#never fear‚ robbie will get his turn ;)

[samwpmarleau]

fic: around the shadows creep

whumptober day 8: sleep deprivation masterlist: tumblr, ao3 Daisy is captured by the Watchdogs after her quake in the storage facility isn’t as effective as she’d hoped.

All my power and training, and I still get kidnapped by these scumbags. Can I ever catch a goddamn break?

Is what goes through Daisy’s mind in various iterations as she slowly, groggily wakes. It’s little more than a blur how she got from investigating with Simmons to this. James’s betrayal, she remembers that, she remembers her arms breaking with the force of sending the Watchdogs to their knees, and she remembers the Watchdogs knocking out Simmons and discussing whether to leave her behind. Simmons isn’t Inhuman so her value is minimal, but she also is Daisy’s friend so perhaps she could be used as leverage, or so they argue amongst themselves.

But the in-betweens, what their decision was on Simmons, and what happens after she’s tased into unconsciousness, that she doesn’t know. None of it really matters, though. What matters is that she’s being dragged across gravel coarse enough to dig into her skin and wedge in her suit, then across a threshold onto frigid concrete. A warehouse, she guesses. She’s kind of offended at the predictability. Bigotry really has rotted their brains.

Then she’s abruptly yanked upwards into a cold metal chair and chained. Their shortsightedness is almost impressive. She can easily break out of the restraints with minimal power usage.

That is, if it weren’t for some sort of bracelets they slap on her wrists. As soon as the ends snap together, she discovers that her powers have been neutralized. Not so much as a tremor, let alone enough of a quake to get herself free.

Which sets her heart to racing. She’s a more than competent agent, but she’s not a super soldier, or even a gym nut like Mack. She can’t break through chains. Worst of all, no one knows she’s here. Even if the Watchdogs had fallen on the side of leaving Simmons behind, who knows how long it’d be before she woke up? And after that, how long it’d be until the team could figure out where Daisy is? Daisy doesn’t even know where she is. Her only solace is that she knows they will come for her. Regardless of how far she’s pushed them away, how much damage she’s done, they will come for her.

It’s just a matter of how quickly they can zero in on her location, and if she’ll be alive by the time they do.

“What do you want?” Daisy slurs. Her head feels like it’s filled with lead.

“What do we want? The extermination of your kind,” answers the man she decides to call One. His voice is slightly muffled. He’s probably hid behind one of the group’s ridiculous masks. Coward.

“Yeah, I get that part, dipshit. You guys are one-issue terrorists. What’s with the kidnapping? Why not ‘exterminate’ me?”

“Because we need information about where the rest of you are.”

“And because we want to have some fun,” chimes in another voice, Two.

“That, too,” says One. “We need to find the most effective means of making you talk.”

Great. Just great.

“Torture?” Daisy clarifies. “You want to torture me.”

“Or you can come clean right now. Tell us where you rats like to hide.”

“You guys hacked S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. Don’t you already have that information?”

“They changed the encryption. We can’t get in.”

Daisy lets out a laugh that echoes through the warehouse. “So you really were dumb enough to let Simmons go? Wow, you’re bigger idiots than I thought.”

One backhands her across the face. “We got you, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, unlucky for you,” says Daisy. She spits out a mouthful of blood. “I won’t tell you a damn thing.”

One sighs. “Don’t say we didn’t give you a chance to do this the easy way.”

———

Daisy’s made to wait so long that her legs begin to cramp from being forced into the same position. Her wrists chafe from trying to wriggle free. Her arms send constant shockwaves of pain through her body that it takes all the willpower she possesses not to cry. It’s part of their plan, of that she’s certain. They believe if she’s in enough pain and discomfort, she’ll give in. No doubt they’ll next offer some analgesics to dull it.

Well, joke’s on them. The last six months have been hell. There’s nothing they can do that’s worse than that.

———

They do their best, though. She gets both the carrot and the stick, questions and interrogation, bonds loosened for the session then tightened again once it concludes.

Still, she gives them nothing. Her silence is all that keeps the Watchdogs from siccing themselves on her fellow Inhumans, and she’s not about to allow that to happen.

———

She’s not sure how long they keep her in the chair. Another tactic, she assumes, depriving her of the time. They’re not entirely off on that; it’s unnerving to be in a room lit only by the lights overhead, neither windows nor clocks, not even a five o’clock shadow on her interrogators that could give her a clue.

Her silence is incredibly frustrating for them, she’s delighted to note; after several sessions, they remove her bonds entirely and frog-march her into a cell. It has a cot with the thinnest mattress she’s ever seen, a toilet, a conspicuously mounted camera, and nothing else. No clock, no distractions, no utensil with which she could try to Shawshank her way out. No painkiller, either, or even a roll of gauze to wrap her arms in. She wonders if she’ll be in this place for so long that once she’s rescued her bones will have to be re-broken in order to put them back together again. If they can be put back together again. She has no idea what kind of damage was done by her quake, nor what further damage was done by being tied to the chair.

No use dwelling on it. She’ll learn the extent eventually.

———

She does learn something in the interim — the Watchdogs’ next tactic. As she’s lying on her bed attempting to ignore the slight, irregular flickering of the bulb overhead in order to get some rest, music is suddenly piped into her cell. Not just music, loud music. Some sort of screamo, although she can’t place the artist. Maybe there isn’t an artist at all and they simply threw a bunch of sounds together. Either way, it’s deafening.

Her efforts to tune it out fail, as do her efforts to find some sort of pattern she can count. Best she can tell, it’s the same few bars repeated over and over and over again. She ponders the efficacy of this plan. How long until her hearing gets affected and she can’t even hear their questions? Or would hearing loss be a feature, not a bug?

Sleep, needless to say, is hard to come by.

———

They give up on the music after a few more sessions, for now. She’s tired enough to think that they might give her a short break.

They do not.

She celebrates the quiet up until she feels the temperature in her cell drop, and drop some more. Her suit helps at first, but it’s short-lived. While her sleeves and pants provide full coverage, they’re not insulated, built for movement and durability rather than warmth.

The cold does have one unintended benefit: Her arms go numb, which serves to finally lessen the pain.

She curls up onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and ducking into her jacket to futilely utilize her body heat. A flaming head would be pretty useful right about now.

———

“Not getting enough sleep?” laughs Two.

She’s come to actually enjoy the sessions, for the interrogation room they bring her into is heated. Thawing out is uncomfortable, but is nonetheless a welcome relief. She has yet to develop any frostbite, which is nice. The temperature isn’t quite cold enough. Barely.

“You know I’m not,” Daisy replies. She tries her best to keep her voice even, clenching her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering.

“You’ve lasted longer than some expected, but we’ve got time. You’ll beg for mercy eventually.”

Daisy leans back in her chair to get some more blood flow going. “You don’t know me very well. I don’t care how cold or loud you make my cell, I’m not going to talk.”

“We’ll see.”

“Okay, say I do break. Then what, you’ll kill me? What’s your endgame here?”

“We might kill you, yeah. We might not. That all depends on if you have any other uses.”

“Uses like what?”

“Whatever we want.” Two gives her a vacant smile. “Or whoever.”

———

Tactic Number Three is light.

She doesn’t think much of it at first. She’d gotten used to the flickering a while ago, and has learned to mostly dissociate from the cold and the music, which the Watchdogs decide to return to. But at least with their previous tactics they’d turn the light off for hours at a time.

No longer is that the case. The light remains on, bright and flickering and faintly buzzing. What she wouldn’t give to have her powers again. She could explode the bulb and finally get some darkness. But she doesn’t have them, the bracelets as tight as ever around her wrists.

��——

When Daisy hears the banging and the screaming, she ignores it. Her brain has been sluggish for a while now, for one, and for two, she assumes it’s more of the same. Music, screams, what’s the difference? She hasn’t told the Watchdogs a thing, so they must be graduating to a new method.

When the door slams open, she prepares herself for another round of questioning. It’s hard to tell exactly how many interrogators she has, for they all wear masks and come in cycles, but from their voices, she’s pretty sure there are four. She wonders who it’ll be today.

Whatever. It’s irrelevant, because she will not break. She will not break. She will not break. She will not —

“Robbie?” Even as she says his name, she doesn’t entirely trust that he’s not a hallucination. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, and his face swims in front of her, unclear.

Well, not his face. Ghost Rider, more specifically, is what swims in front of her, fire spitting and raging from the cracks in his skull. When had her life gotten so weird that seeing a flaming skeleton would make her feel happy?

“Are you actually here?” she asks.

Ghost Rider merely tilts his head.

“Let me talk to Robbie. Now.”

She knows full well she sounds pathetic rather than commanding, but Ghost Rider obliges anyway. She watches as the fire extinguishes and skin and muscle grow in its place to reassemble Robbie Reyes.

“I’m here,” he confirms.

She feels tears well in her eyes. At long last, someone is here to save her. “Please tell me you took all of those guys out.”

“Yeah. Coulson’s probably cuffing them as we speak.”

“Coulson? Why the hell are you with Coulson?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Can you walk?”

Daisy nods and gets to her feet. At which point she promptly stumbles as the room spins, her lack of peace and sleep messing with her equilibrium. She manages to catch herself on the wall with a hiss as the concrete sends a shot of pain through her arms.

“Guess that’s a no. Come on.”

Robbie loops an arm around her waist to take most of her weight. Normally, she’d tell him to stuff it, that she’ll manage on her own. But her body is beat up more than it ever has been, her brain is fuzzy, she’s tired, and the only thing more mortifying than leaning on Robbie would be for him to have to carry her out, so she allows the help. Just this once.

“How did you find me?” she asks.

“Team effort.” He sounds irritated at that, not that she’s surprised. If there’s anyone listed in the dictionary under “loner,” it’s him. “Simmons mainly. She knew where you guys were separated and had some guesses on where they might take you from there. Fitz did some algorithm thing, Coulson came up with the gameplan. Mack’s cleaning up any Watchdogs I missed.”

Sounds about right. “They’re a well-oiled machine.”

“More than can be said for you. You look like a train wreck.”

“Gee, thanks. You win Biggest Flirt in high school?”

“Didn’t graduate. So no.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, like you have room to judge?”

She doesn’t, really. She didn’t graduate either. Still, “At least I don’t murder people.”

“That again?”

“Yeah, that again. Murder isn’t — it —” Words fail her as she devolves into a coughing fit. Apparently the cold and dirty cell hadn’t done her lungs any favors.

Robbie stops walking, and once the fit finally subsides, he asks quietly, “What’d they do to you?”

“The usual,” she grimaces. “Torture, threats. Creativity isn’t the Watchdogs’ strong suit.”

“Torture?”

“Some restraints here, deprivation there. Some unspecified ‘whatever we want.’ Never got around to that part, though.” She looks up at him and bats her eyelashes. “My knight in shining armor showed up.”

Robbie is not amused. “Is you making this all into a joke supposed to be for my benefit or yours?”

“It’s not for anyone’s benefit.”

“Still set on that death wish, then?”

“If you’re looking for a thank-you, don’t. I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”

“Holding on pretty tight for someone who doesn’t want help.”

Daisy looks down to see her hands clenched in his jacket. She hadn’t noticed. Immediately, she lets go and attempts to walk on her own, but gets only so far as to straighten before getting lightheaded as the ground sways beneath her feet. Robbie’s continued grip on her waist is all that keeps her from toppling over.

“I don’t want your help,” she says, frustrated that her body won’t comply.

“Well, tough shit.”

“Okay, so get me out of this building, but you don’t need to bring me back to S.H.I.E.L.D. You don’t need to go back to them either. Just disappear.”

“I told you, I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“There’s this book. It’s dangerous and it needs to be destroyed. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s going to help me do that.”

“A book? You can’t find that yourself?”

“I could. It’d just take longer.”

“And rescuing me, how’s that part of a search for a book?”

“It’s not. You’re a detour. The sooner I get you to them, the sooner I can get what I came for.”

Daisy grits her teeth, knowing there’s no convincing him now. He’s singleminded, and even if Robbie were inclined to agree to her proposition, she doubts Ghost Rider would. Forcefully escaping is not an option. The power-dampening bracelets remain affixed to her wrists, and if she can’t even stand by herself, she’d be beaten in a fight against him quicker than she was the first time.

“These people care about you, Daisy. You should let them help.”

“Don’t preach at me,” she snaps. “You of all people.”

“Fine. I’ll deliver you then we’re done.”

“Great.”

As promised, as soon as they make it onto the Zephyr and she’s remanded into Simmons’s custody, Robbie strides off in a huff. Or maybe not in a huff, she can’t really tell. He’s just like that. She decides Most Moody would be his senior superlative, if he had one. She’s not sure the man even knows how to smile.

He used to, though. The handful of photos she’d seen in the Reyes home from before Robbie made his deal with the devil proved as much. It’s a shame he doesn’t smile anymore, she thinks. He had a nice one.

[vashtijoy]

This one is extremely strange, so strange that I think I must have got it wrong somehow? Here's a line from Akechi's Black Mask navigation. Yeah, you know which one this is going to be:

Here's the English audio:

Is it me, or is something a little... off, here? Look at the portrait. Doesn't he look a little... calm? Downbeat, even?

Here's another use of the same portrait. This is not a laughing statement:

Akechi has a laughing navigator portrait, of course:

it's okay goro we know you're very normal

So we've got a mismatch between the portrait and the English line. Let's have a listen to the Japanese audio:

They're a bit... different? He's not laughing, he's not gloating. Just "Huh, I guess that was a thing that happened..."

So what's going on here?

translation time

Akechi 敵1体逃走！仲間に見捨てられたようだね。 teki ittai tousou! nakama ni misuterareta you da ne This one just got betrayed by its teammate! Ha, imagine how that feels! [lit. One enemy fled! Looks like this one was abandoned by its friend, huh?] One more enemy out of the way! So this last one got dumped by its friend, huh?

Let's talk about 見捨てる misuteru—"to abandon". misuteru pops up regularly in the P5R script. It comes up when someone's being ditched, bailed on, forsaken by God—generally left behind: if your friends run out on you, you are being misuterued.

Are there any contexts where misuteru can mean betray? Sure. If you leave a friend held hostage to die, the shadow will accuse you of misuteruing them. nakama o misuteru is used consistently here, similarly to Akechi's line above—"you betrayed your friend by leaving them to die".

Here's Kawakami, at the end of her confidant, resolving to never abandon any of her students again:

Kawakami でも、これからは君のことも守るよ。教師として、絶対、見捨てたりしないから。 demo, kore kara wa kimi no koto mo mamoru yo. kyoushi toshite, zettai, misutetari shinai kara. But from now on, I'm going to protect you too. As your teacher, I will never betray you.

What does Kawakami do? She tries to help her student Takase, but in the end abandons him; she believes she betrayed him to his death. But she betrayed him by giving up on him; by abandoning him. She misuterued him.

Here's Futaba, during her apology to Joker for dumping him at the start of Maruki's reality:

Futaba てかむしろ怒るだろ!{F1 82}のこと見捨てたんだぞ!? te ka mushiro okoru daro! <given name> no koto misuteta n da zo!? Why wouldn't you be!? I betrayed you! Don't you get that!?

Under Maruki's influence, Futaba loses herself in her happy family life, and leaves Joker to handle things essentially alone. Futaba betrays Joker by abandoning him; she misuterus him.

how does akechi use misuteru?

Besides the usage above, Akechi has two other uses of misuteru in P5. One is in his deleted Mementos mission from the third semester:

Akechi 君たちのことだしこういう人間は見捨てておけないだろう? kimi-tachi no koto da shi kou iu ningen wa misutete okenai darou? Well, considering what you and your group do, I imagine you could hardly abandon him to his fate...

This doesn't mean "betray". There's no relationship between Joker and the mission target—there's no betrayal. There's just an abandoning—a refusal to help.

Akechi やっぱり馬鹿は⋯お前らだ。見捨てて行けば、よかったのに⋯ yappari baka wa... omaera da. misutete ikeba, yokatta no ni... The real fools... are you guys. You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago... [lit. the real fools... are you guys. if only you'd [just] abandoned me here...]

Now this line is a doozy. Look at that use of misuteru here; in vanilla, it was his only use of this word. Akechi has just got done explaining that being unwanted and cast aside is the thing he fears most of all. He has shaped his life around it. He's done murder for it. Everything he's become, he became, at base, because he was abandoned—because he was misuterued.

It's here, at the very end, that he turns his back on that. This unwanted child who has killed to be wanted—he looks at Joker and the Phantom Thieves on the other side of the engine room shutters, people who've proved that they value him and want him around, for himself. And he says to them—no; you're idiots; why didn't you abandon me, like everyone else has? He says to them, I won't let you die here, and I care about that more than I care about being abandoned.

Everything about Akechi is resolving at this moment. He transcends his obsession, fear and trauma. And that word misuteru is doing a ton of heavy lifting—because if Akechi can't have what he wants, then he'll reject it. He makes a free choice, for once in his life.

This moment influences him for the whole of the third semester. And when we hear him say misuteru later on, we should remember this. When black mask navigator Akechi notes the Shadow being abandoned to its fate, he isn't laughing about it; he's thinking about it. In his head, he isn't the betrayer, thinking of Joker in the interrogation room; he is the betrayed, being left behind by everyone he ever hoped would care about him. He's being left behind behind that engine room door.

This line as localised, taken in isolation, can transform your reading of Akechi's character and motives—which is why it's so important to look at the whole of canon, and not single cherrypicked lines. Step forward, "I hate you"

unhinged ranting

Lemme be clear here: this line has always pissed me off for its inconsistency. Akechi reacts against the engine room ending in the third semester, sure. Almost the first thing he does is to rub that deal they made in Joker's face. He's desperate not to be viewed as that pitiful object on the floor. He's desperate to keep up walls between himself and the others—for whatever reason.

But after 1/2, he doesn't really gloat about what he's done. He doesn't argue with Futaba's threat to him on 1/11—"if you ever betray us again, we'll make sure you regret it."; he just agrees to her terms, which he knows are well deserved. He's not walking around like "lol, I got you arrested and tried to murder y'all and there was that whole thing"; even unhinged combat Akechi doesn't do that. Except for this one line. When he suddenly reveals that, deep down, he thinks the whole thing was hilarious.

Except he didn't do that at all. If he did, I think he'd find the others tolerated him a lot less. And he's already walking a knife edge with many of them.

What was the translator's brief here? Honestly, I have no idea. Did they even have access to the original audio? Did they have time to play it? Did Atlus give them a brief to make this guy just as crazy insane as possible?—because we know they told Akechi's JP VA, Soichiro Hoshi, to underplay it.

Either way, I don't think the line as localised (and as delivered, excellently, by Robbie Daymond) corresponds to the Japanese audio. traduttore, traditore—translators are traitors. Even me

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.1 (2024/6/18)—it's 1/11, not 1/13!

v1.0 (2024/6/18)—first posted.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Stevie’s Garage

steddie, omegaverse, 1960s, omegas entering the workforce, single parents, cw: vague references to suicide

Steve liked working with his hands. As a child that meant playing with lincoln logs and tinker toys, after he presented it meant baking a sewing. Then his no-good, two-timing alpha left him for his secretary, with two pups, Danny (6) and Jenny (7 1/2). Steve won full custody in the divorce, and at least his ex pays his alimony on time.

But it isn’t enough to live on, not with the mortgage and the kids. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to worry about the house falling apart; he’s been doing home repairs the entire time, learned to change his own oil in his car, can fix a flat tire with ease.

More and more omegas are driving now, and Steve figures they would appreciate service from someone who won’t talk down to them. He gets a loan from his aunt, a maiden omega who invested well, and opens his own automobile service station: Stevie’s Garage.

Robin helps him get set up: painting the sign, ordering supplies, answering phone calls, while Steve gets under the hoods and gets his hands dirty.

He does well enough that after the first month he puts an ad in the paper to hire a second mechanic. He figures it will take a while to find an alpha (or even a beta) who can stand working for an omega.

Much to his surprise, a man with dark curls and a shy smile comes by later that week asking if the job is still available. Steve has Eddie check the car on the lift, and he finds the loose fan belt in a couple minutes, changes it out.

Steve hires him on the spot.

It turns out Eddie’s got a pup, too. Carrie’s in Danny’s class at school, and all Eddie will say is that her mother isn’t around anymore. Steve doesn’t pry. It means the three pups ride the bus to the garage after school and play together there until the workday is done. Jenny’s bossy, a bit feral, and loyal to a fault. The first day Carrie gets off the bus with them, she asks why she isn’t going home to her mom, all childish bluntness.

“Mama died in the bathtub when I was really little, then I went to live with Daddy,” Carrie answers, just a statement of fact.

Steve’s glad he didn’t pry.

After that, Jenny is as protective of Carrie as she is of her brother.

Three months after he hired Eddie, Steve admits to himself that he likes the alpha. More than likes him. Eddie smells nice, and he’s gentle with the pups, never raises his voice in anger—only in excitement or fear—he tells jokes and stories to pass the time, sings along with the radio. But mostly, he looks at Steve like a starving man looks at bread when he thinks the omega isn’t looking.

Steve wants to feed him.

They both have engine grease under their fingernails, are covered in heavy-duty cotton, Steve’s hair is under a kerchief; there is nothing particular sexy about the moment. But Steve can’t wait any longer, and he presses up against Eddie, pins him in place and kisses his mouth.

“I’m dead, yeah? The lift fell and I was crushed by Mrs. Wheeler’s Bel Air, and I’m dead,” Eddie babbles when their lips part.

“Not dead,” Steve replies with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve leans in for another kiss, one that Eddie deepens, his tongue slipping easily between parted lips. “I’ll need to get Robin to babysit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Munson. You’re taking me out dancing.”

✨✨✨

Steve answers the door with his housecoat still on, crouching down to say hello to Carrie first, the pup throwing her arms around his neck. “Head into the living room, honey, the kids are doing a puzzle with Robbie,” he says, watching her scamper past him into the house. He turns to Eddie with a soft smile, “Just give me a couple minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie agrees, smile just as soft.

Steve disappears to his bedroom, and Eddie waits awkwardly in the doorway. He hears laughter from deeper in the house, followed by Robin saying, “Hey there, Care-Bear, come sit by me.”

He’s ruminating on how nice it is to have people who adore his kid as much as he does around, to give her that big family feeling, at least a little bit. Then Steve comes down the hallway wearing a proper dress, and Eddie quite literally stops breathing.

Dressed to the nines, Steve is a revelation, but he simply takes Eddie’s hand and says, “So, where are you taking me?”

“Enzo’s,” Eddie answers, no longer worried that it’s too much. Steve deserves the nicest restaurant in town for their first date. Steve deserves the best of everything.

Not that either of them has fancy tastes, not knowing what half the things on the menu are. Eddie gets spaghetti and meatballs, and Steve gets a chicken dish with some kind of red sauce. They talk and trade bites of food, both careful as they eat—Steve due to a lifetime of practice, Eddie because he realized as soon as the waiter took their order that he’d made a mistake and that leaving without marinara on his shirt would be a miracle.

After, he tells Steve to order dessert, and they split a tiramisu. Eddie pays the bill without really looking at it, having kept a tally in his head of the prices by habit, leaves a nice tip, and helps Steve up from his seat. “Ready for that dance?”

Steve smiles and nods, following Eddie to the dance floor. Enzo’s has a live band on the weekends; “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole starts just as Steve steps onto the parquet dance floor, his arms settling easily around Eddie’s neck. “I love this song,” he murmurs as they start to sway.

“Makes sense,” Eddie murmurs, “You’re certainly unforgettable, Steve.” They’re silent after that, moving to the music, bodies pressed close. A new song starts, and they keep swaying, dancing merely an excuse to hold each other in public, to trade small kisses.

“Robin’s planning to spend the night at my place,” Steve says once they are safely back in Eddie’s car.

“Oh?”

“We still have plenty of time…”

“Steve?”

“Take me back to your place, Eddie.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, driving on autopilot, as Steve rubs his hand up and down Eddie’s thigh.

Steve pounces on him as soon as they get through Eddie’s front door, kissing him hard and reaching for his belt. They shed clothes down the hallway, until they reach Eddie’s bedroom, leaving the lights off, everything illuminated well enough by the nearly full moon.

Eddie stops breathing again. Steve is a vision in only his slip, white satin and lace showing off so much more of his skin than Eddie’s ever seen. Carefully, he reaches out, suddenly nervous—a crass, unworthy man standing before the loveliest omega on earth—and pinches a bit of fabric at Steve’s waist, afraid to touch more.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, placing a hand over Eddie’s, “It’s okay. I’m still just me. Not gonna break, Ed.”

Everything after that is slow and sweet. Perfect.

Eddie cries tears of pleasure as he sinks into Steve’s wet heat. Steve mewls at being properly knotted for the first time in years. They fall asleep tangled together, the most relaxed either of them have felt, possibly ever.

Steve wakes early, before the sun is up. Eddie stirs beside him as soon as he moves, and Steve is happy to take a couple minutes to kiss.

There’s plenty of time to get home before the pups wake.

✨✨✨

Big thanks to @itcanbepalped for sharing the inspo with me and then riffing for a bit! Love you, Mads!!!

[chaosgremlinmunson]

For @steddie-week July 3: mutual pining

Robin was going crazy, she was going certifiably insane, and she needed her best friend to kindly pull his head out of the proverbial sand and get it the heck together already. She'd been watching over the weeks and months since Eddie's recovery. She had witnessed the drug induced flirting from one high out of his gourd Eddie Munson and the subsequent flustered blush on her platonic soulmate's face who insisted he was just like that with everyone. She'd wanted to bang her head against the sterile white walls during that conversation, because firstly, no the fuck he wasn't. Eddie teased, of course, but to look at Steve Harrington and his drug added mind to supply “Guardian angel, ethereal beauty, my heartbeat, the sun in my sky, moon and stars envy your beauty, love, baby, sweetheart” no, these words were those of a love-struck man. She noticed how Eddie almost shrunk into himself when he saw them again, no longer high, but a fear set in his eyes as though he remembered the sugar sweet words he'd spoken to Steve. She noticed how Steve approached slowly, talking as though nothing happened just telling Eddie how happy he was he was still here. Still alive, still breathing.

She watched as Steve made himself available to always be there, helping Eddie to and from appointments, helping him with home exercises, being in his space and making sure he never went without.

She watched as they both fell ever deeper everyday together, further and further while believing the other couldn't possibly feel the same.

She was here now witnessing just one more instance of this absolutely convoluted mutual pining. Robin sighed and stood up. Both men looking up at her with surprise, she bit her lip for a moment, sighed again, gestured between them, and simply raised an eyebrow.

When neither seemed to respond, she huffed a breath and then started, “Alright. Enough of this. We all know I'm queer, okay? Everyone knows now and accepts me, you both cheerlead me constantly. Eddie,” she turned her eyes to him, “we know there had been rumors, I won't put you or assume anything, but my heart tells me you like Steve, maybe even love him. And Dingus,” she turned back to him, “I know the different expressions you have. There's something you're thinking or feeling for Eddie and I need you, for the love of God, to please tell him already.” She finished and looked back and forth between them again, nodded her head once and walked out the front door of the new Munson residence.

By nightfall her phone was ringing, she picked it up after a moment to hear Stevie on the other end, “Bobbin, thank you. I don't know how to tell you how thankful I am, we talked for hours and, Robbie-bird, he's my boyfriend now!”

“I'm happy for you Dingus. I love you, and I needed to see you both happy. I'm glad I was right, now get some rest and the three of us can go grab lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay Bobby, love you too, goodnight.” He whispered back a smile evident in his voice.

Robin could dance. She was so happy for her friends, now to conquer her own pining heart and speak to Vicky.

[daisyblog]

Love at Wembley

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry asks YN to marry him at Wembley.

In the last twelve years, Harry had learnt a lot about YN. He’d learnt that she still needs a cup of tea before bed to fall asleep, or she’s up until the early morning tossing and turning.

He knows she still blasts One Directions and all their solo songs at every opportunity she gets, singing all the words and nagging both Harry and Louis about when they were going to get back together.

Her favourite song to listen to when she’s having a sad day or when she misses her Mum and sister even more is Angels by Robbie Williams.

Louis was her rock, they don’t go a day without talking or at-least texting each other. She doted on him and vice verse and Harry often feared how much she told Louis about their relationship, because if YN was anything shy didn’t cover it.

On the subject of not being shy, their sex life had only grown and got better as they aged. Harry had learnt that her favourite position was between doggy-style or missionary with Harry’s hand around her neck in a loose hold.

Another thing that Harry had learnt was that YN disliked anything that was romantically cringey, like being proposed to in Paris. Her words being “It’s just not special, everyone gets proposed to there” whilst watching a Tik Tok of a couple getting engaged whilst standing near the Eiffel Tower. Harry made a mental note of never proposing in a popular engagement location.

This brings him to this moment where he is walking through London with Louis and Jeff on his way to choose a ring for YN. He’s known for the last twelve years he wanted to marry her. But with fame, touring and losing important people, it never seemed like the right time to pop the question.

As they walk into the store that Harry has been researching for what feels like years. They’re met with more options than they imagined. He thinks back to the day he asked Louis permission to marry YN, because if he wanted anyone’s blessing it was his.

---

They were visiting Doncaster one weekend for the twins birthday and after the busy day of celebrating the twins turning nineteen, with lots of food, family, friends, Louis and Harry had found themselves sitting out in the garden together.

As Louis took a drag from the white stick he held between his fingers, Harry breaks the silence “I..uh…I wanna ask you something”.

Louis tilts his head to look at him and blows the smoke out from his lungs and flicks some ash off his cigarette end before responding “You can ask me anything mate”

Harry nervously turned his rings on his fingers, Louis hadn’t seen him this nervous for a long time. “I wanna ask YN to marry me…and…I guess what I’m trying to ask is for your permission”.

Louis took another long drag from the white stick, before blowing the smoke out in front of him and then scratching his cheek with his thumb and tried his best to keep a serious expression. Harry still anxiously twisting the rings that sat on his fingers.

Letting out a sigh, “All I can say is…it’s about fookin’ time man”, causing both men to look at each other and let out a laugh. “No ‘onestly you have my permission, blessing and whatever else you need”.

---

Bringing Harry back to the moment of where the three men sat in a consultation room, looking at the few options they had chosen. Louis had already said which one he thought YN would love. Jeff stating that YN would say ‘yes’ even if Harry proposed with a Haribo ring.

Harry stared down at the ring that sat delicately in the box in front of him. The small band held a diamond on top with a touch of green. He didn’t understand why Louis would be so adamant that YN would love this one.

“I still don’t understand why you think this is the one” Harry spoke with a tad of stress in his voice, picking up the box that held the ring to study it more.

Louis and Jeff shared a look before Louis let out an annoyed sigh. “Mate…please just listen to me…Lottie literally sent me all the photos of engagement rings that YN has sent to her of the last few years…and guess what they’ve all had a touch of green in them”.

Harry nervously played with his bottom lip with his fingers “Why green..I just don’t kno-“

Interrupting him, Jeff intervened “H..when you look in the mirror..what do you see?”

Harry look at his manager and friend with a scowl, confused by the questions.

“Uh myself” Harry sarcastically replied.

“And what do you look at yourself with?” Louis prompted.

Harry took a moment to think, before he had a lightbulb moment “Uhh..my eyes”. Louis and Jeff stared at him waiting for the moment where it clicked. “My eyes are green”.

“Well done Mate…you got there in the fookin’ end” Louis sarcastically said, earning a nudge from Harry. Harry couldn’t wipe the grin off his face at the new fact he had learnt. YN wanted a green ring to represent the colour of his eyes. How romantic. “She’s romantic and soppy when she wants to be”.

---

Harry wanted the moment to be special but with the last leg of the tour underway it was proving to be difficult. He wanted the moment to be just YN and him, but being on tour it was rare for them to have a moment to themselves.

He debated popping the question whilst he had a show in Coventry, as it was the first show in the UK but something was telling him it just wasn't the right moment. He considered asking her in Paris, but then remembered she hated the thought of it being in a popular location. He began to believe there was no right place, but being inside Wembley Stadium made him realise that this is where it all began for him. If he didn't go to an audition, he wouldn't have met the love of his life.

Anne, Des and Gemma had arrived along with Harry's auntie, uncle and cousins. They all knew Harry had planned to ask YN today, ahead of the show, but the suspence was eating at them.

There was a quiet spell before the opening acts took to the stage. Harry took this as his opportunity "Babe...will you come with me to the stage a second?". Anne and Gemma sent him an excited grin as Teddy was cuddled up on Gemma's lap, knowing this was the moment they had been waiting for, for the last twelve years.

YN followed Harry out to the hallway as they made their way to the stage, Harry's arms slung over her shoulder and the little box discreetly hidden in his short pockets.

As the walked out and took in the empty stadium, before the room was about to be filled, Harry stood behind YN, his arms wrapped around her front resting across her collarbones.

"I'm so proud of you Bubs" YN began as she leaned back into his hold "Four nights in Wembley..you've absolutely fookin' smashed it"

Harry leaned down a pressed a kiss to her cheek "It all started here for me..and to be back just feels so fucking incredible".

"It's crazy to think that if you and Louis didn't audition that year...we wouldn't even know eachother" YN thought out loud, her hands reaching up to hold onto Harry's that were still wrapped around her "Fook...I don't even want to think about that". YN reached in her pocket for her phone "Let's take a photo..I wanna remember this moment".

After YN snapped the selfie of her and Harry, she studied the photo for a second, before turning to show Harry. As she turned, she realised Harry was no longer standing behind her, but knelt down on one knee with a black box in his hand, holding the little ring that was about to be on her finger. Capturing the moment, Lloyd was hiding behind one of the black boxes, positioned to the side of the stage.

For once, YN stood still and speechless. Harry began the speech he had rehearsed in his head for the last few weeks.

"YN..baby..it's been twelve years since I made you mine and my life has never been better...I would love to let you know all the reasons why I love you...I love you because you make me laugh when I needed it most...I love you because you inspire me to be a better person...I love you because you are extremely patient with me during my lowest points...I love you because you are an amazing sister who loves and takes care of your family...I love you because I know you’ll also be a great mother to our children someday...I love you because you have dreams and you’re not afraid to go after it...I love you because you dare to be yourself and own who you are...I love you because of how the light shines each morning together...I love you because of how comfortable silence can be, with you...and most importantly, I love you so much that I’ll want to be with you forever and I hope you’ll say yes. Will you marry me baby?"

Tears flowed down YN's face, Harry had always made her feel loved and wanted but listening to him list all the things he loves about her, was overwhelming. YN leant down and held Harry's cheeks as she kissed him deeply. Lips moving together, YN mumbled "Yes".

Standing up, Harry took the ring from the box and placed it on YN's finger, both admiring the start of their commitment to each other. "You're gonna be Mrs Styles".

"And I can't fookin' wait" YN excitedly announced, before Harry cupped her face and brought her in for another kiss. Their lips together in sync, YN's top lip being squeezed between Harry's as he deepened the kiss and moving his hand to sit at the bottom of her back to pull her even closer.

Pulling apart, but their hands still attached to one another, they couldn't wipe the smiles from their faces. "I love you"

"I love you more...Mrs Styles to be"

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yntomlinson and harrystyles Mr and Mrs Styles to be👰🏻‍♀️🤵🏻 View all 15,677 comments

annetwist Congratulations my Darlings ❤️ I can now officially call you my daughter-in-law xx

jefezoff Congratulations Lovebirds!

mitchrowland Congrats guys!

gemmastyles I've finally got a sister 💕 Congratulations to my faves xx

niallhoran Finally!! Will I be bridesmaid or groomsman?😂

louist91 12 years too late!! Happy for you both xx

lottietomlinson I can't wait for the wedding prep! Love you both 🫶🏼🖤

the.daisytomlinson my sis is getting married 🤍

thephoebetomlinson omg! Sooooo excited😆

lloyddddddddddddddddd Congratulations! So glad I got to capture the moment.

pillowpersonpp The dream couple! Congratulations both

bradgouldtraining Yessss! Absolutely buzzing for you both ✌🏼

madidiaz Cuties! Congratulations both❤️

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney fanfictioncafe lilfreakjez jerseygirlinca iamahallucinationnn @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @indierockgirrl @hittiesontour @or-was-it-just-a-dream

[djloveyou3000]

Belladonna

Chapter four

Gif by : @hollow-epitaph

Russell raised a brow, taking a mental note to bring it up in the future—how innocent Bell looked at that moment, lost in their own little world. His jaw clenched as he observed the lock on the journal, a clear sign that Bell had taken steps to keep it hidden. His mind raced, wondering what else they might be hiding from him.

Secrets weren’t something he could tolerate, especially from Bell. Oh, especially from Bell.

The journal felt like a window into parts of Bell’s life that he couldn’t see, and he hated that. If he could, he’d crack their skull open, dig into their mind, and view every memory like a film reel. He’d keep the ones he wanted for himself, lock away what Bell didn’t need to remember, and ensure that everything about them belonged solely to him.

Their age, name, birthplace, family—every detail. When had they met Perseus? What was their relationship to him? Were they ever in love before? And if so, with who? Russell’s jaw tightened at the mere thought. If anyone had dared to claim Bell’s heart before him, he’d ensure they suffered a slow, excruciating demise.

America’s monster always gets what he wants, after all.

Russell’s thoughts took a darker turn as he wondered about Bell’s past. Did they ever have children—biological, adopted, or through surrogacy? If so, those children would also belong to him. He would ensure they were his family, too, and Bell’s past wouldn’t matter. And if Bell didn’t have children? Well, that could be arranged.

He never thought about having kids with his ex-wife. The feelings he had for her were nowhere near what he felt for Bell. But Bell was different. With Bell, the idea of children wasn’t just tolerable; it was intoxicating.

And marriage…well, that was a topic Russell had taken into his own hands. He glanced at Bell, a small, secretive smirk tugging at his lips. They didn’t know yet, but legally, things had already been handled. Russell was confident that once they found out, Bell would love it. He’d made sure of that. Whether they liked it at first or not, they’d grow to appreciate it—and him.

He was drawn back to the present by Bell waving their hands and the journal in his face. “HELLO! RUSSELL ADLER! RUSS! ROBBY! ROBERT REDFORD! RUSSELL THOMAS ADLER! RUSSET POTATO!” Bell’s exasperated but playful tone filled the room, breaking his dark thoughts.

Russell blinked, his focus snapping back to Bell. Hearing them call him “Russet Potato” earned a sarcastic, “Ha. Ha. Very funny, Bell.”

Bell grinned proudly.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he asked, smirking.

“Very,” Bell replied with a nod, their smile widening.

He scoffed but grinned, stepping closer to grab Bell’s hips and pull them chest-to-chest. His hands slid to cup their face as he kissed their cheeks, nose, lips, and forehead. Then, he rested his head against theirs, closing his eyes. Bell felt a warmth bloom in their chest, leaning into him and hugging him tightly in return.

“You know,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look into their eyes. “Hello Kitty?” he chuckled, clearly amused.

Bell shrugged, unbothered. “Got a problem, punk?” They smirked, mock-threatening him.

Russell chuckled, mocking fear. “Oh no, don’t hurt me. I was just asking.”

Bell rolled their eyes and tugged at their necklace, revealing a Hello Kitty charm that doubled as a key. They opened the lock on the journal and handed it to him. “Like I said at the party, it’s all jumbled,” they said.

Russell flipped through the pages, his gaze narrowing as he read. There were words, sketches of a lake house, a red door, and scattered memories of Perseus and Arash. One page read:

“That guy never liked me. Always jealous and competitive. He shot me because I was close to Perseus. Perseus always looked kind to me, like he cared. He was always encouraging and praising me. I guess we were close.”

Russell’s expression darkened. “‘Perseus was kind and encouraging,’” he repeated bitterly. He didn’t like the idea of anyone being that close to Bell.

Bell, unaware of his rising jealousy, continued. “That’s just what I remember, Russ. He didn’t treat anyone else that way, at least from what I can recall. But there’s still so much missing,” they added, their tone a mix of sadness and frustration.

Russell clenched his jaw but quickly pointed to the drawing of the lake house. “You said this might be your childhood home? And you hear muffled voices?”

“Yeah,” Bell replied. “I can never see any faces, but there’s always a man and a woman, and other kids. It’s always that house, and I’m seeing it from a child’s point of view.”

Russell watched Bell, his hand resting lightly on their shoulder as they stared at the drawing in the journal. The sadness in their eyes was unmistakable, a longing for answers they might never have. It tugged at something deep in him—a mix of hatred for seeing them so vulnerable and an undeniable love for the way they leaned on him in those moments. He wanted to fix it all, to erase the hurt, but only on his terms.

“It’s late,” he said gently, his voice soft yet commanding. “You’ve had a lot to drink. Let’s change, shower, and get to bed. You’ve got that appointment tomorrow, remember?”

Bell hesitated, reacting for the journal in Russell’s hand. “Wait, but—”

Russell cut them off with a quiet but firm, “Don’t.” His gaze locked onto theirs, intense and unyielding. “Don’t you trust me? Don’t you love me?”

Bell froze, the weight of his words sinking in. Guilt washed over them like a tide. “Of course I do,” they said quickly, their voice trembling. They stepped closer, hugging him tightly and burying their face in his chest.

“That’s my Bell,” Russell murmured softly, his lips brushing against their temple as he wrapped his arms around them. His voice was soothing, but his eyes flickered with something darker.

Bell opened their mouth to argue again, but Russell stopped them with a look that made their breath catch. His tone shifted, firmer now, almost possessive. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Don’t you trust me? Don’t you love me?”

“I do,” Bell whispered, tears welling up in their eyes. They hated the thought of disappointing him.

“Good,” Russell said, his tone softening as he held them closer. His hand moved to their back, stroking soothingly. Then he leaned down, pressing a deep, deliberate kiss to their lips. Bell kissed him back, their resistance melting away as they clung to him.

Later, as they lay in bed, Bell was curled against his chest, fast asleep. Their breathing was soft and even, and their face looked so peaceful, so innocent, free of the burdens they carried while awake. Russell stayed awake, his hand gently stroking their hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, his mind racing with thoughts of the future.

He leaned down, pressing featherlight kisses to their cheeks, nose, eyelids, and finally their lips. His lips lingered, savoring the moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against their skin. Bell stirred slightly but didn’t wake, instead nestling closer to him.

Russell tightened his hold, his smirk darkening as he watched their sleeping face. His thoughts turned possessive, his plans falling into place. Baby steps, he thought to himself. Bell is mine. Every part of them. And I’ll make sure no one takes them from me—not Perseus, not their family, not anyone.

He pressed a lingering kiss to their forehead, his smirk softening briefly into something close to affection. As his eyes finally closed, he held Bell tightly, as if they were his lifeline. All the while, one thought echoed in his mind:

All mine.

[astridthevalkyrie]

corner | samantha larusso & robby keene

“Zara…” Robby runs his fingers through his hair again, clearly stressed out and trying to give himself some comfort. Sam feels a bit of sadness—she knows Johnny had to go see Carmen, but had he even said goodbye to his son? She couldn’t imagine her dad leaving the country without at least hugging her, and telling her to be safe.

“Zara came up to me,” he continues, snapping her out of her thoughts. “And I don’t remember anything after that. But…I woke up in her bed today.”

Sam’s veins turn to ice.

tw: discussion of rape, assault, and how zara took advantage of robby + how kyler took advantage of sam. light johnny, daniel and demetri slander. light slander of everyone tbh, including sam and robby. very dialogue heavy.

Her dad is going to kill her.

And if not him, then Chozen.

It shouldn’t be the biggest deal in the world, but they’re here representing Miyagi Do, so the female captain losing her headband looks incredibly bad. Not that Sam thinks she’s lost it, it’s probably in the boys’ room (the singular room, because they’re idiots). She vaguely remembers tossing it off after getting back to the hotel last night, going to visit Miguel out of habit and then remembering he wasn’t here and that he wouldn’t have cell service for a long while. After the run in with the Cobra Kai goons and Axel trying to kiss her, it was a shitty end to a shitty day. She’d all but ripped the headband off in frustration.

It’s in the boys’ room. It has to be. They don’t need another problem right now, what with Miguel having to leave.

With the key card Miguel gave her, she opens the door, not expecting anyone to be in. The other guys are likely either training or wandering around the hotel somewhere. With any luck, Hawk and Demetri had made up, made out, and would stop hindering everyone with this drawn out argument.

It feels weird, not being the center of the drama for once. Weird, but good. Love triangles weren’t fun.

Speak of the devil (or at the least the triangle he was part of).

Robby’s laying on the bed, disheveled and clearly out of it, staring up at the ceiling. He seems to not even have heard her come in until she throws out a casual, “Hey.”

He flinches unexpectedly, and suddenly Sam’s on guard too. But there’s no fight, he only looks at her blankly and responds, “Hey.”

Okay, then.

She and Robby hardly have moments alone anymore, mostly because Sam felt it would be wrong, that even spending any one-on-one time with him would be like cheating on her boyfriend. But that’s bullshit and she knows it, and she doesn’t want to give in to that patriarchal way of thinking even if it is a self-imposed punishment she’s convinced herself she deserves—oh, all of this is so irrelevant right now, she needs to find her headband.

It’s not anywhere in plain sight, so Sam prays it’s on the unoccupied bed. She takes the blankets and ruffles them up and down, looking over and under to no avail.

“Are you looking for Miguel?” Robby asks.

That makes her pause. With a furrowed brow and a tone that might come off a little rude, she responds, “No. Miguel’s not here, remember?”

Robby blinks. “Oh. Right. Um, any word from him or my dad?”

“Not yet.” Sam lets go of the blankets and frowns, noting that he’s wearing the same clothes he was yesterday. “Are you okay? How drunk did you get last night?”

A fearful sort of shadow passes over her fellow captain’s face, and yet he still doesn’t get up, still lying stiffly on the bed. “I don’t know. How drunk did I get?”

Maybe he’s still drunk. She wouldn’t know, she’s never seen a drunk Robby Keene, nor has anyone else. Maybe he was just a little dumber after he had a few shots in him.

“I don’t know,” she repeats his words back to him, lips quirking in a thin line, “I left, remember?”

Robby swallows, visibly. “You left?”

“Yeah. Didn’t wanna be in the same place as the Cobras. Not that it mattered, a few of them caught up with me anyway.”

He sits up, suddenly more lively than he’s been since she walked in. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, they were drunk too. Just spouting off some nonsense.” Besides, even if they had tried to attack, she was almost certain her and Axel could’ve taken them (though she cringes at the thought of Axel translating it to some kind of power couple moment). “Robby, did you hit your head last night or something?”

It’s meant as a joke, albeit a serious one, but he doesn’t laugh. He only runs a hand through his hair, like he’s not quite sure where he is and he’s trying to come back to reality.

“I…don’t remember much,” he confesses quietly. “I remember the Cobras coming in and talking to me. Just trying to start shit, same as they did with you,” he reassures her when she steps forward with wide, concerned eyes. “I couldn’t find Eli or Demetri. Couldn’t find you. And then Zara…”

“Zara?” Had Zara been there? What were the odds of all of them going to the same bar? Barcelona couldn’t possibly be this small.

“Zara…” Robby runs his fingers through his hair again, clearly stressed out and trying to give himself some comfort. Sam feels a bit of sadness—she knows Johnny had to go see Carmen, but had he even said goodbye to his son? She couldn’t imagine her dad leaving the country without at least hugging her, and telling her to be safe.

“Zara came up to me,” he continues, snapping her out of her thoughts. “And I don’t remember anything after that. But…I woke up in her bed today.”

Sam’s veins turn to ice. 

“What?”

There’s a falter in Robby’s expression as their eyes meet, and he winces lightly. “Yeah, I know I fucked up, sleeping with the competition and all.”

There’s a buzzing in her head that is begging for Robby to be playing a practical joke on her. She doesn’t want to acknowledge what he’s saying. They’d all been there at the bar—Hawk, Demetri—she’d been sure one of them would be Robby’s designated driver, or walker, in this scenario. One of them must have seen…one of them must have noticed…

“Robby, you…” Sam swallows, a queasy feeling rising in her throat. “You don’t remember going to her room?”

“No.” His eyes are dim, and he looks down at the bed as though he’s talking about a sparring match he lost. “It was a stupid mistake, okay? You don’t have to tell me.”

Her heart feels like it’s in her throat. “No, Robby, that’s not what I’m saying.” Finally, her feet move, and she sits on the bed in front of him, eyes searching his face in an urgent worry. “You two had sex?”

He bristles. “Apparently. Like I said, I don’t remember. She said she did, though. I didn’t even ask her anything, I just felt weird so I came back here and I’ve been doing nothing.”

Voice cracking, she says his name as softly as she can. “Robby.”

The ends of his brows meet as he furrows them, his body shrinking under her scrutiny. Sam wants to ease up, wants to back off and allow him her space, but she feels like she can’t breathe.

Zara didn’t. Zara couldn’t have.

And Robby can’t be referring to it as a mistake. Least of all his mistake.

Her heart cracks seeing his dazed but nervous eyes, kind green eyes that had never been good at seeing the injustices dealt to him. How is she meant to say this? How is she meant to tell him?

Robby, you were assaulted.

“Um, if you were drunk,” she starts, biting her lip, “it doesn’t sound like you, um…it doesn’t sound like you consented to it.”

Something flickers in his gaze, and Robby leans back, shaking his head. As if to say no, that’s not possible. “I must have at some point last night. I probably said yes.”

“You were drunk,” Sam whispers, her nails digging into her palms, “Robby, that’s not consent. Was…was she drunk too?”

From just the look he’s giving her, she knows what the answer is. She knows what Zara must have done. The unimaginable. 

And suddenly she’s fantasizing about knocking the girl’s phone out of her hand before proceeding to give her the beatdown of a lifetime. Sam feels her blood run hot, as Robby shakes his head again, saying she remembered everything again. And this isn’t any particular desire to beat her on the mat, oh no. Right now, her current fantasy is kicking the shit out of Zara after she’s expelled from the competition entirely.

How dare she. How dare she, how dare she, how dare she. How dare she do it at all, and how dare she do it to one of her friends.

“We have to tell someone,” Sam chokes out, barely keeping a hold on her anger, “we have to tell my dad, your dad—”

“No!” Robby says, raising his voice for the first time, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell them anything, Sam. I mean it.”

A hopeless sort of feeling blooms in her chest and she responds in a weak voice. “What? Robby, what she did isn’t okay, we can’t let her just do that and walk off scott free! Someone needs to do something! Oh my God, if Tory finds out what she did—” And Sam leaps up, her heart pounding out of its chest from rage, concern, fear, she doesn’t know what at this point. Her feet are moving on their own, almost like she could just walk up to Tory’s room right now to tell her exactly what the fuck Zara did so that the two of them can kill her together.

But before she can take a step, Robby is up on his feet too, grabbing her hand in a panic. “Don’t tell Tory.” His voice cracks. “Please.”

The little tremble that follows is what calms her down just enough to look at him. To really look at him. Not just his disheveled, confused, hurt state, but. All of it. Robby has been a mess since they got here, and since maybe before that. Wracked with guilt for what happened with Kenny, devastated at having to watch his almost stepbrother get to go to college while he himself would never even apply, faced with fighting against his girlfriend in the biggest tournament in the world. 

She thinks back to a few days ago when she’d given him grief for not telling them about Kreese, and Sam hates herself a little.

Robby’s shaking, still holding on her hand in such a light grip that it doesn’t really seem like he’s trying to stop her, but rather trying to ground himself. She breathes his name and raises both their hands up, along with her other one, to rest on his cheeks. It’s not a good look, to cup her ex-boyfriend’s face when her actual boyfriend is in a whole other country, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

He leans into her touch, shutting his eyes. There’s a lump in Sam’s throat and she feels tears spring to her eyes, tears that she commands with all her willpower not to fall. He just…he looks so beat up, despite a lack of bruises or cuts, and she’s seen Robby look hurt, angry, upset, but she’s never seen him look so defeated.

Slowly, without being sure who moves first, Sam is hugging him. His own hands rest weakly on her back, and he, Jesus Christ, still smells like alcohol. Oh, Robby. She wants to scream, wants to cry, but wills herself to try and be rational, or at least as rational as she’s supposed to be after learning one of her teammates, one of her friends, was taken advantage of in such a horrible way.

“I should never have drunk anything,” comes his quiet voice, and even as she shakes her head to try and tell him not to even think about blaming himself for this, he keeps going. “Of course someone did something to me. I was so stupid.”

“Don’t say that,” she pleads, pulling him closer, hoping that her hands that are constantly training and fighting might still have some comfort or compassion in them. “Robby, this wasn’t your fault. You can’t think that.”

“I’m the one who got drunk.”

“Everyone there was drunk. I—fuck.” Sam pulls back and Robby automatically stumbles back and sits without the support of her arms, so she follows suit and sits too. It’s uncharacteristic of her to swear, or at least to swear out loud, but the horrible feeling in her chest has spread down to her stomach. “I should never have left. I was sober, I should have kept an eye on you instead of leaving it to Demetri and Hawk.”

Even now, with everything that’s happened and the fact that he’s the one who got hurt, he still gazes at her with those kind green eyes (even when he was in Cobra Kai, Robby’s eyes never had the look—he didn’t really have the killer instinct, and she wonders if anyone else noticed that) and he reaches out and touches her hand. 

Robby, Robby who’d cut her off at Moon’s party which feels like forever ago, Robby who’d let her lean on him the entire walk to the car, Robby who’d taken her to his dad’s place despite hating him then just to keep her from getting in trouble. Robby who she should’ve taken care of the same way yesterday. 

“This was not your fault,” the same Robby says, firmly sounding more sure about that than anything else he’s said the past few minutes, “it wasn’t.”

He’s not touching her just to reassure her, Sam realizes, it’s because he’s desperately trying to get some kind of contact, some kind of comfort. So she turns her palm and lets him hold it without any kind of hesitation.

And she doesn’t believe him, but this isn’t about making Robby soothe her own conscience, so she drops the topic. For now.

“Are you okay?” she asks first, immediately cringing at how stupid it sounds. “Sorry, I mean, just, how do you feel right now? Shitty, I know, but—”

“I’m okay,” he mumbles, in a decidedly not-okay way.

“Can I ask…can I ask why you don’t want to tell anyone?”

Robby looks away, a wary, hazy expression on his face. “I just. I’m already letting everyone down, Sam. Don’t say it’s not true,” he cuts off her protest, “the first round, you and Miguel were still going strong, and I let myself get distracted and forced us out. And I just, keep fucking doing it. I got captain and I’ve done nothing to actually earn it. Both our dads are disappointed in me. I’m letting the team down. I’m letting myself down. I wanted to win. I wanted to win,” he repeats in distress, and she can only squeeze his hand intently, “and all I’ve done is lose. Last thing I need is for them to realize that I’ve done something even more pathetic.”

She wants to argue. Wants to say that none of this matters, that the team and their fathers wouldn’t ever blame him for this, but how can she say that? How can she say for sure? In the most horrible corner of her mind’s eye, she can almost see Demetri shrugging. At least she’s hot. She can see her father making an awkward face, trying to make things sound better than they are. We don’t want to make a scene and jeopardize our place here. She can see Johnny…can she see Johnny? Has she even seen Johnny talk to his son one-on-one since they’ve been here? Would there be anyone on the team who would wholeheartedly support Robby right now?

Miguel would, she thinks, because she’ll go insane if she doesn’t. If Miguel was here, he’d be right next to Sam, comforting his brother. He’d know what to do. He’s much more rational than she is, ironically the Miyagi Do-esque stopper on her Cobra Kai-esque tendencies. 

But everyone else on the team, Sam can’t say. She hates it. She doesn’t want to believe the worst of them, but can’t believe the best either.

So all she says is, softly, “And Tory?”

Robby shudders, shutting his eyes for a second. “You don’t think if I tell Tory she won’t try and commit murder? Tory needs this win. She can’t get kicked out of the competition. I can’t do that to her.”

That’s true. Tory would fly off the rails. Sam’s been the target of that insane rage once before. A very vengeful part of her wants to see Zara be the next target. Wants to assist. Maybe to ringlead.

But if Robby doesn’t want her to say anything to anyone, how can she go behind his back to do that?

Sam’s face twists into something painful, a grimace that always makes itself visible when she loses something. “That’s not fair. It’s not fair that you’re trying to spare everyone’s feelings but your own. Zara deserves to get kicked out of the competition, at least. I know there’s no way of reporting it without letting the senseis find out, but…Robby, it’s not fair,” she says again, as though he’s not completely aware of how unfair it is. “That’s not—it’s not—you didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. I don’t…I want to help you. Tell me how I can help you,” she pleads.

Above everything, Sam hates feeling helpless.

He looks down, staring at their joined hands with his messy hair sticking out in different ways. It shatters her heart completely, thinking of him coming back to this room in the morning, completely out of it, and then being alone. It reminds her of how she’d cried the first time she found out he’d been living without electricity and all by himself at his apartment. Alone then, too.

But fuck that, she thinks spitefully, she’d made sure he had food and water and a home then, and she’ll make sure he always has at least one person on his side now. Even if it means not getting to beat the shit out of Zara, even if it means snapping at her teammates if they badmouth the other captain. Robby’s been through enough. She doesn’t care about winning this much.

“Can you stay here?” he requests softly, and Sam nods vigorously.

“Yeah. I’ll have room service bring us up some water and food, okay? You haven’t eaten?” He shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll order up some pancakes. And eggs too. And ice cream?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

It should be whatever he wants. But no one goes through things like this with their appetite as their first priority. So she gets a little bit of everything off the breakfast menu, as Robby lays back down, staring up at the ceiling again. She thanks the host, before hanging up and joining him. They’re both above the blankets, not really looking at each other, wondering what to do. 

This time, Sam takes the initiative and reaches out to hold his hand. He squeezes and she can feel the gratitude.

“You’re, um…” Robby speaks up after a few minutes. “Really knowledgeable about this. I mean, fuck, that’s the wrong word. You just seem like you know what you’re doing.”

There’s a question in there, but she doesn’t know if she wants to talk about the answer. Remembering that hand, trying to touch her, the sinking feeling in her stomach when she’d realized how fucking stupid she’d been.

“We weren’t in the same school then,” Sam begins hesitantly, “but a little bit before we met, I…I was on a date. The guy tried to…score.” She cringes just saying that. “He never got far, I stopped him, but he still tried. And the next day he spread a rumor that we. Y’know. Did stuff. Pretty much everyone believed him.”

There’s no answer, so she turns her head only to realize Robby is all but glaring, not at her, but his brows are pinched so hard that she’d believe he’d invent time travel to prevent it from happening to her in the first place. “Who?”

Any other day, she would say it didn’t matter. Today, because it’s Robby, she answers simply, “Kyler.”

His eyes widen. Sam knows what he’s thinking immediately. He’d hung out with Kyler. Had practically been friends with him. At that time, it hadn’t felt as big a betrayal as him being friends with Tory, because Robby only just learned about Kyler—he’d always known that Tory had attacked her. And if it was anyone else, on any other day, Sam might’ve asked if it would have mattered if he knew about Kyler. If Robby had been so bent on hurting her, would he have really stopped at that boundary?

(And would it have hurt him so much if she had cheated on him with anyone other than the guy who had humiliated him at the All Valley? The guy who his dad had chosen over him? Had she crossed the unimaginable boundary first? Had she deserved what came next?)

She’ll probably never have her answer. But Robby offers a muted, “I’m sorry, Sam,” which makes her need for an answer a little less urgent. “Does Miguel know…?”

“No.” Of course he didn’t. A few months ago, after his campus visit, Miguel had laughed recounting everything to her, saying Kyler’s kinda okay now? and she’d said nothing, only smiling along and pretending that she didn’t resent it. Miguel didn’t know what he’d tried. She’d never spoken about it until now. But he had known about the rumors. Hell, he’d been the one to beat Kyler up for them. For all of Hawk’s snickering about how everyone Kyler had bullied got to beat him up, she’d never had the opportunity. 

Once again, Sam wonders if it would matter. A second later, she reminds herself that this isn’t about her. Not right now.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, even though it isn’t.

After a few seconds, she asks, “What about Chozen?”

“What about him?”

“Would you tell him? He doesn’t really do the whole disappointed dad act.”

Softly, he snorts. “Yeah, but he overreacts. Besides, word will still get back out to my dad.”

She turns to face him. “So you’re just going to…let her get away with this?” It’s crude of her to say, and a year of competitions and karate gang wars have definitely twisted her mindset into one that only seems to care about winning. And this isn’t just losing. This is an attack, a blow, a sucker punch when someone isn’t looking. 

Robby squeezes her hand again, facing her too, a never-ending, tired fight in his eyes. “What else am I supposed to do, Sam?”

It’s a genuine question. She’s tempted to simply pull him into a hug and hold him close until she was sure Zara was out of the vicinity, the building, the fucking country. She’s tempted for her answer to just be for him to lie low and let her take care of it—and whether taking care of it looks like going to the board and informing them what happened or breaking down Zara’s door then crane kicking her Dad-style in the face, she hasn’t decided yet.

There’s a knock on the door that makes them both flinch, and their shoulders relax at the same time when the person calls out “room service!” Sam stands, going to grab the food.

She might have overdone it, she realizes, when she runs out of hands to hold everything. Eggs, pancakes, bacon, hash browns, waffles, donuts, eclairs, ice cream, small cakes, and more. 

Right as she’s about to request that the delivery guy just leave the cart with them, Robby comes up behind her, taking the rest. He thanks the guy and closes the door, and their eyes meet in bewilderment until a small laugh escapes him. Sam’s heart flutters at the sound, amazed that he even has it in him.

“You really ordered everything, huh? You know we have a limit on how much we can charge on the card?”

“It’s okay.” Sam puts everything in her arms onto the hotel table, sitting on top of it before opening the bags. “I’ll charge it to my card before my dad finds out and gets pissed.”

Robby nods, setting the trays in his hands down as well. They both look down, and her stomach even growls, but neither of them dig in. 

He looks uneasy.

“Hey,” she says softly, “penny for your thoughts?”

Gnawing at his lower lip, Robby sits on the rolling chair in front of her. His expression is pensive, and he makes no motion to touch the food, so Sam doesn’t either. It wouldn’t be fair.

“How am I gonna do the next event?” he whispers hopelessly. “Seeing Tory and Kwon is already messing with me enough. Now Zara? I don’t want to see her. I—I’m getting the feeling that if I do, I’ll be off my game even more. I don’t wanna fuck this up, but I will.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “Robby, can I be honest?” A small nod. “You’re putting way too much importance on the competition. I know it means a lot to you and everyone else to win, and I want to win too, more than anything, but…” She thinks for a second, wondering if she really wants to sue more discourse, but then decides screw it, she may as well. “You’ve been dealt a really shitty hand here. Our dads haven’t been fair to you. Our team hasn’t been fair to you. And I contributed to that when I told everyone about Kreese and Tory, and I’m sorry. I can’t make everyone else change what they think, so I don’t know if this helps you at all, but even if you singlehandedly cost us the next match, I won’t be mad at you. And no one’s gonna say shit to you if I can help it. If you don’t want me to tell anyone what Zara did, fine, I can respect that. I haven’t told anyone about Kyler before either. But I’m also telling you that I’m in your corner whether you end up needing me or not. If you wanna win this thing, let’s eat and go train right now. Somewhere outside, so we don’t have to see Zara, or Kwon, or Tory. If you want to forfeit, I’ll help you figure out how and tell anyone you don’t wanna deliver the news to. If you wanna just stay in here and talk or not talk or order a hundred more things we won’t eat, I’ll do it.” She sets her jaw.  “We’re co-captains. It’s about time we act like it. I don’t care about the competition. You’re my friend. I care about you.”

She’s out of breath by the time she finishes her spiel, and she already knows there’s a million things she forgot to say, and a million more she knows she sounds privileged over—it’s easy for her not to care about the competition when she’s not pinning her entire future on it, of course, and she’s almost about to apologize but stops herself, because Robby Keene has never looked at her the way he is now.

His lips are parted, breathless. His cheeks are tinted red, less in embarrassment and more in astonishment. There’s tears in his eyes, but just like hers earlier, they don’t fall. The two gems shine like emeralds, the same way they do when he gets a point on someone in a match. She always notices them, bad as might sound when she is someone else’s girlfriend, but she can’t help what her mind focuses on.

“You’re in my corner?” Robby repeats, ever so quietly and with a tremor in his voice.

With a small, encouraging smile, she answers, “Always, Keene.” At least, starting now.

“Thank you.” His voice cracks, and Sam thinks it might be okay that she didn’t say all that she wanted to. She thinks Robby gets it. He’s good at that, at knowing what she’s thinking.

 “You wanna train?”

And that’s why it’s hardly surprising that he nods, because she clearly is also good at knowing what he’s thinking. There’s always more fight left in Robby even after life makes it its personal mission to try and beat it out of him. 

And speaking of which…

“I promise not to tell anyone if you don’t want me to.” She reaches over and squeezes his hand just like before. The image of herself in a black gi flashes in her mind’s eye, and for the first time, she isn’t scared of it. “But I also promise that if we advance, and I meet Zara on the mat, I’m going to knock her out so painfully her sponsors will never even put her face on their damn coffee mugs.”

She half expects him to argue, but instead—

“Ice cream first, it’s melting,” Robby says, and Sam agrees, and they eat.

[rowiewritesstuff]

Got any thoughts on what yandere EarthSpark Megatron might be like?

TFE Yandere Megatron - The Protective Yandere

Dottie and you had been friends for a long time. You both fought side by side in the war, and you took a bullet for her. You recovered, but it took a long time to get better. 

Ever since then, Megatron has had a lot of respect for you. You often hung out with Dottie, who in turn hung out with you. You were like a member of the family at this point, almost living at their house. Mo and Robbie saw you as a sort of ‘cool relative’ that they could always trust with their secrets. While you were really chill, you still scolded them and took care of them when Dottie and Alex couldn’t.

When they decided to move to Witwicky, you were invited to go with them. You, of course, agreed. They were all you had left now. 

When you all moved there together, Dottie insisted that you live with them. Eventually you caved because Alex promised that he’d cook you your favorite food. Mo and Robbie were happy that at least you got to come with them.

Dottie and you went out to put cones up near where an accident had occurred the previous night when Optimus, Elita-one, and Megatron showed up. You were down on the side of the road picking up some pieces of broken taillight, so no one noticed you at first. 

When you came up the hill, Megatron had to fight the flustered blush that was rising to his cheeks. Dottie knew Megatron well and quietly teased him. 

“U-Uh, (Y/N)! It’s been a while!” He stumbled over his words. 

“Yeah, it has. How have y’all been?”

Megatron’s mind went blank as you smiled at him. When you didn’t answer, Optimus chimed in. “We’ve been good. We actually came to Witwicky because there’s a new enemy threatening this town. Prisoners are going missing.” 

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. “Abducting prisoners? Maybe a Decepticon?” 

Optimus sighs. “The drones didn’t find anything, we’ll have to search the towns ourselves!” 

That’s how you ended up in Elita’s alt-mode, racing into the town. You never expected your day to go like this. 

Because of the incidents in the town, you and Megatron worked together often. This unfortunately put a large target on your back. One day when you were driving home from work, you noticed a stealth-bomber sneaking up behind you. 

“Shit!” You fumbled around trying to grab your phone when Soundwave transformed on top of your car. You slammed around like a pinball and hit your head, making you pass out. 

When Soundwave attacked Megatron and the others, he had you in his grasp. You were unconscious with dried blood trailing down your face. “Wait! They have (Y/N)!” Megatron stopped the others from attacking.

“Soundwave, release them at once!” Optimus’ battle mask went on. 

Soundwave mocking dangles you between two digits. Your body swung by your arm. Megatron takes a threatening step forward, “Put. Them. Down.”

Soundwave shakes his head. “So, this is why you became a traitor? You care for this…insect?” Soundwave’s visor glows a brighter red. “You can have them.” He throws you as far as he can into the air, raising a blaster to shoot you. 

Without a second thought, Megatron dashes forward. He puts his fusion cannon right to Soundwave’s spark chamber, and in seconds his ex-third in command was gone. Energon tainted his servo as he reached up and caught you. 

Optimus and Elita-One were frozen in shock. Elita’s hand dropped to her blaster in slight fear. Optimus took a hesitant step forward. “Megatron. We need to get them medical attention.”

Megatron could only nod as he transformed, you strapped into the front of his alt-mode. He quickly made his way to the nearest hospital, not fully trusting G.H.O.S.T. to take care of you. 

Optimus and Elita followed closely behind. “Optimus, do you think…I mean he-”

“He did what he had to do. He was going to kill (Y/N).” Optimus had a hard time believing his own words. He wanted to believe his friend didn’t have a choice. He just had to remind himself of just how dastardly Soundwave actually was.

While you were in with the doctors, Megatron and Optimus talked. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to.” He looked at the dried energon on his hand with sadness. “I couldn’t let anything happen to them. I wouldn’t know what I’d do with myself if they got hurt- or worse- because I have a target on my back.” 

Optimus looked at his friend and sized him up. The true sadness on his face- he knew that he regretted killing Soundwave. He placed a gentle hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “It’s okay, old friend. I’ll talk to G.H.O.S.T.” 

When he talked to G.H.O.S.T., they were instantly wary. They demanded that Megatron face some sort of evaluation. While Optimus was fighting G.H.O.S.T. on the matter, Megatron was with you. He was watching over you when you woke up- it was a little weird to stand by your window, but he made it work.

“M-megatron?” Your voice croaked out.

“I’m here, love. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He reached his arm in and held your hand gently between two digits. “I will never allow something like this to happen again.”

The doctor walked in and was shocked to see Megatron standing there- but he managed to keep his professionalism. “O-oh. Well, you seem overall fine other than a concussion. You’re alright to go home, just take it easy. Someone already took care of your discharge papers. Have a good day.”

You looked confused, but realized G.H.O.S.T. probably took care of everything. Megatron gently scooped you out of the bed and transformed with you. 

“Uh, Megs? Where are we going?” 

“Shh, you’ll see soon enough.”

You both flew for a long time- probably two hours. After about fifteen minutes you fell into a peaceful slumber. You woke up in a comfortable bed. You were confused because you didn’t recognize your surroundings. You walked around what turned out to be a cabin, wondering if this was a G.H.O.S.T. facility. 

You walked outside to see where you were only to discover miles of forest- and Megatron. 

“Megatron, where are we?” 

He averted his eyes to the side. “Somewhere safe.”

“What does that even mean? Where’s Dottie? The kids?”

Megatron sighed sadly as he gently picked you up. “We can go visit them together in a few months, okay? You need to lay low for a while until you’re off the Decepticon’s radar.”

“Who are you to decide that for me?” You growled out. “Take me home, now.”

Megatron placed you on the ground. “You are home. I managed to buy this cabin discreetly, so no one knows where you are. It’s for your own safety- I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” 

“Megs, I understand that I got hurt. I'll be okay- I can defend mys-”

“You can’t! You were almost killed. You will stay here- when I can trust you, we can go visit everyone. Don’t try to get away- I’ll know. There’s also a hundred miles of forest around this cabin- so stay put. It’s for your own good.” Megatron leaned down and kissed your head. “I’ll be back with supplies soon. Stay inside, it’ll be cold tonight.”

With that, Megatron flew off. When he went back to G.H.O.S.T., he said you’d been captured by a group of Decepticons. While everyone looked for the ones who took you, they never suspected it was actually him.

[cityzenshark]

Firsts to Grow Up - One's own feelings

With Robby hospitalised, the Maltos got rocky with each other. The three humans went back and forth to Philadelphia hospital for days. Dorothy forbids the Terrans and Bumblebee from the leaving the farm. Alex puts his foot down when the Terrans insist that the magic cave water might help, reminding them of increasing GHOST activities due to the wrecked Bot Brawl in the city and Grimlock's PTSD attack near Witwicky town. Mo distances herself from the Terrans, fearing she might say the wrong thing in front of them again.

Assuming her adopted family no longer wants them, Twitch disobeys Dot and Alex and brings her younger siblings to the cave where she and Thrash starved at in the middle of the night. Thrash calls out Twitch's lack of empathy, leading to a fight between them.

Meanwhile Hashtag, who proposed the cave water idea in the first place, feels she wanted to drown.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I thought I'm the rule breaker out of us." Thrash said loudly, surprising his siblings to a stop on their not-so sneaky trek up the hill. Twitch recovered from her shock first and turned to her twin angrily.

"Thrash! Are you trying to make GHOST hear us?"

Thrash crossed his arms in disbelief. "Look who's talking. Us being out here is enough for GHOST to see us."

Twitch scoffed, "Why are you following us then, Thrash?"

"To bring you back, duh. Now let's go home before Bee notices we're missing."

"No." Twitch said firmly. "We're going to the cave with the mural in it. It's nearby."

"And then you'll come home?"

Twitch looked away. Realisation dawned on the rest of the Terrans.

Jawbreaker said in disbelief. "Are we not going home after this?"

"No, JB." Twitch replied, avoiding eye contact. "We're going to stay in the cave."

"What!" the triplets cried out in unison.

Nightshade spoke up, "Mother and father will be worried sick--"

"They don't care about us anymore, Nightshade!" Twitch yelled, floating at the owl Terran's face. "You saw how angry they are at us. You heard what Mo said. 'I wish we never found the Emberstone.'"

"Mo didn't mean that," Jawbreaker retorted. "She's super upset about Robby."

"Oh yeah? Why won't she see us anymore? Care to answer that, JB?"

"People say things they didn't mean to when their upset."

Jawbreaker felt his spark twinge when Twitch scoffed at him, "Sounds like she means it to me!"

Thrash approached his twin angrily. "You think everything is about you, Twitch? What Mo said hurts me, too. But like Jawbreaker said, she didn't mean it! Mo will come around again when Robby gets better."

"And what if he won't?" Twitch asked, challenging. "What if the hospital can't cure him? What if they take him and Mo away to experiment the sleeves?"

"If they don't…" Hashtag began. She stopped under Twitch's glare.

"If they don't what?" The drone Terran probed.

"Twitch." Thrash warned.

"I want to hear it. If they don't what, Hashtag?"

Hashtag stammered. "If-- If they don't examine the sleeves, we'll never know what got Robby sick in the first place."

Twitch groaned exasperatedly. "You've got to be kidding me! We know exactly what got Robby sick -- our lost link! The moment we can't feel each other, Robby almost died. It's so obvious."

The Terrans stared at their small sister in disbelief.

Nightshade broke the silence with a calm tone, "Twitch, sister, Robby didn't almost die because of the lost link. Our emotional link was lost because Robby almost died."

"Same difference. I thought you're the smart one, 'Shade."

Nightshade felt a hurtful pang. And then they were angry. "Is our link more important than our brother's life? Is that why you don't want to return to the farm?" Nightshade didn't wait for Twitch to respond. "I understand how important the emotional link is. Without it, we won't know how we're doing when we're not together. We literally used it so Hashtag can fight the mind control device off of her."

Hashtag slowly coiled as her triplet continued.

"Do you want to know what I really feel about the link?"

"What--"

"I'm disturbed by it."

Nightshade's triplets and Thrash were aghast.

Twitch had a look of betrayal.

"How could you?"

"How could I?" The owl Terran echoed. "How could I not! I keep feeling what you feel about things I love. I know how annoyed you all feel every time I didn't join your playtime. I understand that you want me to spend time with you, but none of you bothered to spend time with me while I tinker. I'd rather only acknowledge how annoyed you feel about my hobby, not feeling it directly."

"You could've asked us to stop feeling annoyed." Twitch said.

"'Stop feeling'? I can't ask you to not feel something, Twitch. I just don't want to feel emotions that's not my own."

"So you never wanted to be part of our family, is that it?" Twitch asked accusingly.

"Twitch!" Thrash and Hashtag cry out.

"All I want is privacy on my own thoughts and emotions. That's how it should be!" Nightshade clenched their claws into fists as they reply as calm as they could muster. "Does it ever occur to you how much the link burdens Mo and Robby?"

"They never say anything wrong--"

"They never said anything for OUR sakes!" Now Nightshade was screaming, tears prickled their eyes. "Every morning, Robby and Mo get headaches because they feel every emotion we felt the whole night before. Even our parents didn't say this to us because they love us! They don't want us to know how much we've been hurting them. Now I know I sound awful and I want to clarify I wish we never lost it like this, but perhaps losing this link is a blessing for all of us. Especially for Robby and Morgan."

.

.

.

Continuation here

[immeasurablesaladagere]

hihi!! this is my first time sending a rq so i hope i am doing it right … also i am SO srry this is so weirdly specific and strange but i was wondering if I could request a drabble/fic abt agere chase where he like .. struggles with eating . like hes got ritualistic rules abt it, gets freaked out/scared of certain foods, and feels rlly nauseous after eating but (insert cg) makes sure he eats and helps him calm down after (even though it’s super hard for him .)

(cg house or wilson maybe?? or both??? im not sure ..)

Ah, a fear after my own heart. Based this off some of my own fears about food, specifically chicken bc sjsdfhsj it's just one of those things y'know?

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Word Count: 1377

Summery: Chase has a fear of eating chicken he hasn’t cooked himself and is worried he’ll get food poisoning, and his anxiety gives him a tummy ache. Wilson helps him calm down.

-----

“Supper’s ready!”

Chase gasped and scrambled to clean up his toys. He was starving, and he didn’t know what Wilson had made for dinner, but it smelled really good. 

He sat down at the table in front of his jungle placemat with his name on it. It was just him and Wilson for dinner tonight because House was called back to the hospital for their case. He wanted to go too, but House made him stay because he was already small. Wilson said they’d have to save some dinner for him in the fridge, but leftovers were never as good once they were in the fridge. And they could go bad in there and get all gross.

A bowl of pasta was set in front of him. 

“Here you go. I hope you like chicken Alfredo!”

Chicken? He stared at the little strips of chicken in the sauce, and his stomach flip-flopped. He hadn’t seen Wilson cook the chicken. Did he cook it in big pieces, or did he cut it up? If he didn’t cut them up then there was a bigger chance wasn’t cooked all the way, and then he’d get sick. But he didn’t want to be rude, because Wilson made him a nice dinner and was looking after him, so he smiled and used his manners like he was supposed to.

“Thank you, Wilson.”

He took a forkful of just the noodles and took a bite. Did Wilson wash the spatula while he was cooking it to get rid of the raw chicken germs? What if he didn’t and now the whole meal had raw chicken germs in it? He’d already taken a bite, was he going to get sick now?

The noodles felt heavy in his tummy. Could chicken make you sick that fast? Big-Chase didn’t think so, but he wasn’t so sure.

He took another bite, still no chicken. It tasted good, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the chicken and it was making him feel icky. Wilson’s gonna notice you’re not eating it. 

What about the counters? What if chicken juice got on the counter and wasn’t cleaned up, and then it got on Wilson’s hands, or the parsley, or a spoon?

He picked at a piece with his fork to check the colour inside. White, like it was supposed to be. Wilson’s a doctor. It’s probably safe. He put the piece in his mouth and swallowed it as quickly as possible before his brain could make him want to spit it out. It felt like a rock going down to his tummy.

But even smart people could mess up food sometimes, his brain whispered. His fingers felt shaky around the fork.

“Robbie? What’s up?” 

Chase startled. Wilson was looking right at him. 

“Do you not like chicken Alfredo?”

He must have been staring at his food too long, and now Wilson thought he didn’t like his dinner. He felt guilty. He did like it, but his stomach was still doing flippy-flops and it didn’t feel very nice.

“No, I like it.” He said quickly. He took another bite to show him, then felt even more guilty when he felt himself wince. 

Wilson chuckled softly. “Buddy, you could’ve just told me. Do you want me to make you something else?”

“No, I really do like it, it’s just… chicken.”

“You don’t like the chicken?”

Chase shook his head, cheeks turning pink.

“You’ve gotta help me out here, bud.”

He poked a piece of chicken with his fork. “Just… don’t wanna get sick.”

Wilson looked at him like his face was a puzzle. He shrunk into his chair. “Get sick..? Oh, you’re worried it wasn’t cooked all the way? I made sure it was before I added the sauce, it’s okay to eat.” He assured. He didn’t sound upset, but Chase felt bad anyway.

“No, but…” He struggled to explain, “I always cook it by myself, jus’ to make sure. M’sorry.”

Wilson shook his head and took the bowl. “Don’t be sorry, that’s okay. I can make you something else. How does a peanut butter and jam sandwich sound?”

That did sound better, even if it wasn’t a dinner food and he was probably already gonna get sick anyway. He nodded. “But, um… could you please… wash your hands?” He trailed off sheepishly.

Wilson smiled. “Sure, no problem.”

A few minutes later he had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a clean plate. He didn’t feel very hungry anymore, but he made Wilson make him a whole new dinner so he wasn’t gonna be rude this time. He ate the whole thing while Wilson finished his pasta, and by the last bite his tummy really wasn’t happy with him. 

“You can go play again, I’ll get the dishes.” Wilson said.

Usually he wanted to help, but he didn’t feel good anymore, so he just nodded and went back to the living room. He grabbed his stuffed puppy and sat down on the couch, curling up with one arm around his stuffy and the other wrapped around his stomach. Please don’t be sick, I don’t wanna be sick. He buried his face into his stuffy and tried to take a deep breath. His whole body felt wobbly even though he was sitting still.

He sat like that for a long time, trying to focus to the sound of Wilson doing the dishes instead of his tummy. Everything felt rocky like a boat and he was starting to feel like he might puke. He was definitely sick, he had to be. He whined.

Eventually the sounds of dishes stopped and Wilson came to find him.

“Robbie? What’s wrong?”

Chase swallowed thickly. “‘Don’t feel good…” He mumbled.

Wilson made a cooing noise. “No?”

“D-Does that mean m’sick?”

“Well, maybe, but I think we should run a differential, right? See what else it could be first?” Wilson gently rubbed his shoulder. He leaned into it. “Have you been feeling like this all night, or just since you ate?”

“Jus’ since dinner.” Another wave of nausea washed over him and he squeezed his stuffy harder. “Wilsoonnn…”

“I know, I know, it’s okay. You were shaking a little during supper. Were you maybe feeling scared about getting sick?”

Chase nodded. He felt so awful, he just wanted to cry. “M-Mhm.” 

“Alright, shh. I want to try something, okay? Can you sit up a little bit?”

“No, no, I don’ wanna…” He whimpered. He would be sick, he knew he would. He knew he wasn’t being good, not eating his supper and not listening, but he didn’t care. He just felt so icky and he wanted it all to go away.

“Okay. Then you just stay like that, but we’re going to take some big, deep breaths okay? Follow me.” Wilson took a long breath in and held it, waiting for him. He tried his best to copy, and then they both let it out. “Good, now do it again.”

Wilson kept telling him to do the deep breaths over and over. In, then hold, then out again. At first all the air in his belly made him feel worse, but slowly, the more breaths he did, the more his tummy calmed down and he didn’t feel like being sick anymore. Wilson explained that his brain was making him feel sick because it was scared, and that it was trying to protect him so he shouldn’t be mad at it, but he still thought that was a really mean way to protect him.

He let out a big yawn and released the death-grip on his stuffy. “Sorry, puppy…” He whispered to it.

“Are you ready for bed, kiddo?” Wilson asked. 

He nodded. He was really sleepy.

Wilson grabbed the folded blanket on the end of the couch and fluffed it out over him as he laid down.

“There you go. I’ll leave the hall light on for you, and I’ll be in my room if you need anything, okay?”

“Mhm… Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry I didn’t eat dinner. It was good, promise.”

Wilson smiled softly and gave him a gentle pat on the head. “Thank you, but it’s really okay. Besides, more for House when he comes home, right?”

“‘Guess so. Goodnight, Mummy.”

“Goodnight, Robbie. Sweet dreams.”

[robobrainrot]

What’s Past is Prologue

An Earthspark Post-S1, Pre-S2 summary fic

If you were left unsatisfied by the jarring time gap and tone shift between S1 and S2, here's a mini fic to help fill the void. I'm going to write out the full version on Ao3. But this is the short and sweet summary~

It had been a month since The Battle of Witwicky. The Maltos are still picking up the pieces, both literally and figuratively. While they succeeded in their goal of defeating Mandroid, saving all Transformers on Earth, and quite possibly, the world as a whole, some things were left shattered. Most notably, Quintus Prime’s Emberstone. The pieces were scattered across the globe and, for a moment, Team Prime feared they would be lost forever.

However, Quintus Prime would never leave his chosen stranded. Prime Power or not, the kids did not give up hope. The shards of the Emberstone dispersed, but they were not lost forever. Starting right in their backyard, The Maltos found their first shard in the cow pasture… With the help of Fluffy-Ears, of course. Less than a week later, another was found by Breakdown while racing across the countryside with Bumblebee.

At first, the alliance between Autobots and Decepticons had been tense. Both sides were anxious that the other might sell them out or deceive them. But with the help of the newly declared “Malto-bots,” tensions eased. It was hard not to enjoy their company. It had been centuries since any of them had interacted with bots so young. It was refreshing to have such young and enthusiastic faces around.

Every day, the Maltos searched for more ways to find the missing shards. Some they stumbled across accidentally. Some ended up in museums- dazzling archeologists. Schloder and Optimus Prime had to be the ones to get those. Nightshade created a way of scanning for the shards, but their device’s range was limited so the scouting parties had to travel the world to identify possible locations. Did someone say road trip? The Trine were quick to point out that they were much better suited for the job thanks to the help of Skywarp’s powers.

Starscream had to admit, he was fascinated by these ancient Cybertronian artifacts. His volunteering to help the Maltos was not entirely altruistic. It was an opportunity to show off the superiority of himself and his fellow Seekers and gain knowledge about these strange crystal shards. That’s what he told himself at least. The fact that he often hoovered around the Malto residents when Hashtag was around, and Megatron was not, was purely so he could gather intel.

As for the Malto-bots, they enjoyed the month of relative peace. While not all the Decepticons were eager to become ‘friends’, the ones that stuck around would do their best to teach the kids something while they were there.

Breakdown was the first. Never one to turn down a chance to show off, he was happy to oblige Thrash when he asked for racing tips. He showed the young bot a few flashy new moves, including one that Robby insisted was called “The Akira Slide.” Breakdown maintained that it was a Stunticon specialty, and certainly not inspired by a cartoon.

Swindle tried to teach the kids how to override security locks at the junkyard, but was quickly shut down by Elita-One. He complained to Hardtop about what a wasted opportunity it was for three days straight.

Skullcrusher, Grimlock, and Jawbreaker formed a special alliance that Jawbreaker dubbed “The Beastie Boys.” They spent their down time sparing and seeing who could leave the biggest dent in scrap metal pieces.

Soundwave and his casseticons taught Hashtag how to utilize her radio to scramble comm frequencies. In return, she taught them about the wonders of the internet. This was a terrible decision, as Frenzy quickly became engrossed by internet subcultures. Soundwave had to step in with what Mo would call his “Mad Dad Voice.” On the bright side, the discovery of Kandi culture led to a group friendship bracelet making party.

Even Shockwave took some time to mentor the bots. Well. Realistically it was just Nightshade in the lab, but The Great Shockwave was cool enough that the other Maltos pretended to pay attention for half of his science monolouge.

The Decepticons started creating their own home base in between Emberstone shard scouting missions. Led by Starscream, with Shockwave as his Second, they found a suitable location far enough away from the former-GHOST base, but not so far away that it would be impossible to reach the Terrans if needed.

This was one area that walked the line of the treaty. The Decepticons were entitled to make a home on Earth. Optimus Prime respected their wishes on this matter. He instructed the other Autobots and Maltos to stay out as well. If there was going to be a chance at lasting peace, they needed to build trust. Many of the Decepticons had been imprisoned by GHOST for years. They deserved a safe space without surveillance as much as anyone. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, and Prime would sooner go offline than go back on that principle.

There was still much they didn’t know. With every new answer about the emberstones came more questions. Between chaos and confusion, there was also stillness and affection. For these precious moments, both Autobots, Decepticons and Maltobots could enjoy the time of respite.

However, nothing really lasts forever.

[purpleheartskies]

Happy Father's Day!... but not to Robby's "father", Johnny Lawrence. He doesn't deserve the honor of that title: "father" or "dad".

You know, in s5e9, Johnny told Chozen,

"My whole life was haunted by one stupid kick. I thought if I could go back in time, do things different, dodge it, block it, my life would be fixed. The kick wasn't the problem. I had to stop focusing on what was behind. Start looking at what was in front of me." [points at Carmen]

Johnny made this decision in s3e10, when he left Robby behind with Kreese and did nothing to make things right with Robby. Robby was in Cobra Kai with Johnny's abuser who had strangled him twice, and Johnny made no attempts to convince Robby to leave Cobra Kai. Instead, Johnny just got impotent over Miguel hanging out with Daniel and was making his favorite dinner to coax him back to him. (Johnny trying to convince Robby in s4e4 doesn't count because Robby is the one who came to him for that conversation, and Johnny didn't even care to really listen to what Robby was saying to him.)

In contrast to Johnny, in s5e9, Robby went to Cobra Kai and took a stand against freaking Silver to make things right with Tory and Kenny:

"I came here to apologize. I let you down. Turned my back on you. I didn't understand at the time but I realize I was wrong. I shouldn't have just left. I should have taken you all with me. Everything you're taught here is bullshit. There is pain in this dojo and it's built upon fear, because this man is not your sensei, he is your enemy. But it's not too late. You're not past the point of no return. And I promise, there's still another way."

Wouldn't it have been amazing if Johnny had done this for Robby when Robby was in Cobra Kai? But, no. Johnny didn't do this. He had decided to "stop focusing on what was behind. Start looking at what was in front of [him]." s5 was even worse for Johnny and Robby and was sad, sad proof that Johnny isn't worthy of being a father/dad to anyone. Silver spoke truth: Johnny will screw up another kid.

In s4e4, Johnny dismissed Robby when Robby told him:

"For as long as I can remember, I've been afraid... afraid that I'm gonna end up like you. But that's not gonna be my fear anymore... because I am better than you."

Johnny once told Miguel that he can be better than Johnny, but Johnny freaking turned Robby away when Robby said that he is better than Johnny. In s5e9, Robby proved once again that he is better than Johnny. Hell, even Dom in Fast X, a ridiculous character in a ridiculous, over-the-top movie franchise with bad writing and retcons galore, has the right idea about fatherhood. Dom said about his son: "Pass it down. Each generation, better than the last... That's fatherhood." and "You will be better than me." Johnny never passed down anything to Robby, other than the generational trauma. Johnny never cared or thought to teach Robby anything. Instead, Johnny replaced Robby with a "second chance" and passed down his legacy to that "second chance". Johnny has been choosing that "second chance" over Robby ever since. In s5, Johnny encouraged that "second chance" to use that legacy against Robby (apartment fight). Johnny's also getting ready for his "third chance", all while continuing to neglect and abuse Robby so that Johnny can feel better about his failures with Robby.

One question for s6 is "Will Johnny ever put his "real" son above his own ego for good?"

[zzoomacroom]

Rain Is Coming Down (Chapter 6)

✨✨✨✨✨

Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6/12

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

CONTENT WARNINGS for this chapter: brief panic attack/ptsd flashback, misogynistic and transphobic slurs, non-graphic violence, explicit sexual content

✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 6: 26 Weeks - Part 2

The wooden bench creaks beneath him as Morpheus flops heavily into his seat at their table. The pub is lively this evening, but he would rather endure the noise and crowds than make the arduous trek back up the stairs at the moment.

“Save our seats and I’ll go and see what I can scrounge up from the kitchen, yeah? Back in a mo,” Hob says, giving Morpheus a quick peck on the cheek before slowly making his way across the packed room.

The former Dreamlord sits and watches the other patrons at the New Inn, some engaged in animated conversation while others appear more interested in the football game playing on the television above the bar. It is still a strange feeling, looking at these people and being unable to peer into their minds, being blind to their innermost fantasies. How irritating that he must now rely on facial expressions and abstruse human social cues in order to guess at what they might be thinking.

Perhaps it is poetic justice that in becoming human, Morpheus finds himself more disconnected from humanity than ever.

And yet, he has found it to be surprisingly… freeing. The realization that he is no longer burdened with carrying the hopes and fears of everyone in the room. It is lonely at times, yes, but it is a different sort of loneliness than what he felt during his imprisonment or, indeed, for the vast majority of his existence. He is never truly lonely now, he realizes. Now that he has Hob, now that he is—

“Murphy!” Suzanne exclaims, snapping him out of his reverie as she places a glass of ginger ale in front of him, as well as a pint of lager for Hob. “How are you, love? It’s been ages since you’ve been down! Everyone’s missed you.”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

“No we haven’t,” says a familiar-looking bearded man at the next table. “Quiz nights are no fun with those two always winning.”

“Oh, hush, Keith,” Suzanne scoffs, pretending to swat at him with her notepad. “Not like you ever win either way; you thought the capital of Spain was Majorca, for pity’s sake.” She rolls her eyes as she turns back to Morpheus. “So, how’ve you been? You look fantastic. Robbie’s taking good care of you, I take it.”

“He is,” Morpheus replies, a smile spreading across his face. “I am well. Thank you, Suzanne.”

“I’m glad to hear it, love. I was starting to worry. What’ve you been doing up there, all cooped up? Getting lots of rest, I hope.”

Morpheus likes Suzanne. Like Hob, she is easy to talk to. He knows a little of her dreams, having first met her before his retirement. Mostly, she dreams of her family and hopes that they will always be safe and know that they are loved. Very rarely, she has nightmares—memories of things she endured, things no one should have to endure, but which ultimately led her to the greatest joys in her life. Morpheus can empathize.

“I have been painting. A mural, for the nursery. We also had a visit from my sister today,” he says.

“Oh, how nice! Didi, right? I remember her from the Christmas party. Has she got kids of her own?”

“No,” Morpheus replies, “but our niece and nephew refer to her as their ‘cool aunt.’”

“I’ll bet she is!” Suzanne laughs heartily. “I’m glad you have her. She seems like such a dear.”

“She is,” Morpheus agrees with an easy smile. “She has done… a great deal for me.”

“Wish I’d had someone like her when I was pregnant with Shannon,” Suzanne says. “I’m just glad I can be here for her now, and for you lads,” she adds, nodding towards Hob, who has just returned with a large, steaming platter of fish and chips. “Which reminds me, I’ve got another batch of Leo and Gracie’s old clothes and things for you.”

“I hope you know we insist on paying for those,” Hob remarks as he places the dish in the center of the table for the two of them to share.

“Please, you’d be doing me a favor just by getting them out of my flat,” Suzanne says with a wave of her notepad.

“Well then, at least let me go and pick them up,” Hob counters.

“Deal. But I still want to come up and see that mural!”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve got to see it! It’s stunning!” Hob grins at Morpheus as he sits down across from him, giving him a sly wink before popping a chip into his mouth. Morpheus grins back, knowing full well that Hob will slip some cash into Suzanne’s handbag when she’s not looking.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you boys about,” Suzanne continues, suddenly earnest. Morpheus and Hob exchange uneasy glances; Morpheus wonders if this will be another lecture on the virtues of modern obstetrics. “I’d like to throw you a baby shower.”

Morpheus gulps. Hob bites his lip as he tries to stifle a laugh. Morpheus kicks him under the table. Hob schools his features, giving Morpheus a look that he interprets to mean ‘I’ll try and talk her out of it.'

“That’s incredibly sweet of you, Suze, but don’t trouble yourself,” Hob insists. “Can’t imagine we’d need one, what with everything you’ve given us.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Suzanne says, undeterred. “It’ll only be a small do, and we can have it here. Just the staff and any friends you want to bring. Oh, and bring your sister! I’ll make that chocolate cake you like.”

Hob looks at Morpheus again, raising his eyebrows. ‘Come on, dove, you know we can’t say no,' he conveys with those big, sparkling brown eyes that he knows very well Morpheus cannot resist.

“Thank you, Suzanne,” Morpheus finally grits out, hoping his smile doesn’t look too forced. “That sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, cheers, Suze,” Hob agrees. “You’re a gem.”

“Sure am. Dunno what you’d do without me,” she winks. “Right, I’ll leave you lads to it, then. I’d better get this lot their drinks before they start rioting,” she sighs as she marches back to the bar.

Morpheus slumps in his seat, picking forlornly at his chips. Hob gives him a pitying look and hooks his foot around Morpheus’ ankle. “It won’t be that bad, dove,” he says. “Thanks for being a good sport about it. You know it would’ve broken her heart if we’d said no.”

“Two baby showers. Two. This is egregious,” Morpheus mutters. Hob’s mouth twitches as he makes a valiant effort to keep a straight face, and Morpheus finds his own twisting into a smile in spite of his best efforts to maintain his sullen pout. “You mock my misfortune, Hob Gadling?” he asks, his voice dripping with faux indignation. 

He snatches the piece of fish that Hob was reaching for and stuffs it into his mouth, both to underscore his petulance and to smother the treacherous wheeze of laughter that was dangerously close to spilling out.

“Oh, poor you,” Hob chuckles, looking smugly triumphant at his husband’s reaction. “What dreadful misfortune, having so many people who love you that they’re throwing two separate parties in your honor. You know—”

Hob does not finish his thought as there is a sudden commotion near the bar. A shout, followed by a deafening shatter of glass. Morpheus goes still. He shivers, despite it being uncomfortably warm in the crowded pub. Everything sounds muffled and distant, like he is behind a thick layer of glass. He can feel it again. The glass, the iron, closing in on him, he cannot…

“Darling? Darling, are you—” Hob’s voice cuts through the noise as he turns away from the source of clamor and back to Morpheus, his eyes widening in concern. And oh, it is so loud, and Morpheus wants to go home, but he cannot move, and—

“—No! No, you need to leave. Trust me, mate, you do not want to get the owner involved.” Suzanne’s voice rings out, booming and steely and surprisingly intimidating. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she adds grimly, catching Hob’s eye as he rises from his chair.

“Hob—”

“Wait here,” Hob tells Morpheus, and before he can protest his husband is striding across the room, a look of flinty determination in his eyes that Morpheus has only seen once before. It sends another shiver down his spine, for rather different reasons this time.

From where Morpheus sits, he can see his husband approaching a belligerent and obviously drunk man who has crowded Suzanne into a corner. She glares defiantly up at him as he shouts obscenities at her, swaying on his feet all the while. “I already told you—you bitch,” he hiccups, slurring his words, “’m not leavin’ ‘til I talk to the owner.”

The room has gone silent. Everyone in the pub has turned towards the bar, riveted on the scene as it unfolds. Alan, the barman, wrings his hands nervously as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently unsure as to whether he should step in. Toni and Ethan have emerged from the kitchen, still holding their knife and spatula, respectively, and looking as though they hope they will not need to use them to defend themselves. The New Inn is not the sort of establishment that frequently sees this sort of disorderly conduct, and everyone seems to be at a loss for what to do.

Everyone except Hob.

“I’m the owner, and you’re leaving now,” Hob announces sternly, grabbing the man (who is considerably larger than himself) by the shoulder and pulling him away from Suzanne.

“Get your fuckin’ ‘ands off me, mate! I haven’t done nothin’ wrong,” the man growls, shoving Hob backwards. Morpheus jumps to his feet almost involuntarily, but finds himself riveted to the spot where he stands, unable to move closer to the fray.

“He started spouting off a load of words I’m not going to repeat,” Suzanne interjects, “and when I asked him to leave he knocked all the glasses off the bar like a bloody toddler.”

“Yeah, you’re done here. Out. Now,” Hob barks, pointing to the door.

The man scoffs and smirks as he raises his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. “Fine by me,” he sneers, looking Morpheus dead in the eye and jabbing his chin in his direction. “Too many freaks and trannies here for my taste anyway.”

Morpheus has no time to react to these words before there’s a loud, dull thwack, and the man is clutching his cheek and staggering backwards into a table. Morpheus only realizes belatedly that Hob must have punched him.

The pub goes silent. Then, all at once, there is a cacophony of whispers and shouts and everything in between as the denizens of the New Inn turn their fury on the man who interrupted their evening.

“You get ‘im, Robbie!” someone calls out.

“Yeah, that was well out of order, mate,” says another onlooker.

“Does he know he’s his husband?” hisses a blonde woman seated next to Keith.

A cold trickle of… something snakes its way through Morpheus’ veins as he stands there, torn between rushing to his husband’s side and remaining where he is for the sake of the baby’s safety. Is it shame that he feels? Anger, humiliation…? Yes. All of those, and perhaps some other things. But he cannot deliberate on them now, because the drunk man is stumbling back to his feet and raising his fist and—

“Hob—!” Morpheus cries, only realizing that his legs apparently do work after all when he is halfway across the room. His own words from centuries past ring in his head. ‘You can be hurt, or captured.' He reaches his husband faster than should be possible in his current state, propelled by equal amounts of rage and fear.

Morpheus reaches instinctively for his sand before remembering that—oh. Right. He is completely helpless now. Useless.

But Hob is still as capable as ever. He catches the man’s fist and deftly twists his arm around, pinning it behind his back. “Get the fuck out of my pub before I get my broadsword,” he snarls as he shoves the man towards the exit.

The man yelps and shambles clumsily to the door, and just as he is reaching for the handle, Hob seizes him by the collar and yanks him around to look him in the eye.

An uneasy murmur ripples through the room. The drunk man looks as terror-stricken as he would have had Morpheus unleashed his most vicious nightmares upon him.

“If you ever come near my husband or my family again, I’ll fucking—” Hob rages at the man, his teeth bared and his speech lapsing into an archaic dialect. Morpheus understands the threats of dismemberment and desecration of the man’s corpse, but to other observers it must sound like the garbled ravings of a lunatic (which may actually be less disturbing than what Hob is saying).

Morpheus has never seen his husband this angry before, and it is. Alarming. What is also alarming is how aroused he has become; he is glad that he wore black today, as he can feel the growing wetness in his underwear gradually seeping through the fabric of his joggers.

There is a loud thump as the back of the man’s head hits the door, Hob’s fists still clenched in the front of his shirt. Morpheus and Suzanne reach them at the same time and drag Hob away from the man by the shoulders.

“Hob—!” Morpheus begins.

“Robbie, that’s enough!” Suzanne yells at the same moment. “You’ve made your point, now let him go!”

Hob deflates under their hands. He turns around, glancing between Morpheus, Suzanne, and the crowd of wide-eyed spectators. He is breathing hard and he looks rather foggy and far away, his eyes glazed and his hands shaking.

The drunk man bolts out the door as soon as Hob turns his back, and a few of the patrons make noises of approval, though most are still sitting in stunned silence.

“Good riddance!” Keith calls out, and the blonde woman beside him—Helen, his wife, as Morpheus recalls—nods in vehement agreement.

Suzanne immediately returns to the bar with broom and mop, directing Alan to help her with the mess. She goes on with her work as if she is entirely unruffled by the whole affair, though Morpheus can see the way her hands tremble ever so slightly as she sweeps up jagged shards of glass.

Hob blinks, looking down at Morpheus’ hand on his shoulder and then up at his frowning face. The bewilderment in his eyes is gradually replaced by a look of profound shame and remorse. He hangs his head and sighs. “Please don’t be angry,” he mumbles, his voice thin and flat as he rubs his knuckles, which are already starting to bruise. “I know, I know… pot, kettle, and all.”

Morpheus opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. It had not occurred to him to be angry with Hob. Perhaps he should be, but the only anger he feels is for the man who just fled the pub. He is filled with a variety of competing emotions right now, but anger is surprisingly not one of the stronger contestants. He is relieved that Hob is safe. He is… touched, he supposes. And pleased. That Hob defended him, that Suzanne and everyone else sided with him.

But beneath that is the guilt—Hob defended him. He hurt that man and himself, and forced everyone in the pub to witness it, because of Morpheus. Morpheus, who cannot defend himself or his husband as he should, who put his child in harm’s way because he was too foolish to see his own weakness.

And beneath that, simmering and throbbing low in his belly, is a raging, nigh-overpowering inferno of pure lust.

He is still staring at Hob, who peers up at Morpheus with a sad smile of resignation. Morpheus does not know what to say. Something is about to erupt from him, but he does not know which of the warring feelings will emerge victorious until he is grasping Hob’s face with both hands and kissing him desperately right there in the middle of the pub. He licks into Hob’s mouth, burrowing in like he intends to make a home there, and Hob lets out a surprised little whimper as he opens eagerly for him, his hands coming up to clutch at Morpheus’ shirt and reel him closer.

It would seem they both forgot about their audience, as they startle back from each other when the pub explodes into raucous cheers, applause, and wolf whistles. Hob starts to giggle hysterically, shaking his head as his cheeks redden, and Morpheus hides his irrepressible grin in the crook of his husband’s neck.

When he looks up to meet his eyes, Hob has a knowing smirk on his face. “Don’t even say it,” he warns, with precisely none of the authority he carried just minutes ago. Morpheus decides to show him mercy. He says nothing, merely kisses him again until they are both gasping for breath.

“Get a room, you two!” someone laughs.

“Right!” Hob calls out, clapping his hands together as he glances around the pub. “We’re closing early, everybody out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Suzanne huffs, propping her elbows on the now-clean bar. “Just go home, you berks. We’ll be fine down here until closing time.”

“Are you sure?” Hob asks, sounding doubtful. “Suze, what if he comes back? What if the police show up? I can’t just leave—”

“Robbie, love, you misunderstand me. I’m kicking you out,” Suzanne interrupts. “Before you do something really indecent. I don’t think that scumbag will be back. And if the cops come round,” she adds, raising her voice to command the attention of everyone in the pub, “the owner wasn’t in today and none of us heard anything about a fight.”

There’s a distracted murmur of agreement throughout the room as the patrons turn back to their drinks and their football match, apparently ready to be done with the spectacle and move on with their evening. Morpheus shares their sentiments. He takes Hob’s hand and drags him toward the stairs with single-minded purpose.

“Alright, but call me if anything goes wrong, yeah?” Hob says hurriedly, glancing back as he is towed helplessly away. “And text me later so I know you got home safe!”

The journey upstairs and to the bedroom does not even register in Morpheus’ mind; everything feels rather surreal just now. Dreamlike. One moment they are in the pub, and the next they are standing beside their bed, having apparently already shed their clothing.

“… You with me, dove?” Hob is asking him, his hand on Morpheus’ cheek and his head tilted in concern.

“Yes,” Morpheus says, blinking as he comes back to himself.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

He needs… he needs. Full stop. He needs Hob, needs to touch him, needs to feel him inside and know that he is there, that he is real, that they are both alive and safe and loved and wanted and…

“You,” Morpheus replies finally, pulling Hob close and kissing him voraciously. He leads them backwards, his hands on Hob’s hips, until Hob falls back onto the bed. Morpheus breaks the kiss only long enough to crawl into his husband’s lap, fumbling blindly for the lube on the bedside table and knocking the alarm clock and Hob’s reading glasses to the floor. “I need to feel you. Everywhere,” he says, his voice low and rough.

Morpheus hastily uncaps the bottle with one hand, letting the other roam over Hob’s body, burying his fingers in luxuriant hair and sinking his nails into warm, yielding flesh. He kisses and bites his way down his neck while reaching behind himself to press a slick finger to his entrance. It is slightly challenging at this angle, and he struggles momentarily before Hob catches on to what he is doing, his eyes widening and his face darkening with arousal.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” Hob says, taking the lube and pouring a generous amount on his fingers.

He grabs Morpheus by the hip with his other hand, steadying him as he circles one finger around his rim. Morpheus gasps at the cool, wet sensation and tightens his grip on Hob’s shoulders. Hob works him open quickly but gently, pausing intermittently to palm at Morpheus’ sopping wet cunt, smearing and spreading his arousal down to his hole and making a sloppy, squelching mess of both of them.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Hob pants. “Probably could have done it even without the lube.”

“Enough,” Morpheus rumbles, pushing Hob down to lie on his back and positioning himself over his hips. “I am ready,” he breathes as he guides himself onto his husband’s cock.

His eyes flutter shut and his moans, loud and wanton, mingle with Hob’s as he sinks down. They have not had anal sex in this manner since before the pregnancy, and they both take a moment to acclimate to the sensation. They are silent, save for their ragged breathing, and when he opens his eyes Morpheus sees his husband gazing reverently up at him, a look of awe in his tear-glazed eyes.

Morpheus takes one of Hob’s hands (the cleaner of the two), and without breaking eye contact he brings it to his mouth, slowly sucking on his fingers before pushing his arm down between his legs. Hob takes his cue and slides two fingers into Morpheus’ cunt, scissoring them and pressing into his g-spot. Morpheus hums pleasurably and begins to rock slowly, then gasps when Hob adds a third finger while simultaneously pressing his thumb to Morpheus’ clit. It is an awkward position for Hob, and Morpheus’ belly is an obstacle, but neither of them are deterred as Morpheus increases his pace and begins to ride Hob’s cock and fingers.

Morpheus shudders in relief at the feeling of fullness, and he bends forward to gain better leverage, resting his swollen midsection on Hob’s arm and bracing his hands on his chest as he bounces furiously. It’s fast and frantic, urgent and desperate, and Morpheus whines in frustration that he cannot be any closer to Hob than this. That he cannot, as he once could, take all of Hob’s being into himself, cannot merge the two of them together until they are one perfect, infinite entity.

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you,” Hob soothes. “Take what you need.”

And Morpheus does. He takes all he can, and Hob offers it up eagerly. It is not enough, it is never enough, but Morpheus gluts himself on his husband’s body until he is as sated as this form will allow. He thinks of the first time Hob fought and defended him, the way he had wanted to do exactly this (well, perhaps a variation, with a slightly different body). He had wanted so badly it burned, and now he gets to have this. And he will not let anyone or anything take it away. So he grasps and clutches with both hands and he takes and takes and takes.

“So beautiful,” Hob purrs, trailing his free hand up Morpheus’ stomach and thumbing at his nipple. “Love you so fucking much.”

Morpheus sobs as he comes, his legs shaking and his fingers curling tightly into the hair on Hob’s sweaty, heaving chest. His vision blurs and tears stream down his face, and Hob wails as he floods Morpheus’ insides with a copious rush of hot seed. Morpheus shivers in ecstasy, his own orgasm still pulsing through him.

Hob takes his fingers away and maneuvers Morpheus by the hips to pull his softening cock from his hole. Morpheus weeps at the sudden emptiness; it is not enough, he has not had his fill of Hob. He needs more.

He shifts forward slightly, straddling his husband’s plush waist and grinding his clit against the forest of coarse hair below his navel. The slick from his cunt mingles with the warm rivulet of lubricant and cum that trickles from his hole, forming a veritable puddle on Hob’s stomach as Morpheus ruts frenziedly against him. Hob is looking up at him softly when he comes again, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth hanging open in wonder.

Neither of them speak as Morpheus rolls over and collapses beside Hob, curling up against him once Hob has given them a cursory wipe-down with a clean towel from the stack they’ve taken to keeping next to the bed. They remain silent, catching their breath as they rest in each other’s arms, and Morpheus is glad for it. Today has been utterly exhausting—physically, mentally, and emotionally—and he has no energy to discuss it now.

Later, when he regains his composure, he must express to Hob… everything. He does not know. He cannot formulate the words now. His love, his gratitude, how much it means to him that Hob is always ready to defend him without a second thought. Hob is aware of all of this, he knows, but he feels it all so strongly now, and it is so… vexing. That he only has this body and his paltry words with which to articulate himself. That he cannot simply give Hob a dream that conveys the inexpressible depths of his affection.

He is so much less than he used to be. And yet still Hob loves him, still fights for him even though he is too weak to fight for himself.

The muted roar of activity from downstairs, usually a comforting presence in the background, only exacerbates Morpheus’ distress at the moment. Words from earlier echo through his head.

Freak. Tranny.

So this is how he is perceived, now that he has no say in whether or not he is perceived at all.

Yet still Hob loves him.

“I’m sorry.”

Hob’s voice, wet and quavering, comes so softly that it takes Morpheus a moment to realize he spoke, and another to understand what he is apologizing for.

“About earlier. I shouldn’t have hit that lad,” Hob clarifies.

“Do not be sorry, my love,” Morpheus says emphatically. “You were in the right.”

“See, but it’s fucked up that we both thought that,” Hob argues. “Mo, I shouldn’t have done that. What he said, what he did—it was completely inexcusable, but… He was leaving, and I attacked him. I just… lost control. And I’m so sorry.” He puts a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m going to get a handle on this before the baby comes, I swear.”

“Hob. Look at me,” Morpheus implores, taking Hob’s hand from his face and holding it in his own. His knuckles have bruised a deep plum, and it only occurs to Morpheus now that their activities a few minutes ago cannot have helped. “Oh. I have hurt you,” he murmurs, peering into Hob’s red-rimmed eyes and bringing his hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle tenderly.

“No, love. No,” Hob insists, fresh tears welling up in his eyes as he brings his other hand up to cover Morpheus’. “None of this is on you. This was all me and my stupid bloody anger issues.”

“Hob, I trust you with my life. And with our child’s life. I know that you would never turn your anger on either of us.”

“But what if I do?” Hob whispers shakily, sounding genuinely terrified. It breaks Morpheus’ heart to see him so distraught.

“You will not,” he replies. It is the truth, Morpheus is certain of it. He knows, of course, of Hob’s violent past—knows better than anyone, perhaps, save for Hob himself. And he knows that his husband would sooner rescind his immortality than harm his family. It is not that Hob is a violent man by nature; he is a passionate man, one who loves fiercely and would tear the world apart to save those he loves. He is a better man than Morpheus, who would have done far worse to that man in the pub had he still had the power of nightmares at his disposal. 

“You will not, beloved,” Morpheus repeats, cradling him closer and soothing his hand absently up and down his back.

“Alright,” Hob says weakly. “I won’t. Promise.”

“You should put some ice on your hand,” Morpheus mumbles.

“I will, later. Let’s just get some sleep, yeah? Been a hell of a day.”

Morpheus yawns in agreement as he nestles into Hob’s side. They lie there in silence, neither succumbing to the lure of the Dreaming despite their weariness.

When Morpheus finally drifts off, it is a restless half-sleep scattered with disjointed scraps of nightmares. Massive hands enfold him in a sphere of cold, bone-white flesh. Peeking through the cracks between the fingers, he sees Hob in the distance. He carries a sword and his face is bloodied, his jaw set in grim resolve. The hands hold Morpheus aloft, just out of Hob’s reach, lifting him higher and higher until he is face to face with himself, vast and terrible.

The dream ends.

✨✨✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[paper-fowl]

WAKE UP CALL

An OC oneshot, featuring The Raceway AU

( Au by @thescarletnargacuga )

Let's wake up our favorite snake, shall we?

WARNING: Mentioned death, Character death (abstraction), and panic attacks.

------------------------------#------------------------------

"You are not my friend, and never will be. Leave, now." The voice echoed inside her head, similar sentences swarmed her mind, the blaring of engines making it worse as it went on.

She wanted it to stop, she needed it to.

Tick...

Tock...

Tick...

Tock...

"AH-!" She yelped as she jumped out of bed, hitting her head on the bedframe. She groaned, sitting up slowly as she rubbed the top of her head. A buzzing, irritating ring screamed at her from the nightstand, she clicked off the alarm clock, which had a bite taken out of it due to a certain soapy companion.

"How did I sleep in...?" She said to herself as she stood up and stretched.

She walked towards the door, the claws on her feet tapping along the floor boards, her tail quietly rattling as she moved. Each little section of her body made some type of noise, it wasn't anything annoying, in fact, it reminded her of an actual.. real human body... Something to remind her that she was still human.

She hesitated to grip the door handle, but broke through the fear when she heard a familiar voice from outside the room. A small, sleek, black millipede crawled in her room from under the door, she smiled as she picked up the tiny bug, finally finding the courage to step out of her room.

She looked around, walking down the hallway and stopping at a specific door, knocking on it.

"Hey... Queenie? I know that I... Messed up pretty bad yesterday.. I-" She looked up at the door's icon, a big, red X painted over the picture of what used to be, Queenie.

She stepped back, her tail curling around her body, she didn't think this would happen. She knew it'd happen eventually... But... She didn't get a chance to say goodbye...

"Hello, Motsi!"

"AH-! JEEZ-" She whipped her head around to face the figure, almost overshooting the action as her head clicked into place.

He greeted her with a smile, or, at least she thinks he was.

"Good morning, Kinger..." She sighed and returned the smile.

"Is this yours?" She handed him the millipede from earlier.

"How have you been?" She asked.

"Oh! Yes, thank goodness you found Robby." He gladly took the thousand-legged bug from Motsi's hand.

"AH!"

"ACK-!" She screamed back at Kinger.

"Stop- doing that!" She grumbled.

Kinger was already too distracted by the bug to pay attention.

She shook her head, her expression returning to a smile. She looked down the hall, new doors... New faces... Just how long was she out...? Her face turned into one of distress. She entered the lobby, looking around, no one had noticed her... That was good, at least.

She moved through the room, entering the cafeteria. She dinged the bell for a bubble chef to greet her.

"Just a regular cup of coffee, please."

"Bean juice it is!" The sharp-toothed bubble grinned, coughing up a cup of coffee for Motsi.

She'd forgotten how weird the bubble's inner working was... She took the mug, sitting down at a nearby table. She held the mug with two hands, staring down at her reflection in the dark brown drink.

"Motsi?" A male voice came from beside her.

"God, I thought you were dead!" He chuckled as he sat down beside her.

"Good to see you too, Jax." She looked up at the purple rabbit, bearing a bright yellow smile as always. He leaned down over the table, tilting his head to look at her better. Motsi took a sip of coffee, looking back at him.

"What's with the stare?" She asked him.

"Nothing, just thinkin of new ways to get back at you for disappearing for who knows how long!" He laughed.

"How... How long was I asleep for...?"

"How should I know?" He chuckled, standing up and stepping toward the garage.

"Now come on, I wanna see if you're still as good as you were on the track!" He gestured for her to follow.

She did, and looked around for a moment.

"Where's my bike?" She kept looking around for it.

"Oh! That old thing, yeah I stashed it away while you were gone, it should be right.... Ah ha!" Jax pulled out an orange and white dirt bike, rolling it towards Motsi.

"Still has the muck and grime from your last race! How authentic." He teased.

Motsi chuckled, "Yeah... I'd forgotten to clean it..."

"Vial Swamps, was it?"

"Yup! Speaking of swamps... I wonder how Gummigoo would do in that track..." He looked to the side, pondering something.

"Who..?"

"You haven't seen em?"

"No...?"

"Huh." He shoved the bike towards Motsi. "Say hi to him for me, ya can't miss him."

She caught the bike, and getting pushed back a bit, giving Jax a thumbs up. "Will do."

She rolled her bike up to the default track, looking up at the artificial sky.

-----#------

"Good morning, my ravenous racers! I-" Caine paused, looking down at the red and white snake which looked back up at him, confused as to why he stopped.

He suddenly spoke up, pulling Motsi up to the front of the starting line in front of the line of racers. She squeaked.

"I would like to introduce a marvelous player to our new racers, say hello, to Motsi!"

The unidentified players stared at Motsi, most of them waving hello. She waved back.

Caine quickly placed Motsi into the line of racers, setting her in-between a red and blue jester, and a being of mitch-matched parts, both of the figures taking glances at the Motsi... She tried to keep her eyes on the track as Caine announced the new track and information needed, but she felt so... Out of place.

"Oh boy..." She whispered to herself.

The jester could sense her unease.. and spoke up.

"Hey... Are you okay?"

Motsi didn't respond, she gripped the handles of her bike.

"Motsi, was it?" The mixed figure said on the other side.

Motsi's eyes stayed fixated on the track.

The two strangers looked back at each other, talking with each other without words.

Red...

"Let's hope she does well..." One of the strangers said. Motsi couldn't tell who it came from.

Yellow...

She stared down the track. So many things have changed all at once.

She was told to rest, and get her mind off the problems she had faced before waking up.

GREEN...!

She immediately shot away from the crowd, speeding through the track. After a moment, she could see the other racers catching up to her.

"LOOK AT YOU GO! Still have the fuel after all this time?" Jax laughed as he made his way up to her.

He was the only one she could truly remember, and she responded, sounding much calmer than before.

"Uh- Yeah, I think so!" She replied nervously.

"You think, or know so?" He teased, now driving beside her.

"Absolutely no idea!"

Jax laughed, "Let's hope you don't fall into the cellar before you get to the finish line!" He teased as he drove past her.

Cellar...?

She gripped the handles harder, getting a gruesome reminder of how long she was away for. She started slowing down.

A voice came in on her radio.

"Motsi, my dear! Don't stop now, you just got back!"

"I-I... I can't.." She stuttered.

"Motsi! Are you-" Caine's voice glitched out, a different voice taking over.

"You're in my way... And you'll end up just like the others... Gone. And I'll make sure of it." The radio disconnected.

"Wh... What..?"

Her breathing quickened.

Everything was going too fast for her, but she couldn't see it. She tried to focus on the race.

Her hands gripped the handles as if her life depended on it.

Her mind was swarming with images of the cellar and what was inside, she had to stop. She needed to.

BZZZT-!

A blue flash of electricity jumped in front of her sight.

"AH!" She screamed as she swerved off the track, she tumbled over her own vehicle as it crashed into a large rock. She rolled out of the way just before it crashed.

She stood on her knees, her breathing being heavy.

A million thoughts were blaring in her head.

Stop...

Stop...

STOP!

she slammed her fists on the ground.

The floor beneath her shattered as she fell through.

A bright, neon eye, with swirling colors looked down at her from below.

-----#-----

"Motsi! I saw you crash, and-" The red haired racer slid to a stop, looking out of her vehicle with fear.

A beast, over ten times her size, a glitching mass of pitch black ink swarmed it's body.

Over a thousand eyes opened up, each eye being different from another, yet all of them having one similarity, they were all glaring down at the doll.

[sirenjose]

Analysis of White Sand Street Asylum - Part 3

Includes Full Character Analyses for: Freddy, Kreacher, Emma, Emily, Leo, Robbie and Dolores, Kurt, Ada and Emil, Alice.

Beginning: Asylum Analysis Part 1

Previous: Asylum Analysis Part 2

Soon after, the evaluations begin.

1 of those being evaluated is Kurt Frank.

Kurt was born in Yorkshire, England to parents who, even when Kurt was young, constantly moved around. They went “from England to Italy, then to France, and then to England again”, with young Kurt always surrounded by “all kinds of adult travelers”. Unfortunately, his parents are described as never paying him much (if any) attention: “Whenever he looked up, he could only see the tight jawline of his parents and their hurried figures that never looked down”. As Kurt is described as “working class”, it is likely his parents were the type who spent all their time and energy on their work, and thus by the end of the day had none to spare for their son. This means they likely didn’t attempt to help Kurt to really understand all the foreign places they took him too. Based on how he was surrounded by “adult travelers”, it is likely much of what he encountered wasn’t a place for kids, and possibly due to his parents’ work.

Everything was huge, confusing, and overwhelming, leaving Kurt feeling “small and powerless and out of place”. This is no surprise considering the constant moving left Kurt with no stability, making him feel unsettled and disconnected, like he had no safe place to call home. He also had no guidance or support from his parents, leaving him feeling neglected amid chaos. And without any form of stability, he likely never stayed around in 1 place long enough to form any long-term relationships. Neither did he have much control over anything, as he was subject to his parents’ decisions.

Kurt’s backstory continues from here by saying “This early feeling of being ignored led Kurt Frank to develop a typical avoidant personality”. Avoidant personality disorder (APD) is characterized by severe and chronic social anxiety. People with this disorder have a long-standing pattern of social avoidance accompanied by hypersensitivity to negative evaluation (aka fear of criticism, rejection, ridicule, etc…) and low self-worth so pervasive that it defines who a person is. They will be easily and extremely hurt by any type of criticism in any situation. They avoid making new friends and trying new activities unless they’re absolutely sure they’ll be liked and accepted without rejection, criticism, or ridicule. They tend to be shy, quiet, “invisible” (aka tend to hide using their clothing or by staying in the background in social situations), and lonely, but they’re different from schizoid people. The avoidant person wants social contact but is afraid of rejection, whereas the schizoid or schizotypal person is completely indifferent to such contact.

Due to being ignored by his parents, Kurt turned to books to escape his reality and his fear of rejection. His backstory says it was also due to him having “trouble concentrating” and a disinterest in going outside. His favorite novel was Gulliver’s Travels, where he “imagined he was a great adventurer and refused to accept the actual situation”. In this world, he was the hero. There was no more feeling of not fitting in. A world where everyone accepted him. He was important. He received all the love and concern he wanted here. It was also a place where he could essentially design it however he wanted, and thus a place he understood perfectly well (compared to everything else).

Even though Kurt couldn’t make real friends, he was able to play with his imaginary ones, and his imaginary world continued to expand as he continued reading.

Eventually Kurt goes to college, but his “bushy mustache” causes him to argue with others often, leading to him being an “outlier”. Unable to get approval from others, this causes issues with his avoidant personality, and he starts avoiding going to school, something that disappoints his father. He attempted to stress the importance of college if Kurt wanted to be successful in the future, like they were, but Kurt didn’t care. He couldn’t handle the ridicule and rejection from his classmates. He couldn’t even talk about his problems to his parents because they didn’t understand nor care. They never had and they never would. His relationship with them had been strained for as long as he could remember, and this on top of his problems at school was overwhelming Kurt, who was left to handle it all on his own.

Without the proper emotional support or help from anyone, he funnels his emotions into horse racing, but Kurt “lacked the vision and brains to invest” and “lost all his living expenses and even owed a loan shark”.

This forces him to completely drop out of college. His parents, left with no choice, send him into the army hoping it would “correct his behavior”.

Initially, Kurt was likely quite unhappy with his situation. He didn’t want to deal with the increased social interactions, new people, new activities, and everything. But as usual, he didn’t have a choice. Fortunately, he had been able to bring his book with him, allowing him to escape from his new reality at least temporarily.

Eventually, Kurt decides to “boast” about his “adventure experience” to his comrades. There weren’t many ways for men at the barracks to amuse themselves with, especially when far from home and family, and Kurt thought this would “cheer everyone up”.

Initially, all goes well. The other men are “captivated” by his experiences, and he earns the attention and praise Kurt has always wanted, the approval he’s never received even from his own parents.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last. The men eventually discover Kurt had been lying and the stories he shared were only from books he read, rather than experiences he actually lived through. His skills aren’t anywhere as good as he claimed, and the men in general don’t appreciate being tricked or lied to. Soon, Kurt becomes reviled and an outcast similar to how he’d been at college.

 With Kurt’s avoidant personality once again triggered, his mental state deteriorates. He wants to prove them wrong. He wants them to know that he is a real explorer, and he has gone through all these things. He goes a bit off the deep end, and ends up getting into trouble.

Kurt had said he wanted to remain in the army for “as long as his health allowed”, but due to his increasing inability to differentiate between fantasy and reality, he is labeled as mentally ill and sent to White Sand Street Asylum. This is based on the title of deduction 9 being “Road-blocking ‘Dragons’” (dragons, like an enemy or threat), with the line “These giant, fanged...dragons! You can't stop an explorer!” essentially depicting him being taken away.

This is confirmed via the event Kurt’s Wondrous Journeys. In the event, he says White Sand Street is the center of his world. So, on the center of his map, he drew a circle to represent “the origin of my adventure, and surround it with triangles, representing trees” (via drawing a “1” under each triangle”). He later talks about people using “fears to stop you” and how “nothing but monsters and danger await you, should you ever leave”. It’s at this point he says, “If you turn these triangles upside down, they are the shape of a dragon's terrible fangs, a symbol of unknown terror, and the ultimate price—death” (and we know terror and death both happen at the asylum).

In the Asylum, we learn during his reassessment that he is indicated to have “Delusional Schizophrenia”. I’m not sure this is an actual thing, so I tried checking the translations of other versions (as best I as I could). So far, I think the more appropriate terms I saw were “delusions of grandeur” and “schizophrenia”.

Delusion of grandeur is a false belief in one’s power or importance. It may be a symptom of a mental health disorder and can cause confusion between what is real and what is not. The strength of a delusion is based on how much the person believes it. Specifically, a delusion of grandeur is a person’s belief that they are someone other than who they are, or a belief that they have special abilities, possessions, or powers.

Many types of mental health disorders can lead to delusions, including schizophrenia.

Schizophrenia is a complex disorder that causes people to interpret reality abnormally. They don’t know what sights, sounds, and experiences are real or what they are imagining. It usually involves delusions (false beliefs), hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that don’t exist), unusual physical behavior, and disorganized thinking and speech. With treatment, most symptoms of schizophrenia can greatly improve and reduce the likelihood of a reoccurrence.

In any case, Duke eventually asks Lorraine to discharge Kurt. Lorraine, who is currently the head of the asylum now that Duke has become a bishop, believes Kurt can’t be discharged due to the persistence of his delusions. Kurt claims “he had flown solo across the English Channel, possesses extraordinary survivalist skills, and is capable of the construction and operation of, including but not limited to, Blimps”. Lorraine adds that his delusions evolve “in a scale of grandiose when exposed to outside influences”. She worries, even though he is not violent now, he could pose a threat later due to his “deteriorating mental health stability and elevating delusions” and “eloquence in persuasion”.

But Kurt has other ideas. He has no desire to remain in the asylum, which he starts thinking of like he’s back at school, and is willing to do anything if it means getting out.

Life at the asylum hasn’t gotten any better.

We see in Kurt’s Wondrous Journeys how he describes the place: a “great gray structure” whose interior is all that many of the patients “have ever known”. The corridors are “long” and “lined with heavy, iron doors”, behind which the patients live, awaiting “inspection” from the “King”.

The “King” card we have during this event shows one side looking like a king, but the other is a nun. The card reads “They try to use love to lock other people down”. It is clear the “King” here is meant to represent Lorraine.

1 of the things still limiting the patients’ freedom is the medicine, which is likely represented by “Tea Time”. They were given that medicine at the “beginning” of each day.

The size of the rooms for the patients behind the “heavy, iron doors” were likely “only 52 inches long”.

As another side note, one of the other cards is of a chair that may symbolize the same one Emma used when she was getting electroshock treatment. I wonder if it could imply he got electroshock treatment while he was there as well?

Either way, we know Kurt does eventually leave the asylum to go to the manor.

What we do have is Kurt’s deduction 11. It talks about a “battle between Don Quixote and the Biscayan up close”, after which Kurt says “Obviously, I managed to get out of there”. Don Quixote being the man obsessed with becoming a knight and reviving chivalry who, in his delusional state, charges at windmills he mistakes for giants. Biscayan, who’s passing by, thinks he’s mad and, misunderstanding the situation, challenges Don Quixote to a duel. Don Quixote, driven by his delusions of grandeur, manages to disarm the Biscayan. Kurt is likely to represent Don Quixote. The Biscayan, symbolizing a skilled opponent, could represent Lorraine, who is the one fighting to keep Kurt at the asylum.

Maybe this means that Lorraine lost her argument or “battle” to keep him there, thus implying Duke forced her to let him go (or maybe Kurt somehow reasoned with her himself, in something like a battle of wits, and via his “eloquence of persuasion” was able to convince her to let him go).

Kurt may have even been the first patient to leave, potentially the same one mentioned in the asylum backstory. This is important as, after this first person, Lorraine, according to the asylum backstory, left her resignation in her office and disappeared. The Church quickly moved the remaining patients from the White Sands Street Asylum and closed it down (as ordered by the government after the locals questioned if the asylum should be allowed after Dolores’ killing spree).

Before the asylum closes, the events of Ada’s and Emil’s stories occur, though I do not know exactly when.

Emil was the youngest son of a poor couple, where he had 3 other siblings. The mother seems to have been suffering from a type of mental illness, and it was difficult for Emil’s father to care for her as well as 4 kids. As a result, he sold his youngest to an underground dog fighting ring. His new owners at first didn’t care for him, but this all changed after Emil snuck into the pit and managed to make it out alive. His owners, seeing the reaction of the audiences, decided to continue to utilize him that way for more money, and Emil was forced to grow accustomed to this life, where he saw himself more as another dog than a person.

He’d never known real love. He’d only ever been seen as an object that others only saw in terms of how to get value for themselves. All Emil knew was if he wanted to survive, he had to fight for it, and so he did. Living conditions were horrid, with him being forced to live in a “kennel” with “shackles locked around his ankles” and barely enough food to sustain himself with, and what he was given was of poor quality. He also wasn’t given proper treatment for his wounds, which he acquired plenty of by the vicious dogs in the ring that would always attempt to tear him apart without restraint, or to ensure he stayed healthy. He was on his own. His owners didn’t care if he lived or died. If he did, they could just get another dog and continue on their merry way.

Emil wasn’t satisfied with being a “plaything of nobles” and always forced to survive the dog fighting ring, so one day he manages to escape. Unfortunately, he ends up with a high fever and forgets everything, and this is when he’s taken “by the asylum who defrauded charity funds”.

The asylum uses a “staggering amount of sedatives on its patients”, including sleeping pills and tranquilizers, to keep their patients under control and from being able to fight back. Emil is so high on these that he feels like he’s “floating away”. They do this as they diagnose Emil with “manic fits” and “severe aggressive tendencies”. This is why they keep his hand “cuffed to the bed” and lock him in “solitary confinements known as the ‘Cages’”, which is only for the “most dangerous patients”.

He suffers greatly due to their painful treatments, but he “always accepted being manipulated obediently”. And then everything starts to change when he meets Ada.

Ada, unlike Emil, was from a “relatively affluent middle-class family” where “every step in her life has been strictly planned” by her doctor father and teacher mother. She didn’t have much of a childhood, as she had “few playmates her own age” and spent most of her time “communicating with adults or reading”.

She is sent to university, where she enters “the school's psychological laboratory for research”. As a medical genius, she is awarded “the position of assistant professor of psychology”.

This is likely because her father had been training her from a young age and had her watching him since she was at least 13.

Ada has been researching hypnotherapy and the “idea of eliminating a patient's pain or negative emotions with subliminal suggestions”. This is likely the 1st time she’s actually chosen something for herself, yet no one, not even her own father, a “leading authority in psychiatry”, “had much faith in me”.

She explains the issues she had with her research: “The patients provided by the academy where I studied couldn't be hypnotized while they were in pain, and after countless failures… I had to devise a new method...”. Unfortunately, her “private experiment was discovered and those people pulled the plug on my research”.

Ada thinks very lowly of other doctors who stop her from this research. Her goal is to help the mentally ill, while most other doctors just follow “the latest academic fads” and use the mentally ill for “turning profits”.

I imagine the reason for Ada’s desire to help people likely started due to her encounter 1st encounter with Emil, who she found starving in the street. She bought him bread, but her father refused to help Emil when she asked. Ada couldn’t understand why. I think from then she likely began to look down on her father’s actions. Her father was probably like the other doctors, someone who followed the latest “fads”, was primarily interested in profit, and utilized treatments that Ada wouldn’t always agree with, just like how she looks down on what the asylum is doing.

Ada says she used to utilize the same methods in the past, but “that was a long time ago”. This could also refer to potentially what she used to do in her desperation for her hypnotherapy experiments at college to work, before the plug was pulled. That would explain why she’d describe “tormenting patients for the sake of my research”.

Not giving up, Ada travels to various hospitals and clinics, looking for some place where she can carry out her experiments and hopefully find a patient who will give her success.

It’s during this period that Ada goes to White Sand Street Asylum for an “eleven-day medical training program here”.

While looking at the list of patients, specifically at those labeled dangerous, she notices “a person without a surname on the list, Emil”. She watched the doctors give him electroshock therapy, and how, unlike other patients, he “didn't seem as terrified”. “When his treatment was over, he even smiled at the doctors... A mindless, yet eerily natural smile...”. She’d never seen someone react like this: “He didn't try to avoid or resist the pain inflicted on him. Even though his consciousness was tenuous at best, he instinctively showed signs of joy”.

Eventually, she finds herself alone with Emil, who was “trembling and gasping violently”. Taking a chance, she found that “when I blew my whistle, he would become surprising calm”. Ada figures out his past based on the only possession Emil had been found with, a dog collar, and why he reacts the way he does to the whistle.

Emil is the first person Ada’s encountered who could “respond to hypnotism while under intense pain”, which was part of the reason her experiments had failed in the past. It is at this point she decides to mess with the medications the asylum was giving Emil, so Emil could be more “cognizant” even though it’d bring “greater pain”. The next day, Emil does suffer more from the electroshock therapy, but just like before, he calms down once he hears Ada’s whistle. Ada is ecstatic to finally find the “perfect candidate for my experiments”.

Ada gradually reduces his medication over the next few days. Once he was conscious enough, she tells him she’d taken away his pain medication. Ada is conflicted, and wonders if what she’s doing is alright, and seeks answers for herself based on whether Emil forgives her. When she asks him “Ada or medicine”, he responds with “Ada” despite Emil knowing this meant more pain, which relieves her worries and makes her feel “elated beyond words”.

Despite the fact Ada initially only saw Emil only in terms of him being a perfect candidate for her experiments, she gradually starts to “develop feelings for him”. She knows she is going to have to leave soon, but due to the fact she’d grown quite attached to him, she decides she wants him to leave with her.

Emil is grateful to Ada for her helping to wake him up. He says he’s stopped experiencing the nightmare about his past that’s plagued him “for as long as I can remember”. And so, when he receives a gift of a flower from her one day, not knowing what was a proper way to react in response to getting a gift, fashions a ring for her from his bed wire.

Ada is touched by his return gift, as this was the “first time a patient had shown me understanding and gratitude”. This only hardens her resolve to get him out of the asylum.

As they prepare to make their escape at dawn, Ada mentions the staff will be on high alert until then because a patient, a “young girl” managed to escape from the asylum. This is likely to be Lisa, who we know escapes from the asylum based on the fact she is using a fake name to hide her identity.

Eventually, the 2 do manage to escape from the asylum. Ada takes them to a “new home” that’s “faraway” with “no people around” and requires “getting there in a car”.

They live like this for 3 years, but unfortunately, Emil starts growing worse. “Emil has begun to have frequent headaches again, and his self-awareness is declining...I can't watch him lose himself and go back to the pathetic way he was before. I can't lose him again, my one and only love...”. His other symptoms include “Anxiety disorder, OCD, hallucinations, dementia, and recurring night terrors”.

One potential solution to her current issue comes in the form of Orpheus, who Ada 1st met while at the asylum. Orpheus is offering to try the “latest treatment” on Emil in exchange for Ada giving Orpheus the list of patient files of White Sand Street Asylum. Ada is skeptical at first, and initially directs him to her father’s clinic, who she says may be “the type of doctor who will get along with you”. This I think is a bit of sarcasm to imply she thinks him and her father are both the bad type of people/doctor that she doesn’t like. She did say she didn’t believe in his “method of finding inspiration from patients in the asylum”. However, after some amount of time and Emil’s condition only worsens, she decides to eventually agree to the deal and heads to the manor.

Besides potentially as “inspiration” for his novels, another reason Orpheus is likely interested in the patients of the asylum is because that is where Alice was sent. After the tragedy that killed Alice’s parents in 1887, Alice was sent to the asylum due to her supposedly having gone “insane”.

Orpheus wants to visit her, but is declined because Alice is currently “unstable” and they want to “minimize external stimulation” since he would remind her of “what happened in the past” which “wasn’t a great memory to her”. Instead, they tell him a “kind individual” took notice and “offered a significant amount of financial assistance to the orphanage and put together an excellent treatment package designed exclusively for Alice”.

Orpheus is less than enthused as he writes “LIAR!” at the bottom of the letter. But we also know Orpheus to an extent was right as Alice “experienced both mental and physical torture in the orphanage” (aka the asylum).

This “individual” was Villhelm Lamb, a “medical professor” that “secretly adopted” her for the purpose of using her as an “experimental subject”. It was for this reason that he took her to “Melbourne when she was 14 years old”.

Her backstory states “With prolonged medication and physical therapy, she gradually regained consciousness, however, it is perhaps more cruel to live soberly in hell than to live unaware in human world”. But as we can see from flashes of her past, this wasn’t a very happy time due to all the experiments she was subjected to.

We can see that some of the drugs used on Alice included Mnemosyne and Siren’s Song. Mnemosyne is the drug that makes a person forget, and considering what we heard in Orpheus’ letter from the asylum, it is likely they were trying to make her forget the tragedy (potentially as a way to stabilize her). Siren’s Song is the hallucinogenic. Maybe they were giving her this as another way to somehow help her regain her mental stability (unless this was a mistake, but I’m not sure).

We can also see one of the people shown working on Alice includes someone who looks strikingly like Orpheus, so it’s likely he somehow managed to get himself involved to see Alice again and may be wanting to do this to her as some way to help (though it is clear this isn’t entirely a good thing and Alice wants to get away).

In any case, Alice does eventually manage to escape back to England when she’s 21, where she becomes a “social journalist in anonymity, looking for the truth about the tragedy and the disappearance of her playmates”.

We can see from her deductions though that someone likely wants to eliminate Alice. Considering the similarities, I believe it’s possible whoever this is has hired the crime syndicate that was first mentioned during Luchino’s 1st letter to go after her, with their conclusion being she needs eliminated.

Alice’s deductions 8-10 appear to be written by a different author than the one who wrote 1-7, meaning it is likely no longer the crime syndicate talking, meaning whoever hired the syndicate has hired someone else to go after Alice. This new hired person seems to suspect that Orpheus and Alice are “much closer than expected” based on Alice’s deduction 8. Considering Norton’s 2nd letter, it is possible he is this new person hired to go after Alice. There’s also how this person says they initially believed Alice’s “recklessness and bravery were just a front”, which is very similar to how Norton calls the female he was to target as “arrogant”, before Alice’s deduction 9 continues by saying they realize this was a mistake, “it is neither a front nor bravery”. This is likely because Alice’s “sense of fear” is “significantly weaker than normal” after the experiments Villhelm put her through. The last deduction, where it asks what the subject thinks she saw vs what she actually saw, which can relate to how during Ashes of Memory Alice sees Mary and Fool’s Gold instead of Frederick and Norton.

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (9)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: hint of spice, grief, returning cameo characters

Word Count: 3.4k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

The darkness does little to help with your disorientation and panic when you wake from your nightmare, your eyes and nose still itching from memories of powdered concrete and dust clouding the air.

“Fuck,” you whisper, sitting up.

It’s just you tonight.

Your body is tense with cold and fear, the chill seeping further into you as air touches your now exposed skin, damp with sweat. You shiver, hands on your face helping to ground and orient you in the present moment, the bare skin of your hand covering your face instead of suit on skin like in the nightmare. The time on your phone, charging on the bedside table, reads 4:43 in the morning.

You scramble out of bed, trading shorts for sweats and throwing a sweater on over your still sweat-damp shirt. You need warmth right now; being clean can wait until the sun’s up and you won’t fall back asleep under the warm water of the shower. Instead, you relocate to the living room, settling under the blankets on the couch.

As jittery as you are, sleep claims you again with unmatched hunger.

“Two Miguels, huh?” Gwen is saying. She’s stopped by your dimension again, just for the day, to do laundry and catch up. “Is the new one going to help lead? I heard he always has sunglasses on, what’s the deal with that?”

You sip at your smoothie. “I don’t think so; and they protect his eyes. I think they're even more sensitive than our—than the old Miguel’s. Or something.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And how is our Miguel?”

You shoot her a half-hearted glare. “He’s fine. Why ask me?”

She shrugs, changing gears. “You know, I wonder how similar the two are.”

“Well, I’ve only talked to the new one two times,” you shrug. “And the first one barely counts, he’d only just gotten invited back to HQ.”

“What’s his dimension like?”

“You’ll have to ask Peter and Jess. They recruited him.”

“Not you?” Gwen seems surprised.

You shake your head. “No, I was uh…” you look to the side, almost grimacing as your brain flings itself through a jeopardy wheel of potential answers; It lands on honesty. “Miguel vetoed me going. Jess and Peter went instead.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow, pursing her lips in thought. “Huh.”

You change the subject and ask her how Hobie is instead. She takes the bait and immediately springs into telling you how much fun it is to hang out with Hobie and his friends—Karl, Kamala, Robbie, Rick, and Riri.

You’re just glad it sounds like she has friends that get it. Friends that know.

“You seem in better spirits.”

“Yeah,” you shrug a single shoulder and offer a smile, standing side by side with Karen in the elevator going up.

She returns it, turning her head forward.

You’ve never been particularly close with your coworkers, with anybody in your own dimension. Not for a while. You’ve forgotten how to connect normally, what it’s like to be a civilian, and you feel it keenly in this moment standing awkwardly side by side—

“A couple of us are going out for drinks later,” she suddenly mentions, and you risk an awkward glance at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, pausing. “Well, really it’s just me and Ben. But you should come. Um, and some of my other friends might be there too.”

You’ve always liked Karen, always felt like there was an understanding sadness in her pale fae-like features. So you only pause for a moment before you accept, because really, why not? “I’d love to,” you say, and she smiles more openly when your eyes meet again. “What time?”

You’re only a little late when you arrive at the address Karen gave you; a somewhat seedy little dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen. The sign is old, not yet updated to the popular clean lights in the rest of the city, and the windows could use a good cleaning. The bikes out front are a mix of old school gas powered vintage pieces with iridescent shimmering puddles under exhaust pipes, and the new clean energy models quickly taking over the city; incentivized by the joint Federal and Stark Green Energy trade-in programs. The sight of the gas ones doesn’t surprise you—people will always want to hold onto their classics—but the amount of them does.

Inside the bar is dim and yellow, warm light tricking bodies into feeling even warmer than the air already is, and therefore thirstier.

Karen waves you down from a table in the back, and with a returning wave that is in actuality just a slightly lifted hand, you make a beeline towards her and the little table.

Across from Karen you recognize the back of Ben Urich’s head. Beside him is the back of a stranger with short and carefully groomed dark hair, a sliver of his pale skin visible between his hair and the collar of his dress shirt. Across from that stranger and next to Karen is another man you don't know, with a round face and small nose made somehow smaller by his long dark blond hair.

“You must be Karen’s other friend from the paper!” He says, face lighting up when you’re within earshot of the table. Ben turns around in his seat, standing and greeting you by name with a warm handshake and a pat on the shoulder. The man sitting next to him doesn’t stand, smiling politely under his dark glasses.

Karen introduces you by name to the two new men, and then introduces them to you in turn. “This is Foggy,” she says, and the round faced man stands to shake your hand. “And Matt.”

Matt doesn’t stand, but lifts his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, ending the sentence with your name.

“Likewise,” you say. “It’s good to get out of the house.”

“Spend a lot of time working from home?” Foggy asks, settling back into his chair as you take your own seat on the end of the table between Karen and Ben.

“All the time. I never go anywhere.” You try not to say it too dryly, try not to make the lie sound like the inside joke it feels like.

“What sort of pieces do you write for the paper?” Matt asks, tone polite, voice soft and smooth.

“Human interest pieces,” you shrug. “Community events. A lot of filler.”

Matt hums.

“Matt and Foggy have a law office a few blocks from here,” Karen says.

“Karen’s been a great help,” Foggy says. “Since it’s just me and Matty here a lot of things fall to the side. Don’t know where we’d be without her!”

“Oh, stop it,” Karen says, blushing under Foggy’s praise as the table laughs.

“That sounds like her,” Ben says.

“Have you gotten a drink yet?” Matt asks you across the table.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Stick with the bottled stuff,” Foggy advises, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “We love Josie, but her cocktails are basically rubbing alcohol.”

You raise an eyebrow, stifling a laugh behind closed lips.

“I need a refill,” Matt says. “I’ll go with you.”

It’s hard to miss the long suffering look that Foggy shares with Karen.

The nearly black glass of his glasses worn indoors suddenly makes sense when he stands and you see the white cane in his hand. You fall into step beside him, walking the short distance to the bar.

“What do you recommend?” you ask, waiting for Josie to approach your end of the counter.

“Whatever she offers,” he chuckles. “Unless she offers a cocktail. Foggy’s not wrong about the strength.”

“I’ve got a strong tolerance,” you grin, leaning on the counter next to him. “So how’d you meet Karen?”

He pauses, tapping his fingers on the bartop as he thinks. “It’s a long story. Probably better if she tells it.”

You nod, and then realize he can’t see it. “Sorry. That awkward silence was me nodding.”

He laughs. “Right.”

Josie arrives, and you get one of the same beers that Matt orders.

As the night continues you find that you get along quite well with the group, even teaming up to play pool. Ben sits out, heading home to his wife Doris shortly after the game starts.

“This so isn’t fair,” Foggy says after you guide Matt through sinking another ball into a corner pocket.

“It’s not my fault you underestimated my teammate,” Matt says, a devilish smirk curving across his face. “I think it’s more than fair.”

Foggy looks like he wants to say something, his face about ten thousand shades of done. Karen just laughs.

The warm fun of the evening at Josie’s keeps your spirits high through your later patrol as Spider. You stop an ATM robbery with ease, and nip a burglar’s mission in the bud when you catch him in his attempt to break and enter a small business. You even walk a young woman home after her late shift at a cocktail bar.

It’s nearly five again when you at last get home, crawling in through your bedroom window. You don’t even bother to get the suit off before your head hits the pillow and sleep claims you.

The mouth on your neck seems to drain every thought from your mind. You have no sense or memory of what you were doing before he came up behind you to put his arms around your chest, holding you securely against his own.

“What was that, honey?” He whispers, nipping your ear with his lips.

Whatever noise you let out would embarrass you beyond belief, if it weren’t for the hand now snaking down your front.

“Dishes,” you say, breathless. That’s right—you had been loading the dishwasher before this.

“Yeah honey? Dishes?”

The tips of his fingers dip under the waistband of your pants and your attempt at an affirmative hum of ‘Mhm’ turns into a desperate little whimper.

“Uh-huh?” He mocks, his hand pushing lower—

You wake with a gasp, eyes wide and heart thumping.

A weight shifts on the mattress next to you, and you realize there’s an arm around your waist—not low and hungry like in your dream, but simply resting warm and heavy over your side.

Miguel. Miguel’s in your bed, cuddled up behind you.

And you just had a dirty dream about him.

It’s no secret, of course, you know he’s attractive. Hell, you know you’ve been attracted to him. But you thought you’d buried it when… whenever this whole emotional support sleeping—actually sleeping—together thing became a regularity.

Fuck. Fuck.

It seems absence doesn’t just make the heart grow fonder, it digs up repressed sexual desires and reanimates them in the form of dreams.

You don’t know if you’re glad that at least it wasn’t one of your nightmares again. The one with the falling building, or the one with your aunt, or the new one with the woman you couldn’t save last month–

No.

You force the thoughts out of your mind, sitting upright and throwing your legs over the side of the bed. Miguel’s arm falls off of you, hand landing on the mattress beside your hip, punctuated by the half-asleep grunt of someone suddenly roused from sleep.

Shit. Miguel. You forgot again.

You take a steadying breath as you feel the mattress shift behind you.

Miguel’s half asleep voice mumbles your name, the letters coming out in the shape of a question. His hand by your hip moves, sliding up your side to rest on your back. “Are you okay?”

You inhale sharp through your nose, the tips of his fingers rooted to your spine. His hand slides away, the mattress shifting behind you again as he sits up. Even with your back to him you can feel the weight of his presence, distinct from his weight on the mattress, just behind you. His hand returns to rest on your shoulder—your breath hitches.

Too similar.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Breathe.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “Just–” Fuck, you can’t think with his warmth at your back. “Water.” You blurt. Yeah, water is good. Water will get you out of the room for a second, at least, it’ll let you calm down enough to dig a deeper hole to bury the dream in.

Miguel hums, removing his hand as you rise from the bed and escape to the kitchen.

You don’t bother to turn the lights on—your vision may not be as enhanced as Miguel’s in the dark, but you can still see more than the average human. Even if you couldn’t, you know your home well enough to navigate it blindfolded.

Get it together.

You linger in the kitchen, clearing your mind, finding the threads of exhaustion in your body and pulling them around yourself. It helps; the tired ache and desire for warmth, safety, and rest burying the dream back down under meters of dirt in a coffin of spider silk.

Miguel is still awake when you return, just barely. You can see the silhouette of his head lift off the pillow to look at you when you step through the door, hear the soft sound of him resting back down into the pillow when you slide back into bed beside him. If your heart thumps a little harder at the way his arm slides around you as he rolls closer, well, it doesn’t mean anything.

Life falls into a new, comfortable routine. You’ve been getting less backup calls and anomaly assignments from Lyla, and so you focus on your own dimension. It’s easy, it’s clean, and with nearly all of your villains already down and out for the time being it means you can focus on helping the little people. You save cats from trees, you help old ladies, you watch the news and see other heroes taking down their own enemies before you can even think to step foot out the door to help.

When you’re not doing the little things as Spider, you’re writing for the New York Bulletin, or spending time with your new acquaintances—Karen, Foggy, and Matt have invited you out twice more to join them at Josie’s. Despite how stilted and awkward you feel, and the slight distance you’re mindful to keep, it’s nice to make friends. Local friends.

But today you’re visiting HQ. You tell yourself it’s for the gym, the facilities there far more helpful for training your abilities than anything back home—which is true, but isn’t what made you open a portal to Earth-928 in the first place. You do fully intend on visiting the training facilities, but…

Exiting the lobby, you hesitate before continuing towards Miguel’s lab instead of towards the training facilities—maybe he’ll have free time and end up joining you. As unlikely as the idea is, you get the feeling he’ll appreciate the invite regardless.

The lab seems even more dimly lit than usual, and far too quiet. There’s no dim yellow glow from the platform, no sound from surveillance footage or old recordings that Miguel still tortures himself with.

The air is so still that you hesitate to even breathe.

Needless to say, Lyla’s sudden appearance and chirp of your name in the air in front of your face nearly launches you out of your skin.

“Lyla,” you say, a hand over your racing heart.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there,” she says, flickering into an image of apologetic raised hands. “What can I do for you?”

“I was looking for Miguel,” you say, turning your head as if you simply missed him lurking in a dark corner.

“Miguel is out on personal business right now,” she says, flipping through a conjured secretary notepad. “But I can take a message if you’d like!”

You try not to let the disappointment, or the surprise, show too strongly on your face or the automatic droop of your shoulders. “Oh, uh, no that’s okay! Just thought I’d drop by. Um,” you falter under her unblinking friendly smile. “I guess just tell him I said hi?”

Ugh. Pathetic.

“Sure thing!” Lyla says, her little notepad disappearing into the ether.

You’re distracted the whole time through your exercises in the training facility, caught off kilter several times to the point that you just pack up and leave early.

It’s not that he’s gone that bothers you, nor that he has personal things to take care of. No, it’s the fact that you have no clue what his personal life could be like. You know he doesn't exactly get out much just to socialize, and you’re almost sure he doesn't have family left here.

Right? Why else would he have left to take the place of his other self?

It’s not the first time in recent days you’ve been reminded of how little you really know about the man who regularly visits to sleep in your bed. Sure, you know how to comfort him when grief sneaks it’s deadly hands around his neck, you know what foods he likes and which Spider-People he favors. You know he makes a show of being a grump, but the fact that the Spidey Special is still on the menu is proof enough that as long as it isn’t interfering with something serious he’ll let others carry on with their jokes even at his expense. You know how soft and gentle his touch can be, how his voice sounds when sliding into or out of the cloudy world of dreams. You know he’s lonelier than he lets on around the others.

You know how much he misses his daughter.

Still, the fact that you have no idea what the rest of his life could be like unsettles you, leaves you feeling off kilter and strange.

—

“I’m glad you could take time off for today,” the man next to Miguel says, hands in his coat pockets.

The two men are sitting on a bench, green trimmed grass spread out around them under healthy trees that provide dappled shade from the afternoon sun. The polished headstones around them spread out like a cut down orchard, neat lines and rows of the long lost in juxtaposition with the hard messy feelings they’ve left behind. The mausoleum just a few meters away helps Miguel to feel less exposed in the open graveyard. He’s wearing sunglasses to shield from the clear sky; Gabriel is wearing the usual stupid goggles up on his forehead. Miguel still doesn't know if they serve any practical purpose.

“Of course,” Miguel says, arms crossed over his stomach as he slouches on the bench in civilian clothes, all soft grays and charcoal.

“How’s work?”

Miguel sighs. “Oh, you know.”

“I don’t,” is Gabriel’s reply, turning his body toward Miguel. “You don’t talk about it.”

Miguel tilts his head back, eyes getting lost in the leaves on the branch above the bench.

“I’m your brother, Miggy. I’d like to know how your life is going, even if it is all crazy sci-fi bullshit.”

Miguel closes his eyes, sighing again and tucking his chin down. “It’s not that exciting.”

Gabriel scoffs. “Yeah. Because being the head of a government sanctioned multiversal maintenance society is boring. You’re so full of shit.” It’s not mean, not even annoyed. He’s chuckling as he says it. “Shock it,” he says, clapping a hand on Miguel’s shoulder and standing. “Since we’re here, let's visit the other two.”

“Mom’ll get jealous,” Miguel says dryly. “It’s supposed to be her day.”

“So we’ll just go hang out at her headstone again for a while before we leave,” Gabriel grins. “Come on. When’s the last time you visited them?”

Miguel has to pull his thoughts back on subject, away from—

“A while.”

“That’s what I thought. You know, I was here with Xina last month, visiting Dana and....”

Miguel walks beside his brother, swallowing down the lump rising in his choked throat as Gabriel recounts the short anecdote. He doesn’t like visiting this part of the cemetery, too many mistakes memorialized in stone, buried under his feet.

“How is Xina?”

“She got a promotion, apparently.” Gabriel glances over at him, Miguel carefully schooling his face. “You should reach out. She might even talk to your grumpy ass.”

Miguel shakes his head, a bittersweet smile. “We always just end up talking about…”

Gabriel sighs, patting him on the back. “I know.” A pause. “That doesn't always have to be a bad thing.”

Miguel's mind wanders again. 

Warmth. Blankets. Cooking breakfast for two.

“I know.”

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