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soapyakships · 21 hours
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i am so normal
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i-am-a-fish · 1 day
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youtube
I have made a Patreon! Also a Ko-fi and Cash App! PLEASE only support if that's something you can do, I just like making things I don't want to sell content
Patreon
Ko-fi
Cashapp: $Womanbecomer
thank you for reading please enjoy your scroll!
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sluttylittlewaste · 2 days
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It's wild how many people took Kristen's line of questioning as her saying Tracker isn't taking her religion seriously instead of what I heard her asking which was:
How many of these people would be here if it wasn't religious Coachella?
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nabwastaken · 2 days
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Hatchetfield Tumblr Dashboard Simulator
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🧔 timsdaddyhouston Follow
So a couple years after the.. 'accident' I got my car fixed at my buddy's repair shop and now it's talking to me? And telling me she's my dead wife? @tonygreensbodyshop do you know anything about this?
🔧 tonygreensbodyshop Follow
Nope. Nothing. Maybe you could talk to @msretrosofficial about it?
🌟 flemwad69 Follow
OP i suggest you fuck your hot car wife
🤓 hotchocolateboi Follow
OMG RUUTTTHH THAT'S LITERALLY OUR SHOP TEACHER STOP
🧔 timsdaddyhouston Follow
Been there, done that.
🤓 hotchocolateboi Follow
..wait, what now?
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🌟 flemwad69 Follow
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she's a news anchor. he's also a news anchor. Their 5 year long stint as the co hosts of Morning Cup Of News will change your perception of love.
👨🏻 iamdanreynolds Follow
Uhm, what now?
👩thats-amazing-donna Follow
I second that, what the hell?
🌟 flemwad69 Follow
OH SHIT YOU GUYS HAVE TUMBLR I HAVE TO GO DELETE SO MANY POSTS NOW-
🐿 peanuts-the-hatchetfield-pocket-squirrel
No no OP, you're right. They're really lovey dovey off camera.
🌟 flemwad69 Follow
PEANUTS???
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😎 steph-lauter-the-mayors-daughter Follow
a test.
👨‍💼 normalman23 Follow
Sure, to our knowledge the Ape Man isn't real and if he was, why would he come to my house? But consider this, dear reader. Peanuts The Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel is simply too busy and too famous to show up at my, a normal office worker's, house.
Damn I wish I was him.
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🗳️ hatchetfield-confessions Follow
You know what, I'm gonna go ahead and say it. I think Ted Spankoffski is hotter than Dan Reynolds.
~~~
🥴 dans-biggest-fan Follow
Anon I am at your house right now with a gun.
🚬 lex-foster
Omg mom GET OFF TUMBLR
#like srsly wtf? #she literally runs a dan reynolds fan blog you guys #like feed your children omg
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🍆 spankman69-deactivated20041017
Yo I just found this sick time travelling box what do I do with it
🐐 tick-tock Follow
Perhaps you should try using it to go back in time and fix your mistakes, OP! Hahaha hahaha!
🍆 spankman69-deactivated20041017
Sure thing, doesn't sound risky at all.
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🫓msretrosofficial-deactivated20200604
Miss Retro's will temporarily be closed for renovations! Hope to see y'all back when we reopen! <3 <3 <3
👦🏻just-a-social-worker-guy Follow
Just stumbed upon this post and I am wondering, who is OP? And why do I feel such a weird feeling around her?
✨️ holidays-are-over
Wouldn't you like to know..
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🌐 hatchetfield-morning-news-official Follow
Good Morning Hatchetfield! Make sure to tune in today at 9:00 am sharp to hear more about Hatchetfield's favorite pocket squirrel!
👨🏻 iamdanreynolds Follow
Updating about this on my main and.. what the fuck?
👩thats-amazing-donna Follow
PEANUTS THE HATCHETFIELD POCKET SQUIRREL IS TALKING!!
👨🏻 iamdanreynolds Follow
HE'S A SENTIENT BEING!
👩thats-amazing-donna Follow
WHAT DO WE DO NOW?!
👨🏻 iamdanreynolds Follow
WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?!
👩thats-amazing-donna Follow
WHAT IS THE NEXT STEP?!
👨🏻 iamdanreynolds Follow
IS THERE A GOD?!
💥 hatchetfield-disaster-archive
Hatchetfield Disaster Log: Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel starts talking, and the Hatchetfield News studio is set on fire.
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flippin bad touch quest
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tragedy-for-sale · 2 days
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Finished Reading Padawan
These are just some little facts/snippets throughout the book I really liked, really along the lines of temple life.
Spoilers for Padawan below!
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Obi-Wan tugs on his padawan braid when he is anxious
Bolla Ropal (the Jedi that was killed guarding the holocron in TCW) was Obi-Wan's childhood frienemy. The two played pranks on each other.
Obi-Wan paces outside Qui-Gon's chamber doors as he's trying to figure out what to say what he needs to.
Obi-Wan feels most at peace, most calm, when he is practicing lightsaber forms and says he could do it all day and never bore of it.
Jedi specialize in certain fields, such as communication with animals, and if such a conflict arises based in that Jedi's field, they are sent to help
Jedi who are ready to take have a padawan meditate and the force guides them to who they're meant to train, leading to shared interests.
The temple has several dining halls. There is a padawan meal hall and therefore one for the other ranks. They offer such a variety of food Obi-Wan said one could always find something new to try. And I could've made this up but I'm also pretty sure they said the dining hall for padawans was almost always open, so one was always be able to get a meal.
Some Jedi Masters put a table and chairs in their rooms so they can share a meal with their padawan in their personal space
Qui-Gon doesn't even have an extra chair in his room.
Ships can be requested/reserved down in the hangar. A padawan is allowed to do this without approval from their master (Obi-Wan is told by Qui-Gon to do do but is not directly confronted when he does it alone).
Talking and communicating with animals is actually one of the harder skills to learn and master as a Jedi, so many opt not to. Meaning Ezra's ability to communicate with animals as well as he does is not something all Jedi could do, especially for his age
Nautolans, can live outside of water (we do know this) but since they are an aquatic species, there is a constant strain on their gills and results in them being in pain if out of water for too long.
Obi-Wan thinks Kit Fisto is really strong, he notes Fisto does not seem to be affected by this.
Obi-Wan notes some of his padawan friends have dabbled in physical relationships. But he sees it has an obstacle not as a temptation, feeling that, kissing for example, was a betrayal of himself and the Jedi. He wonders if he'd ever get to a point where it does not feel like that.
┉┉┉◤▲◥┉┉┉
Honestly this book was a really cute read and the planet it takes place on was very captivating. I really liked how Kirsten White writes Qui-Gon too and her references that any prequel fan would love catching.
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starqueensthings · 5 hours
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I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over this 🙂🙂🙂
the thots haven’t stopped thotting
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t1oui · 1 day
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barty crouch jr. is eleven the first time evan rosier takes his breath away.
he's a second year in barty's house, with warm brown skin and blonde hair and amber eyes that flash gold in the sunlight. he knows regulus. one of barty's dormmates, somehow, and he smiles at barty like he wants to know him, too.
barty is thirteen when he finally figures out what the butterflies in his stomach mean.
they're sitting down at the lake, barty on the grass, soaking up the sun. pandora sits on a blanket next to him, her half of it in the sun, the other half underneath regulus in the shade of a tree. dora's busied herself with making flower crowns, and evan and dorcas are swinging at each other and laughing, both ankle deep in the water of the black lake. evan reaches up to kick water at her, and the silver of his anklet - a thin chain with a silver daisy charm hanging off of it - catches the light.
dorcas ducks away and shoves evan square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps before he finally lands hard on the grass next to barty. it must've hurt, even in the soft green, but instead of wincing, he just turns to barty and grins.
oh, barty thinks. it's so obvious, he thinks.
barty is a fourth year the first time he kisses evan rosier.
it's the first christmas he doesn't go home for. he spends long hours knocking about the castle, staying out past both the regular curfew and the one made later for the break.
"can't sleep, crouch?" evan had asked him, making him jump, polished prefect badge - no doubt pandora's handiwork - sparkling from his collar. and suddenly there was mistletoe and the chance to finally make his fantasies a reality. there was the taste of evan's lips (vanilla) and the smell of his shampoo (cucumber) and the feeling of his arms around barty's waist (intoxicating).
even on that dreary, cold evening, there was hope.
barty is a sixth year when regulus begins going out with james potter.
they're on the train, barty halfway out the window, evan's arms tight around his middle in the fear of him falling, and barty hoots with laughter when regulus jumps into potter's arms. potter's a seventh year like evan. head boy, a gryffindor, and one of pandora's best friends, for some reason.
"leave them be, barty," evan snorts, pulling him back through the window. barty watches him, opening his mouth to speak, only to be swiftly cut off by his boyfriend adding, "we can be as dramatic as we like, but i'm not risking missing this train just so we can kiss in front of it."
barty groans in protest, but by that point regulus has arrived at the door to their compartment with a sheepish-looking james potter in tow, so he decides to annoy them instead.
barty is seventeen the first time he comes to hogwarts without evan, and it makes him feel empty.
he's still got regulus and dorcas, of course, but there's a gaping hole in the group now that the twins have graduated. regulus is quiet without james to bring him out of his shell. dorcas doesn't cheer as hard during quidditch games - ones without regulus in them, of course - without marlene mckinnon there to cheer on. and barty? barty isn't himself without ev there to easy his anxieties.
night after night, barty and regulus curl up in the same bed for nights of bad rest. it gets easier, over time. letters pile up. floo calls happen weekly. and while regulus and dorcas struggle, barty thinks about the future. the one decided by him, and not anyone else.
two days after his eighteenth birthday, barty steps off the hogwarts express for the last time.
regulus and dorcas don't hesitate to sprint past him towards james and marlene, who wait with evan futher down the platform. barty, though, hesitates. gives himself a moment to take a deep breath, smile at evan, and start running.
evan envelopes him in a hug, his arms a reassuring weight around barty.
"you must be tired," he whispers, the hint of a smile in his voice. "eight newts, barty. you're insane."
barty grins into evan's chest. "i missed you too, rosie," he mumbles. he lets out a content sigh he didn't realize he was holding in, and evan hums.
"welcome home, love," he says. "our home."
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solomiracle · 19 hours
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solomon's new card reveals the reason for his dislike of the ocean!
definitely couldn't have predicted it...
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plus, the line that comes after this is just adorable!
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i love this scene so much!! they look out for and care for each other!!
mc offers to go in alone because they're worried solomon would be uncomfortable, but solomon immediately shuts the idea down for their safety. and when they ask about his dislike of the ocean, they ask in a way that implies it's perfectly fine if he doesn't want to talk about it. but he's okay, and brings up the unpleasant memories behind it, bc he literally feels like mc was meant to be the first to know!! that's so sweet!
now when's the wedding
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yuesya · 3 days
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Gunther runs.
Behind him, there is a bestial roar, followed by a shrill human scream –one that cuts off into horrifying silence all to abruptly with a wet snap, the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones. Something splatters heavily against his back. Damp, and warm.
Gunther continues running, forcing his legs to move faster, and faster.
It’s all he can do.
Terrifying monsters and ferocious beasts dominate these lands, and humans cower beneath them all. There are many who turn to the gods that walk among them instead, seeking protection, and yet–
And yet–
In old legends passed down by storytellers, this land had been ruled by humans, once. It had been an age of peace, and prosperity. But such times are long past, if they had ever truly existed at all. The current reality that they live in is a land where monsters prowl and beasts run wild, and of the few gods who remain…
Relying on the gods? Who could Gunther and his people rely on? The most powerful among the divine host are the beast-gods, and beasts do not care for humanity. Of the ones who are benevolent to humanity… 
The God of Fruit’s power is slowly diminishing, the bounty of her territory gradually declining with every passing season. And the most powerful among them, the God of Rain, had been slain in battle by the Wolf-king. So far, both the God of Fallen Leaves and the God of Mist that Gunther and his kin have approached following that catastrophe declined to accept them. To add more humans under their protection at such a juncture would be a strain, a burden. 
In order to at least ensure the safety of our own.
And so Gunther’s people march on, searching for a place where they can receive protection. Where they can call home.
Hopelessness. Desperation. Despair.
… But giving up is not an option. To give up is to die.
It’s for this very reason that Gunther continues running, running, running, determinedly tugging along his kinsmen beside him. He grabs wildly at the children who falter and stumble, all through the mind-numbing panic of his pulse thundering in his ears–
“DON’T STOP!” he bellows, through the cracked lines of his lips and his dry, burning throat. Through the exhaustion that batters away at his body, the invisible stones weighing down his limbs. “DON’T–”
The ground beneath his feet shakes, and Gunther trips, falls. Hot air scalds his body from behind, the bloody breath of the monstrous hound hunting him and his kinsmen for sport, and the dark shadow of its titanic bulk descends upon him–
–then, freezes.
Only for a moment, the monster inexplicably freezes in its tracks, ceasing its movements entirely.
Gunther is not about to take such an opportunity for granted; he instantly clambers to his feet to continue running. This causes the monster to growl as its prey escapes. Gunther chances a brief glance backwards, only to see the muscles on its body clench as it prepares to continue its chase–
But suddenly, its body slackens, and falls. 
The colossal mountain of a beast just –falls. Plummets to the ground in an ungainly, graceless heap, toppling down. The force of its fall is enough to send another earthquake through their surroundings, and Gunther slips in the mud once more. Something in his chest spikes from the sudden panic, at the knowledge that the beast is right there–
But the beast has fallen.
It falls, and… does not move again.
… 
Gunther stares, wide-eyed. 
It is in this moment, when his mind is still struggling to comprehend that this nightmarish monster is dead, that he finally realizes that there’s… something off about their surroundings. He hadn’t really been paying attention to it, during the mad rush to escape, but now that the imminent danger is gone… Gunther realizes that it’s far too quiet. The silence in their new, unknown surroundings is… unnerving. Unnatural.
Which doesn’t mean anything good.
Gunther sweeps his gaze out and rapidly scans the surrounding landscape. Left, and right. There’s nothing but muddy earth and light shrubbery. Desolate, and empty, save for his fellow kin around him who’ve also gradually slowed their footsteps at the beast’s sudden, inexplicable demise.
But… there’s nothing to explain it. Nothing to explain why the bloodthirsty monster pursuing them suddenly just –just dropped dead out of nowhere. There’s absolutely nothing to explain–
–no.
No, there is.
With a sudden start, Gunther realizes that he and his people aren’t alone here.
For above them, there is a young girl sitting in the barren branches of an old oak tree. 
A small slip of a girl, a little child who looks entirely out of place with her surroundings, pale-skinned and white-haired and dressed in nothing more than a single formless swathe of pristine white cloth wrapped around her body.
Most damningly of all, though, are her disinterested eyes that look down upon Gunther and his kin are a deep, abyssal blue. Blue, but not wholly blue, for there is an iridescent sheen that flickers within those dispassionate, inhuman eyes.
She’s not human. A god?
A sudden shiver runs down Gunther’s spine as he finally recognizes what he’s seeing. There’s no doubt about it.
Yet, at the same time…
“You are the one who saved us, aren’t you?” Somehow, Gunther manages to find his voice. Then, he swiftly bows his head, “Thank you.”
There is a long silence, in which the not-girl does not respond.
“… The dog was annoying.” Eerie blue eyes finally turn away from him, after that non-answer.
The appearance that she possessed, the aura that she exuded, the strength that she so very clearly wielded… there was no doubt about it. Despite wearing the form of a small, young child, there was no doubt that the entity sitting in the tree atop Gunther was a god.
A god who was… alone.
Was it because she was young, that she had no worshipers?
… But even if that was the case, she was still a god. A young god who was strong enough to kill the monster that had nearly wiped out Gunther’s clan without even moving from where she sat.
Gunther makes his decision.
“Please.” He knows full well that could be killed on the spot, for the impertinence to brazenly ask anything of a god. To ask for more, even after the god had already saved them, when they had no obligation to do so.
But Gunther also knows that his kinsmen can’t continue on like this –wandering aimlessly across the lands, constantly having their lives uprooted as they flee from monsters too powerful for mortals to face, always on the run.
“Would you… be willing to give us your protection?” he asks.
“Why?”
Does she not know? No… no, that couldn’t possibly be the case. Then… is this a test?
“Monsters such as the one you just killed number many upon these lands, and we lack the strength to defend ourselves” Gunther bows his head as he replies, forcing himself to steady his voice as best as he can, and slowly sinks to his knees. “My clan has no home, and we grow weary of endless wandering. We do not wish to die like this, as we inevitably will if we continue on as we are. Please, allow us to remain upon your lands. We would serve as your loyal worshipers, o mighty god.”
… There is no response. In this interval of silence, the wind sighs softly. A quiet breeze sweeps gently over them all, and even reaches up to lightly tousle the snow-white strands of the unknown god’s hair.
Gunther remains kneeling, staring fixedly at the ground in front of him while his fingers curl and dig into the dark, cold earth.
He doesn’t know how long he remains in this position. A single instant, perhaps, or maybe even an eternity.
“… Decarabian,” the god-child’s voice finally sounds in the air, and Gunther’s head snaps up –just in time to catch the sight of the divine entity uncurling her legs. She stands up gracefully, a movement that briefly reveals a pale expanse of flawless skin upon her limbs.
And it is with those unblemished legs that she descends from her high perch, barefooted. Dark blots immediately soil that fair, milky skin as her feet sink deep into the dirt and mud beside Gunther and his fellow kin.
“You may address me as ‘Decarabian,’” she says. “And… I don’t need worshipers. But you can stay.”
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wikitpowers · 2 days
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dru and ash go on a date in faerie🌿🌻🍄🍃🌾 ~
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weaponizedducks · 1 day
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'but girl she killed people!' so. she deserved to what do you want me to do about it
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ok in that longass rescue bots headcanons list i made this one headcanon ive been dying to talk about, which is that i think quickshadow was part of elita one’s squadron on cybertron, and that the group has since been disbanded. my reasoning:
to me, since optimus and ultra magnus are both in tfp, it feels natural to assume elita exists. i dont think she’s dead, although perhaps the war bots think she is, similar to how they thought shockwave was.
also, since shockwave’s backstory is similar to his in g1 i’m doing the same for elita’s. just like in g1, she and her squad of lesbians girlbosses stayed on cybertron to hold down autobot territory, and to fight shocky.
anyway elita's team in g1 seemed to specialize in espionage and close combat, which is what quickshadow does. she would fit right in with the group. as a highly trained warrior and someone who is personally close to optimus, her having a past with elita one and in the war makes sense.
i think quickshadow was definitely a rescue bot first, but presumably as the war took off she allied herself with the autobots. at the rescue academy she trained as a special ops bot, which helped her survive whatever happened to the other rescue bots, and eventually led her to win the favor of autobot high command. this lead to her rapidly climbing the ranks until she served alongside elita one.
at some point in my mind the team was disbanded, either because of lack of resources or they split up to become smaller groups or join other teams. quickshadow became a proper undercover agent, the one we see in the show. by then it's clear optimus trusts her, as he arranged for her vehicle scan, gave her tech to hijack groundbridges, and let her keep her rescue bots insignia. she also was constantly changing names and identities, so she's been undercover a lot. this level of trust hints at a personal history, like her being close to elita.
quickshadow is also a solo agent by the time we meet her, again showing she's highly respected and trusted by optimus, and presumably other members of autobot high command. optimus put a lot of work into keeping the rescue bots secret and safe, but quickshadow has clearly been a part of the war for a very long time, possibly since the beginning. hightide was optimus's friend since the early days, so it could be possible for quickshadow to have known elita or optimus before everything. that would explain the freedom she has that no other character is given.
anyways yeah new lore, if you guys wanna know more abt this just ask! (please ask i can rant abt my lore and theories for hours)
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princeloww · 2 days
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When will we as a SOCIETY stop sleeping on this dorky ass DT role. I'm WAITING.
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suashii · 21 hours
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another random poll bc i’m bored and curious
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fireflywritesgt · 3 days
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Harry in a Hospital
Part 17 of my story! See the index and content warnings here. <3
The night of the storm had broken something in Joe Piccoli. The ghosts of the doctor’s touch haunted his body the way the shock of revelation haunted his mind, and since that night he had been left mentally reeling, suspended in an emotional free-fall that knew no end. As he sat at the phone table and scribbled, what refused to leave his mind above all else was not Harry’s hands or the way he had carelessly let himself fall asleep in them. It was what had happened after. The way he had woken up in the upstairs bedroom once again, laid out on that pillow, tucked in with the greatest of care. The first time he had fallen asleep there, he had assumed the doctor had simply forgotten him, but now it was clear that on that night he had been deliberately placed there like some small child who had stayed up too late. That night, that realization that Harry cared about him, had left something inside of Joe bleeding. Much as he tried to hide it, he now felt raw and exposed, stripped bare of all pretense. He was a knight without armor. A soldier without a gun. A lion without teeth. Harry had made no mention of that bed the morning after, and Joe was far too proud to bring it up himself. He simply did the walk of shame back to the floorboards and ruminated over what on earth he was becoming.
He wondered if being a pet would be preferable to being whatever he now was as he sat there and sketched. Even his art was betraying him; there wasn’t a single thing lewd or obscene about the hands he was drawing, but he could never allow Harry to see them. He could never allow Harry to see any of his artwork, for he knew what unconscious desires bubbled up to the surface whenever he put pencil to paper. This man, who gave him food and a bed and hot water, who worried about him when he was gone, who cared, was driving Joe mad in a way unlike any other man he had ever met. Harry was safe and yet Joe was afraid. Not afraid of Harry himself, but afraid of what Harry had the power over him to do. What Harry represented.
The uncomfortable realization that he would walk into Hell for Harry Avery followed Joe around like a second shadow these days, so when the phone rang, and Joe heard the news on the other line, that shadow all but smothered him.
“This is nurse Murphy from Toronto General Hospital. I’m calling on behalf of doctor Herman Avery. He was in an accident on his way back to the office, and he wanted me to let you know he is doing well but he won’t be back at the clinic today.” Said the businesslike voice on the other end as Joe’s head spun.
“Accident!? Wait—no—what!? What kind of accident? When will he be back?” Joe spat his rapid-fire questions into the mouthpiece with all the force of a machine gun.
“His motorcycle was struck by an automobile and he was flung into a bush. Luckily he has fairly minor injuries all things considered… don’t worry yourself, Mr. Piccoli. Just mind the clinic for the day and he’ll be back in the morning.” Said nurse Murphy.
Joe, who had greater emotional capacity than the average earthworm, was already worried. Harry in a hospital? That ought to be illegal, Joe reasoned. Doctors shouldn’t end up in hospitals as patients, it was a perversion of the natural order of things. He tried to say something else into the mouthpiece, but all his neurons were firing at once and his brain short-circuited. Before he could say anything further, the nurse hung up on him with an abrupt,
“Good day, Mr. Piccoli.”
Harry had moved the dollhouse ladder from the floorboards to the table last week, which made speaking into the mouthpiece much easier for Joe. The bad news sank into him deeper and deeper with each rung of it he passed on his climb down. Mind the clinic! How was Joe supposed to mind the clinic when Harry was in the hospital? Joe knew very little about what a hospital truly was, but based on his imperfect understanding, hospitals were where giants went to die.
Tossing his sketches aside, he rolled the receiver off of the table and sent it flying from the pulley. As he slid down the cord he could only hope that by leaving it there it would discourage any further calls from coming in. Joe had bigger things to worry about than scheduling appointments, he decided. Joe was going to find this hospital and get to the bottom of this mess, and in order to do that, he would need to bring out the big guns.
-
The treasure buried at the bottom of Joe’s wardrobe was so rare and so precious that he had pried the ruby out of a sleeping giant’s ring just to pay for it. The boots and the jacket were a dark brown rathide leather, waterproof and allegedly so tough even a cat’s claws couldn’t pierce it. The trousers and the shirt, in khaki and white respectively, were specialty fabric blends, known of only among the miniatures – the former was a tiny’s answer to denim or gabardine, and the latter was a light and breathable spiderweb silk that moved like water. The belt was tanned mousehide, as were most of the gloves, save for the palms made from the skin of a young toad. By far one of the most useful pieces of the ensemble, they offered excellent grip while climbing.
This was Joe’s good borrowing gear, something everyone in the trade owned, and in all likelihood, never wore unless it was absolutely necessary due to its sheer cost. Joe himself had donned this outfit on one other occasion: when he had hit up a thirty-room mansion in search of expensive soaps and perfumes. The jacket was more pockets than anything else, and he had made it out of that operation with handsworths upon handsworths of goods to trade away at Calloway’s, granting him an easy winter.
So expensive, so useful, and so special were these clothes that Joe could not risk wearing or tearing them in anything other than a high-profile job or a life-or-death situation, and Harry being in this hospital, Joe reasoned, was a life-or-death situation. He slipped his knife into the specialty-made pocket in the side of his good right boot and went about gathering his weights and hooks. He packed a book in his rucksack as well just in case he had to sit on another streetcar for half an hour, then climbed up to the kitchen windowsill in search of something to tide himself over on his travels. The toadskin gloves immediately helped his cause as he grappled up and clung to the rim of the half-open tin of Oreo sandwiches on the counter. He climbed in, grabbed a piece of the biscuit, and climbed out again with ease.
With that, he was ready to face the world in search of this hospital – wherever that was.
-
There was one thing while traveling that miniatures were advised to never, ever do, and that was to travel aimlessly to the center of the city with no destination in mind. Yet that is precisely what Joe did as evening closed in, for as much as the night of the storm had broken him, in other respects it had also emboldened him. If he could survive a rainstorm, he reasoned, then surely he could run off in search of this hospital and come back alive. Even taking the streetcar this time seemed easier now that he wasn’t soaked in rainwater.
If a hospital was a place where giants went to die, then surely it must be conspicuous. All Joe had to do was get some directions. As he walked along and thought, the answer soon came to him in the form of a pair of legs he tripped over as he snuck along a wall in an alleyway. The disheveled tiny who had once been loudly snoring burst to life in a flurry of intoxicated hollering, sending Joe himself stumbling back. Pulling himself together, Joe crept closer to the man he had rudely awakened with all the apprehension of a cat sizing up a nearby snake.
“DAMMIT RUSTY WON’T YOU GIVE ME ONE MOMENT OF PEACE!?” Shouted the red-faced man in a suit that was more patches than suit; then he opened his eyes and added, “…oh. You ain’t no Rusty. I thought you was me brother.”
Joe blinked in utter disbelief at the sight of the drunkard. There was a bottlecap beside the stranger that appeared to have at one point contained a mixture that fell somewhere on the continuum between alcohol and household cleaning product. Where, exactly, Joe couldn’t be sure.
“…no sir, I ain’t no Rusty. Name’s Joe Piccoli.” Joe stooped down to shake the man’s grubby hand.
“Oh, you’re one a’ them fancy borrowing types is ya’? I’m Patches, sir. Don’t got a last name, can’t afford that in this economy. If yer lookin’ for good borrowing you won’t find none here, sir.” The drunkard, Patches, sat up and shook Joe’s hand so vigorously he nearly pulled it off before finally freeing him again.
“I’m looking for a hospital actually.” Joe said. “Where the giants go to die.”
He watched as Patches slouched back again, the gears in his head turning.
“A hospital…” Patches squinted as his brain cells rubbed together, and eventually they generated enough static electricity to light his face up. “Aye, I think I know how to find it, that hospital, but fair exchange is fair exchange. You give me some o’ that good borrowing and I’ll tell ya’.”
Joe wasn’t entirely certain he trusted this drunkard, but Patches was the best, if not the only lead he had. Not wanting to part with his only book written in English, he pulled the Oreo crumb out from his rucksack and showed it to Patches.
“What’ll this get me?” He asked.
Patches’ eyes narrowed.
“If there’s rat poison in that you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Joe’s eyes widened. Even he wouldn’t eat rat poison just for sport, yet for Patches nothing seemed to be sacred.
“I… don’t know what Mr. Christie puts in his cookies, but I wouldn’t rule it out, pal.” He fibbed.
After much consideration, the drunkard accepted his offer.
“Well then it’ll get you over there.” Patches replied, and pointed down to the far end of the alley. “You go out there and turn right. There’s a place on the corner where the giants go to fight, then a special buggy takes ‘em away to die.”
A shiver ran down Joe’s spine. He had seen precious little of giant society, and as time went on, the less he saw the happier he found himself to be. Still, for Harry’s sake he had no choice but to bear witness to whatever bizarre ritual sacrifice this was.
-
Joe sat at the corner and read as he waited for the action to start. It didn’t take long; by the time he reached the second chapter one giant flung another from the tavern’s doorway and rudely interrupted the main characters’ first meeting. He crouched down low by a façade on the side of the building and watched the four shoes of the two fighters in motion as they swore and shoved each other this way and that. He could feel the shockwaves of their feet from where he sat and cowered, and to his great displeasure he could see that the warring giants weren’t moving away from his hiding place, but towards it. Joe could not see it, but the façade he was hiding in, which extended all the way to the ground, also framed a window above him like an arch. Joe only became aware of the window’s existence when one of the men slammed the other’s head into it as he insulted his opponent’s mother, causing a shard of glass to land a mere inch away from the tiny. Luckily for Joe, and unluckily for the poor fool who was getting his head kicked in, the victorious giant flung his victim to the ground a solid giant’s length away from Joe’s hiding place where he then lay unconscious.
Joe had seen his share of bar fights at Calloway’s, but never before had he encountered violence so brazen, done out in the open for all to see. If tinies like him were to fight like that in plain sight they were bound to be hunted or snatched. His morbid curiosity overtook him as he crept out from the façade to examine the fallen giant. The victor was walking off as if nothing had happened, and now curious onlookers were flooding the scene. With a flock of strange giants closing in, and with no better hiding place, he slipped into the unconscious giant’s front pocket and hoped the beast didn’t wake up while he was in there.
Now in the darkness of the pocket, Joe heard a ringing bell in the distance that grew louder and louder until it was completely deafening. When the ringing stopped, Joe then heard a sea of voices as the gawkers commented on this detail and that detail of the fight, until one voice parted the wall of sound like Moses.
“Ambulance service! Out of the way! Out of the way!” It nagged.
Before Joe could even ponder what an ambulance service was, he found that he – and the unconscious giant – were now in motion, as if suspended in midair. Then, the motion stopped, and there was a strange thunk noise. He could hear movements off to his side, and upon peeking out of the edge of the strange giant’s pocket he could just make out the elbow of another giant who seemed to command this ambulance service. The ambulance giant did not appear to be aware of Joe, and sensing his only opportunity to escape, he slipped out of the pocket and onto the white platform the unconscious giant was now lying on. He plucked a hook from his back and went to work grappling down to the ambulance floor as the ringing bell started up again.
He had chosen a good time to escape, for soon after he reached the floor he heard the unconscious giant spring to life again and unleash a series of insults at no one in particular.
“Stay down! Stay down!” The ambulance giant ordered.
The once-unconscious giant did not oblige, and Joe hid in the darkest corner he could find as yet more titans clashed above him. If this was the special buggy that took the giants away to die, Joe reasoned, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what happened at the final destination.
-
Soon the ambulance’s ringing stopped and with it the sickening motion of the high-speed automobile stopped as well. Even the injured giant had quieted down, and finally the doors on the back end of the wagon swung open in annunciation of Joe’s freedom. Smaller wheels moved beside him, which appeared to be attached to the platform the injured giant was lying on. Joe grappled onto the lower frame of the wheeled stretcher and clung there for dear life as the ambulance giant wheeled the injured man out of the van and down a long hall. Then the stretcher stopped, nearly throwing Joe under the wheel in the process, giving the tiny a golden opportunity to retrieve his hook and line and escape into the halls of what he could only assume was the hospital.
Soon he was running down an endless labyrinth of busy feet and white walls. When he came to a staircase that would be insurmountable without throwing hooks around in plain sight and blowing his cover, he stopped for a moment and clutched his chest as he caught his breath. As he gazed up at those stairs and then down at his boots, he wondered what on Earth it was Harry had done to him that had caused him to embark on this ridiculous venture to begin with. No self-respecting miniature in their right mind would ever do something so reckless as this – even Joe at one point used to have limits. Now, here he was, traversing this never-ending maze and wishing he were a giant all the while. How easy it would be if he could just walk right into the hospital, climb straight up those stairs, speak directly to a nurse – whatever it was that a regular visitor would do. Joe, in that moment, couldn’t help but wonder why life had to be as unnecessarily difficult as it was for him.
When he looked up, his heart leapt into his throat as it dawned on him that he was not alone. The spinning of massive spokes behind him caught his eye, and as he turned to his left he was greeted with the right wheel of a wheelchair. Inside of that wheelchair sat a round, grizzled old giant, and Joe froze as the giant looked right at him, then back up to the stairs.
As Joe followed the giant’s sad gaze, something clicked between his ears. It seemed that Joe and this strange giant had a shared grievance in life. He turned back to the old giant with a knowing smile and nodded as the two exchanged a look that seemed to say,
“You too, huh?”
Then a door opened nearby, a nurse rolled a gurney into the hallway, and their moment of solidarity was cut short when the tiny had to flee.
-
The surgical wing. Administration. The medical wing. Joe had traversed all of these with still no sign of Harry. He was at the end of his rope as he ran down a narrow tunnel without end in search of whatever branch of the maze came next. After an eternity spent running down this hall, Joe stood at a crossroads and turned left into the outpatient department.
Here he was met with two rows of beds on wheels, each with a patient. At the far end of the room, he could just make out a nurse who sat at a desk, silhouetted by the wide open door behind her. In that moment, as he gazed upon these two rows of beds, Joe couldn’t help but marvel at how different this shiny, white hospital was from the dens of the barber-surgeons he was used to.
It would be a profoundly stupid idea for Joe to enter this well-supervised room full of sleeping giants, and he wouldn’t have bothered had he not spotted one very important detail. Joe knew Harry best in bits and pieces; his face, his feet, his hands, and there in a bed to the left, hanging down halfway to the floor, was a hand that Joe would recognize anywhere in the world. Immediately a fire was lit inside him and he traced the nurse’s hawk like gaze, judged the distance between himself and Harry’s bed, and sprinted over to it. Taking great care to stay out of her line of sight, he threw his weighted hook around a bar at the end of the cot and climbed up the frame, enjoying the beautiful traction his specialty-made boots offered him against the painted metal.
Then the nurse’s papers shuffled. For a heart-stopping moment he lost focus and slid back down the line again. When he craned his neck and peered at her from around the bar he was climbing, he could see to his relief that the nurse now had her nose in a book. He let out his bated breath and soon he made it to the end of the bed. He crawled all the way across it, over top of the limp arm, and right up to the ear of its sleeping occupant.
“…Harry.” Joe whispered.
The giant didn’t stir.
“Harry?” Joe said.
He moaned this time. Joe couldn’t see the nurse from where he stood beside Harry, so he could only hope that what he did next wouldn’t blow his cover.
“HARRY!” He shouted, straight into the giant’s ear.
Harry jumped and stirred at the sound, which earned himself a stern shushing from the nurse.
“Whaaat?” Harry groaned.
“Harry, wake up! I’m here to rescue you.” Said Joe.
Harry rubbed his eyes in a daze, then turned to look at Joe. His face gradually contorted in terror as his conscious mind began to connect the dots.
“Joe—what are you—you shouldn’t be here!” He slurred under his breath.
“Neither should you!” Joe argued.
“Yeah, but I told you to—“ Harry kept rubbing at his face as he tried to come up with a coherent sentence, then he gave up and tossed his one good arm to his side. “Joe. What are you doing here dressed like a RAF pilot?”
“I told you! I’m rescuing you! This place is dangerous, Harry. I had to break out the good borrowing gear.” He answered.
“Borrowing… gear…?” The intoxicated giant squinted as he examined Joe, then his right hand clumsily reached around to grab at the tiny.
“Hey—hey! Mind your manners!” Joe exclaimed.
Harry’s movements threw Joe off his feet, and he fell back into Harry’s fingers, though he didn’t stay there for long. Finding the position awkward, the giant soon released him. Reflexively Joe found himself crawling forwards to rest on Harry’s bare shoulder in search of more touch.
“What happened to your other arm?” Asked Joe; he could see it was tied into a sling.
“Compound humeral fracture.” Said Harry. "With a bonus concussion on the side."
“Harry this is not humeral, this is very serious.” Joe chided him.
When the giant only laughed in response, Joe kept going.
“What’s so funny!? Harry, cut it out! I mean—” Joe relished what he was about to say next “—do you have any idea, Harry? Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
That was enough to get the giant to take him seriously, though the shush from the nurse certainly helped.
“I figured you would be.” He said. “That’s why I had the nurse call you.”
“I told you, Harry. I told you those motorcycles are rolling death machines. Did you listen? No. You didn’t.” Joe couldn’t help but admire the giant’s big, brown eyes as he told him off - a practice that was a display of affection in its own right. “Now I had to go all the way over here, to bring you some entertainment.”
“Entertainment?”
Joe pulled the book out of his bag, and he watched Harry’s eyes light up at the sight of the microscopic literature.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like this. You can have any story you want as long as it’s romance, because that’s all I got.” Joe said.
“You read romance books?” Harry was on the verge of laughing again.
“Who doesn’t?”
Joe cracked the book open and began to read, grateful to have his friend close again.
-
They were three and a half chapters in when the morphine wore off and Harry received word he was clear to leave. Now in the wee hours of the night, Harry lumbered through the door with Joe riding shotgun in the sling on his arm. Harry placed the tiny back onto the telephone table, then hung up his hat and coat. The moment Joe’s feet touched the wood of the table, he went right back to ruminating. He still clutched the book in his hands, and he ran a thumb over the mousehide spine.
“Left in a hurry, I see.” Harry said.
“Huh?”
Harry carefully bent down and picked up the receiver.
“Oh… yeah, I did.” Joe was only partially present as he spoke.
The other part of him wanted to finish the fourth chapter of the book with Harry, but was too afraid to ask. So enthralled was he by calculating the logistics of this task that he didn’t even notice when Harry picked up the sketches he had thrown aside that morning.
“Hm. You’re very good at drawing hands.” The giant commented.
In a timespan shorter than a flash of lightning, Joe’s face turned bright red. Mortified, he looked over to where the giant stood beside him as Harry held Joe’s doodle page between his thumb and forefinger like a postage stamp.
“I’ll take those, thanks!” He said in a voice panicked and shrill.
“Why do you look so stricken?” Harry asked as he handed the sketches back to him. “You’re a very skilled artist. Not many people can draw hands that well.”
Although it would be another nineteen years before the first atomic bomb was set off, one may as well have detonated inside of Joe’s head. His body stood there with its arm outstretched as it clutched the sketches and awaited further signals from his brain. Harry wasn’t done with him yet, of course, because it was that moment that the giant reached out with a single finger and caressed the bottom of Joe’s outstretched forearm. That was enough to bring Joe’s nervous system back to attention, and he snapped his arm to his chest and clutched the paper alongside the book.
“Sorry – I was just admiring the stitching.” Harry said. “You look good.”
Good? Joe was not supposed to look good. Joe was not supposed to have a self-concept at all! As he stood there tongue-tied, for a brief moment he couldn’t help but hate this man in the sling who was smiling down at him. What power that tall bastard had over him now! Did Harry even know what he was doing?
“Yeah, well—don’t expect to see it all the time. These clothes were expensive.” He stammered.
“I could help you get more. There’s plenty of things you could trade in this house, isn’t there?” Said Harry.
“Yeah… I… maybe. If I can find people to trade with.” Joe said.
He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t say no. He couldn’t stand that he couldn’t say no! He had to do something, say something to reassert some level of dominance over this man who had the audacity to come into his house and tell him he looked good.
“You can’t just go looking at my art, though.” Was what he settled on. “That’s personal.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. I'll pretend I didn't see it.” Harry said.
This was the opposite of what Joe really wanted, of course. What he really wanted was to show Harry everything and for Harry to call it good, so after much internal debate he added,
“…unless you take me upstairs and let me impose my literary tastes on you. Without laughing. Then you can see the other stuff I made.”
Now it was win-win. Joe was in charge, he could keep reading to Harry, and show him his art. Though he didn’t like how Harry smiled at him one bit as the giant beckoned with his good hand for Joe to climb into it, it was victory enough.
Read the next part here!
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