#distantly

but somehow over 300k words left of the already 435,743k word endo series

Characters: Arcee, Cyclonus, Galvatron, Megatronus

Relationships: Arcee&Galvatron, Cyclonus/Galvatron

Rating: Teen

Words: 2,719

Additional Tags: Siblings, Silly, Historical, Early In Canon

There are not enough canonical tags to correctly capture the ridiculous flavor of sibling dynamics, I’m just saying

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When it comes to your brother, you aren’t exactly in the mood for patience. Doubly so when it comes to his new pet bodyguard. You’re still irritated at the idea that Galvatron would ever accept a bodyguard in the first place, never mind claiming that this one is indispensable and needs to accompany him everywhere. You’ve been gone for a few millennia, yes, but you know Galvatron’s history as well as you know your own, and you weren’t gone that long, and you want to know how he ever got this soft.

“Arcee?” says the bodyguard. Cyclonus. Whatever his name is.

You’ve been staring. It’s probably rude. Do you care? Absolutely not. You say, “What do you want.”

He just watches you back. Does he want to make this a contest? If he does, he’s an even bigger idiot than he looks. There’s a meeting happening around you, but you’re not paying attention. It’s just Galvatron’s lieutenants, or whoever they are, sorting out whatever business Megatronus wants your brother to handle. You don’t care. The hierarchy is tedious, the business is more tedious. You’re just here because Solus sent you with a message for Megatronus, and because Megatronus said you should visit your brother while he sorts out a reply. You’re already full of regrets for agreeing to any of this.

There’s an argument happening off to your side, but you aren’t paying attention. You’re still studying Cyclonus. He’s studying you back. You don’t like him. There’s something… off about this whole situation.

Just a brief drabble based on the Bad End version of Rubberhose AU I mentioned a while back =|b

For a while, Henry convinced himself it was a dream.

He’d been overworking himself, tired, stressed--it had been a bad break, a fit of anxiety that he hadn’t been prepared for… but none of it real, none of it true. A visit to his old workplace inspired twisted nightmares; familiar halls abandoned and warped, ink bleeding from the corners, familiar friendly designs leering in the shadows while melted figures rose from the muck. Ink seeping into his skin, sliding down his throat and boiling into his veins--nothing but stress, dreams, sad false memories. That’s what he told himself, even as he kept coughing up black.

The further he got from the studio, the easier it got. The sickly writhing in his gut slowed, the hacking fits lessened. So he kept going, as far as he could. Flew back east--a work vacation, he rationalized, to take off the stress, get some fresh air, and keep far far away from anything that could remind him of grinning demons.

Firmly planted in reality, among whole and healthy humans and basking in sunlight, he started to believe it. Fear began to fade in the face of warm, reassuring logic.

Then the papers caught up with him.

Henry grasped the newspaper, throat tight and knuckles white as he read. Some sort of illness spreading out west, it said. Weakness, delirium, cramping, and coughing up… well, they called it bile. Claims of hysteria, of hallucinations--victims screamed of demons stalking them, of manic smiles and melted forms. Doctors were at a complete loss.  Something had gotten in the water, sources claimed. Quarantine had already been set up, yet it spread regardless.

 An innocuous, brief business article mentioned that Joey Drew Studios had gone bankrupt, to the great sadness of children and dreamers everywhere.

Henry’s breath came in uneven bursts. Somewhere, in the middle of it all, he’d left the machine pumping away. It was soaking into the ground, the water, the fabric of space. It was gaining ground and claiming more and more for itself. All because of him.