#Bernard something something and pink haired guy

[nenehyuuchiha]

FOR REAL

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim glances back to him and Kon feels even more embarrassed and like he’s really being weird and– 

Tim reaches out and strokes his hair back off his forehead; twists a finger around the one stubborn curl he can never get to fucking behave and gives it a little tug with a wry little smile. Kon feels way too aware of Bernard’s body underneath his and the pressure of the other’s stomach against his own mostly-ignored dick and Bernard’s hand on his hip and Tim’s hand in his hair and Tim’s eyes on him and . . . and just all those things, really. Just–all that, all at once. 

He knows he’s come way too many times to get this riled up this easy or this quick, much less to keep getting riled up this easy and this quick, but his dick, apparently, does not even slightly agree with that assessment. 

“Pet,” Tim says, that wry smile turning a little soft as he drops his hand away from Kon's hair. “Get up on your knees for me?” 

Kon does, obviously. Does it immediately, though he gives Bernard a last little apologetic squeeze with his TTK in the process. The guy said he liked the pressure and the weight, so–he feels like he should maybe apologize a little for taking it away, is all. 

“God, you really are just unreasonably pretty,” Bernard mutters, pushing himself up on his elbows and trailing his eyes over Kon’s body appreciatively. Kon’s, like–he likes that, obviously. Likes the attention and likes being complimented and likes being liked. “I really did think you were Photoshop. Like very strongly did I think you were Photoshop, but I am for the record delighted to be proven wrong by that one.” 

“I undress to impress,” Kon replies with a laugh before tossing the other a magazine-perfect and camera-ready smug smirk, and Tim picks up the camera again and turns it over thoughtfully in his hands, then tucks it away in his jacket pocket. Kon has no idea why, but that makes him feel a whole lot of very complicated feelings he really doesn’t know how to sort out in his head, or like, on his own, or like . . . at all, even. 

Tim didn’t take a picture of him that time, for whatever reason, but also Tim put his camera in his jacket. Which he is currently wearing. On himself. Physically and currently and right-in-front-of-him-ly. 

It’s not like it’s a big camera or anything, but Kon still feels a whole fucking lot of things about how neatly it slipped into that pocket all the same, like maybe it belongs there, or could just be there anytime, or . . . or something like that, maybe. 

He doesn’t know why that feels like something that counts as–as something.

[introspectivememories]

Missing your veil inspired model Bernard au if you have any more ideas for it please share would love to hear them 🙏🏻🙏🏻

god i havent thought about this au in sooo long but i do have some hc!! (og veil!au posts here and here)

so after the Billboard Incident, tim becomes, like, obsessed, with bear and he doesn't realize it's bernard until he's on like a 2am deep dive and finds out that "bear" is just bernard's modeling name and his real name is bernard dowd

and tim's a little confused bc what the hell is bear doing modeling??? back when then were in high school, bear used to talk all the time about cooking

but also, tim's famous!!! bear's famous!!! why did he never reach out?

and then one day, tim's doing like a photoshoot to announce the new wayne collab with some up and coming modeling house and the director of the photoshoot says that he'll be working with another model

cool, whatever, at least he gets to work with a pro right? and the door opens and out comes bear with his hair artfully tousled and lips painted a pretty pink and he's wearing clothes that show off his broad shoulders and oh my god, the fucking boner is back

and as he discreetly tries to hide it, he opens his mouth to greet bear except, bear's eyes go stone cold and the grip on his coffee cup gets tighter

"what the hell is this?" bear says coldly and then he turns around to talk to his manager

"you said i wouldn't have to work with him. in fact, it was the one thing you promised me, when i signed that contract."

tim sinks back into seat stunned as bear's manager drags him off for a quick conversation. when bear comes back the shoot goes off without a hitch but bear says nothing but the bare minimum to him the whole time

tim pulls bear's manager aside to talk privately before the shoot ends

"did i do something wrong?" / "mister drake, you know i can't tell you what my client has told me in private and even if i could, i still wouldn't"

"i havent seen him since high school. i just wish i knew what he was mad about."

"mister drake, more than bernard being my most valuable client, he is also my friend. i can't and i won't tell you the reason but, you look like a good guy. and in all honesty, i think you'd be good for him. so i'll leave you with a hint: maybe it's not about what you did do, and more about what you didn't do."

"if you're his friend, why're you helping me?"

"bear's good now, he'll be great when he can move on from whatever's stopping him. i think it's you. this hurt has been festering for almost a decade and if we're being brutally honest, it's your fault. so you fix it, so that my bernard can be up there with the greats."

bear's manager turns to leave and right before he exits the door he looks back and says, "and if all else fails mister drake, just remember that apologies are usually a good place to start."

[nagisa-666]

《Itadori! F! Reader x Tokyo Revengers》

《CROSSPOSTED TO WATTPAD!》

《WARNINGS!: copied some things from the manga, slight fluff, humorous behavior, Mikey kind of being creepy, curse words, mentions of violence, slight mention of death, crossover jjk x tr.》

"(Name)! Guess what? You'll be going to Shibuya! There's a curse in Mizu middle school, so you're gonna have to pretend to be a third-year, lol!" Gojo said enthusiastically, throwing up a peace sign as (Name) stood up quickly in shock, face pale and mouth opened to let out a surprised yell.

"Ehh?! Gojo-senei, what?!" (Name) sputtered, waving her arms around frantically while Gojo laughed wildly, throwing his head back before taking in a deep breath and grinning.

"Yup! Those oldies let me finally give you your own mission! Since it's supposed to be just a small curse, I just packed your bag for a few days and deposited ¥200,000 (€1,282.00, $1,441.85) into your bank account! I already rented an apartment for the month too! Just call me when you're done and I'll come to get you when I can!" Gojo chuckled wildly, throwing luggage at the strong girl before grabbing her and teleporting to a car with a driver, throwing her in and waving goodbye as (Name) put her hands on the winds, getting handprints everywhere as she stared at him with disbelief before cryimg out in disbelief.

"GOJO-SENSEIIIIII!" Was heard, slowly fading out with the distance of the car.

"YO! My name is Itadori (Name)! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence! Nice ta meetcha all! Hope we all get along!" (Name) grinned, her sentence shocking her temporary classmates before some laughed.

"Alright, class, settle down. Today, we'll be learning about..." The unimportant teacher said, before beginning to talk about some history and shit.

'Coming back to a normal school... It feels so weird...'

'Pink hair?'

"Yo! You're Hanagaki, right? I need to talk to you for a few minutes, kay?" (Name) grinned, putting her hand in the blonds shoulder, ignoring how he noticeably jumped, slowly turning his head to look at her with a pale face.

"H-huh..? Oh, yeah... Okay..." He said hesitantly, nodding his head as (Name) grinned bigger.

"Great! It won't take long at all!" She said, putting her hand down before getting a blank face and looking to the side of him.

'For a curse to be this big made by one person... How depressed is this guy?' (Name) thought, putting her hands into the sweater she had on. Typically, when a curse is made by just one person, it's tiny, practically fitting into the palm of your hand, but this guy had a curse the size of a growing Saint Bernard. She had seen it a few days ago, following the blond and sometimes even hanging off his shoulders, muttering something about saving 'Hina', and while she tried to talk to him, someone was always pulling either him or her away. She had already got the other small curses in the school, having stayed behind once with the excuse of waiting to know the school better.

"So, Hanagaki. Have you or your girlfriend been feeling stressed or terrified by something? I can recommend a doctor, she'll help you out. You seem very tense." (Name) started lightly, eyes crinkling as she grinned happily, though the marks under her eyes caught the males eyes.

"H-huh?! Uh, no! Not at all! Tests have just made me jumpy, haha!" Hanagaki attempted to say, though once (Name) lost her smile, he quickly stopped.

"... Hanagaki, do you know anyone that can see 'ghosts'?" She said blandly, eyes basically looking into his soul while he shit himself.

"U-uhm... Not that I know of..." He stuttered, acting like a fucking weirdo in front of an upperclassman.

"Mhm... Well. Do you want a message, Hanagaki? Your shoulders are the worst." (Name) said, eyeing something on his shoulder closely, which made the blond look too.

'That curse... I need to get it!'

"Uh... I have a girlfriend." The blonde said blankly, making the girl tilt her head curiously.

"..? What about it? You need a message, it's like you're just dragging your head around. It's kinda sad." She said blandly, lowkey making the blond sad with an arrow through his heart, labeled 'sad'.

"... Sure. My neck hurts anyway." He said, both sitting on the stairs, though (Name) sat behind him, beginning to knead his shoulders while keeping a close eye on the curse, slowly inching closer and coating her hand in cursed energy.

Hitting a pressure point in his neck, (Name) knocked the blond out quickly and grabbed the small curse, exorcising it swiftly before she sighed, grabbing her phone out and pulling up Gojo's number to call him.

"Yo, Gojo! Got all the curses! I'm able to go back now, right?" She said, voice bland before she paled.

"Huh? Huh?! Wait, what do you mean I gotta stay for a month?!"

'Oh man... My shoulders feel so much better... Itadori-san works miracles... Wait... ITADORI-SAN-'

"Oh, you're finally awake! Thought you were gonna be asleep forever! Y'know, your phones' been buzzing for a couple minutes now. Think you should answer." She said, smiling as though she wasn't just losing her mind.

Turns out, due to recent spikes in gang activity, curses were beginning to spawn rapidly. So, until someone else (like Megumi, her best friend, or Nobara, her other best friend who would just make fun of her,) could come.

"H-huh? Oh! Thanks Itadori-san! See ya later!" Hanagaki said, getting up quickly and grabbing his phone from his pocket, bringing it up to answer the call.

.

.

.

Forgetting his schoolbag.

Dumbass.

"Hanagaki! Yo! Hanagaki?! Your schoolbag! Where are you?! Your girl said you hang out around here!.. HANAGAKI!!! COME GET YOUR SCHOOLBAG!!" (Name) shouted around, hoping that the blond would hear and pop up in a hurry. Hey, there's a sale at her favorite supermarket! She just wants to get ingredients for dinner tonight!

"Hey! Whatchu doing around these parts, girly?! Doncha know that this is Tokyo Manji territory?!" Three random ass delinquents popped up, one blond, one with brown hair, and one with black.

Toasty ass motherfuckers.

"I'm looking for a schoolmate! He left his bag behind and I wanna give it back to him!" She pouted aggressively, before the black haired delinquent paused and just told her a really smart idea.

"... Why don't you just wait for tomorrow? I mean, you'll give it back in time for classes, right?"

.

.

.

You can tell that (Name) didn't really think about it.

"Oh yeah! Sorry. Seeya!" She said, dots for eyes as she turned around and began to walk away, before the piss haired blond finally came, running down stairs with another light haired blond following him.

"Wait! Itadori-san, wait! You got my schoolbag?!" He said, panting heavily while the other blond just watched.

"Well, yea. I mean, when you woke up you kinda just left. I think you left your girlfriend behind too. That's fucked up man. Do better. Be better." She said, still having dots for eyes as she stared at the blond with heavy judgement. Well, before she looked at the other blond briefly and widened her eyes.

'How can a person have a curse that big?! What kinda fucked up childhood did he have?!'

'... I want to kill him.'

'Yeah, yeah, shut up Sukuna.'

"Hanagaki, can I get your number? To be honest, I kinda need help with homework and my classmates are douches. Or, if you have someone that could tutor me, can you give me their number?" (Name) stalled, eyes finally normal as she sweat dropped, looking away nervously as the other blond gazed at her with intense eyes. Fucking weirdo.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I can give you my girlfriends number. She's the smart one, so she'll probably be able to help. Wait. Aren't you a third-year though?" Hanagaki said, pulling out his phone before he questioned her, an eyebrow raising at the pink haired girl as he paused.

"Yeah... Well to be honest, my grandpa died a few months ago so I wasn't able to actually go to school. Cuz of that, now I don't know what I'm studying. Plus, I'm kinda dumb." She said, nervously smiling as the blonds stared heavily, one's eyes were intense and the others had pity. Dammit. One reason she didn't want to tell anyone.

"What about your parents?" The other blond finally spoke up, deciding not to be quiet anymore.

"Oh, they died a long time ago. It was just me and my pops for a couple of years." She replied blankly, lips pursed and looking away uncomfortably. The other delinquents were still there. Just. Standing there. Being fucking weirdos.

"... I like you. How about you be my girl?" Intense eyes finally spoke, smiling now as his eyes became crescents.

"..? No? Hanagaki, can you show me the number?" (Name) said blankly before she looked at Hanagaki, bringing her phone out to copy the number which he gave to her with shock.

"Alright. Welp, see ya tomorrow! Tell your girlfriend I'll text her!" She shouted as she walked off, waving her hand with a wide grin before bringing it down.

"Neh, Takemitchy... Your friend is funny."

'I should message Itadori-san when we should meet up. She's probably sitting around watching TV or reading manga again...' Hina thought, bringing out her phone and clicking on (Name)'s icon.

"Uhm... Excuse me... Do you... Know Itadori?"

"Wait! So this was you just half a year ago?! Incredible! How'd you do it?" Hina asked, stars in her eye as she stared at an old photo of (Name) and Yoko standing together, as if it was a graduation photo. (Name) was standing a few feet away from Yoko, who looked visibly different from the current her.

We love Yoko in this house.

"Oh, well, you know, I grew a bit, and because of the stress of moving and a new environment, I just... Lost weight..." Yoko said, trailing off sheepishly while she rubbed the back of her head with one hand, eyes closed as Hina smiled happily.

"Actually, that day was the only day I managed to gather the courage to ask her for a photo... I actually wanted to ask for her number and stuff too... But since I was moving to Tokyo, I didn't think it mattered in the end..." Toko blushed, clasping her hands together as she averted her eyes to look at them.

"When I saw her earlier, I thought that maybe since I changed... I could muster the courage to..." She trailed off again, though this time Hina had a shocked face.

"Oh. So it's like that?" Hina said, in a serious tone as she looked at Yoko with intense eyes.

"Mm. It's like that." Yoko repeated, eyebrows furrowing as she nodded.

The two girls sat across from each other in a cafe, faces deadly serious as they looked at each other. Before Yoko laughed, the two of them easing up as they ordered some desserts.

"To be honest, I don't know her all that well. But I can call my boyfriend, I think he knows her better than me, to be honest." Hina said sheepishly, pulling out her phone to call Takemichi while Yoko blushed.

"Okay... Um, you wouldn't know if anyone likes-" Yoko began, before getting cut off by Hina laughing.

"Sorry, sorry! Yeah, there is someone who likes her, but she doesn't like him in the slightest. In fact, I think she just thinks of him as a sibling." Hina chuckled, waiting until Takemichi answered while Yoko blushed again, looking down sheepishly in embarrassment.

"Wait, so she likes Itadori-san?" Takemichi asked, pointed at a sheepish Yoko while Hina grinned, nodding happily.

"Yep! Do you know what kind of people she likes?" Hina asked, making Takemichi think hard about what he heard about the older girl.

"Hm... I think I heard her say she likes tall girls..." Takemichi said, lost in thought while Yoko and Hina looked at each other with serious faces, high fiving each other before taking a quick drink of their beverages, acting as though they were out drinking.

"I'll tell her to come here now!" Hina said, taking her phone out quickly and messaging (Name).

"Alright!" Yoko shouted, nodding swiftly with a serious face.

Hina🍀

(Shared Location)

Come

-2:13

Itadori💪

Why

-2:13

Hina🍀

Come

-2:13

Itadori💪

Okay

-2:14

"So, why did you want me?" (Name) asked, suddenly popping up out of nowhere while Hina and Takemichi jumped, before she glanced at Yoko.

'Wait! I haven't told her about Yoko! She doesn't know that she looks different!-' Hina thought, making up a scenario where Itadori looks at Yoko, asking who she was before Yoko runs off crying.

"ITADORI! THIS IS-" Hina shouted, looking panicked before (Name) interrupted her.

"Hm? Oh, hey Yoko. Haven't seen ya in a while... What a big world..." (Name) murmured, holding a bag of toys and random fidgets, Hina and Takemichi holding up papers with a huge 10 on them, before Yoko looked at her with teary eyes.

'That's right... It wasn't ever about my weight...'

"Hey, Itadori! If you had to like someone, who would it be?"

"Hm... Ozawa."

"Huh? Why her? She's fat."

"Huh? But y'know, the way she eats and writes and stuff..."

"It's really elegant."

"I thought you like tall girls with big butts! Haha!"

"That's different! It's hard to eat fish properly! It's super impressive to do that!"

[jasonscaramel]

i guess only the stars would know the truth - chapter two - jason todd x reader

series summary: there's something going on in gotham. you transfer into gotham university's journalism program. simultaneously, people are going missing in gotham at record rates. it's only a matter of time before your curiosity gets the best of you.

words: 1.9k

cross-posted on ao3 | series masterlist

You feel like you’re starting to get your footing.

All things considered, you’re acclimating well to the city and the new school. Tim and Bernard are the only reasons for it, but you can’t be too upset by that fact. Tim had added you to a group chat with them as soon as he saw you Wednesday, and Bernard started spamming instantly, which made you feel weirdly at home with them.

So the first week went off without a hitch. You’re settling into your apartment more, the empty space is starting to feel more like home. There’s a thrift store you can take the subway to get to, so you’ve added more odds and ends and decor pieces to the place. It’s nice. You think, despite everything, that you’re going to like it here.

Which brings you to now. Tim and Bernard had invited you out for dinner to a small diner right by campus. It was a great way to begin your weekend—last week you spent Friday night alone on your couch doing homework. Definite upgrade. Especially considering most of your meals in the past week had originated in your freezer.

“So how are your other classes?” Bernard asks, a mouthful of fries garbling his words. Tim playfully shoves him with his elbow, which makes Bernard’s cheeks turn pink. They’re cute, you think. Good for each other.

You idly (mostly jokingly) wonder if Tim has a brother.

“They’ve been good. It’s a lot of good information, but I haven’t met anyone else as nice as you guys yet.” They both chuckle and while you laugh along, you aren’t joking. You still haven’t been able to penetrate any of the cliques in your other classes, not for lack of trying. You’re beginning to wonder if you’ll ever befriend a woman ever again.

“We’re glad to be of service. My first year here was daunting, I can only imagine transferring in like you did.” Tim’s stabbing at his salad as he speaks, somehow both faraway and present at the same time.

“It was at first, but I think—”

“Babe, is that Dick?” Bernard interrupts you with a wild look in his eye. He’s looking toward the register at the front of the diner, and you can’t help but follow his eyes. There stands a tall, lanky man flirting with the waitress at the register. You can see the beaming smile on his face from here as he turns, a hand smoothing out his hair.

Tim groans. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

Bernard looks confused. “I thought he was in Bludhaven?”

“He is.” Tim says, stabbing his salad particularly hard. “But he’s home for a bit. I don’t know, but he’s been an asshole the whole time.”

Oh shit, does Tim have a brother?

“Well, don’t look now, but he’s—”

“Timmy!” Dick’s voice booms as he approaches, the wide grin never leaving his face. “Good to see you, Bernard.” His attention turns to you suddenly, and you shrink. “Who’s this?”

With an unsure smile, you give him your name. “I just moved here for the journalism program.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise, a smile still ever-present on his face. You wonder if his cheeks ever get sore. “Journalism? Hey, I know someone at the Gazette, I can pass along her info if you want.”

It was your turn to be surprised. “Oh, that’d—yeah, that’d be amazing.”

“Cool. I’ll give her card to Tim when I find it.” His smile doesn’t falter. You’re beginning to think, whatever’s going on between them, Dick is blissfully unaware. “I’d love to stay and chat, but we’ve got that… thing. Tim, you coming?”

Tim shakes his head, still not making eye contact with the man. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Dick seems to finally pick up on the one-sided tension and bids everyone farewell before the awkward air could get any worse. It didn’t stick around, thankfully, as Bernard was quick to fill the lull in conversation. Tim finished eating while you and Bernard spoke, and when the waitress came over, he handed her his credit card before she could produce the bill.

You try and intervene with, “Tim, wait, I can—”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He pauses, a snide look taking over his face. “Dad’s credit card.” He says it as a joke, but without the proper context, you’re unsure how to proceed.

“I’ll get you next time.” You promise, but he shakes his head.

“You need a lift home? We’re getting an Uber, but—”

“No, it’s okay,” you answer quickly. “I like to walk.” Tim and Bernard share a smile like they’re not so sure about your decision, but decide it’s best not to voice whatever opinions they have. You’re not exactly sure you’re ready for them to know where you live; you feel like that’s reasonable. Also, you have actually grown fond of your nightly walks home. It’s proven to be a great way to destress before coming home.

As you all get up to leave, check having been paid, Tim tells you to text him when you get home. You assure him you will with a smile, and give the two a group hug before heading in the direction of your apartment.

//

Gotham is a dark place, you’ve realized. Metaphorically, absolutely, but also literally. The sun sets early here, and the inky sky seems to absorb any light that the city emanates. It feels isolating as you begin your walk home, with only the stars in the sky to keep you company. You keep your eyes peeled for vigilantes on rooftops, hoping that might ease your thoughts.

You were, unfortunately, looking in all the wrong places.

The sounds of what can only be described as someone getting their ass beat are coming from the next alley up ahead. It makes you stop in your tracks. Just a little bit further, and you’d be at your apartment. You take a deep breath and quietly begin to make your way to the other side of the street, but something in you can’t help but look. You hide yourself behind a parallel parked car and peek into the alley.

Holy shit.

It’s dark, but what you can see is a man verging on seven feet tall with a red helmet on beating the ever-living shit out of some guy with his bare hands. As you continue to make your way around the car in the direction of your apartment, the street light shifts and gives you a better look into the alley. There are four more men at the tall man’s feet, clearly beaten to a bloody pulp. You can’t help but freeze, staring in shock.

Your eyes lift back to the helmet, and you try to remember what this guy’s superhero name is. Red something. Red Mask doesn’t sound right. Whatever. This feels like the wrong thing to be worried about, you think miserably. As you’re contemplating this, though, the mask turns toward you, stopping to make what you feel is eye contact. You have no proof of course, but the eyes on that mask feel like they look into the depths of your soul.

Oh fuck.

Freeze is taken over by flight. You book it around the car, picking up your pace as you run in the middle of the street to make it to your apartment complex. Sure, he’s on the side of the good guys, but getting caught in the middle of something is never good. You know better than to put your nose in business that you’re not actively investigating. No unnecessary danger, you promised yourself, especially in this city.

You’re panting as you scan into your building, pulling the slow-close door shut behind you to lock the horrors of the city out. Your running pace slows down to a fast walk as you make your way to the stairs, taking two at a time to get to the fourth floor in record time.

As you lock the built-in deadbolt behind you, and then your own separate locking system you bought on the internet, you start to feel a bit safer. Despite living in a less than savory side of Gotham, it wasn’t known for being the worst, so you were beginning to feel a lot safer than you had the first week you slept here. Sure, you still have a baseball bat by your bed, but that’s just practical.

You turn the TV on to drown out the silence of your apartment and the sounds of your heavy breathing while you get a glass of water to calm your racing heart. You’re safe. Red… guy is one of the good guys. You’re pretty sure.

You plop onto the couch, a meteorologist keeping you company as you fling your laptop open to search Gotham vigilantes into your web browser. Wikipedia, the holy grail it is, seems to have a cohesive list. You skim it, realizing there’s a lot here you’re not familiar with. Finally, you find a blue link worth clicking.

Red Hood.

You look through his article, and the more you read, the better you feel about him being right down the street from you. Yeah, there’s some murder on the list, but it looks like you could claim that each one of them deserved it. (You’re not going to, but someone could. And you might even believe them.) Even so, the most recent photos of him available are alongside Batman, so you assume there isn’t any more killing in the equation. You know that much about Batman, at least.

Honestly, you thought you’d only have to worry about Batman. That’s why you know the most about him. The others seemed like sidekicks. Clearly, you were wrong.

With a full glass of water and a pack of chewy chips ahoy, your mind is set on familiarizing yourself more with the cast of vigilantes in Gotham. The little bit you brushed up on before you moved here won’t be sufficient, you realize.

A vibration from your phone pulls you out of your research.

Tim: You good?

You: Yeah, sorry. Saw Red Hood on the way home, got kinda spooked. All good tho

Bernard: Oh shit!!! You sure???

You: Swear! Goodnight guys

Tim: Night

Bernard: Goodnight!!!!

You smile, happily content at the care that your new friends have shown you in such a short time. You’re grateful for them; you didn’t realize just how lonely you’d be out here without knowing every single person in town because you grew up with them.

With a yawn and one final look at a photo of Red Hood perched on the edge of a rooftop (damn is a thought you couldn’t help but have) you close your laptop and place it on the couch next to you. Your ears perk up when you hear the pretty news anchor’s voice again.

“We have Ashley Sanders’ mother, Susan here to make a public appeal. Susan?” The camera pans from the gorgeous, put-together news anchor to a fragile-looking older woman. She looks like she’s been crying for the past two days and hasn’t slept in just as long. Susan pulls herself together enough to begin pleading with the camera for the safe return of her daughter.

Another new name on the missing person’s list, you think with a sigh. Another college kid, too. You’re far too tired to complete any more research, though, so you click off the TV and stare up at the ceiling.

You’ll go to bed eventually. And you’ll definitely dream of the man in the red helmet when you do.

[asteriax63]

Oc introduction

Hey guys, I figured I could tell you something about my Ocs to keep you guys entertained.

Dracie:

Dracie Moguera is (my persona and Oc at the same time) an angel. She has red hair and red eyes (I can draw her and show you what she looks like). Her best friend is a furry dragon (yes, a literal dragon with fur) named Soren. He has white fur and blue eyes and he can fly like Dracie. Dracie's personality is based off of me so if you get to know me better you will know how she behaves. All I can say is; she's kind and caring but if your someone she dislikes she will actively hate on you. She's pretty stubborn and prideful, though she's shy and doesn't have much confidence. If she dislikes you she won't look at you and won't cross your path.

Soren:

Like I already said he's a white dragon with fur. (I haven't given him a lot of personality/ I kinda neglected him) Once I shipped him with Dracie (which is so weird), so I guess he once had a crush on her?? I think he tries to be cool and tries to be a badboy.

Carmilla:

Carmilla Cerona is a vampire. She lives in a mansion in the woods. She lives with 4 other people: Ruth, her best friend, Nosferatu, also her best friend, Heather, I haven't decided what relationship they have and Bernard, same thing as with Heather. She's really kind but looks very strict. She's french and has kind of a heavy accent. She has short black wavy hair and pink eyes with cat pupils?? She likes to wear black and red clothes. (I have this headcanon that she smokes sometimes)

Ruth:

She has long black wavy hair and green eyes. She likes to invent new things and always shows Carmilla her inventions. She's also a really nice person. She also loves to talk to others. She wears a red long sleeved shirt with a brown vest and she also has goggles on her head (Dracie also has goggles but since she doesn't fly often she almost never wears them).

Nosferatu:

He has greenish-greyish skin and a yellow sclera. He has long straight white hair and a beard (but like only on his chin). When I first designed him he looked ugly af but I made him pretty. He looks like he's gonna kill you but he is actually kind. He loves tea and books. (I headcanon him as a librarian (do you write it like that??)) He wears mostly black. He wears a black suit with black tie and a white shirt underneath. He's the tallest of them all. He's very calm and mostly observing. Also I sometimes ship him with Ruth.

Heather:

She has short red hair and blue eyes. She doesn't like Dracie. And she's bestie with Bernard. (Maybe I ship??) Honestly I gave her absolutely no personality. I dislike her tho.

Bernard:

I don't know why but I made him look like a winx character. Like literally he's built like one. He has orange hair and ALWAYS wears a white suit. At first he disliked Dracie but he likes her now kind of. Like with the others I gave him absolutely no personality.

I do have a lot more Ocs but I'm only gonna share these for now. Please send me some headcanons of these I need a personality for them.

[amidstthemists]

Mood board for Robin, embodiment of Spring

~an original character from my fic Something in the Air~

Fandom- The Santa Clause

Genres- fantasy, slow burn romance, pure magic, comedy, drama

Pairing- mainly Bernard/OC (not this OC) (this OC is here for a Judy/OC) (there are a couple other pairings too)

Then, there was Robin.

“I don’t know much about him,” Bernard explained to Judy, “All Gale said was that no one makes the birds sing like Robin can… whatever that means. I think she was being literal because he’s Spring, but, also, I can’t always be sure with her. There is an absolute chance that she’s saying that to be poetic.”

The dark haired elf failed to mention that Gale had also said Robin and her were made from the same star dust—and Bernard didn’t entirely know what that meant, but he found himself clenching his jaw just thinking about it. Like he was jealous (which he was), even though Robin was her brother. Like he had a right to be jealous (which he didn’t) because being made from the same star dust sounded a lot like being soulmates and Gale was his soulmate, no one else’s (except that wasn’t true) (except it was) (no one else wanted—no, needed her like he did) (but that didn’t mean she wanted him back) (he was acutely aware that there was a very real possibility he was not her soulmate even though she undeniably and inescapably was his).

“Oh,” he remembered, pulling himself out of the thoughts that had been plaguing him since they first entered his head, “She also said that he’s nothing but a glorified Peter Pan, so don’t let him push you around.”

“Who’s a glorified Peter Pan?” An unfamiliar voice interjected.

Judy and Bernard spun, coming face to face with a smirking male who was exuding a charming, boyish, amused energy practically through his golden skin. Golden (was the guy a Fae or a bar of gold?), sloppy curls adorned the top of his head, springing around his pointed ears and arched, playful eyebrows. With the addition of the pink that tinged his freckled cheeks, he looked positively cherubic. The mischief in his eyes was enough like Gale’s, though, that Bernard felt immediately wary. It had taken him long enough to come to an understanding with Gale; he was loath to think what trouble might come with this one. Or maybe he was determined to not like the male because he didn’t want to watch Gale choose someone else over him (for company, for companionship, for comfort, for anything).

Bernard let out a breath as Robin went on talking. No. No, he would not let himself hate the golden Fae before him. It was good that Gale had her family, now. It was a good thing that she had (hopefully) more of a support system. She needed one. She deserved one. Maybe they could help the situation, even if they did take her from him in the process. (Would he really let her go that easily?) (It wouldn’t be easy, but yes. If it meant she was happy, then yes.)

“I’ve been around way longer than Peter Pan. If anything, he copied me!” Robin declared, bare feet bracing on the floor as he stood with his hands on his hips. The green, knee buttoned breeches and the flowered vines that climbed up his body and clung to his golden skin didn’t dissuade either elf from Gale’s analysis.

Bernard hardly knew how to respond to that so he grasped for anything, settling on the stupidly obvious observation of, “You must be Robin.”

The golden Fae shrugged, “Perhaps. I might be. If I want to be. Who are you?”

“I’m Bernard, Arch Elf. I’m a friend of Gale’s.” He almost offered his hand for a handshake, but thought twice. Even a handshake was asking for trouble with the wrong (or right) Fae. Instead, he kept his hands clasped behind his back.

Read more of Something in the Air on ao3 at

[fae-morrigan]

Hey! This post sucks ass. It ignores the reality of racism and homophobia impacting character reception in this fandom, as well as a toxic refusal to accept ships outside of people's fanon OTPs, which are pretty clearly the main reasons people don't like them if you have eyes that work and can read.

Anyways, because it sucks ass, it is now MY post. Welcome to my post everybody!

Today we're going to be talking about character design, and why I think Jay's character design is really good.

(I won't be covering Bernard... uh... down, sure thats his name, here because I am not really one of his stans, but if any of my bernie mutuals wanna hop on and take a crack at breaking down his character design too, feel free to!)

Let's take a look!

First of all, it is important to establish something. Contrary to what fandom will tell you, 'good character design' isn't really about making a character the audience wants to fuck. Its about making a design that conveys character, both subtle and unsubtle. Character designs, especially in a visual medium like comics, are part of storytelling.

So what does Jay's design tell you about him?

He's in bright, clashing colors. Orange, green, pink, the only neutrals spotted here. This conveys a certain confidence in himself- It takes guts to wear an outfit that gaudy. This is someone who knows who he is, and doesn't feel the need to advertise himself differently. From his very first meeting, it becomes apparent he does not care much about what other people think of him (with the exception of Jon... but we'll get there.)

Yet, look at the actual clothing: He wears a mask. More than that, when he first appears to us, he's got his hoodie hood up, something that is often used in character designs to convey being closed off. Despite his openness with the world about who he is, there's something he's still hiding from. He's not a complete open book, even if he is honest.

Now, let's have a chat about the hair.

Ahhh. Jay's hair. The endless subject of ire, for reasons that completely escape me. I've seen people call it a 'stereotype', which, gay people dyeing their hair PINK? HUGE if true! C'mon, guys. Let's be so real with ourselves: Basically every gay person I know including myself has gone pink at least once. If its a stereotype, its an accurate one!

And yeah, Jay's hair being such a vibrant pink definitely is there to make him intentionally and visibly queer. Something that contrasts him from Jon, who is more muted, and far less confident in his sexuality being known by others.

Buuuuut that's actually not the part of Jay's hair I wanted to discuss. Let's talk about the actual style, yeah?

Look at this shit. This is... dawg, who is your barber?

And part of me really wants to chock it up to the fact that Timms really does just not know how to draw straight hair at all. Look, he even fucks Galaxy's shit up:

GIRL.

Except.... Look at it. Look at Jay's hair. Doesn't it kind of look like he cut it himself? Like, just kind of went at it with scissors? It's messy, and none of it is neat, compared to Jon who has a nice undercut going on a lot of the time or Clark's perfectly combed and gelled curls. Even compared to later Jay drawings where his hair has grown out and is much more curated and fluffy and healthy.

Pair that with the fact he picked his couch up off the street...

Here's the unspoken thing Jay's initial design communicates: He's poor. At the very least, he's frugal. This man is making due with what he has.

Everything about Jay's design is there to remind you that this is a man who does not have the privilege Jon has as a white middle class American. He is the oppressed that Jon is championing in this book.

(This all also later puts him in contrast with Nia, who way later in the story actively uses her privilege against him.)

All of this is conveyed wordlessly. And I haven't even gotten to his suit.

White and teal, making him look almost like a ghost. The hood remains, with the same meaning as before. Overall, the design is sleep and reminiscent of streetwear, something Jay wears earlier in the series when sneaking in to STAR labs. His pants, baggy and not-form fitting, are traditional in a lot of asian cultures (generally, they are called harem pants in the fashion world): These specifically seem to be based off Japanese shichibu or tobi pants, baggy and loose and used specifically in manual labor like construction. He's got these tassles that trail behind him, drawing attention to and highlighting the movements of his body: Necessary considering Jay's main skill outside of reporting is parkour! He's also got a matching belt to Jon's, but his is offset from the center, the jewel instead being on the side of his waist rather than centered.

(Sidenote: Cian Tormey once promised me he'd post the concept art for this costume and then he FORGOT. Guess I need to ask again, lmfao)

A good character design shouldn't just tell you about the character, but also, characters around them, too! It is characterizing that Jon took one look at this Bird of Paradise and was like, "oh, yeah, i wanna make out with THIS guy". That tells you something about him and what he values in people (namely, that aforementioned confidence in himself, something Jon lacks during most of Son of Kal El.)

But also, let's take this sneak peak preview of Super Son real quick:

Despite both of them being in bright, highly visible colors, Jon LITERALLY being in primary colors, Jay somehow makes Jon look almost dark by comparison. Jon's ordinarily eye-catching colors look muted next to his boyfriend. Their hair is opposite tones as well, Jon having black hair and Jay having light hair, and of course Jay is visibly more tan (making Jon look pale as a ghost).

No matter how visible he is as Superman, he will never be as visible as well... The Truth. There is visual deference here, as well as contrast. Opposites, despite their color schemes not actually being direct opposites.

All of this is conveyed through just looking at Jay's design. It tells you a lot about his character without saying anything, AND it's unique: I've not seen many characters who look like Jay, especially not in western comics. It enriches the text, and in my professional opinion, is way better than if Jay was just a generic black haired blue eyed boy like so many people seem to want.

I think that one reason why Bernard Down and Jay Nakamura are not as appealing as a partners for Tim and Jon, aside from their personalities or lack thereof, is because of their character design.

There is something about it, especially their hair style, that makes them immediately unlikable. Maybe with another hairstyle and outfits people would be more accepting of both of them

[magickastiel]

day one of @toppinghughdancy's follower celebration!

prompt: fake dating ✨

spn | destiel | 2k | ao3

summary: Cas is invited to a party with his 'partner'. Naturally, Dean assumes that means him.

_

“I thought you should know, I have been invited to a party.”

Dean looks up from his laptop to see Cas wandering in, trenchcoat billowing and hair a little wild. Just like the old days. He barely suppresses a grin.

“A party?” Sam repeats, wedging a bookmark into one of his leather-bound lore books. “What sort of party?”

“I’ve been told it’s a ‘neighborhood gathering’.” Cas uses air quotes because of course he does. Dean doesn’t bother trying to hold back a smile this time.

“Huh. Well, could be useful.” He frowns. “How’d you swing that?”

Cas looks at him blankly, like he’s not sure what Dean is even asking.

“How did you get invited to a party?” He clarifies. All these years and the guy’s still a damn alien. “Thought you were just doing some door to door.”

“I was. But I forgot my FBI badge and people were confused as to why I was asking questions. So I told them I was looking to buy a house in the area with my partner. They were more willing to talk after that. Brenda, at number fifty six had a wonderful St. Bernard dog - ”

“What time’s the party?” Dean asked with a sigh, closing the lid of his laptop. He’d have plenty of time to hear all about Brenda’s dog at the party.

“Seven pm.” Dean checks his watch and sees they don’t have long to get ready. “It’s been requested of all attendees to bring a bottle; I assume of alcohol but it wasn’t specified which kind. I am assured there will also be ‘nibbles’.”

Dean stands and stretches, excitement buzzing through him like lightning. “Oh, yes! Suburban nibbles? They’ll be amazing. They always do little tarts and pastries. And their dip game is always out of this world - ”

“Ok, ok!” Sam laughs, holding up a hand. “We get it, you’re excited about the snacks.”

“Damn right, I am.” He wanders past Cas to his holdall, clapping the angel on the shoulder as he goes. “Just give me some time to get my gladrags on - ”

“Oh.”

Dean pauses, bag half unzipped in his hands. When he turns, Cas’ eyes are wide.

“What?”

“I didn’t think…” His eyes dart to the bag in Dean’s hands and then back up to his face. “I’ve already asked Eileen to accompany me.”

“Oh.” Dean’s fingers turn white on the bag. “Oh, yeah. That - that makes more sense actually.”

“Yeah.” Sam says, voice dry and eyes darting between them. “That does make sense, doesn’t it?” His face is tight, like he’s trying not to smile.

Dean’s face floods with heat and he turns to put his bag down on the floor for something to do.

“I could ask Eileen to stay behind if - ”

“Nah, nah.” Dean forces himself to laugh. “No, go with Eileen. That’s much better. Makes sense. I mean, it’s suburbia, right? Straight, middle-class paradise. That’s…that works. Really well. Good - good thinking. You know, I kinda forgot Eileen was here. Ha, ain’t that strange? Don’t tell her I said that, though. She’ll probably shoot my kneecaps off or somethin’. Ha, she’s a pistol, that one. Don’t - don’t know why she’s into you, Sammy - ”

“You’re rambling.” Dean doesn’t look at him, but he just knows Sam is smirking.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas steps closer, brow furrowed in concern.

“Y-yeah! Course.” Instinctively, he takes a step back and almost falls over the bag he just put down. Cas grabs his upper arm, quick and strong.

Dean swallows.

He holds on for a few seconds and neither of them say anything.

Then Sam clears his throat and the door opens.

“Ta-da!” Eileen poses dramatically in the doorway, looking sensational in a deep red dress that clings to her figure.

Dean gets his revenge when he sees Sam’s tongue is practically lolling on the floor and the tips of his ears have gone pink.

Cas beams at her, letting Dean go. “Eileen, you look wonderful. An excellent dress choice, if I may say.”

“You may.” Eileen grins, linking her arm through Cas’.

Dean watches her hand settle on his arm and feels cold.

“Shall we?” She says, settling into his side.

Cas nods and opens the door for her and leads her through it like a gentleman. Eileen grins over her shoulder at the two of them as she leaves.

She winks at Sam. “Don’t wait up.”

_

“I can’t believe they’re out partying - ”

“They’re hardly ‘partying’, Dean.” Sam says without looking up from his book.

“- and we’re stuck here.” Dean huffs, slouching in his chair and kicking the mostly empty pizza box on the floor. “Doing friggin’ research, of all things! Not even doin’ anything good. Maybe…” He risks a glance at Sam who still isn’t looking at him. “Maybe one of us shoulda gone instead?”

“Why?”

“I just…don’t you think they’re gonna be outta their depth?”

Sam does look up then and frowns. “Do I think an experienced hunter and a literal angel of the lord will be out of their depth at a neighborhood party where they’re scouting for information about a potential ghost in an old house? No, Dean. I think they’ll be fine.”

Dean huffs again, crossing his arms across his chest. He can feel his face heat again. “I mean…yeah. But still. They’re not…”

Sam snorts and eyes Dean’s sulky posture. “Dude, why are you struggling with this?”

“I’m not! It’s just…ya know.” Dean flounders and feels his face heat. He gets up under the guise of looking for his phone on his lumpy motel bed even though he knows it’s already in his pocket. “We’re used to the whole undercover, fake identity thing. Maybe…maybe one of us shoulda done it. You know, helped Cas through it a bit. Eileen doesn’t know him that well. He might mess up if I’m - we’re - not there to help him.”

Sam scoffs behind him. “Really? I’m not volunteering to fake date Cas unless I need to.” There’s a pause and Dean holds his breath. “Are you?”

“What, no!” He says quickly, pushing as much outrage into his voice as he can manage. “I just…ya know. Thought maybe it’d be safer if one of us did it, is all.”

He assumed. That’s the issue.

His toes curl into the motel carpet, humiliation crawling up his spine. He’d assumed that Cas was going to take him to the party. That when Cas lied about having a ‘partner’, Dean was the fictional partner he was talking about. Not, you know, their female friend they were working on the case with.

“I mean, I guess I could’ve done it.” Sam says, considering the idea. Dean wheels around to see Sam smiling to himself. “Might have been kinda fun, actually. It’d be hilarious to go to a party with Cas.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“What?” Sam’s smile slips. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just…” Dean gestures to himself. “Come on, man.”

Sam just stares. “I don’t get it.”

“Come on. If Cas was gonna take a dude to a party, he’s gonna take me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean snorts, smug. “Yeah, of course! We’re best friends, man. Course he’s gonna take me.”

“Right.” Sam nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “I guess so. But you know, Cas and I are also good friends.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean reasons. “But not like me and Cas. It’s different. You and Cas are like…friends, you know? Me and Cas are…”

He stops abruptly, realizing where he’s backed himself.

“Yes?” Sam prompts smugly. “You and Cas are…”

“Uhh…”

“No, no.” Sam closes his book with a grin. “Don’t censor yourself. Tell me: you and Cas are…?”

“Best friends.” Dean says finally. “That’s - that’s what I was gonna say before you cut me off. Talking over me, dude. That’s a bad habit. You gotta - gotta sort that out.”

“Right.” Sam sighs, his entertainment apparently over. “Sure. You know, if you actually - ”

Thankfully, the door opens and Eileen walks in, high-fiving Dean as she passes to sit opposite Sam. Cas follows closely, holding her bag for her.

Dean grins. “Good night?”

“Yes, it was enjoyable.” Cas places Eileen’s bag down on the table gently. “This neighborhood has some interesting characters. If I was looking to purchase a house - ”

“Did you get any more info on the house and the family?” Sam interrupts, earning a glare from Dean.

“Uh huh.” Eileen sparkles with delight, a little tipsy. “Local legend says every year, on the Roman holiday of Floralia, the whole house goes crazy with activity and it lasts for six days - ”

“The Games of Flora!” Sam says excitedly.

“What?”

“Uh, it’s a six day festival within the celebration of Floralia.”

“Oh, sure.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Now it makes sense.”

“But why…oh.” Sam flips open his book again. “Of course! It’s not a ghost. It’s an old god.”

“Festival starts tomorrow.” Eileen says, yawning. “Which means we get to sleep now.” She grins and leans across the table to squeeze Sam’s forearm. “You know, I asked reception for a room and they were fully booked.”

Dean smirks, already pulling his gun out from under his pillow and tucking it into his waistband.

“Oh?” Sam closes his book again and practically smolders at her. “Well, I’d let you stay here. of course, but my brother - ”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going, I’m going.”

“It’s ok, Dean. You can share with me.” Cas says, giving Dean one of those small, secret smiles.

A warmth spreads through his chest as he shoulders his bag. “Thanks, buddy.”

“I don’t need the bed, anyway.” Cas says easily as they wander out into the corridor. “In fact, Eileen could just have my room.” He turns to go back inside. “I should tell her -”

“Uh, I wouldn’t do that, Cas. I think they’re…busy.”

“What?” He frowns and then realization dawns on him. “Oh. Copulation. I understand.”

Dean can’t stop his laughter bouncing off the walls as Cas leads them to his room. He dumps his bag by the lone twin bed and pulls out his pajamas. He’s aware of Cas outside the door while he showers, while he brushes his teeth, while he pulls on his worn pajama pants and Zeppelin shirt.

When he steps back into the room, Cas is sitting in the only chair next to the window, ramrod straight like a robot on standby.

Dean snorts and clambers into bed, trying to act like he can’t feel Cas’ eyes hot on his back. “You gonna sit there all night?”

“Yes, probably.” Cas says, like that’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Great.” Dean mutters snarkily to the pillow, ignoring the slight fluttering in his chest.

“I can leave if you would rather.”

“Nah.” Dean flops over onto his back, eyeing him up. “It’s your room, you should stay.”

Cas nods and turns his gaze out the window, blue eyes tracing the passing of cars, ears picking up the whispered conversations of people outside.

Dean’s tired. He should go to sleep. He should make the most of Cas not watching him sleep like some weirdo.

But instead, he says, “So, what happened at the party?”

Cas turns back to him, blinking. “Eileen told you - ”

“No, I mean, what happened. What were the people like? What did you do? Was Brenda there, the one with the St. Bernard dog?”

Cas beams. “Yes, she was. And she brought Percy.”

“Her husband or the dog?”

“The dog, she’s divorced. But her ex-husband’s name was Percy, which is odd.”

“Yikes.” Dean sits up, arranging the pillows behind him so he can lean back and look at Cas as he talks. “Who else was there?”

Cas smiles, sits forward in his seat and starts talking.

Dean thinks sleep is overrated anyway.

[ragingbookdragon]

I love how you write tim drake x batbro. We need more of them!!! Amazing!!

Nothing like a proficient pansexual helping out his blunder bisexual baby brother on how to engage in the act of flirtation

***

His first reaction upon having his bedroom door slammed open against his wall was to jolt up, already pulling out his pocketknife; his second reaction, upon seeing Tim become clear, was to sigh and collapse back into his chair. “How do you talk to people!” Tim blurted out and he blinked, brows furrowing.

“What?”

“People,” Tim repeated, walking inside his brother’s bedroom to collapse on his bed. “How do you talk to them?”

“In what context?” his brother asked.

“Romantically. Like…flirting.”

Twirling in the chair, he cocked his feet on the end of his bed, staring at Tim. “Well, first you gotta figure out what you like.”

“I’m bisexual.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Have you figured out what you like?”

“I’m confused but this also isn’t narrowing anything down.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Tim, Jesus, are you more into guys? Girls? Is it sort of the same level of attraction?”

Tim’s cheeks tinted pink, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I mean, I don’t…” he shrugged. “I guess both?”

“Okay, is there a specific category of people you’re attracted to?”

“I don’t think you heard me when I said I was bi.”

“You know I can throw you out of the window, right?” his brother shot him a look. “I mean like, prep, nerd, goth, jock? You know, the main categories?”

“Oh!” Tim chirped. “Well…I guess it’s a mixture of all four.”

For a split second, he merely stared at Tim, then he shook his head with a twinge of bewilderment. “Wait, aren’t you already dating that one kid, Baxter?”

“Bernard,” he corrected. “And yes, we have another date later tonight.”

“So…why are you coming to me to know how to flirt if you already have a date?”

Tim started fidgeting. “Because I don’t know how to flirt.”

His brother deadpanned, “Be nice, don’t be creepy.”

“Gee, thanks, that’s helpful.”

“Tim, people like confidence but they don’t like arrogance. People like people who can make them feel comfortable, who can make them laugh and have a good time. They like responsibility and attentiveness, kindness and helpfulness. It’s not that hard.”

“It is for me!” Tim griped. “I get so flustered and I just—forget what I’m saying.”

“That’s because you’re a disaster bi,” his brother chuckled and tapped his toes against Tim’s thigh. “Timmy, buddy, just be yourself. From what you’ve told me about Bernard, he’s already into you.”

“You think?”

He smiled. “I know so.” He held up his phone. “I’ve had Nakamoto hack into all of Bernard’s social media accounts and messages. I know what he thinks about you.”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT! OH MY GOD! NO! DO NOT!”

“Too late!” his brother chirped, scrolling through them. “He thinks your hair is soft and he really likes your muscles.”

“OH MY GOD YOU CAN’T—wait, he likes my muscles?”

“He also thinks you’re a giant nerd but there’s a whole bunch of heart emojis. Wanna see?”

“No!...yes…” Tim leaned over, and nothing was there but a blank screen. “I—I don’t understand?”

“It’s called a joke, Tim,” he snorted, shoving his brother towards his door. “Now go and remember my help!”

“YOU DIDN’T HELP ME AT ALL!”

“I’m offended, I did too.” He swatted Tim away. “Now, off you go my young disaster bi brother! Have fun! Remember my rules!”

“I WOULD DO SOMETHING STUPID BUT I’M LEAVING THE STUPID WITH YOU!”

“Keep talking shit, baby brother and I’ll show up on your date and embarrass the living hell out of you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He offered his brother a smirk. “Oh ho? Challenge accepted.”

“NO!”

[thattimdrakeguy]

It's actually amazing how twinkified Bernard is. I mean, even Jericho, in the 80s, while sensitive and not at all interested in going into the family business, is significantly taller than Nightwing, and it's not like he doesn't work out (including once with Roy). I think it's "what aesthetic the hets will accept". In the 60s, muscle. In the 80s, bears and clones. Today, twinks.

Like Bernard was always really notably taller than Tim. I mean a lot of characters are, obviously, but Bernard is still one of them.

In a panel or two they make it seem like Tim is taller in the Urban Legend stories--and it feels very wrong. And I knew from that moment on I was going to see some uncomfortable stuff, because that's enough to trigger a very specific reaction.

And I know this because you know how some ships Tim is in always make Tim take on the stereotypical "woman" traits for lack of a better word since he's known to be super short and very cute especially compared to his nearly always tall, muscular, handsome men date-mate in fandom ships? Even how people end up drawing Tim sometimes to look more feminine than he actually does because of that?

They're starting to do that with Bernard now when he was actually a pretty masculine guy despite his skinny, lanky frame. Not super masculine. Bernard was still a typical pretty boy looks wise. He wasn't as macho as Kon, but he still had a bit of a macho thing to him in a snobby kind of way with his presentation.

Giving him a boyband haircut, wear pink, big grinny smile, and a cuter disposition...that isn't Bernard Dowd.

I do not accept it as Bernard to same way I don't accept any art of Timmy looking ultra manly as Tim. Not saying Tim is feminine, he's not, he's just super super boyish and short.

This guy is not the same person as this guy.

The Tim is ultra good. But Bernard doesn't look like Bernard at all from his original appearances besides the fact he's blonde. If they switched the colors of how he dressed that'd at least match.

I think they got the hair and face from this artist's depiction, but his hair is just grown out and shaggy from not getting a haircut, it's not neatly trimmed and combed like boy band hair. It's actually pretty long in other panels, and his face even looks closer to what it originally did. And the person that drew that didn't create the character anyways. And even then he isn't depicted as super grinny, or cutesy. The mannerisms are totally different.

Saying all of that just sounds like nit-picking, because in most situations that'd be super small stuff, and there's even times where Bernard does look taller than Tim, and looks less cutesy in the newer stories. But that's obviously not what people are taking out of it which is why it's bothering me now rather than my initial 'Huh, he looks off' response when the issues started coming out.

I'm not down for this fandom transformation of Bernard into something more acceptably stereotypically twinky, when he was already an established character, no matter how obscure, with a well defined personality.

In fact he has such an established personality, and obvious sexuality given he says stuff like that, that seeing people clearly just do guess work based on his appearance in some panels in these latest stories, that end up coming purely from stereotypes on twinks, is in bad taste.

Most people won't know anything about Bernard. I do not expect them to read old stories for themselves, because most people probably don't know their are sites out there in which you can read for free.

But changing almost everything about Bernard besides his well known conspiracy theories all because of the impression that he's this cutesy, stereotypical gay, twink is in bad taste. I can't think of any other way to feel about it for me. It's not done out of malice or bigotry or anything. But it's still in bad taste, and it certainly takes the substance out of everything.

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Kamal Bora and Dr. Boris Habit from Smile For Me at a car dealership with a salesman. Kamal (center) is a man with medium brown skin and wavy dark blue hair. He is wearing a pink button-up shirt and teal striped pants. He has one hand behind his back and the other scratching the back of his head as though he is nervously laughing. Boris (right) is a very tall man with green skin, long curly red hair in a ponytail, and red eyes with orange sclera. He is wearing an orange button-up with yellow floral print and blue pants. He has a hand near his chin and his arms partly crossed as though deep in thought, and is standing in front of a blue SUV. The salesman (left) has pale skin, short black hair in a slicked-back style, and glasses with one pink lens visible to the viewer. He is wearing a black polo, white pants, and a nametag. He has a hand held out to shake with Kamal and Boris. Behind them is car dealership building with red walls, a yellow glass window, and a tasteful shrub out front. End ID.]

-----

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” Miller said, shaking hands with both Boris and Kamal. “What’re you looking for the most? Speed? Horsepower? Gas mileage?”

“Leg room, mostly,” Kamal said with a laugh. “I don’t know if you can tell, but my husband’s a pretty tall guy and he needs to be able to actually fit in the car we get. Plus we’ve got a kid and a St. Bernard, they gotta fit in there too.”

“All right, well you’re definitely gonna need another SUV,” Miller said. “Those are the ones with the biggest interior, after all, unless you’re looking to go with a truck.”

“Mmm, I dont know about a Truck,” Boris said. “May-be if I needed a seperate vehicle for ‘work’, but I do not just yet.”

+++++

More 101 Smiles! :D Sometimes you just gotta get a new car, hehe.

Now due to the way I've been working on these, I could not have initially planned for the car dealer to resemble the character you're probably noticing he resembles. But then a certain video game had a certain big content update and, well, let's just say that led to a certain [Big Shot] cameo when I got to the detail part of the sketch X3c Quite a bit taller than I'd draw the guy if I were drawing him normally, but like I said, that character literally didn't exist in the public perception in between the body form step and the details step of my sketch.

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~If you like, please reblog to show your friends! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Kamal Bora and Dr. Boris Habit © LimboLane Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[suzukiblu]

Day sixteen of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“There, yeah,” Bernard hums, then loosens his arms and puts his hands on the small of his back; strokes across it once or twice and then slides them down to cup his ass and sort of–grip, and squeeze, and knead. “Unf. You are, for the record, several kinds of a handful, you know that?” 

“Oh yeah?” Kon half-snorts, half-laughs, and tries to keep his voice sounding normal and his TTK from reaching back for Tim. He just–he can’t see him right now, is all, so . . . it’s fine, he can still feel him and all, just . . . just it’s a little hard not to be a little . . . clingy, maybe.

“Oh definitely,” Bernard says with a grin against his temple, giving his ass another appreciative kneading. It makes Kon feel even warmer, and he presses back into the other’s hands pretty appreciatively himself. It helps. Gives him, like–something to focus on. “Double handful, even. Nice and thick.” 

“Mm.” Kon buries his face in tighter against the other’s shoulder, biting his lip again. He still really wants to touch Tim; really wants Tim in against his back again. Wants to be between them both, and wants one of them inside him again. At least one of them. 

He doesn’t say that, though, because Tim said “yellow” right after the last time he did, and then changed his mind about touching him at all. So like–yeah. No, he doesn’t say it. 

He does think about it a little, though. Like, if Tim just decided he’d had his minute, and then just slipped back in against his back and pressed up against him so he could feel leather against his skin and Tim’s hands–on his hips, maybe, or his thighs, or maybe up to his chest to play with his pecs the way Bernard was earlier, or maybe just on his ass and sliding his fingers back inside him. 

Or maybe on–maybe on his hands, maybe. 

Kon burns in quiet mortification over that thought, digging his fingers into his wrist and keeping his face hidden down in Bernard’s shoulder. He’s not really sure what either of them’s expecting from him anymore, or what he’s supposed to do right now, or what they want him to do right now,  or–just, if he did something that made Tim safeword, but Tim said he was still good and didn’t get, like–upset, or anything . . . 

Kon feels very weird, actually, about the fact that Tim just safeworded and it was just . . . a thing, and not like . . . a thing. Like–that hasn’t always been how that went, with other people he’s tried this kind of stuff with. Like, when he’s safeworded, he means, or . . . 

It just–hasn’t always been a thing. 

“Wanna play, boy?” Bernard asks lightly, lifting a hand to give the back of his hair a light scruff, and Kon–blinks, sort of, because that tone's a little . . . different, and the other just called him . . . 

And then he realizes–Bernard asked if Tim wanted him to take over, and Tim told him . . . told him to be good for Bernard. 

Oh, Kon thinks, very slowly, because his head’s a little disconnected-feeling still. And then maybe he kind of, like, boils alive. 

So–yeah. Yeah, Tim is sharing him with his boyfriend right now. 

Fuck. 

Kon buries his flushed face in as tight against Bernard’s shoulder as he can without bruising the guy and then just–nods, kinda, and tightens his grip on his own wrist again. 

“Super. Then let's play,” Bernard hums all easy and steady, and Kon can't help the little shiver that goes down his spine. 

Tim really did give him to his boyfriend, he thinks, and feels so warm he could fucking melt into a syrup. 

That's . . . he . . . just–Tim trusts and cares about Bernard enough to give him to him, and Tim gave him to someone he trusts and cares about that much. Like he's something useful, or nice, or that just looks pretty all wrapped up in a bow, or–or whatever. 

Like he's something Tim thinks someone else would want. 

Maybe he didn't fuck up, actually. Maybe Tim's rewarding him for “good behavior” after all.

[deniigi]

will we be getting anyting spooky for this year? "ain't afraid of no ghost!" fed my halloween loving soul.

hi!!

I’m a little burnt out with writing right now, BUT I do have a piece from the Selkie Verse that’s a little bit ghostly/scary. I can’t remember if I posted it here already or not, but I’ll give it to you (again?)

It’s like 8k so be prepared!

Title: ember ghosts

Summary: Flash forces Peter, Ned, and MJ to go ghost hunting in a local cemetery. Peter decides to add a little pizzazz to this trip in the form of Resident Dead Hero Jack Murdock to get back at Flash. Things, as they are wont, go terribly wrong.

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

Matt’s new coat was white and incredibly heavy; Peter learned that last part upon dragging MJ and Ned over to catch Matt in the act of grooming it.

He barked at them and the volume of the sound locked Peter into place for a minute before he came back to himself and hustled in to go flop down next to Matt and ask him if he needed help first, and then secondly, if his dad was busy.

Matt felt for his chin and then jerked his face close.

“What business do you have with him?” he asked.

Stories about baby seals, obviously.

Matt tossed him away.

“You’re not borrowing my father’s spirit to scare Flash,” he said.

MJ and Ned came over to join the pleading session.

“But Mr. Murdock’s the biggest ghost ever,” Peter lamented.

“He’s a normal sized spirit, not a ghost,” Matt sniffed at him as he gathered up his fur rug from the floor and started picking through it in his lap.

The gesture he used was mesmerizing. He dragged the fur back the wrong way until he found something he didn’t like, then used the last three fingers on his hand to scrape at it until it was vanquished. He pulled his whole hand over the place again and carried on down the stripe he was making until he found another knot or bit of dirt or something to scratch at.

“Can I try?” Ned asked.

Matt’s face jerked his way and he dragged even more of the coat into his lap.

“No touching,” he said.

“I thought Foggy’s coat was the white one?” MJ asked.

Matt gathered his coat even further in offense.

“It will shed,” he said. “It is a new coat.”

“It’s baby fur,” Peter told the others. “Foggy said—”

He got a face full of baby fur and could now confirm that it was soft and fluffy and amazing. He could sleep in this.

“It’s a new coat,” Matt emphasized. “Annoying me will not unlock access to my old man.”

Boo on you, sealman.

“I’m gonna ask your mom then,” Peter declared.

He got yanked down before he was even all the way up.

Matt held his chin again.

“He’s a spirit,” he said. “And a hero. Say it with me.”

“He’s a spirit and a hero,” Peter repeated.

Matt shoved him away.

“If you ask him very nicely, he might be interested in having some time away from the church. But not too long. He can’t be away from Mum for too long, you hear?”

That was permission.

“We hear,” Peter promised. “Should we bring Sister Maggie an offering?”

Matt huffed and stood up. He left his pile of coat behind him and the urge to pet it behind his back was insurmountable. Peter met Ned and MJ’s eyes and bounced his brows. MJ shook her head.

Matt returned from the table and held something out towards the coat. MJ leaned forward and plucked it out of his hand.

“A comb?” she asked.

“Tell her its teeth are too wide,” Matt said. “Go get a bouquet of flowers—no roses, Peter. Go for hyssop if you can find it.”

Copy that.

“Be gone with you.”

“You’re my favorite teammate,” Peter said.

“I said begone,” Matt sniffed.

---

--

-

 “You think he should have just kept it anyways?” MJ asked on the way to May’s friend Tonya’s place.

Ned took the comb from her and held it up to the sun.

“What do you think it’s made out of?” he asked.

Knowing the selkies? Probably teeth.

The other two stared at Peter.

He shrugged.

“Johnny says selkies are obsessed with guarding their teeth,” he said. “So maybe it’s whale bone or something.”

Ned huffed.

“Maybe it’s turtle shell,” he said.

Maybe.

“Why not roses?” MJ asked Peter.

Oh, well that was easy enough.

“There’s not really a kind of rose that isn’t a curse for Mr. Murdock,” he said. “It’s all friendship this, scorned lover that. And from the sounds of it, he doesn’t like them. Hyssop is a sacrifice flower, so you know. It’s an offering for both him and Sister Maggie.”

MJ tapped at her lip.

“Do you think we should cover our basis with a can of sardines, too?” she asked.

Well, it couldn’t hurt.

 ---

--

-

 Tonya, upon learning that the flowers Peter was seeking were to be given to a ‘selkie and her young man’ (in her words) went a little overboard.

She stuffed the hyssop in as an afterthought among a tryptic of sunflowers in a bed of bursting blue cornflowers. She mused on a pink rose or two to top the whole thing off, until Peter informed her that the son of the recipients had warned against it.

She said hollyhock would have to do, and then she gave Peter a basket of herbs for drying back home. She said to leave them outside when he went in to talk to the selkie.

Tonya’s apprentice said nothing the whole time and stared at Peter like he was scum while she snipped the low leaves off the stems of black-eyed susans. Peter resolutely didn’t look at her or her fancy, pale-eyed familiar.

She was a poser, anyways.

“Tell me how it goes,” Tonya hummed, draping herself across the desk and humming. “I wish I could bag a selkie. Imagine it, Missy. Strong handsome man comes up from the banks and—”

“The banks of the Hudson, Ms. Rice?” Missy said scathingly.

Tonya considered this then shrugged.

“He’s shower first,” she said.

Peter and the others said bye.

 ---

--

-

 Sister Maggie was suspicious of the flowers. But to be fair, she was suspicious of pretty much everything. She accepted the comb back much more comfortably.

“You want Jackie?” she asked once that was done.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.

“What for?”

A reckoning.

“One of our classmates is a jerk,” MJ said. “He’s forcing everyone in our club to go ghost-hunting with him even though no one wants to. So we thought we’d give him a run for his money, but we didn’t want to like, disturb anyone or raise the dead or whatever.”

Sister Maggie’s eyebrow arched and Peter swore that she was going to start in for a lecture. He braced himself.

It did not come.

“That’s considerate of you,” she said instead. “How long do you need him for?”

“Like, just a few hours? Fourish?” MJ said.

“Let me ask him,” Sister Maggie said. “I think he’ll be interested, he’s been rolling balls back to the wains all day. It’s only fun for the first five times.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock was a good four inches taller than Matt and around forty or fifty pounds heavier. He looked like he could carry all the babies at St. Agnes’s all at the same time if he wanted to. But, having seen the guy in action (i.e. hopelessly lost in the tunnels of the great seanchaidh), Peter now knew that he was kind of a St. Bernard burdened with a troublesome wife and son.

“Have fun,” Sister Maggie said.

Mr. Murdock huffed at her and said that he ‘shan’t’ and it made her laugh as she closed the door behind them all.

“I’m not a ghost,” he told Peter, ignoring the other two’s shock and awe.

“A spirit,” Peter said. “Yeah, I know. But Flash is a dick and you don’t like bullies, right?”

Mr. Murdock’s jaw worked.

“What kind of bully, now?” he asked.

“He calls us names and talks shit behind our backs and runs into me on purpose in the hall during passing period,” Peter said.

“Easy fix for that,” Matt’s dad said with a hand wave.

“Mr. Murdock, I can’t fight him. I’ll break him in half,” Peter said. “Fighting is only for spiders.”

Mr. Murdock did not understand. That was okay, he and Matt only understood the language of hitting people. It was genetic.

“If you can just like, do the glowy thing right behind him tonight when we go to this crypt, that would be super helpful,” Peter said.

“You glow?” Ned asked Mr. Murdock.

Mr. Murdock was not convinced.

“How will me standing over a guy get him to stop bullying you?” he asked.

That…was maybe a fair point.

“It’ll scare him,” Ned said. “And it’ll be all his fault and everyone will blame him and he’ll feel stupid for having made everyone go along with his dumb idea.”

Mr. Murdock considered him and then looked back to Peter.

“Just go with it,” Peter said. “It’s a teenager thing. It’s how we keep each other humble.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock didn’t want to wait with them until nightfall. He wanted to be with Matt. That was his second favorite place to be, apparently, after hanging around Sister Maggie, but Peter got the feeling that Matt would talk Mr. Murdock out of some good, honest revenge and into some Catholic guilt if they were stuck together. So he gave him the next best thing.

Foggy was basically a vengeful spirit.

He laughed really hard at the idea of Mr. Murdock going around scaring kids in a cemetery.

“No, no,” he said. “Here, you must—Jack, can you hold things?”

Peter snapped his head back to Mr. Murdock.

“Some,” Mr. Murdock said.

“How much can you lift?” Foggy asked.

Mr. Murdock squinted at him.

“I don’t like the question,” he said.

Foggy abandoned them all to go dig through one of his kitchen drawers. He came back with tiny bottle and held it out to Peter.

“Mix it with some lamp oil,” he said.

Peter took the bottle.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ask not what you don’t want the answer to,” Foggy said. “Just mixy-mix, boyo. Here, I’ve even got a lantern around here somewhere. Jack, we need to dress you for the part.”

Peter paused and turned to look up at Mr. Murdock’s dark eyes and thick hair.

Dress? Him?

You could dress a spirit?

“Why not?” Foggy said. “You, my dear sir, need a coat and a flatcap.”

Mr. Murdock’s whole expression dropped.

“I’m not playing some ghostly lighthouse man in the middle of New York City,” he said.

“You are,” Foggy said seriously. “For your people, Jack. Think about your people. And fix that accent, I know you’ve got a brogue in you.”

 Peter took Mr. Murdock home with him when he and the others split off to reconvene at the cemetery at 8 o’clock. Mr. Murdock rode the train like a champ. It was cramped from the rush hour traffic and Peter entertained himself by watching Mr. Murdock lay his hands tenderly on top of those belonging to douchebags who were plenty tall enough to hold onto the upper bar but who couldn’t be assed to look away from their phones to realize this.

One guy yelped at Mr. Murdock’s touch on his knuckles and ripped his hand off, only to see nothing there. Everyone around him stared at him.

He coughed and reached up for the overhead rail.

Mr. Murdock abandoned him to squeeze through the carriage to the back. He found a pregnant woman standing beside a group of teenagers all listening to music. Peter watched as he inspected the lady’s phone in her hand and then her face. He tapped on the top of the phone so it fell right out of her loose grip, and the woman jumped. The kids all startled at the sound of the phone hitting the ground and two jumped up to pick it up for her. One offered her his seat.

She thanked them and carefully, carefully sat down.

Mr. Murdock watched this with no expression.

Peter swallowed a giggle.

Jonathan ‘Jack’ Murdock. Lighthouse Ghost Impersonator and Subway Manners Enforcer.

 ---

--

-

 “Oh, hey there, long time no see,” May said to Mr. Murdock when Peter got home. “You’re going with Pete and the others tonight?”

Mr. Murdock said nothing.

Peter recounted his poltergeist from earlier for him. May thought it was just delightful.

“I told him to take Johnny,” she said. “But you might be even better.”

“They should just fight it out,” Mr. Murdock said.

“Mm. School authorities won’t go for it,” May said. “So I’m afraid we must stoop to witchcraft.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock didn’t know the full glory of Youtube, so Peter spent the next few hours snacking and showing him clips of old vines. Then, when it was time to go, he turned to google how to use an oil lamp. Mr. Murdock watched him struggle for a good five minutes before reaching over him and showing him how.

“Did you and Matt not have electricity in Ireland?” Peter asked him.

Mr. Murdock huffed.

“No, I just uh. I guess I had an interest in maritime shit since I was a kid.”

Ohhh.

“Is that how you met Sister Maggie?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lip quirked up a little.

“No,” he said. “But we got there anyways, didn’t we?”

 ---

--

-

 “Do you not like roses?” Peter asked him on the way to the train station.

“They all smell like soap,” Mr. Murdock said as he followed Peter down the steps to the station. He was wearing the hat that Foggy had impressed on him. It was a strange thing; Foggy had marked it with a piece of chalk under the brim before handing it over and it seemed to have made it ghost-apparel. He didn’t have a big scary coat, but he did have a scarf and between that and the hat and the lantern, Mr. Murdock was plenty old-timey lighthouse man.

“Not all of them,” Peter said. “Some smell like lemon.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Mr. Murdock said over the heads of folks by the train. “S’all soap.”

 ---

--

-

 “Did you every hunt for ghosts when you were a kid?” Peter asked when they were approaching the gates of the meeting place. May had given him a bag full of offerings to place on graves when people he was with weren’t looking. Some mandarin oranges and little bouquets of lavender and zinnias with sprigs of baby’s breath. They were pretty. Peter had something like twenty in among the fruit.

“No, the dead never bothered me half as much as the living,” Mr. Murdock said.

That sounded kind of angsty.

“How did you become a hero?” Peter asked.

“Kind of a long, boring story,” Mr. Murdock said. “The short of it, I guess, is that I did a lot of shit for the fae and they appreciated it.”

“Johnny’s starstruck of you,” Peter pointed out. “He thinks you’re like, super cool. He told me you smell really good.”

Mr. Murdock glanced down at him.

“It’s a sign of status for the fae to be attached to a hero,” he said.

Oh???

“Am I a hero? Does Johnny get a boost from being with me?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock shrugged.

“You’re both pretty young to be able to know or tell,” he said. “And you’re a witch. So unless you’re a hero-witch, I got nothin’ for you.”

Ah, well. It was worth a shot.

“There’s Ned, that’s our cue. Here, you can take the lantern. I’ll point Flash out to you,” Peter said.

Mr. Murdock took the lantern Peter held out to him without complaint while Peter fumbled through his pockets for a lighter.

He held it out.

“Do you want me to light it or are you okay?” he asked.

“You light it,” Mr. Murdock said. “This is heavy for me in this shape.”

 ---

--

-

 Mr. Murdock took the lantern and left Peter to go meet MJ and Ned. The light had vanished by the time Peter looked back.

“I think Mr. Murdock’s a little sad,” he told the others.

“Ghost separation anxiety?” MJ offered.

“Maybe it’s harder for him to be with people who aren’t his family. Maybe he’s tired,” Ned said.

Yeah, maybe.

“Or maybe he’s a softie who doesn’t like scaring people,” MJ said. “But that means that Matt got his nonsense gene from the nun side.”

It wasn’t implausible.

“Hey, are you guys coming?” Abe tossed back at them. He was prepared with two flashlights and a backpack with a bulky mobile charger in his pocket. He’d said that he wasn’t falling for ‘any ghost shit’ that night and no one was making any ‘dumbass mistakes’ on his watch.

Peter thought that Abe might try to punch Mr. Murdock in the gut. He and MJ agreed to separate him from Flash as soon as possible.

 ---

--

-

 Flash insisted on leading the charge—of course he did. Peter hung back a ways so that he could set offerings on graves. Ned told kept reminding him that he didn’t have to do it for every single one, and obviously Peter knew that. But some of the graves deserved stones on them and a quick prayer. That was just being polite.

Flash caught him at it and asked him if he was scared. Peter told him to mind his own business.

“We’re here to find ghosts, not feed them,” Flash volleyed back.

Peter pointed at him in a way that he hoped was dramatic enough for Mr. Murdock to catch sight of it from wherever he was.

“If they’re eatin’ these, they aren’t eatin’ me,” he said. He offered Flash an orange. “You want one?”

Ned snickered.

“You’re not funny, Parker,” Flash sighed. His breath clouded around him. “Come on, it’s not too much further.”

 ---

--

-

 The ‘crypt’ was actually a mausoleum, as Peter had expected. It was tall and made of stone and Peter could tell immediately that it was of no one of import to the local necromancers.

Even the vultures had declared the folks in this one too boring for their rituals. It was probably a family thing. A bunch of folks who were ordinary but devout. Maybe they had a little money and chose to spend it in death.

Everyone had their own thing.

Peter had oranges and flowers, for example. He snuck around the corner to set one onto the ground by the stone.

His breath puffed out around it and misted away and Peter paused before standing up out of his stoop. He could feel a breeze on his cheeks. He looked up and around.

“Mr. Murdock?” he breathed.

Nothing.

No lantern light.

“You’re not my ghost,” Peter whispered. “I’m just leavin’ a snack, okay?”

The breeze seemed to vanish.

Cool.

“Don’t mind my spirit friend. He’s big and kinda glowy, but he’s not one of you,” Peter said.

“Peter?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “But this other idiot is gonna try to climb onto your grave. Sorry about him. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

The leaves at his feet blew up and scattered around the orange.

“No problem.” Peter said. “Bye now.”

He hurried back to the others.

 ---

--

-

 The main problem was that none of them knew how roman numerals worked and, surrounded by ghosts, looking it up on the internet was kind of challenging.

MJ and Ned gave Peter pointed looks when he came back to join them.

They knew Peter could read roman numerals. He was assigned the task of keeping his mouth shut without anyone having to tell him.

“Maybe they don’t want to be read,” Felicia said.

“Correct,” Abe agreed. “No reading. I can’t read. None of us can read. This is a blessing of ignorance, given to us by the Lord.”

Flash stared at them.

“X is ten,” he deadpanned.

“Damnit, Flash,” Abe said.

“What’s L?” Flash said. “And M?”

“Code,” Ned chimed in.

He got flat eyebrows all around.

“We live in the twenty-first century,” Flash told the stone. “Just use normal numbers like everyone else.”

The wind kicked up a bit in offense.

“Alright, well, now what?” Abe said. “Not a single ghost so far. Only a creepy stone in a creepy yard with a creepy—oh shit. Turn off the light.”

Say what now?

“Keeper,” Abe snapped over his shoulder, pointing away from them towards a floating light. “Turn ‘em off or we’ll get kicked out.”

Oh.

The lantern.

Peter joined the others in turning off their lights and hiding on the other side of the mausoleum.

“You’d have thought it would be too late for working,” Felicia whispered.

“It’s a graveyard,” MJ whispered back. “The time you need the most coverage is night.”

“Are they still there?” Abe asked.

Flash peeked out from around the stone.

“No,” he said.

Peter untensed his shoulders and stepped out.

“What if it’s not a keeper?” he asked. “What if it’s a—”

“Huh-uh. No,” Abe snapped. “We’re not asking stupid questions tonight, remember, Parker? I specifically said this not 10 minutes ago. No stupid questions.”

Abe had seen a few horror movies, it would seem.

“Alright, alright. No stupid questions,” Peter said. “It’s just—that doesn’t look like a flashlight to me.”

Ned made a show of looking around.

“It’s gone, it doesn’t look like anything to anyone,” he said.

“This is exciting,” Felicia anxiety-giggled.

“It’s not,” MJ sighed. “Well, we’re already here. Might as well keep going.”

The others all turned towards her.

“Wait, you mean, go further?” Flash asked.

MJ shrugged.

“We’re only like, part of the way in,” she said.

Peter surveyed the space beyond their current alley of monuments. The light from the two floodlights at the gated entrance was already weak. Further out, there wouldn’t be light until they hit the war memorial way, way in the back.

That was a plenty big enough stretch.

“Guys? Did it get foggy?” Felicia asked.

Peter shivered.

He had about ten oranges left and an equal number of flower packets.

Welp.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Before it rolls in thicker.”

 ---

--

-

 The grass seemed to get wetter and wetter with every yard and Peter had started to see things out of the corners of his eyes. Shadows. Little flickers of light.

He felt MJ’s fingers sink into his jacket sleeve as he watched an extra set of legs follow behind them in the jerky shadows jostled around by the flashlights.

Abe froze twice, each time to take a deep steady breath and to remind himself that he was not asking stupid questions.

Flash laughed at him, but the sound was strained and a little hysterical. Felicia had grabbed ahold of one of each of their arms up ahead. Ned touched Peter’s shoulder.

“Where is he?” he whispered.

Peter shrugged.

“He’s lantern man,” he said. “We’ll see him.”

“In the mist?”

Mmmm. Okay maybe they should have brought Johnny after all.

 ---

--

-

 They were halfway to the war memorial when the lights above it suddenly went out. MJ’s fingers dug deep into Peter’s sleeve. Ned gasped.

“Dude,” Flash’s voice said in the dark. “That’s not cool. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t you talk to it,” Abe snapped. “Don’t you dare talk to it. Just walk. Don’t ask questions. Just walk.”

Peter felt wind against his cheeks. He shivered.

Mr. Murdock wouldn’t fuck with the lights, would he? Was he that strong?

Peter thought he was supposed to be a spirit, not a ghost. And he’d seemed kind of tired earlier. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep or something, right?

There was a loud rustle to the right of their group and Peter jumped, which made MJ jump, which made Felicia yelp.

The rustle carried on. It was punctuated with a horrible, wet-sounding slap all of the sudden.

“Wh—what was that?” Flash asked.

Another slap rang out, then another. Followed by the sound of something dropping into leaves. Something…heavy.

“Nice try, slugger,” Mr. Murdock growled.

Actually growled. Like an angry tiger or something.

Peter shivered hard.

This guy hadn’t been scared at all. He’d been preparing himself.

To fight.

Fuck.  

Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort.

“We need to leave,” Peter said sharply.

“Agreed,” MJ said.

“Yep,” Ned said.

“You speak my language finally,” Abe said. “About-face and—”

“Don’t move,” Mr. Murdock said dangerously.

Peter felt his body turn to ice.

“Who’s there?” Flash asked.

“They’re mine,” Mr. Murdock rumbled. “Hands off, ya fuckin’ lowlife. Yeah, get back to your hole. Go on.”

Oh, okay.

Fun times with the undead. Peter should have brought holy water.

“Wh—who’s there?” Flash asked again in a cracking voice.

The sound of metal clanking met them and then an orange flash crackled into sight. And there was Mr. Murdock. Six foot two and missing his hat. He looked huge and solid and his shoulders glowed ever so slightly.

Flash and Felicia and Abe gasped.

“Y’all better be moving along,” Mr. Murdock said, meeting Peter’s eyes seriously.

“Are—are you a ghost?” Felicia whispered.

Mr. Murdock flicked his eyes down at her and they didn’t reflect the light from the lantern.

“Folks call me ‘Jack,’” he said, holding out the lantern. “Or they used to. Nowadays, the little ones call me ‘John.’ This is a ritual grounds tonight, kids. Bad night for a hunt for the living. Go on, I’ll see you out. Take this; your lights won’t work.”

MJ took out her flashlight and it clicked as she turned it on and then off.

“What kind of ritual?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lips thinned.

“Go,” he said.

Peter’s chest expanded.

“Where are they?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock shook his head.

“Go,” he said again. “This isn’t for you, little witch.”

Peter heard the others’ shape intakes of air, but he held firm.

“You’re a spirit,” he said. “You can’t stop them.”

Mr. Murdock sighed and his shoulders fell slowly.

“I’m not just a spirit,” he said. “I’m a hero. I’ll see you out. Tell my son the name of this place. He’ll come in the morning.”

Wh—

No, wait.

“Don’t go,” Peter said.

But he was already gone. Felicia was left holding the lantern.

 ---

--

-

 They ran-slipped-fell all the way back the way they’d come. This time, Peter held his breath at the sound of too many feet hitting the wet pockets of mud around them. He heard Felicia sobbing and the lantern clanking dangerously ahead of them.

The floodlights at the entrance had gone out.

They had to carefully climb the fence and pass off the lantern one at a time until they were on the other said, panting.

Peter realized belatedly that he’d dropped the bag of grave offerings.

He dipped his head and clenched his fists.

He’d have to go back for it in the morning.

“You’re a witch,” Flash suddenly snapped at him.

“Lay off,” MJ said immediately.

“You’re a witch and you brought that—that guy with us?” Flash asked.

“It was supposed to be a joke,” Peter said.

“A joke?” Abe said. “You—Peter, witches aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real. Who was that?”

“No, you, a witch, thought it would be funny to bring some kind of spirit with us to a graveyard?” Flash demanded.

Peter huffed.

“Hey, you were a dick about this first,” Ned said. “The ghost dude is harmless.”

“Harmless?” Flash said. “Harmless? Yeah, fuckin’ streetfighter ghost is harmless.”

“He’s not a ghost,” Abe said, “He’s an actor. Peter that’s not cool, man. That’s not cool.”

“He’s not an actor,” Felicia said quietly.

The rest of them turned to see her holding the still-burning lantern. She was staring into it.

“His hands were so cold,” she whispered.

Abe executed a full-body shiver.

“Well, now what?” he asked. “We’ve trespassed, found a ghost, and nearly got ritualed to death. What else do we need to do to learn that this was a bad idea all along?”

Peter looked up at the gate.

“Dark magic,” he said.

MJ and Ned turned towards him.

“Peter, you’re not going back in there,” Ned said.

“I took charge of the spirit,” Peter said, setting his jaw. “I’m not going back on my word to a selkie.” He jerked back. “I need my familiar,” he said. “You guys can go.”

“Your…familiar?” Abe said slowly. “Peter. Peter, you are not a witch.”

“He’s not a familiar like others are, maybe, but he’s mine,” Peter said. “And he’ll know how to help the spirit.”

Ned and MJ exchanged glances.

“Okay?” Ned said. “Well, where is he?”

 ---

--

-

 Johnny answered his phone and said he’d been 20 minutes. They were the longest 20 minutes of Peter’s life and were spent primarily being interrogated by Abe, Flash, and Felicia.

They were understandably upset by the set-up, and then understandably upset by the fact that they were, in fact, living in ignorance of a whole multi-dimensional plane.

Abe demanded to know if genies were real, and Peter could only say that they probably were.

“Just so I’m clear here,” Flash said. “You went and borrowed your local seal-person’s husband for a jump-scare for us and now we are waiting on a fire demon to help us rescue the seal-person’s undead husband from some evil witches trying to raise the dead?”

Peter chewed a few fingers.

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” he said.

“PARKER.”

“PETER. OH MY GOD.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Abe sobbed.

“I was appeasing the spirits,” Peter snapped at them. “Why do you think I brought all those oranges? Do I look like I’m vitamin C deficient?”

“You’re a witch,” Felicia said. “You’re a witch. That’s insane. How do you—”

“I’m not a witch,” Peter sighed. “I’m—I’m a—I’m almost a witch.”

“Clearly,” Abe said.

“Hey, leave him alone,” Ned jumped in. “It’s no one’s fault this happened. We all thought we were walking into a totally different situation.”

“Yeah, except Mr. Ghost Man,” Flash said. “He knew what was up. Why didn’t you listen to him? Or, I dunno, read the undead-people signs?”

“Because he’s not my family spirit,” Peter snapped at him. “And he’s not a ghost. He’s a spirit, and not like a spirit, even. He’s a—it’s hard to explain. I don’t even know what he is. He’s just different. He’s like an inbetween kind of—”

“He’s a hero.”

They all looked up to see Johnny standing there in blue with a black knitted scarf wrapped triple around his neck. His eyes flashed orange and red and gold. The ground swayed around him, light up by his internal lantern.

Everyone around Peter recoiled.

“What does that mean, Johnny?” Peter asked quietly. “I don’t understand.”

“It means that the spirits of the sea granted him another life in exchange for the protection he offered their people during his human one,” Johnny said. “You should know by now, Peter; the fae work in exchanges.”

“He already made his deal,” Peter said. “I don’t understand.”

“His deal as a human was fulfilled. His soul is safe with his selkie, only she can shepherd it. It will go to the Otherworld, where he will stay in comfort. But he’s chosen to stay here--as a hero. In this world. And as long as he is here and not in the Otherworld, his purpose is to protect humans and fae, to protect them from each other if he must, as he stands now with a foot on both sides of the line.”

Peter felt his breath coming slowly again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because,” Johnny said with a sudden smile. “Your soul is already mine—we share a heart remember? I don’t need you getting stupid ideas—imagine if you decided to become a hero, then died and decided to stick around these parts instead of letting me take you to the Otherworld. You’d drive yourself mad, Peter. You’d never sleep ever again.”

Peter blinked.

“You lied to me?” he asked.

“I’m a fire demon,” Johnny said. “We listen to truths. We don’t have to tell them.”

Wow.

“Know that I’m really upset with you right now,” Peter said.

Johnny bobbed his head.

“But you’re more upset about the hero,” he said. “No need for that. He didn’t become a hero by dumb luck, and anyways, look at his kid. He’ll be fine; he’s the original material. A little dark magic isn’t gonna tear him up. He’s probably just gonna—”

There was a flash like miniature lightening through the bars of the gate.

“I take it back,” Johnny said. “Whoopsy-daisy. Come on, now, heart-boy. Up and over.”

 ---

--

-

 Peter landed on the other side of the gate right into mud that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

“What’s going on?” he asked as Johnny hopped down with him.

“Big, wet,” Johnny said. “Dark, dark magic. Gross. Sticky. Here, we need more light.”

Little embers glittered in the throw of fire that expanded Johnny’s lantern lights. It brightened the space substantially and when Peter looked down, the ground was dry.

“Dude,” Flash said. “You know what? I’m convinced.”

“Johnny Storm is a fire demon,” Abe wept into his hands.

“Stay here,” Peter told Ned and MJ, we’ll be—”

“BACK. BACK. BACK.”

Johnny slammed Peter against the fence and let out a hiss that sounded like water hitting a scalding piece of metal. Peter’s heart throbbed. Johnny slowly released the pressure on him and made a clicking noise.

“I think,” he said after a moment. “That perhaps I am not a big enough fire.”

Dude, what?

Johnny turned to him.

“Sorry,” he said sadly. “More and more are waking up every second. They’re heavy.”

Dude, what?

“I’m really sorry,” Johnny said. “But uh. I think I need to, uh—”

“Need to what, Johnny?” MJ demanded on the other side of the fence.

Johnny looked like he was going to cry.

 ---

--

-

 “JONATHAN STORM.”

Scary, scary, scary, scary, scary.

“Sue,” Johnny pleaded. “Not here. Not now. There’s hero in the—”

“Oh, I see him,” Sue Storm said, looming. “He’s doing just fine. He’ll hold on for long enough for me to—”

“It’s my fault,” Peter blurted out. “I called him here.”

Sue Storm’s blue eyes seemed to blaze in the dark.

“Don’t blame him,” Johnny said. “I’ll take it. He’s my human. I’ll take it.”

“This is dark magic,” Sue said. “None of you should be here. This earth will turn sodden under the spell of these monsters. The hero will return it to balance. You two, in the meantime, are no heroes. Not even halves of one.”

Peter felt his face burning.

“He’s the selkie’s, Sue,” Johnny said quietly. “He’s not long a hero. Please help him?”

Sue Storm chewed her tongue, gazing holes into Johnny’s face. Johnny looked away first.

“Which selkie?” she demanded.

“Her name is Margaret,” Peter said.

Sue’s face jerked his way. Her eyes widened and she turned back out towards the cemetery.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That selkie. She’s more like us.”

Peter frowned.

“I don’t—” he started.

“She honors the earth and its fae even though she’s sea folk,” she said. She sighed heavily. “Alright, fine. I’ll help. But for the hero, not either of you, you hear? Johnny, you’ll need to make things right with the selkie. She’ll be furious. She’s been nothing but kind to our people. We can’t repay her like this.”

“Will do,” Johnny said.

“Stay here,” Sue said. “All of you. The curse has got into you. We’ll break it all at once.”

Oh shit.

MJ and Ned turned slowly towards Peter.

“Curse?” Ned asked.

Peter groaned.

---

--

-

 “It’s a friendship circle,” Johnny bubbled as Peter shoved him, once again, into the sigil he was trying to draw in the dirt at the cemetery entrance.

“I’m gonna salt you in and I will not regret it,” Peter threatened him.

“Johnny, come sit,” Ned said, patting the place between him and Felicia.

“Never,” Johnny hissed at him. “My heart is right—”

Peter left him to finish the circle. Johnny hurried to keep up with him.

Flash watched after him with furrowed eyebrows and a fist pressed to his mouth.

“This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he said.

“We didn’t even ask any stupid questions,” Abe sighed.

“What’s she doing out there?” Felicia asked.

Peter shoved Johnny’s flailing body towards her and finally finished the circle. He’d never made one this big. He started in on the protective signs around the interior.

“She’s a boggart!” Johnny chirped. “She’s boggart-ing!”

Peter felt the pause of the others more than he heard it.

“What does that mean?” Felicia asked.

“Oh. She’s a faerie of darkness,” Johnny said. “So she’s probably winding her way through all the posers and chasing them back to their hovels so that she can go chase the witches away from the hero and let him rest for a bit. She’ll guide him back if he’ll let her—which he might not. You never know with heroes. He might not want her smell on him.”

Peter had the feeling that Mr. Murdock was made of more sense than pride.

“How long will that take?” Abe asked.

Johnny made happy crackling sounds.

“Who knows! Depends on the witches,” he said. “Depends on how many people she needs to terrify. Boggarts get power through fear. The more spirits she scares, the faster she’ll be.”

Peter moved Ned’s backpack out of the way and carried on.

There was a lull.

“Peter, what are you doing?” Felicia asked.

“Protection circle,” MJ said for him.

“Oh.”

There was another silence.

“Where did you learn that?” Abe asked.

“His aunt’s a full witch. She does business in herbs, potions, and materials for their part of Forest hills,” Ned said.

“Oh.”

Flash and Abe scooted forward to let Peter in behind him. They watched him.

“That’s pretty cool, actually,” Felicia said. “Thanks for that.”

A mumbled thanks went around the whole group. Peter finished the final marks and stepped carefully over them into the circle.

“It’s nothing,” he sighed, flopping down and dragging Johnny away from Ned. “I should have known better. I think the ghosts were trying to warn me from the start. I should have listened better.”

More awkward silence.

“Well, it sounds like the fighting’s calmed down,” MJ said. “Mr. Murdock should be okay.”

Yeah.

“Wait,” Abe said. “Isn’t that your boss, MJ?”

Welp.

“Ghost man is my boss’s dad,” MJ sighed.

“Oh my god,” Felicia giggled. “You guys roped your boss’s dad into a practical joke?”

“He didn’t even want to scare you guys,” Peter groaned. “Man, I gotta learn how to read spirits. Johnny, how do I read spirits?”

“No idea. Spirits don’t like me. I’m too bright and obnoxious,” Johnny said.

“I’m un-bonding us,” Peter said. “You have nothing but bad advice and secrets.”

Johnny made kissy noises at him then scrambled up straight.

“Sue’s got the hero,” he said. “She’s arguing with him. Ahahaha.”

Peter cleared his throat. Johnny startled.

“Right, sorry,” he said. “She’s uh. Trying to convince him to come with her, but he’s refusing to look at her. Smart guy, you know that? Name a boggart and they’ll go off on you. He doesn’t want to chance it. Sue’s telling him that she’ll do the invisible thing so he doesn’t see her and he’s not into it, guys.”

Peter took it back. Maybe Mr. Murdock had too much sense for his own good.

“Can you talk to him?” Felicia asked.

“Who? Hero-man? Nah. I can just feel Sue’s frustration,” Johnny said. “Sibling bond, forever. You know?”

No, Johnny. No one knew. The only people with siblings in the circle were MJ and Abe.

“You’re so annoying,” MJ said.

“Aw, I like you too,” Johnny tittered.

Peter yanked him back and prayed that Mr. Murdock would give into the inevitable soon.

 ---

--

-

 “Look? See? No trouble. Not even a little trouble. Did I lie to you?”

Peter snapped awake and shook himself. He blinked into the dark until the shapes of bodies appeared before him as the other woke up too. They all turned around to see the dark outline of Sue standing on the other side of the fence.

Mr. Murdock’s tall shape was there too.

They looked…uh.

Kinda scuffed up, actually, hair-wise and scratches and bruises--the whole thing.

“Lord, she’s still talking to me,” Mr. Murdock said, facing away from Sue, now that Peter could see better.

“God is smart enough to see through you talking to him to talk to me,” She pointed out.

“Lord, you are so unknowable,” Mr. Murdock said pointedly.

“You know, for a fae hero, you’re sure religious.”

“Please see me through this period of suffering,” Mr. Murdock carried on. “And safely away from this hostile body and place.”

Johnny leapt up.

“You found him!” he cheered.

“Yes, of course I did,” Sue said. “He was fine, by the way. Meat-head here has anvils for hands.”

“I keep hearing voices, Lord,” Mr. Murdock said miserably. “Whatever sin it is I’ve committed, I’m willing to repent. But you’ve gotta help me out, man; the priest is convinced I’m a demon in his confession box.”

“Move,” Sue told Johnny. “Come one, Hero-man. We’re going through a fence. I dunno if you’ll fit with all those muscles.”

They all watched as Sue got a handful of the back of Mr. Murdock’s shirt and dragged him through the largest part of the gate uncomfortably.

“You did it!” she cheered. “Successful hero. Another quest fulfilled. Look at all these living children. And you even picked up a rock! That’s good for a young guy like—”

“I’m going back to the church and I’m never leaving,” Mr. Murdock finally told her directly.

“Oh,” Sue said. “You’re a church hero. That’s new.”

“I’m done. No more seals. No more mountains. No more lakes. No more cemeteries,” Mr. Murdock said, shaking himself and dragging his hands through his hair to smooth it out.

“Oh, wow, you’ve really been through it, huh?” Sue asked his back as he left them all in place.

“No more superpowers either,” Mr. Murdock said over his shoulder at her. He moved on ahead purposefully.

“I want him,” Sue told Johnny forcefully.

“He’s taken,” Johnny reminded her.

“He’s sturdy is what he is,” Sue said.

“Reed is sturdy,” Johnny pointed out.

Sue contemplated this.

“But he’s not fae,” she said.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Sue, we can throw your boyfriend into a graveyard of dark magic and let him fight his way home,” he said. “That’s something we can do. We can even time him.”

Sue drummed fingers across her face and slowly wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders until his cheek was smushed up against hers against his will.

“You are so smart, little brother, sometimes I forget how smart you are,” she said.

She threw him away and straightened herself out.

“We’re hours from dawn,” she said. “We’re going home. Baby witch, you and my brother will apologize to the selkie tomorrow. I don’t think the hero wants to stay with you until then. I’m 90% sure, actually, the hero is already catching a train without you. The rest of you--”

She rounded on all of them.

“Do not play with ghosts, witches, spirits or any receptacle of them, do I make myself clear?”

Peter shrunk under her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” they all mumbled.

She sniffed.

“Good,” she said. “Now we all need to go talk to baby’s witch’s mom. You have one hell of a curse hanging over you.”

---

--

-

 May was not pleased.

May doused them all in six different herb waters and made them eat something foul that tasted like charcoal and rubbing alcohol.

Then they had to get sprayed off with the hose in the backyard until all the cemetery mud came off and only then did May send everyone home.

---

--

-

 “Hey Peter?”

Peter looked up from his grinding in the doorframe the next morning—it as far as he was allowed at the present moment—and jumped at the whole group from the night before staring down at him.

He scrambled up.

“Uh, hi,” he said.

“Did you say sorry to the selkie yet?” Felicia asked him.

He almost wanted to shush her and check for passersby. May swore at something in the kitchen behind him. He edged forward and closed the door as far as he could without closing it all the way.

“No, not yet. What are you all doing here?” he asked.

He got a wave of eyebrows all around.

“We wanted to go with you and to say thanks. To the hero guy. You know. For uh, saving us from certain and horrible death,” Abe said.

Oh.

Oh.

“Let me, uh--give me just a second,” Peter said.

 ---

--

-

 Matt was at his apartment and he opened the door at the third knock. He heard MJ clear her throat and started cackling immediately.

“Don’t be a dick,” MJ said. “Let us say thank you.”

Matt remained inarticulate.

“Oh my god,” he finally choked. “Do you know—I haven’t—He hasn’t been this mad since I ate fries off the street—hold oh. Oh my god.”

Ew, man. That’s disgusting.

“Pops, come on out,” Matt coaxed, wiping tears from his eyes and skirting fingers across his kitchen counter until he got to cupboard under the sink. “They just wanna say sorry, Dad. It’s okay. There’s no secret second quest.”

Mr. Murdock refused to exit his newfound home.

Matt snickered so hard his shoulders shook. He stood up and found his counter to lean his elbows against.

“No harm, no foul to us,” he said amiably. “Mum’s been trying to keep a straight face in Mass. He came here for sympathy that I’m afraid I don’t have.”

Man. It was a wonder that Mr. Murdock stuck around at all.

Peter puffed himself up anyways.

“Mr. Murdock,” he said. “I know you can hear me. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry for roping you into the whole thing yesterday, but I’m also super glad you were there. ‘Cause we would’ve been screwed otherwise. So thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Felicia said. “You’re really nice, and I’m glad you were there, too.”

The others added their thanks to the pile and Matt grinned in the direction of the cupboard.

“Come onnn,” he drawled. “I can feel you giving in, in there.”

Nothing.

Matt muffled a round of giggles in his sleeve.

“He accepts your thanks,” he said. “He’s just allergic to sunlight and gratitude.”

The cupboard door rattled violently. Matt shoved a foot against it.

“Mum isn’t mad either, she thinks it’s healthy for him to do quests without her,” he said. “So you’re all good with the three of us.”

Peter wasn’t positive that they were actually. But okay, sure?

“I guess we’ll leave you guys to uh, brood? Baseball? Whatever it is you do together?” He said.

Matt hummed and nodded and waved them out. Peter shut the door behind them.

“That was easy,” Flash said.

“Man, I hope my dad just dies the once,” Abe said.

“My dad isn’t cool enough to fight zombies in a graveyard,” Felicia said.

MJ considered this.

“My mom could do it,” she said.

Ned snorted. Peter swallowed a laugh.

---

--

-

 “So,” Flash said as they passed by the church that Mr. Murdock usually called home. “I know it was all kind of an actual nightmare, but like. I dunno.”

Peter stopped.

“You want more fae bullshit?” he asked in shock.

Flash rubbed at the back of his neck and even Abe and Felicia refused to make eye contact. Ned and MJ stared at them, then Peter in shock.

“It’s just really cool,” Flash admitted. “Like, there’s all this stuff that I thought was fake. But it’s all happening here, all at once—you know. Heroes and zombies and fire demons and witches.”

“This isn’t a tv show,” Peter said. “You know that right? Like, we don’t always win? Yeah, there are heroes and witches, but there’s also really bad magic. Dangerous fae. There are turf wars and tricksters and everything you do is a deal and you always owe someone something. It’s not always fun.”

“Okay, but isn’t it better to know?” Flash asked.

Peter closed his lips.

He didn’t have an argument for that.

“I’m not teaching you,” he sniffed. “I’m already apprenticed. If you want a mentor, it can’t be me—and you can’t have my demon.”

“But he’s Johnny Storm,” Abe blurted out. “Johnny. Storm. Peter, how did you even swing that? And why does he listen to you.”

“He doesn’t,” MJ butted in.

“He does,” Peter corrected.

“He really doesn’t,” Ned said. “Peter’s an amateur witch at best who bound himself to a fire demon with impulse control issues.”

Wow. Betrayed by his own family.

“I’m leaving, I’m grounded, you guy go get a grimoire or something and learn your magic bullshit yourselves,” he said.

“Aww, come on.”

“They were just joking, Peter.”

“Come backkkkk.”

Mr. Murdock had the right idea. Peter had a cupboard to find.

------

 Hope this hits the spot, boo!! And Happy Halloween, y’all!

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part ten

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

  Posting new chapters on Wednesday and Friday!

Die Hard and stolen glances

After making sure Sarah ate a hearty lunch, Martha took her leave, worry still lingering in her eyes. She’d made her friend promise to call Mallory as soon as possible. Sarah decided she’d contact her tomorrow at their usual time. And while she always looked forward to talking with the woman who’d raised her through her teen years, she felt dread creep up at the thought of having to either lie or tell her the truth and deal with the consequences. Telling Mallory her abilities had resurfaced would be equivalent to purchasing a ticket back home. And that was the one thing she could not do. Not until this situation with Vought was resolved.

Putting those thoughts to rest, her mind moved onto the other pressing concern: her upcoming movie night with Black Noir. It felt silly to think—even more when said out lout, but they bonded over their love for action movies. She shrugged her coat on and wrapped a scarf loosely around her neck before heading out of the house. The neighborhood she lived in wasn’t extremely well kept and trash often littered the sidewalks, clustering in the corners. She’d been skeptical when the previous owner had given her a tour. However, she soon realized she didn’t mind, and the affordable price and relatively quiet environment ultimately won her over. Being right outside of the city, the housing complexes were low rise, about two floors high, some three. She had a view on the city and could easily access the university on her bike. Sure, it took about fifteen minutes, but the peace and absence of the city’s obnoxious traffic in that small, rundown neighborhood made it worth it.

She soon reached her destination: the nearest small shop, “Dave’s Grocers.” Immediately, she headed for the party necessities section, searching for straws amid the colorful shelves. She soon grew impatient, scanning the items multiple times.

“Hello, welcome to Dave’s Grocers,” a young employee greeted her. “Is there anything I can I help you with?”

“Hi, yeah actually I’m looking for straws,” she glanced back at the shelves, “but I can’t seem to find any.”

The young man—whose name tag read Bernard in a squiggly handwriting—looked through the shelves himself before confirming her suspicions.

“I can check in the back if we had anything come in,” he offered.

“Yeah that would be great, thank you.”

With that she followed him and waited at the front counter as he disappeared into the back. He soon returned with a box in his arms.

“I found a box of them,” he smiled genuinely. He set the box down and opened it up.

The first thing that registered in Sarah’s mind was, “They’re pink.” She looked to him for confirmation.

“Magenta to be precise.”

She pushed some of her hair behind her ears. Black Noir had refused a drink last time because he wouldn’t take his mask off. She figured that by offering him a strawed drink, he’d accept it. She was sure she’d seen him drinking from a straw before, either in passing at Vought or on television. She wanted it to be a thoughtful act, and here she was thinking of offering him a pink straw.

Sure, it was just a color, right? Their generation was past binary color preferences—pink for girls, blue for boys. They were over it, right? A lot of men see no issue in wearing pink or purple these days. But Black Noir was no ordinary man. 

What was initial horror, soon morphed into amusement. She became curious of  his reaction. 

“How much” she questioned, eyes glued to the intensely colored straws.

“Uh,” he checked the side of the cardboard to be sure, “a dollar and fifty cents for a pack of twenty.”

She nodded, making up her mind, “I’ll take one.”

After paying he asked her to hold up, scratching the back of his neck.

“Could I get your number?”

She eyed him in suspicion, the man from the previous night flashing in front of her eyes. But then she quickly softened. He’d been helpful and seemed like a sweet guy.

“Look, I’m sorry but I’m seeing someone,” she slightly twisted the truth.

“Ahh, should’ve known,” he looked down with a disappointed smile. “He a good guy,” he asked.

Sarah wanted to choke right there. He’s Edgar’s damn hitman and has probably killed more people than she could count.

She simplified her answer with, “Yeah, he’s great,” she held up the straws, “these are actually for him.”

Bernard laughed lightly, “Bold. That’s why you looked worried when you first saw them, huh?”

She chuckled, “Yeah, he’s in for a surprise.”

After waving goodbye, she took her leave and headed back home.

.

When eight o’clock rolled around, Sarah was ready. She’d fixed her hair, her dark brown coils forming a soft cloud over her shoulders. A light coat of mascara was what she settled for, deciding to forego any other makeup. This was a casual meeting between two people who were barely acquaintances, she reminded herself. She changed into comfy clothes, slipping on her best pair of black sweatpants with a matching sweatshirt. Soft socks were a must.

Finally, she made sure her necklace poked out of her top. It had been her mother’s, who’d passed it down to her when she’d first been hospitalized. It was meant as a reminder that her parents were always with her and that they’d fight her disease together. It was a symbol of hope. Now, it was a small piece of her parents she kept on her always. Sometimes, it gave her a sense of peace as she recalled memories of family dinners or the playground. Other times, it fueled the guilt and deep-seated hate she felt towards the institution that made her into the monster she is. She fiddled with the black pearl, crowned by a gold fringe.

Heading back into the living room, she planned to wait for him on the couch. And there he was, standing in the middle of her living room.

This time she didn’t jump or freeze, already growing accustomed to his sudden appearances. She was grounded, she refused to be afraid. She thought it was foolish to not fear such a dangerous threat. So, she acknowledged it, but left it in a corner of her mind where she could see it but deny it control of her actions or reactions.

“Hey,” she greeted nodding at him, “how are you,” she asked.

He nodded at her and she quickly handed over their black notebook for him to reply.

Fine. You

She smiled, “I’m doing okay.”

He watched her movements, fluid and more controlled than last time. What he’d witnessed the night before had given him a new perspective, and he desperately wanted to question her about what happened. But at that point, he’d be admitting himself as a stalker. He stayed silent.

She nodded towards the couch, “You can sit, the movie’s already in,” she said turning her television on. “I made some popcorn, I’m not sure if you wanted to eat anything.”

He sat and simply watched her. Sarah ducked into the kitchen before she ended up losing her confidence. She emerged with a big bowl of popcorn, inhaling the smell, and humming a tune. She set the bowl on the coffee table, glancing at the massive man before heading back into the kitchen to get their drinks.

“So please bear with me,” she said moving towards him with the two drinks behind her back. “I know you aren’t comfortable with pulling your mask, so I went and got something to help with that…” she trailed off.

He tilted his head slightly, and she imagined an inquisitive expression had formed on his face.

She moved the drinks to the front, careful to not spill any.

“I know the straws are bold…” she stated the obvious. “Would you like some?”

He assessed the situation—the straws, the soft blush on her cheeks, her frame engulfed by her sweatshirt. And he found himself nodding, if only to put her at ease. He was unexpectedly moved by her thoughtfulness, a tightness forming in his chest.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding, “Great, here you go,” she said brightly.

She grabbed a throw blanket to wrap herself in and moved towards the other couch chair in the room. He frowned. She was cold? She looked so much smaller in her home clothes, and he felt an itch to gather her in his arms. He ran at a higher temperature anyway, he’d probably feel like a thermostat to her.

“Do you want a blanket?”

He blinked at her, and she too found it amusing that this massive dark man might want one of her small light blue covers.

He shook his head. I’m fine and followed it with a thumbs up.

She nodded and snuggled into the chair, diagonally to his right.

She grabbed the remote and pointed it to the screen, pressing play.

And so, they watched the movie, constantly exchanging hurried, shy glances. Once, she was watching him out of the corner of her eye, and she saw him discreetly lift his mask, pick some popcorn and drop them in his mouth. He immediately covered his face again and chewed without making a sound. She was disappointed that in the dark she missed it. At one point, Sarah was surprised to see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She too laughed, and often commented her favorite scenes. She hoped he didn’t mind. She just couldn’t seem to help herself. And he secretly loved it. He enjoyed her voice, especially when she was talking to him.

He watched her snuggle deep under the blanket, her sweatshirt sleeves pulled over her hands. He watched her laugh and comment the scenes they both knew by heart. In the dark room, he watched her more than the movie itself. The colored light projecting from the screen flitted across her cheeks, her attention captured by John McClane as he took down Gruber’s team in the Nakatomi Tower.

Black Noir was rather disappointed when the credits rolled and she rose to switch the lights back on. He perked up when she spoke, “Always a classic, huh?”

He nodded with enthusiasm.

She recited with a deeper voice, “Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister.”

Sarah was pleasantly surprised when he clapped his hands and wrote Bravo.

She curtsied, “Why thank you.”

She must be losing her mind, joking around with one of the most dangerous men in the world. And yet, right then she couldn’t bring herself to fear him. Black Noir was still holding his drink, hot pink straw sticking out like a sore thumb.

She took the last sip of her own drink, and embarrassedly stopped when she began to slurp loudly.

“Oh god, sorry. My friend absolutely hates it when I do that.”

He looked over as she brought her legs up into a cross-legged position. And then he did something that surprised them both.

He gave her a thumbs up and loudly sucked on his straw, emitting the same sounds she’d just made. Sarah stared wide-eyed and began to laugh.

He wrote. Sorry :)

“We’re both scandalous—just scandalous,” she smiled.

She gathered their empty cups, but he stopped her before she could get up. She looked so comfortable and he swiftly stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, indicating she should stay seated. Sarah looked up at him shocked and suddenly reminded of his murderous tendencies. He gently took the cups from her hands and immediately went to wash them in her kitchen sink. He felt rather than saw her enter the small kitchen leaning her back against the counter beside him, watching him work. He stilled and she quickly realized why, his big, dark gloves left on the counter.

She felt like they had entered a bubble, a very unstable bubble that could burst at any second.

She whispered softly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to hide here.”

He stared down in the now empty sink. He finally brought his hands up and over the edge, slowly reaching for the gloves. His skin was a toffee brown, his long fingers rough and calloused. She felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, assure herself that indeed there is a man under the suit. She quickly swallowed the thought and filed it away.

He looked at her and she held his concealed gaze for a few, long seconds. She wondered what thoughts were whizzing across his brain.

“Who knows what you look like?”

He merely stared at her. She tried, “Anyone?”

He shook his head no.

She continued speaking softly, finally looking away. “But isn’t that lonely? I mean not being comfortable enough in another’s presence to be seen as you are?”

She knew this was a sensitive topic for him and feared she’d taken it a step too far. But fortune favored the bold, and she wanted to understand the silent man in front of her.

He promptly left the room, and she sagged against the counter. She thought he’d left, and instead there he was returning black notebook in hand. He came to stand next to her, so close her head reached his shoulders. He too leaned back against the counter mirroring her stance. He scribbled against the paper.

Are we friends?

She smiled confused, “Uhm I’d like to think so, but it's not something you just decide, it just happens when you enjoy being around a person. Do you see me as a friend?”

He stared at her for the longest, and she found herself glancing behind him at the knives stand further down on the counter. She could feel her heart beating loudly and grew worried that she’d truly overstepped his boundaries.

Relief flooded her when he finally nodded.

When can I see you again?

He found he needed to leave, he needed to think somewhere he could focus. Those dark chocolate eyes of hers disarmed him, and he felt vulnerable under her gaze. The fact she’d seen his hands had shaken him. But she hadn’t recoiled, he reminded himself.

Sarah thought about it, “How does Wednesday evening sound? Same time?”

He nodded. 

He wasn’t sure what friends did when parting. He’d observed that some hug, some shake hands, some wave... What stage were they at? He wasn’t sure what would be appropriate in this situation.

He drew his characteristic smiley face on the notebook for her to find, and flipped it closed. He felt shaky under his collected exterior, and her perfume sent him over the edge. He twisted and pulled her close into his chest, an arm around her back as he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head, inhaling her vanilla leave-in conditioner. Just as quick, he pulled away, straightened his posture and walked out of the room, leaving the notebook on the table.

Sarah was bewildered. Her heart was racing, her thoughts jumbled into an incoherent mess. She stood there for a couple minutes. But what truly surprised her, was that she felt a fluttering sensation in her stomach, a blush creeping up her neck. You have got to be kidding me, she thought to herself.

What was absent, instead, was the enveloping warmth she felt before a breakout. Maybe she wasn’t in danger around him, after all.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx

[pluto-art]

Syncytium - Chapter 6

Title: Blackbird Words: 27,440 (no, you did not read that incorrectly; ha) Rating: T

Fan Fiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/6/Syncytium

I am always going to highly recommend the Fan Fiction link, as it retains all of the accentuated words. I will also be uploading this to AO3 soon. Yes, I know it’s... very long. XD

October 20th, 1993 - 11:23 AM

A starling piped out its little laughing call on the autumn air, a light breeze carrying its song throughout the campus of A.C.M.E. Arts and Sciences. Occasionally, it tickled the ears of a student peppered here and there, sitting by a fountain or under a tree. Sometimes it wandered far enough to whistle past an open door and into the hallways of the university. Olivia, on her way to deliver another message, caught it near the entrance and whistled back, smiling. Basil, passing by Olivia, chuckled as he shuffled through a band of papers clutched in his long-fingered hands, an all-too-familiar tune escaping from his lips: the Gilligan's Island theme song. He couldn't help it. It just got lodged in his throat now whenever he saw Olivia. The tune traveled, Basil passing it to Mrs. Frisby... who passed it to Teresa on her way to Mathematics class... who tossed it to Bernard and Bianca... who finally threw it off to Flaversham, who took it with him into his office. Music made merry in the mornings throughout Acme, but there was one individual who took it upon himself to sing a slightly different tune...

In Room 319, paused at the finale of that day's science lecture, spewed a cavalcade of obscenities.

"How in the name of Isaac Newton do you COMPLETE dimwitted modicums NOT know the basics of the Pythagorean Theorem?!"

Sweat dripped from students' brows and paws as Globetrotter yelled at the top of his lungs. A couple of sophomores could barely keep their eyes open, cheeks propped up on their fists; they'd heard it all before. Mouse boy with the note pad was scribbling feverishly, his tongue between his teeth. 'Dimwitted modicums'. This was gold.

"Do I have to do everything myself?!"

Heaving an excessively prodigious sigh, Globetrotter stood up from his chair (which made a loud vrrrrrrr sound as it scooted back across the hard wood floor), shifted over to one side of his desk, rubbed at his temple for a moment, and offered his dreaded invitation:

"Ms. Mayhew. Would you kindly step up to the blackboard?"

Every eye in the room turned to a skinny, pointy-nosed mouse with auburn hair and a lacy blue outfit. She looked positively terrified and turned helplessly to those around her. All she received was pitying stares in return. Gadget looked shocked.

"I'm waiting, Ms. Mayhew."

With a large gulp, the girl slowly shook her way up from her desk, eyes transfixed on Globetrotter, and took a chance.

"S-S-Sir, I-"

"ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME WAIT HERE, OR WILL YOU KINDLY DO THE HONOR OF ACKNOWLEDGING MY REQUEST?!"

Without another word, little Ms. Mayhew flew down to the front, practically tripping over herself on the way down. She stopped in front of Globetrotter, resolute, eyes wide. Her tail was trembling something horrible. So were her knees. So was... all of her, really. Every soul in the room knew what she was thinking. Why me?

"Thank you," bit Globetrotter, frowning deeply at her as he grabbed a very long, very wooden stick leaning against the blackboard and pointed sharply to an equation written upon it in thick white chalk. "Now, would you mind telling me what this says?"

The girl mouse stared up at the equation, covertly slipping another gulp as best she could down her throat. How she wished she hadn't worn her nice dress today. It was getting terribly soaked from all the sweat.

"Ahem!" Globetrotter coughed, mockingly.

"A-uhm...," stumbled the girl.

She knew what the equation was - could solve it in her sleep, in fact. But the harsh reality of the course was that even the sharpest of tacks turned into melted brass at the sight of an angry Globetrotter. Since its inception, most every class he'd taught had been filled to the brim with bright and eager pupils, yet all he saw were a bunch of dunces, born of his own blindness.

"I'm waiting..."

She swallowed again.

"Well, um... t-t-the equation clearly s-states that fourteen for 'b'... I-I mean 'c', divi-... um... i-is, I mean, equal to the-"

"Ms. Mayhew, are you insinuating that you cannot even solve for something as trivial as this?"

"N-No! I mean, I can... i-it's jus-"

"Perhaps my class is too difficult for you, is that it? Perhaps you should have been held back a semester?"

At this, the girl frowned. Timid she may have been, but stupid she absolutely was not.

"M-Mr. Globetrotter, I actually a-"

"Then I suppose it wouldn't be terribly out of the question if I assigned extra homework for you all mid-semester?"

"NO!" was the resounding reply by a fair number of students.

Almost all of them were glaring daggers at Globetrotter, not only for his harsh treatment of a fellow classmate, but also for the unfairness at hand. More homework? Already they'd been given three assignments in Algebra 1 alone, on top of all the other papers due in other courses. Even for Globetrotter, to slap on yet another was excessive.

Globetrotter simply smirked.

"Good," he said. "Then I expect it promptly tomorrow night. Dismissed!"

"Tomorrow night?!" snapped a boy hamster at the very back of the class. "But we're already working on our other assignments!"

"Dismissed!"

Slowly, they all began to file out, groaning. Ms. Mayhew still stood by the blackboard, fighting back tears as Gadget came up to her side and threw an arm around her comfortingly.

"Come on," she whispered, shuffling her out the door. "You didn't deserve that mess."

She threw a deathly stare at their teacher on the way out, one he didn't notice; he was too busy straightening papers. She wasn't the only one. Several students were privately, albeit facetiously, plotting Globetrotter's death, and even note-taking guy shiftily stuck his tongue out at Globetrotter on his trek to the door.

Outside, Teresa had just arrived to tentatively take a seat by Room 319. She jumped as the door banged open. It was a mad dash between the students to get out the door as quickly as possible without making it seem like they were rushing - the sound of shuffling was so prevalent, and the atmosphere so electric, that Teresa was surprised there wasn't static shock bouncing off of them as they went despite the floor not being carpeted.

Poor Ms. Mayhew came last of all, Gadget still comforting her gently, and they lingered by the wall where Teresa sat. She stood up, concerned, a pile of books clutched in her arms.

"What happened?"

"Pen got the Global Treatment," explained Gadget, disdain still painted all over her face.

"What?!"

"H-He said I was stupid!" Penelope Mayhew lamented, rubbing at her eyes and sniffing heavily.

"He did not."

"He did," said Gadget. "My laser wrench is almost complete. I'd like to give it a try on him."

Frowning, Teresa set down her books, took Penelope's paws in hers, and gave her a good, long look.

"Penelope? Don't let what he says change you, okay? You're not stupid and you're not unworthy. We love you just the way you are. Okay?"

At the word "just" she gave her hands a little shake - firmly; definitively. This seemed to cheer Penelope up a bit. Sniffing once more, she gave a nervous little chuckle, smiled, and wiped more tears from her eyes.

"Thanks, Teresa," Pen choked out.

"Anytime."

"Thank you, too, Gadget."

"Hey, we've got your back, girl. Sorry I didn't take the bullet for you back there... I should've said something," admitted Gadget, hanging her head a little.

"Oh no. It's okay. I wouldn't have wanted you to get in trouble either..."

All three girls exchanged smiles.

"I... guess I'd better get going," said Penelope. "Thanks, guys."

"Bye, Pen," Teresa said, wiggling her fingers at her in farewell before bending down to pick up her books.

"Bye, 'Resa," Gadget replied, making to follow Penelope. Mid-way, however, she stopped and turned. "Oh. By the way, have you seen Maise' lately?"

Teresa shook her head.

"Me neither... She skipped class the last four days."

"Doesn't she have a brother?" asked Teresa.

Gadget nodded as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. We haven't seen him around either..."

They both stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"Well, um, I'll see you later...?" inquired Teresa.

"Yeah... Have a good class," wished Gadget, crossing her fingers.

"Thanks," chuckled Teresa nervously, sighing as she entered Globetrotter's classroom.

The first thing that hit Olivia upon entering the despised teacher's scholastic abode... was the smell. She slapped a delicate pink paw over her nose in disgust, trying her best not to cough violently at the sudden inhalation of smoke. Globetrotter's eyes popped at the sight of her, and she barely had time to catch the fancy 'Sherman' script on a small black box resting on the table before the science teacher quickly swiped it from the desk and stuck it haphazardly into a drawer. Despite the rancid odor permeating the air, Teresa had to stifle a chuckle, for the look on Globetrotter's face, all puffy cheeks and shocked expression, made him look quite comical. He seemed half-way between deciding whether or not to swallow what he'd already inhaled... before opting to simply own up to being caught red-handed and letting out the smoke in one long, drawn out blow.

Biting her lip, Teresa shuffled as quietly as she could into the very back row and opened up on her book on Calculus, doing her best to ignore the tickling exhaust playing about her nostrils. She waved it off.

"You're early...," breathed Globetrotter, his feet propped pretentiously up on the table. He sounded altogether embarrassed and conceited, like a celebrity ordering fries at a McDonald's.

"I didn't know you smoked," stated Teresa shyly, but bluntly.

Globetrotter didn't answer right away. Taking another long draft, he blew out the remains of his ex-addiction before putting out the light and throwing the butt into the trash can.

"Old habit," he coughed, leaning back into his chair and staring off into space pensively.

Another pause followed. Flip went a page of Teresa's book.

"It's not good for you," she said softly, sounding... almost annoyed.

"If I wanted your opinion I would've asked for it," came Globetrotter's sharp retort.

Teresa sunk into her seat.

"Sorry..."

Globetrotter huffed, leaning further back into his chair with a creeeaaak that echoed off the walls. He'd have to get that oiled...

Privately, he knew she was right. Teresa was right about a lot of things. Not that he would outwardly admit to it. There was a reason why she was slightly more bold about pointing out his faults - she was one of his best students and she knew it. But she also knew that his fuse was short, and so still feared him to at least a moderate degree. Globetrotter was proud of this. He liked being in control, of instilling respect and obedience into the hearts of all who dared cross him. It made him feel powerful; influential; appreciated, even if in a notorious sense. Everyone hated him, but they also venerated him. No one would dare cross Globetrotter without good reason, save for, perhaps, Snowball, and for this he gladly took the unpopularity hit. After all, was that not what life was all about? Being respected? Going down in history as someone who was knowledgeable and talented in their craft? Stardom be darned. If he was going to be adored, it would be for his work, not his charity. For what was one's pitiful existence except to try and make a living best for oneself and no one else's? Life was a rat race, full of people who didn't care, and he intended to stay at the front of the line.

Flip... Flip...

As Teresa sifted through her tome, the shuffling of the pages brought to Globetrotter's mind a memory, far suppressed...

\\\

"What's this?" strolled the sharp tongue of a tall, female mouse. The less-than-exemplary grades revealed themselves most distastefully as she flipped up the page of teacher's notes, her nose turning up with it in disgust.

"Umm... M-Mrs. Taft said I could retake the class i-if I complete an extra assignment this seme-"

But the young boy mouse, hands shyly tucked behind his back and feet shifting unsteadily, was cut short.

"You expect me to believe this? That you can't pass a simple math class?"

"I-I..."

"What is this, Brian?"

"I... I-I..."

"BRIAN, LOOK AT YOUR MOTHER WHEN SHE'S TALKING TO YOU!"

Slowly, hesitantly, two glossy little crimson-tinted eyes peered up into salmon pink ones.

The mother sighed.

"As far as I am concerned, this is unacceptable. You will complete the assignment and retake the class as ordered. Your father will be alerted when he gets home. He will decide the punishment."

And she left, leaving him alone, shaking, in his room, all too aware of the laughter ringing outside his bedroom window - a reminder of which of the neighborhood children were allowed happiness... and which were not.

\\\

Globetrotter stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Lost to time.

"... Globetrotter...?"

Yes. That's what life was all about. Success. Legacy. No room for failure. No permission for error. He was used to hate, and so it bothered him not. No. It bothered him not...

He sighed.

"Mr. Globetrotter...?"

He didn't matter. Didn't matter. And that was okay. That was okay...

"Mr. Globetrotter!"

He jumped.

Teresa was staring at him from across the desk, concern etched deeply into every nook and cranny of her face.

Globetrotter sat up sharply, only then realizing that something was... off. He touched his cheek. Oh, crap.

"Are you okay?" Teresa pressed.

To cry at all was an act of weakness; deficiency. To be caught crying in public was downright mortifying.

He stared at her, shocked. She waited. For what? An answer...? His admittance?

"Get out...," he whispered, deadly.

"B-But, I..."

"GET OUT!"

She ran. Out of the room, into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

Globetrotter was left to pant at his desk, chest heaving heavily as he buried his face in his hands... and cried.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

11:35 AM

Teresa sprinted as fast as she could, around a corner, down another stretch of hallway, and all the way to room 210. She knocked frantically. Even though she knew he wasn't always in this early, she hammered at the door for dear life. And amazingly, blessedly, it opened.

"Teresa?" queried Pinky, tilting his head confusedly.

Teresa said nothing, but simply threw her arms around him and started sobbing.

"Teresa!"

"M-Mr. Pinky! I-I...!"

"Ohhhhhh. Shhhh. It's all right! It's all right," cooed the Trozologist, returning the embrace in kind and petting Teresa's light brown fur comfortingly. "Come inside, love. We make you a pot of tea."

They stepped inside his office.

Compared to the first day Ronald Pinkus had set foot in A.C.M.E. Arts and Sciences, Room 210 was nigh unrecognizable. All but one empty box had been replaced with quaint little side tables, bookshelves, a soft gray couch, and various lamps and knick knacks that added color and flavor throughout the small classroom. The linoleum flooring had been replaced with threadbare carpeting, complete with a rug here and there. He'd left up the beach posters and complemented them with a sizable fish tank complete with tiny minnow. A wee brass plaque stuck to the tank near its bottom read: Jerry. On the teacher's desk sat the usual bits and bobs: a picture of Pinkus's family, some snacks, a couple of Newton's Cradles, and a green 70's lamp. The latest edition was an electric coffee pot, which was currently boiling water.

Teresa took a seat on the couch at Pinky's request, wiping at her eyes with a tissue he'd procured for her.

"Now, you sit right there! I'll be right with you with your tea!" said the friendly teacher, rushing over to his desk and quickly whipping out from one of the drawers a white mug with a 'Sonoma Theatre' company label on it and a tea bag.

As Pinky busied himself with the tea, Teresa, sniffing, gazed about the room.

There wasn't anything particularly surprising to her about it at this point, save for the coffee pot. She'd been in here more times than she could count by this point, and had, as such, seen its transition from humble classroom to house-maker's cottage. It was amazing how much the room felt like a home - save for the stale ceiling lights, chalkboard, and rolling tv, one would never know they were in a school. Even the smell of it was more reminiscent of one's grandmother's cottage than a dusty classroom. Their teacher had clearly tried to hide all traces of it being in a university as much as possible.

She looked around some more. Yes, everything else was the same.

Well... no, actually. Not quite.

"Mr. Pinky...?" Teresa asked, letting in another loud sniff.

"Hmm?"

"W-What's that?"

Pinky looked in the direction Teresa was pointing.

In the farthest corner of the room, next to a trash can and some stacked chairs, sat a tall cabinet with rows and rows of colorful drawers, each with a label on them. Although she couldn't read them from here, Teresa guessed they listed such names as 'Olivia', 'Timothy', 'Marvell', and 'Red', for over the course of the last month Pinky's class had begun to not only attract Olivia's friends, but also actual students at the university. Some had finally decided to take the plunge and found it to be more than worth it. She wondered if her name was on there somewhere.

"Oh! That's our new student cabinet!" Pinky answered happily, walking over to Teresa with a hot mug of tea in hand. He was stirring something into it. Honey, perhaps?

"Thank you," said Teresa, as he handed the cup to her. "So... those are all for us?"

"Mmhm! Fresh out of the box!" exclaimed Pinky, sitting down next to her.

"What's in them?"

"Oh, just little treats for you all. And it's a space to put your things in when you visit!"

"Really...?"

"Absolutely! Narf! And if you're extra good you might find a little prize in there now and again," said he, giving her a wink.

Teresa smiled. She couldn't help but smile. Ronald Pinkus couldn't be any kinder if he'd tried. In her opinion, he was the best teacher she'd ever known, and she'd known a lot of teachers.

"You're wonderful, Mr. Pinky," whispered Teresa, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Awwwww. Not as wonderful as you all! I'm truly grateful to have you as my students," he whispered softly back, an arm coming around to pull Teresa in for a hug, and he meant it.

"Oh, gracious! Look at the time!" Pinky blurted out, jumping back a little. Teresa's eyes popped open as she looked up at the clock. It said '11:51'. "Don't you have class in nine minutes?"

"Oh. A-A-Actually, it's not 'til one," admitted Teresa, standing up to smooth out her dress with one hand, the cup of tea in the other. "I just like to get to Globetrotter's classes early sometimes so I can study in peace."

"Mmm. Quiet in there, is it?" Pinky asked, crossing his legs as Teresa took a sip of what turned out to be peppermint, complete with honey. Delicious.

"Mmhm. I don't like him... really. And I came into class a bit too early today, but..."

She went silent for a moment, contemplating her tea.

"What is it?" inquired her teacher, looking concerned.

"Well... He... He seemed a bit... sad today."

"Sad?"

"He was crying, actually."

"Oh dear. Poit. What over, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm... not sure. But he was so upset that I caught him crying that he screamed at me to leave, so I did."

Pinky thought about this for a moment. For once, he didn't answer with a chipper response or a hearty smile. Instead, he appeared quite pensive, deep in contemplation. His brows were creased and his eyes shifted a little as he stared at the floor, as if recalling an old memory long forgotten. So lost was he to time that time... he forgot.

"Mr. Pinky...?"

He looked up, blinking.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh. Y-Yes! Yes, I'm fine."

Teresa was not convinced, but didn't press the matter further.

"Okay."

She took another sip of tea and set the mug on the table.

"Well, I... probably should get going for lunch. Thank you for the tea."

"Oh, of... of course! Come back any time, okay? If you'd ever like to study in peace, you're always welcome to come here in the mornings," offered Pinky, hope dancing playfully across his tone.

Teresa nodded. She opened the door, sighed, and turned back to look at the Trozologist.

"Mr. Pinky?"

"Hm?"

"Could you please talk to Mr. Globetrotter? He's not all bad. I think he just needs a friend."

Pinky smiled.

"Will do, Teresa."

Grinning, she left. Only then did Pinky let out the heavy sigh he'd been holding in. He stared at the back of his family's portrait, expression etched with worry. Why had that memory come up? That had been a bad one. Not at all fun-fun, silly willy. If he was going to serve his students with a smile he'd better learn to repress those thoughts a bit better.

Sighing, he stood up, arched his back, and downed the rest of the tea Teresa hadn't finished in several swift gulps. After that flashback, he needed it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

4:08 PM

A long-fingered paw dug one of its fine-tipped nails into a divot in the rotary phone, pulling at it with great finesse. Then another. Then another.

A pause.

An opposite paw drummed its digits on the ebony surface of a desk, counting the seconds.

Four... five... six...

"Pick up, my dear," breathed out a sinister voice, its sweet, sing-song tone only coating what lied beneath.

A click.

"Hello?" came a feminine response, vivacious, piercing, and absolutely drenched in an accent that could only be described as "straight from the streets of Brooklyn".

"Billie! How are you?" greeted Snowball, in an almost mockingly chipper tone.

"What do you want, Bally?"

Snowball frowned.

"You know I don't like it when you call me that."

"Hmph. Be glad I don't call you anything worse. What do you want? I'm in the middle of a perm!"

"Then I'll keep it extra brief," the hamster said, rolling his eyes. As if he wanted to stay on with this floozy. "What would you say to a little party around, say, ohhhhhh, Halloween? Saturday on the thirtieth. Adults only, of course. Strictly professional."

"And why would I care about that? You know those old school parties are terribly dull! Besides, I thought you banned them?"

"I had a change of heart. Also, this one is a costume party, my dear. And I promise I won't invite any... mmm... problematic friends this time."

"You sure...? 'Cause last time you said Finnigan wasn't going to be there and guess who showed up! Making me look all embarrassed and everything, and right when I was meeting someone nice, too! And then there was the other time you set me up with someone you said was 'just perfect' for me, you said. 'Just perfect! Absolute smash'! He was a smash, all right. Smashed me right into the punch bowl! And then there wa-"

"All right, all right. I get the point," groaned Snowball, rubbing at his temple. He knew he'd hate this conversation, but he reminded himself that it would all be worth it in the end. "I promise that there will be no flim flams, no set ups, and no... errrrm... punch bowl incidents."

"You sure...?"

"Cross my heart, my dear. I'll even send a cab to pick you up."

There was silence on the other end for a spell, as if the she-mouse was heavily thinking it over.

"What's the catch?"

"Catch? There is no 'catch', my dear! I only wish to pay you back for that time you got me out of a sticky spot, is all. No catch! Just friendly reimbursement."

"Well... Okay. But you better not be having anything up your sleeve!" trilled the she-mouse.

"Oh, my dear," came the smooth tones of the principal, as he stood up from his chair, made for his office door, and peeked through a long stretch of blinds hanging upon it. As it happened, Globetrotter was rushing down the hallway and into a bathroom right at that moment. Snowball smirked. "If there is anything up my sleeve, it is nothing worth pondering."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

7:48 PM

Pinky rushed down the stairs to the basement, nearly tripping over his long tail.

He was late. Usually, he met up with Brian promptly at 7:30, but Olivia had found it of extra importance to give a run-down of every little detail involving her Halloween party, which, she'd reminded him repeatedly, was sure to be at least a hundred times more fun than the adult one. Normally, Pinky wouldn't have minded, but her timing was not particularly favorable.

The lanky professor straightened out his half-moon glasses, which were askew, as he reached the bottom, smoothing out his long, tea-stained lab coat, something that proved a bit difficult seeing how his arms were filled to the brim with all kinds of party supplies: bows, ribbons, wrapping paper, streamers, disposable cups, plates, utensils, and napkins, along with a latex balloon or two (fully blown, of course).

Skidding slightly down the hallway, he shuffled hastily past the elevator and knocked frantically against an empty stretch of gray wall which, he knew, housed behind it a long-brewed secret. In his panic, he'd forgotten that Globetrotter had installed a little hidden doorbell for him a week ago (he'd grown tired of the knocking; besides, it was more practical), and he knew that using the scan pad was of no use - Brian still didn't completely trust him. Huffing and panting, he yelled at the blank wall.

"Brain! I'm here! Oh, please open up." This last line he muttered to himself, dancing about on his tippy toes anxiously. "Please, Mr. Globetrotter! I'm sorry I'm late!"

In response, a door did open, but not the one he expected.

Pinky turned swiftly around as the elevator doors slid apart to reveal a woozy-looking Globetrotter. He wobbled a bit as he stepped off the contraption, taking a moment to lean against the wall, his eyes unfocused.

"Brain! Are you okay?!" Pinky asked, rushing over to him, balloons bopping about, a paper cup slipping out of his grasp to fall, clattering, to the floor.

Globetrotter stared up at Pinky; or, at least, he tried to. His mouth was slightly agape and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on the subject in front of him. In an attempt to ground himself on... something, he settled for gazing into the mouse's bright cerulean orbs. Gracious, they were blue. For some reason, this seemed to help.

"Yes, Pinky. I'm f-fine..," Brian hiccuped, steadying himself.

"You know, you really should see the doctor about that," mused Pinky, concerned.

"I'll be fine. The pills should.. -hic- .. 'elp."

Pinky frowned, not entirely convinced, as Globetrotter made for the scan pad and sloppily pressed his left paw upon it. It scanned him twice, beeped satisfactorily, and admitted them entrance into the laboratory. Pinky trotted in after Brian, the wall sliding closed behind them.

Not much had changed in the two weeks since Pinky had toppled headfirst into Globetrotter's secret hideout. The shelves were still mahogany, the potions still bubbled, and the mysterious contraption in the back of the room remained as cryptic as ever (Brian refused to tell him exactly what it was). Globetrotter had acquired a few more bits and bobs since, some of them courtesy of Pinky, including a box of peppermint tea (now half-way full) and a VHS of Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, both of which, Brian discovered, he'd liked.

Globetrotter collapsed into his desk chair, undoing his belt despite there being a visitor present. Along with his condition had come an onset of gas and bloating every now and again. He felt like he was becoming a living experiment, and he hated every minute of it. Grabbing a small, orange, translucent bottle, Brian screwed off the cap, haphazardly knocked a couple of pills into an open paw, and tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. One of the pills from the bottle fell to the floor.

"Oh! I've got it, Brain!" Pinky offered, ducking down to try and pick up the pill... and failing royally.

"For the last time, it's Brian," said Brian. "And wouldn't it be more efficacious for you to put down your haul first and then pick up the pill?"

"Zort! Good idea, Brain! Er... I mean Brian! Ha-ha!"

"You are such an idiot...," Globetrotter muttered, rolling his eyes as Pinky dumped his armful of stuff onto the floor, retrieved the pill, and inserted it back into the bottle. "Thank you," mumbled the stout little mouse, screwing the lid back on and replacing it on the desk.

"No problem!" saluted Pinky, returning to his haul.

Globetrotter turned his computer chair a touch, frowning at the collection of party goods. It seemed that Pinky wished to add a few more knick knacks to his treasure trove. Not that he particularly minded the dim-witted lank bringing stuff in; occasionally, he proved to have... some sort of taste. But this seemed excessive. And there were a lot of yellows. And pinks.

"Pinky, what is this?"

"What is what?" Pinky asked innocently, picking out a corner in which to organize his colorful cargo.

"This," indicated Brian with a hand. "All this junk."

"Oh, it's not junk, Brain. They're party supplies!"

"Like I said: junk. What on Earth are they for?"

"Well, for the party, of course. Duh. What did you think they would be for, Brain?" queried Pinky, throwing Globetrotter a quizzical look as he started hanging up the streamers.

"It's Bri-... Oh, never mind," sighed Globetrotter, relenting. "What party?"

"The 'taking over the world' party! Don't you want there to be a big celebration?"

"Oh..," Globetrotter faltered, realization striking him. "Yes, um, that party."

In truth, he still hadn't explained to Pinky exactly what was up his sleeve - that "taking over the world" was meant to be as literal as it sounded: taking over the world. Every night since Pinky's discovery of the lab, Brian had allowed him entrance almost nightly, giving him various tasks to do that helped him in his scheme: gathering strange odds and ends throughout the school or at shops and warehouses; keeping watch in the university hauls when he needed to lug something particularly suspicious down to the lab; or else grabbing him a cup of coffee from the cafeteria when he was running out of steam late into the night. And they would stay late: 'til 3:00 in the morning sometimes. Always, Pinky stuck with him as long as he needed. Blindly, he was under the impression that everything he was doing to help Brian was going towards a better future, and it was... for himself. Not that it was all in selfish gain. Brian did want to help the world - he wanted to improve the educational system, abolish various political branches, and generally bring all countries under his little pink thumb because, of course, the only one truly fit to rule the planet was himself. He could see it all in his head... and it was glorious. Pinky, on the other hand, wanted to solve world hunger, offer free medical treatment to every citizen, bring peace to all nations, spread the theory of Trozology (whatever the heck that even was...), and, for some reason, legalize cheesecake in every state. When Brian told him that he didn't think cheesecake was illegal in any state, Pinky simply shrugged, shook his head solemnly, and stated, "Oh, you don't know what they're like in Arizona, Brain...". Nincompoop.

And so Globetrotter played along with the misunderstanding, letting Pinky think that he was helping Brain in one thing when he was really assisting him in another, only now and again feeling a bit guilty of it. Besides, who was he to refuse a free lackey? Pinky was willing, and naive, a ripe combination for taking advantage of.

Unfortunately, today was one of those days in which he felt self-conscious about it, guilt lodging uncomfortably in his throat as he struggled to swallow it down. He'd been having more trouble with that lately.

"Just... keep it out of my way," he nipped, gray chair swiveling sharply as he turned back to type furiously upon a well-worn Model M.

"Right-o, Brain!" saluted Pinky once more, straightening out his lab coat.

As he did so, his lapel got caught on something. Pausing, he took a closer look at the culprit: his name badge. He unhooked it and smiled. There shone his address: Ronald J. Pinkus. Bright, bold... and blemished! Well, that simply wouldn't do. Frowning, Pinky breathed a steam of hot air onto the badge, fogging it up a little, before rubbing at the dirty little spot covering up the 'J' in his name. There. Much better. He turned it about... and noticed something else.

A magnet.

Huh...

He pulled it off; looked it over.

"Egad," he exclaimed. "What do you suppose that is?"

"Quiet, Pinky. I'm trying to concentrate."

"But, Brain!" Pinky insisted, thrusting it in front of Globetrotter's pug-ish face. "Look! It was on the back of my badge!"

"Pinky, would you..."

But at the sight of the "magnet", he went wide-eyed.

"Give me that!" Brian blurted out, swiping the tiny object from Pinky's dainty fingers.

"Oh! Is that yours, Brain? How do you suppose it got on there...?" Pinky mused to himself as Globetrotter assertively stuck the device into his coat chest pocket. It took a full ten seconds for realization to strike. He gasped. "Brain! Did you put that on me? Is it part of the plan?!"

"Uhhh... Y-Yes, it's a... um... personal attraction device. It attracts people to you whenever you wear it."

It was a lame excuse, but it worked well enough for Pinky. He gasped again in sudden understanding.

"Ohhhhhhhh! So that's why I've been getting so many students! Isn't it, Brain? It's a people magnet! How thoughtful of you, Brain!"

"Uhhhh... sure. Yes, that's... that's exactly it."

"May I, um, may I have it back?"

"No," Globetrotter stated flatly, not even looking at his cohort as he continued to smash keys.

At this, Pinky did something Globetrotter did not at all expect.

"Oh, please!" he crumbled, falling to his knees and literally begging, hands clasped and all. "Please, let me have it back! The students need me! I promise I'll take good care of it!"

All right. Maybe he should have expected this. It was Pinky, after all.

"No! I have to make some modifications to it first."

"H-How long will that take?"

"A couple of days."

"Two days?! But I have class tomorrow!"

"Well, you'll just have to go without it, then, won't you? Besides, I highly doubt you need a charm to remain magnetic," he grunted, almost enviously.

"Oh, please!" Pinky begged again. "What if the kids don't come if I'm not wearing it? W-What if all the teachers suddenly hate me? What if my whole career was for nothing!? Please, Brain! I don't want the tomato treatment!"

"Get off of me!" snapped Globetrotter, tugging the ends of his coat out of Pinky's clutches. "Tomato treatment. I don't even know what that is!"

"Getting booed off the stage, of course," said Pinky matter-of-factly.

"Oh, but of course. How stupid of me to not know," the science teacher groaned, sarcasm dripping from his reply. Was this idiot really that self-conscious?

"Please, Brain?" he asked, much more calmly. "I... I promise I won't bother you at your computer anymore... or bring party junk..."

His tone was desperate; miserable. It tugged at Brian's ears, incessant, until he finally succumbed to the cry, his piercing gaze creased in a frown as he turned slightly to stare at the pleading mouse.

Pinky was still on his knees, giving Globetrotter the puppy dog eyes something awful.

He sighed.

"Fine. I'll just... make a new one," he relented, pilfering the little device from his pocket and practically tossing it to Pinky, who caught it in both hands.

"Oh, thank you, Brain!" exclaimed the Trozologist ecstatically, hugging the "magnet" to his cheek. "I'll be careful with it! I promise!"

"Don't mention it," tossed Globetrotter offhandedly, adding with a mutter that only he heard: "As if I would've been able to fix it properly anyway..."

Pinky turned it over and over in his rose-tinted fingers, studying it carefully, as if it was a precious diamond extracted from the depths of the deepest cavern, and, to him, it rather was.

"Personal Attraction Device," he repeated, almost lovingly. "P.A.D. Pad! Ha-ha-ha! I'll be sure to always keep my pad on me, Brain!" he said, sticking the magnetic device back onto the backside of his badge and clipping the name tag to his coat.

Globetrotter cringed.

"Please don't say it like that..."

"Why not?"

"Because it... Ugh. Never mind," gave up Globetrotter. What was the point?

Shrugging, Pinky went back to putting away his party items, humming cheerily to himself as he did so. He made sure to put up the streamers in a place that was out of the way of Brain's main working spots, but still in an area where he'd see them. This ended up being above and around the legs of the test tube shelf - the pinks, blues, and greens nicely complemented the lilacs, oranges, and turquoise hues of the potions scattered throughout. Next, he tucked the wrapping paper and cellophane underneath the same shelf, more hidden from view, but still accessible. Then he bent down to pick up the paper plates and cups. Hmm. He really should have gotten a bag for this. Perhaps he could grab one from his classroom?

Standing up, he bumped into a streamer (he was a rather tall mouse, after all), touching it lightly to keep it from rocking back and forth.

"So sorry, little streamer!", he uttered, before making for the exit. "Brain? May I go get something from my classroom?"

"Mmhm," muttered Globetrotter, not taking his eyes off the blazing monitor.

"Thank you! I'll be back!"

He pressed a dark red button on a spot on the wall, which immediately allowed him exit, and stepped outside. With a swoosh the wall closed behind him. As soon as he was beyond the lab, he made for the stairs, pausing to observe a couple of stray pieces of streamer that had fallen in the hallway. They were yellow, like dandelions. He picked up the little dandelions, smiling as he turned them about with his fingers. Yellow was such a pretty color. It reminded him of the sun, and of bright school buses, and of yummy frosting that one put on cakes and...

He paused, staring out into nothing.

Cake.

Streamers.

Party.

Oh, shoot...

He'd almost forgotten about his promise to Snowball - his promise to somehow get Brain to go to the Halloween gathering. He was glad no one was around to see the worry drape slowly across his face; to see the fear in his eyes.

How in the whirly winds was he going to get Brain to attend? Brain barely allowed pinks and blues into his study, let alone permit himself to participate in a full on party. Then again, he did seem to enjoy himself a little more than expected during Pinky's game show. Perhaps he'd like similar fair?

Sighing, Pinky dragged himself up the stairs one step at a time (he still preferred the long way over the elevator), his shuffles echoing creepily across the empty halls as he reached the first floor. This was going to require a bit more effort than he thought...

Opening the door of Room 210, he flicked on the lights and rummaged about for a bag, only to locate none at all. He looked about. In a corner sat the empty box, the same one he and the kids often used for adventurous expeditions. That would have to do. He'd get another box tomorrow.

Scooping up the box in his arms, he left the room and traveled all the way back - past the elevator, down the stairs, and up to the completely unassuming solid wall. He knocked, loudly, three times.

Swoosh!

In he stepped, stumbling a little over his feet in haste.

"Got the box!" he piped, shuffling past Brain, who was still furiously typing on his keyboard, and plopping his cargo onto the floor.

Globetrotter barely answered with more than a grunt, not bothering to look around as Pinky began to stuff the extra party supplies into the cardboard container before pushing it up against the wall. There. Perfect. Organized and out of the way, just like Brain wanted it! He gave a jerky little nod in satisfaction.

"All done!" Pinky addressed Globetrotter, receiving no reply.

With a nervous little step forewarned, Pinky tried again...

"So, um... What are we going to do tonight, Brain?"

"Must you ask that every time?" Globetrotter bit, still not looking around.

Pinky blinked a little at the bite, but otherwise ignored it.

"Well, you know, I was thinking, Brain, we're always doing the same thing every night. What if we did something... different?"

"Like what?"

"Well... um...," Pinky faltered, gaze sweeping the room, as if searching for a stall from which to buy time. "Maybe w-"

"If you're thinking of inviting me to that asinine Halloween party you can take your solicitation elsewhere."

Welp.

"You sure?" he pressed on anyway, ears drooping.

"Affirmative."

"Oh. Okay..."

There was an awkward pause, in which Pinky shuffled his feet, fingers drumming behind his back to the rhythm of Brain's incessant typing in an effort to preoccupy himself with something.

"And I don't need your services tonight," Brian continued. "I need to perfect this formula. You can go."

"Oh. Um. Sure, Brain. I'll go..."

He trudged to the door, his right hand serving as a calming agent as he rubbed it steadily up and down his left arm.

"Pinky?"

Pinky stopped and looked over his shoulder, his ears perking up.

"You can take this back. I don't need it."

And he tossed at him a small, round object, which Pinky caught reflexively. He looked down at it and frowned sadly. It was a stress ball. He'd gotten it for Brian last week, in "the hope that it would help". Apparently, it hadn't...

Silently, Pinky tucked the little ball gently into his long lab coat pocket, pressed the red button on the wall, and exited. Globetrotter hadn't even bothered to say good night, and neither did he.

Once in the hallway, Pinky leaned against the now closed wall and sighed heavily. Weathered comments from various school staff skipped one after another in his head, like television commercials.

"I don't know why you bother hanging out with him. He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"He's a fart and he's a good one. Listen, honey, the only way you're going to get his attention is if you leave him alone."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother with Globetrotter. Nothing good ever comes of it. It's not the first time he's run off a student and it won't be the last. I just wish they'd oust him entirely, but the system is too complicated for that..."

"My good fellow, that's one angry mouse you don't want to deal with. Take it from me: I've been here long enough to see the birch grow from a sapling to a tree, and in all that time I've never once seen him treat anyone with a shred of decency."

Pinky sighed again. Perhaps he was simply chasing a ghost. He knew it was foolish to persevere, to try and make friends with the unfriendly, but he couldn't help it. It was in his nature to show compassion for others, to love them, no matter the situation. He'd never yet met an individual that outright treated him like dirt, or that he hadn't eventually won over with kindness, but Globetrotter was proving to give him a run for his money. Perhaps it wasn't worth it...

Sniffing, he removed the tears he'd let pool for some time and dolefully slid his way down the hall, one hand buried deep in his coat pocket, massaging the little stress ball that, like him, was so very unwanted.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

October 28th, 1993 - 3:20 PM

The "magnet" worked like a charm. In fact, it worked better the longer he had it on. Brain was a genius, Pinky thought, as he strummed a guitar for a total of twenty-five students that sat around a campfire in the woods, all of them singing a song about a beaver who had lost its fur. Crickets chirped merrily in the hot summer night, the soothing sound of a lake drifted lazily somewhere behind them, and every now and again an owl hooted. No one could ever have guessed that they were really in the middle of a classroom in the heart of a bustling university... and during the day, no less.

One fur, two fur, three fur, four! What's the count? He'll lose a bit more!

Five fur, six fur, seven and eight! Watch your back! It's shedding its cape!

Two more silly verses finished off the song as Pinky and company ended the tune with raucous laughter.

"Oh, good job, everyone! That was splendid!" Pinky congratulated them, clapping joyously. To him, this was heaven. Here people were happy, here he was loved, and he intended for it to stay that way. He rubbed at his name tag subconsciously. "All right. What should we play next?"

Immediately, several camp-goers piped up, including Teresa, Marvell, and, of course, Olivia. The number of college student outnumbered the kids now. Olivia still brought her usual friends, of course, but Teresa had convinced some companions of her own to join. She'd gotten Red to participate, and he had told Marvell... whom had told Gadget... whom had told several others, and now there was a good number of university pupils who, when they were able, joined Pinky promptly at 2:00 PM for an expedition to adventure. Thursdays were particularly good days, as most had classes that ran up until 2:30 at the latest, and this particular Thursday every single one of them had been able to come right at the stroke of 2:00.

"Oh! Oh! Can we play a game?" Marvell asked, to which several others nodded, murmuring their agreement.

"We could sing some more. How about 'Old Dan Tucker'? I like that song," mentioned Timothy, a bit quietly.

"May we hear a ghost story, Mr. Pinky?" Teresa queried.

That seemed to get most students' attention. Almost all of the college kids seconded this suggestion. The kids, however, didn't seem enthused.

"Ha-ha. All right! But this time, someone else has to tell it!" Pinky said. "And make sure it's not too scary! We do have some little ones present."

"I'm not scared!" Olivia burst out. As always, she sat right next to Pinky.

"I know you're not, Olivia," her teacher mused, taking her nose between his fingers and lightly shaking her head playfully.

"I'll tell it!" offered a boy rat. His name was Peter, and, at seventeen, he was the oldest in the group (besides Pinky).

"Just don't make it too scary," said Marvell, pulling her jean-covered legs tightly up to her chest in preparation. She'd been on too many family camping trips to know that when someone said a spooky story wouldn't be too frightening, it almost always was.

"Yeah. Not too scary...," wee Cynthia whispered, cuddling up closer to her big brother.

"All right. Not too scary," Peter conceded. "Hmmmm. Okay! I got one."

The group went quiet. All eyes were on Peter.

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

"Oh, come ooooooon," several in the group whined, mostly the teenagers.

Peter laughed.

"Ha-ha. I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Okay. Ummm...," he coughed, then went on. "No one knew what the beast looked like. They knew that he was loud, and he was scary, and he could destroy your entire life in just one second, or so the stories went, but no one knew anything about how he looked. Until one day... a bunch of kids got curious."

Already Cynthia was half-hidden behind Timothy, one eye peeking out in trepidation. A couple in the class rolled their eyes, as if they'd heard this story before, but had the decency to not spoil it. A few were on the edge of their seats, eyes wide in wonder.

"It was Lucy, a small field mouse, who entered the cave first. She was the youngest of the group, but she was also the bravest. In she crept, bit by bit, the others sloooowly following after her. 'Courage,' she said. 'The beast can smell fear.' No one dared to breath any louder than necessary. He might come from any corner; attack from any moment."

Olivia sat with a graham cracker half-way to her mouth. Teresa was as still as a statue.

"Then, suddenly, from out of the corner: FWOOSH!"

Several of the kids, and even a few of the students, gasped, jumping back in their seats. Red nearly fell off his chair, and Cynthia had completely disappeared behind her brother at this point.

"The beast... had arrived! Lucy stood before him, shaking like a leaf as he rose up onto his hind legs to stare at her straight in the eyes. He looked nothing at all like she expected; in fact, he almost looked like one of them. But he had a harsh, piercing gaze that burrowed deep into your soul, telling you all the things you never wanted to hear with just a look.

Lucy stared up into the beast's dark red eyes, bearing down on her, and knew what she had to do.

'I have come to destroy you!' she yelled, steadfast and resolute.

'Ohhhh?' asked the beast, with a low, threatening growl. 'And just how are you going to do that?'

'With this!' said Lucy, and she drew from behind her out of thin air a book. 'With the power of words!'

And the book did have a lot of words. All kinds of words! Big words. Small words. Really, really long, hard-to-pronounce words. Words so foreign they would make a librarian faint. Because if there was one thing that everybody did know about the beast, it was that he was a master at English, and he loved challenges, and it was said that if you could beat him in a spelling bee, he would be defeated forever.

The beast sneered at the girl - an ugly, vicious smile that made the tips of Lucy's pretty fur curl up into knots. But she didn't move. She stood her ground.

'I challenge you to a fight!' young Lucy challenged.

'Ohhhhh? What kind of fight?' snarled the beast.

'A spelling bee fight! If I win, you'll be gone forever!'

The beast laughed. His chuckle sent chills up her spine, and the other kids behind her trembled in fear.

'Fight you may, but win you will not! I accept your challenge!' he agreed, and out of nowhere came a woman's voice in the darkness, soft and smooth... and just a tiny bit creepy.

'Challengers, be prepared. This battle is not for the faint of heart. All forms of cheating are banned.'

And as she said this, Lucy's book disappeared with a POP. The voice continued.

'Get ready, Lucy. Your first word is: Pontificate.'

Lucy was ready.

'Pontificate. P. O. N. T. I. F. I. C. A. T. E. Pontificate.'

'Correct,' came the robot voice of the woman.

Lucy breathed out a sigh of relief.

The woman's voice spoke again.

'Get ready, G. Your first word is: Ignoramus.'

Lucy looked puzzled. 'G'? What could the 'G' stand for?

'Ignoramus. I. G. N. O. R. A. M. U. S. Ignoramus,' breathed out the Beast in his low growl.

'Correct,' said the woman, and Lucy groaned.

And so it kept going, on and on, seemingly forever. The kids cheered Lucy on. She was doing really well! She passed the first round, then the second round. Just three rounds left to go. It was looking like she might do it. She could beat the Beast!"

By now, most students were on the edge of their seats, Pinky included. Even Cynthia had peered out a little, the better to hear. Peter continued.

"She kept going.

'Quixotic.'

'Correct!'

'Bohemian.'

'Correct!'

Things seemed to be going great! But on the next word... she flubbed.

'Surreptitious. S. E. R. E. P. T. I. T. I. O. U. S. Surreptitious.'

'INCORRECT.'

Lucy gasped. The Beast laughed.

She got the next one right, but the Beast won the third round. And then he won the fourth. They were tied."

"Oh no...," Cynthia breathed out, shivering.

"If she could win this one, she'd beat the Beast," continued Peter. "All she had to do was win one more round...

So she kept going.

Last round. Seven words. She got two, then missed the third. The beast got three, then missed on his fourth. At the end, they were tied three-to-three. It was the last word. Her last chance.

The Beast went first.

'G, here is your last word,' spoke the woman. 'Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.'

Lucy's eyes went wide. What kind of a word was that?! She didn't know what it meant, much less how to spell it. If that's what the Beast got, what the heck was she going to get?!

The Beast just smiled.

'Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,' he began, and proceeded to spell out the whole thing perfectly, down the last letter.

'Correct,' cooed the woman, and the Beast giggled evilly.

Lucy gulped.

'Lucy, get ready. Here is your last word.'

She was shivering from her fuzzy gray ears all the way down to her long pink tail. The kids behind her offered words of encouragement, but she barely heard them.

And then came the woman's voice again:

'Euouae.'

Lucy blinked. Compared to the Beast's word, hers was significantly shorter, but how was she going to spell that? It sounded like all vowels!

The Beast smirked. It didn't help.

But Lucy gave it a shot.

'Euouae. E. U. O. E. A. E. Euouae.'

The troop waited with baited breath. So did Lucy.

And then the woman's voice came.

'INCORRECT.'

The kids gasped. Lucy's mouth dropped. She was off. She was off by ONE LETTER!

'Incorrect!" repeated the Beast, laughing maniacally. 'Now you're mine!'

Lucy ran. So did the other kids. Oh, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her! Faster even!"

"Come on, Lucy!" some of the kids around the campfire cheered, egging their imaginary comrade on. "You can do it!"

Even Pinky joined in.

"Hurry, Lucy! You can do it! Run!"

Peter kept on...

"She could see the exit of the cave! All the kids surpassed her, running out before she could reach it. How were they so fast?! It seemed like the faster they ran, the slower she went. But she kept running... and running! She was almost there!"

"Yeah! Come on, Lucy!," yelled Timothy.

"But then...!

SLAM!

The Beast pinned her to the floor!

Poor Lucy struggled... and struggled, but she couldn't get up.

The Beast smiled wide... opened its jaws... and CHOMP! He SWALLOWED HER WHOLE!"

Most all around the campfire gasped.

"Poor Lucy... was no more."

Behind Timothy, Cynthia was sniffing.

"All of the kids outside the cave stared back at the Beast, terrified at what they had just seen. And the Beast stared back at them.

'Let this be a lesson to you all!' he said. 'That if you're not prepared, like I was, you will tremble and suffer the wrath... of Globetrotter!'

The end!"

"Globetrotter?!" some of the students gasped out.

"Ohhhhhhh. So that's what the 'G' stood for!" pointed out Red, impressed.

"That was a really good story," whispered Teresa, still a little shook up.

"Not much of a ghost story, though," Timothy piped up.

"But it was scary," put in Marvell, frowning. "Peter, you said it wasn't gonna be too scary!"

Peter simply shrugged, smiling.

"Soooo... the cave was Globetrotter's classroom, Lucy and the kids represented all of us, and the spelling bee is the hard tests he gives us that we can never ace?" guessed Gadget.

"Yup," said Peter.

"That was pretty clever."

"It was accurate," whispered a pointy-nosed mouse timidly. It was Ms. Penelope Mayhew. She sat next to Gadget and looked a bit more disturbed than the rest.

"So, you all see Globetrotter as a... beast?" Pinky asked, looking just a touch concerned.

"Doesn't everyone?" mentioned Marvell.

"Well, that's not very nice," said Pinky, frowning at them all. "You shouldn't speak badly of your teachers."

"But it's true," said Gadget. "He terrorizes all of his students and no one ever does anything about it! The only reason we pass our classes is because of the support of the other teachers. They help keep us sane when we're working our butts off."

"And they have to keep reminding Globetrotter that he has to pass some students, otherwise it might start looking bad on his record," Peter put in. "He just likes making things as hard as possible."

"He's... not all that bad," murmured Teresa. "When you get to know him."

But no one else could agree.

"I know that Brain can be a bit... harsh, but I don't think he means to hurt anyone," Pinky said.

"That's easy for you to say," Peter continued. "You're a teacher. Try being one of his students."

"It's not easy, Mr. Pinky," said Teresa. "There's a reason why we come to your classes so often."

"It's a solace," said Penelope. "From him."

"And from the workload," mentioned Gadget. "Also, you're just... super cool," she added, smiling at him.

"Yeah, you're awesome, Mr. Pinky," said Red.

"Yeah, you're so cool!" they all pitched in.

"He's the best," Olivia said, giving Pinky a tight squeeze of a side hug.

Pinky sniffed, blinking back tears.

"Awwww. Thank you all. Narf! I love you, too!" he sniffed again, wiping at his face.

Every face around the campfire was bright, and beaming, and smiling, the love in the room so thick one could cut it with a knife. Pinky had never felt so appreciated in his life, and he wondered if this was the work of the "magnet"... or if it was really real. Somehow, deep down, he didn't think even a super special device could work magic like this. It felt honest. Pure.

"May I ask for your advice on something?" queried Pinky, swallowing and smiling back at them all.

"Sure. Go ahead!" they agreed.

"Well, you see, Olivia here needs her baseball stadium built. And we all want sports to come back to the school, right?"

"Yeah!" exclaimed some of the students. Some, not all.

"Well, the principal said that he would do it, but only if we could get Globetrotter to come to the teachers' Halloween party this weekend."

"On Saturday?" asked Gadget.

"Mmhm. And that's in two days and I still haven't thought of a way of getting him to come. But I thought, well, maybe you guys would have some ideas?"

A steady silence draped across the class as they thought long and hard about this.

"Hmmm. What if you bribed him?" offered Gadget. "Like... offer to pay for something he really wants or whatever if he'll come to the party?"

"Mmmm... maybe. He does like nice things, but I don't think that would work," said Pinky sadly.

"He's right," Peter said. "It takes a lot to bribe Globetrotter. I don't think he'd fall for it."

"What if you... you... asked the... the prince-pal to make him come?" squeaked little Cynthia.

"The principal is the one who wants Pinky to do the asking, Cynthia," said Timothy.

"You could... like... drag him there," Marvell joked. "Tie a bunch of ropes around him and stuff."

"Yeah, like, blackmail him!" voiced a boy hamster named Lucas. "Tell him that you'll show them the pictures if he doesn't attend the party."

"The pictures?" asked Pinky confusedly, cocking his head.

"Yeah, like in the movies! You know how they'll like... say to someone: 'Hey. I've got these embarrassing pictures of you, and if you don't do what I want then I'll show them to everybody!'"

"Oh..."

"Too strong," said Marvell.

"Yeah, that's too much," agreed Gadget.

"Wait... Wait," said Peter, sitting up straight. "What if... you scare him?"

"Scare him?" asked Pinky.

"But Globetrotter isn't scared of anything!" Teresa voiced.

"No, okay. Wait. Listen: What if there is something that scares him? He prizes his dignity, right? What if you scared him into feeling like he's missing out or that he's not "cool enough" or something if he doesn't go to the party?"

"I dunno...," Pinky hesitated.

"Oh my gosh. Wait. That's actually kinda brilliant," Gadget added. "Like... make it sound like only the most elite are going to go to this party."

"But everyone's going to the party!" Pinky said. "Even me!"

"Then tell him there's gonna be an awards ceremony or something - only the best will get noticed and he's got to be there."

"B-But... I didn't organize a ceremony with it!"

"Then make one up!" Lucas said.

"Yeah, just make one up!" agreed Peter. "He'll be tripping over himself just to look as dope as possible!"

"Yeah, you should do it!" others joined in.

Pinky looked nervous. He wasn't a liar. He'd have to add a ceremony last minute.

"Please, Mr. Pinky?" Olivia asked, laying a delicate paw on his.

He stared at her and sighed, smiling. How could he resist those eyes?

"All right," he whispered, first to her, then to the whole group: "All right. I'll do it!"

Shouts of "woo!"s and "yaaaay!"s resounded about their comfy forest campfire. It was settled.

Pinky breathed out another heavy sigh, smoothing his hair back in trepidation.

"Phew. I hope I don't regret this! Eheheh!"

"Don't worry. He's too egotistical to think about anyone other than himself," Gadget said as she roasted a marshmallow. "There's no way he'll be able to resist."

"Yeah. If there's anything Globetrotter loves more than himself, it's laudation," said Peter.

But that, Pinky thought, is where Peter was wrong. He didn't think Globetrotter loved himself. In fact, from what he could see, it was the exact opposite.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

October 29th, 1993 - 7:29 PM

As it happened, Pinky waited until the last possible second to throw his offer to Globetrotter, partially because he was scared, and partially because... Well, all right. If he was being honest with himself, all of it was because he was scared. He wasn't as intimidated by Globetrotter as the students were, but there were still times when he felt like he'd get his hand bitten off if he didn't play his cards right.

Mercifully, Globetrotter was in a good mood tonight, as Pinky quickly discovered as he slipped past the laboratory entrance. The part mathematician, part science teacher kicked his feet back and forth in his gray computer chair, the seat squeaking about, happy little skips punctuating his typing as he smiled at the green-tinted monitor satisfactorily.

"Afternoon," he greeted Pinky, the lanky professor making to sit down in his usual corner spot on the floor near the bookcase. (There was only one chair, and Brian couldn't be bothered to buy a second.) "Pinky, I have just made a breakthrough of paramount proportions!"

"Ooooo. What is it, Brain?"

"It is far too intellectual for your primitive mind to comprehend," said Globetrotter cheerily as he hopped out of his chair and paced around the room. Not even a mispronunciation of his name could bother him this time. "But I can assure you that it will aid deeply in furthering along our plan!"

"Egad! Brilliant, Brain!" Pinky exclaimed, his legs criss-crossed and his hands tucked into them as he gazed up at Globetrotter in awe.

"Yes, I find it quite impressive myself," Globetrotter mused as he rubbed at his nails haughtily. "It's a shame the school doesn't recognize such talent; otherwise, I very likely wouldn't have to hide these contraptions behind walls."

There was his opening. Pinky took a deep breath.

"You know, y-you're right, Brain."

"Hm?" Globetrotter hummed, turning around to stare at Pinky.

"I was just saying that I think you're right, Brain! It's absolutely a crime that they don't recognize your true intelligence and ingeniousness. Downright despicable!"

Globetrotter raised an eyebrow, but otherwise continued on as normal.

"Yes. As long as I am confined within these halls, I am doomed to forever be seen as a mere academic professional. At least I've attained some form of respect amongst my colleagues."

"You know, it's a shame that you won't be coming to the party, Brain, what with the awards ceremony and all that," Pinky mused, copying Brian's little "finger studying" technique, eyes half-lidded in an attempt to look positively bored out of his mind about the whole matter.

"Awards ceremony...? What ceremony?"

"Hm? Oh, I thought you knew, Brain?"

"I do not. You never mentioned a ceremony."

"Hmph," Pinky shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind at the time. Everyone's been talking about it. They're going to be giving out trophies to the most acclaimed faculty members. 'Most Influential.' 'Most Respected' and all that..."

"Huh."

"Everyone's going, as far as I know," Pinky continued, as nonchalantly as possible, as he picked dirt out from under his nails. "But I understand you not wanting to attend. It's kind of a silly idea. People are saying that Basil is probably going to win 'Most Knowledgeable' and probably some other trophies as it is, so I don't think there'll be much competition. Zort..."

"Basil?! That nincompoop? He can barely tell the difference between polyester and palladium!"

Pinky simply shrugged again.

"Like I said, Brain. It's not your cup of tea."

Brain snorted, looking contemplative. He angrily stuck his hands in his pockets as his thoughts stuck firmly to everything Pinky had just said.

Parties, especially costume ones, were pointless. Stupid. A complete waste of time. He'd rather be counting dominoes than humiliating himself in front of a bunch of idiots who had nothing better to do than flash nails and tip bottles. He half-wondered if Pinky was pulling his leg; after all, why would Basil, of all people, attend such a soiree, if it could even be called that? Both he and Mr. Ages had said they would never be caught dead at such an event. Then again, it wasn't the first time he'd known Basil to say he wouldn't do one thing only to end up doing it anyway. He remembered the disco party pictures of '89...

His eyes shifted furtively to Pinky, who had busied himself with a very dusty book from the shelf: How to Win Friends and Influence People. Brian sighed.

"Perhaps I should rethink my decision..."

"Hm? Come again?" Pinky asked, only half-heartedly looking up from his book.

"I said that I...," Brian blurted out, then sighed, trying to calm down. "Fine. I'll go to your stupid party."

"REALL-," Pinky began, then coughed, getting a hold of himself, eyes shifting in the hopes that Globetrotter hadn't noticed. "I mean, that's cool. Sounds good."

"But I'm not dressing up."

"Oh, that's okay! I'm probably not going to either. Eheh. Poit."

Nothing more was said for the rest of the night, Pinky retiring early at the stroke of 8:00 PM with the excuse that he needed to "catch up on his sleep". As soon as he was past the wall, he leaned against it, slid down a little, and siiiiiighed...

PHEW.

Goodness.

He buried his face in his hands. That was the most he'd ever lied since he was eighteen years old and had told his dad that he'd simply dented the truck when he'd actually totaled it. He made a note in his head to tell as many teachers as possible tomorrow that there was going to be an awards ceremony and that he would be holding it. He'd have to get to school extra early. No matter. It was worth it. Olivia and her baseball stadium were worth it.

Gathering himself, he shakily whistled a monotonous little tune and headed for the stairwell.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

October 30th, 1993 - 5:30 PM

A 1980s Dodge Caravan, its long, green stripe wrapping around its battered and bruised body, whined a little as it pulled up to 2154 Whipple St. Inside, the shuffling of paper crinkled about as a large map of Burbank was laid out over the steering wheel, a finger snaking steadily over it as it searched for its destination. A-ha. There it was. It tapped satisfactorily at a specific point on the map. Yes, this was definitely the place.

A lanky mouse in a yellow and orange striped suit, complete with boater hat and cane, stepped out of the vehicle, not bothering to lock it as he stepped past the neatly-trimmed lawn, rows of azaleas, and romantically-lit fountain to tread his long, flat feet under an archway and upon the red brick porch of a spotless two-story house. Clearing his throat, he extended a finger, rang the doorbell, and waited.

Globetrotter, it turned out, had not showed up for his Saturday morning class. Nor, it seemed, for his 1:00 PM session. In fact, he hadn't made an appearance at the school at all that day. The students, of course, considered this a blessing. Pinky, however, had grown worried. Had something happened? He didn't get the call until 4:00 PM. Not only had his car stalled, as Globetrotter had angrily explained over the pay phone, but it had to be taken to the shop for repairs. Globetrotter had been stuck at the shop for hours and would have to walk home, of all things. Pinky, of course, had offered to take him home himself, but Globetrotter had flat out refused. It was embarrassing enough to miss his own classes, let alone receive transportation services. At least he still had control of his feet.

And so Pinky had dropped the matter, offering, at the very least, to pick Brian up half-an-hour prior to the party, to which Globetrotter had neither refused nor given the go-ahead. He simply assumed that after a bit of rest, he might still want to attend, and so here he was, standing upon Brian's doorstep, hoping that he'd be in the mood to at least spend an hour or two in festive enjoyment.

It took a full minute for Globetrotter to answer the door, and when he did it was in his bright red smoking jacket and half-moon glasses, complete with steaming coffee mug and a very worn out expression indeed.

"Afternoon!" Pinky waved, as cheerily as possible.

Globetrotter looked him up and down, as if trying to register the fact that someone was standing on his doorstep (and with a cane and boating hat, no less), as he gave him a slow, sleepy blink of the eyes, his mouth slightly open.

"Evening," Brian corrected. "What are... are...," he dragged out, interrupted by a wide, gaping yawn. "What are you doing here?"

"Um. It's the Halloween party tonight! Remember, Brain? Yo-You said you'd come..."

Brian sighed.

"Pinky, I had to walk half an hour to my house from the shop in my good suit and pants in eighty-five degree weather in the middle of the city. I have no idea when my car is going to be repaired, nor if I'll be able to get to work on Monday, or if I'll even still have a job by next week. So if you think, that after all that, I'd still want to go to some dumb employee party late into the night, you've got another thing coming."

Each word of this spiel had become more and more punctuated as it went on, Brian's voice rising just slightly higher with each enunciated syllable, and Pinky's ears drooping further and further down the longer he spoke, until they were practically flat against his head. Globetrotter ignored this.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall bid you good night," he ended, making to close the door.

But something kept it from shutting. A foot.

Brian looked up into the face of the culprit, and Pinky looked so positively pitiful, so desperately forlorn, that even he, the most ruthless professor in all of Burbank (and quite possibly California), couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of guilt.

"Please, Brain?" whimpered the heart-broken mouse.

Something stirred in Globetrotter. Something... he couldn't explain. He'd felt it before in front of this individual. Pity, was it? Or, dare he say it, compassion? Whatever it was, it wouldn't leave. It was positively annoying.

Brian sighed again.

"Fine," he relented. "It's not like this day could get any worse anyway. Might as well cap it off..."

"So you'll come?!" Pinky exclaimed excitedly, his frown replaced with a bright and innocent smile.

"Don't get too comfortable," Brian warned. "This is the first and last party I attend at this school. Got it?"

"Yes, Brain! I've got it! Oh, thank you, Brain!"

And he actually hugged him.

Brian simply stood there, stunned, as he was quite suddenly and tightly embraced. He gasped as Pinky let go of him, gazing up into those brilliantly blue eyes for a moment before smoothing out his jacket, pointing a shaky finger at the mouse, and stating, in the most shocked tone possible, "Don't... do that again."

"Hm hm. Sorry, Brain!" Pinky chuckled, smiling.

"I'll... get my coat," muttered Globetrotter after a pause, looking somewhat lost as he wandered almost drunkenly into his sitting room... and leaving the front door wide open.

"May I come in?" Pinky asked, peeking his head 'round the frame to peer into the elaborately-decorated front room.

"Uhhhh... Sure," Brian admitted him, strolling past the sitting area and into a side room, where he flicked on a light. Pinky could hear him shuffling about in a closet for his coat.

With a gay little hop, Pinky skipped across the welcome mat and into the main entryway, taking care to shut out the dry and slightly humid air. Stepping down tenderly onto the thin, cream-colored carpet (which was absolutely free of any spot or blemish whatsoever), he sat down in a newly upholstered chair and went about studying the room.

His first impression was that this was a place that equal parts had definite aspects of Globetrotter's personality... and also felt nothing like him at all. If anything, it looked like something his mother or a housewife would have had a hand in. The sitting room was rectangular in shape, with four thick white and rose-patterned ottomans surrounding a mahogany table set with a couple of heavy books on scientific theories, plus one magazine on Godiva Chocolates. Against one wall lay a forest green couch, flanked on either side by cherry wood bookshelves and a warm lamp. Indeed, the place seemed to be dotted with bookshelves here and there, all of them filled to the brim with tomes, novels, magazines, and, strangely, bad romance fiction. Tastefully peppered about the walls themselves were hyper-realistic, black-and-white illustrations of various "shots of life" - a man fishing; patrons in a coffee shop; a woman waiting longingly for someone at a train station. And somewhere, in a distant room, he could hear the sounds of what he assumed to be Mozart or Bach playing lightly. He never cared for Classical much, but still hummed along and tapped his hands upon his knees to the tune all the same.

Pinky stared up at the high ceiling, which, he knew, most likely hid a second floor. He'd noticed the steps to his left upon entering the house. He longed to explore more of this interesting abode, but knew that it would be rude to ask, and so he simply sat quietly as Globetrotter picked out just the right coat.

He turned at a sharp cough.

To Pinky, "throwing on a coat" would have meant exactly that, regardless of the under-attire. Globetrotter, however, was decked out in his absolute best: iron-pressed black pants, a fancy suit and tie with a black overcoat, and dance shoes that clicked and clacked across the upper wooden floor. He looked, for lack of a better word, snazzy.

"Ooooo. You look riveting, Brain!"

"I think the proper term you're looking for is 'ravishing'," Globetrotter corrected, buttoning up his jacket. "Can we get this over with?"

"Right-o, Brain!" said Pinky, standing up and making for the door. "Your house is lovely, by the way. Poit! Did you design it yourself?"

"Thank you," came Globetrotter's dry reply. "And, yes, I added most of the decorations."

"Smashing!"

Globetrotter gave him a look and rolled his eyes. He made it a point to turn off every single light in the house, as well as the music, before exiting along with Pinky. They stepped over the doormat.

"And your mat is very lovely, too," Pinky commented, admiring the very cozy, cursive "Home Sweet Home" writing, complete with roses.

"Thank you. My mother bought it for me...," said Globetrotter, a slight groan in his voice.

Pinky stifled a chuckle. Well, he'd been right about the motherly touch.

The distant sound of traffic could be heard as they skipped (or, in Globetrotter's case, trudged) across the well-kept yard and up to Pinky's not-so-well-kept clunker. Like a gentleman, Pinky insisted that he open Globetrotter's door for him, but Globetrotter refused.

"I'm perfectly capable of opening my own door," he replied, opening it up, sliding into the leather passenger seat, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Pinky frowned sadly at this, but otherwise shook it off as he slipped into the driver's seat, closed his own door, and started the car... and not without some difficulty. It took a few tries to get the engine churning properly. Globetrotter wrinkled his nose, repulsed, not just at the age of the vehicle, but at its smell, which reeked of old pizza. It hadn't been kept particularly clean either. Brian nudged aside a stray straw wrapper on the ground with his foot. He noticed something else: the stress ball he'd given back to Pinky. It had been tucked into an empty pocket beneath the car radio. He felt a twinge of regret at this. In an attempt to get his mind off of such a feeling, he turned his attention back to the car.

"This is how you travel?" he queried, arms folded, not at all amused. "Incredible."

"Why, thank you! She does get a little tired from long trips, but you can make it there and back, can't you, old girl?" encouraged the lanky mouse.

Sure enough, the third time was the charm.

"Atta girl, Phar!"

"Phar?"

"Mmhm! I named her Pharfignewton, like in the commercials!"

Globetrotter rolled his eyes. Incredible. He highly doubted this thing could get them from his house to the closest gas station, much less all the way to the party. As if things couldn't get any worse. But then Pinky put in the CD.

"Woo! Let's get ready to rumbllllllle!" Pinky shouted out, Brian covering his ears as "Back in the U.S.S.R." began to blaze out of the speakers, bouncing off the windows, doors, seats, and into the deepest crevices of Brian's eardrums.

"Really? The Beatles?!" he protested loudly. He had to shout; one could barely hear themselves talk, let alone think, over the blasting drums and guitar chords.

Pinky answered... in falsetto.

"Ohhh!

Flew in from Miami Beach B.O.A.C. Didn't get to bed last night On the way the paper bag was on my knee Man, I had a dreadful flight

I'm back in the U.S. .!"

Click!

"Hey!"

Gone was the thumping sounds of pure noise; welcomed was the stirring imagery of the Pastoral Symphony. Good-bye, Beatles. Hello, Beethoven.

Brian sank back into his seat, breathing out a deep sigh of relief as he let the Classical radio tunes wash over him like a hot shower.

"Hmph. Driver chooses the music, Brain."

"And my eardrums choose the pitch. Obviously, that one was not fit to relent."

Pinky opened his mouth... then shut it, resolving to pout instead. He knew it would have been more polite to allow his guest access to the radio in the first place, but he had been hoping Brain might like his taste in music. He wasn't particularly in the mood for Classical. Oh well. Perhaps they'd play something with a good beat at the party. Like Weird Al! Thinking about Al Yankovic playing his signature accordion made him perk up a bit, and by the time they reached Flaversham's house he was in a much better mood.

The first person that greeted him upon exiting the car was not a colleague, but Olivia. They had, after all, parked outside of Mrs. Frisby's house, owing to the crowded street surrounding Flaversham's place. She ran up to Pinky and hugged him.

"Mr. Pinky! You came!"

"Oof! Ha-ha. Hello, Olivia!" Pinky greeted fondly, wrapping his arms around her.

Globetrotter shut the door behind him with a snap, glad to be rid of the car and the lingering scent that came with it.

"Are you coming to my party?" Olivia asked, looking up eagerly into the face of her very tall and ivory friend. She was dressed in the most interesting attire: a striped shirt, long checkerboard pants, a white lab coat, and half-rimmed glasses, complete with note board and pen, upon which she seemed to have taken down the names of all those in attendance at her party. She still wore the tam-o-shanter.

"Oh, Olivia, I told you I was going to the adult party," Pinky admitted, petting her softly on the back.

Olivia's ears drooped.

"But I'll try and pop in later, okay?"

She smiled and hugged him again. Globetrotter wrinkled his nose at the tender scene, eyes rolling as he shook his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Pinky."

"Olivia, what are you supposed to be?" Pinky asked, loving her attire, but absolutely clueless as to who she was mimicking.

"You don't know? I'm you!" she beamed.

"Oh...," Pinky hiccuped, blushing pink from his ears down to the tip of his tail.

"See you later!" Olivia waved, heading back into the house, which was looking very inviting, indeed.

Tiny little decorative lamps lit the way up to the wee abode, which looked more like a cottage than anything, a warm and orange-ish glow emanating from the open door and windows. Now and then a kid could be seen running past the door, and Mrs. Frisby herself waved at them from the entrance.

"Hello, Mr. Pinky! Mr. Globetrotter!"

"Hello, Mrs. Frisby!" Pinky greeted. Globetrotter said nothing, but simply nodded to her in acknowledgement.

"Are you going to Flaversham's party?"

"Yup! I kind of wish I was going to Olivia's, though! Ha-ha! Troz!"

"Well, you're welcome to stop by anytime. We're making cupcakes later!"

"Yeah, and I'm putting on the frosting!" Olivia piped up, peeking in from behind Frisby.

"We'll stop by later, okay?" Pinky called out to them.

"As will I!" said Mrs. Frisby.

Pinky waved good-bye as he and Globetrotter headed across the street and down the concrete path towards Flaversham's.

"We?" Globetrotter inquired, giving Pinky the eye.

"You don't want a cupcake, Brain?" asked Pinky sincerely, looking at him with genuine concern.

"I'll pass," muttered the scientist. Already he was getting that uncomfortable feeling in his nether regions that most definitely meant a trip to the facilities would be in order soon. He was starting to regret agreeing to this...

Stepping up the dimly-lit crimson brick steps leading to the three-level house, Pinky shuffled onto the welcome mat, Brian right beside him, and rang the doorbell.

Flaversham answered almost immediately, decked out in Pilgrim attire.

"Well, well, it's the organizer! Hello there, Mr. Pinkus!" he greeted him cheerfully, noticing only Pinky at first as he shook his hand.

"Evening, Mr. Flaversham!" Pinky replied excitedly, gently bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like a little child.

"Oh, and who do you have with y- OH! M-Mr. Globetrotter!" Flaversham jumped.

"Evening," Globetrotter drolled.

"Well, I...," Flaversham gulped and laughed nervously. "I-I didn't expect you to be here! I mean, n-not that we don't want you to be here, of course!"

Globetrotter blinked very slooooowly as Flaversham tripped over his tongue something terrible. Fifteen years. Fifteen years he'd known this lily-livered numbskull; this absolutely pitiful excuse for a teacher who somehow made a six-figure salary next to his measly five, yet couldn't defend himself for peanuts. In Globetrotter's eyes, if you didn't have the mental brawn along with the brain then what even was the point?

"Um... What are you supposed to be, M-Mr. Globetrotter?" Flaversham somehow pressed on, wringing his hands together.

"Your worst nightmare," Globetrotter replied. It was meant in jest, but he knew Flaversham wouldn't see it that way, and he grinned inwardly at the professor's response.

"Oh, dear...," Flaversham muttered, looking even more shaken up than he already was.

The restlessness in the air was palpable, and Pinky, feeling the tension, quickly butt in.

"I can help set up the games if you'd like!" Pinky offered encouragingly, to which Flaversham smiled while shaking his head and holding up a hand.

"Oh. N-No need, Mr. Pinky. I can do it. Why don't you go help Mrs. Judson in the kitchen? She might need assistance with the pies, I think."

"Sure! Come on, Brain!" Pinky readily agreed, stepping lightly over the threshold and heading for what he assumed to be the kitchen, soaking in the fascinating decorum along the way.

Globetrotter, however, remained standing on the welcome mat. He stared at Flaversham, as if waiting for something.

"W-Won't you come in?" Flaversham offered, stepping aside fully to allow Globetrotter entrance.

"Thank you," said Globetrotter.

It was with great hesitancy that he tipped into the house, and what a house it was.

This wasn't the first time he'd walked across this hardwood floor. Five years ago he'd found himself in the same house, albeit for a completely different reason that was now lost to memory. But he'd certainly remembered the look of the place. Not much had changed. The three-story abode was the very definition of "mahogany overload" - the floors, the tables, the chairs, the cabinets, the bookshelves, the picture frames, the door frames, the doors themselves, the cuckoo clock on the wall in the adorable little dining room... Everything was mahogany. The layout and style was very similar in taste to that of Globetrotter's, save for being a bit more... eccentric. Flaversham was a renowned inventor as well as a professor, and it showed. There were little gadgets and gizmos in every room in the house, from self-cleaning toilets to robotics that made coffee just the way you liked it. Minus the strange contraptions, Globetrotter was actually quite jealous. His house was nice, but it was just that to him: nice. He wanted the best, and Flaversham had it. Globetrotter knew that he eventually would, as well, but that took time. Lots and lots of time.

He milled about, hands in his pockets, as Flaversham closed the door and dashed off to finish conversing with Mr. Bernard on the topic of breeding different tomato strains. Despite the enormity of the house, the place was packed. One never realizes just how many employees work under the same roof until they're actually under one roof, and this instance was a perfect example. Almost everyone was here, from tall, stuck-up Basil to the short little janitors Jaq and Gus. But of course Pinky would have invited them, Globetrotter thought, disgusted. Anyone within a hundred mile radius with the gumption to wave back at him if he said hello would automatically be on the party list...

Even the janitors, however, were dressed to the nines; well, for janitors, at least. Everyone was decked out in some sort of costume, but most all were tasteful or classy. He caught Basil in a detective's outfit ("You brought that old thing?" Dawson chuckled in jest to Basil as they greeted one another), Bernard and Bianca in very fashionable 1930s attire, and Amos, the Meteorology teacher, was unsurprisingly sporting a rather lavish wig, tiny bifocals, and a very 1700s suit (it was common knowledge that Dr. Amos revered the works of Benjamin Franklin). He nodded curtly to the occasional colleague that passed his way, feeling equal parts elevated that he hadn't stooped to levels of make-up and Halloween dress... and embarrassed for ironically feeling a bit out of place. No one stopped to talk with him. In fact, most gave him a wide berth, looking shocked that he'd showed up at all. Those that did greet him either did so out of supposed necessity or simple fear, and while it was certainly nice to feel respected, parties were absolutely not where he was in his element. Already he was feeling a bit claustrophobic, which did nothing to ease that tight sensation in his abdomen. It was only a matter of time before he'd have to dash for the facilities.

Flaversham made it a point early on to all the guests that there was a big fat box resting on a podium in a far corner of the living room, and that every participant was encouraged to write down their choice of teachers for the ten categories listed so as winners might be chosen for the awards ceremony. Globetrotter made a mental note not to participate.

Uncertain of where to go next, and wanting to free himself from the tight and chatty quarters, he made a spur of the moment decision to head for the kitchen, squeezing uncomfortably past Dawson and security guard Mappy (He invited the security guard?, Globetrotter thought), and slipping quietly into the kitchen.

The sizeable kitchen, though not as packed as the rest of the house, still housed a fair number of guests, and yet, despite the good number of party-goers in the room, the very first individual Globetrotter's eyes landed on was Pinky. Perhaps he was just so used to his lanky frame that he was a breeze to spot. At the moment, the Trozology teacher was helping Mrs. Judson with the baking, both of them suited up with frilly pink and yellow aprons.

"I'm just not sure if adding the cinnamon will be too strong or...," Mrs. Judson mused, looking a wee bit frazzled.

"Well, see, I think it would come out much better if you added some of this!" Pinky offered, squeezing a bit of lemon into the mix.

"Why, I didn't even think of lemon. Thank you, Mr. Pinkus," Judson smiled, finishing off the main ingredients with a flourish and popping the pie into the oven. "You know, you'd make an excellent chef."

"My mother always said that! But I felt more comfortable with Trozology," Pinky grinned in turn, untying his apron and tossing it over his shoulder before wiping his hands on a nearby towel.

"What is Trozology?" Mrs. Judson asked, not bothering with a towel and instead simply wiping her hands on her skirt and apron. "I never asked."

Globetrotter had begun to walk over to them, but froze in place at this question. If he didn't interrupt, perhaps he'd finally hear the answer to this puzzling question. He'd asked Pinky himself, of course, what it was, and on several occasions, whenever he did remember to do so, but by some strange force of nature or spirits or what-have-you, Pinky's answer was always cut short. Maybe this time, though, he wouldn't be? He cocked an ear...

"Oh! Well," Pinky began, more than happy to explain. "It's quite simple, really. It's actually the study o-"

"RONALD! My dear boy!" came a booming voice out of nowhere.

Emerging from the crowd in the most pompous of airs, fully gowned in an ebony and crimson outfit reminiscent of a vampire, or, perhaps, a Count, was Snowball. The only thing missing was a cigar. He flounced up to Pinky and patted him a little too hard on the back, completely unaware that Globetrotter was glaring daggers at him behind his back.

"Ha-ha! The man of the hour. I must say, I don't know why I ever stopped throwing these tasteful galas. They're quite fun! Except for the apple bobbing. I didn't particularly care for that..."

"I'm... I'm glad you're having fun, Mr. Principal!" Pinky responded, sounding gleeful but looking rather nervous. He hadn't forgotten the last time he'd seen this hamster, and it hadn't exactly been pleasant.

"Please, call me Snowball," insisted the principal.

In the back, Globetrotter was having a particularly difficult time of it trying not to keep his eyeballs from popping out of his head, so shocked was he at the presence of this unsightly rival. He made it a point to avoid the principal at all costs whenever he was in the school. Had he known Snowball would be here he definitely wouldn't have come. Had Pinky known, or had he conveniently left that part out?

It was at this moment that Snowball very inconveniently turned around.

"Why, Brain!" he beamed, grinning wide to reveal two particularly sharp, elongated fake teeth taking up the front end of his mouth.

Yup. Definitely a vampire.

He stepped up to the science teacher, cape swishing behind him dramatically as Globetrotter simply stood there, brow furrowed and arms crossed.

"What an absolute delight to see you here! I hear that's your new nickname, is it not? Brain? Brain... Has a rather egotistical ring to it, does it not?" Snowball smirked.

"Hello, Bally," Globetrotter sneered, effectively cleaning the smile off the hamster's face.

"You know I don't like being called that," the principal replied in a much lower tone of voice.

"Oh, don't you?" Globetrotter mocked, swiftly donning a fake pout. "I'm sorry, I thought you enjoyed being reminded of how much you like to dominate."

"Globetrotter!" Mrs. Judson hissed, but no one else seemed to mind or care. In fact, no one was listening to the sparking conversation at all aside from Pinky and Mrs. Judson, the former of whom seemed quite uncomfortable indeed.

"At least I'm not afraid to take full advantage of opportunistic situations," Snowball leered, that smarmy grin playing across his face one more. "So that I don't find myself on the bottom."

"Alllllll right. That's it!" Mrs. Judson intervened, physically stepping between the two of them and pushing them away from one another. "Enough of that talk. You two should be ashamed of yourselves."

Snowball just smirked.

"You still have a chance to redeem yourself, Brain! If not in life, then perhaps this evening? I look forward to seeing your results during the awards."

"You can count on it!" Globetrotter snapped, as Snowball, still grinning, melted into the crowd, winking at Pinky on the way out as he disappeared into another room, leaving his old colleague to stand there, fuming.

"Hmph," Mrs. Judson huffed, hands on her hips. "Well, I never. Globetrotter, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"For what?! He started it!"

"And you encouraged him! Mr. Pinky," she redirected, turning to the puzzled teacher. "I don't know why you invited him, of all creatures. He causes nothing but trouble."

"But I didn't...," answered Pinky meekly, and it was true.

Well, wait. No..., he thought. That wasn't entirely factual. He had bribed the Headmaster with a special spot in the party if he signed Olivia's petition, although, to be fair, Snowball hadn't gone for it.

"Snowball would have invited himself regardless," Globetrotter pitched in. "He takes whatever he wants."

The capsaicin in his tone was unmistakable. Mrs. Judson simply "hmph-ed" again and walked off. Pinky looked from Brain... to where Snowball had disappeared... and back again. He couldn't make out anything of what had just happened. There could be a number of plausible explanations, and his brain wouldn't settle on just one. Snowball had seemed so excited about Brain being invited to the party, so why were they at each other's throats? Had he made a mistake?

Globetrotter turned swiftly 'round to glare at Pinky.

"Why didn't you tell me he was coming?!" he bit, causing Pinky to wince. "At least give me a warning!"

"I... I'm sorry, Brain," Pinky whimpered, hanging his head and rubbing his arm. "I didn't think it would matter. He seemed so excited about you coming!"

"And now you know why," Globetrotter bit. "I should've known you'd make so asinine of a mistake. At least I have an opportunity get him back. 'Not afraid to take full advantage". Ha! I'll show him taking advantage."

"Come again..?"

"The show, Pinky. The show. When I sweep the awards that undignified meadowlark won't be able to put a finger on me!" Globetrotter chuckled to himself, rubbing his hands together evilly. "At least you did one thing right this evening. That hamster is going down."

And with that, he stomped off after Snowball, leaving Pinky to stand very much alone in a sea of people, ears down, tail limp, and heart very much conflicted.

/\/\/\/\/\

The rest of the evening went quite predictably, as parties go. Food was eaten. Games were played. A pie was burnt. Gossip was shared and stories were exchanged. And absolutely no one could beat Basil at Poker.

Pinky socialized with most anyone and everyone, occasionally tossing a concerned glance in Globetrotter's direction. The science teacher hadn't spoken once to him since the kitchen incident, instead opting to trail Snowball wherever he went - close enough that the Headmaster knew he was there, but not so close that the hamster could launch a sarcastic grenade in his direction. Now and again, Snowball would participate in a friendly game of pool or shuffleboard. Every time, he invited Globetrotter to join. Every time, against his better judgement, Globetrotter relented... and lost, growing more and more irritated with each escaped victory. The hamster didn't seem to mind the mouse's sour attitude. Indeed, he appeared to be practically relishing in Globetrotter's humiliation. Most party-goers simply ignored the angry little rodent. Everyone knew he was difficult to please and prone to bouts of outrage. Why tempt the beast? But Pinky didn't see a beast. He saw a broken, frustrated, self-doubting little creature that was hurting and taking it out on everyone, including himself. The pain in his eyes wasn't difficult to see. He was all too familiar with it.

Meanwhile, Globetrotter found himself increasingly frustrated. Despite his initial resistance, out of exacerbation he wandered up to the podium. Already a healthy helping of papers had been ripped off of a little notepad and stuffed into the large, black box. The notepad seem to have been custom-made, for on it was a list of ten subjects, ranging from "Most Popular Teacher" to "Fastest Grader". Globetrotter scoffed at the list. It all seemed very trivial and rather haphazardly put together, but his eyes still landed on the "Most Popular Teacher" award. For some reason, he imagined his name next to it, even though popularity was the last thing he wanted. If there had been a "Most Respected Teacher" award (which, despite Pinky saying there would be one, there wasn't) he would have been bold enough to put himself down for it and slip it into the box. He knew who was going to win "Most Popular", and it wasn't going to be him.

He sighed and looked furtively this way and that without turning his head.

He clicked his tongue.

"Hell...," he muttered, picking up a pencil on the podium and writing down 'Pinky', and only 'Pinky', for the "Most Popular" option. He didn't bother filling out the others. Popping it into the box, he ran a hand down his face as inconspicuously as possible, stepped away from the podium, and melted back into the crowd. It wasn't like anyone had noticed him there, or would care. Pinky certainly hadn't noticed, and that's what mattered most.

/\/\/\/\/\

At 7:03 PM, the doorbell rang. Flaversham answered it. It was Olivia.

"Oh! Olivia."

He bent down to her level and cupped a hand to his mouth.

"You know this is adults only, my dear," he whispered kindly to her.

"I know, Daddy! I just need to see... Mr. Pinky!" she gasped, swallowing heavily between "see" and "Mr.". It was obvious that she had just run all the way from Mrs. Frisby's house to hers.

"Hm. Just a moment. I'll go find him."

It did not take long.

"Hello, Olivia!" Pinky said, returning with Professor Flaversham and licking the tips of his fingers of what looked to be chocolate cake. "How's your party going?"

"Mmph. All right. Evinrude ate too many cupcakes, though," she huffed, folding her arms indignantly. "And Alphie had an accident and peed all over the floor."

"Alphie?"

"He goes to Cynthia's kindergarten class."

She motioned with a hand for Pinky to bend down to her level, which he did. She stepped up to his ear and whispered:

"I don't think he's potty trained."

Pinky chuckled a little and stood back up.

"I'll leave you two to it. I have to get back to my guests. Olivia, don't keep Mr. Pinky long, all right?" Flaversham said.

"I won't!" replied Olivia. Then she looked back up at Pinky. "I have a problem," she sighed.

"Oh?" asked Pinky, kneeling down to the ground so as she didn't have to crane her neck. "What is it?"

"May I borrow your box?"

"My box?"

"You know. The one from your class! It'll work anywhere, right?"

"Hmmmm. Oh! You mean the one we sit in when we go to different worlds, yes?"

"Yes! That's it!"

Pinky chuckled and leaned in. Now it was his turn to do the whispering.

"Well, Olivia. Let me tell you a secret: Any box works! Poit!"

"Really?" she gasped, pulling back, her eyes wide.

"Mmhm! All you have to do is think reeeaaally hard about where you want to go, and then you'll be there!"

"And everyone else, too?!"

"Mmmm... it does help if they're thinking hard, too, but if you concentrate deep enough you can do it for them!"

"I can?!"

"Yes! Ha-ha!"

"No way! I'm going to go try it out! Thank you, Mr. Pinky!" she exclaimed excitedly, hugging him about the neck before running back to Mrs. Frisby's in the crisp fall air, her little black shoes crunching across the leaf-infested street. "See you later! And thank you!"

"Have fun! Narf!" Pinky waved back, beaming. Spirits uplifted a little, he headed back inside, not noticing the black cab that pulled up to the curb.

The first thing that hit his nose upon reentering the house was a strong whiff of bourbon. His snout wrinkled at the scent. It was so potent he was surprised he hadn't smelled it back on the porch. Along with the bourbon came a hint of wine. As he milled about, he noticed that nearly everyone had a glass in their hand, courtesy of Flaversham, who, along with a couple of helpers, was passing around spirits. Even Mrs. Frisby, who must have slipped in earlier, could be seen with a tiny little cup of sparkling wine in hand, and the chatter in the room, coupled with smooth jazz music, had noticeably increased. Clearly, the actual party was starting.

"Spirits, Sir?" a stout little vole in a black suit and tie asked him, holding up a round platter of drinks as high as his tiny arms could reach. Pinky, after all, was a very tall mouse.

"Oh. No, thank you!" Pinky politely refused, holding up a hand. "I don't drink. Ha-ha."

The diminutive vole shrugged and skittered off, presumably to his next victim.

Pinky looked about. Everywhere was packed - the living room, the foyer, the second and third levels. Even the stairs themselves were occupied. Feeling a little claustrophobic, he headed for the kitchen.

As before, it wasn't as overrun as the other rooms, but Mrs. Judson looked exhausted all the same, sitting at the main dining table on the farthest side, a glass of red wine in one hand, the other hand fanning herself. Pinky wandered over to her.

"Did the chocolate cake come out all right?" he asked. "So sorry I wasn't there for the last bit to help!" And he looked genuinely sorry about it.

"Oh. Don't worry about it," she said thickly, hiccuping. "This isn't my first fete, and it won't be the last, I can assure you of that."

She took a sip of wine, and Pinky sat down next to her.

"So how are those two rascals gettin' along?"

"Who?" asked Pinky, ears twitching at the ringing of the doorbell.

"Globetrotter and Snowball. Are they still at one another's throats out there?"

"I think so."

"Heh. Typical," she scoffed, taking another sip.

"How long have you known Brain, Mrs. Judson?"

"Brain..?"

"Isn't that his first name?"

Mrs. Judson laughed.

"Brian, dear. Brian's his name!"

"Brian who?" asked Pinky, looking around as if to catch sight of this mysterious 'Brian'.

"Really, Mr. Pinky. You're not going to get on his good side mispronouncing his name, if he even has a good side..."

"I'm sorry. Who?"

"Globetrotter, of course. I'm surprised you rub shoulders with him," said Judson, chair creaking loudly as she leaned heavily back into it. "He's not exactly the amiable type."

"What is his type?"

"Hmph," Judson grunted, swirling her wine about. "I'd pin him as the 'don't give a shite' type. Fellow doesn't care about anyone except himself."

There it was again.

"That's not true," Pinky piped up in defense. "He loves the world, and everything in it!"

"Loves the world? Where you'd get that notion?" Mrs. Judson asked, looking at him quizzically.

"H-He told me. And I've seen him work... after hours, doing, you know, little things - things to help people. I truly believe Brain wants to make the world a better place."

Mrs. Judson leaned forward.

"Globetrotter doesn't care about anyone save for 'imself, love. I know you want to see the good in everyone, but some people just don't have that, deary." She sighed. "Two years ago, there was a girl in his class named Dandy. Very nice girl; very sweet girl. Wouldn't hurt a fly. But she wasn't the brightest in mathematics and, well, Globetrotter was particularly hard on her. Too hard. One day, I pop into one of the abandoned classrooms. Found her in the corner with some pills in her hand. I managed to stop her before she'd downed the whole lot. Now, I know that's an extreme case, but from what she told me what pushed her to the edge was him - told her she was a good for nothing; that she'd never go anywhere; constantly yelled at her in class, even outside of class; assigned her extra homework, more than all the other students. I never said anything to anyone, save for screamin' in his face about it one night. Told him he bloody near killed the girl. Dunno if it did much good, really."

Pinky gaped, wide-eyed.

"I... I knew that he yelled sometimes, and that his students don't really like him, but... I didn't know he did that. Zort..."

"He's not one to mess with, love," Judson said, leaning back into her chair once more. "There hasn't been an incident that bad since, but I still keep my eye on him now and then. We all have some demons to fight. I don't know what's his, but you see a poor soul ready to end her life because of a teacher and you tell me if that man is fit to teach. He might've been framed for manslaughter if she'd done it. One day it's all going to come back and bite him in the arse; mark my words. I almost pity 'im."

As she took another sip of wine, Pinky blinked and stared out into nothingness, contemplating all that Mrs. Judson had told him. Was Globetrotter really that bad...? He could someone with such good intentions be so cruel? And if he wasn't trying to take over the world for pure reasons then what was he trying to do? The guess he could harbor was one he didn't care to think about. He didn't want to believe what Mrs. Judson had said, but in his heart he knew she was telling the truth.

He got up from his chair.

"Excuse me," Pinky muttered.

Mrs. Judson looked at him in concern.

"You all right, love? I'm sorry. Perhaps that was a bit much to tell you."

"No no! I... I'm all right. Really," replied Pinky, forcing a smile.

Mrs. Judson wasn't convinced.

"Don't let it get you down, dear," she said, opting not to push it. "Focus on the good lot, like those children you teach. They're the ones who deserve all of your love, not a person who won't appreciate it. You're a good man, Ronald. Best teacher we've ever had, in fact."

"Thank you, Mrs. Judson," nodded Pinky, his smile genuine this time.

And he left, heading for the living room.

As expected, the place was still packed. Pinky chose a spot in a far corner of the congested living room - one of two plush red velvet chairs with a small black table in-between them, set in front of duo mahogany bookshelves. He sank into it and sighed. After the talk with Mrs. Judson, he was feeling particularly winded. Thoughts were raging through his mind like a lightning storm, causing his head to pound and his ears to ring. In an effort to calm himself, he opted to focus on the interesting things scattered about the room.

It was after an entire minute of scanning the area, gazing at the pictures on the walls and observing nearby conversations, that he noticed a familiar figure sitting in the plush chair next to him.

Brian T. Globetrotter sat with his hand propped up against his cheek, brow furrowed and feet dangling. Only now did Pinky realize that Globetrotter's suit was a bit too tight for him, his round stomach begging to protrude past the black cotton. There were deep bags under his eyes, and he sighed as if the entire weight of the world was on his shoulders. He looked utterly miserable. Pinky sank deeper into his chair, hoping the mouse hadn't noticed him, but...

"Some party," Globetrotter muttered, not looking at him.

Pinky said nothing.

"Never thought I'd see the day when a pawn would checkmate a king."

Pinky blinked.

"But I suppose I should have expected nothing less from a shark. Backstabbing, libidinous son of a-"

POP! went a champagne bottle, but Pinky still winced at the language.

An awkward pause passed by, in which Globetrotter tossed a glance or two in his colleague's direction, whereas Pinky determinedly looked everywhere but at Brian.

"You're unusually reticent," Globetrotter remarked, a bit sharply. "Bad Bourbon?"

"What..?" Pinky asked distantly, eyes wide and looking as if he'd just been injected with a heavy dose of bewilderment.

Brain frowned at him, but never got a chance to reply.

Claps and cheers resounded throughout the room. Tables and chairs were being pushed to the sides, with more being added from other spots in the house, guests taking seats wherever they could find one. Some remained standing out of necessity, others out of desire. Most all had a glass of wine, bourbon, or champagne to sip. In a corner opposite where Pinky and Brian sat, Flaversham stood in front of a pedestal (mahogany, of course), which was positioned on a raised part of the floor that made up a little one-step, upper area. Two tall wooden bookcases stood behind him, framing his lanky figure.

"All right! All right! Calm down, everyone!" Flaversham called out, clearing his throat. "Ahem. First, I'd like to thank you all for attending tonight's autumn get-together, which was graciously put together, as we all know, by Mr. Ronald Pinkus!"

He motioned to Pinky, who was still sitting in the red velvet chair next to Globetrotter. He grinned shyly and blushed, waving his fingers at the crowd, who exploded in genuine claps, whistles, and cheers.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say that our little party has been a resounding success," Flaversham continued.

"Hmph. Almost everyone," Globetrotter mumbled quietly, as the guests once again replied with hoots and hollers. Pinky heard him, however, and his ears drooped.

"But now that we are all filled with good food, good wine, and fun games, it's time for the grand event, also put together by Mr. Pinky!"

Pinky forced a smile as more claps were tossed his way. It was fortunate he'd been able to alert not only Flaversham, but most all those present in the room about his awards ceremony idea just hours before the actual party, which, in itself, had been a daunting task. "Please, don't tell anyone I came up with it last minute!" he'd asked everyone pre-party, wanting for it to come off as inconspicuous as possible to Globetrotter. All the same, his eyes kept flicking back and forth to the science teacher, hoping he wouldn't notice anything suspicious, which, thankfully, he didn't seem to. If anything, he'd sat up in his seat, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Excuse me," said Globetrotter, standing up and making for where he knew was the facilities.

Although he would never admit it out loud, one odd thing about Globetrotter was that he took note of where the bathrooms were in every single location he ever visited in the event that, should he ever return to said place, he'd immediately know where to run to whenever his bowels acted up. Flaversham's was no different. This particular restroom run was one he intended to keep short; the awards ceremony was the only thing he'd come for and, by Ptolemy, he was not going to miss it.

He made a beeline for the back of the house, left of the foyer and beyond the kitchen. He was half-way down an elegantly-carpeted hallway when he ran into the last person in the world he'd expected to meet.

"Eggy?"

"Billie?"

They both stopped and stared at one another, surprised as anything. She was dressed to the nines from top to bottom, a long purple boa covering part of what must have been a royally expensive mink fur coat and satin pink dress. He wasn't sure what drew more attention to her - the annoyingly echoing click of her high heels, the exceedingly large cartwheel sunhat to match the dress and shoes, or the yellow purse made of thick leather which absolutely did not match any part of the outfit. It was obvious she'd just come out of the bathroom herself - her make-up was far too fresh.

Billie sized him up and down before finally settling on a frown, crossing her arms, and leaning against the wall.

"Well. Fancy meeting you here."

"I could say the same...," Globetrotter grunted, playing the same card with an equally down-turned expression. "Snowball put you up to this?"

"You tell me. A man isn't satisfied unless he's embarrassed a girl at least twice."

"You know that was never my intention."

"Wasn't it?"

Globetrotter sighed. He didn't have time for this. Already, his bowels were threatening to burst. He was doing everything in his power not to dance around on the spot.

"Excuse me," he groaned, slipping past her and darting for the bathroom.

"Yeah, you run away, Eggy. Just like you ran away every other time!" she yelled after him as he slammed the mahogany door shut.

Inside, Brian shot to the toilet, barely able to undo his belt fast enough before absolutely exploding. He buried his face in his hands. Why, oh, why, had he ever agreed to this? Idiot. The busted car should have been a sign that the night would only get worse. Fate had been at the door and he'd tempted it.

Five minutes, one pill, and a healthy blast of citrus spray around the bathroom later, Globetrotter exited, taking with him a weary composure and an overwhelming desire to collapse into his warm bed back home. He had half a mind to "borrow" Pinky's keys and drive home without a backward glance, but stubbornness won out. He was going to attend the ceremony if it was the last thing he did, Billie or no Billie.

He tip-toed back out into civilization, past the kitchen, across the foyer... and that's where he stayed, for he could see Billie at the far end of the room and didn't wish to wander any closer. Pinky was still in his chair, twiddling his thumbs absently as he tried to hang onto Flaversham's words, and Snowball was leaning against a right-hand wall a few paces away, sipping at a glass of wine and looking absolutely smug about it. It was dangerous territory all around.

"So!" Flaversham announced. "Let's get started, shall we? Now, I have a few prizes here... that were whipped up from the local shopping establishments," he added, to a resounding wave of chuckles.

Globetrotter raised an eyebrow. Shopping establishments?

"First! We have a gift card to Pottery Barn! One hundred dollars!" Flaversham went on, pulling a card out from a hidden shelf on the podium and flashing it off to the crowd, some of whom "oooo-ed" and "ahhh-ed" at the desired trinket.

Globetrotter scowled. Pottery Barn?! They were handing out peasant prizes!

"First prize goes to the teacher with...," Flaversham faltered, readjusting his large round glasses as he took a closer look at a rectangular piece of parchment in his fingers, "... 'Most A+ Students in 1992'!"

More chatter. Several of the women giggled and gabbled amongst themselves, quietly (or not-so-quietly) guessing at who might win the prize.

"And the card goes to..." He flipped open the parchment. "Mrs. Frisby!"

The room clapped and cheered. Mrs. Frisby, looking very surprised indeed, humbly got up from her chair, thanking her friends who patted her encouragingly as she stepped up to the podium to retrieve her gift.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Frisby," Flaversham said warmly, handing her the card.

"Why, thank you!" she addressed, both to him and the entire room. "I don't know what to say!"

"You earned it, Miss Friz!" someone called from the crowd, and others heartily agreed.

As Frisby went to sit down, still looking rather flabbergasted, Globetrotter scoffed, tossing a paw in frustration and opting to lean up against a nearby wall at the very back of the crowd. No medals. No trophies. Just party favors! What a joke.

And so the "party favors" were slowly dolled out over the course of a very long, very boring hour, at least in Globetrotter's eyes. The gifts took on all shapes, sizes, and costs, ranging from everything from a pack of playing cards to a set of expensive dinnerware. Basil, unsurprisingly, won a gift card to Barnes & Noble for "Most Books Assigned to Classes". It was common knowledge that his assignments involved consulting actual tomes - lots of them. If there was anyone who owned a bigger library than Globetrotter and even Flaversham, it was Basil. Jerry the Mouse, one of the theatre instructors, received a VHS set of musicals for snagging the "Most Creative" award, and Pinky, to no one's surprise, was the grand winner of the "Most Popular Teacher" title and a month's supply of Cheez-Its. Surprisingly, the only award Snowball had won, and would win for the remainder of the ceremony, was a fez hat for "Most Mysterious". He didn't seem perturbed, however. Quite the opposite, in fact. He accepted his gift graciously, wasting no time in plopping it atop his thick head, a smug smile completing the look. So far, Globetrotter had not won a single prize. Not like he wanted one at this point...

By 7:49, and with only two awards left to go, Globetrotter was silently plotting Pinky's downfall more deeply than ever. Why had he agreed to this public display of humiliation? Why did everything that could go wrong actually go wrong on this joke of a day? Why did he ride along in a pungent car with a wack-o "professor" who had terrible taste in music and an even more insatiable personality? Why, for that matter, had he even bothered to make him his lackey, of all things? What crazy mood had he been in to posses him to act upon that notion? Why would he willingly hang out with someone he didn't like; that he was trying to oust, rather? To destroy?

As all these confusing thoughts playing ping-pong loudly in Brian's head, Flaversham read out the second-to-last award:

"And the winner of 'Ultimate Night Owl" goes to... Oh! Professor Globetrotter!"

Globetrotter's ears perked up as the crowd cheered and clapped politely. He barely heard what the title even was, much less the award he'd earned for it.

"Wait... What?" he queried, looking this way and that in confusion.

"That's you, Globetrotter!" another math professor said.

"Go on up, man!" piped a much younger teacher whom Globetrotter did not know, pushing him up to the front encouragingly.

He stepped out into the middle of the room a bit self-consciously, hands tucked in to his chest as he tip-toed towards the podium, the gentle claps and occasional whistle nudging him ever forward. He stared up at Flaversham, feeling smaller than he usually felt.

"For you!" Flaversham said, handing him a book: A Shrine of Murders by Celia L. Grace.

Globetrotter took it. He blinked. Not only was this a very appropriate gift, it was actually one he'd been wanting. Whomever had gotten him this knew that it had been on his wish list. Who...? For that matter, who had paid for all of these prizes?

In the background, Pinky was watching Globetrotter most intently, albeit trying not to look it.

"What was my title?" Globetrotter asked, still flabbergasted.

"Oh. Uhhh... U-Ultimate Night Owl, Professor Globetrotter. You won for the teacher who clocks out the latest. Y-You must be very studious, Professor!"

Globetrotter looked down at his book once more, almost at a loss for words.

"I-I... Thank you...," he managed to squeak out.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had given him such a thoughtful gift. It scared him a little. Who was this individual who knew him so well? But then he realized: It hadn't been quite so long ago that he'd received a very personal present. The last person whom had given him a particularly intimate gift... was Pinky. He tossed a searching and inquisitive stare over his shoulder at the Trozologist, who simply gave him a very small and strained smile.

"Um. I-If you don't mind, Mr. Globetrotter, may we continue with the... festivities?" Flaversham bumbled about.

Globetrotter looked around, only just then realizing that he'd been standing in place for a good half a minute. Every eye was on him. Some were giggling, presumably at his shocked reaction and the flabbergasted look on his face. A light pink blush rose up into the science teacher's ivory cheeks. Embarrassed, he shuffled back to his spot at the tail end of the crowd and leaned against the wall, caressing the book with warm hands as he did so. His ego told him he deserved this; that he worked hard to warrant receiving gifts. But another part of him, a part he'd tried desperately to hide for years, told him he absolutely did not.

There was an odd rumbling in his stomach as Flaversham pulled out the last card for "Most Knowledgeable Teacher". Again? Surely, he didn't have to relieve himself this soon? Deciding to be safe than sorry, he made for the bathroom, when...

"And the winner goes to... Oh, my! Globetrotter again!"

More claps. More cheers. Most polite; some genuine. Basil looked rather disappointed.

Globetrotter stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly on the spot. What...?

"Yes, you! A-ha. Come here!" Flaversham called, responding to the mouse's locked and bewildered stare.

Once again, the professor slowly made his way to the front of the crowd, reaching out for the second time towards a prize.

"Congratulations!" said Flaversham.

He accepted the gift, without a "thank you" this time. He looked at it. It was a gift card to Denny's.

The claps continued. Even though they were more deferential than anything, it was at least agreed upon, albeit not in words, that this prize was one Globetrotter very much deserved. Despite his horrible reputation, not one could deny that he was the most intellectual being in the school.

He shuffled slowly back to his wall, wide-eyed, dumbstruck, and still processing the fact that he'd not only won twice, but that one of the prizes was to a place he'd never set foot in in his life... and probably never would.

"Well, that does it for the ceremony, everyone! Ah, Mrs. Judson is making roast pudding in the kitchen, if you'd all like to have some!" Flaversham called out, as the guests began to disperse, some taking it upon themselves to shuffle the chairs and tables back into position, others heading immediately to the kitchen.

Globetrotter leaned back against the wall and sighed, staring at his two prizes. He'd come to this party in the hopes of attaining prizes; expected it even. So why was he so surprised to get some?

Confused, wanting to better collect his thoughts in a more private setting, Globetrotter slithered through the thinning crowd (most of whom were now jostling towards the enticing smell of pudding), past the chairs where he had sat (and which was noticeably absent of one particular Trozology professor), and up a flight of steps to the second level.

Compared to the rest of the house, this area was significantly less congested. In fact, aside from himself, no one else was up here. Tucking the book underneath his arm, and slipping the card into a pocket, he stuck his hand in his pants pockets and meandered about the vacant area.

A long mahogany banister, its thin wooden pillars supporting the third floor above, framed a strip of hall, wrapping around to stretch the length of another strip. The pillars were moderately spaced, enough that someone could look over any part of the banister to the first floor below. Globetrotter could see the top of the podium, and the black box, now open, that had house everyone's ceremonial votes. A lingering scent of burnt metal and, strangely, sour apples wafted across his nose as he shuffled across the thick ornate carpet, one hand rubbing its thumb over the smooth surface of the gift card as he went. His eyes went to the pictures along the walls - photographs of family members, young and old, that catalogued the years gone by; replications of Monet's paintings; the occasional framed newspaper clipping highlighting some new discovery in the scientific community, or else drawing attention to an exciting invention by some nobody from Tennessee or Ohio. One particular article covered the death of Richard Feynman, a physicist, in 1988. Globetrotter remembered that. He was quite fond of his research on particle physics and his theory of quantum electrodynamics.

Turning a corner at the end of the first stretch of banister, Globetrotter stopped sharply in his tracks, for only now did he realize that he wasn't the only guest up here.

Billie stood at the far end of the hall, her long, covered arms resting upon the banister as she overlooked the mostly empty living room below. She didn't bother turning her head as Globetrotter stood there, staring at her.

"Finally noticed me, did ya'?" she scoffed lightly, looking forlornly over the edge.

Globetrotter shuffled his feet. He racked his brain for a witty reply, but none came to mind, and so he settled with a lame:

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Eggy," said Billie, sounding equal parts miffed and disappointed.

"Please don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want. Can't a girl have that?"

Globetrotter didn't know what to say. The scent of trouble was mixing with the apple and burnt metal, souring the atmosphere further, and he didn't like it. This entire evening was a ticking time bomb, slowly counting down the seconds to what was sure to be a royal disaster, and if he didn't leave soon it was going to blow up in his face.

"Excuse me. I need to... use the facilities," he threw at her, heading back towards the stairs. It was only a partial lie. If he didn't have to use the toilet when he got to it he could at least have a good cry where no one would see him.

"Eggy, wait...," she reached out, finally turning to look at him.

Globetrotter stopped, gaze firmly fixed on the carpet.

Billie sighed. When she spoke, it was with a significantly softer tone.

"Listen, Eggy, would you just tell me the truth? You don't have to pretend you weren't involved..."

"What are you talking about?" asked Globetrotter, shooting her a sharp and quizzical glare over his shoulder.

"Eggy, I'm not stupid. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you worked with Snowball in getting me here, just to embarrass me. You know how much it breaks my heart to see you again!"

"Why would I actively participate in something that makes me just as uncomfortable? That doesn't make any sense."

"I dunno. I just know you had a hand in it."

"I did nothing of the sort. I had no idea Snowball was going to be here, much less you."

Billie winced a little at the insensitive remark.

"Are you even a little happy to see me, Eggy?"

Globetrotter gave her a long, drawn-out look. Gosh, she was pretty. Even with one strand of the silky hair that curled over her face being out of place. Even with a bit of her eyeliner being slightly askew. (Eyeliner. He didn't even like eyeliner, but he liked it on her.) The saucer hat which practically hovered over her head like a UFO, and the ugliest yellow purse in the world, did nothing to diminish her beauty. But it wasn't meant to be and had never been meant to be. There was, as he would have put it, no sense in lamenting over prostrated dairy product.

And so he replied with a very finite, but lugubrious, "no", leaving his pity in his pockets as he left the second floor and descended back down to the first, Billie staring after him with a forlorn expression on her painted face.

/\/\/\/\/\

The crowd waited with bated breath. Jaq was chewing on his tail, and Gus, right beside him, had his paws tucked tightly up to his chest, bottom lip reddening as he bit down on it in trepidation. Amos's jaw was in great danger of falling to the floor in astonishment, and Basil, sitting in a far corner of the kitchen, was staring unblinkingly at the scene, equal parts frightened and disgusted.

Pinky and Pip were sitting across from one another at the main dining table, head-to-head in a furious competition, a sizable crowd of guests sitting and standing around them, captivated. Pip had challenged Pinky to a drink off - a spicy drink off, to be precise. In front of them were two tumblers, both filled to the brim with a most potent concoction indeed: a juicy mixture of jalapenos, habaneros, garlic, ginger, turmeric, a little bit of apple and carrot to offset some of the heat, and, to top it all off, chili peppers. "Bet you can't get through just one!" Pip had joked, and Pinky, not wanting to turn down any kind of party game, had accepted when no one else would.

The two rodents, chipmunk and mouse, grinned at one another, game faces set.

"You gentlemen are going to regret this," Dawson said, who was standing nearby with a stop watch ready and waiting in his hand. "On my mark. Get set... Go!"

Immediately, they started chugging. Pinky's eyes practically popped out of his head at the first gulp, but he kept going. Pip barely broke a sweat at first, but half-way through his nose was starting to wrinkle.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" went the crowd, mostly the men. Almost all the women looked either concerned, grossed out, or simply shook their heads in exacerbation. Mrs. Judson glared at them in-between cutting up vegetables for another dish.

Pinky's eyes were starting to water. Pip drank faster in an effort to get it over with as quickly as possible. They both finished their first glass at the exact same time, each slamming their tumblers on the table and gasping for fresh air. Pinky's tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and Pip was actually sweating.

"Time!" Dawson called out. "Thirty-six seconds flat!"

"T-Take that for a first shot!" Pip exclaimed, looking weary.

"Now now. That was a tie, and you still have one more glass to go!" Dawson reminded them.

"What...? Oh, yeah..," groaned Pip, giving his second tumbler the side eye.

Pinky silently drew his second glass up to himself in preparation, resigned to his fate. Might as well.

"On your mark...," went Dawson, as Pip scrambled to grab his glass. "Go!"

Off they went, Pip more resignedly this time, Pinky simply shooting down the drink as fast as was humanely possible. He shut his eyes to the heat, tears streaming down his fluffy white cheeks now as he threw his head back and downed the entire thing gulp-by-gulp. Pip struggled to keep up, and at the second Dawson yelled, "Time!", he was still finishing off the last few drops as Pinky slammed his glass to the table.

"Mr. Pinky is the winner!"

"Ha!" Pinky exclaimed, pointing at Pip victoriously as he fell back into his chair, breathing heavily and smiling wearily as the crowd came around to congratulate him, pat him on the shoulders, or else bring him a glass of water or milk. Mrs. Judson simply shook her head, muttering under her breath, repulsed.

"Hmph. Beginner's luck," Pip groaned, sinking into his chair as he lazily tossed a $10 bill in Pinky's direction. When someone set a cup of milk in front of him, he stubbornly waited a few seconds before picking it up resignedly and downing the entire glass.

Globetrotter came in right at the tail end of it all, hands still occupying his pockets as he lingered next to Mrs. Judson. He shook his head.

"Idiots," he mumbled.

"For once, I agree with you," Judson seconded, cutting up carrots. "What'd you win? I heard some of it, but didn't get a look at the prizes."

Globetrotter slipped the book out from under his arm and held it out for Mrs. Judson to see.

"What's this?" she asked, leaning over and adjusting her glasses for a better look. "Hm. Book you'd been wanting?"

"Yes," said Globetrotter, tucking the precious cargo back under his arm.

Mrs. Judson smiled and shook her head.

"Always so thoughtful, he is," said she.

"Who?"

"Mr. Pinky, of course. He said you'd like it."

"He got me this..?"

"Well, of course. He bought all the gifts. Didn't he tell you?"

"I... He did?"

"Yes. He took it all very seriously. Must have cost a fortune for him. He's not as well to-do as you are."

Globetrotter frowned, staring off into space in contemplation. Well, that explained the variety in the gifts. At some point he must have run low on funds and scraped for options, hence the fez hat and Denny's card. He was surprised the nincompoop had paid for it all himself. What a waste of finances, he thought. Then again, he did like the book.

"Oh, look what the cat dragged in...," was what slipped off of Mrs. Judson's tongue, barely turning around at the telling click of two high-heeled shoes.

Only Globetrotter had heard the comment as he turned about to see Billie walk into the room. He both resented and agreed with it. While he did find her beautiful, there was a reason why things hadn't worked out.

The overly-dressed mouse stepped lightly across the linoleum, pinching her nose as she did so.

"Oo! What is that smell?!" rang out her disgust in a high-pitched, obnoxious voice, turning a few heads in the process. "Smells like someone threw up a chili dog!"

At the sight of Billie, most returned to their conversations, blatantly ignoring her. She didn't seem to notice.

"Who's the braud?" Pip whispered to a teacher, a vole by the name of Motley.

"Hm? Oh," replied Motley, adjusting his glasses as he took a closer look at Billie. "That's Ms. Rossi, Globetrotter's ex."

"Wife?"

"Girlfriend."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. She's a looker, ain't she?" Pip grinned.

"Mmmm... yes. Not much of a lover, though, from what I've heard."

"No? Huh. Shame."

Billie sniffed, taking a moment to look around the room (as well as frowning at the mere presence of Mrs. Judson) before noticing that Globetrotter was, in fact, staring at her.

"Still not talkin' to me, huh?" she nipped, judging him with a look.

Rolling his eyes, Globetrotter walked right past Billie.

"I'm not having this discussion," he said, pointedly refusing to look at her. "If you're too bothered by my presence, you can leave."

Billie stared at him as he exited out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Behind her, Snowball popped his head out of the crowd, grinning sneakily.

"Eggy!" Billie called out, following Globetrotter, not noticing that she wasn't the only one who chased after him.

Back out in the living room, Globetrotter stopped in his tracks as Billie caught up with him. Only a few stragglers lingered about the area by this point, but it was still enough that Globetrotter gave her a warning look. Not here. Not now. The last place he wanted this second-hand embarrassment to fester in was in public, but he knew Billie all too well. Rain or shine, mall or mansion, she was going to speak her mind.

"Eggy, wait! Why don't we talk about this?" she insisted, actually reaching out to grab at Globetrotter's hand. He let it linger there for a moment, but only a moment.

"There's nothing to discuss," said he, pulling away. "Especially here," he said between gritted teeth.

Like a snake, Snowball slipped out into the living room and slithered up against a wall, discreetly grabbing a book from one of the nearby shelves and holding it up to his face in mock preoccupation. Now and again, he peeked over the edges of the novel to enjoy the show. If he'd had popcorn, he would have been munching it.

"It's because I'm not good enough for you, isn't it? You always were more in love with your work."

"That's not the case at all!" Globetrotter retorted, even though, to a degree, it was. "I've told you multiple times why it won't work out between us. Why can't you just... drop the subject?"

"Maybe I would if you'd give me a better reason besides just, 'Oh, I'm too busy!', or, 'Oh, you're too high-maintenance for me!', whatever that means."

By this time, the few stragglers had paused in their private conversations to stare at the scene, and heads were popping out from the kitchen door and hallway to gawk at the battling ex-couple, including Pinky, who actually slipped out into the living room. He seemed torn between interrupting and letting nature take its course. Snowball was silently giggling to himself, which, unfortunately, caught Billie's attention.

"You!" she yelped. "What are you doing here eavesdropping?"

"Me? I'm just trying to read my book!" he replied.

"You set me up for this. You knew he was going to be here, didn't you?!"

"I had no idea! I didn't know one way or the other if Brain was going to show up," reacted Snowball, dressing himself in the ultimate feign of innocence, one hand to his chest and eyes wide in "shock".

Pinky began to lift a paw in protest at this, but quickly replaced it. Technically, Snowball was correct. The principal had had no idea if Pinky would have been able to get Globetrotter to come or not; he'd requested him there as part of the deal, and now, as Pinky watched Globetrotter quietly smirk behind his book, he knew why. It wasn't because he wanted to reconnect with an old friend, or see to it that Globetrotter had a little bit of fun outside of school. He'd wanted him humiliated, all four feet of him, hooked, lined, and sunk in front of a gaping audience, and, thanks to Pinky, he'd gotten it.

Billie had rounded on Globetrotter again.

"It's not enough to break a girl's heart, is it, Eggy? Ya' always gotta go the extra mile, don't you?" she yelled, clearly not believing either of them.

"I never meant to hurt you!" Globetrotter defended himself truthfully. "I just... didn't know how to move forward!"

"Oh, is that all it was? Well, here's your chance! Are you going to take me back or what?"

"I... I-I..."

He looked around nervously. The entire room, now more densely populated, was staring at him. Every eye, from the hallway... to the kitchen door... to the main area, was grounded on Globetrotter. He looked positively mortified. Pinky was frowning sadly at him.

"I-I... I... can't...," he faltered, ears drooping lower than his voice, head hanging. "I don't know how..."

The entire gaggle of on-lookers held their breath. Snowball was on the edge of his seat, as if watching the climax of an action film.

"I see...," Billie said quietly, and Globetrotter lifted his head hopefully. "You're a coward!"

Down went the ears again.

"I should have known you wouldn't have the guts to act on your promises," she snapped, turning her back to him... before swiveling around to face him again just as quickly. "Maybe things would have been different if I'd been more like that Dana girl, huh?!"

"What..? N-No, I...!" Globetrotter stumbled, both in word and in footing as he slowly backed away from Billie's advances.

"Couldn't decide on which girl, could you, Eggy?"

"No, I..! I didn't even like her! She was just..."

"Just what, Egghead?"

"I..."

"Just what?!"

But Pinky had had enough. Frowning, he stepped in-between the two mice, glaring daggers at Billie.

"Please don't shout at my friend," he said, calmly, but firmly.

The crowd waited on tenterhooks. Snowball wasn't even trying anymore to hide the fact that he was enjoying this. His face lit up with glee as he grinned deviously.

"Oh yeah?" Billie countered. "You consider this loser a friend?"

"Yes, I do, and he doesn't deserve to be shouted at! Narf! Maybe he has done some bad things, and maybe he doesn't always know how to talk to a girl, but he's done some good things, too!"

"Oh, yeah? Like what? Name one thing!"

"Well, he...," Pinky paused, looking back at Globetrotter, who stared sadly up at him. What good would someone that innocent see in him? he wondered. Surely nothing.... But Pinky continued. "He's smart, and he's hard-working, and honest, and he hangs out with me even when he doesn't have to. And if he's not comfortable being in a relationship then you shouldn't force him to! Maybe he's just not ready yet? Poit. You should be more understanding."

Billie huffed and folded her arms.

"Hmph. So you'll just invite any ol' person to your parties then, huh? Even people like him?"

"No. I only invite my friends. I didn't invite you, and if you're not going to be nice, then... I'll have to ask you to leave, w-with Flaversham's permission, of course," said Pinky, looking to Flaversham, who gave a pitying nod.

Billie looked around at the crowd. No one came to her defense. Clearly, she was outnumbered. Directing her attention to Pinky once more, she huffed a second time, frowning.

"Fine! If that's the way you all want it, you can have it!"

And she marched out the mahogany door, yellow purse and all, slamming it loudly behind her. Flaversham winced.

Some of the crowd actually clapped.

"Way to go, Mr. Pinkus!" one teacher said.

"Nobody liked that floozy!" spouted another.

Pinky smiled sadly and looked over his shoulder at Globetrotter, who was still staring up at him, at a complete loss for words. He'd actually stood up for him. Why...?

"Do you want to go home?" Pinky asked, soft enough that only Globetrotter could hear him. Slowly, he nodded. Pinky nodded back, acknowledging his request.

"Um... It's been lovely spending time with you all!" Pinky called out to the crowd, loud enough for everyone to hear him, "But Brai-, uh, G-Globetrotter and I have to get going now! We'll see you all later. Please enjoy the party!"

They all thanked him for a lovely time, many coming up to personally shake his hand, pat him on the back, and, in the case of a few of the ladies, give him a soft kiss on the cheek. After they'd all said their good-byes, Pinky stepped up to Flaversham.

"I'm so sorry I can't stay to help clean up. Um... I'd be happy to pay you for it. Oh, and would you please say good-bye to Olivia for me?" he asked, looking forlorn.

"Not to worry, dear boy," Flaversham said, clasping a hand to his shoulder. "I'll take care of everything. You two go home and get some rest, all right?"

Pinky nodded, thanked him, and headed for the door, waving at Globetrotter to follow him.

Globetrotter stepped after Pinky, albeit somewhat drunkenly. As Pinky opened the door for him, he looked back over his shoulder... and caught Snowball staring at him. He said nothing, only gave him the thumbs up, and Pinky, frowning, knew immediately what it meant. He'd succeeded. Olivia would get her baseball stadium. She'd get it, but at what cost?

Out of the three-story mansion they went, past the mahogany door, which Pinky closed shut, over the welcome mat, and back into the pizza-scented Dodge.

The first thing Globetrotter noticed, besides the time (8:32 PM), was Beethoven. Rather humorous, he thought, as he buckled his seat belt, that they'd come back to the same composer - the 5th Symphony this time. They'd started with Beethoven, but they were not, it seemed, to end with Beethoven, for at that moment Pinky angrily changed the subject. Slamming his forefinger onto the "CD" button, the music quickly shifted from classical back to The Beatles, although this time he skipped ahead a few tracks, finally landing on one particular piece. Globetrotter listened quietly as he heard first one chord, then another, be plucked gently by the strings. And then singing...

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise

For once, Pinky was completely silent as they drove off and away from the house, moonlight flooding the Caravan. Globetrotter couldn't help but toss a shifty glance now and again in his colleague's direction. He'd never seen the mouse look so upset before. It was rather uncomfortable...

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes and learn to see All your life You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Surprisingly, he found that he liked this song. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of a dark black night

Brian sighed. He supposed he owed him this.

"Thank you, for... what you did," he said. "I appreciate it."

He looked over at Pinky again... and his eyes went wide. The Trozologist looked on the verge of tears. Globetrotter gulped. Was it something he said?

Pinky sniffed.

"Do you...," he began, and sniffed again. "Do you think I hurt her?"

Brian stared. He was worried about Billie?

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

"The girl. Do you think I hurt her feelings?"

"You're talking about Billie?" Globetrotter voiced out loud.

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of a dark black night

Pinky nodded. He really was trying very hard not to cry.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly

"I think she'll be fine," Globetrotter conceded, looking back out at the empty road as they turned a corner.

All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Pinky sniffed again. With eyes only, Globetrotter looked around for a tissue, but found none.

"I never mean to hurt anyone!" burst out the lanky professor, full on crying now. "I just wanted to h-have a nice party!"

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Globetrotter actually shuffled about for a tissue this time. He'd rather not be rained on if it was to be helped. Opening up the glove box, he found a pack of Kleenex and handed it to Pinky, who gratefully made quick use of it.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

"I know that... that she wasn't being nice, b-b-but I... I didn't mean to get so upset!" Pinky wailed.

Globetrotter rolled his eyes and shifted about in his seat uncomfortably. What was with this creature? He couldn't believe anyone would be so relentlessly compassionate. Even Flaversham, who, in his eyes, was an absolute twit, had his rough edges. This guy had barely raised his voice and was crying "mea culpa". He simply couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Maybe sometimes people need to be told off," Globetrotter offered. "You said it yourself. She was being unreasonable."

"Yes, but I didn't mean to yell at her!"

"You weren't yelling," Globetrotter assured the distressed teacher. "You barely raised your voice. Besides, she didn't deserve sympathy. Some people won't accept an apology, and if they can't take that then they don't deserve forgiveness, regardless of the circumstances."

"What did you say?" Pinky asked, still sniffing as he stared over at Brian.

"I said some people don't deserve forgiveness. You're better off leaving them to rot in the hole they've dug for themselves."

"How can you say that?" Pinky asked, shutting off the music as the next song belted out its tunes. "Do you think you don't deserve forgiveness then, after all you've done?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Globetrotter, frowning.

"I didn't have to defend you, you know. By your logic, you don't deserve to be forgiven either. A-And maybe you don't! After all you've done to your students... Poit."

"My students?"

"Yes, Brain," said Pinky, setting the Kleenex pack to the side as he drove onto the highway. He sighed. "I-I've watched you, Brain. You... You scare them. Mrs. Judson told me about that student you traumatized years ago, and, well, no one... really likes you."

Globetrotter stared at him. Gulping, Pinky continued.

"Do you remember the first day I came here? I didn't teach that day, you know. There was a vole that came to me. He was crying. Said he was in your class, and that you'd said really mean things about him and his work. I sat with him for three hours, Brain. I think he just needed someone to talk to. He was really sweet, you know. He showed me his collection of pictures. He takes really nice landscape photos."

Globetrotter didn't know what to say to this. What Pinky was saying was raw; unfiltered. Most weren't bold enough to confront him about these matters, save for Mrs. Judson, and even she watched her step sometimes. But Pinky shot straight to the heart.

And there it was again. That feeling of... guilt? Shame? Except this time it wasn't as fleeting. It stuck to him stubbornly like glue, weighing him down in his seat, a painful reminder of his flaws. Perhaps this cooky professor had a point...

"You know... You're not at all what I expected," Globetrotter admitted freely.

"Hm?" Pinky whimpered, looking at the shorter mouse questioningly.

"When you first came to the school I thought you were a boob." He paused. "I still think you're a boob, but I didn't realize you had such... conviction."

Pinky blinked.

"I mean... I didn't think you'd question my moral ethics so... openly," continued Globetrotter.

There was another pause as Pinky looked back out at the road, pondering.

"People think I'm silly," Pinky said, in a soft and contemplative voice. "They expect me to be happy and bubbly all the time, and I try to be. But... it does get exhausting... sometimes."

Globetrotter stared at him.

"I do try to be kind to everyone," Pinky continued. "I want everyone to be happy, and have a good time. I do love everyone. I really do. Sometimes I wonder, though. I... I hope it makes a difference. I know the kids like me, but... I want the adults to like me, too. I want to make them happy. But maybe they came to the party just because... they felt bad for me... Poit."

He finished his spiel with a slight hang of the head. Globetrotter looked down at his feet, sighing resignedly.

"They did want to come," he said.

Pinky turned his head at this, his expression all innocence... and curious.

"I overheard some of them. They were all quite looking forward to it. And... you're undoubtedly the most popular teacher," Globetrotter groaned. "Everybody just loves you. And you don't need a personal attraction device for it either."

Pinky couldn't help but smile a little. So they did like him after all...

"You know, you're the first person to ever hang out with me," Pinky let out into the open. Globetrotter went wide-eyed at this, and Pinky smiled. "The first adult, I mean. I had plenty of friends growing up, but they moved and... I moved and, well, we all parted ways. When I got older, I tried making new friends, but people thought I was too... eclectic. Maybe I come off as a bit too silly, and so people think I'm that way all the time when I'm really... not. Maybe my car is just too messy, or my pants too stripe-y. Hm. I think I'm just too much for people."

He chuckled at the end of this, but it was a sad chuckle; a lonely chuckle.

Brian blinked, eyes set on Pinky as he processed all of this. He was more surprised that the mouse knew what the word 'eclectic' meant more than anything, but that lingering feeling of guilt and, dare he say it, pity... still hovered over him. This odd individual was, indeed, more complicated than was apparent by the naked eye. Perhaps he'd been too hard on him.

"I never had any friends either," voiced Globetrotter. "As an adult, nor really as a child. People thought I was too... eclectic."

Once more, Pinky stared at him, doing his best to keep his eyes on the road at the same time.

"Maybe you're not really a boob. Maybe you're more just... misunderstood. Like me...," said Globetrotter.

They stared at one another.

"Maybe... we can be eclectic together?" Pinky asked.

There was a pause for a moment. Then...

"Maybe," said Globetrotter.

And he smiled, actually smiled, at Pinky. Pinky smiled back.

It was another five minutes before they arrived at Brian's house. As before, Pinky offered to open the passenger-side door. This time, Globetrotter didn't refuse. He stepped out of the vehicle, happy to be rid of the old pizza smell. Pinky shut the door.

"Well, um, thank you... for coming," Pinky said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I'm... sorry it wasn't very happy for you."

"Don't worry about it," replied Globetrotter.

Several seconds passed, in which both of them found the ground incredibly interesting for some reason.

"Um... Well, h-have a good night," wished Pinky.

"Yes. Um... Thank you. You too...," ended Globetrotter lamely.

Pinky turned to go, but then...

"Oof!" exclaimed Globetrotter, for he suddenly found himself in a bone-crushing hug. "H-Hey!"

"Sorry. Eheh...," Pinky apologized, setting him down immediately. "Um... G-Good night!"

And he rushed back to his car, starting it quickly and driving off before Globetrotter could have time to reply properly. Globetrotter simply stood there, at a loss for words. This was the second time he'd been hugged by that character... and in public. Not that anyone had seen them (he hoped...), but it was still mortifying.

Still, as he made his way up the pathway and back to the house, keys jingling as he fitted one into the keyhole, he looked back at where Pinky had sped off... and pondered.

/\/\/\/\/\

A sigh slipped from Pinky's lips as he drove off into the night.

Stupid. That had been stupid. Why was he always so clingy? Brain didn't like hugs. He wouldn't want that...

He signaled and turned onto the freeway.

Thoughts raced through his head.

"Globetrotter doesn't care about anyone save for 'imself, love. I know you want to see the good in everyone, but some people just don't have that..."

"... that's one angry mouse you don't want to deal with."

Honk.

"He terrorizes all of his students and no one ever does anything about it!"

"He's terrible..."

Hooooooooonk.

"... should have known he wouldn't have the guts to act on his promises..."

"... you see a poor soul ready to end her life because of a teacher and you tell me if that man is fit to teach."

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!

Pinky JUMPED and turned the wheel just in time as a giant semi almost ran into him. He'd been so distracted he hadn't even noticed himself swerving into the next lane.

He breathed heavily, shaking from ears to tail as he coasted off of the next exit, pulled into a nearby neighborhood, and parked along the curb. He was still shaking as he turned off the engine, a hand clutched to his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. He'd almost died. What an idiot. He'd almost died...!

The thoughts continued to swim through his head, pounding at his brain, one ponderous quotation after another, until he was overcome with emotion; overcome with confusion; overcome with grief. And as the party at Flaversham's sailed on, as Globetrotter fell into an uneasy sleep, and as Olivia helped Mrs. Frisby put away the last of the dinner plates, one frightened, isolated Trozologist shook in his car, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

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

Author's Notes:

When I first started on this chapter, the goal was to get to the car ride, which was my favorite part to write. However, as I kept going, various scenarios popped into my head that I thought would better add to the drama throughout, and so I kept adding on... and adding on... and adding on, until eventually the chapter capped at 27,440 words, which is the most I've ever written for anything aside from, perhaps, a film script I recently finished. It was recommended that I split the chapter into two, but I liked how one scene flowed into the next so much that I ended up just keeping it all together in one ginormous pile, which, admittedly, is far too long. Consider it a peace offering for the four-month hiatus. Ha.

In reality, I quite enjoyed writing this all out, especially the tender and tense relationships between characters, and I hope you enjoy it, as well. Below is a list of little factoids to go with the chapter:

/\/\/\/\/\

- Nat Sherman is a brand of cigarettes that operated from 1930 until 2020. The company produced premium cigars and what was known as "luxury cigarettes". I see Globetrotter as the type who would not skimp on anything when he could afford it, and that included smokes.

- Marvell Mouse is the creation of Black Geeky Girl ( GeekyBlackGirl on Twitter) and is not my character.

- The reason why Olivia is at the school so late at times is because of Flaversham. Her father occasionally stays past normal hours (though not as late as Globetrotter), and even Mrs. Judson, who will care for Olivia and take her home early when able, has to log in extra time now and again. Olivia doesn't mind too much, however, as Mr. Pinky provides endless entertainment. She also quite enjoys delivering messages to others around the school still.

- Amos the mouse is from the Disney short Ben and Me (it's super cute; check it out), Mappy is from the arcade game of the same name, and Pip is from the Disney film Enchanted.

- Since I'm probably not going to expand upon it much in any other chapter, I'll lay it down here just in case: Yes, the insinuation that there was something between Snowball and Globetrotter is definitely there. Basically, they were very close as friends (very close...), but had a falling out for two reasons. One is because of Billie. Globetrotter had always liked her, and they dated for a while, but he didn't know how to commit (and, in truth, wasn't a great partner, and neither was she). When they split, Snowball took advantage of this immediately. He and Billie got involved, but it didn't last long (she actually left him). Occasionally, he still tries to buy back her love with gifts. She'll accept the gifts, but not his affections. What tickles Snowball more than anything, though, is watching Billie and Globetrotter have at it in ragging cat fights, which almost always happens whenever they bump into one another. The other reason is because of career. Both rodents went into schooling and both wanted the position of principal, but Snowball got it because he was more charming and headstrong. Globetrotter always resented him for this, claiming he not only stole his job, but also his girl (even though Globetrotter kinda lost her in the first place). He sees Snowball as a threat, and he also sees Pinky as a "threat" because his popularity reminds him of Snowball's popularity in the past. The main difference is that Snowball is a bully, whereas Pinky is the exact opposite.

- Originally, I was going to make Pinky the host of the party and have it be at his house, but I ended up changing it so that Flaversham hosts it in his house and Pinky lives in an apartment instead. He was still in charge of organizing the event, however, including picking out the subjects for the ceremony.

- Globetrotter taking note of where every bathroom is in every place he visits is based on personal experience. Due to medical issues (albeit not the same one as Globetrotter's), I do the same thing.

- A Shrine of Murders is an actual book published in 1993 by author Celia L. Grace.

- Richard Feynman was a real physicist who did, indeed, do research on particle physics and established the theory of quantum electrodynamics. He died in 1988.

- I actually timed myself to see how long it would take to down a drink (in my case, water) about the size of the tall tumblers that Pinky and Pip would have drunk out of, which ended up being about 36 seconds.

- Rossi is one of the most, if not the most, popular Italian last names. I kinda like the idea of Billie having ties to a mob in New York.

- Dana was Globetrotter's therapist, back when he had one. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't like her in a romantic way.

- Pinky's spiel in the car is basically an embodiment of myself, save for not having any friends into adulthood.