#I got a navy one for the lad but the way I ordered another in offwhite IMMEDIATELY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ickle-ronniekins · 4 years ago

Text

black & white

request: from nonnie: ASDFGhjkl. Why are your fics so CUTE? 😭 Can I request a cute and cheesy George proposing to the fem!reader—and they’re wedding? 💜

desc: a love story unfolded via a timeline of events and colors. based on the song ‘black and white’ by niall horan

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 5.5k

warning(s): lil bit of angst, alcohol, some sexual content if you squint but it stops before things ~heat up~

A/N: this is just pure fluff. may or may not have cried at the cheesiness. idk. i’m a cheesy gal. can’t help it. i’m in love with a fictional character. sorry i went a tad overboard with this. also let’s pretend ~voldy~ doesn’t exist in this k? reminder that my requests are currently closed, i am merely working through the requests already in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be posted on any other platform.

Red

Red, hot fury swept through your bones as you watched him laugh hysterically alongside his brother. You balled your fists together, ready to throw a punch, but you knew your mum would lock you in your room until you were forty years of age if you even thought of throwing hands.

George Weasley was a pretentious little git. It was bad enough that he was your neighbour and you had to see him and his equally annoying twin in the village nearly every day, but what made it even worse was that for whatever reason, he’d chosen you to be on the receiving end of all of his pranks. His mother, Molly, was not for it -- she often gave her sons a solid tongue lashing, but it clearly never made an impact, for each and every day they were back to their normal mischief, seeking out ways to make you shake with anger.

“Weasley!” you squeaked as he and his brother ran back across the field toward their home. You loathed the idea of being in the same school as him in just two years time. At least here, at home, you could escape to your own house and your own room, far away from the boy who teasingly threw a red paint balloon all over you and your new dress. But at school, well -- the castle was only so big, wasn’t it? You weren’t sure how far away from him you’d be able to get.

You watched as he and Fred ran away, their giggles echoing through the air on top of the hill. You looked down at your ruined dress and screamed. You reckoned you’d never be able to love the colour red ever again -- not when it had ruined your beautiful purple dress, and especially when it was the colour of his annoying, messy hair.

Yellow

“I’m really sorry.”

He was standing across from you in the field. You thought about telling him that you needed to take four showers in order to get all of the red paint from your hair, and that your dress was permanently stained, but instead you folded your arms across your chest and huffed a bit. Not even magic could salvage it.

“I promise, I mean it,” he squeaked, as if he could read your mind. He seemed sincere, but he was always getting into all types of trouble, wasn’t he? Perhaps he was as good a liar as he was a pranker.

You kicked at the dirt, unsure of what to say. “You ruined my dress.”

“I know, I’m really sorry,” he said again, “it was all Freddie’s doing! I know he normally takes charge of pranks, but blimey, I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

You arched your eyebrows up in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah,” George told you. The wind ruffled the leaves on the tree next to you both, and you watched him tentatively as a big smile split his face. He wandered over to the tree trunk and picked at the flowers that were growing at the base. Then he turned around, marched right over to you, and handed them to you.

Yellow dandelions. You peered down at them, and then looked up at him in surprise. This wouldn’t fix your dress, but he was trying, at least. You noticed the dimples that appeared on his cheeks when he smiled. “Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help it; you blushed and looked toward the ground. You picked a bit at the flowers and met George’s gaze once again. “You still owe me, Weasley.”

You both heard Molly calling him for dinner. “Okay, mum!” he called back, his voice echoing against the wind. He turned back toward you. “Promise. I owe you. I also promise to kick Fred’s arse since it was his idea anyway.”

A squeak of a giggle emitted from your lips and you watched as George Weasley skipped all the way home.

Blue

All of Ravenclaw house erupted into cheers as the colours of the Great Hall changed to celebrate the momentous occasion of your house winning the Quidditch Cup. It had been a neck to neck match against Gryffindor, but had you not caught the snitch before Harry, they would have had it in the bag for the third year in a row.

“At the risk of sounding like I’m pro Ravenclaw, I’ve got to say, you guys put up a great match,” you whirled around in the crowd and saw George standing in front of you. He had his hands in his pockets and he shrugged, clearly upset at a Gryffindor loss, but at least they hadn’t lost to Slytherin, right? “You really are a wicked Seeker.”

“Thanks, Weasley,” you said triumphantly, both pleased with yourself for winning but also feeling a little bit guilty for beating Gryffindor.

“When did you get so good anyway?”

“Hmm,” you placed your hand to your chin and pretended to be deep in thought, “do you mean, how did I get to be so incredible? I don’t have an answer for you, truthfully, reckon I was just born with it.”

Students filtered around you both, and you watched him laugh as blue confetti fell around the both of you and the rest of the Great Hall. Personally you thought it was a little much, but the captain had insisted. You met George’s gaze again though, and rolled your eyes.

“Oi, mate,” you heard Fred call. He reached his twin and threw an arm around his shoulders, “what’re you doing over here, conversing with the enemy?” You rolled your eyes yet again, something you found yourself doing quite often with the two of them, and Fred just grinned obnoxiously at you. “Only joking, Y/N. I suppose if anyone had to beat us, we’re glad it’s Ravenclaw. But if you repeat that, we’ll deny it, I swear to Merlin.”

“My lips are sealed, Freddie.”

You bid them both adieu before turning back to your house, celebrating and clinking your goblets of pumpkin juice together, and through the yelps and the cheers, you missed George say to Fred that he actually quite liked the way the Great Hall looked, all decorated in blue.

Orange

“How about you get to work on the ground Unicorn horn, and I’ll try and get this water crystalized?” you offered.

Today’s lesson was to brew the Oculus Potion, in the event any of you ever needed to restore someone’s sight. In an attempt to separate them, Snape had paired George with you and Fred with another Ravenclaw who didn’t look happy at all at the prospect of having him as her partner. You peered over the cauldron at George and said, “No worries. We’ve only got thirteen steps. I reckon if we keep at this without any distractions, we’ll be finished before the rest of class.”

“Better get cracking, then,” George replied.

The two of you worked in comfortable silence; you tensed a few times when Snape meandered by your table, peering down into your cauldron and scoffing, for you were certain that an attempt at any type of potion would never live up to his unrealistic expectations of two sixteen-year-olds.

A little while later, you realized that the heat emitting from all of the cauldrons was making the entire classroom incredibly warm. “Blimey, could he open a bloody window, or something?” you asked, ignoring the fact that there were absolutely no windows in the dungeons. George laughed and continued to add the crystalized water into your cauldron as you pulled your sweater over your head, leaving you in your white button down and blue and grey tie. You pulled your hair back off of your neck and said, “Alright, be sure to only add the water until it turns indigo, George.”

The poor lad hadn’t been paying attention, because your potion was far past indigo at this point. In fact, it looked as though it had turned a deep, navy blue, bordering on black, as George peered at you with soft eyes and continued to pour in the crystalized water, not realizing that he was messing up your carefully brewed potion. A snapping noise pulled him from his thoughts, and a slight explosion erupted from your cauldron and caused black smoke to cover George’s face and hair.

Most of the class began to laugh, but Snape angrily shushed them and sauntered over to the two of you, clearly giddy beyond belief that he was able to deduct points from both of your houses for causing such a ruckus in his precious dungeons. George wiped a bit of the soot from his forehead as you poured in the antidote and giggled.

“Merlin, I’m sorry -- didn’t mean to get points taken from your house.”

“Eh, it was bound to happen sooner or later.. don’t worry about it. Look! Good as new,” you clapped your hands together as the potion turned to the desired shade of orange before the final two steps. You met George’s look through the orange haze over your cauldron and asked him, “What had you so distracted anyway, Weasley?”

“Oh, erm -- nothing,” he replied a bit quickly. It didn’t go unnoticed how he’d stumbled over his words and immediately went back to looking rather intently at the directions. You bit back a smile and looked back down at yours too, unable to rid yourself of the nerves bubbling up inside of you as George looked up once again, stealing glances at you through the orange mist as nerves overtook him, too.

Green

“You had no right to do that! What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

George was standing across from you on the empty dance floor; the Yule Ball had ended abruptly and each and every student had filtered from the Great Hall and back to their respective dormitories, per the teachers. The two of you had managed to stay somehow, now more than ten feet away; you looked at one another with envy as a dramatic scene unfurled between you both.

The entire night had been nothing but a dream, up until that one dance. You’d waltzed in, your light green dress swaying beautifully near your ankles, your hand wrapped around your date’s arm. You waved to your friends, who stood with their respective dates as well, and promised yourself you’d catch up with them at the end of the night when you’d undoubtedly have stories to tell them of the most magical evening of your life.

Except that wasn’t how it worked out, had it?

“He was all over you!” George called, and you noticed how prominent the veins in his hands were when he threw them up in the air. “You said no, didn’t you? He asked you to come back to his dorm and you’d said no. Did you expect me to stand there and do nothing when he grabbed your wrists and tried to pull you there?”

George was right. You had said no, and truthfully, the way your date had grabbed you and attempted to drag you back to his room had really frightened you. You reckoned it was the firewhisky he’d drunk earlier that evening -- he wasn’t violent or anything, but he seemed desperate to get you there. All George had done was step in and stand up for you, so why on earth should you be angry at him?

You didn’t want to give George the satisfaction of letting him know that he was right. You were mad at him for other reasons, anyway. It should’ve been you that he asked to the ball, not that other disturbingly annoying Beauxbatons girl. It’s like he’d picked her particularly because he knew her annoying, bubbly personality and thick French accent would get right under your skin.

You softened a bit as you took a deep breath. “I appreciate what you did, George, but it wasn’t your place. I can take care of myself. He nearly knocked you right out!”

George winced at your words and brought a hand to his black and blue eye. He hadn’t even had the time to grab some ice and place it to the injury, and it was now rather swollen. “I don’t care if he knocked me to the bloody ground, I wasn’t going to let him do that to you!”

You couldn’t help it; anger took you over and you were saying things you shouldn’t have before you could second guess yourself. “Well you know what, George? Perhaps he wouldn’t have had the chance to try anything with me if you’d just bloody asked me to the ball first instead of that stuffy Beauxbatons girl!”

You knew your words hurt him, but you didn’t care. He looked as though he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him; he stepped backward and faltered a bit. His breathing became heavy and irregular. “You already had your date when I asked her, Y/N -- don’t you dare try and pin this on me.”

He was right, yet again. You couldn’t help it. Big, fat tears were falling down your face now and you reckoned you wouldn’t be able to salvage the rest of the hideousness that was this evening. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and noticed the smears of black mascara and eyeliner on your skin. He inched forward now and opened his arms, but you backed away, still not ready to show him any affection.

You were being a git, but the truth was, you’d waited until the very last possible second for George to ask you to the ball. So when he didn’t, you begrudgingly agreed to the Hufflepuff who’d stepped forward and asked you himself. And as you walked swiftly passed George and up the steps to your common room, you realized that though you’d said yes, your heart had been with the Weasley boy you so adored the entire evening.

In truth, what he’d done was brave and full of love and passion. But you were still filled with hurt.

The green monster of jealousy that you’d felt when you’d watched him dance with his date was such a vice, but you just couldn’t help how you felt.

You left George alone in the desolate Great Hall as he let his head fall into his hands, pushing down his fury and tears.

Grey

You hadn’t gone back to him, that boy from the Yule Ball. You thought about it, but you figured you’d spare George more anger.

He’d approached you, your date, the day afterwards, apologizing profusely for his behaviour and how embarrassed he was at the whole ordeal. He’d asked you for lunch, only if you were okay, and you politely declined. “Friends,” you’d said, and he smiled pitifully, but gratefully, and took your hand in his to shake it.

It was so stupid, wasn’t it? Fighting with George over this. So he hadn’t asked you to the Yule Ball, so what? It wasn’t the end all, be all, was it? And he’d stood up for you, hadn’t he? When things had gotten a little out of control. He hadn’t been your date, but he had been your saviour.

It had only been a week since the dance and you two hadn’t said a word to one another. Fred had begged you too. “Come on, Y/N, you know he’s real sorry. Can’t you just forgive him? Blimey, it’s a right difficult thing to do, splitting my time between you both.”

You merely pressed your lips together and huffed. “He can come apologize to me himself, Fred. He doesn’t need you to do it for him.”

But later that afternoon, you figured, why wait? This whole thing was so dramatic and stupid. And so after rereading the same page eight times due to your lack of concentration, you jumped up from your chair in the Ravenclaw common room and made way toward the Great Hall, as fast as your legs could carry you. You were just going to tell him exactly that -- that this entire thing was dumb, and that you were thankful for him, and that bloody hell, you missed him. Perhaps it was a bit dramatic -- it had only been six days, right? You couldn’t help it. You missed him. You missed him a lot.

The thought of finally speaking to him after a very dramatic week apart made your heart flutter, and a very wide smile split your face just as you were about to round the last bend before the Great Hall.

And then you saw it. Them. Tucked away in a corner near a deserted classroom -- tangled together, George’s hands on her waist, hers in his long red hair. Her lips nearly on his. Smiling, giggling. Kissing him.

That bloody annoying Beauxbatons girl.

You stopped short and nearly tripped over your own two feet. You opened your mouth to speak but just let your mouth tremble in silence as you watched them snog one another. Her laugh was so painfully sugary sweet, you felt as though you’d like to rip your own hair out.

You were surprised how quickly the sight of them had sent your heart plummeting into your stomach. Somewhere in the few moments when you stood there in shock, your vision had become blurry and your face had become wet. You wiped at it with your sweater sleeve and sniffled quietly so they wouldn’t hear you. You spun on your heel and sped back toward your common room, wondering what the bloody hell had come over you when you thought of apologizing to him. You just wanted to get back to your dorm. Or perhaps back to your house in Ottery St. Catchpole. Stupid, silly girl you were.

If only you knew that George had spotted you before you’d left and froze solid in the spot he was standing, ignoring the forwardness of the Beauxbatons girl attached to his arm, his heart and mind chasing you all the way home.

Purple

The Ravenclaw common room was completely empty except for you. You always did this, though -- each and every year, you were always the last to finish packing. Not because you were a procrastinator, but because you hated admitting to yourself that another year was over, and you were another year closer to impending graduation.

Someone popped through the door and said your name softly. You turned and saw George standing there with a small smile on his face. “Hey,” he said, “train’s here. You almost ready to go?”

You groaned and looked back down at your trunk, now fully packed. “If I’ve got to be.” You felt like an absolute idiot that those few words brought tears to your eyes so easily. “Oi, here I go again.”

George laughed lightly and pulled you into a hug. “We’ll be back in no time, you’ll see again how quickly the summer holidays go.”

“But George, it’s our last year!” you cried. And then you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, because you didn’t fancy the idea of boarding the train with smudged makeup and a red nose. “Anyway, shall we?”

When you grabbed your trunk and headed toward the door, George gently took your hand in his and turned you around. “I’ve got something for you actually.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and clapped your hands together. “A present? It’s not even my birthday.”

But then you wondered if it was actually a present he wanted to give you, because he took your other hand in his and squeezed them, a serious look on his face. Your features twisted into that of confusion, and you’d be lying if you said that your heartbeat didn’t increase at the sight of him looking at you so earnestly. “What is it?”

“I’ve been a real git this year. Specifically, the Yule Ball. And a little while after that.”

You laughed and playfully shoved him. Though you still felt the sting of those few weeks, you two had managed to patch things up. He hadn’t lasted that long with that Beauxbatons girl anyway. “George, we’ve been over this, c’mon -- you were only doing what you thought was right. I’ve forgiven you, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled, and you could tell that he was equally as glad as you were that you two had placed that argument behind you. But what you two hadn’t touched on since then was what you’d said to him in a fit of fury: Perhaps he wouldn’t have had the chance to try anything with me if you’d just bloody asked me to the ball first instead of that stuffy Beauxbatons girl!

Of course he’d wanted to ask you. He’d wanted to ask you more than anything in the entire world, but each and every time he’d opened his mouth to say something, he couldn’t. Bloody nerves, and all that. Then he went and acted like a prat, making you cry, and he vowed to himself that he’d never make you cry again, unless it were happy tears.

“I realized I’ve never properly made it up to you -- not asking you to the the Yule Ball in the first place, and that time when we were nine.”

You raised your eyebrows suspiciously. “When we were nine? What the bloody hell happened when we were nine?”

And then he pulled from his pocket the most beautiful lavender pendant you ever did see. The circular stone was outlined in the same silver as the chain, and the sun flooding in from the windows made it sparkle more than anything you’d ever seen in your life. Your breath caught in your throat and you looked back and forth from the necklace to George, and back again.

“I ruined your purple dress, remember?” he asked you. He laughed a bit, probably thinking about the ridiculous way you’d looked with red paint splattered all over you. You couldn’t believe he remembered that. “Now, it’s not a dress, but seeing as we’ve grown up a bit since then, I reckoned you’d prefer something a little nicer.” He swallowed over a lump in his throat before continuing. “I never fancied her, you know. That girl from Beauxbatons. I just...” he trailed off, searching for words he couldn’t seem to muster up. You wondered if he could hear the dramatic thump of your heart, beating loudly in the heavy silence. “It doesn’t matter. It was you I wanted to be with that night, and long after. I still do.”

Then he brushed aside your hair and placed the pendant around your neck. You peered at him through blurry vision, and surprised yourself that you were now crying due to the tenderness of his touch and the emotion in his gift and not that you two were about the board the train and leave school, no longer the same two people you were just a few moments ago.

You did the only thing you could think of and you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him. You felt his shock, but it took him only mere milliseconds before he was kissing you back. In truth, you’d been wondering what it would feel like to kiss him -- the taste of him, the feel of your limbs entangled together, exactly how high your heart would soar. It was exactly the way first kisses were meant to be -- slow, and easy, and warm, the way it’s supposed to feel after having swam all day long -- your body limp and muscles de-tensing. You moulded perfectly with him, and when gravity (or rather, the first signal of the train’s departure) pulled you from one another, he peered at you with such affection that you felt as though you might explode.

You grabbed the pendant and held in gently in between your fingers, already having memorized the outline of the silver and the different shades of purple within it. “I am so bloody happy you threw red paint at me that day, Weasley.”

He laughed haughtily, throwing his head back before swinging an arm around your waist and pulling your trunk toward the exit of the Ravenclaw common room. “Merlin, me too.”

White

You were sitting at your kitchen table, ignoring the massive amount of work in front of you to admire your other hard work. Your cozy little flat looked just as you always imagined it would, with the added bonus of your boyfriend in the corner of the front entrance, fixing a loose coat hanger on the wall.

Never in your life did you imagine that things could be as perfect as this.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a flat you two would share one day.

You got up and brought with you his half empty glass of wine and handed it to him. Gratefully he took it and sipped before pressing a feather light kiss to your forehead. But then you gently traced his jawline with your finger, down his neck, across his collar bone until he followed your move and leaned in to kiss you. It was soft and chaste and everything like your first one had been. But as the alcohol worked its way through your veins, you found yourself pressing yourself harder against him.

A moan of content escaped him as you bit down on his lip and slipped your hands underneath his shirt, hands pressed against his chest. Unashamedly, you pulled him toward your bedroom, and he placed his empty wine glass next to yours on the table as he kicked the door closed.

The two of you fell backwards onto the bed in an entanglement of limbs. He hovered above you, dropping down a bit to press light kisses to your neck, in between your collarbones, behind your ears, against your jawline. You so desperately wanted to feel his weight on top of you, and so you yanked him firmly against you and kissed him in a way that there was no aching way that he wouldn’t be able to tell exactly what you wanted.

He began to undo the buttons on your shirt, taking time to press kisses into your chest at the exposed places before he stopped himself and gently ran his hands across your hips, and then your cheek. His voice was merely a whisper in the deafening silence, “Are you sure?”

He gazed at you with such tenderness and love that you knew he’d stop, if you’d asked him to. He wouldn’t go another inch further if you weren’t ready. And for you, that was more than enough.

“I’m sure.”

He sucked in a breath and dipped down to press lips to yours gently before continuing to make light work of your clothes. He explored every inch of you, and the sensation of his lips gently grazing your skin caused you to arch your back in pleasure. You could feel him smiling against you, wildly in love, handling you with such care as if you were a tiny glass figure he was afraid of breaking. He held you so delicately and worked his way through each and every single one of your wants with slow and gentle hands.

You’d known it was love with him; maybe not consciously, but you’d known it long before now. Love, filled with intensity and desire and longing, in its most vulnerable and fragile form -- pure, and blinding white.

Pink

The summer air wafted in through the open window in the kitchen, and you listened to Mrs. Weasley hum some Muggle song as she set the table for dessert. You placed the finishing touches on the lemon meringue pie you baked, special because it was George’s favourite and Mrs. Weasley had insisted.

You had to admit, he’d always had the outside exterior of a tough guy, but owning a business did absolute wonders for his confidence. You noticed the way he stood up a little straighter, smiled a little bigger, and most of all, just how much he gushed about all the plans you two would be able to act on, now that you were both making income of your own.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N, you’ve absolutely knocked it out of the park with this pie, if I do say so myself.” Arthur’s praise was nothing short of wonderful; you felt the tips of your ears turn pink at his compliments. By the way Ron slouched back in his chair, looking rather chuffed indeed, you could tell he felt the same exact way. Especially when he reached for the last piece, but Hermione slapped his hand away.

“Oh my!” Molly yelped suddenly. You jumped in surprise in your seat. “Oh, Georgie dear, would you mind wandering into the field before dark? I’d love some wildflowers for the table,”

��Sure thing, mum.” George replied before turning to you and squeezing your hand. “Want to tag along?”

You said, “Of course” at the exact same time Ron said “I’ll come along too, I could use a good walk” and if you hadn’t been so focused on George’s tender gaze, you almost would’ve missed Fred silently hissing at Ron and Hermione slapping his hand yet again. “On second thought,” Ron swallowed thickly, “I’d better stay here and help you clean up, mum.”

“Atta boy, Ronniekins,” Molly said. To you and George, she continued, “You two better get going -- not long now before it turns dark!”

George stood and pulled you to your feet. “You coming, love?”

“I go where you go.”

About twenty minutes later, as the setting sun had blended with the light purples and pinks of the sky, you’d found yourself with a rather beautiful bouquet of wildflowers for Molly. You turned to George, who was leaning against the tree and smiling at you, and asked, “Shall we get going darling? Don’t want to be too late. I reckon your mum will come out here searching for us if we spend an evening among the stars.”

“Doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, actually.” His grin deepened, and then he said, “you’re lucky I don’t have any pranks up my sleeve right now.”

You look up at the tree and recognized the place where he’d infuriated you all those long years ago. You rolled your eyes and shook your head before twirling in your dress. “I am lucky. I was able to get a new dress after the one you so lovingly ruined. Though I will admit -- I wasn’t all that big of a fan of those puffy sleeves. This one’s much more adult.”

George arched his eyebrow in surprise before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “Oh yes it is.”

You slapped him playfully and pointed your finger at him. “Alright you prat, calm yourself, you’ll have to wait until we get back to our flat for any funny business.”

But then you realized, as George’s features turned from mischievous to genuine within the matter of seconds, that there was definitely more pressing matters than funny business on his mind.

And then he was telling you how he’d only teased you back then because he’d found you so bloody cute, and how he should’ve asked you to the Yule Ball and regretted every single day that he didn’t, and how he’d never met anyone who could play Quidditch quite as well as you, and how bloody happy he’d been when you’d kissed him that day in the Ravenclaw common room. And then knelt down and he asked it, the words you’d imagined since you were a little girl, strung together with such fondness and emotion and tenderness that you weren’t quite sure how you were standing upright.

You’d already begun to nod quickly through your tears before he finished, but would he really be George Weasley if he didn’t tease you, just a little? “Say yes,” he laughed, “say yes and marry me and be my wife for as long as you’ll have me.”

He slid the ring onto your finger and kissed you and picked you up and whirled you around in the field and held you gently in his arms as though you were a precious glass figurine and he was doing everything in his power to hold you delicately.

“Yes. I say yes.”

Black & White

You asked, When did you first know?

And he answered, I always knew.

You both ran back up the aisle, your white dress fluttering around your ankles, his black suit hugging the curves of his arms, and into the field and away from the party, momentarily, to celebrate your first moments as husband and wife in the place where he’d figured it all out.

He’d known since that afternoon when he’d handed you those yellow dandelions that he would bring you back here one day, to ask you to be his wife. He’d known, in the Ravenclaw common room when he gave you that purple pendant, still dangling from your neck, that one day he’d also give you a ring. He’d known, all those long years ago, that he wanted to marry you, and that you would say yes, when he’d finally ask.

And now, in front of your friends and family, he’d vowed to love you -- love in it’s purest and simplest form, love -- with all it’s sentiment and emotion and vulnerability. He vowed to love you and only you for the rest of his life.

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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Bayverse: Treating These Movies with More Dignity than They Deserve or Contain, Because I’m a Goddamned Professional - Part One

TRANSFORMERS (2007) - UNCOMFORTABLE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN TEENAGERS THAT I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE

So.

This is a little different than what I usually do.

Clearly.

God, how did we even get here?

Oh, I remember.

The date was September 17th, 2020, and I was in a stream with nine or ten other people watching the first Bayverse Transformers movie. Why we were watching it doesn’t particularly matter- sometimes you just gotta watch garbage so you can refresh your palate for the good stuff, I suppose. Also, a couple of folks wanted to make goo-goo eyes at Blackout’s rotors.

...It’s not my thing, but I’m glad they’ve got something to make the journey worth taking.

I made some sort of comment about only using my brain for this blog’s content, and someone (you know who you are :)) suggested that I take a proper look at the film. Being who I am, I immediately latched onto this idea, despite it being technically outside of what I write about.

And then I quintuple-downed, because winners don’t quit.

Good to know that my BA in Film Production wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Fun fact, I broke my television trying to watch Transformers for this. I think the universe was trying to stop me, by making me perform surgery on electronics, and also aggravating my carpal tunnel.

This movie came out when I was 13, and it was the first Transformers thing I saw after Cybertron. Yes, the anime one. No, not the one that’s objectively terrible.

Anyway.

How did I feel about Transformers when I saw it the first time? Well… it was okay. I liked the robots. I thought Mikaela was pretty, not that I knew what that meant back then. I watched it a few times, if only because my oldest younger brother kept renting it at Blockbuster. It was fun.

Now I’m older, and wiser, and know feminist theory, so my opinion is less “this exists” and more “blind, murderous rage”.

Our film opens up with some claptrap about the Cube™, a MacGuffin of ultimate power that allows the Transformers to create worlds in their image and populate them. Which means this is how they reproduce.

It always comes back to baby-making, doesn’t it?

The narration goes on about how the Cube™ is very powerful, and some folks wanted it for good, and others for evil. The criteria for being “good” and “evil” isn’t established, and I’m not exactly sure how one would define such a thing, when all the Cube™ does is create life, but, well, we’ve only just begun. Maybe we’ll get some answers later on.

Haha, I doubt it.

So, the Cube™ is the catalyst for our 4 million year war this continuity, and that sucker was lost in the shuffle a while back. This is a problem, because, again, the Cube™ is how the Transformers reproduce. Now everyone’s in a mad scramble to find the thing so their species doesn’t die out.

Three guesses as to where it ended up, and the first two don’t count.

Smashcut to the shit nobody cares about- the humans. We see an Osprey fly over the Qatar desert, carrying a buttload of American soldiers. We get a taste of some good old-fashioned xenophobia, as several soldiers mock a guy for not speaking English and loving his mother’s cooking, going full “funny haha gibberish language” on him. We’re two and a half minutes into the film, and I already want to stab something.

Ed Sheeran breaks into the conversation, I guess because he was feeling left out, revealing that he is the New Yorker stereotype of the film, for some reason. The fellas ask their captain, Lennox, what he’s looking forward to most about getting home from their tour, and he reveals himself to be a family man. While he’s been away, his wife had a baby, who he hasn’t so much as held yet. His men respond by mocking him.

For loving his child.

We’re three minutes into the film, and the toxic masculinity might actually make me have an aneurysm.

The Ospreys land, the lads disembark, and we get a snapshot of what downtime during deployment looks like to Bay. There are a lot of kiddie swimming pools involved. Two men play basketball. We watch multiple men take outdoor showers. A young Qatari boy brings Lennox a camelback water pack with a smile on his face. This lets me know that he’s a prop and not a character in this film. I can’t wait to see how many horrors he’ll be put through to simulate pathos.

We get a shot of a helicopter flying over the desert, one that the US military doesn’t recognize as their own. They send a couple of planes to check it out, and said planes get their shop wrecked. The helicopter is revealed to be the same ‘copter that was shot down several months prior. That’s… not good. Ghost helicopter?

No. Not at all, actually.

Lennox gets on a video chat with his wife and daughter, who is wearing one of the most ridiculous baby outfits I’ve seen in a hot minute. And I used to work in childcare, so I’ve seen a good amount of those. The writing implies that normal bodily functions are unladylike and therefore undesirable… in an infant… and that’s when all hell breaks loose, thankfully saving me from more of Bay trying to make me give a shit about these characters.

The helicopter lands, we get a shot of the mustachioed pilot, who glitches (gasp), and the line “have your crew step out or we will kill you” is uttered. Not even trying to hide the nationalism, are you?

This film hit theaters in 2007, when the xenophobia from 9/11 was still heavy in the air of the general populace, so things like this were more tolerated, and in fact approved of. Of course, it’s not like America has really improved on that subject, or ever really had a point where we weren’t terrible about it, since we live in a world where the military-entertainment complex exists.

See, the Department of Defense and a good chunk of American entertainment industries have a little deal going, and have for the last few decades, and it goes like this: The DoD will allow the use of their vehicles, personnel, and bases, or the likenesses of such, for free, in exchange for their operations being shown in a positive/morally justified light. This is why you never see the armed forces portrayed in a way that makes them out as anything less than heroes- nobody would be able to afford the sets/likenesses without the DoD’s aid. This is also why you see straight-up advertisements for the military branches on televison, in cinemas, and online, and why both the Army and Navy have flirted with having Twitch channels.

It’s all a ploy to get you to join the military, kids. It’s propaganda.

But enough about that, it’s time for our first transformation sequence!

We get a lot of moving parts with this, since it’s realistic CGI in a live-action movie, and it still holds up. It’s hard to tell what’s actually happening, but it, if nothing else, feels alien, surreal, and horrific to behold. They even included the original sound effect in the cacophony, which is nice.

Our ghost helicopter reveals itself to be a Transformer, not that we get that terminology at any point in this film. This specifically is Blackout, a Decepticon. The soldiers start firing on him the moment he starts transforming, then are surprised when the thing they started shooting with several guns retaliates. This is the point where everything ever in this military base explodes, brilliantly and repeatedly, because it wouldn’t be a Bay film without it. There’s a lot of shouting and bright lights, and I’m positively certain that a great deal of people died during this fight.

It’s just a shame that I don’t care.

Blackout rips the top off of a building like it’s a tin of anchovies, and then snags all the hard drives he can, downloading everything. This is a problem, but it seems like nobody was prepared for a giant alien robot hack-attack, because in order to shut down the power to the servers, you need to be able to unlock the breaker box, and no one seems to have the key. They solve the problem with a fire ax.

Lennox is leading the Qatari boy through the base towards safety. I should mention that it’s night now, and several hours seem to have passed since the Ospreys landed, so I don’t know why this kid is still here. He’s got, like, a house and family to go home to.

We get some more tank-throwing action, Sergeant Epps almost gets flattened under Blackout’s foot, then the movie decides it’s going to try to make things more interesting by having each shot cut flash, for whatever reason.

Someone shoots Blackout with a rocket launcher, I think, and this is the point where he throws his tiny little man off his back to go do his job. Yes, Blackout’s got a baby, and that baby is Scorponok, his symbiotic pal who likes to dig into the ground and be a sneaky little bastard.

Blackout blows up a ton more military equipment and personnel, and then it’s time for another smashcut.

Now we’re in high school, just like all those dreams I’ve had where I’ve forgotten my homework. This is where we meet Sam Witwicky, our main character, and also the stand-in for our target demographic. He’s insufferable, and I don’t like him. Mikaela Banes, our love interest, is also present in this scene, but we don’t get to know about her character for, like, another 20 minutes, because who gives a shit about women, right? They’re just props, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Sam is presenting on his great-great-grandfather, Archibald Witwicky, for his family genealogy report, in front of a class containing maybe three actors who are age appropriate.

I know child labor laws are a good thing, and that hiring adults to play teenagers is just the lay of the land, but I swear some of these students look like they’re old enough to be on their second mortgage and third kid.

Anyway.

Archibald Witwicky was an explorer, one of the first to traverse the Arctic circle, and apparently his crew was made up of folks from 2007, because I swear the clothing for a few of these dudes isn’t period-appropriate. We get a seamen joke, because of course we do, and a sextant joke, because of course we do. Sam is also hawking all this crap he’s brought in for the presentation, because he is a little bastard who has no idea what his peers would want to buy, or really how to relate to them at all. He’s selling these “priceless” artifacts so he can get a car. Mikaela finds this charming, for some fucking reason. Also, her boyfriend is weirdly stroking her shoulder blade with his knuckles the whole time this is happening, and I hate it.

Archibald Witwicky went mad after his expedition, talking about an “ice man” so often that his family ended up locking him in a mental asylum, likely to be forgotten about. Which is sad. But we won’t be getting into the medical mistreatment of the mentally ill in Bayverse, now will we? That’s just Too Deep™.

Sam’s teacher didn’t very much appreciate having his class be turned into an episode of Antiques Roadshow, but still gives Sam an “A” on the project, despite it being a very poor report that lasted all of two minutes. I suspect the teacher has tenure, and therefore no longer gives a shit about academic integrity. This “A” means that Sam’s father will buy him a car.

Which is nice, I suppose, if I gave a damn.

Sam’s father, Ron, picks up his son in a car he probably bought at the crux of his midlife crisis, in a green that reminds me of a school gymnasium floor, then plays a prank on his child by pretending to pull into the Porsche dealership. Sam isn’t getting a Porsche, which is good, because he doesn’t deserve one. As Sam gripes to his father, a yellow Camaro drives by oh so conspicuously. Wonder what’s up with that.

Instead of the Porshe dealership, they head over to the used car lot, which is being run by Bobby Bolivia, who spends his time yelling at his employees and wanting to murder his mother. Sam is incredibly ungrateful about the fact that his dad is helping him get a car, even though it’s his FIRST car, and nobody gets a nice one the first go around. Or, at least, they shouldn’t, given the statistics about accidents with young drivers.

“No sacrifice, no victory” is uttered by Ron, which is the family motto, or so he claims. Archibald Witwicky said the same thing when he had multiple people dying trying to get to the Arctic Circle, so there’s precedence for the phrase, but we’ll see how it holds up throughout the film.

Bobby Bolivia shows Sam and Ron the cars he has for sale, and Sam is immediately drawn to the yellow Camaro in the lot, though there’s a small problem- it’s too expensive for what he and his father agreed to. Also, nobody knows where the hell it came from, so paperwork might be an issue. When Bobby tries to show Sam the yellow Beetle they have right down the line, everything explodes, because this is a Bay film, and fuck the original material this movie was based on. Bobby lets them have the Camaro for a lower price, suddenly fearful of whatever strange powers have just visited his place of business. “The car picks the driver” is suddenly more than a bullshit line to spout off in order to sell cars, and I’m certain that’s shaken the poor man.

Over in Washington, D.C., the Secretary of Defense prepares to address just what the hell happened in Qatar, lamenting on how young the audience he’s going to be speaking to is. In particular, he’s referring to the two dweebs and the hot chick sitting in one of the rows. All the women in this movie who aren’t someone’s mom are made up to be very pretty. And not even in a realistic way. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

So, the military network was hacked. That’s bad. Nobody knows who did it. That’s also bad. The only lead the US has is a soundbite, which is the signal that hacked the network.

Everyone here at the briefing is going to be helping to figure this mess out. This is great, if you like looking at Rachael Taylor for a few seconds at a time, and can compartmentalize hard enough to make that worth the effort of watching this godforsaken film.

Back at the Witwicky household, we meet Mojo, a chihuahua with a cast that doesn’t seem like it’s actually doing anything. I wish he was the main character instead of Sam.

Sam arrives home from the dealership, and says “alright, Mojo, I’ve got the car. Now I need the girl.”

As if ownership of a person is something to aspire to.

As if women are property to be owned.

As if women aren’t people, but rather commodities.

We’re 17.5 minutes into this film.

We’re introduced to Judy, Sam’s mother. She’s shrill, and annoying. This is by design, because none of the women in this film are actually people, but rather archetypes to bounce off of the male characters.

Sam and his father have a moment of what some might consider banter, then Sam gets huffy with his mom over gender roles for the dog. I, for one, think Mojo looks positively dashing in his bedazzled collar, and to hell with whatever Sam says to the contrary.

Sam drives off to go be a misogynist, with the promise to be back by 11PM.

Over in Qatar, the soldiers and that little boy are running from the attack on their base, as Lennox’s wife watches a public announcement on the matter back at home. The Secretary of Defense lets us know that we’re at DEFCON Delta at this point. Lennox Jr. cries, and all I can think about is how they probably pinched that baby to make that happen. They pinched a baby for Transformers (2007).

The soldiers in Qatar talk about shit they have no idea about, Sergeant Epps going on about somehow having been able to see a forcefield around Blackout through his super special binoculars. I don’t know how, or why, he knows this. I don’t know anything anymore.

Ed Sheeran has his doubts about this whole thing, and Lennox is also present in the scene, because I guess he’s important. Through a bit of dramatic irony, Fig- the guy everyone was making fun of for being bilingual at the start of the film- says that this probably isn’t over, as the shape of Scorponok shifts through the sand just beyond them.

Epps is having a minor crisis over the fact that Blackout saw him, but we don’t have time for that, because we’ve got to get to cover. The lads decide to head to the little Qatari boy’s house. Again, I wonder why he was at the base at all, considering that it seems like they’ve been traveling for a good portion of the day.

Back with Sam, he’s picked up his friend Miles, and together they’re going to a lake party. Are they invited to this party? Yes, but also no. It’s public property though, so it should be fine. As they park, Sam notices that Mikaela is here, which is great for him.

Mikaela’s boyfriend, Trent- whose name I had to look up- is a massive tool, and starts pestering the two boys for daring to exist in his airspace. Miles climbs a tree. I’m glad he’s having fun, at least. Sam makes a joke at the expense of people with brain injuries, and this for some reason? Warrants a shot of Mikaela making the blank “pretty girl” face? In response?

Mikaela saves Sam from becoming a wet stain on the grass, which is very kind of her, and more than Sam really deserves. Trent, his boys, and Mikaela start to head off for another party, to get away from Sam and his tree-loving friend. Mikaela offers to drive, and Trent says that she can’t handle his truck, because she’s a ~girl~. This causes Mikaela to ditch him, and start walking home.

The script knows enough about misogyny to know that this would be a nice “take that”. Michael Bay, however, likely fails to see why everything he did with said script involving this character is a goddamned problem.

Because Mikaela, bless her heart, has a lot of problems.

Let’s start with the outfit: a croptop, a jean skirt that BARELY covers her ass, and a pair of wedge heels that are at least four inches tall. On a character that is, at oldest, freshly 18.

Look, I’m all about self-expression and the freedom to choose how you dress for yourself and yourself alone, but this clearly isn’t that. This is a character, not a person, whose wardrobe was designed for the straight male gaze. She’s wearing fucking STRAP HEELS to the lake. This is about oogling. This is about reducing a whole-ass person to the same status as a piece of meat. In fact, who was on wardrobe for this? I’d like to have a few words with-

A woman? Okay, well, what else has she worked on?

You can’t be fucking serious.

ANYWAY.

Miles just called Mikaela an “evil jock concubine.” I don’t like Miles anymore.

As Mikaela walks down the road, strutting hard enough that I’ve got sympathy pains in my hips, the radio in the Camaro turns on, playing “Drive” by the Cars, and giving Sam a hell of an idea; he’s gonna drive Mikaela home, so she doesn’t have to walk the 10 miles to her house. Why he knows how far she lives from the lake isn’t addressed.

Sam kicks Miles out of the car and goes to give Mikaela a ride, which she accepts after a bit of self-deliberation, and also him making an ass of himself. The shot here is framed with Sam like he’s a normal-ass person, and Mikaela from her breasts to the top of her waist. Because of COURSE it is.

She hops in the car and then goes off about her taste in hot guys. Which is weird, and out of left field. Sam is about as confused as I am, then continues to make a fool of himself. This is his nature as a person. Mikaela has no idea who Sam is, even though they’ve gone to the same school for the last 10 years and have multiple classes together. And the fact that she was staring him down all through his genealogy presentation. And at the lake.

This movie isn’t very well thought out, I feel.

It’s at this point the the Camaro turns the key on itself and starts to sputter out and die, as “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye pops on the radio.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid with a girl who didn’t even know his name five minutes ago.

I don’t like how this car knows what sex is.

The Camaro breaks down on a cliff, and Mikaela hops out to work on the engine, and also to get the hell away from Sam’s sputtering.

As Mikaela admires the sweet engine in this Camaro, showing off her knowledge of cars, we get several shots of her from her breasts to her thighs, while Sam is treated like an actual person. Don’t bother trying to play it off as an artistic choice, Bay, this is blatant horndogging. This adds to NOTHING, other than my ire.

Sam says more stupid shit, and Mikaela, who must be the nicest fucking person in the world, just tells him to fire up the engine so she can try to sort out the problem. Then he asks why she goes for jackasses like Trent, and she decides that she’s hit her limit for today, opting to walk the rest of the way home. Good on you, Mikaela. Don’t take Sam’s bullshit.

Sam, realizing that he’s put his foot in his mouth for the 80th time today, pleads with his Camaro to do him a solid and work, and this actually works out for him. Great. Sam, victorious, once again offers Mikaela a ride, which she, once again, takes.

He drops her off without further incident, and she thanks him for listening. Even though they didn’t really talk that much. I dunno, maybe they had a super deep conversation offscreen. Mikaela asks Sam if he thinks she’s shallow, because clearly all women need approval from the men around them, and Sam says that there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Which made me groan aloud.

Anyway, she gets inside without a problem, and Sam professes his love for his new Camaro for allowing him to talk to a girl. Or at least talk at her.

Back in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon National Military Command Center, we’re making weirdly racist calls on who hacked the military.

Up with Air Force One, a conspicuous boombox transforms into a robot, and then runs off to hack shit. The President of the United States requests some snack cakes. A flight attendant goes down to storage to retrieve said snack cakes, and finds that boombox in the elevator with her. Considering this is Air Force One, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse, and we don’t think here.

The flight attendant brings the boombox down with her and places it on the counter as she goes to get the presidential snack cakes. The boombox immediately disappears. Now, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse-

The flight attendant opens up the snack cake package, for some reason, and drops the cake on the floor. She then proceeds to eat it, and then act shocked when it tastes like floor. There’s a robot in her fucking line of sight, and you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing-

She leaves to go feed the President floor cakes, and our little robot friend gets to work stealing government secrets. He, if nothing else, looks pretty cool doing it. He’s a very pointy lad.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie- Rachael Taylor’s character- can hear the hacking. This sends everyone into a panic, because, well, that shouldn’t be happening. The hacking noise is a direct match to the one from Qatar, so that’s obviously a problem.

Back on Air Force One, our little robot friend is looking for “Project Iceman”, which he very quickly finds, and downloads everything they’ve got on it, and also plants a virus. The process seems to be… doing things to him. It’s weird. This movie is weird.

The Pentagon cuts all the system hardlines, stopping the process, but it’s too late- he got what he wanted, just about. Two security personnel come into the room, and the robot kills them both with some spinning blade disc nonsense. Air Force One is forced to land for the safety of everyone on-board. More security detail comes in to deal with the little bastard, but he transforms into a boombox and sits on a shelf to avoid suspicion. Now, you’d perhaps expect-

With the plane grounded, our robot is able to walk his little ass over to a cop car. And when I say walk, I do mean walk; this fucker is in multiple folks’ line of sight and nobody notices a thing. When he enters the car, he’s greeted by the mustachioed driver- the same driver who was operating the helicopter at the beginning of the film. This mustache man is a holographic avatar, one that’s being used by all the Decepticons.

We get our first real taste of Cybertronian language, as our robot- it’s Frenzy, his name is Frenzy- lets everyone know that he’s found a clue to the location of the AllSpark, and, through the power of the internet, knows where to find the guy who’s gonna give them what they need.

Three guesses to who it is, and the first two don’t count.

Back at the Witwicky household, Sam’s car does a runner in the middle of the night. Sam, horrified that his property is being stolen, pursues on a bike, screaming at his dad to call the cops. Sam also calls the cops, as he tears through the neighborhood.

The Camaro breaks into an abandoned building, Sam follows, and we finally get a shot of our audience appeal character. Sam watches in disbelief as a giant yellow space robot shines a beacon into the sky, then makes a video on his flip phone recording the experience. He apologizes to his parents for owning pornographic magazines, and goes to face his probable demise.

However, death does not come from above, instead manifesting itself as two of the strongest junkyard dogs in the known universe, who break their brick-inlaid chains to get at this little dip of a man. Sam is chased through the yard, climbing on top of a couple precarious oil drums, even though there’s a ladder, like, right there. The Camaro rolls in, scaring off the dogs, and Sam bolts, throwing the keys to his ride at his ride. When he gets outside, the cops have arrived, and immediately arrest him.

Back with the US government, the Secretary of State is having a conversation about all the bullshit that just went down with Air Force One. He and his fellow cishet old white men discuss their options, until Maddie comes in to set them straight on some of the facts. They act all indignant about it, because women can’t be smart, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Anyway, we get a weird little deflection of Maddie’s role in everything, because a woman is nothing without the men around her, then she brings up the point that the bullshit that happened on Air Force One went down in just a few seconds, which isn’t something that anyone can actually do. She brings up quantum mechanics, which everyone blows off as nonsense- not that I wouldn’t as well- and theorizes on a DNA-based computer, which is technically a thing, if not trapped in the realm of speculation. It’s at this point that the Secretary of Defense tells her to come back when she can back these wild claims up, and isn’t just clearly spitballing.

And then he snaps his fingers at her, and any point he might have had leaves my brain so I have more room for being enraged.

Back with Sam, we’re at the police station talking to the cops. His dad is here, and Sam is trying to explain that his car is a dude. Even though he took at a video (one that was likely crap, given how quickly he spun his phone around to show off what he was seeing) the cops, understandably, don’t believe him. Then one of them, not so understandably, starts… threatening Sam? With his sidearm? And daring him to try something? This isn’t any sort of statement on the corruption of American law enforcement, it’s just bizarre.

Back in Qatar, our soldier buddies have found a telephone line, and are going to try to use it to get in contact with the rest of the world. It’s just too bad that Scorponok’s decided to make an entrance, and knock said telephone line the hell down. Ed Sheeran has next to no reaction to this, despite it happening maybe ten feet behind him. Fig speaks Spanish, and Ed Sheeran makes a point to be an asshole about it.

Scorponok is about to stab Lennox with his very pointy tail, when Epps notices- finally, someone with peripheral vision- and starts shooting. Then everyone starts shooting, kicking up enough sand to blind themselves, as Scorponok scuttles away, buries himself, then reappears behind Ed Sheeran.

Ed Sheeran does not survive this experience.

The others bolt, not wanting the same to happen to them, and for the fourth time I wonder just why the hell this young boy was at the base in the first place.

Off in the distance, the community of a nearby town wonders just what the shit is going on out in the desert. Our soldiers run into the town, and everyone gets their guns and start firing on Scorponok, who retaliates, because why the hell wouldn’t he?

Lennox demands that the young boy take him to his father, and proceeds to borrow his phone. As shit goes down outside, we have a sort-of gag where Lennox is trying to contact the Pentagon, while a telemarketer tries to get him to buy a phone package. In order for this call to go through, he’s going to need a credit card. This is where the well-known “pocket” scene comes from, as Lennox searches Epps’ pants for his wallet as he fires on Scorponok. It’s probably the best-written thing in this whole film.

With the credit card acquired, Lennox finally gets through to the Pentagon, and tosses Epps the phone so he can talk. Maybe he’s got anxiety about speaking on the phone, I dunno.

Scorponok shows off his disregard for historical architecture, blowing up several buildings, and the US government just watches this all go down. One of the actors in this scene looks like my dad, and it trips me up every time he’s on screen. Anyway, now the Pentagon knows about the giant space robots running around in Qatar. They send over some air support about it. All this manages to do is piss Scorponok off.

So they try it again.

This time it works, sort of.

At the very least, he’s left now.

Tail fell off, though.

Also, Fig’s been grievously wounded. The others, for once, don’t make fun of his native language while they help him hold his blood inside his body.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s looking to prove that the bullshit that’s been going on is of the sci-fi variety, and in order to do that, she’s going to need a little outside help. She takes the information from the Pentagon, slaps it into an SD card, hides that shit in her blush compact, and then runs out the door to Glenn Whitmann’s house. Or, rather, his grandma’s house.

Glenn is a hacker, and shouldn’t be seeing anything that Maddie’s brought him, but everyone knows that confidentiality is for nerds, so whatever.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s immediately been caught. It’s almost like slapping the military network onto an SD card maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. But what do I know?

Glenn takes a look at the soundbite and figures out that there’s a code embedded in the thing in about two seconds. Good to know our tax dollars are being well-spent on the US military, that some dude in his jammies can figure this shit out faster than a whole team of analysts. They figure out that “Project Iceman” is involved with this somehow, and also the existence of Sector Seven. It’s at this point that the FBI busts in. Good. I kind of want Maddie to go to jail for this, because she was about as stupid as she could be handling the situation.

Glenn’s cousin goes through a closed glass door- don’t worry, it’s tempered- and there’s a weird cut before that exact same shot continues, and he’s tackled into the pool. There was no reason for that to have happened, but here we are.

Back with Sam, we’re treated to him in his boxers, shooting basketballs in his room. He goes into the kitchen, where Mojo is standing on a stool. It’s a very tall stool, the sort you sit on, and he’s just… there. I don’t know how he got there. There’s no one else in the room besides Sam, and I know he didn’t put him there.

Clearly this must mean Mojo is God, and being on that stool is his divine will. I will be approaching the rest of the franchise with this in mind, because it’s clearly the only answer.

Our merciful Lord Mojo jumps up on the kitchen counter and begins growling at something through the window. Sam looks out… the opposite window… to find that his Camaro has returned to him, and is less than thrilled about it, to put it lightly. He drops a jug of milk- luckily it was mostly empty, given the sound it makes when it hits the floor- and gives his buddy Miles a call. You remember Miles, don’t you? If you don’t, it’s fine, because he reestablishes his quirkiness with a single shot, as he sits in a swimsuit and bathes his huge-ass dog in a kiddie pool, and answers the phone with a headset he just happened to be wearing. He must get a lot of calls during Dog Washing Hours. 

After giving us one of the most intense voice cracks I’ve ever heard, Sam books it out of his house, hopping on a bike to escape his murderous Camaro. He’s not seen the thing commit any murders, mind you, but he seems pretty convinced that it would do the job, given half a chance. Also, this isn’t the bike he rode the night before; that one is likely being chewed on by those strong-ass junkyard dogs. No, for some reason, the Witwickys have a pastel pink girl’s bike, with the fun little handle tassels and the basket and everything. As far as I can tell, Sam is an only child, and if you think Bay’s going to allow for a teenage boy to have the vulnerability to own a pink bike, you’ve not been paying attention for the last 48.5 minutes.

The Camaro gives chase, rolling after Sam on his bike at a brisk 7 MPH down the friggin’ sidewalk, one of the only scenes in this travesty of a film to actually get me to crack a smile. Sam races through town until city planning puts a stop to him, through the magic of using chunks of cement to decorate the mulch around their trees. He crashes his bike, faceplants into the concrete in front of Mikaela, and promptly dies, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told a fib. I’m sorry.

Instead, he does a flip and lands on his back, likely receiving a concussion, in front of Mikaela and her friends. Her friends laugh, because everyone hates Sam, as they should, and Mikaela says that what he just did was “really awesome.” Don’t try to be nice, Mikaela, this is Sam we’re talking about; you could stick the dude in the freezer overnight and he still wouldn’t be even remotely cool.

Sam gets back to the whole “running away from a car” deal, and Mikaela decides that this is the sort of thing she’d like to do with her day, so she ditches her friends in the middle of their scheduled Burger King™ time to go see what the hell Sam’s on about.

As Sam is chased by the Camaro who is being chased by Mikaela on her motorized scooter, a cop becomes involved, tearing through the streets to join this ridiculous game of tag. Now, we’ve seen two different flavor of cop so far- the mustachioed avatar cop car that picked up Frenzy from the airport, and the dude who threatened a teenage boy with a gun after accusing him of being under the influence of drugs. Either way, I don’t think this is going to turn out well for Sam.

Sam’s cornered himself under one of those really wide bridges where people can park their cars, which wasn’t terribly smart, but it’s Sam, so this is about par for the course. The Camaro manages to miss him, but the cop car does not. Sam is actually pretty cool with the cops being here, as if they could do anything about “Satan’s Camaro.” I guess he didn’t see the decal on the side of this car that says “to punish and enslave…”

Sam attempts to approach the car for help, and gets clotheslined by a car door for his troubles. He hits his head on the pavement, certainly exasperating the brain injury he received not ten minutes ago. Still, he continues to try to talk to the holographic avatar through the windshield, revealing that the bike he’s been riding is his mother’s. Mystery solved, I suppose.

The cop car doesn’t much appreciate being slapped on the hood, and begins to rev violently at Sam, threatening to run him over several times. Then it explodes into being a robot. Sam, who’s seen a lot of really weird shit in the last 24 hours, nopes out of the situation. It’s at this point that I realize he’s wearing a shirt for the band the Strokes. I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but it did. Guess my brain needed something to latch onto during all this.

Sam is running as fast as his little legs allow, as our newest robot friend takes up a leisurely jog to keep pace. Then he kicks Sam. He kicks Sam’s body like the football. This, of course, instantly turns Sam into a bag of jelly and kills him, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Sam somehow survives being punted by a giant metal leg and lands in the windshield of a car that doesn’t turn into a robot. Then he gets yelled at by the cop car. This is Barricade, a member of the Decepticons, and Sam’s got something he wants. Or, should I say “LadiesMan217” has something he wants.

LadiesMan217 is Sam’s Ebay username. This is both stupid because no teenage boy existing beyond the year 1985 would have ever called himself that, and also because it’s just stupid.

Barricade wants the glasses Sam presented for his genealogy report, and he wants them NOW. Seeing as the thing he wants is for sale, and nobody had been bidding on it, one would wonder why Barricade and his associates didn’t just try to purchase them like upstanding citizens. Perhaps Decepticons don’t understand the concept of money, or perhaps they don’t have a stable address to have the glasses shipped to. Or perhaps nobody considered that angle when the script was being put together. Who can say?

Sam gets back to running away from Barricade, we see where Mikaela got to, and the two of them collide. Sam rips Mikaela off of her scooter, and they both fall to the ground. Mikaela, who did not buckle the clasp on her helmet, asks Sam what his fucking problem is. Then his problem shows up, and they take a very long time to get up so they can run. So long, in fact, that the Camaro has to swing in to save them. After much pleading from Sam, Mikaela gets inside Satan’s Camaro, and the two of them are whisked away to safety. Barricade pursues, and then the butt rock starts.

There’s a lot of screaming and yelling, the Camaro busts through a window and several shelves in an abandoned building, there’s some drifting, and then suddenly it’s nighttime. Barricade somehow got in front of the Camaro, and is circling like a shark. The Camaro locks the two teenagers inside itself, though I suppose they could climb out through the still-open windows if they really wanted to. The Camaro cuts the engine off, then cuts it back on and bolts for the exit, and this somehow tricks Barricade long enough for them to get past.

The Camaro dumps Mikaela and Sam out one of the doors and then transforms into that yellow space robot we saw a bit ago. It’s Bumblebee! Nearly an hour in, and we finally get a proper look at the little bastard. I guess that’s what happens when you spend the first 20-something minutes on being xenophobic and appealing to the focus groups that think it’s fine sexualize high schoolers.

Bumblebee- no, he’s not introduced himself yet, but I just can’t keep calling him “the Camaro” anymore- comes out of his transformation ready to square the fuck up. Barricade throws himself at Bumblebee, they roll around on the ground for a bit, then things start sparking and exploding, because this is a Michael Bay film. Frenzy jumps out and starts chasing down Mikaela and Sam, while Bumblebee and Barricade murder death punch each other. Frenzy manages to grab Sam by the ankles, drag him to the ground, and rip his pants off. Not sure how that happened, considering he’s still got his shoes on.

While Sam’s busy being chased by a sentient pile of safety pins, Mikaela’s taken it upon herself to be proactive about her survival, and is raiding a nearby building for power tools. She sprints out holding an electric jig saw and saves Sam by decapitating Frenzy. If you know anything about Transformers, then you know this doesn’t actually kill Frenzy, but good on her for being a badass. Why couldn’t Mikaela be our main character again? Oh, right, because she’s a ~girl~.

Sam punts Frenzy’s head, like, 50 yards, which seems like something he shouldn’t be able to do, given that he’s a massive weenie, but there you are. With that out of the way, Sam takes Mikaela’s hand and they run off to go watch the giant robot fight. The bottom of Frenzy’s head turns into a spider and he crawls his way over to Mikaela’s purse. He’s gonna steal her gum, the fiend!

Mikaela and Sam have, unfortunately, missed the giant robot fight, which means that we, as the audience, have also missed the giant robot fight. Which is unbelievably stupid, seeing as everyone who has ever watched this movie came for the GIANT GODDAMN ROBOTS.

Mikaela asks just who the hell the yellow robot is, I guess because she’s finally had a second to process what the hell’s going on. Sam claims that he’s a super-advanced robot, “probably from Japan.” Whether or not this is a reference to the Japanese origins of the original toy line isn’t clear, though somehow I think it’s more xenophobia. Sam also makes the claim that if Bumblebee had intended to hurt them, he would have done it by now. This is quite the jump from a few hours ago, when he was calling the poor guy “Satan’s Camaro.”

Sam finally, finally asks Bumblebee what his deal is, and we get our first taste of the Bayverse Bumblebee Gimmick. The Gimmick here is that, due to an injury to his vocal processing, Bumblebee cannot communicate through traditional means, i.e. speech. Because of this, he instead strings together sentences by flicking through the radio frequencies and choosing key words. This can lead to some interesting audio design, like describing his fellow Autobots to “rain down like visitors form heaven, Hallelujah!” because a radio sermon fit what he was trying to say best.

This gimmick is one that has been used in other pieces of Transformers media, at least in part. Bumblebee is unable to speak traditionally in Transformers: Prime, and instead communicates in beeps and clicks that his teammates can understand, but not so much the humans, save for Raf. In Bumblebee (2018), the idea was used whole-cloth, with the injury resulting in his inability to speak happening on-camera within the first 10 minutes of the movie, and the idea of “expressing oneself through music” being introduced by his human companion Charlie Watson.

All in all, I rather like the idea going on here; it’s an interesting part of his character that opens up for a lot of interesting and creative moments.

It’s just too bad it was introduced in fucking Bayverse.

But yeah, anyway, the other Autobots are coming to Earth. Shit’s gonna be lit.

Bumblebee turns back into a Camaro, and Sam uses the power of FOMO to get Mikaela to go in the car with him. We get a shot of Barricade fucking dying on the side of the road. Frenzy murders Mikaela’s phone, and then steals its identity, including the little bejeweled heart stickers. Good thing Mikaela remembered to go get her purse, otherwise he probably would have felt very silly doing that.

Mikaela refuses to sit in the driver’s seat, seeing as she now knows Sam’s car is sentient, and sort of feels weird about this whole thing. Sam suggests that she sit in his lap instead, as the camera angles to give us a peek at the cup of Mikaela’s bra. When asked why the hell she should do such a thing, Sam says it’s a concern about her safety, given that the middle console of the car does not have a seatbelt. Sam either fails to recognize that seatbelts going over two layered bodies won’t save either of them in the event of a crash, or he’s just trying to make an excuse to have a pretty girl in his lap.

Given what movie this is, I’m going to guess it’s the latter.

Mikaela has a similar line of thought, but scoots over anyway, saying that the seatbelt line was a “smooth move”. It wasn’t, but if I picked apart every single bad line Sam had in this film, I’d be here all day.

Mikaela questions Bumblebee’s taste in alt-mode, which offends him to the point of dumping both her and Sam out in the street and driving away. He returns, moments later, as a sleek new Camaro, that I’m sure some car aficionados would call “sexy.”

Bumblebee’s alt-mode is a 2009 Chevrolet Camaro, of which there were none during the time of filming. It was put together for this movie in roughly five weeks. Sam is blown away by the fact that he now owns a car that does not currently exist in his universe. Mikaela is impressed, or at least she would be, if women were allowed to show that emotion in a non-horny way in a Bay film.

Judy doesn’t count.

As Bumblebee breaks into yet another restricted area, we get a shot of the Earth from orbit, as several objects rocket towards the planet. Sam and Mikaela watch the Autobots burn up in the atmosphere, and Mikaela tries to hold Sam’s hand as they do, and it’s at this point that I have to address how much I hate these two’s dynamic.

I don’t give a single solitary shit about this romance, because A) it’s poorly written, B) Mikaela could do infinitely better than Sam, C) I dislike Sam so very much, D) Mikaela, who is a way more interesting character, got placed on friggin’ love interest duty because ~girl~, and E) it’s useless padding to try and make me care about what’s happening here, and I just DON’T. I do NOT care about whether these two get together or not.

We see the Autobots crash-land, three out of four of them causing massive amounts of property damage and possibly killing at least one person. Their stasis pods crack open, and they each climb out, completely naked and in desperate need of clothing to hide their shame. With a quick scan of nearby vehicles, they’re once again decent to be seen in public.

Bumblebee drives the kids out to what I can only assume is the warehouse district he sent that beacon out in, as our collection of good guys finally come together at long last. A massive Peterbilt semi-truck stops directly in front of Mikaela and Sam.

We’re over an hour into this film, and we’re just now getting to the quintessential Transformer, Optimus Prime himself.

In the original cartoon, Optimus’s alt-mode was what’s known as a cabover truck, one where the cab- where the driver sits- is seated directly over the engine. These were popular during the days when maximum truck-lengths were much shorter than they are currently. This is why when you look at height charts for Optimus over various continuities, his G1 cartoon counterpart much shorter than his other iterations.

Modern trucks are longer, and don’t need the cab to sit on top of the engine to save on space. The designers chose to use a Peterbilt to make sure that Optimus would have an imposing stature when compared to his fellow Autobots.

Because heaven forbid we not have heightism come into play in this film.

Our Autobots transform, and say what you will about these bastards being visually incomprehensible, the transformations themselves are cool as hell. My personal favorite is Jazz’s, where he does a cool windmill into his root mode.

Optimus crouches like he’s looking at a cool bug on the sidewalk and addresses Sam by name. He doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela, which I find to be a bit rude, but whatever. He then introduces himself as the leader of the Autobots.

Peter Cullen is back as the voice for Optimus Prime, sounding wonderful as always. He almost wasn’t brought on for this project, because Michael Bay didn’t want him. If the fans hadn’t thrown a hissyfit, who knows who we would have gotten to be our space dad for the next hour and a half?

This is actually an issue that’s recurred several times in the last few years, and not just with Cullen; Frank Welker, the voice of Megatron, as well as many other Transformers, has been refused roles within Transformers properties. In general, this is because both Cullen and Welker are union actors, and Hasbro would prefer to hire sound-alikes than pay more money for the originals. This isn’t to shame the non-union actors, goodness no, just to merely point out less-than-fantastic business practices.

I realize there have been a lot of tangents, but you have to understand that I am suffering as I do this.

Optimus then introduces his team- there’s Jazz, whose first line is “What’s crackin’ little bitches?”, Ironhide, who incorrectly quotes Dirty Harry, and Ratchet, who calls out just how obnoxiously horny Sam’s character is. We also finally get Bumblebee’s name.

Mikaela asks the very good question of why the fuck the Autobots are here on Earth. Optimus explains that the AllSpark is here, and they’ve got to get to it before Megatron does. He then goes on to explain who Megatron is, stating that he “betrayed” the Cybertronian empire.

No, how exactly he did that isn’t addressed. We’ll just have to take Optimus’s word, I suppose.

If you’ve sussed out by this point the the AllSpark and the Cube™ are the same thing, congrats! You win. Megatron followed the AllSpark to Earth, where he promptly was neutralized by the cold of the Arctic circle. This was 110 years prior to the events of this film, and where Archibald Witwicky came in to the story.

When the expedition was happening, Archibald fell through the ice during a collapse, and ended up finding Megatron’s frozen body in an ice cave. He went poking around on this strange metal giant, and ended up activating Megatron’s navigation systems, which imprinted the coordinates of the AllSpark onto Archibald’s glasses.

Don’t ask how that works, it just does.

So, the Autobots need the glasses, so they can find the AllSpark before the Decepticons do, so those guys don’t use it to build an army out of Earth’s machines, which will destroy humanity.

Sounds simple enough, let’s go get that vision correction device!

Back with the military dudes, everyone’s taking a gander at the tail that Scorponok left behind. They theorize that the metal that makes up these giant murder-robots reacts to extreme heat, but elaboration on that point will have to wait, because the tail has begun to flail. They quickly strap it down, then call the military to let them know to strap anti-tank guns onto anything that’s going to be approaching any giant robots.

Meanwhile, in an interrogation room, Maddie and Glen have been left to sweat a bit. Glen takes to stress-eating, while framing it as a psychological tactic to subconsciously prove his innocence to the FBI.

This is a fat joke, with the added nasty layer of Glen being a black man about to be interrogated by one of the most intimidating white cops I’ve seen in a hot minute.

Glen immediately folds, pinning all the blame on Maddie, and claiming that he’s been a perfect angel his whole life. We get some weird purity culture out of him, before Maddie lets the FBI know that she needs to talk to the Secretary of Defense, NOW.

Over at the Witwicky household, Sam’s parents are watching the news, trying to find out what all those loud crashes were about. Optimus Prime drives down their residential street, the rest of the gang in tow, then they all park to wait for Sam to go get the glasses.

For about 20 seconds.

Sam has to physically hold the door shut to prevent his father from coming out and seeing several very tall robots from outer space tip-toeing around his freshly-landscaped yard, I guess because they got antsy. Optimus plods around on the grass and breaks a fountain, and our benevolent god Mojo comes out of the house, assuredly to smite the leader of the Autobots.

Mikaela runs onto the scene, and Sam chastises her for not controlling the robots who didn’t even acknowledge her existence, outside of pointing out Sam was sexually attracted to her.

Mojo pees on Ironhide’s foot, which prompts Ironhide to threaten to shoot the creature. This is why Ironhide isn’t getting into heaven. Sam, one of Mojo’s chosen few, claims that the mortal shell of his god is seen as a beloved pet by many humans. Sam runs into the house, before Mojo can incur his divine wrath on the Autobots.

While Sam goes to get the glasses, the Autobots decide to do a little peeping on the house, watching his parents watch TV. Sam tears his room apart trying to find the glasses, and Optimus thinks that it would be helpful if he brought Mikaela up to help look. It’s at this point that I realize that Sam has an utterly bizarre fish tank.

I mean, legitimately, what the fuck is this? No filter, no plants, might not even have any rocks on the bottom. Is this a comically oversized bong Sam threw a couple fish into? What the fuck.

Mikaela starts looking for the glasses, running into what is likely a box of porn mags, then they both look out the window to find that the Autobots have decided to hide in plain sight by transforming... in the middle of Sam’s backyard. Amazing work, gentlemen.

Sam finally convinces the Autobots to go sit in the alley and wait, only for Ratchet to run into a power line and trip into a greenhouse. The resulting impact is interpreted as an earthquake. Judy does not have the reaction one might expect from someone who’s lived in California for at least ten years.

Ratchet’s fine, by the way.

The power cuts out, and Ron goes up to check on his son, because he’s at least a halfway-decent father. Ratchet’s shining a light to aid in the search for the glasses. Sam’s parents notice this bright light, and bang on Sam’s door to see what’s up.

Sam quickly hides Mikaela and then attempts to salvage the situation, answering the door and trying to control the narrative. Unfortunately, Ron is far too inquisitive for Sam to do this, and then Judy asks if Sam was masturbating.

Judy, is privacy just not a thing to you? Because if not, it really ought to be.

She keeps going with it too, trying to come up with code words, until another one of the Autobots trips and causes Ron to panic again, climbing into Sam’s ancient claw-foot bathtub to protect himself. He looks out the window to check on his beloved yard, lamenting that the earthquake tore it up.

Ironhide is strongly considering killing Sam’s parents. Optimus tells him that they don’t harm humans, and also begins to wonder if he made a mistake bringing this guy along.

Back in Sam’s room, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Sam is an absolutely terrible liar, and Mikaela reveals herself, if only to prevent Judy from trying to talk about self-pleasure again. Of course, now she gets to be subjected to both of Sam’s parents objectifying her, so this might be a lose-lose situation.

Sam is reminded that his backpack is in the kitchen, just in time for the government to show up at his house. Mikaela makes a comment about Judy being nice. I suppose on a surface level, yes, being told that you’re gorgeous by someone’s mom is nice. I do have to question the context that compliment took place in, however.

Sam’s about to hand the glasses over to the Autobots, when someone rings the doorbell. It’s Sector Seven, and they’re here to talk to Sam about his stolen car being part of an issue involving national security. Ron and Judy are more concerned about their yard being torn up, Judy yelling that they “need to get their hands off [her] bush.”

We still have another hour of this movie.

The agent leading this mission asks Sam to come with him for questioning, which his parents are very much against. Mojo also voices his displeasure, but it would seem that Agent Simmons is not a follower of the Tenets of Mojo. Sam gets geigered, and his readings are high enough for Sector Seven to take him and everyone in this house into custody.

As Sam and Mikaela are riding in the back of the car, Simmons brings up Sam’s Ebay account, and also the phone video he took of Bumblebee earlier in the week. Mikaela is rather unimpressed with Sam at the moment, probably because he’s gotten her arrested. She still tries to help him out though, because she really is just the nicest fucking person on the planet.

Alas, the combined efforts of these two teenagers isn’t enough to fool the long arm of the law, especially when it’s a branch of said law that deals with extraterrestrial activity. Simmons threatens to lock up these literal children for life if they don’t start talking. Mikaela isn’t taking the bait, so he goes after her father’s parole hearing instead.

Yep! As it turns out, Mikaela and her father stole cars to get by, and she’s got the record to back that claim up. Simmons calls her a criminal, then says that criminals are hot. Mikaela looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t blame her in the slightest.

Optimus, I suppose because his dad senses were tingling, takes the opportunity to place his leg in the road for the car to run into, then grabs said car like an unruly cat and lifts it until the roof rips off due to stress. The agents in the other cars pile out and point their guns at the giant space robot. The rest of the Autobots quickly relieve them of their weapons.

Optimus notes that Simmons doesn’t seem surprised that a bunch of giant robots just took all his guys’ guns, and demands that he exit the vehicle, posthaste. Simmons obliges, after a bit more prodding. Mikaela undoes Sam’s handcuffs, and he gets fucking pissy about it, as if this girl he’s had a grand total of three (awkward) conversations with should have told him something as personal as “hey, so my dad’s in jail and I’ve been to juvenile detention.”

Luckily, she doesn’t let him get away with it, calling him out as the spoiled, self-centered, privileged little shithead that he is.

Of course, we don’t get any sort of real acknowledgement from Sam, having to move on with the plot. Perhaps, if we hadn’t spent the last hour and 20 minutes faffing about on drivel, we could have had Sam get an actual moment of self-reflection, and potentially even character growth. However, this is Bayverse, and everyone knows that personal accountability is for fucking sissies.

Mikaela and Sam ask several questions, but get no answers from Agent Simmons. And then Bumblebee pees on him.

I hate that I had to write that. I hate it very much.

Anyway, I don’t know why that had to happen, but it did, and I’m nothing if not thorough.

Optimus tells Bumblebee to cut it out, and with that the Sector Seven agents are cuffs and left on the side of the road. Mikaela orders Simmons to strip, as punishment for threatening her father, then cuffs him to a street lamp.

...Yes, that does sound like a bizarre sexual fantasy, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately for our teen heroes, they forgot to confiscate everyone’s phones, and Sector Seven knows what��s up, thanks to the power of speakerphone. More cars and a couple of helicopters show up basically immediately, and the Autobots decide it’s time to dip.

But not before Ironhide fires off a pulsewave into the ground that causes a five-car pileup.

Optimus, I suppose because he knows he chose a ridiculously flashy alt-mode that is in no way practical, just picks the kids up in and places them on his shoulder like a couple of parakeets, then takes up a leisurely jog to get away from the eyes in the sky. He runs through the city, racking up what is likely millions in property damage, as the helicopters pursue. He passes by a “Legalize LA” billboard, which feels odd to see, given what movie this is.

The ‘copters somehow manage to lose Optimus, despite him being relatively slow, and having a notable radiation level that they’ve been using to track him. He hides inside the scaffolding of a bridge, only for Mikaela and Sam to slip off of his polished body to their deaths, thus ending the film.

No, they don’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Bumblebee snatches them up just before they hit the ground, the impact of his metal body catching them at 75 mph, killing them instantly and ending the film.

Nope, that doesn’t happen either.

Mikaela and Sam are fine, some-fucking-how, but Sam’s dropped the MacGuffin glasses. The helicopters swing back around, having noticed the sound of a car crashing into the ground and the screams of two whole adolescents. They break out a fucking harpoon gun and fire on our kid appeal character.

Repeatedly.

They wrap up Bumblebee in a series of cables, as he screams like a moose. Mikaela and Sam are held at gunpoint by what is honestly far too many dudes, and are then arrested for the second time in ten minutes. Bumblebee is smoked... because he’s a bee? Sam, not liking this one bit, finds the strength in his weenie body to push a cop off of himself, run at one of the dudes with the smoke guns, throw him to the ground, and then start smoking him. He’s immediately tackled, but points for trying.

Sam and Mikaela are placed back into custody, and the rest of the Autobots regroup with Optimus to see what the plan is. Optimus says that they can’t save Bumblebee without hurting humans, so I guess Bumblebee is just a POW now. Well, at least they got the glasses. That’s cool.

Back at the Pentagon, things are getting dicey, as the other world powers are starting to suspect that something’s up. The Secretary of Defense is approached by a man with a mustache and a briefcase. He’s from Sector Seven, but the Secretary gives not a fuck about mysterious organizations. All the computers in the room suddenly go down, the virus from earlier working its magic- only this time, the blackout is global.

Mr. Mustache opens his briefcase, while explaining that Sector Seven is something known as a “special access” sector of the government, which is why nobody’s ever heard of it; it’s beyond top secret. Commissioned by President Herbert Hoover 80 years prior, it deals with alien life.

When the Beagle 2 spacecraft was lost on the way to Mars in 2003, the mission was declared a failure. This was a lie. The Beagle 2 recorded several seconds of Mars before being crushed to death by a Transformer. This tidbit is pretty funny, given that the Beagle 2 was rediscovered on Mars in 2014, seven years after this film released. Not a terribly mysterious death anymore, is it?

Comparing the footage from Mars to the footage from Qatar has Sector Seven thinking that these are the same species. Which they are. God, it’d be so fucked up if there were two species of giant robots in this film.

Mr. Mustache theorizes that because the Transformers now know that they can be harmed by human weaponry, they’re being proactive about their safety and shutting down all forms of communication technology with that virus that keeps popping up. It’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan for humanity.

Mr. Secretary tells his guys to try going analog with comms, breaking out the short-wave radios, to tell their ships to return home.

Over at an Air Force base, Lennox and the gang have landed, only to be scooped up by a bunch of dudes in suits.

Back with Maddie and Glen, the two of them have fallen asleep in the interrogation room, Maddie still wearing her friggin’ four inch pumps as her legs are propped up on the table, crossed in a way that seems rather uncomfortable. Glen gets to sleep like a normal human being, with his head resting on his forearms. Why this place doesn’t have a holding cell for these situations is beyond me.

Mr. Secretary comes in to bring Maddie on as his advisor. Glen can come too, I guess, considering he’s the one who actually figured out the sound file virus.

We get a little military glorification, and then it’s revealed that Mikaela and Sam, as well as Maddie and Glen, are aboard this helicopter. Their paths cross at last. Our heroes are transported to the Hoover Dam, where Bumblebee is also. They are still smoking him.

Meanwhile, the Autobots are figuring out where to go, with the power of Archibald’s glasses. Ratchet, who I guess is omnipotent, senses that the Decepticons have also figured out the location, and that this is going to be a race against the clock. And I mean, he’s right, but the phrasing is a bit odd.

Jazz wants to know when they’re going to save Bumblebee. Optimus says that they aren’t, and that Bumblebee’s sacrifice is noble, and that he would want the Autobots to leave him and complete the mission. As this is said, we get another shot of Bumblebee getting smoked and trapped in a lab. Yep, this is totally what he would want. He absolutely signed up for this, giving himself up to the government and not at all fighting like mad to not be captured.

I don’t think Bayverse Optimus actually knows what martyrdom is, which is bizarre, given that it’s a major trait in a lot of other iterations of the character.

Ironhide isn’t even sure why they’re bothering to save humanity, given that humans are violent and awful, his point being hammered home as Bumblebee is tortured for scientific reasons. Ironhide seems to have forgotten that Cybertron has been at war for literally millions of years. Optimus has faith in humanity, however, stating that we’re “young”.

And then he says that he’s going to end his own race, by destroying the Cube™, which is how they reproduce, because that’s the only way to end the war.

Which is arguably one of the most hardcore fictional applications of eugenics ever conceived.

Being advocated for by Optimus Goddamn Prime.

We still have another 50 minutes of this movie.

Optimus then proves that he does, in fact, know what self-sacrifice is, stating that, if all else fails, he’ll shove the AllSpark into his spark, which will destroy them both. He’s pretty chill about it, too.

Up on top of the Hoover Dam, Frenzy has fallen out of Mikaela’s bag.

Mr. Secretary is also at the Hoover Dam now, as is Lennox’s team. Oh, and Agent Simmons, who is thankfully wearing pants. He offers to buy Sam a coffee, as repartitions for threatening his family, arresting him, and being a complete creep to a teenage girl. Sam gives not a fuck about caramel macchiatos with extra foam and chocolate drizzle, however. He only cares about his car.

Mr. Mustache, who is also here, needs Sam to spill the beans on all these friggin’ giant robots that are running around. This is where Sam realizes he has the upper hand for once, and he starts making demands. One such demand is having Mikaela’s record scrubbed clean, which is an actually very nice thing for him to have done for her. We’ll see if his intent comes to fruition. For now, it’s time to talk about Bumblebee.

We get a shot of all these folks heading into the secret base hidden inside the Hoover Dam, and it’s at this point that I notice that Maddie’s shirt is basically see-through.

Inside the Dam, we see that Sector Seven′s been keeping Megatron this entire time, keeping him neutralized with cryo-stasis since 1935. Cryopreservation was invented in the 50′s. This isn’t a nitpick, I just thought it was a neat little fact.

Megatron being on Earth has resulted in most modern technology. This sort of plot point always bothers me, because it takes away agency from the entire human race. We didn’t use our own ingenuity and work ethic to advance society, we plagiarized from a more advanced species. I dunno, it just rubs me the wrong way.

We get the part of the movie where info is hashed out, so that everyone is on the same page, Sam spouting off Autobot propaganda. We can forgive him for this,considering he’s 16, and no one is immune to propaganda, especially when they have zero way of doing their own research to form their own opinion with.

Sector Seven also has the AllSpark, kept in the room next to Megatron’s, like the chumps they will soon find themselves to be. It’s about ten stories tall and the reason the Hoover Dam exists. With so much concrete suppressing its alien energies, surely no one will ever find it!

Except for Frenzy, who came in through a mouse hole. Whoopsie-doodle!

The AllSpark zaps the nasty little man, restoring his body with its weird MacGuffin powers. Frenzy tells all his coworkers that he found what they were looking for, and everyone starts heading over.

Maddie asks Mr. Mustache what exactly he means by “energies”, perhaps worried that this whole thing has been some elaborate ploy to get her to invest in magic healing stones. Mr. Mustache brings everyone into a testing chamber, since the best way to explain how the AllSpark works is through a demonstration.

There’s a big fish tank in the middle of this testing chamber, in which Agent Simmons places a donated device from the crowd- Glen’s Nokia phone, specifically. Simmons makes a geologically-confused comment. When this is pointed out by Maddie, Mr. Secretary hushes her, simply saying that Simmons is a strange man. The tank is locked down, and then the show starts.

Cube™ energies are shot into the tank, and the phone explodes into life, transforming into a gorilla-shaped gremlin creature. Happy birthday, little dude!

Little dude starts shooting at the tank walls, cracking the glass until Simmons pulls the trigger and ends it. Happy deathday, little dude!

The Decepticons are making tracks towards the Hoover Dam, but Starscream- yeah, he’s in this now, don’t worry about it- arrives first, because he is a very fast jet. He transforms, showing off his ridiculous Dorito body, and fires on the base’s generators. The resulting explosions can be heard all the way down in the testing chamber, and Mr. Mustache calls upstairs to see what’s up. Looks like Megatron may be getting warmed up, seeing as his ice bath has been cut off. Lennox asks if there’s an arms room in Sector Seven, which sort of feels like asking a bakery if they have any flour.

Frenzy has entered the room that houses the controls for the cryo-stasis and set that whole system to “no, thank you”.

Mr. Mustache runs through the base, screaming for everyone to get to the Megatron chamber. Off in the distance, the Autobots approach. Could probably used some fliers on your team, huh Optimus?

Back with Frenzy, he’s decided to just straight-up raise Megatron’s core temperature directly. Hope he doesn’t do it too fast; rewarming hypothermia victims recklessly can do some serious damage.

Outside of the base, Lennox and the boys are loading up with weaponry, along with what’s the entirety of Sector Seven′s cannon-fodder department. Oh, and all the main cast. Yep, just got a couple of teenagers chillin’ in the munitions room.

Sam wants Simmons to take him to his car- he hasn’t used Bumblebee’s name in a hot minute, not sure what’s up with that- even though Simmons is currently busy loading a very large gun. Simmons doesn’t want to do that, because he’s got no idea if what Sam mentioned earlier is even true, and he doesn’t want to pin the fate of humanity on a single Camaro. Lennox takes this opportunity to tackle Simmons, despite likely not knowing that Bumblebee is one of the “good guys”. A Sector Seven guy very much doesn’t like that, and points a gun at Lennox, which prompts all of his guys to also start threatening folks with guns.

Mr. Mustache walks in on the scene, but doesn’t do anything, since he isn’t armed and knows better than to tangle with someone who’s packing. Simmons tries to intimidate Lennox, because he must have missed the day of boot camp where they tell you that guns kill people. Lennox is fully committed to shooting this dude in the lungs before Mr. Secretary suggests he give the people what they want, before things get ugly.

Simmons takes everyone to the robot torture department of Sector Seven, where they are still smoking Bumblebee. Geez, you’d think they’d have something in place for if they ever came across another giant robot after Megatron, but I guess not. The gang gets everyone to stop smoking Bumblebee, which allows him to stop moose-screaming and strongly consider murdering everyone involved with his forced captivity. Unfortunately, revenge with have to wait, as we’ve still got to deal with the AllSpark, and the fact that the Decepticons are here.

They take Bumblebee to the AllSpark, where he makes direct contact the thing, causing the AllSpark to transform, compacting itself down into a far more reasonable size that Bumblebee can carry in one hand. It doesn’t seem to weigh more than a grown adult, if his body language is saying anything. I’d make a joke about the conservation of mass being ignored, but since this is Transformers, I can’t really say much. Conservation of mass doesn’t exist for this franchise.

Bumblebee would really like to get this show on the road, and Lennox agrees, quickly formulating a plan to get away from Megatron and taking the AllSpark to Mission City, which is relatively close to their current location, so that they can hide it there.

Lennox, I know this plan is a first draft, and we don’t have a ton of time for revisions, but the whole point of building a whole-ass dam around the Cube™ was because it was very difficult to hide, given its magical MacGuffin powers. Regardless of this flaw, Mr. Secretary agrees. Lennox also asks that the Air Force be involved in this, I guess because the U.S. military wanted more screentime.

Of course, that whole “global blackout” thing is still going on, so we’re going to have to get creative with how we’re going to contact the Air Force. Mr. Secretary and Simmons make a break for the WWII-era radio Sector Seven has, while Lennox and the boys head out to shoot things, and Mikaela and Sam hop into Bumblebee with the Cube™.

This is about the point that Megatron wakes up. The first thing he does is introduce himself, which I thought was very polite of him. Then he breaks out his flail and starts bashing shit around. Not so polite, that.

Over with Bumblebee, we’re shown that the AllSpark, all-powerful object that can create life and is the whole reason this conflict is even happening, is just chillin’ in the back seat by itself. It’s not even buckled up.

Megatron escapes the base, and it’s actually super easy. He just transforms, goes through the tunnel, and he’s free. I feel like we could have at least attempted some security measures for in case the cryo-stasis failed, given that we’ve had this dude in containment for the last 70-something years, but okay.

Starscream comes over to say hi to his boss, not that Megatron gives a shit. He just wants to know where that fucking Cube™ is. When Starscream tells him that the humans have it, Megatron makes a comment about how Starscream has failed him yet again. This is their first interaction in this movie, and Starscream’s been in the story for a grand total of five minutes at this point. I know that this is a reference to their dynamic in just about every installment of the franchise up to this point, but it doesn’t feel earned in the slightest. Even if it’s going to be expanded upon in future sequels, this is a shit-tier way to set their (awful) relationship up.

Not that anyone should ever bank on getting a sequel anyway, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Megatron tells Starscream to retrieve the AllSpark, and then we cut over to the radio plotline. The radio, which is so cobweb-covered I feel like Sector Seven needs to have a serious discussion with their custodial staff, has its nobs and buttons fiddled with by Simmons until it crackles to life. But where are the microphones? Everyone starts looking for the mics, as Simmons pushes Glen into the seat, I guess because hacking modern computers and using Depression-era radio tech are similar enough.

Maddie asks Glen if he can hotwire a 90′s-era computer to transmit a tone through the radio, so that they can send a Morse code message to the Air Force. Which sounds ridiculous to me, but I don’t know enough about radios or computers to know if that sort of thing would be possible. Maybe it’s fine. Or maybe it’s Hollywood bullshit. Who knows?

Back over with Bumblebee, we get a bunch of car commercial shots, of both him and the other Autobots. Aww, the gang’s back together again! Nobody tell Bumblebee that Optimus was completely cool with leaving him to his fate.

Optimus and the gang whip around to join the convoy, and everyone makes their way towards Mission City.

Back at the radio subplot, someone’s bangin’ on the door, trying to get in. The others try to block the intruder, while Glen does his hacking stuff. Mr. Secretary breaks a case and pulls out a gun that’s about as old as he is.

Glen gets the computer working, and Mr. Secretary gives him the Super Secret Military Codewords™ to use to talk to the Air Force. While he does that, Simmons finds a flamethrower and starts burning Frenzy as he attempts to enter the room. The Air Force receives the message for an air strike. Oh, goody.

Over with the convoy, it appears that the Autobots and Lennox’s boys are being pursued by the Decepticons. It’s difficult to tell, seeing as the cameras have gone full Bay-mode, but I’m guessing that’s what’s up. One of the Decepticons flips over a minivan, likely killing a family of five. another causes a multi-car pileup.

Bonecrusher transforms, then Optimus transforms. Bonecrusher iceskates across the highway, slamming into a bus so hard it just straight-up explodes. He is on fire. He tackles Optimus, and they proceed to fall off the side of the raised highway they’re on. Then they beat the shit out of each other, until Optimus decapitates Bonecrusher with his arm-sword.

Yeah, space dad is a little intense in the Bayverse.

Back at Sector Seven, Frenzy’s decided to leave the door alone, and instead is crawling through the ventilation shaft. Mr. Secretary and Simmons fire off shots into the duct above them, as if bullets would do anything against this nasty little pile of needles.

Frenzy bursts through the bottom of the duct and crash-lands into a glass case, taking cover behind a pillar and fires on the humans on the other side of the room. While this shootout is happening, Glen receives a response from the Air Force, just in time for Frenzy to accidentally decapitate himself with one of his own spinning blades of death. This time, he does not survive losing his head.

The Air Force will be sending fighter planes to Mission City, and to establish this, we get several shots of what some might call “military porn.”

Over in the city, the convoy has arrived. Lennox hands several short-wave radios over to Epps, telling him to use them to direct the Air Force when they arrive, so they can take the AllSpark... somewhere, I guess. Above, an F-22 zooms across the sky. It is not one of the Air Force’s F-22s.

Ironhide recognizes Starscream, and gets ready to throw down. Bumblebee grabs a nearby Furby truck and hoists it up to use as a shield. This marginally works, as the missile that hits the truck doesn’t immediately kill him, though it probably did all those Furbies inside.

The resulting explosion throws all the humans around, Mikaela getting weird heaven lighting as she lies unconscious on the pavement. Sam gets it too, though, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about this particular shot. They touch hands. I really wish that I could take this moment of vulnerability as being anything other than an attempt to set up a romance between these two teens who have known each other for maybe half a week. This movie has so starved me of genuine human interaction I'm jumping at the smallest of scraps.

Bumblebee actually didn’t get out of that missile-strike unscathed, his legs having been blown off. All those Furbies died for nothing. Tragic. Sam asks Bumblebee if he’s alright, and immediately tells him to get up. Sam then remembers that Bumblebee’s legs are off, so he yells for Ratchet.

Over with Lennox and Epps, they’ve realized that the plane they saw wasn’t one of theirs. Which, you know, has already been established, but points for getting caught up, fellas. Sam is crying and still telling Bumblebee to get up. Bumblebee is dragging himself across the pavement and whimpering. It’s awful. Where the fuck is Ratchet? This is basically the only reason he’s in this film, and he’s nowhere to be found.

The actual Air Force calls on the radio, asking for their location. Brawl, who is a tank, starts firing on Lennox’s gang. Jazz and Ratchet race through the city streets. How they were separated from the rest of the team is anyone’s guess.

Sam takes a little sit on the pavement to be with Bumblebee, while Mikaela decides to problem-solve and heads for a nearby tow truck. Bumblebee hands Sam the Cube™ because, as the designated protagonist, it’s his job to handle it in the climax of the film.

Ironhide is shot at several times by Brawl, narrowly avoiding being hit each time. This, of course, means that the people he drives by in this shot are almost assuredly dead, since they’re right next to the explosions. He transforms and does a flip, as the film goes slow-mo on a shot of a woman in a low-cut dress watching him flip. She screams. Ironhide screams. I scream, though probably for a different reason.

Jazz jumps on Brawl, managing to kick off a couple pieces of kibble before Brawl grabs him and throws him into the side of a building. Ironhide, Optimus, and Ratchet descend on Brawl, and so does Lennox’s team, Brawl losing a hand and getting thrown into his own building as a result.

Mikaela breaks into the tow truck and starts to hotwire that shit. Wow, a relevant back story that culminates in her being able to save the day, thus completing her arc and staying on-theme for her character. Why isn’t Mikaela the protagonist again?

Oh, right, because ~girl~.

Megatron lands in a nearby alleyway, and Ratchet, knowing this dude is bad news, tells everyone to head for the hills. Jazz isn’t fast enough, however, and gets shot for his troubles.

Mikaela drives the truck over to Sam, who is still sitting there with the Cube™, and tells him to get his ass in gear.

Jazz gets taken to the top of a nearby building and is ripped in two by Megatron, who acts like a bird of prey the whole sequence. Down on the ground, Brawl is starting to get back up from his smackdown. Blackout appears on a nearby skyscraper. Things are looking grim for humanity.

Mikaela and Sam hook Bumblebee up to the tow line as Lennox approaches them. Sam has left the AllSpark out of his line of sight, like a fool. Despite seeing this, Lennox still gives him the flare to let the military know where to pick up the AllSpark. Doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela. He tells Sam to head for the white building with statues on top of it and set the flare on top of the roof. Lennox can’t leave his men, because he’s the head of his operation. Why he can’t send literally anyone else who isn’t a 16 year-old boy isn’t made clear.

Sam really doesn’t want to do this, probably because he’s a child, but Lennox has recruited him to the military against his will, so he must. Lennox then attempts to make Mikaela leave for her own good, but she tells him to fuck off, because she’s gonna save Bumblebee. Clearly, this is a win for feminism.

Epps radios the choppers coming from the Air Force to let them know they’ll be picking up a package from a teenager, thus locking Sam into the job. Ironhide and Ratchet vow to protect Sam from the Decepticons on his way to the pickup point. Not one single person has pointed out how fucked up this is.

Sam starts to run off, when Mikaela stops him to let him know that she’s glad she got in the car with him roughly an hour ago. They don’t kiss goodbye, which, honestly? Good. This fucking movie hasn’t earned that. Sam for sure hasn’t earned that, even if he did clear her juvie record. No word on that having actually been done, by the way. Sam never got confirmation, and I feel like he’s not really the type to follow up on things.

Brawl fires off some shots and makes things explode. Ratchet and Ironhide provide cover fire as Sam sprints down the road. Yep, they’re making this idiot WALK to the pickup point. Sure hope the elevators are working today, otherwise this is going to take forever.

Sam carries the AllSpark like a football, and in a better movie, this would have been foreshadowed by Sam having actually been a football player prior to the events of the film, perhaps removed from the team for some character flaw he’s since grown from/accepted. However, this is Bayverse, and well, men don’t have to justify their existence in the story with things like themes and having even an ounce of thought put into their character.

Back with Mikaela, Lennox has refused to learn her name, calling her “girl” as he screams at her to get Bumblebee hooked up to the tow truck. Which she was already doing when he got here. Lennox, dude, you’ve got a daughter now, you’re super extra not allowed to treat women like this.

Optimus Prime pulls through an alleyway and crashes into a pile of garbage. I can forgive him being late, seeing as he is a big rig, and probably had to take the long way into town so he didn’t get stuck in too-low tunnels. Don’t worry about how we briefly saw him during the Brawl take-down. This is his for real entrance into the climax.

He whips around and transforms, ready to throw the fuck down. Megatron spots him from his perch and descends.

Y’know.

Like a vast, predatory bird.

Megatron shoots at Optimus in his alt-mode, and Optimus catches him like a frisbee. Unfortunately for Optimus, it would appear that the horsepower on a Cybertronian flightcraft is hella intense, and he’s carried away. The two of them crash through an office building, then roll around in the streets punching each other in the face, debating the worth of humanity as they do so. Wish I actually gave a shit about either of these people, but alas! The film spent most of its runtime objectifying women and insulting minorities. I know nothing about Optimus, and even less about Megatron.

Megatron transforms his arms into a laser gun, and Optimus does the same. They shoot at each other. Optimus gets thrown into a building, then lands on the sidewalk below, definitely crushing a dude underneath him, but I guess we didn’t check that the shot was clear for where the CGI was gonna go, so he’s fine.

Sam’s still running through the streets, while Blackout murders, like, so many people behind him. Starscream lands in front of Sam, running into roughly 30 cars as he skids to a halt. Ratchet and Ironhide fire on him, as Sam takes a breather behind a car. Starscream transforms and blasts off. He was here for about 15 seconds. Sam begins running again.

Megatron is now following Sam, because he wants that Cube™. Sam is hit by a car- not an evil one, just a regular car- and trips. The impact makes the AllSpark activate, which grants several machines in the vicinity the gift of life, including the car full of bitchy women that just hit Sam, who are upset that hitting a human being might have scratched the paint.

I get it, you hate women, can we PLEASE stop beating this dead horse?

Sam finally gets to the pickup building, which turns out to be abandoned and fenced off. Good thing the gate was open, otherwise things could get really complicated. He heads inside, Megatron crashing through a floor-to-ceiling window shortly behind him. Megatron makes the claim that he can smell where Sam is. I’m going to choose to believe that he isn’t lying here, since Ratchet did something similar earlier.

Sam finds the stairs, and Megatron calls him a slur.

He doesn’t, really, but the voice modulation certainly makes it sound that way.

While this is happening, Mikaela is driving the tow truck down an alley, dragging Bumblebee behind her with the tow cable. She stops for a moment to have a short breakdown, seeing as she is a teenager in what is currently a warzone.

Sam is still running up the stairs. Outside, the military shoots at one of the Decepticons. It is, of course, doing absolutely nothing to the giant metal space robot. Mikaela concludes her moment, looking back at Bumblebee, who gives her the okay to keep going with dragging his ass across the pavement. She whips the truck around and tells Bumblebee “I’ll drive, you shoot.”

Mikaela then proceeds to speed down a main road of this sizable city backwards, running into cars and more or less shoving Bumblebee along to his destination.

The military has finally realized that their efforts have been pointless, but it’s okay because Bumblebee is here with his superior firepower. Bumblebee proceeds to shoot Brawl in the chest, which kills him. After this, he tries to act cute, lifting up his battle mask in a very “did I do that?” way, as if he’s not the same guy who ripped Barricade apart earlier.

Sam, meanwhile, has finally reached the top of this dilapidated building. Helicopters are approaching his location, but will they make it to him before Megatron does? Honestly, I’d be more worried about Starscream on the building just due East.

Sam is just about to hand the AllSpark over, when Starscream fires at the ‘copter, causing it to crash and nearly chop Sam to pieces. Optimus Prime runs towards the scene, on a roof that I refuse to believe could actually support him. Megatron punches thought the roof from the bottom and asks Sam some philosophical questions. Sam can’t answer, given that he’s hiding on the edge of this building, his flimsy grip on one of the angel statues being the only thing keeping him from falling.

Megatron tells him to give him the AllSpark, and in exchange he might not kill him immediately. Sam tells him to fuck off, and Megatron flails the chunk of building he was hanging on to, causing Sam to fall to his death, thus ending the film.

I’m lying to you. Michael Bay is making me into a liar.

No, Sam is, instead, caught by Optimus, very likely breaking several ribs on impact. This is the point where I realize that they’ve given Optimus fingernails. Sam clings to him like a baby koala, as Optimus parkours down the sides of two buildings, Megatron in pursuit. Megatron actually lands on Optimus 2/3rds of the way down, causing the both of them to fall onto the pavement below. How Sam survives this is a mystery.

Megatron recovers from the fall first, flicking a human away from him for having the audacity to exist in his space. The flicked person hits a car, and is almost assuredly dead. At least, I sure hope so, given that this is the director cameo by the Bayman himself.

Feminist icon Megatron?

Feminist icon Megatron.

Optimus comments on the fact that Sam almost fucking died to get the AllSpark out of dodge, and we get the return of “No Sacrifice, No Victory”. Which, I mean, I guess he’s allowed to say that, since he’s actually had to do something that warranted it. His dad doesn’t get to, though.

Optimus then tells this teenage boy, who has already had a hell of a day, to kill him by shoving the AllSpark into his robot-soul-heart, should he be unable to defeat Megatron.

I dunno, I just feel like it’s a bit of an ask.

Sam climbs off of Optimus so the Prime and Megatron can rumble. He runs through the ruined infrastructure of the city, so he’s less likely to be crushed. Optimus tells Megatron to square the fuck up, stating that “one shall stand, one shall fall.”

Then he gets ragdolled around a bunch, so maybe he should have saved the talk for later in the game.

The military is running around some more, stopping in an alley to see Blackout transform to root mode. Yes, the goo-goo eyes were indeed made by several members of the watch party that started this whole thing. People went wild for Rotor-Cape Johnson.

The fighter jets from the US military are arriving in a minute. Epps warns them to aim for the robots that aren’t evil. Lennox and the gang spread out, reminding each other to aim for the underboob, since Transformers’ armor is weak there. Epps marks Blackout with a little green light, which Blackout almost immediately notices. Blackout fires on the military.

Lennox has stolen a motorcycle and is driving through the streets to circle back around and jump off of the bike, sliding on his back to shoot Blackout directly in his underboob. Wonder what his uniform is rated for for road rash.

Sam is watching as Optimus gets his ass handed to him. Up in the sky, Starscream commits identity theft, and then attacks the Air Force. The Air Force can multitask however, and light Megatron the fuck up. Sam has, for some reason, come out of hiding, and Megatron uses this to his advantage, trying to take the AllSpark from him.

Optimus tells Sam to put the AllSpark in his chest, but Sam has a better idea. He shoves it into Megatron’s chest, which has been basically shot open at this point. Megatron makes a Space Invader noise, convulses a bit, then falls over dead.

Congrats on your first murder, Sam.

Optimus tells Megatron’s corpse that he got what was coming to him, then implies that they’re brothers. What flavor of brother isn’t established, but neither was basically anything between the two main faces of the franchise in this film, so it’s fine.

Ironhide walks up holding the two halves of Jazz. Optimus informs Sam that he now has a life-debt to this child. Whether or not Sam is absorbing any information at this point is up in the air. Mikaela shows up, with Bumblebee in tow.

In tow.

In tow-

Sam stares at her blankly. Mikaela stares back, making the pretty girl face. Man, what a great dynamic these two have.

Jazz is dead. That sucks. Optimus is handed his corpse to hold, while he thanks his new friends for helping out.

Then Bumblebee talks and he’s fucKING BRITISH.

Sam is obviously shocked by the fact that Bumblebee is British able to talk now, since not talking has been his whole thing up to this point. Optimus doesn’t let it phase him. Neither does Ratchet, despite having been working on Bumblebee’s throat injury for centuries at this point.

Bumblebee wants to stay on Earth with Sam. Optimus is just like whatever. Sam agrees to have a sweet Camaro from outer space.

Optimus pulls what is left of the AllSpark out of Megatron’s chest. I’m sure that’s not a setup for potential conflicts, not in the slightest.

Over in Washington, D.C., the US President has ordered Sector Seven be terminated, and all the Transformer corpses be disposed of. And by “disposed of” they mean “thrown into the ocean.” Dang, sure hope Earth signed some sort of agreement with the Transformers so that they never come to Earth again. You know, just be proactive about our galactic safety.

The Linkin Park kicks on, as Optimus gives us our bookend narration, telling us what the Autobots plan to do now that their race is at a genological dead end. As he does, we see Lennox reunite with his wife and child, who I had genuinely forgotten were in this movie.

Optimus is pretty chill with Cybertron dying out, because now they know about Earth. We get a shot of Sam and Mikaela making out, a shot that becomes more and more horrifying the further they zoom out, because they’re making out on top of Bumblebee. Who they KNOW is a sentient creature at this point.

And then it gets even worse, because the shot changes, and oh hey! Turns out that the rest of the Autobots were just chillin’ off to the side while this went down. Optimus continues his monologue, just walking around in his root mode as he tells all of Makeout Point how they’re “robots in disguise” now.

The monologue is actually a transmission he’s sending out into space, inviting any of his leftover pals to come kick it on Earth with them, because Earth is pretty cool.

And that’s where they leave us.

IT TOOK THREE PEOPLE TO WRITE THIS SCHLOCK.

So. Bayverse 1. A film showcasing xenophobia, misogyny, and toxic nationalism. It’s rough. Is it the worst film I’ve ever seen? Not even close, but it’s bad, and it was a huge deal at the time of release. Everyone was seeing it, everyone knew the actors and robots, everyone had a scene that they liked. Everyone was exposed to Bayverse, and as a result, a lot of people entered the Transformers franchise thinking that it was all like this.

And really, how far off would they have been in 2007?

When a franchise refuses to introduce female characters until years after being established, when all those female characters have the exact same body type, when a franchise hires misogynists to write stories, when it allows shit like “Prime’s Rib!” to be published- no wonder Michael Bay was approached to direct.

What a mess.

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

COMING SOON:

TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN (2009) - MEGAN FOX I AM SO FUCKING SORRY

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON (2011) - WILL YOU JUST STAY DEAD

TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION (2014) - SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW

TRANSFORMERS: THE LAST KNIGHT (2017) - ACTUALLY, FUCK CONTINUITY

#transformers #bayverse #part one #maccadam #Hannzreads #Hannzwatches #text post #long post #film analysis #off topic

207 notes · View notes

eastertag · 4 years ago

Text

@willow-salix gift for @gordonthegreatesttracy

The only thing he was aware of was the pain, pain so great it felt like his entire body had been ripped apart and set on fire. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he wasn’t even sure if he was alive or dead.

A world of pain, beyond which nothing else existed.

The heavy weight that had been pounding on his chest stopped, his lungs screamed in protest as he tried to suck air into them, fighting with him.

“I’ve got output!”

“He’s back!”

-x-

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES EARLIER

“You’re so lucky!”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, something that had been an almost permanent fixture on his face for the past three days since he’d heard that he, a relative newcomer, had been picked over everyone else. It was such an honour, completely unexpected, but an honour nonetheless.

“How did you even pull it off? Did Daddy throw some cash their way?” Browns teased.

“Ha! You wish that was the reason, then you’d never have to admit that it’s all down to my superior skills and outlandish charm,” Gordon preened as he yanked at the left leg of his dry suit. It was cumbersome, far thicker than he was used to, a complete pain in the ass to drag on, but an essential bit of kit that he would not be allowed out without.

Browns helped him hoist the back up over his shoulders once he got his arms in the holes. Gordon rolled his shoulder, settling the stiff material in place as best he could. He still felt uncomfortable but it sure beat the alternative.

“Five minutes to go!” his commander called through the door. “You almost ready, Tracy?”

“I was born ready, sir.”

“Good lad, then get moving.”

Gordon tried his hardest not to run out of the door, so eager was he to get his butt in that seat. Some people would never understand his excitement, but to him it was a dream come true. He’d seen the way his eldest brother would practically vibrate with excitement whenever he called home and told them all about the latest plane he’d been called in to test drive and, Gordon had to admit, he’d never really understood what all the fuss had been about. Now it was his turn and he knew that he’d be grovelling to Scott in a few hours time, begging his forgiveness for all the times he’d teased him about his latest winged crush. He was just as guilty, except his crush had two sleek and sexy foils propping her out of the water like the majestic queen that she was. And he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

The next five minutes had flown by faster than he could track, people had surrounded him on all sides, all yanking and pushing and prodding him into place. One had helped him climb into the cockpit, carefully navigating so as not to knock his helmet on the metal bars of the reinforced frame that would encase him on both sides. Another had buckled him into his seat, bringing the safety straps down over his shoulders and clipping them into the buckle between his legs. Yet another had double checked the air supply to his suit, just in case.

The Navy hadn’t touched hydrofoils for almost a century after they had been deemed too expensive, too unpredictable and of no real use. Now WASP had taken up the challenge.

The project, codenamed Poiseiden, had seen the designing, building and now the testing of the Sea Skimmer hydrofoil, which looked set to be the next shining gem to come out of the experimental watercraft division.

As long as it worked as it should, there was the potential for it to become a standard vehicle in all branches of WASP before the end of the year, making high speed sea rescues or pursuits all the easier.

“Did you hear me, Tracy?” the engineer to his left asked again, making him jump.

“Yeah, sorry,” Gordon winced, cursing his lack of attention.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m good, I swear. I was just running a mental checklist and didn’t hear you the first time,” he lied smoothly, refusing to admit that he had been picturing the glory that he’d get from this once the programme was rolled out across the board. This was a career making opportunity and he couldn’t afford to blow it.

“Good,” the man patted the top of Gordon’s helmet affectionately, before bellowing over his shoulder; “Team, roll out!”

The flock of people that had been buzzing around the craft melted away, each person having already completed their specific task or moving to prepare for it, leaving Gordon alone.

His gloved hands flexed on the controls, impatient to get going. The silence around him was broken by the crackle of the radio then the unmistakable sound of a countdown. Thirty seconds to go...twenty...ten...five…

The second clearance was given he was off, easing the boat out of its covered dock and out into WASP’s test harbour. Once he was clear of the floating observation platforms he opened her up, moving her in a graceful figure eight, just letting her glide through the water as he got a feel for the way she handled while gradually increasing speed.

He was five miles per hour off the predicted speed when he felt the first hint of lift, the very thing he had been waiting for. He straightened out, deviating from his previous path to that of a straight line before pushing the throttle a little more.

As her speed increased so did the lift, the foils doing their job perfectly, raising her hull out of the water, the foils beginning to skim just as they were supposed to. He couldn't help the little woop of excitement that escaped as the bow kept lifting higher and higher. It was only bloody working!

“You’re doing great, Tracy,” the voice over the radio said. “How does she feel?”

“Great, just great,” Gordon replied. “She’s handling like a dream, a little twitchy but nothing terrible. I can feel every little move that the water makes but not like a normal boat, more like when you’re surfing. She’s not plowing through the water, she’s skimming it just as she’s supposed to.”

“How much more can she take?”

Gordon glanced down at the speedometer, registering that she was already at just over two hundred miles per hour.

“Nothing in here, I'd need to take her to the open water.”

“Affirmative, carry on.”

Grinning widely, Gordon steered her straight for the opening that led to the stretch of ocean that was permanently closed to all marine traffic within a hundred and fifty square miles. He heard the safety boat following somewhere behind him but ignored it, they were professionals and would know to keep out of his way, he just had to concentrate on his own driving.

Once he was clear he pushed the throttle forward easing into the last third, ready to push her to her max. He watched as the speedometer readouts climbed ever higher, ten miles, twenty, thirty, she kept going, lifting higher and higher out of the water. He wasn't just feeling it, he could see it, the angle of the horizon line ahead of him changing before his eyes.

“Give her all she’s got, Tracy,” his commander encouraged and Gordon was only too happy to comply. It felt amazing, she was gliding, almost effortlessly, barely skimming the surface of the water as her sleek, aerodynamic foils sliced through all resistance like a hot knife through butter.

“Yes, sir!”

He pushed the throttle forward that last few millimeters until it could go no more. The engines roared their approval as the numbers continued to tick over edging ever closer to that elusive three hundred mark…

“Yes!” he screamed in triumph as the two rolled into a three.

“Well done, Tracy!” the voice over the radio praised. “How does she feel?”

“Like she’s standing still,” Gordon enthused. “It’s effortless, I can barely feel her moving at all. Smooth as silk.”

“Give her one last go around and then start easing back into port.”

“Got it,” Gordon confirmed, moving to do just that.

What happened next was both too quick to register but also felt like it was happening in slow motion. His hand gripped the throttle, starting to ease it back in order to begin deceleration, meaning to execute a large sweeping curve to bring her back around to face port. The handle, which should have moved back as easily as it had moved forward, stayed exactly where it was.

The hydrofil was already coming into the turn and her nose lifted even further, suspending her almost bolt upright for a split second before she left the water completely, shooting up into the air.

She cartwheeled through the air, end over end for three full turns before she came crashing face down into the water. Somewhere during the second tumble Gordon had managed to locate and press the button on the side of the steering wheel that activated the emergency ejector seat.

He felt the side of his helmet crack against the crumple cage, making his brain rattle in his skull as darkness overcame him.

“Move! Move! Move!” Commander Jennings bellowed as the safety boat he was on rushed to the scene. He could see the pilots seat in the distance, floating in the ocean not far from the wrecked craft.

His instruments and readouts told him that the safety valves in Gordon’s dry suit had opened, meaning that the suit’s sensors had detected enough ejection force to initiate the rush of air that would fill the suit, acting as both a cushion and a stabilizing force to protect his body as it crashed into the sea like a rag doll.

The sensors also told him that Gordon was not breathing.

They reached his side in less than a minute, paramedic divers already throwing themselves overboard to reach him before they had come to a complete stop.

They turned him over, finding a deep crack in his helmet that extended to the visor which was letting in water, filling up the space his head currently occupied. They flipped open the visor, letting the majority of the water drain away, but the hoped for breath was never heard.

A hover stretcher appeared beside them as they released his safety harness and dragged him to the board. He was strapped down and hauled into the boat as quickly as possible.

The second he was aboard they wasted no time in releasing the safety catch on his helmet and removing it as carefully as possible. They knew that they were risking further damage to his neck or spine, its current condition unknown, but getting him breathing was their top priority.

Working in tandem one started rhythmic chest compressions, trying to force the water out of his lungs and air down into them. On the count of thirty the paramedic stopped allowing his partner to seal her mouth over Gordon’s pushing two breaths into his lungs. They waited a beat, eyes searching for any kind of response while another of the team held the medscanner over him, waiting for the verdict. Nothing.

“Keep going, I’ll get this tube in him,” another ordered as they continued to work. Two rounds of chest compressions and mouth to mouth were completed as they readied the tube, chest compressions continuing as it was inserted.

They worked solidly for more than three minutes until finally, blessedly, the medscanner registered the faintest flicker of life. But it was enough.

-x-

The nurse hadn’t expected the sheer number of people that surged through the doors of her emergency room, all yelling one name and demanding to know what was going on, where he was, to be taken to him, to see his medical records and to talk to his doctor RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

“You can’t all be in here,” she started, trying to instill some kind of order into the chaos that was now clustered around the receptionist, who was blinking like a deer in headlights, unable to form words, her eyes darting from one to the other, trying to decide who to answer first.

“Are you in charge here?” the tallest man demanded to know, his eyes flicking from her face to her name tag, Senior Nurse Sophie Gardner.

“I am,” she stated calmly, crossing her arms to show she meant business. She’d been on the receiving end of a large number of distressed family members and knew that they would pounce on her the second she showed even the slightest hint of weakness.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Gordon Tracy, he was brought in by air around 90 minutes ago,” Scott told her, trying his hardest not to snap.

“And you are?”

“His brother.”

“And the rest? It’s close family only, no friends allowed.”

“His brothers and our grandmother,” Scott answered, daring her to argue.

“All of you are family?”

“Yes! What do you need ID now?” Scott snapped, rapidly losing patience.

“Can we see my grandson now, please?” Sally asked, inserting herself in front of Scott and into the conversation.

“Let me just look him up,” Sophie said, moving to the computer to pull up his file. She remembered the state of him when they had brought him in, she had only just come on shift but had been there to do the handover.

An air ambulance had arrived, landing on the helipad on the roof and he had immediately been rushed through her department, barely giving them time to complete the minimum of observations and take notes before he had been whisked away again. It wasn’t unusual, they were one of the most advanced military hospitals in the country, they were used to life or death cases.

She could picture him, lying on the stretcher, strapped to a board, his uniform suit cut to ribbons both from scissors and from whatever had happened to him to cause so much damage. He was instantly fast tracked through her department and rushed on to the surgical team for scans and treatment.

Now Sophie was faced with his scared and demanding family and it looked like it would be falling to her to deliver some of the bad news.

“He’s being prepped for surgery, he might even be in by now. The full extent of his injuries aren’t known but I can promise you we’re doing our best.”

“When can we see him?” Virgil asked, butting in for the first time, leaving John to continue texting Kayo who had stayed behind with Alan. Alan had not been happy with that decision, but the others had stood firm. They didn’t know what they were going to find when they got there, what state their brother would be in and the youngest didn’t need to see anything that would be hard for him to forget. Scott had tried to impose the same restriction on Sally but had quickly given up, knowing it had been a lost cause before he had even started.

“When he’s out of surgery and stable,” Sophie replied kindly, knowing that they didn’t mean to be so forceful and demanding, she wasn’t going to take it personally just yet. “If you’ll all follow me I’ll take you to the relatives room where you can wait for news, I’ll let the surgeons know that you’re here but I’m afraid you might be in for a long wait.”

“Waiting won’t be a problem,” Scott assured her as they stalked down the corridor after her.

It was a silent party that sat in that room all night long, sat for more than nine hours as their little brother underwent one gruelling surgery after another, the first of many trips into the theater that he would undergo over the next few days, or so they had been told.

The member of the surgical team, who had been called in to talk to them, had been kind and very sympathetic as he had delivered the crushing news, revealing the full extent of Grodon’s injuries. Each one more horrific than the last.

The immediate concern was his ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, punctured lung and depressed skull fracture. The plan was, if the current surgeries he was undergoing went well, to keep him in a medically induced coma as soon as he was out of surgery, give his body at least 24 hours to rest and strengthen before taking him back in to deal with the numerous fractures he had sustained.

Among those fractures were a broken nose, broken arm, a fractured wrist, a broken leg, fractured pelvis, numerous broken ribs and, most worrying of all was the two cracked vertebrae in his neck, two herniated discs and the pulled muscles that went along with them.

If the operations to fix and stabilize those broken bones went well, then he would be passed to the cosmetic surgery team who would do what they could for the deep lacerations that littered his skin, friction burns and the removal of any foreign objects that had entered his body due to flying shrapnel.

The nurse had kindly sent a porter in with hot drinks and sandwiches for them once the doctor had left but they remained untouched, none of them able to stomach the thought of eating. All they could do was watch the clock, counting down the minutes and, for some, praying to anyone they thought would listen. They bargained, they made promises, everything that could possibly help.

They had lost too many people in their family already, their grandfather and mother on the same day, their mothers parents a few years later and then, most recently, their father. The thought of losing another person, one so integral to their lives, was too horrible to even contemplate.

“He’ll be fine,” Scott said out loud, feeling the need to break the silence, knowing exactly what his family were thinking because he’d undoubtedly been having the same thoughts. “It’s Gordon, nothing keeps him down for long.”

“He’s made it this far,” John agreed. “I saw the report on the hydrofoil and-”

“Wait, how did you see that?” Virgil asked, happy to be distracted.

“I...well...I have my ways,” John stammered, his face slightly flushed, refusing to look at them.

“John?” Scott’s tone said it all.

John sighed defeately. “I wanted to know exactly what happened, I might have hacked into the accident report that WASP submitted an hour ago.”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Virgil groaned. Honestly, John was supposed to be the brother that he didn’t worry about, because it obviously wasn’t Gordon or Scott.

“I can,” Scott said, glaring at his younger brother who stared right back, undeterred by the look that had had many a young air force recruit shaking at the knees.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to read it?” John asked innocently, waving his phone temptingly in his brother's direction.

“No, of course not, that’s highly illegal and-”

John wiggled the phone one last time.

“Give it here,” Scott growled, leaning over to snatch the phone. “Just to see if there is anything we can blame them for.”

“Of course,” John agreed placidly. “That was the only reason I looked.”

Virgil tried to hold in the small snort of laughter that bubbled up, feeling that it would be highly inappropriate, but his grandmother caught his eye, smiling softly.

Sally reached for one of the now cold cups of coffee that had been provided and, as always taking their cues from her, Virgil did the same.

“Eat up, boys,” Sally instructed, nodding to the plates of sandwiches. “When that boy comes through, and I’ve no doubt that he will, he’s going to need our strength. He’ll have a lot to deal with and we’re going to be there for him.”

“Yes, Grandma,” they agreed, dutifully reaching for a sandwich each. She was right, their brother was a fighter, he was a Tracy after all, there was no way on this earth or beyond that he would let something like this take him out.

-x-

The first thing Gordon noticed when he regained consciousness was the fact that his mouth was so dry his tongue felt like the inside of a hamster cage and he couldn’t seem to work up any spit. He concentrated hard and tried to swallow a couple of times but something was stopping him.

He tried to lift his arm to touch his mouth but that one tiny movement was enough to wake up his body as well as his mind. Pain the likes of which he had never felt before engulfed him from head to toe, not one part of him seemed to be free of it. Even his eyeballs hurt. He couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped his nose and, when he tried to speak, to call out for any kind of help at all, he was once again hampered.

“Hey, hey, you’re OK, just calm down for a second, let me get a doctor,” someone said, their voice soothing and gentle, as was the cool hand they placed on his forehead. A buzzer sounded somewhere nearby and he forced his eyes open to see what was happening.

“Try not to talk or move,” said a new voice that was accompanied by a blurry face. “You were in an accident and you’re in hospital. You’ve been through a lot but you’re responding really well, you’ve got a breathing tube but your lungs seem to be working fine so just sit tight for a few minutes and we’ll see about getting that out for you.”

Gordon allowed himself to relax as best he could as the first person to have spoken returned.

“Are you feeling any pain?”

He nodded as best he could with what felt like a neck brace holding him still and even that little movement hurt. How could something as simple as moving his head take so much energy? How could it be such an effort?

“I’ll just give your epidural a little top up, you’ll soon feel better. We had to reduce your medication a little to bring you round and it's always a bit of a balancing act to get the right amount to keep someone comfortable.”

He, Gordon could tell it was a male now, was as good as his word and soon the aching in his body dulled from a screaming roar to a low rumble, far more manageable than it had been before.

“I’m Doctor Clark,” another new voice announced, introducing himself. “I was your surgeon and I’m here to see about getting that tube out of you, but I need to just check you over first, is that alright? Don’t try to nod, just lift your hand or even a finger if that’s all you can do.”

Gordon tried to nod anyway but gave up and commanded his right hand to move, finding it a little easier now that he could barely feel it. The doctor could do whatever he needed to, as long as he got that damn tube out of him and let him have a drink.

Dr Clark checked the readouts, made him breathe deeply a number of times, listened to his chest and, after attaching a suction device to the end of his tube, made him cough a few times to clear his lungs, then listened to his chest again.

“OK, you’re sounding good, can you just open your mouth for me?”

Gordon did as he was told and the doctor suctioned away with little moisture he’d managed to produce with his coughing, cut away the tape holding the tube in place and took hold of the end.

“I’m just going to deflate the air cuff inside, you might feel a small easing of pressure but don’t worry if you can’t.”

Gordon felt nothing but assumed that the doctor had done as he said he would.

“I need you to take two deep breaths for me and then when I tell you, I need you to give me a couple of good coughs, can you do that?”

Gordon attempted a thumbs up as nodding or moving his head much was making him dizzy, but he couldn’t move enough to do so and had to settle for just a brief one finger lift.

“Alright, deep breaths, one...and two...and now cough, nice big cough…”

As Gordon coughed the doctor tugged gently on the tube. He felt it slide up his throat, hitting his tonsils on the way out, making him gag and cough as he fought to keep calm.

“All done,” the doctor praised, and immediately an oxygen mask was slapped over his nose and mouth, easing his breathing just a little. “You did good, how do you feel?”

Gordon tried to swallow, to speak but his throat felt like it was on fire and all he could do was croak.

“Mouth dry?”

He coughed again, wincing at the pain in his throat.

“We can’t let you drink yet, but we can try to make you a little more comfortable.”

The nurse took his mask off again and inserted something wet into his mouth which she swirled around, coating the inside of his mouth. It felt horrible, like a wet slug rolling around in there, but it at least gave his parched tongue a little relief, although it was nowhere near enough.

“What happened?” he rasped after clearing his throat a few times and drinking a little more.

“You’ve been in an accident, but you’re safe now,” Dr Clark told him.

Gordon frowned, although the action made his head hurt. “Was I...mission?” He must have been doing something, there was no way he could have any kind of accident of this magnitude on his island home with his family present… his thoughts skidded to a halt.

“Family?” he managed to whisper, his eyes darting around the room. Had something happened to them? Had they been in a plane somewhere?

“They are all in the relatives room, waiting for you to wake up,” the nurse told him.

“They...OK?”

“Yes, they weren’t involved,” the nurse answered, obviously used to the way that patients' minds could work. Gordon closed his eyes, relaxing now that he knew his family were safe. That meant that he must have been doing something with his unit.

“Team?” he rasped.

“I’m sorry?” the nurse obviously couldn’t decipher that one.

“My team...hurt?”

“Oh, no, it was just you.”

That gave him a little peace of mind, knowing that no one else had been hurt, but that still begged the question of what the hell had he been up to?

“What happened...to me?

“Some kind of boat crash,” Dr Clark explained, looking up from the notes he was adding to the tablet at the end of his bed. “I didn’t ask too many details, I just got to work. I patch up people, not machinery.”

“Boat?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “I hear your family are rather anxious to see you, would you feel up to seeing one of them?”

Gordon nodded as hard as he was able, even though he’d been told not to. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to see a familiar face.

-x-

“He’s awake,” the nurse told the waiting Tracys who had become an almost permanent fixture in the relatives room over the last ten days. Sometimes there would be just one of them, more often than not only two, but now there were six of them waiting with baited breath to find out the news.

A sigh of relief rippled around the room as they all let out the breaths they had been holding.

“Can we see him?”

“Is he talking?”

“Does he remember anything?”

The questions came thick and fast as they often did. Grace had gotten used to one or more of them popping up without any notice and demanding information. They had managed to pull some major strings and gotten hold of his medical records, how she did not know, and had sat there poring over them until they knew as much about his case and treatment as she did. The grandmother, it transpired, was a retired surgeon that still kept her hand in now and then, and so she had taken it upon herself to pelt them with questions on an hourly basis when she was there.

“Yes, you can see him,” Grace started, picking the easiest question to answer, clearing her throat to get their attention back when they broke out in excited chattering. “But only one at a time. He’s been through an ordeal and he’s not strong enough to deal with too much excitement.”

“Only one?” Virgil asked.

“Yes, just one,” Grace insisted, giving them that look they referred to as her matron glare.

They argued back and forth for a few moments, something she’d noticed they did a lot, before coming to their decision.

Grace led Mrs Tracy into the private room where her Grandson rested. In the brief time that she had been gone it seemed that Gordon had drifted off to sleep again, something that would happen quite often over the next few days as his body rested and the drugs that were keeping him pain free did their job.

“I’ll just sit here and wait,” Sally told Grace, using the same no nonsense tone that Grace herself used with difficult patients and she knew it would be useless to argue.

“I’ll get you a chair,” Grace said, giving in gracefully.

“Thank you, dear.”

-x-

Gordon didn’t know how long he’d slept for, or if he’d even slept at all. His mind was fuzzier than his first hangover and he had no clue if it was night or day. There were no curtains open in the room he was in, no hint of an outside world, just the clinical bleakness of the white ceiling and the ever present beeping of the machines monitoring him.

Thankfully he was still floating on a blissfully cloud of oblivion, feeling detached from every part of his body, like it didn’t even belong to him. He coughed to clear his throat, his mouth feeling ever so dry once again.

He tried to turn his head, to lift his arm to reach for the glass of wet swabs that had been there earlier, but another hand beat him to it, it’s arm encased in a familiar purple velour fabric.

“Gr-grandma?”

“Right here, son” she said softly, aware that he might not appreciate her speaking too loudly. She nodded for him to open his mouth and with practiced ease, swirled his weird water lollipop around his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

“Better?” she asked. “Had enough for now?” Seeing his small nod she set the glass aside and turned back to face him. “You had us all very worried, young man.”

“Sorry,” he rasped, wincing when it hurt his throat. “What...ha-happened? They said...boat.”

“You don’t remember? Nothing at all?”

“No.”

“You were test driving the new hydrofoil for the experiential watercrafts division.”

“I was?” he paused to cough, the action pulling at his chest, a sharp stabbing pain shooting through him from his ribs and abused lung. “Guess I didn’t do too well with it, huh?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t anything you did,” she assured him.

“How long was I out?” he asked. The more he was talking the easier it was getting, although his throat still felt like he’d been swallowing razor blades. He must have been asleep a good few hours to feel this weak and woosey.

Sally took a deep breath before delivering the news. “Sweetheart, you were in a coma for ten days.”

Gordon blinked, unable to fully comprehend what she had just said.

“Ten...ten days?” How badly had he been hurt? He tried to lift his head, tried to look down at his body to assess the damage. A gentle hand on his chest stopped him from straining too much, but not before he registered the fact that both of his arms were in casts, so too was his leg and, now that he wiggled, he could feel something like a large stiff belt around his stomach and between his legs. His eyes widened in shock, his eyes darting down to his midsection, his face turning white with fright when he saw the bandages. Had...had something happened to little Gordon? Oh God, please say no!

“How bad?” he demanded to know and, although his voice was shaking, Sally knew he needed to hear the truth. Knowing it would be better coming from her she didn’t mince her words, quickly and clinically rattling off his list of injuries and the treatments he’d had so far.

“Quick bone fusion for the right arm, left wrist and left leg. They reset your nose at the same time. Your pelvis wasn’t as badly damaged as they had feared and didn’t need pinning, just a little lasering, though it is immobilised for no-”

“Just my pelvis? Nothing...else?” he winced, not wanting to talk about such things to his grandma but needing to know all the same.

“Just your pelvis,” she assured him with a knowing smile.

“What else?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief at the news that he was still whole...down stairs.

“They repaired the torn ligaments in your shoulder, have immobilised your neck due to two cervical fractures of the vertebrae-”

“That’s not...I’m not...can I walk?” he tried to wiggle his toes and thought he felt movement but he couldn’t see to be sure.

“It’s not paralysing, no. No damage from that at all.”

“What else?”

“Apart from the fractures you’ve got two herniated discs and pulled muscles there too.”

Gordon gestured with one finger for her to continue.

“You’ve got a number of cracked ribs from the CPR-”

“CPR?”

“You hit the water face down, from what we were told it was due to your helmet filling up from a crack in the visor.”

“So I basically drowned out there?”

Sally nodded, keeping her eyes focused on his. With anyone else she would have fudged a little, maybe broken it to them a little more gently and eased them in. But Gordon was, first and foremost, a Tracy, and they liked the facts, all of them, because that made it easier to fight back. And she had zero doubts that he would do just that.

Gordon took a deep breath trying to wrap his head around all the information she was laying out for him. He’d taken it all in so far, like it was happening to someone else, but that, the knowledge that he could have lost his life to the thing he loved most, the sea...well that was just too hard to think about.

“And the rest?” he asked, wanting to know all there was, no nasty surprises in his future.

“Depressed skull fracture, fractured eye socket that will heal on its own, punctured lung from your ribs and the CPR, a particle splenectomy from a reputed spleen and a repaired liver laceration. You’ve also had a number of stautures and some skin grafts already but I’m afraid you might still need more.”

“Is that all? One more stamp and I could have gotten a free cup of coffee.”

Sally didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry when he made such a bad, but totally Gordon, attempt at a joke. There had been a moment, during that long, long first day of his accident, that she had honestly thought that she might never hear his voice again, let alone have him cracking a joke less than four hours after waking from a coma. It was more than she had ever dared to dream but she knew from experience that, when it came to her grandsons, nothing was impossible.

A noise near the door made them both glance over. The sight of Scott’s face pressed against the window greeted them.

“I guess I’m popular today.”

“Yeah, I guess you are,” Sally agreed. “I could do with stretching my legs, so I’ll let him in. He's been waiting a long time.”

-x-

A steady stream of family trickled in one after the other to see their miracle sibling, but soon he was yawning, dropping off midconversation and when the nurses had their shift change the Tracys were ushered out and told to come back the next day.

Now he was sitting there, alone, unable to get up, unable to do anything to amuse himself, left alone with his thoughts. As was so often the way, he’d been tired and napping on and off while his family had been there, but the moment they had left he’d developed some kind of second wind energy rush and was now wide awake.

He tried closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep, he’d tried counting sky squids like his mother had told him to do as a child, he’d tried thinking about the most boring of Brains’ lectures, but nothing had worked.

Everytime he tried to focus on boring things or to clear his mind in order to relax, his brain insisted on replaying back the information that Grandma had given him.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that he was lucky to even be alive after a wreck like he’d had. He’d forced John and Scott, against their better judgement, to tell him all they knew about the accident. He’d needed to know. He needed it to try to remember exactly what it was that had happened to him and how it had gone so wrong.

The lack of memories was disturbing, to know that something had gone wrong, horrendously wrong but to have no recollection of it, it was beyond frustrating. He had a body that was effectively broken, one that, according to his doctor, would take upwards of a year to fully heal from, if such a thing was even possible. He’d been warned, as had they all, that the likelihood of him having complications was all too real and that he had better prepare himself for it.

It wasn’t just the things that he had been told and the prospect of months of painful rehabilitation that was weighing heavily on his mind, it was the thing that no one had spoken of. It was the fact that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his career, the one that he had worked so hard to achieve, would be over.

Oh, he’d get an honourable discharge on medical grounds. But he'd be leaving in a whisper rather than the blaze of glory that his father and then his brother had done before him. He’d been on track for greatness, just as they had. He’d been the stand out star of his recruitment year, his olympic training and subsequent fitness levels and endurance had given him a fantastic platform from which to dive in with. He’d quickly risen up the ranks, making a name for himself as one of youngest but brightest in his class.

His desire to learn as well as his passion for marine biology and conservation had led to him taking a slightly different path to his fellow recruits. Many had passed on the offer, thinking it too boring but he had jumped at the chance to spend a year in command of his own bathescape studying underwater farming methods with a small but dedicated crew that had quickly become like family to him.

Any emergency at that depth could have the potential to turn into a matter of life or death and, when one of their generators had malfunctioned, taking along with it half their air filtration works, putting strain on the remaining one, they had found themselves plunged into just such a situation.

He’d had to think fast and stay calm. They had pulled up the schematics and managed to bypass the fault on a temporary basis while waiting for a supply of spare parts to be delivered. He had led his team well, he had kept them from panicking and kept the mission on track. And, in doing so, saved the research grant budget the expense of failing and having to surface to try again the next year when the migration season started again.

His determination, dedication, resourcefulness and persistence had been noted, along with his ability to stay calm under pressure. It had gained him a promotion and fast tracked his offer to join the team on the experimental watercraft division, something he’d always dreamed of.

Now it seemed that that dream had well and truly come back to bite him on the ass in the form of the hydrofoil that had apparently just wrecked all his hopes for the future in one fell swoop. What was the point of anything anymore?

A wave of hopelessness washed over him like a tidal wave, stealing his breath and the last of his control. The brave face he’d been holding on to all day while in the presence of his family faded away, giving way to heartbroken tears.

“Why?” he asked out loud to no one in particular, was he talking to God, to whatever guardian angel that had been by his side that day or to whatever sick twisted fate it was that had chosen him to pick on. “Why did you let me live?”

-x-

“It’s been a week and he’s barely made any progress,” Scott sighed to John as they walked the short distance to Gordon’s room in the recovery wing from the roof where they had been given permission to land.

They were the ones on shift for today's stint of what they were all secretly calling ‘Squid Watch’. Now that he was out of immediate danger they had given up the hotel rooms they had occupied for the first two weeks and had begun commuting from the island for the designated visiting hours. They had learnt that the freedom to come and go as they pleased and to stay for long portions of the day had gone once Gordon had been moved from the ICU to the more cheerful surrounds of the high dependency ward.

“Still?”

Scott nodded. “Nurse Donna told Virgil that he was barely eating, just enough to stave off the threat of another tube down his nose, he hasn’t even attempted any of the bed bound exercises he’s been given and he’s refusing to see the Physio to discuss his long term plans.”

“Stubborn brat,” John huffed.

“Well, he is a Tracy,” Scott shrugged, unable to do much else. “You know that nothing can make us do something we don’t want to.”

“Then we have to make him want to,” John replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffed. “We’ll just walk right on in as normal and say ‘Hey, Gordo, we know that your life as you knew it is basically over but hey, you’re still here. I mean, you can’t do anything you want to and you’re stuck in that bed for God knows how long but eat up your greens, there’s a good boy.’ That’ll go down real well.”

“Obviously we won’t say that,” John scowled, his tone telling Scott that he was being as much of an idiot as Gordon at that moment in time. “It’s obvious that he’s lost his drive, he’s feeling hopeless, which is perfectly understandable.”

“Yes,” Scott sighed, “it is.”

“So we need to give him something to bring him hope, something to work hard for.”

“You’d think the thought of walking again would be enough for him.”

“Would it be for you?” John asked quietly. “Think about it. If you had crashed one of those jets you tested, and you had ended up as hurt as he is, or worse, and you were looking down a long tunnel to an unknown future, one that very likely, won’t match up to the one you had mapped out in your head, would you have any desire to move towards it?”

Scott opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again without speaking. He wanted to say yes, of course he would, because any future was better than not having one. But he tried hard to never lie to himself or his family.

“Probably not,” he admitted quietly. It was true, if he had crashed and was facing the prospect of never flying again, of never seeing the ground vanishing beneath him as he soared up through the clouds into a brilliant blue sky, he would find it hard to accept it and carry on.

“So we need to show him what he’s missing,” John continued. “I think we need to show him the Silverfin.”

Scott sucked in a breath, letting it out through pursed lips in a long whistle.

“That's risky.”

“I know.”

“It could seriously backfire, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware of that fact, yes.”

“Because if he sees it, if he listens to our plans and then ends up unable to join in as he’d want, that could make things even worse for him.”

“I know. But, as you just said, he’s a Tracy.”

“It could be the push he needs,” Scott conceded.

“It will be the push he needs,” John promised. “We know him, we know that he can do anything he puts his mind to.”

“He’s stronger than he thinks,” Scott agreed. “Stronger than any of us give him credit for. Look at how much he’s achieved in what, just over two years in WASP? He’s done more in his career than many could ever dream of let alone hope to achieve.”

“He has,” John started walking again and Scott had no choice but to follow along or get left behind. You didn’t argue with John when he was on a mission.

“You heard Grandma, this is the most crucial part of his recovery,”John continued, assuming correctly that Scott would keep up with him. “The first steps. This is make or break time. His injuries are severe, yes, but not hopeless, not by a long shot. People have recovered from worse, he just needs to push himself to do it. It doesn’t matter how well they put him back together if he doesn’t work on holding it all in place.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am,” John shrugged, no hint of boasting in his tone, just John saying the facts as he saw them.

“Yeah, right,” Scott laughed, because he was his brother and everyone knew that you didn’t ever admit to your younger siblings being right more than once in a week if you could help it. “We’re really going to do this?”

“I don’t see that we have a choice.”

Gordon was lying down in bed when they walked in, not too unexpected given the circumstances, it wasn’t like they had been expecting to see him doing much at all, but they had hoped he’d at least be sitting up since the doctor’s had cleared him for gentle movements.

“Hey, Squid boy,” Scott greeted as cheerfully as he could. “How you doing today?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy, I took a little trip to the beach, caught some waves and then I decided I needed a nap,” Gordon drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “What are you two doing here, anyway?”

“We told you we’d be coming,” John answered, picking up the tablet from its holder at the end of Gordon’s bed to study it.

“And I told you not to brother, it’s not like I’m the most entertaining company at the moment and I don’t feel like having visitors,” Gordon closed his eyes again, intending on ignoring them until they went away.

“Have you eaten much today?” Scott asked, ignoring his brother’s blatant dismissal of them.

“Yes.”

“It says here you refused breakfast, you only had a yogurt for lunch and didn’t complete your order form for your evening meal,” John told him, while busily flicking through the notes.

“Hey!” Gordon opened his eyes again to glare at his brother. “Do you mind? That’s my private medical records, it’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is.” John finished his reading and returned the tablet to its rightful spot.

“Gordo, you have to eat,” Scott sighed, sinking into one of the visitor's chairs that sat beside the bed. “How can you expect to get your strength back if you aren’t fueling your body properly?”

“It’s not like I could do anything with the strength if I had it,” Gordon growled out. “I’m stuck in this bed for the foreseeable future. So tell me, oh great and powerful, Scott, just what do I need to do anything for?”

John glanced at Scott, who nodded, answering the unspoken question. Time to enact their plan. He shrugged off his backpack and opened it, pulling out his tablet. With a few quick swipes he found what he was looking for and held it up for Gordon to see.

“What’s that?”

“Our secret project,” Scott told him.

“I can’t see it from there, bring it closer.”

“No,” John stayed right where he was at the foot of the bed. “Sit up and look for yourself.”

Gordon huffed and stubbornly stayed horizontal, but his eyes kept straying to the tablet. He could barely see it, but what he could see looked vaguely familiar. Curiosity and just a touch of boredom won out.

He fumbled with the bed controls, located the remote and pushed the button to lift the head of the bed until he was brought to a sitting position.

“There, happy? Now let me see it.”

John moved closer and offered the tablet.

Gordon automatically reached out for it with his left hand, forgetting that it was encased in an air cast due to the fractured wrist. Growling in frustration he tried again with the right and took the tablet. Unable to hold it with only one hand he lifted his ‘good’ leg which, although unbroken, was covered in bruising, none of which made it an easy task but eventually he was able to prop the tablet against his thigh and scroll with his right hand.

His eyes widened as he took in the images displayed there.

“This is a Silverfin, isn't it?”

“Yep,” Scott grinned.

“But WASP didn’t continue the development, they deemed them too small and slow to be of any use and decided to focus on the Stingray.”

“We know, but Brains saw the potential in her that they didn’t. She might not have been of any use for patrolling the seas but for moving around them like we’d need, she’d be perfect.”

“He’s adapting her?” Gordon’s eyes scanned the pictures, the first one showing the Silverfin in her original form, half completed and scrapped, the funding and enthusiasm for her having dried up. The second showed her to clearly be in some kind of dry dock that was being used as a workshop. She’d been stripped back to little more than a shell, some engine parts and a turbine or two. The third and last pictures showed what looked to be new panels being test fitted and an adapted nose cone. Instead of the elongated nose she’d had originally there sat the cutest little snub nose he’d ever seen, reminding him of an upturned pigs snout.

"With Virgil's help, yes," John said.

"Why? Has he decided to branch out into contract work now that the work on the space station is almost complete?"

"Nope," John answered.

“Then what's this for?” he couldn’t help but ask, his eyes feasting on every little detail he could see. She was barely anything at the moment, but damn she could be beautiful if she was given the love and attention she had always deserved.

“For you,” Scott said quietly. John had been right, the way that Gordon had gone from apathy to interest in a matter of seconds was proof of that.

“Me?” Gordon scoffed. Even though his brother's tone had been completely serious he still couldn't believe it wasn't some kind of sick joke. “You’d need a pretty big bathtub to float her in, because that's the only kind of boat I’ll ever be around again.”

“With that attitude it will,” John said mildly, taking the second seat next to Scott.

“So do something about it,” Scott pushed. “Look at her, just look.” He stabbed a finger at the screen. “That there will be the next in our fleet, and she’ll need a pilot.”

“Me? You seriously think I’d ever be able to do anything like that, while I’m like this? You’re crazy.” Gordon pushed the tablet away, not wanting to look at it any more. That was the unobtainable right there. That was yet another reminder of what could have been but never would.

“No, not while you’re like that,” Scott sighed, sounding defeated even to his own ears.

“So do something about it,” John said curtly. “It’s your choice, we're just hoping you make the right one.” Without saying anything else he took the tablet and placed it on the bedside table. “Come on, Scott, let’s go and get a coffee before we head home.”

Scott looked from Gordon to John, taking in the frustration and sadness on one and then the calm dismissive demeanor of the other as John turned to the door.

"I told you it wasn't worth you coming," Gordon sneered, lowering the bed again.

"You're always worth it," Scott promised him before following John out the door.

The fast food restaurant just offsite wasn't the best and the coffee was far below their usual standards but it was welcome after the day they had had.

Scott and Virgil had been called out early in the morning and their relatively simple rescue had turned out to be far more complicated than they had anticipated. When they had returned they were tired, filthy and aching all over. Scott had come straight from the shower, leaving Kayo on call with Virgil, and he and John had left for the hospital.

Now their attempts at motivating their little brother had fallen flatter than one of Grandma's cakes and they were both feeling like they had done more harm than good.

"Did we just screw up?" Scott asked quietly, playing with the rim of his cup but not making any move to drink from it.

"Possibly," John sighed, sipping his own drink and making a face at the taste. "Only time will tell. We've done our best, it's up to him now. He's the only one that can decide if he's going to fight or give up entirely."

They lapsed into silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It had been so hard the first time they had walked in to see Gordon after his first life saving operation. His face had been a puffy, bruised mess from his broken nose and fractured eye socket, his eyes almost swollen shut.

He'd had a bandage around his head where they had shaved off some of his hair to examine his skull fracture and close the wound there. Both of his arms and one of his legs in air casts to keep them stable until the next day and his torso a mass of bandages and blood tinged gauze from a combination of lacerations and the two operation sites from fixing his spleen and liver.

He'd looked so small, not in stature maybe, but in energy, his aura if you will. So still and so quiet, something that Gordon only ever was when he was asleep, and that didn't happen very often with his tendency of mumbling in his sleep and turning a full rotation of the bed in a single night.

Then he had been silent, the only sound was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the whoosh, hiss of the machine that was providing him with oxygen and regulating his breathing as he slept the deep sleep of the heavily sedated.

Over the next few days they had sat in the relatives room and prayed every time his tired body had undergone yet another operation, the surgeons doing all they could to fix his body for him.

Now they were hoping and praying that his mind could be fixed too.

"What was that?" Scott said when a beep broke the quiet, clearly looking for a distraction.

"My phone," John answered, pulling it out to check it.

"Who is it?" Scott asked, seeing the confused expression on his brother's face.

"I apparently sent myself an email."

"Huh?"

The confusion quickly morphed into a wide smile as John's eyes scanned the words.

"It was sent from my tablet."

"And?"

"It reads 'Bring me up a burger and fries when you've finished your coffees, then you can tell me more about this Silverfin."

-x-

The walk down to the hangars had never seemed to take as long as it was now. He knew it was down there, but he’d been banned from seeing anything of it since those first four pictures. It was supposed to be a surprise.

He’d tried to sneak in numerous times, he’d tried to hack into the files, he’d tried bribery, guilt tripping and sulking but nothing had worked.

He couldn't say that he minded, not really, because he knew it was there. He'd known that somewhere deep below their villa, in the center of their island, his baby had been taking shape. He’d not been allowed any input in the shape, the visuals or anything else to do with her design, but her functions, that he’d been allowed to have a say in.

Brains had spent countless hours on video calls with him, discussing everything that Gordon insisted his craft needed, from her dry tubes to her mechanical arms, the type of sonar she was using to the consoles and onboard technology. And he just knew she would be spectacular. WASP might have their Stingray, but he’d have his little Thunderbird, now dubbed Thunderbird Four after John’s space station had been upgraded and become a fully fledged craft itself, going from a stationary satellite to a fully maneuverable ship.

Sometimes the thought of his girl taking shape, waiting for him, had been the only thing keeping him going through his painful, exhausting and sometimes seemingly hopeless recovery process.

It hadn’t been easy, on either his mind or his body and he wasn't ashamed to admit that, for a significant portion of that time, he had been the worst patient ever. Once the initial excitement of the Silverfin development had worn off and he had been staring down the long tunnel of recovery to his still quite uncertain future, he'd had times where he hadn’t been sure that it was possible to regain even half of his previous physicality, let alone get back to the full strength that would be needed to be of any use to International Rescue.

He didn’t want to be a dead weight to his family, he didn’t want them to be picking up the slack of his inadequacies, to spend more of their time rescuing his ass than the people they were trying to help.

Depression wasn’t something he had ever considered as a possibility in his life. He was the upbeat one, the one that kept the spirits up of those around him, so to not even be able to rise a smile for himself…let’s just say that there had been some very dark moments over his long months of recovery where he had not recognised himself and hadn’t been sure that there would ever be a time when he felt happy again.

He’d wanted to give up, he’d been so close to it so many times, yet somewhere, buried deep inside, covered in dust and rust, nestled a tiny nugget of steely determination. He’d found that nugget and chipped away at its bonds, had polished it and nurtured it as best he could until finally he had succeeded.

His recovery list had been almost as extensive as his injuries. He’d undergone all the common therapies such as targeted physiotherapy, smaller follow on surgeries, several aborted attempts at hydrotherapy and a rather surprising foray into hippotherapy, along with daily strengthening exercises.

But all of that had been just about bearable, physical pain and endurance was almost second nature to him, it was the mental side that had been the hardest to push past. Slowly, slowly, day by day he had become physically stronger while growing mentally weaker.

The more his body healed, the longer he was out of hospital, the more of his memories he'd regained, and with them came the darkness. Counselling had been arranged, PTSD had been diagnosed and he’d faced yet another uphill battle to rediscover the person he truly was.

He sighed, stopping for a moment to rest before he entered the hangar itself. Could he honestly say that he felt like himself again? The answer was no. No one could go through the trauma that he had suffered and not change in some way or another. No one could face death head on, shake it by the hand, politely decline its invitation and still be one hundred present themselves.

You need to find your new normal, you need to find yourself again. That had been the words that his third therapist had told him. Joel had been the only therapist he had clicked with, the only one that truly seemed to understand him and the way his brain worked, that or he was the only one to have bothered trying.

Finding your new normal, giving yourself permission to change, adapt and accept that something horrific had happened to you and that you would come out the other side a different person to the one that had gone in, that was to be expected. Joel had helped him see that, along with his family, friends and the medical staff that had supported him on his long, winding journey.

He’d gotten a little lost along the way a time or two, he’d back tracked, stopped to rest and had to drag himself back to his feet more times that he could count. But he’d done it. He hadn’t given up no matter how many times he had wanted to, no matter how many times he had been tempted to just roll over and let life continue to screw him over.

This was it, the moment of truth, the moment where he would sink or swim, the moment where he would decide once and for all if all his hard work had been worth it.

He took a deep breath and rounded the corner, leaving the shelter and protection of the tunnel corridor behind him, stepping into the hangars for the first time since he’d left the island 18 months ago, after his annual leave, preparing to return to WASP. 18 months that could be broken down into two months in the testing division, four months in hospital and twelve gruelling months of recovery. All leading up to this moment.

He walked in, Alan, Scott and John moving in formation to flank him, solid and dependable, as they had always been. They continued the distance as one, a close knit group that he knew would always have his back. The only one missing was Virgil.

“You ready, little bro?” on cue the booming bass of his brother’s voice came over the external speakers of Two to fill the hangar.

Knowing Virgil wouldn’t be able to hear him he settled for a double thumbs up. He was practically vibrating with anticipation, having to fight the urge to bounce up and down in excitement.

He heard the mechanical whirring as Two began her assent, lifting up on her support struts to reveal the door to the module, one that was painted with a big, white number Four. Slowly, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, the door lowered, creating the ramp way that the pod vehicles would descend.

His breath caught in his throat as the inside lights of the module turned on, revealing its contents.

“It’s...she’s....so yellow,” he stuttered, unable to think of anything else to say. There she was, his little bird, painted a bright, cheery yellow, her fin sticking bolt upright like a happy tail. The same little snub nose that had so enchanted him was now fitted out with high powered lights that would allow him to see in the darkest of depths. She was bright, she was gorgeous, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was…

“Perfect,” he breathed.

He couldn’t look away, not to take in the happy and somewhat relieved smiles on his siblings faces, not to look at Brains who seemed to have magically materialised by his side to start giving him a technical rundown, not for anything.

Nothing could compare to this.

“So, was she worth it?” Scott asked as Gordon reached out to lovingly stroke the curved perfection of one engine.

Gordon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The past year might have been the worst of his life, he knew that he would carry those memories with him forever, that he would continue to dream of waking up in that hospital bed again. He knew that things would never be the same for him, he was forever changed but, out of the darkness of his worst memories there was his little sub of hope.

“This is the best day of my life,” he sighed to himself as he settled in her seat, feeling the way it seemed to mould to his body with his exact specifications. This feeling right here, this made it all worth it. And he knew that one day in the not too distant future someone out there would see a flash of bright yellow in the darkness and know that same feeling of hope. They would know that help was on the way.

Because that's what International Rescue did, they defied the odds, they did the impossible and they never gave up.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 1965 #Gordon Tracy #grandma tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #alan tracy

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just A Friend

And onto the next chapter. Thanks for your support for this story, it means a lot to me.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Hope you enjoy the next chapter

AO3

Chapter 8: From Dresses to Disco

I don’t have a huge wardrobe but, generally, I can lay hands on an outfit for most situations. For work, if I’m not in scrubs, I tend to wear plain black trousers and a shirt; for relaxing, I have more than enough jeans, leggings and comfy sweaters; for holidays, I have the usual range of shorts, t-shirts and sundresses.

I realise as I flick through the hangers in my wardrobe that what I am missing are outfits in the ‘dinner-dance-purely-platonic-plus-one’ category. And, what’s more, I don’t actually know how formal this thing is going to be.

Jamie was no use at all when I spoke to him about it.

“What sort of thing will your sister be wearing?” I asked as we met for coffee and a bacon sandwich two days ago.

“I dinna ken. A dress?” He hazarded a guess, looking a bit perplexed that I would even ask him.

“Long or short?” I persisted.

“Yes.”

“Well, which? Long or short?”

“Aye, one of them.”

“What are you wearing then... kilt? Black tie? Lounge suit?” This might give me a clue as to the dress code.

“I dare say I’ll be wearing a suit and tie.”

And that was as much assistance as I got from him.

I make the decision to go short. Partly because I don’t want to feel overdressed on Saturday, but mainly because the only long dress I have in my possession was purchased for a university Medics’ ball in 2008. And it’s crinkly satin with a side split and a wide leather belt that went with an over the top diamanté headband around my forehead.

Obviously, I will never wear it again, but I’m loath to part with it anyway. It reminds me of my time at university. Plus, it may come in handy… for a fancy dress party perhaps?

********

Geillis has decided, on the spur of the moment, to ‘jes’ pop ‘round fer a wee glass of wine’. That’s just a cover. What she actually wants is a ‘wee glass of wine’ while supervising my dress selection.

She takes a sip and reclines on my bed, casting a critical eye as I pull a few dresses out of my wardrobe and lay them next to her. She’s not giving much away as she continues to study them.

“Well?” I stand at the end of the bed and stare at her, waiting for her comments.

“I canna give ye ma answer ‘till I’ve seen them all,” she replies.

“That’s it. That’s all my fancy evening dresses.”

She stares at me in disbelief, before gazing once more at the three dresses displayed on the bed.

“Ye dinna have any more cocktail dresses, then?”

I shake my head. “‘Fraid not. When I go cocktail drinking, I tend to wear something more casual. There’s not a great call for fancy frocks when it’s two for one cocktails at the ‘Slug and Lettuce’.”

She sighs very loudly and grimaces. We’ve had these conversations often enough over the years. She despairs about my lack of interest in fashion. It’s true, I can’t tell a Marc Jacobs from a Marks and Spencer. Well, I possibly could, but you get my drift. I tried to be fashionable back in 2008 and look where it got me— wearing a dress that resembled a sweetie wrapper with a headband that brought me out in a rash.

I sometimes wonder if the real reason that she has asked me to be a bridesmaid has less to do with being best friends and more to do with being able to control what I’m going to wear. I’m joking of course, it’s because we’re best friends— Geillis choosing my dress is just an added perk for her.

“So, I think ye wear this one.” She gets up, moves me to one side and quickly rifles through the wardrobe, giving a cry of triumph as she finds what she’s looking for.

I knew it—I knew she would remember that dress. She was with me when I bought it— a late night Sauvignon Blanc fuelled online purchase. She describes it as my “hello boys” dress. I’ve never worn it and this is not the occasion for its inaugural outing.

I mean, it’s a lovely dress— black with an off the shoulder bardot neckline and very, very form fitting. But totally not the message I want to send to Jamie.

I shake my head. “Nope… no way. Not that one.”

I point instead to a dress lying on the bed, originally bought for a hospital fundraiser last year. It’s very nice and infinitely more suitable— black with sparkly red splodges; a slight v neck and fitted bodice going into a flared skirt. It even has pockets.

Geillis raises her hands in exasperation. “Fine. Have it yer way. But, Claire, do ye no’ want tae mebbe try it?”

I grab the dress from her and stuff it back in the wardrobe, ignoring her last comment. But she doesn’t give up so easily.

“See what could happen, eh?”

I turn to face her. “I know what could happen. He’ll think that I’m after him and that I’ll be it. End of friendship.”

“But mebbe—“

I interrupt her. “No maybe about it. Besides all this is missing the point. I want Jamie in my life as a friend, the same way that you and Mary and Anna are in my life. I don’t want anything more from him. I don’t need any romance. Can you understand that?”

“Aye but—“

She’s still not willing to drop the subject and I’ve had enough. I drain my glass of wine and start to walk out of the bedroom.

“No buts. That’s it. Just drop it, please.” At the doorway, I pause. “Now, do you want another glass?”

She starts to follow me. “Of course. And sorry,Claire, I dinna mean tae annoy ye. It’s jes’—“ she stops herself before saying anymore.

“Ok... Shall we order a takeaway,then?”

As I head into the living room, with Geillis following, I’m pretty sure I can hear her muttering under her breath about taking chances.

***************

Jamie said he would pick me up at seven. I’m clearly still working on Frank time, as I’m ready with fifteen minutes to spare. I perch on the edge of a chair, trying not to crease my dress, smudge my mascara or run my fingers through my hair.

I must admit, I have enjoyed the whole formal dressing up process. It’s not something I do too often— my socialising tends to be of a more relaxed nature. But this makes a welcome change.

With five minutes to spare, the bell rings. I gather up my pashmina and clutch bag and make my way downstairs, my high heeled sandals making a clacking sound against the old floor tiles.

Jamie is waiting outside, next to his old french blue Triumph Stag sports car. Like he said, he’s wearing a suit—dark grey instead of his usual navy blue. Still with a white shirt and a rust coloured paisley tie. His auburn curls nestle against his jacket collar. He looks immaculate.

In a parody of a chauffeur, he touches his forelock, bows and opens the passenger door for me. “M’lady,” he adds with his customary half grin.

“Thank you, Parker,” I reply primly and arrange my skirt under me as he scoots around to the driver side.

I do like this car. It’s old, a bit threadbare in places and smells slightly of damp. But it positively oozes vintage style and glamour. Fortunately the hardtop is on as the clouds are gathering ominously overhead.

“I thought we were getting a taxi. Are you not drinking?” I ask as he starts to drive.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he snorts with laughter. “No’ drinking? What kind of rugby ‘do’ d’ye think this is? No, I’ll leave the car at the club and we can get a taxi, if that’s ok wi’ ye.”

We drive on in silence for a couple of miles. Not an awkward silence, just a we-don’t-really-have-to -make-small-talk kind of silence.

“I’d have thought you’d be wearing a kilt tonight.” I comment.

“Hmm, weel, I do like tae wear it fer special occasions, but, when the rugby lads get together, who kens what can happen. Trousers tend tae be the safer option.”

“You could always wear underpants,” I suggest.

He looks horrified at the suggestion. “Dinna be saying that tae a true Scot, Sassenach.”

“I consider myself suitably chastised.”

“Glad ye realise that.” He smiles and changes the subject totally. “Sae, on our table this evening, there’ll be ma sister Jenny and her husband Ian, and Rupert, ye ken Rupert, and his wife Morag.”

“Oh, so you know Rupert— outside of work, I mean.”

“Aye, we grew up together. And Ian too. Mind, he was a couple of years older than Rupert and me— same age as Jenny—and always used tae follow her around like a wee pup. I’ve only known Morag a couple of years though. She’s nice but verra quiet. She lets Rupert do most of the talking.”

“I liked Rupert.”

“He’s a great bloke. Best decision I made, asking him tae join me at FraserFoods. Ian’s a great bloke too. Ye’ll like him.”

Jamie pulls the car into the rugby club car park, and switches the engine off. He sits still for a moment, staring through the windscreen. I can hear music coming from the large marquee lit up with lanterns and residing on one of the rugby pitches. Even though it’s early in the evening, there’s plenty of raucous laughter coming from that direction too. No doubt the bar has already seen plenty of action.

“Well?” I elbow him in the ribs.

“Sorry. I was jes’ thinking about how best tae describe Jenny.” He turns and smiles. “She’s the best sister a chap could want and a true friend— once she gets tae know ye. She can be a wee bit, shall we say, prickly, at first. And she thinks she kens what’s best fer me, as only a big sister can. She thinks ma life is no’ complete… no’ wi’out a wife and a couple of bairns.”

“Have you explained that this isn’t a date… that we’re friends?”

“Aye, I’ve told her that,” he gives a little laugh and nods his head towards the marquee. “Sae she’ll most likely be in there right now scouring the place fer any suitable contenders.”

He gets out of the car and is at the passenger door before I’ve had a chance to unfasten my seatbelt and gather my pashmina around my shoulders.

“M’lady,” resuming the chauffeur role, he opens the door for me.

I clamber out, somewhat ungainly and wait as he locks the car. Even with my highest heels on, I still have to crane my neck to look at him as he stands up straight and adjusts his jacket.

“Shall we?” He gestures the marquee with his hand.

“God, yes. I could do with a gin and tonic. I’m parched.” Plus, I reckon I need a stiff drink or two down my throat before I meet Jenny. She sounds formidable.

“C’mon then.” And he leads the way into the marquee.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #just a friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 8

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN, A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #the formatting's better on AO3 #isolation tw #gaslighting tw #loneliness tw #kidnapping tw

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throbbin-bobbies · 4 years ago

Text

Y'all interested in a James Norrington x reader short story?

I wanna know what people think of this bad boi

Word count: 1630

Another warm day at Port Royal. The sun was high in the sky, kissing the lands with its warmth. Today was the day some of the Royal Navy's crew would be arriving, so naturally I decided to go down to the ports and greet the boys like I usually do. With some baked goods of course. The men always enjoy cookies and other sorts of sweets any other time, but I've always figured that after some time at sea they would be a lovely welcome back.

I walked out onto the balcony from my bedroom, spyglass on the small metal table still from last night. I could see the ships coming in to dock, but that didn't stop me from looking through my spyglass to get a better look. The men seemed to be carrying business out as per usual, following orders and getting ready to dock the ships. I took this as a cue to start heading down to the port with some sweets for the lads. An abundancy of cookies and muffins to choose from, two of the house servants helped me carry everything to the carriage. Charles and Arthur, two of the households servants, are usually always the ones to head down to port with me on these occasions. With me in the carriage making sure the sweets dont topple over, Charles and Arthur sat atop the carriage and started their way down to our destination.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Everything was going well, like usual. Having some small talk with some of the men getting off, talking with the officers and such.

"Ah! Miss (l/n)! What a sight to see after a long journey at sea!" An officer and friend of mine, Theodore Johnson beamed walking down the port.

"Theodore! I see you're alive and well, the sea hasn't tried eating you whole yet? Or has it, and you left a bad taste in its mouth?" I joked with him. We talked a bit more, about the same things we usually would when coming back to port. Rough waters giving troubles, pirates, and prisoners.

"We haven't got as many prisoners as we did our last go around. However, we did find a man floating adrift on some wood in the waters. Very odd discovery, but he's proven to be decent enough. Much more pleasant than his appearance I must say. The past couple months has proven to be rather...difficult for the man."

"Well the world is rather cruel, especially in these parts. It's no surprise that any man or woman would be roughed up by the nature of the Caribbean." I said, watching Theodore grab a third cookie with a grin saying 'please?' And 'I'm just going to sneeeak this one, dont hurt me' in a playful manner. "Just take the cookie Theodore, I'm not going to chop your cookie greedy fingers off if you take another."

"Thank you dearie, you're so sweet" he smiled triumphantly with a cookie in hand.

"Has the man floating adrift have a name?" I asked.

"Yes. The man is –" Theodore started, holding his arm out in a gesture to someone behind me.

"James Norrington. Who asks?" I heard a man say walking up to my side. When I looked over I almost couldn't believe what I saw. The man that I thought surely had fallen off the face of the earth. Someone I've known for years, my dear friend James was alive and well.

"James! I thought you had gone and gotten yourself hurt! Or worse yet - killed!" I said practically shoving the tray of cookies into Theodores hands so I could hug James.

"No, no" he chuckled hugging me back, "its takes a lot more than what you'd think in order to get rid of me".

"I hate to break this little reunion, but we must be headed to see Lord Beckett, (y/n)" Theodore said, taking a bite out of a new cookie as my hug with James ended.

"Theodore I'm surprised you're not double in size with how many cookies you eat!" I teased him, causing him to smile. "But I'll let you two boys go attend to Lord Beckett. I would however like to see you again afterwards this evening, James. If you dont mind that is."

"Of course, (y/n), I always enjoy spending time with you. If I can not tonight, I'll send word to you for another time, alright?"

"I'll be waiting" I smiled, taking the platter of cookies from Theodore. He looked like a child robbed of their sweets. I grabbed a small stack of cookies and handed one to him, as well as James. "Take care you two! Theodore I expect James back in one piece, else you get no more sweets from me".

James chucked starting to walk towards land, but Theodore looked as if he was told his ship had been sunk. "I'll see to it then!"

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

*Later that evening*

I had yet to hear from James or Theodore since around noon when we were all on the docks. I was walking around my family's gardens. A beautiful array of colors and smells along with the overlooking view of the light blue Caribbean waters. I stopped near a section of the garden actually dropped off a bit. Maybe ten feet, but my father had a thick stone fence placed at the edge so no one would fall and break their neck. And also because I fell off the edge. But that's another story.

I leaned onto the warm stone, having been baked in the sun all day, letting out a sigh.

"Dear old James Norrington...if only you knew how much I missed you and care about you..." I thought out loud, one hand propped up under my chin.

"I believe I can say, now, I know" I jumped hearing James and seeing him suddenly appear next to me at the stone fence.

"Christ almighty!" I jumped, causing him to smile. I noticed he was no longer in torn clothing, and cleane. He was wearing a Commodores uniform, clean shaven and all. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on people James?"

"Forgive me for startling you, (y/n). But I can't help but ask...what did you mean by what you said just now?" James questioned, toying with a pebble on the fence.

I swear I could feel my face put off steam with how hot it got. "Oh, uhhh... well..." I started off, unsure how to go about the situation. "Well, honestly James," I said looking up to him, him looking up as well and meeting my eyes, "I've missed you so much ever since you left. Even more so than before, when you were with the Royal Navy. I knew you'd be coming back, this past time I didn't know if I'd ever see you again... I've...cared about you — liked you — for a long time. I just...You may think it's dumb, I'm sorry."

Now it was my turn to fiddle with pebbles, looking down at small rock that was suddenly very interesting. I could feel James' gaze on me still. I figured he was still processing what I've told him, thinking of a response.

"(Y/n)...you...like me? For..how long?" He asked curiously.

"Hmmmm...a good two years I'd say. But I'd be a liar if I said that's the time I admitted it to myself, it's likely much longer than that." I briefly looked into his blue eyes, dancing with emotions.

"I...I never knew! I thought you never liked me in such a manner" James said, taking his tri fold hat off.

"I never let you know because I knew you'd never feel the same way back" I looked up to him. "You had Elizabeth you loved, there was no doubt you would've chosen her over me."

James suddenly looked me dead in the eyes, "No! That's not true, (y/n), I believe you have yourself mixed with Elizabeth in that situation."

"What do you mean?" I was confused to say the least. I turned my body towards James, watching him fidget around a bit.

"What I mean is that I would've chosen you over Elizabeth any day. Anywhere. Any time. I simply thought had I asked for your hand in marriage courtship you would laugh at me and not want to be around me anymore. " He smiled, taking a step closer, "I think it's safe to say that it seems we both have fancied each other for quite some time, (y/n). We just don't know how to use our words." He chuckled lowly.

Noticing how close we were I couldn't help but notice more details on his face. Namely the two fresh knicks from shaving by his jawline. 'How cute' I laughed internally.

"Well...sometimes the loudest things can be said without words" I laughed.

James merely smiled and chuckled, one hand on the stone, taking a step over so he was directly in front of me and placing his hand with his hat on the other side of me. "Oh, do tell, lovie. I'm curious. Have you any examples for me?" he purred, bending down in front of me to match my height.

My elbows were up against the stone slid back further, so I could snake my hands along the railing and up to James arms. "Hmmm...I think you're a smart man James, I'm positive you can figure this one out." I winked with a grin, our faces only inches away.

James started to wrap his arms around me. The hand with his hat went to my back, while his free hand rushed to the back of my head. "Mmm yes, I believe I have" was all he said before he closed the distance between us.

#potc #jamesnorington #james #Norrington #james norrington #commodore norrington #reader fanfiction #james Norrington x reader #James Norrington fanfic #potc fanfic #potc x reader #jack sparrow #captain jack sparrow #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the Caribbean fanfic

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duck-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Aphrodite’s Broken Heart: The Caballeros Arrive(Part Three)

Aphrodite’s Broken Heart(Part One) -- Aphrodite’s Broken Heart: Donald’s Slumber(Part Two)

Summary: The remaining Caballeros arrive at McDuck Manor after learning what's happened to Donald. They help the family understand the duties of a Caballero while also being more than willing to get Donald's love back.

“Where is he?”

Both José and Panchito demanded in their native languages as they burst through the front doors of McDuck Manor.

The pair looked ragged, exhausted, and haunted. Which wasn’t much different from how some of the others in the manor also looked.

“Panchito! José!” Huey ran to meet them, embracing them both. The two did their best to calm the panic they’ve been carrying since they began their travels to Duckburg. They could see the tiredness in the young duckling's eyes, as well as the sadness. If they feel as horrible as they did, they could only imagine what Donald’s poor nephews must be feeling.

José knelt down to meet Huey’s eyes after they separated from their hug. “Your uncle...where is he?”

“He’s upstairs,” Huey mumbled sadly but then he perked up as he stared at them. “You guys are Caballeros too, right? Like he supposedly was?”

“Yes,” Panchito answered as José stood, both of them looking towards the stairs. Donald was up there. In a slumber placed on him by someone they considered a close friend.

“Then you can help bring him out of this slumber, can’t you?” Huey asked.

The two shared a look before both sighing deeply. Panchito then said, “Mijito, we will do everything we can to help Donald...”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’?” Huey asked with a frown.

“...tell us what you know. And we will tell you what we know. Does that sound fair?” José asked gently.

Huey nodded slowly. He hated that there wasn’t an immediate answer in them like he and his brothers and Webby had hoped. But it was the closest they’ve had to a lead in some time.

They could use something that at least resembled hope.

“I’ll get everyone,” Huey said.

“Por favor.” José stopped him. Panchito followed up with, “Let us see Donald first.”

Huey nodded and led them up to where his uncle has been staying. The two adults gasp and rush to their friend, each coming up to one side and grabbing hold to one of his hands.

José looked at all the machinery attached to Donald, then at Huey, “What do these machines do? What are they for?”

“Xandra said she merely placed him into a sleep,” Panchito commented.

Huey frowned at the name. First, he answered José’s questions. “They keep track of his vitals. Help us make sure he’s getting all his body needs until we can figure this out. As well as a power detector and defense mechanism to keep away possible threats. Like Xandra.”

The two birds shared a conflicted look. There has been nothing but conflict in their hearts since they’ve learned the fate of their friend.

“Take us to Scrooge, mjio,” Panchito said.

“The two other Caballeros!” Webby exclaimed when she saw them coming out of Donald’s room.

“What?” Dewey cried from somewhere else, but his footsteps could be heard as he rushed over. “It is! Have you come to wake Uncle Donald?” He asked with hope in his eyes.

“Umm…” Sharing yet another look with each other, they looked back at the children. José sighed before he said, “We were told by Xandra what happened. We rushed here after we heard.”

“We plan to do everything to get Donald back!” Panchito promised when he saw the children’s crestfallen expressions.

“We’ve been off doing our own things for some time. On occasion when there’s a quest that needed the three of us, the Caballeros, we would unite like old times! It would be a grand time! Together against the forces of evil, there was nothing we could not handle!” José exclaimed with pride. But he frowned sadly soon after. “Xandra summoned us back to the Caballeros’ base. She told us about Donald’s quest.”

“After everything we’ve faced, we’ve come to know the seriousness of some artifacts and deities, and their contribution to our world. Of the dangers that are out there, or chaos that may happen should the scales become unbalanced in any way. For that is the key...there greatness and glory, but also a heavy weight of responsibility that our ancestors passed down to us as legacies…” Panchito said as he pulled out a red amulet and looked at it with a far off look. “Part of us understands. We were her champions. It was our duty to keep the peace….”

Louie scoffed as he glared and asked, “Then why was only he asked?”

“Easy lad,” Scrooge told him gently. He always had mixed feelings about Donald’s old friends. Thinking they were wasting time chasing foolish dreams rather than working hard for something, he knew there was a new light to them. “Xandra explained that Donald’s love was powerful enough to replace that of a god’s.”

Panchito and José shared a tired smile as they nodded.

“That does sound like him,” Panchito said but didn’t dismiss Louie’s question either. Turning to the green-clad duckling he began to explain what he knew. “Your uncle was a very brave man. And a soldier. He was one of the best the Navy ever had!”

“What?” “No way!” “Uncle Donald?”

Huey, Louie, and Dewey asked in order before looking over to their great uncle and their mother.

Scrooge nodded, “After high school, your uncle tried college for a while, but it didn’t seem like it was for him. Though he didn’t tell anyone of his choice until he’d passed his training and been shipped off.”

“But what does he being a soldier have anything to do with him being the one chosen?” Huey pressed. Now that Louie brought it up, he wanted an answer. If the Caballeros were a team, the same and as much of an equal as he and his brothers did as triplets, what made their uncle more qualified?

“The heart of Aphrodite is symbolic. Of love. But not hers. Though it can be easily mistaken as hers since she is the goddess of love.” José explained.

“The heart belonged to Ares,” Webby said aloud, remembering the information she learned that day when they went to investigate the heart.

“Ares?” Dewey echoed.

“Aye lad. The god of war. The only thing he loved more than war...was Aphrodite.” Scrooge answered.

“According to Xandra, Ares’ love for Aphrodite was something that caused Aphrodite to feel... and fuel the earth. Or something like that.” Panchito said with a slight shrug. “I was far more concerned with the fate of our dear friend than that tale.”

“I still don’t understand…” Dewey mumbled.

“Your Uncle Donald’s love was so grand, it could replace that of a god! But not just any god. A god of war. Who is more qualified or worthy than a soldier with the anger and love like that of Donald Duck? The symbolic love child of Ares and Aphrodite if ever there was one...” José asked with a sigh. “I wish I could have been more soldier-like. Maybe….maybe we could have given parts of ourselves, together! Rather than just the one...”

“Do you think that would work?” Della perked up at a possible solution.

The other two Caballeros tried very hard not to look at her. Donald’s sister. His twin! It was hard not to let the emotions of when they first heard overwhelm them. But now that she asked them a direct question, they had to.

“The Caballeros were given these amulets as proof of our worth. It’s Donald’s sapphire amulet that’s replaced the heart of Aphrodite. All of Donald’s love is now in that gem. I’ve seen magic of all sorts in our quests. Power can transfer from one thing to another….” José began.

“Do you really think that would work?” Panchito asked as he clutched his own amulet.

“I do not know if this is possible. Xandra’s own heart was heavy with the choice she asked of Donald. The heart is a very important pillar of earth. If we are not careful, the mistakes can be disastrous.” José replied gravely.

“But if we do nothing then Uncle Donald will remain like this and we can’t just do nothing!” Louie exclaimed.

“There is no undoing Donald’s deed. His sacrifice, as hard as it is for us to accept, was that of his own will.” Scrooge said solemnly. He wouldn’t deny the pride he felt for Donald and his heroic gesture. It’d been honorable, and he wouldn’t take that from his nephew.

“He sacrificed so much for us...there’s got to be something we can do! He did this for us! For the world!” Huey exclaimed.

“What if we sacrificed our love?” Dewey asked.

“Whoa, no way! I love Donald. And we’ll find a way, but no way are any of you trading places with Donald. He wouldn’t want that.” Della told him.

“No, what I mean is-” Dewey began, but his brothers were already catching on to what he meant.

“Of course! That’s got to work, right?” Huey asked them.

“We’ve done more with less,” Louie answered.

“Boys! Before anyone does anything, we all need to agree. If you have an idea...please share.” Scrooge told them.

“Only Uncle Donald’s love could be powerful and angry enough to replace something gifted to the goddess of love from the god of war. Okay yeah, sure. But that means Uncle Donald’s sort of like an empty vessel.” Huey began.

“Uncle Donald’s love is in all of us! Every favor, every small detail of happiness he doted on us!” Dewey explained further.

“Together, as a collective with some others as well…” Louie added.

“If we give up some of our love, an echo almost of what Uncle Donald’s given us over the years!” Webby added, catching on to the plan.

“Will that work?” Della asked in a quiet tone, looking over to her uncle.

Scrooge thought it over. It sounded plausible. There would need to be some research done, calculations as well.

“We volunteer as testers,” Panchito said, bringing Scrooge out of his thoughts.

José nodded, “The plan is sounding like a good one. But with magic...things can get complicated. And tricky. Before the kids or the rest of you risk anything, let us try first.”

“He was our friend. Our compadre. And it is our duty as the remaining Caballeros.” Panchito added.

#fanfic #Aphrodite's Broken Heart #Heart of Aphrodite #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #della duck #panchito pistoles #Jose Carioca

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eirabach · 4 years ago

Text

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence.

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about, but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head.

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker.

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow.

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around.

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.”

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone.

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts.

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above.

“Right,” he says. “Right.”

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?”

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit.

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds #penelope Creighton-Ward #gordon tracy #bad things happen bingo

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amalthea9 · 4 years ago

Text

Styles x Happy Second Meeting

Managed to write Styles and Happy’s second meeting! Thank you SO MUCH to anyone who takes a peak, especially anyone who reads it that I tagged! Love to all me lads! <3

@ariel-seagull-wings @dci-softy-edgelord @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @captain-dad @fyeahmeninroyalnavy @horatios-harem @countessofedrington

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The following afternoon, Styles tells Matthews he’s going back to Neptune's Daughter, as casually as he can.

But Matthews smirks and says he wouldn’t mind going back.

“That Miss Happy is a lovely woman!” Matthews remarks. “And I do believe she took a shine to you, Styles!”

Styles rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah...sure,” Styles replies, clearly not believing Matthews.

They arrive at the tavern, and as the men approach the bar, Styles looks around for Happy. But he doesn’t see her serving the tables or at the bar. So he assumes she’s with a client, a sting of disappointment hits Styles that he has to wait to see her. When he gets the attention of Mrs. Miller, he sees her smirking as she approaches.

“Had fun with Happy, did ye?” she quips.

Styles doesn’t bother to respond to her remark and simply puts the money for two hours on the table.

“Would you please let Happy know I’m here?”

Mrs. Miller takes the money as she informs Styles that Happy is with another client but that his time is up in another five minutes. Styles nods and orders some ale, as does Matthews. They take seats at one of the tables and enjoy the music and company of the other sailors. But Styles’ is unusually quiet, and Matthews can tell that Styles does fancy Happy, though he won’t admit it to himself or others.

When Happy hears the knock at her door, Miller is not only telling the man his time is up, but that Happy has another client waiting. Happy’s heart skips, for the fourth time that day, hoping the next client is Styles.

She’s polite as possible to the other man as she hurries him out. Opening her door to let the sailor out, Mrs. Miller stands to the side, smirking at Happy.

“Your ugly sailor's back,” Miller begins, and Happy doesn’t hide her excitement. “Paid for two hours. I’ll send him up in 10 minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in 5,” Happy replies, beaming.

“Goodness!” Mrs. Miller scoffs. “Never seen you this excited to see a client before! Am I missing somethin' that makes him special?”

“Yes,” Happy replies, a touch of coldness in her voice. “You are. He’s not ugly for one thing...not to me.”

Happy closes the door without another word, and Mrs. Miller shakes her head as she goes down the stairs.

She makes her way back to Styles and tells him Happy will be ready in about five minutes and Styles nods. Within those five minutes, Styles' mind replays the events of yesterday and finds himself remembering Happy’s smile, laughter, bright olive green eyes...

"Styles?"

Matthews' voice wakes Styles from his thoughts and he looks to his shipmate.

"Miller said miss Happy would see you, didn't ye hear?" Matthews asked. "Or does Miss Happy already got your head up in the clouds?" He mused with a smirk.

Styles mumbled something like a thank you to Matthews, then left the bar and headed up the stairs. Matthews smiled to himself as he watched Styles go up.

"Already taken with her, he is," he said to himself and chuckled.

Styles took a deep breath and exhaled as he knocked on Happy's door.

When it opened, Styles saw Happy's expression was one of annoyance and his heart sank.

"Where have ye been, Mr. Styles?" Happy demanded sternly. "I've been waitin' all day for ye!"

Styles had frozen when he saw her annoyed expression, but upon hearing her demand, he sighed with relief and smiled.

And as soon as Happy saw that sweet smile, she couldn't keep up the act any longer.

She smirked and giggled as she grabbed his hand and pulled him gently into her room.

"Well, I suppose ye did keep yer promise, even though I had to wait longer for ye this time." Happy mused as she led Styles over to the bed to sit.

"I know, Miss Happy," Styles began. "Sorry about that."

Happy slapped his knee as if to scold him.

"Just Happy, remember?" She reprimanded. "And it's alright, I'm just glad ye came back."

"Well I promised didn't I?" Styles smiled. "And a sailor keeps his promises!"

Happy smiled brightly and chuckled, and Styles' smile grew to see it.

"Now then," Happy began, rising from the bed. "I'm gettin' an ale for meself, can I get ye anything'? On the house o' course."

"An ale for me too please, Happy," Styles replied with a nod.

Happy nodded and left to fetch the drinks. As Styles sat on the bed, staring at the door, he still wondered at how all of this was happening. Happy enjoyed his company. Yes he paid her, but she had paid for another hour with him yesterday. She seemed genuinely interested in becoming his friend, but that seemed far fetched for a man like Styles. He had never been good with women, and the idea of love returned by another was something he'd only known once. And that was a distant memory of a much younger man. Nowadays, he paid for a woman's time, and for a while he had paid for the sex too, but when he reached his 30s, paying for sex became tiring. So he didn'tdo it often. He had resigned to be alone and unloved.

Maybe he was being taken for a fool by this woman…

But he'd rather not think about that right now. He would rather just be here with Happy and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, with a smile and laughter that made his heart flutter.

Happy returned with the drinks and handed Styles his ale as she sat herself down next to him on the bed.

“So then, Mr. Styles,” Happy began cheerfully.

“Sean,” Styles said, cutting her off. “I’m...me first name is Sean.”

Styles smiled shyly at her as he said this, then looked away and took a drink from his ale.

Happy beamed at him as he shyly sipped at his ale.

“Sean…” Happy repeated softly.

To hear Happy say his name made Styles’ heart flutter worse than just seeing her smile. He didn’t really know why, perhaps because of how he could see her beaming face out of the corner of his eye as she repeated it.

“A pleasure to meet ye, Sean Styles,” Happy chuckled, putting forth a hand for Styles to shake.

Styles chuckled at this gesture and switched the hand that held the ale so he could shake her hand. He shook her hand once, but before letting it go, he decided to kiss the back of her hand.

Happy giggled softly, amused that he did better this time than he had yesterday. And seeing the genuine sweetness in his sea green eyes warmed her heart.

What was it about this man that made Happy wish to be around him as much as she could? Did he know that she truly did enjoy his company? She would do her best to convey that in her actions.

Styles’ smiled as he released her hand and took another sip of ale.

“I know that yesterday,” Styles began softly, looking to the floor as he spoke. “Ye didn’t want to talk about yourself...but...I would like to hear a bit about ye today.”

Happy smiled warmly at Styles as he spoke. It had been a long time since a client had asked to know more about her.

"B-but if that's too much I.." Styles began nervously as he looked to Happy.

"No no, Mr. Styles," Happy smiled, shaking her head dismissively. "I mean...Sean,"

she said sweetly.

"I'll tell ye whatever ye like, because I'd say ye earned it."

Styles looked at Happy curiously.

"Because ye came back to see me," Happy elaborated. "Yes, ye be payin' for the time, but still. Ye came back to see me as I had asked of ye. And that's an act that earns a kind gesture from me. Which includes me talking more about myself."

Styles felt a pang of sadness in his heart just then. He was afraid that Happy thought that he only came back because he had the money to pay for her time.

"I would've found a way to see ye..."

Styles' voice was low and soft as he said this, and his eyes looked to the ground, his thumbs rubbing the rim of his mug.

Happy felt her heart skip a beat.

Sean was different. That kind of 'different' she hadn't experienced in so many years. The different kind of man that puts his heart into his words.

She smiled softly and took a sip of her ale as she spoke.

"So, about me," Happy began softly.

"Me father was a merchant. I don't remember him much, I was very young when he was lost at sea. But mum always told me he was a good man."

Styles nodded thoughtfully. Glimpses of memories ran through his head just then. All the times his father beat him within an inch of his life, or worse, his mother.

"I take it...yer father was not.." Happy said quietly, noticing the slight change in Styles' demeanor.

"No…" Styles replied quietly.

"Then I hope he died alone," Happy said flatly, taking another sip.

Styles smiled at Happy’s bluntness of disdain, and he nodded.

"I hope he did too. But I had left home as soon as I could join the navy."

Happy nodded thoughtfully and wanted to ask about Styles' mother, but she also didn't want it to be a painful question.

"I do know that...my mother was proud of me for joining the navy." Styles commented softly, his gaze distant.

“I know she was, Sean,” Happy smiled softly.

Styles nodded as he spoke again.

“I went back to say goodbye to her, and luckily, me father was at the tavern drinking. I remember her smile, despite her cut lip and...black eye. ‘I’m so proud of you, Sean.’ she said. ‘You’ll be a fine sailor, you will.’ We hugged and then, I was off.”

There was a sad silence for a moment, before Styles nearly whispered.

“I didn’t see her after that day…”

Happy said nothing, there was nothing to say. She set her ale on the bedside table, and gently rested her hand upon Styles’ nearest to her. She kept her eyes on his hands that held his mug. Styles felt warmth in his heart, letting himself believe that Happy’s act of comfort was genuine. He released his mug with one hand and took her hand into his, keeping his gaze on their hands.

“I lost my mother to plague…” Happy whispered. “I was fourteen…”

Styles squeezed her hand, remaining silent for a moment.

“But just like your mother,” Happy began again, a small smile on her lips. “She was a good mother, and she did her best by me.”

Styles smiled a sad smile as he nodded slightly.

“I’m sorry about yer mother though..” Styles said, his voice low and gentle.

He let his gaze come to Happy’s face, and he saw that she was smiling gently at him.

“Thank ye, Sean,” she said kindly. “But they’re both in a better place now, I believe. And that’s something to smile about.”

Styles nodded and his smile became more cheerful at Happy’s words, and Happy squeezed his hand before releasing it. Though if she had been honest, she enjoyed how large and warm his hand was compared to hers and didn’t want to let go.

"Did ye come here after…?" Styles began, then felt he was being too intrusive. "Sorry, Happy…"

"No no, Sean!" Happy assured him with a shake of her head. "Nothin' wrong with asking that! I had to live on the streets after losing mum, but I managed it! Then at sixteen, I found this place. Mrs. Miller took me in as a server and I earned me keep that way for a time. The 'other' work came a bit later. Now I work off me debt to her for takin' me in."

Styles nodded as he finished his ale and set it aside. He looked back to Happy and saw that she had a thoughtful expression on her face as she gazed off into the nothingness.

"Happy?..." he asked softly.

"It's a funny thing…" Happy began quietly. "There's been nights that I have hated myself for...doin' this kind of work…" She smiled sadly as she said this, and Styles was about to say something.

"But then again," Happy began again, and her smile was warm. "I may not have met ye if I wasn't here."

Styles smiled warmly in reply.

"And I'm thankin' my lucky stars that ye were here."

Happy chuckled softly and there was a contented silence between them for a moment.

Downstairs, they could hear the band beginning a song, and Happy began to hum it absent-mindedly.

"I don' think I've heard that song before, " Styles commented softly.

"Ya don't?" Happy inquired. "It's one of me favorites to sing."

"Would you...sing it for me now?" Styles asked shyly.

"Wha?! Without accompaniment?" Happy chuckled.

Styles looked away, a sudden sheepishness coming over him.

"I mean...if you don' want to," he began quietly.

"I didn' say that, Sean," Happy chuckled. "I'll do me best without the music."

Styles smiled that ‘toothy’ grin that made Happy smile all the more. Happy rose from the bed to stand before Styles. She cleared her throat with exaggeration, making Styles chuckle, then began.

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas,

With never a fear of drowning.

And gladly ride the waves of life

If you would marry me.

No scorching sun nor freezing cold

Will stop me on my journey.

If you will promise me your heart

And love me for eternity.

My dearest one, my darling dear

Your mighty words astound me!

But I've no need for mighty deeds

When I feel your arms around me.

But I would bring you rings of gold,

I'd even sing you poetry.

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me.

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry.

I only want your hand to hold,

I only want you near me.

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming.

Through all life's sorrows

And delights,

I'll keep your laugh inside me.

I'll swim and sail a savage seas,

With never a fear of drowning.

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!"

As Happy laughed and curtsied, Styles clapped and whistled.

"That was wonderful, Happy!" Styles exclaimed happily.

"Oh you're too kind, Sean Styles," Happy chuckled as she resumed her seat next to him on the bed. "It's much more fun with a partner to sing with, and with the flute. But I'm happy ye liked it nonetheless!"

"I loved it, Happy!" Styles replied enthusiastically. "I could hear ye sing all day!"

Realizing that might have been too forward, Styles turned his face away and cleared his throat nervously.

But he felt Happy’s hand gently on his knee, and he turned back to see her eyes shining and a soft smile was on her lips.

"I'll never refuse singing for ye, Sean Styles," Happy stated sweetly.

Styles couldn't stop the flip of his stomach at her sweet words, and he mustered a smile as best he could.

"An' now it's your turn!" Happy announced cheerfully. "I want to hear a sea shanty!"

Styles scoffed and shook his head.

"You don't want to hear my singin', Happy," he began. "Ye would throw me out for sure."

Happy’s heart sank once again to hear Styles bringing himself down.

"I'll throw ye out if ye keep that nonsense up," Happy stated, with a sad tone to her voice.

Styles looked up to see the genuine sadness in Happy's eyes and it seemed to him that this wasn't an act from her. She genuinely wished for him not to put himself down in front of her.

Styles smiled a soft smile and nodded.

"Yes ma'am," he said. "No more of that nonsense. I'll sing for ye."

Happy beamed and clapped her hands in delight.

Styles chuckled, saying she's probably already heard all of the ones he knows. But Happy told him to just sing one he enjoys. Still seated and looking off into the distance, he began.

"Now we are ready to head for the Horn.

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Our boots an' our clothes boys are all in the pawn.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away!

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Man the stout caps'n an' heave with a will.

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Soon we'll be drivin' her 'way down the hill

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away,

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O.

Soon we'll be warping her out through the locks,

Way, hay, roll an' go!

Where the pretty young gals all come down in their flocks,

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away

Way, hay, roll an' go

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored

To be rollicking randy dandy-O

We're outward bound for Vallipo Bay!

Way, hay, roll an' go

Get crackin', m' lads, 'tis a hell o' a way

To be rollicking randy dandy-O

Heave a pawl, o heave away

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored.

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!

Heave a pawl, o heave away!

Way, hay, roll an' go!

The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored

To be rollicking randy dandy-O!"

Finished with the song, Styles looked to Happy with a smile.

Happy applauded him with joyful enthusiasm.

"Oh that was wonderful, Sean!" Happy praised him, her smile bright.

Styles nodded a 'thank you' as he chuckled softly.

"Can ye teach it to me?" Happy asked excitedly. "I picked up the chorus well enough, but can you sing it again so I can work on learnin' the rest?"

Styles smiled as he replied.

"Only if you help me learn the song you sang for me afterwards."

Happy pretended to spit in her hand and then offered it to Styles, grinning.

Styles chuckled as he mimicked her actions and shook her hand.

The rest of their time was spent teaching each other their songs. And as both sang and laughed with each other, Styles couldn't recall the last time he had been so genuinely happy.

Nor could Happy recall either. And she knew the time was coming to an end soon.

How dearly she wanted Styles to stay…

And how dearly he wanted the same…

But the knock on the door came, and both their hearts sank.

Happy remembered then that tomorrow was Styles' last day on shore. Her heart raced as they both got up from the bed, but she kept her composure as best she could.

"I'm so happy to see you again, Sean," Happy said, smiling at him.

But Styles could see the sadness behind the smile, because he felt it too.

"So am I to see you again, Happy," Styles replied with a nod.

They stood facing each other now, and Styles wanted to say something more. He wanted to tell her how happy she made him feel. How he would stay and visit until she kicked him out.

But his tongue felt stuck in his mouth and no words came out.

Besides, doubts still played in the back of his mind that Happy even wanted him to stay longer. Or see him for a third time even. Regardless, Styles was out of money he could spend, which made him even more miserable and unsure what to say.

"Well, I...I should be…" Styles mumbled, his legs feeling heavier than ever before.

Happy watched as Styles turned and started towards the door. She didn't want to be forward, but she also didn't want this to be their last exchange before he left for sea.

"Oi now!" Happy called out, smiling. But there was a slight tremble in her voice even as she smiled.

Styles stopped, his heart quickening for a moment as he heard her call out to him. He slowly turned back around to face Happy, his expression anxious.

"You can't be leavin' like this, Sean," Happy smiled. "When will I see you again?"

Styles knew that he shouldn't have tried to just leave, but now he would have to confess that he was out of expendable funds and couldn't see her tomorrow. Which made his stomach turn with anxiety. He didn't want to let Happy down...ever.

"I don't know, Happy…" Styles began in a low and sad tone.

He couldn't even look at her right now, and Happy’s heart hurt to see this.

"I don't have...any more"-"oh I'm not workin’ tomorrow!"

Styles looked up to see Happy’s soft smile as she cut him off. She had also stepped up to him as she had interrupted him.

Styles looked at Happy with confusion, and Happy quickly explained.

"We get a day to run errands if we have any," Happy began. "And I happen to need to visit the market tomorrow for some supplies for the kitchens. As well as the tailors for some supplies for dress repairin’."

Styles felt his anxiety melt away as Happy told him this, and he smiled and replied.

"I'd be happy to accompany you on your errands, Happy," Styles replied.

Happy giggled at his choice of words, and nodded.

"Tomorrow at noon, meet me here," Happy instructed, smiling bright.

“Tomorrow at noon,” Styles nodded, smiling brightly in return.

With that, Styles took Happy’s hand in his and kissed it sweetly, and then left the room. Happy felt her heart swell with excitement, so thankful that she got to see Styles one more time.

Styles made his way back down the stairs, all smiles, and saw that Matthews and Oldroyd still remained at their table.

When Matthews saw Styles approaching, he greeted him with a cheeky grin.

“Ah! Our Romeo returns at last!” Matthews teased.

“Oh shut it, Matthews,” Styles retorted with annoyance as he took a seat.

But Matthews could see a smile was still on Styles’ lips and the older sailor chuckled to himself.