#but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that

[formosusiniquis]

y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be. 

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

-

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

-

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though." 

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

-

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

-

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic. 

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part Eight

Five months later...

I've been through the ringer lately with school shit and back-to-back submarine deployments (someone please tell the Navy that I'd really like extended time with my husband; I'm tired of him being on the boat); needless to say, this has been on the backburner for a minute and it was high time I get this written for y'all's enjoyment. Thanks so much for your patience; I can't wait for you guys to read this. <3

Things start heating up for Bob and Katie.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 7.2K

MAJOR WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY. SMUT. MINORS DNI.

MINOR WARNINGS: colorful language, not beta-read (we die like men)

***

Week 6, Monday. It’s been barely a minute since the morning portion of instruction finished, and Fanboy is already accosting Katie. Well, not accosting - more like sidling up alongside her with his arms folded and his eyes glimmering with… something. She wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘accusing’, but whatever it is, it comes pretty damn close to it. 

“All right, spill - what happened this weekend?” 

Boy, nothing gets by you, does it? “What do you mean ‘what happened this weekend’?” 

“Oh girl, don’t even,” Fanboy retorts with a snort as they wander out into the hallway. “You and Bob have been staring and smiling at each other alllll morning, which leads me to believe that something happened between you guys. So, what happened?” 

Despite Fanboy being rather annoyingly perceptive about her love life (damn him), Katie can only chuckle. “Really hell-bent on winning that five bucks, huh?”

“I mean, it’s an easy win for me; it’s obvious you two have something going on.” 

“Either that, or you’re seeing things. Speaking of seeing things, what’s this I hear about you seeing a girl in Los Angeles? Halfpint said you were gone all weekend with someone-”

“Ah ah ah, we’re not talking about me; stop avoiding the question-”

“Oh my god - we went to the aquarium and looked at fish. Happy now?” In her defense, she is telling Fanboy the truth - she just fails to mention the kiss they shared in the kelp forest exhibit, the hours of conversation, and the secondary kiss she gave him after he walked her back to her room. It’s not like it’s important for him to know the details right now. 

Fanboy knows she’s lying - or, at the very least, he looks at her like he knows she’s lying, complete with his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed, just the tiniest bit. “You’re not telling me something. I dunno what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out - and you’re in trouble when I do.”

Katie heaves a sigh. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

Fanboy sounds almost affronted when he scoffs at her. “I’ve got five dollars on the line; of course I’m not letting it go.” He sets his garrison cap squarely on his head and lines it up with the bridge of his nose, then starts for the front door - only to double back and lean in towards Katie. “Her name’s Gianna, by the way.” 

He’s already walking by the time Katie thinks to respond. “You better gimme details on her, Garcia!”

“Only when you gimme details on you and Bobber!” he yells as a final farewell, just as the front doors cut him off with a loud clang!

Katie can’t help but groan. Can’t he at least give her the courtesy of some privacy before divulging the details of her love life? Apparently not. Nosy-ass.

“Boy, Fanboy’s in fine form today, isn’t he?” Bob’s come up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder blade to let her know that he’s there. 

She ignores the tingling she gets from his hand brushing against her and sighs. “You heard all that, huh?”

“Yeah… What was that all about?” 

Katie blows a raspberry with her lips, shakes her head. “He’s being nosy about this past weekend. He’s got money riding on you and me getting together.” 

“Wait…” Bob’s eyebrows furrow. “There’s a bet going?” 

“Five dollars that you and I become a thing in a matter of weeks,” Katie explains. She doesn’t even try to hide the wince on her face. “In my defense, I didn’t do shit to encourage him. He made the bet all on his own.” 

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Bob replies with a hum as he’s positioning his garrison cap. 

They’re outside now, making their way towards Katie’s 4Runner. The sun’s hanging directly overhead, beaming down and hitting Bob’s hair in a way that turns it to gold in the light. For a second, it’s all Katie can focus on, all she wants to focus on. Christ, he’s handsome…

She coughs after a moment. She hates to end it so soon. “Yeah, well, his competitiveness is making him badger me for money. He’s pretty well convinced you and I are a sure thing.” 

“Well, what do you think? Are we a sure thing?”

Katie’s breath stops mid-inhale. Oh boy. She should’ve known that it was going to come up; she just wasn’t expecting it to come up as soon as it did. 

She forces the air out in a small exhale, purses her lips as they climb into the 4Runner. “I think…” Choose your words carefully Katie… “I think we only just realized we have feelings for each other,” she says slowly. “And… while we’re figuring out where we wanna go with those feelings, I think I want to take things slow with you.” 

She’s half-expecting Bob to hang his head in disappointment, or to say something passive-aggressive in response - anything to suggest she’s in the wrong for trying to set boundaries and manage expectations. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to her. 

To her surprise, though, Bob nods. “That’s more than fair. Certainly makes things a little less intimidating.”

When he says that, Katie’s not sure if he’s speaking for her, or for himself. 

In any case, she hums in agreement as she starts the car up - then smirks. “If last weekend was any indicator, though, I’d say things are heading in a good direction.” She reaches over, slips a hand into Bob’s, squeezes softly as her eyes meet his. “Wouldn’t you agree?”  

Bob gives her a grin and his own squeeze of her hand as a reply. Wholeheartedly, it seems to say. 

She smiles, cranks her music volume, and points them  in the direction of downtown San Diego. 

Likewise, Bob. 

Likewise. 

***

Tuesday morning is a timeframe like most others these days - early rise, quick rinse, fresh flight suit…

And coffee with Bob in his lodge room. 

At 0730 he’s in his usual spot behind the kitchen bartop, hand-grinding coffee beans and keeping a casual eye on the kettle on the stove, watching for steam. Equally, Katie is in her usual spot too, elbow on the counter, propping up her head resting in her hand, eyes on Bob, lazy, sleepy half-smile on her face. She likes watching him make coffee for the both of them. It’s soothing, a balm for the unpleasantness of waking up early in the morning. 

Beans sufficiently ground, Bob pops the cap on the grinder and dumps them into his French press. “This stuff smells phenomenal. Where did you get it from again?” 

“Y’know James Coffee over on India Street?”

“Oh yeah, those guys. Been meaning to check ‘em out sometime. How’s their coffee?” 

Katie nods. “It’s really good - kinda’ fruity. At least that’s what the guy who sold it to me said.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Bob takes the kettle in one hand, wets the grounds with some water before giving them a stir. “You can smell the berries and chocolate in the beans.” He pours the rest of the water into the press, all the way to the top, then sets the plunger. “It’s gonna make a helluva cup of coffee, I can tell you that much.” 

He splits the resulting liquid between two white mugs, and hands one off to Katie, who takes a single long sip and hums serenely. Warm, toasty, and chocolatey.  Bob’s right - this is a damn good cup of coffee. 

“Dude, can I just, like… Take you back to Virginia with me when this is all over? Have you make me coffee everyday or something? Like goddamn.” She takes another sip of coffee, revels in the rich, fruity taste, the heat warming her insides, the caffeine flowing through her. “Seriously, I don’t think I can go back to my Keurig after this,” she says with a laugh. 

Bob chuckles as he comes around the bartop and takes the seat to Katie’s left. “I dunno. Big daddy Navy might have something to say about that, but” - he takes a long sip - “I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

“Eh, it’s nothing an SRC can’t take care of.” 

A shrug and a lip-curl of agreement. “SRC’s do take care of a lot of things.” 

“See? Problem solved.” Katie takes another pull of coffee. Right now she can’t get enough of it, it’s so good. “Just say that you’re, I dunno… establishing a coffee mess detachment in Norfolk. Y’know, something that says ‘mission critical’ and makes upper leadership happy.” 

“Spoken as if it’s actually gonna work,” Bob replies with a snicker. 

“Oh what, you think it won’t?”

“Trust me, I wish it would.”

“Oh, it definitely will. I mean, it’s gotta; I’ve got cute guy-supplied coffee on the line here.” 

Bob’s cheeks color, and there’s just the tiniest hint of bashfulness in the smile that crosses his face. “Cute, huh?” 

“Oh yeah.” She leans into him, hand running feather-light down his forearm before resting atop his free hand. “Very cute.”

Her heart still pounds in her chest when she leans in further and kisses Bob. She may be the picture of cool and collected on the outside, but there’s no controlling the anxious shriek of her nerves, the too-fast rush of her blood through her veins as her lips brush his, taste him. Kissing a man certainly isn’t a novelty for Katie, but… 

This is Bob Floyd she’s kissing now, and Bob, he’s… Well, where the hell does Katie begin? He’s…

Unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. 

She pulls back, surveys his face for a moment. Bob is blank-faced - dumbstruck, even. Clearly he wasn’t expecting a kiss this morning. 

“What about what you said yesterday?” 

Despite the hammering in her ribs, she sidles up next to Bob, leans until her lips are just close enough to brush the shell of his ear. Bold of her. VERY bold of her. “Just because we’re taking it slow, doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you,” she whispers. 

Katie can practically feel the heat coming off of Bob all of a sudden, can feel the goosebumps prickling across his skin. Hell, his breathing hitches for a second. So. Close proximity definitely has an effect on him. It’s a bit of a mean thing to do this early in the morning, but she’s definitely got his attention with that. She’s also fairly certain he’s not going to complain much about it, if he even complains at all. 

A moment later, Bob replies. “Well,” he says around a thick swallow, “thank god for that, because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since Saturday.” 

He hasn’t? 

He turns back towards Katie, and picks up where she left off, nice, easy, no pressure. Unlike Katie, though, he doesn’t pull back after the one kiss. No - he stays there, wanting more, giving more. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, so nice and tender, and suddenly Katie’s the one with goosebumps. It’s so… intimate. It’s closeness that she hasn’t had, not in a long, long time. 

And it’s closeness that she wants more of. 

Her hands move of their own free will, creeping up to cradle Bob’s jaw, every bit as tender as the embrace he has her in, more more more please more - 

And then the soft rattle of a doorknob turning has them breaking apart and shoving away faster than they have time to process. Dashed is the moment of closeness, the moment of bliss that Katie was all too happy to let herself sink into - like a bubble bursting and fizzing into the ether.

The door to the left-side bedroom swings open, and out comes Rapture, swiping a hand down his sleep-riddled face, the very picture of ‘I’m up too early against my will’ as he all but stumbles into the shared space. 

He’s utterly oblivious to his WSO having kissed their fellow aviator all but two seconds ago, to the flushed pink tinting both their cheeks, their lips.  

And dare Katie even think it for a second, but she’s… annoyed by the sudden appearance of Bob’s front-seater. Very annoyed. 

“Pre-class coffee?” Rapture mumbles, to which Bob nods in answer. “Smells good.”

“Man, you have no idea. This stuff is amazing. You want a cup?”

Rapture all but moans. “Please.”

It’s a fight to keep a scowl from creeping across her face. Goddamn it Rapture, you couldn’t have done this earlier?

Bob seems to sense the thought running through Katie’s head, because his eyes dart to hers as he stands and goes to fix a cup of coffee for his front-seater - and if she’s reading the glimmer in them correctly, it’s definitely saying “I hear you.”

Perhaps he also had other things in mind before Rapture showed up. 

In an attempt to be conversational while waiting on the coffee, Rapture turns to Katie. “How’re you doing this morning?”

“Not too bad. Enjoying my one moment of peace for the day before other people see fit to destroy it.” The smile on her face is polite, but tight. Very tight. Pointedly tight. 

“Christ, that’s a mood,” Rapture mutters before taking the coffee Bob’s just passed to him and drinking, seemingly unfazed by the wording and stiff expression - and heaves a long sigh of bliss. “Y’think anyone’ll care if I take the mug with me off lodge property?”

“Uh… No?”

“Good. This is coming with me then. Fuck, this is good.” He takes another sip, smacks his lips, starts for the front door. “I’ll see y’all at the schoolhouse.”

Then, Rapture’s gone, breezing through the front door, leaving Bob and Katie to slump in the kitchen. Universe: one. Two romantically involved aviators: zero. 

“God bless my front-seater, but he has terrible timing sometimes,” Bob all but groans. 

“Yeah, tell me about it. S’pose we oughta’ follow his lead though and get moving; muster is in 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, you’re right; we should go. You driving or am I?”

“Eh, I’ll drive.”

“All right. Just leave your mug on the counter; I’ll wash it later.” Bob scoops up his notebooks and study material, dumps it into the black Navy-issued backpack resting against the kitchen floorboards, loops his arms through one of the straps, grabs his garrison cap off the counter. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“‘Kay. Let’s go.” 

They march down the hall towards the stairwell at the opposite end, strides long and purposeful, minds clear and focused now. At least, Katie’s mind is, no thanks to Rapture and his sudden interruption. It’s definitely for the best though; being half-dazed and delirious from a kiss while learning rigorous combative flight technique is probably not the best state to be in. 

They’re making their way down the stairs, boots all but thundering as they hit the steps, when Bob comes to a standstill right at the bottom. Katie’s lucky she catches herself in time; one more step forward and she would be tumbling over him. 

“You good there?” 

“Fine. Just forgot something, is all.”

Katie’s eyebrow shoots up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Bob says nothing else - just turns and leans into Katie and kisses her, right there at the bottom the stairwell, one second, two seconds, three. When he pulls away, there’s a grin - a self-satisfied, mischievous one - on his face. “That. We’re good now.” 

“You’re so ridiculous.” Even though her eyes roll and her voice scoffs, her lips still curl upwards in a smile.

“Can’t help it that I like kissing you - and that I’m gonna take every chance I get to do it.”

And with that, Bob smiles broadly, nudges Katie in the shoulder, and pushes through the door into the lobby, leaving Katie to follow with her mouth in a silly grin and her face flushed. 

So much for having a clear mind today.

***

The outdoors call to Katie today, more than usual. It probably has something to do with today’s lecture and hop being on the more hellish side, but by the time everyone’s released for the day and she’s made it back to her room to change, the initial reason doesn’t matter all that much. She just has to get outside, and soon. 

She texts Bob and Fanboy as she’s swapping over to shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. “Going hiking, y’all wanna come with?” 

Bob’s answer comes through almost immediately. “Sure. Where to?”

“No idea,” Katie texts, shrugging as she does, as though Bob can somehow see her reacting to the message. “You wanna pick?” 

As Bob takes time to ponder, another message chirps through - Fanboy this time. “Fuck it, why not?” his message reads. “Where we going?”

“No idea. Bob’s picking a spot.” 

“Cool cool. Bobber, where to?”

“Uhhhhhh thoughts on Bayside Trail? Two and a half mi roundtrip and it’s right along the ocean.”

Ah, a nice, quick oceanside hike. More importantly, a nice, quick oceanside hike at golden hour. How pretty - and romantic, Katie realizes a second later. 

Shit. Fanboy is definitely going to read into this now. 

She swears to herself, threads her braided hair through the back of the ball cap Bob bought for her, pulls it down tight on her head. She suddenly finds herself praying to the higher powers that be, asking them to please, for the love of all things holy, let her (and Bob, for that matter) have a nice afternoon without any prying questions from their friend, or (Christ) even so much as a sly sideways glance at the two of them. 

HA, she thinks, then groans. Who the fuck am I kidding? 

Much to Katie’s surprise, though, he doesn’t. In fact, Fanboy hardly says a damn word the whole time they’re together. Even when it’s an hour and a half later and she and Bob are drifting and talking to each other a good deal closer than most friends would, he doesn’t say anything. 

Maybe he doesn’t notice, Katie thinks briefly, right before shaking her head. No way. He’s noticed and he’s just choosing not to say anything. 

She all but confirms this when they reach the trail’s terminus and she snaps a picture of the three of them, standing high above the ocean in all its blue- and gold-hued glory, and goddamn it if Fanboy doesn’t smirk in the picture - smirk at her, more specifically. 

Yep, he definitely noticed. 

And he makes as much clear when he knocks shoulders with her on the return trip and murmurs to her, “Still think you’re not paying me that five bucks?”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

“Y’know, that day might be coming a lot sooner than you think.”

“Fanboy, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, only after you pay me.”

Insufferable, that one. Really and truly insufferable. 

And yet, Katie doesn’t have it in her to resent Fanboy. For as much as he pokes at and pesters her about it, for as much as it drives her damn nuts, they both know that there’s a point being made:

Something is brewing between her and Bob, something big, and to continue to deny it is a fool’s errand. Fanboy’s right, and not only does he know it, but Katie knows it too. 

…She’s still not giving him the money, though. 

***

She hasn’t stopped thinking about Tuesday morning. 

It’s been two days since then and her face still feels warm where Bob had laid his hand - tingly warm, good warm. A man caressing her face the way he did isn’t a novel experience to her - at least, it shouldn’t be; past boyfriends and flings have made similar moves in similar situations, but none of them affected her the way this one, this man, did. 

It’s made Katie realize lately how badly - how very, very badly - she wants Bob to touch her like that. To touch her in general. To run his hands over her face and her body and…

Her cheeks go from pale and freckled to burning and flushed in a matter of seconds. It paints a wonderful image in her head, but she scolds herself. They’ve only just started figuring things out; she doesn’t need to be having those thoughts just yet. 

But here she is, having them anyway. And she’s not in much of a rush to stop them. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Oh god, she’s in trouble. She’s supposed to be meeting up with him in five minutes for some studying, and in his room, no less. How the hell is she supposed to manage that with the thoughts, the images racing through her head? 

Katie groans, tips forward and lets her forehead smack against the mirror in her bathroom. “Please, I am begging you,” she moans to herself, “get your shit together. You’re supposed to be taking this slow, remember?”

If only it were so easy to keep that in mind. 

She splashes some water on her face, wills her brain to stop racing and the flush in her face to disappear. The flush proves easy to dispel. The thoughts? Not so much. They circle and circle, over and over, and goddamn it, this is so not helping. 

It’s only when she forces herself to think of the most unsexy things in the world - namely, UCMJ articles and the Navy code of ethics - that she’s able to feel calm enough to handle things. She’s in control. She can do this. 

…Right?

Turns out that’s a lie - a big, fat one, because when Bob greets her in his doorway five minutes later, wearing a USN hoodie with the sleeves bunched up to reveal the tone of his forearms, Katie’s body goes hot and all thoughts of calm and control go flying out of her head. 

Did he have to wear something that shows off one of the best parts of him?

Thinking those thoughts about a friend of yours… Have you no shame?

For once, Katie doesn’t wince at the nagging little voice in the back of her head. 

“All right, I’ve got Thai food on the counter,” Bob says without a moment of hesitation. “I say we eat first and then dive into studying.”

It’s enough to snap Katie out of her momentary stupor. She nods in agreement and follows him through the doorway. “What’ve you got?”

“Summer rolls with peanut sauce, pork pad kee mao, and green curry with chicken. The pad kee mao’s good but if you’re not a fan of spicy, I’d skip it.”

“Well,” Katie asks as she takes a plate from him, “how spicy are we talking here?”

“Like a five, maybe a soft six out of ten.”

“Am I gonna be doubled over in your bathroom in twenty minutes if I eat it?”

“Eh, I don't think so. If you can handle last week's Chinese food, you'll handle this just fine."

Katie’s first response is to purse her lips in thought - then to take the spoon nestled in the noodles and dump a big scoop of them onto her plate. “Guess we’ll see how I’m doing in twenty minutes then.”

Luckily for her, twenty minutes go by without any issue (fire-coated throat and tongue notwithstanding). She makes a mental note to order from this place sometime after going for her second serving of pad kee mao and green curry. Or, better yet, to just have Bob make all her food decisions from now on. He hasn’t steered wrong yet and the food he’s picked out only seems to get better. 

“All right - so, what do we wanna go over?”

“I mean, anything and everything,” Katie shrugs, “but uh… Lecture notes? Lab notes? Flight observations?”

“Lecture was pretty dense today…” Bob flips open one of his many notebooks, eyes scanning through line after line of bullet points and side notes. “Wanna start with radar?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

And so it goes. Books are flipped open, old notes are thumbed through, new notes are scribbled down in the margins. For Bob and Katie, it’s the heaviest use of their brain power outside of the schoolhouse. 

Three hours later, at 2100, they sit side by side on the sofa in Bob’s living space, dialed into their studies while vaporwave drones in the background, poring over pages and pages of notes and analysis, over papers that lay scattered across the coffee table, over… Well, who really knows at this point? 

Katie traces a line of text with the tip of her pen, willing the words to, one: make sense; and two: stick in any way possible. Whether it’s due to the late hour or her own subconscious desire to stop learning for the day, none of what she’s reading is making much sense to her. 

Seems like there’s only one thing to do at this point. 

She sighs, turns to Bob, whose eyes seem to rove over the same paragraph repeatedly in his book. “Is your brain as soupy as mine or…?”

Bob snorts. “Katie, if you tipped my head to one side, I’m pretty sure it would fall out of my ear.”

Noted. 

“So we’re calling it for the night then?”

A nod. “Yeah, we’re calling it.” 

“Fair enough.” Katie flips her guidance book shut, tosses the pen onto the coffee table with a curt sigh. “Now what?”

“Dunno - we relax, I guess.”

“As if we don’t relax together every weekend?” Katie says wryly. 

“Ah, that’s different. That’s ‘morale is high and we have a whole day to ourselves’ relaxing. This is ‘stare at a wall and contemplate our life choices’ relaxing.”

“Seems a little sad, but I suppose you’re right.” Katie sinks back into the couch, blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I am kind of wondering what I got myself into here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, y’know, wondering why I said ‘sure’ to my boss when he told me I was going to TOPGUN, that sort of thing. All it’s done for me is get my ass kicked.”

“Well, even if it is getting your ass kicked, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Glad someone is,” Katie replies with snark. 

“Hey, c’mon now, I am. You’re one of the few people keeping me sane here.” 

“Oh, is that why you’re so interested in me?” 

Bob only gives Katie a look that can be described as withering, but it’s hard to call it that when he can barely keep a smile from spreading across his face. “You know it’s for more than that.”

“I know. I’m just teasing. Oh man…”

Katie tips to the side, into Bob, her temple knocking into the curve of his shoulder. Bob, meanwhile, stacks himself on top of Katie with a sigh, cheek pressing into the crown of her head. His hand comes to rest on the inside of her leg, by her knee, but he doesn’t dare inch it up any further than that. 

It doesn’t matter. Even in a spot so unassuming, his hand on her knee is enough to send lightning ripping up her spine.

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This man is going to be the death of her. 

“Guess it’s my turn to be the nervous wreck now,” she comments wryly, voice bordering on a rasp. 

She can feel Bob frown against the crown of her head. “Why do you say that?”

“Y’know how you weren’t able to stop thinking about kissing me? Guess it’s my turn now.”

“…Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm. Your hand on my knee is, uh, having quite an effect.” As if emphasizing her words, her knee gives a twitch beneath his hand. 

“If it’s making you uncomfortable I can take it off-”

“No, no. It’s…” Oh man, why are words suddenly hard? “I want you to keep it there. It’s… It’s nice.” 

“Yeah?”

She manages a nod, the words failing her this time. All she can think about - all that really matters - is his hand on her leg - that closeness between them. 

Oh, they’re playing a dangerous game now. Katie realizes it the second the thought goes through her head. After that first kiss in the aquarium, she’s realized just how starved for physical contact she’s been, and with Bob being more than willing to give it to her…

Oh yes - a dangerous game, indeed. 

And Katie can’t bring herself to care all of a sudden. 

She turns, curls into him with a long, soft sigh, face pressing into the curve of his neck. He’s warm - so warm, and it radiates through, soaks into her, and it damn near makes her hum. This. This is nice. Real nice. 

She drapes an arm loosely across him, nuzzles into Bob, seeking the heat of him. 

Bob is utterly still beneath her. 

…To hell with it. 

Katie removes her face from the crook of his neck - only to lean in, mouth slanting over Bob’s in a soft, questioning kiss. Do you want this? 

His hand slides up her shoulder, rests on her neck, pulls her closer, ever so gentle. Please. 

She obliges. More than that, actually; she pushes in hard, steals the breath from his lungs and replaces it with her own. She needs to be close to him, as close as humanly possible - needs to feel him in some way. 

And Bob? Bob meets her halfway every time she dips in, meets Katie touch for touch, kiss for kiss, sigh for sigh. His teeth prick down on her lower lip and tug it into his mouth, and it’s all Katie can do to clamp down on the heat surging between her legs. The thoughts from earlier resurface. She can’t get enough of the way he feels against her.

She needs more. 

She threads her fingers into Bob’s golden-brown hair, nails digging ever so gently into his scalp. It’s been a long time since she’s done this - shamelessly made out with a man, lost herself in the fog of lips and teeth and tongue. Lips that burn hot against her own. Teeth that pull her in close, into him. Tongue that tastes her. And god, is Bob good with them - better than she would’ve guessed. 

It makes Katie wonder what else he’s capable of… 

Makes her wonder where else he could make her burn and feel utterly breathless. 

Before she’s even fully aware of it, her leg is thrown over Bob’s lap and she’s half straddling him, body going through motions she hasn’t been through in ages, motions she’s all too happy to surrender herself to - that is, until Bob groans beneath her, and suddenly her brain catches up with the rest of her body and it all comes to a screeching halt. In an instant she’s pulling back, her breath frozen in her throat and her eyes wide in mortification. 

“Oh my god-” She shoves herself off, puts some desperately-needed space between the two of them. “I’m so sorry, I got totally carried away-”

“Katie-”

“I’m not trying to give you mixed signals or force you into something-”

“Katie-”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to-”

“Katie!”

Katie freezes, a deer caught in the headlights. Did she just royally screw things up? 

Her heart is hammering in her chest as Bob, with his mussed hair and flushed cheeks and full lips, reaches over and takes her face in both his hands, thumbs brushing over the lines of her cheekbones. “Look at me, look at me - it’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” 

“But- But you groaned and-” Why, why, why does she sound like a nervous high-schooler? Christ - she really is out of practice with this… 

Bob chuckles, and a bit breathlessly at that. “I can’t help it when I’ve got a girl practically on top of me, doing some real nice things to me…” 

“I, uh… don’t know if that helps.”

“Katie, it’s fine. I’m having the time of my life here. I mean…” His eyes travel downward, and Katie follows them, and… 

It’s the first time she’s looked at him since they started this whole thing - really looked at him. And now that she’s here, in this moment, there’s no missing the stiffness in Bob’s jeans. It’s a total rush of blood to the head, seeing how she’s affected him.

Katie lifts her head, light blue gaze meeting Bob’s newly dark blue gaze. “Do you want me to keep going?” 

“Oh god, more than anything, but…” He’s gentle as he takes her hands in his. “Do you wanna keep going?” 

The warmth pulsing between Katie’s legs all but screams ‘yes’ - but she finds herself sighing and drawing back. “Maybe we should hold back a little, or… I dunno. I think if we’re trying to take it slow and figure things out, this kind of isn’t the way to do it… Y’know?” 

“Yeah, you do have a point there.” 

She’s waiting for the 180, the moment when he tells her that he is, in fact, disappointed in her for stopping and guilts her into changing her mind. Only it never comes. Of course it never comes, because it’s Bob, and why on earth would he do that? He’s not one of the boyfriends of days past. 

And he’s certainly not her. 

“D’you want me to walk you back?” 

Yes, and lock us in my room and pin me to my bed and- “I appreciate the offer, but uh, there’s that slight risk of getting handsy again and uh…”

Bob’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “Well, who says that’s a bad thing?” 

The heat in Katie’s core flares like a sunburst. Whether or not Bob knows it, he’s making it damn difficult for her to want to slow this down. 

“I think I’ll walk myself back,” she answers softly - then smiles. “But thank you.”

She doesn’t give Bob a chance to convince her to stay, or even to reply; to do so would be to invite trouble - tempting, fun trouble, yes, but trouble all the same. 

She stands, gathers up her instruction binders and notebooks into her arms, her pens clasped in one hand, key card clasped in the other. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“See you.” His eyes remain locked on her, smoldering despite the easygoing, sweet smile on his face. It’s a look that sends heat blazing through Katie’s body. 

Yes, time for her to go. 

She turns, makes for the front door, slips through it, her steps silent. 

She’s certain she can feel Bob’s eyes on her long after the door shuts behind her. 

***

The walk back from Bob’s room to Katie’s own is a long one. 

At least, she tries to make it that way. She makes her steps slow and measured, takes the stairs down to the first floor, then all the way back up to the third, and makes her steps even more slow and measured going down the hallway…

All in an effort to quell the burning of her body, the burning between her legs. 

Something happened tonight - something big. Something earth-tilting. 

Something that makes Katie want to turn on her heel and march right back to Bob’s room. 

To finish what they started. 

She approaches her room, heart thumping, pounding in her rib cage, body aching - aching in ways it hasn’t in a long time. Christ, everything in the realm of intimacy hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s been years between partners - hell, flings - and now she seemingly has one again and everything in her just… aches. Yearns. 

Needs. Needs needs needs. 

There’s only one light on in the living space of her room. In the bedroom to the right, it is mercifully black, quiet - the perfect environment to help quiet the storm roiling within her. 

Hopefully. 

Her study materials are tossed into the living space without a second thought, the single light shut off with a paw of her hand against the wall. She slips into the bedroom, closes the door, takes the one, two, three, four steps to her bed before twisting and falling back-first into it. It takes minutes for her to adjust to the darkness surrounding her, to the stillness that comes with it. 

To the thoughts, the feelings it seems to invite. 

Katie knows full well that she is alone in the room, but the darkness seems to conjure shadows, figures. Figures that can move. Figures that can do things. Things to her. 

Things she had half a mind to do with Bob earlier. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them.

They were definitely going somewhere before her thoughts had stalled her and pulled her out of the fog, somewhere heated. Katie had felt one of his hands trailing down her side, coming to rest on her hip, fingers flexing, gripping firm yet gentle. Bob had wanted her there, just as much as she’d wanted to be there, and…

The ache is back. And it’s between her legs again, warm and pulsing and wanting. She squeezes her thighs together, bites her lip at the pressure it creates. 

And it does nothing to alleviate the burning she feels. In fact, it intensifies it. 

She needs more.

She needs release. 

Somewhere in the five seconds it takes her to figure out what her body is desperate - screaming - for, Katie’s heartbeat goes erratic, off-sync and shaking in her rib cage. This. She really hasn’t done this in a long time. 

Her breath stutters out of her mouth in shallow breaths as she reaches down and undoes the button and zip of her jeans, pushes them down to a bunch around her knees. The cool air from the air conditioning nips into the skin of her thighs and she twitches, presses her legs together again, writhes when it gives her that sweet, warm pressure, those goosebumps prickling across her skin. They’re featherlight, almost like the barest brush of a hand. 

What Katie imagines Bob’s hands feel like, brushing ever-so-gentle across her bare skin. 

She can envision it: the long, delicate fingers, the soft tips, the veins running along the back, those beautiful, beautiful hands just… touching, tracing, whispering along her. 

Her hands move along the same trail he would take with his. They skim up the length of her quad muscles, drift up and across her hip bones, her stomach, the sensation like small bolts of lightning and heat on her skin. They continue upwards, nudging up the hem of her t-shirt, the band of her bralette, up and up and up, and they whisper across the swell of her breasts, now pebbled and sensitive in the chilled air of her room. Then, imagination has them moving back down, across the planes of her stomach, across her pelvis, and then her fingers alight along the lace edge of her underwear and… 

She contemplates leaving them on and simply pushing them to the side, or even just dipping her hand beneath and forgoing the extra movement. She has no need for it, for all the suspense and built-up tension and thrill.

But what would Bob want? What would he do?

Bob, Katie decides, would pull them down - not all the way, just to around her thighs, just enough to give him full view, full access. He would want to see all of her; Katie’s sure of it.

So, she inches her underwear down, grants herself that openness, that exposure. The cold air breathes across her, across the wetness of her, and she shudders at the sensation and fuck, she needs to touch herself now. 

Her fingers go low and drag upwards through her folds, arousal wetting the tips, and it’s bliss as they circle her clit, nice and slow and steady. She imagines it’s Bob doing it, that it’s his fingers circling her, rolling across her most sensitive parts. It could’ve been his fingers, his hands doing this, if she hadn’t let her brain catch up and she’d just let them feel, lose themselves to the pleasure, she thinks. 

No matter now. She’s in the dark, and here, anything is possible. Here, Bob can give her the touch, the pleasure, the release she so desperately craves. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, deep in the recesses, a voice - a shitty, cutting one - hisses at her that what she’s doing is the height of crass, the height of disgusting, masturbating to someone she knows but isn’t quite involved with. She gives the thought maybe a half-second of consideration - and then decides that she doesn’t care, not as her fingers tease and touch and stroke softly. She finds that the voice deadens to a whisper the more she does it. 

Of course, Katie finds that it disappears entirely when she drops her hand fully between her legs and slips her middle and ring fingers inside, palm pressing against her clit as she curls into her own velvet softness, breath leaving her lungs in a gasp, because oh good god, she forgot how good this feels…

And then she thinks of Bob doing it and suddenly her body blazes. 

He had a gentleness to him when he touched her earlier in his room. The way his hands ran over her, sure and warm and soft… It’s that same gentleness she pictures, feels in the hand between her legs, that same soft touch that she writhes and arches against. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

It’s not long before heat, sinful and borderline unbearable, is pooling low in her stomach and her cunt is fluttering around her fingers, desperate for one more touch, one more stroke that will send her over the edge. It’s an effort to keep her moaning contained; she has to bite down hard on her lip to keep it from floating through the walls - but god, she can’t help herself. The things that run through her head, that she feels… In the dark, it’s Bob’s hand that Katie rides, his fingers that clench her bare breast, pinch and roll her peaked nipple…

And in the dark, it’s his thumb that drags up and presses into her clit, rolling and stroking across it, and it feels so good that it makes Katie want to sob, and… and…

It’s enough. She comes hard, a ragged cry tearing from her mouth as her body bows and spasms against the bed, against the hand still sliding into her, drawing out every last little bit of pleasure, until she finally collapses against the mattress, chest heaving with the intensity of it all. For something so… one-sided, it’s left her feeling spent - utterly mindless. 

A feeling she hasn’t had in a long while.

Haze quickly fills her, the sleepy, sated kind. Katie doesn’t even bother redressing, or crawling into bed properly. She shucks off her half-removed clothing and flings them into the darkness of her bedroom, to be dealt with in the early hours of the morning. Then, she pulls the nearest edge of the covers over her, and wraps, swaddles herself within them, warmth immediately seeping into her naked body and lulling her, easing her into sleep. 

Burning blue eyes are the last thing her mind conjures before she slips off into oblivion, warm, black, and depthless. 

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @docdetective @luckyladycreator2

[insertdeeplyrics]

On the ending of Supernatural

Hi, I’ve never actually posted anything on Tumblr of my own creation (I mostly reblog stuff), but I’ve just seen the ending of Supernatural, and given that this is where I’ve been fed my SPN content, it felt right to share my thoughts here. I’m sure nobody is going to read this, but whatever, I just need to get this out of my chest. Sorry in advance if this is too long, but I have to type this out if I want to move on.

I still need to take some time to process everything that’s happened, because it is a lot. I did have my hopes up for the finale, thinking that Cas would at least show up, but like many of the fans, I was let down.

So I guess that would be the first issue I had with the episode. Regardless of what Dean felt towards Cas, if he reciprocated his feelings or not (which he totally did, I mean, we have all been watching the same show for 12 fucking years, and if you don’t believe me, there are plenty of metas that would support this statement), he still is his best friend and it doesn’t sit right with me the fact that he doesn’t even try to find a way to rescue Cas from the Empty. And okay, maybe he didn’t, make Cas got resurrected by Jack, then why the hell wasn’t he on the final episode? He was a pivotal character for the series, I mean, the proof is in the ratings: Season 7, when he was killed off to apparently never return, the ratings were at their lowest. The show may have started as just Dean and Sam, but over the years it became much bigger than them, and it is so disappointing that the show runners failed to acknowledge it. But I’ll get back to this point later.

Okay, I need to talk about Dean’s death, the only part of the episode that made me cry, because my poor baby had to suffer so much! Like, when he started saying that Sam never put up with John’s crap (which reinforces my headcanon that John was abusive towards the boys) and how much he admired him for it, my heart just shattered. I just love Dean Winchester so freaking much, and they did him so dirty... Don’t get me wrong, Jensen and Jared’s acting was 10/10, like, I thought I had a grip of myself and then Sam started crying and tears came back to my eyes. Nonetheless, I felt that the scene was so freaking long! I mean, Dean was dying, and he had time to make a 10 minutes-long speech! C’mon! Also, I get that Sam and Dean’s relationship is quite deep and strong and whatever, but I felt a bit unconformable watching it: it didn’t feel like a brotherly goodbye, more like a lover’s one. They were too touchy and intimate, and, overall, their relationship from this point on was coded as a romantic one, in my opinion. And Chuck, did I hate it! I have an older brother and I know what it is like to be close to your sibling and to love him more than anything else in the world, but the way they portrayed their relationship on this last episode felt incest-y, which makes me believe that this scene was originally written with another character in mind (cough CAS cough) or the writers don’t know the difference between romantic and brotherly love. To finish off, the way they killed off Dean??? I mean, I did expect Dean to die, but this was such a horrible and ridiculous way to go... I would have accepted it if he died actually fighting, but impaled??? After all he’s been through, after fighting so many demons, angels and deities, that’s how he dies??? That just felt cheap and rushed. Dean did not deserve that ending and I refuse to accept it. In fact, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of this whole fucking mess of an episode. Also, I just can’t believe that no one showed up to Dean’s funeral. I just can’t. I get that maybe it was difficult to bring in a lot of actors due to the pandemic, but they could have added them on post-production...

Next, we have Sam’s ending. He quits hunting and finally obtains his white-picket fence life. I did like the fact that he honored all of his friends and family that he lost along the way, especially Dean. Like, yes, if my brother died, I would like to keep a token (don’t know if that’s the actual word for it, my first language is not English), to have something with me that reminded me of him and to have him with me wherever I go. And I did like that he named his son Dean, in honor of his brother. However, we don’t know how he met his wife, we don’t even know who she is. They set up Sameileen for what?? Like, Sam and Eileen deserved better, tbh. And, again, even with Covid restrictions they could have done something to signal that Sam got married to Eileen, you don’t need the actor there. In fact, we never actually found out what happened to her, and just like I can’t believe that Dean didn’t even try to save Cas from the Empty, I can’t believe that Sam didn’t reach out to Eileen. Furthermore, the montage with his son felt cheap and a way to try to appeal to the audience’s emotions... (Btw, as a side note, the grey wig and the glasses, my god, they did Jared dirty 😂😂). But it wasn’t doing it for me, I didn’t care much for the kid, and while I do believe that was always going to be Sam’s ending, I didn’t like how it was executed.

And the worst part of it all: that suuuuuper long scene with Dean driving in Heaven, waiting for Sam. They could have used that time to show something more meaningful, even to develop a bit more Sam’s new life, how he adjusted to domesticity and fatherhood and all that crap. Or, I don’t know, A TEAM FREE WILL 2.0 REUNION??? And I guess this is my biggest issue with the whole episode. I get it, Sam and Dean are the central characters, the ones that started it all, but family don’t end with blood, and they were not the only ones who deserved a goodbye. They had formed so many bonds and friendships over the years, and to not have them address them on the final episode just feels infuriating. Especially Cas. His arc was not finished, he deserved to be on the finale. We never got Dean’s reaction to his confession, we don’t know how he felt about him, nor did Cas get to say goodbye to any other character. How did he get out of the Empty? What is he doing now? Is he still an angel? Also, he gave his life to save Dean, only for Dean to be killed not long after. My headcanon that is helping me cope with Dean’s death is thinking that he was so quick to accept his death because he was hoping to reunite in Heaven with Castiel. A girl can dream, ok??? But also, what about Jack? He is the new God, but I highly doubt it that he won’t drop by the Bunker from time to time, after all, Sam and Dean (AND CAS, ESPECIALLY CAS) raised him. And Charlie? Did she get back with Stevie? Did she and the boys go for drinks from time to time? And Jody? Donna? Claire? Sorry to be so repetitive, but I just can’t understand why the writers thought that these characters weren’t important enough to deserve a spot on the finale, and not just an off-hand mention (and not even all of them got that). Of course, the brothers are the main characters and their goodbye must be the longest and the most emotional of them all, but like I said before, the show stopped being just about the Winchesters on season 3, when Bobby was first introduced, maybe even 4, with Cas.

Overall, the finale left a lot of questions unanswered, most of them regarding secondary characters (but not less important for that!), completely destroyed Sam and Dean’s character development (Dean never got to be free, like he had been fighting for all season, probably all his life; Sam’s development is non-existing, as he ended up as he would’ve if he never had gotten on that hunting trip with Dean 15 years ago), and completely disregarded all the themes they had been setting up this season, probably on previous ones as well. It is sad knowing that the writers, either don’t know the show good enough to give it a proper goodbye, or they just didn’t care to do so. I don’t know who’s to blame here (definitely not the actors, though, probably someone higher up the chain), but I just know that I am so fucking disappointed. I expected more from the last episode of a 15-season TV show, one that has been part of my life for 7 years. I guess, that despite all of it, I can’t hate Supernatural. Maybe I was not a hardcore fan like some people on this site, but I did care for the characters and what happened to them. This is the show that introduced me to the world of shipping (Destiel will always hold a special place in my heart, it doesn’t matter how badly their relationship was treated, as well as the characters) and I got to discover one of my favorite characters, Dean Winchester. He is just such so complex, one that I relate to on so many levels, and his relationship with Cas has been the source of many short stories that I’ve never posted anywhere, but that have made me take up writing again. That’s the reason why I love the show so much, it has helped me tap into my creativeness and go back to writing, a passion of mine that I seem to have forgotten over the years. Anyways, maybe one day I’ll publish some of those stories, and maybe even write my own fix-it fanfic, but right now, I can’t deal with anything that has to do with the show, I am too hurt. Maybe once the five stages of grief are over, I might give it a try and read all of the amazing codas and fanfics that I’m sure will be posted here or on AO3. But for now, Supernatural is dead and gone, and I don’t want to talk nor think about it anymore. I’m done wasting my time here, because I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing this past 7 years after watching this crap of a finale.

To finish this long rant off, I just want to say thank you to some meta-writers, the true heroes of the fandom. Thanks to them, I carried on watching the show, because they made me have hope that things will get better. They are the ones that have made this experience worth something, and even though I’ve never spoken to any of them, I see you and I love you. Thanks for everything ❤. 

@tinkdw @charlie-minion @dotthings @heliodean @verobatto-angelxhunter @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

[ocegion]

For the character meme, obviously: Nicky & Joe 😘

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!! thanks so much for the ask I immensely appreciate it!!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3

(also I went FAR OVERBOARD with this, I speak far too much when given the chance. Sorryyyyyyyyyy)

Joe:

First impression: Well, if it isn’t hot-but-dull Jafar. I know he’s gay in this one so that’s a plus point, but I’m not holding out much hope. He looks extra cute and fuzzy here though, that’s neat. (I want to clarify that I formally apologize to Mr Marwan Kenzari for having ever thought he couldn’t act, shame on me).

Impression now: *sobbing* He’s so GOOD and he’s so SOFT. He’s so full of love and passion and he can barely keep it inside and I’m honestly overwhelmed by how much I love this guy. Like, he’s so full of emotion and it’s so clear in his face at any given moment and that’s no weakness, that’s his strength and I just. Ugh. It’s so refreshing and great. Love is stored in the Joe. I wish real life had people like him.

Favorite moment: okay so it’s hard to decide because all his moments are great, but I’m going to go with the moment in which he waits for Nicky to wake up after Keane shoots him. You can see how he can barely keep inside the fear and panic he has when Nicky isn’t waking up, and then, when he does, Joe takes a moment to look aside and exhale before grasping him. Like he physically needed to let it out. I’m not sure if I’m explaining myself properly, but those couple seconds of body language fascinate me.

Unpopular opinion: It is entirely possible that it shows up in some secondary material that I just haven’t seen, in which case I’m dumb and I’m sorry for this, but I don’t think Joe is necessarily a poet? Like don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the idea of poet Joe and I do think he probably has an easier time around words than the rest of the Guard, but I’m not too sure where the idea came from? I think his speech in the ban comes out of the pure, raw love he has for Nicky more than any formal education he might have had about any of it. He’s just that passionate. I mean, not that I think it’s wrong of anything. I just think canon doesn’t give any indication at all about it. (plus comic Joe said something along the lines of ‘brewing the stew of love’ which is the most hilariously unpoetical thing ever lmao).

Favorite relationship: uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh is it cheating to say Nicky? I’m gonna go with Nicky. I could go on for quite a while about his relationship with Nicky and I’m gonna spare us all having to go through that but I will say that as long as Joe and Nicky are alive the concept of romance just simply cannot die. They singlehandedly keep it alive and flourishing. 100000/10 best love story ever, I accept no criticism.

Favorite headcanon: Joe is a man who is, at any given moment, 110% in control of his own emotions. Like, he’s a emotionally driven man, no doubt about that, but he’s not impulsive in the least. When he was shouting at Booker, it wasn’t impulsive, he was angry as hell and decided to let him know. Then during the escape he shut it off and didn’t let it get in the way of cooperation, then let it out again. It’s like he has a valve on his own emotions that he willingly manipitales when he deems it right. He is very aware of his own emotions and just refuses to repress it for things like, pretending that what Booker did wasn’t that big of a deal, dude knows he’s entitled to be upset about it. Most emotionally mature and stable man on Earth.

Nicky:

First impression: I thought he looked soft and also sort of awkward-looking, but in a good way if that makes sense? tbh I expected him to be a nice character that didn’t get that much depth because he’d stay in the sidelines and only have a handful surface traits.

Impression now: I LOVE how hard it is to pin Nicky down as just this or that part of his personality, the way fandom usually does with characters. He’s soft and kind, but he will stay his ground and not let anyone walk over him. He believes in doing good as the purpose of his life, but he won’t hesitate to commit murder (Gotta wonder how exactly his moral code works). He’s warm and welcoming, but also sort of reserved and not saying much about himself. If you try to shove Nicky into any of the usual fandom archetypes, you’re missing at least half of his character.

Favorite moment: As with Joe, I have a hard time picking up just one single moment, bit I’ll go with the moment he brings up Malta. His whole demeanor while in the lab is fascinating, but I think it’s that particular moment that probably defines Nicky best. They’re in a very though and uncertain situation, and he brings up a fond memory to raise spirits, his own but mostly Joe’s. Idk, I feel like it shows that a) he’s very aware of how other people are feeling/thinking and wants to make it better, and b) he has, at his core, hope (in this specific situation, hope that they’ll make it out, but it relates to his belief that they have a purpose).

Unpopular opinion: I tbh don’t think that time in Malta was a sex thing at all. I in general don’t read them as a particularly sexual couple, but even if they were, I doubt a sex vacation, of any kind, would be something that stands out that much in a relationship this long. Whatever Malta was, it’s a secret between them and I honestly like that.

Favorite relationship: See, this is why I felt like saying Joe’s favorite relationship was Nicky felt like cheating. Because I’m going to answer the exact same thing. I mean, is there any other option, really. Really. The answer is no and we all know it. Anyway. Joe and Nicky lucked out in Immortal roulette and tbh who can blame Booker for being a little bit bitter about it. Anyone would be jealous of such PERFECTION.

Favorite headcanon: Nicky is the most spiritual member of the Guard (Nile is probably on par with him or even more, but she probably has a few years of faith crisis ahead of her). He has a solid belief in purpose and goodness which is much more firm than his original sense of faith, after centuries of questioning it. I also think that while he probably still maintains a somewhat christian view on faith, the years have eroded away specific religions from it. He’s sort of agnostic, but not in a ‘I don’t know if there’s a higher power’ way, but in a ‘I know there’s a higher power, but I don’t care what name it has’ way.

Both

Idea for a story: Okay I’m doing this one like this because it’s literally the same answer for both lmao. Excluding pieces of character exploration and missing scenes and stuff, I’ve got a fic (on semi-hiatus until I finish my exams) about ‘what if instead of speedrun enemy to lovers, they were DUMB and spent like 400 years pining for each other and not seeing the other is in love too’. I’m also lowkey thinking up a Dragon Age AU, which is more of an entire-cast thing that just these two, but of course their storylines in it go inherently together. It’s probably too big a project for me actually carry out lmao. But it’s there in my mind, I have backstories and character classes and everything in the works. Maybe someday.

[purdybaby]

@inuvember: November 7th, 2020

Topic: Kikyo

No I Did Not

Kikyo sighed silently as she watched Inuyasha’s nervous approach. Everything about his body language screaming he no longer wanted to answer her summons but felt the need to do so against his better judgment. An addict needing a fix. Just one last hit. Something to help him escape reality for just a fleeting moment.

And he hated himself for it. It was obvious he cared deeply for his reincarnation- probably more than he’d even admit to himself. That he was trying to figure out why he kept coming back for more when the only thing he ever received was pain. Kikyo knew coming to see her caused him to strain the friendships he’d created. Strain the relationship with Kagome he’d literally die to protect. It was hopelessly sad that he was incapable of moving on.

“Inuyasha...”

The half-demon took a deep breath as he began a somewhat random line of questioning.

“Whatever it is can wait. I need to ask you something,” he interrupted and Kikyo waited expectantly.

“Have you ever tried to kill Kagome?” Inuyasha asked wearily as he stopped what she presumed was meant to be a safe distance away, “When you trapped us in that illusion a few months ago. Did you mean to kill her?”

“Did she not tell you herself?” Kikyo asked indifferently - it was hard to feel much of anything anymore. Well except hatred. And longing. But all souls trapped in such an unnatural way would undoubtedly be...

“She won’t tell me. And then a few weeks ago I smelled you on her again, stronger that time, but she wouldn’t tell what happened then either,” Inuyasha admitted begrudgingly before sighing and pressing onward, “But I need to know.”

“And why is that?” Kikyo asked calmly and Inuyasha fidgeted.

“Why won’t she tell me or why does it matter?” he asked - an obvious bite to his tone.

“Either.”

Inuyasha set his jaw and glared.

“Why she won’t tell me is her business. I can’t speak for her,” he finally responded after obviously giving his answer some deep thought, “And it matters because I promised to protect her. I need to know if I’ve got you to worry about.”

“Obviously my actions did not concern you at the time,” Kikyo hummed as she gave him a condescending smirk, “That was many months ago and this is the first time...”

Inuyasha shook his head and clenched his fists.

“I just...I just didn’t want to...I didn’t want to believe that...”

He paused and swallowed thickly.

“When you did all of that, was it because of me?” he followed up hesitantly, “Because you hated me then?”

Kikyo didn’t affirm or deny any of the accusation and in response, Inuyasha’s ears plastered against his head. The shock and then pain in those expressive amber orbs rather surprising.

“Did...”  Inuyasha seemed to struggle for a moment before pressing onward, “Did, at any point, you know, since you came back....did you love me? Even a little?”

Kikyo knew this question would one day come. Inuyasha certainly would not like the answer.

“No. No I did not.”

One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed before Inuyasha sighed shakily - obviously trying to shake this latest emotional blow off like it was nothing.

“Well...” he began thickly before clearing his throat and trying again, “Well that isn’t important. What matters is that you’re not the only one I promised to protect. And...and Kagome...”

“I don’t see how any of this is relevant,” Kikyo interrupted with a bored sigh, “Any vow you made unto her is secondary. Why does your promise to her....”

“It just does dammit,” Inuyasha snarled as he squared his shoulders and demanded with a wavering voice, “Now answer me dammit. Did you try to kill her? That day with the illusions did you...”

“Yes.”

Deflating visibly, Inuyasha nodded like he knew that was the answer all along but pressed onward with his head held high. Trying his very best to look powerful and confident. He failed, of course, but...

“And did you try to kill her a few weeks ago?”

Despite his attempts to seem intimidating, there was something so defeated about his countenance. A sadness she had never seen before but it was the mention of the incident to which he referred that somehow tugged at her unbeating heartstrings. 

’Then why did you save me?’

‘Because a certain guy we both know would be heartbroken if you weren’t around.”

‘Same for you.’

“No. No I did not,,” Kikyo offered quietly as a bit of her lingering feelings for the boy standing before her decided to come out to play. 

“But she got hurt. I know she did. She...she smelled off like she does when...,” Inuyasha trailed off as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “What happened then?”

“Ask her yourself.”

“I told you she won’t tell me,” Inuyasha huffed in frustration as he gestured at the undead priestess, “Because she has it in her head I’ll...maybe she thinks I’ll let her die to save you or something stupid. That I won’t take her side.”

“She is correct.”

Inuyasha paled slightly and didn’t comment for a excruciatingly long minute.

“Do you...do you know how many times I’ve defended you?” Inuyasha huffed as he ran his fingers through his hair, “Left my friends for you? Put them in danger because of you? I...and all this time you...”

Inuyasha ran his claws over his scalp.

“I loved you, ya know?” Inuyasha continued as he huffed and looked up at the canopy, “I would’ve done anything for you and you just...since you came back you’ve just shit all over me and...I mean did you ever love me? Not since you got brought back but before...don’t you remember that at all?”

A memory of the love she once had for him helped make her path clear. In that moment, Kikyo realized she’d have to break this man before he could move on. Before he could find true happiness.

Kikyo let out a long sigh.

“No. No I did not,” she replied and she watched his heart shattered. The pain in his eyes nearly making her take that statement back but that would be a disservice.

“You don’t mean that,” he replied numbly, “You wouldn’t be saying these things if...if...”

Closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to compose himself, he mumbled so softly she almost didn’t hear.

“This never woulda happened if I just...”

A hollow ache grew in the hole where her heart should have been as he quietly continued to berate himself. Why must he be so endlessly forgiving? That very fact was one of the reasons she had loved him so much in life. Under that gruff demeanor, Inuyasha had such a soft heart that had suffered far too much for one lifetime.

A soft heart that deserved some happiness for once instead of only pain.

“In any case, I have summoned you here to...”

The half-demon let out a shuddering breath as he finally opened his eyes.

“I’m not going to respond again,” Inuyasha cut her off firmly, “I’m not going to leave her again or let her get hurt. I can’t change the past but...but I do have some control over the future.”

“You have no choice in the matter ,” Kikyo taunted as she tried to keep her tone as convincing as she could, “You promised to...”

Vibrating with checked rage, Inuyasha clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. For a moment, Kikyo thought he’d take back his promise but instead the response she got was pathetically sad.

“Thats not what I meant!” Inuyasha barked bitterly before trailing off and trying again, “I swore to protect you so I will, alright? I just meant I won’t come for no rea...”

“Your words are...”

“Kikyo the only thing I have is my word,” Inuyasha talked over her in an angrier tone than Kikyo had ever heard directed at her, “I promised to protect you. So I will If you’re being attacked, I’ll defend you and I’ll kill Naraku but that’s it. I’m not going to follow you for...”

“You will come for reasons other than protection,” Kikyo opined, “And you cannot protect us both.”

A fierce determination suddenly flowed behind his eyed.

“Watch me.”

“You will fail her as you failed me,,” Kikyo answered as the memory of her love became more pronounced. There needed to be a final nail in her coffin. A push to make his way forward clear. For far too long, he’d held onto a memory. Held onto a dead woman who couldn’t love him now even if she tried. Love no longer existed. Just a shadow of the emotion. A nostalgic memory.

“No I won’t!”

Must he be so stubborn. Inuyasha was making this far more difficult than it needed to be.

“Kagome will die due to your negligence,” Kikyo taunted in that same cold, indifferent tone, “And because she is a pale imitation of myself. Her powers...”

“I’m not going to fail her,” Inuyasha bellowed angrily, “Why are you being like this? What did I ever do to you?”

“You failed me. And you will fail her, She means nothing to...”

“Just shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Inuyasha snapped, “Kagome means everything to me. I’d die before I’d let her get hurt.”

“Then I feel sad for you,” Kikyo countered softly, “Throwing away your life for women who don’t love you. What a pathetic existence.”

Inuyasha’s nostrils flared as hurt overrode his judgment.

“Kagome is different. She was born for me,” Inuysha scoffed before he could process the ramifications of his hurt fueled rage, “And I was born for her. You ever try to hurt her again and I’ll end you.”

With that he turned to leave without sparing even a glance over his shoulder. A few short weeks later Kikyo’s predication came true. Kagome very nearly died while he went searching for a corpse. Unable to stop himself he’d put Kagome in the way of danger unnecessarily and nothing had ever terrified or motivated him more.

Strangely, this turn of events brought about a strange peace in the undead priestess. Almost comforting in its own way. One less thing trying to trap her to this world. In order for either of them to move on, Inuyasha had to let go of the past which could not be changed and look towards the future where Kikyo prayed happiness waited for him.

[recurring-polynya]

9, 13, 19, 23 for RenRuki OTP meme!

9. Have they made each other cry?

Neither Rukia nor Renji are criers by nature, but absolutely yes.

I looked it up, and weirdly enough, Rukia does *not* cry in the manga version, but she does cry in the anime when Renji tells her to go to the Kuchiki. Regardless, I think they both had some wet face syndrome in the days following that.

Rukia was having a pretty tough time in the Academy, and Renji was in a constant state of unconsciously rubbing it in. I bet he made her cry at least once, although she is way too stubborn to actually do it in front of him, I think she did it in private, later.

I’m not sure crying over someone is the same as them making you cry, but I believe with 100% of my being that the “fear she was trying to avoid” in the As Nodt fight was Renji-related, and even though she held it together pretty well at the time, I hope homegirl went home and had a good cathartic sob after the fact.

In the same vein, it’s very believable that Renji had at least one tearful breakdown at some point in the Soul Society Arc. I imagine he came home and puked his guts out after he had to arrest her and throw her in a holding cell and there could have been some tears that went along with that, and possibly also after he found out that Byakuya had no intention of lifting a finger to stay her execution. (I just realized this is not the first time I have headcanoned Renji puking out of grief and it’s true, I think he does, it’s great, I love my brain, thanks)

I would bet money that Renji (possibly both of them) teared up a little when Ichika was born, and/or when they found out about the pregnancy.

Also, not to ruin the vibe, but it seems highly likely that at some point in their acquaintance, probably in their Inuzuri days, Rukia kicked Renji in the nards hard enough to make tears come out of his face.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

Like the dealbreaker question, this one is really hard because they are both really intense people who are absolutely ride-or-die for each other (as well as everyone else they know). I am still sticking to my guns that Rukia became a shinigami in the first place for Renji’s sake, and Renji’s entire first character arc involved him binning 40 years of hard work and career ladder climbing to be with her.

That being said, though, they do maintain a fair amount of personal autonomy that I think they would stick to. Renji would never get his brow tatts removed, for example, no matter how much Rukia hates them (or conversely, I think he didn’t tell her before he got them because he knew she’d tell him not to, and he was determined to get them and wouldn’t have listened to her anyway). Likewise, if she asks, he will refrain from wearing a particular pair of extra-terrible sunglasses to a Kuchiki family picnic, but he’s not going to get rid of the sunglasses collection for her. I honestly can’t imagine her seriously asking him to do either of these things-- she’d rather just drag him for them.

I think the part in WDKALY where Rukia decides to keep “Kuchiki” as her professional name was written in a kinda stilted and dumb way, but I do not disagree with it. I am reasonably sure that this was decided at an editorial level, because if they have a Bleach continuation, they would want the character to keep her more familiar name, but then they added the fact that she took his name more generally because people are weird about women who don’t take their husbands name (and then people argue that her keeping her name is “evidence” that she doesn’t love him... so, honestly, there’s no winning either way). Personally, I didn’t like that they waited until they were actually in line at the Soul Society DMV to have this discussion (with Byakuya standing around, no less), but but otherwise, I think it’s a nice compromise, and that Rukia would want to use the names of both the men she considers her family. Renji seemed vaguely disappointed that she wasn’t taking his name entirely, and I can see that, but also, it’s her choice and he doesn’t make a stink about it, which rings true to me.

In all of these examples, the principle is that, all else being equal, each of them will take input from the other, but they would stick to their guns when it comes to decisions about themselves. That doesn’t mean they are going to die on these hills out of sheer stubbornness. I wrote a fanfic once where Byakuya died and Renji married Rukia in order to help her consolidate power in the family, and he took her name and very vehemently made everyone call him by it. 

Also, I am sure there are some household chores that Renji would like done to some particular specifications, and Rukia just will not. Like, she refuses to rinse the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher and she won’t squeegee the glass after she showers, or whatever the Soul Society equivalents of these things are.

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

I cannot emphasize enough that Byakuya paid for their entire fancy Kuchiki-ass wedding and even though they are constantly on their best behavior around him, he knows how they are and he would never, ever let them write their own vows.

So, here is a dispatch from some secondary drunken, backyard wedding that they had for close-friends only (Byakuya was also there, but Isshin slipped him a pot brownie and he was feeling very at one with the universe at the time)

Who the heck writes a single line of their wedding vows?? I gave them each a paragraph.

Rukia:

People have been joking a lot, every since we started dating, how lucky you are, but the fact is, I am the lucky one. I’ve been so fortunate, in my life, to have such good friends and family, but I feel luckiest of all to have you-- you’ve always been there to cheer me on, to pick me up, to make me pickles. You’re brave and you’re handsome and you have really, really great hair, and I feel like the luckiest person in Soul Society that I get to marry you. I love you so, so much, you big dummy.

Renji:

I used to think that I would be content if I could just love you from afar. That just being able to see you and hear your voice and know that you were happy was enough for me. But I was wrong, as it turns out, because being able to touch you and kiss you and tell you I love you a hundred times a day has made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I expect that being married to you is going to make me more powerful and obnoxious than anyone here could possibly imagine and I am absolutely not sorry. I love you so, so much, you little dummy.

See, Byakuya, that wasn’t so bad! (maybe it was)

Bonus! In the dead Byakuya fanfic I mentioned above, I had them get married under Gotei authority and I wrote some (partial) shinigami wedding vows that are basically perfect for them and also I was really proud of them:

How will you meet your enemies? As one, we shall meet them, as one, we shall fight.

And how do you swear this? We swear on sword and soul.

Let it be so. With this, you are forged together, a single blade. May your battle be long, and when you fall, may you fall together.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

Wow. Dang. This felt like a personal attack. Anyway, it was really hard, and I did it, but I didn’t like it.

Here’s the scene right where Renji hauls Ichigo off to go fight Ywhach, because I am always thinking about this scene and willing it to make sense (Rukia should have gone with Ichigo, I will die on this hill!!!!), and I think it only works if there’s a bunch of unsaid subtext. It’s depressing, but it’s only 511 words, which is very much like 300 words, almost exactly the same, honestly.

~

The others don’t see it, because they are busy watching Orihime restore Ichigo’s sword, his swords, for maybe the last time, but Rukia does, because she needs an explanation.

Renji’s shoulders slump, his chin tips down, his hands are open at his sides.

He is sorry.

He better be sorry! Rukia clenches her jaw, her eyes burn at him. She is the one who should have yanked Ichigo to his feet, she is the one who should go with him to his death.

Renji’s eyes slide upward and meet hers. His jaw is set.

He is right, and she knows it.

Orihime is hurt. Her lungs are making ominous bubbling noises as Zangetsu pieces itself back together under her care. Rukia is exhausted, but she can manage the kaidou that will save her friend’s life. Renji cannot.

It is more than that, though. Rukia’s bankai is perilous. Ichibei warned her that she should use it sparingly-- that it will take many hours of practice before her body can handle the wrenching temperature shocks. She has used it too many times already in the last 48 hours. She still can’t feel all her fingers and toes since she came back from killing As Nodt. Another go at it so soon may kill her before she even has a chance to be useful. It could kill her and everyone in her blast radius, which might be helpful, but probably...not. Her hand rubs nervously at the hilt of her sword. She tries to flex the dead pinkies, but they deny her.

Renji sees the motion, and he grips Zabimaru confidently. His bankai is new to him, too, but Hihiou Zabimaru was like a weighted practice blade-- So-oh Zabimaru is familiar enough and easy in comparison. Sode no Shirayuki and Zabimaru are both temperamental blades, but Zabimaru has always been at their most dependable when the odds are stacked against them.  

Rukia reaches out and gives Orihime’s hair a gentle pat. She will stay, but she will not like it. 

The side of Renji’s mouth ticks up in a rueful half-smile, and his eyes glitter with the last bit of humor he can muster. She can beat him up all she likes when he gets back.

Rukia flings an arm around Orihime, and stuffs her face into her friend’s shoulder. None of this is fair. 

Renji’s eyes soften briefly, and his eyes are filled with so much love for her. He knows he has the easy job. There aren’t any words to thank her enough for letting him go on a suicide mission with Ichigo while she stays back to give them something worth fighting for.

Then he stiffens, and squares his shoulders once again. He jabs Ichigo impatiently with one foot and screws up his face into the same scowl he always uses to armor his heart. 

It won’t work, Rukia thinks, as Orihime finishes her task and slumps backward. She will keep Renji’s heart here with her, and Orihime will keep Ichigo’s, and no matter what, none of them will die alone.

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 11 - How’s the Heart?

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Starscream, Sideswipe/Starscream/Megatron/Sunstreaker Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Starscream, Skywarp, Twin Twist, Topspin, Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Hurt & Comfort, Referenced Orgy, Public Sex, Rape, Sticky, Deepthroat, Coercion, Mindgames, Sex Related Injury Words: 12857

Fair winds, my love Fly towards the calm Fly utterly lost Towards a beating heart, a beating heart

How is that heart Underneath the silence? How is the one Drowning in the mire?

— Nightwish – How's the Heart?

( Previous )

They’d found their way to their own cots at the back of the room at some point during the night. The memories were hazy, again, exhaustion muddling their thoughts, but it had to have happened after the damn signal was turned off.

At least… At least Megatron had somewhat lost interest in them after he’d come in Sideswipe’s mouth. He had waved them off to the side and called other, more obedient members of the harem to see to him—using their mouths, having them ride his spike, kissing them, everything and anything, and the lot of looked like they were enjoying themselves as they practically (and sometimes literally) kissed the damned mech’s pedes.

But somewhat forgotten, the twins had slipped off the berth, only to collapse onto the floor, unable to overcome the weakness in their limbs from too many overloads, from too great arousal, from too much emotion.

The other mates, not called to the dais, came for them, gently guiding them from the floor and onto the cots where they welcomed them with open arms, ignored Sunstreaker’s growls and Sideswipe’s pleas and used their valves, their spikes—relieved them with murmurs of how it was okay, there was no need to fight it, how they should just let go and listen to their crazed protocols. Because what else could they do?

There were overloads. So many of them, the stench of lubricant and transfluid so heavy he was surprised the air hadn’t dripped.  

Primus. He wasn’t even sure which was worse, Megatron or the other mates. Megatron was cruel, uncaring, only interested in what they could give him and how he could have exactly what he wanted. The mates, they veiled their rape in kindness, like they were helping, guiding them into an awakening—and they had helped, because he wasn���t sure their systems wouldn’t have entirely burned out if they’d tried to fight their arousal, the protocols, for too long. The mates had helped them dispel some of that, enough of it that it didn’t straight up kill them. 

But all of it had been… So unwanted. And after their frames had tired too much, it had turned into a dream, out of focus—or what he’d wished was just a dream. A very, very bad dream disguised in a good one, a pleasurable one, the kind that you could overload from without any external stimulus. 

It wasn’t a dream, though, and he couldn’t deny it had happened—not with the harem wing still surrounding them with its warm colors, smell of all permeating interface, the berthroom with its many cots… And the other mates. There were contended rumbles coming from elsewhere in the room, satiated cuddling, quiet laughter… Everyone spent in the best—worst—of ways. Even the frag crazed fraggers the mates were, were calm for the time. No one was interfacing, just… Enjoying the afterglow.

And he couldn’t deny the afterglow himself. His frame was buzzing pleasantly, the damned protocols that had been so wholly turned against him now laying dormant, disinterested in the way of being fully sated, thanking him for all the attention he’d given them.

Without wanting to.

They sat on their cot, the one closer to the wall, their backs to the rest of the room, trying to forget everyone else and everything they had done to them. Sideswipe was fiddling with his servos, scraping his claws together, his spark spinning too fast.

Sunstreaker sat, elbows on his knees and his helm clutched in his servos.

It wasn’t fine. None of it was fine, no matter what the other mates said. Sideswipe was hurting so badly, unable to shake off the memories Megatron had brought to the forefront to break his resistance. My Lord. 

Pits. Everything he’d been made to do under his own power, to show respect he didn’t feel, didn’t want to give. Made to wait there, in the solitude and quiet of Megatron’s berthroom for when the tyrant would come back and abuse him some more, never knowing when that would be or what it would bring.

Fuel and relative freedom dangled in front of him to force him to cooperate.

He couldn’t believe Sideswipe wasn’t crying as those memories spun around in his helm, joined by the ones from last night

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he was feeling much better, even if tears were beyond him too. Everything Megatron had done… During the time he’d spent alone with him, then the relief of several days of nothing, only for that to be… Shattered.

Denied an overload, so aroused he thought he might die from it—denied, until he spoke the things Megatron wanted.

He couldn’t believe, now, that he’d given in so easily, that he’d thanked that monster, that he’d asked for his spike… How could he have been so desperate? The memory of the need in his frame surely didn’t compare to what it was like in the moment, but still he couldn’t believe it.

Never again. Could he promise that much to himself? Promise that he’d never again thank him, never again beg for him?

He wanted to, but his spark cracked with the almost certain knowledge that anything he would promise, any resistance he could offer… That Megatron would only break it, one way or another. 

It hurt. It hurt in both of them, and the pain echoed between them, bouncing back and forth until it didn’t matter whose it was. It was theirs. Their pain over the hell they’d gotten stuck in.

How he missed Iacon and its gutters, the low life of scraping by—it was so much better than this.

But it had had its risks and its dangers, and they had fallen victim to those, only to end up in here.

They were rested now. Low on energon, but rested, and their fuel levels would be easily fixed if they dragged themselves to the dining hall. It was hard to find the will to move, though—easier to get caught up in their looping thoughts.

Starscream, too. He was a peculiar one. By all appearances… What? What was he? It was like he hated wasting time on them, but from the beginning he had taken the role of showing them around, showing them their place, telling them what they needed to do and how they needed to do it—performing the near administrative tasks like giving them their language files and asking what they were good for.  

And yesterday… Acting as if he was keeping the harem itself safe, forcing them to please Megatron when they would have fought—why did he do that? Because Megatron was in a mood, and that made him more dangerous than usual?

What was Starscream’s role in all of this? It was like he was the secondary leader of the harem. Was there a pecking order, then, one that Starscream was at the very top of, only bowing to Megatron and… The other free mechs, probably. It didn’t look like Starscream was free in any shape or form. He lived and fucked in the harem just like the rest of them, only ever briefly leaving—always returning.

Did Starscream care enough, despite the appearance he put forth, that he was intent on keeping the harem members safe? And he was likely the one who had started the event chain that had led Sunstreaker to have his drawing tablet. Maybe Megatron needed to have approved that, but wasn’t it Starscream who had asked what they did, and said he’d made note of it?

The one who had likely brought it up with Megatron, made the request?

It was as confusing as the rest of what the mates did and how they acted. 

Once again they could hear thrusters hitting the floor with every step, approaching them, but when they turned to look it was Skywarp, not Starscream. He was carrying two cubes and smiled at them when he had their attention. “I figured you’d be as hungry as the rest of us! Here,” he said, offering both of the cubes to them. 

Sideswipe took them a bit automatically, blinking at them only after they were both in his servos already.

Sunstreaker could feel him shrugging mentally before he passed one of the cubes to him. It appeared their contents were identical, down to their warmth and flavor

“Thanks,” Sideswipe murmured quietly before taking a sip. As usual, the energon was fragging delicious, and as full of energy as midgrade just could be. Sunstreaker followed suit and began to drink his own, giving his frame the fuel it very much needed. 

“You’re welcome! And thanks for last night, by the way. Megatron wasn’t in the best of moods, but you really took the edge off him,” Skywarp carried on, rocking on his heels and looking like he genuinely meant what they said.

Had they taken one for the team or something?

They were quiet for a moment, drinking their energon, trying to… Trying to forget Skywarp’s participation in all of last night, before Sideswipe spoke up with their question. “What could have happened, if he was in a bad mood?”

Skywarp glanced away from them, his wings flicking like he was… Uncomfortable. Well, that was a first. 

But it probably said something about what Megatron could do when he was in a mood. “Nothing good,” Skywarp responded at length, shaking his helm. “He doesn’t always take it out on us or anything, but someone else out there might feel it before he comes to us.”

Out there. In the freedom.

And it was Skywarp admitting that Megatron sometimes mistreated them—by the sounds of it, even those that behaved themselves. 

So had last night gone well, considering they hadn’t lost limbs or had any physical parts broken? That Megatron had just raped them?

The twins shared a glance. They’d known, at least on some level, that Megatron was dangerous. Of course he was! He was fragging strong in all ways, powerful, and far too good at twisting everything into his favor… But Free Cybertron painted him as temperamental too, on top of being cruel as he had already proven to be.

They, though, had mostly seen him smug, amused, in control. Very few traces of any temper, any anger, no matter how they’d pushed.

But it was still there, wasn’t it? Under the surface, all the time. Were they lucky they hadn’t come to the receiving end of it? Probably.

And… Now what? Was it their job to bring the tyrant down from his more dangerous spells? That of the mates? Just… Frag him until he had burned out his anger and frustrations? 

Sideswipe bit his lip; Sunstreaker shook his helm. Some lot in life that was.

They had to get out.

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

They eventually dragged themselves to the washracks and took their sweet time making the most of the facilities provided for them, ridding themselves of the signs of the orgy, the countless pain transfers, scuffs, dried fluids inside and out. With the amount of imperfections it was going to be a long process anyway, but they lengthened it further for their own enjoyment.

They had no reason not to. Take what they could, use it to prop themselves up, until they were out of here.

Even if they were no closer to finding a way out. But it didn’t matter how long it took. It didn’t matter.

One day, they’d make it out.

In the meantime, in between working towards that one singular goal, they finished touching up their finishes until they were shining, glowing all over again—for themselves and for the joy of watching themselves from the mirrors, no one else—and then headed for the entertainment room, again, after a quick detour to their trunks for Sunstreaker to fetch his tablet. Pass the time with something pleasant, waiting for a chance to find a way out. 

They sat themselves on one of the lush couches against the wall opposite the door, Sideswipe watching the show on the main screen, Sunstreaker burying himself in his drawing. He wasn’t going to let this one thing be taken from him just because it had been turned against him in short order.

He wouldn’t stop using it just because slagging Megatron had made him thank him for it. Megatron wouldn’t have that victory. He wouldn’t ruin this.

And… The other mates. Slag, this wasn’t even the first time they’d forced themselves on them. It should’ve been expected, after the first orgy. Some of them were already in the entertainment room and others trickled in slowly… It wasn’t comfortable to be around them, not really, but pits. There wasn’t really anywhere to get away from them all, unless they wanted to return to hiding in the library. 

Wasn’t the best they could do just try to forget? They were stuck around the lot of them for now, anyway. They could hiss and growl at them all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

He doubted it would make the other mates understand any more than slagging anything had so far. Anything they’d said or done, the others had only met with confusion. Why were the twins so upset, they’d wonder.

They were already too messed up to get it, so warped they couldn’t understand their position anymore. 

And they had to live surrounded by that for now… Frag. He’d be so happy to get to return to the outside world where mecha actually saw this shit as unacceptable. Like it was. Where they’d be rightly horrified by it.

Instead of… All this.

Sideswipe was frowning at the screen, but from his own distraction, it took Sunstreaker a moment to notice his thoughts running onto new tracks. Once he picked up on it, he glanced up at Sideswipe, who, by now, was passing his optics over the room in search of one pair of wings. 

As luck would have it, Skywarp was present, playing some board game with three other mates, laughing at whatever they were finding funny right then. Sunstreaker’s optics followed his brother as Sideswipe got up and wove his way past the furniture to them, seating himself next to Skywarp.

And tried not to think if any of them had fragged them last night, how many times, and in what ways.

“Hi, Sides!” Skywarp greeted him, as did the others, all offering smiles to him. “What’s up? Wanna join? There’s room for more!”

“Nah, I’m good just watching,” Sideswipe turned the invitation down with just a lopsided grin—not one his old, bright ones, full of zeal for life. Those Megatron had stolen from him, but… It was a grin all the same. He tried. “I was wondering if I could ask something, though.”

Skywarp looked at him curiously and the others followed suit, but the Seeker nodded. “Sure. Shoot away.”

“Okay, so, like half the stuff on tv and in the book files,” Sideswipe started, staring at the game board studiously, “the story ones, there’s almost always someone from Free Cybertron trying to get to or getting to Kaon, and then that’s like… The good ending. But I thought Kaon was closed to outsiders? Why does that theme just repeat?”

The other mates shared a few glances among each other, but Skywarp was the one who replied. “Well, that’s the dream, isn’t it?” he asked, and Sideswipe glanced up at him in confusion. Skywarp clarified, “To escape Unified Cybertron.”

Now Sideswipe frowned. They didn’t even call it Free Cybertron, although no one said anything to him for calling it that.

But they called it Unified Cybertron, just like everyone and everything else here. And while the word “unified” wasn’t necessarily or inherently full of negative connotations, in this context it absolutely was.  

And what the pit was this about escaping Free—Free—Cybertron? Into fragging Kaon of all places?

The damn hellhole where they’d been raped way too many times to count almost from the moment they’d crossed its borders? 

Sideswipe had a lot of things to say and a lot of anger to unleash, but instead all that came out was a quiet, “I don’t understand.”

Because he didn’t. He didn’t understand any of this. 

“Kaon is free of the Prime’s influence,” another of the mates answered. Topspin, maybe? He seemed to remember someone calling him that.

And… That was all he said. As if that explained everything.  

It didn’t. It didn’t explain a damn thing. Sideswipe’s frown deepened in even greater frustration and he scrubbed both of his servos down his face. And resisted the urge to just scream. Not even any words, just… Screm.

Screm.

That would’ve been real nice right about now, but at the same time, he didn’t really want to make a scene in the middle of the entertainment room. Who knew where that would get him. Maybe nothing would come out of it. At this point he doubted the other mates would’ve even understood why he was frustrated, why he was angry, why he felt fit to fragging explode… No matter how he voiced any of that.

They just lived their lives here, apparently happy to frag and get fragged and for some reason buying into this whole bullshit about Kaon being the Free part of Cybertron. That, despite the fact they were all trapped in the harem wing.

What was free about that?

“Anyway,” Skywarp spoke up again and Sideswipe peeked at him from between his digits, “It doesn’t happen a lot, that’s true. It’d be dangerous to let too many in, but they’re stories. Fantasy. Make believe. You know? You can toy with the best case scenarios there, no matter how unlikely they’d be in real life.”

Best case scenarios. 

Sideswipe groaned. Pits, his helm was going to start hurting at this rate, trying to make sense of how these mechs had been twisted into believing all the garbage shot at them from every direction like from the barrel of a goddamn machine gun. It was all… Upside down. Everything here was. Wrong way around in every way imaginable.

“Thanks,” he mumbled before he slipped off the seat and wandered back to Sunstreaker. His brother was watching him, frowning like he was, equally disturbed by the answers he’d gotten. 

Frag this place.

He flopped down next to his twin like he’d never left, but somehow he didn’t feel like watching the show as much anymore. Maybe he should play something instead. Sunstreaker had gone back to his drawing, happy to lose himself into his work, so he wasn’t going to be any entertainment.

Sideswipe turned on one of the smaller screens and browsed through the game library.

Someone noticed he was doing that. “Hey! Sideswipe– You’re Sideswipe, right?” a blue and white mech had turned around on one of the couches ahead of them and was looking straight at him.

“Yeah?” Sideswipe answered more than a little hesitantly. Had he… Done something wrong? He’d played the games before without anyone saying anything about it…

But no, it wasn’t like that. “I’m Twin Twist, nice to make our official introductions,” Twin Twist grinned at him before he gestured vaguely towards the screen Sideswipe had claimed for himself. “Wanna play Destiny’s Razor with me?”

Oh he liked that game, but he hadn’t tried its multiplayer property a lot yet.

It was an easy decision he came to after just a few seconds of considering it. Sideswipe grinned back and nodded. “Heck yeah.”

Twin Twist’s smile widened before he turned back around, picked the game and joined it, Sideswipe following suit—a bit of excitement curling in their spark.

Time to wreak some virtual havoc.

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

After a while of playing, Sideswipe took Twin Twist’s invitation to join him on the couch the other mech was sitting on, to better enjoy the game together. Sunstreaker didn’t mind being left behind to his art.

And Sideswipe knew him. If nothing and no one interrupted him, he could draw all day and all night, foregoing fueling and recharge if he hit the zone. And… There hadn’t been chances for that often, on the streets. They needed to earn their living, and it wasn’t safe to lose your focus of your surroundings like that.

Things were so different here. The only real threat was Megatron, otherwise they didn’t have too much to worry about.

But speak of the devil… Sideswipe didn’t pay much attention to the heavy pedesteps coming down the hall, too engrossed in shooting things, but the wave of arousal and excitement in the fields around them kicked both of the twins out of their tasks. 

Their confusion only lasted a moment. One glance at the door and their spark shrunk in on itself.

Megatron was standing there, looking at the room at large like it was all there for him, and it was. It was all for him, every last one of them. 

And there were so many to choose from and more crowded in the hallway behind him, fields all around them fluttering with hope that they would be picked to do whatever Megatron wanted of them this time. 

Not the twins’ fields though, and yet Megatron’s optics first landed on Sunstreaker, clutching onto his tablet for dear life, and then that red gaze passed everyone else before zeroing onto Sideswipe, staring back at him like a deer in the headlights.

Megatron entered the room properly and walked over to one of the couches up front and center. Its occupants moved out of the way at once and the tyrant sat down on it, reclining on the assuredly comfortable piece of furniture. Everyone kept a respectful distance from him, despite the eagerness that was swamping the room.

There were only two little dots that didn’t join in on the sentiment, and it was them that Megatron focused on. “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Come here.”

Sunstreaker growled, in no way motivated to do as he was told. Twin Twist nudged Sideswipe, jerking his helm towards Megatron. It was clear what everyone else thought: the order had been given, thus it should be obeyed.

Without delay.

They delayed until Megatron’s optics began to narrow, and from there on… It wasn’t their choice anymore. Starscream was on the move again, first marching over to Sideswipe and grabbing by a horn. Sideswipe’s squawk went completely ignored as Starscream simply dragged him over to Megatron and shoved him onto the couch next to him. Sideswipe laid still where he landed, his spark pulsing and rotating too fast for comfort—staring up at Megatron who met his gaze with something… Dangerous dancing in those red optics. 

Starscream fetched Sunstreaker too, and he was thrown onto Megatron’s other side. The other mates closed ranks around them. He couldn’t have run even if he’d wanted to.

And he wanted to. He didn’t want to be here, with his plating brushing against Megatron’s, the vibrations of the tyrant’s powerful engine traveling into him just so.

Megatron didn’t remove his optics from Sideswipe and Sideswipe couldn’t look away, not even when one of Megatron’s servos came to… Caress his cheek.

He shivered, from helm to pede. The touch was so unwanted, but fear rooted him in place.

He would’ve rather Megatron hit him. Not… This. Fake gentleness when he was sure Megatron didn’t have a gentle molecule in him. He was evil, rusted and rotten to his very core. 

Megatron only went on to prove that much with his next words. “Coax it out, Sideswipe.”

There wasn’t exactly a reason to ask what he was supposed to coax out. Not when they’d been here before, when he’d been given that order before—when he’d resisted, so fucking hard, or, or… He thought he had, anyway, before hunger had driven him into cooperation. 

“No,” Sideswipe said now, the shaking of his helm only stopped when Megatron caught a hold of his jaw—and that did nothing to stop the rest of his frame from shaking.

“That’s not what we say, is it, Sideswipe?” Megatron asked. Sunstreaker growled on his other side, but there was a flash of white, blue, and red, followed by angry cursing.

Starscream pinned Sunstreaker when his brother would have tried to intervene, would have tried to– To save him.

From this. From Megatron. Somehow. Could it have ever worked?

Shouldn’t they have tried anyway?

But they weren’t given the chance. 

Megatron’s grip on his jaw tightened as his silence stretched on, but it wasn’t pain that had tears running down Sideswipe’s cheeks in rivulets. It was bad enough when Megatron told that to him in private, told him to do things in private, when there was no one to see Sideswipe’s disgrace—no one to see him fail in trying to remain the master of his own life, his own fate.

He wasn’t that anymore. Not when his opposition was Megatron.  

But he wasn’t ready to just give up, especially not with everyone watching. The other mates, they were all rapt on them, quiet, but their hunger for Megatron’s attention reflected in their fields. A little more and they would’ve been downright jealous of the attention the brothers—Sideswipe—were getting. 

He’d gladly swap places with any of them, right now. 

Megatron’s thumb brushed across his lower lip, rough, then rougher yet on the second pass, but he didn’t repeat his question even as his grip began to tighten to an extent that was starting to threaten the integrity of his facial plates and all of the underlying structures. Sideswipe whined, but he wouldn’t say it, not again–

But then Megatron reached along the length of his far smaller frame, his claws brushing across his tightly closed valve cover, and then grabbing his aft. He remembered still. Of course he still remembered how much Sideswipe liked that. Pits, he was shaking so hard, and Megatron started to toy with his frame, fondling his aft, petting his valve cover, dragging his claws along the seams, but not so hard it would’ve hurt.

Just aroused. He was turning his frame on until Sideswipe had to keep his hips from dancing, until he was biting his lip to fight back his moans. Sunstreaker was growling, furious, but Starscream kept him down, kept him from being able to do anything as Sideswipe grit his denta and tried to deny his frame–

But he met Megatron’s optics, and although it came as a gasp more than anything else… “No.”

“Oh?” Megatron asked, raising one of his optical ridges at him. Then his gaze rose, looking at something—someone—behind him. “Were you sitting next to Twin Twist? Come here.”

At once Sideswipe could hear someone getting up and hurrying over until an all too eager field was lapping against his own. “Spike him,” Megatron said next, and the energon in Sideswipe’s lines froze for a moment before his fuel pump beat back into action.

“NO!” he said, shouted, trying to pull, twist, yank himself free, but Megatron’s grip on his jaw was unrelenting.

The servos that landed on his aft this time, the digits that started to play with the edges of his valve cover, they didn’t belong to Megatron. His frame was already running hot from Megatron’s all too knowledgeable touch, and Twin Twist wasn’t any less experienced. Sideswipe’s tears ran more numerous, but no one paid any mind to all the ways he phrased how he didn’t want this, didn’t agree to this, get the slag away from him–

Twin Twist only touched him until his frame reached a limit and forced his valve cover open despite himself. That was all the invitation Twin Twist needed, burying his spike into his valve at once. At least he was fragging well lubricated by now, and… Twin Twist wasn’t rough, or careless, like Megatron was, like none of the mates had been in the last orgy. It was clear he moved to enjoy himself too, but the way he circled his hips and alternated his thrusts, all the little tricks Sideswipe didn’t even know a name for… It felt good. It felt way too damn good, even without his interface protocols under an accursed spell. And Twin Twist wasn’t too big, especially not after everything his valve had already been through. It didn’t hurt at all.

He was moaning soon enough, squeezing his optics shut and focusing on fighting his losing battle against his frame. It didn’t matter how much he didn’t want this and it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, it was pleasure that started to course through him.

And when Megatron released his jaw, Sideswipe’s helm fell to the couch and he tried to silence his sounds into his arm.

With Sideswipe appropriately punished for his refusal, forced into enjoying all of this all over again, Megatron turned his attention back to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker growled, a hard, deep sound when the tyrant’s optics fell on him, still expertly pinned in place by Starscream. Growling and glaring was all he could do.

But with one gesture from Megatron, Starscream released him. Sunstreaker raised himself up immediately, only for Megatron to seize him by the throat and pull him close, considering him for a moment before his gaze dropped to Sunstreaker’s groin. Sunstreaker snarled harder at that, for all the good it would do for him. Was there anything he could have ever done to discourage Megatron? He couldn’t rightly think of anything.

Rip off his spike, maybe. If he even could have with the damn thing apparently made from steel for all the damage it just shrugged off.

And that would have likely gotten him killed. Not the best of plans, no matter how satisfying it would’ve been in the last few moments of his life.

“Do you like your new gait?” Megatron asked him. Sunstreaker bared his denta, and tried to jerk free when Megatron’s other servo ran down his frame, to his hips, and then lower, stroking his valve cover. “Should we maintain it a little bit, hmm? It would be such a shame if you lost it.”

“Says you,” Sunstreaker growled past the constriction of his vocalizer. “My frame, and I don’t want it. Go die in the gutters, you fragging halfwit.”

“Your frame?” Megatron questioned, ignoring the insults. 

But the tyrant’s fake confusion melted away very quickly, replaced by what looked a hell of a lot like genuine, restrained anger. “Don’t forget who you belong to, youngling,” he growled. And now Megatron’s grip tightened enough that he could say no more, only a burst of stating coming out when he tried. He wasn’t allowed to keep fighting, not even just verbally.

And then he was flipped about, onto his stomach across Megatron’s lap—with his aft presented to Sideswipe, who looked up in alarm. “Prepare your brother for me.”

Sunstreaker’s engine roared and Sideswipe shook his helm, even as he moaned from Twin Twist’s treatment, flirting with the edge of an overload. 

Megatron didn’t waste time on trying to get him to do as he was told. “Topspin,” he said instead, without looking up. Topspin stepped up at once, ready for orders that came in short order. “Show Sideswipe how it’s done.” Sunstreaker’s valve cover earned itself a meaningful tap. 

He tried to jerk away again, but Megatron gripped him tight and Topspin stepped over, angling Sunstreaker’s lower half until he had access to the junction of his thighs.

Then there were lips on his panel, and a glossa, these too knowing exactly what they were doing as they started to administer pleasure to his frame. Megatron kept Sunstreaker’s vocalizer quiet, but his frame revved hard, first from anger–

But then, when Topspin never once let up, the sound turned into reluctant arousal. He couldn’t stop his physical responses of his frame any more than Sideswipe could, and he wasn’t allowed to escape the mouth working insistently on his cover—until it snapped back with another burst of static from Sunstreaker. 

A dexterous glossa slipped inside his valve at once, seeking out all the sensors in its reach in its first thrust in, pull out, another push inside, brushing against sensitive areas as if it had invaded his valve before and knew all of his ins and outs already.

But that could probably just be attributed to his valve being standard build. 

It didn’t work in his favor, that was for sure. Sunstreaker tried to jerk his hips away, time and time again, but not once did it work, and with Topspin intent on his task, his vents were heaving hot air from his frame in far too short order. “That’ll do,” Megatron said at that point, and finally Topspin pulled back, as did Twin Twist leave his brother, although knowing what would follow… Sunstreaker would have rather had him than Megatron.

But he’d been prepared for Megatron. The tyrant pulled him by his throat until he was on his hands and knees on the couch. He was let go, but before he could even try to get away—as little as he expected the other mates would have let him—Megatron had already positioned himself behind him, one knee on the couch, the other on the floor, and rammed into his valve. Sunstreaker jerked from the pain that stabbed his internals, but snuffed the sounds that wanted to escape his vocalizer.

Megatron’s pace… Pits, he was getting some serious flashbacks to his very first interface with the tyrant. This wasn’t just Megatron taking his pleasure out of him. This was about making him hurt, for his insolence no doubt. 

And Primus but it hurt. Megatron was again showing his strength with the amount of oomph he put behind each and every thrust, and he angled his hips in just the way to hit where Sunstreaker would feel it the most—Sideswipe said something, half scream, but then there was Starscream again, pushing his brother down and keeping him there.

Do not interfere. Not with anything Megatron saw fit to do.

Sunstreaker first groaned at a particularly hard entry into his frame, and then, when Megatron corrected his technique some–

He screamed. It wasn’t loud, and it was hoarse, but he couldn’t for the life of him keep quiet when Megatron hit something, and Sunstreaker didn’t know his own damn frame well enough to say what it was without reading the damage reports, but something buckled deep in him, then gave away entirely under the continued assault of Megatron’s goddamned spike.

He could feel wetness leak into his internals, meeting his armor and then seeping past the gaps—probably one of his tanks was what had gotten damaged, then. 

How, how Megatron could break something like a tank with nothing but his spike… He didn’t understand. Spikes weren’t supposed to be able to break a damn thing.

But whatever modifications Megatron’s had, it spelled pain for Sunstreaker, right then and there. He didn’t look what color fluids were bleeding out of him, too busy gritting his denta, too busy pressing his face into his arm, shuttering his optics until there was nothing but black behind his HUD. Warnings were flashing at him and he let them blink away in the dark, trying to focus on the repetition of that rather than the repetition of Megatron’s spike hammering into his frame until he wasn’t sure his armor wouldn’t cave from inside out.

Pain.

Sideswipe was crying, begging for it to stop, curling in on himself from the phantom sensations he was suffering, too stubborn to pull away, too stubborn to not share–

But no matter what he said, Megatron paid him no heed, let nothing and no one distract him before Sunstreaker had fallen silent again—agony in his frame, in his valve, his midsection, until he couldn’t even make sense of the signals anymore, until he had no hope of keeping up with them. They drowned out everything else, even his vocoder.

Once he reached that point, then Megatron decided it was sufficient. The tyrant growled above and behind him, his transfluid pouring into his valve—and then past it. Last time he hadn’t been certain if it was real or imagined.

This time he didn’t imagine it. 

His frame shook as Megatron finally pulled out and stood up. “The both of you will come to my wing tonight,” he said, and even to Sunstreaker’s hazy processors there was little doubt he was talking about him and Sideswipe. “Have Knock Out fix that first.”

And with those parting words, he walked out.

Sunstreaker couldn’t will his frame to move, not with the pain radiating from his core into every part of his frame. Sideswipe, unhurt as he was, scrambled to his side as soon as Starscream let him, his servos hovering over golden plating. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t know how to touch, where to touch without hurting him more. “Sunny…” he said so quietly, but it reached his audials all the same. 

He could feel the question in them. Was it worth it? Was defiance worth it when it’d only leave them bloodied and broken, one way or another? Were those little moments of satisfaction worth this?  

Sunstreaker forced his optics open when someone approached, and glanced up at Skywarp. The Seeker had a sorrowful look about his face, for once. Did even he acknowledge this much was messed up?

But he laid the blame at their pedes, not Megatron’s. “You really shouldn’t test him like that,” Skywarp murmured, and that… That was probably the overarching sentiment of all the mates, wasn’t it? That they had asked for this.

Their fault for pushing Megatron to a violent limit of his. 

“Let’s get you to Knock Out.” Twin Twist. Sideswipe snarled at him, but it was without any real strength. Yeah, he’d just gotten raped by the mech, but what else was new? They’d all forced themselves on them at one point or other. 

Sideswipe had gotten pleasure, unwanted. Sunstreaker had earned himself pain. Which was better? Which was worse?

Before, he would have said he preferred pain, no questions asked. 

He wasn’t as sure anymore. 

It was Twin Twist and Topspin that gently laid their servos on his frame, pulling him up and supporting him when the utter agony of his internals stole all steadiness from his legs. His helm hung, his vents heaved—but no longer from heat or arousal.

It just hurt, like getting stabbed several times over, aggravated by every move he made… But it wouldn’t get better anytime soon, not without Knock Out.

So he ground his denta together and tried to bear it, tried to ignore it enough to at least move his legs—even so, the other set of twins had to nearly carry him between them. Sideswipe followed on their heels, wanting so bad to help, but without the ways or the means to do so.

It was an excruciatingly long walk down the hallway to the medbay, but they made it, eventually. Topspin and his brother helped him onto one of the berths before Sideswipe took their place by his side, clutching onto his servo, his arm.

Sunstreaker squeezed his servo back, trying to calm their turbulent spark. Yeah, that had been bad, and yeah, he hurt now, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

He’d be fine.

Sideswipe found it hard to believe.

Knock Out walked over from wherever he had been—his quarters, maybe?—took one look at him, and shook his helm. “Now what did you do to earn that? Don’t answer, I don’t want to know. Especially not the details.”

He said all of that so casually, like this was no big deal, like this happened too often for him to give a frag anymore. If he ever had given a frag to begin with. Sideswipe growled again, but Knock Out fluently ignored him and merely scanned Sunstreaker. He sighed at whatever he found—annoyed, more than anything.

Not bothered.

Not feeling sorry for them.

Not thinking this was wrong.

Just Knock Out being Knock Out, the harem’s detached medic and bodywork miracle.

“I’ll put you to stasis for the repairs. This shouldn’t take too long. Are you..?” Knock Out trailed off, looking up at Sideswipe.

“I’m staying,” Sideswipe said firmly.

Knock Out shrugged. “Just stay out of my way and keep quiet. Now then!” Sunstreaker turned his helm to the side on the medic’s approach, let him plug in, and watched as Knock Out initiated medical stasis.

His frame slumped, fleeing consciousness leaving all systems lax and only the vital ones online. Sideswipe gave his brother’s arm one more squeeze before he stepped back to huddle against the wall. Out of the way, like Knock Out had told him. 

And quiet, hard as that was.

Sunstreaker had been just like this, in stasis, helpless, out of it, when Megatron had used his frame only for him to come back online to the signs of what had been done to him.

Sideswipe couldn’t disagree that that was… Beyond messed up. What kind of a mech fragged a corpse?  

The same kind of mech that would interface you to pieces if you showed disrespect.

He wasn’t even crying at this point, as much as old tear tracks had dried on his face. Megatron wanted them in his wing. Tonight. And he was bound to be displeased after what had happened, here. 

He was too sore to hurt any more. Not… Not physically. His frame could still be made to suffer in ways he hadn’t even known about, he was sure about that much.

But he wasn’t so sure his spark could contain any more pain than it already did. He wasn’t sure his mind was ready to process anything more.

He felt about ready to stop feeling.

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

Unfortunately, he became less certain of his emotional immunity when they were led to Megatron’s wing that night. Fear was rising, quickly.

Knock Out had fixed Sunstreaker like he had fixed them every time before. Sunstreaker wasn’t in pain, anymore, aside from the little sting of fresh welds. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

But would it remain that way, or did Megatron have something painful in mind for them now? They had displeased him. In his twisted mind that probably earned them all sorts of awfulness, that Sideswipe wasn’t looking forward to one bit.

The doors to the wing closed behind them, and trapped they were. Sunstreaker was gripping his servo, trying to calm him, to build strength in him—but he wasn’t sure that, for once, Sunstreaker wasn’t equally trying to gather strength from him instead of just giving it to him. Things had… Never been this bad before. They’d gotten hurt before, pretty badly, and they’d struggled to get themselves the necessary repairs, but never before had anyone tried to systematically break them, inside and out. 

That was what Megatron was doing now though, a-and… They’d acted out, and felt it, especially Sunstreaker, which could only be the beginning to the plans Megatron had for them.

But there was no running, not from this, so, together, they walked down the long hall, past all of the closed doors, and to the lounge where Megatron was already sitting, reading something. He glanced up on their arrival, and frowned. “Berthroom, you two.” His tone… Megatron was done playing around, wasn’t he?

Sideswipe swallowed hard, but after a glance at Sunstreaker that his brother returned, they slowly crept past the furniture of the lounge and to the doors of Megatron’s berthroom, and through them, and– Pits, what would happen now?

They could hear Megatron getting up behind them, walking after them until he was forcing them further into the room with the threat of touching them to nudge them in the right direction. They wanted as little of his touch as possible, as much as they expected there would be a lot of that tonight.

“Get on the berth,” came the next command, and ever hesitantly they did just that, hoisting themselves up and scooting somewhere off to the center. Megatron followed them, his optics severe. Not amused, not smug.

Just intent on making them do as they were told and exactly as they were told. The means he’d use to that end… He didn’t want to know, but he was sure they’d find out anyway.

“Make out,” Megatron said next. Sideswipe started, Sunstreaker growled—and they didn’t do it.  

Megatron raised an optical ridge at them, unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how. You’re brothers.” They were, and yeah, they knew how, they enjoyed it… But not in these circumstances.

Even Sunstreaker didn’t dare say anything, but they didn’t act on the order either.

And Megatron proved he just wasn’t going to wait for them, not anymore. He reached over, and before they could jerk out of the way, his servo had found Sideswipe’s valve cover, claws dug into the seams, and torn the entire panel off. Sideswipe was too unprepared, too surprised to even make a sound even as his sensors alerted him to the pain, just keeled forward into Sunstreaker’s arms.

Then three of the tyrant’s thick digits stabbed into his bared valve without any warning, any preparation. Now Sideswipe gasped when the sharp tips raked against his valve mesh, making his hips jerk in an attempt to get away—but that only dug Megatron’s claws deeper, and he had to stop, had to still himself lest he damage his equipment further. 

Megatron began to move his servo, and this wasn’t about arousing him, no. He dragged his claws across sensitive sensors in a way that didn’t do anything more than hurt with sharp pains, and Sideswipe clutched onto Sunstreaker’s arms, closing his optics tight.

“Make out,” Megatron repeated, and now his digits slowed, the suggestion clear as day: do as they were told and it didn’t have to hurt. 

Sideswipe glanced up at Sunstreaker, his brother staring back at him with a pained expression, but what could they do?

What could they do?

Sideswipe reached up now, and pressed his lips against Sunstreaker’s. They were unresponsive, but just for a second before Sunstreaker returned the kiss, almost desperately—wrapping his arm around Sideswipe to keep him close, to give and seek comfort from each other.

Because that was all they had now, wasn’t it? Each other.

Megatron’s digits abandoned his valve, blessedly, horribly—rewarded for something he didn’t want to do in the first place. He didn’t want to give in, but by the pits… What options did they have?

At least the press of Sunstreaker’s lips was familiar, when their glossae entwined, it was familiar, and the taste… It was his brother, there was no question about that. This was theirs, their… Their attempt to enjoy even something about this.

Megatron moved next to them instead of being mostly behind Sideswipe. A click had the both of them glancing at the tyrant, all to see his spike cover retract and his spike pressurizing already, readily. “Use your servo to pleasure me. Don’t stop kissing,” came the orders, tersely.

What was this? Putting on a show for Megatron’s benefit, while simultaneously pleasuring him?

When they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron reached for Sunstreaker’s valve cover and ripped that clean off too. His brother jerked from the pain, but didn’t voice it any more than Sideswipe had—but before Megatron had the time to do more than that, Sunstreaker had pulled him back against him, landing a kiss on his cheek before Sideswipe had the sense to turn his helm to face him.

And it was Sunstreaker’s servo that reached for Megatron’s spike and began to pump his servo along it.

Sunstreaker was shaking, but Sideswipe could feel his determination to keep Sideswipe safe. If that meant indignity, if it meant pleasuring their rapist… So be it.

As long as Sideswipe remained safe.

It was a sentiment that had the red twin crying in no time. Look at what they had been reduced to. Doing something that they’d always loved, but now involuntarily, left without choice, while pleasing the damn mech that had torn them from their humble but happy enough life, only to bring them here to endure things they hadn’t imagined even in their worst nightmares.

They weren’t ready for this, nothing in their life had prepared them for this—nothing could have prepared them for this. The cruelty, the immorality were on another level entirely.

It was too much, and yet they couldn’t but bear it. 

Sunstreaker’s servo jerked Megatron to completion, the tyrant’s transfluid splattering onto his brother’s arm, on Megatron’s plating. “Lick that off, Sunstreaker,” he said, and the brothers parted ways to both stare at Megatron. Sunstreaker was shivering, Sideswipe’s armor was rattling—and they didn’t move fast enough, Megatron again jabbing his claws into Sideswipe’s valve.

This time he cried out.

That was enough to prompt Sunstreaker into action and he lowered himself onto the berth, in a position of true subservience neither of them could have ever wanted, and did as he was told. He cleaned, with his glossa, all of the transfluid that had landed on the tyrant’s plating, and all of what had remained on the tip of his spike and run down the length. Megatron’s digits left Sideswipe’s valve and he was rumbling, approving—and approving meant not physical pain. 

Only pain of a spark forced into something it never wanted to do, never wanted to be. But they were stuck. They were so, so stuck in all of this, their way out still unclear. They would find it eventually, he just… He hoped it would be soon enough.  

Megatron tapped Sunstreaker’s chin once he was satisfied with his brother’s work, and Sunstreaker eagerly pulled away.

Then it was Sideswipe who got the next set of instructions. “Lay on your back and spread your legs.”

He didn’t like where this was going, but under the gazes of both Megatron and Sunstreaker he nevertheless leaned back until he was laying down entirely, and let his legs fall apart, putting his coverless valve in perfect display. 

If only Megatron had chosen to spike him then. That would have been familiar, that he could’ve… He could’ve handled that. 

But instead Megatron’s optics moved to Sunstreaker. “Fist him.”

“What?!” they asked in unison, and Sideswipe shot back into a sitting position.

“You can’t be serious,” Sunstreaker continued, their disbelief quickly giving way to dry horror. They didn’t want to ‘face each other to begin with, not in any way, and… Frag, not in that way either. And Sideswipe didn’t particularly fancy finding out what getting fisted felt like in the first place. He hadn’t even entertained the thought before, no matter how much he had enjoyed interfacing.

But here they were.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Megatron responded to Sunstreaker, and his voice left little doubt of that. But… Slaggit, better Sunstreaker than Megatron. Megatron’s servos were as large as the rest of him. That would’ve… He wasn’t sure his frame could’ve taken that in any shape or form.

But Sunstreaker… Sideswipe met his gaze. Sunstreaker’s face twisted with emotion as he tried to think of some way to avoid this, some way to spare them both this… He came out empty. 

“Now,” Megatron said, without inflection, but there was threat in that one word all the same. What would he do if they didn’t? How would he hurt them? “On your back, Sideswipe.”

He fell back even more reluctantly than before, but Sunstreaker couldn’t will himself into motion.

Couldn’t, before Megatron gave him some more incentive. “Do it, or I will.”

He could probably survive Megatron’s servo if it came down to it. He didn’t think he’d die, but the amount of damage it would have caused… 

The amount of pain.

It didn’t need to come down to it. Sunstreaker grit his denta, but moved between his spread legs and grudgingly, unwillingly, brought his servo to Sideswipe’s valve.

The sooner they were done with this, the sooner… They could move to whatever else Megatron had planned for them. And the sooner they got to all that, the sooner they would get out of here.

Even so, Sunstreaker wasn’t about to hurt Sideswipe if it could be avoided. He pushed two of his digits into Sideswipe’s valve at first, adding a third when he found it looser than he’d expected—but after, he sought out sensors, and not to scratch them, but to stimulate them, in the good kind of way. Pleasant way.

As much as Sideswipe didn’t want this, he wasn’t opposed to the slow start, the little act to make some lubricant gather in his valve. And, surprisingly, Megatron gave them the time to do that, watching, stroking his spike languidly, but not rushing them. 

Sideswipe tried to relax, let his legs fall apart a bit further, tried to force away some of the tension in his frame, because that would only translate into tension in his calipers, and if… If he was supposed to take Sunstreaker’s whole damn fist, it would be best if he was relaxed. He hoped that would lead to the least possible amount of pain—and damage, if his calipers tried to stay in the way stubbornly.

Sunstreaker didn’t want to hurt him, but this might hurt anyway, no matter what they did. Best they could was try to reduce the chances of that. 

To that end, Sunstreaker played with his valve until there was a decent amount of lubricant in place. Then his brother cycled one deep ventilation and added a fourth digit to very little resistance from Sideswipe’s calipers.

And that was maybe the worst part, how… Easy it turned out to be. It shouldn’t have been. Taking a whole damn servo up his valve was meant to be a struggle.

But with how large Megatron’s spike alone was, and how many times he’d gotten hammered by it already, Sunstreaker could easily slip four of his digits into his valve, and when pulled out, pushed in, pulled back, tucked his thumb against his other digits and pushed again… There was some resistance as the widest part cleared his rim, but it was still too easy. It stung, but it wasn’t outright pain. There was enough lubricant to ease the passage.

And his valve had just gotten forced too far out of shape by Megatron. Sunstreaker slipped his entire servo in, up to his wrist, and felt Sideswipe’s valve flutter and clench against the intrusion, unused to the strange shape.

Tears fell from Sideswipe’s optics and he stared resolutely at the ceiling. He didn’t need and didn’t want any of the reminders of how they were being reforged to their new role in life.

“Overload him,” Megatron said once they’d gotten to that stage. He didn’t need to specify that Sunstreaker was to overload him with his servo, like this, because that really was obvious enough.

It shouldn’t even be too difficult. It didn’t hurt, so… What else was there to feel but pleasure? Sunstreaker was slow and careful, mindful when he began to move his servo in and out, and with every pass it became easier and the resistance of his rim lesser. He made sure to brush against sensors, and it felt good. Strange, because it wasn’t a spike and didn’t have the shape of one, but pits, it wasn’t bad. 

He didn’t want that. Primus, but he wished he would have hated it because it was Megatron that had ordered this. He wanted to hate everything even remotely related to the mech.

But instead his hips started to push into the thrusts of Sunstreaker’s servo and he had to bite back his moans. Sunstreaker didn’t slow down either, once it was sure he wasn’t hurting him, even by accident. The sooner they were done with this…

The better. And he was quickly, very quickly, driven towards an overload with Sunstreaker’s intent but gentle touch. He didn’t try to fight it. As much as he didn’t want the pleasure, he wanted this just over with.

It wasn’t his best overload ever, but it was far from being the worst, either. Sideswipe stiffened as he was pushed over that edge with one more entry of his twin’s servo, his valve clamping down until Sunstreaker had little hope of pulling back. Sideswipe moaned despite his attempt to keep silent–

Then there was a surprised gasp, from Sunstreaker.

Megatron had shoved his entire length up his brother’s empty valve without warning and that, that hurt. There was no lubricant to speak of, he hadn’t been prepared for it in any way…

But they still felt the sorrow over the fact it didn’t hurt as much as it once had.

Sunstreaker removed his servo once Sideswipe’s valve relaxed enough, and Megatron chose that moment to start moving in and out of his frame at a leisurely pace. “Sideswipe,” he said, and the twin tore his optics from the ceiling to glance down at him. “Get under your brother. On your back, helm to me.”

Now what? But Sideswipe moved regardless, turning around and sliding under Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker made the room for him, ending up straddling his shoulders, his servos propping him up on either side of Sideswipe’s hips.

They didn’t have to wonder what this was about for long. Megatron continued to rock into Sunstreaker, not so hard it would’ve been unbearable—nothing like he had earlier in the day—but it was far from comfortable either, no matter the lubricant that was slowly starting to gather in Sunstreaker’s valve–

Then, “Lick my spike, Sideswipe.”

...He was in the perfect position to do that, with Megatron’s spike disappearing into Sunstreaker’s valve right above his face.

He didn’t really want to, though. Pits, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to pleasure Megatron, and he didn’t want to be this close to Sunstreaker’s equipment either.

And he sure as pit didn’t want a front row seat to Megatron fragging Sunstreaker.

He hesitated for too long. “Lick mine or your brother will suck yours.”

Sunstreaker flinched at the thought, and at a thrust that jabbed into one of the recent welds of his. Megatron knew as well as they did how despicable the thought of doing that was to Sunstreaker, and… Sideswipe couldn’t put him through it.

Not again.

Sunstreaker did his best to keep him safe. He could return the favor. Sideswipe lifted his helm enough that his nasal ridge nearly brushed against Megatron’s groin and extended his glossa, letting it rubbed against the underside of Megatron’s spike on every pull out, every push back in. When Megatron’s engine rumbled a displeased note, he applied more pressure, moved his glossa a little more, put in a bit more effort just so nothing would happen to Sunstreaker—and that earned him a rev from the tyrant.

Good enough, it said. 

He kept it up even as Megatron’s pace increased as he neared an overload, and… When he overloaded, he pulled out entirely, his come splashing on the outside of Sunstreaker’s valve and dripping onto Sideswipe’s face.

He hoped it was over at that, but it wasn’t. “Open your mouth,” Megatron said, and there wasn’t much question about who he was talking to.

And not too much question over why the order was given, either.

He didn’t want it, so Sideswipe shook his helm in denial. His quiet no, never spoken out loud.

It went completely ignored. Megatron shoved Sunstreaker off of him, his brother landing onto his side on the berth beside him, and then one of the tyrant’s servos came down, yanking his jaw open. Before Sideswipe could do more than squeak in surprise, Megatron had already aimed and thrust his spike into his mouth, down his throat.

Sideswipe’s wail was muffled even before the intrusion constricted his vocalizer into silence. It hurt. His valve might’ve gotten a little more used to things; his mouth, not so much. And Megatron didn’t go easy, he didn’t take his time, didn’t wait for him to adjust in any way before he was moving in and out of this throat too fast.  

Sunstreaker moved to do… Something, anything, but Megatron merely backhanded him hard enough that his brother collapsed back onto the berth. Tears streamed from Sideswipe’s optics, not just over the treatment his frame was suffering, but also over the treatment Sunstreaker received, and the… Helplessness. There hadn’t been and there still wasn’t anything they had done that would have worked against Megatron. Megatron only got his way, every time. He got his pleasure as it suited him, he made them hurt just as he wanted to.

And they were powerless in the face of it all.

Bear it. Sideswipe tried, even as his frame arched off the berth, fighting with himself to not let every entry down his throat get to him... And he only succeeded because Megatron chased his completion fast, and reached it quickly. Before Sideswipe lost the battle with himself.

Before he would have expelled everything in his tanks like he already had too many times before in the past orns. Instead there was a spurt of transfluid that headed for his tanks instead of out of them, although Megatron pulled out before he’d finished coming, and most of the transfluid his spike was pumping out landed on Sideswipe’s face to join what there already was.

But… Nothing more came after that. Megatron left them laying there, used and abused while he moved to the edge of the berth and wiped himself clean in swift motions. “Return to the harem,” he instructed them, and then… Left, without a backwards glance, and despite the late hour.

Then they were alone, in Megatron’s berthroom, except this time they were together.

Sideswipe rolled onto his front, got on his knees, reached for Sunstreaker. His brother was dazed, dented, and he wasn’t sure about the continued integrity of some of his welds, but he was mostly fine. Physically, anyway.

In every other way… Sideswipe tried not to think about it. Not before they got the pit out of here, anyway. “Come on,” he said quietly, tugging and pulling until he had Sunstreaker to the edge of the berth and they both dropped down to the floor, then out the berthroom, through the lounge, into the hallway, and to the doors that opened to them for once. Skywarp was waiting on the other side, waving at them in greeting.

“Hope that went well. Do you need to see Knock Out?” he asked, giving each of them a once over, his gaze lingering on the side of Sunstreaker’s helm.

“Would probably be best to, just to be safe,” Sideswipe answered quietly, glancing at Sunstreaker. There probably wasn’t anything too dangerous going on, but it’d be nice to have a confirmation of that.

Skywarp nodded at that before he turned to lead the way back to the harem wing, the twins trailing behind him

“This is progress,” Knock Out noted on their injuries once he’d had a look at them. “So minor! My, if only you gave me this little to work on more often.” Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words, and Sideswipe couldn’t say he appreciated them a hell of a lot either. Do as they were told, please Megatron, and they wouldn’t get slagged every damn time. 

“Wouldn’t you be out of a job if we did?” Sideswipe asked just a little sharply. Hadn’t Knock Out said that earlier?

...How much earlier was it? Pits, it was hard to keep track of time. It felt like an eternity with so much happening, but it couldn’t have been that long.

“True, that,” the medic conceded.

They were sent on their way once everything was back in order and they’d had a cursory cleaning. It was late, so the berthroom became their destination and they crept past the cots, many of them already occupied by recharging mecha. Some of the mates were still awake, and they got a few waves of greeting that Sideswipe returned before they made it to the very back of the room.

In mutual understanding they laid down on their joined cots, Sunstreaker onto his back, and Sideswipe stretching up along his side, pressing the side of his helm to Sunstreaker’s shoulder and letting the sounds and vibrations of his brother’s frame surround him. 

That had been one of their most pathetic showings with Megatron. They’d barely even resisted, but… Primus, it was getting hard to keep up the will to fight, knowing it was futile, that Megatron was inevitable in everything he did… And knowing they’d get hurt, one way or another, every time they didn’t do as they were told. Not always physically, but the emotional hurt could be just as potent, if not more so.

And Megatron had apparently never even heard the word “mercy”. He had none to give in any damn situation. 

But if they did as they were told… It wasn’t tolerable, it would never be fucking tolerable, but it wasn’t as bad. Was that the best they could hope for in this situation? Not as bad?

It felt like that. 

They were going to get out eventually, it was just a matter of time until they found the way, but until then… Would it be worth it to not earn themselves as much pain? Go a little easier on themselves?

Even if it meant… Even if it meant pleasing Megatron.

But it was only temporary. This was only temporary. They’d have the last laugh still, when they walked out of here, ran away. Back to the freedom they deserved. The other mates, they might’ve been so brainwashed they were fine with this, but him and Sunstreaker would never be. He didn’t understand how the others had ever gotten used to all of this, how they’d grown so desensitized to it, but it was easy to count on himself to never gain that understanding.

This was just… Too fragging awful to ever get used to.

Not forever. They wouldn’t be here forever.

They just had to stay strong and rely on each other until they found their way out of this fucking hellhole.

Easy, right?

They could do it.

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

There were a few quiet days again, time to rest and recuperate and… Try to put everything behind them for a while, even if they knew it would come back to haunt them still, somewhere in the not too distant future. 

Three days later, it did.

They were in the entertainment room again, Sunstreaker drawing and letting the curious gawk his work over his shoulders, Sideswipe playing some manner of shooter game with Runamuck and Runabout.

They really loved their shooter games. Sideswipe’s argument was that you couldn’t beat virtual violence. It was a good way to work out their frustrations too, in a very bloody manner.

Those games were too damn realistic for anyone’s good, the next thing he knew his brother would be a trained soldier. Great entertainment, though.

The peace of it was broken when there was the faint sound of the main doors opening and closing coming down the hall, followed by unmistakable pedesteps. Starscream left the entertainment room to greet their mate even as the twins’ fuel pumps froze.

They hoped, ardently, that Megatron was here for someone else, that he just wanted to disappear into the room at the very end of the hallway with someone that wasn’t them. The chances would’ve been good for something like that, right?

But they weren’t so lucky. Megatron walked to the entertainment room’s door, had a look around, confirmed they were both present, and called them both by name.

Just so there was no question or misunderstanding of who he wanted.

Like last time, Megatron sat down on one of the couches where everyone could see him.

Then came the order. “Come here.”

Sideswipe swallowed hard, clutched onto Sunstreaker through their spark, but… Disconnected from the game he had busied himself with and slowly walked over to the tyrant. Sunstreaker set down his drawing tablet, cycled several steadying ventilations, and followed Sideswipe—holding just as tight onto him as he was being held onto, even if not physically.  

Moment of truth, wasn’t it? They had displeased Megatron last time. What about this time?

Starscream was standing in the doorway, wings spread, arms crossed, watching it all sharply. The other mates didn’t have the same scrutiny about them, but they were all watching, all as eager for Megatron’s attention as ever, and… Curious. Over how this would go, most likely. Last time hadn’t been so great, not to be on the receiving end of, and probably not so fun to witness either.

It was in their hands how this time would go. What would Megatron ask of them?

They came to stand in front of him, Sunstreaker meeting his burning gaze, Sideswipe staring at his pedes. Their spark was spinning wildly no matter how Sunstreaker tried to calm it, but he couldn’t exactly deny his own distaste and nervousness of the situation. How bad would Megatron make this?

“Sideswipe,” Megatron said, patting the space next to him. Sideswipe hesitated for a few precious seconds, but the moment Megatron’s optics began to narrow, he hurried over and sat on the couch next to the tyrant, stiff as they came. 

Next, “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe started crying on the spot. Not out loud, he made no sound, but tears began to run down his cheeks. “How?” he asked for clarity’s sake despite that, even with the risk of Megatron taking it as too much dallying.

He didn’t. “As you see fit,” was the answer he gave. Sideswipe nodded silently and reached over Megatron’s thigh to press his servo to his codpiece. More tolerable than using his mouth, and easier with the angle he was in, unless he wanted to get between Megatron’s thighs. But that wasn’t where he’d been told to go, and he wondered why–

–Up until Megatron addressed Sunstreaker. “Prepare your brother for me. Take Topspin’s cue.”

Using his mouth, in other words. And then… Sideswipe would get to take Megatron’s spike.

Their spark fluttered with utter desperation, but there was no way out of this, was there? They could refuse, like they had last time, and then Megatron would hurt them all over again… Likely find even worse ways to do so, either in public, or in private.

Or they could just do this, get it over with, and not suffer through any of that.

Indignity and crushed pride, or defiance at the price of pain and suffering. 

Sunstreaker’s next exvent shuddered, but under the optics of what felt like absolutely everyone, he got on the couch behind his brother. Sideswipe was shaking, as much as he didn’t forget to stroke Megatron’s spike cover just to keep him satisfied… But he lifted his hips for Sunstreaker and retracted his valve cover.

It was just Sunstreaker. No one else.

They could do this. It was better than the alternatives.

Sunstreaker knelt there, between Sideswipe’s legs, and brought his mouth to Sideswipe’s valve. He hadn’t done this often—had he ever?—but he relied on Sideswipe’s memories and his sensation to guide him as he slipped his glossa into the opening that felt like it was perpetually gaping now, and hunted for sensors the same way Topspin had. He didn’t have the experience, but feeling what Sideswipe felt… He found his way, and slowly but steadily lubricant began to gather in his brother’s valve.

He would be as prepared for Megatron as Sunstreaker could make him, if that would just ease the second part of this even some. 

But it wasn’t just him. Sideswipe was shuddering, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from his task of getting Megatron’s spike out. He’d gotten the cover to open for him with enough teasing of its seams. Part of the tip had revealed itself too, by now, and he worked it in his servo diligently, in all the ways that had… Pleased his past partners.

The partners he’d had in the life he would still get back to, one way or another.

This was just another step on the road to that end. He worked the spike until it had reached halfway out of its housing, at which point Megatron told him to get his mouth in there. That was… Actually sort of doable now with enough of the spike out in the open, even though he had to lean over Megatron’s thigh to do so.

But he did, even as his hips began to move on their own, hitching back against Sunstreaker’s glossa, his mouth—as Sideswipe took the tip of Megatron’s spike into his own, as he licked along the length of it, still worked his servo around it…

Until it reached full pressurization. “Enough. Get on your back,” Megatron said at that point, and Sideswipe pulled away to force himself to lay down on the couch, even knowing what was coming.

He was crying, he was terrified. Did he have any good reason to be? But Megatron was… He was evil, just plain evil. What he could do if he thought he was given a reason…

He’d have bad memory purges of that for the rest of his life. Wasn’t it reasonable enough to fear him?

But he laid down and let his legs be spread when Megatron’s servos landed on his thighs. One of the tyrant’s pedes went to the floor again, like he’d done with Sunstreaker, and would he do it again? Destroy his internals because he could, despite them doing as he wanted?

He didn’t. Megatron’s spike pushed into his valve, surprisingly slowly. There was some stretch, his calipers forced apart by the massive length, but there was also plenty of lubricant.

It could’ve been… A lot worse.

Even when Megatron started to move, his pace wasn’t hurried in the slightest, and it didn’t start hurting—wouldn’t stop feeling good.

Was that better than pain, though?

“Sunstreaker.” The golden twin looked up from his trance of watching Megatron’s spike disappear into Sideswipe’s frame time and time again. “Straddle his chest.”

He did, carefully climbing on top of Sideswipe.

What then? “Get his spike out and pressurized.”

Sunstreaker looked down at the closed cover, but Sideswipe opened that one for him too. His spike pressurized partially on its own, because it wasn’t as if his frame wasn’t responding to Megatron’s use of his valve—that had, once upon a time, not too long ago, inherently hurt because of their sheer difference in size.

Not so anymore.

...Not so anymore.

Sunstreaker wrapped his servo around the emerging spike and tried very hard not to think about how much he didn’t want to be touching Sideswipe’s equipment. Instead… Focus on the task at hand. Stroke, brush his thumb over the tip, make Sideswipe feel good no matter how neither of them wanted to be in this situation.

He wasn’t left alone to it for long before one of Megatron’s servos came up, a digit hooking under his chin and tilting his helm up. He knew what was coming even before Megatron’s lips descended on his, glossa pushing into his mouth—taking his enjoyment from it just as he was taking it from Sideswipe’s frame. 

Sunstreaker’s touch faltered on his brother. Megatron noticed; there was a growl of warning that had him focusing back on what he was doing, and… Not on what was being done to him. 

Megatron picked up his pace until Sideswipe was groaning despite his attempts to stay quiet, but pleasure was building in his frame under the use of his valve and the touch on his spike. He was moving restlessly under Sunstreaker, hips tilting into Megatron’s thrusts and jerking up into Sunstreaker’s servo, up until he bucked with a strangled sound and came, spike and valve both. His transfluid landed on Sunstreaker’s servo, some of it onto his chassis, and there was no doubt in Sunstreaker’s mind that Megatron let himself be pulled into an overload by the clenching of Sideswipe’s valve, instead of being pushed into it involuntarily.

He painted the inside of Sideswipe’s valve with his own transfluid and bit down on Sunstreaker’s lip, but then… Then there was nothing but a possessive parting peck on Sunstreaker’s mouth before the tyrant pulled away, pulled out, stood up.

Tucked his spike behind its panel and left.

Sideswipe started sobbing the moment he was out of sight, a mess of transfluid and lubricant slowly leaking from his valve and his spike quickly depressurizing back into its housing. There were revving engines all around them, their brethren turned on by the show they’d received—and humiliation burned. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Hadn’t they already interfaced with this lot? Hadn’t all of them already seen them losing control of their own damn frames during the orgies?

But this was different. This wasn’t a signal turning them aroused beyond belief, and this wasn’t them forced into something.

This was them voluntarily giving Megatron what he wanted, voluntarily doing as they were told.

This was them giving up their fight in the sight of everyone else. It wasn’t them losing the fight in Megatron’s wing, out of sight.

It was them surrendering in public.

Sunstreaker glanced up when a shadow fell over them. Starscream met his gaze. “Welcome to the harem.”

( Next )

[apprentice-hazel]

A Little About Hazel

Answered this bunch of questions about Hazel because I intend to hopefully participate in the “Echoes of the Past” event hosted by @arcana-echoes 

You can find Hazel’s “official” bio here! And links to more info about them are on my main page!

Which character(s) is your apprentice romancing? What attracts your apprentice to them?

Julian! Hazel loves that he’s so sociable and seems to be friends with everyone. He’s very considerate and attentive as well and genuinely cares about others. He’s also very sweet and VERY into physical affection, which Hazel is as well. They’ve got a lot in common and have quite similar personalities, so they understand each other well!

If your apprentice was a romanceable character in The Arcana, what would their route be like?

Hazel’s route would probably involve getting them out of their shell and showing them how to be more confident and assertive. (Honestly probably similar to, but less extreme than, Muriel’s route ngl.)

How does your apprentice take their coffee? Do they even drink coffee? If not, what do they drink instead to put pep in their step?

They don’t like coffee! It’s too bitter and they hate the taste. No amount of cream, sugar, and/or flavoring can make it drinkable to them. They usually won’t drink anything of the sort, but if they’re desperate and need to stay awake / wake up they’ll brew their own pep-up potion and flavor it to their liking.

If your apprentice was attending a potluck, what would they take as their contribution?

They’d probably check what everyone else was bringing and make something according to that, but if told to pick whatever:

They love to bake, so they’d prefer to bring dessert – perhaps a strawberry shortcake, but they’re happy to make anything.

If they brought an entrée, it would probably be a shredded potato casserole – shredded potatoes, ground beef, cheese, and cream of mushroom soup baked in the oven.

What are some of your apprentice’s minor and major fears? What’s the best way to comfort them when afraid?

They have a fear of abandonment, fear of loved ones being hurt or killed, and fear of general horror/spooky things and jump-scares.

Generally, being present with them and distracting them with something else is most helpful. Depending on how close they are to whoever they’re with, being held/letting them hold on to you is great. However, sometimes they won’t want to be touched, or may not be close enough with the person to want to touch/be touched. In that case, talking to them about something they like can be good. But you have to make sure you have their attention first or they may not hear it if they’re spoken to.

Does your apprentice enjoy dressing up or would they prefer to just wear what’s comfortable?

They much prefer to just wear whatever is most comfortable. If they do have to dress up for an event, they will prefer something elegant, but not too ornate. They generally prefer to not stand out, so they tend to dress relatively plainly.

Is your apprentice happy with their physical appearance? If so, do they flaunt it? If not, what do they want to change?

Hazel is quite happy with how they look, but has no desire to flaunt it (until they start dating Julian and then want to show off for him, because they know he likes it). 

[Before being revived, they wanted to get top surgery. They were pretty flat-chested, but still… noticeable. That became unnecessary post revival as their new body automatically took the form they wanted – hence why they don’t have any scars from it. They don’t realize this is the case as they don’t remember how they were before.]

What would your apprentice want as a birthday gift?

Hazel isn’t too picky, honestly. Anything that shows them the other person was thinking about them is great! Handmade or store-bought, all gifts are equal before them. All they really want is for people to show them they remember things they like. Simple jewelry is usually a safe bet, and/or anything wolf-related.

What is your apprentice’s natural stress response (fight, flight, or freeze) and how does that influence their actions when confronted with a stressful situation? Do they recover from stress quickly or does it affect them for hours afterward?

Their natural stress response is freeze then flight. When confronted with a stressful situation they will freeze to analyze the situation, looking for escape routes and assessing their chances of success. If possible, they will run as fast as possible to put as much distance as necessary between them and the source of the stress. If running isn’t possible or practical, they will still move as quickly as is acceptable until they feel like they’re far enough away to be safe.

How quickly they recover is entirely dependent on whether they have access to a trusted person to help them unwind. They recover most quickly if they can be around Julian even if they just sit in the same room as him while he works. Secondary preference would be Asra or Portia. If forced to deal with things alone, it can take hours for them to recover.

What’s the first thing someone is likely to notice about your apprentice when meeting them for the first time? Do they have any other quirks that set them apart?

They are very socially awkward and this comes across very clearly.

Their face isn’t usually very expressive, and this is often mistaken for disinterest. Unfortunately, this is actually because they experience emotions on a scale of 1-2-3-8-9-10 so anything that falls in the middle ground is unlikely to affect their facial expression.

When they’re happy, they tend to jump and run around as a means of stimming, to burn off some of the excessive emotion they’re feeling. If they’re around people they trust, they may also spontaneously burst into song – something that expresses what they’re currently feeling.

How does your apprentice act when meeting new people? Are they outgoing, shy, awkward, aloof? Do they like being the center of attention?

They’re usually very quiet and withdrawn and their neutral expression and closed off body language can and does come across as standoffish and unapproachable. If you get past that, they’re usually shy and awkward, not saying much unless necessary. They feel very uncomfortable being the center of attention and can get really stressed out if the focus is on them.

How does your apprentice treat people in positions of authority? Does your apprentice believe they deserve respect just because of their position/status?

They’re usually nervous around people in positions of power, but that’s mostly because they’re not very knowledgeable about proper social conventions and are afraid of doing something wrong/inappropriate. They do not, however, believe people in positions of power deserve respect just for their status. If they feel like someone in power is shitty and or not suited for the role, they aren’t inclined to be nice to them. They usually prefer to avoid conflict, however, so they won’t usually confront the person unless pushed.

Your apprentice sees someone who is very obviously wealthy accidentally drop a small pouch of coins. What do they do?

If they think no one else noticed, they’ll keep it and use whatever money is inside to buy food or clothing for some of the street kids in the city. They know Asra grew up like that, and they like to help the kids whenever they can.

What was your apprentice’s reaction to Julian’s speech on the docks in Book VII? How did they deal with it afterwards?

“Achievement Unlocked: Hazel would now DIE for you.” They were honestly over the moon that he genuinely wanted to be with them, and that feeling kind of bled into everything else at the time. It hurt to see how much he cared about everyone but himself, but the knowledge that he was just trying to protect them and did want to be with them despite that he was “breaking up” with them made it possible for Hazel to resolve to pursue a relationship with him anyway. They can be stubborn and very determined when they set their mind to something. They were a bit overwhelmed and thus couldn’t properly voice their thoughts immediately, but they intended to make a plan and go after him at a later time.

How does your apprentice feel about sharing a bed with Asra in the shop?

They don’t mind at all. In fact, they like curling up with him at the end of the day. They sleep better when holding something or someone – they will cling in their sleep – and Asra got them a plush toy wolf to sleep with when he’s not around. They see Asra as a sibling and have zero qualms about platonic physical affection. This has, however, had the consequence of completely desensitizing them to being physically affectionate with anyone they consider a friend further impacting their already questionable grasp on common social etiquette…

Does your apprentice enjoy the luxury of the palace and Nadia’s gifts or do they find it overwhelming?

They do not. They’re super overwhelmed with all of it. The food is too fancy, the clothes Nadia gave them were far too extravagant for their tastes, and they absolutely hate feeling like anyone is going out of their way for them.

They do like the baths and the bed and the gardens, but for the most part that kind of ostentatious living is not for them.

How does your apprentice react when confronted with the creature from the abandoned wing in Asra and/or Nadia’s routes in Book VII? What’s going through their head at the time?

Hazel only caught a glimpse of it on their first night at the palace, when they were dragged up the stairs by Mercedes and Melchior when Portia left them alone with the dogs. They were absolutely terrified and tried to leave as quickly as possible seeing it only for an instant just before they made it back to the steps. They are… not a fan.

How does your apprentice feel about Consul Valerius?

They hate him immensely. He’s arrogant and so infuriatingly dismissive of them, they can’t stand it. He honestly made them so mad at their first meeting, that they retaliated against him – consequences be damned.

Is there a song or songs that you associate with your apprentice?

SO MANY (god I love music) but for now, the most important ones imo and personal favorites of mine are “I Believe in You” by Michael Bublé and "No Matter What" from the Steven Universe Movie!

Is your apprentice friends with any other fan apprentices?

Not at the moment, but they’re certainly open to it!

[jawnkeets]

How are you so clever??? I’m new to your blog and I’ve been looking at your posts (not in a stalkery way but because they’re so cool) and you seem super intelligent! Like you always reference things I’ve never heard of and use fancy words and it’s just really awesome. How did you get so clever? Do you read a lot or are you just naturally clever? If it’s from reading then what books would you recommend to someone who’s interested in literature and also broadening their general knowledge? Thanks

awwww. well thanks for the lovely ask!! this is way too much detail bc i’m procrastinating work but

i read a ton as a kid, mostly horror books - i was obsessed with the supernatural, and especially vampires, and the idea of things changing into other things (in a magical way, but also stories where characters develop and end up very different, tales of betrayal etc). my favourite series when i was little was the spiderwick chronicles, followed a little later by the saga of darren shan. i didn’t read any classic literature at all though, as i’d decided i hated it for some reason. as a kid i always prided myself on my creativity/ imagination rather than my intelligence (it’s a distinction i’d always drawn and still do after a fashion), but i was and have always been obsessive, and also used to sit and play memory games for hours, too; i remember one where i’d have a list of cards and i’d put one down, say what it was, turn it over, add another one, say what the previous one and this one was, turn them over, and continue until i couldn’t remember every single card in order, and then i’d start again. i wrote a lot, especially poetry, and used a thesaurus often because i loved words. i had a very very vivid imagination and refused to live in the real world until the age of about 11 or 12. then from 14 onwards i read almost nothing (apart from like idk two of the hunger games books) until i was 17, when i finally started reading classic literature, triggered by the great gatsby, which changed my attitude to learning completely. until then i’d despised secondary school partly because of the way learning was presented (i got good grades at gcse but went through the syllabus and exams mechanically with little genuine love) and partly for… other reasons, and had almost given up on taking academics seriously. but i got very lucky and had an incredible english teacher throughout sixth form, who encouraged me to take risks and break from methodical, formulaic writing. at the end of the first essay i had to do for him i still remember that he wrote ‘literature is for you. now and always. carry on.’ at the bottom, and that changed my life. he also introduced me to philip larkin and romantic poetry outside of class. after that, i was gripped by the desire to read and discover as much about the humanities as i could, make links between works, discover new ones, recover the feeling that i was possessed by after finishing gatsby. tumblr genuinely helped with art, literature quotes, and making it all seem accessible, e.g. seeing text posts making jokes about shakespeare, keats, etc helped to demystify a bit. yes, dark academia, i’m also looking at you for making learning seem exciting, but tentatively and with narrowed eyes. general knowledge-wise, it helped me to begin to break down the barriers between ‘subjects’ at school (even if you’ve left school, it’s pretty branded into our brains); they’re sometimes very fuzzy and even arbitrary, and to separate into strictly-defined categories like this is not the only way learning can or should happen.

a work that i thoroughly recommend to everyone who asks where to start is letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke. he relates so perfectly this idea that the first step is to let yourself be filled with how amazing and vast the world is, and how much there is to read, listen to, and see. that’s not something you can learn from reading, and it’s not something you can be taught by anyone (unless being inspired by someone counts). it’s instrumentally important because it will drive you, but i also think it’s inseparable from understanding (and to me, it is understanding, just understanding without the right words yet). this is the highlight, and it was the mantra stuck up on my wall at 17 when i decided i wanted to learn, and learn seriously:

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

i was relatively articulate before i started reading the classics/ reading widely, but not exceptionally articulate. here’s an example of two essay openings - one i wrote when i was 16, and one i wrote during my first term at university (2 years apart):

i’d say that since then my essays have probably improved by a similar proportion, as i’m as embarrassed to read the second as i was the first when i wrote the second, and the typos r annoying me (am too embarrassed to post recent writing :’( - doesn’t count if over a year and a half ago, hence posting the second :p). obviously, then, this isn’t natural intelligence (everyone has to get knowledge, big words, etc from somewhere, right?), this is natural receptivity and willingness to learn, which i genuinely believe anyone can gain at any point, coupled with A LOT of reading the opinions of others (i.e. literary criticism and theory), and reading literature from many different periods to discover how language is moulded by individual poets and by ‘eras’ more widely. but this is also synthesising everything i absorb into a personal vision (this is the hill i will die on soz i don’t think theory should be ‘objective’ like what does that even mean). you can and should put yourself into it!

in terms of what to read - if you like the rilke (really hope you do!!) then depending on what you like about it, you can search from there. try some of rilke’s poetry. or if you like that ineffable feeling it brings, try the romantics (keats’ ‘ode to a nightingale’ and blake’s songs of innocence and experience are good to start with!), or larkin’s ‘high windows’ and ‘the mower’. also try shakespeare’s hamlet, because that is INCREDIBLE (watching it is always easier, and the more shakespeare you watch/ read the easier it gets! andrew scott’s hamlet is the best imo). from there it’s a question of asking what you liked about what you just read (time period/ vibe/ themes/ subject/ style of writing) and finding things similar - often google works and i made use of it a lot to start with, tumblr too, otherwise ask people who you know (on the internet/ teachers/ friends etc). this is a personal journey, especially to begin with, i think (you have to jump in somewhere), and there’s no one who can give you a list of books to read in the order best for you, because - annoyingly, i know - that’s something it’s best if each individual works out through trial and error, and part of the fun in truth. there are western canon lists out there, e.g., which contain some fabulous works, but have very obvious problems. 

a really really rough chronological development of english lit: beowulf, any of the canterbury tales, hamlet, paradise lost, pope’s satire, romantic poetry, victorian novels (e.g. david copperfield, jane eyre), the waste land, waiting for godot (it would also help to read the iliad, the aeneid, and metamorphoses too, and as much of the bible as you can, especially genesis, exodus, isaiah, job, and the gospels, but genesis and the gospels first if ur stuck/ overwhelmed). this is the lightest of pencil sketches, but if they’re works that go some way towards defining each ‘era’ or ‘period’, then it becomes a little easier to search for works branching off from these that are influenced by or chafe against them. you can always come back to me if you’re struggling with what to look for next :+) also, i have a list of my poetry favs, if you want to check that out (it includes the stuff mentioned in the previous paragraph, as well as others).

hope this helps (?!) ❤️

[every-angel-is-terrifyingg-blog]

Gabriel

Gabriel is my favorite secondary character in Good Omens. Like, he’s so...lovably slimy? He’s off-putting, but there’s enough charm underneath to keep you engaged. John Hamm really captures the strange charm and delusion of a late-night infomercial host. Or maybe the obnoxiously earnest car sales associate who wants to know what he can do to put you behind the wheel of a brand new Ford today.

Regardless, I love Good Omens Gabriel and it’s uncomfortable.

I also have a soft spot for the Gabriel of lore. I’ve always seen that Gabriel as someone who is a bit harried by his angelic duty. Gabriel is charged with revealing some big things to very important people and he usually freaks them out when he appears to them. I feel like that would be hard to deal with. How would you like it if everyone thought they were hallucinating every time you showed up?

(Hagia Sophia bema arch. There is a mosaic of Michael on the opposite arch)

Gabriel (”God is my strength”) is an important angel in all three Abrahamic faiths -- he helped the prophet Daniel understand his visions, he announced the births of both John the Baptist and Jesus, and delivered the Qur’an to Muhammad. He is among only three angels that is mentioned by name in any canonical text (assuming you count Raphael/the Book of Tobit as canon) and is called one of the four great Archangels in the Book of Enoch.

Gabriel is a big deal.

He is such a big deal that many traditions consider him the left hand of God (Michael being the right). Milton in Paradise Lost places him as a leader during the War in Heaven and as one of the angelic guards tasked with watching over Eden after Heaven learned that Lucifer wanted to break in.

But, that’s Milton. What’s going on in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions?

Gabriel’s first appearance is in the Book of Daniel in the Hebrew Bible. The Book of Daniel is told as a series of apocalyptic dreams set during the Babylonian Exile (a period of oppression).  Like Revelation in the Christian Bible, it describes what will happen at the End.

So, Daniel sees some visions that really don’t make sense, like a two-horned ram and a single horn-goat. It’s confusing, so he gets help from Gabriel.

Gabriel is described as, essentially, a scary-looking man and we aren’t sure if he has wings or not. There’s a description of Gabriel coming to Daniel in “swift flight,” but that could also mean that Gabriel was jogging. In another case of vague Biblical language, Daniel has a vision of the angel Michael (the protector of Israel) helping a man in linen. The man in linen is muscular and pretty impressive looking. He has a gold belt, a “face like lightning“ and “eyes like flaming torches.”  Some believe it’s Gabriel, others (ie Christians) say it’s Jesus.

Regardless of the identity of the man in linen, the Book of Daniel establishes angels in a new way. In earlier books of the Bible, angels are pretty nondescript. They were made to only carry God’s orders and messages. Many argue that, “well duh, that’s the point of angels and it’s better if we don’t think about them too much because then it’ll lead to deity worship.”

Instead, the Book of Daniel gives Michael and Gabriel personalities and the ability to be active participants in the story.  Daniel also describes a previously unheard of job for angels: protectors of nations. Here, angels start to look more like other administrative spirits from folklore/mythology, not just God’s mindless robots.

Some Jewish legends identify Gabriel as the one responsible for the destruction of sinful cities, like Sodom and Gomorrah. In Talmud Sanhedrin, Gabriel defeats an army with a sharpened scythe he’s owned since creation.

In other Jewish traditions, Gabriel is the Rabbinic Prince of Justice, teaches children before they are born, and may have been the angel who wrestled with Jacob, but that title has been given to several entities.

One interesting story about Gabriel comes from the Babylonians. Apparently, he has a bit of a spot on his celestial record. According to this story, he failed to obey one of God’s orders and was banned from Heaven for twenty-one days. Persia’s guardian angel, Dodiel, covered for him during that time. Sadly, that didn’t win Dodiel any favors. All the national angels, with the exception of Michael, were said to be later corrupted and are now fallen.

For Christians, Gabriel is best known for his pregnancy announcements. He announced the future births of Isaac, Jesus, and John the Baptist. The Annunciation of the Virgin Mary is a staple of religious art, but I want to focus on the Annunciation to Zechariah, John the Baptist’s dad.

Zechariah was an elderly Jewish priest and, when Gabriel came by to tell him that his wife was pregnant, he didn’t believe him. First, who the hell was this guy? Second, his wife was too old to be pregnant.

Gabriel told him, “I stand in the presence of God and if that’s not good enough for you, you’ll go mute until your son is born, because guess what, you’re going to be a dad and you’re naming that baby John.”

So yeah, Gabriel did in fact tell someone to shut their stupid mouth (but not to die already).

Christian legend also states that Gabriel will blow a horn to help kick off the End of Days. However, several angels will do that to announce the breaking of each seal/End Time event, so there’s no single horn-blower.

Joan of Arc believed that Gabriel was the one who inspired her. This would place her in very good company. God entrusts Gabriel with the most important messages and he’s known as an angel of revelation for that very reason.

In Islam, Gabriel (Jibreel) did one of the greatest things of all: he delivered the Qur’an to the prophet Muhammad.

He first visited Muhammad while he was praying in a cave and Muhammad did what anyone would do -- he freaked out. Convinced he was going crazy, he asked his wife Khadijah what he should do and she suggested that he go back to the cave and met with Gabriel.

Over the course of twenty-three years, Gabriel revealed the Qur’an (Recitation) to Muhammad. Given that Gabriel is an important figure in Islam, there are many different stories connected to him.

Gabriel is featured in the Night Journey, a miraculous trip that Muhammad took in a single night, first from Mecca to Jerusalem, then Jerusalem to Heaven. Gabriel helped lead the way between cities and then up to Heaven to meet other prophets.

Gabriel also gave Muhammad the Black Stone of Kaaba. The Kaaba is the holiest shrine and the main focal point of the hajj/pilgrimage to Mecca. It’s believed to have been originally built by Abraham, but later became a shrine to pagan gods. Muhammad cleansed the shrine and placed the Black Stone inside (some sources believe that the Black Stone was already housed inside the Kaaba).

In a different story, a pale man in all white approached Muhammad among a group of people and asked tough questions on faith. When the pale man left, Muhammad identified him as Gabriel. After all, he’s the only one who knows what he looks like.

Speaking of Gabriel’s look, there’s differing accounts. He might have 600 wings that cover the whole sky, he might only have a mere 140. Either way, his wings are huge. So big that he destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah by flipping the cities over with a wing tip.

To sum it all up, I’ll just say this again: Gabriel is a big deal. If you walk away from this very long post with only conclusion, let it be that.

Also, thank you for sticking with me to the end!

Sources for this post can be found under the “My Resources” tab. Check out the “Who Am I” tab for more info on this blog and the author.

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (1/6)

Summary: This time, there's no celebration at Granny's when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they're left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~4.3K. 

Here it is - my contribution to @csmarchmadness! Thanks to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing such a great event! I started writing this 2 years ago, before it got way out of hand and I ran out of steam. The next chapter will be posted on the 13th. 

If you guys have talked to me for any length of time, you know I hate 5B. Hate it. Why all this Zelena/Hades stuff? Isn’t this supposed to be about saving Killian? Wtf? So here’s my take on 5B, featuring Liam not being a murderer, no Gold at all, Robin not dying, and so many other corrections. I have a lot of feelings about this, guys. Title taken from the Kodaline song that gave me these feelings in the first place (”All I Want”).

Special thanks to my beta, @snidgetsafan, who’s been surprisingly happy to deal with all this angst and dragging me through the writing process. You’re the best, babe. 

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @captainsjedi, @profdanglaisstuff, and @ultraluckycatnd. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis is has been resolved.

There’s just Emma, re-forging Excalibur with shaking hands to trap what’s left of the Dark One inside the blade, removing it from a human vessel once and for all.

Then, of course, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones.

------

When Killian steps off the boat into the Underworld, it’s a small consolation to see Liam waiting at the docks for him.

It’s somehow fitting that the first words he hears from his brother in nearly three hundred years are “Little brother!” as he smiles sadly and pulls Killian into a fierce hug. And even if Killian tosses back a half-hearted “younger…”, he can’t help but squeeze even tighter, just to savor this reunion.

When the two finally break apart, it’s Liam who speaks first.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you, Killian. I can’t tell you how good it is to see your face again.”

“I know, believe me, I know,” he replies, before realizing something. “How did you know I was coming?”

Liam looks a bit sheepish and moves to scratch behind his ear in the same way Killian does (the same way Emma calls “adorable”). “Ah, well… you see, the captain’s log aboard the Jewel has kept me apprised of your life up above - the most painful moments, to be precise. A form of penance, I suppose. When the entries cut off abruptly after you got hurt in that swordfight, though, I got worried. So when a new house appeared down here... I couldn’t resist going to check it out, just in case it was yours.”

Killian knows immediately which one he’s talking about. “Grey Victorian? Tower room?”

“That’s the one. I walked in, saw pictures of you and your lovely wife, and figured one of you would be showing up in the next couple of days. Even if it was your lady instead of yourself, I thought I should still check in on her and find out how you were doing.”

Killian’s heart sinks as soon as he hears the word “wife”. He hates to disillusion Liam of this idea that he’s been living some idyllic life, but it will hurt too much in the long run to pretend, even for a little bit. So he forces himself to whisper back, regret coloring his voice, “I’m not married, brother.”

Liam frowns. “I’m sorry, I just thought… there was a picture of you two dancing. She was in a white dress, you looked dressed to the nines… I just assumed…”

Killian cuts him off before he can go any further. “It’s quite alright, we just… it was a maybe, someday.” He pauses. “I guess not anymore.”

“And the house?”

“We were planning on living there together. Building a future. But again…”

“Not anymore.” Liam nods. “Well, whatever would or wouldn’t have happened, the house appears to be for your use down here. Come along, I’ll take you there.”

------

The house Liam brings him to appears to be a perfect replica of the one Henry and he picked out back in Camelot, just more run down. What little furniture is present is covered in drop cloths and feels stiff and painful. Of course, those observations are secondary to how his attention is immediately drawn to the two photos in the entryway – the one from Camelot that Liam described, and the tiny instant photograph the Lady Snow took the night of their first date. Emma’s beautiful pink dress had made her look like an angel of some kind, and he can just see his temporarily-restored left hand resting on the small of her back. It’s a little bittersweet, seeing those images in this place that might have been home, but he’d rather they were here than not.

Liam, as it turns out, lives on the Jewel of the Realm (and it’s definitely the Jewel here, not the Jolly – beautiful and pristine and not marred by centuries of unintentional gouges from his hook) and runs the local bar, where he promptly offers his little brother (“Younger!”) a job. Turns out this was the only place at which he could find employment when he first arrived, and when the previous owner moved on, ownership transferred to Liam.

“And why have you never been able to move on? Go, be happy and at peace?”

Liam smiles sadly. “I was always worrying about you, wondering how you fared. Felt too guilty about not listening to you, I suppose, making you watch me die like that.”

Whether intentional or not, Killian can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the fact that his brother has been trapped here because of him. Gods, will his list of sins never end?

But Liam breezes on. “Now that you’re here, though, I think I’ll be able to move on, just as soon as we sort your unfinished business. Any idea what that might be?”

That only twists the knife deeper. Of course he knows what his unfinished business is, and it’s nothing that can be sorted out in a few weeks. It’s promising Emma a happy ending and a future – hell, just promising her that he’d survive. “Ah, well, we’ll both be here for a while then.” Liam quirks a quizzical brow. “I made a vow I ended up not being able to keep. So until Emma either moves on or…” He can’t even speak the words, refuses to even contemplate Emma dying and joining him down here for many, many years yet. “… then I’m stuck here. Which apparently means so are you.”

That feels like the worst admission of all – that he’s somehow doomed everyone he cares about to a lifetime of misery. And when Liam pulls him into a hug that he’s sure is meant to be comforting, he can’t help but feel that he doesn’t deserve that kindness, not one bit.

------

Killian quickly settles into a routine, if only in an attempt to retain some semblance of sanity. Every evening, he joins Liam to work behind the bar at the Underworld’s version of the Rabbit Hole (though down here, the bar seems to cater to those drinking to forget, rather than serving as the social hub it was back in the real Storybrooke); every morning and early afternoon he tries to fix up their – his house a little more, straightening hinges and sanding floors as best as he can. A man learns a good bit of carpentry over years of maintaining a ship; the only thing holding Killian back oftentimes is his lack of proper tools. Liam’s assistance is often offered, but rarely accepted; somehow, Killian feels like this is a task he must accomplish on his own.

Besides being in a state of complete and utter disrepair, the house additionally seems to have a mind and a life of its own. Killian simultaneously loves and dreads the surprises the house conjures up for him. The metal table and chairs on the back porch are an exact match to the set outside of Granny’s where he and Emma shared their first real kiss; a constant smell of cinnamon lingers in the kitchen, despite there not being any of the spice in the house; Middlemist flowers wilt, half dead, in the front flowerbeds. The tower room upstairs must have been meant for Henry in another life, as all of the photographs that appear there are of the two of them or of him, the lad, and Emma. He even finds the Author’s pen in a drawer of the desk beneath the window. This is, oddly enough, the room that hurts the most – a vivid reminder of the life they all might have had. Yet he still finds himself checking the room nearly every day, sometimes twice a day, to see if any new memories have appeared of him and the young man he was looking forward to one day proudly calling his stepson.

------

Every few days, he allows himself to visit the red talking phone box to try and send a message to Emma. There’s no real knowing if any of it reaches her, but he repeats the same words over and over again anyways:

“I’m so sorry, Swan. I’m so very, very sorry to have left you, especially after I promised I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry and I love you so incredibly much, will love you as long as I have a soul to do so.”

(He can’t decide if it hurts more to talk to her or to stop.)

------

A few weeks after he arrives in the Underworld – he thinks three, but really, time runs together down here – there’s a persistently circulating murmur that the former Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin, had been brought here, brought to the Underworld to answer for his sins, before being taken back to the world above by Charon on the very same boat.

Killian knows it’s petty, and far too late anyhow, but he can’t help but feel like he deserves a second chance more than the Crocodile ever could.

Maybe that’s the reason – when given the option of a second chance, a shot to redeem himself, Killian grabbed it with both hands and made the most of every moment. He was satisfied. He was happy. Rumpelstiltskin hasn’t achieved any of that. Apparently, someone thinks he deserves all that just once.

Whatever the case, Killian knows he’d have given anything to be the one going home – back to his real home – on that boat.

------

Maybe a week after that, Killian is shocked one afternoon to feel a strange tingling all over his body, and when he looks back up, is stunned to see himself not in his kitchen, but in Storybrooke’s cemetery with Henry standing in front of him. In his joy, he rushes forward to embrace Henry… only to be devastated to see his arms pass right through his boy.

Henry looks just as crushed. “It’s only temporary,” he explains softly. “I got this ale stuff from Merida to talk to you.”

Killian nods. “That was very resourceful, lad.” A pause. “How are you doing?”

Henry shrugs noncommittally; Killian knows the feeling. “Ok, I guess. I miss you. We all do.”

“I miss you too, Henry, you and your mum. More than I can properly express.”

“She misses you like crazy, you know. Kinda just goes through the motions like she’s in a daze. I guess she imagines your voice sometimes, cus that’s what she always tells me when I walk in on her crying.”

(In that moment, Killian vows to stop visiting the talking phone box. It’s clearly hurting her more than it’s helping him.)

Henry looks worried for a second. “Are you doing alright? You’re not… it’s not like pits of fire down there, is it?”

Bless this wonderful boy for worrying about a man who can’t possibly deserve it. “I’m ok. I’m with my brother, get left alone most of the time. I wish I was up here with you lot but it’s not so bad, being dead.”

Henry nods, and Killian’s heart breaks a little more at the thought of having left this young man concerned about him for even a moment. Henry shouldn’t ever have to be in position where he has to think about what happens to the soul of one of his loved ones after they’re gone. He’s already had to do it with his father; the last thing he ever wanted was to put Henry through that pain again.

Henry seems to finally work up the courage to get to his point, the reason he summoned Killian. “Gold woke up the other day. We all thought he wouldn’t, and I think my moms kinda hoped he wouldn’t, but he did.”

Killian nods. “I know. I heard down in the Underworld.”

“It’s just so unfair, you know? That you don’t get another chance too. I know more people would want you back.”

“Ah, but we don’t get to decide these things, lad. You have to know that if it was up to me, I’d be back with you two in a heartbeat. I’d choose you every time.”

“I know.”

Another pause. It’s like there’s so much to say that neither even knows where to start.

Killian breaks it first. “I take it you’re back in Storybrooke then?”

“Yeah. Mom used…” His voice falters. “Mom used your heart to cast the Dark Curse. She and my other mom and the fairies and Merlin are trying to figure out how to send the Camelot folks back now.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“No. I just thought…” Yet another pause. “I figured if this didn’t work, I didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’s already sad enough as it is.”

Selfishly, he wants to beg Henry to go bring her here as fast as possible, but he can feel whatever this spell is about to fade out, a tingling starting in his toes. Not to mention, the lad is right. No need to torture his love unnecessarily. He wants her to move on, be happy, and that’s just not possible if she’s coming to summon him every chance she gets.

“I think that’s smart, lad. Maybe we don’t tell her? Just keep this between us?”

He can tell Henry wants to object. “But –“

“It’ll be too hard otherwise. For both of us. I just want her to move on and be happy, yeah?” At least this time, Henry nods. “I think I have to go now, but I love and miss you both so much, ok? Try to be happy for me?”

He won’t lie – it hurts a lot that his last view of Henry before he reappears in his kitchen is of the lad sniffling and trying to hold back tears as he waves goodbye.

------

Not long after his talk with Henry, Killian is shocked to walk past a previously empty room of the house one day to discover a fully furnished nursery. Mostly, he hopes to any god that might be listening that this is just another trick of the house, another glimpse of what he could have and should have had, had he lived. He hopes Swan isn’t having to go through a pregnancy alone again.

(A selfish part of him likes to imagine she has a little someone to remember him by – a little lass or laddie with her hair and his eyes.)

(He can’t help but add that thought to the ever-expanding list of reasons to be disgusted with himself.)

------

About two months after his death, Killian is once again summoned by Henry, who is pacing and clearly furious when he rematerializes.

Internally, Killian can’t help but huff a sigh – Henry needs to move on, needs to let him go, needs to not try and contact him every time something goes wrong. “Henry…” he starts, intending to reprimand the boy, when the young man in question colorfully interrupts.

“That son of a bitch!”

“Henry, language! I know for a fact neither of your mothers tolerates that.”

“Well pardon me, but that asshat Gold separated Excalibur and took back the Darkness, so I think it might be warranted.”

“That son of a whore,” Killian can’t help but blurt out. So much for scolding Henry.

“See?”

This talk ends up being slightly longer than the last – Henry just needs to vent, but when it comes to the Crocodile, there’s always an awful lot to vent about. But right before he fades out, Henry fixes his full attention on Killian.

“I’m going to find a way to bring you back, okay? If he gets to live, so should you. You deserve it a million times over.”

(He knows he no longer has a heart, but somehow, it still feels warm anyways.)

------

The next few weeks, he can’t help but feel hopeful. It must be apparent, because Liam keeps commenting on how cheerful he seems, one day even (Gods help him) catching him whistling. Killian even finds himself making an effort to interact with the other souls living in the Underworld. In the end, that’s how he meets Milah again.

It’s bittersweet, really. Killian spent hundreds of years trying to avenge his first great love, only to see her again and realize how many of the finer details he had forgotten. He supposes that’s what happens when you finally move on.

At least he’s relieved to learn that Milah’s unfinished business has nothing to do with him (one less thing to carry on his conscience). In fact, it’s her guilt over leaving Bae that has kept her here all this time. It’s the very least he can do to tell her about all the times he and Bae – or Neal – interacted, how Bae had still fiercely loved his mother and forgiven her for leaving before he had died. That seems to be enough for her – to know that her son had ultimately been happy.

It’s a little awkward, telling Milah about how he had moved on with Emma (especially since he had been dating the former lover of his own former lover’s son), but she loves hearing his stories about Henry – how smart and down to Earth he is, how brave, how adventurous. It’s a pity, really, that the two will never meet – he sees so much of Milah in her grandson, and thinks the two would have gotten along famously.

“Thank you,” she tells him, as she kisses his cheek. “I’m happy you were able to find a family for yourself. You and your big heart deserve it, even if you want to pretend otherwise.”

Then she vanishes, off to hopefully meet her son in a better place.

------

Five weeks after Henry’s second visit (this time, Killian is counting carefully), he’s summoned for a third time to find Henry looking exhausted and disheveled.

“Gods above, lad, are you alright? What happened?”

“Don’t worry. Long story.”

“Well then summarize.”

“Uh… Belle found out about Gold taking back the darkness. Broke up with Gold. Found out she was pregnant. Then Gold found out she was pregnant, and tried to manipulate her to come back to him, but she didn’t. So he sped up Zelena’s pregnancy so we’d be distracted while he tried to kidnap Belle to another realm. And I’ve been researching all the while.”

“Is she alright? Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, Belle’s fine. Mom and Mom figured out what was going on pretty quick and Mom – Regina and Gramps went after him while Mom held down the fort at the hospital. That’s what I’m here about actually – Merlin and I found a spell to get to the Underworld. It required the blood of someone who had already been but came back, but Gramps nicked Gold before he fell through the portal, so we’re all set now. Just have to wait a few days, six days, for the full moon and then we’re coming to get you.”

Killian knows he should be grateful, but his blood runs cold when he hears the words. “No, Henry, you can’t, I can’t let you put yourself in danger for me. I’m already dead, I can’t let you risk getting yourself killed to fix something that isn’t meant to be fixed.”

“I don’t care. I miss you, Mom’s miserable, so I’m going to get you back. End of discussion.”

And, well, who is he to argue with the young man who possesses the Heart of the Truest Believer?

------

Of course, it’s too much to hope that everything will run smoothly and he’ll be home in a week. Instead, Hades shows up in all his slimy glory. Apparently, Killian’s hope is a little too contagious - enough that the Lord of the Dead himself has noticed and deemed it a threat to his rule.

Instead of waiting in his house for his Swan and their boy to take him home, he gets taken to Hades’ underground cavern of a dungeon to have the hope beat out of him.

------

Briefly, through a haze of pain and a coating of blood, Killian thinks he feels himself being summoned again, thinks he catches a glimpse of Emma and all her – their – family, but he writes it off as a hallucination.

------

And then suddenly, he’s being lifted down from the chains he’s strung up in by a pair of small, gentle hands.

Emma.

He’s half delirious with pain, but he can’t help but try and grin when her face swims into focus (or at least as much focus as he can achieve with one eye swollen shut). She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even in filthy jeans and an oversized sweater with a pale face and tears in her eyes.

It’s the very least he can do, after all he’s put her through, to work through the pain to try and wipe away her tears.

------

Somehow, Emma helps him hobble out of the chamber where he had been suspended to an outer landing where Liam is waiting with a boat, ready to return them both to the upper levels of the Underworld.

(There's some tension between the two, but it’s difficult to comment on that tension when he has to consciously focus on breathing properly and not falling over.)

Killian is more than happy to mask any physical pain, however, when upon re-emerging into the Underworld’s facsimile of a library, Henry rushes up to wrap him in an enormous hug. He may not be fully healed for a while, but this? This is a start.

He’s just as touched to see the small crowd assembled behind the lad – Emma’s parents are there, of course, and he’s not that shocked to see Regina, considering that it was her precious son that engineered the plan to find and retrieve him, but it’s something more of a surprise to see Belle and Robin as well. He shakes the men’s hands in turn, offers a nod to Regina, and hugs Belle as firmly as his injuries will allow (taking the chance to whisper a soft but deeply meant “congratulations” in her ear). Killian then does his best to console the lady Snow – who looks close to tears – with a mumbled “it’s not as bad as it looks” as she holds his face to kiss his cheek before Emma interrupts to say she needs to bring him home and clean him up. At that, the others disperse, either to the Charmings’ loft or the Mayor’s mansion, as his Swan slides her slender arm around his waist and tosses his arm over her shoulder in order to help him hobble the few blocks back to his – their house.

It’s only once she gets him inside and settled in a kitchen chair – “I know it’s unsanitary, but hey, better than getting bloodstains on the couch, right?” – that Killian starts to think something is off. He hadn’t been too surprised when Emma wasn’t clinging to him in front of her family; on the best of days, she isn’t much for public displays of affection (or “PDA”, as she and Henry insist on saying), and a time when he needs help holding himself up certainly isn’t the best of days. But they’re alone now, and he’s sitting down, and damn if he doesn’t want to hold her. Killian knows it’s not the blood that’s the issue – he may be covered in the stuff, but so is she after supporting his weight for the past forty-five minutes, and it doesn’t seem to be fazing her in the least. Maybe before, his lack of self-confidence would have insisted Emma didn’t actually want to be here, didn’t want to be with him, but the way she tries to touch his face or his hand every time she passes him as she scurries around his kitchen trying to clean off the worst of the blood seems to suggest otherwise. So why doesn’t Emma seem to want him to hold her? It could just be that she doesn’t want to hurt him further, aggravate his wounds, but something makes him think otherwise.

“Love?”

She hums in his general direction.

“What’s wrong?”

Emma shoots a quick, though tight smile his way before turning back to the sink, trying to wring out a rag that was surely as clean as it was going to get. “Nothing’s the matter babe, don’t worry about it.”

He wants to believe her, so badly, but he knows how to spot her avoidances. And this? This is one of the most obvious he’s seen. “Emma, love…”

Killian holds out his hand towards her, and even if she was trying to avoid him a moment ago, she takes it like their palms are connected by magnets. “I’m just so relieved to have found you, to see you again. That’s all.”

“Even if that’s true, I know that’s not all,” he replies, to her half-hearted scoff. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but just let me hold you, love, let me try and make it better for both of us, yeah?”

As he tugs her closer, Emma tries to protest, tries to tell him “Killian, I don’t think that’s a good —” but he’s even quicker to interrupt.

“If this is you worrying about my injuries, sod the injuries,” he dismisses as his hand and stump move to her waist in order to pull her closer, only to unexpectedly encounter firmness.

Now Emma has always been strong and well-muscled, certainly, but she’s also a tiny, petite thing, thanks to her mother’s genes. So to encounter her now, more filled out, is odd. And suddenly, Killian remembers –

Upstairs, there is a room, meant to be a nursery.

“Swan…” he murmurs, slowly pulling up her sweater as she sighs in defeat to reveal…

…The small beginnings of a bump.

“…Surprise?”

[jjr1971]

Finally sat down to binge Ep.1-8 of the English dub of Bloom Into You, which is all the currently available English dub episodes for now.  I really enjoyed this story and big props to Luci Christian as Touko Nanami (七海 燈子 Nanami Tōko) and Tia Ballard as Yuu Koito (小糸 侑 Koito Yū) in the lead roles.  Honorable mention goes to Shanae’a Moore voicing Student Council Vice President Sayaka Saeki (佐伯 沙弥香 Saeki Sayaka), pictured below the main couple above.

***Mild spoilers follow***.

The series is gorgeously animated.  The story is a bit of a slow burn, but it kept me engaged such that I always wanted to see what happened next. Brief Summary: Timid Yuu Koito is a first year student who has a few friends but has never been in love.  A boy asked her out the last day of Middle School but she never felt any reciprocal feelings for him and she declined him by phone later.  She is pressured by her friends to join some sort of club or maybe even Student Council.  On her way to the Student Council clubhouse she runs into Student Council member Touko Nanami, who has just gently rejected a boy wanting to date her.  Touko explains it’s not him, it’s just she has no intention of dating anyone until after high school.  Touko is ambitious and academically at the top of her class.  She is the favored front-runner for becoming the next Student Council President.  Her best friend and academic rival, the equally popular Sayaka Saeki is strongly expected to become the next Student Council Vice President. Yuu just wants to help out behind the scenes with the Student Council, getting their paperwork in order, etc.  But Touko can see Yuu is emotionally troubled.  Yuu explains about the boy who asked her out the last day of Middle School and how she hasn’t given him an answer but that she’s never been in love...all the manga and novels she’s read have lead her to believe she will feel something akin to fireworks when the love is real.  And she just doesn’t feel that way about this boy, or anyone.  Touko gives Yuu the courage to accept the boy’s phone call and politely reject him, reminding her that her feelings are valid and matter also.  The more Touko interacts with Yuu, the more her own emotions begin to stir.  Touko admits that she also has never been in love, never felt fireworks either....but as she takes Yuu’s hand in hers, her heart starts racing.  For Touko at least, this is love at first sight.  Yuu doesn’t know how to respond, the moment passes, and Touko regains her composure. Later, walking home together, Yuu casually brings up the incident and inquires as to its meaning.  She intends to give Touko a socially acceptable “out”, that perhaps she was just being impulsive, etc.  Touko is having none of it.  WIth the train rushing by, Touko affirms her feelings are real and she knew what she was doing.  Touko kisses Yuu firmly on the lips.  Yuu is surprised but doesn’t feel upset at Touko for “stealing” her first kiss. Unfortunately for them both, Yuu is still listless and in limbo.  She doesn’t feel “fireworks” for Touko either.  She doesn’t feel anything.  She likes Touko well enough, but she’s not madly head over heels for her the way Touko so obviously is about her. Touko taps Yuu to become her campaign manager for her Presidential run, drawing the ire of Sayaka Saeki, her best friend, who just assumed she would be campaign manager.  She’s annoyed at the upstart first year student and upset at Touko for not valuing their friendship enough.  It’s unclear in the beginning (or at least it was to me) if Sayaka is merely a straight platonic friend or if her feelings for Touko run deeper than that, though her jealously toward Yuu seems particularly strong. We learn via flashback that Sayaka is indeed a lesbian and had a girlfriend in Middle School who dumped her once they got to High School. My favorite scene so far (2nd pic above) is when Sayaka runs into her Middle School Ex at the train station.  The Ex awkwardly apologies to Sayaka for “corrupting” her and hopes she’s gone back to being a “normal” (read: straight) girl.  Making casual chit chat, Sayaka’s Ex asks if she’s waiting for someone, which Sayaka affirms.  Touko arrives and Sayaka rushes over and grabs her by the arm in a romantically suggestive way.  “Here she is”, Sayaka says, with a broad shit eating grin that totally communicates a middle finger and effectively saying without words:  “Yep, I’m still GAY, Bitch!”; and even though I support Yuu in this rivalry, this was Sayaka’s moment and I’m glad she got it.  Touko is clueless as to what just happened and is a little surprised by Sayaka’s forwardness but doesn’t seem to mind it, either.  Sayaka deeply loves Touko but that love goes unrecognized and unrequited.  She values their friendship and doesn’t want to potentially lose it by confessing her real feelings to Touko, which is a universal risk and fear for all friendships that transition to the romantic track...it’s a point of no return and there’s usually no way back. The central conflict revolves (as I see it) around Touko’s troubled past, having lost an elder sister at a very young age 8 years ago...Touko is now the same age as her deceased sister when she died in a tragic auto accident her senior year.  Touko has striven to emulate (and probably surpass) her sister in every respect.  Yuu tries to convince her she doesn’t need to do that, that she has nothing to prove, but Touko says flatly she would rather die than hear Yuu repeat those things ever again.  Touko comes to appreciate the lopsided stasis that her relationship with Yuu is currently in.  Touko loves Yuu, even says it out loud.  Yuu lets her be affectionate and admits to herself “I don’t hate it.”; Touko want to hold hands, steal a kiss every now and then, etc.  Yuu is warm and kind and Touko feels able to drop her “little miss perfect facade” around Yuu and be vulnerable in her presence.  But Yuu herself remains indecisive, unsure of her real feelings.  Indeed, Touko begins to want Yuu to just stay how she is; she fears Yuu changing and begins to say to herself (and communicate indirectly to Yuu) that she doesn’t want Yuu to fall in love with her....which to my ears is just heartbreaking.  I think Yuu is (slowly) falling for Touko.  And Touko blushes when Yuu (at Touko’s request) calls her pet names and uses little terms of endearment.  Yuu rather enjoys provoking Touko in this way. These pull at Touko’s heart strings and she chides Yuu be more respectful of her feelings and not to tease her so.  The secondary conflict is of course the unspoken love triangle between Touko, Yuu and Sayaka.  Sayaka is very passive-aggressive in her dealings with Yuu and treats her with frosty contempt.  She doesn’t see what Touko sees in her.  But the heart wants what it wants, and Touko wants Yuu and doesn’t even recognize that Sayaka is into girls, much less that she has feelings for HER.  Sayaka “outs” one of her teachers, confronting her cafe owner girlfriend who, far from being secretive or taken aback is actually very open about their relationship.  The older woman picks up that Sayaka must also be gay and offers up her wisdom in romantic matters.  Sayaka admits out loud to this mentor figure her honest feelings for Touko, probably the only time she’s ever admitted them out loud to another person.  The cafe owner sympathizes and assures Sayaka that her feelings are valid, too, and offers up words of encouragement. There are other interesting supporting characters, and I probably most identify with Clint Bickham’s character Maki, one who is often more an observer of other people’s romances than an active participant in one myself.  He happens to catch sight of Yuu and Touko kissing and cautions Yuu to be more discrete, but swears himself to secrecy.  Yuu is terrified by the revelation but fears more for how Touko’s reputation might suffer if word got out about their relationship.  Maki points out how Yuu always thinks about Touko first and this must mean she cares deeply about her.  Yuu is skeptical but listens. I’ve really enjoyed everything about Bloom into You and it is for me on par with Aoi Hana and Sakura Trick which are also favorites of mine...the former a romance drama and the latter a slapstick romantic comedy.  Whereas Citrus is more intentionally melodramatic and trashy, Bloom into You feels more sincere, more down to earth and wholesome.  Bloom into You doesn’t have nearly as many problems with consent, etc, that Citrus suffers from.  Apart from her initial hand holding and kiss that Touko forces on Yuu against her will, all of Touko’s subsequent acts of affection with Yuu are always with Yuu’s affirmative consent.  She asks Yuu for kisses, she asks to hold Yuu’s hand, etc. I look forward to continuing this series once the next English language dub episodes are made public this season.

[thedarkestdragonknight]

Behind the Mun (About the Blogger)

I like to be called/What to Call me by: Toxic, Tox since my main blog and general online username is ToxicCreed. My Persona/General ‘game’ character that reflects me is usually Shadow or Menel.

My Favorite Colors Include: Blacks, Reds, Purples, most Darker Colors and Tones. I tend to enjoy really dark colors over bright and pastel colors.

Gender: Female, She/Her/Hers Pronouns (Feminine)

One thing you should know about me (The Blogger): While I tend to be super laid-back and chill most of the time due to very… problematic RP Partners in the past (Specifically one person in general and an RP group that was toxic as well) I am very hesitant to let a lot of people into my little bubble and corner of the world. I’ve been RPing for the most part of about 16+ years and my early days were on ye old RP forums and online things like that. I get afraid of what people may think of my OCs since I tend to do various things that are really OUT there so to speak (IE: I don’t care about lore breaking if you happen to do it) and as many have potentially seen on this blog Jacques IS a Dragon and holds ties to Bahamut/Nidhogg/Midgardsormr and he basically isn’t your run of the mill character. I’m a very shy and anxious person at the start but once I ease my way into something I tend to be pretty much okay for the most part, it just takes a bit for that first big step to be taken. For the most part I tend to just lurk and linger in my own little corner of the world and let people come my way as I such at just ‘walking up’ and RPing in game and the like. Basically I tend to be quiet and don’t really speak to anyone unless I am approached first, I’m cautious with meeting new people because of problems from my past and I tend to be a hard person to truly ‘read’ until you get to know me which is why I often refer to my wife ( @talechaser-ffxiv) if I need to explain anything that I, myself, cannot explain.

One thing you should know about my Muse(s): Overall the majority of my characters tend to be a mixed bag of nuts that you don’t know really what you are getting. For the most part I can adapt to things with my OCs depending on the situation and the like, it’s all a matter of how things are for the given RP at the time. Me and my Muses/OCs are very adaptive and I have done so many RPs where things have been ‘changed up’ so to speak so I’m open to a lot of things as are my OCs. While they all have their own canon backstories, etc. that I will post about for them this doesn’t mean that I will completely adhere to it unless it’s something that my RP partners want. I tend to break a lot of things (Canon, Lore, etc.) so really my Muses tend to do the same. Jacques as mentioned about is a Dragon and can transform into that form whenever his emotions hit a breaking point. Another thing to note is that while he will generally be okay with going out and taking a tumble in the sheets (IE: Having sex with someone) he is for the most part a person that will not truly ‘settle down’ and put himself into a solitary relationship. He’s polyamorous for the most part and I am sorry if that might potentially disappoint people but overall Jacques is just not the sort to simply settle down and I tend to reserve my characters for very close friends or my wife @talechaser-ffxiv. I have various other muses however including Alrek yae Galvus (Garlean Half-breed) and Faust Greystone (Elezen/Au Ra Half-breed) and most of my muses in general tend to be in a wide variety of character types though I guess I tend to lead towards that ‘traumatic past’ character type a lot with backstories.

First Language: English

Secondary Languages: None, I am not the greatest when it comes to other languages and I tend to butcher names, etc. because of the lack of knowing how to say things. I tried taking French in Middle/High School but it never got far, I just fail hard when it comes to these things :C I would love to learn another language eventually though.

HIGHLIGHT: RP Blogs/Main Blog

@thedarkestdragonknight - You’re here obviously, this is my main FFXIV Blog where I will generally post about my OCs (Specifically Jacques, Faust and Alrek) and all things FFXIV related. I try to keep OOC posts to a minimum but they do show up here from time to time obviously.

@outcasts-never-die - This would be my secondary Dragon Age blog which I made in preparation for Dragon Age 4. I do have my main DA blog ( @zevmaellavellan) but that one isn’t going to be used all that much anymore and requires a hell of an overhaul if I do. This blog is all about my OCs Oranat Lavellan and Nveryll.

@sacredtempleofsouls - Legend of Zelda RP Blog, inactive for the most part but still has some goodies laying in the depths. I may or may not revive this in the future it all depends.

ToxicCreed - And this is the main blog that I have on Tumblr that was made to be about my Original Story and Characters The Devil’s Creed. This blog is mainly being listed as it is where my Follows and Asks will be coming from should I follow anyone or send an ask and I believe messages also use this one as well.

Age Range: Under 13 | 14-17 | 18-22 | 23-25 | 26-29 | 30+ | 70+

Am I Okay with NSFW? Yes | No | Depends (Certain things can be hit or miss with me, simply ask and we can figure things out from there)

My Favorite/Most Common things to RP: Angst/Drama | Fluff | Smut (Situational, I only really RP smut with people I feel I can trust or get to know well. I tend to not RP smut immediately unless I really feel a nice connection with my RP Partner) | Crack | Action | Plots | AUs are fine.

OC Friendly? Yes | No | Depends

RP Blog: Does Contain OOC Posts | Doesn’t Contain OOC Posts | Sometimes Contains OOC Posts

I’ve found the problem with the bolding so now this is completely fixed as is the rest of my blog. I am dumb and it was a simply fix but here ya go! This post, and all others for that matter, should be a-okay now!

If anyone would like to do this feel free to tag me and blame me for it!

[amphibious-thing]

How do you think that du Ponceau played into the Steuben/North/Walker dynamic? From just very passive study, I get the feeling that du Ponceau’s relationship with Steuben was separate from Steuben’s seeming triad with the other two men.

I agree. While Du Ponceau seems to have been friendly with Steuben and Walker he doesn’t really seem to have been part of the Steuben/North/Walker triad. The first question we have to ask ourselves is whether or not Du Ponceau was actually Steuben’s lover. I talked about this before, but even though this is a common rumour, I haven’t personally seen either a primary source or a reliable secondary source that strongly supports it.

If we assume Du Ponceau and Steuben weren’t lovers then the answer to your question would pretty simply be: he was their friend.

However lets assume for a moment that Du Ponceau was Steuben’s lover.

First of all I think we need to look at the timeline a bit. While Walker joined Steuben’s staff in April 1778 and North joined in autumn 1779* they didn’t immediately become lovers. At first North seems to have been romantically involved with one of Steuben’s other aides, James Fairlie, who joined Steuben’s staff in 1778. Years later in a drunken letter to Walker, North writes:

When I began to love you, I know not- the first motion of disregard to Fairlie, I remember- ‘twas at Tappan- l lay on straw with one blanket- but tis no matter- I loved you

So it seems that North and Walker didn’t become romantically involved until Sep-Oct 1780 when they were quartered at Tappan.

In March 1780 Du Ponceau had left Steuben’s staff due to poor health. Believing that his condition was terminal Du Ponceau rejoined Steuben’s staff in November. Steuben concerned for Du Ponceau’s health at first refused. Du Ponceau pleaded with him arguing that he heard that exercise could help and that if he was going to die anyway he would rather die an honourable death. Steuben relented telling him “you shall follow me, and I hope you will either recover your health or die an honourable death.”

In early 1781 Du Ponceau was again required to leave Steuben’s staff due to poor health. He returned to staff some months latter but ultimately left the army for good in June. Steuben and his aides were fleeing Simcoe at Point of Fork when Du Ponceau realised that his heath was far to poor to continue. Believing that his condition was terminal Du Ponceau said what he thought would be his final goodbye to Steuben, was tied to a sulky by his servant James Champneys and taken to Philadelphia.

After arriving at Philadelphia Du Ponceau recovered from his illness but did not return to the military. While he and Steuben kept up a occasional correspondence and a friendship until Steuben’s death, their relationship in the later years doesn’t seem to have been particularly intimate.

If Steuben and Du Ponceau were lovers it would have been earlier on around 1777-1781. The Walker/North/Steuben dynamic seems to have developed a little latter. That being said I get the impression that Steuben’s flirtation with Walker began when they met in 1778 and the same is likely true of his flirtation with North. In his autobiography Du Ponceau writes that Steuben “was very much attached” to Walker. I should also note that Du Ponceau apparently had somewhat of a flirtation with a girl named Sally Doane during their stay in Boston before heading to Valley Forge. If Steuben and Du Ponceau really were lovers their relationship doesn’t seem to have been monogamous.

Du Ponceau oddly doesn’t mention North in is autobiography. They were both on Stueben’s staff at the same time so they must have known each other but I have no information on their personal relationship.

Of Walker he writes “He had not received a brilliant but a solid education; he was master of the French language and was gifted by nature with a clear head and a sound judgment. He was brave, intelligent, honest and true. I enjoyed his friendship to the time of his death.”

*While North didn’t join the Baron’s staff until 1779 he had met him in Feb 1778 at a ball in Lancaster.

[seungloss-blog]

velveteen gloves; division 1 - retarded sisters & child abuse.

"Mr. Yang, how do you feel about your huge success?"

       Even I could see that everybody in the crowd were acting like chaotic crackheads, and i'm sitting in front of a TV screen. If you know VELVETEEN CO., then you already know what i'm going on about. It's now the #1 fashion company, surpassing GUCCI, CHANEL, and all the other secondary fashion corporations that were severely beaten out of the way. Many idols in South Korea use the products that were produced from VELVETEEN CO. It's even quite popular in the states, which is a great surprise for me.

       Now, being that popular, you're bound to have supporters following your every move. And unfortunatley, the man on the TV's uncomfortable face shows it all. Yang Jishu is a very wealthy and well-known man in the year of 2019. It's quite remarkable what clothing can do for you. I remember him saying in him saying something along the lines of, "I couldn't ask for anything more." in on of his interviews. But, he's kind of a fraud. It's all fabricated, and it shows with that smile on his face. He's not a humble man. How do I know this? Because i'm his wealthy and well-known son. I mean daughter.

       It's really annoying getting lumped in with my father. I hate it and it makes me think that i'll never be able to get a steady career because everybody will look at my face and go, "You're the splitting image of your father!" So for now, I guess i'm kind of waiting for his fame to die down. You know, you get these dumb little comments here and there about how you're feeding off your father's clout. And in all honesty, I kind of am. But my father has pride like any other human being. If I get myself a job without him recommending me to and I become a hit without his influence, he'll give me the cold shoulder for life. I've seen him cut off some good friends because they were getting more attention than him. He's kind of greedy. But I love him. And I guess that's where I get my arrogance from.

       My mother really needs more recognition for her work. As a woman it is a bit hard to step out of a man's shadow, especially when he's your husband. Even though she kind of ruined her chances in ever gaining a career back when I was a fetus because she couldn't keep her hands off her boss while she was married to my father. I still see her around sometimes when I go shopping for groceries or something. I don't love her anymore, but I need her. She's really the only one who knows what it's like to live in a relative's shadow.

       "Ugh, this is kind of retarded." My stalker/Aquarius buddy/annoying step sister, Wendy rolls her eyes and snatches the remote from the middle of the couch's cushions. "Watch your mouth." I say, pointing my finger in her cheek. Wendy is kind of a retard, but I don't say to her face because that word is offensive and she tends to think that if do something that's meant to be bad, it's okay for her to do it, too. I really don't know what's going on back in school that the teachers let her attend honors 1 classes. She has no filter and is literally shooting off the mouth whenever she wants to, which is not the Yang way. But sometimes, we need brutally honest people in our life. So we know what's a real friend.

       "I'm sick and tired of dad being a nervous wreck on TV and the producers saying nothing about it. Look, look they literally don't care. Watch them shove the mic in his face." Wendy rewinds the TV to get a better look at how unbothered the News reporter is to get in dad's personal space just to get the latest scoop of his life before any other news channel. "Yeah, I know how you feel." I say, scratching my neck. It's hard to watch somebody you know and grew up with get publicly embarrassed. Takes a toll on your feelings.

       "Ah, crap. Now i'm angry." My sister puts her waist-length, wavy black hair in a messy ponytail as she breaths out in a confusing kind of fury. "Oh really?" I question her, only because she has a funny way of showing her emotions. I think i'm rubbing off on her only because I used to be able to read her like a book. Now she's kind of matured. Kind of. Like, 1%. "Yeah, really. I'm going out for a smoke." She breaths out and reaches in her back pocket for her Java cigars. I roll my eyes as I watch her sink into the couch putting her feet up, despite her claim to go out. "You know that'll ruin you, right?" I speak in a whisper. Wendy shrugs and pulls one out, completely ignoring my advice. "It wouldn't be the first time I felt dead." I scowl at her cringe-worthy language and she turns her head and blows smoke in my face. I cough and wheeze slightly louder than Wendy's laughs. "Wait, wait. Where's your lighter?" I pause. She pulls it out with that ugly, confused face of hers. I snatch it from her hand and throw it into the next room.

       "LITERALLY DIE, SUNG VI." Wendy screams in fury as she runs into the kitchen to retrieve her smoke giver. I smirk, proud that I still have control of the idiot. Then my phone rings. "What on-" My face went from confused to panicked in one whole second. It was my dad. And he didn't know that Wendy was home. Or that she smoked. You see, my mom got caught cheating when my dad heard her talking on the phone in the bathroom. Turns out she was talking to her daughter. The daughter she had made with her boss back in America. And so, they divorced after he discovered Wendy was alive. I was disgusted with her and jealous that my mom left to start a new life with a new husband and a new daughter. My replacement. But as I matured, Wendy grew on me and I grew on her. We're cool now, but dad hasn't gotten over it. Wendy loves my father, but he won't even let her in the house.

       "Heyyy, dad." I say, trying to convince myself that everything would be fine. It wasn't working if you were wondering. "Yeah, hi. Look, are you in some room upstairs? I rung the doorbell like 55 freaking times, open the door." He says in a stern voice. I gasp and run from the couch to the front door to see if he was really there. "Oh no.." I mumble to myself in disbelieve. Wendy walks in exhaling smoke with her green lighter in her hand. "wEnDy, iT's dAd." I mouth scream at her, pointing at the front door. Her eyes pop out of her sockets and she waves her hand furiously to get rid of the smoke, coughing on it at the same time. "Open a window!" I scream, holding the phone away from my face. "Bonehead, he'll see me if I open it!" She retorts, obviously annoyed. "Okay, it's fine, it's. Just hide upstairs or something! And put the cigarette out!" I said no more as Wendy bolted up the stairs, tripping on her own feet as she did so. I shook my head in disgust, "Retard.."

       I pulled my phone camera out and looked at myself to check if I looked okay. And of course, I was satisfied. "HELLO?" my dad screams in annoyance from the other side of the device. I could even hear him from behind the door; that man is too loud. "I'm coming!" I hang up and jog to the front door and bow respectfully.

       "Hi, how was your trip to-"

       "eH." He literally pushed me out the doorway and walked through the house like he owned the place. Well he kind of does, he's so cocky that I could never forget. "Ow.. Erm, yea, just make yourself comfortable!" I say cheerfully as he scowls and looks back at me. "It's my house, I do what I want." He's really coming off arrogant to me. If I don't watch myself, I might say something I shouldn't. He turns his head back to me again, but with a confused expression. "Did something burn?" Yikes.

       I stumbled with my words as my brain threw ideas and excuses up in the air, and I desperately tried to catch and analyze each one. "Uhh, well, I-I-" My dad mocks me and I finally find a good substitute for that horrible lie that I almost stuttered out. "I cooked something!" I smile proudly. "Great, where is it?" He looks in the kitchen for any trace of food. Nothing. "I burned it." I scratched the side of my arm. My dad rolls his eyes and walks out of the kitchen mumbling something under his breath right before heading upstairs. "Ah, wait up!" I rush after him, of course.

       "Can you get off my ba-" My dad stops towards the end of his sentence, looking at something on the ground. "What?" I look over his shoulder, instantly covering my mouth. I look him in the eyes and shake my head viscously, "I swear on my life that isn't mine." My dad then mocks my head shaking and answers a snarky, "I don't believe you." He picks it up and stumps to his room.

       "Dad, I can explain-" He shakes his head understandingly and puts his hand out, "I know that you're gonna like boys at some point, but leave the druggies out of the selection." How in hell should I clean this up? I think, picking at the crust on my lips that developed because of the lack of words coming out of my mouth.

       "Seriously, it really isn't mine.." I run my left hand through my short brown hair.

       "Well, I know it isn't mine. I don't have green lighters, I'm not Shrek." He retorts loudly.

       It was starting to get harder to argue back and forth with him. Thankfully,  he decided that he would go to bed and that we'd get back at the conversation later. Even though it's literally morning time and my dad tends to sleep through the whole day. He heads to the bathroom to shower and I was still thinking about how stupid Wendy was. Literally, what a idiot. I understand that she could have panicked, but she has so many dang pockets on her cardigan and her jeans. It's just aggravating.

       "aAHHHHH!" A familiar cat-like screech echoes through the house for a long 5 seconds before Wendy comes running out of the bathroom, my dad following behind her, with a towel around his waist. "What in the hell are you doing in my house, Gwendolyn?" Wendy clung to my arm, shaking and stuttering. I shushed her quietly and whispered to her, "You retard. Why would you hide in the bathroom?" She shakes her head and whispers back, "He was going to take a shower, Vi. I couldn't stay in there." Eyes wide and traumatized, she hides behind me and tries to disappear. "You lied and I knew you were lying, but this is bull! You know I don't want her here!" He screams in my face. I ball my hands, which is the only way for me to stay calm.

       "Look, i'm sorry. I don't see why you can't accept her as your family. Just because she wasn't made by you doesn't mean-"

       "How dare you? Gwendolyn has been rubbing off on you, I can see very clear! The Sung Vi I know would never act so childish!" He sneered. My father just looked me up and down and sneered at me like I was a piece of trash. My fingernails were digging inside of my hands, and my patience was really being tested. "Vi.." Wendy hugged my waist and looked at me with a look that had "I'm so sorry" written all over it. I nodded and I looked back and told my father, "You're right. She has rubbed off on me. I've became more human around her. No offense, but I wouldn't want to grow up lonely and conceited like you are."

       Wendy gasps and looks at me with a expression that confused me. It's like she was caught off guard or something. I don't know why, though. We've gotten close enough for me to defend her like I would for myself. Sometimes I think we really are sisters without steps. I lean down to her height and softly whisper, "Everything's fine. I left your keys downstairs, you should go home." Wendy stares at my father and quickly turns her head back to me. "But-" I wave her off and tell her, "I've lived with him for 19 years. He doesn't scare me one bit."

       "What are you whispering about?" Dad interferes before Wendy can even step near the door. "Gwendolyn, i'm going to tell you right now. I don't appreciate how you corrupt my daughter. My real daughter." I turn my head to him and shake my head in a way that speaks, "Are you kidding me?" He disregards and keeps going. "It's not going to be the same way that it was before, when you're scumbag dad stole my wife." I gasp and fully turn my body to my father, Wendy's head hanging low now. "Dad, what the heck-"

       "I know you don't like me. I still want you to think of me as your daughter and treat me with a little bit of respect. No matter how much you hate me, I will still love you. You're the closest thing to a father that i've got. I didn't tell you before, but my dad already left. This is my family. Your the only one who hasn't made me feel like a part of it." Wendy's eyes start filling up with tears and her voice starts to crack up mid-sentence. I put a hand on her shoulder and smile at her for comfort and reassurance that she does have a family and that her mother isn't the only one who loves her.

       Dad, however, wasn't having the sentiment. "You idiot!" He charged towards her and slapped her. "UGH!" She screamed out in pain, before quickly collapsing to the floor. I immediately go over to her and check her out. "Oh my dog." I say as I look at the big, fat, and obvious red hand mark my dad has left on poor Wendy. I start to tear up looking at my father in disgust. "Why? Why are you so hung up on the past that you've gone as far to hit a 17 year old girl?" I scream with fury. I was so angry and disappointed in him. What true man hits a woman?

       "Listen kid, There's a lot going on that you don't understand." I shake my head and point to Wendy's face. "No I understand plenty. You know, You surprised me so much today. You want everybody to feel bad for you, dad. I hate that in men; I hate that in people. And trust me, I know exactly how it feels to lose somebody, but Wendy helped me see past that. You love mom too much to let her go. You'd hit her child to get revenge?" My dad sighs a deep sigh and looks away, completely avoiding any eye contact. What a coward. "I don't love your mom anymore. That was a long time ago. She was just pissing me off."

       I laugh and roll my eyes. "So you hit her. You snapped, you couldn't control you emotions so you took it out on the cause of your pain. You slapped Wendy, dad. She's a kid, she's younger than me! Would you hit me if I weren't your daughter?" His eyes soften and he attempts to step closer, but I stop him before he could get a step in just as he did to Wendy. "Wendy, are you okay?" She shakes in my grasp and I shake my head at my father. "You try to control everybody around you and it sucks to watch it happen. I'm going to stay at Wendy's house for a while, don't wait up for me." I pull Wendy out the room by the hand and help her down the stairs. I grab two coats from the rack downstairs and give the over-sized comfy one to Wendy. "We're getting out of here."

       And so we did. I drove back to Wendy's apartment with her giving me directions. She hugged her knees, completely forgetting to buckle in for the ride and I didn't want to disturb her, but I prayed that we wouldn't come across an officer. And God does work miracles. Great ones. We got home safely and I helped Wendy get up those long stairways and halls. When we finally reached apartment D-24, she immediently sat down on the couch and pulled her cigarettes out. And she wasn't even smoking them. Just observing, I guess. I take off my shoes at the door and walk into her small kitchen area to prepare an ice pack for her.

       "You want something to eat or something?" I peak my head out of the kitchen, a ice tray in my hand. She shakes her head and goes back to doing absolutely nothing. I glose the freezer and over to the couch with the ice pack. I gently place the ice on Wendy's face, she winced and grits her teeth. I roll my eyes and go, "It'll hurt even more if it doesn't go back to normal." I take her face in my hads and observe her red cheek. "You poor thing. Don't burden yourself because none of the stuff that happened was your fault." She nods and turns on the TV. It was the same news channel that dad was on earlier. She switched the channel almost at the speed of light. Another channel had a commercial for him. She turned the TV off. "Hey." I put my hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to force yourself to love him, but I swear to you this has never happened before."

       Wendy starts to look down again at her cigarette. "Want me to light it?" She shakes her head and mumbles, "Your dad took the lighter, remember?" Our dad. She used to say that. Now, I guess she wants nothing to do with him, which I can totally understand. "Wendy, he didn't mean it." I say, fending for my dad. What he did was cruel and messed up and totally twisted, but I already understand that his anger got the best of him. "He did it on purpose." Wendy stared at me with tears in her eyes.

"No he didn't. His anger just-"

"This isn't the first time he's hit me." Wendy pulls at her shirt.

       I stare at her in disbelief. She had to be joking. It couldn't be true. I hoped, I prayed that it wasn't true. I shake my head at her. "I came to that house for you and you alone. But every time he'd say that he left and you would go to get us some food, he'd sneak from upstairs and beat the hell out of me." My hands were shaking. I wasn't feeling the best at that moment, my stomach was twisting and turning. I touched her arm hand and weeped, "I'm so sorry.." I hugged her and sobbed in her shoulder as she cried quietly in mine. I felt so guilty. Wendy is going through so much in her life right now. Her mom is basically the only true adult figure she's ever had and her biological father returned to America after getting her pregnant, wanting nothing to do with the child. On top of that, she's receiving abuse from my father who's disgusted by the fact that her birth was in the middle of a cheating scandal. She's only 17 and she has to pay bills for her own apartment. I want to help her out and give her some money, because I have plenty of that, but she won't take anything from me.

       But, if there's one thing that I know i'm doing, regardless what anybody thinks, is confronting me father.

[haughtlikeme]

Waverly Earp: Who Your Daddy & Mommy?

So this is just a super long post about who could and couldn’t be may or may not be Waverly’s Earp’s parents. It started so small and simple. Then grew.  And grew.  (click the ‘continue/read more link for actual color coded spreadsheets (OMG))

General thoughts on why Ward is/is not the dad:

· He couldn’t even look at her after Mama Earp left.  This implies that he had no attachment to her at all and thus was not her father. OR, that she reminds him only of his failings (an affair he had that produced her) and one of the things that drove his wife away and so is the father.

· In Willa’s diary, she said that “Mama told Daddy that ‘we have to do what is right’.” This is *we* have to do what is right, not *I* have to do what is right. To me this implies that Ward has a responsibility of some sort to this child (like he’s the father) or at least Mama Earp thought he did.

General thoughts on why Mama Earp is/is not the mom:

· At no time was language used indicating Mama Earp was ever pregnant.  Bobo said, “and then there was a baby” (as if it magically appeared). Willa said, “they brought the baby into the house” (as if they hadn’t been preparing for it for 9 months in Mama’s belly). Even Wynonna said, “I remember them bringing you home from the hospital NOT “I remember Mom being preggers”.

So, basically, I’ve convinced myself Mama Earp is not the mom; but I haven’t convinced myself entirely that Ward is not the dad.

Obviously, since I’ve come to various conclusions, those conclusions will be blown up, put through a Dyson vacuum (one of those spiffy new ball ones that you’d see infomercials on during late night TV if you were awake for late night TV), emptied onto the floor, eaten by Calamity Jane, spit up as a hairball, Doc will think it’s a demonic hairy slug and shoot it.  In short, any conclusions I have are just wrong and I love it because this show just surprises me at every turn. But I still love trying to guess anyway.

So, here we go.  The color coding is as follows: BLACK = Impossible* (the * is because NOTHING is impossible in Wynonna Earp). RED = HIGHLY UNLIKELY  YELLOW = somewhere between unlikely and probably not but...?  GREEN = A possibility

 Round 1 Eliminations: Let’s start with some “easy” ones:

Jack (Daddy): His row is entirely black because I figured that any women he encountered would not survive to give birth. Also, all those knives are very Freudian and I’m not sure he’s capable, if you know what I mean. So while him being the dad would be a SUPER creepy twist, I’m going to go with Impossible*. (Also, Jack, if you’re reading this, I totally didn’t mean that Freudian thing, I’m sure you’re awesome, please don’t come after me, thanks.)

Doc Holliday (Daddy): His row is (almost) entirely black, too. I don’t recall him mentioning a bordello down in that well and I also think he might have mentioned by now that he had a conjugal visit some 21 years ago. I do allow, however, that some angel (that he was 100% consensual with but which he attributes to a dream) visited him, thus that square is red (Possible but HIGHLY unlikely).

Rosita (Mama): MUCH NO.  For a lot of reasons. Hot tub being the primary one.

The Blacksmith (Mama): So, when I informed the Blacksmith I was putting together this spreadsheet she said, “I better not be in it.” I told her she was in it. She said, “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I won’t be in it.” (yes, I speak to the characters in my head and they sometimes speak back, your point is?) In any case, ultimately the Blacksmith scoffed at any possibly she was the mama except when it came to Juan Carlo and some unknown Angelic Male, at which she didn’t utterly laugh or puke, thus her column is mostly black (aka Impossible*). I then brought up to her that, but you know, I totally believe Constance Clootie and you could conceive under the right circumstances…  I said it as a joke to her, but she seemed, like, crackfic intrigued and she didn’t entirely shut it down. Thus I’m slotting that into the Probably Not, but Maybe?.

Constance Clootie (Daddy – yes, DADDY): See above for The Blacksmith for that explanation.

Constance Clootie (Mama): Sure, it’s *possible* she’s the mom. But she had SUCH LOVE for her boys, that I don’t believe she could be Waverly’s mom and then sic zombies on her. I just don’t. So her column I’m marking RED (Possible but HIGHLY unlikely)

Mama Olive (Mama): Okay, I know she’s literally known as ‘mama’ but like, no. Because…no. HOWEVER, I can imagine a poor truck driver coming through town that Mama Olive ‘befriended’…and then ate. And I can imagine Ward discovered this and had to go all Peacemaker on Mama Olive but waited until the baby was born; and then took the baby in.

Either of the Widows (Mama): They were trapped in a box for the last 130 years and in a box 21 years ago. I’m going to to therefore mark their column black (aka Impossible*).

So, now the chart looks like…

Round 2 Eliminations:

Uncle Curtis (Daddy) or Gus (Mama): I just don’t think either of these two had an affair 21 years ago that would result in Waverly. I think they were true to each other. As such, I marked both RED across the board, again *possible* but HIGHLY unlikely. HOWEVER, it is interesting that Uncle Curtis does seem more wrapped up in the curse than just a good neighbor, so there is that.

Shorty (Daddy): I feel like he’s just an honorable guy that would have stepped up if Waverly were his.  So, while it’s possible he’s the dad (like, I don’t think he was a monk), I’m going to go with HIGHLY unlikely across the board simply because he would have been more involved.

Unknown Human Male (Daddy): Okay, sure. Possible but also, eh, this doesn’t feel wackball enough.  But as I type this…I’m second guessing myself.  Maybe the twist is there is no twist! Ahhh.  Still, going to eliminate the dad being a random human dude we haven’t met yet. Unless… the “other person” that visited Willa making promises in the night…?  Okay, I’ll stop going round in circles on this now.

Sheriff Nedley (Daddy): We’ve found him to be a pretty decent guy and actually the perfect kind of Sheriff for Purgatory. But, he does not appear to have a wife. Did she die? Did they divorce? Am I reading way way way too much into a secondary/tertiary character? Probably yes to one of those three questions. In any case, I could see him, unattached, and having a relationship with Mama Earp (who was in an abusive relationship?) or some other female. I do think, however, if he *knew* Waverly were his daughter he’d step up. But maybe he didn’t know. In any case, marking him unlikely to HIGHLY unlikely to be the daddy. (*whew* because that would just be some super awkward family barbecues for so many reasons).

OKAY, so now we’re HERE.

Round 3 Eliminations:

Unknown Revenent Male (Daddy), Unknown Angel Male (Daddy), Unknown Angel Female (Mama): While these are all Probably Not to Highly Unlikely, since they’re all so unknown it’s hard to even speculate (except in specific instances which I’ll discuss in the next section). As such, eliminating these rows and column.

Robert Svain / Bobo Del Rey (Daddy): Wow. Robert. We meet here in the third round of elimination, who would have thunk it. There have been SO many clues that Robert/Bobo had a special relationship with Waverly. But I feel that’s been explained as something different than father/daughter. And while, yes, I accept that Bobo appears to be whom Waverly thinks is her father… I am not ready to embrace that belief yet.  So I don’t rate him being her father as HIGHLY unlikely, I still rate it unlikely.

FINALISTS:

OKAY. So, here’s my further assumption: I’m assuming Waverly knows she’s Wynonna’s Half-Sister (that’s what the DNA said). It *seems* like she’s assuming/knowing that she and Wynonna share maternal DNA but have different paternal DNA. I’m going to ignore her assumption and just say that Wynonna/Waverly share either maternal or paternal DNA but not both.

THUS:

Ward Earp could be the daddy: Now, why do I give the edge of the mama being a revenent rather than a human female?  Well, we do know revenents can disguise themselves enough to have a fling with the Heir without the Heir knowing. Also, once Ward found out his baby-mama was a revenent, he’d have to Peacemaker her; thus his wife saying they have to do the right thing and bring Waverly into the house (since her other parent was sent packing to Hell by Ward). This would also explain why Ward couldn’t look at her…perhaps he was afraid to break the curse, he might have to kill Waverly at some point since she’s part revenent.  Hmm….

Juan Carlo could be the daddy: I don’t think that Mama Earp was ever pregnant, but on the other hand, if she was, Juan Carlo I can imagine being the dad. His kindness and gentleness in counterpoint to Ward. And Juan Carlo is cursed with not being able to take part in the goings on, just observe, so he wouldn’t have been able to raise Waverly himself. And Waverly would have a bit of an umbrella of protection via JC from Ward (but Ward wouldn’t like her very much). Also, Juan Carlo did literally say he was “Father Juan Carlo”.

Ward Earp’s Older Brother could be the daddy: And this is my whackballs theory. Ward could be a second child, like Wynonna is. Something happened that prevented his older brother, let’s call him Wilson (whom I just made up, there’s no evidence there actually is another brother, I accept this) from being the Heir, so Ward inherited it. But then Wilson got someone pregnant and neither he nor the mom could take Waverly in so Mama Earp, knowing the child was family insisted they take her in. Note, this would mean that indeed Waverly would share paternal DNA with Wynonna (at least if Ward and Winston were twins!) So now, Ward, who has been training Willa to be the Heir, now has a new baby in the house who is actually the real Heir (since she’s descended) from the older Earp. So they never celebrate Waverly’s birthday because that’s an acknowledgement / reminder to Ward that he isn’t the Heir and neither is Willa.  And, while I marked this green…. I don’t really think it’s that likely.  But it’s my favorite theory, so there.