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[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {10}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 9. Storming the Castle

A/N:  A short, but sweet chapter for you all, hope you'll enjoy, Happy Valentines~♥!

10. Tender Touch

Hans was set in the bedroom as Elsa ordered, checked on and re-bandaged as necessary while he rested. He needed a lot of sleep to recover from everything, especially when his health had been questionable to begin with. His back was mostly better, at least, but now he had his front to worry about.

So they had him rest on his back in a more comfortable bed, the ice sword remaining nearby, as he had requested, though he was in no condition to use it. Indeed, the doctor also had to tend to the hand that had held it, somewhat damaged from the ice held so hard with no cloth between.

Still, Hans' sleep seemed to be a peaceful one. He didn't seem fitful or pained, only restful. Perhaps he slept in the knowledge that she had gifted him a sword, and therefore restored to him a lot of what he had lost. Did Elsa truly understand the weight of it?

Elsa had spent all day dealing with the aftereffects of the surprise attack. It was a lot to oversee, but she wanted to do everything in her power to help her kingdom recover from the catastrophe that had just befallen them.

She finally allowed herself a break, and went to pay 'her fool' a visit. He seemed to still be soundly sleeping when she arrived, just as he'd been the other times she'd peeked in to check on him. Elsa quietly entered the room and walked up to the bedside.

He looked so peaceful in his slumber, it almost looked like he was smiling. She decided to watch over him for a while, so she gently sat down beside him on the bed. There was truly something entrancing about watching him sleep, his features strapping and yet so soft.

Elsa extended her unscathed hand over his face, she'd felt tempted to lightly brush hair out of his eyes with her fingers. She noticed there was a slight bruise on his face and remembered he'd been struck pretty hard. Her knuckles lightly traced his jawline until opening her hand and lightly cupping his cheek, somewhat lost in a trance, she might let her icy hand linger.

Hans' breathing remained slow and calm, as sleep held him firmly.

Yet, after a time, he did become dimly aware- not of his pain, first, but of the cold on his face. Not a hurtful cold, no, but more of a gentle cooling that gave him peace. He sighed a little, and just slightly tipped his injured face into her hand, before he became more aware of the pain. Keenly aware of it. He cringed a bit, and dug his undamaged hand into the cloth of his bandages- not as if to rip it off, simply as if he had forgotten his shirt was removed, and he had been aiming for that. He wasn't touching anywhere near his wounds, at least.

Ah, yes, that was a lot of pain that sleep had been hiding from him. He didn't attempt to sit up, talk, or move further. He just groaned and settled himself. At least his eyes weren't hurting. He opened his eyes and saw her, caring for him. He might have blushed if he was in any fit state to, but his blood was rather depleted at that moment, his cheeks would have to wait to receive more.

"Ah. The best of all possible sights to wake up to, in pain." He observed, after a moment of quiet. He only spoke quietly, and he was definitely acknowledging that he wasn't well.

It only took getting stabbed to do that to him.

Hans waking up, startlingly brought Elsa out of her daze. Her hand quickly left his cheek and retracted to cover her mouth. Her cheeks had wasted no time in becoming deep red with embarrassment.

" Oh no! I didn't mean to wake you up," Elsa flustered. " You were sleeping so soundly, and I disrupted your slumber, I'm so sorry!"

" I really shouldn't have touched you, but your face is bruised and I thought it might be swollen." she hastily explained.

"No, no." Hans assured, flexing his hand as if to wave the thought off. "Stay, you're a comfort. I told the doctor no painkillers- and no, it's not about my hiding pain, I promise." He was quick to add that second part. "The chill dulls the pain, stay. If you leave then I'll only be alone with it." He smiled a little, and would have chuckled, but just the thought of the moment made his wounds hurt.

"It probably is. Someone caught me with their pommel, that was more embarrassing than injurious, I promise. A light bruise, but nothing I haven't had before. I'm not even convinced it was an intentional strike." He sighed a little, now very aware of how many gestures he made while moving- now that he recognized he didn't want to move at all.

"Ah, but what of you? Healing well?"

"Hm? Yes, my shoulder is a bit better, trying my best not to move it around so much. Luckily it wasn't my writing hand." she answered. "Though, I'm more worried about you. You got scratched up far worse."

Elsa might not have suffered a lot physically during the battle, it had taken a greater toll on her psychologically.

He chuckled, or at least made a sound like it, with less air movement so he wouldn't hurt as much.

"Scratched, is a word for it. I was stabbed." He admitted, more amused than anything.

"And that wound is not letting me forget about it. But I'll be alright, as long as nothing gets infected. I think I've had enough infections for a lifetime, hm? Now, listen close." He gestured with his injured hand for her to sit close and pay attention.

"Your next step: Keep evidence of the Duke's treason. Swords, coats, any identifying marks the soldiers carried. Return the enemy bodies and any non-identifying goods with any living soldiers when there are enough to sail their own ship back to the Duke. They all go back on one boat, you keep any others. You send an envoy to the Isles, and tell them that the Duke has attempted a treason on your crown under theirs. The Duke will become their problem. You may want to mention in that letter that I fought at your side with a sword you gave me. It will tell the Isles that I am here willingly and side with you, as well as that you recognize me as a noble. They'll have no arguments to stand on, if they even wanted to argue. I doubt they will, but it doesn't hurt to be secure. Any questions?" Political advice, not from the Queen's Fool, but from the once-prince, who wanted to see to it that this never happened again.

"Here, but for now, stay. Tell me your worries so I mightn't talk so much." He smiled a little, embarrassed, or perhaps just tired.

At least now he was somewhat admitting pain, even if he still hid it with jokes and humor.

Elsa paid close attention to his words of advice. Nodding along, as she took mental notes.

"Collect evidence, one boat back, send envoy to southern isles," she listed off her mental notes, mostly to herself. "Your counsel truly is much appreciated," she said sincerely. "It has already helped me with one of my many worries, Thank you."

"I shall stay, but are you sure you want to listen to my woes?" She asked. "I sort of came to escape them," she accidentally admitted aloud. " If you wished not to speak, I'm afraid you chose the wrong companion, Olaf is far more suited for that than I," she lightly laughed.

"I have so many worries I don't even know where to begin," she sighed. " Can I just say everything? I'm pretty sure it's true."

"Ah, and here I was beginning to worry you were tired of my talking." He remarked with a smile.

"Provide some chill to numb my wounds and you can talk as long as you like. Forgive me if I drop off, it's not you, it's the lack of blood." He promised. Still, he waited to see what she had on her mind, and seemed far too attentive to risk falling asleep. He wanted little more than to know her woes.

She lightly shook her head, knowing he was probably referring to how she told him to stop after the battle.

"Oh, of course," she shifted to sit on her knees and more easily grant him the ice he requested. She hovered her hand above his bandages and began creating a light frost.

Hans sighed a little, comforted by the numbing ice. "You would have been well-suited as a nurse." He observed quietly. "Tell me your problems, then. Let me help where I may."

"I don't think I would be strong enough to be a nurse," Elsa doubted. She finished applying ice and sat sideways once more. She sighed. " Arendelle currently being defenseless is rather concerning. We're ill-prepared for another attack."

Hans nodded. "A worrisome prospect indeed," He agreed. "I may be able to assist in training, when I'm back on my feet. Is the Captain of the Guard alright? We'll have to up guard recruitment for a while, perhaps enlist some young men quickly." He paused a little and thought.

"I may have more ways of getting assistance, but I must know: What is my status, to you? Prisoner? Noble? Prince? Something else? The Isles may take your opinion of me into account, perhaps we could convince my crew, at least, to protect your sea routes, if it's authorized by the Isles." He wanted to shift up, but at even the slightest attempt to shift, he decided it hurt too much and he would just lay flat on the bed and speak toward the ceiling.

"The Captain is alright, thank goodness, but he's greatly injured as well," Elsa answered.

Elsa was not prepared to answer his second question, it caught her completely off guard. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. What was his status to her? He was by no means her prisoner anymore. But what was he then? That she was uncertain.

"Your status? I..." Elsa was unsure. "...I don't know... something else, perhaps?" she guessed. "...An advisor, possibly."

Hans nodded thoughtfully. "And the ice sword, is that a gift, or a loan in a time of crisis? The difference matters." He would have loved to find out through tentative wordplay and tiptoeing around the subject, as was his custom, but it mattered for political reasons, and they didn't have time to be coy about it.

"A loan?" She questioned tilting her head, that idea had not crossed her mind. " It was a gift, of course, else wise it would have melted, I trust your loyalty to Arendelle."

He nodded just slightly. "I couldn't see whether it was melting or not. I only know that it was very cold, and worked as well as steel. I haven't had the range of movement or vision to find out more." He admitted, with a bit of a calmed sigh.

"That's good, though. I've received an improved sword to the one I gave you in surrender. To the Isles, that means I'm here because I want to be here, and I work for you because I want to. They'll have some reason to listen to me if I send them messages. ...What was I going on about, that I wanted to know that?" He closed his eyes and let his mind calibrate. The lack of blood was still affecting him greatly.

"Ah, Yes; I still have no sway in the Isles' Navy anymore, but they may take my history with them into account if I ask them to ask my crew. In spite of the lashes, my crew is a loyal one, and they would come to aid us if I asked." He was certain of that. How he could be so certain with a carpet of cross hatching scars over his back, was anyone's guess.

Elsa noticed the ice burn on his wielding hand and looked over at the sword sitting on the bureau.

He spoke so warmly of his crew yet again. Elsa had no doubt of their loyalty, a man would not speak so well of them, after everything that transpired, if there wasn't deep camaraderie.

" We could really use all the help we can get."

He nodded. "When I'm up to sitting upright I'll write a letter, then." He assured. "Any other woes I can help you with, dear Queen?" He hummed sweetly, looking up at her.

There was undeniable affection there, maybe just playful, but 'playful' wasn't a tone often heard from a prisoner. As he helped her in dispatching the enemies, he would help her in dispatching her fears. He never seemed to ask much in return for that, but her company always seemed appreciated.

"Thank you," she expressed with a smile. " I think you helped address my main concerns." There was still one more pressing matter on her mind, but she didn't think he could be much help with that. And, that was Anna's inevitable interrogation.

He nodded just slightly, not wanting to move much more. "Still, though you may not have much to say, I like your company. Stay with me awhile? We don't have to talk. I am just very tired, and your presence gives me some peace. Not just because of the ice." That last part was a bit of a joke, as he smiled up at her with a certain softness. Maybe he wasn't completely in his right mind, but he wanted her attention. He moved his good hand a little, to offer it to her. That much movement didn't seem to hurt much, as long as it was a small movement from the elbow, not his whole arm. He just wanted a little bit of contact, fingers interlaced or a gentle hand-hold.

"Hm, I'll stay," she answered tenderly as she took his hand with little to no hesitation compared to the first time he'd offered it.

Just sitting in silence in each other's company, wouldn't be so bad, in fact it might have been preferable. Just feeling Hans' warmth set Elsa's mind at ease.

Hans relaxed again and seemed to settle there peacefully, closing his eyes. He wasn't sleeping, though. He couldn't. It was so very difficult to sleep with so much pain, but he didn't like the era's painkillers. If it wasn't alcohol, he'd ignore it, and his doctor had warned against alcohol with his injury. At least until he had recovered a bit, and was no longer tired from the lack of blood.

"Too tired to be awake, in too much pain to sleep." He muttered to himself with a sigh. Such was his life, it seemed.

Elsa had picked up on his murmur.

"I'm sorry," she sympathized. " Perhaps a lullaby might help." she suggested. "There's one my mother used to sing to us when we were young, it always had Anna snoring in an instant," she giggled at the bittersweet memory.

Elsa took a deep breath and without any hesitation began to softly sing.

Where the north wind meets the sea

There's a river full of memory

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound

For in this river all is found ***

Come, my darling, homeward bound

When all is lost, then all is found --

Hans certainly wouldn't have refused an offer like that.

He always suspected Elsa would have a lovely singing voice, it was so nice to know it was true as he looked up at her, with a fondness as if they were married- perhaps as if they had been for some time.

He wasn't sure what to make of the lyrics, however. Some things suited better than others.

"Was your mother a siren, or just you?" He asked, with a playful softness. It sounded like a flirt- because it almost certainly was. A little compliment that he felt was true enough. A word of kindness he wished she would take to heart and hold there.

"A siren, huh? Well, lucky for you I don't wish you to be drowned," she bantered back, with a soft smile on her lips. She didn't register it as a flirt, it definitely went over her head. Elsa was still naive or more like blissfully ignorant about that sort of thing, or at least she wanted to make herself believe. She had openly taken his words to heart. And even if she didn't acknowledge in a flirtatious manner her face was slightly flushed at the compliment, nonetheless.

Hans hummed a little, feeling comfortable there. They'd both sung songs for one-another, there was something very sweet about that. Hers were hopeful, and his was hopeless. It was strange how that went.

"When all is lost then all is found." He repeated thoughtfully. Yes, that seemed right. He had lost near everything of value, and in nearly losing his life once or twice, found something worth living for. "Will you visit me every day, while I heal?" He wanted more of these moments. Even if it was just her gentle touch at his face while he slept, or another lullaby.

"If you can, that is." He knew running a kingdom was a lot of work, after all. But, the kingdom felt far from them, in this room. A room he was only vaguely aware seemed different from the other room. No doubt he would get lost if he tried to walk beyond the door- but he was also in no position to walk at that moment.

" I'll try my best to come visit, I promise," Elsa reassured him with a gentle squeeze of the hand. She was bound to check up on him, regardless of him asking, but it was nice to hear that she was not pestering him with her presence.

He smiled a little and closed his eyes again, wanting a bit of rest, and encouraged by Elsa's hand in his. The rest of their thoughts could wait, for when he was well enough to have a prolonged conversation.

[teabunnypaws]

Constellations Collide

An art trade I did with @dreamerdraws2018 !!! A fic about her OC’s Galileo and Nova meeting!!!

I hope you all Enjoy!!! Fic under the cut!!

On the outskirts of San Francisco, there stood a rather elegant looking post office. Humans and toons alike strolled by it nonstop and even got their mail from the place without ever stopping to think that it could be more than it seemed. The stylish exterior and tall clock spire made the place seem on the up and up, almost...church like in a way, but this place was anything but holy, despite the angel that lurked within its walls.

Oh sure the mail ran in and out, but behind the sacks of mail and the rows and rows of post office boxes, up a hidden staircase there was an office that housed one of the most powerful and feared Mafia Dons in the whole city. 

It was a perfect cover, packages going in and out could hold anything...booze, drugs, weapons...even other toons and people..it all depended on how much money was paid and what deals had been laid. But despite the usual smooth workings of his empire, it had been...a day.

A very long…

Long…

ANNOYING day.

Excruciatingly so, if Galileo was being honest. Paperwork, calls, people just being downright damn bunglers at their jobs. It was quickly building up into too much for him and that...well that was bad news for everyone.

If the boss wasn’t happy, no one else was happy either.

Seated at his desk, surrounded by the organized stacks of paper, Galileo closed his eyes as he ran over the thoughts of the day. A low growl rumbled in his chest, the sound startling his men that stood at parade rest in the room. Slowly, they all tensed, subtly glancing at one another with a twinge of nervousness in their gazes. One had to learn to read the room when working for a Don, or you could find yourself looking like swiss cheese. 

The constellation freckled angel shoved back from the desk, the movement and noise of the wheels of the black leather chair against the fine wood flooring startling the men. As he stood and pulled open one of his drawers, many pairs of eyes followed, shoulders and legs tensing as their boss reached into it and pulled out a rather expensive looking pair of shoulder holsters laden with a pair of even more expensive looking guns.

The lines of tense shoulders relaxed as the guns remained in place after the holsters were slipped on, Galileo shifting and adjusting slightly, making sure that should his wings come out, they wouldn’t snag on the straps. It was a custom made fit, perfect for one such as himself. 

Once armed, sharp steps took the angel to a nearby coat rack where he tugged his jacket from its hook along with his hat, slinging them both on and giving a sharp turn of his head to the men. They were quick to stand up a bit straighter and suck in their guts a bit to avoid earning the boss’s ire. The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment, as if he enjoyed watching them shift and sweat under his gaze. Mercifully, he spoke, his voice tight with the annoyance he was feeling, “I’m going for a walk. Damien’s in charge.” And with that short and simple order, out he marched, the heels of his shoes snapping against the hardwood floor.

None were foolish enough to stand in the way, since..well..none of them had a deathwish at this time.

Once out of his office, Galileo let out a slow exhale, his eyes falling closed a moment as he stood with his back to the door. It was a simple looking door, plain oak with a frosted glass window; the words 'MAIN OFFICE' painted in gold lettering in the middle. Such a plain looking door, no one would ever suspect that the head honcho of a well known Mafia worked here...just as it should be.

He sighed and adjusted his coat before briskly walking towards the stairs that led down through the floors of the main building. Due to the hour, the usually bustling place was eerily quiet, giving the whole building an almost reverent feel to it. Galileo smiled just a bit as he made his way down the stairs, his gloved hand smoothing along the polished brass of the railing. The coolness of the metal soothed him as his footsteps echoed almost like gunshots in the silent building. High windows let in rectangles of light that shifted over his shoulders as he rounded a landing and continued downward.

Once on the main floor, he strolled past the main mail room, and past the rows and rows of boxes standing a silent vigil over the first floor. It was almost claustrophobic in a way, all those little doors stacked and piled so tightly together in such a small space. The room was quiet, and smelled of floor polish, soft motes of dust drifting lazily through the sunbeams from the nearby windows. Galileo give a glance at his rather well established front and couldn't help but smirk before he pushed open the wood and glass paned door. Effortlessly, he stepped out onto the front stoop and into the cool sunset air, taking a slow breath and looking around.

It was a beautiful sight to his eyes. Though it wasn't the main city, they still had their traffic, their toons and people running here and there like ants over a picnic. The angel stood there a moment, surveying his domain. Trucks and cars rolled by with their chugging engines, humans and toons milling about in their own lives. Coming from work, going to work..it was like a heartbeat...a heartbeat that pulled a ghost of a smile from Galileo as he made his way down the steps and onto the sidewalk to join the river of people.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, Galileo pulled out a small silver case and a box of matches. Opening the case, he easily plucked a cigarette from its slot and slipped it between his lips. A swipe of a match on a nearby building and it lit with a brilliant flare, quickly quieting down to a small dancing flame as he cupped it close to his face, lighting the cigarette and taking the first slow draw. His tension lowered with that first inhale, flicking the burned out match aside as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and blew a slow lazy stream over his head into the sky, his eyes closing from the moment of bliss.

Continuing onwards, he set his sights on the far end of town, observing how the city changed as he got closer and closer to the edge. It was early in the evening, the sun slowly starting to dip towards the horizon, leaving heavy shadows on the pavement that stretched out wide as though to swallow up the small neighborhood. His eyes lifted to the blaze of oranges that lit the sky on fire, the slight twinkling of stars barely visible as night slowly drew closer with each step he took.

Beautiful…

A small smile quirked his lips as he pushed his coat back from his hips and sank his hands into his pockets, his back giving that slight telltale itch it always did when his wings were due to emerge. Galileo wound his way through the foot traffic, passing by human and toon alike until soon, sidewalk gave way to soft green grass and pebbles beneath his shoes.

He took one last long drag of his cigarette as his wings shifted and flexed outward, splaying wide as they appeared with the falling of the sun behind the horizon. A little sigh of smoke as he let the butt fall from his fingers, grinding it under his shoe before large wings flexed and with a strong downbeat, he became airborne.

Galileo barely took notice as his little strip of town became smaller and smaller at his feet, catching a thermal and easily riding it up and up, the wind whipping past his face and tousling his hair and clothes. His eyes scanned the landscape before he found his bearings and began to wing towards the observatory.

It was his secret place; a spot he went to decompress and handle the stress of his daily life and the small smile on his face grew calm and more natural as he swooped down and landed delicately on the small ledge that encircled the top floor. The telescope was there of course, but he preferred to be outside, where he could observe the skies in the open air.

Everything was going great, he was unwinding, decompressing...the tightness in his jaw was slowly unclenching. The knots at the base of his wings, the throb behind his eyes was ebbing away until he heard humming of all things.

To most it might have been a beautiful, melodious, even appropriate sound for the peaceful imagery before them, but to Galileo, it might as well have been nails on a chalkboard. Someone...had invaded his private thinking spot and his wings bristled in agitation. Part of him wanted to reach for one of his guns and blow the offender away, but...body disposal was not something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Least of all by himself.

So instead, he decided for an alternative tactic. Dames were easy to frighten, especially ones that were foolish enough to go out wandering by themselves without an escort. So with a confident, if not malicious smirk, he opened his wings and glided down to the lower observation balcony where the song was coming from.

He took a pause to run his hand back through his hair to tidy it, straightening his lapels and his tie to make himself look pristine. One had to look the part when delivering a threat after all. So after a moment of preening and smoothing himself out, he squared his shoulders and made his way around the balcony to confront the intruder. Everything about him read intimidation; from the slight upward cant of his wings to make himself appear larger, to the deep disapproving scowl that etched his features.

Without trying to mask his footsteps, he moved around the corner to see a woman sitting on a folding chair with a small easel in front of her, busily capturing the twilight before her in sharp elegant sweeps of her brush. He paused for a moment, eyes flicking over the scene to take in just what was happening.

She was an unusual looking dame as far as Toons went, being one of those with a fairer grey complexion than those whose flesh was varying shades of ink black. Her face was rather elegant and gentle as she continued to put paint to canvas with deft strokes. Her hair was long, piled up into a messy bun atop her head with the tail hanging down, perhaps disheveled from her time working. Her hair actually caught his eyes for a moment, looking for all the world like the star laden sky that would soon be above them, her violet eyes flicking from the canvas back out to the horizon.

She looked serene...peaceful…

And he instantly loathed her.

This was HIS peaceful retreat, his calming place...and how dare she come in and steal his serenity for herself. He set his teeth, wings fluffing in annoyance as Galileo prepared to defend what he saw as his. “And just what exactly do you think you’re doin’? Spyin’ on me? Who do you work for hm? You might as well tell me, otherwise...things might get messy.” He said, his voice not holding back on the malice and authority as he stood next to this intruder, his arms folded over his chest. 

Galileo’s glare settled onto her easily, the woman barely paused in her work as if she hadn’t noticed him...which annoyed him even MORE. Ugh. It was reasons like this he couldn’t stand dames most of the time. She turned her gaze up to him, a frown of her own etching over her lovely features as she slowly dunked her brush into a small mason jar of spirits and swirled it about. “I’ve been here for hours. It’s a public place, so I have just as much right to be here as you do.” She said, her voice prim and sharp as she returned his glare rather than cowering from it.

The constellation angel’s wings bristled again as she changed brushes and dabbed a bit of paint and continued back to her work. Ohhh now that burned him up. If there was one thing he despised, it was being disrespected. No matter that he was the one that had intruded on this poor woman’s private time...she had dismissed him. HIM of all people! “A public place huh? I can change that with just a phone call.” Galileo’s voice was tense with the threat as he stared down at her. “Then I’ll have th’ cops come and throw you out of here.”

A light scoff of laughter filled the air and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an almost amused expression. “Well you haven’t made that phone call yet, and it takes police at least a half hour to get out this way, so until then, I’ll remain right here finishing my landscape thank you very much.” She replied tersely, looking up at him with a stern look of dislike. 

Again...dismissal…

He snarled, moving forward threateningly his wings flaring even wider. “That’s a pretty smart mouth for a pretty dumb broad. Don’t you even know who I -AM-?!” Galileo exclaimed, his wings shaking slightly in his fury as his hand twitched, eager to shove into the side of his jacket and pull out one of his pistols.

Galileo waited for to her reply, for her to recognize just who he was and to beg for his forgiveness and scramble to leave...but instead, she shifted her pallet and grabbed a painter’s knife, gathering some paint on it to put on some shadows and highlights as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the moon to light the pair. 

The starry haired toonette huffed and looked to him with annoyance, blowing a strand of her ethereal hair out of her face. “A very loud, very rude man who is ruining a perfectly good view?” She replied sharply and Galileo was, for lack of a better word, stunned by her sheer audacity.

His jaw dropped for a moment before he snapped it shut with a click, his anger finally shoving past the restraints he had on it with that final quip. His hand reached into his jacket, pulling one of his pistols, the hammer cocking back as he lunged. One hand grasped her shoulder with a bruising tight hold as the other pressed his pistol tight to the base of her neck. “No. I’m the man whose evenin’ you ruined and who’ll be the last one to see your pretty face before I cover that canvas with the inside of your skull.” Galileo all but snarled.

The woman had taken a sharp inhale and froze under his hand, a malicious grin from him as he had finally managed to garner a proper reaction from this intrusive woman. What he didn’t expect though, was what came next.

Instead of the usual tears, begging and pleading for her life, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin to stare at the rapidly fading twilight. She wore a brave face, even though he could feel the quiver of her shoulder, read the tremble of her bottom lip before she tightened her jaw, those violet eyes steeling as she seemed to wait. She wasn’t going to beg, she wasn’t going to prostrate herself before him in a desperate attempt to save her own life...no...she stood before him unwilling to give a single step to someone like him and that to him, was...well..rather intriguing he had to admit. He had given this treatment to full grown men twice his size and all they could do was blubber and beg and piss him off.

But not her.

This elegant, delicate woman stood her ground before him and that was perhaps enough to save her life. His wings shifted as they stood there in a deadlock, the wind whistling through the valley and ruffling his feathers and coat lightly. It seemed like an eternity before the sound of the hammer being released echoed through the air, along with a small breath from the woman. “Heh. You’ve got moxie...I’ll give ya that.” Galileo huffed as he pulled back, uncaring as she winced and rubbed her shoulder from where he had left a bruise from his grip.

She cut her eyes back to him with a huff. “I’m not going to apologize for being somewhere that I have every right to be in...not to you...not to anyone.” She replied lightly and Galileo almost laughed. Even when he had spared her life, instead of groveling at his feet in gratitude, she quickly made sure that he knew that she saw herself in the right.

Tch, dames. Who could understand ‘em?

He huffed as he tucked his gun away. “Hmf, you should be thankful I decided that I needed t’save this bullet for someone more important.” Galileo give her a sour look then before he turned away, glancing up at the sky as the night finally settled in and laid its stars out for all to see. This was a bust, he might as well go home and train for a while to blow off some steam. 

“Don’t come here again.” He said, a simple warning before he smirked and flared his wings, giving the hardest downflap he could as he took off, relishing in the clattering of the painting and easel as well as the stream of angry words that chased him into the sky...along with a jar of paint thinner.

A slight glance back and he saw her there, on her feet, her pretty face twisted in her fury as she glared after him. Ahh….sweet revenge. Galileo couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as he began to wing his way towards home, pondering on how to get rid of this last bit of pent up aggression.

He hoped Damien was ready for an ass kicking, because he was getting one whether he liked it or not.

[earthycreations]

Good Morning ☀️ it’s a studio day 🌿 I am finishing up a line of earrings that will be available exclusively at the magnificent, Goddess owned and operated @allisonclothingshop 🙏🏻❤️ and putting final details on that glass vial custom piece I have been teasing you with. I am also making sure to give myself big big space to create whatever I want! That is what ultimately fills my cup. Right now I am fabricating some 3D filigree charms to flex my building skills and hone in on working some new design muscles. I will show you some of that progress in the coming days. Next body of work for Spring and for sale is set to emerge on May 15th to celebrate our local Last Frost Date according to our tried and true farmer’s almanac ✨ so look forward to lots of new symbolic and sacred pretty things to adorn your beautiful self with! If you are a fledgling to gardening, make sure you schedule your tender annual/vegetable purchases according to frost dates in your area so you are not running around protecting your plants from cold snaps and experiencing failure of buds and fresh leaves, which can kill or really set your plants back for the season! Happy planting, happy creating and good day to you all 🌱 #containergardening #spring #farmersalmanac #intentionalliving #thelittleblueshed #flowermagic #metalsmith #silversmith #natureinspiredjewelry #daffodils #tulips #goodmorning #sunrise #earthycreationsjewelry #gardenlife #cottagelife #sheshed #workshop #studiovibes #artislife https://www.instagram.com/p/CNU07yVhNDz/?igshid=t3lvmlirmf5y

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SpeedKore’s 1970 ‘Cuda is a 700hp Menace

In its short history, SpeedKore Performance Group has made a name for itself by building high-end, high-power muscle, with an emphasis on classic Mopars. Their latest build, this 1970 ‘Cuda, belongs to SpeedKore co-owner Jim Kacmarcik, so of course it follows the trend of bringing top-notch build quality and design with handling and drivability. It debuted at the 2016 SEMA show and its aggressive presence makes it deserving of its nickname, Menace.

All of the bodywork ahead of the A-pillar is carbon fiber: hood, fenders, valence, header panel, and bumpers. It saved weight off the front tires so that even with a reinforced subfame, Dynamat soundproofing, and a supercharged iron-block Hemi, curb weight is a respectable 3,400 pounds.

Bill Nicoud is responsible for the beautiful paintjob in Lakeshore Blue.

SpeedKore took three main goals into consideration when designing Menace. First, the project had to return a practical driver. It had to be timeless. After all, when you’re starting with one of Mopar’s most iconic models, there’s no point in scrapping the whole thing. Finally, the car had to be innovative, incorporating unique design elements under the hood, in the cabin, and wherever appropriate. Sean Smith, SpeedKore’s design director, took those goals to task, “Our approach is to highlight and preserve the styling of the vehicle that the fan base loves.” That meant no over the top spoilers, wings, or unnecessary scoops, just simple and clean style with a mean presence.

To update the ‘Cuda’s lines, the window and drip rail moldings were eliminated and the hood was simplified. Molded in carbon fiber, the hood’s twin, raised scoops were extended toward the windshield and the cowl vents were deleted. Both the top and bottom of the hood were molded in carbon fiber before being bonded together. The quarter panel pockets house the door opening switches, as in a late-model Corvette. The rectangular notches hint at the somewhat industrial factory latches without interrupting the flow of the carbon fiber door skin. The quarter panels also house the exhaust bezels that were manufactured in-house. At the rear, panel gaps were minimized as a new carbon fiber valence was molded in and a carbon fiber bumper sits tucked into the quarters. You’ll notice that’s quite a bit of sheetmetal that was replaced by carbon fiber. SpeedKore offers lots of E-body parts in the lightweight composite, so designer Sean Smith decided to do a modern take on the AAR graphic and leave the carbon exposed on top of the fenders, hood, and doors.

Parts are laid up with carbon fiber weave that’s been pre-impregnated with resin, usually using four or five layers. They’re cured in an autoclave with 80lbs of pressure per square inch to ensure that the resin flows out for a strong, light part. Then they’re coated in PPG clear to protect the carbon from UV rays.

Depending on the light, the carbon fiber can blend in or stand out.

The interior of the ‘Cuda was treated to the most radical redesign, as all of the carpet, vinyl, and plastic were stripped out leaving only a bare shell for the SpeedKore team to build from. The bones of the car’s interior were 3D scanned and a whole new look was conceived. Bill Jakum began with a new dash that was filled with a billet aluminum gauge cluster. The rear seats were eliminated, in their place is a shelf with twin storage boxes. Front seats began as high-backed Recaro buckets that were trimmed down before they were sent to Gabes Custom Street Rod Interiors in San Bernardino, California. There, Gabe upholstered the seats, dash, console, and door panels in black leather.

The centerpiece of the interior is the dashboard that is hand made and fabricated by Bill Jakum, SpeedKore’s lead metal fabricator. Once the dash was fabricated it was 3D scanned to produce a billet gauge insert to house custom-made Classic Instruments gauges.

Interior panels were made using a 3D scan of the car’s stripped interior. Again, Sean and Lyle worked together getting the lines just right.

Recaro seats were reshaped and upholstered in black leather with French stitching by Gabe’s Custom Street Rod Interiors. Molded interior panels were partially covered, leaving exposed areas of carbon fiber.

After bead blasting and a Cerakote finish, the CNC-machined aluminum door handles look like a casting.

A Bowler Performance 4L80E transmission uses a PCS controller. It’s shifted here, in the console, or with paddle shifters.

The epitome of Mopar pony cars was the Hemi ‘Cuda. Considering the car’s looks, handling, and braking had all received modern upgrades, it only seemed right to use a Gen III Hemi. Wegner Motorsports in Markesan, Wisconsin, took on the job of blueprinting and dyno testeing the 6.4L Hemi powerplant. It uses a factory block, crank, and heads with equal-length headers and stainless steel exhaust fabricated by SpeedKore’s Bill Jakum and Ben Murphy. The V8 is topped by a Whipple 2.9L supercharger and carbon fiber valve covers. The combo churns out 720 hp at a street-friendly 5,800rpm, with torque on tap from idle. A custom firewall, core support, and inner fenders, designed by Sean Smith, frame the engine. Lyle Brummer developed the tooling for the molds and they were all formed in carbon fiber.

That’s 720 Hemi horsepower. A 3D-printed air intake system is made from glass-filled nylon. The one-off valve covers are molded in carbon fiber.

Sean Smith sketched the design for the engine bay and worked with engineer Lyle Bummer as he turned the drawings into a Solidworks model that was used to CNC-cut molds for the inner fenders, firewall, and core support.

To return the modern handling befitting a build like this, Speedkore chose a Roadster Shop Fast Track subframe as their new jumping off point. The SpeedKore team modified it starting just behind the control arms, making the rails taller and incorporating them into the firewall and cowl support to minimize flex. The tall Hemi and large, deep-sump oil pan from Stef’s Fabrication Specialties required modifying the Roadster Shop crossmember. A Detroit Speed rack and pinion was the perfect, although not drop-in, solution. SpeedKore fired up their computer drafting software to model the front suspension and design new tie rod spindle drops that eliminate bumpsteer with the new rack. With little room to work, a splined sway bar from Speedway was located ahead of the oil pan. A set of HRE S101 wheels were fitted to Menace, with 19x10s in the front wearing 245/35XR19 Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 tires and 20×12-inch hoops in the back with massive, 345/30ZR20 Michelins.

HRE S101 wheels feature satin bronze spokes and a brushed lip. The spindles and hubs are C6 Corvette. Baer six-piston Extreme brakes were used with slotted and cross-drilled rotors.

Completing SpeedKore’s vision, Bill Nicoud, SpeedKore’s head painter, spent countless hours prepping the body before spraying it in a custom mix they’ve dubbed Lakeshore Blue. It’s not too far off from the factory 1970 P-6 paint code, Frosted Teal Poly and is a perfect fit for the ‘Cuda. Along with the exposed carbon fiber, the painted panels were drenched in clear to give them amazing depth that only comes from hours of wet sanding and buffing.

The result of SpeedKore’s labor is a perfect melding of muscle-era lines with details that keep rewarding the viewer. The body is very much a ‘Cuda, only refined, while the engine bay and interior reflect SpeedKore’s more modern, muscular aesthetic. This is the most pure example of their design philosophy yet.

Sean Smith’s rendering for the car shows how true the final build was to the original vision.

JW speaker provided the HID headlights.

The rear seats were removed, in their place are bins with lids that once belonged to Oakley equipment boxes.

The post SpeedKore’s 1970 ‘Cuda is a 700hp Menace appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/speedkores-1970-cuda-700hp-menace/ via IFTTT

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