#while Edgar makes pathetic whining noises

[thephoenixcave]

“Edgar Steals a Book” (the sequel to “Edgar Wants Attention”

Whereupon the King meets his untimely (but much deserved) end 💀

Was it all part of some master plan? Or did he just see the opportunity in the moment and go for it? We will never know. No Fenix Downs for you buddy, you best stay down and think about your life choices 😆

More comics ’n’ stuff here (link)

[just-call-me-johnny-archive]

TW: Suicidal ideation, past suicide attempt mentioned, abusive language, stalking, paranoia, dreamlike body horror, panic attack. Reader discretion is advised.

He's there again. It's night time; they are both out drinking on the balcony. Crickets chirp and turn into a background white noise. His hair is short and blue and whips with the Summer wind. His eyes are still sharp and just barely shadowed as they look over the dewy streets of a sleeping city. 

He hears the other man take another sip of his drink and then take a drag of a cigarette. Johnny is surprised when it doesn't burn the inside of his nostrils like before. 

Despite knowing he had been drinking at some point before this time, Johnny just keeps the bottle in between his legs. Some sort of cherry wine cooler. Fruity pansy mocktail shit, as Edgar so endearingly referred to them as. 

And it's this thought alone that reminds Johnny that he is dreaming, because in his memories- Edgar is never sarcastic or mean. He was funny and a little rude but in a cute way to Nny. 

But to Johnny, he feels a living resentment that he can't show. 

"You know you'll never be good enough for them, right?" He exhales, talking as smoke billows out and he's just blowing off steam on Johnny. His brain is because Edgar is not actually here and there's no way in Hell that Johnny spontaneously decided to pay the apartment a visit. 

Nny or Johnny or whoever he is here, looks over to Edgar and says 'what?' Confused and yet knowing and frightened that he does but dreams are just metaphors and he can't control anything here as usual. Just watch and play pretend and act and wait to awaken safe and far away. 

"Don't act stupid," the man says rolling his eyes harshly and flicking his finger and cigarette towards Johnny. "You know what I'm talking about. You don't think I can't see what you actually dream about? How much you just ache to be that man's little bug. Well I'll tell you now Swallowtail, you're no match for the Joneses over there." 

"I mean, really? You couldn't have picked a worse couple to crush on, Nny. They are not even in the same sport as you, let alone league. Allow me to put it in perspective." 

Vargas puts the cigarette at the corner of his lips and raises his hands a large amount of space apart. 

"You're… discount putt putt in a two-star shopping center. And they are a Super Bowl played and broadcasted on the Moon." 

He laughs and inhales while Johnny's mouth is set in a firm line. Unable to say anything. Unsure what to say because he's right. He is always right and even in a fucking dream he won't let this aware version of the bastard see him cry ever again. 

"Look at you, can't even fucking laugh. I bet Leera can laugh. Bet she has the cutest little laugh that makes your precious Counselor's heart flutter. I also bet you can never do that for him." 

Johnny blinks, looking away, face hot and eyes burning. He will scoop them out he swears he will because there's no consequences here. He can dig that lump in his throat out too and toss it like a little rubber bouncey ball you can get in those coin slots dispensers. 

"Oh wait. No, I lied. You do, but more in a heart attack kind of way. Tell you what, Swallowtail, you sure know how to whore for attention. If you honestly believe that anything they're doing for you is for any other reason than you're a basket case sob story and slash or your sister and her whole goddamn family are royalty and slash or highly powerful people who have Dr. Jack Daniel's by his dick- then you're screwing yourself, my dear." 

Johnny sets a frown and speaks, finding it easier to do than he thought it would be. 

"I do know that." You don't have to keep fucking telling me how worthless I am and how much I'll never fit in with anything or how everyone who loves me does it out of pity or that I'm just kidding myself that anyone actually cares. I know that i fucking know that i cant ever forget you never let me forget. 

His throat burns like the words stuffed down his throat. 

"Good boy," Edgar says, grinning at the glassy eyed look that Johnny has trained on the drink in his grasp, wiping the condensation away with a shaky finger. 

"I am sorry though, Swallowtail. It must be hard knowing that the only worth you have is as slavery towards your homicidal duties. You'll spend the rest of eternity irredeemably worthless with no reprieve of going mad to save you. Every day you'll be stuck with no one but yourself and whoever you may have… recruited in your delusion will be dead. Because see- immortality is a gift that just keeps giving. You'll live long enough to see all of the people who claim to love you in this life, grow old and die away or be gruesomely murdered and take that fragile bordered love with them." 

"So, if I were you- and honestly, no offense, I am very glad I am not- I would just focus on the fleeting moments you have now and stop filling your little head with fantasies of being Jack's boytoy, because darling- may I remind you- any love that you think you feel or care or whatever- is temporary. When they die- it dies. So essentially, my dearest Swallowtail, you'll eventually kill that too." 

Edgar takes another drag and then lets the cigarette fall to the concrete, crushing it with the toes of his dress shoes. "Which- as a recap- is all you're ever going to do." 

He reaches over and pats Johnny's cheek and the man flinches, making a few of the tears he had been holding back fall down his cheeks. 

Vargas then gets up and goes towards the balcony door and Johnny's body spasms a little and he finds himself surrounded by pitch black, and the familiar sounds of the room allow him to quiet his whimpered gasps down. 

His breath levels out as he lets the tears fall as the dream fades away slowly. He still remembers a chunk of it. Enough to bring him back to the practice of making sure his cries are silent and quick and draining because he wants to be heard and held and told they're all lies of an exhausted, overclocked brain, but he knows that it's all true and he shouldn't make a noise because why is he even crying for? That his brain is trying to tell him he has been right all along and he just has to take it and live with it because it's fucking life and he better get used to it. 

He keeps asking himself why he's crying and what good it'll do and not to wake anyone with his noise and he eventually is able to calm down enough to breathe again. 

He feels gross, warm, with his face wet and his throat feeling clogged and his eyes burning. Nobody wants to see that. Wants to see him sniveling and whining about a silly dream when there's so many actual problems to worry about. Like an unborn child and a company and a kingdom and a galaxy of people. So many more important things. 

And it's in that moment where Johnny starts wondering where the surgical scalpels are because he needs to do it for real this time. No fucking up and being found and failing at killing everything but himself. Kill the disease; kill the host. Kill the thoughts kill the noise kill the sadness kill the shame kill the memories kill the desires and and needs. 

Kill the images in his head of being found like this and held and shushed and told everything would be okay because it's never okay and all he has are these stupid fucking fantasies that will never happen and that aren't his to have anymore anyways. And that are useless pictures of window shopping. Of things he can't afford and will never be worthy of. 

And he physically has to hold on to the blanket to stop himself from getting up right now, walking down that hall, and just throwing himself out into the vastness of space.

 It hasn't been this bad in a while and he thinks about Dr. Ruxill's voice talking about therapy. And he wonders how that would go for him talking about things he can barely handle himself. About memories he only just started recovering over the past two years. And then he thinks of losing his last breath to the stars and how he won't have to talk ever again. 

And he continues this over and over and over until the lights come back on and the nurse comes in and he can't be roused to give his arm for more medicine. He's curled in tight to himself and he's aware and awake but mute and non-compliant. And after a while of coaxing and no response or surrender they give up and call in reinforcements. 

And then Counselor comes in with his soft voice and common sense and rationality and Johnny can't handle any of that especially and so he pulls the blankets over his head and doesn't leave that position until he senses the lights are turned off and his room is vacant and the staff are being briefed not to enter his room unless it's an emergency. 

Breakfast is brought in without a word and then lunch and when dinner rolls around Johnny's everything hurts so bad that he has to at least eat a small piece of bread to shut up the annoying gnawing in his gut. 

After a while, Johnny hears the violin come in through the vents. And it sounds like how he feels and despite all the numbness and walls and impassivity he has put up today he crumbles there in the bed, sobbing openly into the blazer he has under his sheets. He whispers things to it and himself that he would never say in out loud. Tells it his dirty little secrets and fears and just like the owner it listens without judgment. The violin in the air covers it all protectively, keeping Johnny's words between himself and the blazer he's wrinkling in his shaky, desperate grasp. 

I want i want i want… he tells the jacket's silky interior. Spills it all and lets the words sink in like the saliva on his lips leaving a dark patch on the material he has pressed against them. 

He seals the confession with a kiss, feeling childish and pathetic, but Johnny presses his face and forehead into the cool silk and it tells him he's not. 

Johnny lays on his side again, hugging the thick blazer close to his chest. He curls into it, seeking and finding warmth as he begins to drift halfway through a sound change. The tone becomes timid, questioning, and curious now. Nothing like the confident, heavy, slow, and morose chords from before. 

An experiment. In music and in coping with the inevitable. 

Johnny's sleep is dreamless this time, and he holds the blazer the whole night through rather than wearing it. 

[im-abanana]

-The Demon and The Angel- ch.4

Wrote the fourth chapter of this Alice x Bendy (Benlice) One-Shot collection, too. Hope you’ll like it, folks. 

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12736851/chapters/29045748

Oh, thank you a lot for the 800 followers, you’re all sweeties! 

Summary: Her ivory horns were what made Alice a fallen angel, and were her best natural weapon, too. But when you crash your head against a wall and get stuck, you could use some unwanted “help” from your dance partner. 

-Stuck-

Alright, maybe she hadn’t had the greatest idea ever this time.

“Dammit…” Alice weakly whined and panted to regain her precious breath, pressing her pale palms against the hard wall in front of her face and pushing against it with all her might, but nothing changed: she barely moved a single muscle, plus she failed to extract her ivory horns from the fragile plasterboard. Oh, and Bendy’s coarse laughing wasn’t helping her at all, obviously. “Shut your mouth, Bendy! This is all your fault!”.

“My fault, really? Yeah, that’s a good one, toots.” the arrogant dancer proudly smirked and lazily leaned against a wooden chair, watching the satisfying scene with interested eyes and his usual wide, smug grin. “Let me remind you what exactly happened just a minute ago, babe: you’re the one who ran towards me like a crazy bull, swinging those giant horns of yours like a weapon just because you can’t take a joke and, most important, you’re the one who got those so-called antlers deeply stuck into the wall when I dodged the attack.” the presumptuous star explained and gently rubbed his chin, sticking out his forked tongue in a funny way: revenge, sweet revenge. “Fair enough sweetheart, our dad Joey and our uncle Henry told you a long time ago to stop using those pointy things on your skull to threaten other people, because you could badly injure someone… or yourself, in this case. See what happens? Good job, Angel Cake!” he finally concluded, clapping sarcastically.

“Just wait until I free myself, I’ll tear that little cunt mouth of yours to tiny pieces.” the beautiful angel angrily swore and squirmed with more energy, perceiving a stinging sensation around her narrow shoulders and her dance partner’s laughter increasing as she pitifully dropped down on her knees for the umpteenth time, standing on all-fours and grunting in defeat. “And I can’t fucking take a joke, you say? You call throwing hot coffee at me a joke? How stupid can you be? You jackass, disgusting, foolish, retard son of a b-”.

“Woah, watch your language Alice, you’re the angel here.” Bendy shushed the irritated angelic cartoon and slyly winked, removing his white gloves and placing them aside, on the nearby table. “What would your beloved fans think about it? Those poor, innocent children…”.

“Bendy, for the last time, I’m definitely not in the best mood to joke around with you right now. My neck, head and back hurt, and I just can’t get my horns out! I’m stuck!” Alice angrily yelled and squirmed wildly, trying to back up and possibly break free from that awkward position, her ivory horns still deeply lodged in the plasterboard wall. Grunting furiously and knowing that she needed to change her strategy if she wanted to resolve the situation by herself, the fallen angel watched the short demon, who was standing (now silently) right behind her with his arms crossed, immediately noticing his naughty expression and realizing what he was looking at. “Could you please stop staring at my ass for a moment and help me, you stupid little cretin!? Or call the others, at least!”.

“What should I do? Joey, Boris and Henry left, so I can’t do anything for you, Angel Cake. Nice view from here, by the way.” Bendy smugly chuckled and lifted an eyebrow as he admired her currently defenseless body, a mischievous idea making him grin and approach the wary singer carefully. “But now that I think about it, I guess I could make our waiting a little more enjoyable, toots~” the devil maliciously licked his dry lips and two of his fingers, his other hand grabbing the soft edge of her black dress and quickly lifting the refined fabric without asking permission. “It’s the least I could do, right? Relax, baby girl~”.

Guessing his not-so-chaste intentions and gasping loudly in realization, the angelic cartoon growled and frowned, staring at the discolored wall in front of her visage and perceiving her co-worker’s wet fingers caressing her pale thighs, slowly traveling up to stimulate her off-limits areas. “Bendy, I swear to God: touch me again and I’ll murder you. As I said, I’m not in the right mood for-! M-mngh~” Alice blushed and bit back an instinctive moan, her spine arching elegantly as her partner boldly brushed a sensitive spot, ignoring the threats and snickering in satisfaction. “G-get your filthy hands off me, now!”.

“Com’on Angel Cake, don’t tell me you’re shy! We did this plenty of times backstage, after our performances, remember?” the arrogant black-haired dancer cooed and looked at her beautiful form with a pretty dumb face, hungrily drooling on the ground and sticking his forked tongue out, the temptation simply too strong for him to overcome. “And you totally loved it, right?” Bendy shamelessly added, but when his sneaky hand cupped a particular area he shouldn’t have touched, the killer look on the fallen angel’s face, and especially the frightening, dark noise that escaped from her throat, made him understand that he maybe fucked things up.

“Holy fucking Trinity, Bendy! I SAID GET OFF!” Alice literally screamed at that point and used all her strength to strike Bendy in the face with her left leg, hitting his nose and causing it to bleed copiously, black ink dripping everywhere. In the powerful process, the singer’s entire body managed to violently jerk backwards, her sharp horns destroying the remains of the wall and pulverizing that plasterboard prison: she was free, she was finally free! Oh, but not pleased at all. In fact, the young and majestic singer looked a lot more like a demon than like a flawless angel, actually.

Getting up ponderously and shaking off the grayish powder, the angelic cartoon lowly growled and walked decisively towards the poor Bendy, her pitch black orbs turning reddish for a moment as she met the terrified gaze of the tiny devil. “Bendy, my dearest.” Alice gave him a fake smile and swung her dangerous white horns, chasing after the dancing demon as he immediately ran off, screaming in pure fear and knowing he’d better retreat. “If I catch you, you’re a dead man! Get back here, you coward! I said come back!” the infuriated young woman promised, rushing in the empty corridors to catch her co-worker and preferably beat the living shit out of him. “No, listen up, I have a better idea! I’ll return the favor! I won’t kill you, I’ll simply shove my own, dry fingers up your ass! Let’s see if you like it!”.

“DAD JOEY! UNCLE HENRY! BORIS! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!” Bendy desperately shouted for help and literally threw himself inside his private room, rapidly locking the thick door on the inside and breathing a liberating sigh of relief as he believed it was finally over. Or so he thought: after just a moment of complete silence, the solid layer of wood that separated the scared demon from the pissed angel broke down because of a brute kick of hers, and the last thing Bendy saw before letting out a girlish scream and crashing down was Alice jumping on him with an aggressive yell. 

In the meantime, inside the nearby room, Barley let out a resigned sound as he heard those high-pitched noises coming from the changing room of the star of the show, guessing what was probably going on: troubles, blood, kicks and punches, nothing new after all. He picked a random card from stock, playing poker with his boss Charley and with his buddy Edgar, sipping his beer and rolling his concentrated eyes as another irritating scream reached his ears. “Do ya guys think he’s already dead?”.

“Pff, maybe, judging by the sound of it. Actually, I sure hope so. I can’t stand that arrogant little shit.” Charley coldly replied with poor interest and lit a cigar, not really caring about the other two characters’ conditions and focusing on the complicated game while smoking. “Not that I give a freakin’ damn about that foolish devil, that cunt girlfriend of his or that pathetic excuse of a dog.”. 

“I don’t really understand Bendy and Alice, gang. I mean, one minute they’re beating each other to death, just like now, the next they’re all cuddly and making out in a shady corner.” Edgar shrugged it off and slightly grimaced as he recalled the number of times the unaware crew caught the devil and the fallen angel kissing, scratching the smooth top of his stylized head and huffing out, giving up and putting a card on the messy table. “Oh, well. Like Joey always says: <Don’t meddle in a quarrel between a husband and his wife>, I guess.”.

“Well said, Edgar.” the other two members of The Butcher Gang nodded promptly and agreed to those wise terms, trying to ignore the desperate, muffled whines that were echoing in the whole studio and probably even outside. “Well said indeed.”.

[conretewings]

-This Ends Now-

A short-ish fanfic based on my future headcanon where Guzma and Plumeria have Fern. They have to go to Melemele Island for some supplies and run into some people they neither expected nor wanted to… -Warning-lots of angst, implied child abuse and language ahead

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“We’re almost there, honey.”

“You talking to me or the munchkin, Plumes?”

“Both, I guess. Although she has been whining less than you about how long it’s taking.”

“Yeah Daddy! No whining!”

“Great, now y’all are ganging up on me. I have not been whining! I’m just hungry. …And I don’t like this ferry. Thing’s been makin’ weird noises.”

Plumeria rolled her eyes but gave Guzma a small smile, turning to show Fern the school of Alomomola that were leaping from the waves created by the boat zipping through the clear, bright waters as they all stood on the ferry’s deck among the other passengers.

The three of them were traveling to Melemele for the day to do some shopping for supplies that were out of stock at their usual stores back home. It was also a special day for little Fern, as it was the first time in her almost four years that she had left Akala’s shores. So excited had the toddler been that it was all she had talked about since they had told her the previous night.

She wriggled in Plumeria’s arms, counting the fish Pokemon before turning her head and gasping in delight, “Mommy look! Is that it?!”

Plumeria glanced up to see the mountains and other features of Melemele quickly growing closer on the horizon, “Yes, that’s it.”

“Daddy daddy hold me up I wanna see!” Fern cried, holding her arms out toward Guzma, who grinned and scooped her up, setting her on his broad shoulders.

Her small, golden eyes grew huge as she clung to her father’s head, trying to get herself as high as possible, “Woooooow!”

Between the balmy, perfect weather, the day’s adventure ahead, and the two people he loved most by his side, Guzma felt his spirits soar higher than the flock of Wingulls drifting overhead. He put his free arm around Plumeria and pulled her close, smirking at her, “Where to first, beautiful?”

“Well…” she smiled back at him, “Since you’re hungry, I guess we’ll grab some food before we start shopping…” her smile faded, “I’m actually surprised you were so relaxed about coming here, considering…everything.”

Guzma’s own smile dropped, realizing at last what she was talking about. Looking away, he was quiet for a minute before saying, “Whatever. Ain’t like anyone’s gonna remember me.”

-Once they arrived, after a bite at a local diner and shopping for several hours, Plumeria had taken Fern to the bathroom while Guzma waited outside. Leaning against a palm tree near the mall’s entry doors, he gazed out over the nearby beach, watching the tourists baking themselves in the sun, kids playing with their Pokemon, and the general bustle of the city streets. He had been right; not once since they docked had anyone seemed to recognize or treat him any differently. For this he was very grateful-the last thing he wanted was for today to be ruined by someone trying to start shit over things that had long past.

Letting his eyes fall shut, he was just thinking of texting Plumeria to ask if they had fallen in, when a wavering voice said his name. Eyes snapping back open, he whipped his head toward the sound, wanting to be wrong, but there she was, mouth half-open in shock, hands clenched over her chest.

He could scarcely breathe but managed to sputter out, “M-Mom?”

“Guzma-! I-we haven’t spoken in nearly two years!” she shuffled over to him, trying to hug him and he shrank away, but she didn’t seem to notice, “I…I’ve missed you, son! Why don’t you ever call? Talk to me please! Where are you now? What have you been doing? What-”

“Whoa, whoa! Mom, slow down,” he pulled out of her vice-grip of a hug and stepped back, trying to focus on all her questions when one suddenly stuck out, “Wait-I have called, like a dozen times but…he always picks up and I ain’t talkin’ to that piece of…” he stopped, rubbing his face hard and breathing deeply before looking back up, “Didn’t he ever tell you?”

His mother blinked in confusion, “No…I had no idea.”

“Tch! Figures…” Guzma spat, lightly kicking a nearby trashcan.

“Oh Guzma, it’s fine. He’s very busy with his job and I’m sure he just forgot to tell me.”

“Forgot to tell you that many times?” he retorted, “C’mon Mom! It was on purpose and you know it. He hates me and doesn’t want you talkin’ to me either! Face it, there is no way in hell that he didn’t pull-”

His voice seemed to catch in his throat along with his breath as his father rounded the corner toward them, “Petunia, you were supposed to meet me-” the man froze at the sight before him, then his gaze hardened, “Well, well. Never thought I’d see you around here…son.”

Guzma felt ill, all of the demons lurking in his mind and heart roaring to the surface, choking out his voice and sending him flying back to his youth, all the darkness there clawing at his senses until there was only raw, agonizing fear left. With great effort and picturing a tiny, gold-eyed angel beaming up at him, he wrestled those thoughts away, managing to bring himself back to the here-and-now and clenched his fists, grey eyes flashing with contempt, “Don’t call me that, you piece of shit.”

Petunia held her hands up, “Stop, please! Edgar,” she pleaded to her husband, “I haven’t seen my sweet child in so long! Please just be nice!”

He spat, “Nice?! After how he just spoke to me? After everything he’s done? I don’t see how you think that’s possible. Listen boy,” he jabbed a finger at Guzma, “I don’t know what you’re doing back home, but if you came crawling back here looking for help, you can forget it!”

Guzma threw his head back and barked out a bitter, cold laugh, “Oh, fuck you! Trust me, I wasn’t! I would never ask your pathetic ass for help! I’d rather eat shit than-”

It was then, at the worst possible time, he heard it; a sound that normally filled him with joy and pride now brought only horrified dread.

“Daddy! Daddy I found you!” Fern squealed, running up to him and latching onto his leg.

Gasping, her eyes filling with tears, Petunia reached a shaking hand out, “Oh-oh my goodness! Is she really-?! Oh Arceus she’s beautiful! We had no idea..! Honey why didn’t you tell us?!”

Guzma felt sick with dismay as he swiftly scooped Fern up, “I never-”

Suddenly coming around the corner, Plumeria sighed, “Sorry we took so long. She spotted a display of toys she had to play with…”

She stopped, startled to silence by the scene before her. From everyone’s position and with the trees and pillars of the nearby fence, Guzma had been the only person she’d seen until that moment. Leaping back into action, her instincts kicking in, she grabbed Fern and stepped back, turning her body so it was between them and her daughter. She had never actually met nor even seen his parents, but she could see it in their features, feel it in her bones, see it written across her husband’s face-she knew the stories, had seen his scars, and right now the only thing going through her mind was how to protect her precious girl.

“Guzma?!” she growled, and he immediately moved to place himself between them and his parents, mind racing.

“Plumeria, get her outta here. We’ll meet up-”

“Bah! So you got some girl knocked up. Why am I not surprised? It’s no worse than anything else you’ve pulled!” sneered Edgar coldly, “She may be related to me, but no bastard kid’s a granddaughter of mine.”

“Edgar! Stop!” sniffled Petunia.

“How dare you-!” Plumeria snarled, cutting herself off as she realized Guzma was moving in his direction.

Taking several strides toward him, Guzma felt nor heard anything but the blood roaring in his ears; not Plumeria telling him to back off, not his mother pleading for them to stop it. He saw nothing, not noticing the other people near them staring-the only thing he knew at that moment was the pure, undiluted rage that moved his feet and arms, making him ball his hands into fists, ready to beat down the pile of human garbage that had just derided the most precious thing in his life. He raised a fist, ready to strike, ready to take vengeance for all the blows he had suffered, all the agony he had been through-when one, small sound cut through the churning storm in his soul, a beam of light in the darkness.

“Daddy stop!”

He froze stock-still, hand still poised in mid-swing and slowly turned his gaze toward Fern. Her large eyes wavered with the fear and uncertainty of a child that doesn’t understand what’s going on, but nonetheless knows something’s terribly wrong. As he looked, she began to tear up, and it was then he realized something that made him even more sick than the man before him.

His own daughter was scared of him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, ashamed, he lowered his fist and exhaled, all the fury and energy leaving his body. Edgar snorted, “Go on, take a shot. I’d love to let the police know you did.”

Guzma drew another breath, opening his eyes and glaring him down, “I’m sure you would. But I’m gonna have to disappoint you one more time,” he walked back to Plumeria and Fern, looking down at the toddler and smiling gently, “Sorry, Cutiefly…Daddy promises never to do that again in front of you, okay?”

Fern nodded hesitantly, but as he leaned over to kiss the top of her head and ruffle her hair, she giggled and relaxed a little, smiling up at him again. He brushed a few stray wisps of her ink-black hair behind her ears, the same hair that graced his own head but he had bleached for years to try and distance himself from the man he now felt it was finally time to confront. He ignored the angry threats and tearful pleading behind them and to Plumeria murmured, “Head to the docks. Grab tickets for the next ferry home. If I don’t show up on time, leave anyway and I’ll grab the last one.”

“Mommy, daddy, what’s going on? Who are those people and why are we leaving?” Fern wondered, looking up at them with again tear-filled, confused eyes.

Plumeria kissed her, whispering she’d explain later, then took a quick glance at her watch. She bit her lip, “The next one will be the last one, at least that’ll take you anywhere near home.”

“Then I’ll swim! Or something. Just get Fern and yourself outta here. Please Plumes…just go.”

She nodded, then abruptly grabbed his collar, pulling him in so their faces were millimeters apart. Her gold eyes narrowed dangerously, “I don’t know what you’re planning, but take it easy. I do not need Fern to visit her father in jail. Am I perfectly clear?”

He glared back at her, stung, “For fu-for heaven’s sake P! You think I want that either?! You think I haven’t grown up, at least a little? Give me some credit, jeez…now go on. Get our kid somewhere safer.”

Plumeria let go, realizing she had been a little harsh with him, but knowing there was no time now to sort it out. So, she simply nodded and hurried away. Guzma watched them go, Fern twisting so she could see him. It nearly broke his heart to see her reaching one small arm out and calling to him before they vanished around a bend in the street. Petunia shuffled in their direction, holding out her arms, sobbing, “Oh no-please! Come back! I just…” she covered her face with her hands, “Why Guzma? Why can’t I know my own granddaughter..?”

He gazed at her, then momentarily flicked his eyes to his father, steeling his heart again for the confrontation he knew he was going to have to deal with, “Because of him.”

His mother wiped her face, slowly turning around and walking back towards her husband, then started to move past him. As she did she said, “We need to talk later…”

Edgar sighed and rubbed his forehead, starting to reply before Guzma said sharply, “Hey!”

Glancing at him with a mix of disinterest and annoyance, his father replied, “What?”

“You, me…” Guzma pointed to an empty area of the beach a short ways off, “We need to talk now.”

The peaceful sigh of the waves lapping the sand and gentle cries of circling Wingulls created a peaceful scene in stark contrast to the tense animosity that was Guzma facing his father. They occupied a small strip of beach well away from any prying ears, shaded by a stray cluster of palms near the water, the wind whispering through them only adding to the strange juxtaposition. Neither man had spoken for a minute, Edgar crossing his arms impatiently as he watched Guzma pace back and forth, hunched over and hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts.

Finally the younger of them turned and said, “God I fuckin’ hate you.”

“So when you said you wanted to talk, what you meant is you wanted to whine at me. I don’t have to put up with this.”

Guzma’s face split with an ear-to-ear grin, but the kind of wide-eyed, rage-filled, borderline psychotic smile that had used to send his grunts scattering and make anyone else step back in fear, “Oh no, I really, really think you do ‘cause you see…” suddenly standing to his full height, he strode over to his father, looming over him, “I got some shit to say, and for once, you’re gonna be the one who has to listen.”

Edgar’s eye twitched, refusing to let his son see that he was, for once, mildly afraid. He knew all about the things Guzma had done, the people he’d hurt for the smallest, if any, transgression, the lows he’d stoop to get what he wanted; what was to stop him from harming anyone, even his own father? His mouth was set in a hard line as he too stretched himself to stand as tall as possible, “Fine. I’m listening.”

There were many things Guzma wanted to say; so many things. He wanted to scream at him, rant, tell him what a worthless, vile excuse for a parent he was, to tell him just how much he hated him for everything he had done. He wanted revenge for all the suffering, the pain, the nightmares. He felt his hands involuntarily clench into fists, a part of him wanting to just beat the pulp out of the man-

But again, visions of an angel with black hair and an impish smile swam into his conscious.

Fists still balled but knowing he could control himself now, he silently thanked those thoughts and jabbed a finger in his father’s face, “I’ll never ask for forgiveness from you for all the shit you put me through, ‘cause I know damn well you don’t give a fuck. There’s only one thing I will ask-forget you ever saw my daughter.”

“I-wait what?” asked Edgar, genuinely confused.

“Forget. You. Ever. Saw. My. Daughter,” Guzma repeated, enunciating every word, his tone icy, “You said she was no granddaughter of yours, well, tch! You ain’t no grandfather to her. In fact, just forget about me and my family.  Don’t try to find us, don’t try to communicate with us, just leave us the hell alone.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“Then there ain’t no place in this whole goddamn world you can run where I won’t find you.”

Edgar glared, “Are you threatening me?”

Guzma leaned in closer, closer than he thought he’d ever have the mental fortitude and courage to, but even far away, Fern gave him strength he never knew he had, “I am fuckin’ promising you.”

“Fine! Whatever. Like I said, she’s no family to me,” turning on his heel, Edgar started to leave, throwing one last cutting look and remark over his shoulder, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re no son of mine, either.”

Guzma bent down and scooped up a rock, gripping it so tightly he was sure it’d crack in his hand, wanting so desperately to fling it at the retreating man’s head. His breath came out in great, stuttering gasps, his limbs shaking slightly, trying to decide what to do as his target moved farther away. Ultimately, he let out a roar of frustration, spinning and hurling the rock out into the sea.

-Plumeria stood on the docks near the ferry’s loading ramp, Fern in her arms and her usual stoic expression on her face. She turned to glance at one of the deckhands as he told her and several other passengers they were going to be leaving in exactly five minutes before looking back further up the bustling docks.

Fern wriggled and asked for probably the dozenth time, “Where’s daddy?”

“He’ll be here, sweetie.”

As she spoke, she saw several people stumble sideways, some dropping their bags or boxes and heard annoyed shouts, only to spy a tall head of white hair darting and dodging through the crowd, not always successfully. She couldn’t help but smile; destruction in human form, he was. Fern squealed with joy and held her arms out with an enthusiastic chant of ‘daddy daddy!’ as Guzma trotted up to them, panting hard.

“H-hey ladies-you need an escort for your trip? You know how sailors can be!” he smirked, earning a sour glance from a nearby seaman.

Plumeria raised an eyebrow and asked, “How’d it go?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it. Not now, maybe not ever. I dunno.” He scooped up Fern and held her tightly, burrowing his face in her hair-she smelled like her berry-scented shampoo and he sighed, already feeling his soul beginning to heal a little.

Plumeria nodded, knowing there was no point in pushing the issue and stepped forward to hold them both. They stood like this for a moment before she asked, “You okay, G?”

His eyes clouded, “Honestly? No. But…” he freed one arm to encircle her shoulders, soaking up the warmth of the two people he loved the most, “I think I’ll be alright.”