#and i got!!! a seashell bath mat!!!!!!!!!!!

[imeminemp3]

ooh hoo hoo new rachel maksy video... i want desperately to watch rn but im also wondering if i should save it for when im sewing tmr

[niabang]

The Summer it Came True

Previous chapter

Chapter 8

Pairings: Bangchan × black female reader named Kel

Word Count: 1872

More under the cut!

You woke up in the middle of the night to go pee, and as you walked to the bathroom, you saw your clothes neatly folded in a pile on the couch in your room.

You didn't even notice when you started smiling. Could he be anymore perfect? You were blushing to yourself, remembering how he asked you to the beach and kissed your forehead. You were practically floating.

...

You woke up the next morning and heard some ruckus downstairs. What was he doing? You went downstairs and were met with Chan in the kitchen, cooking something that smelt delicious.

"What are you doing? I thought you couldn't cook." You said to him with your hands, akimbo.

"I never said I didn't know how to cook, I just don't know how to make pancakes. Those things are evil."

"I see. So what's cooking, Gordon Ramsey?" You asked him and sat on the kitchen island.

"I made some breakfast sandwiches, and I'm making some rice and chicken sauce for us to eat when we get back from the beach." He was so thoughtful.

"Oh, you didn't have to, but thanks." His back was turned towards you, and you just sat on the island admiring him. You were getting too used to this. He was leaving the next day.

"Can you help me taste this, please?" He said, holding a spoon with a bit of broth in it towards you. You opened your mouth, and he put the spoon into your mouth and then watched you intently to see what you thought about it. Why was he a good cook too?

"Mmmh, it's really good." You said, and he went back to what he was doing.

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth and come back downstairs, brb." You went upstairs, did just that, and by the time you got back downstairs, he had set a plate full of sandwiches for you plus a cup of coffee.

"I'm finally getting the princess treatment I deserve. As I should." You sat down to eat, and he joined you with his own plate.

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Those words hit you like a brick.

"Wow, way to kill the mood." You sounded sarcastic, but you were on the verge of tears. You didn't want him to leave. Why did he have to leave?

"I'm sorry." He said while laughing.

You guys finished up eating and went to prepare for the beach.

You didn't really plan to go to the beach so you didn't have any beach wear but luckily you had a short floral gown that could be used for the occasion.

You took a bath, did your skincare, and put on your outfit for the day. You contemplated if you wanted to pack your hair up or comb it out, and you decided to comb it out.

You went downstairs to your mini store to get a beach mat for the both of you. One of the perks of this house was that it came with a lot of equipment for the beach.

Chan met you downstairs and to your surprise he was wearing a brown shirt.

"Brown looks good on you." You said to him, and he thanked you while blushing.

"I love your hair. You look good." Was this a compliment battle or?

"Thank you, chan." You both stared at each other in silence it was kind of awkward.

"Where are your car keys? Let's get going." He said changing the subject.

"No way, I'm driving this time." You told him.

"Okay, you'll drive us there, and I'll drive us back. Deal?" He asked, trying to make peace.

"Deal." You agreed to his offer.

You put the mat into the car, and you guys got going.

The beach wasn't as full as you guys expected it to be. There were only a handful of people scattered across the sand.

You guys set up your mat far away from people and just sat down admiring the ocean. You played by the shore a bit, and you guys picked up some seashells

You talked about life and had some philosophical discussions. It was just the two of you in your little bottle. Chan suggested you guys go get coconut drinks, and you did.

While you were still speaking, chan suddenly got up and went to a group of little kids. He was talking to them for a while, and you sat down, looking in his direction, confused.

When chan was returning, he had two sand castle buckets in his hand accompanied by two little shovels. He smiled at you while he was returning, and you swear you felt a tear drop from your eye.

"Wanna build sandcastles with me?" He said, offering you a bucket and a shovel.

"Yes." You said through a big smile.

You and chan built sandcastles and adorned them with the seashells you picked along the way.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something." He said, not looking up while patting the sand in his bucket with the shovel.

"Sure." You said watching him fiddle with the bucket. When he heard your reply, he dropped what he was doing and looked at you. Then he began to talk.

“I really enjoy the time I spend with you and consider you an important part of my life. We’ve been friends for so long, and I feel like I know you so well. I really like you, kel. If you feel the same way, I'd like to be your boyfriend. Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

This was so unreal to you. Here you were 13 years later making sand castles at the same beach you guys were in years ago when you developed a crush on him, and now he was asking you out. You needed someone to pinch you. This wasn't real.

"Yes!" You said, getting up on your knees from the mat to embrace him in a hug. You gave him a peck on his cheek and watched him turn red.

The kids came to get their buckets, and you guys returned them. You decided to take one last walk around the shore before going back home. You guys walked the shore holding hands, and the sun began to set. Time seemed to fly by so fast when you were with him. You felt safe and secure around him. You felt happy. You loved him.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Chan asked, and you guys picked up the mat and left to the car. You fulfilled your promise of letting him drive you guys back home. Chan had one hand on your thigh, slowly stroking it with his thumb the entire drive. Despite the AC being on, you were hot and on the verge of melting.

You guys got home and decided to take a shower before settling down to eat because your bodies were full of sand. You got downstairs after your bath and warmed up the food chan cooked for the both of you, and you guys ate together.

Chan had to go upstairs to pack his bags. He was leaving tomorrow. You almost cried thinking about it while washing the dishes. You went up to your room to pack the trash out, and that was when you saw chan's shirt that you washed to give back to him.

You picked up the shirt and walked to his room. You let yourself in and handed it to him. He said thank you and took it from you. You didn't leave his room. You sat on his bed talking to him up until the late hours of the night.

When it was time to go to bed, you were about to leave for your room, but as soon as you touched the doorknob, you realised that you didn't want to leave. You turned back to the bed, and as if chan knew, he opened up his blanket for you to get in.

You gladly did. You lay facing him, but you were just right under his chin. You were faced with his chest. Chan wrapped his hands around you and pulled you closer to him. Your bodies were glued together.

"I love you, Kel." Chan said, and he kissed the top of your forehead.

"I don't want you to leave." You said.

"I don't want to leave you either."

...

The day had come. Chan was leaving.

You guys ate breakfast together one last time, and you drove him to the airport.

When you guys got down from the car to drop him off, you shared a kiss one last time and waved him off till he was swallowed by the crowd.

You didn't even realise that you were crying. You missed him already. The flight from Sydney to Melbourne was 8 hours long. You wouldn't be able to text him for 8 hours.

You drove back home, missing having someone else in the car with you. You decided to work to get your mind off of him, and you decided to try what chan told you to do with the designs.

Long story short. Chan was a genius. This was the best thing you had ever drawn in your life. You just needed to perfect it, and you were sure people would love it.

You went into Chan's room to remind yourself of him. The room smelled like him. You sat on the bed when you saw a white material sticking out of the blanket and when you pulled it out, it was Chan's shirt, and a note fell out of it.

The note read:

"This is my little present to you for making me the happiest man on earth for two weeks. I hope you like it. I love you."

He loved you. Chan loved you. You bawled your eyes out again for the second time today.

You slept off in the room chan occupied when he was here and when you woke up you saw that you had received a message from chan.

Chan

Hey babe. I just arrived in Melbourne. I'm on my way to where my family is staying.

You

Oh, so it's not Kel anymore?

Go on, I'm not complaining.

I'm glad you had a safe flight.

I saw your little gift...

Chan

Oh, that... did you like it?

You

I cried my eyes out. I hate you.

Chan

I'm glad to see that you liked it

I have to go now

Eat well and don't overwork yourself.

Stay healthy

You

Chan... I love you.

Chan

I love you too, Kel

...

You and Chan kept in close touch over the months to pass. You were always on the phone together.

The both of you did end up getting consumed by work a bit.

When CJ got back and you told him everything that happened he told you that you were insane and delusional. He simply did not believe you.

The next year, the company released the new collection. You called it "Summer in love." You were right. People loved it. The magazines and tabloids described it as one of the most unique collections they had seen. The company received a lot of appraisal for it.

Thank you, Chan.

The group released an album early in the year, and chan told you that one of the songs on there was written for you. It was called "Connected."

Who would have thought that this much would happen in one summer? You wished you could go back and relive those moments.

Last year's summer was the summer it came true.

THE END. (Maybe)

Continuation: Only Me and You

[sockablock]

Something New for Me and You

• (start) (prev) (AO3) (next) •

Chapter 2: Last Song of the Night 

Caleb shut the door and fumbled slightly with his keys, trying to not to drop them while also trying to balance a large plastic bag of leftovers in his arms. Eventually he managed to hook them onto the rusted coat rack by their welcome mat which, in faint letters, read:

Nein.

Nott had found it buried under a pile of random junk in the Goodwill down the street a few years ago. It had been a permanent fixture of their home ever since.

Caleb slipped his shoes off, and went to unbutton his jacket, and remembered that he wasn’t wearing it anymore.

“Scheiss,” he muttered, “Molly still has it.”

“Has what?” Nott asked.

Caleb looked up and saw a pair of large, bright yellow eyes glowing back at him from the approximate area of the kitchen set-up, about five feet in the air. And then, in the darkness, another eye opened, much smaller and pale blue. He squinted. Then he flicked his wrist, and four globules of light blossomed around him. They drifted out to the corners of their tiny apartment, faintly illuminating the room around them and revealing Nott, sitting on their makeshift dinner table, holding Frumpkin in her lap. There was a faint meow from said cat, which Caleb decided to interpret as a greeting.

“What does he still have?” Nott asked again. “Oh, and welcome home. Nothing exploded while you were gone.”

This elicited a faint smile. “That’s good,” he said, “I always like to hear that is the case.” Then he started undoing the buttons on his vest and added, “I was referring to my jacket. Mollymauk still has it.”

Nott instantly raised an eyebrow. “Why’d he steal your jacket?” she asked suspiciously.

Caleb snorted. “No, no, he didn’t steal it.” And then he blushed slightly, and his fingers slipped. “I just, er, I just lent it to him.”

Her other eyebrow went up. “Oh, no. Caleb, come on, no.”

“What is your ‘oh no,’ what does that mean?”

Nott leaned back. She lifted Frumpkin up by the scruff and over his protesting meows said, “Gosh, kitty, Caleb really must be in love.”

He spluttered. This vest would not be coming off anytime soon. “That’s not true, spatz. That’s not the case at all.”

“Frumpkin, I think he’s lying to us.”

“I am not,” he said, and would be affronted if he wasn’t so flustered. “I went tonight as a favor for Jester. Nothing else. Not to find a…a significant other, not to take advantage of her hospitality, and not to meet Mister Mollymauk. Er, I mean, to meet Mollymauk.”

Nott shook her head and tutted. “And gods, did you hear that? Mister,” she sighed. “That means he wants to impress him.” She turned towards Caleb. “Is this…Mister Mollymauk guy fancy, then? Is that why you’re all manners-y now?”

Caleb finally managed to shrug the vest off and hung it on the coat rack. He vaguely remembered that there were rules for storing such well-made clothing, but at the moment he couldn’t remember a single one.

“He is quite fancy,” Caleb conceded, making his way to the kitchen and taking a seat in front of Nott, who was still right in the middle of the table. “He’s a singer at a well-known club.”

“Which one?” Nott asked.

“The Fletching & Moondrop,” said Caleb, “same as Beau and Yasha. And Fjord, of course.”

“In the fancy part, I’m guessing?”

Caleb sighed. “Why did everybody but me know that their club had such a gleaming reputation?”

“Because Yasha and Beau work there,” Nott said. “Jester knows everything. You don’t pay attention.”

“And how did you know?”

She shrugged. “I used to sneak in and steal stuff from the rich folk. But now I’m reformed and a valuable member of society and I only steal when I need to. Or when you ask me to. Or when I can’t help myself.”

“Truly, a model citizen. I am impressed.”

She beamed. Her jagged, crooked teeth gleamed yellow under the faint light from Caleb’s globules. He absently leaned over, and pinched her cheek.

“So other than the fact you’re in love now,” Nott said after he pulled away, “how was the double date? Does Molly love you back? Did Fjord and Jester make out? Did you bring me back leftovers?”

He nodded, and pushed the plastic bag towards her. Her eyes lit up, and she started yanking out leftover containers.

“There’s still some chicken,” he began, “and salad, but I imagine you won’t want that. There’s also fish of some kind, save that for Frumpkin, and, oh, I see you’ve found the beef—”

Her cheeks bulged. The table was now covered in scraps, and Frumpkin poked a loose tomato with his nose.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly muffled. “I was really hungry.”

He smiled. “Bon appetit, schatz. Sorry to make you wait so long for dinner. I thought I would be home by ten but—”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a midnight snack.” She shoveled a forkful of chicken into her mouth. “And it sure beats not having any dinner. Plus this stuff is real fancy. It’s going to make pizza tomorrow look like peasant food.”

Caleb blinked. “Pizza tomorrow? Why are we getting pizza tomorrow?”

She frowned. “We always get pizza on movie night,” she said. “Is—can we not afford it? Because I can go steal some from somewhere, I’m sure.”

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “No, no, no need, sorry. With all the excitement of tonight’s dinner I forgot that it was our turn to host movies tomorrow. We should be alright. I mean, I’m sure Kosh was kidding when he threatened to cut our power, right?”

Nott nodded loyally. “Definitely,” she said. “Absolutely, probably.”

“Great. Did you pick out a movie, yet?”

She grinned. “Actually, I let Jester—”

“We are not watching Tusk Love again. I swear to the gods I will torch the television.”

“You won’t,” said Nott in a singsong voice. “We can’t afford another one.”

He sighed in defeat. “Why would you let Jester do that? She does not need another enabler, after Fjord.”

“I like her,” said Nott, “and I couldn’t think of anything. And I knew you’d want to watch The Courting of the Crick—”

He blushed. “I would not—”

“And I refuse to watch a romantic film that’s going to teach me something. So Tusk Love it is.”

“Are you even old enough to have an opinion on...on...on smutty movies?”

“Definitely,” said Nott. She pushed a plate of salad towards Caleb. “Can you put that in the fridge?” she asked. “And make more ice? The layer from this morning is melting now.”

He accepted the tray and made his way over to their unplugged refrigerator, dragging along a Dancing Light as he went. And while he rubbed his hands together and started concentrating on a localized, low-power Ray of Frost, Nott spoke up again.

“So, you didn’t answer my question from before,” she said. “Did Mollymauk fall in love with you?”

He snorted. “I doubt it. He’s a nice fellow, but we barely know each other. I think we’re just getting to be friends, also.”

“Did you get his phone number?”

“I do not use my phone, spatz.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to start?”

He sighed. “It’s better for our budget if I didn’t. Besides, yours has been fine for both of us, hasn’t it?”

“That’s true. Hey, is he coming to movie night? Isn’t he Jester’s friend now? And Fjord’s? Nevermind, he’s definitely coming to movie night.”

Caleb, face hidden by the fridge door, blushed. “Maybe,” he said. “I suppose we will wait and see.”

“I wanna meet him,” said Nott. “I need to make sure he’s good.”

“And what would you do if he was not?”

“Kill him,” she said with complete nonchalance.

Caleb stood up, shutting the fridge behind him. “Please don’t do that,” he sighed. “I don’t want to deal with the police. I’m sure Jester would be devastated. And...I would prefer if you did not.”

She grinned. “You really do love him.”

Caleb rubbed at his eyes, and gave her one last half-hearted sigh. “I’m going to bed, spatz. You try and get some sleep as well, alright?”

She gave him a salute. “No promises,” he said.

“Good enough,” he nodded, and turned around and walked into the bedroom and got ready for the night.

•

The second they got home, Molly belligerently refusing to answer a single one of Fjord’s not-so-casual, prying questions the entire ride back, Molly shut himself into his bedroom, and leaned against the door.

Their apartment was never what Molly’s...guests expected, especially since Fjord also lived there, but he always liked to think that they had done rather well for themselves. The space wasn’t small, there was a lovely view of the waterfront, and two bedrooms, a bath, and a proper kitchen was quite the achievement in Molly’s eyes. And Fjord’s, who had grown up moving crates at the docks of a neighboring city. Plus the place was furnished mostly by Molly’s ever-rotating cycle of deep-pocketed suitors, so it was not only well-decorated, but also extremely gaudy. He loved it. Fjord didn’t, but never complained.

Molly wiggled out of his dress and into a bathrobe—another gift—and tossed it onto the bed. And then he considered the jacket Caleb had given him. It was tan, extremely well-made, and had kept him warm in a number of ways on the ride home. He laid it out carefully on the back of a chair. And then he threw himself into his sheets and pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello?”

Molly beamed. “Yasha! Darling, how are you?”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. And then a long sigh.

“Mollymauk, it is one in the morning.”

He flipped over onto his stomach and started twirling his hair. “And what?” he asked. “I can’t call my favorite lady in the entire world at one in the morning? My best woman? My dearest friend? The light of my life—”

“You only make phone calls when you are drunk,” said Yasha. “Are you drunk?”

Molly rolled his eyes, and then forgot that Yasha couldn’t see him. “No, no, I’m not drunk, dear. Not even tipsy. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve met the love of my life, and that I’m changing my last name now.”

There was another long pause. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

He sighed. “Peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Sally sells seashells by the seashore. Wizened old wizards hold wiggling wild wands—”

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” came Yasha’s voice. “Who are you talking about? Is it another bar patron? You know how those always end.”

Molly shook his head. “No, no, dear. Not at all. It’s someone I had the most wonderful date with, at the Triumph Chime’s rooftop restaurant. You know the one.”

“I do,” said Yasha, “but it’s not a bar patron? That’s a very nice place for a date, Molly.”

“Come now, come now, don’t tell me Jester didn’t tell you?!”

“Tell me what, Molly?”

“I had a double date tonight, of course! With her and Fjord and one of her friends! One of your friends, actually.”

Molly counted down on his fingers as he waited for Yasha to put two and two together.

“Beau?” she asked, astonished.

Molly almost choked. “No, gods no,” he spluttered, completely thrown off now. “No, Yasha, no. With Caleb. Caleb Widogast?”

“...with Caleb.”

“Yes, darling.”

“You went to the Triumph Chime with Caleb?”

“Yes, darling.”

"You went to the Triumph Chime with Caleb?"

"Yes, darling."

“And...and you’re in love with Caleb?”

“Yes, darling, is it the late hour? You’re usually much quicker on the uptake—”

“Excuse me,” said Yasha, cutting him off, “I’ve got to go.”

And then before he could respond, the line went dead.

“Hello? Yasha? Hello?”

Molly looked at his screen. It was dark. He sighed, and put his phone down on the covers next to him, and stared up at the cieling for a minute or two. And then his cell started buzzing, and he quickly grabbed it and hit answer.

“Mollymauk?”

“Yes, Yasha?”

“I just called Jester to make sure.”

“And?”

There was no hesitation this time. “I’m happy for you.”

Molly fought the wide grin threatening to split his face in two, and lost. “Thank you, dear.”

“Does he like you back?”

“I have no idea.”

Molly could almost picture Yasha nodding solemnly here as she made a loud huffing noise and said, “Alright then. I suppose we’ve got some work to do, then.”

Molly laughed. “Thank you, dear. Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

“You can pay me back in that really good jerky they sell at that fancy supermarket.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Molly quipped, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

“See it later” said Yasha. “I know you’re not singing tomorrow night but there’s still all-day rehearsal, and I know how bad you are at waking up.”

Molly put his arm over his eyes and grinned. “Alright, alright, Mother. I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to you at work?”

“Bright and early.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love you, dear.”

There was a soft laugh on the other end of the line. “I love you too, Mollymauk. Now go away.”

He hung up and pulled his bathrobe off. Then he crawled under the covers, and sighed, and tried to go to sleep. He must have eventually dozed off but in the hours before he did, he kept glancing at the tan jacket in the corner, and kept thinking about a certain head of fiery hair, and a certain pair of dazzling blue eyes.

•

Jester created the new group chat: “TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO” 7 members: Jester, Beau, Yasha, Caleb, Fjord, Molly, and you

Today 12:13 PM

Jester changed her nickname to “(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*” Jester changed Beau’s nickname to “Drunkmonk” Jester changed Yasha’s nickname to “Babebarian” Jester changed Nott’s nickname to “SheSoBrave” Jester changed Fjord’s nickname to “Seaman” Jester changed Molly’s nickname to “Lavender Thunder” Jester changed Caleb’s nickname to “Gayleb”

You changed your nickname to “NottSoBrave”

Drunkmonk: aight i just got 90 notifications and nobody’s even said anything yet (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: shut up Beau this is important (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: WELCOME TO MOVIE NIGHT! Babebarian: it’s noon (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: WELCOME TO MOVIE NOON (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: fjord and molly you are now part of a very time-honored tradition Drunkmonk: we’ve been doing this for a month NottSoBrave: welcome and caleb says welcome too (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: anyways this is for planning tonight we are going to caleb and nott’s and we are going to watch tusk love 8PM and pizza any questions Seaman: why is my nickname seaman (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: you are a man of the sea Lavender Thunder: i concur and thank you for inviting me to your movie night! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: its my honor Seaman: oskar would have been better NottSoBrave: @jester caleb wants to know why his nickname is gayleb (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: because he is gay and is never going to open this chat to change it NottSoBrave: caleb says “point taken” (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: okay anyway is everybody good with this plan then?

Nott put down her phone and turned to Caleb. “This means you have Molly’s number now, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Now you can text him.”

He sighed and tapped the handlebar of the shopping cart nervously as they moved through the snack aisle of the Broad Barn, Nott occasionally leaning out of her perch in the toddler’s compartment to grab a bag of chips or a package of candy. They already had three boxes of popcorn kernels and four bottles of soda. Caleb, on the inside, was fearing for his nearly-empty wallet.

“I don’t know if I should, yet,” he muttered. “Isn’t it underhanded that I got it from somebody else? Shouldn’t I have asked for it by myself?”

“I dunno,” said Nott, casually slipping a chocolate bar into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. “Why didn’t you, before?”

“I was too afraid.”

“So this works great! Now you have it, and you don’t need to ask.”

He sighed. “Perhaps. But...but maybe I should wait for Molly to call me first?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, somehow managing to make the gesture supportive. “He seems like the type that would, anyway. Hey, can we get these too?” she pointed at a string of licorice.

“Put those in your sleeves if you like,” said Caleb, and steered them towards the toiletries section. “We need soap—don’t make that face, Yasha and Jester will kill me if I don’t clean up—and that means our snack budget is smaller now. Especially since our electric bill is overdue, and it’s winter, so we need as much as we can for heating.”

“I thought we were saving plenty by never using the lights and unplugging the fridge,” Nott muttered.

“Magic can only save so much,” Caleb sighed. “I do not want to know what would happen if I tried to use a Thunderwave to charge your phone. And I still cannot get more hours at the library,” he added dejectedly.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come around,” Nott said loyally. “They’ll realize any second how smart and hardworking and organized and on-time you are.”

He sighed again. “Let us hope. Come on, now, I think we have enough snacks. And I still need to do a deep clean of the apartment.”

“You’ve never done that before,” Nott pointed out. “Why now?”

A faint blush crept across Caleb’s cheeks. “No reason,” he said quickly. “I just want to be hospitable.”

Nott glanced down at her phone. Then she looked up and gave Caleb the cheekiest grin he had ever seen on her face before. “You’re doing it for Lavender Thunder, aren’t you?”

He almost choked. “Excuse me? For who?”

“That’s the nickname Jester gave to Molly. Weren’t you listening when I read them out loud?”

“Apparently not,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” she leaned over and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’m sure you won’t have to call him that when he comes over. And, if you want, I’ll even help you clean.”

•

The group arrived at once, having carpooled together with Fjord as the driver in his beat-up station wagon, which was mildly terrifying for Caleb because he had only just shoved the air freshener under the kitchen sink and only just managed to kick the loose bags of cat food to the side and only just managed to slip on a semi-decent shirt, hoping that they would end up changing into pajamas soon, before there was a knock. And then several more knocks, as Jester muscled her way to the front.

He opened the door, and they all filed in. Fjord entered first, shaking Caleb’s hand and beaming and thanking him for hosting in that smooth southern accent. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and came bearing a family-sized bag of Cheetos. Jester came next, waving the Tusk Love DVD with one hand and throwing a hug around Caleb with the other. Beau and Yasha followed, greeting him much more calmly, Yasha carrying a six-pack of soda and Beau with a DVD player in her arms. And then, at the rear, was Mollymauk.

At least his outfit was more tame this time, a long knit sweater covering his upper-body well, but Caleb had the distinct impression that jeans should not be that tight. Then he realized that they were leggings.

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, pointedly not making eye contact with Molly for fear of self-combustion. “I am glad you all got here safe.”

“Your landlord sucks,” said Fjord. “He was glaring at us as we came up.”

“He’s the worst,” supplied Nott. “You’re Fjord, right? Jester’s boyfriend?”

He preened slightly at this question, and stuck a hand out. “Nice to meet you. Nott?”

She took his hand with only mild-suspicion, which was rather good for her. “That’s me,” she said. “This is my house.”

“I’m Molly,” said Molly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

Nott did not accept his hand, but did give him a slight nod. “So you’re Molly,” she said. “Alright.”

Said tiefling raised an eyebrow. “Is…is everything alright?”

“Let’s get set up,” Caleb said quickly. “The lights are already off, for movie reasons, but I can make some if we need it. Could you put the snacks on the coffee table? And, er, Beau, I’ll give you a hand with the DVD player.”

As he walked over to help Beau, he sighed and under his breath mumbled, “Please, gods, spare me this evening.”

•

Caleb had a slightly tattered sofa, and an armchair next to it to form an “L” shape. Then the coffee table was nestled into that bend, and behind that the TV was positioned on top of a very tall stack of books, at an angle so that all could see it. Yasha took the chair; Beau immediately sat down on Yahsa’s left, on armrest, and swung a leg on top of the armrest of the sofa next to her. Caleb sat to Beau’s right, and Nott sat on the back of the sofa by his head. And then Molly had plopped down next to Caleb, and with the added bodies of Jester and Fjord—nearly on top of one another at the other end of the couch—they were extremely close.

“Mister Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured as the tiefling’s warm body pressed against his.

Molly raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I thought we agreed to be a bit less formal, around one another? I imagine this distance is as casual as it gets.”

Caleb managed a tiny grin. “We did,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s also kind of fun when it’s just me and you, isn’t it?”

Molly cracked a wide smile. “So it is, Mister Caleb. So it is.”

“Shut up,” said Beau loudly. “The movie’s starting.”

Molly rolled his eyes and stopped talking, but gave Caleb one last sheepish grin before turning away. After a second, Caleb forced himself to fix his gaze back towards the television. He wordlessly accepted the bowl of popcorn passed down to him from Nott, seated on top of the sofa, and handed it to Beau after scooping some up.

And then the words “Darrington Films Presents” appeared on the screen, and his attention focused on the opening scenes of Tusk Love.

•

“Oskar,” Jester mouthed softly along with Guinevere, “how very nice to meet you. Will you be in this area for long?”

“No, miss,” grinned Fjord, easily falling into the role under Jester’s enthusiastic urging. “I’m afraid the folk around here aren’t as kind as you are to people like me.”

“People like you?” Jester asked as Guinevere’s soft features curled into a confused smile. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Well, you know. People who aren’t...people.” Fjord said, sighing.

Beau threw herself off the side of Yasha’s chair, bridging the gap between the sofa and almost launching herself into Caleb’s lap, who jumped slightly with a start. “This writing is trash,” she groaned, covering her eyes. “I can’t believe we have to watch it again.”

“Shhhhh,” hissed Molly, face glued to the grainy TV. “This is a masterpiece of fiction.”

“Yasha, back me up here.”

“Hush,” said Yasha softly. “This next part is my favorite.”

“Hang on,” said Fjord as Oskar suddenly turned around. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Jester asked with slightly too much feigned concern. “What is it?”

“It...it sounds like wolves.”

“Wolves?” Jester threw her arms around Fjord. “Oh, no, please! Oskar, what do we do?”

“Get behind me, Guinevere. I can protect us. I will—”

The TV screen went black. They were all silent, for a moment.

Then Beau stood up. “What the shit,” she asked. “What…did I do that?”

Caleb stiffened in his seat, the mild warmth of Molly’s side and the fabric of the sofa instantly melting away. He quickly glanced over at the heater in the corner and with a sinking stomach, realized that it had stopped whirring.

The power was out.

“Drat,” muttered Nott, getting up and walking over to the television. “The dumb thing must be broken again.”

Fjord stood up and went to follow her. “Here,” he said, pulling out his phone. “We can use this as a flashlight.”

“This may also help,” said Yasha, clapping her hands together. A sphere of bright light suddenly drifted into the air around them, hovering around Nott’s head.

“I’m gonna look for the light switch,” sighed Beau. “I can’t see shit right now.”

“Fjord, let me help,” said Jester, scrambling off the couch, “I can at least hold the phone—”

And amid the hustle and bustle of all his friends leaping into action, under their conversation and nose, Caleb heard a voice at the back of his mind.

It said:

What a disappointment. Trust you to ruin this night for your friends. Of course your landlord would cut the power, you’re worthless and miserable and can’t even make the bills on time. Look at you. You’re a disgrace. You should be ashamed of yourself. You should—

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He realized that his breathing had accelerated, that his fists were clenched, and even stranger than that, he was shaking.

But it wasn't from fear. It was from anger. At Kosh, at the television, at his ridiculous lack of funds and at himself for ruining this night for his friends.

He risked a glance to his left and saw a pair of bright, ruby eyes, glowing in the darkness, staring back at him with a furrowed brow. Behind Molly, the others were still talking loudly and weren’t paying attention to him. Fjord had crouched down next to Nott behind the small square television and was inspecting it with a frown. Jester was standing over them with the flashlight. To the side, Yasha helped the now-blind Beau look for a light switch.

“Are you alright?” Molly murmured. “You looked like you were...spacing out a bit.”

Caleb nodded.

“Can you speak?”

He was silent for a moment, and eventually trusted himself enough to open his mouth. “I can now,” he said. There was still a sharp edge to his words.

“What happened?” Molly asked gently.

“Electrical bill was overdue,” he muttered. “Kosh must’ve stopped the power.”

Molly nodded. “Do you want to solve that problem now? Do you want me to go talk to him?”

Caleb quickly shook his head. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to deal with that now.”

“Alright, Caleb. Is there anything you do want?”

“I want to make sure Beau doesn’t try to turn the lights on,” he said, and as he did, he could feel himself beginning to calm down.

Molly nodded again. “Alright,” he said. “I might be able to help. Could I try something?”

He blinked. “What...what do you mean?”

This time Molly gave him a faint grin. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a great way to distract people, and keep the fun going all at the same time

He squeezed Caleb’s shoulder, and felt the man untense further. He took this as his cue, and pulled away, and stood up on the sofa.“Hey, everybody!” he called excitedly. “Don’t bother with the TV. Caleb and I had a great idea.”

“What’s that?” Jester asked, glancing over. “Because I think we can fix—”

Molly shook his head quickly. “Nah,” he said. “This’ll be much simpler.”

“What is it, then?” Nott asked. “Are we changing apartments to finish the movie?”

“Nope!” Molly beamed, and stretched his arms out in a grand gesture. “Even better. We’re all going to get into Fjord’s car, and we’re going to go sing karaoke!”

There was a brief pause. Then Jester grinned enormously. “Can I pick the first song?” she asked.

"You can pick all the songs, dear."

Fjord glanced at Molly, and then back at Jester, whose face had lit up like a Winter's Crest ornament. “I’m in,” he said with a smile.

“Me too,” said Beau immediately. “I hate that movie.”

“I enjoy singing,” volunteered Yasha.

“I’m a great singer,” said Nott, bobbing her head. “Caleb, can we go?”

He nodded immediately. “Ja,” he said. “Ja, I would like to go.”

Molly laughed delightedly, and took a bow. “Excellent!” he called. “I know just the place.”

•

The host of the Leaky Tap Tavern and Karaoke Bar brightened right away when he saw Molly, and grinned even larger when he noticed how many others were accompanying said tiefling tonight. He didn’t even bat an eye when they insisted that Nott was definitely an adult halfling with a skin condition, and quickly waved them on into a back room.

“They know me here,” chuckled Molly. “People in the hospitality business stick together.”

“And you’ve thrown up here multiple times,” Fjord muttered, settling into one of the chairs. “You’ve really tested their hospitality before.”

Molly tuck his tongue out at him, and tossed the songbook over to Jester. “Here you are, dear. In charge, like we promised.”

She squealed with delight, and started rifling through the pages. “Just you wait, you guys!” she giggled. “Oh, this is going to be so fun!”

“Is there alcohol?” Beau asked.

“Even better. There’s a minimum purchase of alcohol.”

She smiled a wicked smile. “Excellent,” she said. “I’ll have as much beer as physically possible.”

They spent the next few hours tearing through Jester’s song selections, the highlights being when they sent tremors through the ground over the chorus of Sweet Caroline, absolutely butchered I Need a Hero, belted out the words to Build Me Up Buttercup, even reluctantly allowed Jester to shove Never Gonna Give You Up into the queue—and then unironically sung their hearts out anyways. They ran through Bohemian Rhapsody, where every person tried to sing every part, destroyed half the soundtrack of Grease, warbled along to Africa, giggled as Beau drunkenly stumbled through Electric Love and tried hard not to look at Yasha the entire time. They even roped the flustered-looking waiter into doing a surprisingly excellent rendition of Defying Gravity.

Molly's voice, of course, was the most self-confident of them all, and for good reason. Fjord's was strong and laced with his trademark accent. Jester’s was slightly pitchy, but her cheer and enthusiasm made any critiques meaningless. Beau sang aggressively, though after a few drinks she mellowed out significantly. Nott was an auditory nightmare, but seemed so genuinely happy that they just covertly turned down her microphone when she wasn't looking. Yasha and Caleb were both rather quiet—not from nerves, but as if they weren’t used to singing this way.

By the end of the night, Fjord had broken a heavy sweat. Jester was tipsy off Sangrias, Yasha’s pale skin had flushed slightly pink, Nott’s already-ragged voice was even more mangled, though she didn’t seem to care at all. Beau was completely plastered and needed Yasha’s help staying upright, and Molly had the largest grin in the world splitting his face in two. And though he had started out mostly just humming along at the beginning, even Caleb managed to raise his voice for song or two. He was smiling. His heart was racing and for once it felt good. He very much enjoyed these people.

"Thank you for this," he murmured to Molly as the others bickered over a song choice.

The tiefling smiled. It was small, and soft, and made Caleb's chest flutter.

"Of course, Mister Caleb. I'm always here. Er, I mean, anytime. If you need things. Oh, shit," he said suddenly, “speaking of things, I completely forgot to bring your jacket.”

Caleb blinked, and then shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “Next time.”

“Next time?” Molly paused. “Oh, right, yes, a next time. Yes, er, that’s a great idea.” In the low light, Caleb could see the other man’s cheeks flushing, and his own did as well as he realized the implication of what he’d just said.

“I mean, if you would like a next time?” he tried. “If that is agreeable.”

“Yes, absolutely! Er, sorry, that was loud, I mean—“

Jester slammed the songbook down on the table and aimed the remote at the screen and hit the combination for the last song of the night. Then she grabbed two mics, shoving one into Molly’s hands—who instantly accepted—and one into Caleb’s. A-ha’s Take on Me started filtering in through the slightly-fuzzy speakers under the monitor.

Caleb’s eyes widened.

“No, er, Jester—”

And then he saw Molly’s face. Those red eyes were looking back at him. Open, friendly, and only slightly pleading. There was a faint blush across his cheeks. His lips were parted in a slightly worried grin.

“Please?” he asked softly.

It wasn’t much. But for Caleb, it was everything.

He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

Molly instantly beamed. His tail perked up behind him. “That’s alright, Mister Caleb!” he said jokingly. “Nobody can! But it’s the effort that’s always worth it.”

Bright green words appeared on the screen, and Molly locked his gaze onto Caleb’s and began to sing.

“We’re talking away. I don’t know what I’m to say—I’ll say it anyway, ‘Today’s another day to find you.’ Shying away, I’ll be coming for your love, okay?”

“Take on me,” Jester shouted happily into the mic, “take on me!”

“Take me on,” Fjord echoed, “take on me—”

“I’ll be gone,” sang Yasha.

“In a day or two!” crooned Nott and Beau together, and then the whole group looked over at Caleb.

“Er, er…” he began, and swallowed, and steeled himself, “So needless to say,” he sang, “of odds and ends, but that’s me, er, stumbling away. Slowly learning that life is okay…”

“Say it after me,” Molly jumped in immediately, “it’s no better to be safe than sorry.”

Take on me (take on me) Take me on (take on me) I'll be gone In a day or two.

“Oh, the things that you say,” sang Caleb softly, “is it a life or just to play my worries away?”

Molly shook his head, “You’re all the things I’ve got to remember. You’re shying away—”

“I’ll be coming for you anyway,” they finished together.

Take on me (take on me) Take me on (take on me) I'll be gone In a day or two.

And as the rest of the group ended the song, collapsing into a fit of giggles and cheers and drunken clapping, Molly and Caleb continued to stare at each other for just a little bit longer. And then they looked away, lowering their mics, faces blushing and eyes on the ground as the flashing technicolor light of the screen washed gently over them both.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 17

Notes: As always, thanks to my awesome editors Drucilla and BlueShifted! Recently I realized they've been helping me out since last summer. Wow, a whole year already? Time flies when you work with fantastic people. Happy Anniversary!

Was anyone else missing the mermaids? I really do like writing these silly girls. As for the double negative line, I have to thank Lunammoon who pointed it out. (I hate to disappoint everyone but I am honestly not that clever XD Way to go, Luna!)

Summary: What does it mean to love and be loved? As Mickey and Minnie struggle to understand this, the god of war unveils his plan to have a war lasting forever... and he will do anything to make it happen.

Tomorrow was the big day for the chariot race, but for certain immortal beings, it was the last thing on their minds. Ever since the “blow-up”, as Daisy had named it, Minnie had not eaten, slept, or even moved. None of these were entirely essential, since Minnie was a goddess, but it was a saddening display, with Minnie flat on her back and staring up at the sky, though it was clear from her eyes she wasn't truly staring at anything. The ducks had allowed her to lay on their bed and she hadn't budged an inch since, for all of Daisy's attempts. Daisy had tried ranting against Mickey, telling jokes, inviting souls to come and visit Minnie, but they didn't make her bat an eyelash.

On this day, Daisy's attempt was showing off all the tricks Cerberus knew – playing fetch with three heads was quite the challenge – and she was also going to ask Donald for assistance. Her husband had said he had business elsewhere, and his schedule couldn't be disrupted even for a dear friend. Daisy reluctantly understood and didn't ask any further – which was good for Donald since he had lied right to her face.

He was walking on the sandy shores of Mickey's island, hands knotted behind him and head ducked low. He knew if he'd told Daisy, she'd demand to come along with Minnie, and he didn't feel that would help. There were things that needed to be said from uncle to nephew, from friend to friend, and having them all crowd Mickey would make the conversation more difficult. Maybe with one person, Donald stood a chance. It'd help if he knew what to say, but as he walked on hot sand and kicked aside seashells, nothing came to mind. An apology was due, of course, but what then? How was he supposed to undo centuries of self-loathing in one good-mannered talk?

Donald scratched his head, trying to figure out if Mickey would even let him say anything. He'd come again and again if he had to, but what if that made things worse? He scratched and scratched – and then heard a different scratching sound. Confused, he lifted his head, and saw the source of the odd sound. Upon on the sand and nearing the jagged rocks was a small mermaid, her long wet hair strewn all over her bare back, her scaled tail flopping uselessly behind her. The girl – for it was a girl, too young to be considered a woman, even in years of fish – was crawling on her belly, using her hands to dig at the sand and ground to move inch by inch. Her sharp teeth were grinding together, and there were hints of tears in her eyes. Her face was pain in every definition – which finally kicked Donald into realizing she could use some help.

“H-Hey!” he called out, jogging toward the surprised mermaid and kneeling by her side. “What are you doing? That can't be pleasant.”

The mermaid blinked wide, trying to recall if she'd ever seen this man before, and she hadn't, and then millions of curious questions flooded her mind. But she visibly fought off her internal eternal chatterbox and resumed her crawl, grunting quietly. “Mickey's been crying, and I want to know why, and he won't come out, no he won't. We called and called and called but he won't come out and he cries and I want to know why. Crying means sadness and if Mickey is sad then I'm sad and I don't want to be sad and I don't want Mickey to be sad, no.”

Donald looked toward the cave, wondering if Mickey's wails had been that loud or his fish family had been that perceptive. “I'm...actually here about that too. Maybe we can help him out together.”

“Together?” she repeated, looking back at him, and then nodding. “Yes, because two is more than one, and two means twice as much help! My sisters didn't want to come, the land is painful, the land is dry. But Mickey's crying is much more painful. I'd rather be dry than have Mickey cry.”

“You said it, missy.” Donald rose back to his feet. “But I think if he saw how much pain you were putting yourself through, he'd be even sadder. Before I help him out, let me help you out.” He bent over and began trying to lift up the mermaid – and regretted it in seconds. The wistful tales of sailors were flat out lies, because this dainty looking maiden weighed more than a net full of freshly caught salmon. It also didn't help that she was taller than he was. If he was in his “other” form he could have lifted her with ease, but he suspected scaring her into hysteria wouldn't have made things easier. It took several attempts and many bites on his tongue to keep sailor swears from leaving his mouth, but eventually he had her on his back, and he managed to walk. “Criminy,” he muttered, now doubly grateful Daisy wasn't here to see this, “What does Mickey feed you? Cement?”

“He doesn't feed us. We feed him. We eat fish. He eats fish.”

“Never mind.” With the extra load on his back, it was much harder for Donald to navigate around the sharp rocks, and his legs became nicked several times. Instead of becoming angry, though, it gave him more to think about. Mickey's usual routine consisted of walking around these rocks, and he had his own disadvantage holding him back. If Mickey never complained about them, then Donald certainly had no right to. The girl's arms were looped around Donald's neck, and she smelled of the sea. She ran her tongue over her lips over and over, trying not to let questions override her original mission. It was perhaps the quietest any mermaid had ever been for this amount of time.

Within the cave, the Axelias were still hard at work with no change from their routine. Donald hoped this was a good sign, that if Mickey was also working then he had enough mental strength to continue living. The Axelias momentarily paused in their work to watch the incomers, and the mermaid would wave to them, making her weight wiggle on Donald's back. At this rate Donald began to think he'd need a walking stick too. He felt the warmth of the furnace, and his heart lifted – but once he saw the workshop, his heart sank back down.

Broken weaponry and jewelry were strewn on the floor, and apparently the Axelias hadn't been permitted to clean it up. Judging from the way they were cracked and snapped, this wasn't Ares' doing. It was the force of a small man throwing things down, or smacking them with his stick. Blueprints had been ripped into shreds, and the torches that lined the walls were down to their last flicker, no one bothering to replace them or reignite the dying ones. On the anvil where Mickey put all his current projects sat Minnie's tiara, its pristine shells twinkling in what little light there was. It had been left there since Pete invaded his cave, and Minnie had yet to pick it up. Finally, there was Mickey, who wasn't in bed but sitting on his bench, a hammer in his hand.

The days past hadn't been kind to Mickey – or more accurately, he hadn't been kind to himself. He clearly hadn't bathed, his fur matted in some places and soot sprinkling off his fingers and toes. His chest had begun to sink in – unlike Minnie, he did need to eat, and this was the result of not having a bite since he left Ippos enraged. His ribs were beginning to poke out, and his dirty clothes hung off, as if they too were giving up on everything. Shadows under his eyes proved he'd barely slept, or had been crying on and off. Perhaps both. He hadn't noticed the two of them entering, his dark eyes staying on the tiara.

Donald saw the tiara, and then the hammer, and then panic struck him. Was Mickey going to destroy that too? “No, don't!” Not registering the fact that Mickey's arms were limp and hadn't lifted the tool, Donald tried to run forward to stop what wasn't happening. Alas, he slipped on one of the ripped scrolls, and with the far too heavy burden on his back, he fell forward, splat, onto his stomach. He was fairly certain at least three sharp things were now embedded in his body. If Donald wasn't a deity himself, he'd swear some stronger force in the universe had it out for him. “Owww.”

As upset as Mickey was, even he couldn't ignore all that noise. He turned his head to look at the disruption, and first noticed Donald, and his anger brewed. “You!” But then he realized who was with him, and anger was met with confusion. “Damara! What are you doing here?”

“Crushing my lungs,” Donald answered, unable to get up.

“Mickey!” Damara the mermaid reached for him, but couldn't move any further. “You were crying and you wouldn't come out so I knew you were sad so I had to come here to stop your sadness!”

“I – I wasn't...” Of course had had been, but it was mortifying to admit it. “Get back to the water, you'll dry up here! Go back right now!”

“She just got here, she's not going anywhere!” Donald snapped, trying to use his elbows and arms to slightly lift himself up. “She came out all this way to see you, she's not going back until she's good and ready!” A pause. “Also, um, me.”

“Yeah, you,” Mickey growled, snatching up his walking stick to he could get up. “I thought I made it pretty darn clear that I never wanted to see you again! You humiliated me, you treated me like trash! All of you using me like some kind of game...” He slammed his walking stick down, missing Donald's beak by mere inches. “If you think I'm ever going to forgive you, you've got another thing coming!”

“Well, that works out, cause I didn't plan on asking for your forgiveness.”

Mickey opened his mouth to let another rant fly out, and then closed it. Had Donald actually said that? This wasn't how arguments were supposed to go. His lips kept moving without any actual speech, trying to understand what was going on. He finally came to a decision. “Axelia, come here and help Damara.”

“Yes-Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.” The nearest Axelia had been rolling up whatever scrolls were left, but now she abandoned this duty to walk over and lift Damara into her arms. The weight meant little to her, easily able to hold her close to her golden chest. Damara had never been this close to any of the other Axelias, and began to move her hands all over the mechanical servant, curious about how she felt.

Donald slowly managed to get up, picking shards of glass and metal from his aching body. “Couldn't be a designer of pillows, had to be a designer of sharp jewelry...”

“What did you mean?” Mickey cut him off, watching him warily. “You said you didn't plan on asking for my forgiveness.” That statement should have made him even more furious, but it was so absurd that he had to know the reasoning behind it.

Donald rubbed the back of his neck, allowing the pains of his body to slowly melt away. “I don't ask for things I know I don't have a chance of getting...Or deserving.” He sighed, forcing himself to meet Mickey's eyes. “I am sorry for not telling you who Minnie was. That was wrong, none of us should have gone through with it.”

“No, you shouldn't have!” Mickey jabbed a hard finger into Donald's chest. He would have preferred lobbing a fist, but doing so would have meant losing his balance what with his bad leg. “You all knew how I felt about Aphrodite, and didn't care! You know what she did to me! She told all of Mount Olympus that we were gettin' married!”

Donald merely nodded. “And that was wrong too.”

“And she had a million and one chances to tell me, but she didn't! She was never honest with me!”

“That was also wrong.”

“And – and – stop agreeing with me!” How were you supposed to vent out your rage to someone if they didn't argue back? It didn't work into his belief that the trio had been using him as merely a pawn for their amusement. But that had to be true, because Mickey wasn't worth anything else. “Stop acting like you care! None of you do!”

Donald calmly crossed his arms. “Then why am I here?”

“Because...” Mickey's eyes bounced around, trying to find an answer to that. “Because you feel sorry for me! Because you pity me!”

The elder god took a deep breath, knowing his next question was risky.  “Mickey...what's so wrong with pity?”

Just as Donald had guessed, this singular question engulfed Mickey in sheer rage, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull. “What-” He gasped for air, and then forgoing his stick he clenched fistfuls of Donald's robe, even as his body began to sink. “What's wrong with – I won't have anyone pity me!” He was snarling, trying to drag Donald down with him, his anger so white hot that his fingernails began to tear through Donald's clothes. “All I've done, I've done on my own! I've never needed anyone's help! I won't have anyone look down at me because of what I am!”

“Really?” Donald quirked an eyebrow, allowing his nephew to rip his perfectly good outfit. “Because you sure do seem to pity yourself a lot.”

There is a stage of anger that not many people know about because, to their fortune, they've never experienced it. It's such an intense, overblown sense of fury that it leaves one completely stupefied, making them still and silent. Donald was quick to take advantage of this moment, placing a flat hand between Mickey's ears and lightly pushing him back an inch. “I can understand all the hurt you must have felt after Hera threw you down here, but she didn't keep you from ever leaving the island. Yes, your leg isn't exactly like everyone else's out there, but you were the only one who kept pointing that out when you were in that outside world. Not everyone is going to like you, but most of the people you've met have! You're a good kid! But you're the one holding yourself back from everything and everyone!”

Mickey remembered how to breathe and did so rapidly. He had thought Donald came to beg Mickey to take Minnie back, maybe say oooh they didn't meeean it, it had all just been a joooke, but here was talk of loving himself and the value he'd never seen. He wanted to reject it outright because it was so unprecedented. “No,” he managed to get out, trying to look for his dropped walking stick without letting go of Donald. “No, it's not like that. There are people who – who don't care, who stare, who think I'm a reject-”

“And who cares what those kind of people think?!” Donald grabbed Mickey's wrists, trying to make Mickey look at him. “There are people who love you for you who are, and I'm one of them! Minnie has nothing to do with how proud I am of you! You've made amazing things, and you've got a great big heart! I wouldn't want you to change – except to love yourself as much as your friends do!”

“I don't have friends, I don't have real friends!” Mickey tried to fight him off but couldn't, the humiliating tears touching his eyes again. He wasn't worthy of love or friendship or family, he was a used plaything of the gods, and Donald couldn't be right – because if Donald was right then he had spent years and years and years and YEARS of suffering for no reason. “Nobody needs me! I don't need nobody and nobody needs me!”

“I need you,” Damara said, raising her hand.

“As-As-As-Do-I,” Alexia added, and the nearest Axelia repeated it, and so did the next, and so did the next, until every Axelia in the entire cave had said so.

The bizarre echo chamber caused the men to stop wrestling and stare stupidly at the ladies. When it was quiet again, Damara took the chance to speak up. “If I didn't know Mickey, I would be very, very sad. Mickey makes us pretty things and he plays with us and makes us smile and loves us very much.”

“That's-” Mickey began, trying to rebuff her, but her innocent eyes held truth. “That's... different. You don't need me.”

“Without-Mickey-Mickey-Mickey-I-Would-Not-Exist.” Axelia spoke without being addressed. “You-Ensure-My-Functions-Go-Go-Go-As-Normal.”

“That's different too!” Mickey said again, fire burning in his throat. “That's not what it means to need someone!”

Donald was losing his patience, and he grabbed Mickey by the shoulders, spinning him around until he was sitting on the bench. “Look, Mickey, in the great, grand, gigantic scheme of things? Nobody needs anybody!” he announced, releasing his bewildered nephew. “We're gods, we could live all by ourselves if we wanted! And so could the mortals! Mortals could do exactly what you've done, just shut themselves in their home and only provide for themselves. No, maybe none of us actually need each other – but we all want to! We want to have families, find loved ones, make friends, because no one wants to be alone! And you, you've wrapped yourself up in all this hate and fear because you think everyone will reject you on sight, and you convinced yourself that it's okay! That you don't need anyone in order to live! And you're right, you don't – but you want to!” If this at last wouldn't get through to his nephew, then he'd have to forgo words and dive into action. There was only one thing that wasn't destroyed. He suddenly grabbed the tiara with both hands, lifting it high in the air, ready for it to join its brethren down on the floor.

Except this time it was Mickey reaching and crying out, “No! Don't!” Which surprised himself. Donald looked at him, still holding the tiara up, and Mickey looked away, mumbling quietly. “I...I worked really hard on that.”

Donald lowered the tiara down. “I can see. It's very good craftsmanship. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“...I am,” Mickey said after a moment, not looking at Donald nor the gift in Donald's hands. It was dawning on Mickey that it was one of the few things that wasn't a smashed wreck.

Donald stood by Mickey's side, and placed the tiara in Mickey's lap. “You don't have to forgive Minnie, or any of us. I can't make you do that, and I can't make you leave this place either. But you were happy out there, those smiles weren't lies. You like being out there. And that's what I really came here to say.” Mickey was hesitant to look up, and Donald tried to smile. “You can stay away from all of us, if that's what you really want. But you have no excuse not to enjoy the world. Shoot, if I let everyone's fear and rumors about me hold me back, I never would have discovered how much I love sailing. But I did it anyway, because I don't need everyone to like me.”

Mickey touched the tiara, letting one of the dangling seashells rest in his open, dirty palm. “...Was she... ever going to tell me?”

Here, Donald decided blunt honesty was best. “Probably not. Probably never. She meant well, but she didn't want to make you upset, she didn't want a fight...Which, let me tell you, is not the basis for any healthy relationship.”

At this, Mickey stared at him in confusion. “You and Daisy fight all the time. How is that healthy?”

“Fighting is normal, nephew. Because even the most lovey-dovey sappy couple has to disagree on something. It's how you better understand each other. If you only see the world from one point of view, you never get anywhere. It's how you're stuck here. Maybe most couples shouldn't argue as much as Daisy and I do – she always starts it anyway.” Another reason he was glad he hadn't brought her along, yet he still felt he was going to pay for that remark. “But if you want to be with Minnie again, you've both got to learn it's okay to be mad at each other, and it's okay to argue.” He then paused, waiting. “...Do you want to be with Minnie again?”

Yes, he did, and no, he didn't. Minnie was sweet and kind – but she was headstrong and impulsive. She was cheerful and optimistic – but she was also cowardly and prideful. Her intentions meant well but she never gave thought to the consequences. “I don't know,” he finally decided, his voice pained. “What if she's just...what I'm just... She's the goddess of love. How can I trust how I feel about her?”

Donald regretted the nonsense he'd said about the power of Minnie's touch – there were still many mysteries about her, and he'd gone and added another. “Not everyone loves Minnie. Hera hates her guts. It's something you two have in common.” He got a sour look for that comparison. “Okay, so Hera isn't the most pleasant person to begin with, but it still counts. And no matter how much I care for Minnie, Daisy will always be the one I want to be with most of all.” He then scratched his head, trying to sort out the remaining puzzles. “I'll be honest...After all this time, we still don't know where she came from, or what she's capable of. Maybe she can make people love her. Maybe she can't. But one thing I can say with confidence is that love existed long before Minnie showed up. She gave me the drive to come find you, and it's that action that makes me like her, not what she is.”

Mickey's chest was still heavy with doubt, and he turned the tiara around in his hands. Could gods exist without a purpose? Mickey's purpose had been to be a proud son of Hera, but he'd failed that upon birth. He reflected upon his life before Minnie entered it, and he knew full well that had she not walked in, nothing would have changed. He never would have explored the world or found people he wanted to see. The battle of need versus want in his mind was no longer a bloody war, but an intense debate with each side having valuable merit. He didn't want to go back to his empty life. He was still angry with Minnie, deeply so, but he wanted to hear her reasons for it from her own lips. He wanted to have a single moment of honesty. Only then, maybe then, could he decide if what he felt for her was actual love.

But any further family talks were put on pause as Damara began to quietly whine in pain. Mickey blinked rapidly, and then flailed a hand towards her. “She's been out too long! Her scales are drying up, she needs to go back to the sea, right now!”

Despite all the agony Damara had caused him, Donald began to walk over and open his arms. Mickey needed some alone time to digest all he'd learned – and Donald needed to restore some of his pride. Surely round two would be easier. “I've got this, kiddo. You think about what I said, all right?” Now the smile he gave Mickey was a genuine one, born not of blood and family, but of pride and happiness. No matter what Minnie had done or said, Donald loved his nephew, and wanted him to be happy. He only didn't say it because he wasn't sure if the boy would believe him. He'd have to save that for a later day, he supposed.

With a heavy grunt already full of regret, Donald had Damara on his back and began to waddle out. Damara waved goodbye. “Feel better, Mickey! I'll come back if you don't! I need you very much, we all do, and we love, love, love Mickey! If you forget, we'll tell you again! We forget things all the time so that's okay!”

Mickey watched them leave, and then placed the tiara back on the anvil. He felt how dirty he was, how hungry and tired he was, and maybe even the long years of his life weighed heavily upon him. Love and trust were supposed to go hand in hand with each other. Could they have loved each other when she wasn't being honest with him?

I don't need nobody, and nobody needs me.

I don't need nobody, and nobody needs me.

I don't need nobody -

Funny how the most random of memories can pop up in the deepest of thoughts.

“Ain't nothin' is a double negative,” Gyro reminded everyone.

A double negative meant a positive. Therefore, “I don't need nobody” would translate into “I do need someone.”

If that was wrong – if somehow he'd known how wrong his life was all along – then perhaps the second part was true as well. Another memory came to him, of Minnie openly weeping on the boat, of her kissing his leg and telling him there was nothing wrong with it, of her desperation to be understood.

“Don't you understand, Mickey? I want to make you happy! I want to make you the happiest man alive! I need you to be happy, because of how happy you've made me!”

The tears came back, just when he thought he'd run out of them.

“I need you!”

“I think I need you too,” Mickey whispered to the darkness.

He'd order Axelia to help clean up the mess soon, and maybe take a bath afterward. But neither chore would help, for in less than an hour, another visitor would make them pointless.

~*~

In another bid to restore Minnie's happiness, Daisy had literally dragged her friend out from the Underworld and into the outside, though the most Minnie would allow was a familiar grassy field, perhaps even the same one where they'd first met. Despite Minnie being light as a feather, Daisy didn't want to pull around a rag doll all day.  She plopped onto the grass, still holding Minnie's wrist. “Minnie, I love you, but you're really trying my patience. Move your cutie booty, patootie!”

Minnie finally spoke, though her eyes remained on the bright blue sky. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” “Do you love me? Or did I make you love me?”

Daisy mentally noted Pete needed a swift kick between the thighs, among other things. “You're not still thinking about that, are you? It's not true! You can't make people fall in love with you, no matter how beautiful you are!”

“You don't know that.” Every word dripped with dread, Minnie's hands laying on her chest like a somber corpse awaiting burial. “Maybe none of you ever liked me, and I forced it all. Maybe Mickey never wanted to be with me. Maybe Goofy never wanted to be my friend. Maybe you only tolerate me because of I'm the goddess of love.” If she didn't have positive answers, then she could only focus on negative ones. She hadn't gotten anything right – trying to heal Goofy's heart, keeping all those secrets from Mickey, the impromptu marriage promise on Mount Olympus, and now her own existence was a burden on everyone around her. How could she trust anyone's smile again? Everything could have been a lie, and it was all her fault for being born.

Daisy ran an exhausted hand through her hair, as wisps from frustrated weeds floated about. “An existential crisis on top of being dumped. If you were a mortal, you'd have gone gray from head to toe due to all this stress.” How Daisy was supposed to cure either one was an enigma. “Minnie, I promise you, I like you because of who you are, not what you are.”

“You can't prove that,” Minnie said dully.

“Well – well you can't prove I don't!” This was going to go around in circles, she could just tell. “Not everyone loves you right away! Hera, remember Hera? And it took time for Mickey to warm up to you, he didn't slobber all over you right away! You're a good girl, you earned his love! You earned mine, and Donald's and Goofy's! And you made us all happier! And you didn't do it by standing around and looking pretty!” At this, Minnie's eyes – now a pale color – began to slide over. “You acted! You spoke!  The things you say and the things you do make people like you! Forget Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty – I love Minnie, plain old Minnie, the Minnie who hugs everyone too tight and asks a million questions and gives me way too much detail on how she kisses her boyfriend.”

Even though Minnie wanted to believe, uncertainty clung to her. Without proof, how could she be absolutely positive? She wanted to make her loved ones happy, but if that love was forced, was it real happiness? What if Mickey was right – that in the end, everyone had been a pawn to her unknown whims? The idea of making her dear ones into willing slaves made her groan, and she flopped an arm over her eyes. “How can you be sure?” Maybe it'd have been better if she never existed, or at least never met any of them. Perhaps they'd still be sad, but at least it'd have been of their own choosing. “Everyone deserves free will...and I could be taking it away. I can't ever see Mickey again, if I'm going to make him my...” She didn't even want to finish that sentence. Puppet? Toy? It all made her want to cry.

Daisy slammed her hand on the ground over and over, mostly to vent out her anger. “Minnie, I know it from the bottom of my heart! Everyone likes you because you're you, and I can't think of a single person who would say otherwise!”

As is the way of tempting fate, Pete poofed into existence by their side, waving cheerfully as if all he'd done was knock on a neighbor's door. “Hiya, Aphrodite!”

“...With the obvious exception,” Daisy finished, glaring hard at the unwanted guest. The weeds turned into spiked vines, curling around her head. “Haven't you caused enough trouble already? Get lost!”

Pete ignored her, grabbing Minnie's hand and hoisting her up in the air. Minnie didn't fight it, but since Daisy was still holding onto Minnie's wrist, she was unceremoniously lifted as well, yelped, and then fell with an unflattering THUD. Daisy thought to give life to her earlier idea, but her aching foot soon discovered Pete wore armor everywhere. Pete paid no attention to the attempted assault on his lower half, holding the disinterested goddess to his face. “Thought I'd give you some thinking time, but a pretty girl like you doesn't have much to think about, right? So now I can finally show you my master plan!”

“Whatever,” said Minnie, devoid of all energy and care.

“She's not going anywhere with you!” Daisy stood up, fists clenched. “Minnie, listen to me, you do not have to go with him if you don't want to!”

“Whatever,” Minnie said again, with the same lifeless inflection.

“See? She didn't say no.” Pete smugly grinned, glad there were less nuisances to get in his way this time.

Daisy tried to charge Pete, maybe punch him or push him over, but he merely held up one hand and she couldn't get past it, no matter how hard she pushed. It took her several tries to give up, but when she did she spat at him. “You only get your way because you're a big bully! One of these days, you're going to meet an even bigger bully, and they'll give you what for!”

The very idea of it made Pete laugh so hard he almost dropped Minnie, not that she cared. At this point she could have been dropped down a ravine and not said a word. “That'll be the day! You just go back to the Underworld, little lady...They'll need the help. It's about to get really crowded!” With a victorious cackle, he vanished with Minnie in tow.

Daisy huffed and stomped, but the words sunk in quickly. About to get really crowded? “Oooh, I do not like the sound of that....”

Daisy had every right to be concerned, unlike Minnie who still didn't care when she was popped back up on Mount Olympus. As Pete proudly walked through the enchanted mountain, gods, goddesses and their chosen visitors gasped with delight to see the gorgeous Aphrodite, who was beautiful even when she was dripping with self-loathing. Minnie didn't know where she was being taken or why, but could not find the strength to give it any major thought. If she had been treating everyone like pawns, why not be a pawn herself? Maybe it was what she deserved.

Pete only put her down when they reached his room, where a big, red curtain was on display. He cleared his throat, having prepared a miniature speech. “Since the dawn of time, man has always known war. But the problem is, war always ends. One side always surrenders or is defeated. And then you have to wait so long for another war to start up. You have to wait for kids to become adults, for people to get greedy and jealous and full of hate, and let me tell you, there are some mortals who have never even seen war! Can you believe it?”

Minnie just blinked, and it was impossible to know if she was actually listening or was back in a loop of trying to figure out if she'd ever make Mickey happy or “tricked” him into it. Pete decided to skip a few paragraphs. “Well, uh, anyway, you've given me the perfect solution to all my problems! With your help, I'll finally have my forever war! Show her, fellas!”

On cue, Gladstone and Mortimer pulled apart the curtain – taking their time to wave to Minnie, tell her how much they missed her, how gorgeous she looked today, before Pete gave them a threatening growl – to reveal the hundreds and hundreds of rather ugly statues they'd worked on. They weren't things one would proudly show off in a museum, and there was no heart or love to any of them, unlike Goofy's designs. It was row after row of mostly male mortals, with blank faces and misshapen appendages. The sight was so bizarre it drew Minnie out of her shell with a quizzical head-tilt and a quiet “Huh?”

Pete arrogantly took his time walking to what he considered masterpieces. “I found out what you could do – the magical gift of life! I always knew you were something special, and now you can finally do something special!” He slapped the closest statue on the back - “You can bring all of these to life!” - causing its neck to crack and the head to fall off. “...Maybe not this one. We'll redo it.”

“'We', he says,” Mortimer muttered under his breath.

Minnie began to blink faster, finally waking up from a long nightmare, only to enter a different one. “What? How did you...” Find out, she was going to ask, but something worse was on the horizon. “Wait... are you saying you want me to make these things fight?” Her eyes tried to count how many she saw and couldn't. A cold fear ran through her blood.

“No, of course not!” Pete answered, giving Minnie three seconds of relief before continuing, “We're going to send them to the mortal plane so they can fight everyone down there! Think of it!” He inhaled happily, gesturing all around with great big arms. “A sudden invasion all across the lands! Nations will blame other nations for sending the attacks! And once we run out of statue people, we can just make more and keep it going! It never has to stop!” His eyes practically glittered at the thought, a choir of endless screams and clashing of weapons. “It'll go on forever! It'll-”

“That's disgusting!” Minnie suddenly shrieked, the color having returned to her face in the worst way. She was covering her mouth with her hands, lest she gag from the imagery of so many slaughtered innocents. “You- you - you want me to create life, just to kill other people? What's wrong with you?!”

Upon hearing Minnie's disapproval, Gladstone and Mortimer were quick to back away and point at Pete with the singular shout, “All his idea!”

In all of Pete's plans and preparations, not once had the idea of her rejecting his concept ever came up. He was at a loss for words, not that he knew too many to begin with. “But...But it's a great idea! And you can finally do something around here! You can help me, and isn't that the best part? Weren't you yammering on about how bored you were, or something?”

“Since when do you ever pay attention to anything I say?” There came that familiar anger, only hotter now, and the shakes that came with it that defied all sense. The other gods, goddesses and creatures on the mountain became seized with fear, having forgotten the tremors that rattled their bones. It was even worse than before, with pillars tumbling over and seated deities falling out of their thrones. There was no telling when it would stop, and with every passing second they seemed to grow worse. Only Pete and Minnie appeared to be oblivious to the activity, too far gone in their own anger and frustration. Gladstone and Mortimer clung to each other in fright, also having forgotten that such convulsions could occur. No one had ever gotten around to figuring out what that was all about, and even now terrified heads looked around in a desperate attempt to find the source. “If you honestly thought I'd help you hurt defenseless people, you're out of your mind!”

Pete rolled his eyes, sighing through his nostrils. “Okay, okay, I get it. You're the goddess of love, so you love mortals. Sure, sure. It's not like I'd kill all of them, just, you know, 99%. Give or take one percent.” He waved a hand, trying to even out the numbers. “So let's take that pretty little tail of yours over here and-” He made a grab for her, but Minnie slapped his hand away.

“Don't you ever touch me again!” Minnie snapped, the shakes intensifying. Her eyes were red now, with hints of orange, something mystifying flickering within. “I'm not going to help you commit murder just because you're bored! People are not playthings for your amusement! They don't exist just to do whatever you want! You don't get to decide their deaths just because you're bigger and stronger! And you two!” She pointed at the assistants, making them jump as if she'd suddenly zap them into dust. “You went along with this? Do you hate mortals that much? Don't they worship you and ask for your help?”

Mortimer swallowed, his voice small. “Well, uh, we wanted to see you, babe, and, uh...”

“Pete's very good at the hitting thing,” Gladstone added, twiddling his thumbs. The excuses sounded ridiculous and they knew it. Maybe there was a nugget of shame in them after all.

Pete was getting impatient. “The mortals owe us, after all we've done for them!”

“What have you done for them?” Minnie shot back, hands on her hips. “Zeus saved them once, a millennia ago! And since then you pick and choose who to help, if you want to help! Mortals are capable of doing amazing things all on their own, they don't need us! They owe us nothing! We have no right to decide their lives!”

“I have every right!” Pete loomed over Minnie. He didn't want to hurt her, but if she was going to curtail to his opinion – she wasn't giving him much of a choice. “I am the God of War! I can do whatever I want, to anyone I want! That includes you!”

But much to his additional aggravation, Minnie didn't back down or show a trace of fear. No, she met him head on, her eyes were so inflamed Pete felt he could melt under her stare. “No, you can't. You can't make me use my powers on them. No matter how much you hurt me, I'd rather take all the pain in the world than bring this to the mortals! And if you can't bully someone, you're powerless.” She laid the final insult by turning her back towards him. “I may not like who I am...But as long as I'm not like you, I can never be the worst person alive.” And she was gone, along with the tremors.

Pete stared at where she used to be, grinding his teeth so fast and hard it could be heard all across Olympus. Within seconds, he roared like a caged animal, whipping around to punch a statue so hard its shattered remains smacked into other statues, destroying them as well. He howled in his anger, stomping on the floor and beating on walls, not unlike a toddler when denied snack time. In fact, the display was so overwhelmingly childish that Mortimer and Gladstone felt safe watching him, instead of running away.

“Well, that was a bust,” Mortimer quipped, summoning a fresh goblet of wine. “Get it? Bust? Cause we made statues?”

“Leave the word play to me, if you will.” Though Gladstone helped himself to a second goblet. “I do hope this means I didn't sweat for nothing.”

“I do kind of feel like a heel,” Mortimer admitted after a second sip. “I mean, mortals make some really fantastic drinks, and they always know how to throw a good party. They're pretty creative down there. I heard one of them is working on a thing called a 'margarita', and it sounds fantastic.”

“You may be right, old friend. Who would worship me if we didn't have mortals?” Gladstone admired his reflection in the drink. “I might forget how wonderful I am without them. And how am I supposed to know my poetry is perfect if they don't write bad ones for me to compare them to? Our dear Aphrodite may be as wise as she is pretty...I wonder where she headed off to.”

Mortimer shrugged. “Probably back to her husband. Heppy-something.”

And that was all it took for Pete to stop his temper tantrum. He stopped in place, turning his dark eyes toward Mortimer in a sense of revelation. Only now did Pete accept that Minnie perhaps felt genuine love for someone, but this wasn't a good thing. Ever so slowly he pulled out his newest sword, the one that had been forged as a mere side project. One with a small red stain from the only god that could bleed. “I can make anyone do anything,” he murmured darkly, reminding Mortimer and Gladstone that they should be afraid of him.

“I can make anyone do anything!”

~*~

Mickey finished his bath, having nearly forgotten what it was like to have clean fur. His head was still muddled with thoughts about the future and what he wanted in it, but at least he could imagine one instead of staying in a singular rut. He sniffed his robes – ugh, they could use a wash, but that could wait until later. He put on his usual clothes and hobbled back to his workshop – and there stood Pete, snorting out his nose like a charging bull.

“Uh-oh.” Mickey backed up, his back hitting a wall. “Look, didn't we already clear this up? I had no idea Minnie was Aphrodite until you told me! I didn't mean to make you look bad!”

“Shut your yap.” Pete began to storm over, one slow foot at a time. “There's a lot of things I don't get about Aphrodite...but she loves everyone, and that includes scrawny, reject gods like you! You're coming with me!”

Mickey didn't have an inkling of what Pete really wanted, but you didn't have to be a genius like Gyro to know that face meant nothing good. Mickey tried to slide along the wall. “Leave me out of this! I'm not going anywhere with you! Just you try it, I'll make myself vanish! I can go anywhere in the world!”

“YOU'RE COMING WITH ME!” Pete bellowed, but as he was about to make a grab for Mickey, someone grabbed him – Axelia, with her golden arms tight around his muscles.

“You-Will-Not-Harm-Harm-Harm-Mickey,” Axelia stated in her cold voice.

“OUT OF MY WAY!” Pete raised his arm and smashed Axelia into the stone wall, her back exploding open in a hot mess of wires and gears, crackling with electricity. She fell off of him, her head tilting to one side, mouth open but saying nothing.

“Axelia!” Mickey screamed, trying to make a mad dash for her and falling to his knees at her side. “Axelia, hang on! I-I can fix you! I know I can!” Axelia's fingers twitched in all directions, her mouth repeating his name but making no sound. Mickey cupped her head in his lap, holding onto her with all the protection he could. “D-Don't try anything, it'll wear you out! I'll fix you up, I promise!”

Pete lifted his eyes from this scene to the other Axelias in the room, all of them staring right back at him, but they didn't move. He sneered, rubbing his hands together at the obvious opportunity. “I thought you were gunna teleport all over, runt! Or do these tin cans mean something to you?” He seized the arm of the nearest Axelia, tearing it from her shoulder as easily as she was made of paper.

“Stop it!” Mickey cried out, trying to reach for his friend but couldn't. The wounded Axelia began to fall from lack of balance, and two others came over to catch her. “You're hurting them!” Even as Mickey said this, he knew it wasn't true, they couldn't feel anything, and yet... “They never did anything to you, leave them alone!”

Pete discarded the destroyed arm over his shoulder. “Either you come with me or I'll smash each of these girls until they're nothing but gears! They'll make great punching bags!”

It wasn't much of a choice, not really, not when he couldn't bear the thought of any other Axelias getting injured for his sake. Even as the one in his lap appeared to speak “no-no-no” he couldn't disobey. He slowly put her head back down on the ground. “I'll come back, and I'll fix you both, everything's going to be okay.” Was he trying to convince them or himself? He stroked her head, and then used his walking stick to get up – but Pete didn't let him get all the way up, snatching him and vanishing with such force that the tiara on the anvil was pushed over and fell onto the ground, smashing three pristine white shells.

All of the Axelias stopped doing their work, meeting up within the workshop. They weren't programmed for this situation. They didn't know what to do.

“Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.”

“Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.”

“Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.”

On and on they said his name, an endless refrain of panic and grief, until each voice wore out.

“Mickey-Mickey-Mickey.”