes. They told her his last wishes were enshrined in his last will & testament, not word of mouth, and while they were on the subject, he hadn't left her anything. They told her he was never done talking trash about her behind her back, telling them how he didn’t trust her; that she was a little gold-digger. Meanwhile he was telling Zindy how ungrateful and spiteful his children were and how they’d never done a day’s work in their lives! She had to stand there and listen as they sneered and talked about the stranger with whom she’d spent the last 2 years. It turned out he was a compulsive liar. His wives were all basket-cases by the time he’d finished messing with their minds. All told, the heart condition came as a result of the stress of numerous love affairs and having to remember what lie he told to whom.

Zindy swore to herself that she’d never have anything to do with men ever again! She cut her hair short, dyed it blue and foreswore make-up, skirts and blouses, bought a motorbike and toured Europe with a chapter of Hell’s Angels who treated her like one of the boys. The vow was broken 5 years later when she accompanied her new pals to the Isle of Man for the TT and met a biker from Wicklow. Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning was a built like a brick-shithouse with a long plaited (usually purple, sometimes blue) beard and intense stare (hence the moniker; Raspo: short for Rasputin). He was a nightmare in a studded leather jacket but Zindy was besotted with him. Despite his hulking size, expanding waistline and intimidating manner, he was smarter than the average bear. He read science fiction and knew a lot about astronomy. They used to ride up to Donegal, sit on the cliffs and he would teach her the consolations. She was hooked.

While she was there, one of her great-aunts died and Raspo took her back to Salford for the funeral. She inherited £30,000. Then Barry McKee, one of the gang of bikers from Brodir, happened to mention that his father was selling a seaside pub and she was very interested. She could run a business - she used to do the sculptor’s book-keeping and worked behind a bar in Germany for a few weeks; plus, Brodir might’ve been a rundown town, but it was a Mecca for bikers from all over Europe -- trade would be brisk –- she couldn't see what could possibly go wrong!

But you don’t know anybody until you live with them for a while.

At first, Raspo enjoyed playing host and worked behind the bar, but he had other business interests and that was OK – she preferred running things on her own – it was her name on the licence, her responsibility. She never asked about his business, she didn’t want to know, but she assumed he was a small time dealer: grass and tabs. Then one day he said, “Oh Zin, I’m off to Dublin to do bouncer for a boxin’ match at the National Stadium!” he kissed her goodbye, got on his trusty Triumph and off he went to bounce in Dublin. She found out later that he was off to collect a sizeable debt owed to him for a delivery of coke. When the debtor wasn't forthcoming, Raspo lost his temper and took it out of his hide with a crowbar. This information came courtesy of DS Phil Somerville, who also informed her that her beloved Raspo wasn't just peddling grass, he was dealing in all the a-listed narcotics, not to mention a little sideline in video piracy. She had to sit and listen while Somerville listed her lover’s shady dealings with various Dublin-based organised crime syndicates and proscribed terrorist militias when he tried to coerce her into turning tout and aid in the apprehension Raspo’s subordinates/associates/friends etc. She flatly refused. Raspo was sent down for 7 years, but 8 months later, to shave a few years off his sentence, he did what she refused to do: he shopped most of his former associates including some regulars, and - boom – the bulk of her clientele has declared her persona non grata and boycotted the inn. Somerville told her it was her own fault; she knew what Raspo was and chose to ignore it. He was right. A psychologist would say that it was indicative of a subconscious desire not to commit to a long-term relationship... Whatever, she was alone again, naturally.

Then along came Malky and his spooky three-legged German shepherd and their notorious pursuit of the evil Barry McKee. It was a thrill-a-minute-life-or-death roller coaster ride but it nearly killed them. She took a bullet to the shoulder; Malky had a heart attack and almost bled to death (the irony: Somerville saved Malky’s life after destroying hers). And here she was, back in another hospital corridor listening to bleeping machines. Just when she thought history was repeating itself, his old broken heart kept beating, “and it’s been beating for you ever since,” he said, in an uncharacteristic show of mawkish affection. 

Good ol’ Malky. He made her laugh. He was a good man and he made her feel good. They had conversations that lasted all night. OK, so he has a psychic three-legged dog who complains about the noise when I play me records, but that only makes it more fun. To put it simply, life was good. She was painting again; he’d made her a studio in the attic. (He never told what he was doing up there and she didn’t ask; he just hammered and sawed and cursed whilst she went about her business. In the end he’d put a ribbon across the door for the grand unveiling. He’d widened the skylight to let in more light and built a little podium for her still-life subjects. She accepted the keys like a gushing thesp before bursting into real tears. And although , he was hard work at times - he was sometimes taciturn and prone to moodiness – he was a good, kind man.

Then, wonder-of-wonders, she gets pregnant and her instinct, much to her surprise, is to keep it. Malky acted as if he wasn't overly keen, but she knew that deep-down he was delighted; he just felt unworthy and old.

And here we are. 2 years later and things couldn't be better. We’re broke but we ain't bust. We’re just about keepin’ our heads above water...

She went to the bar and looked out of the big window at the dirty, litter laden, windswept promenade. The council were meeting on Thursday; word on the wind had it that property developers were looking at the town with a view to redevelopment, so things were looking up. That’s good, ain't it? Lots of meetings with property developers and councilmen: all very ‘establishment’.

So 22 years later, what would she say to the silly girl standing on the table telling the world she’ll be a wild-child forever? Is she where she wants to be, where she has to be, or where she needs to be...?

Sammy couldn't read her mind but felt her doubts as if they were his own. It must be something to do with Malky. He hoped that it wasn't anything serious. Malky had grown on him. The old dog was a godsend, somebody to talk to who can see you, hear you... not that he ever feckin’ listens! But what if the auld dog died? Sammy shuddered at the thought: There would be no watching TV until 4 in the morning for a start. It was tough being a ghost. And although he knew Zindy couldn't see him, he still felt a little self-conscious about his appearance; as the old dog says: “the bloody-bullet-hole-ridden-apron makes you look like a psychopath (ghosts are stuck with what they wore when they died -- the last image The Light captures before their Soul passes), so he was discreet. He sat on the bin in the dark corner by the stove and watched from what he considered to be a reasonable distance. He’d been a bachelor all his life, he’d never met a woman he could live with, but Zindy was closest thing he’d ever had to a daughter – this, despite the fact that she was a headstrong, blue-haired English girl who dressed like a boy and swore like a docker. When she bought the inn, he thought she’d only last a few weeks, and yet, thank God, here we are. 

There were very few advantages in existing between Worlds, besides the walking through walls and not having to eat or sleep or all that malarkey, his senses were heightened and attuned to the Oneness of All Living Things (well, that’s how the dog put it) –- which meant he was able to see the little glow in Zindy’s belly. It was nothing more than an amber glimmer throbbing with the minute pulsebeat of a budding Soul, but it radiated an energy that brought a ripple of warmth to his Essence. Sometimes, when she was sleeping he’d stand close – not too close – and look into her womb. Oh, but it was a joyous sight to behold, “Look at the miracle begin again,” he whispered, to no one in particular.

Zindy climbed up onto the draining board to close the window above the sink -– Sammy was jumping up and down, pulling at his silver beard, “Are ye mad woman?! Get down o’ that w’ ye!” Thankfully she performed the exercise without incident, but he still hadn't settled; as she went about preparing her evening meal, he paced the floor behind her, fussing, wagging his finger, “Look at that floor! There’s engine oil down there! Ye’ll slip ‘n’ go on yer hoop! You’d better buck-up yer ideas, lady – that’s a chile in there – not a bag o’ chips!”

“Oh, I’d love a bag o’ chips,” she said, apropos of nothing.

Sammy stood by the cooker as she toiled over the sizzling pan and talked to her unborn baby, “Your silly daddy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hates all this spooky stuff... He hates anything that brings the world to his door -- God knows what he’ll be like when the inn’s open for business...” Whether she was consoling a restless foetus or trying to convince herself, she didn’t know. She stopped stirring and stared as she contemplated her certain future.

The old ghost saw the doubt in her eyes and fought Malky’s case from his corner, “He’s a decent sort who won’t let you down –- you have to grow up sometime, missy! Stop moonin’ about and think like a mammy!”

No, let’s make no bones about, she was getting bored. It isn't good when life gets too predictable, when routine becomes rut. She needn't worry; things were about to get very strange indeed...

St Cedric’s Institution for the Criminally Insane (SCICI): Rossington watched the sundown from his office window, a very large brandy in one hand, a cigarette in the other. It had been a bad day. The news from the board had been direct with no room for interpretation. His time had run out. The victims’ families’ petitions and writing campaigns had fulfilled their purpose, the pressure to do something had forced their hand. He had to give up Barry McKee to the authorities so an independent assessment of his condition could be made. He’d explored every legal avenue to keep him at SCICI, but there was nothing more he could do. The mob has spoken.

He was angry and frustrated, but mostly angry. He finished his brandy, carelessly stubbed out the cigarette, left his office and made for the sick bay in the high security wing. He walked quickly and purposely, collected the swipe cards from the nurses’ station and marched on, swiping through the sophisticated system of doors, along the corridors and across the walkway that led to the security ward and the room of SCICI’s most infamous inmate. Then, just as he swiped the lock, he had a moment of inspiration. He turned and walked to the staff toilet at the end of the corridor, to the mirror above the wash-hand basin; using his penknife to unscrew the frame, he carefully prised the hexagonal glass from the wall, put it under his arm and took it to McKee’s room.

“Hello, Barry,” he said, quietly closing the door behind him and turning on the lights. The sudden blaze of brightness didn’t faze McKee. Hooked up to the machines that kept him alive, long haired and bearded, he continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling, like a stricken biblical prophet transfixed by a vision of hell.

“I must apologise, it’s been quite a while since I visited. I’ve been busy with other patients and projects, not to mention running this establishment, you know how it is. I’ve kept abreast of your progress, though... what there is of it.” Rossington slowly crossed the floor, talking in a casual manner as he approached the bed, “Anyway, I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve received some bad news regarding your case and I thought you should to be the first to hear it.” He sat in the chair by the bed and put the mirror on his lap, “They've decided to take you off my hands, Barry. They say I’ve had enough time to prove you’re worth keeping alive. They say it would be mercy: ‘it’s cruelty not to let nature take its course’. No doubt they’re under pressure from the families of the victims, not to mention that bastard Somerville. Whatever, you’re doomed, and there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

As always, McKee remained silent and seemingly insensible.

“You've shown no significant progress since that business with Niamh and Oona 2 years ago.” He tore off the latest print-out from the EEG and indicated the flat lines across the graph, “See, nothing like the flurry of activity we recorded during those instances in 1989. Why’s that, eh?” He scrunched the page into a ball and threw it into the corner. “It all stopped when I took away the mirrors and had you moved you to this room, didn’t it? Niamh and Oona lost their connection and have exhibited no psychic abilities since. It’s no coincidence, is it, Barry?”

He stood up and held the mirror over McKee’s face, “I know you use mirrors to reach out other telepaths and psychics,” he said, looking deep into McKee’s unseeing eyes, “so I’m having them re-installed, and you can do whatever is you do. Good or evil, I don’t care anymore. I just need results, Barry. I need something to show for my work. If not, I’ll hand you over to the authorities and they’ll perform what will be, for all intents and purposes, a public execution...”

To Be Continued Next Month...

[california-grethan]

Game Day // {E. Dolan}

Description: When it comes to home games, your school does not mess around, to say the least. You had never seen school spirit showcased the way that your fellow classmates did whenever it came time for football season, and you loved it. Nothing made you prouder to be a student at your school than standing on the bleachers with hundreds of other hyped up teenagers. Tonight’s game day, though, was something especially exciting, but bittersweet. As a senior, it’ll be the last home game you’ll be attending as a highschooler. You were excited to add another football game to your high school memories, but tonight will be a night you will never forget. 

Warning(s): none🤷🏽‍♀️

Requested: [yeahhh] // [nopeee]

Word Count: [2,162]

masterlist // blurb nights // come talk to me!

I walked through the packed hallways of my school, smiling at everyone’s excitement for tonight’s game. I smiled as I saw the jersey clad figures of two of my best friends, along with some of their teammates, leaning against my locker, their heads thrown back as laughed about something someone said. I saw one of the football players nudge Ethan, jutting his head in my direction, the look on his face teasing. I shook my head, a small smile on my lips because I knew what it was about. It only took a second for the entire team to catch on and begin yelling my name.

I groaned, “All of you, shut up. You guys are such nuisances.”

Grayson was quick to throw an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. “ C’mon, Y/N, don’t lie. You love us.”

I rolled my eyes, “Bailey, I’d be lying if those words left my mouth.”

The boy feigned a look of hurt before sticking his tongue out at me. My head shot up at the sound of Ethan saying my name.

I grinned at him, “Yeah?”

“So, uh,” he started nervously, “Actually, let’s go somewhere else, I don’t wanna ask you this in front of these idiots.”

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Well, alright then.”

He grasped my hand in his and dragged me down the hallway. I yelped as my body was jerked forward, quickly waving goodbye to the boys. “E! Slow down, you’re gonna rip my arm off.”

The boy abruptly stopped, pulling the two of us to the side of the hallway so that we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, causing me to ram into his side. “Shit, sorry, Y/N. I just wanted to get away from the guys because I know they won’t stop giving me shit about this if I asked you in front of all of them.”

“E, just tell me, what’s up?”

He shrugged his backpack off his shoulder, opening it up and reaching for something in it. When he managed to fish out what he was looking for, he pulled his hand out of the bag and came up with one of his football jerseys.

“So, I was wondering if you’d wear my jersey. It’s our last home game for the season and our last game as seniors, so all the seniors are asking someone to wear their jersey.”

I blushed at his statement knowing that the football players typically ask their girlfriends to wear their jerseys.

“Isn’t it tradition to ask your girlfriend to wear your jersey?” I asked, my question causing his cheeks to redden.

He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his that always resulted in me having to fix his hair for him. “Yeah, that’s the tradition, but you know damn well I’m too awkward to have a girlfriend. Plus, there’s no one I would rather see out on the bleachers sporting my jersey than my best friend.”

I felt my smile slightly falter when he referred to me as his ‘best friend.’ It was so goddamn cliche, but I would be a complete idiot not to have been slowly falling for my best friend. I shook off the pang of hurt in my chest and grinned at him, grabbing the jersey out of his hand.

“Here,” I said shoving my backpack in his hands so that I could slip the article of clothing over my sweatshirt. I made a show of spinning around for him, a playful look on my face when I turned around completely. “So? How do I look?”

The boy in front of me grinned at me. “You look great; you pull it off better than I do,” he said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, muttering a quiet, “kiss ass,” under my breath.

“Hey!” He said in defense, “I heard that.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Whatever,” I countered. I looked down at my watch, realizing that I only had a few minutes before class started. “Listen,” I began, “I’ve gotta go to class, my first period is all the way on the other side of the school. I’ll see you later, yeah?” I stood on my tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek before I made my way to class.

He nodded, “Yeah. Oh, wait, do you want a ride later?”

“Well, I’m not gonna go home after school, I’ll just hang around here with a few people until the game. But drive me home after the game? Y/F/N drove today and I know for a fact that she hates staying the entire time because of the traffic afterwards.”

“The team will probably be grabbing a bite after the game. Are you fine with tagging along?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I can always go for food anyway. Alright, I really gotta go now, Mrs. Garnett’ll come for me if I’m late for class again.” I turned around, starting to make my way down the hallway. “Have a good day, E-tee-wee-tee,” I called over my shoulder, smirking because I knew he hated being called that.

I chuckled to myself as I heard him whine my name behind me, but I kept walking.

I sighed in relief as I made my way out of my last class; the day seemed to drag on, all my teachers seemingly finding a way to make their classes as boring as possible. Throughout the day, too many people took notice of the fact that my upper half was adorned with Ethan’s jersey. I saw dirty looks thrown my way by girls that have been trying to get with Ethan since we started high school. My friends, on the other hand, were persistent with their teasing; everywhere I looked, a friend of either mine or Ethan would look at me with a knowing smirk on their face, almost as if they knew something that I didn’t.

A smile quickly made its way onto my face as I saw my group of friends crowded around the set of doors closest to the football stadium.

“Hey, y’all,” I greeted, leaning against one of my friends, Ian. Everyone greeted me before resuming their separate conversations.

He threw an arm over my shoulder, supporting my weight against the side of his body. “Hey, Y/N, how’s it going?”

“It’s good, tired after a long day, but it wasn’t too bad. How ‘bout--” I wasn’t able to finish my sentence because the next thing I knew, I was falling. Thankfully, I fell on my ass instead of my face. I looked up at the boy that was to blame for me falling, my annoyance apparent on my face. “Ian! What the fuck, man?”

He was looking at someone across the hallway. I looked over, seeing Ethan with a pissed off look on his face; his jaw was clenched, further emphasizing the boy’s sharp jawline. Ian broke eye contact with him, extending a hand out to help me up. “Shit, sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to have you fall, I just saw Ethan looking at us and he scared the crap out of me.”

I brushed myself off. “It’s fine,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So, are you guys, like, a thing?”

I raised my eyebrow at his question, “No, why’re you asking?”

He shrugged, “I mean, you’re wearing his jersey and he didn’t exactly look too happy to be seeing you with me.”

“Just ignore it, nothing’s happening between us. If he’s pissed off, that’s his problem.”

A hand instantly wrapped around my wrist, dragging me away from my friends and through the exit. “Ethan! What the fuck? Let go, you little shit, you’re hurting my arm.”

He instantly let go, mumbling a ‘sorry.’

I scoffed, “What the hell got into you?”

Ethan evaded my question, “What was that with Ian?” He said the other boy’s name with disgust.

“I asked you a question first.”

“Fine, I don’t like him. I don’t like the idea of you hanging around him.”

My eyes rolled in annoyance, “Bullshit, you guys used to be friends before football became your main thing. Ian and I have been friends longer than I’ve been friends with you and Gray. So, what’s really got you pissed off?”

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest, “That is the reason!”

I shook my head at his stubbornness, “Whatever, come find me when you’re ready to tell the truth.”

I made my way back inside, joining my friends.

The stadium was absolutely packed. It seemed like everyone in the community came to tonight’s game. Y/F/N and I made our way to the senior section, squeezing past the crowd of people as we tried to get to where Ian and a few of our other friends had saved us a spot.

“Y’all ready for this game?” I asked as I passed down the food and candy that we just bought.

Everyone responded back excitedly. A voice then boomed over the speakers of the stadium, “Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Are y’all ready for our last home game?”

Everyone on our school’s side of the stadium screamed in response.

“Alright, alright! That’s what we like to hear! Now, let’s welcome our boys onto the field!”

We all began shouting on the top of our lungs and stomping our feet against the metal of the bleachers. All the players ran through the inflated tunnel that had our school’s mascot integrated into its design. The screaming eventually died down, allowing the marching band to begin playing the national anthem.

Once it ended, I took the time to soak in the environment around me. A sad smile made its way onto my face when I realized that tonight would be the last football game I would ever attend as a highschooler. The realization was bittersweet, but I shook the sadness off, wanting to enjoy every moment of the game. The atmosphere of the stadium was absolutely insane; it truly did seem as if every student and every parent came out to support the football team tonight. The bleachers were absolutely packed and people could be seen spilling out onto the grass area on either side of the bleachers.

I felt an elbow jab into my rib cage, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Y/F/N, bitch, what the hell?”

She jutted her head in the direction of the field, noticing that Grayson was trying to get our attention. I made eye contact with him, cocking my head to the side in confusion. He gestured at me, motioning me to come down to the field.

“What’s that about?” asked Y/F/N.

I shrugged my shoulders before excusing myself and making my way down to the field. Grayson met me at the fence.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“What happened between you and E earlier?”

I rolled my eyes, “He was being pissy about me being friends with Ian.”

Grayson scoffed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Goddamn, both of you are such idiots. Give me a second.”

The boy ran off, making his way towards his brother. He bent down, saying something into Ethan’s ear. The older boy immediately whipped his head around, meeting my eyes. My eyes widened as Grayson smacked the back of Ethan’s head, saying, ‘go,’ and pointing to where I was standing. Ethan threw his hands up in defense, quickly pushing himself off of the bench and jogging towards me.

“Hey,” he said once he reached me.

“Hi, Ethan.”

“So,” he started. “About earlier, I’m sorry. I was out of line, and it was total bullshit. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have, so why did you?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Y/N! Are you really that clueless?”

“Excuse me? Cluele-”

My eyes widened when he leaned closer to me, pressing his lips against mine. My eyes fluttered shut as I melted into the kiss. His soft lips perfectly molding against mine. I brought my hand up to the collar of his jersey, pulling him as close as I possibly could with the fence in between us.

We separated, chests heaving from our lack of breath. With our foreheads touching, I said, “Took you long enough, you idiot.”

He chuckled lightly, “You were clueless, too.”

“Whatever, Dolan.”

“So, now that we’ve both got our heads out of our asses, be mine?”

I pulled away from him, a large grin on my face. “Win the game for me and you’ll get the answer you want.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at me, “Damn, so you’re gonna make me work for it?”

I laughed, nodding at him. “Hell yeah, you’re working for it. So, you better get your ass back on the field and make sure you win,” I replied with a wink. I spun around on my heel, a dumbass smile on my face as I made my way back to my friends.  

[sterekloving]

If you’re new to the fandom or just want something new to read or even reread an old classic, here’s the most popular and iconic fics in the fandom!

(Those with a * are my all time favourites - if you want me to do a personal fave ficrec, let me know!)

Alpha Spikes* -  thestarbeast - 70k+ - Explicit

AU. Alphas are like royalty and are offered their choice of any age eighteen-and-up virgin Omega for each heat season, as a 'thank-you' for all they've done throughout the year. Derek is an Alpha and...yeah, Stiles. Stiles is an Omega. And still a virgin. In every way. And he's just turned eighteen. This...is not his day.

Bones Straining Under the Weight* -  weathervaanes - 15k - Explicit

One of Stiles' favorite things about life is Derek Hale's food blog. He never expects to meet the man in person.

“Derek,” he says again, and the name feels very strange on his tongue.

“You don’t mean Derek Hale.”

His professor’s eyebrows reach up, eyes widening. “You read his blog?”

"Uh. Worship. Would be a better more descriptive word. That is Derek Hale?"

Jimmy chuckles. "Good-looking guy, huh?"

"You mean to tell me the Food Network hasn't snatched him up to dethrone everyone else from daytime TV."

Jimmy smiles a small private smile. "I don't think TV is his medium."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Shy?"

The man laughs heartily at that. "No, I wouldn't say that. He just has particular forms of expression, like eyebrows and chili powder."

By Any Other Name -  entanglednow - 33k - Explicit

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.

Can’t Be Hateful, Gotta Be Grateful -  HalfFizzbin - 6k - Teen

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma." (Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Cornerstone* -  Vendelin - 83k - Explicit

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.

Cupboard Love -  mklutz - 30k+ - General

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.

Dating Backwards* - RemainNameless - 85k - Explicit

Pornstars Derek and Stiles work for the same company. Derek only shoots with werewolves and Stiles only shoots with humans. That's not going to change after they meet. It's really not. (It might.)

DILF* -  twentysomething - 30k+ - Explicit

"Today is Scott's first day of kindergarten and Derek is terrified."

Divided We Stand* -  KouriArashi - 100k+ - Mature

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

Don’t Savage The Messenger* -  exclamation - 172k - Explicit

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange.

Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Don’t Worry Baby -  kalpurna - 20k - Explicit

"You know you're allowed to ask for vanilla sex, right?" he says, afterwards. "We can do whatever you want. That's kind of the point." Derek doesn't respond.

Dude, Werewolves -  mysecretashes - 29k - Explicit

Stiles gets partnered with Cora for a history project, and they become bros. Also, he kind of falls in love with her older brother, Derek.

Electricity In the Contact -  ladyblahblah - 27k - Explicit

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

Enemy Lines* -  qhuinn - 149k - Explicit

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

Every Step You Take -  Nokomis - 49k - Mature

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

Fireman Derek’s Crazy Pie (Cheeseburger Baby) -  owlpostagain - 17k - Teen

“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."

Gravity’s Got Nothing on You* -  zosofi - 83k - Explicit

“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.

Hemingway Can Suck It -  KuriKuri - 10k - Teen

“For those of you who just transferred into this class or simply decided that day one wasn’t important enough to attend, I’m Professor Hale. Welcome to English 346, The American Novel.”

Stiles is pretty sure his mouth is hanging open right now and that his eyes are wide with shock, because holy fuck, he thinks he knows why his students transferred. Hell, if he was still an undergrad, he probably would have transferred, too.

(Or: In which Stiles is a Biology professor and Derek thinks he's a student.)

Integral to Survival -  asocialfauxpas - 8k - Mature

Derek is in the cell for about ten minutes before the lone door opens and a new body is tossed in. The person hits the floor with a grunt, rolls, and stands as the door is clanging shut. “That’s really not the way to treat a guest!”

Just Act Normal -  zosofi - 70k+ - Explicit

If someone had told Stiles back in high school that he would be an Oscar winning actor by the time he turned 25, he would’ve probably told Scott to punch them. The thing is, though…they would’ve been right. Which makes returning to Beacon Hills, center of all that is supernatural and better left avoided, all the more awkward.

Kaleidoscope* -  Vendelin - 50k+ - Explicit 

Stiles spends a year before college working at the all-night coffee shop in town. It's nice and quiet, until one dark and brooding Derek starts coming in every morning, ordering coffee so strong that it should not be fit for human consumption. Ever. Stiles tries not to be affected by the mystery guy, but it's not like anything else happens around here, so really, what did you expect? And when he's already in too deep, he realises he might even be in way over his head...

Little Wild Animal* - DiscontentedWinter - 61k - Explicit

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

Lock All The Doors Behind You -  entanglednow - 25k+ - Mature

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Losers -  stilinskisparkles - 30k+ - Explicit

Where Derek is new to college, eager to spend his time learning, and Stiles is everything he didn't want in a room mate. He's loud, he's into sports, and he keeps trying to make Derek do things. Or, the one where Derek falls for a jock, Erica will cut you if you disturb her studying, and Jackson is a closeted romantic who pretends to hate everything.

Move a Mountain* -  ZainClaw - 69k - Explicit

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

No Homo* -  RemainNameless - 80k+ - Explicit

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.

Our Lives Are Changing Lanes* -  grimm - 47k - Explicit

There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.

"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.

The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "You think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"

"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."

Permanent Fixture* -  linksofmemories - 80k+ = Explicit

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.

Practice Makes Perfect -  blacktofade - 21k - Explicit

In his sophomore year, Stiles gets dragged to lacrosse tryouts by Scott and ends up practising alongside the senior captain, Derek Hale. Stiles just wants to live long enough to become a junior.

Prince Among Wolves* -  tylerfucklin - 100k - Explicit

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.

Salty Sweet - secondstar - 40k+ - Explicit

Derek works at a porn store. One day, Stiles comes in asking all sorts of TMI questions about different toys. That's where it all starts.

Sideways and Slantways and Longways and Backways -  hologramophone - 7k - Teen

“I called you a slave-driver!” Stiles cried hysterically. “I called you an ogre! I stole all the blue paperclips!” Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s company property!” he shouted, waving his arms madly in distress. Derek ran a hand over his face. “It’s not theft if the vice president of the company gives you permission.” (Otherwise known as the Elevator AU)

The Company I Keep* -  secondstar - 67k - Explicit

Stiles has a favorite table at the library. Then some asshole comes along and steals it from him.

There is a Brotherhood* -  minusoneday - 21k - Explicit

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.

There’s Monsters At Home -  calrissian18 - 80k+ - Explicit

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many. The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.” Derek despised him.

Tiny Houses* -  ohmyjetsabel - 77k - Explicit

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Versus* -  secondstar - 90k+ - Explicit

At age nineteen, Stiles Stilinski was the next big thing, according to The Guardian. It was surreal, not being able to turn on Sky Sports without hearing his name mentioned along with the names of players he grew up idolizing. Stiles couldn’t believe that this was his life.

Windows* -  dr_girlfriend - 83k - Explicit

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking. 

Excerpt: “You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails. 

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.” 

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered. 

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —” 

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.” 

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation -  grimm - 118k - Explicit

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.