#💣〈 threads. 〉─── hob

[eyeknowmayhem]

It’s the humble, almost subdued question from superfly that makes him turn around. The bag is practically a toy in his massive claw and yet. Here he was asking for permission for something that, frankly, hob had no business trying to dictate what’s the right or wrong thing to do. The last time he tried, mondo tried to fight him and it’s just, he has enough headaches. So hob shrugs and takes the bag from him. “I’ll take care of it, buzzkill. I told you, I’d get somethin for the rest of ‘em and this is just their spoils of war. They don’t gotta know the specifics.” And it means, in the end, if they ask about why they’re so specific… well, they don’t need to know. Hob can be psychic for all he gave a shit.

He can get back from the employee’s entrance, onto the fire escape easily. So he’ll take his time heading out, waiting for the other. “And if they ask I won’t say. It’s not my circus. I got enough of those.” He nudges into his arm as they walk. It’s… like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, as strange as it sounds. Tonight has been a successful breaking and entering, a little bit of stealing but well— it wasn’t really about that, was it? Call it what you want, hob can go home and sleep with the knowledge that, hey, maybe superfly’s going to be okay. Maybe he will, too. Which, reminds him, actually.

“You’re flying me back, right?”

     LAUGHTER BUBBLES TO the fly mutant’s lips, and it takes quite an amount of willpower not to let it erupt into a loud guffaw at Hob’s response regarding feeding Pete the horsefly candy just to spite him for his joke. Superfly returns the little cannon to its rightful hook as Hob remarks how firing a gun would knock him over. He somehow doubts this, but rather than debate this hypothetical, he simply replies, “ Nah, I don’t mess with that stuff. Don’t need to when I got this bad boy. “ His metal claws clink as he taps them together. Of course, it looks a little less threatening when it has some colourful gift bag hanging from it, but still.

     Speaking of…he’s realizing now that for all of his gathering of items, he actually hasn’t asked Hob a somewhat important question. When this occurs to him, he hesitates at first, opting to wordlessly stand by the exit while Hob makes his ‘inspection’ of the register that he pretends he doesn’t notice. However, it inevitably reaches his tongue, figuring it was best to ask sooner than later:  “ Say, uh…you don’t— you don’t mind giving these to my folks, do ya’ ? “ He lifts his claw with the bag slightly, indicating the collection of objects he has. “ ‘S fine if not, I could figure out how to get it to ‘em without— “ Without seeing them. “ Well. I could get ‘em to ‘em, if you didn’t want to, is all. Oh, but uh— if you do, though, could you also maybe…not let ‘em know they’re from me. It’d, uh…probably be for the best right now. “

     He knows it’s weird. Or, at least, he feels that it could be. To want to still do something nice for them, even though they want nothing to do with him, even though he’s, thus far, respected their wish for space and has no desire to intrude. Maybe this is overstepping. Maybe he’s being too damn sentimental, coming to this shop and finding things and thinking of them as though everything were normal. He doesn’t know; he just knows he still cares about them and— would like to do this small, nice thing for them. Not as a plea for their forgiveness  ( the fact that he’d prefer not telling them says as much ), but just because…they’re his family.

[eyeknowmayhem]

"give me a heads up next time." (from 07 SF, for hob <3)

“What do ya mean next time- I know you weren’t doing anything before this.” The padlock pops off with ease, and the gate opens. For a natural history and science museum, the greenhouse isn’t even close to being locked up nice and secure. If he hadn’t- say, mapped over most of the security measures inside he would’ve thought they wanted to be stolen from. Regardless he’s stepping in, fresh mulch and moisture hitting his nose. The gate swings shut behind them, and hob keeps walking.

Nothing in the plants seems particularly useful- his guess is that it’s meant for the terrariums downstairs. He steps between fallen leaves and knarled branches. “If I gave you a heads up you would’ve told me no.” As if Superfly had anything to do tonight- they both know that’s a lie. Hob … had nothing in particular to do either. As if he’ll waste a perfectly clear night negotiating with- fellow lesser beings. No, here he can keep his claws out. He plucks a star shaped leaf from one of the pots. “…you know any of these? We could get you a new pet. Or do you prefer rocks.” His eyes squint with his same smug smile. He thinks his joke is funny, at least.

[mallory-x]

Make me write!

Not tagged by anyone, just jumping on the bandwagon because I haven’t been particularly motivated to do much of anything lately.

Post your current WIPs with an emoji, people can then send you an ask with the emoji and ask for a fresh snippet!

I haven’t written properly in ages, but these are the WIPs that are most likely being rotated in my brain at any give moment. They’re all Sandman although a selection of different pairings, and all very E rated.

Help me find the motivation to get the words out!

🐕 - Akita - Hobrintheus - human au - puppy play. Inspired by this Tumblr post and the subsequent discussion in @gabessquishytum’s thread in the Sadman server

🐴 - My Little Pony - Hobstruction - centaur au - pony play. Inspired by @Temve’s fic Leaves of Grass and Feet of Clay

💣 - Dreamling CNC timebombchallenge - Dreamling - human au - subreddit rape fantasy/cnc. Prev snippet here which explains the premise

📸 - I know you’ll get me through - Dreamling - human au - dark!photographer Hob/student Dream. A very overdue Chapter 3 of this

👨🏻‍🎓 - Prof Dream/Student Hob - Dreamling - human au - age gap, power imbalance, dubcon. Inspired by this one of @gabessquishytum’s asks

I know a lot of people have done this already, so if you haven’t and you’d like to be inspired for the New Year, consider yourself tagged!

[eyeknowmayhem]

tags pt 2 pt 2

[eyeknowmayhem]

She’s lying. Hob knows that. She’s in no state to be fixing the splint or the bandages or the possible skull fracture or a million other piling injuries. He’s like, 90 percent sure that Cleo is more scar tissue than turtle. He’d laugh but it’s not funny. He puffs away, and the weight on his chest subdues, if only for a moment. “Eh, you’ll be fine. I broke my tailbone falling out of a window and I can walk alright. Just don’t do flying kicks or whatever it is you ninjas do.” The cigarette in his mouth shifts as he talks. “Why not get egghead to look at it? He’s probably got some gizmo that’ll fix it right up. Or a robot leg. Donnie seems like the type.”

He leans back, tail draped across Cleo’s good leg. He needs to mull over his options, definitely needs to start doing perimeter patrols and fortifying headquarters; he doubts Cleo getting her shit rocked will be the end of it, not by a long shot. So with the last puff of the cigarette he can ash it on the floor, then pulls out his phone. It flips open and its tiny screen just barely comes to life. “I’ll call him right now, and you can talk to Raph with me on speaker. He can know you’re not roadkill, you see your Boytoy, it’s a win win.” he squints down at it; he swore he knew the number. Not like he has others he's gotta memorize in his ol noggin. So, he presses call. He better answer, or he's kicking his lil green ass.

CLEO WATCHED AS Hob began dressing her wound, setting her hat down and tilting her head slightly to allow him better access. Her breath was slowing, a sign that she was, at the very least, beginning to calm down and relax, and beginning to go back to her usual stoic, sassy demeanor. Even with a gigantic migraine. And the lingering threat of the one person who'd ever managed to scare her on her mind...but she wasn't about to say that out loud, not now, not in front of Hob.

" AH'M SURE THAT'S gonna go swell, " she added with her usual twinge of sarcasm. She knew full well exactly how Raph could be -- impulsive and quick to jump to conclusions, even if the truth was right in front of his fucking face. And she loved Raph, more than life itself...but fuckin' HELL, he could be an idiot. " Boytoy is certainly a...way a' viewin' it, ah' reckon. " She wasn't going to comment on that second part. Anything that happened would be on her shoulders regardless, as was the eternal curse with her and her self blame bullshit.

HER EXPRESSION REMAINED exactly the same as she watched him move, and she eyed down her leg for a moment, trying to remember exactly what the doctor had done the first time her leg had gotten broken after being pushed falling out that window, but her mind was just as fuzzy as her vision, and honestly, all she remembered of that day was Carlton and the smell of the hospital room.

" LOOKS JUS' DANDY, " she lied through her teeth, wanting this shit to be over with. Though, when Hob lit her cigarette, Cleo finally took the chance to shut up and take a drag, letting the mutant feline do his job and talk ( even if she took a second to chuckle at the sight of his fancy shmancy lighter -- all she had was a cheap Dollar Store lighter she'd found on the ground in the sewers. ) " M' sure she is, " she replied once she blew out a cloud of smoke above his head, trying to avoid blowing it in his face. " Hopefully ah' can still walk after this. Bad enough ah' already got that limp. "

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Right on.” See, Xever seems to know what he’s doing. Mondo grabbed the step stool with his tail, enough to drag it in his general direction. He won’t need it right away; all he needs is to start from the edges and go inward, like a jigsaw puzzle. If the puzzle was him starting from the idea in his head to a portrait from a humble spraypaint can. Shades of blue come into focus, mondo makes sure each has a distinct swoosh to it, like how real waves move.

He’s love to get a real reference; but the last time he was at the beach.. well. It was a sorry sight then, it would be a sorry sight now. Not to mention, all the extra eyes on him? It would be a death wish. Or he could stick to going out at night, but … it’s not the same. All he would have for company is the litter tourists leave behind. Not that he’s lonely these days; out of the corner of his eye Xever’s drawing along. He seems… happy. As strange as it sounds, mondo knows— when they first met? Xever was real crabby, even though he’s a fish. What was he thinking about? Oh yeah.

He steps up on the stool to reach top half, he’ll work on the details. If they’re gonna be here; might as well pass the time. “So like, l you know how you’re always gone, and- have to be to be out at night all the time, Where do you go?” Xever has a job, he knows that much. What that job was? Eh, mondo hasn’t paid much attention. Maybe he’s a mascot at a local seafood place. He feels bad for wanting to laugh at such a messed up joke. “I hear you come back sometimes but it’s always way early. I gotta get my Zs in somehow.”

"Of course! It wouldn't be the same if you weren't there with me. We're family after all! We can rock this door together!"

Xever didn't want Mondo to worry about things related to the Foot Clan. The job he did was purely for him to deal with. A job that got harder as time went on. This was so far beyond what he signed up for. Honestly, Mondo being around helped Xever more than either of them knew. Having this one small trace of a normal life was precious.

"You do this side I'll do the other! How about you paint me? And I paint you? We can meet in the middle!"

Xever's loyalty only went so far. Both he and Mondo were of the streets they came from nothing they only had one another. Xever had never had anyone care about him, before so Mondo was important.

"Let's make it something great."

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Yeah, you don’t know. If you Listened to the words coming out of my mouth and I wouldn’t HAVE to preach to a-“ whatever mounting rant cuts off, a bike pushing its brakes just before it goes down the hill- hanging on by a thread and the tension of gravity. Hob can watch as Superfly, completely shoves away and stonewalled whatever it was he said to him. Something struck a nerve. If he had a death wish he could keep trying to split the chink his armor for all it’s worth.

Instead Hob can step back and the dimming cigarette falls to the floor. His lips curl back into a snarl. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re- walking away from me right now? You’re serious, you,” he fumbles for the right word and comes up with none. “Do you think I enjoy doing this, buzzkill? I have to be the one to run a glorified daycare, to come out and talk to you, Because you’re not able to get a handle to your own damn crew?” His voice raises louder than he would’ve liked.

Though if he’s shouting at least Superfly might actually hear him for once. “You’re just gonna- pawn em all off to me, because of your own bullshit. And you said I’m the one who keeps demanding all this from you. What is so goddamn important that you’re shutting me out,” Breathe. And he does. His nostrils flare and the fur puffing up and its liquid fire down his throat. He’s got better things to do then swallow smoke for this jerk. “Actually- Nevermind. I’m not gonna stand here wasting my breath.”

He steps closer to the alleyway, the way he came. “Goodnight. Have fun ruining your own life. Hope it’s worth it, pal.” It feels like venom. He wished it didn’t have to be. He has to turn back, because like hell he wants to see the look on superfly’s face if he doesn’t. Already halfway gone before a muttering comment that sounds suspiciously. “And get some fuckin sleep. Bugs and eyebags, Christ.” The second hand smoke lingers, and nothing more. It leaves Superfly alone, again.

     THE ANSWER FINALLY comes, in the form of a jest. Superfly supposes he should’ve expected no less, but…still. One can understand why it might be difficult to trust his own expectations as of late. “ Good, “ is the short answer he gives. For if he had to listen to just ONE MORE PERSON telling him that what he is doing is wrong—

     But unfortunately, the conversation is not over, as much as Superfly would frankly like it to be. “ And I’ve already told you why. “ He sounds annoyed when he says it; he’s never been one to enjoy repeating himself. But Hob’s still prattling on, which does no favours for the fly’s waning patience. It’s no doubt EMBARRASSING that it’s starting to seem like he has NO CONTROL over his own damn people. While Hob’s complaints are valid, it’s just becoming another thing that’s beginning to grate on his nerves.  ( seriously, is THIS is what he called him down here for !? )

    “ I will deal with them after it is done, “ he says sternly. “ Trust me, I recognize that this is completely unacceptable— “ But then Hob’s talking again. Does he ever know when to quit ?  “ The hell you m— ‘digging a pit ?’  What’s THAT supposed to— “

    And NOW he’s going about how of course the won’t help, and how they’re WHINING about Superfly, about all the SAME SHIT that they already whine to him about at home, all the same shit that they’ve gone over repeatedly. “ Colour me fuckin’ SHOCKED, “ he shoots back sarcastically. “ What, you think I don’t know none o’ that already— “

     ‘You think they’ll stick around if you go through with this ?’

     Just like that, the abrasive fly falls silent. Agitated wings, which were fluttering throughout the whole exchange suddenly still. His eyes still remain fixed on Hob, but something in them has CHANGED, in some way. It’s hard to determine; his expression’s become unreadable. The fact that he doesn’t say anything doesn’t help. Once Hob’s finished talking, his stare persists for a few moments longer, then he lifts his head, looking elsewhere, a pensive look upon his features.

“ …Y’know what, “ he says at last, shaking his head. He looks back at him again; the look in them has become no more clearer. “ Fuck it. I’m done. “ He stops leaning against the car, instead looking as though he’s moving towards the driver’s side door. “ They wanna talk a bunch of shit, they don’t wanna come back when I’m through— that’s freakin’ fine. They can go right ahead, ‘cause I worked too damn hard for this shit to deal with all of their crap. So FUCK ‘EM. “ His voice is flat the entire time he says it; there’s anger underneath it, obviously, but it mostly just sounds like he’s had enough.

[eyeknowmayhem]

“Listen, I’m just- I’m just puttin it out there. You and me? Would be unstoppable.” Smoke puffs out of his mouth with his words, a not quite full cat’s smile to match. He can repeat the sales pitch over and over ad nauseam, but it won’t change the truth. Superfly’s as stubborn as all hell on earth. Which, he would know, he’s been dealing with this exact same stubbornness for the past… damn, months now? Though it’s a little different. Talking business was- the main reason he was here. Who’s to say he couldn’t mention a little deal on the way out.

Oh, who was he kidding? This same question about joining up for an army’s been the same song and dance. Not his fault his comrade lacks foresight. “I cut it all down to what, 5 minutes? I don’t know what bug is up your ass that’s got you actin like this.” His cigarette’s ashes are falling out, right onto the hot rod’s sweet paint job. “Somethin up with you? You’re acting extra, buzzkill, tonight.”

“You can just say yes, It’s not gonna kill you.” (Variation on a sentence starter.) (from hob :3 07 verse!)

" GO TO HELL. " He says it so casually, the same as how someone might say 'hey' or 'how's it going ?' ( Hell, the way that things have gone with 'em, it might as WELL be a type of greeting. ) " Just for that, it's a 'NO.' It was already a 'NO' before you walked in here, but now it's even more of a 'NO.' " That's what Hob gets for getting smart with him.

" For the record, despite what you're HINTING at, it ain't stubbornness, alright. " Well. It is, a little bit. But Superfly doesn't see it that way, so he's not gonna admit to that. " It's the PRINCIPLE of it. So it doesn't matter how many times you ask me, 'cause I'm gonna keep sayin' 'no,' 'cause FUNDAMENTALLY, I disagree with what you're puttin' down. That's all there is to it. "

[eyeknowmayhem]

The sea glass wasn’t the only thing near jewlery. A small carved elephant with fading yellow and green. He takes it and the conch shell carving right next to it. Both were small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Something on their placards said something about Jade and granite. What left him was— well, just following Superfly around. He seemed to know where he was going, and that suits his needs just fine. It’s the kiddo science section. In the corner was a banged up, already partially opened pocket telescope. What would you steal from something so small? He nabs it anyway; it’ll be the last thing, nothing else is gonna fit in this backpack.

Meanwhile, he gets to watch ‘fly take his time. He clearly has some sort of system for this, everything carefully picked out. Even as he moved about it’s the stuffed toy that stays ever so safe in the smaller pair of hands. Only to be left on the pile, for superfly to deflect again. Makes him wonder about the rabbit, too. If the old thing is still collecting dust in a box tucked underneath a desk where he never has to look at it. Hob has no room to talk, not really. He has a Barrett MRAD in the crawlspace of his room. There’s a reason they stay hidden.

But the moment has passed and ‘fly’s talking to him again. It takes a moment for hob to register just what it is superfly was holding by the pinch of his fingers. He scrunches his face up, the way a cat would when it smelled something foul. Ear flicks back the way it might ward off a flying annoyance. “Just for that I’m giving Pete the horsefly candy. He’ll eat it right in front of you, too. He doesn’t care.” And he bumps his arm with his elbow. “Put that shit away, man.” He huffs, brushing past him to check the cash register. They probably clean it out every night; it never hurts to check. “You try firing a 10 gauge shotgun and see how it feels. It’ll knock you right on your shiny metal ass.”

     ‘FLY GIVES A nod of understanding at Hob’s response. “ Gotcha. “ It’s at this point that, after another brief pause of thought, Superfly opts to start scanning the shelves and racks himself, curiosity eventually becoming contemplation as he weighs some of his options. After some careful consideration, he decides to slip a gift bag off of a nearby hook, letting it hang off of his prosthetic.

     It’s almost as though Hob read his mind, the way he mentions finding something for his siblings. Or— he supposes that he simply said the quiet part out loud. The part that ‘Fly wasn’t going to say himself. There’s an amused hum at the cat’s complaints, promptly followed with, “ Nah, trust me, I get it. “ There’s a bit of laughter in his tone when he says it. “ I grew up with the mess, remember. “ He’s not complaining, in all honesty. As odd as it might seem, perhaps he should have been grateful that they were messy. Messy meant comfortable. Messy had become a luxury they were denied, once. Tidy room, made-up beds, or else . . . It was to the point that even now, ‘Fly still kept things strictly organized.

     ( his grip tightened slightly on the plush gecko. )

     He successfully distracts himself from the thought with some careful decision-making. Eventually, his thoughtfulness guides him to picking up a chew bone in the shape of a massive dinosaur bone, slipping it into the bag. Some more thinking, and he discovers some sort of kit where one could build their own robot model. He decides to put that in as well.

      As he’s selecting a few other things  ( mentally counting off the individuals he’s getting them for in his head ), Hob’s talking again, prompting the fly to glance over. “ Hey, at least astronaut ice cream doesn’t melt, “ he jests. He turns back again once he’s done talking, failing to see that Hob happened to grab another gecko.

     Compound eyes happen to turn to the jewelry and keychains, prompting him to bend down to take a closer look. A dinosaur keychain winds up in the bag without a second of doubt. However, something shinier next to it gains his attention, and soon a hand raises to gently cup a pendant made of translucent, blue sea glass attached to a white chain. After a particularly lengthened pause, he decides to gently slip that into the bag as well. Just as he’s about to stand again, he happens to catch sight of a keychain that earns a small smirk. He decides to lift it off the hook—

     Hob’s words catch him off-guard, making him stand upright to look at him. It’s his statement that makes Superfly realize that he’s…held onto the stuffed gecko this whole time. Without even realizing. The other’s words bring Superfly to look down at the soft, green toy in his smaller hands, its beady plastic eyes staring back at him. “ …Nah. I’m good. “ He winds up placing the gecko back in its original spot, hands hovering slightly as though uncertain before they resume their usual position. ‘Fly’s never been the most materialistic, at least not for as long as he’s known Hob. Most things that he owns that lack practical use are kept in boxes, tucked away out of sight. It’s to be expected that he would deny wanting even this one, small thing.

     Before there’s a chance for him to be persuaded into picking it up again, Superfly lifts up the keychain he picked up. On the other end, a miniature replica of the cannon they encountered earlier dangles from it. “ Here; found one you can actually lift, “ he says with a knowing grin, well aware of what he's doing.

[eyeknowmayhem]

“it’s for everybody at hq, yeah.” He’s sure if he asked what they wanted he would be getting a grocery list too fucking long. So he won’t bother. There’s a packaged lollipop with a scorpion inside hanging out with the rest of the key chains. He shoved in one — scratch that, all 3 into his coat pockets. He keeps scanning the shelf to look for something specific, but— it’s plenty difficult. He has to push up on his tip toes to reach the kitchenware. Lindsey needs a new coffee mug; the last one got shattered by mondo and Seymour trying to, allegedly, play beer pong. He doesn’t believe them for a second.

Speaking of geckos, it’s— near the plushie section where Superfly lingers. In the piles of dinosaurs, big cats, and killer whales, a gecko isn’t too outta place. Trade the green for blue scales and orange polka dots and it would be a dead-ringer for sure. It’s tempting to make a joke; the last time they talked about mondo was— was. (“I ruined him just like I ruined everything else.”) the worst. He knows better than to reopen old memories, not tonight of all nights. “I’m sure we can find something for your freeloaders too. God forbid I forget something and I’m the bad guy. You’d think I’m forcing em to do hard labor to actually clean up after their own messes.” It’s complaining, but not - mean. Mutanimals are a unit, and well— he knew what he was getting into. “Sorry. Just, y’know.” He laughs. “Clogged toilets. Fucking Christ,”

He walks on over. He takes a backpack shaped like a spaceship and puts the mug inside. On his way— eyeing the plush pile like he’s looking for a specific— there. A sea turtle with magnetic fins. It’s big ol shell barely fits in the bag, but hey, maybe it’ll cushion the mug. “I dunno. Slash keeps asking for the astronaut ice cream even though we got perfectly good ice cream at home. And it doesn’t taste like chalk.” Beat. “Hold on,” He grabs another gecko from the pile, and the backpack can barely accommodate both of them. It’s fine, he’s driving back. Or, most likely, badger superfly into taking him an express airway, so to speak. Only after he gets the backpack in order, does he look at him again.

“You can get somethin for yourself too, y’know. It’s not like either of us are footing the bill.” It would be left for the unlucky bastards who have to take inventory for tomorrow; who’s gonna miss a few plushies and overpriced trinkets anyway? It’s better off, to remember this night where something not terrible happened, for a change.

     AS THEY CONTINUE to move through the museum, it is done initially in silence, with no further word exchanged between them. ‘Fly wonders briefly if he ought to say something just to keep the mood light, but then he questions if Hob might not be in the mood for any further discussion. Either way, he can’t think of anything to say.

     It winds up being Hob who breaks the silence, and his words make the fly internally wince, prepared to issue an apology for placing his hands on him  ( he knows he has his reason, he knows that it did admittedly de-escalate things. He would still be sorry if it breached a boundary nonetheless because it seemed the gracious thing to do ). However, the cat mutant continues on, and ‘Fly soon realizes that Hob isn’t annoyed with him at all. He’s actually…THANKING him. Out of politeness, he manages to hide his surprise, offering the other a small nod.

     “ Of course, “ he responds first to his thanks, then adds, “ You have done the same for me. It is only right to return it. “ Not ‘you would do the same;’ ‘you HAVE.’ And perhaps the instances of Hob expressing patience are not quite the same as Superfly expressing it towards him in this case, but that does not mean that Hob is any less owed the same kindness. There’s a small hesitation, contemplating saying the next thing at the risk of sounding…SAPPY, but he takes the risk anyway:  “ Besides, what sort of friend would I be if I did not ? “

     They’ve reached the gift shop now, and with it comes Hob breaking another padlock open. When he offers Superfly the entrance first, the fly mutant gives a small huff of amusement. “ How thoughtful, “ he replies teasingly. Unsurprisingly, he has to duck to enter. At once, he finds himself attracted to the different trinkets; there are several clothing items like shirts, socks, and the like, but there are also bits of jewelry, gemstones, funky types of candy, boxes containing fun activities and stuffed animals. It’s not long before he’s picking something up — a stuffed gecko, to be precise. There’s a look of endearment there, as he holds it carefully in his claw while he fiddles with its little legs with his hand. However, there’s a bit of a pensive look on his expression as well, as though he’s carefully considering something. He briefly looks as though he’s thinking twice about it — and truthfully, he is asking himself if it’s worth it, given that his thoughts are currently drifting towards the idea of getting gifts for people who don’t want anything to do with him currently.

     As though putting a pin in the thought, he moves the stuffie from his main arms to his smaller ones before turning to Hob. “ Are you pickin’ somethin’ up for everyone ?  I mean— all your folks. “

[eyeknowmayhem]

So they get back to walking. The life displays give way to any old archeology sites, bare minimum decoration to allow the truly massive skeletons to shine. He’s sure there’s fossils of dinosaurs larger than they can fit inside this building— and hob can’t bring himself to care. No, he’s focusing on how he can retrace his steps and get to the gift shop. If he’s lucky, the outside lock will be easy enough to pick and they can make their escape through the parking garage. It’s an uncomfortable silence, with only their footsteps and the buzzing of lights overhead. Superfly went out of his way, putting up with this nonsense, his- outburst, and they’re near the end and what does he have to show of it? He’s not one for the cold shoulder. So, hob has to open his big mouth.

“Yknow, buzzkill, it takes somebody real brave or real stupid to try and grab me like that,” he hesitates, ear flicks once before back to resting position. “And with You being all— I dunno. Just talking to me, you didn’t have to do that but you did and it’s,” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. So he won’t. “…thanks, man.” There; now it’s outta his head and in the open. Can’t take back those words now. “You got the patience of a goddamn saint to put up with me.” And, well, maybe the same could be said for hob, too. But it’s not the same. They both know it isn’t.

He turns the corner, stopping to see if there was any extra security near the gift shop and yet, nothing but the padlock for the employees only entrance. He knows there was the grating on the customer side— but man, he was almost expecting a higher level of security. Ah well; he’s got the thumb claw sliding out and he’s fiddling with the lock like it’s second nature, the same shit eating grin on his face. It would be tempting to take everything that wasn’t bolted down— but, well, he does have a job to do. The lock pops off easy, and with it- so did the door to the gift shop- held open for superfly. Who said he didn’t have any manners? “After you.”

     THERE IS A small hint of relief when Hob does finally decide to turn away from the display, to turn away from the thing causing him distress, but ‘Fly’s concern is no less. The cat still seems shaken, and the fly wishes he could ease his troubles without him lashing out  ( and likewise wishes he could recognize that his trying to be gentle with him is not an attack ). Of course he’d never try to change Hob’s mind. He knows not what Hob’s been through. All he’s gathered is that Hob has been hurt and that is enough to throw away all reasons to say that he is wrong.

     “ You’re not crazy. “ It’s the last interjection he gives before dropping it per Hob’s request. He’s not sure why, he just— didn’t want him walking away from this thinking that ‘Fly thought that of him when he doesn’t. However, soon Hob says that he wants to leave. “ Yeah, alright, “ comes the casual response, his reply sounding no different than it would if they were leaving without incident.

     It masks the underlying feeling that he’s screwed this up somehow, and frankly, he’s grateful, because it feels like such an incredibly selfish feeling to have. And yet, it pierces through his exoskeleton and into the flesh beneath nonetheless, sinking straight to his heart. He can’t help but question if there were better ways to handle this, or avoid the episode altogether. He had failed to identify the issue before it pushed Hob to snap; if only he hadn’t been so— ignorant. Dammit, Hob had helped HIM. Why couldn’t he have returned the favour ?

     ( How soon he forgets that just a couple mornings ago, he too had clamped up despite Hob expressing worries for his drunken meltdown, too embarrassed to delve into it. Later, he may recognize this same reaction in Hob. But for now, he just feels bad. )

     The mention of the gift shop takes him by surprise. He really wasn’t expecting Hob to wish to linger for any reason. ‘Fly almost wants to ask if he’s sure, but for the sake of respecting his wish to just move on, he says, “ Oh. Yeah, yeah, for sure. We can do that. “

[eyeknowmayhem]

Hob could fire it up, say what he thought and how, frankly, he didn’t give a shit how nice his daddy was because he’s dead, and look where they’re stuck with now. Like one good human would be enough to paper over everything else. And hob would be wrong. Even worse, it wouldn’t do anything. He knows that— throwing a stupid tantrum over some hackjob in a freak show of other hackjobs ain’t doing a damn thing. That’s all she is, just a corpse. Fly took the liberty to block his view. What happened back there had to be a kinda— fluke. He shouldn’t let this bother him as much as it does. What good does it do? As if he needs a crash course in reopening old wounds.

And yet here he was, hackles raised and unable to catch his breath. Not to mention superfly, talking all low like he’s some sorta spooked animal. (He’s not talking down, then what is he doing?) What, is he afraid to make a sudden movement too? That’s not funny. He could laugh from the absurdity of it all. With the distance between him, he turns away from the display, from both pairs of eyes. It’s Useless to talk about it. Embarrassment makes its home nestled right beneath his stomach, weighing him down. “Good, 'cause you’re not changing my mind.” And he means it, this time. Hob reached into the other coat pocket to find the pack of cigarettes waiting for him— already halfway open.

“Just- forget about it, alright? Not yer problem, just crazy old hob being crazy.” He lost control, that’s the end of that. With a ciggie in his mouth and a lighter in his hand all that- nastiness can just- shut up, for a few minutes. Just needs to kickstart the thing again. “…we should just- go. I’ve seen enough of this shithole.” That can’t be it though, right? It’ll leave on a bitter note. He breathes out smoke, thinking on it. “…There’s a gift shop on the way out. Certain somebodys will be real upset with me if I don’t get ‘em something.” And they can forget about the other part, absolutely. He certainly wants to.

     HE DOESN’T FLINCH at Hob’s immediate, sharp reaction towards Superfly’s attempt to calm him. He does, however, respectfully remove his hand from his arm, offering him the bit of physical space he clearly needs.  “ I’m not talking down. “  His tone remains calm despite the other’s accusation  ( he knows he’s just— hurting  ).  “ I’m just trying to— “  What ?  To look out for him ?  To comfort him ?  He is trying to do both of these things, yes, but he could never say that to Hob without him taking it as an insult.

     Thankfully, Hob continues his rant, sparing ‘Fly from trying to figure out a more sensitive statement, and he says nothing as he does so. Not even as the cat mutant tells him how he just doesn’t get it  ( he does, at least somewhat. More than Hob knows, in any case ), says that ‘Fly is separate from this while Hob and his own folks  ( for they are the only ones that come to mind when he says ‘WE’ ), tells him that no one will hesitate to put him behind glass  ( he doesn’t know that Superfly already knows ). Despite his physical presence being so large, he is so quiet, offering little more than a sympathetic gaze and, at one point, a subtle movement in his neck as he swallows thickly.

‘I’m so happy your old man was different, but they aren’t.’  It sounds like a shot; at least, ‘Fly takes it as one. It’s at that comment that he breaks his silence, keeping his tone even, “ He was, and look at what happened to him. “  A small, almost silent sigh escapes him, head turning towards the floor again. His voice is softer still when he speaks again, “ Look, I— I do get it. There are people in this world who do shitty things. People who kill and destroy and RUIN everything they touch. I’m not arguing that. Never have. You know I never have. “ Truthfully, as much as he and Hob share different views about humans, Superfly has truly never debated the subject with Hob. He's debated the subject of Baxter, since that was is his father, but never humans as a whole. It was never his place. It still isn't.

[eyeknowmayhem]

“No, you don’t— get to do that, you,” he cuts himself off. The words don’t come easy. Feels like chomping on thorns. I’m not an animal no more, right? Isn’t that what you said? WHY ARE YOU TREATING ME LIKE ONE? He needs to pull himself together. Hob’s tail lashes behind him, bristled up to twice its size. “Don’t talk down to me, man. I’m fine,” Tries to meet ‘fly’s gaze and sees the concern beneath. The pity. He hates it. How it surrounds him and anchors him in place. He should say something to make him stop. Drive him out so he can walk away from all of this. The lights burn.

“You just don’t get it. I mean- you said it yourself, right? You’re not on the fuckin display case, You’re all seperate from- all of this and we’re not. You don’t think we’ll be behind that glass too one day? You think they’ll ever fuckin hesitate? They won’t,” they never ever do. It’s easier to say it’s because they’re evil, but it’s worse. They’re selfish, and it’s convenient. What better excuse for progress, right? This sorta tirade would be accompanied by his best fanfare and righteous rage. No cleansing wrath of fire here, it just chokes him up. He breathes out and all the bluster’s gone with it. How his form barely fills out his coat, like it’s just a cocoon to retreat into. “It’s not enough to blow her brains out, some hunter wanted a trophy, had to put her up on display. This,” he nods to the case behind him, “is just what humans do. I’m so happy your old man was different, but they aren’t. They don’t care about anything but their own personal gain.”

     HE’S FRANKLY NOT quite sure how Hob will react when he places his hand on him  ( not as though he fears being harmed  ), and yet he’s in no rush to remove it, brows knitted together in a look of pure CONCERN. He’s— never really SEEN Hob act this way before. No, he’s no stranger to the fiery and, at times, even explosive temper the cat mutant had to match his overall explosive tendencies. But this is . . . DIFFERENT. Undeniably, this is nothing like any previous instance of Hob snapping that Superfly’s seen before. There seems to be as much fear as there is rage.

     ‘Fly remains patient as Hob comes back to his senses, or at the very least snaps back to the present situation at hand. He doesn’t even break his gaze when the gun falls to the floor. When the other takes a step back, the fly’s hand recoils slightly, as though he were about to retract it; however, he hesitated. He could feel Hob trembling beneath his touch. It was faint, barely a ghost of a feeling under his palm. But it was no doubt there.

     The words that left Hob’s mouth…they probably ought to have SHOCKED Superfly a lot more than they did. However, his expression did not even so much as budge despite how…violent the words seemed. Instead, his head turns back to the display. Back to the unblinking bobcat. It’s after he does so that the other half of Hob’s statement follows, and when it does, ‘Fly’s gaze falls downwards, his head tilting down with the movement, brows furrowing even deeper. Admittedly, there’s a pang of GUILT in his abdomen at the realization as to what set him off. And here he’d been, questioning how Superfly didn’t feel disgust towards the pinned flies . . .

     He shifts his position slightly, a naturally bent leg extending to take a step over. He wound up putting himself between Hob and the bobcat, not because he worried for any damage Hob would do to it. But— well. He’s worried. And he feels as though that Hob…really should not be looking at it— HER right now.

“ Hob… “ he murmurs. “ Hey, look at me. You’re okay. You’re— look, just— take it easy. Don’t go hurtin’ yourself now… “ ( And he doesn’t even necessarily mean physically, as much as that was a risk too. )

[eyeknowmayhem]

It’s happening again. Knowing it’s happening doesn’t make it stop happening it just means the little fucker in his ribcage just hits his head against the wall until something breaks. He has to look away, but he can’t. She’s right there, staring at him. Behind the glass, behind the 2 way mirror. He wants to scream and curse and spit and nothing’s coming out. The roar dies in his throat. Where was he again? He keeps crossing the wires in all the wrong directions. Break the glass, break her heart, get out of sight. The lights above are burning him up. It was nothing in comparison to superfly’s claw pulling his arm down. Like lightning up his arm and he can’t, MOVE,

He flinches. The gun clatters to the ground and doesn’t go off and yet for hob it’s already forgotten. He breathes in like he’s coming up for air and — when he blinks, the world is solid again. He steps back, but not far. Her eyes are boring into him and the weight won’t leave. Wide eyed pupils fall to his empty hand and the claw grabbing his arm. His hand flexes and his own claws come out. Then back. Then out. Like even he can’t decide what he wants. He’s still shaking, because he’s weak. He’s not supposed to be WEAK anymore. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m putting outta her misery.” It’s pure venom. Not at superfly, no, something- someone, else. He laughs. It hurt more than anything. “I- I mean, for crying out loud, Look what they DID to her. They’re monsters. They’re goddamn monsters,”

     “ WELL, Y’KNOW, I could explain it, but now it seems a hell of a lot funnier if I don’t. “ It certainly doesn’t help his case against Hob’s statement that he must be messing with him if he’s not explaining it, but hey, who is he to kill a good bit ?  However, that lighthearted look falters into one of raised brows, compound eyes blinking twice.  “ …Should you be tellin’ me that ? “ he can’t help but ask.  “ ‘Cause that sounds like somethin’ I maybe shouldn’t know. “  Although, to be completely fair, who is he gonna tell ?  He’s certainly not heading over to Mutanimals HQ at this current time, or ever again, possibly. 

     Superfly’s words seem to go UNANSWERED, however. He soon finds that the entire world has suddenly gone . . . STILL. He does not immediately identify the reason for it, but he knows immediately that it has, and it’s solely because Hob has suddenly come to a complete halt. Eyes blink again, lips parting to say the cat mutant’s name, yet they shut again because the display catches his attention, the glint of the glass catching his eye. He sees the bobcat, posed elegantly in its crouched position, the faux amber eyes reflecting the fluorescent lights of the museum.

     Perhaps it is SHAMEFUL to admit, but he fails to see what Hob sees. ‘Fly sees it only as a specimen placed on display for the sake of showing an example of its kind. He does not recognize its victimhood as Hob does. He does not recognize HER victimhood as he does.

     An antenna twitches, and he glances at Hob. He’s suddenly become aware that Hob seems— OFF. Finally, he says something: “ Hob— “

     CLICK.

     The sudden appearance of the gun takes the fly mutant off-guard, his antennae shooting up and his wings fluttering in their shock. Nearly just as quickly as Hob’s pulled out the gun, Superfly’s reaching out to direct it away. It’s only with quick thinking and the swift self-reminder of his own strength that he doesn’t grip the cat’s arm outright; rather, his clawed hand rests on his forearm, using the absolute gentlest  (  but still no less urgent )  amount of force to guide Hob’s arm downwards, so that had he fired, it’d sooner chip the wood in the display’s stand than shatter the glass.

     He’s not sure why, for there is no one else around and presumably no risk of being caught let alone overheard, but he finds himself lowering his voice to just above a whisper as he questions,  “ What the hell are you doing ? “  Despite his cursing, there was no anger in it; just pure bewilderment.

[eyeknowmayhem]

Superfly’s tone of voice takes him off guard, more than he’d admit. When’s the last time he heard about someone dying? Right. Talking about his dear ol pa getting crushed and trying to get revenge by killing the only 4 mutants not responsible for it. Plus The inevitable fallout of spilled secrets and almost alcohol poisoning. As if hob couldn’t be any more of an asshole right now. His ears flatten against his head, his tail lowers with it, curled up around the coat. “You know I don’t mean it like that.” It sounds apologetic. Since when did he get apologetic? “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be around to annoy you til the end of time. You? Are Never escaping me.”

He steps a bit closer when they’re walking, a playful bump on the arm. The exo makes a subtle *clack* with the impact. Hob has to shake his hand and knuckles back out after. “I’m no stray. I got- my own crew, my own house. I mean we’re squatting in the warehouse but that don’t mean we’re strays.” He knows what being a stray is- this? This is so much better. Actual hot water? Food from a kitchen and not a dumpster? He’s never taking it for granted ever again. Speaking of food, the next room’s got- some kind of food web across the wall. From the plants, to the bugs, to the lizards, the birds and all the things that eat em alive. He thinks he sees an eagle near the end, if he squints.

The same eagles fly overhead- models with shiny dead eyes and hand made feathers. One even holds a mouse in its fake talons. He looks forward again. Most of the displays are separated by the glass - nature scenes from the valley of the desert to the thicket of the jungle. The last comment makes his ears perk up again. “I don’t know what that word means. You’re using made up words to sound smarter than me, is that it?” He huffs. “I have a phone. You’ve seen it,” he pulls it outta his pocket anyway, just for the principle of the thing. It’s a flip phone with its hinge hanging by a thread. scratch marks and cracks decorating the surface. Not to mention, the charm hanging off seems to have been mysteriously chewed off. “See? Not a Luddite. If that’s a real word and not you fucking with me.”

     “ NOT EVERYONE CAN be all guns blazing like you are, “ he quips in reply. “ The fact that the enemy also has firearms is usually a deterrent for most. “ He’s promptly dropping the subject beyond that, however; he’s certainly not about to have a silly debate over ‘battle strategy’ with Hob, of all people.

     Besides, Hob’s bringing up a subject that is far more interesting — at least, anyone else might think so. Anyone else but Superfly. At the cat mutant’s words that follow the nudge, the fly admittedly blinks, taken a little by surprise by his words. All he can do is let out a bit of an awkward laugh. “ Y’know, I can say for certain that I really had not thought of it like that. That’sss…kinda a creepy image, actually. “

     The subject of his and his siblings’ ages and how vastly they differ despite them not being that far apart chronologically is not one that was often brought up. It was one of those things where everyone was aware of it but it was normal enough that there was no reason to draw attention to it. That being said, ‘Fly is most definitely aware of the fact that there is a vast discrepancy between his lifespan and that of a typical housefly’s. He’s also well aware that, thus far, he has aged far faster than a human would. It’s for that reason that he tries not to think about what his total lifespan is — and why he tends to get a little uncomfortable when it’s brought up.

     “ You still on about that ? “ He’s joking when he says it, because obviously it’s still funny as hell to see Hob pressed about it. However, his next comment has the fly mutant scratching the back of his neck, mumbling, “ Maybe. “ There’s a bit of an unspoken ‘I DOUBT IT’ in there, because living ‘til 70 seems far-fetched at the rate he’s currently going, but for the sake of not making this discussion any more morbid than it is, he refrains—

     ‘I’ll be passing on any year now.’

     “ Jesus. “ The shocked and, admittedly, unsettled response comes out quickly, and perhaps a little stronger than ‘Fly had intended. Why would you say that ?  Please don’t say that. I didn’t need to hear that.  Can we drop the subject now ?  As much as those statements go flying through his head, he manages to recompose himself to opt to say nothing else, instead averting his gaze to some other part of the museum. He’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t a little embarrassed by his own reaction; it probably comes off as overly sensitive. But seriously, now is really not the time for him to be hearing shit like that.

     Hob must have realized that his joke was— NOT GOOD, for he soon clarifies that he’s just screwing around, prompting Superfly to look back at him again with a slight frown. Said frown deepens as he mentions how strays don’t live that long. How they get— KILLED, essentially. “ Rrright… “

     The recollection of Mondo’s remark, however, makes the fly’s expression shift to one with slightly raised brows, his antennae twitching. Then he chuckles, because— hey. That’s actually a little funny, alright ?  “ Nah, it doesn’t make you old. Just makes ya’ a massive luddite, that’s all. “

[eyeknowmayhem]

Hob watched as the colossus is rocked like a baby. Superfly turns back around with that stupid look in his eye and he can meet it. His expression drops. Not amused, not at all. There is a rising heat from his stomach up into his lungs and a feeling just as unpleasant to go with it. “I hate you, so much.” He’d call him a show off but it’s nothing that Superfly doesn’t already know. So they head through as normal. Already lighting another cigarette, the flame illuminating their path, the fake sand etched with tracks of all shapes and sizes. “Like there’s gonna be an actual bear in the museum.” Though, with the displays he wouldn’t want to take that chance either.

The path fades from sand and rock to a smoother surface. Pebbles and shells and etchings in the ground lead into the next section. A wooden archway with the sign “cabinet of curiosities” in big loopy letters. With the carvings of birds and bugs making up its support beams. When you get past the archway is where it opens up and come to life. The table in the center had a massive globe suspended on its axis, scrawls on different expeditions around the world, and from its center the displays radiate around it, in perfect radial patterns.

He steps toward the first display he can see, a drawer left open. A glass sheet separated the outside world from what’s inside. Pressed flowers and feathers from a notebook, a wolf tooth necklace and matching jaw bone cleaned and catalogued. A monocle with its string still connected, though a massive crack keeps it from being pristine. He moves to open the drawer above it, and it’s more of the same. A leather pouch flattened along with a scrap of skunk fur, faded feathers lined next to a piece of parchment with tears on the side. A sketch of a bird in flight, another standing in the water.

“…so this is supposed to be others egghead research then?” If the explorer uniform and its compass sitting behind glass is any indication. He goes to try and pry drawer off its hinges- but it’s as stubborn as ever. “I mean it’s cool and all but, isn’t it,” a possum skull catches eye and he’s quick to look away. He pushes it back as he found it, leaning against the cabinet- just, watching Superfly. “I dunno. The wolf teeth would make a sick ass necklace at least.”

     “ MY ASSISTANCE HAS limits that conveniently end just before ‘smuggling cannons out of museums,’ “ he quips in kind. Like— COULD he lift it ?  Yes, easily. However, even he questions how RESPONSIBLE it would be to allow Hob to wield a CANNON, especially knowing how trigger-happy the feline can be. So no, he’s not going to.

     As Hob attempts to push the two thousand pound weapon, Superfly stands there, a hand propped on his hip and what is undeniably a smug ass smirk on his face. Hey, listen, you can’t blame the guy for finding this no short of ENTERTAINING. He manages to withhold a chuckle after the cat mutant finds himself panting while bent over one of the wheels. Still, Fly’s got enough courtesy to ask, “ You good ? “

     Hob tries again to convince the fly mutant, and this time, Superfly permits himself to let out a small laugh. “ There ain’t nothin’ that ‘makes’ these muscles, man. That’s all me, right there. Au naturel. “  There is some level of truth in it — his strength has always been something that he simply inherited rather than had to earn. Buuut he’s mostly kidding around, because— come on. They both know he lifts. EVERYONE knows he lifts.

     Once the cat is on his feet and no longer leaning against the cannon, the fly steps up to the front of it, where the cannonball would be FIRED out if there even was one to fire right now. At his proposal for a future plan to steal the weapon, Superfly tilts his head slightly, then looks at the cannon. He then proceeds to latch onto the opening and — ever so fuckin’ nonchalantly and without any apparent sign of exertion — moves it back and forth, the wheels squeaking as he does so, like how one might move a stroller when trying to soothe the baby inside.

     After his little test, he says  ( while keeping a straight face ), “ Nah. A cable ain’t gonna be enough. You’re gonna need a proper rope or somethin’ thicker like that. “

     Then they’re moving on, trekking through the faux desert landscape, the exhibits turning from humans to animals once more. They’re about to enter a different wildlife exhibit — a replica of a mountain, showing off goats, cougars, eagles and the occasional hare — when Hob makes his comment. Superfly hardly even pays the surrounding taxidermy much mind, instead responding casually, “ Mm, it is after hours. They might just have that stuff shut off right now. “ He adds, mostly jokingly, “ I figure any staff stayin’ behind would rather not shit their pants after hearin’ a bear roar or some shit. “