#senile snake

[katnissandpeetamellark]

Idec if it’s movie invention that Snow could have heard Katniss sing The Hanging Tree

I just like to imagine him losing his ever loving mind while everyone in his cabinet or whatever is like “??”

[bonefall]

I read dotc in like. Fourth grade I think? And the Only scene I can remember now is one in the book with the snow on the cover, where clear sky is heavily injured by a bagder or whatever and thunder looks at him like. God that pathitic guy is my dad. That's so sad. I Have to help him, but because he's a senile old man and Not because hes My Dad.

And kid me was like omg he's just like me fr

And anyway I guess I just was that scene to be included in the BB rewrite. Idk if it even actually exists but it would he cool

I know the exact scene you're talking about and I'm sorry; no, you read it wrong. That's A Forest Divided and Thunder was massively guilt-tripped and abused by Clear Sky before they get attacked by a badger and forced to go back to the moor.

The full context is that Clear Sky has conveniently misinterpreted the words of his dead sister, Fluttering Bird, in a bizarrely specific way that would put him in power over everyone again. Everyone points out that he can't be trusted, and dismisses his shitty idea.

Clear Sky then throws a tantrum about how everyone is so mean to him and doesn't like him after all he's ever done for them (absolutely nothing). Thunder feels awful that he was "too harsh" to his dad, the violent dictator who shoved his face in a drippy, infected wound.

I went over the scene here, but only mention the badger at the end because it's really just a quicktime event they fail so they can get sent back to the moor.

If you ever read DOTC in a way where Thunder was feeling pity for a fellow man and not guilt from his abusive father creating a new tactic to control him with, you need to look again. It's guilt they're writing. Guilt guilt guilt.

It will probably not exist in BB because the story is very different. ThunderClan exists by Book 3, so Thunderstar isn't going to be going back to SkyClan out of guilt. It could happen to Tiger Sky, though.

[mitsuki91]

I just had a TERRIFYING THOUGHT about Snow and a what if: he lets Katniss have it as a winner with Peeta and doing something else with the quartel quell, so no rebellion but Katniss of course is a mentor now, and Snow... Snow... Of course he doesn't sell her but he buys her (nothing sexual please this man is 80+) and asks her to sing the songs of the Covey and sometimes he hugs her and kiss her hair and Katniss has to sing, terrified, never know what that means, and... I am not well.

[dayurno]

omg andrew being an mcr fan yes!!!! now i want to know what kind of music you think kandreil listens to.... well okay obviously neil does not listen to music.... what do you think kevin listens to? :)<3

hmmmmmmmm HONESTLY i do think neil listens to music its just not particularly Good Music its grocery store music.... hes at the produce aisle shazaming away. perhaps even dancing a little. personally i think that song thats like BABY! why dont you just meet me in the MIDDLE! is right up neils aisle because its just annoying enough that he can hum it in any room and make everyone make audible sounds of disgust. also that absolutely detestable bebe rexha ft david guetta song.... his spotify wrapped is truly something...

kev :") i think that. he probably doesnt listen to american music at all......... as a brazilian man,

no im joking im joking but i do think he probably doesnt like listening to stuff he gets the lyrics to. i can see him being a big bossa nova fan which is :')))) basically anything melodic and more hum than song if that makes sense? loud noises are bad for the baby etc etc. i think his music taste is actually anything thats directly opposite to what andrew listens to, but when kevin isnt having a little kick out of disagreeing with andrew its bossa nova <3

i also think this guy (taps kevins nose) is the weepiest saddest little princess ever so hes probably a big fan of counting song tempos w his fingers like u know... i have a friend who does that entirely out of habit and its always so funny and endearing to me... hed probably get confused (doesnt know fuck shit about music) doing it but i dont think itd stop him. people have to physically push his fingers down when music comes on

[aliciavance4228]

Perseus was both Heracles' half-sibling and great-grandfather, so imagine 90yo Perseus, probably senile and blind as well (assuming that he was still alive back then), finding out from Andromeda (assuming that she was still alive too) that their granddaughter's newborn just killed two snakes at hours old as if it was nothing. He would be like: "Wow, already a strong boy! He takes after me." then he would give a second thought to it and be like: "Oh..."

[indiestsnake]

I’m not about to get political on my silly snake account but everyone’s stressing over Election Day tonight so I’d like to say something.

It’s gonna be okay.

I promise! We’ve made it through a global pandemic. We’ve made it through having a variety of senile men run the country. Several social media platforms like tumblr have survived supposedly site-ending events, like the TikTok “ban” bill and Elon buying twitter. The economy is going to shit, everything’s falling apart, but we are still here. We’ve survived, we’ve moved on. We still find value and joy in life even so.

We. Will. Make. It. Through.

We’ll have each other. We’ll have our art and our fandoms and our friends and all the shenanigans that make us forget about global warming and its associated.

No matter who wins, it will be okay.

I promise.

Hope you feel a little better after that. Love yall, try not to worry too much. <3

[instarsandcrime]

Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.” 

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

 “...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck. 

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully. 

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly. 

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

[paquerettexx]

edward hart — valentine

vampire thinks it's so pitiful to be cursed by a human with this thing called love.

pairing: edward hart / reader, m/f

tags: slight angst, it's ed missing you hours, major character death bc ure dead lol

words: 581

[cross posted from ao3]

edward knew exactly why he was feeling reminiscent. it started with the box rui found under his bed, something they got into an argument over which caused rui to grumble and huff, leaving his captain alone. if edward was going to be difficult while rui's cleaning the bedroom then fine! he'll just return later! that's precisely how edward ended up alone again in his bedroom, heaving a sigh as his hands fiddled with the box's contents.

for a proud, powerful vampire, he was feeling nothing but the opposite of that. he was sick- rather, cursed was more befitting of a term. never in his centuries old age would he think a human would curse him, that a mere human would cause him so much pain and anguish. it was all too much even for someone of his stature. this curse was dangerous- it was affecting his heart and making him feel as if it was being ripped into two when his eyes focused in on the photograph in his hands.

it was a photograph, black and white in color, the edged tattered and folded. it looked old, a century or two old, yet it was well preserved for its age. it was amusing how a simple photograph can hold so many memories; to think such a simple non-anomalous thing invented by humans would become so precious to him later down the line– he must be growing old and senile if he's reminiscing about her like this all of a sudden.

it took three years worth of his savings from his measly salary to surprise her. living in western europe as a commoner was a daily struggle, often times earning shillings that aren't enough to live off comfortably- even so, he took a cut of his pay just to prepare this birthday gift for you.

you, who on your twenty third birthday, he took to a photo studio to get your photographs taken. he made sure to dress up better than usual just as he advised you to do the same. it was awkward, staying still in the same pose for a long time yet he reveled in how his hand was snaked around your waist, holding you close to him for an extended period.

he could smell your cheap perfume which he didn't mind, in fact, it brought him some sense of comfort every time knowing that it's you. still, even the vial of your perfume he kept had its scent faded, becoming a useless relic of his devotion to you when you were still breathing the same air as him.

all these love for you- it was suffocating him, choking the air out of his lungs. it was a curse to love a human. it was a curse to love- one that eats away at him for the rest of his eternity. you were the love of his lifetime, yet his lifetime was just a prolonged agony of misery from missing you. he misses you, yet he wishes that sometimes he could forget you. he wonders at times, would he miss missing you?

like a ghost, you were haunting his waking hours. the ghost of you was watching over his decline, his downfall, his spiral of torment. he felt as if you were watching his fall with those beautiful eyes of yours he adores so much, as he plunged into hell alone, the mess that he is now.

oh, his valentine... his decline would be so, so much better with you.

[freshmangojuice]

Long after Lister and the Cat are gone, and Rimmer has shut himself down, Kryten is left alone again. Going senile like Holly and suffering with android dementia, he wanders Red Dwarf still trying to keep the ship in order.

Warning: very sad oneshot

Grade 2 dust on the G deck pipes again. Kryten flapped his microfiber dusting cloth and took care of the unsightly dust that had settled on the oxygen pipes that run along the corridor. Such details were important. Five minutes later— or was it ten? He’d have to recalibrate his internal clock. His cloth was now significantly blackened, he would have to make his way to the laundry for it to join the next load. It was just two decks down. All he had to do was get to the Xpress Lift at the end of the corridor and head down. It couldn’t be simpler. Big jerky steps took him along the guiding yellow line on the floor that led to the lift.

He was following the yellow line. Definitely the yellow line. Just like Dorothy. It was patchy in places and crossed over the green and red lines in several places. It was a right mess. They were meant to be directional, somebody was going to get lost if they tried following these to get to where they’re trying to be. Those lines need to be repainted. The skutters should be able to take care of that. Kryten stopped his walk to quickly program a reminder for himself to organise the repainting.

Kryten had always related to the tin man, but the scarecrow in need of a brain was who he felt more like these days. He wasn’t sure why, isn’t this how things have always been? That was a 20th century film. What was it called again? He wondered why he even had the information on disk. Who would have shown it to him?

Humming the tune to ‘follow the yellow brick road’ as he carefully stepped on the patchy and wonky yellow line, what Kryten wasn’t aware of in that moment, was that he had painted those wonky lines 10 days ago.

His mind was confused. He forgot things, he got lost and turned around, things that should be familiar sometimes scared him. He hadn’t always been like this. 4 and a half million years ago he was top of the range exquisite technology. His head was packed with RAM and memory far larger than any mechanoid before. Now his components were failing him. He’d long-since run out of spare parts, with no materials to replace them. Maybe it was one too many corrupt files he’d had to scrub from his harddrive. Maybe it was a scorched circuit somewhere, or a screw loose. Maybe it was because he was so, so old. His system computer hadn’t updated his status in a very long time, he wasn’t aware of what was wrong, so that meant that nothing was wrong.

The Xpress Lift parted its doors and Kryten took his robotic jerky steps inside.

‘Where to?’ asked the lift.

Kryten stood there for a few moments, calculating and examining, scanning his surroundings for clues. He’d already forgotten about heading to the laundry, even with the dirty cloth still in his hand.

"Do excuse me," he said politely to the lift, "I seem to have taken a wrong turn. I will not be needing your services right this moment," and he stepped back out of the lift. He looked at the thick, flat, intertwining breadths of colour on the floor. It looked like a muddled bag of jelly snakes all wrapped around each other, and the longer he looked at them the more muddled they became. Kryten shook his head to recalibrate his eyes. He could’ve sworn he’d seen the snakes wriggling.

There were toilets further up the corridor, and Kryten ignored the jelly snake lines as he went back the way he came to get to them.

These toilets were never dirty, never clogged. It was as if nobody ever used them. That can’t be. There had to be a crew using them every day.

Hold on. 

Where was the crew? 

Kryten’s internal cooling fans started to spin faster. 

The ship had a crew, it did. He remembered Miss Anne. She had big black hair, it got everywhere, he was always cleaning it up. But he hadn’t seen her or her hair for a long time. Hadn’t she died? Hadn’t they all died?

The noise of the fans spinning as he overheated buzzed through his body.

Yes, yes. She had died. She was on the Nova 5. They had crashed and the humans had died. Then he was alone. He’s still alone. How long had he been alone?

No, no. He was a mechanoid. He wasn’t supposed to feel alone, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

So why did he?

He couldn’t remember breaking his programming, nor could he remember who it was that helped him do it. The name of the ship he was on, and had been on for over a million years eluded him. The only companions he knew of now were the last remaining skutters. The only voices he heard were automated. There was nothing left to remind him of how much it meant to him to be a person. There was no one to look after, no one to joke with. Kryten had lost his friends and lost himself long ago.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Has it ever been said what happened to Morax’s parents in CN? I’m kinda curious their family is so cute :((

it's implied that his mother sort of settled down inside a mountain to slumber forever bc otherwise there was a risk of her growing too old and potentially senile and w a being so powerful you kinda can't afford that so dragons just go 'ok i better get going now, bye bye' and eventually just become one with their element? so morax' mom is just part of a mountain now, in a couple millennia you won't even be able to distinguish the vague dragon-like rocks in the caves down there think sort of like if orobashi's corpse was not just bones but you could sorta make out a snake-like mountainrange in inazuma

his dad just died of old age oogway style. at some point he just had morax take him to the cave where the mother's head was resting? and he just sat there against her snout and i guess we can say became crystals in the cave. then morax just sealed it so now there's a mountain out there that's made up partially of an old dragon's fossilized body and that has a little hollow cave somewhere in the middle that's full of precious stones that have preserverd the look of the dragon's head as oposed to the rest of the body merging with the mountain

[goofballalex]

You're a fool, an ignoramus. And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have to us who think and reason? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed , drooling meatslapper. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid.

/j

You’re getting on my nerves, I will be keeping an eye on you and maybe banning you from bricksburg

[tiffanyvampiremama]

Chapter 5 of Hidden Canvases is up. If you like Idiots (I mean enemies) to lovers and a Mr. Brown you can love, this is for you! https://archiveofourown.org/works/58129009/chapters/149581426#workskin Rated E for sexy times....once they get their heads out of their backsides. Snippet just for Tumblr.

Aziraphale hated most kinds of exercise, but he did enjoy walking. Strolling might have been a more apt word for it. He would stop and smell the flowers, not in a metaphorical way; he would actually stop and smell them.  He found himself nose deep in some primrose when he saw the flailing back end of, what looked like, a very stuck snake. 

He shifted some foliage out of his way to see better, and sure enough, the snake had managed to get trapped under a heavier branch. 

“Dear me. Careful, little one.” Standing behind him, Aziraphale pulled up the branch, and the grass snake doubled back toward him and immediately slithered over his shoe and wrapped around his ankle. Aziraphale giggled, more in delight than anything, although it did tickle a little. 

“Go on then; you’re safe now,” he encouraged, and then leaned down to help untwist the snake from his leg, but it moved up, wrapping around his wrist with a dedicated quickness. It took a couple more attempts to realise the snake had no intention of leaving his body presently. 

“You don’t like it here anymore? Can’t say I blame you. It’s hard to stay somewhere that hurt you. Tell you what. I have a lovely garden; you can come live there. Keep the pests off my flowers. Sound good?” The little snake lifted its grey head and looked at him, as if in agreement. “Good lord, I did not expect my senile years to come so soon.”

[linashirou]

I want to know more about Hal and Lina's child! And how did Sunny handle it?

Oooo! Yeah!!!

This is close to the end of "The Emmerich's Curse" so, big SPOILERS AHEAD! And they will be a little bit sad.

Ok. First of all, TEC, as a fanfiction, takes place almost all year long in 2017. For around june/august, Hal and Lina started to get more intimate involved in their relationship. So understanding that Hal is a grown up man that has almost 12 years ( or 3 if you count his "thing" with Naomi as an actual... "Intercourse") without any intimacy, So... The man is really "accumulated" (as we say in Spanish).

We can understand later that Hal almost "created" his son in their "first times" and Lina tells him that he will be a father on the aisle in their wedding.

The characters who are more happy about the news are Snake, Sunny and Meryl (the closest ones to the couple) the sad part is that Snake is close to die and Lina, who now is free of all danger, it's the one who started to take care of him, when Hal is outside working or unable to take care about him.

Snake and Lina actually made a platonic/father-daughter relationship and he begins to have senile problems (not being able to focus/follow conversations) but he tells her that he is sad because after all his solitude, this small amounts of years with Hal, Sunny and now with her, he was feeling fine with the idea of all of them being a family, but nothing lasts forever, and it pains him not be able to witness when the little one borns. After that intense conversation, two days later, Snake passes away in his sleep.

So, Hal, Lina and Sunny decided that the little one will be named Dave, after his uncle Snake.

Four years later, 2021, you will see them all together and happy (fic speaking). Sunny is a really good sister who has a lot of patience with Dave. Hal also is a caring father who cares and spoils Dave a lot. Usually he leaves him at the scholar bus each morning, because Mr. Emmerich has placed his last seed in Lina, who has a little belly with little Emma. That's the final scene of TEC.

But going back to little Dave, Dave is, (as the patriarchy thing in mgs lore) the authentic clone of his father. But he inherited Lina's birthmark.

His personality is the opposite of Hal's one, he is restless and extroverted. The typical "bug hunter" kid, who likes to jump and run around. He loves his sister Sunny and loves that she carries him on her back but he is way more clingy with Hal, which is something that Lina usually feels a little unfair about, but she just playfully teases about it.

He also loves, loves his auntie Mei Ling 🧡

Thanks for asking 🥺🥺🥺😶‍🌫️

[tillneverlovedivanuntilhewasshot]

whats your opinion on deuce surely it can't be that bad

What I think about deuce? well he...

Deuce Spade. You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. I wager you couldn't empty a boot of excrement were the instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly.

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs. You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus.

And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have to us who think and reason? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh.

You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed , drooling meatslapper. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on.

This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half-baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective.

True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

You're an idiot. A moron of the highest order. You're so stupid it's a wonder and a pity you can remember to breath. Intelligent ideas bounce off your head as if it were coated with teflon. Creative thoughts take alternate transportation in order to avoid even being in the same state as you. If you had an original thought it would die of loneliness before the hour was out. On an intelligence scale of 1 to 10 (10 corresponding to the highest attainable IQ) you're rating is so far into negative numbers that one would need to travel into another quantum reality in order to even catch a distant glimpse of it.

Your personality is that of a rabid Chihuahua intent on destroying its own tail. Your powers of observation are akin to those of the bird that keeps slamming into the picture window trying to get that other bird it keeps seeing. You are walking, talking proof that you don't have to be sentient to survive, and that Barnum was thinking of you when he uttered his immortal phrase regarding the birth of a sucker. You are, at varying times, tedious, boring, and even occasionally earth shatteringly hilarious in your idiocy, routinely childish, moronic, pathetic, wretched, disgusting and pitiful.

You are wholly without any redeeming social grace or value. If God ever decides to give the planet an enema you'd better run like the wind because anywhere you stand is a suitable place for The Insertion. There is no animal so disgusting, so vile that it deserves comparison to you, for even the lowest, dirtiest, most parasitic member of the animal kingdom fills an ecological niche. You fill no niche. To call you a parasite would be injurious and defamatory to the thousands of honest parasitic species. You are worse than vermin, for vermin do not pretend to be what it is not. You are truly human garbage. You are a fraudulent, lying, predatory charlatan. You are of less worth than a burnt-out light bulb. You will forever live in shame.

You have nothing to say, and Godwin's Law does not apply when writing about you. You are the anti-Midas, for all that you touch becomes valueless and unusable. Mothers gather their children close when you appear. You are an aberration, a corruption, and a boil that needs to be lanced. You are a poison in need of being vomited. You are a tooth so rotten it infects the whole body. You are sperm that should have been captured in a condom and flushed down a toilet.

I don't like you. I don't like anybody who has as little respect for others as you do. Go away, you swine. You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, and a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. You are a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. Meaningful to no one, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts that sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I wretch at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, and the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell? Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. You are a waste of flesh. On a good day you're a halfwit. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, study, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful, cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable, belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal, fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic, brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame, self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, satanic, fraudulent, libellous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking, devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic, fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased, suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim, crazy, weird, dystrophic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim, unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive, mind-numbing, abrasive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive, abusive, and socially-retarded.

Shut up and go away lest you achieve the physical retribution your behaviour merits, deuce spade. I hate snuggling. And I despise said hunger games.

There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.The only possible way in which your future would be brighter than the black hole your existence currently is would exclusively be because there is absolutely no conceivable way that you would even be able to sink lower than the pathetic place your current failure has put you in.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either.There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. There is no one in this world that has ever loved you, and especially after what you just did, no one will ever love you in the future either. There is no hope that your idiotic behavior and especially your crooked soul will ever change for the better, and in fact quite the opposite might be true. By making the mistake that you just did, you have shown me that you are so incredibly hopeless that you will only devolve into a more idiotic and wretched creature than you already are. The hunger games were the end of me. My reputation, my moon die, everything was taken away from me the moment you approached me. I was hated by all, forced to go away for a month. Why did you snuggle that day? my life is ruined because of your snuggling, man. I cant believe I wasted my time and precious hours on this response. Just go away, Deuce Spade.

tldr; he's quite the devious fella😂🤣😶‍🌫️

[sweettjrose]

Detective Mickey Pilot P.4

Hey everyone. Hi... Hello... So it has been quite a while since the last part... Okay, so I ended up being extremely busy these past couple of weeks and really struggled to find time to finish writing. It doesn't help that this ended up being another really long part. I think the parts from here to now on will continue to be long. I'll try to get part 5 out next week, but no promises. I should still have 2 more parts left. Though I may add an epilogue. I'll have to decide once I write the final part.

I am so thankful for all of the support I've been getting. Part 3 got the best response which makes me so happy since it was my favorite part, but this part may be a close second. Tbh this is my first time writing "fanfiction" and I can already find myself improving. I wonder if maybe I should figure out what else to write after I finish this. But I'll discuss that late.

I will warn you that there are few somewhat tense situations in this part. For those who read the "Mickey Mouse Outwits the Phantom Blot" comic, you'll get an idea of what I may be talking about. But I did add my own twist to it. I will try my best to add triggers for it, but please let me know if I am missing something.

Now with all that out of the way...

Previous Part: X

Next Part: X

So Close. So. Close. He was about maybe 20 feet from his car until he felt the metallic muzzle at his neck. Instantly able to tell what it was. He slowly raised his hands and froze, doing his best to avoid sudden movements.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A chill went up Mickey’s spine. That cold but velvety voice was all too familiar and Mickey knew he was in the presence of that cloaked nightmare once again. Memories of their previous encounter flickered in Mickey’s mind, including those eyes. Those frightening white eyes. Mickey quietly took a breath, finally able go calm himself down. He better respond soon. Thankfully though, with help from Horace, he had a backup plan for this exact situation. In his best old-person voice Mickey tried to tell the threatening man behind him that he thought that this was his house and that he made a mistake and would be heading home. He hoped that the shadowy figure would buy that he was just a senile old man and not find value in dealing with him. But that hope shattered when he heard his cruel horrid laughter snake into his ears, growing and growing each second. The Blot paused his laughter every couple of seconds asking the mouse if he thought he was stupid enough to buy his little disguise. He is literally the master of disguise and yet this amateur journalist thought he could outwit him with a fake beard and a hat. Mickey blushed, feeling silly that he thought this would work. Getting the sense that the mouse was feeling embarrassed the Blot faked trying to console him by saying to not feel too bad as he thought that the little costume was “adorable” and if there was a next time he could see the mouse able to pull a more convincing look. Unfortunately, there wasn’t going to be a next time.

The Phantom Blot sighed, adding that he was rather hurt that the mouse didn’t accept his very generous gift. He feigned hurt, going on about how he used up all the kindness in his heart to give this mouse a benevolent second chance, only to have it thrown back into his face. Oh Well. That’s what he gets for showing kindness to others. I guess he’ll have to heal his broken heart by torturing this little pathetic mouse. The Blot poked Mickey’s neck again with the gun, this time partially lifting the camera around Mickey’s neck with the barrel and then picking it up with his other hand, leaving the gun still touching Mickey's neck. He jokingly asks what it is and remarks that this doesn’t look like any of the missing cameras. Almost out of instinct, Mickey tells him to stop and pleads to give it back. Only to freeze again after the gun touches him again. The man laughs before noting that this must be the mouse’s personal camera and questions how he must be concerned about all the incriminating pictures…Or perhaps it is something a bit more intimate than that. Mickey then hears a thud and a loud crack that causes him to rapidly turn to the source of the noise… Did he… Before he has a chance to see, a swift hit to the head quickly knocks him out, leaving him once again vulnerable to whatever the Phantom Blot has planned for him.

Mickey's eyes instantly shot open and he tried to get up. Unfortunately, he found that a bit of a challenge as he noticed that his whole body seemed to be tied up with ropes. From what Mickey can gather he is tied to some kind of bench facing upwards. He tries his best to move any muscle or joint, but can’t even wiggle a finger. Frustrated Mickey looks up realizing that right above him is a giant sharp circular saw aimed right at his neck. He let out a large yelp before seeing a note that was attached to the blade of the saw...

“Hope you rested well little mouse,

Wish I could stay and watch this play out, but unfortunately I had other things to attend to. Do not worry, nothing bad should happen, lest any of our new friends decide to wake. I cannot seem to remember if I fed them or not. I advise you to avoid making too much noise. Nothing good will come of it. 

Your Dear Friend… ”

 The letter was signed with some splotches of ink. He looks around cautiously, noticing dozens of cats dozing on the floor. Thankfully they all seem to be in a deep sleep. But for how long? As Mickey tries to investigate the saw, he notices that it is attached to some kind of mechanical device. At the end of the device, there is a thin wire with a… Fish wrapped around the end? Mickey is confused by the fish until he remembers the sleepy and probably hungry cats over the floor. He puts together very quickly that if that fish is moved too much, that will most likely signal the device to turn on the saw and… Cut right through his neck. Crap. Mickey was unsure what kind of “torture” the Phantom Blot would put him in, but he wasn’t expecting this. This is a bit odd, but still extremely morbid. Bet this would make an interesting headline. Mouse gets his head cut off thanks to starving cats. What a way to die… Thankfully Mickey isn’t one to quickly give up. There is too much at stake. He survived the Phantom Blot before and he can do it again. Mickey stops to think a little and quickly realizes that the Phantom Blot has given Mickey a very powerful tool at the moment. Time. Ha, the Blot could have easily killed him while he was knocked out and yet he gave Mickey plenty of time to figure out how to-o… to-oh… A sudden tingle hits Mickey’s nose… Oh No. Mickey tries his best to hold in a sneeze but finds it near impossible until he is finally forced to let it out. Ah-Choo!

As the sound of the sneeze echoes around the room, about half of the cats perk up. Shoot. Shoot. Mickey feels another tingly sensation under his nose and instantly looks further up. He notices a pepper shaker dangling above him slowly dropping pepper flakes. Crap. He doesn’t even have time. The awakened cats start to wander around the room, getting a better look at their surroundings. A white long long-haired cat jumps on the table, gets near Mickey’s face, and starts to brush his nose with their tail causing him to sneeze more. Not. Helping. Mickey tries his best to shoo away the cats, not afraid of making noise anymore. But they don’t seem to care. A small black and white kitten tries to jump up to the fish and misses. However, now the other cats are aware of the fish. No. No. Mickey uses every ounce of energy he has to try to scare away the cats. Screaming and moving the bench enough to wobble side to side… Wait, wobble the bench. He can wobble the bench! He uses all of his strength to wobble the bench from side to side. Getting more powerful with each swing. Come on. Come on. A much larger orange-striped cat looks at the fish and gets in a position to make a jump. Crap. Come On. Hurry. Swing. Swing. The cat bends back. Hurry. Swing. Swing. And leaps instantly catching the fish in their claws causing the wire to go down as well and turning on the mechanical machine. Within a couple of seconds, the circular saw turns on and swings the powerful and sharp blade downwards right at Mickey. Making a loud buzzing sound as it cuts through something. But miraculously in that very last second, Mickey managed to swing hard enough to get the bench on its side facing away from the whirring saw. 

The saw instead cuts straight through the legs of the bench and stops right before it hits the floor. The noise and vibrations are enough to scare all of the cats causing them to rush around the room, avoiding the saw, looking for any exit. Mickey tries to move and finds that the rope tying him down was sliced through, allowing him to pull himself free. He stands up, rushes to the nearest door, opens it, and lets a flood of cats rush right out the door… He survived. He really survived. Mickey lets out a large breath, relieving the tension in his shoulders. He could feel tears start to build up in the corners of his eyes. Okay. Focus. Need to Get Out of Here. Mickey looks around, instantly recognizing that he is still in the mansion. At least the Phantom Blot didn’t take him too far.

He starts rushing out the door over to where he remembers parking his car, hoping it is still there. Little did he notice a small white and black kitten following him. On his way he spots some trash cans not too far from his path. One of the lids seems to be partially open, held up by something. He feels a strong urge to check it out. Might as well since it is on the way. As he opens the can, a small smile creeps onto his face. Little Korker V39 cameras. A whole bunch of them. They all seemed to be broken into, but quite a few of them don’t look too hard to fix. An idea pops into his mind as he starts taking out as many of the least broken cameras he can find and placing them in a convenient burlap sack that happens to be nearby. As he picks up the last camera he notices something colorful on the side of the trash can. It is probably the thing that was holding the lid up from before that dropped when he opened it. He decided to take a deeper look at the object and in an instant his heart breaks. 

Ol’ Reliable. In this mess he completely forgot about Ol’ Reliable, his faithful camera. He sees it currently lying in a pile of mud shattered beyond repair. He instantly remembered the thud and loud crack from his previous encounter with the Phantom Blot. He did this. Memories flood his mind of the time  he first bought it, Felicity helping him develop the photos, and all the care he put into repairing and cleaning it … It’s gone. It’s really gone. Mickey can’t help but feel a huge hole in his heart. That camera meant so much to him and it was destroyed by that evil man like it was nothing. Mickey then remembers that the camera also held photos of the evidence he found earlier. Not caring about the danger within, the mouse heads back into the mansion and retraces his steps to the secret door. He heads down and looks at the now empty circular room. Crap. Seems like the Phantom Blot cleaned out the place before he left. Mickey sighs. Now he really doesn’t have any evidence left. He somberly exits the mansion with a depressed expression on his face. Now what is he going to do?

As he heads back to his car a little black and white cat comes up to him and starts to meow. Almost as if he is asking Mickey if he is alright. Mickey smiles a bit, picks the kitten up, and starts petting him. As Mickey heads over to where his car might be, the cat meows again, almost as if he is asking what’s the matter. Mickey laughs and tells the cat that he is just going through a tough time, I mean he did almost die, and it seems like it will only get tougher. After a quick pause, the cat purrs and rubs his head on Mickey’s chest, seemingly trying to tell him that it will be alright. It will be alright. Mickey could feel his broken heart mend a bit as his new friend comforted him. He is really glad to not be alone right now. He miraculously still finds his car where he left it and starts placing the broken cameras, including his own, into the car. When he opens the door the kitten immediately jumps in and sits in one of the seats. Seems like his new friend wants to come with him. Hmmm… Minnie talked about wanting a cat. 

We cut to Mickey in his house as he carefully places Ol’ Reliable on the table and can’t help but feel hurt looking at the unfixable state it is in. He has experience fixing small dents and replacing missing pieces here and there. But it is completely crushed and Mickey is at a loss on whatever could be done to save it. Mickey sighs and starts to move over to a chair. Pluto notices and instantly lays his head on Mickey’s lap. Mickey smiles at him and thanks him for the support. The little black and white cat also tries to wobble over to his lap, causing Pluto to growl, which Mickey stops by reminding Pluto that he should be nice to their new friend and that he will only be here for a little while. Pluto begrudgingly ends the growling, deciding that it was best if he didn’t cause any trouble for Mickey at this moment. 

Mickey stops to think a bit. He has to continue this case. He can’t let the Phantom Blot get away with that weapon blueprint. He would never forgive himself if he did. But what can he do? Well before he was hoping to be able to have some evidence to show the police. I guess he could go back to the mansion and check for more clues. But what if the Phantom Blot is there. Mickey shuddered at the thought of seeing him again. It’s possible he hasn’t returned yet. Is it worth the risk though? He already cleaned out the secret room. It’s possible he could find nothing and waste his time. Maybe he doesn’t need clues. If he could just talk to O’Hara, he would know Mickey wouldn’t lie about this. But then again he did mention being really busy.  Mickey continued his internal debate, as Pluto raised his head once more to look at the annoying feline that invaded his home. Only to notice that the kitten is completely gone. The pooch perked up looking all over the room only to spot the mischievous cat playing with something on the table. After peering closer the hound realized the cat was messing with the now-broken item he knew Mickey loved a lot. He instantly got up and started barking at the cat. Trying to get it to leave the special item alone. This broke Mickey out of his deep thinking as he went to calm Pluto. The barking however still managed to spook the cat, as it attempted to run pushing the camera to the ground. After telling Pluto to halt, Mickey went over to the camera to pick it up and noticed that the canister holding the film had fallen out. The canister looked pretty beat up… But not as bad as he thought… He wonders… 

Mickey quickly heads over to the extra bedroom he has been using as a film studio. He pulls out the film in the dark room and sees that it was definitely damaged… But maybe…  He goes through each step of developing the film taking great care to be careful. Mickey follows each process perfectly, clearly the result of doing this hundreds of times. As he removes the film from its final rinse, he braces himself for the moment of truth. He looks through each photo carefully trying to see if any would be usable. Unfortunately, it seems that for most of them, it is as he expected. Too damaged from when the Phantom Blot crushed it… But then he looks at one photo. It actually is pretty clear compared to the others. And it is of the… Chemical. He got a good one of the green chemical he saw before. Hot Dog! That will surely be enough to convince the police. He hangs the film up to dry and carefully exits the room. Here he thought he lost everything, but it ended up being okay. As he thought that he looked at the young cat who was cuddled up next to Pluto in his dog bed. Mickey quietly laughed to himself, glad to see the two finally getting along. He looks at the time and realizes how early in the morning it is. He probably has a couple of hours before the station opens up and he can meet O’Hara there when he is more in a work mood. Well, this gives Mickey time to organize his findings to better explain what is going on. Also, he looks at the bag of broken cameras, this could also give him time to work on the plan he came up with before.

We see Mickey run into the police station carrying a laptop and a tote with a couple of items inside. He looks pretty disheveled and exhausted. It is debatable how much sleep he got last night, but he must press on. He rushes up to the unfazed secretary and tells her that he needs to speak to Chief O’Hara immediately, making sure to add a please this time. She bluntly tells him that O’Hara is too busy to see anyone today and that he will have to try another time. Mickey tries to emphasize that he has really really important news to share and that it’s an emergency. Only for the lady to roll her eyes and repeat what she said before verbatim. Frustrated Mickey then frantically asks if there is anyone he can talk to as he really needs to talk to someone now. As he said that, two dogs, a shorter one in a green suit and a larger one in cowboy boots, entered the main lobby from the front door. Mickey instantly recognizes them as the same dogs he bumped into when he came here earlier. The lady calls out to both of them, referring to the smaller dog as Detective Casey and the larger dog as Detective Brick. She tells them that someone is here to see them. Detective Casey mumbles under his breath as the mouse quickly scurries up to him. Mickey tells him that he has very important information to share and needs the help of the police immediately. Casey doesn’t seem to buy it and tells the mouse that they are very busy, only for the other detective to mention that they should hear him out given how freaked out Mickey looks. Casey grumbles and asks if they have to and Brick mentions that it wouldn’t hurt. He then tells the mouse to follow him and leads Mickey to an empty conference room with an annoyed Casey following closely behind. 

Mickey immediately starts setting up his laptop with the conference projector as the other two settle down into their seats. Once everything was all set up, Mickey started to go into an explanation about how Chief O’Hara sent him on a case about a missing camera so that he could write a story about it. Casey tries to question why a missing camera would be worth a story, only for Mickey to ignore him and continue his explanation. As Mickey went on, a police officer or some other staff would noticed the presentation and started to trickle into the room, giving Mickey more of an audience. He brings up how he thought it was a common thief, but then realized that this was all part of a large conspiracy. Mickey then shows the picture of Jimmy Korker, the article, and a somewhat fixed Little Korker camera. He then starts going into the details about the Little Korker V39 cameras and how a couple of shipments of them were used to smuggle a chemical to a foreign country, pointing to the photo of the chemical. Brick asks if Mickey knows what country it was being shipped to and Mickey mentions that he doesn’t know. Casey peers into the picture closer and asks if it is a glow stick. Mickey explains that it is not a glow stick, but is some kind of chemical. Another police officer asks what kind of chemical, and Mickey says he doesn’t know he just managed to get a picture of it. Another police officer blurts out that it sure looks like a glow stick only for Casey to add that he doesn’t know why he needs them to look for a glow stick, Mickey patiently replies that it wasn’t a glow stick and explains that it is an important chemical that is connected to some kind of weapon. There is a brief pause before another person pipes in asking what type of weapon.

Mickey discloses that he doesn’t know but knows that there are blueprints for it hidden in one of the cameras and they need to hurry and find this blueprint or else… Before he could finish, Casey stops him and tells him that it isn’t that he doesn’t believe him, though he clarifies that he doesn’t believe him, but that Mickey hasn’t really been able to substantiate any of his claims so far. These pictures don’t really tell him anything and he needs to see something a bit more… substantial. Brick asks Mickey if he could take them to where he took a picture of the chemical. Mickey says he could, but also regretfully adds that everything is gone. Casey shakes his head and points out that is the problem. Mickey has been telling them all these wild ideas and nothing he has seems to support his claims. The picture of the glow stick could be photoshopped for all he knows and Mickey doesn’t even know what this chemical or weapon is. Brick adds that while this seems very interesting, they don’t really have the resources or time to waste and if Mickey manages to find more evidence they may be more willing to check it out. As he says that the police officers start to talk amongst themselves, seeming to agree with the detectives, with a couple even walking out the door. Mickey frantically does his best to get everyone to stop leaving. Stop. Please. I know this seems far-fetched. But you have to believe me. Listen, I can show you the mansion. I have a plan I’ve been setting up. I need your help. I-I… Unfortunately, as the mouse looked around he realized he failed to convince anyone as more people started to pour out of the room. No. This can’t be happening. He needs them. They have to help him. “YOU HAVE TO HELP ME STOP THE PHANTOM BLOT!”

Everyone instantly stops, turning to the mouse. Someone repeats “The Phantom Blot?”. Mickey confirms, “Yes the Phantom Blot.” Mickey adds that he met the Phantom Blot face to face and that he is also looking for the blueprint for the weapon. If they don’t hurry and find the other cameras before he does, the Phantom Blot will... And with that, the room erupts into laughter. Between his chuckles, Brick asks Mickey if he is truly saying that he met the Phantom Blot. Mickey reconfirms and someone else pipes in asking if he met Negaduck as well, causing the room to go into another fit of laughter. Mickey gives a confused no and tries his best to plead with everyone that he is telling the truth. He really did meet the Blot. Twice actually. The Phantom Blot tried to kill him. There was a fish and a bunch of cats. Unfortunately, he continued to be drowned out by all the chortling from the crowd. Casey adds that he thought the mouse was looney before and now he knows for sure. Frustrated, Mickey glances around the crowd, seeing if he is reaching anyone. He looks out the conference window and spots Chief O’Hara walking by and talking with some kind of lioness in a fancy suit. O’Hara. He’ll believe him. Mickey starts speeding through the crowd trying to get to him. Only for the two detectives to stop laughing and charge after him, though they struggled to get through the giggling crowd, due to their larger size.

Mickey manages to reach O’Hara and shouts that he needs his help. O’Hara stops his discussion with the lioness and greets Mickey, though a bit caught off guard by the sudden outburst. He looks at Mickey noticing his exhausted appearance and asks if he is okay. Mickey quickly adds that he is and that they don’t have much time. He needs O’Hara’s help to catch the Phant-. That is when Brick and Casey finally catch up to Mickey and start grabbing onto him. Casey mentions that this mouse has been raving about a bunch of baloney wasting their time. Mickey tries to defend himself as Brick adds that he thinks that the mouse may be feeling a bit under the weather. Mickey tries his best to struggle out of their grasp to look straight at O’Hara and plead that he really needs to talk to him. O’Hara looks at him and spots the bags under his eyes. The other figure gives a cough at O’Hara, seeming to indicate that they should get back to their conversation. O’Hara apologizes to Mickey that unfortunately he is really busy and can’t talk now. He adds that Mickey looks tired and should take some time to relax and they can catch up another time. 

This seemed to be the breaking point for Mickey and he stopped struggling against the two detectives. Even O’Hara doesn’t believe him. O’Hara. The two detectives easily carry the mouse out to the lobby as another police officer brings over Mickey’s stuff which they hand back to him. They drop Mickey on the floor and Casey communicates that since Mickey seems like he has a positive relationship with the Chief, they’ll let him go. But they are way too busy to deal with pranksters like him and can’t waste time following some made-up nonsense. They have real crimes to work on, not some mumbo jumbo about the Phantom Blot. Mickey tries to protest, but he stops himself realizing it isn’t worth it at this point. Brick gives the mouse an empathetic look and tells him that he should probably head home. He asks if the mouse needs someone to drive him home and Mickey angrily responds with a no. He then tells Mickey to drive safe and to not worry about it, as it was all probably a bad dream, before he leaves the lobby closing the door behind him. Defeated, Mickey gathers his stuff and exits the building. That didn’t go well at all. He didn’t know why they didn’t believe him. Ugh… This is constantly happening to him. Every time he tries to talk about something important. Nobody ever trusts him. Everyone treats him like a child. Nobody takes what he says seriously. What did he ever do to be treated like this? He sighs, usually he would brush this off if it was just affecting him. But lives are at stake now. A lot of lives. Who can he turn to now?

As if nails to a chalkboard, Mickey could hear a very familiar and annoying snicker behind him. Not Him. Not Now. Mortimer clasps his hand on Mickey’s back. Mortimer adds his typical “Ha-Cha-Cha” and chuckles out that he can’t believe the fact that THE Mickey Theodore Mouse has finally cracked. I mean claiming he met the Phantom Blot. THE Phantom Blot. What a riot! He gloats that he can’t wait to tell everyone about this. Mickey angrily rebukes that he did meet the Phantom Blot and that lives are in danger. Mortimer continues to crack up and tells Mickey that he doesn’t know what has been going on with Mickey lately, but he needs to step up his game. He’s making Mortimer embarrassed to still call him a rival. Mickey could feel his insides boiling before unleashing an uncharacteristic rage at Mortimer. He shouts that he is not joking and doesn’t appreciate how everyone is treating him so badly. There is a big threat in Mouseton right now and no one seems to care. So unless Mortimer wants to help him, he better get out of his way. With that, Mickey shoves the other mouse away and stomps to his car. Mortimer stands there completely stunned. He has never in his entire life ever seen Mickey so angry, and he has known him since Kindergarten. Eventually, Mortimer gave a huff back. What’s his problem?

Mickey drove away in his car, not even knowing where to go. He just had to go. After taking a couple of random turns, Mickey could already feel himself calming down. Alright, now what. Since the police are a bust, Mickey could already feel himself running out of options. Mickey also is afraid to bring any more of his other friends in, as that could just be putting a target on their backs. He shuddered thinking about the odd contraption he was stuck in last night. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Ugh, what can he do? He parks his car at a gas station and looks at his phone. He sees a message from Minnie pop up. Minnie. He opens the message. She’s asking if he has been doing okay. Even though it has been a couple of days since he last spoke to her, it feels like months. Mickey doesn’t really like to share his problems with anyone as he doesn’t want to be a bother. But with Minnie, he always felt like he could truly open up to her. She really felt like his second half. Maybe he should tell her. No. This situation is much different from his other problems. He wouldn’t even know how to tell her about the near-death situations he’s been in. He really doesn’t want to worry her. She’s been working hard running her boutique. She shouldn’t be worrying about her boyfriend’s life.

Mickey spots Horace’s name under Minnie's message and realizes he hasn’t checked in on Horace yet. Maybe he found something that could really give him an edge. He presses the call button and waits for Horace to answer. After a couple of rings, Horace cheerfully answers the phone and Mickey asks if he has found out anything else about the cameras. Horace is just about to respond when there is a loud crashing noise and a grunt and the phone call ends. Oh No. Mickey instantly turns on his car again and rushes over to Horace’s house as fast as he can. This can’t be happening. Please. How did he know to go after Horace? Was it because of the social media post? Did he see him at Horace’s house? He shouldn’t have brought Horace into this. This is all Mickey’s fault. Mickey prays that he isn’t too late as he haphazardly parks at the Apartment Complex and bolts his way to Horace's door. He promptly turns the handle only to find that it is unlocked. No. Please No. Mickey rushes in and calls for Horace, searching every crook and nanny for him. Landing in his bedroom. Mickey falls to his knees. How could he have let this happen? Now the Phantom Blot has gotten to his friends too. Horace could be some kind of weird death trap or even already dead and it is all his fault. Mickey’s phone rings and he quickly grabs it out of his pocket. It is from Horace. Mickey takes a deep breath and braces himself as he takes the call. Mickey then immediately tells the person on the other line that he doesn’t know what he did to Horace, but that he will not give up and will save him. 

Only for a very confused Horace to respond unsure of what is going on. Mickey could feel a large weight drop from his shoulders the moment he heard Horace’s voice. He’s okay. Or at least he thinks he is. Mickey asks Horace what is going on. Horace assures him that he is okay and that he had to leave town to help a friend with a plumbing emergency and when Mickey called, a pipe broke causing the whole house to fill with water. He’s a bit waterlogged, but mostly okay, and should be back tomorrow. This explanation causes Mickey to laugh a little, mostly to relieve the stress that is building up. Horace asks if Mickey is doing okay based on the weird introduction and Mickey responds that he is doing fine, he just noticed that the door was unlocked and was afraid something bad happened. Horace responds that the locks at the apartment aren’t that great. He really needs to find a new place to live. Mickey reminds him that he has the extra room at his house, and the horse responds that he’ll keep that in mind. Horace then asks if Mickey has any more updates about the missing cameras. Mickey tells him a brief explanation of what he learned about the cameras and that he found the cameras broken in a trash can. Horace then asks if Mickey saw the Phantom Blot again. Mickey paused for a second. Oh yeah. He told him about the Phantom Blot. Mickey then chose to lie, not well but good enough, about not seeing the Phantom Blot and adds that he actually thinks he may have just imagined him before. Horace doesn’t need to be too involved in this. He shouldn't have to worry over Mickey. Horace seems confused but a bit relieved over the call and congratulates Mickey for technically solving the mystery. He knew he could do anything he put his mind to, especially since Horace taught him everything he knew. Mickey laughs a bit, feeling much better, and thanks Horace. 

Quickly remembering the fright he had before, Mickey asks Horace if he wouldn’t mind staying out of town for a little bit longer. Horace inquires as to why and Mickey responds that he thinks the Horse deserves a break after helping him with the camera case. Horace gladly agrees, mentioning that he would never turn down an offer for a vacation. Besides, his friend has been showing him how to Bull Ride and he thinks it is his true passion. With that, the two say goodbye to each other and end the call. Horace is safe. What a relief. Mickey heads out of the room to leave, and he notices some black spots on the front door. He did not see those black spots before. It looks like… like… Mickey touches it. Ink. It’s Ink. A shiver ran through the mouse’s spine. Is he losing his mind? Why else would ink be on the door? Is this a warning? Maybe it was always there and he hadn’t noticed it. Maybe Horace just happened to spill it. But why would Horace have ink? Or at least not attempt to clean it up. Mickey breaks out of his wandering thoughts before opening the door to leave the apartment. He needs to focus on what he is going to do next. If the police aren’t going to help and he can’t risk any of his friends getting hurt, then Mickey will have to do it alone. He can’t stop now. Just as Horace says, he can do anything he puts his mind to. Mickey thought about what his next steps should be. He could try to see if he could find any more cameras left. Maybe if he gets the blueprint before the Phantom Blot does, he can destroy it and prevent him from ever using that weapon. 

Mickey gives a heavy sigh as that would be quite the task he would have to take, but what else could he do. Mickey spends the rest of the day going from pawn store to pawn store, going to any camera-related store he could find on the Waddle Maps, and even checking antique or any kind of odd store in hopes that maybe one of them may still have a Little Korker V39 left behind. Unfortunately, just as Mickey suspected, he couldn’t find a single one as they don’t have any in stock or they “mysteriously disappeared”. As Mickey left the last store he looked at the clock and realized how late it was getting and the chances of any more stores being open is probably minimal. Shoot. He was really hoping to get something, but it seems like this was a bust. Mickey feels at a complete loss of what else he could possibly do. I mean there was that one idea earlier. But he would be completely mad to try and do it alone. But what other choice did he have? He had to do it. He had to do the unthinkable. He had to capture the Phantom Blot. 

He decided to head home before he started as he should probably check on Pluto and his new cat friend and gather a couple of things. When pulled into his driveway, he quickly noticed that the lights happened to be on. He did not leave those on. As he went to the front door he picked up a rake that was lying in the grass and slowly crept through the door. Prepared to attack anything that might jump out at him. He peeked in the small window that was next to the door. He saw Minnie who appeared to be making something in his kitchen. He gave a large sigh. This isn’t a surprise. Minnie often would just come into his house whenever she wanted, as she had a key. Usually, she would surprise him with dinner. Though normally she would tell him first. He dropped the rake and opened the door. Minnie greeted him and mentioned how she was making spaghetti for dinner. Mickey tells Minnie that he wasn’t expecting her to come over and Minnie responds saying she sent several messages. Mickey checks his phone and sees that she is correct. He must have somehow ignored them in his search for the camera. Minnie adds that she also wanted to talk to Mickey about something. As she finishes stirring the sauce she goes up to Mickey only to notice the giant bags under his eyes and his general exhausted demeanor. 

She immediately questions whether Mickey is feeling alright. Mickey quickly blurts out that he is. He notices the little cat walking by and picks him up, handing him over to Minnie mentioning that he found her a cat, hoping he could change the subject. She thanks Mickey and places the cat down. Though continues to press on, aware of what he was trying to do. She asks Mickey again if he is truly okay. Mickey doesn’t respond and sits at the dining room table. She sighs and mentions that Mortimer messaged her earlier and said that he was at the police station making a fool of himself. Mickey rolls his eyes, of course Mortimer would tell Minnie that. He says that it is nothing to worry about and that he has it under his control. Minnie drops a plate of spaghetti in front of him with the noodles perfectly swirled, the sauce right in the middle, a couple leaves of basil on the side, and the meatballs in the sauce oriented to look like Mickey’s head. He smiled, she always did cute stuff like this for dinner. She sits down with her own plate. Minnie thinks for a bit and then asks how the camera heist was going. The last thing she heard was when Mickey told her about the successful meeting with O’Hara. Mickey looks down and plays with his food a bit, again not responding. Minnie assures Mickey that he can tell her anything and that she will support him no matter what. Mickey stares at his plate. He wants so badly to unload like he usually does, but this is way beyond what he usually struggles with. But he knows that if he doesn’t say something, Minnie will continue to try to get Mickey to talk to her until he does. She’s persistent. He normally loved that about her, but at the moment…

He decides to start slow by explaining how he thinks who knows who takes the cameras, causing Minnie to quickly congratulate Mickey. But then he explains how he realized that the cameras were part of something… A little bigger than he expected. Minnie tries to pry more into what he means, but Mickey doesn’t answer. He instead talks about how he tried to go to the police to get help, but they didn’t believe him. This seems to upset Minnie as she asks if he tried talking to O’Hara. Mickey looks down and mumbles that he is busy. Minnie pauses for a second and then complains about how she doesn’t know why the police wouldn’t help Mickey. Their job is to help people correct. Mickey sits there silently as Minnie continues to rant, bringing up that there is no reason for them to not give Mickey a chance. She looks at Mickey and notices an expression she isn’t really familiar with. She has known Mickey for almost her entire life and has become all too familiar with his quirks. But when she looked at him she saw something she hadn't really seen. He looks shaken to his core. He’s terrified. Really terrified. But of what. Something happened to him. Something changed him. He’s hiding something. She asks Mickey who the thief was. And Mickey freezes. After a second he says that it is not important. She gets up from her seat and heads over to Mickey again asking who the thief was. He tries to look away and instinctively says that he doesn’t want to worry her. It’s fine he got it. She goes over to grab his hands before noticing something on his wrist. There are red markings on his arms that she didn’t notice before. Is that… Rope Burn… She pleads to Mickey “Mickey… What happened”... Mickey pulls away his arms, realizing what she saw. He got up from his chair and crossed his arms. “Was it the Phantom Blot?”

Mickey turned around, extremely surprised that Minnie knew. Oh wait, she said Mortimer told her what happened. Darn that rat. She stared at him with a completely distraught look in her eyes. She expressed that she thought that Mortimer misheard Mickey, but now she can see… She freezes. She has no idea how to even respond. Mickey looks at her, unsure if he is happy that he finally has another person who believes him. Mickey adds that the Phantom Blot is trying to find something dangerous and he was hoping the police would help, but they didn’t believe him. But he can’t stop. The Phantom Blot is an evil man and if he found what he was looking for, thousands could die. He glances at Minnie to see how she is taking this. Unfortunately, she was unreadable and Mickey had no idea what she could be thinking. The both of them just stand there, until she finally speaks again. She slowly admits that she isn’t sure if Mickey should do this, being very careful with the words she says. Mickey asks why. She stutters that the Phantom Blot is really dangerous and a threat beyond anything they can handle. She doesn’t know if Mickey should be the one solving this. Mickey responds that he has to stop him. No one else can and there isn’t much time. Minnie starts to tear up. Mickey quickly comes up to her and starts holding her. Through her tears, she blubbers about what if Mickey gets caught. He could be killed. She could never see him again. She then erupted into a bawling fit, clinging onto Mickey. Mickey just stands there, rubbing her back. He thinks about the moment in the alleyway when he thought about the very same thing. He doesn’t have an answer. For a while, they just stand there holding each other as Minnie sobs. 

One thing about Mickey that Minnie has always loved is his compassion for others. He always seemed to do what would be best for everyone even at the cost of what would be best for him. Minnie always felt like she had to be the one to stand up for Mickey and make sure that his own needs and wants weren’t ignored. But she didn’t mind. She loved Mickey. She would always support Mickey. Or at least she thought she would. And yet now Mickey wanted to make the ultimate sacrifice and risk his life to protect others as usual. She can’t lie. She wanted so badly to beg him to drop this case and that someone else would take care of it. She felt bad since she knew how much this meant to Mickey and the possible lives lost. But she can’t lose him. Not now. They were each other's soulmates. But she knew that Mickey had to do this or he would regret it forever. She had to let him go. But she really didn’t want to. Eventually, Minnie gets out of the hug, gives Mickey a kiss on the cheek, and heads over to the front door, picking up the little kitten on the way back. She apologizes adding that she knows that she can’t stop Mickey. But she isn’t sure how she feels about the situation and needs time to think. She then pleads to Mickey that before he goes, he will go to sleep first. He looks tired and shouldn’t be doing this with little sleep. Mickey nods and promises her he will. And with that, she closes the door. Leaving Mickey. Alone. Part of him is glad that she didn’t try to stop him. But at the same time, he doesn’t know if he exactly got her support. He was unsure how she would respond and had a feeling she wouldn’t react well. Minnie wasn’t the only one who was scared. Mickey was scared too. But he has to see this through. He thought about the promise he just made. To get some sleep. He could at least keep that. He needed to be in top shape if he really wanted to stop the Phantom Blot. But he’ll have to wake up early so that he can get started on his new plan. He held on tightly to the red bow with white polka dots around his neck. Making one more promise in his heart:

I swear that I’ll come back to you Minnie. We will see each other again.

[cluelessuserwholives]

okay, dumbluedoor? love seeing all the fics bashing him. there a cool twist on the harry potter series written by she-who-must-not-be-named. BUT. everyone makes him seem like this super genius gaslighter and manipulator who planned everything to the last detail and had all these great plans revolving around keeping harry in check. and well this is great, I feel like fic writers are missing a great opportunity. Senile high-as-fuck dumbbluedoor.

The fucker has no idea what the fuck is going on at all times.

he's just fuckiing vibing well probably high on lemon drops or whateverr. fuck has no clue whats going on in hogwarts.

harry knows fuck all about the wizarding world? fuck it. send hagrid. the guy who prefers magical creatures over humans and flunked out of school because of that. he'll be fine.

the fancy orange rock is in the basement and harry found it? oh shit i forgot about that. thanks for reminding me about it. don't worry about the guy who's face you disintegrated he's probably fine- oh he's dead? sucks to be him.

the chamber of secrets is open? tf is the chamber of secrets? idk. figure it out yourselves i've got no clue- oh Tom came out of a diary? how'd he do that? oh a big snek was in the walls two?

surius black out of prison... why was he in prison? '...betraying the potter's....' wait that wasn't him. oh shitttttt.... I forgot to tell people that didn't i. well he's probably fine. harry's name in the goblet of fire? how'd that get their- oh tom's back from the dead. whoa. how'd he do that? anyways here harry lets go to the wizard court, you testify im gonna go take a shit-

ah yes, horcruxes. those things. that i know about. anyways harry have you heard of the power of a mother's love-

fuck you a bjillion points to griffdoor you fucking snakes-