‘Oh, shit.’ Bulk though to himself as he realized that he had just spoken to Pinkie. ‘ThisisbadthisisbadthisisbadohfuckohfuckohfuckwhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?!’Bulk began to panic, his anxiety kicking in as he began to observe the gravity of the current situation. He had just shown his secret to someone, and it wasn’t Fluttershy! His mind continued to produce spastic, halfway-complete thoughts until he was jolted from his thoughts by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see that the hand belonged to Fluttershy.

“Bulk, it’s okay.” Fluttershy offered a reassuring smile. “Pinkie has been my friend for years, and she knows how to keep a secret. We can trust her with your secret.”

“What secret?” Pinkie asked, a curious look cresting her face, playing dumb as per the Pinkie promise she had made to Fluttershy weeks ago, promising that Bulk wouldn’t find out that Pinkie knew about his secret.

Fluttershy winked at Pinkie, making sure that Bulk didn’t see, before answering her. “Well, Bulk has a very strong social anxiety disorder, and that’s why he doesn’t talk much. He pretends to act a lot less smart than he actually is in hopes that people will avoid him, thinking that he’s not smart enough for regular conversation, and not talk to him as much. He’s actually very smart, you see, but his condition prevents him from showing it out of fear that it will cause people to draw more attention to him.” Bulk’s anxiety began to show, a look of fear on his face as Fluttershy poured out his secret to Pinkie Pie. He trusted Fluttershy greatly, but what if this Pinkie Pie girl was manipulating her, and they really couldn’t trust her with his secret? He began to shift around uncontrollably, fidgeting with his hands, his legs shaking violently. Fluttershy seemed to notice and she turned her full attention to Bulk, doing her best to comfort him and relieve him of his anxiety with a hug.

“It’s okay, Bulk. Pinkie’s a trustworthy friend.” She said, gently rubbing Bulk’s shoulder, knowing that the gesture was one that successfully calmed his anxiety most of the time.

“I sure am!” Pinkie smiled. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Bulk! If you need some more friends to be able to open up to, I can be one of those friends. And you can count on me to keep your secret, I Pinkie promise! And I never break a Pinkie promise!” The pink-haired girl went through the words and motions enthusiastically, hardly even having to to think about it, since she had it down through muscle memory.

Bulk seemed to relax a bit at this. He gave a small smile, showing he was emotionally stable now. “I’m sorry if I seem hesitant to trust you, Pinkie Pie. I’ve just known Fluttershy for so long that I’ve grown to trust her over the years… I know at some point I’ll have to get over my anxiety, but… It’s just really hard, knowing that people might view you differently if you open up to them.”

“I completely understand! I mean, when I lived on the rock farm with my family, I was really scared to tell them that I wanted them to be happy instead of monotone and boring all the time, but they still treat me like family! Most people will be able to accept you how you are, but sadly there are just some people who won’t! But don’t worry, I’m not one of those people! I accept everybody for who they are!” Pinkie finished, a large grin on her face. Bulk stared at her in awe, wondering how she could be comfortable with being so vocal with somebody she hardly knows.

“Thank you, Pinkie…” Bulk smiled at the hyper girl, who smiled right back, bouncing with energy. Her enthusiasm was genuine, and Bulk could tell that she was telling the truth, setting his mind at ease. Both Fluttershy and Bulk felt relieved that he now had another friend who he could confide in, which also meant that he was one step closer to overcoming his social anxiety.

-----------------------

“17, 18, 19.... fuckin’ bollocks, argh! 20!” Pip said before his good arm collapsed under him, leaving him face-down on the cold floor of his home gym. “Blimey, one handed push-ups are hard, mate!” He said to Big Mac, who was spotting Spike for a bench press set.

The large country boy heard this and chuckled. “Y’say that like ya expected it’d be easy. Ah cain’t even do about 50 at a time before restin’, and considerin’ that this is yer first time doin’ em, 20 without stoppin’s pretty good.” He said before Spike rested the barbell he was bench pressing back into the rack above him. He then sat up on the bench, his tank top drenched in sweat, before adding to Mac’s statement.

“Yeah, dude, be proud of that! I can barely do 10, so you’ve got me beat.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Pip said in an irritated tone. “I’m just annoyed because I can’t do any of my regular workouts with you guys; all I can do is one-armed push-ups and crunches, and run on the bloody treadmill. I’m already tired of this damn cast!” He said, shaking his casted arm angrily.

Big Mac seemed to deflate a little. He knew that it was his fault Pip had broken his arm in the first place. “Ah’m sorry, Pip. It’s my fault yer arm’s the way it is. Ah shouldn’t have made y’all do such a dangerous exercise with those cider barrels. Ah wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, and Ah truly am sorry that yer arm’s broken because of my mistake.”

“Oi, it’s fine mate. I don’t blame you for this. I don’t blame anyone for it, really. Don’t sweat it, ‘coz it isn’t anything to get riled up over. Sometimes life just happens, and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop it, ya know? ”

Mac smiled at the Trottingham teen before replying. “Thank ya kindly, Pip. Ah really appreciate that, it’s mighty high of you.” The boys continued the rest of their daily workout before heading up to Pip’s hot tub. Pip covered his casted arm in a plastic bag before getting in, so that the cast wouldn’t be damaged. They all sat in the hot tub, exhausted from the day’s workout.

“My core feels like jello right now, mate.” Pip groaned as he relaxed in the tub with his eyes closed. “I must’ve done at least 1000 crunches during that workout. My abs better be chiseled as fuck when I get out of this cast, or else I’ll be bloody pissed.” He said jokingly.

“If you do that much core exercise every day, dude, I’m sure your abs will be hella toned by the time you get your cast off. You’ll be able to break bottles on your six-pack!” Spike said, chuckling a bit, causing Pip to laugh as well.

“Listen, y’all,” Mac began, getting the attention of his two friends. “Ah’m real happy to have gotten to know y’all two over the past month, an’ Ah wanna treat you two fer how much hard work y’all have been putting into these workouts. So, long as Twilight,” He said, nodding to Spike, then Pip, “an’ yer parents don’t find out, Ah can sneak y’all some o’ the Apple Family’s famous cider.” The younger boys’ faces lit up immediately at this.

“Seriously?! Fuck yeah!” Spike said enthusiastically, pumping his fist in the air.

“I’m in, mate, as long as it doesn’t crush me arm again.” Pip joked, drawing laughs from his two friends.

“It’ll be in bottles this time,” Big Mac assured his small friend, “not kegs.”

“Bloody ripper, mate! My dad’s been tellin’ me for years how good that cider is, it’s about damn time I get a few swigs for myself.” Pip grinned.

“Wait a minute,” Spike said with a bit of concern, “Wouldn’t your family notice if a few bottles worth of cider just up and disappeared? And you’d be losing profit from just giving that stuff away, right?”

“Ah’m certain it’ll go unnoticed.” Mac said reassuringly. “Granny Smith is the one who takes stock, not Applejack. Besides, in the Apple Family, we don’t mind if kids have a bottle or two every once in a while. An’ don’t you two worry about the price none. T’ain’t about makin’ money, we just wanna get by, an’ trust me, with the income we got from the zap-apple harvest last year, we’re doin’ jest fine. That Filthy Rich feller pays top dollar for the first dozen jars of zap-apple jam every year.”

The two boys nodded, content with this answer. The trio finished up their soak in the hot tub, got dressed, and after an hour or so of playing on Pip’s game consoles, Mac and Spike headed home after planning tomorrow’s workout.

-----------------------

“Aw, that looks sick, Unc!” Gilda grinned, referring to the tribal tattoo all along the left half of her torso that her uncle had just finished, after 3 hours of non-stop needlework.

Hawkeye smirked confidently, glad that his niece liked the tattoo. “I’m glad you like it, kid. And I’m also impressed. Not once have I had a client that didn’t need a pain break while getting inked, especially not one with that big of a tattoo.”

Gilda chuckled. “Well, you know I’m not like most people, Unc.”

“Heheh, yeah, that’s true.” Hawkeye patted Gilda’s back - on the side that didn’t just get tattooed - with a smile. “How’d you like your first day of school, by the way?”

Gilda shrugged. “Nothing too special. But it wasn’t boring as all hell, surprisingly. the teachers are still teachers, but they don’t treat the students like shit, which is a big change from Griffonstone. I hung out with Dash during lunch, and I had art after that, which was pretty cool. We didn’t do much, just some sketches.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ll be just fine at CHS.” her uncle smiled. “By the way, the concert starts in an hour, so we should probably head out now. Wear a loose shirt when we go home to get ready so that ink doesn’t have any pressure on it, and put some of the cream on before we leave, otherwise you’ll be in some pain if that tattoo gets touched by anything.”

“Gotcha. This concert is gonna fucking rock so hard!”

“Yeah it is. But just a warning; stay away from the mosh pits. The dudes in those things get way too into it. At a Rot-Trot concert I went to last year, some poor kid got his arm snapped in three different places. Other than that, feel free to rock out and smoke like a chimney.” Hawkeye chuckled, taking off his inking gloves and putting away his needle. “Now, hurry up and get that ointment on your ink. We’re gonna be hittin’ the road in a few minutes.”

-------------

“So, you like that ink, huh?” Hawkeye asked his niece once they were on their way to the concert.

“Hell yeah I do!” Gilda grinned from ear to ear. “I love it! Maybe a little later you could connect it to my left arm and leg, too?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” Her uncle smiled.

“Wow, you’re the first person I’ve talked to about tattoos who hasn’t freaked out about it. Of course, you are a tattoo artist. Mom and Dad always lost their shit whenever I talked about getting tattoos, saying that I’d never be able to get a decent job if I have any tattoos.”

“Now, listen, Gilda.” Hawkeye started. “If anyone gives you shit for that tattoo, don’t even worry about it. Tattoos don’t make you a ‘degenerate’ or a ‘delinquent’ or any of that crap. Tattoos are works of art. We just choose to display our art differently than others. Some people choose to keep their art on canvas, clothing, walls, sidewalks, cars, which is all fine and dandy; but displaying art on your body is no different than any of those other ways of showing it off. Don’t forget that. You’re displaying art on your body, so in theory, you are a walking, talking, living, breathing piece of artwork.” He ended his explanation with a smile.

“That’s what I tell people, but they don’t understand! My art is just so fucking awesome and fun to draw, I want to always have it on display, I mean what’s so wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Gil. Those who don’t understand tattoos don’t fully understand how art works. Trust me, you will never, ever meet a dedicated artist that will disagree that a tattoo is another form of art. And in my opinion, tattoos are more intimate and special to us than the art we limit to canvas. If you write the name of your wife or husband or kid on a canvas, nobody thinks it’s that significant or important, but when you get a tattoo of their name, it’s much more sentimental and artistic and poetic. I guess i’m rambling, though. You already know all of that, heh.” Hawkeye chuckled to himself before sighing contently. “I’m really glad your parents let you come live with me, Gilda. I think you’ll be much happier here. They’re not bad parents by any means, if anything, they’re much better role models than I am, they just don’t understand you enough to connect with you on a personal level. I’m glad that I can have that connection with you, kiddo.”

Gilda was looking out the window, to hide her tears from her uncle. He had no idea how much it meant to her to have somebody who really understands her as much as he does. She sniffled quietly.

“Hey, you okay, Gil?” He asked, hearing her sniffling.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She sputtered, not wanting her uncle to see her in a moment of weakness. “Just… something in the air, I think.”

“Well, we are pretty close to the sewage processing plant. Here, let me turn the air freshener on.” He replied before pressing a button on a small device filled with a clear liquid that was attached to his car’s front console air vents, causing a spritz of the liquid to shoot into the ventilation system. He then flicked a switch on the dashboard to turn the air on, spreading the pleasant smell throughout the car. “There ya go, kiddo.”

“Th-thanks.” Gilda smiled, her tears slowing a bit. She was, of course, crying from joy. She was so happy to finally have a family member that appreciated her, living in a town that wasn’t violent or dangerous, and be able to express herself and create what she wanted. She felt valued for the first time in her life. A few seconds later, her eyes were dry again and she turned to her uncle, her rough exterior returning. “So, how long till we get there, Unc? I’m ready for some strong weed and loud music!”

“Actually, we’re about two minutes away.” Hawkeye replied as he merged into the nearest freeway exit.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Gilda screamed in excitement. They drove a few blocks before turning into a large parking lot connected to a colossal amphitheatre. Hawkeye turned into an empty handicapped spot before displaying a handicapped placard in his window. Gilda raised her eyebrow in confusion. “You’re not crippled.”

Hawkeye chuckled and rolled up the left leg of his jeans, displaying a fake leg.

“Holy shit, when did that happen? And how come you can walk like a regular person with that thing? Other cripples look like they’re crossfaded when they try to walk.” Gilda asked in shock and confusion.

“A few years of determined practice. I lost it during my service in the military. I was part of a special operations team during my service. Long story short, I pushed my buddy out of the way of a grenade, but couldn’t get far enough away myself. I can’t run anymore, but it isn’t all bad.” He said as he pulled his mock leg off before adding, “I get to cut in lines!” He chuckled before tucking the prosthetic appendage under his arm, getting out of the car and hopping to the ticket line with Gilda in tow, handing two tickets to a woman behind the counter. He approached a bouncer guarding the amphitheater’s entrance and pointed to Gilda. “She’s with me.” The bouncer nodded and stepped to the side, letting them into the sizable venue. After they were inside he put the fake leg back on before looking over to Gilda and smirking. “You’re gonna love this, kid.” Gilda beamed in excitement as they moved towards the stage, not many people having arrived yet. Gilda was surprised when Hawkeye started walking up onto the stage. The band hadn’t started the gig yet, and Hawkeye bumped fists with the Rot-Trot’s frontman. “Hey, bro. Long time no see.”

“Holy shit, Unc!” Gilda exclaimed in complete awe. “You know Rot-Trot’s lead singer?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I know the whole band. You make friends when you’re in the service.”

Gilda stood there, mouth agape as she thought to herself, ‘This concert is going to be so fucking epic!’

---------------------------

After the concert, Gilda was shaking with excitement as she bumped fists with her favorite band’s drummer. “Hey there. Name’s Lars.”

The singer came up as well. “I’m Oliver, and over there’s Davey and Sid, our bassist and guitarist.” He said, gesturing to two men who were packing up their instruments, their dark red dyed hair hanging over their faces as they bent over their cases. They each gave a wave to the girl as they continued packing up their guitars.

“Oh, trust me, I know you guys! I’ve been listening to you for years! I love your music so much, you guys fucking shred!” Gilda replied excitedly, grinning from ear to ear as she met her idols.”

Oliver laughed at this. “Awesome. Glad to see there are still kids who aren’t listening to that teen-pop shit.” He chuckled before turning to the girl’s uncle. “Hey, Hawkeye. I like this kid; she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“That she does, Ollie.” Hawkeye agreed. “You and the boys mind giving her a tour of the bus? You do still owe me for saving you from that frag all those years ago.” He chuckled.

Gilda’s thoughts were moving a million miles a minute as she processed what her Uncle had just said.

‘No fucking way!’

--------------------------

“So not only are you friends with all the members of Rot-Trot, the greatest metal band in the fucking world, but you also fucking saved Oliver’s life? How come you didn’t tell me any of this shit sooner?!” Gilda practically screamed in excitement as her Uncle drove back to their home.

“It wasn’t really important until now, so I never saw the point in bringing it up. Sue me.” He chuckled as he watched his niece’s excitement.

“Not important? Not important?! How is that not important, Unc, you know they’re my favorite fucking band! You know what? You owe me a blunt when we get home.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you were too excited to smoke at the concert. Besides, you know how to roll one, do it yourself.” He chuckled again.

“Okay, fine! But you’re still a dick for not telling me about this shit sooner.” Gilda said jokingly as they pulled into the driveway. They quickly got out of the car, Gilda carrying two large bags full of autographed Rot-Trot merch into the house with her. After stashing the bags in her room, she went down into the kitchen and gave Hawkeye a hug.

“I’m normally not one for this sappy shit, but… You’re freaking awesome, Unc. Love ya.”

Hawkeye chuckled and ruffled his niece’s hair. “Love you too, kiddo.”

Author's Notes:

So, here's that longer chapter that I promised three chapters ago. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as Ringmaster and I enjoyed writing it. Big ups to him for writing Gilda's line, by the way. He makes chapters with her easy to write.

Also, I'm working on a little side project for this story. Check it out here.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! As always, drop a like if you did enjoy it. The next chapter is coming soon.

Deuces!