#Rev. Dare Cloud

[howlgrowlsnarl]

Because "Creepy Pasta" Sounds Stupid.

I know this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about the book, but I feel as though the synopsis needs its own preface to truly understand. 2023 was quite an eye-opening year! I began it by living my dream as a vintage steam locomotive fireman, but that dream was soon squashed thanks to my writing career. It won’t matter that you wrote your extreme horror offerings years ago and under a pen…

[anony-man]

Surprise surprise… I bring another collaboration!

I got to work with my good friend Siberat again on another piece together—this time as a small sequel to her story. It was a lot of fun to do, and I’m hoping you guys like it as much as I liked writing it!

If you haven’t yet, go give that fic a read! Links to the original story and to Siberat’s page below. Enjoy!

Autobot Version by Siberat | Siberat’s page

(Credits for the cover art and original fic idea all go to @siberat. Thank you for letting me join you in playing with this piece!)

It wasn’t Optimus’ fault, and Ratchet reminded himself of that repeatedly as he sped across the empty desert.

Spending his downtime in the comfort of their quarters was just as nice as the one-on-one bonding he’d gotten in with the Prime, but at the end of the day, it just wasn’t enough. Restrictions were in place for a reason, and Ratchet knew that. Sometimes, like today, he found it hard to justify. He’d still gotten his fill physically, but mentally, he was still hungry. Optimus had made great company between the tender feeding and the belly rub that followed, but like always, the poor medic was left feeling hot and bothered and forced to turn to himself for a solution.

Communication was key, but he had done his part before—many times, in fact. There was just an impenetrable distance between them, a limitation that came from the Prime’s responsibilities just as much as it came from his own lower rank. Optimus couldn’t in good conscience give in like that. Not yet. After the war perhaps, or maybe after things had finally settled down between their separate factions… assuming they ever did, but not now, not yet.

The answer was simple, and the boundary was strictly put in place. Optimus cared for him, and Ratchet for Optimus. The Prime wanted this just as badly as he did, but the timing… the restrictions, the guilt, and the risks it brought…

Optimus couldn’t give it to him just yet, and Ratchet knew that. He had been reminded of the uncomfortable truth once more after their risqué feeding session had ended on such a painfully proper and socially professional note. Thus, in order to combat the feelings that brewed under the surface, he was going for a drive.

He needed to clear his helm. He also needed to stave off the bellyache that lingered after peeling out of the Autobot’s base. Optimus would be waiting for him when he returned, he knew, as would the rest of their team. Stoic, worried Optimus and the rest of his teammates, each of them growing more and more aware of the strange turn their beloved medic was taking and the attractive amount of weight his frame was packing on.

Weight gain wasn’t a bad thing, per se. It wasn’t exactly a blessing, but it wasn’t a bad thing. The attention was nice, dare he say, and Optimus’ infatuation with the naturally plump and curvy look he bore in his prime felt good. All was as it should have been, war or no, and for once, Ratchet was finally starting to feel like himself. It was a shame, then, that something so good could bring him such mixed emotions.

Primus help him, why couldn’t things be simpler? He was a medic, not a psychiatrist, and this was far out of his comfort zone.

Ratchet’s engines revved as he pushed the limits of his systems and strained against his dashboard’s speedometer. Clouds of dust billowed behind him, leaving an untraceable trail of dirt and debris that covered up his tire tracks nicely. He wasn’t headed in any particular direction other than far, far away from both the nearest cities and from the Autobot base itself.

He knew what he wanted, and he knew what he needed, but neither what he wanted nor what he needed were things he could have in that moment nor in the near future. So, he drove… and he drove, and drove, and drove. The further he drove, the less prominent the pain of his stuffed and tight tanks became, and the less daunting his troubles seemed.. It made it easier not to think about things, too, though that wasn’t as easily accomplished as outrunning the discomfort of overeating with no pair of gentle servos left to soothe him.

For a while, Ratchet drove, and in the meantime, he tried to remind himself that none of this was Optimus’ fault. Not really, anyway. Still, his processor stubbornly reminded him, it wasn’t his own fault, either—not in a way that mattered.

It had been ages since Ratchet last left the base for something other than a simple rescue mission, and despite his poor mood, it felt good to get out again. His sluggishness wore off the longer he drove, and as he moved farther and farther away from the rest of the living world, his tension dissipated, too. At least… it did at first. Now, as the winds picked up and his GPS picked up on terrain neither he nor the rest of his team had ever covered before, his good mood was starting to sour.

Ratchet came to a rolling stop before transforming and staggering to his pedes. The strange stone pillars arching high above his stature all around him were disorienting, and the dust clouds that hung around him made it hard to see, let alone track his path.

His alt-mode’s range of vision was limited, but in his root form, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t see. It only took a few seconds and a couple of looks around the empty canyon before Ratchet was looking up to the skies, and by then, it was already too late.

The unsettling ache in his tanks wasn’t just from overeating, apparently, as the Nemesis hung high in the air like a dark cloud looming overhead. Signal was poor out in the middle of nowhere, and thanks to his up and coming interest in all things sweet treats and baked goods, Ratchet was far too out of practice to stand any chance in any hand-to-hand combat.

He was alone, too. That in of itself meant nothing good.

Fleeing wasn’t an option, and neither was calling for backup. Ratchet had already considered both options when the fizzle of his comm link proudly announced to him that he was far enough out of range for everyone back home to miss out on his requests for help. By the time he was cursing his luck under his breath, a ground bridge was opening up, and the Decepticon warlord himself was walking out.

“Scrap,” the old doctor whispered as he braced himself for a fight.

Megatron seemed more than a little amused by his fear, if the sinister smile and the fusion cannon charging up were anything to go by. They stood at a silent standstill for some time, the only sounds to accompany the tension in the air being the whir of the Con’s weapon and Ratchet’s pedes in the dirt as he shifted in his stance.

“It’s been far too long, Ratchet,” Megatron called out, his voice carried by the wind. As he drew closer, Ratchet took a step back. “Forgive the interruption, but when Soundwave informed me that you had finally come out of hiding—“

“I have no time for your petty words, Megatron,” Ratchet spat. “Please, spare us both the trouble and get to the point.”

He needed Optimus here. He needed Arcee, Bulkhead… frag, even Wheeljack would have sufficed for backup. Ratchet was a sitting duck, as the children would say, and the intimidation factor of blades for servos as his weapon of choice was greatly downplayed by his softened frame and hanging gut. It was an embarrassment to be seen like this from the enemy’s perspective, and Megatron’s sick taste for entertaining himself by moving forward until they were mere inches apart didn’t help.

It was uncharacteristic of a monster like Megatron not to have called him out for his obvious disadvantages by now. Hell, the Con had yet to even take up the rare opportunity of overpowering his opponent so easily. The heat of his fusion cannon burned Ratchet’s plating as he stood there, silent and looming, his cruel optics and even crueler smile the only indication of his intentions.

“You’re quite eager to be taken in as my hostage this time around,” Megatron mused, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down Ratchet’s back struts. “Had it been anyone else, I would have been more concerned. You, however…”

The end of the cannon’s barrel was pressed flush against Ratchet’s frame, and it took every last bit of his resolve to meet Megatron’s gaze.

“You have evaded me for far too long,” Megatron said, “and I’ve grown tired of waiting. Come now, Ratchet. We have a lot to catch up on.”

— — — — —

As a captive, Ratchet expected cold chains and an even colder cell. He expected dark rooms, sinister glares and isolated corridors that muffled his cries and kept him out of sight. Breaching the Nemesis from the inside out was impossible at best and a death wish at worst, so the chance of rescue was slim. His ability to escape on his own? Even slimmer.

Specially enforced radio waves or whatever the slag it was Soundwave had done to alter the Nemesis’ forcefield left his comm links useless, and even if Ratchet had been in an area with strong enough signal to reach out, the risk hardly outweighed the rewards. He knew better than to lure his team into a minefield as dangerous as the Cons’ own ship, and no matter how desperate he became, he knew things would just have to wait.

He could be patient… he could plan. Patience was a virtue, after all, and with hundreds of hours practicing just that at the side of an operating table or in the aftermath of a battle, Ratchet considered himself something of an expert.

He was tense as Megatron guided him down the halls and through the doorways, but so far, the Decepticon leader had posed little threat. He was never going to be someone the doctor could trust, but his docile approach to housing an enemy in his own terrain was uncharacteristic of him. Megatron was as violent as he was brutal, but the gentle—yet massive—servo holding Ratchet’s frame painted him in a deceptively gentler light as they headed further and further into the ship’s interior.

It felt wrong. It felt dangerous, and Ratchet wasn’t sure whether he should be more scared or relieved that nothing had happened to him yet.

Several disorienting turns later he was pushed through the doors of what he could only assumed to be Megatron’s private quarters and shoved across the room. The cushion of plush pillows and silky blankets broke his fall after Megatron forced him onto the berth, but the Decepticon himself still remained impassive and unreadable.

The room was spacious, the berth comfortable, but Ratchet didn’t dare let his guard down. He hadn’t done so yet, and he didn’t dare to ever, no matter how long he was forced to remain stowed away like quality cargo preserved in the privacy of the captain’s quarters.

Megatron had been silent as he brought him inside, and he had remained silent after leaving Ratchet alone in his chambers. There was nothing left to do but wait, wonder, and worry, and Ratchet did all three as he paced the floors for hours, nothing to keep him company besides the sound of his spark thrumming in his chest and his heavy pedesteps.

That and the hunger. It had only been hours, of course, but oh, it had been hours. He wasn’t used to so much excitement anymore, having slowly adapted to a calm and casual life lived in the base with his baked goods and his fattening frame. Ratchet was just beginning to search the room in hopes of finding something to appease his appetite and frown over the short-lived satisfaction from being stuffed by Optimus when the sound of the door caught his attention, revealing to him in a rush of great disappointment that his captor had, in fact, returned.

Megatron made no move to stop him, let alone hurt him, but his presence remained a foreboding reminder of Ratchet’s current predicament. The twisted smile he wore as he propped a servo on his hip and stared the medic down like a carrier catching their offspring in the act of something devious certainly didn’t help with putting him at ease, either.

Such an insufferable expression to wear… and he simply stood there wearing it, making no move to stop Ratchet whatsoever.

“Comfortable?” Megatron purred, his optics drifting up and down Ratchet’s frame as he sized up his prize. “You seem to have no qualms about making yourself at home.”

“As if I had a choice,” Ratchet huffed through his embarrassment. His voice wavered as he spoke, but he stood strong. “You’ve been away for so long, I was starting to fear you’d have forgotten I was here… and you haven’t yet told me why you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring me aboard, either. Your touch is getting old, Megatron.”

“Oh, haven’t I?” Megatron said with a tilt of his helm. “Forgive me, doctor. I hadn’t realized my intentions weren’t clear enough for your understanding.”

Ratchet hardly had time to respond, let alone reaction. The Decepticon leader surged forward, and in turn, Ratchet stumbled back. His tension and fear returned in a rush of panic as he was guided under Megatron’s servo to backpedal in his steps, back up across the room, and move towards the berth.

“Up on the berth,” Megatron snarled, a singular digit jabbing into Ratchet’s chest as he cornered the mech, “now.”

Left without a choice, Ratchet obeyed. He struggled to haul himself up over the ledge of the berth and fell into the pile of cushioning beneath him, his false sense of security melting away as Megatron stood at his side and impatiently waited for him to get comfortable. The Con was looking him over and staring him down, and if that hadn’t been clear from the start, it was clear as day now.

A few indulgent pinches at the fat mesh spilling around his thighs was all it took for Ratchet to yelp and squirm, but Megatron was insistent. It was a stark contrast in comparison Optimus’ affections, and slag, it made the modest gushing from the Prime seem much, much more appealing. Ratchet had always wanted more, but when he was thinking more, he certainly wasn’t imagining this… and he certainly wasn’t wanting Megatron to be the one looming over him and tearing him apart with his optics alone.

“You’re drawing this out far too much for my liking,” Ratchet gasped out, having scooted to the far end of the berth where he remained just out of Megatron’s reach. “If fantasies are what we’re here for, then please, spare me the trouble.”

“You’re catching on quicker now,” Megatron said. “And here I feared Prime’s old lapdog had grown dim in his time away. Out of sight, out of mind… right, Ratchet?”

“My expertise aren’t always needed in the field,” Ratchet spat. “Talking in metaphors will get you nowhere with me, Megatron.”

Megatron hummed in return, a servo stroking at his chin as he smiled down at the poor, fearful mech. “Ahh… yet you seem to be understanding me just fine.”

How could he not? Megatron’s audacity was great, and for a fleeting moment, so was Ratchet’s anger. The fury of being taken in as a captive for something as ridiculous as mind games and petty remarks overshadowed his fear, and he lashed out with scathing words and crawling back across the berth to stare Megatron right back down.

“You may see it as hiding, but I see it as fulfilling my duties,” the old doctor said with his servos balled into fists at his side. “I hardly ever leave the base… but for good reason! And by now, Optimus is sure to have—“

“Don’t sound so certain,” Megatron scowled, “this is not the first time I’ve seen you run away from the Prime like the pitiful little house-pet you’ve become, and it surely won’t be the last. You left for a reason, did you not?”

Well… he did. Of course he did. Ratchet tried to speak, but the words never came.

Megatron’s ugly face twisted back into a cruel, indulgent smile. “Of course you did. Now why go back now, when you’ve come to me instead? Why not wait to go back… why not get your fill first?”

Ratchet slowly grew more and more self-conscious of the folds of fat on his belly and the soft curves of added weight across his frame as Megatron stood there, staring him down. It was bad enough to be forced to huddle up as far back against the wall as he could go to escape the Con’s touch, but it was even worse to know that he was slowly cracking under the pressure. Megatron’s intentions were growing clearer and clearer by the second, and it was obvious by then that the Decepticon leader wasn’t necessarily going to harm him. Still, the sinister smile and hungry stare didn’t leave him feeling any more reassured.

Megatron really had him cornered now, and for some Primus-forsaken reason, Ratchet was almost desperate to give in.

He tried to hold out. He tried to stay strong. What other reason was there for Megatron scooping him up and parading him back to his quarters? What else had changed besides the weight on his aft and the gut on his frame? Optimus liked the new look, as did Bulkhead. Wheeljack, too, as did team Prime in its entirety, really… plus Ratchet himself.

He didn’t need the satisfaction of the enemy falling for his looks. His fearful eagerness was because of his mixed emotions and his currently sticky dynamic with Optimus, nothing more. It was the high of a good thing wearing off, and it was the desperation of getting so, so close to ultimate satisfaction… only to be left hanging at the climax.

He liked the weight gain, but he wanted more. He liked the attention, but he needed more. He wanted Optimus’ gaze raking over him, Optimus’ servos pulling him close and squeezing him tightly, Optimus’ frame pressed against his own and Optimus’ engines rumbling to life with energy, power, and a similar, familiar need.

Ratchet tried not to let his desperation show, but he was an open book on the worst of days. It didn’t help that Megatron was leaning in close, drawing him in and tilting his helm up with a sharp claw that dug into his chin. Ratchet gasped at the sting and did as he was guided, his optics lifting to meet Megatron’s own as he shivered against the berthsheets.

Megatron blinked. Ratchet froze.

“Eager already,” the Con said, his voice rumbling in his throat like the purr of an engine as he grabbed Ratchet by the cheeks and twisted his helm around. “Just like the old days.”

There was no room for protests, no room for fighting back. Megatron had played him well.

It happened fast, and in a moment Ratchet was pushed forward and kneeling on his knees, his helm bent low and his arms held behind him. The restraints that kept him in place were cold and tight, and not even the comfort of the berth’s thick layers of pillows and blankets was enough to alleviate his discomfort. He struggled against his bonds and cried out in surprise, but there was no helping him. Megatron was going to get what he wanted one way or another, and Ratchet knew he would soon be giving in and enjoying it just as much.

“I may not have the Prime to toy with anymore,” Megatron hissed, his claws digging deep into the soft mesh of Ratchet’s frame, “but I can have you instead… and who can blame me for wanting to take my fill when you’ve come to me to do the same?”

The painful grip was released, but only for a moment. Ratchet watched as Megatron moved to the door and stepped outside, only to wheel in his version of a cart filled with fuels and foods into the room behind him. It was more energon than anything, and the assortment of sweets and treats looked thick, heavy, and indulgent. The sight was nothing like that he had offered up to Optimus in an attempt at gaining a mere hour’s worth of bonding and feeding, yet it resembled it almost identically.

The intentions were different, and so were the foods. Ratchet didn’t feel the nervous excitement he had felt on his way to Optimus’ quarters, but he did feel the dreadful anticipation of being stuffed to his limits and then pushed even further. Unlike Optimus, he knew Megatron wouldn’t stop at no, and Primus forgive him (Optimus too), that was exactly what Ratchet had wanted all along.

“I’ve seen the change in you, Ratchet,” Megatron said as he traced his digits over the edge of the cart, his servos coming to rest atop a stack of cubes, “and I know what you’re hiding. My experience in fighting to the top and overcoming deceit isn’t in vain any longer, and your own little secrets are as clear as the weight that hangs from your frame. They have been from the start.”

Megatron pried the lid from the cube atop the pile and stalked across the room, stopping just shy of the berth’s edge. He held it out in jest, the glowing energon a twisted teaser for what was yet to come, and watched as Ratchet panted and stared at the fuel with desperation even he couldn’t mask.

“Indulge me,” he said, lifting the cube to the medic’s lips, his optics meeting Ratchet’s own as he stared up at his captor, his feeder. “And I’ll be sure to return the favor.”

Ratchet knew what the answer should have been. He wasn’t bound or gagged save for the shackles on his wrists, but he still didn’t respond. He could speak just as well as he should speak. Megatron hadn’t forced him yet, and he likely wasn’t going to.

The option was there; he had a way out. He was Megatron’s prisoner, but he wasn’t imprisoned. He could leave, and Megatron would likely let him. He should, and he would… but Primus, he was just so eager, so excited, and so desperate.

He had already tested Megatron’s patience for long enough. When he didn’t respond, the Con moved in. The cube was held up to his lips and tilted far, far back, leaving Ratchet to choke, sputter, and swallow until every last drop had been drained. It happened again, and again, and again, and without fail, Megatron was there to hold his helm in place and keep him from turning away.

He didn’t want to be fed by Megatron of all mechs. He didn’t want those massive servos and sharp claws poking at his frame and pinching the swell of his belly as his tanks filled with every bite. He wanted Optimus more than anything, but Optimus didn’t want him—more specifically, Optimus didn’t want what they could have. A compromise was to be made, and a compromise was what he agreed to indulging.

The tilted power-shares and supposed compromise wasn’t the only thing he indulged in, as witnessed by the rapid pace and feverish energy of his forward and ferocious approach. Megatron spared no energy on kindness, and with every cube of liquid Ratchet was forced to swallow down, his captor and feeder was there to observe and weigh in on the progress.

“Don’t stop,” Megatron growled somewhere between finishing his seventh cube and starting on his eighth, “I haven’t brought you here to watch you stroke that fattened frame and moan your way out of being fed. Eat, Ratchet, or I will be forced to tie you down to the berth and stuff you my way.”

Ratchet could only groan in response as the corner of a cube was pressed against his lips once more. He was panting for breath already, his engines faltering and his vents burning with pent-up tension and a desperate need for air, space, and breathing room. The mesh of his belly was swollen and tight, and with every attempt he made at looking down to assess the damage, Megatron was there with a claw under his chin to tip his helm up and back for the next mouthful of fuel—or food, as he had finally begun digging into the sweet, solid treats that Ratchet knew would sit heavy in his packed tanks.

This was nothing like the mild and tender sessions with Optimus behind closed doors, but Ratchet loved it all the same. He couldn’t convince himself that the fistfuls of food being shoveled into his face and the servo holding his helm tight belonged to the Prime, even with his optics closed, and it made the guilt of squirming against the sheets and moaning for more all the more despicable.

His tanks were tight, and the bits of plating that clung by felt seconds away from splitting apart from him, but Ratchet ate, and ate, and ate… he ate until Megatron’s servos let go of his helm, and he ate until the sharp claws that had hurt him at the start were tenderly groping the rolls that spilled from his belly into his lap. He ate until the space between the bites became longer, and he ate until the tension and pain of being so full grew into a satisfying lull of pressure building from the inside out.

Megatron kept feeding him, and Ratchet kept eating. Snacking had built up his tolerance for hearty meals, and frequent trips into the makeshift kitchen setup within their base helped grow his appetite. Still, all of the pounds he’d packed on before under Optimus’ rare yet loving affections and his own self-indulgence were nothing compared to this. It was the kind of thing he had wanted without knowing it, and it brought the satisfaction of pushing his limits that he would have never received from within his own faction.

Optimus was a good companion, but Megatron was a great feeder. That much was obvious as the Con leader prodded at his gut and hummed his satisfaction over the fact that it had doubled in size already. Slag, they weren’t even halfway through with the array of things he had for Ratchet to eat… yet here they were. They had made it so far already, and that was an impressive feat. He was still recovering from the earlier stuffing, after all.

Megatron was relentless, and that was what felt so good. At the same time, that feel-good pleasure was what made him feel so guilty.

The pacing was steady, but the feeding was nonstop. Ratchet couldn’t move away when the fuel dribbled down his chin, and he couldn’t push back when the forkfuls of food became too big. He was chugging and chewing, swallowing and gasping, all while reveling in the pleasure and sensation of being stuffed out of his processor and forced to eat until the very last plate was left spotless and clean.

He tried hard to keep up, and he tried hard to avoid resistance—not for Megatron’s sake, but for his own. Alas, his appetite was limited, and the double stuffing in one day was growing to be too much. As Megatron held up the last of the cubes and the plates of sweets, Ratchet dared to turn his head away and groan in protest.

“No more,” he gasped, his faceplates flushed and his expression pained. “I… I can’t—“

“Why not?” Megatron said, pressing the cube closer. “You’re finally getting what you wanted, aren’t you?”

Ratchet didn’t respond with anything more than pained sounds and the gurgle of his tanks stuffed beyond their limits. Megatron was gentle this time in cupping his chin and turning his helm back to face him, at least, and the tenderness of holding up the cube for Ratchet to drink from wasn’t lost on the medic. Still… he was hurting. His belly was prime for bursting, and his fuel capacity had been passed tenfold.

“One more,” Megatron gently corrected as he tilted the cube up ever so slightly. “Drink up, doctor.”

Thick, sweet fuel trickled down his throat at a slow pace, which came as a relief for Ratchet. He lapped it up with all the care he could muster with his servos restrained and his helm held in Megatron’s grasp. The weight of his gut spilling out into his lap became more noticeable the longer he drank, and by halfway through, he was desperate to be finished.

The pressure of his restraints and the pain of Megatron’s claws digging into his face disappeared with the cube from his lips, and as Megatron tossed the empty container aside and unraveled Ratchet’s bonds, the poor medic fell forward. His swollen belly swung beneath him and squished between his thighs all the same, and as he wiped at the energon stains that ran down his chest with shaky servos and crumb-coated sheets, he became aware of yet another sticky mess soaking the berth beneath him—all from his own doing.

As Ratchet struggled to compose himself and hide the shame of his budding arousal from view, Megatron stood by and watched. At first the Con merely chuckled at every belch and eyed up each flash of the sloshing belly hidden from view, but after a while, the amusement wore off… only to be replaced with twisted callousness and false pity.

“Was that so hard?” he said, giving the bulge of Ratchet’s belly a poke as the medic untangled himself from the sheets with the care of a bot who looked several cycles past an appointed due date. “You did well. I’m very impressed.”

He turned to the cart and inspected the aftermath for a brief moment before heading for the door, his own sick hunger sated. Ratchet was left on the berth, panting and aching, to do what he presumed was the cleanup part of the process before being released back into the desert to find his way home.

As expected, he was right.

“Your pleasure is important, Ratchet,” Megatron said as he stabbed numbers on the room’s pin-pad and stepped through the door, “but I can’t be the one to force you every time. Whether you allow yourself to give in again in the future is up to you… but believe me, I’ll be around.”

Ratchet watched helplessly as Megatron disappeared, leaving him to deal with the aftermath of the stuffing. He could hardly move, let alone breathe, and though he tried hard to call out and demand the Decepticon leader return and deal with his share of the consequences, the words never came. The best he managed to do was slump back against the berth and curl into the sheets, his servos instinctively moving to rub his belly and his thighs clenched around the leaky mess dribbling from his array.

The door was shut, and the sound of thunderous pedesteps echoed against the walls until only silence lingered—silence and the sound of his tanks fighting to quell the pressure of food and fuel packed inside, that is. Only a moment later did Ratchet’s commlink fizzle to life, leaving him shuddering at the sound of Megatron’s voice rumbling in his audials.

“I won’t keep you trapped,” the mech said, his voice slow and staticky over the comms. “The door is unlocked, and the command room is to your right. Once you’ve managed to pull yourself together, you are free to leave. I have instructed Soundwave on calling up a groundbridge to your last location. Until then…”

Silence, save for the static of his comms and the gurgle of his tanks.

“…I wish you great luck in taming the beast. Until next time, Ratchet. Your company has been greatly appreciated.”

[chimachapterbooks]

Small Packages

There are many things in this world that can be measured the length of a day, the number of lions in a pride, the distance from one end of a valley to the other. And then there are those things that cannot be measured, no matter how hard one tries... the courage in an animal's heart, the cleverness of his brain, or the daring of his spirit. Only through experience can one learn the true amount of each of these in any living creature.

- King LaGravis

"Muskrats?" exclaimed Laval, the Lion Prince, in disbelief. "Moles? Hedgehogs?"

"Yes," said LaGravis, king of the Lions, to his son. "And beavers and rabbits and mice, as well."

Laval shook his head. "You want me to go talk to all the small creatures in Chima and ask for their help in fighting the Crocodiles? You have to be joking, Dad!"

"I'm the king," LaGravis reminded him. "Kings do not joke. Very rarely, we may laugh at something, but only very rarely."

"The Crocodiles and their allies attacked us!" Laval said angrily. "They want control of the CHI that it is our duty to guard and distribute. We need powerful friends among the tribes to help us in this fight, and you're suggesting moles and mice?"

"All of the tribes have their role to play," LaGravis replied. "They may not all be as strong as the Gorillas or soar as high as the Eagles, but that does not mean they have no worth. Laval, as the future leader of the Lion Tribe, am trusting you to talk with them. Ask if they will be our allies in this fight. Explain that we need their help to defend Chima."

Laval sighed. "Fine, Dad. I'll go talk to them. For Chima."

But later, as Laval went to get his Speedor, he was still frustrated.

"What matters now is strength and speed and power," he muttered to himself. "That's all the Crocs understand, and that's what we need in allies."

Laval respected his father more than anyone. But. sometimes his dad's thinking was a little ... old-fashioned It was great to say that everyone had the same value, big or small. But in a fight, Laval would vote for "big" friends every time.

He climbed aboard his Speedor and raced off into the jungle. There were a lot of mice and moles to find.

Speaking to all of them would take all day. Laval grumbled.

He had made plans to practice fighting with Eris and Rogon that afternoon. Now he wouldn't be back in time.

As Laval sped deeper into the jungle, he began to calm down. Driving fast always made it easier for him to think. Soon he was zipping through trees and bushes far from the Lion Compound. It's very quiet out here, Laval thought to himself.

Too quiet...

Suddenly, four Crocodiles on Speedorz roared out at him from both sides!

"Well, well, what do we have here?" one of the Crocs snarled. "A Lion Prince deep in the jungle with no allies." Another Croc laughed. "How much CHI do you think a Lion Prince is worth?" he asked.

The first one revved his engine. "Let's take him to King Cragger and find out!"

Laval looked back and forth between the Crocodiles.

Escaping was going to be tricky, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. It looked like he would get some practice-fighting in today after all!

"Sorry, mud-lovers," he said as he shot forward. "I've already got plans!"

The Crocs snarled and gunned their engines. "You can't get away from us, Lion!"

Soon they were hot on Laval's trail.

Laval raced his Speedor under a low branch, kicking up a cloud of dust as he flew.

"Take that, Swamp Boys!" he cried, shooting around a corner and out of sight.

But the Crocs weren't giving up that easily. The lead Croc motioned to his partners, and they split up to the left and right. When Laval looked back, all he could see was the cloud of dust he had made.

"Now, where did those mud-lovers go?" he said. Just then, one of the Crocs tore out of the bushes and charged at him from the right. Laval whipped his Speedor around.

But another Croc was already blocking that path, too. The two other Crocs closed in from the front and back. Laval was boxed in!

"Looks like we've made a Lion-sized trap," the lead Croc laughed.

Laval quickly looked all around him. The Crocs had him cornered . .. but not captured just yet.

"Here's a lesson for you," Laval said with a grin. "When you make a trap, always check it for escape routes first." Gunning his engine, Laval sped toward a flat, angled rock just in front of the lead Croc... and zoomed up it like a ramp, right over the Croc's head!

"Woo-hoo!" he cried, zooming off.

The Crocs growled. Now they were really angry. "Get him!" their leader shouted.

They chased Laval farther and farther into the jungle.

Soon, the trees and plants began to thin out, and the ground grew dusty. Laval realized he had never taken his Speedor out this far before. And a moment later, he remembered why. Up ahead, stretching as far as they eye could see, was the border of the desert. It was nothing but sand and dust and rocks.

Uh-oh, thought Laval, screeching his Speedor to a halt.

This is very bad.

If he turned back, he would have to fight the four Crocs. But if he went forward into the desert, his vehicle would stop working. Like all Speedorz, the wheel was made from an ancient stone powered by nature. In the barren desert, where no green plants grew, the machine wouldn't last long.

Laval would be stranded.

Laval looked behind him. The Crocs were gaining. He knew he was a good fighter, but four-to-one odds were enough to make him think twice. So he revved his engine and headed into the desert.

The vehicle managed to make it only a short distance before it sputtered and died. "I'm a sitting duck out here,' Laval said to himself. "I have to hide."

The Lion Prince quickly pushed his Speedor over a large sand dune and out of sight. Luckily, the wind behind him blew fresh sand over his tracks, covering them. Laval peeked over the mound to the edge of the desert.

The Crocodiles had just stopped at the border. They couldn't see Laval hidden behind the sand dune, and their leader was angry.

"Ga! Where did that Lion go?" he asked.

The others shook their heads. "Must have headed into the desert, boss."

All four Crocs gulped. They didn't want their Speedorz to die out as well. But they also didn't want the Lion Prince to slip from their claws.

"Maybe we should wait him out," one suggested. "In this heat, he won't last long."

"Or maybe he went back into the jungle?" another said. "I don't see any tracks."

Laval didn't wait to hear any more. He quietly slipped away, still out of view of the Crocs. His best bet was to try and sneak past his enemies in a little while, when they started to get bored. If they got hungry, they might even head back to the swamp. "I need to find shade," Laval said to himself. "If I'm going to save my strength, I can't let the hot sun get to me."

Laval started walking south. After a while, he became tired and thirsty. He was about to sit down and take a rest when heard a very small voice from below say, "Hey, watch where you're sitting!"

Laval stopped and looked down. There was a little desert mouse waving a tiny fist at him.

"You big guys think you can do whatever you want!" said the mouse. "Well, this is my property, right here, not yours."

"This is your property?" Laval asked, surprised.

"Where?" Laval looked left and right, but all he could see was sand.

"From that pebble over there," the mouse said pointing to the north. Then he pointed south. "Then all the way to that sand dune down there."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Laval apologized.

"It's okay," said the mouse. "Hey, you're a long way from home, aren't you? There aren't any Lions in the desert."

Laval explained why he was there. "I won't be staying any longer than I have to, but I had better find water pretty soon."

"Stick with me," the mouse said with a smile. "I know all the best places. My name is Alonz, by the way."

Alonz scampered off, with Laval following. After a few minutes, they came to an outcropping of rocks that provided cool shade from the desert sun.

"Thanks," said Laval. "I'll need to stay here a while: and wait out the Crocs."

"That might be hard," said Alonz, pointing past Laval.

The Lion turned to see that the four Crocs had advanced into the desert and were heading in his direction, though they hadn't spotted him yet.

"Show yourself, Lion!" one of them called. "You can't hide out here forever!"

Laval looked back down at the little mouse. "You'd better find a place to hide," he said to Alonz. "There's going to be a fight, and I don't want you to get hurt. You're too small to stand up to Crocs."

"Ha!" said Alonz. "You don't have to be big to win a fight... and sometimes you don't even need to fight to win. Those Crocodiles are in my territory now. I'll show you how to handle them!"

Before Laval could stop him, the mouse darted off toward the Crocodiles. "Wait!" cried Laval. "I'm coming with you!"

"You'll just get in the way," the mouse yelled backe cheerfully.

"Stop!" Laval said, using a hand to block the mouse's; path. "You can't take on four Crocs by yourself! You're just a mouse!"

"This is my home." Alonz puffed out his chest. "I'm going to defend it. Besides, did you ever stop to think that maybe around here, you're 'just' a Lion?"

While Laval was thinking about that, the mouse raced away. When Alonz was about ten feet from the Crocodiles, he started jumping up and down and waving his arms.

"Hey, Crocs!" he yelled. "What's big and dumb and smells of swamp? You guys!"

One of the Crocodiles glanced at another. "It's a mouse," he said.

"No kidding," said the other Croc.

"Should I step on him?"

"Nah, just let him squeak. It's good for a laugh."

But the Crocs weren't laughing for long. Alonz ran around them, insulting their looks, their intelligence, and their body odor. After a while, the Crocs started to get annoyed. They chased after him, and Alonz took off as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Alonz was fast, but the Crocs' big legs covered more ground. They were about to catch him! Laval sprang out to help his new friend when, suddenly, the four Crocs sank into the sand up to their waists!

Alonz stopped running. He turned around and laughed.

"See, Laval? I told you. They might be bigger and stronger but they don't know the desert. I do, especially where the patches of soft sand are."

Laval walked up to the four Crocs, chuckling. "Looks like you've been beaten ... by a mouse."

The Crocs squirmed and glared at Laval. "We'll get you!" they snarled. "As soon as we get out of here."

Laval laughed. "I'd say the only thing you'll get is waist-deep in trouble when Cragger finds out about this."

All four Crocs gulped. They had wanted to please Cragger by capturing Laval. But the king wouldn't be happy to hear they'd been defeated by a mouse!

"So, this is what's going to happen," Laval continued,

"I'll help you out of that sand before you sink up to your snouts, and you'll go back to the swamp. In return, I won't tell your king about what happened here today. Deal?"

The Crocs grumbled a lot, but agreed.

With Alonz's help, Laval returned to the edge of the jungle and grabbed a long vine. He brought it back to where the Crocs were still stuck in the sand.

Then he tied the vine to one of the rocks and left it within reach of the Crocs. They would be able to use it to pull themselves out of the sand and make their way back to the swamp. But not before Laval and Alonz were long gone from the desert.

As the Crocs slowly pulled themselves free from the sand, Laval dragged his Speedor back to the edge of the jungle. Alonz went with him, perched on the seat. As soon as they were near the trees and plants, the engine roared to life. Startled, Alonz jumped onto Laval's shoulder.

"Why don't you come home with me?" Laval asked

“We could sure use your help defending the CHI against the Crocs. And I have to say I'm sorry to my dad—he was right about something, and I didn't see it until just now. I think he'd like to meet you."

"Will there be cheese?" asked Alonz.

"Probably," said Laval.

After a minute, Alonz said, "So, what do you have to apologize for?"

"Oh, I had this idea that only small things come in small packages," answered Laval. He smiled.

"Turns out I was wrong."

-

I tried putting a few of the photos together to make room for them. I tried not to do it for all of them to make it look a little nicer.

[watcheraurora]

Siren Song

Had a dream the other night that I got turned into a mermaid. And as a gal who's loved merfolk since I was a kid, I couldn't resist 4.3k words

—

Grian grinned to himself. From his fishing dock, he could hear Gem on her little fishing boat belting sea shanties. She sounded like she was having fun, swinging around her rigging with a sword on her belt. She wasn't the only one who lived on their boat, but she was the only one who took such audible joy in it.

Grian let his feet dangle in the water, his overalls rolled up past his knees, and watched the sea as his lure bobbed. Early morning was one of his favorite times to fish. The quiet—apart from Gem's shanties—the sunrise on the clouds, the watery color of the sky. The calmness of the ocean. It was peaceful, like this. There was nothing else he needed to do but sit and fish. This early in the season, the ocean water was frigid against his bare skin. He didn't care.

"Morning Grian!" Gem called as she spun around a line of the rigging as though it was the hand of a dance partner. She waved from her boat's deck anchored a little farther out in the bay, not attached to a dock or wharf.

"Morning Gem!" Grian replied, raising a hand in response.

Gem beamed and went back to whatever it was she was up to. Grian suspected she was trying to do chores and just decided to have fun instead. She was anchored far enough out that they couldn't easily talk. They had to shout. He tried not to shout this early though. It scared the fish.

The water, near the hull of Gem's ship, moved strangely. A movement Grian was familiar with. Something large not quite breaking the surface tension, sliding just underneath. Large and shimmery.

Grian perked up. That was either the largest cod he'd ever seen—or something else was near.

He pulled his feet out of the water and stood up. Snatching his binoculars from his pack of stuff, he held them up and peered toward where the shape moved.

The murk of the early-morning ocean prevented him from seeing what was under the surface.

"Shoot," he muttered. "What was that? Big fish don't come this shallow often..." He moved the binoculars up and down, looking through them and sweeping his gaze in the same area without the magnification. "Geeem?" he called, as loud as he dared to not scare the fish. "Is your sonar on?"

Gem stopped where she was dramatically stomping on the deck with a mop in hand while chanting her shanty. "No. I'm cleaning," she called back.

"Mind turning it on? There's something big here!"

"Grian, you don't have the equipment for deep sea fishing."

"Humor me," Grian said.

Gem made a face that was unimpressed—even from Grian's distance. "Fiiine," she said, vanishing into the cabin of her boat.

—

Pearl grabbed Scar's wrist as a noise traveled through the water. A sonar that was revving up, but not yet active.

"Hold on," she said. Scar twisted his arm and grabbed her arm in return. They snagged each other's other arms. Pearl built up some momentum with her tail and they shot toward deeper water. Scar's torn caudal fin trailed limply behind him as Pearl sped them both away. The pearlescent white tail for which she got her name glimmered in the weak, pale sunlight that hadn't yet broken over the horizon.

Pearl swam them both for several long moments—until they were most likely out of range of the sonar. Then slowed down. Scar's green eyes were wide. The scar over the bridge of his nose shimmered. "Did we just get caught?"

"Maybe," Pearl said, looking over her shoulder. Her long hair drifted in a cloud around her head. She brushed it aside to look behind her. "I don't think the sonar got turned on quick enough. But I can't say for sure."

Scar looked down at his tail. The base of his caudal fin was bent awkwardly and the fin itself was torn in such a way to render it useless. He couldn't swim. "I'm sorry, Pearl. I didn't mean—"

"Don't apologize, Scar. It's not your fault."

"Bu-bu-bu-bu-but..." Scar put on his pathetic voice that was overdramatic for the sake of comedy. "But I'm the one who got too close to the humans."

"Yeah, and got closer in the hopes that they'd help fix you. We know that human of Jimmy's knows about us and would help. But everyone else? That man on the dock could have very well hooked your tail if you got any closer. We don't know who we can trust."

"How... how do we get Jimmy's human to help fix my tail? We just don't have the materials to splint it underwater."

Pearl made a face. "Well, it was pretty stupid of you to come this close to shore on your own when you can barely swim. You're lucky I got here when I did to get you out before they thought a shark got close to shore."

Scar pouted, sticking his lower lip out.

"Look. I know your tail needs fixing. And Jimmy and Lizzie's humans will help. But we need Jimmy or Lizzie to contact them. How those two both managed to snag humans is beyond me."

"Must be ocean royalty twin charm or something," Scar said sarcastically.

Pearl smirked and bounced her eyebrows. "Must be. C'mon. Let's go ask Jimmy and Lizzie if one of them can ask their human for help."

Scar thought for a moment, then nodded.

—

Grian stood on the end of his dock at the end of the day. The sun had set behind him and the last few rays were starting to filter out.

Soft footsteps approached down the dock. "Whatcha doin'?" Gem asked. Her rowboat bobbed in the water just in front of them both. She had on her light, soft boat shoes.

"Looking to see if that fish came back with the sunset," Grian said, binoculars in hand.

Gem yawned and stretched. "Okay," she said through her yawn. "I'm heading back to the boat. Holler if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Cheers," Grian said.

She hopped nimbly down into her rowboat, untied it, and started to row back to her boat. Grian watched her go, making sure she was safe. They'd both moved to this small fishing town within a year of one another. Gem's grandparents had given her their fishing boat when they passed away and she'd chosen to live on it, and Grian... well. He was running. Always running. A restless soul with people in his past that he needed to be far away from for his own sanity.

He told the good people in his past that he'd found the sea. But it was more like the sea found him. Called him. Beckoned. So here he stayed. In a small flat over a shop—a workshop, to be specific. Three mechanics ran it. And he fished before and after work.

His eyes tracked Gem to where she tied her rowboat to the ladder on the hull of her boat and climbed the rest of the way up before she disappeared inside. Grian was older than Gem by only a few years, and felt a brotherly protectiveness of her. The two who came to the small, sleepy town from the outside.

There was no sign of that large fish he'd seen earlier. The last rays of sunlight were snuffed out by the dark night sky. The orangey glow of streetlamps buzzed to life.

Grian sighed with disappointment. Maybe tomorrow morning...

He turned and moved to stomp back up the dock to go back to his flat—

Before freezing.

A song floated across the surface of the water. The voice a warm baritone. Resonant enough that Grian felt his bones vibrate with the timbre of it, despite the obvious distance it was traveling. He found himself unable to move. Transfixed by the music. Entranced.

Slowly, he pivoted to face the sea again. The rocks that made up the outside barrier that sheltered the marina were dark. Except one spot that had a silvery glow on the far side. Not from moonlight.

Curiosity broke whatever spell he was under. He rushed to make his way around the perimeter of the marina. Toward the glow being cast on the rocks. Stumbling over rough terrain in the darkness.

—

A few tail-lengths down the rocky shore, Tango was crouched, elbows resting on his knees, as he smiled down at Jimmy. Who was on his stomach with his sky-blue tail bent up into the air. Caudal fin drifting up and down. He kept himself upright with his elbows on the ground, resting his chin on his hands as he talked to Tango.

A stone's throw away from those two, Lizzie and Joel were much closer. Joel sitting on the ground with Lizzie fully in his lap, her purplish-blue tail wrapped around him and his fingers lazily playing with her long pink hair.

Pearl and Scar rested as far away as possible. Pearl looked ready to drag him back into the sea at a moment's notice. Jittery and wound up. Scar, for his part, was trying to look relaxed. He was singing to keep himself calm. Tango's good friend and coworker, Etho, was helping splint Scar's tail and stitch his caudal fin back together. He had an intense sort of look to him, but his callused hands were remarkably gentle. Pearl was using what little magic she had to cast enough light for Etho to see and work by. Silvery moonlight from her palm dancing over the rocks where it reflected off the waves.

"You should probably go help Etho," Jimmy remarked to Tango.

"Probably," Tango agreed with a small nod and an unfocused look in his eyes. He didn't move. Didn't stand. Just stayed where he was crouched.

"Thank you for this, by the way," Jimmy said. "I know you would have done it yourself for him but—"

"It's fine. My hands are steady but Etho's are better," Tango remarked. "And he actually knows how to stitch up a wound and make a flexible splint. Or he's creative enough to figure it out. I'm not that creative."

"Sure you are!" Jimmy protested quietly. "You're very creative!"

"I mean, yeah, but not like this. I can make up a game for someone to play, but I can't invent a splint for a merperson's sprained tail. Those are different kinds of creativity and inventiveness." His eyes quickly flicked to the way Jimmy's scales glinted in Pearl's moonlight where scale met skin below his navel and back to Jimmy's eyes. "You're welcome, by the way. It's no problem. Happy to help where we can. For you or people you're close to." Impulsively, he reached out and tugged on the point of Jimmy's caudal fin, causing him to yelp—and dissolve into giggles.

"That tickles!" he protested, his fin sliding out of Tango's grip easily as it lashed back on instinct, clapping against the waves. Tango chuckled. He liked the way Jimmy screwed his eyes shut when he laughed. He liked Jimmy's broad smile. He liked Jimmy's easy personality and warm hazel-brown eyes. He wasn't sure yet what they were—and he hadn't talked to Jimmy about it either—but he wasn't worried. They shared space and conversation easily. He didn't care what they were.

Joel and Lizzie, for their part, didn't even look over at the splash of Jimmy's caudal fin striking the water.

Etho, Scar, and Pearl did. Only briefly.

Had they looked over for a little longer, they might have noticed a dark shadow moving closer, recklessly trampling over loose rocks. But they didn't.

—

Grian peered over the ridge of the rocks. And went stock still.

Etho, Tango, and Joel he recognized. Etho and Tango ran the shop below him with Impulse. Joel ran the small tree nursery up the road and taught painting in the evenings occasionally.

It was the other figures that made Grian freeze where he stood.

The woman in Joel's lap had long pink hair and a fish tail. The blond, athletically-built man staring at Tango like a golden retriever also had a tail. The two by Etho had fish tails as well. The male one, apparently, the source of the song that had drawn Grian around the marina. The female seemed to be the source of the light on the rocks. Etho had flexible metal instruments and some sort of straps that he was using to make some sort of brace at the end of the male's long, green tail flecked with yellows and oranges. There was a long row of stitches down the male's fin.

Grian stared, wide-eyed, his jaw slack. For a long time.

Merpeople?!

Gem was going to freak out, he decided.

A harsh wind blew off the sea. Grian took a step back to maintain his balance.

His heel caught on a loose stone. He careened, his arms pinwheeling.

Splash!

—

Seven heads snapped in the direction of the sound immediately. Pearl curled closer to Scar and bared her teeth in threat. Etho half-stood from his sitting position, looking around. Scar had grabbed Pearl's wrist and just held her there. He'd stopped singing.

Lizzie disappeared off Joel's lap and vanished into the water without so much as a sound.

Jimmy twisted and followed his twin sister into the surf. But instead of lurking in the murky darkness of the ocean at night, he swam around the ridge of the rocks to the back side, where the sound had come from. Tango bolted to his feet, standing upright.

Jimmy saw the human man—young, smaller than Tango somehow (Jimmy was unaware that adult human males could be so small)—appeared to be shocked by the cold of the surf. After a moment, the human began to thrash, fighting to swim back to the surface, obviously struggling with his shoes—as Tango had called them—still on his feet.

Jimmy grabbed the human under his arms and hauled him upwards, breaking the surface and dragging the human onto the rocky shore.

The human coughed as Tango scrambled over the loose, uneven ground to get over to them.

"Holy smokes," Tango said, sliding down the ridge. "Are you okay?" His gaze flicked between Jimmy and the human. Who was facedown but keeping himself up on his elbows as he coughed.

The unknown human coughed again and looked up. His hair was wavy and light brown. His eyebrows scrunched. "Tango?"

Tango gasped and took a step back, nearly losing his balance himself. "Grian?! What are you doing here?"

"You two know each other?" Jimmy asked softly.

"He lives in the apartment above me and Etho's workshop," Tango explained. "He's a friend." Tango dropped to his knees in front of this Grian. "Hey. You okay, G?"

Grian coughed more seawater out of his lungs, but managed a nod. "Fine. Lost my footing." He cleared his throat—hard. "So. Who's going to explain to me what's going on?" He pushed himself to his feet. Drenched and shivering. Tango slid out of his thick bomber jacket and held it out. Grian accepted it and slung it on, shivering. "Tango—"

"Grian, we can explain—" Joel said, scrambling over the top of the ridge.

"I really hope you can," Grian retorted. "Because you were cuddling a mermaid."

Jimmy bristled a little, glowering at the stranger. "Don't talk about my sister like that," he growled.

Grian looked down at where Jimmy was still propped up on the shore. "Uh... sorry?"

"Jimmy," Tango said softly. Almost a warning.

Lizzie's head slid out of the surface, watching with wide eyes.

"Okay... so..." Tango began. "Merfolk exist?"

"Oh, no, really?!" Grian retorted sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed!"

"Listen, Grian. You can't tell anyone," Joel put in. "It's not our secret to share."

"Who would believe me even if I wanted to?" Grian shot back.

"Fair enough," Tango muttered, smirking down at Jimmy, who had not yet relaxed.

"Scar—Scar hold still!" Etho's quiet voice ordered from the other side of the ridge.

"But I wanna seeeeee!" Scar's voice put in.

"Scar," Pearl warned.

Grian peered between Tango and Joel's heads. "That's the voice I heard singing," he said, a touch of wistfulness laced through his voice.

"Oh shrimp," Pearl exclaimed. "Really, Scar? You had to use your siren magic?"

"I didn't mean to!" Scar protested. "I was just trying to distract myself! It's not my fault I'm this handsome and alluring."

The sound of damp skin striking damp skin and Scar yelping in surprise meant Pearl had probably whacked him in the arm. "Not the time to sound arrogant, mate!" she snapped.

Grian slid between Tango and Joel and approached the ridge to peer over it.

Scar shrunk back against Pearl's protective hug as the human got closer. Pearl bared her teeth. The soft moonlight coming from her hand turning from a small orb of light into a sharp-edged dagger. Grian didn't get any closer when he saw it morph.

Etho patted Scar's tail where a human's knee would be. "Go ahead and give that a try. Let me know if it's flexible enough to swim."

Scar looked between Etho, Grian, Tango, and Pearl. Pearl took his hand. The two scooted back into the water and disappeared under the surf.

"Scar!" Pearl said when they were safely deep enough that the others wouldn't hear them. "You can't go using siren magic when we're this close to a human town! You know your songs can be heard farther away than someone else's singing at the same volume. You have to be more careful!"

"I know, I know," Scar replied, looking defeated. "I didn't think anyone would hear."

Pearl sighed. "It's fine. It was just one. You will have to explain to Jimmy and Lizzie's mum what happened, but at least he's friends with the humans who already know." Pearl sunk lower and inspected the brace Etho made. "How's the splint working?"

Scar tested it out, swimming slowly.

—

"Okay," Grian said once the green-tailed male and the white-tailed female had vanished underwater. "So merfolk exist and apparently no one has figured that out yet?" He gave Etho, Tango, and Joel a look.

"We keep ourselves discreet," the pink-haired mermaid who'd been cuddling with Joel said from where she was a few meters out into the water. "Our cities hide from human technology with magic. And that's all you need to know." She spoke with a weight and gravitas to her voice that showed she was used to being obeyed and listened to.

"A few of us find connection with humans, but not many," the broad-shouldered blond merman who'd been making doe eyes at Tango added. "We're not supposed to, but it happens anyway. And you can't tell anyone."

Grian shook his head. "This is a lot to take in. So, wait. Was it one of you I saw earlier today? Near the hull of my friend's boat. I saw a large fish almost break the surface, but not quite."

The blond merman and his pink-haired sister met one another's eyes. "What color did you see?"

"I can't be sure. The sea was murky. Could have been blue, could have been green?"

The pink-haired mermaid sighed. "Scar's being reckless, Jimmy," she said softly to her brother. "He's getting too close."

"You know him, Lizzie. He's curious," the brother said.

"Look," Grian interrupted. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm just... startled, I guess? I don't know—"

He was cut off by the green-tailed merman who'd disappeared with the white-tailed mermaid bursting out of the water and doing a flip. "Woohoo!" the man cried as he splashed back in before resurfacing and throwing his hair out of his face.

"Scar!" the white-tailed mermaid protested, her head breaking through the surface. "You have to be quiet!"

"But I can swim on my own again, Pearl! It worked!" He beamed at Etho. In the faint light from the town's streetlights, Grian could see a scar across the bridge of the merman's nose. "Thank you, man!"

Etho shrugged. "Just a little creativity. No big deal."

The white-tailed mermaid raised a brow. "Etho, I don't think you understand how dangerous a sprained tail is," she said. "Without your help, he could have been hunted. We really appreciate it." She pulled herself out of the water and back onto shore. Her eyes were noticeably bright blue and suspicious when they turned on Grian. "You're the one who always has the hooks in the water."

"I just like to fish for the cod."

"Well you've nearly torn Scar's tail! You're lucky he got it caught on something else that wasn't your hook because if that injury had been your fault, no one would have ever found you at the bottom of the sea."

"How is that my fault?!" Grian snapped back. Jimmy and Tango glanced at each other before looking back to Grian—who didn't have time to wonder why they looked so surprised that he was arguing. "If he can't stay away from a fish hook, that's on him. He appears to be a full grown adult and you all have human intelligence so that's not on me!"

The white-tailed mermaid growled.

The pink-haired one muttered, "He's got a point."

"Hey!" the green-tailed merman protested. "It had a shiny thing on the end of it! I wanted to see!"

"That's a lure you tadpole!" Jimmy said with a heavy sigh.

"Don't act like you're the one holding the braincell here, Jim," Joel teased. "Between you and Scar it's a wonder neither of you are in a human zoo."

"Oi!" Jimmy protested at the same time Scar said, "Hey!"

Etho chuckled.

Grian threw his hands up into the air. "I give up! Have a good night. I won't tell anyone. Goodbye. I'm going to bed." He spun, his wader boot heel crunching in the rocky beach, and he stormed off back toward the town.

—

The next morning, Scar surfaced just under the wharf, hidden from prying eyes and quiet. The human from the night before—Grian?— was dangling his feet off the end of the next dock over, fishing line cast out. His fishing rod was held loosely in one hand, the other holding a book he was reading.

Scar could hear the human humming the same siren song Scar had been singing last night in broken pieces.

Smirking, Scar dipped back under the water and pushed himself deep before shoving off the wharf's supporting poles to cross the gap to the human. He looked up at where Grian's bare toes drifted back and forth, kicking idly, and smirked.

Using his arms to swim upward to keep his tail as still as possible while it healed—Etho's brace was great but if he didn't have to use his tail, he didn't want to—Scar got close to the surface.

He snickered to himself and tugged on Grian's toe.

Grian screeched like a startled bird and tore his feet out of the water, scrambling back on the dock.

Scar slid his head out of the water, an easy laugh leaving his throat. "Well, hello there!" he greeted brightly.

"What are you doing?!" Grian hissed. "What was that?!"

"Can't a merman just say hello to a new friend?" Scar asked, pouring bravado into his voice with a smirk.

"Not if you're trying not to draw attention! Not like that, at least!" Grian snapped.

Farther out in the marina, on one of the boats anchored away from the docks and wharfs, a voice called out. "Everything okay, Grian?"

Scar immediately ducked under the dock Grian was on, hiding among the support structures.

"Everything's fine, Gem!" Grian shouted back. "Bit of kelp just brushed my foot."

From the boat, a feminine laugh rang across the water. Scar giggled too, quietly. "Alrighty! Be safe!" Gem called.

After a moment, Grian dropped to his knees at the edge of the dock. "Still here?" he whispered loudly.

Scar popped back out. "Of course!"

"I never caught your name."

"Most people just call me Scar. My full name is too complicated. You're Grian?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Grian, I can't help but notice that you were singing my song." Another smirk.

Grian's expression soured. "You got it stuck in my head."

Scar chuckled. "Well, I mean, if you want," Scar tried to sound confident, but was definitely blustering a little, "you can always meet me in the same place out on those rocks after dark tonight and I'll teach it to you properly. You can meet my cousin Pearl properly too!"

"Was she the scary one with the white tail?"

"That's my Pearlie!"

"Promise she won't try to drown me?"

"She would never!" Scar said, sounding a lot more promising than he felt.

Grian looked skeptical. "Fine. After dark over on the rocks. See you then."

Scar beamed. "See you then!" He moved to dunk back under, and paused. "Also will you tell Tango that Jimmy has a present for him?"

"Sure. Why not. I'll find a time when Impulse isn't there."

"Well, thanks! You have a good day!" He twisted and dove back underwater, heading for open waters.

—

Grian stared at where Scar's long green tail disappeared.

"This is going to be more trouble than it's worth," he muttered. But curiosity was going to get the better of him, he already knew it.

Drawn in by the siren song.

Frustrated, he shook his head and abandoned his fishing for the morning. That would have to wait.

[razarar-9713]

I was dared to right fanfic of Jackson storm and lightning.. one of my first thoughts today was to share it here.

I apologise.

Jackson was practicing on a Sunday for a race due Thursday. Two things on his mind: Being fastest, and Mcqueen. "Be faster, beat his score." He did. Jackson is faster than him. So he gloats; he goes out to the local gas station for a few gallons as a reward.

Hours pass by of blissful alcoholism, his rearview mirror spinning. Too much diesel can have some consequences for a car such as a Jackson. It gets you loopy and excitable. It's late and there's few cars around the bar; He should get back before he can't even drive home.

But before he can get far, a recognisably special red car caught attention through his windscreen.

"Hey hotstuff" HOT STUFF?! It just slipped out..

"Hii-" he's.. Drunk. Amusing

"What brings you here? I just so happen to be celebrating a victory." He chimes and then waits for the reply.

"Hey! I'm out celebrity, too!" he had lit up, excited.

"Ooh.! How.. about, we go to my place and celebrate... more?" He smirks as Mcqueen seems to shift gears to start driving.

"Yes" And with that, Jackson Storm takes Mcqueen to his penthouse garage for some... Fun.

Jackson's penthouse is large with all the essential things a car would ask for, anything they could ever need. A parking lot; for resting, a personal mechanic cornered, diesel pumps, and -his favourite- the speedometer treadmill.

He can't help the smug feeling he always gets in his turbines from bringing a car home, how excited most were.

Mcqueen IS speed; so naturally, he is intrigued by the machine. Jackson knows it, and offers assistance into the device. With a menacing idea, he locks it. The feeling stirs a flustered rev out of Mcqueen's engine. As per the function: the treads roll, then increase the acceleration.

From earlier inebriation, Jackson can only embrace the donut smoke clouds within his dashboard. He watches the machine work though Mcqueen's gears; groping across his axles. It makes the turbo flutter and 'Stutututu'. ©

Inside messy smoke rings of thoughts, he urges to move; to entwine with the over-sensitivities.

Jackson drifts his way onto the treadmill, positioning himself on top of Mcqueen's steamy red wrapping. He revs in excitement, his exhaust rattles with aching anticipation. Giving a strained rumble of his engine, he penetrates the pipe of Mqueen's tailgate.

A loud, flustered sputter escapes Mqueen, but he doesn't writhe. He can't drive away; after all, he's been pinned. He can merely succumb to neutral. Fighting this will only ache by the morning. Especially when there is such a thick strength to Jackson's throbbing exhaust.

The lack of push back fuels satisfaction and desire. Stagnation does not, though. He adjusts the machine through its terrain settings. A winding, shaking gravel path perfect to increase vibrations into their mingling friction.

The double of stimuli trigger a high pitch keen out of Mcqueen. His blinker fluid leaking from the tip upon the sensational rattling of their entwined exhaust.

"...deeper" he can barely beg through the haze of feeling throbbing, thrusts inside him.

Jackson grins and leans forward with a pleasured, low rev into Mcqueen's ear. "good boy"

[guillotinesandroses]

Blemished By Life; Chapter 1 - Indigo Velvet Skies

Tokyo Revengers Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Isekai'd Reader

Blemished By Life Masterlist

The sky sure is beautiful. 

It is nothing more than an oil painting, a worn-out indigo, velvety blanket stretched above the world. Nighttime cuddles reality into a tranquil and calm, soft embrace. The faint, blurry stars glow with the knowledge of something greater, far from the despair and stress, far from the fast-paced rush of everyday life. However, even in its mundane appearance, you cannot help but think of it as the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. 

Although surely it would be much more beautiful if only you were not falling to your death. Then again, at this hour of the day, you likely would not have even been staring at the sky if you were not. At least your final moments will be peaceful before hitting the pavement. 

However, neither the impact of shattering bones nor the spurting of blood ever comes. You know you have fallen but you are not dead. Yet at the same time, you cannot not find in yourself the strength to stand back on your feet. Such drive has drained from you years ago, but why, you cannot recall anymore. What you previously found as easy to remember as your name soon fades into nothing, until this is all that you are. 

That being a young child, laying near lifeless on the empty streets of Roppongi. With no identity outside of a name, nothing more attached to your being, your subconscious clings onto it like a lifeline. And so you, the young child, live. 

Hours pass before anything shakes you awake. Bit by bit, the city awakens, busy and bursting with people, but not a single one of these upstanding citizens dares to approache the small blood-soaked bundle of skin and cloth. They are far too occupied with anything else, business calls, work emails, friends to see, schools to rush to and goldfishes to walk, of course. 

No respectable person with a life to live would dare waste time on something as silly as calling for help, let alone getting their hands dirty helping another themselves. They are busy being good, productive, respectable people, you see. That is why the good deed of waking you up isleft in the hands of some lesser good, less honorable members of the human race. 

"Is it awake yet?" A squeaky yet arrogant voice asks. 

"Hm..." a slightly lower but still young voice hums contemplatively. A finger pokes at your cheek. 

Your eye twitches but you refuse to shift even a muscle afterwards. If you play dead for long enough, perhaps they too, will leave you alone. You want to sleep. 

"Nope," the voice of a boy speaks, dragging out the word, "there's so much blood I think the kid might be dead."

"Do you think we could sell its organs on the black market, brother?" Now that sentence, out of all the noise of bikes revving and cars speeding past you is the thing to make your eyes shoot open. 

"What the fuck?!" 

"Oh. So it is alive!" The one poking you raises a hand to his mouth in surprise. A scoff resonates from the side, but you ignore it. 

With a groan, you allow your eyes to flutter open. Sunlight flashes through your vision and scatters all throughout it. The flash blinds you momentarily before giving out space to a baby blue sky littered with fluffy clouds. Cold air nips at your nose as a puff of white steam escapes your lips in a breath. For some reason, your whole body is shivering and soaked.

Maybe it rained, you think, until you catch glimpses of red staining your clothes. In that moment you realize what exactly the stained, dried, formerly red, now brown mess is. 

"Yo, why the hell am I covered in blood?!" You shoot up from the pavement and pull the icky fabric away from your skin. A grimace stretches your face as the shirt rips at the baby hairs on your chest, stuck to them since the blood has dried. 

"You now just noticed?" The calmer boy tilts his head. 

"Yeah, I just woke up!" 

"How do you wake up drenched in blood without knowing where it came from, idiot," the boy further away from you asks, adjusting his glasses, "don't you remember what happened?" 

"Hmph! I'm just going to ignore your rudeness for now, because I am in fact, very smart. But, uh..." you trail off. Staring off to the side of the street, you attempt to recall what happened. A haze of grey nothingness takes hold of your mind as you try to remember. Absolutely nothing comes up, until accompanied by a sharp headache, a vision of a dark blue night sky and wind slashing at your face hits your being. 

You groan and intensively rub the side of your aching head. "Ugh... I think I fell from a building or something? I don't know." 

The weird part about that claim is that there is not even the slightest pinch of pain in any part of your body. Your limbs are sore and prickly at most. Either you miraculously remained perfectly uninjured or your lower body is so fucked up that you have lost all sensation in it. And, well, there is only one way to test that. 

You jump onto your feet and immediately stagger to the side as the world spins around, hand landing on the building next to you. For a couple of seconds you stand there and lean against the building until your sense of gravity returns. Since your ears ring you cannot even hear what the two boys say, but given how intently the more talkative one snaps his fingers in front of your face, he seems to be getting fed up with you ignoring him. 

"Hello? Hellooo?" 

"Why are wasting our time with this brat, brother?" 

"They have funny reactions! I want to be their friend!" He responds with an air-headed smile. The boy with glasses rolled his eyes again with his arms crossed. "What's your name?" 

"Huh?" You take a moment to remember it but from the back of your mind, it does come to you, where nothing else could. Hesitantly it rolls from your tongue, yet feels the most fitting; you would never in your life wish to be called anything else. 

"Okay, (Name)! My name's Ran Haitani! And that's my younger brother, Rindo!" 

"I can introduce myself, brother-" 

"Anyway!" The talkative older brother, now dubbed Ran cuts him off, earning a glare and annoyed eye-twitching from his brother. 

"Even with all that blood on you, you are fine, right?" 

"Uhh... Yeah?" 

"That's great!" He clasps your hands in his, your eyebrows furrowing at the unwanted contact. "Then you should come with us!" 

"To do what exactly?" 

"To play!" He yanks you forward to walk with him. You yelp unwillingly and only walk with him out of pure and utter confusion. Rindo sighs but follows behind the two of you anyway. 

The oddly enthusiastic yet simultaneously calm boy leads all of you to a, in all honesty, pretty lame playground. All it has is a small sandbox, a handful of trees and one broken picnic table. Surely there must be better parks around somewhere here but then again, this does not seem like the nicest part of the city to begin with. 

"Why are we here? You want me to build you a sand castle or something?" 

"That's a great idea!" 

"Brother, no, I'm not getting my clothes full of dirt-" 

But Rindo does, in fact, get his clothes full of dirt. 

Although he grumbles and complains the whole way through, he does join in on building the castle. By the end of it all of your small hands are covered in coarse sand and legs sore from sitting but in return for the hard work, a large castle- or an oddly shaped mountain of sand- stands in the middle of the sandbox. It is pretty cool for something so poorly made, decorated in the fanciest rocks you could find and a makeshift flagpole at the top that Rindo made, consisting of a thin stick and a leaf struck through it as a flag. 

"A palace fit for kings." Ran smiles proudly.

Rindo sighs. "Castles and palaces are different things, which one is it-" 

A disturbed shriek cuts him off. 

Your head whips around to see a young woman cornered by two men in uniforms. The conversation is inaudible, but one of the men demands something. The woman, with shaking hands, unclasps a valuable necklace from her neck and hands it over. Another yell from the man and she scrambles to hand over her wallet from her bag. 

The men check the wallet's insides together and empty it of money. Once it is empty they toss it to the ground and speed off on their loud motorcycles. The young woman is left sobbing, clutching her arms and shaking in fear. Tears roll down her eyes and her lips quiver; she stays petrified in place and unable to move. 

"Those guys are from the gang currently in control of this area, Roppongi 'Kyougoku'," Rindo speaks up. "Since nobody can stop them, they run around doing whatever they want." 

"...That's fucked up." Is all you manage to respond, heart aching as you watch the stranger weep. 

"There's not much we can do about it. But one day once we're in charge of this place, it'll be different. The Haitani brothers will get to decide how we run things. We'll be the ones in control of this place, all of Roppongi." 

"How would you even do that? Get a bunch of money and buy this whole place?"

"Oh, no. We wanna do it a different way. We'll become delinquent legends, by fighting our way to the top." He smiles while his brother nods, sporting a serious expression. 

You are not quite sure how to respond to that. "...Good... luck with that..? I think." 

You take another glance at the woman, still crying. A frown settles onto your face. It is so cruel, she looks like a very nice person. You cannot understand why things like this need to happen. The world is unfair. 

"I... want to go talk to her," you finally mutter. 

"That ain't gonna change anything," Ran blurts out. 

"I know, but... crying alone in the middle of the street like that must suck. I don't know, I just... want to do something." 

"Okay, then," Rindo responds, "but we're going home. It's getting late."

"Have fun talking to the lady! We'll be seeing you around!" Ran says his goodbye with his usual carefree smile and a wave, while Rindo only gives you a small nod. With that, the brothers disappear into the streets, leaving you at the sandbox alone. 

For a couple of moments you sit on your own in the sand, unsure what to do. You do not know how to cheer someone up at all. A lack of memories also means a lack of experience. 

An idea strikes you as you stare at the sandcastle. Standing up and walking around it, you find the prettiest rock you picked up for the sand castle, wipe it fully clean of dirt and dip it in water, drying the now sparkling stone into your sleeve. Once you are done, you lift it up to your face to evaluate your work and the stone itself. 

The rock is porcelain white, pure and smooth. A beautiful piece of quartz wasted on being part of a sidewalk. It even glimmers in the sunlight and resembles the stone in the woman's necklace. 

You lower your hand with the rock still in your palm, taking a look at the woman. Shudders still run across her body, hand covering the hiccups escaping from her lips. You find yourself swallowing as you hesitate to approach her, finger running over the white stone. 

What if she's the type who doesn't like people talking to her when she cries? What if I do something stupid and make it worse? Different kinds of thoughts run through your head, but eventually, you take a deep breath and graspe the rock tightly. Whatever. This is a dumb idea, but I know I would like it. Worth a shot. 

The steps you take are cautious but determined. However, all of the resolve and nonchalance you tried to fuel yourself with flees the moment you stand next to the woman. 

"Um... hey, sorry..." you start to talk and the the woman pauses for a moment, dark eyes turning to you. "I just... noticed that..." 

"...You looked really sad, so I, uh..." You avert your eyes and begin to regret walking up to her. You do not know a thing about this stranger at all. There is no telling whether or not she will decide she does not like you and whack you across the face for giving her such a worthless gift. 

You shift on your feet, now even more nervous than before talking to her. "...It's not as cool as your necklace, but..." 

"...I found this pretty looking rock and looking at it made me happier, so... I thought maybe it would make you happier, just a little bit." You finish talking and offer up the small quartz stone. 

A silence settles over the two of you. The stranger gingerly takes it into her hand with her thin fingers, taking a moment to stare at the stone. 

"...What am I even doing..?" She sniffles. "...It's no use crying about it." 

She wipes the tears off of her cheeks, smearing her pale blue eyeshadow even further in the process. The woman stands still and breathes for a while, then opens her eyes and pulls out a handkerchief from her bag, turning to you. 

"...Thanks, kid." She tries to force a more playful tone into her voice, likely to ease your worries, only for it to come out with a bitter, tired strain. "Your parents raised you well."

She smiles faintly and gently pats you on the head. The lady then walks off, drying her eyes one last time on the handkerchief before stuffing it away. You are left on your own again. 

Shoving your hands into your pockets, you kick a random rock on the ground. It bounces away and falls into a drain. Now you cannot even keep kicking it around. You should probably be worrying about more important things anyway, though. 

She mentioned parents. You have no idea where yours are or if they even raised you, like she said they had. With a sigh, you begin to walk.

As you finally gain a moment for yourself to think, many realizations hit you like a traffic accident. The evening breeze is cold and you do not have anywhere to go sleep once night comes. Hunger tickles your stomach and you cannot remember the last time you ate. You should have asked the brothers to have you sleep over, but now it is too late since they are gone. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the approaching revving of a motorcycle. Only as your head turns to the side do you see the bike, right in front of your wide eyes. The bike swerves and misses you by a hair. 

Wind whips at your face as the owner tries to regain control of the vehicle, nearly crashing into a lamppost in the process. In the end, he manages to stop himself and stands up from the seat. Pulling off his helmet, a ridiculous, inky black pompadour with far too many products in it is revealed, as well as a pair of pitch black eyes narrowed in frustration. 

"Kid! Why were you standing in the middle of the road like that?! That's dangerous, you almost got hit!" He scolds. You do not even know where the words come from as they spill from your lips when you respond. 

"Eh." You shrug and say, "some days you just kinda wanna walk into the traffic, you know?" In spite of its disturbing nature, the sentence felt like the natural thing for you to say in that moment. 

To the young man, however, the words certainly did not sound natural. His eyes grow wide as he tries to process what he just heard from the mouth of a four year old child. "...wHAT-?!" 

"Cool bike, by the way," you casually comment. 

The conversation leads to many more concerned questions, all of which you dodge or respond to in even more concerning ways. Eventually, he decides to offer to try to take you home on his motorcycle. 

"Oh, so I'm being kidnapped now? Cool." 

"No, you're not-" he sighs in frustration and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Kid, I'm just trying to help you, okay?" 

"Hmh. Fine, but if I die to this I'm haunting your ass." You reluctantly climbs behind him onto the vehicle. 

"Hey, someone as young as you shouldn't be cursing!" 

"That's hardly a curse word," you mutter. 

"It is one!" He insists. 

After that, the ride falls silent. The motor continues to purr and drown out all other sounds as buildings, streets and planted trees slipped past you, falling behind. Once the sun fully sets, the sky's baby blue and pink coloring is painted over with a dark indigo shade. It is the same dark, star-dotted ceiling as it was when you fell. It makes you ponder. 

However, the thoughts are quickly cut off as your newfound companion finally speaks up. "Where are your parents? Or any other family members?" 

"I dunno. I don't remember." You scratch the back of your neck and try to recall anything, but all that comes to you is white fog. There is nothing to remember. "I don't know if I have any of those. All I remember is falling from a building and playing with some weird kids at a park." 

"Oh... Do you have anyone you can stay with? Any siblings? Also, are you sure you won't fall off sitting like that?"

"If I fall it's on purpose. And no, I don't remember if I have siblings," you say, continuing to hold loosely onto his jacket. 

"Stop saying things like that!" He exclaims, which is followed by an exasperated sigh. "Anyway, don't you have anywhere you can go?" 

You ponder on that for a moment, but really, there is nowhere for you to go. "...No, I really don't..." 

The quiet mumble is followed by a yawn. Several quiet curses get muttered at your own tiredness but you do, after hesitation wrap your arms around the boy and hold on properly so you will not fall off. He chuckles softly at your actions which makes your flustered self tempted to jump off out of spite, but you are stopped by his voice. 

"What's your name?"

You stare at him, exhaustion from the day's events catching up to your tiny body. Quietly, you tell him your name. 

"Are you from around here?" 

"Maybe. I don't really know..." 

A short silence settles before he speaks again. 

"Well..." he hesitates for a moment. "...if you don't have anywhere to go, I guess I could ask my grandfather about taking you in. I have a younger brother, too. He's around your age, so you would have someone to play with. How would that sound?" 

"...Sounds like you're just picking up a random child from the streets and adopting it. What if I have rabies or something? Or maybe I'm a government spy, like all birds are." 

"Government- what?" He lets out an incredulous laugh.

Shaking his head in disbelief with an exasperated smile, he continues. "I wouldn't feel comfortable just leaving a small kid like you wandering the streets on your own. It's not safe around here. You'll freeze in this weather." 

The bike arrives at red lights and paused. He turns around to you with a soft, inviting smile. "So, I'll ask again. How would that sound?" 

For a moment, you are rendered speechless.

His genuineness and kindness caught you completely off guard. Your tongue, usually swift with a biting or sarcastic remark ready to ruin a wholesome moment, is dry with nothing to say. Until eventually, you swallow your pride and bashfully respond. 

"...It does sound nice," you mumble after overcoming your shock. "If you... really are sure about that, then..."

"...thank you." 

[siremasterlawrence]

Hypnotic Leather

I am scared shit when working in the dark on my way home from work when I see lengthy stretching seed of lights washing over the road and I am not so keen to hear the sound of motorcycles running from the darkness of the room.

The lights zoom up flooding the entirety of the area blanketing the whole area leaving me turning red with both fear as well as rage and soon I am doing my best to go running like a marathon shooting upward I finally am making up the back alleyway.

I am now standing at the end pr edge of the alleyway my back facing the wall as I am in panic mood now my heart is racing when I see it and it’s truly frightening as the motor stops and feet hit the ground and pacing encircles me.

This older guy spots me pointing to his crew as to say that I am who they are looking for as they enter the area walking down the path as I wish for some sort of escape but they finally do make it to me and block mu exit.

The leader stops crossing his arms over his body wrapping it tight on his shoulders as he taps his toes in defiance because I have no other choice but to stand my grand stare him down and he moves a bit closer to me my dear.

He is smirking happily showcasing his bright white teeth, offering his hand firm for me to shake with deep callouses embedded in his body and he holds on extremely tight it is a horrifying experience but it all changes at this point.

“Sorry we did not mean to scare you “

“Yet! You chased after me”

“This our town”

“Right? Well I would like to go home”

“Why don’t you stay?”

“You intrigue me”

“Let me go”

“Come on! What a beautiful ring?”

“Oh this thing! I bought it today “

“Can I see it?”

“You wish”

“I cave stop staring “

“What are you attached?”

“I feel drawn it”

“I know flame to candle “

“Yes”

“Anyway ! Back up”

“Sure! Whatever you want”

“That is too easy?”

“Kiss the ring”

“Okay”

“I’ll kiss the…the fuck”

“Haha very funny”

“I need to go home”

“I’ll give you a ride”

“What are you talking about?”

“You are two boss the ring says so”

“Okay then and you are madly in love with me.”

“Naturally! We are together babe”

“Mwahahahahaha “

Tom is his name he says to me putting his arm in my shoulder as he guides from the alleyway with a air of protection like have not seen yet and leads me to his motorcycle which I am non to happy to see but slide on to his back.

He reaches for the helmet placing it on my head as we ride off on to the road driving me back to my place, the engine revs up even more as he comes to a slow crawl and stops the motorcycle leaving me utterly breathless as he puts down the pike to park it.

I hop off a bit dizzy removing the helmet from head as I hand it to him he puts it on the handle bar and grabs my waist as he yanks me closer to him feeling his breath on me so hot and our lips grows closer to each other.

He is under my spells so I finally let of all my defenses smashing my lips to his as the mere taste of his leaves me so excited my energy speeds up the more we kiss I am on cloud nine so high and feel a exhilarating sensation.

We part as I back up taking a deep breath in disbelief of my current situation because I am not use to this, my eyes return my gaze to ring again as it shines cobalt blue emits the energy on to Tom who freezes as it is scanning him.

The ring stops with Tom’s image now being broadcast through the ring I can see he is waking up from just trance in horror as he looks at me menacingly and beginning to pound forcefully on the glass hoping to break free.

“You can’t hold me in here forever “

“You chased after me”

“This your fault and your punishment “

“You dare speak to me like that “

“Who are you anyway?”

“Tom the leader of this town”

“You are not some leader “

“You forced this on them”

“The town is scared of you”

“As they should be”

“Your scared of me now”

“If only you could see it”

“Hmm! Well”

“Well what?”

“Listen Tom”

“ I will listen “

“You are fading from existence “

“Vanishing in”

“Unfreeze”

“Hey babe “

“Yes bitch”

“Can stay the night?”

“My gang watch the house ?”

“It’s a big state “

“Three only “

“Three of you “

“The rest keep the state in terror “

“Mwahahahahaha “

“The old you would be horrified “

“He’s gone for good! Thank you for saving me”

The end

If enough people like it I’ll do more

[tarklesbehindthescenes]

So many RiD01 requests, I'm in heaven~ Thank you @hotshotsgirl26 and here is part one!

Continuity: RiD01

Characters: Side Burn, Railspike

Requests | AO3

“That jerk… That complete and utter half-clocked piston head!” Side Burn stopped to let out a long, loud scream of frustration, and then flopped backward in the grassy field he’d been traipsing through to glare up at the cheerful blue sky decorated with fluffy white clouds, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

Prowl had gone too far this time. How dare he accuse Side Burn of not taking his position as an Autobot seriously?! Imply disloyalty, even! Just because he got sidetracked occasionally with little red sports cars… It wasn’t like Side Burn wasn’t doing his job! He always pulled through when push came to shove! And he knew how to prioritize! Prowl was just a stiff who didn’t know how to have fun, so liked to wreck it for everyone else! There was nothing wrong with what he was doing!

His thoughts would have continued down this train of thought a bit more… however an actual train suddenly loomed over him, casting a shadow over him and blocking his view of the sky. Railspike, specifically, had stepped into his line-of-sight and was peering down at him curiously. “Now what’s a car like you doing in a field like this?” the old mech mused.

“I’m not slacking off!” Side Burn snapped impatiently. “This is downtime! I’m allowed to go where I please!”

Railspike raised his hands in surrender before slowly lowering himself to crouch on his legs and put himself closer to Side Burn’s level. “Easy there, sport. I’m not sayin’ any of that,” he soothed. “Just saw ya while I was rolling between jobs. Ya sounded revved up over somethin’. Was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help.”

The blue Autobot brother huffed and considered telling the train bot to just go about his day and leave him alone, but Railspike had made the effort to stop what he’d been doing out of genuine concern for Side Burn’s mood. Noting this, his expression eased up slightly and his tone softened as he addressed his fellow Autobot. “You’re sure you don’t have anything better to do?”

“The station can keep their timetable without me,” the train bot reassured, moving to have a seat beside the sulking bot and turning his head to peer down at him with his full attention. “Now, what can ol’ Railspike do for you?”

“Think you could teach my stick-in-the-mud brother how to lay off?” Side Burn suggested bitterly.

“Another fight, huh?” Railspike put together. “The red sports car thing?”

“He said I’m neglecting my duties! Shirking my work!” the blue Autobot exclaimed with exasperation. “Even said that if I’m not taking my job seriously that I should just hand in my badge to Prime! It’s not like the big guy has any issues with my work or how I do it! It’s just Prowl! And T.A.I., I guess— But this is about Prowl!”

“That does sound a bit harsh,” the older mech admitted. “You’re a goof, sure, but—”

“Gee, thanks…”

“But I’ve never questioned your dedication to the cause,” Railspike finished, ignoring Side Burn’s sarcastic remark. “We all got our own ways of givin’ to the Autobot cause. Just ‘cause you don’t do it the way Prowl does it, don’t mean you don’t care.”

“Exactly!” the younger mech exclaimed, pushing himself to sit up and gesture at Rail Spike with energetic agreement. “You get it! The boss mech gets it! So why can’t he?!”

“You’re both young bots with lots of lessons to learn. Give it time,” the train bot soothed, gently motioning for him to cool his jets. “He’ll figure out how to loosen up, you two will compromise, and everything will be smooth.”

“That’ll be the day… Still… I appreciate it, Railspike,” Side Burn thanked, giving him a faint smile. “I’m still kind of frustrated, but it helped to get all that off my plating and hear that I’m not just living in my head, you know?”

Railspike nodded with a knowing grin. “Trust me, I get how it goes. I’ve bore witness to enough arguments between Midnight Express and Rapid Run.”

“They’re just as bad, huh? Yeah, I can see that,” the Autobot brother chuckled.

“Both sides got points, but usually it’s just that they’re too caught up in how they personally do things that they can’t stand the thought of it being done any other way,” the old mech mused. “Takes an open mind to get anywhere when everyone’s got different personality chips.”

Side Burn’s expression turned into one of deep thought upon hearing this take. “An open mind, huh?” he echoed softly, running through his and Prowl’s argument again. …Maybe there was something he could take away in there. Just maybe. He’d have to do some serious thinking about it, though.

“Fuel for thought,” Railspike said, suddenly pushing himself to his feet. “You enjoy your break, little buddy. I’ve gotta head off now.”

“Oh, sure thing, Railspike,” the young bot uttered as he snapped out of his thoughts to watch the bullet train walk away. “Thanks again!”

“Any time,” he called over his shoulder as he strode away.

Side Burn laid back down and stared up at the clouds drifting through the sky, going back to his thoughts. “An open mind, huh?” he murmured. He could probably do that. It could help him figure out why Prowl was such a stiff about things. “…Yeah. I can do that,” he decided.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Bowen's Daily Meditations

by Rev. George Bowen

"The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart, and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit." – Psalm 34:18

Here again, the parallelism tells us something. He is nigh to save. His presence is salvation. Their misery is not nearer to them than their deliverer. To their broken heart, the whole universe seems broken; to their desolate spirit, all creation seems desolate. Crushed beneath a sense of unworthiness, forlornness, helplessness, they dare not lift up their eyes to heaven, and they know that it is useless to lift them to anything less than heaven. Irremediable sorrow seems their portion. But the Lord hasteneth to the place where they sit solitary. He does not announce his coming by angelic precursors; he does not descend on a bright cloud; no visible glory, no audible sound attests his presence. But the eye of the broken-hearted sinner falls upon the eighteenth verse of the thirty-fourth Psalm, and beholds there the intimation of God’s presence. The earthquake of the heart has opened a way for faith; and faith has opened a way for God. Formerly this word would have seemed like an engaging falsehood, a poetical fiction; nothing less than a hand of flame tracing the announcement in letters of fire upon the wall would have induced the recognition of such a truth. But faith lets God be true; and places him also among those whose words are to be believed. And if the Lord is nigh, then is all good nigh. When the Lord was with the first disciples, lacked they any thing? All our lost treasures are found again in him. All our bankrupt powers are found perfected in him. In his presence is fulness of joy.

[mikeyhartman]

It's not the devil at your door; It's just your shadow on the floor.

WHO: Michael Hartman (pov), Jackson Fields (mentioned), Paramedic (npc) WHEN: Late evening, August 26th, 2024 WHERE: Historical Downtown & Countryside, Merrock TRIGGER WARNINGS: Self criticism, Alcohol abuse, DUI, Motorcycle accident

❝ One foot in the ground, one foot in the grave. Don't you dare make a sound, shh! Hear you from a mile away. ❞

Michael still couldn’t believe himself, even after a day or two of mulling it over. How had he missed that? A fucking kid. All the signs had been there, or at least some form of them. What other conclusion could he come to apart from lack of attention on his part? He still wasn’t certain how he felt, how he should feel. It wasn’t like she was asking him to step in as father of the year, especially to an eleven year old. In fact, she hadn’t asked anything from him at all. She still remained perfect, in his eyes. Even still, he’d found himself finding comfort yet again in liquid form, his conversations with both his sister in the past week and his best friend just now, muddling in his mind. Mikey hated just how vulnerable he was, how he’d reacted and spoken in front of Jackson, and that familiar darkness had already began creeping in. Michael just wanted so desperately to escape it.

So that’s what he was going to do. Part of him knew it was wrong; no, he definitely knew it was wrong. Mikey just didn’t care. His judgement was well and truly clouded by confusion and liquor as he stumbled his way through his apartment. Dry fingers grasped a hold of cold metal keys on his way out, managing his way through the complex and down to his motorcycle without another word to JD. Michael jumped onto the back of his bike, putting the keys in the ignition and revved the engine to life.

❝ Run from the town, all you need is your name and the sweat on your brow and the blood running through your veins. ❞

The world disappeared behind him as he left the garage, out onto the main road. Mikey was thinking about everything and nothing all at once, and instead tried to focus on the feeling of the wind pushing against him. For a moment he felt like he was flying, and he felt some form of freedom, though it was short lived. He'd felt the collision terribly in his hips, pain exploding from the point of contact. Mikey couldn’t see right, couldn’t tell which way was up and which way was down. All he knew was that he had been riding and then all of a sudden he could feel his bike being pulled from underneath him, body crunching as it connected against the earth.

❝ One eye on the clock, one eye on the mirror. Take a step through your thoughts; Is it getting clearer? ❞

Sirens. How long he had been out of it? Mikey groaned sharply, hand moving to grab the side of his head to be met with damp tresses. Where was he? Where the fuck was his helmet? Why was he wet? His vision was dark, and if it hadn’t started slowly coming to, he might have panicked. It was like a Polaroid, developing with time. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows but wasn’t successful, his attempt only making his vision worsen again.

❝ There's a life here for the taking; Is it mine or is it yours? ❞

“Hang in there, bud. Don’t move. We got you.” What else could he do but trust the figure that loomed overhead? They had such a soothing voice, though Michael was still quite petrified of the unknown. He remained as still as he could, trying his best not to tremble from the pain that crippled his bones, to steady his sharp and uneven breathing. He’d broken a bone or two before in his life growing up, but this… whatever this was, it hurt so much more. Vaguely hearing them say something about morphine, Michael slowly felt his body ease before drifting into unconsciousness.

❝ All I am is what you make me, you're on both sides of the wall. It's not the devil that you're facing, it's your shadow on the floor. ❞

[howlgrowlsnarl]

Starving Meets Redemption

The Dime Western Returns!“Reading Jim Walker and the Redemption Hymn is equal parts quirky fun and riveting action. Cloud’s confident, entertaining voice draws the reader in like an old radio western: the perfect bite-sized story with a main character you’re ready to follow through every adventure he finds himself on. So, tune in next time…”– Megan Stockton, author of Lovely, Dark & DeepThe…

[boyakishantrinity]

Based off Mr frosty the snowman's comment. Read below to decide if this is worth restarting the damn story line around Slugterra with magic and stuff.

“I’m going to start with a very simple question.”

His engine roared, motorbike speeding it’s way across the caverns, Trix scowling as they sped towards the twins. Dumber of the pair shouting back as they chased him.

“LODE!!”

She dragged the blade behind her. Red curled hair boiling back as she strode forward. Anger in her eyes as she strode towards the man, grey skin, body strengthened in the darkness. Burning red eyes meeting demonic yellow.

“Under who’s fucking orders-”

Speeding away, shouting back at his stupid brother. Blakk was gone. Their lives gone, Ma shot dead with whatever That was chasing behind, a strange mechabeast driving towards him. Black bodied helmet, leather clothes, a strange blaster that seemed to shoot slugs of metal and death. Arm bleeding as he continue to ride.

“STOP CHASING ME YA NUB!!!”

Yelping, loud shots ringing behind him, ducking his head as the woman oddly cursed in that weird easterner’s tongue.

Chinese. Something like that, cursing loudly as she sped past the Shane. This new program of Eli’s, it’d been trouble after trouble. Days spent coupled, protecting the caverns had clearly awakened something, turning the criminals into a police force that would have worked with the Shanes to keep the peace. Earn glory and gold through generally legal means. A mad pitch, but the first Shane to defeat several world ending disasters was something nobody could truly dare argue against.

And now? Well, she’d blown her way in, lightning crackling as she shot down an illegal dealing.

My head still ached from whatever impact that weird crystal that’d vanished into nothing she’d thrown to the floor. Revving engines, Eli calling behind me.

“GRA-”

“YEAH YEA-”

She’d managed to shout back, sparks of lightning erupting as whatever weapon she had. A ‘gun’ or pistol, or whatever it was. It didn’t use slugs, Beatrice didn’t hear most of what Eli had said, most of anything didn’t make sense. Sure, they’d saved the world over a period of years. And then a few months. But this had only been a day. Pounding against her skull, body pushing back before she could half hear something.

“OH FUCK ME.”

English. For the first time since she’d arrived, eyes growing wide. Strange woman’s robotised voice cutting through as she dropped the gun to her bike’s side. Popping a wheely, lightning sparking out of the vehicles engine as storm clouds gathered above.

“…”

And now she stood, frozen in place. Head turning to the massive expanse of black stone, the courtyard of the underground holding cell. The coupled up cave system in this small corner of Hell, court standing a few metres aside as she turned to the entrenched fort leader.

“What the HELL did you do?”

Bravado long gone. Birthright in her eyes, the man smirking, snarling as blood rain erupted over one half of the twin.

“What our kind has alway done.”

He replied. The woman shook her head. Releasing her anger, flames erupting at her fingers as she drew her blade back.

“And I’ve long explained that belief is what caused us to fall.”

Locke managed to force his brother to stop, woman loudly cursing as she gripped the encased stone item.

“JESUS FUCKING- OH SHUT THE FUCK- EMARCHINA- CUNT!!!”

And evidently. Whatever it was she tried to do, wasn’t working.

“GUYS…”

The stranger’s bike floated up, item cracking. Red shards expanding into what looked like a circle, my heart sank. Stomach swallowing as Locke stammered out.

“I- That-”

“GO HOME.”

Snarling through her teeth, glaring at the bandit as his thicker headed brother slapped his head.

“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN’T HAVE TAKEN THE JOB!”

“H- HEY!”

And then they turned, my head shifted back. I’d seen this only a few times, body tugged back. Letting out a gasp as he managed to mouth out an instruction. Not like I needed one, trees started to uproot themselves, thunder booming as an ancient voice roared out in… French??

Accent cutting through, cursing as flames erupted across and then…

For reference read the following.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52655824/chapters/133190566

[cursedvessels]

@heartxshaped-bruises

Headlights. Car alarm. Shit, not again…

It was dangerous to fall asleep in an abandoned car far from any leftover buildings or houses. No potential for human threats, sure, but that was much less a problem than the larger threat at hand.

It would seemingly burst up out of nowhere and Sam was yet to figure out a rhyme or reason to help approximate when… The earth cracking rattle that ripped through the air, knocked down trees, shook cars and carried a stampede of destruction in its wake, tossing aside anyone who dared get in its way. 

Waking with a start, Sam scrambled to sit up, smacking their head on the window edge as he did so. “Shit,” they cursed, wincing at the sharp pain that hit their skull. The car was already beginning to shimmy. This was bad. “Shit, shit, shit,” they hissed as he grabbed his things. Keep it minimal. Anything of value, anything of use.

The wind outside had begun to pick up, they could see the dirt beginning to swirl, kicking up thick dust that would cake the lungs and suffocate anyone brave enough to breathe it in. He tugged the thick scarf around his neck over his mouth as he shoved open the car door. Just as they did, they heard a violent crash! as the headlights of the car exploded, the alarm eerily dying. Frantic eyes squinted in the dusty air, peering in every direction. No use. It was all around them now. They pressed their back up against the car, panicked breaths catching in their throat. Eyes squeezed shut. A hand pressing firmly against the car door.

Suddenly, the engine roared to life, the car alarm starting to blare once more. His eyes snapped open, bright, shining green, almost glowing. As he spun around to rip open the car door, a wave of dust-thick air slammed over the car and its wheels picked up off the ground just slightly. Enough to insight urgency.  He revved the engine and whipped the car around to speed in the opposite direction of the storm, though he couldn’t see a damned thing…

Until the dust lifted just enough. Until they saw a person.

His eyes widened, foot slamming on the break as he sharply turned the wheel to avoid hitting them as best as he could.

Airbags went off. He felt his neck creak as his head slammed against the steering wheel, the sickening thump causing his ears to ring. The dust clouds rushed over head, the ground beginning to crack and split open behind the busted vehicle.

[elbaterias]

wading thru the ob scene

through practiced meditation on the essence of creation got the feelin i been chasin after bouts of enervation i mean when the hell will nations be united as they stand? been compelled until a station fights to make demands all through sleight of fucking hand just might have to bite the band that bleeds, blight the land with seeds of the datura plant says you're an ant to me, as tough as pcp combined with 1p-lsd just ask your local isd if she could be the one for me i see things clearly as, let's say, a foggy headlight controlled by groggy dendrites that tend to be so tight and titillating; sitting, waiting-or wading? you're kidding i'm creating my reality from air, about as thin as hair past the follicles compared to dares too diabolical, i'd take the stairs but they're symbolical and fake fuck's sake must you make the scene ob? affixed another schlub commenced to scrubbin up the tub i mean a rub a dub dub, bitch, cop another sack and i could end up in a ditch, hitched up to a post and ready for the pitch now that's a pretty simple sitch for a rich dimpled choom, revving up the engines they don't sound like no vroom more like stacked up whip cracks n sonic fucken booms, slippery thumb tacks n panicking escape rooms filled with vaped clouds of gaping doom shaped more or less like Jesus' tomb, God Blessed and then exhumed pre or posthumously; Hugh-mungous wot? don't cost much for me, accosted and touched man i lost it as such at apostles on crutches or ferrets in hutches hunched over munchin sumpn got a crunch to it, but i got a bunch to do, shit, where does the time go? got a scared buzz off a dime, bro. now i'm no expert on the matter but ain't shatter sposed to snap? taint batter proposed to be trapped until the scattered saints composed themselves enough to spill quaint matters over clapped cheeks still a strap is what i seek steady dappin up the freaks - ready? slammin tweak i slapped some on the table, jammin every weekend man as soon as i am able, i shall surely link the cable to a purely thinked-up fable, a tale so tall mane i think i'm gonna fall plain and simple. call me a complaining pimple on the ass of society when i don't even try to be deserving of their piety

[ucanbeasurvivor]

My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.  --Philippians 4:19

Scripture reading: Acts 5:14-42

Only believe! God will not fail you, beloved. It is impossible for God to fail. Believe God; rest in Him. The Bible is the most important book in the world. But some people have to be pressed in before they can be pressed on. Oh, this glorious inheritance of holy joy and faith, this glorious baptism in the Holy Spirit--it is a perfected place. "All things have become new" (2 Cor. 5:17), because "You are Christ's, and Christ is God's" (1 Cor. 3:23).

,,God means for us to walk in this royal way. When God opens a door, no man can shut it " (Rev. 3:8).

John made a royal way, and Jesus walked in it. Jesus left us the responsibility of allowing Him to bring forth through us the greater works (John 14:12). Jesus left His disciples with much and with much more to be added until God receives us in that Day. 

When we receive power, we must stir ourselves up with the truth that we are responsible for the need around us. God will supply all our need so that the need of the needy may be met through us. God has given us a great indwelling force of power. If we do not step into our privileges, it is a tragedy. 

There is no standing still. "As He is, so are we in this world" (1John 4:17).

"We are the offspring of God" (Acts 17:29), and we have divine impulses. After we have received, we will have power. We have been focusing too much on feeling the power. God is waiting for us to act. Jesus lived a life of perfect activity. He lived in the realm of divine appointment. 

We must dare to press on until God comes forth in mighty power. May God give us the hearing of faith so that the power may come down like a cloud. Press on until Jesus is glorified and multitudes are gathered in. 

Thought for today: God's rest is an undisturbed place where heaven bends to meet you.🙌💕

[lindajenni]

jan 7

sunday solace - the upward trek

"and they heard a great voice from heaven saying unto them, come up hither.  and they ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them." rev 11:12 still upward be thine onward course: for this i pray today;still upward as the years go by, and seasons pass away.still upward in this coming year, thy path is all untried;still upward may’st thou journey on, close by thy Savior’s side.still upward e’en though sorrow come, and trials crush thine heart;still upward may they draw thy soul, with Christ to walk apart.still upward till the day shall break, and shadows all have flown;still upward till in heaven you wake, and stand before the throne.

we ought not to rest content in the mists of the valley when the summit awaits us.  how pure are the dews of the hills, how fresh is the mountain air, how rich the fare of the dwellers aloft, whose windows look into the new jerusalem! "many saints are content to live like men in coal mines, who see not the sun.  tears mar their faces when they might anoint them with celestial oil.  satisfied i am that many a believer pines in a dungeon when he might walk on the palace roof, and view the goodly land and lebanon.  rouse thee, o believer, from thy low condition!  cast away thy sloth, thy lethargy, thy coldness, or whatever interferes with thy chaste and pure love to Christ.  make Him the source, the center, and the circumference of all thy soul’s range of delight.  rest no longer satisfied with thy dwarfish attainments.  aspire to a higher, a nobler, a fuller life.  upward to heaven!  nearer to God!" — spurgeon i want to scale the utmost height, and catch a gleam of glory bright; but still i’ll pray, till heaven i’ve found, Lord, lead me on to higher ground!

"not many of us are living at our best.  we linger in the lowlands because we are afraid to climb the mountains.  the steepness and ruggedness dismay us, and so we stay in the misty valleys and do not learn the mystery of the hills.  we do not know what we lose in our self-indulgence, what glory awaits us if only we had courage for the mountain climb, what blessing we should find if only we would move to the uplands of God." — J. R. M too low they build who build beneath the stars.” modified from streams in the desert ------- we are all called to climb higher; to meet our full potential at the summit.  free will dictates whether we will or not, but the call echoes in every heart.  this is where the rubber meets the road.  it is where our efforts, resolve, or viability are put to the test; the point at which things become truly or meaningfully challenging. "for as yet you have not come to the rest and the inheritance which the Lord your God is giving you." deut 12:9  our trek remains upwards to loftier heights we have never dared before.  His call beckons us on and up.