#they are so small and round. truly what one might call a Little Fella

[sculkshrieking]

hiii if you're still looking for birds, consider: wood nuthatch. my favorite little guy. their special thing is the ability to walk down the tree trunk head first :3c

hiiiiii this bird is so cool i love it!!! i was initially gonna draw him hanging upside down from bread bridge, but i suddenly started missing boatem so <3

[prose-for-hire]

Heart-shaped bruise

Part Two

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Could you do a Spike x reader, where the reader is In love with him, but he still loves Buffy, but overtime he started feeling the same way towards them as well

Requested by: @wiccanindigo​

Warning: Mention of Spuffy. Angst... I think.

A/N: Me? Writing something that isn’t fluff? Is this even possible?! 

You were completely in love. Infatuated, in fact. You couldn’t barely think without your mind wondering to him. 

Spike.

You were in deep. You adored him, your eyes always on him. No matter where he was in the room you just couldn’t help it.

You wanted him so badly. Found yourself dreaming about him, feeling his body beside yours in that hazy moment between sleep and wake. Reaching for him and finding yourself sorely disappointed.

It got worse, you began to daydream about him. You hid yourself in these fantasy worlds that you created around you and him. Imagining him wanting you. Choosing you. Kissing you and loving you the way you wanted. Craved.

This love that you held, it was unrequited. It was deep and unending. You were completely his and you had no way of even beginning to describe it to him.

It burned you up inside. Made you ache with such longing. Almost physically pained you because you loved him so much.

You were drowning in this feeling. The only way your head ever came up for air was when he interacted with you. When you got all of his attention. You became lost in his eyes instead. At least that way, if he was looking at you there was some part of you with him. In his head. His vision. The way he was in every sense of yours.

He could ground you. Make you feel like it was only you and him.

And some days, that was all you needed. To know that he did like you. That there was potential there. Sometimes you swore that look in his eye meant something. Meant he harboured affection for you.

He always flirted. You knew somewhere in the logical part of your brain that was fast losing to the rest of you that it probably wasn’t real. Nevertheless you clung to it. Held on to even the smallest attention he would give you. You were desperate for any tiny interaction. You felt as if you had withered and died should you miss a day where you didn’t interact with him.

He often gravitated towards you in the Bronze or wherever it was that he found you after he had another run-in with Buffy.

“Alright, love? You wanna watch out givin’ a man that kind of look. Gives a fella ideas.” He would always greet you in this kind of way.

“Are they good ideas, Spike?”

“Downright sinful ones” he smirked and enjoyed the way you looked at the ground a little flustered. His words. His perfectly-crafted stupid words. The things they did to you. The tone of his voice. The teasing quality. He made you want to jump in his arms when he spoke this way, all but tackle him to the ground and finally have your way with him.

But you had to rein yourself in. His personality was like that. You had always known this. He flirted his way around a room, often to get something he wanted. Charmed people to his will. But it never seemed that way with you. Just did it to keep your company. Never really wanted anything from you except conversation. Time spent by his side.

Your heart was beating so hard and so fast that you were sure your heart was causing some irreversible damage. That you would remove your clothing that evening and look in the mirror to find a heart-shaped bruise stamped onto your skin.

A mark that was made by him. For him. It was always him. It was only ever going to be him.

You had hope in your heart, the way he spoke to you. Way he made sure you were safe where he wouldn’t care in the slightest about the others. The way you would leave the Bronze or patrol just to talk. To sit in his crypt together and watch tv.

He enjoyed your company, you had to believe that. Had to believe that he wanted you in the same way. That his flirtation wasn’t just to pass the time.

Maybe his feelings weren’t as strong as yours. Maybe they were hidden, waiting for you. Maybe he was carefully imagining an all-encompassing love story in his mind the way you did. And you had truly thought it all. You even had the musical score to go along with your love story with him, that’s how detailed your need for him was.

One dark day though, your hopes were completely taken from you. Snatched away. You had woken with a horrible feeling and it had only got worse. You had a hole where your heart had been when you saw it. You felt empty inside. Numb.

Your whole life revolved around him, but his now revolved around her.

You saw them together. Spike and Buffy. It was as if someone had punched you in the gut.

You went sour at the thought. About what they were doing together. What they might be whispering. Talking about. And when you considered what they might be doing together… it made you ache. Quiver with want.

You kept your distance for a while, marinating in your own jealousy. The way you craved him, it wasn’t natural. It was more than your heart could take.

He had invited you to his crypt, the usual way. Gestured with his head when you were at the back of the group on patrol. Even with the way you had been feeling recently, the distance. The way your heart had crumbled into a desolate wasteland. You knew you could never say no. You had tried to be stronger. Keep your distance but you had trouble when it came to him.

Your head was so dizzy with the idea of him. With the swell of hope that you could never push down when he offered time alone with you.

He smiled and pulled you onto the sofa by his side. Natural touch he would usually use around you hadn’t stopped just because of how he felt for Buffy. You sat down beside him, as close as you always would.

Sometimes you felt you were sat so close you might as well slide into his lap. You weren’t to know he wouldn’t have complained in the slightest. But you never did. Never dared. Especially not now.

You spent the next twenty minutes sitting in front of the tv in silence. Your face barely moved and he caught it. He always did, as if he had shares in your emotions. He was invested, he never pretended otherwise.

He started to make stupid comments about the characters. Pointing out the plot holes and the stunt doubles that could be seen so clearly just to cheer you up. It made you smile despite yourself.

He could always make you smile.

Eventually you joined in, getting caught up in it. In him. Again.

You both laughed together at something you had said, your humour was so similar. Yo ufit so perfectly…

But with this stupid thought, you suddenly stopped laughing. Your face went blank. You had been doing it again. Pretending this was real. Pretending he loved you. Wanted you.

But he didn’t. He wanted her. Loved her.

“I can’t do this,” You admitted suddenly as you got to your feet, “We can’t see each other anymore Spike.”

“What? I’m not sure I followed you round that particular bend, love-”

“Don’t call me that!”

“What – love? I always call you that-” He frowned, using the remote to turn off the tv.

“It-it makes it so much harder” You said, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m not sure I’m understandin’ you right” he said slowly, squinting at you and trying to decipher your words.

“You would rather be with someone who hates you than the one that… loves you!” You admitted this, shouting it in his face. Not how you had ever imagined revealing such intimate emotions to him, “And it- it hurts so bad, Spike. So bad. Because I know you’ll never love me. Because you love her…”

He stopped dead at the way you had laid yourself bare. The way you had shouted your love for him. The way that your emotions were so evident on your face. He began to hurt when he saw you hurting. He held affection for you, he had never denied that.

But now he was thinking. Truly thinking about what you meant to him. The way he could talk to you about anything. He had shared some things he thought he could never dare speak out loud.

The way you had cared so much for him you had helped him back to his crypt after another fight with Buffy, listening to him whining about how much he loved her. The way you looked after him so tenderly.

He thought about his own actions with you. How he always flirted with you as much as he did with Buffy. How he lit up when it was you and him together. How you both snuck away from the others to do something fun. Watch tv or swap books that you had enjoyed.

He thought about how he knew he would do anything to protect you. From harm - a demon or otherwise. How he sought to make you smile.

You made him laugh. Made him feel something. Like he was a man, not just some monster. He was finally realising something that should have been so plain to see. That there was something there, between you both.

“I- I do like you in that way, pet…” he realised it as he spoke it.

He got to his feet, closing the space between you. Those eyes scanning your face. Able to read only now the way you felt so deeply. Only now realising this was how you felt. How had he been so blind? So wrapped up in what he and Buffy had going on? In how he felt for her?

He leaned in to kiss you. To give you what you wanted. He only wanted you happy. Wanted you to feel good. Suddenly that was all that mattered to him. You feeling his affection, however small it was. It was there and he was feeling it. It was growing every second he thought about it, he could almost physically feel it. He leant in, his hand reaching for you as he started to press his lips to yours. His eyes began to close as he got closer.

But you moved backwards from his grasp.

“No, Spike” You said firmly and his face pulled into a frown. He hated rejection and at the hands of someone that had just admitted their love he hadn’t been expecting it. Meaning it almost stung more than if he had been nervous about it - expecting to be pushed away.

“Will you bloody make your mind up?! I just said that I-”

“That you like me. I can’t settle for you just liking me, Spike… not when you’ve told me how in love with Buffy you are on so many occasions. I don’t want to be some afterthought to you” You admitted, opening sobbing now as you spoke, “It’s all or nothing, that’s the only way.”

And when he couldn’t reply. Couldn’t tell you that he loved you in the same way, you left. Walked away and didn’t look back.

You didn’t see that his arm was still reaching for you in mid-air. As if now this was all that mattered to him. Having you back. Having you with him in that way. He hadn’t realised that growing affection until you had said those words for him. Managed to articulate it better than he could.

It was only just dawning on him properly. And the idea of losing you knocked him sick. He needed you back here and he couldn’t understand why you weren’t going to stay with him.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed how fond he was for you. How he found himself wrapping around your little finger with just a glance his way. He knew it all and yet he had been distracted.

Because his love for Buffy was so big. Burned so bright and she had allowed him into her bed. She had left you in the shadows. But now you were beginning to glow again.

[flyboytracy]

Okay but what if Scott rly was Alan’s dad?

I was gonna post this for Earth & Sky week if I managed to complete it but it’s smol Tracy���s birthday and it’ll probably never see the light of day otherwise so why not :D

I’m always a ho for an AU so here’s one I started over lockdown called ‘Okay but what if Scott really was Alan’s dad’

☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆ ⌒ ★ ⌒ ☆

Long before International Rescue was a thing, the Tracy boys had lived on a farm in Kansas. It’d belonged to their late mother, God bless her soul, and these days it only grew crop for an environmentally friendly fuel because Tracy money came from technology instead of the earth.

The boys’ famous army father was gone for days at a time and there was plenty of rumours why that was. Mrs Wyatt who lived down the lane from the Tracys said she’d heard the man was alcoholic and probably had been for a long time because his teenaged son had been looking after the rest of them since his poor momma died. She saw them troop past her gate every day on their way to school and back, and then to the park on the weekends when their pa’s jet wasn’t on the drive.

Mr Colton, who lived at number fifty-four said he’d taken his son to the pool at the same time that the Tracy boys had been there without their father as usual. He told Vera that he’d overheard the youngest chattering away to the red-headed one about a rocket he’d called the TV21 until the eldest had overheard and shushed them. According to Mrs Johnson who was friends with Ms Hernandez at the school, Col. Tracy had budding engineers, astronauts and a future Olympic swimmer at the home he never seemed to return to. Instead it was Scott and Virgil who took their brothers to swim meets and galas and even to the Cosmosphere. Ms Hernandez could find nothing to complain about because all four of the Tracy boys grades were above average and threw off the teachers’ bell curves when it came to subjects like science and math.

That Scott boy sure had his hands full with three brothers, his own future and a possibly alcoholic father to look after, so the whole town was surprised when he went and knocked up the Austin girl after being crowned king and queen of their grad ball. Not much ever happened in the backwater towns of the sunflower state so everybody knew about it the morning after the night Pa Austin went round the Tracy’s farmhouse to have it out with the Colonel.

The rumour mill had been on fire for months after that because Mrs Johnson had been having her usual perm when she’d heard Ma Austin tell Shirley all about how her daughter’s boyfriend had been going to leave their small town after graduation. She’d seen the way the Tracy boy cared for his brothers and had expected he’d give up his plans to join the military if he had a kid of his own at home with her.

To the town’s surprise, it turned out that the Colonel was actually a long distance father and not an entirely absent one. Pa Austin had stormed to the farmhouse that night with his shotgun in hand, only to be greeted by a hologram of the great Colonel himself, sat eating dinner on a beach somewhere as his boys ate dinner round a table in Kansas. Austin had gone round with the aim of threatening at least one Tracy with his shotgun but hadn’t got that far because Colonel Jefferson Tracy could still dominate a room from over a thousand miles away.

According to Pa Austin, his fancy hologram was just as tall as the real thing and pretty sober which put paid to Mrs Wyatt’s theory that he was an alcoholic. In fact he was a Big Apple businessman now, and a darn good one at that because by the end of the evening it had been decided that his eldest son would join the GDF as planned and the child would remain with its mother but want for nothing. Tracys took care of their own and Pa Austin said he’d realised that when the colonel’s youngest boy had kept interrupting their conversation to show him trash he’d found in the pond at the park and Tracy hadn’t brushed the youngster off at all.

The big holographic man had promised they’d feed the ducks at the weekend, which meant half the town was hanging around the park come Saturday morning.

The youngest had appeared first, full of joy and enthusiasm that his older brother didn’t share as the red-head was dragged across the grass to the pond. The second eldest was close behind them and had a couple of toy boats in his arms which left the eldest Tracy boy and his father to bring up the rear.

They were deep in conversation when they appeared, the Colonel strolling along easily with his hands behind his back like an old fashioned gentleman. Scott was by his side and gone was the little boy always running to catch up. In his place strode a man and it was rather disappointing really.

The Tracys moved away shortly afterwards. Stan the mailman said he’d seen fancy suits taking pictures of the farmhouse and the Tracys had paid for their mail to be redirected but he couldn’t seem to find an address. The Austins had an address for the Tracys, but they also had a pretty hefty NDA in exchange for a very comfortable lifestyle and weren’t much inclined to break it just to satisfy everyone else’s curiosity.

It all died down after a while and people got bored of watching Sophia get bigger. Her old flame might’ve flown out of the picture but his presence sure was felt around town when Sophia got her own car and fancy place on the Tracy’s dime.  Ms Hernandez said the colonel had insisted Ms Sophia continue her education alongside being a momma to his first grandchild and Shirley heard there was a job at the Tracy’s family business when she wanted to get out of Kansas.

Nothing exciting happened in their little backwater until the day a private jet landed on the main street and Sophia was whisked off to give birth at a very fancy hospital. According to Ma Austin, she had a private room and the colonel had parked his jet on the roof since his son wouldn’t make it back in time for the birth.

They did seem to be a good family, the Tracys, even if they’d disappeared off the face of the earth in the past eight months or so. The only trace anybody could seem to find of them was on the Tracy Industries website where each son had a mention in the CEO’s bio but real information was scarce. They disappeared off Ms Hernandez’s records and there was nothing about them on any government website. Nobody was truly surprised that the Colonel had chosen to disappear because they’d come to realise a few things after reading his bio. For one, the fella was a billionaire several times over and two, he adored those four boys of his more than anything because his words about his achievements had been clinical but the paragraph about each of his sons’ achievements had made old Mrs Johnson cry.

Of course everybody wanted to know what happened but the Austins didn’t have a lot to say. The Colonel was a very nice man who didn’t seem to have taken offence to Ms Austin’s actions. He’d offered her further education and employment instead of the lawsuit most men in his position would’ve filed. There were rumours the fella was working on a top secret project that’d change the world, but in their little backwater there were rumours about everything.

Alan Tracy didn’t pay attention to any of those rumours as he grew up with his momma in a sleepy little town in Kansas. The little boy loved many things including his momma and their house that had a big garden with a tire swing and a sandpit he used to re-enact grandpa landing on Mars. He loved ice cream and going to the park and he even liked Kindergarten ‘cause he got to draw pictures of his family and space.

But what Alan Tracy loved most of all was his daddy. He didn’t get to see him a lot ‘cause he was learning to be a pilot like grandpa, but every Friday evening a fancy car arrived to take him a little way out of town where grandpa’s jet would be waiting to take him to the island for the whole weekend.

Sometimes grandpa flew it but he had lots of meetings around the world so other times he’d see Uncle Virgil through the window and squeal with excitement ‘cause his biggest uncle had the best toys. He was gonna be an engineer and could fix any of Alan’s toys, even the one that failed a moon launch. He had Alan’s undying love ‘cause the little boy could hang from his arm like a monkey and  he had lots of fun stories about his daddy. They were best, best friends and Alan liked to crawl into that big plaid shirt and bug him ‘til Uncle Virg showed him pictures of when daddy was little.

Uncle Virg wasn’t always around though ‘cause he was studying in Denver but that was okay ‘cause Alan had two more uncles to play with. Johnny didn’t really like to play but when he was home he let Alan play with his telescopes and taught him all about space.

Alan loved his daddy but he thought he might love space even more. He loved it when Johnny took him up to the peak of the island in the dark and they sat for an hour to watch for shooting stars. Alan had fallen asleep once on the big fluffy blanket and the best thing of all was when he woke to find daddy had an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and Alan had been drooling on his shirt.

“Hey, sprout.” Daddy had smooched his forehead when he’d noticed bright blue eyes staring up at him with joy, “I love you. John says you’ve been learning about the stars some more.”

“There’s Ursa Major!” Alan had stood up to be able to point out the little pinpricks of light that made up the Ursa Major Constellation and he still hadn’t been taller than his daddy, “Johnny says Ursa’s a big bear like Uncle Virg.”

“Johnny told you that, did he?” his daddy’s laugh had made Alan feel warm right down to his bones and he’d dived for a hug. Impossibly long arms had folded around him and Johnny, drawing them both into the safest place in the universe for so long they missed most of the shooting stars and Johnny made them go away so he could see the rest. Alan didn’t mind ‘cause dad swung him up onto his shoulders and let him get wet on the rocky beach by the villa since it was bath time anyway.

Alan loved Sunday mornings on the island when daddy was home. Alan liked to wake him up by bouncing on the bed ‘cause the sky was awake so they should be too. And then they’d get dressed in matching blue swim shorts and go for a run around the island and if he ran faster than daddy on the home stretch he was allowed to jump into the pool like Superman. Gordon was usually in there by then and kept an eye on Allie doing the doggy paddle in the shallow end whilst daddy went to get breakfast out the fridge. There was something cool that beeped super loud that time he tried to moonwalk on the bottom of the pool like an astronaut and Uncle Virg had dived in like a bowling ball to fish him out. Gordon had laughed a lot but Uncle Virg hadn’t even smiled ‘til daddy gave him one of those hugs that made booboos stop hurting.

Alan really loved his uncles but he loved his daddy most and it was hard to stand on the runway with Uncle Virg to wave goodbye. Uncle Virg didn’t seem to like waving goodbye either so Alan always held his hand to make him feel better and did his best to be like daddy so Uncle Virg wouldn’t miss him too much.

He seemed to end up being more like John as a couple of years passed and everything in his life changed. Grandpa took him to London to get measured for a suit for daddy’s graduation and he didn’t understand why Uncle Virg kept frowning at Gordon for laughing about daddy’s graduation from big school. He asked Uncle Virg what was so funny, and then Grandpa and Grandpa’s weird professor friend who used big words Alan didn’t know yet, but none of them seemed to know and even daddy missed a step when Alan asked him on their way to the fancy dinner Grandpa was hosting at his penthouse in New York for his newly graduated son. Daddy never ever missed anything which was annoying when Alan was trying to get hold of Gordon’s cookies but he’d breathed air the wrong way and Uncle Virg had to thump his back a few times.

Daddy had talked about how cool Alan looked in his little gray suit and Alan had been so happy he’d forgotten about his question ‘til after dinner when they were still at the table and he’d pulled himself onto Grandpa’s knee ‘cause Uncle Virg and Gordon were being loud and he’d been a tired little boy by then. He’d tried one last time to find out what was so funny about daddy’s last graduation and Grandpa had rested his chin atop Allie’s head.

“Your momma and daddy had you after his last graduation.” Grandpa rumbled, “You were quite an unexpected surprise for your daddy, but a welcome one. Gordon likes to remind your daddy about what a big surprise you were.”

“Your daddy was a surprise too, as I recall.” Grandma Tracy was sat with Grandpa and Alan loved visiting her but sometimes she made him cookies and he didn’t love those.

“I love daddy, not cookies.” he mumbled tiredly and fell asleep right there at the table.

That meant he missed the way his Grandpa coughed to quieten his four boys because he had something real important to discuss with them. Scott knew what it was, and Virg had an inkling because it was difficult to disguise underground excavations from a highly skilled engineer. They were sat together with Virgil’s elbow resting on the back of Scott’s chair and blue eyes softened when he realised where Alan had got to.

Alan had managed to sleep through the inaugural meeting of International Rescue and life was never the same again after he woke up.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

I have so many prompts😭😬 my last one was "Peter works at a rescue, Tony comes to get a doggo because he’s a single man in his 50s starting to feel the emptiness of the penthouse more and more. He gets way more than that."👬🏻🐶 But if that's not your thing and you fancy having a look at the ones I think of + ones others have come up with and I thought were cute I'll leave you the link ( /tagged/pp%3A%20prompt ) 🌸🌸🌸 can't wait to read regardless of the prompt!! have a lovely day!!

Struck From A Great Height

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Teen (T) Notes: This was perfect! I love puppies and Tony with a puppy was a true treat to envision. Thanks for the prompt @puppypeter! I’ll take the next one please ;D Oh, & the picture Tony sends to Peter is this one!  Word Count: ~3.3k Warnings: There aren’t any - just cute puppies. Summary: 

Tony is lonely so he adopts a white lab named Zero. He meets another kind of puppy at the rescue and decides to keep him, too. 

do the thing, send in all the prompts 

Loneliness �� a word that could easily be used to describe the feeling that steadily crept up on Tony Stark.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it became a thing. For most of his life, being alone was the goal – with no one around to want things from him, Tony was free to do whatever he wanted, when he wanted. Building a multi-billion-dollar company up from a structure that Tony didn’t want anything to do with took a lot of time and effort. Simple things like love and affection weren’t really anywhere near his scope.

When getting older started to become apparent, Tony ran from it. He hopped into bed with whatever man looked his way with the right sparkle in his eye. If these people found him to be desirable, did looming near 50 actually mean anything?

The longer he let himself stoop to the lowest of low, the more he realized that men who wanted nothing more than his body weren’t worth the effort it took to get dolled up, go out, entice them, and do the whole song and dance that inevitably led to something quick in the bathroom or a rough fumble in his bed. Waking up alone after that made the emptiness ache a little more.

It became pretty apparent that behavior like that didn’t particularly help, so he reverted back to the lab rat that he truly was and put all of his efforts into the creation of tech and furthering of the projects that were already in the works. If Tony could rely on anything to get him by, it was his brain and the depths that existed within it.

And while that was fulfilling in a professional sense, Tony craved something more. No matter how much he told himself he didn’t need anything or anyone else – the deepest part of his soul called out, his soft bits desperate to take care of another living thing. The grandness of his penthouse that used to bring him so much joy just seemed empty – the multitude of rooms wouldn’t make him happy, that much was for sure.

Rhodey brought up the idea of a pet one night over dinner – he’d been able to step away from his pregnant wife to spend a bit of time eating junk food and playing the latest COD update. Tony didn’t like to admit it, but this time with his best friend was the highlight of his month. The thought of that made his skin crawl slightly – he loved the hell out of Rhodey, he couldn’t deny that. Yet, being completely overjoyed by nothing other than his presence had that pit of loneliness opening up within him a little more.

Listening to him talk, Tony wasn’t put off by it – in fact, having a dog with floppy ears to make a mess around the place might actually be the cure to the melancholy that didn’t want to go away. Tony couldn’t take the blue feeling for much longer – to most people, his life was perfect. Trying to portray that constantly was exhausting and compounded the already shitty feelings that weren’t anywhere close to changing.

The very next day, Tony spent the first part of the day looking up rescues that were open for adoption. His heart started to beat a little faster when he started to scroll through the many adorable little faces of the dogs that were just waiting for someone to come along and take them home. A small white lab puppy caught his eye, the small dog making his decision pretty easy.

Tony took the rest of the day off – he wanted to see about the adoption process and if all things went well, get his new friend home and on the path to adjusting to the good life that he couldn’t wait to provide. Changing out of his suit into a pair of jeans, an old AC/DC shirt, and an open black and red flannel, Tony set out towards Happy Tails, his final destination.

A wave of nerves washed over him when he first walked through the door of the shelter. The smell of cleaner reminded him of the many hospital visits he had over the years, the memories almost enough to send him back through the doors and as far away as possible. Before that could happen, Tony was welcomed by a soft voice – a sense of calmness surrounded him almost immediately. Continuing on his original path, Tony clenched his fist tightly and walked towards the comforting voice.

“Welcome to Happy Tails!” Tony heard again when he got a little closer. Looking up, Tony had to stop himself from gasping – the man behind the counter was the most exquisite being he’d ever seen. Chestnut hair framed sharp cheekbones that were covered with a soft redness that probably sat there enticingly all day. There was the slightest touch of facial hair coating the man’s face, the chin strap he was working on still on the thin side. When they locked eyes, Tony felt himself blush, the wide smile on pink lips knowing and entirely too enticing to actually be real.

Raising a hand like the idiot he actually was, Tony waved at him – his stomach dropping at his stupidity almost instantly. “Uh, hi – “ Tony muttered, his brains attempt to fix the situation failing miserably. The hearty chuckle he was met with was just as sinful as the smile and eyes and cheeks that this man was graced with.

“Hi! Thanks for stopping in. I’m Peter – one of the resident puppy gurus. What can I help you with today?” The man – Peter, said with a wide smile and the most brilliant twinkle in his eye. Tony found himself returning the look without a second thought, his cheeks pinching uncomfortably after a few minutes of the beaming grin taking over his face.

“Puppy guru, huh? You may be exactly who I’m looking for, then. I saw this dog online,” Tony started as he walked closer to the desk Peter stood behind. He showed him the beautiful white lab, the fingers on his phone shaking slightly. “I want to adopt him, if he’s still available.”

“Oh, that’s Zero. He’s one of the newest fellas on the block and is very much available. He’s really chill and likes to sit around a lot for a dog his age. Labs are usually filled with energy. Not Zero – he’s just along for the ride.” Tony listened intently, Peter’s babbling about the dog absolutely adorable. Not to mention the fact that Zero sounded like the best companion – another entity in the house that just wanted to exist.

“Why don’t we got back and meet him? They just got fed, so he’ll be ready for a nice cuddle.” Peter gestured for him to step around the counter and opened the door leading into the kennels, following behind him closely. Tony looked around, his senses overwhelmed by all the sounds and smells that immediately hit him. There were a multitude of dogs in kennels, all shapes and sizes of them, each one looking at him with some sort of look in their eyes.

Peter put a hand on his lower back and pointed towards the end of the hall – “ the puppies have their own hallway.” The hand stayed where it was until Tony was out of the danger zone and in an area that was far less populated. Tony saw Zero before Peter could point him out, the small white lab sat in the middle of its kennel, looking at them curiously.

Tony felt his heart melt a little when Peter opened the kennel and Zero walked right over to him. Crouching down, he put his hand out to be smelt – the wet nose against his skin had him laughing, a huge smile slipping across his face. When the paw shot out to press against his wrist, Tony was a goner. He sat on the floor and let Zero walk into his lap – Tony wrapped his arms around the pup and scratched wholeheartedly up and down his back.

He saw Peter sit down beside him in his peripheral vision, his hands reaching out to run over Zero’s soft fur, too. Tony turned his head to look directly at him, the grin still alive and well on his face. “What do I need to do? I can’t leave here without him,” Tony admitted shamelessly, his chest light in so many ways for the first time in a while.

The smile he got from Peter in response to his question could only be described as breathtaking – the roundness of his cheeks made Tony want to reach out and touch; his entire being ached to see if his skin was really as soft as it looked. He watched Peter slip his tongue out and wet his lips, the other not missing the fact that Tony couldn’t look away. Peter let out a soft breath and kept staring at him.

“The process is pretty easy, honestly.”

And it was – Tony paid the fee and signed the paperwork while Peter ran through Zero’s latest vet visits and the ones that would be necessary in the future. Tony didn’t think to bring a leash, so Peter gave him one hanging behind the desk. “I teach a behavior class on Friday nights. You can bring the leash and Zero back later this week for it,” Peter said confidently, their fingers brushing when the leash exchanged hands.

Nodding, Tony held up the leash in salute. “Whatever you say, puppy guru. Do you happen to have a card? Just in case I have any questions, or anything.” Tony tried to sound innocent, but the smirk that pulled across his face gave him away. It’d been a long time since he tried to get someone’s number – he felt a little rusty.

Peter didn’t miss a beat, however – he pulled a drawer open and de-capped a pen, his hand flying over the card quickly. “That’s my personal. Just in case,” Peter shot back, his fingers pushing the card across the counter.

Tony picked it up before he knelt down to get the leash attached to Zero’s collar – the dog resting heavily against his leg while he did. Petting his head lightly, Tony stood back up and threw Peter one last grin. “Thanks for the help, Peter. We’ll see you Friday.” Tony couldn’t help but smile as Zero started to pull him forward, the dog’s paws slipping on the floor in his haste.

----

After letting Zero explore both the front and back seat of his car, Tony settled into the driver’s seat and set off towards the nearest pet store. He felt a little nervous bringing his brand-new friend into the store – they weren’t used to each other yet. Zero didn’t even bat an eye, though – he followed Tony around the aisles with a wagging tail and minimal barking. Tony held the different toys down for Zero to sniff every now and again, his dog just as indecisive as him.

In the end, they left the store with a whole lot more shit than Tony originally intended. The big bed looked hilarious in the backseat of the small Audi. Zero seemed to like it, though – he curled up on the thing the second Tony started the car. He figured he’d be dealing with an unruly puppy, or overexcited thing that couldn’t control itself. The reality of the situation was even better.

The night went surprisingly well – Tony let Zero take up whatever space he wanted in the penthouse. Peter assured him that he was potty trained, which proved to be correct pretty early on when the dog scratched his leg and looked longingly towards the balcony. He did it again early the next morning, his cold nose pressing against Tony’s cheek more than enough of a wakeup call to get him out of bed, stumbling towards the sliding glass door. The damn dog was too cute, it seemed impossible to hold anything against him.

Physically unable to part himself from Zero, Tony put the brand-new blue collar and tags they got the night before around his neck. The ‘bad to the bone’ leash clipped nicely to it – the whole look totally fitting for the badass little pooch. With Zero completely decked out and identifiable as Tony’s, he felt comfortable enough to leave with the pup for the day.

Tony’s caffeine headache had him pulling into the drive-thru of his favorite café, a smile coming to his face when he got to order a pupachino for the little dog that already owned all the pieces of his malfunctioned heart. Zero climbed up onto his shoulder while they waited in line, so Tony flipped the camera on his phone and took a picture of the two of them. Fumbling around the cupholder he put Peter’s card in, Tony sent the picture in a text – the happiness he felt needed to be shared.

Tony Stark: Look how cute we are. Thanks for hooking us up.

He got a few sips of his coffee in before his phone went off, the number he already typed in as Peter Parker lighting up his screen. Tony shook his head at the giddy feeling spreading through his chest, an old man like him shouldn’t feel as on edge about a cute guy texting him as he did in that moment.

Peter Parker: You two are quite the pair. Peter Parker: It was my pleasure! Glad to have made such a sweet connection.

The soft grin he already associated with Peter stayed on his lips the rest of his drive into the office and even further into the day as the two of them continued to text back and forth. Tony didn’t get much work done – between trying to be as charming as possible in his texts to Peter and loving the fuck out of Zero, there wasn’t much room for anything else.

Predictably, the rest of the week followed suit. Tony couldn’t get enough of the white fur-ball that got more and more comfortable with him as the days passed. Zero stayed by his feet while he was in the lab and followed him around the penthouse when Tony was finished for the night. The mutual appreciation of walks had them wandering around the little neighborhoods Tony never took the time to explore before.

By the time Friday rolled around, Tony was excited to show off his and Zero’s bond – a big part of him thought that Peter would be the most impressed by something like that. In their conversations throughout the week, Tony learned that Peter trained dogs professionally after studying behavior in college. He answered any of Tony’s questions and appreciated all the little anecdotes Tony shared about the short time he’d been enjoying the heck out of Zero.

Walking into the room he was directed to, Tony lit up when Peter noticed him. In a couple of long strides, Peter was right in front of him, his hand already reaching down to press against Zero’s head. “Hey you two! You guys are in luck – it’s a small class, so you’ll get lots of hands on stuff tonight,” Peter caught his eye as he spoke, the smirk on the younger man’s lips making Tony’s throat suddenly very dry.

He nodded his head listlessly, his hand tightening on Zero’s lead. The crush on Peter that he’d been fostering for the past few days doubled in size throughout the next hour. There was one other dog owner and their pup – another puppy adopted from the rescue. Not only was Peter attentive, he knew his shit and didn’t mind explaining things as he went. As someone that put information above almost everything else, Tony liked all things about that.

Zero seemed to like it, too – he showered Peter with affection when he stood talking to Tony at the end of the class. He nosed at Tony’s hand, then pressed against Peter’s leg and licked at his ankles. Tony couldn’t help but grin down at him – the antics already too much.

“I found a local brewery that has a patio that allows dogs – any interest in catching a drink with us?” Tony asked – the conversation had got to the point where they were just staring longingly at each other. It seemed like the perfect time to put himself out there. The grip on Zero’s lead tightened for just a second; he didn’t think he read their interactions wrong, but after so much time away from the dating game, he could never be too sure.

Peter reached out and laid a hand on his arm, the touch the slightest bit reassuring, “I would like that very much. I hope you’re talking about Landry’s – they have the best cheese curds.” He turned his body and started to gather his stuff up like he’d merely been waiting for Tony to buck up the courage to invite him out before getting his shit together. Maybe he was – the idea of that honestly not the worst thing. At least then, he was joined in the intensity of his feelings.

They split up for the few minutes it took them to drive their separate cars to the brewery and met back up at one of the picnic tables closest to the open grass space right next to the building. There were a couple of other dogs milling around the grass – Zero looked over at them curiously, but remained by Tony’s side, his body resting on his feet after a while.

Their view of the sunset was fantastic – they shared a couple orders of cheese curds and truffle fries; Tony liked the way Peter closed his eyes around the bites that were extra indulgent – the redness of his cheeks absolutely divine. The amount of times being caught looking at him probably should have been embarrassing. Yet, Peter simply smiled back and moved his hand a little closer to Tony’s on the table.

It took most of the night for their fingers to finally tangle together – Tony wanted to be sure and enjoyed the build-up to it once he was. Peter’s hands were just as soft as Tony imagined them – his long fingers fit perfectly between his own. They shared a shy smile and sat together until the sky started to rumble a little while later.

Big raindrops suddenly falling on them made the decision to pay the bill and huddle for warmth in Tony’s car easy – Peter climbed into the passenger seat without any restraint. It was obvious that neither man was ready for the night to end. 

In hopes of a few seconds to think his next move through, Tony started the car and made sure the vents were open so the car didn’t get too hot. He was startled by a cool hand on his own, Peter’s fingers around his wrist pulling his attention back to where they both wanted it to be.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Peter admitted, his body shifting in the seat. The Audi didn’t have too much space in it, so they were already close. The move of Peter’s shoulders brought them within breath sharing distance. “I like spending time with you.”

Tony didn’t bother trying to find the words to respond appropriately. Without any hesitation, he closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. His hands wandered to the front of Peter’s shirt; the fabric there warm from the heat of his body. A soft moan left Peter’s lips, the sound so encouraging – Peter’s response to it all exactly what Tony was hoping for.

Tilting his head, Tony was about to deepen the kiss when he felt a wet tongue on his cheek. Since his was currently tangled with Peter’s, it could only belong to none other than Zero. He pulled away with a sudden laugh – the excellence of the situation hitting him when Peter beamed at him.

“Better get used to him, Zero. I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” Tony murmured, one of his hands running softly over the puppy’s head.

Peter pulled Tony and Zero towards him, the group hug the sweetest thing Tony figured he’d ever been a part of. The press of lips against his forehead had Tony sighing, his body light for the first time in decades.

The start of something new felt pretty damn good.  

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends

Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.

It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.

And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.

I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.

Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.

Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!

Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.

Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.

I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.

Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.

Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.

Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.

Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.

My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.

We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.

Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.

Comic books are wild, y’all.

Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command,  is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.

Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.

Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.

Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…

Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?

So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.

The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.

Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.

Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.

Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.

I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?

Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.

The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.

Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.

Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.

Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.

On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.

Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!

Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.

Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.

Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.

Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.

Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?

They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?

Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.

Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.

The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.

And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!

No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.

Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?

The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.

Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.

Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.

Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.

Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.

Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?

Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!

This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.

WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG

Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.

The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.

Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.

That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?

Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.

Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.

They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.

It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.

Okay, time for Plan B.

I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.

Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…

I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.

The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!

This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.

Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.

Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.

If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!

Red herring!

Red herring!

Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.

Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.

Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.

Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.

That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.

He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.

And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.

Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?

The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.

Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.

Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.

Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.

Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.

Big oof.

Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.

Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.

Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.

Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.

...Well, shit.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Boys and Girls

Inspired by Boys and Girls by Alabama Shakes. A little sweet birthday blurb/mini fic. 

I am taking commissions by the way!

Calum likes to take it easy on his birthday. And she’s got a sweet little plan. 

___________

I’m rescuing you from the bars tonight. 11 pm sharp. 

Calum relays the message to Ashton, the man in charge of climbing-into-birthday-hours festivities. Calum’s birthday celebrations usually only went for a day. He liked having some time to be at peace during the day on his actual birthday. The idea of pre-graming his birthday the night before and then having a nice dinner the day of was ideal to appease the friend group that never fully needed a reason to go out onto the town. 

Ashton nods though at Calum’s request. “You know the party will be rolling on for a while if you ever care to rejoin us.”

“I’m aware,” Calum returns as his phone shakes again with a message from her. Wear something cozy too.

This is the sort of deal people get when they’re getting kidnapped you know, he replies with a grin on his face. 

Trust me, this is not the warning a kidnapper gives. 

Any clue on what’s going down?

No. No clues. 

That’s the last time Calum’s phone shakes from her. He assumes it might be work and doesn’t bombard her with any more messages. Though he does think it’s unfair, he doesn’t want to fully ruin whatever surprise she has planned. Both of them have been friends ever since Calum spilled his drink in the cafe that she worked. She wheeled the mop out with a laugh as Calum apologized profusely. 

“Accidents happen. Let me get you a refill.” She covered the spill, or at least the majority of it, up with the dingy yellow bucket, before going back behind the counter and washing her hands. The machines kicked back to life. She personally walked the drink over to him. 

“I swear I’m not this much of a klutz most days,” Calum sighed. 

“Well, I am. So let me tell you, it’s not the end of the world. Drink your coffee. The caffeine will get those motor skills right again.”

Calum was thankful that at this time of the day the cafe wasn’t busy or else the morning crowd running to get their caffeine before their days started would not have been pleased with his accident. After that, Calum returned to the cafe more regularly. She had memorized his order so that on sight she had the card reader ready as she ran down the specifics.  They chatted during her breaks sometimes. They grabbed lunch at the little Mexican restaurant across the street during her lunch break.

She was always planning something, Calum had learned. When he mentioned Duke, on more than one occasion, she asked about his birthday and what kind of toys and treats he liked. The questions had not prepared him for when she knocked on his door about mid-morning three weeks later with a huge basket in her hands. It was filled with toys, treats, and a couple other necessities like doggy bags and training pads. It didn’t stop her from mailing him flowers on Valentine’s Day with a note that read, Love sucks. But you don’t. So here are some flowers. Calum still uses that notecard a bookmark in all the random novels and collections of poetry that he reads. 

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

The bars are packed; the streets are buzzing with people and heels clicking and loud laughter. It’s to be expected on a Friday night in a city is constantly on. Calum keeps a close eye on the time. He doesn’t dare want to miss his rendezvous time. He promised to share his location at 10:00 and again at 10:30 so she could figure how far into the city his friends had carried him. It’s early now, just barely ticking past 9 pm. They agreed to take the night slow so that everyone could actually remember ringing in the birthday and so Calum wouldn’t be sloppy when she came to get him. 

The first sip of alcohol burns a little--it’s not great. Calum screws his face up and wants to ask who the hell ordered the first round. But a mixed drink is slipped into his hands soon after. The nearly sour taste is gone under the slight fizz of his new concoction. They're ushered upstairs to VIP, hands stamped as they go. From above, Calum can see the mass of bodies on the floor below. He watches them, swaying collective in the first haze of alcohol slowly dulling his senses. 

The lights strobe, flashing reds, yellows, and purples across his face. Calum doesn’t really pay attention, attempting to suck in the smell of sweat and old alcohol. He lets the buzzing of the speakers blasting music crawl into his ear, peel back his eardrum and nestle into his brain. He takes another sip, feeling the warmth radiating from his chest. Laughter erupts from behind him and he turns to rejoin civilization, the collection of his friends settling onto couches. 

Calum nurses the drink until they decide to leave. He checks his phone again to see the time. 10 pm. They wonder for just a block before landing another bar. This one smaller, more intimate. When the whole group settles into a booth, Calum pulls up her thread. He slides right under the message bar and taps on the small Google Maps icon. It takes a moment before his GPS locates the address and he taps for it to send. 

She responds with the thumbs-up emoji before another one lights up his screen. I’m actually not too far from there. Let me know if you guys wander to the strip club. 

Calum can almost hear the sarcastic lilt, the little giggle she’d give if this were in person. There would be a seriousness to her face though. She’d laugh but her tone always told on her. Always said that she wasn’t truly joking. I won’t. Unless you’re working tonight, which means I have to, of course, support you.

I do not have the body for a stripper. But thanks for the vote of confidence you goober.

A can clinks on the table and Calum looks up. He recognizes that can anywhere and grins. “Thanks.”

It’s here, when the group shimmies themselves out onto the dancefloor, that Calum knows they won’t be heading anywhere else. He calls for a quick breather and leans against the booth and finds his phone. I think we’re here for the rest of the night. It’s 10:48 when he sends the text and pockets his phone again. He spies Luke attempting to pass along the wave but no one bites and he laughs into his can. 

One of their photographers and good friend walks over. “You waiting for someone or enjoying your birthday?”

“Both,” Calum returns, still grinning. He can feel his cheeks splitting a little with the slightly tipsy laughter that shakes him. Ashton’s attempts at teaching his dance are going poorly, but the older man refuses to give up. 

“Easy there big fella,” Calum bellows when another friend almost goes face-first into the floor. Calum helps him steady. “Dancing is not for you.”

They laugh in return. “Maybe not. No.”

Calum feels the shake in his pocket of his phone. He gives his goodbyes, though most of them don’t hear or don’t really acknowledge his parting. It’s 11:00 pm sharp when he steps outside and reads her text. Outside. He spies her, leaning against the front of her car. And he knows it’s her thanks to the banana colored leather jacket. She’s worn it almost every day it seemed that he’s known her. 

It was different for sure and it was starting to show it’s length of wear. But she wore it all the same and didn’t care. He checked the size once, plans brewing to maybe replace it with something similar or get another one. He spied one that was burgundy that he thought she might like. He wasn’t sure, but the cropped jacket had all the chains it could handle and he knew she like the zipper and chains. 

When he gets closer, she runs over and wraps her arms around his middle. “Hey,” he whispers, encasing her waist with his arms. 

“Hey,” she grins. They remain close, swaying a bit with the hug, for a few minutes. She pulls back first. Her smile is bright in the neon lights of the bar. “It’s a bit of a drive. But I brought snacks!”

Calum nods. “Snacks are good.” They walk to her car, though it’s not that far with his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. “What’s in store for me?”

“Just you wait and see.” 

Calum can see Duke when he cracks open the door, curled up in her backseat. “How’d you get into my house?”

“You gave me a spare key you idiot. He’s a sleepy boy, so keep your voice down.” Calum is careful as he picks up Duke before settling into the passenger seat. The windows are cracked and when she finally gets up onto the interstate, Calum lets the breeze whip across his face, one hand gently petting at Duke’s head. 

Her radio plays quietly, much better compared to the rattle of the clubs where he couldn’t hear his own voice talking. The moonlight is bright on the clear night and even though the lights are polluting the sky, Calum makes a point to follow the moon as they zoom south on 110. As they pass buildings, Calum notes which windows are bright and which ones are dark. He wonders what’s happening there. If someone is gearing up for a late-night binge or if they are getting ready for the day ahead of them. What does it feel like to have a job where the clock starts dead in the night and ends when the morning sun has skirted around the horizon? The same could be said for his job, for his line of living but it’s different. He gets a break and snaps back to reality here and there. 

“Thanks for letting me kidnap you,” she says, as they get stuck behind just a small bit of traffic. 

“You told me that wasn’t a warning that kidnappers gave.”

“It is. But I never said I wasn’t a kidnapped. Besides you’re a grown man, is it still kidnapping? What’s the version for adults being snatched up?”

“I’m not The Google,” Calum retorts before pulling out his phone. For a brief moment he wonders if he should actually Google this question. The search history would not look good if something were to happen. But he knows nothing will. 

“According to The Google,” Calum starts, “‘A kidnapping does not have to include a child. To kidnap is to take someone illegally by force, whether they be adult or child.’ So, to answer your question, yes, it is.”

“The Google has spoken.”

Putting his phone into the empty cup holder, Calum reaches for the dial on her stereo. “Birthday rights?” he asks before touching the dial.

“You know you’re the only one that control the radio even if I’m driving. I’d murder anyone else.”

“I’d be careful about that kind of stuff. Duke is sensitive about that.”

“It’s not like I said I’d murder you. And if I did, I would steal Duke and run away.”

Calum squawks his laughter, wanting to hit her leg gently but reframing because of her driving. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”

“Duke would be the only one that would know. He’d rat me out. And normally, I’d say kill all the witness but I can’t in this situation.”

Calum just watches her in disbelief. The lights of the highway pass over her skin in patches. “God bless the person that snatches you up,” he murmurs. She looks at him, a bit of a glare and her lower lip rolls out. But then she laughs before turning her attention back to the road. “Where are those snacks?” he asks. 

She throws her thumb over her shoulder and Calum twists, to find a reusable bag full of snacks. He grabs the bag of cheez-its on top and pops open the mostly air-filled bag. The cheese dust falls a little and Calum makes sure to lean a little over Duke’s sleeping figure. The first bag goes faster than Calum cares to admit and when he goes back for another bag, she laughs. “How drunk are you?”

“I had a shot and two drinks!” he defends, popping open the second bag too. “So bite me.”

It’s when they find the shore and Calum catches the crashing of the waves that he starts to worry. No beach can be open at 11:53 at night. But as they near and he peers the sign, stating they’re 24 hours, he swallows back down the protest. The whole boardwalk is alive though. He can see the lights reflecting off the water and the line of neon lights. People are walking in and out of the dive bars and pups. “You know we could’ve gone to Santa Monica for the beach?” he returns. 

“Oh, c’mon that was a nice drive.”

He nods, taking her hand for a brief moment. They always have nice drives. Just feeling the wind and talking about everything under the sun. His eyes dance across the scenery. Duke’s aroused awake but Calum holds him close. She goes around to the trunk and it’s only the sound of it slamming close that gains his attention. She’s got a basket in one hand and the tote on her shoulder. “I can help.”

She shakes her head before trailing ahead of him. They pause for a moment to work off shoes before delving into the sand. Calum takes a deep breath of the seawater, the way it’s lapping at the shoreline. She places a blanket down not too far into their trek and Calum continues on, pausing to set Duke down for just a moment. Calum works up the legs of his jeans. The movement causes Duke to wake and watch. His paws hit the sand faster than she can catch him and Calum notices the clinking of tags before he hits the water. 

“I don’t think she’s prepared for wet dog smell for an hour, bub.”

Calum steps until the water hits his ankles and stops. The water is definitely cold. It makes him clench his jaw a little. But he likes the shock. Takes a bit of the heat off from the alcohol. He’s almost 24, almost inching towards more milestones in his life. He wonders what 24 will bring him--if it’ll be nice in love and bigger in success. Does he even need to worry about success?

How come 24 really doesn’t feel any differently than 23 or 22? Age was catching up, he noticed. His body not breaking down food like before, the random aches in his knees sometimes. Though he blamed too many punk jumps from the early days. Maybe just felt differently when he didn’t feel like he was racing against a clock or someone else’s expectations. His life was going well and that’s all he could really ask for. He still had his health, he could still spoil his mother and his sister like he wanted as a thanks to them. He could even spoil his old man and his friends. 

Yeah, his relationship with time had changed. He wasn’t running for anything and didn’t have to anymore. Things would come in due time. All he had to do was just be there for the opportunities when they came knocking. 

“Happy birthday!” she cheers. “Officially 12:01, January 25th.”

Calum turns to find her, not too far behind him with a cupcake in hand. “You didn’t tell me there were cupcakes.”

“There are always cupcakes!” She is not a singer. By no stretch would she ever consider the profession, but her voice is lovely as she sings Happy Birthday to Calum, standing in freezing water and the candle flickering in the breeze off the water. He worries that the flame will go out but her hand cups against the air and it remains lit. 

Calum’s gentle as he blows out the candle, eyes still closed from his wish. She pulls the candle free and shoves the icing into his nose. Calum huffs, attempting to lick it off. He’s thwarted by his own tongue and trying to keep Duke away from it too. Her giggles echo against the waves. He can’t even be mad. They hike back to the blanket and she hands him a napkin to clean his nose.

He swipes the icing off and dollops it onto her nose. The cupcake is still moist as he takes a bite of it. “I know it’s not a lot. But I know home means a lot to you.”

Calum’s quick to scarf down the rest of the cupcake. The drinks have him still just a hair fuzzy and he’s sure the sugar’s only going to serve him into a headache, but for the moment he can indulge himself into the sweet treat. She holds out the small gray velvet box.

“I’m just glad it’s not a giant basket of stuff like you did for Duke. Transporting that into my house drunk would be a stuff time.”

She snorts. “Which is why I’m sober. I’ll keep that in mind for next year.”

Calum looks at her, fingers still poised around the gray box. Next year. A funny phrase to think about when the hallmark of his physical body has already hit. “We’re gonna be friends so long they’re going to write stories about us.”

Her nod is curt. “Open the fucking present. I can’t wait for you to cry like a baby.”

He balks, eyes widening. “I would never do such a thing.” Her pursed lips and quirked eyebrow state otherwise. “Okay, maybe just a little.” 

The box is a little stiff to open and when his eyes land on the gold ring with two silver ferns etched into his, his heart races. His eyes sting a little. “Really?” He hates that she was right but the first teardrops and his lower lip wobbles a little. “For me?”

“I don’t know any other Māori men that would want a silver fern ring, so yeah for you.”

Calum doesn’t even slip it on. He just reaches out and brings her into his chest. “I love it. I love you. Thank you.”

“Love you too, Cal.” There’s just a moment’s silence before she pokes his side. “I told you you’d blubber.”

“Shut up. Let me have this moment. It’s my birthday, asshole.” She giggles into his chest but remains silent on the snarky remarks. 

Calum watches the ring catches the light as they return to the highway. The gold is bright and flashes. He hasn’t stopped staring at it and though he hasn’t gotten back into wearing rings too much, he knows from this moment on, he’s going to be wearing this one every day. The ferns disappear just a little when he tilts it away from him but when he brings the flat face back into his view he sees their etchings. 

Ashton’s messages are unanswered on the drive back home because Calum can’t bring himself to look at anything other than a ring and the girl sitting next to him. God, he’s lucky to have her in his life. They haven’t known each other that long, in comparison to the decade he’s spent with the guys. But the two years have been full of stupid inside jokes, like adding ‘the’ in front of Google and a constant string of text that consists of ‘you suck but you’re stuck with me. so I still love you’ and pictures of dogs she sees at work. 

It’s just past one in the morning when she pulls into Calum’s driveway. He insists on her staying the night since it’s so late and she has to be up early. There’s no real protesting, even as he shoves her into the bathroom to shower. “What about a deal?” she asks, watching him turn the water on. 

“No deal. Just stay here. It’s too late for you to be driving.”

“You can drive,” she grins. 

“I’ve been drinking so I will be driving nothing. Now, strip and shower. I won’t be hearing any further arguments on the case.”

“We’ve watched too many law shows,” she counters, leaning into the door. 

“Or maybe not enough,” Calum counters, kissing her forehead. He turns from the door, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket. 

“If I ever did start striping, would you actually come to the club to see me?”

Calum nods, a hum falling over his lips. She’s hidden by the door but her head peaks out over it. “I surely would. Once you got a solo dance, I’d spent a thousand on you in a heartbeat.”

“You flatter me, Hood.” 

“What else are friends for?”

The door creaks closed and he’s a little slow to take off his clothes. Soon the shoes, jeans, and shirt fall into a pile onto the floor. He has half a mind to kick them over to his laundry basket but he falls into his bed. She’ll do it and fuss the entire too at him. To his shock, when she returns, she falls into bed next to him. 

“I feel bad that I have to work on your birthday,” she admits. 

“You’ll be there for the dinner though, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then it’s all good, sweetheart.” She curls up under his sheets, Duke pressed into her chest. “Happy birthday,” she repeats, eyes falling closed. 

“You’re the best, ya know?” Calum returns. He’s sure she has succumbed to sleep and he’ll follow her soon into unconsciousness but he toughs it out a moment or two longer after her. “Glad you’re my best friend.”

He watches her chest fall evenly under the sheets. She’s asleep, he concludes when she gives no rebutall, so he clicks off the bedside lamp. “Ashton’s going to be pissed if he hears I took his place.” Her cheeks squished into the pillow makes her voice muffled as she speaks. 

Calum’s laughter shakes his chest. He finds one of the smaller pillows from behind his head and throws it blindly in the direction of her side of the bed. “Oof,” she huffs at the impact. 

“Tell him and I have to kill you.”

“Okay, secret’s safe with me.” More silence ensues. Calum feels himself sinking into the mattress. It’s not hard thanks to the alcohol making his limbs heavy. “For now.”

“Oh my god, if you do not shut up.”

“What are you going to do? Hit me with another pillow.” Calum gives no verbal rebuttal but finds the last pillow at his disposal and whacking her with it. “Ouch!” she hisses. “I’m not fixing you breakfast tomorrow then. Take that.”

“You mean later this morning.”

Calum gets a pillow to the chest and it partially clips his chin in response. “Hey!”

“Good night, Hood.”

“Good night, sweetheart.” The bed dips and then there’s nothing else. He just sinks, and sinks, and sinks. 

Tagging: @glitterlukey @5-secondsofcolor @irwinkitten @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles

[qhostqizmo]

Defeated

I’ve written a lot of small pieces like this from Essie’s perspective, but not enough with Amon’s so.... Here’s a smol bit I had in mind earlier.

- - - - - - - - - -

Tongue-tied with yearning, Amon could only watch, fascinated, as Essätha spoke calmly with to the mighty minotaur before her. In a few calming words, she’d been able to deescalate the furious bull from possibly charging their warlock and beating him with their enormous fists blazing, to the placid individual they were now. They spoke like acquaintances; her warm inviting smile and hand upon their bicep and the man-beast showing his teeth in a smile that was polite but still daunting.

She had such power in her words; more than any average spellcaster or enchanter. Her true courage was not even her spunk or her magic, but her perseverance in her kindness and patience. It took her such little effort to be able to dig beneath other’s skin; to find their weakness and exploit their hurt, but not in the way one expected. Not with hurt or malice, but with care and tenderness.

His insides twisted uncomfortably. With her popularity and free spirit, there would be no stopping her. She was going to continue roaming far and wide; aiding man and beast, and disappear further and further from his reach. It did not matter her promises to him. He knew better then to think she could keep them. Such a precious woman would be fought and squandered over for years; others desperate to cling to her, and her urge to keep moving forward and fixing every broken thing in the world would send her away.

To his left, a man chuckled. The nobleman glanced in their direction wearily.

“That’s one incredible woman right ther’,” they stated with awe. Their gaze moved over to Amon; surprised to meet his eyes.

“Oi, you with ‘er mate?”

“I am,” Amon stated, a burning pride swelling in his chest. His heart latched hopefully on to the words he very much wanted. To be with her.

The man’s expression changed to one almost sly. “Shoot, you lucky a fella to be on the same side as ‘er. Must be nice to have someone that beautiful ‘round all the time to admire.”

Amon bit down on the inside of his cheek to avoid saying something crude in response. Caesar; hovering ever-faithful at his side, was not so silent. Picking up on the change in his demeanor and his scent, the great hound growled quietly in the back of his throat up at the man.

The mastiff unheard by the stranger, they crossed their arms over their chest, and gazed back at Essie. “A woman that fine could probably get about anythin’ she wants, I reckon. She got a sweet mouth on her.” Their eyes swept back to Amon, and with a knowing that made the Briarton Protector’s skin crawl, the man murmured, “Can’t imagine just anyone could tie down a lady like ‘er. Have to be a real special kind of guy to catch her eye.”

Almost immediately, the flair of anger boiling acid in his stomach cooled. Insides quivering, Amon tightened his lips. He placed a hand upon his hunting companion’s collar to stop their protective advance forward.

“I’m sorry, can we help you in some manner?”

“N-No sorry mate,” the guy chuckled, nervous of the sudden hostile tone in his voice and narrowed eyes. Their eyes fleeted over to Essätha, and there was no hiding the sudden spark of want in his eyes.

“Not you, anyway.”

Exhaling loudly through his nose, Amon turned his eyes back towards Essie as well.

He… he was right.

Unworthy, he cast his gaze aside from woman, and the soft glow that seemed to exude from her like a halo. He swallowed roughly against the lump forged in his throat.

What was he thinking? That maybe she might love him? Impossible. What was there for her to love? A broken man, with little good qualities? No title, no honor; a stain on his name from his past? He was not special. He was hardly somebody even when he was a Lord; barely recognizable save for the mockery of his hunting tactics. Nothing about him was particularly worthwhile; not in looks, not in charm, or expertise, or romantic gestures, or fame, or fortune. He had an old estate, and an old name, and a lot of bad habits and scars and wounds that made him bite and claw and growl without warning. He was a mess. A cruel, cold, hurtful, angry mess.

Maybe she’d been a hidden gem at first; almost his for the taking when she’d been beneath the radar from most of Etheron. Now their faces; and their names, were spreading more in whispers and tales and stories here and there. The memories; the images, the vows, all those yes, he could keep them and hold them dear to his heart, but that is all they would remain to be as she spread her wings.

As desperately as he wanted to wish she would love him; that maybe she would be the one; his soulmate as Abernathy put it (what a cliché), there was no way. He would never be able to keep up in the race. The competition for her heart was too grand a scale, and he would end up with many opponents and would be quickly sidelined and vanquished.

There was nothing special about Amon Thomas Illiad at all.

Nothing for her to love when there was always someone better. There would always be someone better. They would be gentler, stronger, smarter, braver; someone more creative, appreciative, cheerful, kinder, and more considerate. They’d probably be handsomer, bolder, gallant, generous, hard-working, honest, and respectable. Someone who could protect her better. Someone who would give her every luxury. He was not the best to be offered; and the better of the world would certainly show up at her doorstep ready to offer her far more wonderful things then he could. Even if she denied many of them; hoping to find the perfect individual, eventually someone was going to catch her eye.

All he would be able to offer her is his heart. A vow that no one would love her as deeply and truly as he did; boundless and unrestrained and resolute. No one could take that place from him. His very life he would lay down at the blink of an eye for her. He would hand over the keys to what little kingdom in the world he owned, and promise to try harder he ever had in his life to give her everything he could; everything she was worth.

At his side, Caesar let out a mournful whine, his head nudging the nobleman’s leg. Amon released the dog’s collar, and pat him lightly.

The gentleman who had just spoken to him managed to squeeze around Sulhadur, and approached Essie with an eager grin as she waved farewell to the departing minotaur. From a glance around, that man was not the only one drawn in to her magnetic pull like moths to a flame.

With a quiet sigh, Amon’s eyes moved away. There was no use fighting a battle he already lost. He would never be her choice, and he wouldn’t be able to blame her for it. He was not deserving of  Essätha. He wasn’t even adequate to himself; how could he possibly be worthy of her?

Upon his shoulder, he felt the reassuring squeeze of Abernathy’s hand, but he ignored it. The soft melody of her voice as she greeted the stranger brought forth a thousand different feelings in him.

All he wanted was for her euphoric voice to call to him. To give him hope, one last time.

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

I absolutely adore Of Broken Dreams; it was the fic that got me into Stucky, and it's my go to when I need a pick me up! I love all of it, but Christmas at the farmhouse is one of my favorite sections and I would love a little bit of a DVD commentary on your favorite bit of this section! (I can't decide which is my favorite bit XD)

Omg, yes, my dear Lords Rogers and Barnes. I miss them. I should write a one shot with them. anyway I’m gonna do this bit. It’s on the long side, but you need the whole thing for my feelings on it lol 

And thank you so much! That is such a huge compliment!! 

“You’re even the most popular one here.” Steve chuckles as he fixes the ends of the blanket with one hand so that it sits around him. The other hand’s holding a saucer and teacup. “I think they like you better than me.” He smiles and hands him the saucer. “Here.”

Bucky looks at it without taking it. “What’s this?”

Steve gives him a shy smile. “Your cocoa.”

“My…” Oh. Bucky’s tickled pink. He can’t believe Steve actually made him this. A giggle’s about to ripple through him. “I was only fooling, husband!”

“I know.” Steve chuckles. He shrugs and sits down, placing the cocoa in his hands now. “But I promised.”

“Is that where you’ve been?”

“Yes. I’m sorry it took so long. I had to wait for my chance at the stove.”

“Oh. I thought… maybe you… forgot about me.”

Not forgot, not truly lost from his mind. Became distracted and engrossed in deep enough conversation that Bucky was just a distant memory. The expression on Steve’s face though, those large eyes filling with worry and possibly bordering on the edge of panic, tells him his fears have been for naught, and Bucky feels positively absurd. He’s not quite sure he even understands himself anymore.

A year ago he could waltz into uncharted territory, date on his arm--lady, fella, it mattered not--room crowded with people whether he knew some of them, none of them or all of them, and the air would breathe contently around him. Bucky can smile with ease and make others blush with just a bat of the eyes. He’s sweet-talked his way into lots of bed before, taken great care to be the source of pleasure and tenderness to those he’s shared nights with. But this place, surrounded by the House of Rogers’ laughter, he feels small and timid.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “I didn’t mean to take so long. I should have come back to sit with you while the water boiled.” He leans in closer, scoots over enough that he’s able to slip his hand under the blanket and across his thigh. Gives him a tender, arousing squeeze. “Shall I show you how you’ve been on my mind, my Sweetheart?”

The cup rattles in Bucky’s hands. Steve stays them so he doesn’t drop it and spill cocoa all over his lap. Everything, everything, in his body is tight.

“No…” Bucky whimpers. Eyes frantic as they glance around the room to make sure no one has noticed. “Steve!”

His husband snickers and takes his hand back. “M’sorry.”

Bucky glares at him. Tries to anyway. He can’t really complete the expression, can’t fully conjure up the proper amount of heat when it’s too busy surging through the rest of his body.

“You really are mean, husband.” He sniffs. Turns his nose up. “I hope you realize you can no longer hide this fact from me.”

He laughs. “I know it. You don’t really seem to mind all that much.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Bucky sighs and glances down to take a sip of the drink he’s been given. He laughs before he can even bring it to his mouth. “Are there really seventeen marshmallows in this?”

Steve folds his smile in, blush sneaking under his skin as he peer through his lashes.

“That’s how many you asked for,” he says softly. Innocent, even pouty like. “And you were tickling me.”

“Oh boy.” Bucky takes a drink this time. Gives him a peck on the cheek as a means of a peace offer. “Maybe you’ll go easy on me when you find out how ticklish… I am?”

“Ah.” Steve lights up with this information and lets his fingers run along Bucky’s ribs. Bucky tenses and makes a funny, embarrassing noise, but Steve doesn’t wiggle into his side any more than that. “I can be nice, too, you know.”

“Nice?” Bucky muses. “I think you can be much more than nice, husband. But I still believe you’ll tickle me.”

“First chance I get.” He snickers.

Bucky whines. Lip pushed out and eyes big, round and puppy like. One of those illegal looks he knows Steve likes. Letting his eyes fall closed, Steve rests his brow against his, lips curving up.

“And you say I’m unfair,” he mutters.

A giggle rivers through Bucky. Soft and tranquil, and he’s about to run fingers through his husband’s hair when someone shouts. Loud, powerful and followed by a bursting round of laughter. Though neither of them were paying attention, Steve is smiling; gaze focused on the red-headed aunt that doesn’t seem to have use for an indoor voice.

Bucky watches him for a moment. His husband, here, comfortably surrounded by all these people, where it’s noisy and loud and there’re so many different things happening at once. Music is playing from the big phonograph and the children have taken to singing along. Stories are being shared by means of affectionate shouting. Not all that different from a club yet nothing like one at all. Something inside Bucky clicks.

He’s nervous around these people. Feels those knots tying inside of him whenever he thinks of them ignoring him, even tighter whenever he think of them talking to him. They’re sweet and kind, friendly and accomodating and every bit as easy to get along with as Steve. None of that makes being lost in the middle of all of them any less nerve-wracking. Because Bucky’s not here to put on a show.

Not like going to a club opening. There’s no flashy smile or flick of the eyebrows. No running his fingers through his hair and a cool, casual wink or witty remark that’ll win them over. This isn’t about Bucky. Or rather, not just about Bucky.

This is for Steve. This is Steve’s family. The House of Rogers is Bucky’s House now. And… Bucky wants them to like him.

“Are you okay?”

He hears Steve’s question. Looks at him and tries to offer a smile. There’s no real answer. Bucky’s as okay as one who keeps discovering new things of themselves lately can be.

“Okay, everyone!” Lord Rogers, Joseph, as he’s been insisting, just like Sarah, for Bucky to call him, announces. “It’s five minutes to midnight and you know what that means!”

The children hop up and down. Their little hands clap together and they cheer while some of Steve’s aunts and uncles whistle through their fingers. Only Bucky’s not quite sure what it means. Other than it being five minutes before the official start of Christmastide’s Eve, of course. He glances over his shoulder. Steve smiles at him.

“House tradition,” he whispers in explanation. “Dad’ll tell one ghost story before we open the parlor doors and we’ll all add one decoration to the tree.”

“Oh…”

Bucky can feel his face falling as quiet descends upon the room. The walls that once held a cacophony of voices are now hushed as they wait patiently for Joseph to begin. The electric lighting have been turned off, the children excited to make the atmosphere right. Shadows lick the ceilings and floors, hugging everyone as they dance out of the fire in the fireplace and along the wicks of the candles placed haphazardly around the room.

“Is that…” Steve tilts his head. Must see the apprehension growing in Bucky’s eyes even in the dimmed light. “All right?”

“Uh… it’s…”

Something he’s always been teased about. Always. Ghost stories are tradition even in the House of Barnes and from childhood to adolescence to adulthood he’s never outgrown his embarrassing fear of them. Fear of the unknown, of unseen creatures sneaking into his room in the middle of the night to make a playground of his privacy, of his life. Fantasy or truth, it matters not. As a child he’d crawl into his mother’s lap. When he got older, Rebecca would hold his hand. When he grew older still, she held his hand under the table where no one could see.

There’s no Rebecca this year. No sister to hold his hand in hers, fingers gliding over skin when he tenses at the parts that get to him most. No mother to kiss his cheek and offer to check under his bed when the stories have all been spent. A joke of course, but Winifred would’ve done it for him if Bucky asked. No father to clap an arm over his shoulder and remind him that they’re only stories. Stories meant to remind the living to live true and righteous.

“Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky whispers back since Joseph is clearing throat to begin. “I’m… fine.”

This story is one that Bucky particularly hates. It’s the outcome that gets to him most. The uncertainty of it. Does the school teacher live or die? Does he make it across the bridge? Does the headless man catch him or not?

Bucky’s trying to focus mostly on the cocoa that he has. Making heavy work of drinking it slowly. But not even halfway through the story the glass is empty and if he doesn’t focus enough, it’ll rattle atop the saucer in his shaky hands. The second time this happens, a pair of large hands cover both of his and the teacup and saucer. They appear out of the darkness and startle Bucky enough that he gasps.

From next to him, Steve, the source of the hands, of course, snickers. More embarrassment flushes through Bucky when he peers up at his husband. Even in this darkened room his eyes glow, piercing through the blackness like a lifeforce. He leans forward after setting the cup aside, mouth by Bucky’s ear.

“Are you scared, Bucky?” he whispers. “Do you not like ghost stories?”

He opens his mouth to answer. Nothing comes out though. All he can manage to do is give Steve a weak nod. Hope his husband won’t be too harsh with his teasing. Only Steve smiles at him. Smiles and then opens his arm out for him. There might not be a sister here tonight. No mother. They’re back on the Isle of Manhattan. No father. Lost to the world. But there is his husband. His Steve.

Bucky scoots closer, lets himself melt into Steve’s embrace. To help out even more, Steve gently cradles the side of his head, pressing a hand over Bucky’s ear so that his other is resting up against his chest. He can hear, even feel Steve’s heart. Beat, beat, beat. His chest rises up and down with his contented breathing, as though having Bucky so close provides some sort of extra comfort. Smooth, rhythmic movements that at first hide the small vibrations running through him. It takes him a few minutes longer for Bucky to figure out what it is. Steve is humming. Blocking out the sounds of the story even further by humming to him.

Not just any tune either. Bucky recognizes it immediately. Their wedding song. Steve is softly humming their wedding song.

I love this particular scene because of how much Bucky’s grown over the course of only three to four months. I think it was easy for people to forget that his life was literally upheaved. The rug was pulled out from under him after his father died and this was not the life he’d been groomed for. And, sure, we the readers know that Steve would never do anything to hurt him, but in the story, Bucky has no idea. 

Bucky’s been in a spiraling depression since the night his father died and it’s around now that he’s finally seeing his way out of it. Not for Steve, though, but because Steve’s been shining a light for him and letting him climb out on his own terms and at his own pace. 

No longer is Bucky wary of Steve’s touches. In fact, he’s so comfortable with him now that he misses him when he’s simply another room away. And because Steve is so much more comfortable here with his family, Bucky gets to see just how real and genuine he is. Steve is so kind-hearted and good-natured that Bucky is blown away by it. 

This is also Bucky’s first holiday away from his family, people he’s not even supposed to consider his family anymore and even though he still mourns for what he’s lost, he’s able to take comfort in Steve. 

And, Steve, well, Steve is just thrilled. They’ve been playful and teasing and touching. Exploring a whole new side of their marriage. Since they’re all pretty sure this will be Sarah’s last holiday with them, this is hard on Steve and having Bucky here with him is like a warm anesthetic pumping through his veins. 

The children are all taken with Bucky, too. Even when he’s not trying, Bucky’s charming and sweet. It’s just part of who he is and the House of Rogers fully embraces him. Bucky’s always been popular and well-liked, but he actually wants Steve’s family to like him for who he is, not a song-and-dance for Society and their watchful eyes. 

Fanfic DVD Commentary Asks

[twincircus-blog1]

#4 - ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME

Earth time - October 18th, 2017

Ciao, ciao, ciao...shall we point out the historical significance of Rome and or Italy in human culture? I think not, it would be like reading War and Peace!...so let's move on. The weather is great, in fact Rome is experiencing one of their hottest summers in years, cool. Here we hit the roman pavement with a bang, right on the bridge near the Castel Sant'Angelo, just in line of sight of the famous Vaticano. Not bad, droves of tourists from all over the World cross this bridge on their way from the Vatican, and here we are, playing some tunes for their entertainment, and they're loving it. Newly weds, parents, children, couples, singles, you name it, happy to join the circus and happy to reach into their pockets to support our cause, GRAZIE. Little did we know, we weren't allowed to play here, EVER! 

Intermission...

A little anecdote. You see we were already told on a couple of previous occasions, that we weren't to play here, by a man who we assumed was a security guard from the Castel Sant'Angelo, but we persisted. On the third occasion, he came with two other well dressed fellas in blue, and Eris, fiery as always, gives them a piece of her mind as I try to inform her that they were the italian police, "ahhh Eris, calm down they're the Italian police", but she wasn't listening, until the head honcho fella shows her his badge, and in no uncertain terms asks us, no tells us, to leave the premises or else, and if we don't have a permit then forget playing anywhere in Rome, got it!...Eris succumbed. (Translation and paraphrased, but you get the picture)

Back to the story...

We obtained our permits for Piazza Navona, a huge piazza of Baroque Roman architecture with three gorgeous intricately sculptured fountains; Fontana del Moro, Fountain of Neptune and at its centre-piece, La Fontana dei Quattri Fiumi (the fountain of four rivers). There are many restaurants that circle round like an Olympic stadium with people filling the park and the seats. So we setup, plugged in, and soon we were surrounded by happy onlookers and our case was filled with notes and coins, whoa, we're enjoying this. But fortune is always met with trouble waiting eagerly to make an appearance, and he moves fast, and as some of the other veteran buskers found out about this, they weren't to happy with us messin' in their turf. Admittedly we were a tiny bit loud and really didn't understand how it worked here, so a brawl ensued, yelling and threats until it calmed down, and to our amazement the crowd cheered and chanted for us to continue performing, ummm, ok then. 

So for buskers out there thinking of playing in Piazza Navona, (or anywhere in Roma Centro area for that matter), make sure you get that permit, or forget a note being played, and keep the volume down, and play a half hour slot and move on around the merry-go-round. But be aware, these veteran guys are a little twisted and might get up your nose anyway, so your call. Our opinion go directly to Trastevere (read below), do not stop, do not collect $200, and all will be good.

Two days later...

We decided Piazza Navona with its pseudo-mafia twisted and jaded old Italian buskers, was to controlled and restrictive for our liking, and it was then we found our small niche, in an area near the river, called Trastevere, with Piazza Di Santa Maria in Trastevere, tiny cafes and bars all 'round, cobble streets, pizza and great Italian cuisine to dine on, many happy street performers, and plenty of tourists marching through hungry for good street entertainment. We made a living here, awesome place, grazie Trastevere, e grazie Rome.

On a personal note, the TWIN CIRCUS duo and their relationship hit some hardship; they say the 7 year itch, and boy, did we itch!...the camper life puts everything under the microscope; it tests, pulls, stretches, pushes, compounds, stresses, cuts, everything and makes one realise what's truly important and authentic to oneself...there is no escaping!...thankfully, we worked through it, slowly but surely, and it was this time that brought us together stronger then ever, and it was in through this sitting together at a ROMAN coffee shop, discussing it all, we came up with the name - TWIN CIRCUS.

Three months later...

Nothing lasts forever, and we had to shovel off to new pastures, we have our debut album to complete, and Eris needs to track her vocals for it. We have been blessed with great friends in a small town called Castellana Grotte, near Bari in the Southern Province of Puglia, Italy, where they have offered us a cute little getaway home in the country all to ourselves, so we can record. Really?...No...this must be to good to be true?...but no, it is true...like I said, blessed with great friends...

So as they say, arivederci Roma, but we'll be back again...so until next time ladies and gentlemen, ciao and arivederci, Twin Circus.

[caffeineivore]

For RaeRae

This is for @antivanonmytongue as the start of a cheer-up-emo project, as it were. 

Title: Bourbon

Author: Thalia

Rating: PG/PG13

'Ship: R/J for RaeRae!

Notes: This is dedicated to our RaeRae because we love her and she is going through hell. Stay strong, lovey! There may or may not be a homage to living in a bar...

As for the fic itself, it does not belong to any ficverse I have. Also, there is a town called Brave, Pennsylvania. However, there is probably not a bar called Hope's Landing in said town. I don't know, have never been there XD!

Thanks much to @antivanruffles for the help with plotting and stuff!!

*-*

It's a slow Sunday on a windy autumn day at Hope's Landing, and so when she walks into the place, looking a bit lost and forlorn underneath the bravado of a stubborn chin and a cherry-red designer trench coat and perfectly applied makeup, she stands out like a flame in the darkness. A dive bar in the tiny town of Brave, Pennsylvania, is definitely not the natural milieu for a young woman such as her, and Jesse Wilson pauses in between polishing a stack of rocks glasses and stares, just for a minute.

She walks in slowly, taking in the scratched and faded green baize of the pool tables in the back, the jukebox in the corner, the dark wood of the bar scarred and grooved from countless glasses rolling towards countless hands. Hair the glossy black of fresh ink spills down her back straight as rain. Manicured red nails clutch a buttery oversized leather handbag with a white-knuckled grip. The black stiletto heels she wears click on the worn floorboards, the sound over-loud in the bar's quiet. She selects a stool at the very far end of the bar and perches on it, and Jesse makes his way over with a faintly curious smile.

“What can I get for you?”

At a closer distance, her eyes are fabulous, a dark blue-violet like a twilight sky. “Maker's Mark, neat.”

He asks for ID, and she pulls out a New York license. The address is uptown Manhattan. “Raeanne Haley. Nice to meet you. My name is Jesse Wilson.”

Her hand is small and delicate and warm, almost swallowed by his, but she nods in thanks when he places the drink in front of her.

“You're far from home.”

“It's about a three hour drive,” she replies, and there's a veiled hint of escape written all over her features. Jesse, to whom Hope's Landing has been home for almost as long as he can remember, is good at getting a read on people, but Raeanne Haley is a very complex book open only a crack and written in very small letters that can't be deciphered at a glance. He's patient, though, and leaves her to her bourbon and thoughts.

The door to the bar opens to reveal a familiar diminutive figure. Earl Flynn is spry for his eighty-plus years, and moves to the bar only after he makes the rounds with all the regulars. He'd once upon a time fought alongside Jesse's grandfather in World War II, part of the same squadron, and he still wears his tags even now, over an ancient Steelers shirt. He accepts a beer from Jesse with a gracious smile and sidles over to the mysterious Raeanne Haley.

“What's a nice girl like you doing at a dump like this, then?” The question would have been rude on a lot of levels coming from anyone else than Earl, but the girl Raeanne does not seem offended, and returns his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“Resting, for the moment.”

“Well, this place on a Sunday surely is restful,” Earl tells her, even as he lifts his beer in a toast. “Now, it's almost too quiet. Not like a Friday or Saturday night, though. But our Jesse can deal with the riff-raff, so don't you worry.”

Raeanne nods and slowly sips her whiskey, and Earl keeps up a steady stream of conversation about the football game playing on the television screen, the prospect of taking his grandkids trick-or-treating on Halloween, coming up later that month, and how long the fine weather would last before it would take a turn for the worse.

“... And we should have some music in here, shouldn't we?” Earl stands and makes his way to the jukebox. “None of these crotchety fellas know how to entertain a lady. Not used to having one hereabouts.” With a wink which must have been rakish once upon a time and still full of charm, he grins at Raeanne, then feeds coins into the machine. Even as low guitar notes come on, Earl calls out for Jesse quite a bit louder than the music.

“Jesse, why don't you have a dance floor in here? Maybe we can get some more customers that way. Especially pretty ladies like her. What do you think?”

The song that Earl selected is 'Lady in Red' by Chris DeBurgh, and the old man couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Jesse glances at Raeanne Haley in her red trench coat, and smiles wryly. “I don't think that pretty ladies like places such as these, for the most part.”

“Well, you could always change her mind. Come on, come on,” Earl is not to be deterred once he is dedicated to a set path, and apparently his mind is made up. “There's nobody here to bother you. Walter and Frank and Barry don't need anything, and neither do I. You should dance with the girl.”

Jesse glances at Raeanne, who has set down her half-finished whiskey, and even as she stands, he comes out from behind the bar. “He's harmless,” he finds himself telling her, even as she lays her hand in his, impulsiveness warring with what seems to be innate aloofness on her beautiful face. “You don’t have to. But I hope you don't mind.”

She doesn’t seem to, and when he puts his other hand on her waist and pulls her in just a little bit closer, the top of her head reaches his lips. He only has to bend his head a little bit to whisper so that no one else can hear them.

“What brings you here to Brave, Pennsylvania?”

“Oh, just… stopping for a bit,” she answers softly. Her lips curve up in a tremulous smile as those amethyst eyes meet his blue ones. “I’m on an impromptu road trip. My best friend from college lives out in LA. I could just fly, of course, but I hate both LaGuardia and JFK, and… this way I can take my time.” Maybe the whiskey has relaxed her a little, or maybe it was Earl’s somewhat one-sided conversation. “I paid a cabbie a good amount of cash to just drive… drive until I told him to stop. And here I am.”

“You told him to stop here?” Earl, the sly bastard, has another slow song playing even as the first one draws to a close. But Raeanne doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. She’s soft in his arms and smells faintly like expensive perfume.

“I liked the name. Hope’s Landing.” She ducks her head and her hair brushes his jaw. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“This was my grandfather’s bar, back in the day,” Jesse tells her to the background music of Elvis crooning ‘Love Me Tender’. “Hope was his mother’s name. He named it after her because she was not really a showy type of woman. Homey, I guess. Sort of like he wanted this place to be.” Jesse smiles wryly as their eyes meet. “This is definitely not a showy type of bar, I’ll say that much. Nothing like New York City.”

“New York is overrated,” Raeanne huffs out a breath. “I’m escaping, if we’re being completely honest. Mina’s okay with putting me up indefinitely in LA; I’ll probably have my stuff shipped there soon. I just needed a change.”

Jesse wonders for a second if Mina in LA is Mina Averill, the rising supermodel and actress, then dismisses the notion as preposterous. “Well, you are well and truly not in New York City any more, Dorothy,” he says gently. “I’m not quite sure what the exact population of this town is, but I’m also quite sure that the population of Manhattan itself is greater.”

“Yeah, and when everyone you know is either a lawyer or a politician or a Wall Street exec or some horrible combination of the three…” Raeanne wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head as Elvis finishes and Sinatra takes his place. “I usually stick to wine. I’m not this chatty as a rule.”

“Maybe you just needed to talk,” Jesse says, and then pulls back enough to look her in the eye. “But if you don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, I could probably make you a sandwich or something.”

“Yes, you go do that, Jesse,” Earl chimes in, as though sensing that the dancing has come to a close, and winks again at Raeanne. “Our Jesse is a good boy. His grandfather and I were friends since we were young. Charlie might have passed five years ago, God rest his soul, but he made sure that our Jesse was raised right.”

Jesse leaves the old man to extol his virtues and takes the stairs in the back of the bar up to the apartment on the second floor. Hope’s Landing doesn’t boast a kitchen or serve food beyond beer nuts and pretzels, but he lives right above it, and while turkey and swiss on rye is probably not typical fare for one such as Raeanne Haley, he returns with the sandwich shortly.

“Thank you.” She accepts it, seeming to know that it’s the exception rather than the rule, and gives him a real smile before tucking in. She’s dainty in that ladylike way while eating, but doesn’t seem to care about crumbs or the fact that she’s only got beverage napkins to wipe her mouth and hands.

The night draws on; more regulars mosey on in, including a pair of ancient, tattooed bikers who offer to teach Raeanne how to play pool. She declines, graciously, but seems to have relaxed as the time draws on. In any case, she watches the game with interest, and when the shorter, skinnier biker wins, claps politely amidst the raucous cheers of the rest of them. She’s still there, unaccountably, her whiskey long-gone and her plate empty, when the clock strikes midnight and the lights come on.

“We close early on Sundays,” Jesse tells her as he finishes cashing out. Under the bright lights, she’s even lovelier, with pale skin and flawless cheekbones. She pays for her drink with a black American Express and signs the slip with flowing, finishing-school script. He doesn’t charge her for the sandwich, but even after the last stragglers make their way towards the door, she remains seated, and he cocks his head to the side. “Do you… do you have a place to stay for the night?”

She shrugs, pulls out a cell phone. “I could Uber it to the closest hotel, I guess. I’m sorry. I was having fun.”

And all of the sudden he feels like he’s on the precipice of something-- something a lot bigger and more important than small talk with a pretty stranger on a random Sunday night. He swallows the surge of nerves and clears his throat. “Well, and please don’t take this in a creepy way, but… you could crash here if you want. I live upstairs. There’s a spare room.”

She stares at him for a moment without speaking, so he hurries on. “You don’t have to, of course. I’m not sure if Uber is available out here, to be honest with you. But if you’d like, I could probably also give you a ride somewhere if you have a place in mind.”

And then she smiles. “You sure I could just crash upstairs? You barely know me.”

“Yeah, and you barely know me. But… yeah, I’m sure. I don’t mind. I just have one question.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Do you like cats?”

*~*

Jesse’s apartment is accessible through the back of the bar, up a flight of stairs, and it is a tidy, open-plan space with two bedrooms, one of which seems to be used as an office with a futon. A small-ish tabby cat darts out from under the coffee table and heads straight for Raeanne’s legs, winding circles around her ankles and staring up with wide, green-and-gold eyes.

“That’s Jim Beam, or JB for short,” Jesse tells Raeanne with a chuckle even as she stoops down to pet the cat. “He’s usually not this friendly. I found him a few months ago as a kitten, hiding out the rain under an empty Jim Beam carton out by the dumpster, hence his name.” Jim Beam apparently finds Raeanne to his liking, because in very short order, he is butting his head against her hand and purring. Raeanne takes a seat on the sofa and the cat hops into her lap, curling up in a ball and blinking slowly in an attitude of contentment, and Jesse grins at her. “He likes you. Anyway, do you need anything? Water? A tour? A t-shirt to sleep in? All of the above?”

She finds herself agreeing to ‘all of the above’, and smiles to herself when she sees the bread bag on the kitchen counter, left untied from when he’d made her that sandwich. Jesse pulls out the futon in the office, but insists that she takes his room instead, fetching fresh sheets and pillows out of a small linen closet and a plain white t-shirt out of the dresser drawer. Jim Beam follows Raeanne into every room, then hops onto the easy chair in Jesse’s bedroom, curling his tail around his feet.

“Shower’s through that door down the hall. And you can probably kick that cat out of that chair to put your stuff,” Jesse says as he efficiently changes the bed-linens. Raeanne exchanges a glance with Jim Beam, and sets her handbag on the bureau instead. She walks up to Jesse just as he finishes straightening up the sheets.

“You don’t have to do any of this for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a smile. “But, I also know not to subject a lady to a futon.”

That’s not at all what she’s referring to and she’s sure he knows it, but something in his dark blue gaze causes her to acquiesce. She stands on tiptoe, and the jaw that comes in contact with her lips is warm and scratchy with stubble.

“Well, thanks. And good night.”

He lays his hand on her shoulder for a moment, nods, and quietly walks out. Raeanne quickly gets ready for bed and curls up underneath the blankets. The sheets smell like him-- plain soap and detergent, no overpriced cologne, and the pillows are soft. This was not quite what she’d planned when she left New York, but… a smile crosses her face and she stares up at the ceiling and says nothing.

Halfway through the night, Raeanne wakes up briefly to Jim Beam hopping on the bed and curling up on the pillow next to hers. She sleepily runs her fingers over the cat’s soft fur, and lets the purring lull her back to the best sleep she’s had in months.

*~*

Raeanne wakes the next morning to the smells of coffee and bacon and the sound of Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones playing faintly on the radio. Jim Beam meows at her from by the bedroom door, and she follows the cat to the kitchen, padding in barefooted and still wearing the borrowed t-shirt. Jesse’s back is turned towards her as he flips a piece of bacon in the skillet, but he turns with a smile before she even says a word.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she replies, and at his gesture, helps herself. Within a few moments, they’re seated across from each other at the cheap dinette set and eating scrambled eggs and bacon as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim Beam cannily positions himself at the optimal spot to beg from both of them, and Raeanne is sure that between herself and Jesse, the cat gets away with a good two slices of bacon. Raeanne eats her fill and watches Jesse from underneath her lashes. His hair shines golden in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, and when he smiles, he has a single dimple in his left cheek. She, on the other hand, looks vastly different wearing no makeup and his t-shirt than her norm, and yet, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Want me to do the dishes?” She gathers her plate and mug and walks over towards the kitchen sink. Certainly it is not a task that she has ever needed to tackle. But even-- or perhaps especially-- a Manhattan socialite knows that something cannot come from nothing.

Jesse says nothing, but before she can reach for the sponge, gently takes both of her hands in his, and pulls her away. His fingers are callused and rough against her manicured ones, and he doesn’t let her go even when they’re a few feet away from the sink. She finds herself staring up at him in wonder and a little bit of consternation.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The smile warms his whole face, including his ocean blue eyes. “Because you need it.”

Raeanne’s next breath hitches in her throat, and she stares down at her bare feet for a moment because the kindness radiating from his whole being is warm and almost unbearable, like being a shade too close to a hearth fire. Her toenails match her fingernails exactly, and she takes a deep breath before glancing up again. “Why do you say that?”

“I just know.” A wry, slightly cheeky smile crosses his face. It’s not stubbly like last night, but he still smells like plain soap and detergent with a hint of coffee thrown in now. “You don’t owe me anything, Raeanne.”

Her name sounds smooth and low on his tongue, and when she frowns at what he says, he chuckles. “Well. I wouldn’t say no to another dance. But don’t tell Earl, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” she answers, and even as Queen’s ‘Someone To Love’ starts playing on the radio, she lets him draw her close. Without her heels, he sort of dwarfs her, and in this tiny, sun-lit kitchen, it’s even closer and more intimate than last night downstairs at the bar. But Raeanne lets her eyes fall closed as they sway infinitesimally to the rhythm, and her face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. Underneath her lips, his pulse isn’t completely steady, and that gives her courage.

“Jesse?” Her voice is muffled against soft cotton and warm skin. “How long can I stay?”

The hand at her waist pulls her just a little closer, and his breath stirs tendrils of her hair. “How long do you want to stay?”

She draws back just enough to look up into his face, and lets herself wonder, only for a moment, why it seems so familiar-- why everything from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab until now seems like destiny knocking. But she still manages a quip. “Until Big Bill and Marty teach me how to shoot pool, maybe.”

“Mmm, and are you a quick study?”

She’s close enough to all but count individual eyelashes, close enough to taste that he drinks his coffee black, just like her, but leans in even closer. Suddenly, she knows that she’s not going to LA after all, though Mina would probably squeal over it later, much later, on the phone once she got through the army of assistants and minions. Raeanne smiles, and answers his question just before she lets her lips brush his as though coming home at last.

“Yeah.”

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 14

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors Drucilla and BlueShifted. When the going gets tough, the tough smack me upside the head and point out all the times I need to use commas.

I honestly didn't think LLL would turn out to be longer than As Dawn Broke, but then I've needed to make a lot of changes to this story that I didn't realize beforehand. So this probably won't being my best work (then again I'm biased) but hopefully you'll still enjoy the ride.

Summary: In his growing rage, Pete confronts the god that "stole" Aphrodite. Will Minnie ever be able to admit who she really is? The chariot race draws closer, but the finish line feels so far away.

Some people, like Goofy, would say they're not good at “thinking”, but that wasn't true. Thinking isn't something one does wrong, as it is as natural as breathing. Coming up with ideas is something one can do wrong, however, and Pete was of this camp. He detested thinking about things that weren't war, or himself, or himself creating war. So trying to come up with the answer behind the mysterious mortal woman was driving him to frustration and he regretted going down this path. But one quality of him that could be viewed as good was that Pete never gave up when he wanted something.

He wanted Minnie, and if impressing her was going to make her belong to him, he wasn't going to give up.

Pete sat on his throne, watching a few petty squabbles on his Viewing Mirror. Occasionally he cast a glance out of the corner of his eyes to see how the rest of Mount Olympus was doing, and it angered him that it was the same as ever. Gladstone was admiring his reflection everywhere he saw it, including in the eyes of annoyed gods. Mortimer was testing out his latest drunken idea, the world's smallest glass of alcohol which he deemed a “shot”, and a few demi-gods murmured that it'd never catch on. It'd been many days since Aphrodite claimed she would wed Hephaestus, and just like that, every man on the Mountain had given up on her. What a bunch of weaklings! They'd been so ready to fight over her when she was available, but she says one silly declaration and they all went on as if she never existed. Didn't it bother any of them that she chose some nobody?

Pete was better than everybody, and therefore better than a nobody. He would make Minnie see his greatness, and there was no way Hephaestus could compare. Who was this guy, anyway? Pete paid so little attention to things outside of his own happiness that he hadn't bothered to look up when Hera announced her pregnancy centuries ago, and on the day of the sacred birth he'd been watching a bloodbath as warring nations fought over land. For Pete, being obliviousness was almost an art form. According to the other gods and goddesses, the name itself was forbidden to speak, lest Hera rip their heads off. Did this mean Hephaestus was a fearsome, terrifying god like Hades? Oh, if he was a strong, muscular opponent, Pete have be thrilled! A worthy opponent to fight would make his victory all the sweeter. He rolled his shoulders, and then leaned in very close to his Viewing Mirror, whispering as quietly as he could, hoping to avoid Hera's wrath.

“Show me this Hephaestus guy.”

What awaited him – a towering mass of ripped pecs and snarling teeth? Or a monstrous beast that could never be tamed? Or a small mouse with a twisted leg that was happily hammering a large yellow zig-zag?

Pete rubbed his eyes, but the vision remained. What was going on? He reached over to smack his mirror. “Hey, is this thing on the fritz? I said show me-” A quick glance around. “You know, that guy!”

The reflection rippled, as if the mirror was saying, “That's him, buddy boy.” It was still the same image of the tiny god who was leaning back to admire his work. He picked up his walking stick, aiming to get up and – a walking stick? A god needing a walking stick?!

Pete's jaw dropped, and he sputtered without making words. How could this be? In what reality would the goddess of beauty want a tiny, deformed loser? There had to be something more to this. He'd still beat the tar out of the mouse if it meant having Aphrodite, but it wouldn't even be a challenge. He could probably sneeze and this runt would fall over crying for his mama. Pete slammed his fists onto his arm rests -

And then he was in the cave. Mickey stopped where he was, startled, staring up at the giant that had suddenly appeared. The Axelias also paused in their work, all eyes on the snarling god of war. Pete glared at Mickey, and Mickey merely blinked at him. Was this one of Minnie's friends? “Um,” Mickey dared to speak first, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers. “Hello there.”

Pete put his hands on his hips and leaned down so he could be nose to nose with Mickey, his nose blowing hot air into the confused inventor's face. “Are you Hephaestus?”

Mickey tried to move backwards, but his work bench blocked him from going any further. “Well, sure. But I have everyone call me Mickey.” It was taking most of Mickey's will not to freak out at the gigantic hulking stranger that had suddenly appeared. But freaking out wouldn't solve anything, and thinking logically about the situation kept Mickey's panic from completely taking over. He forced a smile on his face, hoping it would hide his nervousness. “Who might you be?”

“Who am I?!” Pete repeated, roaring incredulously. Not only did this shrimp have the audacity to take away his Aphrodite, but he was so clueless he didn't know greatness when it was before him. He beat on his chest, pounding so hard that the maps and shields on the walls rattled. “I am Ares, the god of war!”

Mickey had heard the name in passing from his mermaids and nereids, but only the barest of details and what details they offered were often unpleasant. But Mickey was trying to change his attitude about making assumptions over people he didn't know, so he continued his effort to be sociable. Maybe offering a friendly hand and a continuing smile would make the hulking terror calm down. Mickey couldn't think of anything else that would make this situation better, or worse, so he kept using his nervous kindness as a shield. “Nice to meet you, Ares. What can I do for you?”

“Tell me what you got!” Pete pushed his finger into Mickey's big black nose. “What do you got that you think I don't got? You think you're better than me?”

“... I have absolutely never thought I was better than anyone else in my whole life,” Mickey honestly replied, eyes on the intrusive finger. “But I got plenty of stuff, if'fn that's what you're asking.” Instead of trying to go backwards, Mickey walked around Pete, heading to his collection of crafted weaponry. One look at Pete's detailed armor had given Mickey a hint about what he might like. “I bet you're the kinda fella who likes to fight with a sword.” Making something for someone was always Mickey's first and direct effort of interacting with others, and it'd had yet to fail him. Not that he truly gave it much thought – by now it was instinct.

“Huh?” Pete was momentarily thrown off, but tried to pretend he hadn't been, straightening his back and sticking out his jaw. “Of course I do! Any real man fights with a sword! And that's what I came here to tell you, that a real man-”

“Why don't you try this?” Mickey unknowingly interrupted, gesturing for the closest Axelia to pick up a sword he had pointed out. This particular sword had a round hilt to cover the wielder's hand, and the very tip of the blade appeared to be at an angle, adding an extra twist to the stab. “Makes for a good scratch and a half, I'm thinking.”

Being a god of bloodlust, Pete was instantly taken with the blade. “Oooh, gimmie!” He grabbed it with his grubby hands, grinning wildly as he turned it over to admire the edges. “This would pack a real punch! And it's red, that's my favorite color!”

“It's got a matching shield, if you want it,” Mickey continued, smiling as he enjoyed Pete's reaction. Now his smile had less tension and was more honest. He'd never given a man a gift before, but right now it had the same appeal as his gifts to his lady-friends. Why had Minnie said all the gods on Mount Olympus were rude snobs? Ares was weird, but he appreciated fine craftsmanship. Maybe under all that muscle and brute force he was a decent fellow, much like how Donald was a good guy despite the smoke and screams. “Axelia, can you grab that for him? You can finish up that necklace later.”

Pete paused, and as he saw another Axelia beginning to hang up a necklace made of scallop and conch sea shells, he remembered why he came here. “Oh, I see...” He growled, clenching the sword tighter in his fist. “That's how you did it! You done bribed her! I could've done that, and I could've done it ten times better!”

Again, Mickey was lost, and he scratched his head. “Bribed who? What are you talking about?”

“I see it all clearly now!” Pete used the sword to point at the various jewelry here and there, making some of the Axelias back up as he wildly swung it around. “That's the only reason she'd go for a deformed weakling like you! You make her all these pretty things, that's gotta be the real reason why she said she'd marry you!”

Marry? Mickey needed a minute to recall, but when it did, it hit hard. Aphrodite had said she was going to marry him! He'd been meaning to bring it up to Minnie, but, well, after their big love confession and the thousands of kisses that had followed afterward, it'd been hard to think of anything else in her presence. “Now hold on,” Mickey held up his free hand, trying to cool Pete's temper, and more importantly prevent him from breaking anything. “I don't know what that lady is thinking, but I've never made anything for her. Shoot, I haven't even met her before! How am I going to marry a lady I ain't ever met?”

Pete eyed Mickey suspiciously, and then he aimed the sword near Mickey's throat. “It ain't a good idea to lie to me, funny guy.”

“I'm not lying!” Mickey insisted, and his own temper began to rise momentarily. “How do you think I feel about all this? Some girl I've never met – some girl I don't even like! - up and telling everyone I'm going to be her husband? I think it's insane! Besides, I've already got myself a girlfriend.” Mickey's mouth then clamped shut after saying that, for it was the first time he'd said it out loud. He had a girlfriend. Minnie was his girlfriend. It was a delightful feeling, and he wanted to say it again, to repeat it again and again – but maybe not in front of the guy who was holding a sword to his throat.

To Pete, this was a welcome relief. Of course she wouldn't marry this midget! She must have just used him as scapegoat while she discovered her real feelings for Pete. He roughly pulled the sword away, giving Mickey a tiny nick on his throat – Pete spotted the speck of blood and scoffed. A bleeding god, what a lark! “All right, but you better not get any ideas! Aphrodite belongs to me, you got it? Once I impress her, she's going to devote herself to me!”

Mickey rubbed the sore spot on his neck. “Gee, I can see what a charmer you are.”

“But since you were wasting my time, I'm gunna take the sword and shield anyway!” Pete grabbed for the shield, and it fit his arm perfectly. Mickey almost said that Pete was the one wasting Mickey's time, and Mickey was more than happy to give his things away, but he sensed it was not the best action. “And if you got any other amazing weapons, I'm taking them too!”

“Sure,” Mickey agreed, which annoyed Pete more – no one wanted to put up a fight these days! But Mickey had less of a desire to fight and more of a desire to get rid of the man who just threatened him. Maybe if Mickey showed off his most impressive, amazing work, Pete would get it and go. The blacksmith lightly tapped on the bizarre yellow object he'd been working on. “This here is what I call a Lightning Bolt. It's full of electricity, and ought to give your foes a nasty spark or worse! Course, my problem is that I made it too big and heavy to use like a sword or a spear... Might be better if you throw it.”

“Easy peasy!” Pete reached for the bolt, ready to show off his impressive strength, and that's when a case of incredibly bad timing occurred.

“Oh Miiickeeeyyy~!” So sang the sweet voice of Minnie, skipping down the hallway in a fit of joyful glee. “It's such a beautiful day outside, and I think we should go out and see it!” Which was really a pretense for going to see all their friends and happily announcing their union as a couple. But if she'd said such a thing, no doubt Mickey would be so embarrassed he'd refuse. “Let's go see Goofy and Agalma and-”

Not only was this a case of extremely, terribly, really just downright awful timing, it was also a case of wearing just the wrong thing to go with it. Minnie had chosen to wear the tiara that Mickey had lovingly crafted, and as she came into the view of both men, she was much more beautiful because of it. Pete would have been angry, but just merely angry, at the sight of Minnie in Mickey's cave – but seeing her as the jaw-dropping goddess of beauty, who could now make you swoon with a mere flutter of eyelashes, was enough to ignite his outrage so hot he could feel fire behind his eyes.

Minnie had never felt fear and dread so deeply before in her life, not even when she saw Donald's shadowy side. What was Pete doing here?! Had he said anything he shouldn't have?! Her mouth opened to explain and apologize, but nothing came out, and even as she broke into a heavy sweat she still remained very pretty. Was it too late? Had she ruined everything? Had Pete ruined everything? She was going to tell Mickey, she really was, it just hadn't been the right time or place or anything!

Mickey was the only one not deeply surprised by this meeting. After all, Minnie said she'd been to Mount Olympus before, so it made sense for her to meet one of the more famous gods once or twice. He had no idea why Pete was mashing his teeth or why Minnie was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he tried to ease the tension. “Sure, Minnie, we can go out! I was just helpin' Ares here with a few weapons he liked. You might like this one too, it's called a Lightning Bolt!”

Pete then whipped around, barking like a rabid beast. “Do you think I'm a Lightning Dolt?! You lied to me! You lied to my face! Nobody lies to Ares and gets away with it!”

Mickey could only reply with “Huh?” before Minnie dashed in, throwing herself in front of Mickey. “Don't you lay a finger on him! Mickey's done nothing wrong!”

“He told me he never even met Aphrodite, let alone had any plans on marrying her!”

“I meant what I said!” Mickey snapped, oblivious to Minnie's growing panic. “I never met that lady, and at this rate, I hope I never do!”

Minnie gulped. “Um... Mickey, dear, darling, love of my life, I think I need to... say something...”

Pete began to swing the sword again, harder and faster this time, making the mice duck every time he moved his arm. “Are you trying to play games with me? You're still lying! You're nothing but lies! She told everyone on Mount Olympus she was marrying you, and here you are!”

“Well she should've kept her big mouth shut!” Mickey growled right back, slamming down his walking staff. “Are all of you guys going to come down here and threaten me because of what she said? That lady's nothing but trouble! Maybe you're all better off without her, if she just treats guys like toys! You ever see that woman, you spit on her for me! She's done nothing but embarrass and humiliate me!”

Minnie's tiara was almost as light as air, but then and there it felt she was sharing the same burden as Atlas, he who held the whole world on his back. She sank down further and further, her fingers tangled in Mickey's brown robe, shaking harder with every word. “I'm... I'm sure she... h-had her...reasons...”

Pete was beyond infuriated now that these two dared to mock him, and he slammed his sword down, missing the mice but cleaving the lightning bolt in half. Sparks of electricity sizzled out of each end, and Mickey wrapped his arm around Minnie, even knowing that he could do little to defend her. Pete swung again, and this time he sliced away Mickey's maps, and slammed the projects that hung on the wall. The Axelias wore no expression of fear, but each one came to Mickey's side, holding hands and forming a golden cage around the loving couple. Pete faced the obstacle, and he could have easily torn through them without breaking a sweat, but that had the potential of hurting Minnie. What little sense he had told him that injuring a woman wouldn't endear them to you.

“I'll get you for this,” Pete hissed, spit dribbling from his lower lip. “Just you wait, I'll make you pay! Ares is nobody's fool! When I'm through with you, I'll make you regret the day you were born!” He then willed himself away, leaving the space where he once stood charred and blackened. A long, uneasy moment of silence passed, and then the Axelias broke up to clean up the remains of his attack.

Mickey exhaled deeply, loosening his hold on Minnie. “You all right?” When she nodded numbly, he kissed her forehead before turning to survey the damage. “Aw, gee, will you look at all this?” He knelt down to touch the severed lightning bolt, disappointment mingling with resentment. “It took me years to get this far! I might have to start all over again...Where does that guy get off, attackin' me for somethin' I didn't do?”

He expected Minnie to agree, and when she said nothing, he looked back at her. Minnie was clutching her dress, hot tears running down her face. “Minnie!” Mickey instantly put the troubles of his workload behind him, getting back on his feet and trying to find an injury on her. “Minnie, what is it? Did that jerk hurt you? Did he scare you?” She shook her head no, still unable to speak. “Is it me? I'm okay! Really, I'm okay! I don't mind startin' over, not too much, and I'm not hurt! … Well, I got a little thing on my neck here, but maybe you could kiss it better?” He grinned weakly, hoping that would get a kick out of her.

Once again, Minnie had tried to make things better without understanding, or even trying to understand, the consequences of her actions, just as she had with Agalma's life. If she had thought making that ridiculous marriage announcement would bring Mickey harm in any way, of course she wouldn't have done it. But she hadn't thought of him in that moment, not really. She wanted to stick it to Hera and all the other gods that believed they had the right to control her life. Her petty revenge had made things worse. Why couldn't she think, why couldn't she ever think about where her ideas led when she was gone?

She didn't deserve his love, and she certainly didn't deserve to wear the tiara that he had perfected in her honor. She tried to yank it off with a choked sob, but Mickey's hand snatched hers, trying to still her. “Hey, hey, hey! Don't go hurtin' yourself now...I'll take it off you.” Mickey didn't understand why Minnie suddenly wanted the tiara to come off, but he gently slid it off her head, and put it aside on his work bench. “There now, no need for a fuss.” His arm curled around Minnie' back, pulling her into his embrace. “Maybe I ought to teach Axelia how to use those weapons I'm always makin'. That'd be a nice little security system.” He was saying it more for Minnie's sake then his own, affectionately nuzzling his nose to her wet cheek.

Minnie hiccupped, and finally found words, mumbling into Mickey's chest. “I love you. No matter what, I'll always love you. Even if you don't believe me, even if you hate me, I'll always care about you. I will always want you to be happy, no matter what you think of me.” He had to believe that, Minnie desperately needed him to know that as a fact.

Mickey himself was just befuddled. “Well, uh, sure, I believe you.” Hadn't they just declared their undying love for each other a few days ago? “Nothin' in this world could ever make me hate you... I think seein' Ares go crazy messed with your head a bit.” He tried to nudge her chin up, wearing a smile the entire time. “Didn't you say you had somethin' to tell me?”

Well. Well. “I, um. I...” Though she had kept promising herself she'd tell him the big secret one day, she'd yet to form an actual speech or plan of how it would go. “The truth is, I'm... I'm actually...” Of course this was just another way of delaying it. All she needed to say were two words. 'I'm Aphrodite'. Just those two. That was all. And yet...

“The truth is...?” Mickey repeated, trying to help her along without a clue as to what he was helping. Minnie had always told him the truth, so why phrase it that way? He tilted his head, blinking at her, waiting for the rest.

Minnie opened her mouth.

I'm Aphrodite.

I'm Aphrodite.

I'm Aphrodite.

“I'm... I'm sorry.”

There was now no way that Minnie could ever tell the man she loved that she was also the one he wanted to spit on. Maybe she was digging herself into a deeper hole, but at this point she couldn't even fathom how to climb back out. “I-It was nothing, really. Nothing important.”

“If you say it, that makes it important.” Though he truly meant it in a loving way, he couldn't help but be curious. The truth about what? And what was it about seeing Ares that had brought it up? Why in the world would Minnie think Mickey would ever hate her? That was the most baffling thing of all. Hating the woman who brought love and light to his life – it was madness! Minnie was hiding something, but was it Mickey's place to force it out? This was Minnie, his girlfriend – his girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, it even felt good to repeat it in his head – and she'd never hurt him. So why would she feel a need to hide anything from him?

“You're sweet.” Minnie mumbled.

Mickey wiped away the remaining signs of her tears. “Why don't we go see Goofy and Agalma?” As much as he wanted to know the secret, he wanted Minnie's happiness far more. They had eternity for her to say what she needed to. The here and now was more important. “That was a swell idea you had. And it'll give Axelia time to clean up the place.” He linked arms with her, and he was rewarded with an honest smile that made his heart sing.

“Y-yes, let's go see them...and we can tell them that we're finally together!”

Mickey began to blush. “Whaddya mean, finally?”

“Well, you were taking your time-”

“And how would you know? Aw, don't even answer that!”

The last sounds they made before leaving the cave were laughter, and for one more day, Minnie tried to hide her sins and the guilt they carried. Yet she couldn't help but think she didn't have Atlas's strength. One day, this weight would crush her and destroy everything she loved so dearly.

It just wouldn't be today.

~*~

Early this morning, Goofy was working on Minnie's singular carved peach. He still found it an odd thing to ask, but since he'd gotten so few requests over his life and she'd become a dear friend to him, he wanted it to be absolutely perfect. Because of this, he had gone a little overboard. Where Minnie would have simply been happy with the peach itself, Goofy was adding leaves, the cracked signs of a twig, little droplets of rainwater, and other details that were completely unnecessary unless you asked Goofy himself. Of course you had to have these things, the gift wasn't complete without them.

The real reason behind the extra additions was that when Goofy was sculpting, he didn't have to think about anything else except for his work. He could hear Agalma calling for him, letting him know Gyro had arrived, and he didn't want to think about the complications those two had unknowingly brought. He didn't want trouble, he wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. Just him and his workshop, all alone, with no one to bother him or make him do things that scared him. There'd been nothing wrong with that life.

Save for the fact he'd been completely miserable.

“Goofy, did you hear me?” Agalma was now tugging on his arm. “I said Gyro's here. Should I tell him you're busy?”

“Naw, I'm all right.” With a defeated sigh, he put his tools back on the work shelf, and brushed the dust from his robes. “Don't see what's gunna be any different about today, though.”

“What do you mean?” Agalma asked as they headed outside. “Every day is different. I've never experienced a day that was exactly the same as the one before.”

It was a child's wisdom, but not inherently wrong. “I mean, I ain't gunna be any better at racin', and Gyro ain't gunna come up with no big, super special chariot. We've both been tryin', but there's just been no point to it all.” Millicent would have cooed in sympathy, rubbed his back, and let him go back inside.

Agalma squinted, lips curling in frustration, and she stomped ahead of Goofy. “Well of course nothing's going to change if you think that way! If you don't want things to change, they won't, and that's all there is to it.” She crossed her arms, keeping her back to him. “But if you keep saying to yourself over and over you can't do it, how do you expect to do it all? Should I tell Gyro to go home?”

Gyro's cart had arrived, and he'd only caught onto the last question, causing him to scratch his head and wonder when he'd ridden into. “But I just got here! Is something the matter?”

Goofy let out an exasperated puff of air. Millicent never argued with him, Millicent always agreed with him, Millicent wouldn't – Agalma. This was Agalma. “N-Nothin', Gyro, it ain't nothin',” he mumbled quietly, turning his head away.

“'Ain't nothing' is a double negative, which actually means something is wrong,” Gyro pointed out as he climbed down, carrying several scrolls and ink quills under one arm. The cart itself was empty, as they used it as a make-shift chariot so Goofy could practice while Gyro plotted and planned. “If there's anything I can do to help, you just say the word! I feel we've made some real progress these past couple of days, yes we have! You no longer fall out of the cart, and I learned that blindfolding the rider will not heighten their other senses.”

“I think everyone in the village learned that one,” Agalma quipped, hoping that the previous experiment hadn't run over more than six feet. “Gyro, all your ideas sound great in theory, but when you actually pull it off, things tend to be disastrous.” No one had yet to teach her about tact, and so Agalma was continuously blunt. “Maybe you should think about the future of your ideas before trying them on someone.”

Gyro smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, well, um... I suppose that may be true. I guess I just get so excited that I want to see if it's a success right away. I've been out of good ideas for inventions for so long that now I can't tell a bad one when it's right in front of me.” Maybe now would be a good time to weed them out, and he whipped out one of the scrolls, unfurling it in front of Agalma. “How about this? Putting springs on the rider's sandals so he can jump high in the air as he rides, giving the horse less weight to pull!”

“Or he'd jump right out of the chariot and get run over by the other riders.”

“...Oh. H-How about this one?” He pulled out another, as Goofy uneasily climbed into the cart for practice. “A special pair of goggles that lets him see twenty feet straight ahead and nothing else!”

“So he wouldn't be able to see anything left or right?”

“...A trick mechanism in the chariot that would pop out carrots to distract the other horses?”

“Including the horse he's riding?”

Goofy was kind of glad to get away from this depressing conversation, tugging lightly on Little Helper's reins to get him going. It was true that his riding had improved bit by bit, and once he had found his balance it was only a matter of adjusting to increased speed. At first he only stuck to riding around his house, but Gyro and Agalma had encouraged him to ride out into the village, and even outside of it. It was even sort of fun, once you stopped worrying about running people over. But the minute he thought he wouldn't be better at it, that's when he'd accidentally let go of the reins or find himself heading for a tree.

As he looped around the house, he could see Gyro going through the last of his scrolls and Agalma needing to tilt her head to an absurd degree to even understand what the point of the invention was. He kept going, believing he wouldn't be any help in that conversation.

When Gyro had finished the last of his ideas, he sat on the ground, despondent. “Oh, why can't I think of anything helpful? I'm a disgrace to the Gearloose name! They might as well call me Gearlost!”

Agalma sat down beside him, going through the blueprints and notes Gyro had jotted down. There was something about them she just couldn't quite put her finger on, but it wasn't like the hard work Goofy put into his statues. It lacked passion. It lacked enthusiasm. It all seemed very rushed. She turned her head towards the sad bird. “Gyro, I'm starting to think you don't want to build a chariot at all.”

He lifted his head, surprised at her accusation. “What do you mean? Of course I do, I want Goofy to win!”

“But that's not the same as wanting to make a chariot.” Agalma tapped her finger to the papers. “I think you only want to do this so you can get the money. So it's not so much you want to build a chariot, it's that you want to win. Your heart's not in it.” She began to roll the scrolls back up, only lifting her head whenever Goofy passed by. “I know you said you want to help people with your inventions, but you're not going to help anyone like this.” When all of the paperwork was rolled up, she handed it back to Gyro. “Why don't you focus on what you want to do first? Maybe it'll help your head.”

Gyro rubbed his arms, knowing Agalma was right in the oddest of ways. Often it felt like she was the genius, despite having to learn basic things day by day. “Well...there is one thing I'd like to do with the money, but... it's ridiculous. It wouldn't help anyone at all. You don't want to hear about it.”

“Yes I do,” Agalma corrected him with a hint of irritability. “I don't like it when people make assumptions. Goofy makes a bunch of assumptions about me just because I look like Millicent, but I'm not Millicent, I'm Agalma. And I'm telling you I want to hear about it.”

While Gyro was curious about who Millicent was and what this woman had to do with anything, he couldn't find it in himself to reject Agalma's inquiries. He hesitated, and then sighed, moving to grab one of the scrolls. After unfurling it, he flipped it over, revealing odd drawings of fish, coral, and a round boat. “This belonged to my grandmother. She had all of these theories about the underwater world, and ever since she had me on her knee and showed me her designs, it was all I could think of. She died before ever putting any of her ideas into action, but they're still alive in me! I want to explore the ocean's depths, and find out if her theories are true!”

“What kind of theories did she have?” Agalma asked, moving to look over Gyro's shoulder.

“She had hundreds! Like the way certain species of fish migrated, and pressure grows the deeper you go...But the most amazing theory I want to prove is this!” Now his voice was growing loud with excitement, and he wildly tapped on the corner of the page, where a triangle sat with spewing lines. “To see if underwater volcanoes exist! If that was true, the whole world could change!”

Agalma smiled, despite having no idea what a volcano was, much less an underwater one. “I think that could be very helpful to the world! When people learn something new, it helps in all kinds of ways!”

Gyro's expression began to brighten more and more, the depression from mere moments earlier vanishing without a trace. “Do you really think so? Even if I can't think of how it would help people?”

“I know so! You never know what people will do with knowledge! It can inspire them to do so many things! I think you should absolutely work on these ideas, Gyro!” Agalma grabbed Gyro's hands and began to pull him to his feet. “You can do this and work on the chariot! You don't have to hold back! Let the real you come through!”

By this time Goofy was coming around again, and when he did, Gyro cheerfully shouted towards him, “Goofy! Your girlfriend is just grand!”

Oh, no – what had Agalma done this time? Goofy tugged on the reins, trying to make Little Helper slow down to a halt. “Now you wait just a – she ain't my girlfriend!”

“Really?” asked Mickey from behind.

“I don't know what she is, but she sure ain't-” Goofy stopped, and then looked behind him, finding both Mickey and Minnie in their mortal forms on the wagon. He was quite sure the wagon had been empty seconds ago, but as is the way of gods, he couldn't say it with 100% certainty. Mickey smiled sheepishly at Minnie – he had yet to completely master teleportation, and Minnie giggled, finding his mistake adorable – Mickey had tried to go “where Goofy was”, instead of “where Goofy lived”. “Huh. Uh...well, hello, Mickey. Hello, Minnie. Nice to see ya again.”

“Friends of yours, Goofy?” Gyro asked, walking over with Agalma. “I didn't know we'd have an audience!” He reached out to shake Mickey's hand, and then Minnie's. “I'm Sir Gyro De Gearloose! A pleasure, a pleasure I'm sure!”

“I'm Mickey! This here's my girlfriend, Minnie.” Oh boy, he could say it again now, couldn't he? “She's my girlfriend.” It felt better each time he said it. “She's my girlfriend.”

“I thought you said she wasn't,” Goofy dropped the reins, climbing out the wagon. “You made a big ol' stink about it when I asked you if she was!”

“He was just hiding his feelings,” Minnie chirped, lightly poking Mickey's cheek. “But now we're going to tell everybody!”

“We're not going to tell everybody,” Mickey quickly countered.

As Minnie continued to insist the whole world should know, and Mickey replied that was absolutely not happening, Goofy couldn't help but feel a prick of jealousy deep in his heart. He knew it was wrong, and he was happy for them. All the same, it made him miss the days with Millicent, and as always when he thought of her his eyes drifted to Agalma, who wasn't Millicent. She was giddily clapping as Minnie went into detail about her relationship, much to Mickey's embarrassment, and Gyro was laughing with merriment. Goofy's envy grew and grew – none of them had ever lost someone so dear and important, so of course their happiness could stay and grow. His fleeting moments of happiness, even with good friends, were exactly that – fleeting. Without Millicent, he couldn't imagine being happy for long.

Yet...he'd been happier ever since he met Minnie, and Daisy, and all of these odd folks. Happier than he'd been in years. It felt wrong to be happy without Millicent, as if he was disrespecting the loss of her life. He shouldn't be happy, he wasn't allowed to be happy, but even as jealousy nestled in his chest, he didn't want any of these people to leave. The conflicting emotions waged war in his heart – he shouldn't be happy, but he didn't want to be unhappy. What would Millicent do in this situation? He didn't want to move on, couldn't possibly move on -

“Show them how good you've gotten!” Agalma's voice became clearer to hear now that she was holding his hands and tugging at him with great excitement. Apparently while Goofy had been licking his wounds, or making sure they remained open, she had gone into detail about Goofy's racing. “He's really amazing when he concentrates!”

“I wanna see you in action myself,” Mickey agreed, smiling and nodding. “And when the big day comes, you can count on me bein' there!”

“Me too!” Minnie raised her hand, jumping up and down. “I can't wait to see you race!”

Goofy begrudgingly began to climb back into the wagon. “Don't get your hopes up, it ain't like I'm gunna win.”

“So what?” Minnie asked, and Goofy stopped, confused.

He turned back. “Whaddya mean, 'so what'? What's the point of watchin' me if I ain't gunna win?”

To Minnie, the answer was astonishingly simple. “To see you having fun.”

“I concur!” Gyro slapped Goofy so hard on the back he almost fell over. “Even if you don't win the money, I'll be glad to watch you go! I'll cheer you on every lap! Research shows that cheering boosts morale by 10.6%!”

“Your statues are very lovely,” Agalma said without a hint of irony, “But you can't spend all your time with them. You've got to go out and see the world. If I could have walked outside of those walls sooner, believe me, I would have ran!”

“I've been in a similar position myself,” Mickey admitted, casting a grateful glance at Minnie. “And sometimes folks gotta push you into doing something you're afraid of because you'll never do it yourself. How do you know you don't need to see the outside, if you don't know exactly what's out there to miss?” Minnie gave a slightly weak smile in return, and hugged his arm.

Goofy said nothing, eyes moving from one friend to the other. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to win their devotion. He'd just been himself, and there was no way he was this incredible. He still said nothing as he picked up the reins, still said nothing as he tugged Little Helper into action, and still said nothing as the horse's trots turned into gallops.

But he smiled, and that smile held on as he sped throughout the entire village, running laps around its borders and avoiding the waving citizens he passed. He did this again and again, only hearing the enthusiastic cheers of his friends, and for perhaps the first time in who knew how long, he did not think of Millicent.

And he was not miserable.

[diddlesanddoodles]

HIDE

100 GT Theme Challenge! Summary: A college freshman witnesses an incident of ‘mythical’ proportions and it totally ruins her night. And a lot of other things too. College is hard, but it wasn’t suppose to be dangerous. Warning: Some cursing and mentions of violence. 

Her Psych 101 textbook was laid open on the small coffee table as well as half a ream's worth of printer paper, all of them print outs from various websites from the obligatory Web MD to spiritualists forum posts. Two days worth of study, the knuckle scraping scouring of all available resources available to a student of Bridgewood University and the only thing she had to show for it was a migraine, sleep deprivation, and the one inescapable fact: She was crazy. Well and truly crazy, because there was no other explanation. She considered the idea that perhaps she had been slipped something during the party and had some sort of allergic reaction and then there had been all the alcohol. Though in truth, she had only indulged in a can of hard cider and a single shot of tequila. But she was a light weight and it had been her first real college party.   She sighed angrily, tossing away a stack of papers, and fell back against the plush sofa’s pillows to stare helplessly up at the popcorn ceiling. The sorority house was nearly silent at this hour with most of the girls either at class, out and about the town, or sleeping off the prior night’s over indulgences. While she was very grateful for the privacy, she was also aware that perhaps she could do well with a second opinion. But then. Well. How did you explain to someone that you witnessed a murder and when pressed about what the victim or assailants looked like...well. They were tall. Like...really really tall. She’d been too scared, too confused, and...perhaps a little too drunk – tipsy? – to go to the police. Or to tell anyone. She sighed again, grabbing at her hair in frustration. “Stupid. This is stupid. Stuuuuuuupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid pants.” She turned her head to stare at an old portrait of a young women dressed in old fashioned clothes, high collared, proper, prim, and pressed. And free of the burden that was witnessing...well, whatever the hell it was that she witnessed. Somewhere in the swirling confusion that had become her brain, she was aware that she should be angry at Peter. He neglected to show, leaving her alone under the overpass in the cold foggy night. Stood her up. Well screw him. If he didn’t want to hang out with her, then he could have just fucking said no like a man and then she would not have been there when it happened. When they happened. Whatever they – or it – has been. Other than a murder. A steady, hollow tapping broke the silence of the house and startled her badly. After a moment to compose herself, and with a little effort, the girl managed to pull herself from the sofa and make her way to the front door. “Coming,” she called out when there came a second round of knocking. “Just a second.” She turned the cold metal doorknob and pulled the heavy oak door open and as she opened her mouth to greet the visitor, she froze and her mouth hung open in mute horror. “Hi there!” Said the man cheerily, waving his hand. She slammed the door shut and pressed her back against it, heart hammering and mind racing. “Hey – !” Belatedly, she turned her body over to reach up and lock the padlock and slid the chain into place. Stepping back, she watched door warily. There was an expectation that the door would burst open any moment and she went through her mental inventory of possible defense weapons. There were knives in the kitchen and iron pokers near the fireplace and...she paused and looked over at the small decorative side table pressed against the stairwell. A letter opener made to look like a tiny sword sat on top of a small stack of letters. She grabbed it and faced the door again. “I’m just here to talk, kid,” came the muffled voice of the man. The very regular man. The very not monster tall killer man thing she had the other night. How was he small? Smaller. How was he...why was he? How did he find her? Oh gosh. Oh...frick. Fuck. Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck! “So,” he continued. “Can we talk? Face to face maybe? Kind of suspicious looking to be talking to a door. People might think I’m a little loopy in the head.” Loopy in the head –? Oh he did not just –! “Go away!” She yelled back. “Or I’ll call the cops!” He laughed. “And tell them what, sweetheart?” “Don’t call me sweetheart, jerk face.” “Fine,” he replied lightly. “Say you do call the authorities, Gabby. What exactly are you gonna tell them?” Bristling at the flippant use of her name, she floundered for sort of response. “W-why do you know my name?” “I know lots of things when it’s my business to know.” “Why are you here?” she asked, real despair beginning to color her voice. “You know why,” he replied simply. “You saw.” Gabby was aware that her hands were trembling. “I don’t know what I saw. Please, just go away.” “Believe me, kiddo. You don’t want me to go away,” said the man, his once chipper and light hearted voice turning somber and serious. “You want to hear what I have to say. Maybe not right at this moment, but in a short while you will. And by the time you come to regret your choice not to let me in and here me out, it’ll be too late.” She was quiet and considered his words. “That sounds a lot like a threat, dude.” “That’s because it is, dude.” Despite herself, she laughed, but it died in her throat quickly and she was left staring down at her feet. “Look. Gabby,” the man’s voice was softer, like his face was pressed close to the wood. “If you want this to go as smoothly and with as little to no casualties as possible, let me in. We’ll sit down and we’ll discuss your options.” “Casualties?” Her voice was quiet and squeaked more than she would have liked. “An unfortunate statistic. One I can mitigate, but only with your cooperation.” “Is that a threat too?” “No. It’s a promise.” The weight of it all was heavy on her shoulders and her belly protested, aching with anxiety and oh, how easy it would be to just open her mouth and scream bloody murder until the man went away.  The man that was not really a man. Or was he? A man who could also be a monster-thing-giant-person? “Gabby?” She’d been quiet too long and she could sense the man-not-man’s patience thinning. “Gonna need an answer here, kiddo.” “If I let you in and we, uh, talk,” she asked, feeling as though she were in a hostage negotiation. “D-do you promise no one gets hurt?” “No one gets hurt.” “No one?”she pressed.   “No one. That includes you too,” he answered. “Cross my heart and hope no one dies.” “You just said –!” “I know, I know! And I mean it, just...I was trying to be clever. Lighten the mood some.” “...please don’t do that.” “Sorry. Gallows humor. Kind of comes with my line of work.” She groaned as she undid the chain and went to turn the deadbolt. Her fingers clasped the knob, but hesitated. Gabby could not help but be aware that she was, in the most literal sense of the phrase, opening a door to a new phase of her life. With a simple turn of the deadbolt, everything was going to change. Even though it already had. She thought of her sorority sisters still sleeping upstairs, the other students, and beyond them she thought of the towns people. The things she saw that night...she was no fool in thinking that they could hurt – or kill – whoever they wanted. Resigned to the tide of fate she had fallen into, Gabby turned the deadbolt and opened the door. The face that greeted her was grinning. Someone might have called the man handsome in his tan denim work jacket and faded gray t-shirt and wranglers. Even small he was still tall, taller than her by a good foot or so and she was not a short person. He looked so normal it weirded her out. He could be anyone. Blonde hair, tan skin, and a rough stubble. His looks were completely disarming and average. Like he had been plucked from the cast of Seventh Heaven and tossed onto the streets of Bridgewood. Had she not known – not seen – him for what he really was, she would think he was just a nice guy, an average working man. She turned away and walked over to the living room, hearing the man’s boots as he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them. Stiffly, she stood near the sofa and gestured at it for him to sit. The man gave her a nod and sank into the overly plush sea foam green cushions. “Do...do you want something to drink?” she asked inanely. “No need,” he replied. “Hopefully this won’t take long.” Gabby was happy to hear that and took a seat in the Hepplewhite suit chair close to the bay window. If things went south she could always jump out the window. Though the thought made her ill. “So,” she started awkwardly, fiddling with the letter opener. “H-how long have you been a giant?” The man laughed, scratching at his nose. “All my life. But you’re asking the wrong question. You want to know why I’m small.” “Dude, even when you’re small, you’re not small. You’re like six feet tall.” “You say that like it’s impressive,” remarked the man. Giant. Giant-not-man. Small giant-not-man-person-thing. “Because it is. For normal people.” He raise an eyebrow and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You mean for humans.” Gabby paused at that. “Yeah. For...humans.” She closed her eyes for a moment to let the absurd sentence take hold in her mind. “So. You’re not human? Well, duh, I knew that. Kind of. I didn’t know that. Not because I didn’t know know, it never occurred to me to think you were anything but even though you’re clearly not. Are. Are not. Okay.” She sighed. “So, not human?” “No,” he replied with an amused smirk, gray eyes sparkling. “I’m not, nor have I ever been, a human being.” “So, that makes you…?” He shrugged. “It makes me what I am.” “And that is…?” she pressed again. “The fella trying to save your life,” he replied flatly. “Look, as entertaining as this is, I don’t have time to indulge your curiosity. And the truth is, you don’t either. I’ve bought you some time, but not much. You saw me – as I really am – doing my job. Which is bad. Let’s leave it at that.” “Okay. Bad like...how bad?” “Bad enough that when – not if – when it’s found out you’re a material witness to these events it’s gonna catch the attention of some folks.” “Bad folks?” “Real bad folks,” he echoed in a severe tone and then abruptly lighted and added, “And also some not bad folks who – like me – are just doing their job. Except their job is to neutralize leaks. And with me being one of those leaks, naturally I’m already on their radar. And now because you witnessed that little rendezvous the other night, that includes you. Sadly.” “Oh goody.” “No. Not really. The first group I can handle easily. The other guys are a little more...more.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “Something you’re going to have to come to terms with.” Shaking her head in disbelief, she threw her hands out in an accusatory gesture “So...so what? Y-you pull some...like, mob style hit on some guy-thing-monster-man-dude and now I have to go into some type of witness protection thing? Is that what you’re telling me?” “You’re fast on the uptake, kiddo,” the man said, leaning back into the sofa with his arms crossed, looking pleased. “Bolds well for you. Good indicator of strong self preservation instincts.”   “Yeah,” she replied dryly. “I’m kind of allergic to dying. And pain in general.” “Aren’t we all?” he replied lightly and appearing far too at ease to seem appropriate for the current topic. There was a lull in the conversation where she took a moment to study him. After a time, she blurted, “Are you a cop?” He laughed, throwing his head. “No. No, I am most definitely not a cop.” “Then why do you give two shits if...if I’m in trouble because I saw what I saw. Which – by the way – I’m still not entirely sure what it was I saw. I was pretty upset at the time and possibly drunk. Okay, not drunk, I was tipsy. A little. But I was kind of preoccupied with other stuff and whose to say I–” “With what?”   She blinked at him. “Huh?” “You said you were preoccupied. With what were you preoccupied?” “Oh...uh. A guy. Peter. He was supposed to meet me under the overpass near where...y’know. All that...stuff went down,” she ungracefully elaborated. “But he was a no show and then you were the show and now we’re here. Talking about the no show that became a show. So...yeah.” He nodded sagely and not for the first time did Gabby resist the urge to stab him with the letter opener. “So,” she said instead, taking a deep breath. “What’s next? I mean...” The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, slightly crumbled, and stained with what looked like coffee. Or possibly dried blood. She decided it was coffee. More for her peace of mind than anything. He held it out to her. “You pack a bag and go to this address. Be ready, alert, open minded, and on time.” Taking the card, she glanced over the address. She did not recognize the street or the zip code despite it saying that it was located in Bridgewood. She glanced up at the man, eyes almost pleading. “What do I tell the school?” “Nothing,” he replied simply. “Huh? Nothing?” she gaped at him. “I have to say something. I can’t just –” “You say nothing,” he stressed, raising a finger. “To no one.” “What about my parents?” she continued, voice becoming desperate as the true depth of reality to her situation was becoming clear. Gesturing to the corner of the room, as though her parents were standing there, she cried, “I have to say something to them, I mean – !” “No one, Gabby,” he stressed, standing. She followed his example, pushing up from the chair.   “I can’t just disappear!” “You won’t.” Those words put a pause on her panicking and she took a moment to simply breathe. “No?” “Of course not,” he replied as though it were all so obvious. “We want the folks who want to do you harm to think that harm has already been done to you.” “...why? Why is that what we want them to think?” “Because they can’t kill a corpse.” “Okay, so pretend that I’m an idiot and…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If they think you’re dead then they won’t come looking for you. If you just run off, they have plenty of nice folks from all over to pick from to use as collateral to get to you. That’s how extortion works, kiddo.” “All because of what I saw?” “Yep. Sucks, huh?” The room was spinning and she head the clattering of metal before she was aware that the letter opener had fallen from her hand. “Why would they care what I saw? Why do you care that they care? Why? Just –! Why…?” “They have their reasons. None of which will make anything of this more palatable,” he said with a shrug. “As for my reasons, they’re quite simple. Guilt.” “Guilt,” she parroted. “...just guilt?” “Pretty much. I don’t have anything against humans. You’re entertaining when you’re not trying to invade and conquer everything. In small numbers, you little guys are actually quite endearing. Had I done my job properly, you wouldn’t have seen a thing and you’d have just gone home disappointed about being stood up by Peter the jerk face,” With one hand he gestured to the books and papers scattered about the coffee table. “Instead of terrified and questioning your own sanity.” “But I did...and I am. So…?” “So I do my job. Properly.” “And that means faking my death and hiding me...someplace?” He nodded. “Quick on the uptake again, kiddo.” Swimming in her own head, she began to slowly pace the room, not really seeing the space around her, but seeing it as a representation of her own life. Present and at the same moment, slipping away quickly and being taken into someone else’s hands. Trusting someone she did not know based on...based on… She had seen this man, the man standing just over there, change into a tall impossible giant and kill another man. No...not man. The murder victim, the target, had been a grotesque being. Monstrous and tall, not as tall as the giant man, but taller than any human with oddly green molted skin and huge jaws and long teeth like...like a troll. The giant and the troll had wrestled for a bit before the giant got a hold of him proper and...just pulled him. Not apart. There had been no blood. But the troll’s spine had cracked, loudly. Loud enough for her to have heard it snap. And then the troll was still. Unmoving. Dead. She had stayed to stare, but the man – the giant – had seen her. He saw her see him and she had ran. All the way back to the sorority house.   A thought came to her then and she turned back to the man. “How did you even find me?” He reached back into his jacket and pulled out a bit of white plastic, holding it out to her. Taking it, she looked down to see her own face staring up at her. It was her fake ID. The one she used to get into the party. She had not even noticed it had been missing. Belatedly, she realized she was crying. “This is just...so...so stupid.” The man did not say anything, only standing and watching her. He seemed to be waiting for an answer. “Where...where would I be going?” she asked, voice small. Hurt. And scared. “Will I ever come back?” “I wish I could answer that.” “Which one?” she asked, a little hopeful. “Both.” The small spark of hope died with an undignified squeak. “You can’t tell me where I’m going?” “It wouldn’t mean anything to you for one. And secondly, I don’t know. That way if by some miracle on the other fellas’ parts I’m nabbed, your safety won’t be compromised.” “So I go to this place and just...hope for the best?” “The people I’m entrusting you to know their business.” “Like you know yours?” she snapped accusingly. “Better,” he retorted. “Which I why I am entrusting them with you.” “And why should I be entrusting me with you? Myself with you. My safety with you?” “Because the alternative is to go on with your life like this is all an unpleasant dream until the day, very soon, they find you and neutralize you. Neutralize being the nice clean professional term for killing you. And anyone else they feel is connected. Rightly so or not. People could get hurt. People could die.” “I feel like you’re just trying to guilt trip me into trusting you,” she grumbled, sniffing miserably, and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.  Anyone else. “That’s because I am,” he replied. With a tilt of he head, he regarded her curiously. “Is it working?” She glared at him, scrunching her nose up distastefully and in a low guttural growl she replied, “Yes.” The man immediately brightened and clapped his hands together. “Good! Then my work here is done!” He moved around the sofa, heading towards the door with an almost skip to his gate. “Like I said, be at that address tonight. Be on time. Can’t stress it enough. And pack smart.” “Whoa, wait up a moment there, Chuckles!” Gabby ran after him, meeting him as he was already half way out the door. He paused, one hand on the outside doorknob, and waited expectantly. She floundered. She had so many questions and so many thing she would like to say – many of them unkind things and several choice phrases and some elaborate curse words – but instead, all she could manage was a bumbling stammer of, “S-so...what...what do...s-should I pack?” “Comfortable clothes. Stuff you can run in, easy to clean,” he replied and began to consider the matter further. “Nothing electronic. No phone, no laptop, not even a digital watch.” “Why can’t I bring –?” “Just because. Trust me,” he replied shortly. “And whatever...lady things.” She stared. “Lady things?” “Yeah, you humans have weird reproduction habits,” he elaborated with, to her slight amusement, a little red in his cheeks. “You might find...supplies are lacking where you’ll be going. So. Yeah. Lady things.” “I’ll add it to the list,” she replied dryly. “Anything else, Doctor Oz?” “Aluminum!” He replied abruptly as though he had struck mental gold. “...what?” she asked, the odd suggestion throwing her for such a loop that she forgot for a moment hat she was suppose to be freaking out. “Yeah, that’d be good. Bring a couple rolls of aluminum foil.” “...any particular reason why?” “You’ll thank me later.” “How many?” “As many as you can carry.” She stared with abject incredulity. Her fear was quickly being replaced by irritation and she could do nothing but shake her head in disbelief. “And remember,” the man was saying as he began to close the door behind him. “Be on time!” She startled out of her ire and lunged for the doorknob and yanking it back open. The man stood on the porch, open faced and inquisitive. “Wait! Just...what...what’s your name?” He looked taken aback. “What?” “Well, you know my name,” she explained with a half hearted shrug. “And it only seems fair for me to know yours since...you’re trying to help and all.” He turned his body to fully face her. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and smiled. “You can call me Elliot.” “I’m guessing that’s not your actual name,” she replied without much surprise. “Huh?” His smile widened and he pointed at her with his finger in the shape of a gun. “So quick on them uptakes.” “I’m just noticing a pattern is all.” “I will say one more thing,” Elliot added. “Names are important. They’re special things. Take care of it and it’ll take care of you. So be careful with who you entrust it to.” “So I need a fake name?” Elliot winked at her. “Any suggestions?” she sighed and leaned against the frame. “One that familiar and that you’ll actually answer to,” replied Elliot. “You’d be surprised at how little thought some folks give to their alternative name.” “Okay,” she replied absently. “Sure.” Elliot paused, hands in his pockets, and stared down at her for a moment. “I think you’ll love it.” She returned the stare. “What’s that now?” “I mean, sure, you’re kinda backed up into a corner and all,” he said. “But in the end I think you’re gonna have some fun too. Just remember to live too. Surviving doesn’t mean much when you forget to live along the way.” “Uh, sure...okay. Uh, thanks for that...bit of advice.” Elliot turned on his heals and walked down the steps of the sorority house, whistling. “Remember,” he called back to her. “On time with an open mind.” She watched him as he sauntered down the sidewalk and out of sight. “Why do I have the feeling the open mind bit is the part I should have asked about?” She sighed once more and pulled herself back into the house, already doing a mental tally of her belongings and where she could get aluminum foil close by.

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – AT THE HEART OF THE STORM

Through the rapidly rebuilding marketplace that was the center of Galaga, Wally and Hector rushed back to the God’s Fortune, having gone to Alion’s to pick up their fresh off the anvil armor. The thick burlap sacks they carried clanked up a terrible racket as the turned up a side street and rushed toward the northern pier where the Fortune had docked and finished resupplying for the journey ahead. With little fanfare and great speed, the ship set off toward the open ocean.

As the sails hooked onto a strong and constant wind on the slightly choppy sea, Wistea finished tying off some rigging and approached the captain. “So, you know where the Storm Bell and the Fount of the Sea are, yes?”

“’Course I do! Whaddya take me for?” Blackeye retorted.

“Then why did you make a map to it?”

“Map ain’t for me, s’for who I end up givin’ all my worldly possessions to. Most likely Polly, lessen she meets a swarthy young fella who c’n outsail both her n’ me to earn her hand!” The captain heartily chuckled. “The Storm Bell and the Fount are fine on their own for the most part, but it’s safer to check’em every decade or so… And the person who made the bell agreed. Before me, the only way to find the Storm Bell was the lighthouse that stood on the Cape of Galaga Island. Every ten years the sun would shine in the right spot and show the way to the bell. Once I got there and saw how important it was? I tore down the lighthouse to make sure the only ones who knew to find it were me, and whoever I gave that map to. Now that thievin’ no good toad’s got his hands on it… I shudder to think what he’ll do when he gets there.”

Wistea hummed thoughtfully. “And here I was lead to believe the Storm Bell was just to warn the Icthy Isles of oncoming storms.”

“Used to think that meself,” Blackeye nodded. “But really, the bell rings when it makes a storm. See, storms’re what keep the surface of the world fresh and new, they’re part of the circle that we can’t do without… So someone, at some point, made sure there’d always be storms on the horizon to keep things rollin’.”

Wistea looked out over the broad horizon of blue ahead of them and spoke to no one in particular, “Light warms the Water. The Water grants strength to the Storm. The Storm brings Fire to the Forest, and stirs the Air that fans the flame and shakes the trees. The burnt Forest returns life to Earth. The Earth buries its fallen seeds in life giving Darkness until they sprout, and rise to request the blessing of the Light. The appeased Light shines on the new Forest, and in turn warms the Water.” She turned to face Blackeye again. “It is the oldest reference of the Wheel of Creation ever written, dictated by Elder Ygg himself.”

Blackeye made a small, yet content, hum somewhere in the back of his throat. “That ol’ ash tree still kickin’ about then? Good to hear.”

Meanwhile on the gun deck, Hector and Wally worked the special metal latches of their armor into place as each part easily linked to the next with no trouble.

“And you say your father thought of this design because of jam jars?” Hector said as he looked over the latching mechanics of his new rerebrace.

“My father always hated the leather straps wearing down in his armor, so one day, my brother Dale comes up to him and shows him the brass latch on a jam jar, and says, ‘wouldn’t it be easier if the linkage was just metal?’ So he worked for a week straight on a latching mechanism that would secure easily, but not pop off in the middle of a fight.”

“You’ll absolutely have to introduce me to him when we get back home.” Hector tested his range of movement and found this armor much more flexible than any he’d worn before. “Judging by the look on Alion’s face when you rattled off the design specifics, your father’s a genius.”

Wally smiled warmly. “Just don’t call him that to his face, he hates praise for his work. Bit of a Walter family quirk. We prefer a job well done to praise.”

“Well, that explains that little twinge you try to hide every time anyone compliments you.”

Wally stood still for a moment after securing his breastplate, mentally reviewing such interactions as quickly as he could before shaking his head dismissively. “I don’t have a twinge.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Wally,” Hector chuckled.

On the deck above them, Rozzi sat on the edge of her bunk and carefully sharpened her sickle with a whetstone.  She noticed it’d taken on a slightly otherworldly shine lately, no doubt a result of it being used as a mystical conduit now. She’d ask Wistea about it later, as right now this task was both essential and sufficiently distracting from the subtle yet undeniable throb of pain from the soles of her feet. It was also so distracting she hadn’t even noticed Polly was sitting on the bunk across from her, staring directly at her.

Polly tilted her head to the side as she observed Rozzi, there were more silvery ethereal snowflakes around her than before, just like everyone else onboard. She’d seen others with barely any or none at all, but never so many surrounding any one person at any given moment. In all her years of perceiving these mysterious particles, she knew they stayed close to brave and honest people. They were always strong and ambitious, capable and cunning. Which is why, before now, she never thought to experiment, to do anything that might upset or confuse these strangers passing by her as she went on her way. But here, now, with someone she knew she could call a friend, she finally felt brave enough to reach out and touch one of the mysterious things. As her finger tapped against it, a chill ran sharply up Rozzi’s spine, her eyes snapping up to see Polly scrambling back onto the bunk behind her and slapping her back against the wall.

“P-Polly?  What? How long have…” Rozzi’s voice trailed off as she saw Polly was clearly shocked by something, her eyes wide as dinner plates, staring at a patch of floor. “Polly? Talk to me, what’s happenin’?”

“Is… Is there a hole in the floor?”

Rozzi looked carefully before she slowly shook her head.

“Oh wow,” Polly clambered off the bunk to the floor, tapping it several times. “That’s so strange!”

If confusion were lamp oil, Rozzi would’ve caught fire by now.

“He’s clear as day.” Polly carefully knocked what looked to Rozzi to be a bit of normal wooden flooring. “How’s that work, ain’t ever been able t’ look through stuff before without makin’ it invisible first…”

“Polly what on Mondia are you talking about?”

“I can see Wally! That armor looks really interestin’! Ah! Oh… It’s gone…”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on or not?!” Rozzi loudly complained.

The young Icthyite looked up at her friend and very slowly realized how rude and odd she must have been just then. She laughed and smiled nervously before finally answering. “S-Sorry… Do y’ remember when I met all of ya? I said y’ all had somethin’?”

Rozzi crossed her arms impatiently and nodded.

“Well some people have’em, I still don’t know what they are but you and the others have tons of ‘em just floatin’ ‘round ya like snowflakes. Least they look like snowflakes t’ me.”

“And?”

“And… I ain’t ever tried t’ touch one before, seemed rude, Y’know? But we’re friends so I thought y’ wouldn’t mind. So, I went n’ touched the biggest one and then I just kinda knew Wally was down in the gun deck, like, I could see him through the floor n’ all!”

Rozzi’s expression would’ve graced a textbook example on incredulity.

“No really! Watch, I’ll do it again!”

As Polly reached for a space in the air just beside Rozzi’s head and tap something entirely unseen, she felt another sharp chill rush up her spine that made her shudder.

She pointed at the floor and called out, “Yeah! See! There he is again! And… I… Ooh I think he felt that too… He looks worried. Oh! He’s comin’ up the stairs!”

Rozzi watched as Polly’s eyes seemed to trace movements through solid wood, while an open minded notion sprang to life in her mind. “Polly, what color is Wally’s armor?”

“It’s a real deep kinda metal blue… Why?”

Rozzi found herself flinching as a series of polite knocks filled the room followed by Wally’s voice.

“Um… Is everything all right in there?”

Rozzi tried her very best to keep hold of everything that told her that was most likely a coincidence, but it was certainly slippery. “Wally? Oh, um, everythin’s fine just… Could you come in for a moment?”

As he stepped in, the wallaby’s eyes immediately checked the position of the privacy curtain they’d set up to separate the male and female section of the bunk room before settling on the sight of Polly sitting on the floor with a very proud smile and Rozzi on the edge of her bunk, with an out of place expression of surprise.

She was staring, she knew she was staring but she couldn’t help herself. When she’d first met Wally she had no real idea what to expect. Cinera had called her using her Farsight Stone and said she needed help sneaking a pair of knights into Arborledan, and to expect one of them to be surprising. Sure enough; the sight of this fellow barely a few inches taller than herself, with an almost overwhelmed and entirely nervous look to his face, had been very surprising. The first thing he did when they met was wipe down a table, his manner, the way he carried himself, it all spoke of someone who better suited a role behind a counter or decorating a shop window for a holiday. That image had persisted until today, until this very moment. Despite all the fighting and danger, despite his bravery and strength; he’d still been this kindly shopkeep in her eyes. For the first time, in dark blue armor that made everything about him seem all the more broad, the wallaby that stood before her was truly everything she’d ever pictured when she heard the word ‘knight,’

Then he noticed she was staring and nervously rubbed the back of his head, and suddenly there was the baker once more. She sighed happily that, despite it all, he was still himself.

“Um… Rozzi?”

“Just wanted to see the armor,” she replied. It certainly wasn’t an outright lie so she wasn’t worried about him noticing it was only half the truth. “Not up to movin’ ‘round on my own just yet y’know.”

“Is that all… Because I could’ve sworn… No, it’s nothing. Anyway, I’m going to have to get used to moving around in all this. Hector recommended I keep it on while making a meal for us all. Not at all looking forward to how much it might heat up next to that stove.”

“Oh!” Polly sprang up and almost skipped the distance between herself and him. “Wally, Wally, Wally! Stand still for a second!”

He watched her curiously as she seemed to jab a finger into the air beside him and shook slightly as a sudden chill raced up his back.

When he was about to ask what she just did he was caught entirely off guard by the impossibly giddy look on her face.

“Oooh, I think I got it figured now!”

Wally, entirely confused, looked to Rozzi for answers and received only a shrug. “Well… I hope someone’ll tell me what all this is about at some point.”

“Sure!” She pointed at the empty air by Rozzi, “that one’s you, and this one…” She pointed at the air by his head once more with no chills. “Is her! And they’re the same size n’ everythin’! So if this one…” Another jab shook Wally’s spine again. “Ooh…” She looked toward the wall. “Oh wow, I think that’s Wally’s mum! Well she looks like Wally and she’s makin’ a dress…”

“Polly!” Wally and Rozzi shouted in unison.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t explain. See, I see these silvery snowflake things ‘round people all the time, yeah? ‘Til just now I never knew what they were. Now I do! It’s other people! It’s love! It’s that thing y’ get when y’ care about someone even when there far aways. But only some people have as many as you two. Wistea has the least of ‘em and Grandpa’s got the most I ever seen! But people like that stupid robe wearin’ toad ain’t got a one.”

The two Animani shared a pensive look before Rozzi quickly unhooked her Farsight Stone from its chain and set it to spin on the bunk room floor, summoning up once more the image of Cinera the Seer.

“Well that is interesting! For the first time, I have no idea why you’re calling…” The old squirrel’s eyes settled on the cheery fish girl. “Ooh, but I think I’m starting to see why. Hello there young lady, what’s your name?”

Polly’s jaw had almost unhinged itself at the sight of Cinera; she barely uttered a few syllables before Cinera continued.

“Guessing you noticed the big halo, right? You live long enough yours’ll be this size too.”

“I HAVE ONE OF THOSE?!”

Wally and Rozzi looked them both over, unable to see what they meant. But Polly’s eyes beheld a massive swirling emblem of light within a circle, idly rotating behind the small frame of the Seer. The silvery snowflakes orbiting it in a serene pattern she’d never seen before.

“Yes my dear, and it’s coming along quite nicely. Might I ask, can you see them? Those silvery slivers of light around people?”

Polly nodded slowly.

“Mmm, but do you know what they are?

“Are they love? Because that’s what I was thinkin’...”

“Little more complicated than that my dear… But judging by your answer, you’ve already touched them. Did they feel like threads to you as well?”

Polly nodded once more.

“As we move through life, the thread of our existence ties itself onto others and they you. Since these are ethereal things that exist beyond the sight of mortal eyes, we who’re gifted with the attribute of Light can only see the smallest portion of them. That’s the snowflakes if you’re confused.”

“Wow…” Polly turned to Wally and Rozzi, watching the dance of silver sparkles only she could see around them.

“Now don’t go pullin’ at them, you’ll go blind.”

Polly quickly turned to the older mage and saluted. “Y-Yes ma’am!”

“Cinera,” Wally began. “Is Kota still blocking your foresight?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I’ll be of little use to you all as a guide from this moment forward. You’ll have to decide what steps to take from here.”

“So, you wouldn’t know why Kota’s Generals seem to be after powerful sources of magic?”

Cinera shook her head. “I’m afraid not, aside from an obvious notion that her banishment from the world twenty years ago must’ve weakened her severely. She may simply be trying to drain out the magic to regain her power. But that’s little more than a fancy guess.”

“Thank you anyway, Madam Seer,” Rozzi chimed in.

The old seer smiled at her, then looked Wally over. “Finally looking the part, eh?”

He couldn’t help but stand a little straighter. “Well, my mother always said you have to dress for the job you want.”

“Smart woman, I’ll be sure to visit her soon and let her know her boy’s doin’ well. But…”

Wally grew slightly concerned, “but what?”

“I should probably leave out the part where you’re courting a self professed bandit. She’s got enough on her mind as it is.”

Wally sighed in frustration as Rozzi giggled.

“Good to know I can still get under your skin despite the fancy armor, best of luck out there.”

“Thank you, Seer,” Wally grumbled as he snatched up the Farsight and handed it to Rozzi.

---

Captain Blackeye ground his teeth at the sight of the enormous vessel parked over the Storm Bell’s tower. It was every bit as imposing as his new crew described, a fortress suspended in the air by massive propellers. It’d taken a full two days to reach the tower, so there was no telling how much progress Kota’s forces would’ve made in the interim. Polly looked down from her place on the foremast crow’s nest and waited for her Grandfather’s signal. With a nod from him, the ship vanished from sight and silently closed the remaining distance.

On the foredeck, Hector, Wistea, and Wally watched through the haze created by Polly’s magic as the ship approached the tower of the Storm Bell. Its height suited its purpose perfectly as it reached almost as high as the Lunar Swell had into the sky. It was also apparently made of smooth stones the same color as the sunset currently behind it. The captain claimed the tower always matched the shade of sky, making it almost impossible to see if you weren’t looking for it. More imposing than the spire was the fact it and its foundation hovered above the center of an immense whirlpool, at the bottom of which rested the Fount of the Sea.

The captain cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “There’s an updraft we’re approachin’ Y’ jump there and you’ll make it all the way to the base of the tower no problem.”

While Hector and Wally nodded, Wistea replied “J-jump?! Over that?!”

Polly made her way down to the deck, one hand held up with a tiny bubble of light in her palm, the source of their current invisibility, Blackeye stepped over to the others as he let her take the wheel, limbering up a little as he approached. “Don’t know what you’re worried about Miss Faboi; you ain’t the one covered in heavy metal bits.”

In the light of the setting sun, the colors of the knight’s armors were only slightly muted. Hector’s a cool shade of silver with black trim a stark contrast to Wally’s blue and darker blue finish. They both looked to Wistea with brave smiles. “We know you’re not the most athletic of us,” Hector began. “So Wally will be the one to carry you over, wallabies are awful good at jumping, you know.”

The two then affixed their helmets on some similar silent cue that was meant to no doubt look dramatic and impressive. But Blackeye was looking at the tower in the distance, readying to jump, while Wistea couldn’t take her eyes off the abyssal darkness of the whirlpool.

“… Maybe next time…” Hector mumbled, feeling a little disheartened at the loss of the moment.

Wally reached up and patted him conciliatorily on the back.

“Alright,” Blackeye clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Get your backs to the far railin’ and get ready to run as hard as y’ can, only way you’ll make the jump.”

Wally walked over with everyone and perched his foot against one of the railing’s balusters, holding his arms out and smiling confidently at Wistea.

With some hesitation she bundled herself around him, mostly to assure he wouldn’t lose his grip on her, partly from absolute terror. In a concerned voice she asked, “th-that was true, right? That wallabies are good jumpers?”

He nodded and with a total feeling of pride answered, “Absolutely.”

“Now!” The captain shouted as he barreled forward.

Wally pushed off the baluster and, in an instant, was moving at top speed. He bounded once off the deck, landed on the far railing, and pushed off it without losing a drop of speed. Behind him, Hector and Blackeye leapt just as he was feeling the powerful upsurge of cold, salty air from the watery din below. He shifted his weight, pointed his feet forward, ignored the panicked noises Wistea made as she buried her face into his armored shoulder and braced for landing on the platform ahead. With all that momentum, his speed hardly diminished on contact, so he planted his tail and skidded along the surface until a small pillar in his path afforded him the chance to brake.

When Wistea finally managed to open her eyes, she saw Wally’s serious expression, his foot halfway buried into the pillar, and the trench his tail had dug out behind them. “M-maybe,” her voice was shaky. “You are a little too good at jumping…”

Watching from the deck, Polly let out a relived sigh as the landing party crossed the gap and gathered on the tower’s base, then set about addressing the noise from the wheel’s pedestal. When she opened the cap covering the voice pipe, Rozzi’s voice came in clearly.

“-ey made it right? I could barely see it through this porthole!”

“They’re fine! Meanwhile we’ll just keep circlin’ ‘long this current on the edge ‘til they’re ready to come back.”

Rozzi sighed, in both frustration and pain. She had barely limped over to the voice pipe in the bunk room, and standing by it was a painful chore. She knew she wouldn’t be much help on the mission, but not being on the front lines with everyone else was even more distressing. It’d be another two days before Wistea’s ointment would leave her entirely healed and ready to fight again. So for now, all she could do is wish her friends luck.

Their residual invisibility slowly expended as Wally and the others made their way to a secluded spot near the tower’s entrance, spotting a solitary Black Rock Knight guarding the large stone doors.

“It cannot be alone,” Wistea whispered. “They would not position just one guard, would they?”

“Nay lass,” Blackeye cautioned. “Those knights of theirs are as tough as yer average sortie… Seen just one plow through a whole town in under an hour once, they ain’t trifles.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Hector. “Why would they start at the bottom of the tower, they’re capable of dropping soldiers from the air, why not just take the Bell from the top?”

The captain shook his head. “Whoever made that bell thought of that, had an Orni’Hulan on my crew the last time I was here, flew up to try n’ get a better look, the bell rang and a bolt a lightning knocked him clean outta the sky.”

Wally looked up at the belfry from their hiding place and thought back to their first meeting with the Thorned Princess. When she was taking the energy of the Silent Marsh there was a protective barrier around her that Wistea had to crack open. “I don’t think they’ve even reached the Bell yet.”

“Likely ’cause it’s guarded by a series of traps, challenges, and these big fellas with hammers and mean dispositions. I made it to the top of the tower once y’ see, cost me a broken arm and a lot of time. In fact, I done almost starved before I made it to the top.”

They all looked back to the captain.

“Oh right, the ‘almost starvin’’ part. Don’t worry, this’ll be different. I’m not just makin’ it up as I go along this time!”

“Right then…” Hector began. “Wally, you move in to distract the knight, while Blackeye and I charge it from the side and try to force it off the tower’s base. If we can avoid a prolonged fight we’ll buy ourselves more catch up time. Wistea, you stay here and look out for anything else, join up once we take care of it.”

With plan in place, Wally drew the Flare and rushed in, the offending Knight spotting him instantly. The bulky thing clomped in place as it entered a combat stance and drew its own sword, a broad black blade with a strangely forked end. Without word or sound other than its own heavy footfalls, it rushed forward with unexpected speed to meet Wally. Wielding its weapon with one hand, it opened with a powerful overhead strike that shook his bones as he blocked it.

It was strong, stronger than the Rogue. With some doing, Wally moved one hand from the Flare’s grip and pressed it up against the blade’s broadside. He shoved with all his might, forcing the Black Rock Knight backward. When it reclaimed its footing its helmet tilted slightly, as if curiously scanning Wally, before it gripped its sword with both hands.

“Oh, taking me seriously now, eh?” Wally joked as he went on the offensive, more to secure his own will than anything else. Sparks flew with every clash of their blades, neither giving an inch of ground. The dark soldier reared its blade back and thrusted forward, attempting to spear Wally with the forked end. The wallaby leapt up, landing on the sword’s broadside, swiping his own sword across the Knight’s helm, taking a sizable chunk out of it and throwing the brute off balance.

Hector and Blackeye saw the opening and dashed from cover, setting upon the massive warrior and shoving it with all the muscle they could muster before it could rally. Inches from the platform edge it planted its feet and shook them off with a single swipe of its arm. As it lifted its sword above its head, aiming for Hector, a single stalk of bamboo sprang from the ground to strike it, tipping it backward just as its arms reached their highest. With the change in its center of gravity exploited, it could only tumble backward into the whirling abyss below.

“TAKE THAT YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A BOULDER!” Shouted Wistea as she threw her hands up in triumph, she then rushed down to meet the others.

“‘Sorry excuse for a boulder?’ You’ve been spending far too much time with Rozzi.” Hector chuckled.

“Well since she can’t be here in person, I should make sure she’s here in spirit. That’s something she would’ve said, ain’t that right?”

Hector winced slightly at the accent Wistea had just tried to put on and patted her gently on the shoulder. “You’re trying, that’s the important part.”

Before joining the others on their way to the tower doors, Wally caught sight of the chunk he’d cut off the Black Rock Knight. Unable to repress his curiosity, he picked it up and looked it over. He couldn’t shake the sense he’d seen something like it before so he set upon investigating it.

The churning salt air around the floating structure made smelling it nearly impossible, so he moved on to the next test. He popped his gauntlet off and ran his bare fingers over the sheered surface and realization abounded. “Coal? How can this be coal?” He pressed his thumb down on it and the small piece crumbled in his hand as any bit of coal would. Whatever magic had made it as resilient as armor was gone when the source fell to the sea. He quickly decided to log the discovery for later and focus on the task at hand.

The doors to the tower’s interior were tall and imposing, and just as the captain described, and made of the same stone that changed to match the color of the sky behind it, which became more notable as the sun dipped further down the horizon.

“Huh… Still here. Figured those scallops woulda just blown the doors off or somethin’” Captain Blackeye looked over his shoulder to everyone. “The doors only open if you tell the absolute truth. As in somethin’ you ain’t ever wanted anyone else t’ hear. Not like the time you took a bit o’ candy when you weren’t s’posed to.”

They all exchanged looks before Blackeye continued.

“Worse, the doors somehow know not to open ‘til we all say one. Learned a lot from me crew back then that I ain’t been able to forget…”

Wally rubbed his chin thoughtfully, what could he possibly say that could count?

Blackeye cleared his throat. “When Polly was born, the first time I saw her I cried like a child for almost a whole day.”

The doors creaked and clunked as old stone tumblers moved and jostled within. Wally struggled to think of something.

Hector followed suit. “In a practice duel with an old rival, I intentionally cut off two of his fingers out of petty spite.”

The doors continued to sound. Wally continued to draw a terrible blank.

Wistea swallowed audibly before speaking. “I… I am desperately trying to be as brave as I believe my brother would be in my place!”

The click of an enormous latch resonated.

Wally, like a pot of tea set to boil practically shouted the first thing that came to mind. “I’M IN LOVE WITH ROZZI!”

The doors did nothing.

Hector looked back at his friend. “I… Suppose it only counts if it’s something we didn’t already know, despite you never admitting it out loud.”

The wallaby’s head dropped as he sighed. A moment later he crooked his head up slightly, a single eye on the door as he curiously pronounced, “I’ve always hated my mother’s cooking?”

Another latch clicked loudly and the mighty stone doors swung open.

With a mockingly shocked tone, Hector set upon his diminutive friend. “Wally! What a thing to say! Your own mother’s home cooked meals?”

“She puts far too much salt in everything!” Wally called out defensively. “It’s ridiculous! And half the reason I moved out…”

Wistea couldn’t help but giggle, then look very ashamed of herself for it.

“Only gets more challenging from here crew,” Blackeye announced. “Best brace yourselves.”

Their levity quickly subsided and the four charged inside, the doors slamming shut behind them.

<[Chapter 16]–[Index]–[Chapter 18]>

[sending-the-message]

Bodies in the Basement Wall by WindWakerOfficial

‘Hello, sir. I’m Detective Roland, this is Detective Manning.’

‘Which of you’s the Captain and which is Tennille?’

‘We’re both the Captain. So, we’ve spoken to Officer Brooks, whom you first reported this to. He says you saw a man break a window on the second floor of the neighboring house, jump out onto the ground below, and disappear into the nearby woods?’

‘S’what I told him ain’t it?’

‘And you say this man was covered head to toe in what appeared to be blood?’

‘If it weren’t all blood it were at least mostly blood, mighta been some other bodily fluids mixed in I guess. Fella was a mess is all I’m sayin’, don’t need to know what specific kinda fluids he was drenched in to see that much, officer.’

‘Actually, it’s detective, but that’s not important. So, beyond that uh… incident, you didn’t witness anything else out of the ordinary?’

‘Witness? No. Hear? You betcha. It bein’ a Friday night, I was up later’n usual. Drifted off round midnight. Usually round these hours I’d be asleep heavier’n a newborn that’s just been force-fed a fifth a’ whiskey. Fortunately for me, if fortunate’s what you’d call it, I weren’t yet in that deep of a sleep. I was woken up by the sounds comin’ from the house only a few minutes after I first dozed off. I know that much, cause when I fell asleep I was watchin’ a rerun a’ MASH, and when I woke up that smartass doctor was still yammerin’ on about the Korean fuckin’ war. I’m guessin’ the only reason I heard the commotion and not the rest of the neighborhood’s cause my armchair’s right next to the window ‘n that window’s right next to the house in question.’

‘Sir the house isn’t in question, just what took place inside of it.’

‘Wow son, ‘graaat-u-lations, you made an old fart like me look fuckin’ stupid, real impressive. In which part of your degree’d they teach you that one?’

‘Please continue with the story sir, apologies for the interruption.’

‘Apology accepted I guess. Anyway, I wake up to the sounds of bangin’ and crashin’ louder’n there had any right to be this late. Thought I heard some yellin’ and screamin’ in amongst it all but honestly it coulda been anything. Too hard to hear specific noises in amongst all that chaos, y’know? Ah, you don’t know. Anyways, I sit an’ listen for a few more seconds while I try to look out the window and see what’s happenin’, but I couldn’t get a clear view of shit. So that’s when I wander out the front ‘n see that mess of a fella make his escape into nature. Dunno if the Pope shits in the woods, but he sure as hell looked like he was about to. If I were a few decades younger I woulda busted the front door down and sorted things out myself. If not, I would’ve at least tried to catch up to the fella. Seeing as that clearly ain’t the case though I figured I better throw this one over to the ‘professionals’. Good luck with whatever this is I guess.’

‘Thank you for your time and cooperation sir, you’ve been a great help.’

He had not been a great help. Though it was starting to look like beyond a second-to-second retelling from whoever jumped out that second story window, nothing would be.

‘One more thing I figure I should probably add about the fella. See, it was dark for sure, so this mighta just been the streetlights playin’ tricks, but the look on his face weren’t any kinda fear. It was a face of hope. The kinda face you see on a fella’s just found out he’s finally comin’ home from war. Kinda face a fella makes walkin’ outta divorce court a free fuckin’ man. Kinda hope you’d only see in today’s world, ‘cause shit’s so god damn backwards lately. Trust me, I know the face, had it twice myself. Decorated and divorced.’

As the two detectives tried to piece the information they’d just been given into something remotely usable, the guts of the neighboring house remained much the same as they were at the time of the incident. Though initially the exit and subsequent venture into the wilderness may seem to be the strangest part of this case, one look at the interior of the house put that assumption firmly to rest.

In the coming days, several bodies; some female, some male; would be discovered hidden in the southern wall of the basement. Along with a phrase repeatedly scratched into the bottom left corner of that same wall:

‘This is where the hopeless lie, this is not where I will die.’

‘This is where the hopeless lie, this is not where I will die.’

‘This is where the hopeless lie, this is not where I will die.’

Moving above the macabre, sadistic mess that filled the basement, the front door had been fitted with a serious of locks. Locks to ensure that the owner was the only one able to move freely from inside to out. Police initially had to use an enforcer to breach the door. Looking around upon their entrance, what the inside truly looked like before the escape was anyone’s guess. At this point, it resembled a post-Katrina New Orleans far more than anyone’s idea of a home.

Beyond the absolute and overwhelming chaos that seemed to drench every fibre of the house, police additionally noted that all the windows on the first and second floor had been heavily barred. All except for one. On the western side of the second floor, at the end of a narrow hallway, a child’s room lay untouched. A photograph of a smiling, gap-toothed young girl was sat on a small, pink dresser. The bed, still perfectly made, had been lined with a series of stuffed animals. The kind that would’ve provided a young daughter with more peace and comfort than all the prescription happiness or over the counter numbness in the world could provide her grieving father. Her confused, angry, mess of a father.

This small piece of tranquility in the eye of the raging storm that was the remainder of the house led one younger officer to draw comparisons to the home of serial killer and noted Wisconsinite: Ed Gein, aka The Butcher of Plainfield. A home filled with unspeakable horrors, horrors which halted abruptly upon entering the perfectly maintained bedroom of the deceased mother Gein, Augusta. Hope, for some semblance of love and normalcy in these cases, lies with family. When the family leaves, hope does too. Some might call it ironic that the same conflicted state of mind that created this house of horror also created the only way out. Through all the hours spent reinforcing, barring, locking and then relocking, that one room remained sacred. The bloody footsteps and shards of glass now littering the floor a cardinal sin upon his house of worship.

It’s unknown just how that still nameless final victim managed to hold on and escape, how he stayed alive during what the media are now calling the crime of the decade. The only reasonable explanation continues to fall back on those three lines written in the basement and the statement made by one elderly neighbor. Hope. Hope that no matter how impossibly doomed things may have seemed, there was still a way out. The kind of interior, steadfast hope that no amount of torture, psychological or otherwise, can ever take away.

Police are still searching for the owner of the house, some even speculate that he was the man seen escaping into the woods. That he got away with the whole thing. Though unlikely, if that is the case, one can only hope that this experience has provided him with the catharsis he so desperately longed for. After all, doesn’t everyone need a little something to hope for?

[stephanielipsey-blog]

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Although Croatia is notably little country, it is rather abundant with natural charms and historical sites. Affluent people, on the contrary, make themselves vital to their clients or companies, writing short articles related to their sector, speaking at industry events and also networking. However, based upon the personal monitorings from some folks, usage of spicy, booze and coffee foods will create hemorrhoids even worse. Good, inspiring, wealthy IDEAS make you think AUTOMATICALLY like a WEALTHY individual. Understanding effective ways to make a fella wish a partnership with you could save you coming from inevitable broken heart. These views issue what they feel concerning being actually rich and having money itself. Factoring these factors to consider into your cost-of-living projections will be actually another piece to the problem from finding out whether you will become rich along with your psychology certificate. Of course a man that wishes to be actually head of state ought to create this his service to recognize such traits. Ladies would like to respond to the inquiry, why does he adore me so that they understand exactly what to accomplish to earn a fella love all of them. Yet some net online marketers also produce ALL OF their revenues with partner courses - they do not sell some of their very own items! Therefore to sum that up: If you make good loan, however must operate 80-hour full weeks in order to get it, you are actually still privileged. Robin Reddish is abundant in sugars as is actually that legendary hydrolysed fluid casein product called Minamino. You can easily create your own variations or even end the covering for a vanilla cheesecake. While Corley's short article starts with beneficial executions of the rich as well as just how they made their wealth (Have a Specified Function in Life", To get you need to give"), it rapidly takes a turn for the even worse during the last half when he explains the qualities of the poor (Adverse Emotions Not Managed", Wager Excessive"). Gravy train origami - Buck Expense Cash Origami Band - 2 Ways Making money Online Absolutely free Within this editorial I will certainly report 2 techniques to ready funds on-line totally free. Simply through asing if the short article which is swayed to a virtual abundant globe carries out certainly not include any kind of penny to your banking company. I'll take care of our veterans and also make our armed forces therefore solid that no one is going to ever before tinker our company. I'll protect our boundaries, and also of course, our company will certainly possess a wall structure. Just like tribulus terrestris, intake from randy goat weed is another greatest all-natural way to create male body organ hard and sizable to have solid erections. There was a quote off the Holy bible that worried me for a long period of time: That is actually simpler for a beige to pass through the eye of the needle compared to for an abundant male in order to get into heaven." (I quibbled for some time that it said nothing regarding a wealthy lady, however essentially, I knew that meant me, too.) I intended to be actually an abundant person, yet I wished to be a good person as well as with any luck head to paradise, too. We bring in more amount of money and also our team presume our company could possibly just make a little bit much more ... We poor humans are certainly never fulfilled. 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