#because you know. the fandom was crusty back then and people judged me for being a part of it in real life

[magpiefrankie]

arranging the various fandom stickers i bought on my laptop: I am cringe but I am free. I am cringe but I am free. I am cringe b

[mimiplaysgames]

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 6)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 6,014

Summary: Riku and Sora drag Aqua to Yen Sid’s in order to hash out a plan to save Ven. But Aqua is having none of it.

Read on AO3

A/N: Hi!!!! It’s been a long, long time, I know. I’m sorry for not updating this more often. My other WIPs take up so so much of my time, and I don’t have enough to spare this collection. I’m nervous about continuing this, I mean: it’s no longer relevant because of KH3, and sometimes I think the Terqua fandom has died??? I’ll have to see what people think of it. I know there’s readers for this piece and I HEARD YOU. I HEARD YOU. I have the next two chapters lined up already, so we’ll see!

~*~*~*~*~

Betrayal

Riku shows her to her room: a small thing held together by enormous stones, with a bed at the center, a wobbly nightstand, and a door leading to the bathroom. A thin window sits high on the wall, through which Aqua can see this tiny, dark world that Yen Sid calls home. 

In the corner of the bedroom is a dusty outline on the floor where something once stood. A mirror, most likely. She peeks into the bathroom to find that the mirror screwed to the wall above the sink has been removed as well, leaving a rectangle of slime-free tile.

What she appreciates the most is how Riku doesn’t make a big show of what he does for her. 

“I’ll come get you when Yen Sid’s ready to see you,” Riku says, reaching for the door knob. “Hope it’s comfy enough.”

Nothing about this trip is comfortable. 

The Mysterious Tower is just as she left it: a speck far in the distance, too far for darkness to do any real damage. Protected by a sky of stars and magic that bubbles deep into its earth, this place breathes light. Aqua braces her fingers against the stone wall - instead of something cold built by man, she feels sparks of magic scatter across the surface, from memories of mischief and self-discovery.

She lets go and prepares herself to wash up, maybe find some food in one of the tower’s quirky rooms, when Riku knocks on her door.

“That was fast.”

Riku looks at her questioning face and shrugs. “I figured… considering how Terra’s visit went, we should probably get this over with.”

~*~*~*~*~

Yen Sid lounges in his office at the top of the tower. Everything is the same - maybe the notes on his board are different, but the pile of books, most with dust that gathered over years, still sit where they live. The candles burn as though they will never run out of wax. Yen Sid himself doesn’t seem to age. 

Riku and Sora flank Aqua, and she stares at the tremendous wooden desk in front of her. Twelve years ago, she slammed her hands against it, adamant that Terra would never do anything to hurt the Master. Something in her gut questions whether Yen Sid has even left his damn chair since.

“I am delighted to see you safe, Master Aqua,” Yen Sid starts, his voice polite, which is the basic minimum for anything professional: solemn, well-mannered, detached.

Initially, she says nothing in return. Eraqus would not have approved of such rudeness, so she swallows her pride. “Thank you, it is good to see you again, too.”

“I assure you will get a decent amount of rest in time.” He folds his hand neatly over each other. “For now, we must eagerly discuss the state of affairs.”

Eagerly, he says, but he talks too slow to understand the meaning of the word.

“Well,” Riku starts.

Aqua feels him taking side glances at her but she keeps her mouth in a firm, straight line. 

“We lost Terra,” he says when she doesn’t volunteer, “to the Realm of Darkness.”

Yen Sid grumbles, “With the King.”

“Yeah.” Riku sighs. “I like to think they’re taking care of each other.”

Yen Sid doesn’t seem pleased or agreeable to this. A sick thought crosses Aqua’s mind: He doesn’t think Mickey is safe with Terra. Which isn’t fair.

“We must hurry to the King,” Yen Sid says, and Aqua’s stomach churns that Terra is an afterthought. “Now that we are aware intent to enter the Realm of Darkness is certainly true to statement, we must act swiftly to find another Door to Darkness, as long as we do not sacrifice a world to it.

“Sora,” he commands, “have you made arrangements with the sky pirates to do this?”

Sora fiddles with two of his fingers, staring hard at them. They won’t give him the courage to speak, so there’s no reason to find it there. 

“Balthier won’t take my munny.” He frowns. “He demands more from me if I’m going to waste his time searching for something without any direction.”

“What does he call direction?”

“If Fran can track something, then he’ll only do it if the plunder’s good enough for the job.” He shrugs his shoulders and throws his hands in the air.

“Pirates,” Riku mutters.

“Balthier saves people, too!”

“When a world is falling. He takes their riches along with their medicine, food, and weapons… but Traverse Town doesn’t need that anymore.” 

Aqua scoffs. Her impatience bubbles, and it takes all her effort to swallow it down.

Sora steps away from her. He’s shocked to see her terrible mood.

“We shan’t wait too long for a world to deteriorate to that state,” Yen Sid says. “Sora, I will pay the pirate more if that is necessary to find an entryway sooner.”

Such quick and decisive action for Mickey. 

“Now that we have discussed one path forward, let us continue on to other matters.” If he hasn’t noticed her attitude, he will soon. “Master Aqua, I understand there is trouble getting to Ventus. Anything I can do to aid your efforts?”

Aid, he says.

She creases her lips. 

“How long have you known?” she asks quietly.

“Pardon?”

“How long has it been since Mickey found me?” She raises her voice. 

Sora shifts with a whimper. Riku crosses his arms, not surprised and not even totally into the conversation. Best to get it over with.

Yen Sid takes his time to study her first before he answers: “Two years.”

Aqua grips her hands into fists, hiding them neatly in her sashes so that the old man doesn’t notice. “Why-”

“Mickey was not yet a Master,” Yen Sid says, his brittle voice finding strength. “Sora and Riku were brand new to the Keyblade, and needed friends, guidance, and training. We did not have the power yet to pursue such a dangerous task.”

What he said should have insulted her, but strangely, she feels serene, empowered by something knowing, something cynical, something that gloats in how tense he’s becoming under her scrutinizing gaze. Yen Sid doesn’t deserve anything she has to offer. 

“And what did you do all this time?” she asks with bitter sweetness. “Twiddle your thumbs and eat out of your chair?”

Riku rubs his chin. She’s impressed with how quiet he could stay in a scene like this. Sora stammers like he’s been kissed by a frog.

“Master Aqua…” Yen Sid tries softer this time. “I understand the disappointment. Please, let me offer what I can to help-”

“I don’t need your help to find Ven.” With that, Aqua gives a mock curtsy before turning on her heels and briskly leaving the room.

Behind her, she hears Riku tell Sora to Let her go, each word fading as she runs down the long steps to the bottom. 

The audacity of that old, stuffy man. 

Aqua is fuming, replaying sentences in her mind again and again: things she could have said to make him really sorry, what he might be saying now to those two young boys. She’s descending so fast that her ankle twists, and she grabs the railing to stop herself from toppling all the way down. 

It snaps her out of her stupor.

Riku is so well-mannered for his age, not blinking at the signs of her episode; he’s someone a good Master ought to behave like. Sora doesn’t judge, completely motivated with the need to make everyone comfortable and easy-feeling. 

And Aqua embarrassed herself in front of them. 

Leaning on the wall behind her, she breathes deeply. The stone is freezing against her skin, too much for her to be at a normal temperature. She palms her forehead to check for a fever; she has none. But her mind is in a hot fury, willing to climb back up and roast Yen Sid with all the insults she still has blurring in her brain - starting with how crusty that beard is.

“You can’t just say whatever you want, Aqua,” she says out loud, hugging herself. “This isn’t like you.”

It’s unbecoming of a Keyblade Master, is what Eraqus would have said. 

Aqua decides to descend the rest of the way slowly. Getting mad won’t do anything for Ven, and while she doesn’t have a good lead in creating a pathway back home, she’ll find a way to do it without giving Yen Sid the honor of listening to his advice. She has to. 

The last time she was here, she never got a good chance to explore this world. While the front entrance only leads to an outcrop overlooking deep space, the back entrance leads to a garden, awnings making way over the shrubbery until it circles a pool. 

Aqua stiffens. It’s not long enough to swim in, so it couldn’t be deep enough to get up to her thighs.

But it’s big enough to drown in, and that’s the worst part. 

The water is as still as glass, but it doesn’t mean it’s peaceful or safe. If she’s careful enough, Aqua would be able to see her reflection if she stood over it. 

She doesn’t dare try. Instead, she sits on a stone bench far enough away that the pool couldn’t get to her. There isn’t a good reason to sit here, really, except for the fact that she misses the idea of enjoying water: of being at the beach, of swimming against Ven in a race, of splashing it on Terra’s face when he isn’t looking. Showering in a bathtub doesn’t compare… a dark voice in her mind tells her that she’ll never experience water the same way anymore.

“Are you Aqua?” 

That voice belongs to a girl in a short pink dress, who helps herself to the stone bench even when Aqua doesn’t immediately reply. 

“I am.”

The girl stares up in awe. “You were the one Terra was looking for? Wow, I didn’t think you’d be the same person…”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m Kairi.” She holds her hand to her chest. 

Aqua gasps. “Kairi?” It’s true. There’s the same necklace she charmed years ago, draped around her neck. Aqua almost brushes it with her fingers, but thought better of it. At least it kept Kairi safe. At least this is one success she could account for. 

Kairi is so unrecognizable now, but it makes sense: the cropped auburn hair, the round violet eyes, a curious smile. And a heart that is unmistakably brighter than anyone’s here. 

“You were so little,” Aqua says quietly. “I can’t believe you remember me.”

“Um, not really.” Kairi sheepishly rubs the back of her head, then waves her hand in the air as if imagining something. “All I remember is something really tall… and blue.”

Aqua has to laugh. Kairi is quite small. Still.

“But when I heard that Aqua was here, I had to see - never in my life would I have made the connection that Blue and Aqua were one in the same.” Kairi smirks, leaning forward to study Aqua in the face. “No wonder Terra was so obsessed with finding you. You’re really pretty.”

“Uh-” Nothing useful comes out of her mouth. That can’t be the reason. Aqua hides the heat in her cheeks with one dignified hand as though she isn’t affected by it. 

“Terra acted the same when he talked about you,” Kairi grins, patting Aqua on the knee.

But her excitement deteriorates soon after, her hands finding each other at her stomach as though she’s swallowing something rotten. “I heard about what happened to him…” To Aqua’s surprise, tears develop in Kairi’s eyes, trailing down without much effort on her part to produce them. 

They even surprise Kairi. “I’m sorry.” She wipes them off her face, sniffling. “I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t know him long.”

Aqua more than understands, she’s just much more practiced at roping it in.

“He makes a strong impression on anyone he meets,” Aqua says, brushing her hand lightly over Kairi’s head. 

A small smile curls at Kairi’s lips despite the onslaught out of her eyes. Kairi hangs all of her expressions at the edge of her nose. Her sincerity is something to be admired. 

“He’s a lot kinder than what he gives himself credit for.”

“Yes.”

“He was really helpful and sweet when he trained me.” Reality strikes her, and the tears dry up. “Would you mind teaching me a bit?” Then shame makes its way, as though she asked for too much. “I- I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

A Princess of Heart fighting? A brilliant idea. “Of course, it’s not a bother at all.”

Kairi takes her inside to a large ballroom equipped with destroyed furniture: hollow sofas, the shells of cupboards, the foundations of bookshelves, dilapidated bedposts. Pots and pans. Chipped plastic. From what Aqua can tell, they were used for target practice. 

“Terra was really particular about my posture,” Kairi says, summoning her Keyblade - frilly, like the heart of someone who carries the joy of life with her. She sinks low into her knees. “But we focused mostly on my ability to block attacks. The rest is basic stuff.”

By the looks of her stance, he’s done good work.

“Then let’s talk about what you really want out of your fighting ability.” Aqua summons the Master’s Defender. 

Kairi flashes an embarrassed frown. “To catch up with Sora and Riku.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” Forgetting about her posture, Kairi throws her passion out in a flurry. “It’s not about being as good as them - I want to make them see that when they need me, I can be there. They don’t have to worry or doubt me for a second.”

“That sounds a lot like comparing yourself.”

Kairi ponders for a moment. “Sora and Riku are patient with my training, but for years they’ve left me behind.”

Aqua has to think about it before responding… listen to the words Kairi is finding difficulty in expressing. So much of it stems from an insecurity and a drive to level with her more experienced friends, and a needle pricks right into Aqua’s ribs when she thinks of how Ven has been treated in the past. 

If they never held themselves back when training with Ven, or treated him like a puppy needing to stay home, then he wouldn’t be unconscious now. 

Sora and Riku work full steam ahead, and Kairi needs to match their speeds without the burden of mastering technique before she’s ready. What she wants is to feel useful to them. What she needs is to be equipped with something that could get her out of trouble in a pinch.

Aqua thinks of Noctis, and how he uses his weapons as points of destination. 

“I have a unique idea.”

Instructing Kairi to stand by the farthest wall, Aqua does the opposite to create the most distance between them.

“From there,” Aqua says, “I want you to take a hit on me before I’m able to block - without doing a far-range attack.”

Kairi gapes. “H- How am I supposed to do that?”

“You’ll adapt to the circumstances.” At Kairi’s agony, Aqua shrugs. “I’m more strict than Terra. We won’t stop until your heart makes the connection.”

Kairi shivers and settles herself. “I’ll try.”

She does a dash - which is the expected choice and Aqua easily blocks it. 

“Again,” Aqua says. “Use your magic.”

Another dash - this time propelled. Blocked.

“Again.”

Three more times, all blocked, and by now, Kairi is panting for breath.

“You’re exerting too much on your physical body. Remember your magic. Your Keyblade is your heart in physical form: all its desires, life goals, and insecurities are embedded into your weapon. If you want to come at me faster than I can block, then will it.” 

“Magic,” Kairi rasps. “Right.”

Now she’s getting it. Instead of dashing across the room this time, she blends with the air, teleporting to Aqua’s position. But it’s still not fast enough.

“On the right track. Try again.”

“But Aqua-”

“Your Keyblade needs to get here before you do.” Aqua winks. 

“Isn’t that kind of like a Strike Raid?” An attack that utilizes the Keyblade like a boomerang. 

“Not quite.”

Kairi is exhausted and probably doesn’t have the energy to think too much, but it’s necessary to let her heart define it for itself. That’s the only way to communicate with your own Keyblade. 

But she’s the type of student that is eager to please, and as her eyes drift away with her imagination, it dawns on her. “That’s genius,” she whispers. 

With new resolve, Kairi properly stands. 

“Let’s start for real,” Aqua says. 

Kairi throws her Keyblade. Aqua feels in the air Kairi’s energy not to aim, but to be where the Keyblade goes, and she blurs through the room, letting her heart guide her to where. 

She doubts herself, though, and drops her Keyblade halfway across. 

“I’ll try again!” Scrambling back to her spot across the room, Kairi throws, warping as though both wielder and weapon are chasing each other, knocking past unsuspecting pieces of couch legs.

Aqua cannot block the strike but manages to move - not the most grateful dodge she’s ever done, but it does the job even if it lands her flat on her stomach. 

“We did it,” Kairi says shakily the moment she realizes all she’s done without using her feet. 

Aqua snorts and picks herself up. “You did it.”

“I did it!” With squeals and claps, Kairi jumps in place, throwing an embrace over Aqua’s way, triumphantly parading with her Keyblade.

It’s worth the effort to see. Aqua has needed something pleasant today, and maybe giving someone else hope will satiate some kind of karmic hunger out there and return the favor.

“No one invited me to the celebration,” Sora’s voice strides into the room, his giant toothy grin followed by a very solemn Riku. 

“You guys will never guess what I can do now,” Kairi says. Realizing she sounds like she’s preparing a show for them, she backtracks. “I- I’ll polish it first, then show you.”

“Kairi has a lot of promise,” Aqua says, drawing the hilt of her Keyblade in and resting its tip on the floor, standing straighter. Riku’s presence, though totally lost in his own head, makes her nervous. She wills the image of her episode away.

“You’re not going to show us?” Sora asks, casually standing with them like he’s inviting himself over to their inside joke. Aqua wonders if he’s ever been rejected before, but Kairi’s more than happy to keep a small success to herself. 

Riku takes a more respectful distance and sits on a chair with a missing armrest. “Of course she won’t. Destiny Islanders have spunk.”

“Except Riku,” Kairi retorts. “He only knows grouchy.”

“Says who?”

“Your face. You look like you spent an hour reading obituaries.”

A muscle twitches in Sora’s jaw, and he takes himself to Riku’s side. 

It reminds Aqua all too much of herself and Ven: how she and Terra would share a rare distaste with training when it doesn’t go their way, or worries about the future, cutting Ven out of certain bits. Aqua wouldn’t count that Ven never noticed. 

She hopes that Kairi doesn’t take it personally. It never is. 

“Sorry,” Riku says, willing a more natural smile to come. “I am happy for you. Maybe you’ll get to join us on missions next time.”

“She already should be,” Aqua says. 

Kairi sighs in relief. “I’m ready to share the work. What’s the plan now? I can handle it.”

This is where Riku and Sora stare at Aqua. 

“Must have been an interesting meeting,” Kairi says, cutting the silence. 

“It was the same level of cringe as Terra’s,” Sora says, snickering. It doesn’t improve the atmosphere, so he switches gears. “You can come with us wherever you’d like, Kairi,” he offers, like it’s supposed to be a consolation but Aqua suspects there are limitations to such a contract. “Except the Realm of Darkness.”

“You’re going to the Realm of Darkness?”

Again, they glance over at Aqua. Are they expecting her to lead an expedition? To have a differing opinion?

“Is there something you want from me?” Aqua asks when they won’t budge. 

Sora hangs his head but Riku is the one to speak: “I don’t want to bet on a world falling for us to enter. There’s no way to predict when it would happen or how long it would take. Estimated guesses are just that, and if we waited a day too long, we could have lost Traverse Town.”

“Or not. It could have stood for another week,” Sora quips in. 

“Exactly. It’s a very unstable plan and it could take forever.”

When Sora’s eyes meet Aqua’s, he warms up. Aqua has to wonder how his parents raised him to be this open and loving to everyone he meets. 

“How did you do it?” he asks.

Next to her, Kairi tenses. Riku seems unfazed - it was probably his question, but Sora is the better mediator. 

It’s the worst memory in Aqua’s disposal, but the most important. Aqua has to be professional, cast away the way her heart rages at the thought. 

“A world didn’t fall, if that’s what you’re really asking,” she starts. “I was fighting… Xehanort, and he…struck himself with his Keyblade. To the heart.”

Sora steps back, a giggle worming its way out. “That’s an intense experience.”

Riku scoffs, amused. “It makes sense now.”

“And out came a horned monster,” Aqua continues. “You could say it resembles a Heartless, large and angry. Its teeth were bound by bindings… or bandages. It had an empty hole in its chest-”

She stops. The looks she’s getting - they recognize it.

Sora turns to Riku, his eyes wide. “Is she talking about-?”

Riku faces him. “Ansem’s Guardian?”

At Aqua’s stunned expression, Sora waves her confusion away. “No, no, not the Ansem you know. That’s the real Ansem. There’s a fake Ansem, and he’s the one who controls the Guardian.”

That doesn’t clear anything up.

Riku holds his hand up. “What matters is what happened when the Guardian appeared.”

“Well, he commanded it to come after me,” Aqua says.

“As he does.” Riku shrugs.

“But when I defeated him, it fell into a black pit. It was the force that created the Door to Darkness, and…”

Terra fell. 

“I went after him.”

The room buckles under the weight of her words, a little too quiet for her liking but it’s better than anyone apologizing to her. Kairi holds a hand to Aqua’s shoulder, but it doesn’t help much. 

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Sora says slowly. “It probably created a force of darkness so strong, it just warped reality.” 

Kairi glares at him as though he’s said the wrong thing. 

But Riku nods like he’s reading the same mind. “We could sacrifice it. Not a bad idea.”

“It sounds like you’re talking about hunting him down,” Kairi says. “Isn’t that a little risky, trying to draw out his attention?”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The way Riku says it leaves everyone else out of the equation.

“If you can find him.”

Aqua has to ask: “Is that difficult?”

Riku strains a smile; he’s remembering something unpleasant, something he still hasn’t made peace with. “Not really. But admittedly he is more trouble than he’s worth.”

Aqua bites her cheek. Everyone makes it sound like rescuing Terra is the biggest hassle. 

“Then I’ll do it.”

Sora grimaces, and Riku waves his hands in surrender. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all. But I do think that getting to Ventus may be an easier goal to reach right now. Once we have greater numbers, and we don’t have our attention scattered as much, provoking Ansem shouldn’t be an issue. We can do it together.”

Aqua stops herself from drawing a long scoff, holding her hand to her hip to prevent herself from flailing it around in frustration. Professional is the key word here. 

“Except I don’t really know where to begin,” Aqua says quietly. “I know where Ven is, but I don’t have a way of getting to him without my Keyblade.”

“Oh that’s easy!” Sora says. “Terra had it with him.”

“What?”

“He carried it around at Destiny Islands, when he was with us,” Kairi says. 

“But I don’t recall seeing him with it in Traverse Town,” Riku says. “It’s possible he put it away somewhere.”

The question hangs over their heads. 

Riku inhales as he thinks about a place to start. “He spent the majority of his time in Radiant Garden.”

Right where she broke her tether to it. It’s a possibility that Terra took it back there. Not likely, but plausible. 

“We should go tomorrow, first thing,” Sora says, slamming a fist into his palm. “There’s got to be a trail of clues we could follow. Maybe Terra left a sign saying Here’s her Keyblade.” He motions with his hand, bracketing invisible words in the air. 

“If there’s nowhere else…” Aqua hushes. 

“If not there,” Riku says, “then we’ll go back to Traverse Town and search his room. If it’s not there either, we’ll think of something. I can’t imagine that he’d leave you hanging.”

He’d never; Terra has always been the worst at hiding anyway. As children, he’d giggle too loudly that playing hide and seek with him was always futile. As teens, he never withstood the feeling of being lonely for too long, so if he needed time to himself, he’d leave notes with suggestions of when he’s ready for company. 

Hiding a Keyblade to protect it is something he wouldn’t commit recklessly, but just like she was able to track him down a long journey through multiple worlds when he disappeared, he’d leave the smallest crumbs. 

“Then it’s a solid plan,” Kairi says, stepping her foot down. “I’m coming with.”

They’re much more optimistic about it than Aqua is (honestly, it sounds like they’re leading themselves blind).

Either way, she bids them sweet dreams, a knife forged of the worst anticipation gutting at her. Maybe her mood will improve in the morning. 

When she leaves the ballroom, the knife twisting at her side digs deeper the moment she overhears Riku saying over the other side of the door: “That was something.”

Aqua peeks through the crack. Riku has lost his composure he had in her presence, slouching over and smothering his face in his palm. Sora looks tired, his usual joy giving way to reflection. 

Kairi shifts uncomfortably. “She’s been through a lot.”

“She’s like a boiling teapot about to explode.”

“Except teapots don’t explode.”

“But you’d rather have your hand cut off than have it melt from the steam.”

“Come on,” Sora says, “this won’t be the same situation as it was with Terra… At least, I hope not.”

Riku throws Sora a hard glance. “I’m only saying that something’s not entirely right. I can’t tell how she’s going to react to things. Sometimes, I get the impression that I’m not talking to the same person.”

Silence.

“Honestly, I’ve felt the same,” Sora murmurs, “but I can’t blame her.”

“No one is.”

Kairi starts sniffling, bringing her wrist to wipe her face.

Sora asks, “Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know. Isn’t that weird?”

Next, Sora’s the one to shed a tear. “I guess I don’t know either.”

Riku looks at his friends not with concern, but with horror. He sighs into his hand, rubs his face, and thinks better than to let them cry alone. Joining them, he pulls them both into an embrace, roughing their hair enough to leave frizz.

“Knock it off, you two.” 

He ignores their protests, squeezing them in his elbows. Sora can’t wrestle his way out, so he says to Kairi, “He’s still ticklish in the same spots.”

The last sight Aqua sees is a heap of three best friends on the floor, the tallest one begging the others to stop. 

~*~*~*~*~

Aqua treks back to her room with ferocity. They think she’s crazy. Maybe she is. Maybe she’s lost a part of herself to the Realm of Darkness forever, chewed up and spit out in a lumpy blob that she can’t bring herself to swallow. 

That thought should terrify her, but it doesn’t. Aqua’s more concerned with how hopeless she let them feel. What’s the point of being a Keyblade Master if she can’t inspire those around her? Or make them feel protected and listened to? She doesn’t know how to make it up to them. 

She should apologize - and yet, there’s a small voice inside that loathes to do so. It’s not her fault for acting up; she’s earned the right. They’ll be patient with her and see she’s not all bad.

Or maybe she’s just as bad as they say. The moment she sees Yen Sid standing in her way will test that.

“Master Aqua,” he calls, his pointy hat looking all the longer because of the way the torches that line the stone walls illuminate it.

She wants to ignore him. She doesn’t - wouldn’t Eraqus be proud? She waits for him to continue, hands laced in front of her, posture straight, expression neutral. Professional. 

“I had hoped,” he starts, then stops himself. Ah, so he knows there’s nothing he could say that would be a proper apology to what happened. “I completely understand where you are coming from.”

Aqua doesn’t respond. 

“I mean to ask forgiveness.”

Silence.

“Cast away this unpleasant business between us. I have no expectation that you’d lend a hand of friendship towards me, but we can still benefit from an alliance.” He extends his hand out, not as a gesture to hold hers, but as a symbol. 

She could forgive him, and she would have before falling to darkness, before Eraqus had ever sent them on an insane journey without giving them any of the crucial details, before hearing anything insulting about Terra. She could have. 

“I’ll consider it when I have the time,” she says, her voice flat but strong.

Yen Sid draws his hand back. There’s a slight offense to his eyes before he wavers it away. 

“This road you have chosen to follow may be dangerous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Following Terra.”

“I’m so tired of defending Terra,” she spits.

“You have mistaken me,” Yen Sid says. The quality of his voice dips deep, like a growl. “Just as I have warned Terra about his limitations when it came to you, I sense the same desperate recklessness within you.”

“His life is worthy enough to save.”

“So is yours.” He stares at her, a hand teasing the length of his beard. “Will you not trust him to fend for himself in the darkness?”

Her lips quiver and she zips them up. Professional. “Won’t you?”

Yen Sid sighs, disappointed. “I hope our next meeting is more amicable. Please look out for yourself, Master Aqua.”

“Likewise.”

She storms into her room and slams the door. She’s burning up, the heat from her body creating perspiration that denses through her hair, but not enough to let the sweat fall. No, she doesn’t have a fever.

There’s nothing here for her to throw around, so she paces back and forth. Back and forth, again and again, until one last huff expires out of her. 

“Terra,” she calls out softly as though he is right by her side. Who knows, maybe he can hear her from somewhere deep in the darkness if she focuses enough. 

Pulling out his orange Wayfinder, Aqua massages her fingers over the borders. Maybe her magic on it would have worked better if she had his essence embedded into the glass, instead of her intention to keep him close by. 

When she made it, she never once thought that the sight of it would bring regret. 

“I’m so angry,” she says to it, shaking her leg. She’s exhausted, but nowhere near the fits of depletion from earlier nights that easily pulled her under. She’d be an idiot to expect sleep to come any time soon. “None of them understand.”

Except they do; they have been separated before, forgotten, then weaved back together. 

Yet they don’t; they never had to pay such an expensive price such as twelve years.

“Please come back,” she whispers. She could cry, but she’s all dried up. Begging only makes her feel worse. 

“I’ll bring you back,” she demands of the quiet when nothing responds to her. 

She could scream, but she doesn’t. She’s a knot of weeded thorns, something that yearns to slice to numb the pain and grow out to breathe, choking at the same time.

The bed creaks and moans under her weight, but it’s not comfortable. The sheets are cold. The stone walls are apathetic to her mood, gray and bored. 

Aqua holds the Wayfinder close, but it does nothing to soothe her. She opts to stare at the ceiling in a contest she can’t win. 

~*~*~*~*~

Her hair reached her ribcage in tousled waves that coiled at the tips. Ven called it a flag of water that rippled whenever she moved, but it rippled too much; she certainly resented it when it whipped her in the face during training.

Her mother would have called it stunning, just like hers. 

A sepia-toned portrait sat on Aqua’s vanity table of a woman with the same hair and a man with a thick handle-bar moustache, wearing a bowler’s hat. 

“I’m sorry, mama,” sixteen-year-old Aqua said, scissors in hand, mirror smudge-free, hair ready to be tamed.

The first snip came at the point right above her ear, and Aqua winced from watching it all fall to the ground. A panic shot through her, and she wondered if there was magic to reverse the damage just in case. But Aqua was brave and Aqua was relentless.

Cutting the rest of her hair came easier, a waterfall having its last hurrah. She went shorter, and then much more. She might have done too much, but keeping it layered should justify the work. Now it was a pixie cut: clean, prissy, and above all, out of her face.

Aqua presented herself during breakfast. Ven still wasn’t up and the Master was busy in his office, so Terra, who sat at the table with a mug of coffee, was the first to see. 

The mug stopped before it reached his lips while he gaped. She sat in front of him. He didn’t say a word. 

Suddenly, she regretted it.

“It was always getting in the way,” she said, surprised by how assured she sounded.

He blinked. “It’s cute.”

“It’s what?” Warriors were supposed to be practical. Not cute. Never cute, damn it all.

“Nothing. I didn’t actually say anything.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding her gaze. If he caught it, she’d have words to throw at him. 

She still did. “I’ll dump that coffee on you the next time I hear you say that.”

Terra stole glances at her, mainly toward the top of her head, and his eyes almost sparkled. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. “It is pretty, though.”

… What was she supposed to say to that? All she had was vacant stammering.

“Well, you know,” he set back, “I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

Part of her wanted to kill him. Part of her wanted to find the spell to make it grow.

He blundered for more words, set his coffee mug down, and pressed his index finger onto the surface of the table to make a poignant argument. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She grimaced. “I’m not going to play nice with you during training today.”

“I probably deserve it,” he chuckled.

“You definitely deserve it.”

He smiled, and stared more at her hair. Not with disgust, not with shock, but with admiration. 

It hit her then - he meant what he said. Which left one question to nag at her for the rest of breakfast:

She was pretty to him?

[alfafilly]

Ok, so some of you might have seen this long chain of nonsense @arpeggio-the-parrot and I were posting a couple weeks ago. Most people I assume didn’t really get what it was about, but who really gets the two of us amirite?

Now, a short history: I’ve been a lover of the Sly series since the games were released because I am an ancient hare of the double decade-n-some and fondly remember crushing on our parrot asshole when I was 12 years old or so. Why? Dude, I don’t know. I’ve always loved him and the series, but there was a loooong period of my online existence where I shunned away all fandoms (since like 2009 or so) because I thought they were a “waste of time”. I am an artist with an array of original works, including a webcomic, and for years I thought it fruitless to indulge in fanart or fan communities because I could be spending that time on original content.

That all changed when I replayed the Sly series and fell back in love with the stupid asshole bird in 2017. Things changed in my mind, and I realized ya know what? Screw that noise. I’m gonna be a cringefest if I wanna be and I’m gonna draw some birb. In the process of doing so, I ran across the only existing (at the time) other lover of the obscure squawking turd: @arpeggio-the-parrot a.k.a. Peregrine.

Peregrine and I became instant friends because of our shared interest in tiny evil avians. In the year of our lord 2019 the stars aligned and Peregrine was gifted the opportunity to conveniently travel near to my location of existence and us two birdfuckers GOT TO MEET UP in real fucking life, dudes.

And thus, the stretch of posts documenting our short time together being bird loving idiots along with my partner StupidShepherd who tolerated our shenanigans and judged and kinkshamed us silently (and not-so-silently). It was GREAT. And we are already planning BirdWives Adventures #2 and #3 in which chaos will rain down from the heavens and children will scream.

Anyway, so that happened. As I reflect on it, I become truly amazed at this world we live in now, where two people who are in love with a fictional parrot from a video game from the 2000′s who appeared for literally like idk 10 minutes total can actually come together in the physical plane and cause shenanigans. We played the game together and swooned over birbs. There is video proof. It’s there. Wow. We are ridiculous.

The Sly Cooper fandom has truly been amazing. I mean. It’s fully of weirdos like us but y’all have been exponentially supportive, along with my friends who aren’t in the fandom at all but support this bad romance. It’s become a jokey meme at this point, yes, but you’re still supportive and it makes me cry happy tears inside my crusty soul. You. Tolerate MY cringe. OUR cringe. I can’t believe it. The Tumblr community especially has embraced us BirdFuckers and tolerated our shenanigans. You are great and fantastic and I love all of you. Even those of you who hate Arpeggio because it’s okay, it just means more for us.

I just wanted to share this special event with you all. It was fantastic and wonderful and you all are fantastic and wonderful. And Peregrine is a great friend who is wonderful, even past the mutual desire to fuck a sexy bird man. I’m so happy to have met her and to be pals with her! I am also happy to be here and to bring you cringe content! There will be more.

Tired of Arpeggio? Too fuckin’ bad, bitch, this shit is only just beginning.

[verdigrisprowl]

Jan 10 Mirage’s CAH game

A second round is going currently, but someone else will have to log it, for I shan’t be there.

Mirage won the first round. Prowl may not have won the card game, but he made the most important joke of the night.

[10:35:32 PM] <Prowl> ((suggestion: throw in some of the normal card sets too, because having nothing but transformers cards to play against transformers cards usually isn't as fun)) [10:35:48 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ok! [10:36:35 PM] Soundwave has joined the game. [10:38:01 PM] Starscream has joined the game. [10:38:46 PM] <altusxdelusoris> i knew I should have just put 'Mirage' [10:38:59 PM] <Starscream> xD [10:39:28 PM] <altusxdelusoris> i'm so used to doing this in the Final Fantasy fandom where there is a million of everyone [10:40:04 PM] <Soundwave> ((Heh. There's a million of this nerd too, I just wasn't sure what else to put)) [10:41:21 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( if you guys also want to share the post to bring in more people, i'd be ok with that ) [10:42:28 PM] <Soundwave> ((done!)) [10:42:43 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( \ o / ) [10:43:38 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( me: hasn't been active in over a year....'hey y'all wanna play CAH?' :D ) [10:44:07 PM] <Starscream> [ a good start ] [10:44:10 PM] <Soundwave> ((usually people like cah, i hope it'll bring you some eyes)) [10:44:31 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( haha i'm a pandering ) [10:44:48 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( ....no a in there, just pandering ) [10:45:58 PM] Twinkout has joined the game. [10:46:43 PM] <Soundwave> ((hello hello)) [10:46:54 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( hiii) [10:47:16 PM] <Twinkout> ( hewwo) [10:48:21 PM] Error: Error communicating with server. Will try again in 0.5 seconds. [10:49:10 PM] Bee has joined the game. [10:49:26 PM] <Twinkout> ( oof) [10:49:39 PM] Megatron has joined the game. [10:49:47 PM] <Bee> (( aaaah i thought those decks were erased from time! [10:49:49 PM] <Soundwave> ((the flood approaches)) [10:49:58 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( looks like we have a decepticon majority ) [10:50:23 PM] <Bee> ( oh boi ) [10:51:10 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( we can squeeze in one more person before it's spectators only ) [10:51:17 PM] <Starscream> [ >:3c ] [10:52:44 PM] <Prowl> ((\o/)) [10:52:57 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( everyone ready? ) [10:53:04 PM] <Bee> ( yup! ) [10:53:43 PM] <Twinkout> ( ye) [10:53:43 PM] Play 2 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [10:53:45 PM] <Soundwave> ((yep)) [10:55:05 PM] Prowl wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [10:55:13 PM] Play 3 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [10:56:23 PM] <Prowl> *... what side of the card table is farthest from Starscream and Megatron? that's the side Prowl's going to sit on.* [10:56:30 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [10:56:37 PM] <Megatron> *grins at Prowl* [10:57:00 PM] <Soundwave> *Soundwave sits in the middle, because he's not going to sit near a Bumblebee OR a Megatron.* [10:57:02 PM] <Starscream> *assuming Starscream is even sitting anywhere close to Megatron* [10:57:02 PM] <Bee> (( if someone actually has the bumblebee card, you automatically win )) [10:57:26 PM] <Bee> [just...sitting awkwardly, folding his cards a bit] [10:57:49 PM] Megatron wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [10:57:51 PM] <Soundwave> ((who was the other human companions person, i like your style lmao)) [10:57:51 PM] <Prowl> *don't make eye contact, prowl.* [10:58:48 PM] <Bee> Sooooo...um, how is everyone? [10:58:51 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [10:58:51 PM] <Bee> [he's trying] [10:58:54 PM] <Prowl> *y'know what, bumblebee is safe, he's sticking with bumblebee.* [10:58:59 PM] Play 3 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [10:59:10 PM] <Prowl> ... Can't complain. No, I mean—I CAN complain, but I'm not. [10:59:28 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ....I've been better [10:59:43 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( i'm so annoyed I didn't put 'Mirage' xD ) [10:59:54 PM] <Starscream> I could also complain [11:00:10 PM] <Bee> You always complain. [11:00:14 PM] <Soundwave> [[He functions within expected parameters.]] [11:00:29 PM] Twinkout was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:00:33 PM] <Starscream> So does Prowl [11:00:51 PM] <Prowl> *Is fairly confident that everyone in the room is just silently torqued off that Megatron is here.* [11:00:57 PM] <Bee> Yeah, but I don't mind when Prowl complains. [11:01:10 PM] Megatron wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:01:18 PM] Play 3 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:01:19 PM] <Starscream> Is there a difference? [11:01:23 PM] <Bee> [He's so used to being exposed to Megatrons that it's just second nature to ignore the presence of a new one.] [11:01:26 PM] <Soundwave> [[What unfortunate Optimus Prime feelings are these?]] [11:01:28 PM] <Soundwave> *Stares at Megatron.* [11:01:32 PM] <Prowl> *oh, he's czar for the make a haiku card.* [11:01:35 PM] <Bee> Yeah, I actually like Prowl. [11:01:37 PM] <Prowl> For the record, I WILL be counting syllables. [11:01:46 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Damn you [11:02:17 PM] <Bee> Had a feeling. [11:02:23 PM] <Twinkout> Shit [11:02:40 PM] <Prowl> If you manage to get seventeen syllables but not in a five-seven-five pattern, you'll receive partial credit. [11:02:48 PM] Starscream was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:02:48 PM] Megatron was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:03:02 PM] <Bee> Ok that's slightly more fair. [11:03:16 PM] <Megatron> Poetry takes more time than that. [11:03:19 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:03:20 PM] <Starscream> thanks, i was counting [11:03:41 PM] <Prowl> *Bee was the only one who successfully 5-7-5ed* [11:04:14 PM] <altusxdelusoris> *had a 7 but no 5s* [11:04:16 PM] <Soundwave> *Is not looking forward to any of these cards at all.* [11:04:27 PM] Twinkout was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:04:49 PM] <Soundwave> *Well, he knows one he's NOT picking.* [11:05:00 PM] <Prowl> *he'd BETTER not* [11:05:11 PM] Prowl wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:05:11 PM] <Bee> [whistles innocently] [11:05:12 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Prowl, you devil [11:05:19 PM] Play 3 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:05:23 PM] <Soundwave> [[He is unsurprised.]] [11:05:26 PM] <Prowl> *gives Mirage a look of absolute, unbridled revulsion* [11:06:06 PM] <Bee> [cracks a grin] [11:06:17 PM] <altusxdelusoris> You wouldn't know sarcasm if it kissed you on the mouth [11:06:33 PM] <Starscream> Sarcasm wouldn't want to do that anyway [11:06:40 PM] <Prowl> Some things, I don't think fit to joke about. [11:06:49 PM] Twinkout was kicked for being idle for too many rounds. [11:06:49 PM] Twinkout has left the game. [11:06:59 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( oops ) [11:07:12 PM] <Bee> (( oh no D: )) [11:07:24 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:07:42 PM] <Bee> Quick someone, put Megatron. [11:07:55 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ...close enough [11:07:58 PM] <Prowl> If I had one, I would. [11:08:23 PM] <Megatron> I disagree. Starscream is far crustier. [11:08:24 PM] <Starscream> I have terrivle cards [11:08:30 PM] <Starscream> excuse me [11:08:32 PM] <Bee> ...........ok fair [11:08:37 PM] <Starscream> EXCUSE [11:08:42 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:08:44 PM] <Soundwave> *Points at the terrorcons. That one.* [11:08:55 PM] <Prowl> *played the terrorcons. truly the crustiest.* [11:09:04 PM] <Bee> I mean, if we're talking /physically/ crusty, yeah. [11:09:19 PM] <Starscream> i'm pristine [11:09:21 PM] <Bee> Though my universe's Megatron did look really crusty when he magically came back to life. [11:09:27 PM] <Bee> No, you're Starscream. [11:09:37 PM] <Prowl> Are you suggesting that Megatron possesses spiritual crustiness? [11:09:38 PM] <altusxdelusoris> *snorts* [11:09:49 PM] Soundwave wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:09:53 PM] <Soundwave> *As for the earlier talk? He prefers the name Soundwave to Sarcasm, but it's no less fitting.* [11:09:58 PM] <Bee> ...You know what? That's exactly what I'm suggesting. [11:10:10 PM] <Soundwave> *Ugh. Tarn.* [11:10:52 PM] <Prowl> ((why did two of us go for jizz cards omg)) [11:11:06 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:11:10 PM] <Starscream> [ sinners, the both of you ] [11:11:15 PM] <Prowl> ((thank u)) [11:11:32 PM] <Soundwave> ((oh no i have two great cards and can't choose)) [11:11:41 PM] <Bee> (( i try )) [11:11:43 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( that's always the worst ) [11:11:47 PM] <Prowl> *has reclaimed the crown* [11:12:00 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:12:03 PM] <Bee> Mirage, we're tied. [11:12:14 PM] <Bee> It's on. [11:12:23 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Wait... *checks* [11:12:26 PM] <Prowl> You're ahead of Mirage. [11:12:31 PM] <Bee> ...oh. [11:12:56 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:13:04 PM] Play 2 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:13:05 PM] <Starscream> finally [11:13:14 PM] <Bee> Soundwave, you're sabotaging me, aren't you? [11:14:25 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( ok whoever has the first one ) [11:14:34 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:14:42 PM] <Soundwave> ((tis me sup)) [11:14:44 PM] <Prowl> ((the first one Deserved it)) [11:14:49 PM] <Soundwave> [[What would he want to do that for?]] [11:14:56 PM] <Bee> (( I THOUGHT FOR SURE THE FIRST ONE WAS GONNA WIN )) [11:15:07 PM] <Starscream> [ yEAH BUT THE LAST ONE MADE ME LAUGH ] [11:15:09 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( omg this one has the potential to be bad) [11:15:42 PM] Soundwave was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:16:22 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:17:26 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:17:42 PM] <Megatron> I take it back I want to pick a different one [11:17:49 PM] <Starscream> too late [11:18:03 PM] <Prowl> *mutters* Said several thousand voters. [11:18:13 PM] <Megatron> HA. [11:18:13 PM] Soundwave wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:18:16 PM] <Starscream> TOO LATE [11:18:16 PM] <Bee> [sNORTS] [11:18:22 PM] Play 3 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:18:33 PM] <Soundwave> *The best part about visors are, of course, the instant poker faces they provide.* [11:19:11 PM] <Starscream> >:l [11:19:59 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( the chinese gymnastics team xD ) [11:20:17 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:20:29 PM] <Bee> Frag, Starscream's catching up. [11:20:32 PM] <Prowl> *for the record: will never award anyone a point for making reference to him throwing tables.* [11:20:55 PM] <altusxdelusoris> *whistles* [11:21:09 PM] <Bee> [whistles in harmony] [11:21:19 PM] <Soundwave> [[...This reminds him to check on Red Alert. He might have unlocked the Ark by now.]] [11:21:30 PM] Hurry up! You have less than 10 seconds to decide, or you will be skipped. [11:21:51 PM] <Starscream> [ free him ] [11:21:52 PM] OmicronOfIce has joined the game. [11:22:04 PM] Megatron wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:23:12 PM] OmicronOfIce was skipped this round for being idle for too long. [11:23:29 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:23:36 PM] OmicronOfIce has left the game. [11:23:37 PM] <Prowl> *SNORTS* [11:23:39 PM] <Bee> MIRAGE [11:23:46 PM] <Soundwave> *Soft huff.* [11:23:46 PM] <altusxdelusoris> *cackling* [11:23:54 PM] <Starscream> is that speaking from experience [11:24:05 PM] <altusxdelusoris> You would know. [11:24:22 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( *mind instantly goes to Rattrap* ) [11:24:27 PM] <altusxdelusoris> WHAT [11:24:27 PM] <Starscream> if i did i wouldn't be asking [11:24:36 PM] <Bee> (( wow two sparklings XD )) [11:24:41 PM] Soundwave wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:25:01 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( who was the other sparkling? ) [11:25:05 PM] <Prowl> ((me)) [11:25:52 PM] <Bee> .......Why is that a card? [11:25:59 PM] Soundwave wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:26:05 PM] <Prowl> You'll have to be more specific. [11:26:17 PM] <Starscream> the real question is why Megatron chose it [11:26:33 PM] <Bee> Megatron why? [11:26:39 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Hm [11:26:40 PM] <Bee> Do you want to make me eternally suffer? [11:26:48 PM] Megatron wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:26:55 PM] <Megatron> Hehehehe. [11:27:01 PM] <altusxdelusoris> I expected as much [11:27:14 PM] <Starscream> hmph [11:28:04 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:28:08 PM] <Bee> Starscream was defested by a giant yellow rubber ball? [11:28:18 PM] <Bee> Someone please give me that holovid. [11:28:28 PM] <Soundwave> [[What are you offering for it?]] [11:28:31 PM] <Starscream> dont [11:28:48 PM] <Prowl> *... panders to audience* [11:28:48 PM] <Bee> What do I have that you want? [11:29:15 PM] <Starscream> a death wish [11:29:18 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:29:27 PM] <Prowl> *pandering doesn't work* [11:29:43 PM] <Soundwave> *Isn't going to claim that the police present here are going to use mnemosurgery.* [11:29:55 PM] <Prowl> *at least he doesn't have to stare at the "mnemosurgery" and "police brutality" cards anymore* [11:30:14 PM] <Bee> Mirage, you're ahead of me. [11:30:25 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:30:27 PM] <Soundwave> [[Your voice, if you are willing.]] [11:30:34 PM] <Bee> FRAG [11:30:41 PM] <altusxdelusoris> I'm....shocked you picked mine [11:30:51 PM] <Bee> ...My voice? Like, a recording of my voice or my voice box? [11:31:01 PM] <Bee> Because oh Primus, we're not doing the latter again. [11:31:10 PM] <Soundwave> [[A recording. Specifically, of you singing.]] [11:31:15 PM] <Starscream> It was the least insulting [11:31:28 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Not in my head it wasn't [11:31:38 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:31:54 PM] <Bee> That's simple enough. Why do you want that specifically? [11:31:56 PM] <Starscream> then your insults are lacking [11:32:16 PM] <altusxdelusoris> mm, well, I have to work with what I have [11:32:23 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:32:40 PM] <Prowl> *every time prowl tries to pander to his audience, mirage wins. fascinating.* [11:32:48 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( grindcore would have been good for this one ) [11:32:56 PM] <Soundwave> [[Personal music collection.]] [11:33:13 PM] Starscream wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:33:25 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Pander more, Prowl [11:33:27 PM] <Bee> ...Does this mean you have a recording of Starscream singing? [11:33:34 PM] <Starscream> I don't sing [11:33:51 PM] <Soundwave> [[He does.]] *Glance.* [[Not that one.]] [11:34:08 PM] <Bee> Scrap. [11:34:09 PM] <Prowl> *... who's pandering.* 

((For reference: the black card was “A romantic, candlelit dinner is incomplete without ___.” The dirty cheating panderer played “Soundwave’s crotch buttons.”))

[11:34:32 PM] Soundwave wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:34:37 PM] <Prowl> *SOUNDWAVE* [11:34:45 PM] <Bee> Well, that's fair enough. Alright, deal. [11:34:46 PM] <Soundwave> *Hmwhat?* [11:35:01 PM] <Starscream> subtle [11:35:13 PM] <Soundwave> [[Frequency?]] [11:35:36 PM] Megatron wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:35:38 PM] <altusxdelusoris> The fact that Galactic domination and sexual humiliation are next to each other [11:35:51 PM] <altusxdelusoris> and the fact that it's Megatron's card [11:36:02 PM] <Starscream> it tells you something, doesn't it [11:36:04 PM] <Bee> [Pinging it over.] [11:36:11 PM] <Bee> They're all things Megatron does? [11:36:22 PM] <Soundwave> ((to which tumblr inbox shall i send the thing)) [11:36:26 PM] Bee wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:36:28 PM] <Megatron> Do not accuse me of filth simply for playing this game correctly. [11:36:57 PM] <Bee> (( radioactivibee )) [11:37:11 PM] <Starscream> no more accusing than it is spreading facts [11:37:34 PM] <Bee> Galactic Domination is definitely a fact. [11:37:46 PM] Prowl wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:37:54 PM] Play 2 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:38:36 PM] <altusxdelusoris> My cards are rubbish [11:39:13 PM] <Bee> Same. [11:39:17 PM] <Megatron> ((I have the perfect card for this dammit)) [11:39:47 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:39:55 PM] Play 2 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:40:07 PM] thenightetc has joined the game. [11:40:19 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Quick Prowl, pander [11:40:44 PM] <Prowl> You can't win a point on your own turn as czar. [11:40:58 PM] <Prowl> *panders anyway* [11:41:13 PM] <thenightetc> ((*slinks in late, having left for dinner shortly before the game started*)) [11:41:14 PM] <Bee> How many points are we playing to? [11:41:24 PM] Prowl wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:41:32 PM] Play 2 cards, in the order you wish them to be judged. [11:41:33 PM] <Prowl> *look at that, it works when mirage is the czar* [11:41:44 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Ten points [11:42:08 PM] <Prowl> *looks at mirage* Quick. Pander. [11:42:13 PM] <Bee> Prowl, don't pick Mirage. [11:42:31 PM] <Bee> I believe in your deduction skills. [11:43:03 PM] <Prowl> *... doesn't know who thundertron is, but is intrigued by this dance move that's just sex* [11:43:05 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Come on Prowl [11:43:10 PM] altusxdelusoris wins the round. The next round will begin in 8 seconds. [11:43:11 PM] <altusxdelusoris> you know you want me [11:43:19 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Hahahaha [11:43:19 PM] <Prowl> ... Apparently I did. [11:43:32 PM] <Prowl> Good pandering. [11:43:39 PM] <altusxdelusoris> Another round? [11:43:55 PM] <Prowl> Can't, I have work in the morning. [11:44:05 PM] <Bee> I'll stick around for a bit. [11:44:22 PM] <Soundwave> [[He'll stay.]] [11:44:34 PM] <thenightetc> I'd love to actually play a round, instead of just catching the tail end. [11:44:42 PM] <Bee> (( gonna get ready for bed brb )) [11:44:48 PM] <Soundwave> *Work in the morning? Does that mean what he thinks?* [11:44:58 PM] <Megatron> ((i can do one more!)) [11:45:03 PM] <Prowl> *yes, yes it does. first day as captain.* [11:45:20 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( i can do one more round before bed ) [11:45:40 PM] <Starscream> [ i must rest, but im glad i caught you all ] [11:46:12 PM] <Soundwave> ((those of you who are leaving, rest well and it was fun playing with y'all :D )) [11:46:32 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( same ) [11:46:47 PM] <Prowl> ((thanks for hosting!)) [11:47:05 PM] <altusxdelusoris> ( no problem! this will most likely happen again )

[valeriemperez]

I can’t wait for Run Iris, Run.😍 4x16 will be on March 13th right? Do you think it will be our Iris who will become a speedster or an Iris from another earth? Personally I hope it’s our Iris because I always wanted her to be speedster since season one. I don’t know if you keep tabs on the developing live action Teen Titans show but will you review it when season one premieres?

I think it is our Iris, and it will either be residual effects from Flashtime in 4.15, or a meta that gives Iris Barry’s powers for a day in 4.16. 

And I do plan on reviewing Teen Titans when it airs! Or at least covering it on our podcast.

@deathsoul74 said:

I’m glad Cayden James died. As much as I love Michael Emerson, his character was so boring. Did you think Cayden James was a good big bad? What’s your thoughts on Ricardo Diaz becoming the big bad? I loved 3x11 but finally seeing my son Wally again, who I didn’t see since November, was so exciting. I’m not even mad that it was like ten seconds. Seeing Keiynan’s beautiful face was enough. Since Rip is recruiting Wally, do you think Wally is one of the six and that’s why Rip searched for him?👋❤️

Cayden bored me to tears until the flashbacks in his final episode, so I would overall judge him as the weakest DCTV villain so far this season. And Ricardo wasn’t any better, but hopefully he’ll step his game up now that it’s his turn.

I loved seeing Wally on Legends this week too! Hope they make good use of him, and I like the idea of him being one of the six a lot. Only thing is we’ve yet to see him with a totem, but wouldn’t it be awesome if he had to go back to his childhood to find the totem and we got to see Francine again? YES PLEASE.

@theopensea said:

lmao this is the first time i'm seeing the use of 'viris" and i'm dyingggg

Their creativity truly astounds. /end sarcasm

In your tags you said the IWDS has been falling behind on SM. I have to say I disagree. No we're not going to respond to every single troll but for the most part we show up when its needed. The top related tags on twitter for The Flash are Iris, CP and WA related with most of those posts getting the most likes. We're a strong presence on instagram. We're a strong presence with live tweeting. People are out here doing everything they can and its harsh to say it isn't enough imo.

It’s not about responding to trolls, which I’m perfectly fine with people doing or not doing. Rather I’m referring to tagging the writers and Candice in positive tweets, which we’re currently doing less of than we used to - especially considering that SB fans have made their OTF campaign a daily thing. 

The people who are doing it are doing a great job, it’s not about increasing if you’re already participating. But it would be great to get more people to join with just one or two tweets period. Variety is the spice of life.

That being said, I will look at my tags and try to be less harsh.

Why is she even on your blog, your banner clearly demonstrates your love for cp/IW . These crazy fans need to stop, read the comic and get over it.

Perhaps it’s my wit and charm? :P

Bwhaha okay there Anon 😆 First off when the pictures of Iris in a super suit were announced theflash jumped up in their SM standing according to Nielsen. The #runirisrun has been one of the top related hashtag for theflash for weeks now. The announcement of Iris getting a suit was a top trending topic across all media sites. But sure keep believing you guys who hate Iris are in the majority lol.

Iris gets people talking, that’s the number one thing. 

Let their crusty asses sit out if they want to. Iris gets people talking and their hatred for CP is due to jealousy.

Yup, no one’s forcing them to watch.

That second Anon is a classic example of the "echo chamber" trend on social media. People surround themselves with people who hate the same things they do which makes them start believing everyone thinks how they do. As that other Anon pointed they truly think theirs is the only opinion that matters. Most Nielsen watches aren't effected by what goes on with the internet fandom. It's honestly crazy what some end up believing 😬

People forget that one person only speaks for themselves. Even 2K people online liking a post about killing the black female lead doesn’t mean the other 2.5M agree.

Who the heck follows a pro Iris and Candice blog but doesn't like either Candice or Iris 😂😂😂 Sophisticatedloserchick also got an Anon who said they were a SB shipper but they apparently love to follow a WA blog despite hating WA. I don't understand the logic behind that.

Props to them, I guess, because I couldn’t live that life. I mute my NOTPs like nobody’s business.

[taonsil]

mmm I locked my twt last night to say most of this but I feel better about saying it here now, though it’s prob still a bit disorganised OTL

you probably wouldn’t anyway but please don t rb~ and ok this is literally a novel so you could prob see it that the twt version was..a draft lmao 

sometimes I really hate not having a more personal space to unload for fear of being called out (which I couldn’t deal with) and/or being misunderstood. or just the basic fear that people who once thought I was nice would turn on me, if I vented for one reason and it looked like another. since I lost a lot of confidence in myself I take it harder than I should if people unfollow after I’ve said something. fandom really really matters to me, it’s basically why I’m still around and the only Thing I really have. the environment has changed to be so unforgiving, quick to judge and morally absolute, it’s so overwhelming and scary at times to go against a polarised view. I can’t just tag Everything with ‘I’m mentally ill and probably not upset about what you think’, and I don’t like worrying about if I need to add some disclaimer or will need to list my whole history of nd issues and trauma every time I just wanna complain about something from a perspective different to the one currently in favour half the reason I got so exhausted over the past few days was just from constantly unpacking and dealing with my own feelings every time the issue came up, to the point that it didn’t even matter what was being said, just the subject started me off again. which of course isn’t rational behaviour, but, that’s what happens on garbage brain days. what started as two small issues I was frustrated about flared up into me eventually making myself sick obsessing over everything. I wanted to vent my own feelings on it, and I wanted to say something for all my quiet buddies out there who may feel the same and weren’t seeing anything reassuring, but instead I just got more and more worked up about it

(I’m saying this in general, not about any specific issue) I know so many nd people who are so great, but they silence themselves out of fear of how they’ll be perceived. it sucks but I do it too. it sucks that it’s hard to even be reassuring to each other out of fear of having to try and justify why you feel the illogical thing and why you’re offering comfort instead of reform. (and then it’s silly, because we’re all out here thinking we’re the only ones orz). it’s why ‘any nice/good person has this opinion’ movements generally stress me out. some are obviously unarguable true, yes. but sometimes people have complicated reasons, and they’re usually people who are already isolated and quiet/scared/guilty, just dealing with their own feelings or finding comfort in things. but because we’re predominantly an anxious, quiet bunch it’s never really allowed for or discussed fandom environment has changed, but back when it was more closed off it was full of people with issues and trauma and garbage brains who were seeking out some comfort. it still is, but in all of the easy access and the aggression and fighting, whatever the subject, no one ever thinks about that. people seem to assume everyone is just a gross bad person. people have issues that they don’t want to deal with or unpack publicly and fear makes them hide away and doubt their comforts. (this is a smaller example, but it surprised me how many people asked why I have issues with alcohol. I feel like there’s some pretty obvious reasons you could take a guess at? if you can’t even take a good guess at why someone may have an issue, that’s..kind of how we’ve ended up with such an extreme call out culture and so many people having to use their personal trauma to defend themselves). 

I’ve been in fandoms similar to this one for fifteen years. I’ve gone from being the confused anxious guilty teenager to finally finding words and explanations for the things I felt, and becoming someone who can help other people lost and trying to figure this stuff out. in the years I’ve had this account, that’s ended up being what I’ve /wanted/ to do. as well as enjoying the boys and the content itself, I’ve always been in fandoms for comfort and for a safe, happy space. I know from personal experience, friends, and all of the amazing people I’ve spoken to on here over years, that there are so many people out there who are constantly feeling like the only person who feels the way they do, or are worried they’re doing something wrong, or feel guilty/upset/worried about something they find comfort in. so many of you have reached out to me when I’ve felt brave enough to talk about things, letting me know you feel similarly even on issues I thought were probably only my own. due to limitations I have bc of my mental health I’m never going to be able to be active in my own local communities, so if the only way I can reach out to and help queer and nd kids is through fic and soft meta and trying to keep a quiet little safe spot then it matters so much to me. there are so many of you who’ve been too afraid to talk, or even have anons published, or really break my heart by having to /ask/ me if it’s alright for you to feel a certain way or find comfort in certain thing. I’m old and crusty and have enough time and knowledge to want to be able to help with these things and I wish I was braver, and that I could be more outspoken about things or let people know that they’re not being fair, or just feel comfortable talking in hope of someone who needs to see it seeing it. idk where I’m going with this now;; I just, really enjoy meeting new people and making friends through fandom, but in the end fandom has changed and it’s changed why I’m here. it just used to be purely for fun and creating content, but in the end I’m here to hype taozi and try to make people like me who may have found me feel a lil better about things, and I just hate that despite having words and little communities for things now it’s still rough and hard to deal with for a lot of us, and that despite so much love and support I still struggle a lot with thinking sharing things is helpful rather than annoying and feeling worthy of trying to do anything;;

[robininthelabyrinth]

and here's the second one, because I'm impatient

Title: Ars Gratis Artis (ao3 link) Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Len probably should have thought twice before he revealed to everybody just how good an artist Mick is.

(years later, Mick pays him back for it)

A/N: for the @legendsofsuperflarrowmemes's prompt 30 (Coldwave. Artist!Mick gets Leonard to pose for him. Naked.) and for @kickingshoes, as a distraction.

warning: no adult content at all. barely answers the prompt. I'm sorry; I tried!

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

“This shit’s gorgeous,” Len says frankly, and he means it, too.

“Lenny,” Mick whines. His face is red and he keeps shifting awkwardly from side to side, as he had been ever since he’d come home and found Len perusing his artwork. “Just leave it be, will you?”

“No, seriously!” Len says. “I don’t know why you kept these from me. They’re amazing. Did you make these with a blowtorch?”

“The initial groundwork, yeah,” Mick says. “The rest is pencil and pen and stuff. Lenny…”

“Do you sell them?”

“No!”

“You should.”

“No one would buy them,” Mick argues.

Len snorts. “Sure they would,” he says firmly. “Your art’s really good.”

Mick is wringing his hands, but he’s stopped trying to pull Len away. “You really think so?”

“I really think so.”

“You’re just buttering me up,” Mick says suspiciously.

“I’d steal it,” Len says firmly.

“You’d steal anything.”

“I’m serious! This is sell on the black market good.” Len pauses. “This may even be sell on the normal market good.”

Mick snorts. “Don’t be stupid,” he says.

Of course, Mick being dismissive just makes Len more intent on proving him wrong, which is why he looks up one of the better agents in the city – no mob ties, nothing! – and marches over there and breaks into her office and shows her a few carefully purloined pieces.

“I’m going to call the police” turns into “wow, this is amazing!” almost gratifyingly fast.

Len gives her Mick’s number and goes home smug and satisfied.

Somehow Len didn’t realize that this would cause Mick to be swept away into a sea of agents and media hounds and all sorts of people that meant that Len with his open warrants because of his work with his father needed to stay far, far away, for both of their sakes.

He regrets it, later, but it’s far too late by then.

Mick's gone.

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

“Who’re you?” Len asks.

The big guy jumps nearly a foot in the air, turning on a dime. He’s not someone Len recognizes; he doesn’t have prison tats or anything that Len would recognize. There’s an offhand chance that he might be someone Len knew from before, but it’s doubtful; Len’s not really expecting a welcoming committee.

Not after six years on the inside.

He’d learned plenty of lessons in there, and the foremost one is that expecting anything gets you nothing but disappointment.

Right now, out less than a week, he’d visited Lisa – happily in college on the money he sent himself up the river to earn, and uninterested in seeing him, which hurt even as he understood – and he’d come back to an empty apartment with nothing waiting for him.

Well, he’d thought he had, before he’d found this man hovering around.

He laces his hands behind his back and arches a pleasant eyebrow while fingering the knife he’d lifted earlier. He wishes now that he’d gone to get a gun instead of visiting Lisa; if this was some mistake from before, here to haunt him…

“I – uh –” the man stutters, his eyes wide.

“You’re in my apartment,” Len says.

“Your apartment? You – are you Lenny?”

Len stiffens. “I don’t go by that name –” Nobody calls him that, nobody ever calls him that, no one except Lisa - Lisa and -

His brain catches up with his eyes.

“Mick?”

“You’ve changed,” Mick says weakly. "Grown up."

“You have, too,” Len says, blinking and stepping forward to examine Mick closer. “Look at you! You’ve gotten…”

He bites his tongue before he can finish with ‘hot’, since technically that was true already, not that he’d ever admitted it. Though Mick’s only gotten more attractive, with his big strong shoulders and well-muscled arms and a superbly fitting casual business sort of get-up, though for all its casualness Len can tell it’s worth more than any outfit he’s ever worn.

“…well-dressed,” he concludes lamely. “What’re you doing here? How’s the art thing?”

“Going well,” Mick says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I – I heard you’d gotten out.”

“Yeah,” Len says. He hesitates. “Is this about me telling you not to come visit me?”

“I wanted to know what I did,” Mick says, very quietly.

“It wasn’t you!” Len protests. “I said so in my letter!”

“But –”

“It wasn’t for me,” Len says, exasperated. Though he supposes there's no use hiding it anymore, now that it's in the past. “It was for you.”

“What?!”

“You had a career! A non-criminal career! If your media hounds had found out you were visiting a criminal in prison every week –”

“Who the hell told you that?! That’s not even true!”

Len shrugs, looking down and away. “Your publicist –”

“Goddamn that man,” Mick snarls. “I’m glad I fired him; I only wish I’d realized sooner. Lenny, I swear, it won’t be a problem. Though, well, I guess it’s not important any more, since you’re out now.”

“Out and soon enough back in,” Len says dryly. He nods at the empty apartment. “Not like I have much employment prospects, other than running a few heists.”

He doesn’t tell Mick how he dreamt of him in prison, how he longed even before then to have someone at his back, someone dependable, a partner, a real one, a partner in crime, a partner in everything. Mick – well, the Mick Len used to know – he would have tried to drop everything. He was loyal like that. Which was why he would’ve been the perfect partner, and also why Len couldn’t let him do anything like that.

“You don’t have money?” Mick says with a frown.

“By the end of next week, I won’t even have a place to live,” Len replies with a shrug. “This place took the voucher I got from the prison for the halfway house, but they’re a scam; they should’ve given me two months, not two weeks. And it’ll be a cold day in hell when I go back to my dad for help...”

He hasn’t quite figured out what he’ll do about it, but he’s sure he’ll think of something. A week is far too short to plan a decent heist, and he’s not interested in going back to prison so quickly.

“Come with me,” Mick says.

“What?”

“I have an apartment. You can come stay with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Mick says, smiling now that he has something he can do. He was always happiest when he was acting, not thinking; he was perfectly capable of contemplation, he just disliked it. “You’re my best friend, Lenny.”

“It’s been six years,” Len protests. “I’m sure you have new friends…”

“None like you,” Mick says firmly. “C’mon, where’s your stuff?”

Len gestures helpless towards his still-unpacked duffle bag. “Mick, your job –”

“I’m an artist,” Mick says. “We’re eccentric by nature. No one will even notice, I promise.”

“But –”

“It’s not like artists get the same fame treatment as movie stars, okay?”

Len concedes the point and gets his bag.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when they get to Mick’s home, but an apartment in the up-and-coming side of town isn’t it. It’s not the old-money area, no, but it’s not all that far away from it; filled with young people trying to make a mark, still cheap enough for those who could afford something, but well out of price for those like Len who could afford nothing.

“It’s close to the gallery,” Mick explains when he sees Len squint at a street sign in disbelief.

Mick also failed to mention that he lives in the penthouse apartment.

“Jesus,” Len says, falling back on old speech patterns picked up in prison. He was always a terrible Jew. “How many people live in this place?”

“Just me.”

“This is the whole side of the building, Mick!”

“Yeah, well,” Mick says.

“Art thing’s been going very well, huh?” Len says, for lack of a better thing to say.

“It pays,” Mick says ruefully. “And pays and pays and pays, some days. Not so much recently. I haven’t been producing much.”

“Why not?”

Mick shrugs. “No inspiration.”

Len arches his eyebrows.

“It’s an artist thing, I swear,” Mick says. “Can I get you food?”

Len has never been dumb enough to say no to one of Mick’s meals. There’s only leftovers, but it’s so much better than anything he’s had in years – prison isn’t really for the faint of stomach – that he just falls all over it. Crusty bread, tomato and cucumber salad to dip it in, slices of steak –moist and tender and perfect like he’s never had before –

Len probably sounds like he’s having either an orgasm or a religious experience or both, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Mick is strangely quiet while Len eats, mostly just staring, but Len figures he’s just readjusting to Len’s terrible table manners. He squashes the jealous thought wondering who Mick’s been eating these dinners with, the last six years, reminding himself he has no place to judge.

They're probably really pretty and nice and non-criminal and treat Mick like a normal person and don't eat with their hands.

Damnit.

“So what’s your current project?” Len asks, licking his fingers and trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

“I, uh,” Mick says. “I…sorry, gotta run.”

And then he dashes out of the room.

Len blinks.

“What should I do?” he calls.

No answer.

He frowns. That wasn't really classic Mick behavior.

Maybe he should go after him? Or maybe not. He’s unbalanced; it’s been so long, and they’re different. He doesn’t know what Mick would like.

Besides, there’s enough for seconds, and Len is famished.

He’ll wait for Mick to come back.

It takes about an hour, but Mick does come back, looking vaguely dazed, his fingers smudged and black.

Len nods at them. “Fire?” he asks.

“Huh?” Mick looks down. “Oh. No. Charcoal. I still do the fire-based works, for the art, I mean, but I base out a lot of my ideas first. Sketches, stuff like that. I’ve been experimenting with paints, too.”

“Cool,” Len says, for lack of anything better to say. He'd actually meant lighting things on fire.

“I’m seeing a therapist for the fire thing,” Mick adds, so clearly his thoughts were going the same way.

“That's good,” Len says approvingly. “At least, I hope so? Not one that calls you crazy and puts you on a ton of meds, right?”

“No, no. Sung-hui is great. We do a lot of cognitive therapy and stuff. Controlled burns, limited time periods, and other methods of managing my anxiety other than fire…I can tell you more about it tomorrow, if you like,” he says, observing Len trying to hide a yawn. “You’re tired.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’ve got to stay up to do some work anyway,” Mick says reasonably. “Why don’t you crash? I got a guest bed.”

Well, Len’s not going to say no. He’s already agreed to stay here, after all.

Also, as he discovers moments later, Mick’s guest bed is made of dreams and happiness.

“Egyptian cotton, actually,” Mick says with a laugh.

“I’m never leaving,” Len declares.

“I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t,” Mick says. He’s not talking about the bed.

Len shakes his head a little. Mick doesn’t realize how much has changed. Hell, Len hadn’t even been his full height when he’d gone into prison – nineteen and skinny, the last bits of growing unfolding later than usual because of early malnutrition – and now he was twenty-five, a felon who’d served time, who’d bashed heads together and shivved people for his own protection. Someone who was good for nothing but more crime, just like his dad had always said.

Mick’s done so well for himself. It won’t take him long to realize that there’s nothing Len can offer him.

Until that day, though, Len is keeping the bed.

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

Mick has the weirdest schedule Len’s ever seen. He gets captivated by the strangest things – it used to be fire, now it’s all sorts of weird things, like Len eating cereal in front of the television or Len lounging on the couch reading a magazine with his feet on the back or Len tossing a ball around or Len eating an apple (not even anything respectably distracting like a popsicle!), and then he runs out of the room to the other half of the top floor.

Which is apparently Mick’s studio.

Lots of big warehouse-y space, with Mick’s fire gear, fancy blowtorch and a fire pit and all, and a positive mountain of paints, pastels and all other sorts of things. He apparently makes his own charcoal, which Len doesn’t even want to know the details of.

He also works on any number of canvases and tough, thick paper.

And even Len’s got to admit, Mick’s art is glorious. There’s a few unfinished pieces that Mick’s abandoned – stuff Mick says he’s disappointed in – but Len can see the delicacy and the skill, the way each feather of a bird is sketched out and then elongated for a better image, the way a landscape shifts from ultra-realistic to a vivid surrealist nightmare.

Mick just point-blank asked him not to look at any of the covered art, the in-progress pieces, and so Len hasn’t been, despite his raging curiosity.

He’s looked Mick up in the local art galleries, too. The finished product is, if anything, even more amazing. There’s one that’s labelled a seascape but Len can tell that the sea is based on a raging fire; he spends nearly two hours just staring at it instead of looking for jobs, which is what he’s supposed to be doing.

Well, it’s what he’s assigned himself to doing, anyway. Mick insists he doesn’t need to pay rent or do anything like that, like Len just sleeping on his couch and eating his food is good enough for him, but that’s just ridiculous. Len’s literally contributing nothing to this partnership – he doesn’t even do the chores, because Mick has a housekeeper who comes in once a week to do the laundry and clean house.

Rose-Merline’s nice enough, even if she does look at Len like he’s an evil felon who’s taking advantage of Mick’s generosity.

Well, she’s nice enough after Len confronts her, admits it straight up, and asks her with some great puzzlement how he’s supposed to stop doing that.

She suggests he look for jobs. He points out that there is zero chance Mick will let him pay the rent.

She suggests doing chores. He points out that that would put her out of a job, and Mick would never allow that.

After a few moments of careful thought, she asks, “Have you considered sex?”

“Only my entirely life, have you looked at him?!” Len replies.

She sniggers.

After that, they’re friends. She’s from Haiti, apparently; Mick is sponsoring her through employment for her visa until she can get a green card so that her abusive ex-husband can’t hold the power to report her for deportation over her head.

Len vaguely remembers being incredibly drunk at age 17 and telling Mick about how of all the things he couldn’t forgive his father for, telling his mother that if she didn’t stay, he’d tell his friends at the police and she’d be sent back home and never see Len ever again was one of the most deeply etched. And she’d actually been legal, too; that was the worst of it – she’d believed him because he was a police officer, when he told her he could somehow get her citizenship grant revoked. So she’d stayed. So she’d died.

Mick’d been drunk too, but he’d listened.

Len has to go find a place to sit down for a while.

It doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

“Can I steal you something?” he asks Mick.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Mick replies, a little wryly. “Receipt of stolen goods is a crime too, you know.”

“Ugh,” Len says, and puts his forehead down on the table.

Clearly, the time for good ideas is past. It's time for a good old-fashioned sulk.

Mick makes that choking noise that signals ‘inspiration’ and usually precedes him dashing out of the room.

Len off-handedly waves a hand. “You can go,” he tells the table, albeit in his best mournful tone. “We’ll discuss later. I’m just gonna sit here and stew in my existential angst for a bit. No problem.”

Mick is silent for a moment. “Do you – would you mind if I stayed?” he asks hesitantly. “No, no, don’t get up!” he adds when Len makes a move to do so. “I – the way you’re sitting is just – can I just sketch you real quick?”

“Sure,” Len replies, slightly puzzled.

There’s the tearing of paper and then the sound of quick pencil-marks.

Len considers commenting, but shrugs and goes back to contemplating the absurdities of life.

Art.

Of all things, art.

Insofar as he’d ever considered it, he’d always figure he’d hook up with a forger or something. Not a real honest-to-god sells-enough-to-make-a-good-living artist.

“What’re you thinking about?” Mick ask.

“How fate’s a dick,” Len says. “Also: woe is me. The usual, y'know.”

“You’re amazing,” Mick says. He sounds like he means it, too, which is frankly bizarre.

“I’m not doing anything,” Len says, lifting his head at last and squinting at Mick, who’s smiling down at the pad of paper in his hands. “Hey, is that me? Lemme see.”

“It’s not really…it’s a bit abstract – well, sort of –”

Len holds out his hand.

Mick obediently hands it over.

There’s a sketch of Len slouched over the table in the bottom left hand corner, perfectly rendered in a few simple strokes, radiating sulkiness, but the larger picture takes up the top half of the paper – the same image, sort of, but simplified even further, filled with darks and lights, until Len looks like some strange being brooding upon his wrongs. Some sculpture of the thinker, or some gargoyle, or…

“I’m the magician’s apprentice,” Len says blankly.

“You’re what?”

“Mickey Mouse. From Fantasia, you know? Powerful, but immature. Spending a lot of time going uuuuuuugh.” He considers. “Without the ears.”

“Yes,” Mick says, staring at him. “Yes, that’s – that’s it exactly. I need to –”

“Go?”

“Some things need oils,” Mick says nonsensically and dashes away, snatching the picture out of Len’s hands.

“You’re gonna have to show me what you’re working on one day!” Len calls after him.

Two days later, Len gets his wish.

Mick calls him into the studio and pulls off the canvas.

“Holy crap,” Len says, staring.

It’s him, but it’s – not him, either. The colors swirl together, like the man’s actual emanating the sheer feeling of sulk, the rich jewel tones of his tapestry-like cloak melting into the dark cloud that sweeps around his head – like if Turner or someone had made his storm scenes into a person. But at the same time, there’s the distinctive edge of melodrama – the man in the painting has power, elegant lines and a brooding sense of strength, but he’s softened around the edges. He's not scary. The problem isn’t nearly as bad as he’s making it out to be, and somewhere deep inside he knows it, and you can see it in him - the little curl of his lip, the pout, the wrinkle in between his eyes.

“You like it?” Mick asks, an eerie echo of when they were far younger. “You really like it?”

“It’s amazing,” Len says. “That’s based on me?”

Mick scrubs his face. “Everything I’ve done lately is based on you,” he confesses. “You just – you’re like an opal.”

“What?”

“Like, you know. One of those rocks that every way you turn it, it’s a different color, a different play of light, it’s just…you can’t get tired of looking, but every angle’s different, every one’s pretty. You know.”

Len most certainly doesn’t know, but he’s touched regardless.

“Happy to be of service,” he says with a shrug and a punch to Mick’s shoulder. “Now c’mon, you were in the middle of preparing me dinner two days ago.”

“…uh.”

“I ordered take-out on your card,” Len tells him virtuously. “And left you yours outside your workshop.”

“I’d been wondering where that’d come from…”

Len has a week to try to grapple with what it means, if anything, that Mick likes to draw him now, reaching absolutely no conclusions, when Mick comes back from the studio one day with a vaguely shell-shocked look on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” Len asks, pulling away from the table where he’d been doing the daily crossword.

“My agent stopped by earlier for one of her ‘you’d better be producing art, mister’ lectures,” Mick says. “Because I kinda haven’t been.”

“But you go make art all the time,” Len protests.

“Well, yeah, now I do. Anyway, I showed her some of the ones I’d done recently and she liked ‘em.”

“Of course she did,” Len says. “Your stuff is amazing.” Even with only having seen one piece, he knows it to be true, and he’d say it even if it wasn’t true. Luckily with Mick, he doesn’t have to lie.

“She took a polaroid and took it to one of her clients,” Mick says, “and she just came by to tell me that he bought it on the spot, sight of the real thing unseen. And to drop off the check.”

“That’s good,” Len says encouragingly. “That’s…how this art business works, right? You do a thing, she sells it?”

“Usually there’s a gallery stage first, but yeah. It’s – it’s the one of you. The Magician’s Apprentice.”

“So I’ll be hanging in some rich guy’s living room,” Len says, amused beyond all belief. “Awesome.”

“I think my agent said he wanted it for his teenage son’s room, actually,” Mick says, his lips twitching.

Len snickers. “Of course he did. I approve. What’s with the weird face, though?”

“I’ve never sold to that client before,” Mick says.

“So?”

“It’s just – here, just look.” Mick hands him the check.

Len takes it, amused, and looks it over.

Then he frowns. “They misplaced a zero. Couple of zeros, actually.”

“No,” Mick says. “They didn’t.”

“…your art does not sell for that much. I checked the galleries.”

“Nope. Normally I have to sell at least five, eight paintings to get to that number.” He pauses. “Guess it does now, though.”

“Holy crap, Mick. We should go celebrate!”

At last Mick smiles, big and broad. “You don’t mind?”

“I’m finally contributing something to the household; you kidding? I’m delighted. You paint me as much as you like.”

Mick beams at him.

He also takes that as permission to more or less just follow Len around with a sketchbook, which Len minds not at all. Len even gets to meet Mick’s agent – same one he broke into her house, all those years back – and she doesn’t recognize him, but she does kiss him on the cheek and tell him that she full expects him to pay for her kid’s college.

Mick assures Len that she means via her commissions on Mick’s paintings, not in person.

Len quietly comes down from the heart attack he’d been having.

Len’s enjoying his life so much, he doesn’t even expect it when the hand shoots out and stops him on the street.

He’s still got enough of his old instincts left to turn abruptly and yank his arm away, but he’s unarmed – foolish – and…

It’s Lewis.

“Heard you got out, son,” Lewis says. “And doing pretty well, by the looks of it.”

Mick had bought Len a whole new wardrobe, blacks and blues like Len likes best, fabric that actually felt good against his skin. Len hadn’t seen any price tags and he’d liked it just fine that way; he had a nose for expensive things, and he knew for a fact he was wearing some.

“What do you want?” Len says stiffly.

Lewis arches his eyebrows. “Can’t a man come talk to his son?”

“No,” Len says. “What do you want? Lisa’s in college now. You can’t touch her.”

“I can do whatever I damn well please,” Lewis says, his eyes glinting in a way that has Len flinching back despite himself. “But right now, I’ll settle for a cut of whatever scam you’re pulling.”

“There’s no scam.”

Lewis snorts. “You telling me you got yourself a closet full of Armani and you ain’t running a scam? What’d you do, empty out Central City National all by yourself? No one in town’s admitted to working with you.”

“Maybe I’m going straight.”

Lewis lays a hand on Len’s shoulder. “People like us don’t go straight, son,” he says. “We just do cons that last longer.”

His hand squeezes tight. “Me and my bosses have a little misunderstanding I need to clear up. You get me five thousand by Friday.”

“I don’t have –”

“You’re a bright boy,” Lewis says. “You’ll think of something.”

“I don’t have to,” Len says fiercely. “You have nothing on me.”

Lewis arches his eyebrows. “I still got buddies with the force,” he says. “There’s a lot that can go wrong at – art galleries, was it? You’ve been visiting them an awful lot, from what I hear.”

Len goes home.

Mick comes back in from the studio a few hours later and immediately figures out that something’s wrong.

“Tell me,” he says.

Len shrugs listlessly. He doesn’t want to burden Mick with this; Mick will give him the money, he knows, but that’ll just be the beginning. Once Lewis knows that Len is a valid source, he’ll just keep asking and asking.

But if Len doesn’t turn up with the cash, Lewis will insist that he help him out with a job. And if it’s a job that Lewis plans, then it’s going to go wrong and people are going to die, and this time Len’s going to go into prison and be looking at numbers like ‘twenty’ and ‘life’.

Better to run his own heist and get it out of the way.

He doesn’t want to, though.

He’s gotten lazy. He likes it, living here with Mick, letting Mick take care of him. Being a professional muse, so to speak.

“Lenny, please. Tell me.”

So he does.

“That’s extortion.”

“He’s not actually threatening me with anything,” Len says. “I just know he is.”

Mick frowns. “It’s not extortion when it’s you,” he says slowly. “But it would be if it were me.”

Len frowns at him. “What’re you thinking?”

“It’s a bad idea.”

It is a bad idea. But after a bit of brainstorming by Len, it turns into a not-half-bad idea.

They can’t trust the local police, but Mick’s agent apparently has dealt with a world of art theft and the assorted surrounding crimes before, and she has very good personal friends in a number of agencies.

Len goes to his dad and tells him he can’t get him the money by Friday.

This is the one part of the thing Mick didn’t like, and Len knows why, because his dad starts the debate by punching Len straight in the eye and knocking him back onto his ass.

“It doesn’t mean I can’t get it!” Len yelps, holding out his hands. “It’s just – it’ll take some time.”

“Oh yeah?” Lewis says, stepping forward, clearly not believing a word. “How’s that?”

“I told you, it’s not a scam,” Len says. “It’s – there’s an artist.”

“An artist?”

“I hooked up with an artist,” Len says. “One of the ones that they sell in the art galleries.”

Lewis guffaws, losing his angry stance. “You got yourself a wealthy woman on the hook,” he says, amused. “Or is it a sugar daddy? My son, whoring himself out for a nice coat.”

Len flinches, because it is that way, a little, but honestly not as much that way as he’d like it to be.

He’d be okay with it if it were Mick.

Hell, if Mick were interested in him, Len would jump him for free.

“So what is it? You don’t have him on the hook enough to ask for money?”

“I’ve only been with him a few months,” Len says. “It’d be suspicious if I asked for it all at once. But there is one thing…”

“What?”

“He’s moving a shipment of his art on Friday,” Len says. “There’s this one painting that he sold for a lot more than five grand.”

“I’m listening,” Lewis says.

He does listen. He listens nice and good to the poison Len drips into his ear, and when he and his crew try to grab the shipment on Friday, they meet armored-up FBI instead. Some of the crew sing like sparrows about who really backed the job, but Lewis doesn’t – he knows better than to squeal for fear of getting shivved in prison – and he goes down for at least ten years, though he'll probably weasel his way out sooner.

But that's tomorrow's problem.

Len breathes a sigh of relief.

The FBI shakes his hand and congratulates him, and offers to give him a little recommendation letter for his file if he ever needs it to get a job.

“I can’t believe that worked, honestly,” Len tells the FBI guy.

“Lenny, your plans always work,” Mick says dismissively.

“Not always. I’m just good at figuring out puzzles, is all.”

“If you like puzzles,” the FBI guy says, “I bet I have one you can’t solve. Closed-room art gallery robbery took place a few years back. It’s practically the department bugaboo.”

“Huh,” Len says. “Lemme see.”

After he finishes explaining to the FBI guy how it was done – false doors, obviously evident in the photos of the crime scene by the differentiation of the wood grain – the FBI guy says, “So, about that recommendation letter –”

“Yeah, that’ll be useful if I ever find a place that’ll hire me,” Len says with a small laugh. “Not many of those.”

“Actually,” the guy says. “We could use a consultant, if you don’t mind working part-time until all the paperwork goes through. More puzzle-solving.”

And now Len has a job that goes outside of professional muse.

They go out to dinner to a fancy place to celebrate.

“I feel like I ought to be posing for you naked or something,” Len tells Mick when they get home, still fizzy on freedom and success and champagne. “Since I’m your muse.”

“That wouldn’t be what I’d do if I got you naked,” Mick says, because he’d had a lot more to drink than Len, and he looks horrified for the five seconds that it takes Len to figure out what he said, grab him, and lay one on him.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Mick says.

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to do this since I was fourteen,” Len replies, and that’s the end of that.

A day or so later, Mick twists over in bed and looks at Len, who’s just enjoying lying in the sunbeam on the warm sheets, and he makes that little choked sound.

“Yes,” Len says lazily. “You can draw me.”

“Oh thank god,” Mick says, and rushes out to get supplies.

He doesn’t bother to stop for clothing, which Len appreciates.

(The series Mick produces from the next few weeks is titled ‘The Cat and the Canary’, is extremely abstract and yet deeply satisfying in many ways, and sells for a frankly ridiculous amount of money.)