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pedropascalsx · 3 years ago

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dancing is a dangerous game.

Din Djarin x Reader (OFC - no descriptions of appearance)

Rating: Eventually will be Explicit.

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian has been tasked to collect a bounty. A young girl who’s father borrowed thousands of credits from bad men in her name. The sweet girl is unaware of her fathers antics and is now at risk of paying the punishment for his crimes with her life.

Warnings: Mentions of gambling.

Ongoing - chapter two.

(please let me know if you like it.)

The alley was piled high with trash, discarded and broken furniture. The stench flooded his helmet almost immediately and he had to fight the urge to gag as it lingered in his nostrils.

The tracking fob in his hand was flashing steadily, and for the first time in a while – he had managed to keep track of his bounty from the moment he left his ship. He paid a little more than he wanted and parked it in a hanger a little further out to ensure his kid would be safe. Usually, he’d bring him along, but he knew that it was safer to keep him locked away in his floating shield above his cot.

The flashy lights of the city started to reflect of The Mandalorians’ shiny armour the moment he stepped out of the alley, the sounds of music flooding from streets from multiple bars and taverns. The streets were abuzz with chatter and excitement as people made their way to the casinos and drinking holes this shit hole was known for.

The Mandalorian was also on his way to a bar, but not for the same reason as the people surrounding him. He had seen Greef Karga a few days ago, and he’d been insistent that this job would be beneficial for The Mandalorian with a handsome amount of credits.

He ignored the whispers, the pointing and the stares from the strangers gossiping about his presence.

Scanning the area, he quickly saw the sign he was looking for - a gaudy neon arrow with the name of the bar flashing in multiple colours.

A loud sigh rolled through the voice modulator fitted in his helmet as he noted the long line of men waiting to get in and gawp at the ladies inside. It wasn’t a brothel. The signs in multiple dialects made that clear, these women were there to dance and that was it. They could look but officially they couldn’t touch. Of course, this wasn’t always the way, a few of the ladies would occasionally allow a quick grope for a smattering of credits if the client was wealthy enough but if this wasn’t agreed upon all hell would break lose.

He walked up to the two bouncers on the door and discreetly showed them the flashing fob in his hands and they simply stepped to the side. Assuming he was there for a patron and not wanting to get into a fight with a man twice their size, clearly armed and draped in beskar armour.

Loud music was being blasted from every corner of the large bar area, the room heaving with bodies. Raucous laughter and random chit-chattering made the Mandalorian growl under his breath, the unnecessary attempts at holding conversation in a bar playing music this loud – making him roll his eyes. He had a brief description of the person he was looking for; he knew for a fact she’d be here; she worked every night and Karga had assured him that she never allowed herself a day off.

He walked around scanning faces, searching through the crowd and chuckling to himself every time he noticed someone practically run for their lives when they spotted the bounty hunter.

Looking up at the ladies stood on their platforms, surrounded by jeering and slobbering men he grumbled and rolled his eyes again. The disgusting words being spewed at them started to make his skin crawl; how could these men speak to anyone like this he wondered quietly to himself.

A waitress tapped his arm and before she could finish asking him if he needed a drink, he shook his head at her and started to walk away, and that’s when he saw her. It had to be her.

Exactly as she had been described, she was there. But what he was expecting of her was completely different. She was tucked away in the farthest corner of the bar, and she was dancing like he had expected but it was worlds apart from anything else being showcased for the entertainment of lecherous men at this bar. She was fully covered in a beautiful silver dress. The material shimmering and reflecting the strobe light system, every moment made the dress appear a different colour and maker every movement was breath-taking.

He couldn’t quite understand why she was moving the way she was. The rest of the girls dancing in a similar fashion; thrusting their hips and shaking their curves to entice the men staring. But she was effortlessly gliding, stretching her body in the most mesmerising way, pirouetting and tiptoeing around to music that seemed almost unworthy of her talents.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood and stared for; he noticed the music change a few times, but he was anchored to the spot. Eyes continuously skimming her body and his brain trying to comprehend how she was able to move in such a way. It all seemed so wonderfully effortless to her.

A fight breaking out behind him, between a guard and a patron bought him out of the trance she had unknowingly put him in, and he was reminded of the shithole he was in, and again he couldn’t help but wonder how and why she was doing this here.

The crowd surrounding her was quieter, but she was clearly the most popular dancer by far. He could see the marks where the booths that had once been fitted had been hastily removed to allow more room for spectators.

He wasn’t sure how to go about getting her, he figured if he attempted to grab her off of the stage the patrons as well as security would attempt to engage in battle and as gifted a fighter he is, he didn’t fancy taking on that many people at once.

So, he simply waited. Cautious enough to stay far enough back so that she wouldn’t immediately clock eyes on him and attempt to dash, but close enough to see every single movement, the gentle flick of her wrists and every meticulous piece of footwork she delicately exhibited.

Eventually the waitresses started ringing the bells and signalling that they’d no longer be serving drinks and that all customers would need to exit as soon as their glasses had been drained. In the corner of his eye, he’d noticed that the girls we’re exiting their posts from left to right. About eight girls remained on stage, leaving a minute or so after each other.

He quickly exited the bar and scanned the area for the particular exit door that the dancers were leaving through, and it wasn’t before long that the first few emerged. He stood far enough back as not to alarm anyone and to make it seem like he was waiting for someone in particular.

A fit of giggles came from the exit door and before he had time to process it, she was stood a few feet away from him. Saying goodbye to a twi’lek girl that had been dancing a few podiums from hers.

The moment she was alone he cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear and stood to face her. He noted the look of bewilderment of her face as he placed the bounty puck in front of her that displayed her name and face. The look of bewilderment quickly changed to pure fear and panic.

——————————————————————————————

You look up at the large figure looming over you covered in armour and yielding a bounty puck with your face being broadcast from it.

“I d-don’t understand,” you stutter breathlessly, “What?”

The Mandalorian scoffs and shakes his head, “I can bring you in warm,” he says, and you watch as he reaches down to touch the blaster attached to his hip, “Or I can bring you in cold.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” you choke out as tears instantly spring up to your eyes, “I just don’t understand.”

“Put out your hands.” he replies gruffly, and you comply instantly.

The tears in your eyes begin to fall as he cuffs your hands; you look around desperately hoping for someone to come to your aid and let them know that this can’t be right. That you’d never willingly do anything that would get yourself or anyone else into trouble, but you’re all alone. All alone except for the man cuffing your hands.

“Walk next to me, I wouldn’t recommend attempting to run… it wouldn’t end in your favour.”

Lifting your restrained hands, you attempt to wipe away some of the tears fogging up your vision, the stinging in your eyes worsening by the second. He walks you slowly out onto the street in which the entrance to the bar you work out is located and you look around sheepishly at all the people beginning to take notice. The shame rising in your stomach and spreading through you as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You have no idea why this is happening, what you have allegedly done but these people stop and stare to automatically judge you and decide you guilty before knowing the truth.

You look over at the bounty hunter next to you just to see something other than their judgemental eyes that you keep finding yourself accidentally locking yours with.

He tilts his helmet towards an alley way, and you turn on your heel, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you notice that its bare. No one down there to watch you in your most embarrassing and confusing moments.

“Who sent you?” You finally ask, voice barely breaking a whisper, “What are they saying I did?”

You look back over at him and he’s continuing to walk forward making no indication that he heard your question. You begin to ask again, and a loud sigh is breathed through his helmet, the filter making it louder than needed be.

“You made agreements to borrow large sums of credits from wealthy men,” he says with another sigh, “And then didn’t meet a single arrangement, not one! – no effort to pay any of them back. What did you think was going to happen?”

You stop. Your feet refusing to move as you try to make sense of what he’d just said, you hear him growl in annoyance as he turns to face you. Your face contorts and brows furrow in confusion, “I’ve never borrowed a single credit from anyone,” you voice wavers at the end of your sentence, “I don’t know what you’re taking about.”

The scoff and slight roll of his shoulders makes it clearly obvious that he doesn’t believe you. That he’d probably heard he’d got the wrong person for the millionth time, and you tense at the angry muttering beginning to flow from his helmet. Without another word to you he grips the back of one of your elbows and pushes you forward, giving you no choice but to pick up your feet and begin to walk again.

You walk silently for another ten minutes until you reach a parking bay, the tears had started streaming the moment you began walking again and the silent sobs lodged in your throat refusing to escape make you feel dizzy.

You can’t speak. You can’t audibly cry with you tears. You can’t do anything but walk and let the acid rainfall flood your cheeks. You pass a rodian child with what you assume is his father and suddenly things start to make sense. A rage lighting itself in the pit of your stomach.

Your father. The reason you’re working at that shit-hole bar. And now the reason you’re being loaded into a bounty hunters ship becomes crystal clear.

It started a few months after your mother passed, a few games of sabacc to keep his mind off of his grief. A few credits lost here or there, and then you noticed a few pieces of missing silver from the cabinets and before you knew it anything of value had disappeared from your home.

Your mothers’ wedding ring was the piece that stung the most. She left it to you. You kept it hidden from him the best you could, but he tore apart your room searching for it, and you knew the moment you walked in and saw the destruction he caused - that it was gone forever.

You thought it couldn’t possibly get worse until he’d began borrowing and stealing from anyone and anywhere. Then you were informed that his tab at one of the casinos was so high, that he’d bargained you for his life. The owner agreeing to allow you to work off his debt by dancing in that shithole he owned as well as multiple casinos - until the debt had been repaid – working four nights to pay off your fathers’ debts and earning 50% of what the other girls earn the other three nights you forced yourself to work, just so you could eat.

The Mandalorian walks slightly ahead of you as you approach his ship. It’s battered. But you say nothing as he lowers the ramp. He turns to face you again as you turn to look back at the place you’ve called home your entire life, he sighs and takes a step forward convinced you’d decided to try your luck and run for it.

But you take him by surprise. You look towards the ship and past him and then start to climb the ramp, you wait patiently at the top for him – listening to his loud footsteps as he approaches you.

You’ve heard of carbonite freezing chambers before, the stories making your stomach sick as you imagine being stuck inside – having heard that some people are left fully conscious whilst frozen, your chest starts to heave up and down as another flood of panic takes over you.

“D-does it hurt?” You splutter as you feel him standing behind you.

“Can’t imagine it feels good,” he says with a slight shrug, “You’re the last person I needed to collect, so it won’t be long. Only a day or so.”

A day or so. The words get stuck in your throat as you start to imagine what it’s going to feel like. How the cold is going to seep into your bones as you’re stuck lifeless but fully alive in a plaque of carbonite.

“My dad.” You choke out.

He scoffs for what feels like the 300th time tonight and you bite your lip, “It’s not my job to deliver messages or allow favours… speak to whoever you owe the credits to and see if they can let you contact him.” The annoyance thick in his words.

“No. I didn’t mean that… You have the right person, I mean, the credits… Likely to have been borrowed in my name or my life maybe… my life is probably what he’d promised if he didn’t pay it back… but that’s what happened. It’s obvious to me now… I just. I don’t want anyone to think I’m stupid enough to do borrow maker knows how many credits and assume I could get away with not paying it back.” You take a step towards the chamber accepting your fate, and then you feel him.

His gloved hand wrapping around your elbow once again… this time gently. This time without angry intent.

“Dank farrik,” he murmurs loudly, “If I allow you to sleep in the cockpit and don’t freeze you, will you make me regret that decision?” He asks the question with a growl.

You shake your head furiously, “No. No. Of course not. You can keep the cuffs on too, if you must.”

“Trust me, I will.” He grunts back.

He walks you back into the hull and orders you to stay back, and you do without question. You watch as he walks over to a small door and opens it – revealing a cot. He shields the view, and you hear a slight whoosh – he mumbles something unintelligible before you hear the tiny whoosh again. He abruptly closes the door again and leads you up the ladder.

You take a seat on the co-pilots chair, and he stands over you for a few moments before moving to the pilots chair.

“Go to sleep,” he orders as he punches in some co-ordinates, “Door is locked so if you try anything stupid, you’ll regret it.”

You nod again not sure what exactly you could try, hands being shackled in front of you and him being big enough to crush you like a bug. So you do as your told, you lean back slightly and try to let sleep take you before you’re forced to accept whatever cruel punishment is awaiting you for a crime you didn’t commit.

next chapter.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #the mandalorion #the mandalorian fanfiction #my fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfics #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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lazuli-bloom · 3 years ago

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Zoo Day is Today

Cartoon Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 11,275

Your first field trip after starting work as a teacher for Miss Shannon's School For Girls. A simple trip to the zoo. You even have a student's uncle there to help you chaperone. Everything was nice and planned out, surely nothing could go wrong.

Archive

--=--=--

The morning sun steadily rose but had not yet chased off the nipping chill of the night. A shiver ran down your spine and you pulled your jacket tighter over your chest. You only brought a light coat for the day. Hopefully, if you focused on your work, the chilly bite could be easier to tolerate.

You tapped your pen against the edge of the clipboard. The papers listed off groups, schedules, notes on animals, and a map. On the page of groups, you circled the list of students assigned to you. Seven girls of which you knew only two.

You had been teaching at Miss Shannon's School for a month, but you memorized the names of the two most infamous students. Claire Brewster and Betty Juice. And lucky you, the school assigned both girls to your group. How wonderful. You prayed this field trip wouldn't end up a disaster.

The girls mingled in front of the main building, eager to get onto the buses. Once you had glossed over the list, you peered over the assemblage of students. Other teachers gathered their students to line up for the bus, and you needed to do the same.

There was no sign of Claire or Betty, so you shifted your search to the others in your group. You called out the names listed as you walked the perimeter of the cluster of girls, and one by one you gathered them.

Bertha, check. Prudence, check. Mindy, Gwen, check and check.

You accounted for over half your group and given them red bands that just left three more students. Betty and Claire were still nowhere to be seen, making a Lydia Deetz the next student for you to find.

The short redheaded girl with glasses, Bertha? Or was it Prudence? Regardless, the shorter girl pointed out a dark-haired student with hair styled in a bob cut. You thanked her and left to speak with the next student.

The girl stood off to the side next to a man that you noted bore a striking resemblance to Betty. The man's wardrobe gave a sharp contrast to the prim and proper appearances the headmistress cultivated for the school. He wore a vibrant Hawaiian shirt in magenta patterned with neon green bones. Clashing with that were his shorts striped vertically in black and white bars. Rather unusual, but to each their own.

You focused back on gathering your group and get their attention with a small cough. The two stopped their conversation and turned to you, the girl giving you a pleasant smile when she did.

"Good morning, teacher."

"Good morning, ah..." You trailed off and checked your clipboard. "Lydia. How are you?"

"Good! I can't wait to get to the zoo!"

The man chimed in saying, "Kid's been excited to go all morning. 't's all she's been talking about for the last few days."

"Uncle BJ!"

The girl huffed while the man snickered with a crooked smirk. You bit your lip and fought to keep your shoulders from bouncing from your own laugh. You cleared your throat and ignored the slight pain in your cheeks from resisting a smile.

"So then, Mr...?"

"Beetleman."

"Mr. Beetleman," you said with a nod, "Will you be helping chaperone the field trip?"

"Yep!"

"Alright. Then since Lydia is in my group, you'll be with me as well." You helped Lydia get the red band on her wrist. Just two more students. "Lydia, are you by chance close to Betty Juice? You wouldn't know where she might be, would you?"

Mr. Beetleman opened his mouth only for Lydia to cut in, saying, "She's out sick!"

You frown and nod, jotting a note on the paper. "That's unfortunate." While you didn't like the idea of a student missing out on a field trip, you couldn't help the relief that washed over you. No Betty, that only left—

"Ugh! Like, what do you mean I'm stuck with Lydia and her weird friends?"

Claire Brewster.

You took in a deep breath and let it out as a slight hiss. Before you headed over to Claire, you pointed Lydia and her uncle over to the rest of your group. They made their way to join the others and you steel yourself to talk to the irritated blonde. When Claire noticed your approach, she wore a pout on her face.

"Teacher! You can't seriously expect me to be in a group with Lydia and her weird friends. Let me switch with someone else!"

As if you hadn't asked the same thing once you saw the roster for your group.

"I'm sorry, Claire. The groups have already been assigned. Miss Shannon doesn't want there to be any switching around. Now here's your band and if you could come over with the rest of the group, we can—"

"Red? Ugh! This day just keeps getting worse! Red doesn't go with my bow, or eyes, or anything! Why can't it be pink?"

"Claire, it's just a band to keep things organized. No one is going to notice or even care, I promise. Please, come over here with the rest of the group so we can get things going."

"Fine."

You hummed on your walk back, happy to have rounded up everyone. With a quick go through attendance, you marked off all the students present. Once done, you asked Mr. Beetleman to watch the girls while you turned in the attendance sheet to the headmistress. You returned and smiled at your group. "Alright, does everyone have everything they need? Lunches, spending money?"

Most of the girls nodded, while a few checked through their bags to make sure they did. After a minute, everyone had everything in order. You nodded and flipped through your clipboard.

"Alright, we'll board the buses soon. Mr. Beetleman since you'll be helping me chaperone—"

"Oh great. I'm stuck with Lydia and her grody relative."

"Claire!" You jerked your head to her with a deep frown. "That is highly disrespectful! Apologize this instant!"

Claire huffed and gestured to the man. "But he is! Just look at him!"

You narrow your eyes at the girl, then glance to Mr. Beetleman. His appearance was definitely abnormal, with eyes a tad more sunken and yellowed than what seemed healthy. Mr. Beetleman flashed you a smile where his slight overbite showed off crooked teeth. He may be a tad odd, but that was no reason to insult the man. You gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to Claire.

"Claire. Apologize to Mr. Beetleman right now or I'm going to insist that you sit out the field trip."

You tapped your foot, waiting. She groaned, rolling her eyes before she spat out a short, insincere apology. You shook your head and rubbed at your already aching temple. This was going to be a long day.

Once given the go ahead, the teachers and chaperones ushered their groups on to the buses. They assigned your group to the last of the three, and you were the last to board. The other two teachers on board sat in the back while the students scattered across the rows, clustering in the middle of the bus.

You followed your students and watched them pick their seats. Claire sat with girls from the other group. Most of the others took their seats, intermingling as well. You had shuffled into one of the front benches and noticed Lydia and her uncle had sat behind you with one empty one open as a buffer.

You scanned over the girls, all chatting and abuzz with excitement, as the bus driver pulled out from the school grounds. Before you turned back to face forward, you made brief eye contact with Mr. Beetleman. Claire's remark replayed in your head and you glanced away, frowning. That comment didn't sit right with you. You cleared your throat to get his attention and offer another apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry for earlier. Claire is... not always the best with social skills."

He shrugged with a lopsided smile. "No skin off my nose."

You gave a slight nod and glanced over to the blonde gabbing with the other students. So young and full of potential. If only she'd apply it to things other than her vanity. You shook your head and looked back to Mr. Beetleman, who had his hand over his nose.

"Are you alright?"

"Uncle BJ is fine!" Lydia said. "He just has some allergies that have been acting up. That's all."

"What the kid said." he nasally said while holding his nose.

"Oh no, do you need an antihistamine or anything? I could break one in half so you don't get too drowsy."

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks though, teach."

He let go of his face and gave grinned, showing you there was nothing to worry about. You covered your mouth to hide your own growing smile.

"If you're sure. But don't be afraid to ask if your allergies get worse. I have a travel first aid kit with me."

For the rest of the drive, you triple checked the schedules and your group's tour route. The first field trip you'd be going on as a teacher for the school. A simple trip to the zoo. You wanted it to go as smooth as possible.

You could still hardly believe you landed this job. It's rare for a position to open, but the last teacher in your spot left with little notice. He said he had gotten too stressed to teach anymore. But you had heard through the school gossip that it was more likely an excuse to get away from a certain student.

You shook off those thoughts. It's best not to dwell on rumors. You needed to focus on doing the best job you could.

The bus stopped at the front entrance. Outside the window, the students from the other buses waited in rows to get into the zoo. The teachers from the back stood up once the bus stopped and lead their students out. Once it was just you and your group, you got up from your seat to do the same.

You lined up your students at the end and waited for Miss Shannon to take care of the admissions. Groups were let in one at a time, and you quadruple checked the tour plan as you waited. Finally, it was your turn to go inside.

"Alrighty girls. The first stop is the penguins."

The girls' anticipation nearly hit its breaking point. They followed you like a flock of ducklings as you navigated the park. Between the map the school provided, and the boards set up for visitors, you found your way to the Arctic section. Once in that area, however was when it got a little more tricky. You mixed up the paths and ended up taking a detour by the puffins and walruses.

After those brief stops, you lead the students to the correct enclosure. The girls ran up to the divider, noses pressed to the glass, and watched the Antarctic birds. The girls moved around to watch different penguins, looking under the water level to see the ones swimming, while the ones on land preened each other. Most the students gushed over the cute birds, and you noticed Lydia off to the side bobbing along with a penguin whose attention she caught.

You hung back and smiled at the girls. It was adorable to see the students so ecstatic. Even Claire cooed at the penguins, though you heard her comment on how the penguins should totally wear cute pink dresses rather than tuxedos.

You shook your head with a roll of your eyes.

You flipped through your papers looking for the lecture notes for the penguins and notice Mr. Beetleman had taken a few steps back. His niece sprinted from one end of the glass to the other, while the penguin on the other side followed her movements. She also interspersed her laps with snapshots of the birds.

"Looks like your niece is enjoying herself."

Mr. Beetleman turned his attention towards you. He huffed a small laugh and showed off a crooked but kind half smile. "Yeah, kid's got a soft spot for animals, no matter how big, or scary, or smelly."

Your lips twitched up in a small smile.

"What about yourself, Mr. Beetleman? Any animals that you have a soft spot for?"

"I like to think of myself as quite the connoisseur of bugs. Especially beetles."

"Is that so?" You asked with a laugh. His faux posh accent caught you off guard. You coughed into your hand and did your best to ignore the pain in your cheeks from biting back a smile. "Well, you're in luck. We go through the insectarium before we break for lunch. They have a large exhibit of bugs from all over the globe."

Most of the students voiced their disgust with groans.

"Like, we have to go see gross bugs before lunch?"

You closed your eyes and took in a breath before you bothered to turn to Claire. You forced a pleasant smile and let the air out through your nose in a short huff. "Yes. We're going through the insectarium later—"

The girls groaned and made more disgusted sounds.

"—I know not everyone likes bugs, but they are an important part of nature and we're going to be learning about them."

Most of the students made disgusted faces. Mr. Beetleman and his niece looked to be the only ones interested in the exhibit. You hummed and flipped over your papers to get back on track. Might as well start the lesson part of the tour, since everyone had their attention on you.

You read off the prepared notes, and prompted the students with questions. The short bookish girl answered most of the questions, though you encouraged the other girls to answer when they could.

Once wrapped up with the penguins, you—with the aid of Mr. Beetleman—ushered the students to the next animal on the schedule. Next up was the polar bears, which were technically Arctic and not Antarctic, but hey the zoo only had so much room available.

You arrived at the polar bears' enclosure to find them lazing. Two sat on the land in large piles of snow, while the third floated in the water. Like before, you hung back to let the students watch, but they were far less engaged this time.

Mr. Beetleman stepped back once more to let his niece watch and get photos from all angles of the bears. You hunted for the next lesson in your notes but spied Mr. Beetleman step back a tad more than last time. You paid it little mind until he said, "With all this excitement it's almost un-bear-able," under his breath.

You sputtered a laugh and raised a hand to your mouth to hold back more. Despite your attempt, however, you caught his ear. He looked to you with a half smile showing off crooked teeth.

"You like that one? Maybe you and me aren't as much of polar opposites as I thought! Seems like all these arctic animals are helping break the ice!"

You bit your lip and pressed your knuckle to your mouth, but you couldn't stop your shoulders from bouncing as you snickered. You didn't want to disturb the other visitors, but he made that difficult with his goofy puns and cute face.

You took in a breath to let out gently, only for it to get chopped up from more laughter. There were lessons to be taught. You needed to get yourself under control. Poised and proper, you could do this. You coughed and cleared your throat as quietly as possible.

You gave your fellow chaperone a playful glare before you gathered the girls to a central spot for the lesson. One or two of the students yawned as you read off the notes. You gestured to the bears as you read another factoid.

"Polar bears are the largest carnivo—what on earth?"

Your train of thought crashed when you looked out at the bears. The two on land stood on their hind legs and dived into the water. All three met in the deepest part of the pool and swam in a circle with an eerily human synchrony.

You couldn't bring yourself to look away, afraid it would break the spell. But you had to know if anyone else saw that too. You pried away and found your students and many other visitors had their eyes glued to the bears. Good to know others took notice of the bears' swimming skills.

"Wow! I never knew they could swim like that!" said a taller brunette from your group.

You watched the bears again. They swam in circles, each bear matching the strokes of the others; left, then right, spin, then dive. You were at a loss for words. To witness such a spontaneous act from them, and done so well, it was as if it were magic.

The routine lasted a minute, ending with the bears looking around, confused. Whatever showboating spirit overtook them, it had left. Even they didn't know what had possessed them to do that.

You blinked a few times and gathered your thoughts. The lesson continued, but the girls and you glanced at the bears several times throughout the rest. The polar bears, however, returned to lazing around their enclosure. When you finished the lesson, you announced the next stop.

"Okay, next stop is the seals!"

On the walk over, the students chattered among themselves, still baffled by the polar bears' routine. Mr. Beetleman laughed with his niece, though you couldn't hear the topic. He caught you looking back, and you whipped forward to focus on leading the way.

Much like the last few times, the girls rushed to the glass to watch while you and Mr. Beetleman stayed back. You kept your eyes forward, watching over both the students and the seals. Despite your focus, you still noticed Mr. Beetleman taking a few side steps in your direction.

"I see this one gets the seal of approval from the kids."

You press your lips tight, redirecting your laugh as more stuttered exhales. With a smile growing on your face, you turned to get a better look at the man and find him sporting a grin of his own.

You cleared your throat and in the most deadpan tone you could muster, you said, "Mr. Beetleman, that has got to be the seal-iest thing I've ever heard."

He blinked and his features sank a bit, only for his grin to grow back even stronger. "Animal humor, you know I love it!"

You let out a giggle and shake your head. "So how are you and your niece enjoying the trip so far, Mr. Beetleman?"

"Lydia's loving it, and I can't complain much. But You don't have to keep bein' so formal. Ya can just call me BJ."

"BJ? Hmm, may I ask what it's short for?"

He stiffened at your question before he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "Short for? Yeah, it's uh—"

"Uncle Ben!" You and Mr. Beetleman turned to his niece Lydia, waving him over. She pointed to one seal flopping around on the land part of its enclosure. "Isn't it so cute?"

He walked over to Lydia. She took photos, some with her uncle posing in them. You chuckled to yourself and gave the girls one more minute before the next lesson.

Afterwards you moved on to the next animal in the arctic section, followed by another, and another. Soon your group made it through the entire section and moved on to the next. From the Arctic to South America, followed by Europe, then Africa.

In between your lessons as the students gawked and cooed at the various animals, you laughed more and more at Mr. Beetleman—no, BJ's jokes. You even got him to laugh at a few of your own jokes. There was a childish sense of pride and glee that swelled in you any time you got him to laugh.

"You know, teach, seeing all these lions is giving me the urge to sing." BJ said as the kids watched the large cats.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, breaking out into 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' is just a whim away. A whim away. A whim away."

You bit your knuckle and shook your head at him as you fought back tears and laughter.

"Trust me, teach, I ain't lion. It's a real paw-blem."

You couldn't hold back your fit of laughter anymore and snorted louder than you'd like. A few of the girls looked back at you and BJ, and you hid your burning face behind your clipboard. You take a few quick breaths to calm yourself, fighting the smile on your lips as you did. Once calm again, you shoot the man a playful glare.

"You are the worst, have you no since of pride?"

He beamed at you and you call the girls over to get the lesson started before he can crack more jokes. As you went through the last lesson of the African section, you calmed more, but your smile stayed plastered on your face. Once the lesson wrapped up and you asked the last of the questions, you announce the next destination.

"Time to head to the insectarium."

Most of the girls groan and make disgusted protests. You let out a sigh and open your mouth to say something, but BJ spoke up first.

"You heard your teacher, kids. Gotta get going!"

BJ ushered the kids along to get them moving, and you knitted your brows in a mix of amusement and bewilderment. BJ had helped keep the students together and moving along, sure, but that was the first time he did so with any sense of diligence. The man must really like bugs.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and lead the group. With the map on your clipboard you follow the asphalt path to the insectarium, weaving around the growing crowds as you made your way there. Unlike the other animal enclosures, the insectarium was a building all to itself. A man exited the building, towing two young boys, and blew passed you. You huffed and held open the door as BJ ushered in the group of less than enthused girls.

The warm, muggy air hit you as you followed the girls inside the building. Countless displays of bugs filled the room, lining the bright orange walls and placed in various rows. Signs throughout the room showed pictures of spiders, praying mantises, centipedes, and scorpions, as well as butterflies, dragonflies, and beetles. While the floor was spacious and open, the displays formed a few nooks and crannies that obscured parts.

The students stayed clustered around you, not that eager to venture a glance at the displays. Most of them, anyway. Lydia grabbed her uncle's hand and pulled him away to a section full of spiders. Two girls you noticed hung around Lydia, the tall brunette and short redhead, also mustered up the courage to break off and peruse the exhibits as well.

The remaining three followed you and didn't dare approach any of the glass displays. You hummed and scanned the room. Perhaps if you showed them the tamer and prettier looking insects, the students would be more engaged. You gestured to them and guided them through the displays.

Brightly colored butterflies and gem-like dragonflies darted in their large cases off to the side, away from the more creepy crawly bugs. The girls peered around you and took a few steps over to see the enchanting patterns on some of the butterflies' wings.

Except for Claire.

"Teacher! I don't want to be here. Like, it's just a bunch of gross bugs."

"Bugs are very important, Claire. Here, do you like flowers?"

"Well duh. Flowers are pretty and they smell nice."

"Well, flowers need to be pollinated in order for there to be more flowers. And do you know how flowers get pollinated?"

"No."

"Bugs. Bees, and butterflies, and even some beetles. They go from flower to flower and get pollen all over. Which helps the flowers make more flowers. Bugs are an essential part of a lot of other animals' diets. If there weren't any bugs a lot of animals would go hungry."

"Gross, who would want to eat bugs!"

"Birds, lizards, fish. Heck, even people sometimes."

"Ew! Nasty! I would never eat a bug. Like, why eat that when I could have something fancy like lobster?"

You bit your lip and held back a laugh. This poor, naïve child. You debated on whether you should tell her. Before you decided, Claire huffed and marched over to watch at the butterflies with the others. It was probably best to keep quiet on the matter, but boy was that child in for a rude wake up call.

You sigh and left to check on the others. The brunette and redhead—Prudence and Bertha, or was it Bertha and Prudence? Which ever way it was, the pair watched an orchid mantis climb flower stocks. The shorter one in glasses smiled at you and read out loud the plaques for the orchid mantis. You asked them a few things on the insect, and the brunette chimed in with some answers. You praised the two and smiled.

After jotting notes, you scanned the room for Lydia and BJ, only to frown when you saw no trace of them. You tapped your pen against the clipboard and scanned the room again. Claire was still with Mindy and Gwen at the butterflies. Bertha and Prudence were right next to you. So where were Lydia and BJ?

You walked through the rows of exhibits searching for Lydia, but there wasn't any sign of her. Prickles of fear crawled up your spine, and you hurried your pace. You tapped your pen faster against your board to let out your building anxiety, but it never spent enough energy. Once you looped back to Prudence and Bertha, you asked them if they had seen Lydia and her uncle.

The redhead—Prudence—pointed out where she last saw Lydia. You thanked her and weaved your way through the exhibits as fast as you could without running. The displays jutted out to form a nook tucked away from the rest of the floor. At one display, with eyes glued to the tarantula in the case, was your missing student. You put a hand to your chest and let out a relieved sigh. The sound caught the dark-haired girl's attention, and she waved you over to watch with her.

"Teacher look! Isn't she pretty!"

You crouched to look at the fuzzy arachnid meandering across the gravel floor of its enclosure. Dark brown hairs covered its body save for the legs. Stripes ran down its legs in long thin bars of the same dark brown and contrasted with ones in ivory. You looked at the name for the specimen and read it.

"The Costa Rican zebra tarantula, or striped-knee tarantula. I see where your uncle gets his fashion advice." You said. It got a laugh out of her, which got you chuckling as well. After a quick sweep of the area you realize BJ wasn't there. Your lips sank into a slight frown as you hummed in thought. "Speaking of, where is he?"

"Oh! Um. Uncle BJ said he had to go to the little boy's room."

A thunderous clatter cut through the air, followed by shattering glass and screams. A wave of icy fear crashed over you. You told Lydia to stay put as you bolted around the corner to see what happened.

Your eyes grew to saucers. Toppled displays, shattered cases, and an angry swarm of bugs filled the room. Those with wings whizzed by, while others spread out from the crash sites as an infestation.

Your students and the other patrons scrambled to get any distance possible from the bugs. You bit your lip. What do you do? What can you do? Keeping the girls safe was your utmost responsibility. You tightened your grip on the clipboard charge to the group, swatting at any bugs daring to cross you.

"Girls! Outside!"

You darted straight for the front door and gave the group a sharp look. The students wore various nervous expressions, not wanting to go through the swarm of bugs to reach the door.

"NOW!"

Bertha and Prudence were the first of your girls to budge. They ran out, followed by the other patrons, then the last of your group. You ran out hot on their heels and got your girls grouped together. You counted heads—Bertha, Prudence, Claire, Gwen, Mindy. Five. Where?

Your heart sank.

"Stay out here. Stay away from the doors, get back and wait for me or a Zookeeper."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pivoted. You rushed back in and find the swarm had spread to fill the now empty room. Among the infestation you could see bright warning coloration. Whether the colors of true venomous insects or mimics, you didn't want to hang around and find out. You held up your clipboard and took in a few steadying breaths.

"Lydia! Where are you?"

"Over here!"

You rushed over to the voice, avoiding as many bugs as possible. Despite that, they grazed your exposed skin and buzzed passed your ear. One of them even bumped up against your lip. You pushed your shivers down, dead set on getting your student out of there.

You looped around the displays to find the path of least resistance, only to stop dead in your tracks when you get to Lydia. Wasps, several of them, all buzzing between you and Lydia. You tapped your nails against the clipboard as your mind raced to work out what to do.

You bit down on the clipboard, hard enough to hold it, and stripped off your jacket. You shuffled things, so the board was under your arm and held the jacket in both your hands.

"Lydia. I'm going to count to three, and you're going to run over to me. Okay? Run as fast as you can."

She nodded, and you counted.

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

Lydia bolted over to you, getting the wasp's attention. You threw your coat over her and scooped her into your arms. Once you had a hold of her, you made a mad dash to the front door, as angry buzzing chased you. You reached out for the handle, yanking it as hard as you could, only for it to stay closed. You held Lydia tighter and pulled again. Still nothing.

"Shit. Why would they lock the fucking door!" A sharp stabbing pain shot through your calf, and you buckled some from the pain. "Shit!"

"Teacher? Is—"

"Shi—um sorry. It's okay. Just got to find another way out."

You turned to search for the emergency exit and winced when you moved your stung leg. The buzz of insect wings beat against your ears, and you swore it was getting worse. You wanted to cover your ears, but that wasn't an option while you held Lydia.

"Ribbit."

You flinched and found a fairly large frog munching away on what remained of a wasp. The chihuahua sized frog sat staring up at you for a moment with bright yellow eyes. Its pattern and coloration reminded you of a poison dart frog, but no species of them grew bigger than a few inches at most.

Once the monochrome striped frog ate the last of the wasp, it hopped away on long legs ending with bright red toes. Its tongue lashed out and snatched more bugs, devouring them in seconds and reducing the swarm at an impressive rate.

As the frog thinned out the bug population, you carried Lydia towards the emergency exit on the far side of the building. A long green blur shot out in front of you, and you flinched back with a squeak. You glanced to where the blur came from to find the frog retracting its striped green tongue with a freshly caught beetle.

"Teacher? What's going on?"

"It's alright, this frog just startled me."

"A frog?" Lydia asked, squirming in your arms. She pulled down your coat to look and when they made eye contact, the frog croaked at her too.

"He must be in froggy heaven with all these bugs out. But we still need to get out to the others. And wait, where's your uncle? Oh no. Is he still in here too?"

"I'm sure uncle BJ is fine! He's probably just... getting something to eat after he went to the restroom."

You hummed, still worried something could have happened, but you still needed to get Lydia and yourself out. The frog croaked again before it hopped away to catch more lunch. You huffed with a small smile and continued to the exit.

Once outside with the door shut behind you, you set Lydia down and walked her to the rest of the group. The girls clamored around you as you approached, asking to know what happened. When your responses didn't give them the answers they wanted, some students switched to bombarding Lydia with questions.

"Girls, please. I'm not sure what all caused the bugs to get out. I'm sure the zookeepers can handle it from here."

"Teacher, was it scary to go back in there?"

You offered a half smile and gave the students a few answers, hoping they'd more readily follow instructions with a sated curiosity. Once they asked their questions, you asked one of your own, wanting to know what happened while you were getting Lydia.

Apparently one zookeeper, thinking everyone had cleared out the building, locked the front door before running off to get help. You pressed your lips tight when you heard that. On one hand, you understood the keeper's actions, but on the other they should have poked their head in to at least check!

"Hey teach, everything alright?"

You whipped around to find BJ sporting a sheepish grin.

"Mr. Beetleman! Oh, thank goodness you're okay. Yes, everything is alright. Everyone is here." You said and heaved out a sigh. You glanced back to the girls. "Alright, let's all sit down and make sure no one else got bit or stung."

You guided the students over to benches on the side and had them sit. One by one you examined them, checking arms, legs, faces and necks. Once you checked over every student, you breathed a sigh of relief. No one had gotten bitten by any of the bugs. You took a seat and tended to your sting when there was a yelp from one student.

"Like, ew! Something bit me!"

You got up to look over Claire again and found a mosquito on her upper arm. You pinched it between your fingers and dusted it off her.

"Ew! Gross!"

"Well, it's gone now. You can wash off your arm before we break for lunch."

Claire pouted, and you did your best not to show the flicker of annoyance on your face. She's just a child and the whole bug escape had everyone on edge. You blew out a small breath and went back to tending to your minor injury.

Once washed off and slapped with a bandage, you got up and stretched your leg. It still hurt, but was tolerable to wait for the painkillers to take effect.

The staff returned shortly after and pushed everyone further back. You asked if they needed you to stay and give any testimony, but the gruff staff member just told you to leave the area. Rude.

You huffed at him and pivoted to march away, ushering the girls away. If he needed nothing from you, then so be it. The girls needed to get to lunch, anyway. As you guided the girls away, the man let out a shout. You looked over your shoulder to see him swatting at the air, likely being honed in on by a few mosquitoes. You huffed once more and looked forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed BJ chuckling to himself with a few glances back of his own.

The school organized for everyone to meet for lunch in the same picnic spot. When you arrived, you got the kids to wash up before heading to the tables for lunch. The group scattered and mingled with the other groups already dining. You smiled only for it to fall as you looked for a seat. The students took up most of the tables, with the other teachers taking up one of their own. And the teachers' table was so crowded, asking to sit there would just be awkward. You'd only been teaching at the school for a month and had yet to make friends with any of the other teachers. Sure, you were professional and polite, but that didn't mean you were much more than acquaintances.

An empty table off to the side sat a tad ways away from the other tables. You hummed to yourself and walked over to claim it. As you mindlessly nibbled away at your meal, you watched over the other tables to make sure the girls didn't get too rowdy.

"Excuse me teacher, may we sit with you?"

You snapped out of your trance and found Lydia smiling at you and still wearing your jacket. She held her uncle's hand and pulled him closer to the table. You blinked and swallowed your bite of food with a nod.

"Oh, uh, sure. I don't mind."

She grinned and sat diagonally to you, leaving her uncle to sit directly across from you. Lydia set her lunch box on the table and took off your jacket. She haphazardly folded it and leaned over the table to hand it back to you.

"Thank you for saving me. Those wasps were furious."

"Yeah, I kinda got the point back there. My leg still hurts a bit. Oh, and um... If you could not mention my more colorful word choices to anyone, I would appreciate that."

BJ tilted his head and asked, "Colorful word choices? Do bugs normally make ya shout out the colors of the rainbow? Ooh! What color would you say for spiders?"

"Uncle BJ, that's not what they meant."

"It's not?"

You bit your knuckle, trying and failing to hide your laughter from bubbling out. The pair took notice, and you waved them off while you fought to stop laughing.

"I'm sorry," you said in between laughs, "You two are just really cute."

Lydia giggled into her hand while BJ scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out. You bit harder on your knuckle as your shoulders bounced. How were they so cute?

You got your laughter to subside and resumed eating your lunch. Lydia did the same, but BJ had nothing in front of him.

"Are you not going to eat, Mr. Beetleman?"

"Nah, I got some grub back when we were at the bug house. And ya really don't have to keep calling me that. Like I said, just call me BJ."

"Right. I'm sorry Mr. Beetle—um, BJ."

A smile stretched across his face as his nickname rolled off your tongue. You smiled back with a giggle.

Lydia looked back over her shoulder and said, "I think I hear Bertha and Prudence calling me to go sit with them! Thanks again, teacher."

She dashed off with her lunch a moment later. Curiously, it looked like her friends had only just rounded the corner. But you couldn't blame the kid for wanting to sit with her peers over adults.

"So, um, BJ. Are you okay after the little... insect fiasco? I'm sorry I forgot to ask earlier, I was just so worried the girls might have gotten hurt."

"Oh yeah, babes, I'm fine, no need to worry about me."

You blinked once or twice with a growing warmth on your cheeks. The new moniker caught you off guard. You murmured the word to yourself and felt the warmth intensify. Another giggle bubbled up in you, and this time you didn't suppress it.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, too. Though I missed you while we were going through the insectarium. I would have grassed you'd hop at the opportunity to make all the insect puns you could, Mr. Beetle-man."

"Nah, jokes like that really bug me."

"That's hard to bee-lieve."

"Glad my joke didn't fly over your head."

"I'm gnat that gullible."

He snickered with a grin, showing off crooked teeth. That, strangely enough, suited him. You couldn't help but join in with a chuckle of your own. He certainly was cute, even if he didn't agree. Your laughter trailed off a moment later with a warm hum.

"So, BJ, do you live in Peaceful Pines or somewhere close?"

"Eeh... My place is kinda close, but hard to get to. It's this out of the way neighborhood that you've probably never heard of."

"I suppose so, considering I'm pretty new to Peaceful Pines myself. What do you do for a living?"

"Oh. Well... I~ 'm... A musician!"

"A musician?"

"Yeah! In between gigs right now."

"What do you play?"

"Better question is what can't I play! Guitar, drums, keyboard, ukulele, armpit!"

That last one got a sudden laugh out of you, and you bit your lip to stop your abrupt laughter. "My, that's quite the assortment of instruments." BJ's smile stretched at your compliment and you couldn't help but smile back. "Have you written any of your own songs?"

"Oh yeah! Loads of songs! Smells Like Ten Spirits, Ghoul Is In The Hearse, Boo-hemian Rhapsody."

"Sounds spooky. I wouldn't mind hearing you play sometime," you said with a small giggle.

Whatever he planned on saying died in his throat, and he pressed his lips tight for a minute. You could have sworn that his pale tone flushed with a bit more color at that moment. Which honestly got you to giggle more.

"Really?"

"Of course! I'd love to hear you play! I love all kinds of music. What sorts of genres do you play? Rock? Metal? You mentioned a keyboard, do you play any electronic?"

He glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck, still sporting more color than normal. But he wore a smile on his face, so that's good.

"Ah, you know, a bit of this and a bit of that. I don't know what genre they'd actually fall under."

"Well, I'd still love to hear it."

"Heh, yeah. Maybe sometime."

You smiled and took a few more bites of your lunch. Between bites you asked about the town and what was there. Sure you knew the bigger things like where the grocery store was, but you had yet to venture out and explore Peaceful Pines. BJ made outlandish claims concerning the town, like how he and his niece set up a store one time and everyone in town clamored to buy from them. You rolled your eyes and listened to his yarn, smiling as he got invested into telling his stories.

When lunch ended you rounded up your group, the other teachers doing the same. Some girls grumbled over having to part with their friends in other groups—Claire—most other students fell in line with little fuss.

As the students cleared out from the tables, other zoo patrons overtook them. One group being a man with two boys loudly griping something or other about schools. You shook your head and focused on looking after your students.

After counting everyone, you lead the group to finish your tour through the zoo. The next stop on the schedule had you at a smaller farm-like section. You guided the girls to the front of the gated area and lead them into the main pen. Various cute domesticated animals stood around with the odd zookeeper milling around, supervising.

"Alright girls, you have some time to go see the animals. Please be gentle!"

The kids scattered, seeking different animals. As they left, you overheard Claire voice her disgust regarding the smell of the stinky farm animals. You let out a sigh and rubbed at your temple.

"I don't get what she's complaining about. This place smells great!"

You sputtered a laugh and glanced sidelong at BJ. Your lips curled into a half smile as you shook your head.

"BJ, you are—a very strange man."

"Hey babes, 'Strange' is my middle name."

"Is it now? Ben J. Strange Beetleman?"

"Uh... Yep. That's my name don't wear it out!"

"You're a goof." you said laughing. You scanned over the large pen and saw the students with animals. At least this time you had an unobstructed view of all of them.

"So, teach, how you liking your job with the school?"

You blinked and glanced at him before you thought over an answer. "It's been tricky, but I'm extremely thankful to have gotten this job. I still can't believe the last teacher just left though."

"Mr. Greener?"

"Yes actually. You knew him?"

"Yeah, he was a piece of shit! Lyds put a lot of work into a group project but because he hated me—my other niece Betty, he flailed them!"

"Oh dear, please try not to let the girls hear that language," you said. The distance between you and the girls made it unlikely that any of them could hear your conversation. But you'd still wanted to be careful. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that, though. Did you speak to the headmistress to get your nieces' grades corrected?"

"Eh. Sorta. Except I went and saw Mr. Greener personally."

"I hope he was reasonable."

"Yeah. Nothing a bit of juicing couldn't solve."

"J-juicing?" you asked, tilting your head. "Like, you went out for drinks?"

He flinched and rubbed the back of his head. BJ shifted his weight from one leg to the other before he pointed a thumb in Lydia's direction. "Something like that. Hey, I'm going to check on Lyds."

"Oh, of course. I should check on the other girls too."

He nodded and jogged over to his niece and her friends. He was far enough away that you couldn't make out what he and the girls were saying. Whatever it was, the girls giggled, and BJ ran his fingers through his pale blond hair as he glanced away.

You chuckled to yourself and looked over your clipboard. As you flipped through the pages, a loud bleat came from behind you. A lamb sneaked up to you in search of affection. You knelt to dote on the small lamb and it bleated at you more. After you cooed at the baby for a minute you stood back up, you still needed a to check on the students.

You circled around the petting zoo pen and counted each of the girls. A bonus of your walk was the chance to find other animals on their lonesome and in need of pets. Claire and a girl with a ponytail found rabbits to hold. One student was with a small flock of chickens, while Lydia and her friends gave a goat love and affection.

You made it to a corner of the pen away from most of the other animals save for a lone donkey and resting ducks. You smiled to the donkey and stepped closer, gently reaching out a hand to give the cutie a pat on the head.

The donkey enjoyed the attention and butted its head into your hand more. You giggled and scratched the top of its mane, which appeared to be significantly lighter than what was common for donkeys. Then again, given that it also had zebra stripes, it may be a hybrid.

You left to speak with the girls only for the donkey to follow you. It nudged your free hand asking for more pets, and you laughed. You broke every time and gave the little donkey more pats and scratches as you made your way to check in with the students.

You got over to Lydia, Bertha, and Prudence and greeted them. After a quick hello to them, you end up getting another nudge from the donkey. You caved yet again and patted its head.

Lydia gave the donkey an accusing look, and it responded with a huff. You chuckled at the exchange.

"Is something the matter?"

"No teacher, I'd just keep an eye on that donkey if I were you."

"Oh, he's harmless," you said and bent down to pet the animal's head, "he just likes the attention. Doubt this poor guy is as popular as the other animals here."

You scratch along the back of its ear down to the back of its jaw. The donkey, in response, leaned its cheek into your palm.

"Such a sweetheart."

It blew its lips at you and got a laugh out of you.

"No? You sure?" It huffed at you and you scratched its cheek more. "Alright, have it your way."

You gave it one more pat on the head before you stood. The donkey, despite its chagrin, still followed you. Throughout your check in, the striped donkey nudged at you, demanding more affection. You checked in with Gwen amid the chickens, then proceeded to Mindy and Claire.The pair each cradled a bunny. You greeted them as you walked up and asked how they were doing. The donkey took a few steps closer to Claire and brayed loudly in her face. It startled the rabbit she held, causing it to squirm out of her arms and hit the ground running.

"Ugh! You stupid, ugly thing! You scared off my cute little bunny!"

You took a step, wanting to get her to calm down in case she got the animals upset. Before you could, the donkey brayed in her face again and dropped to the dirt. It rolled on the ground and kicked up an enormous dust cloud that got in your eyes. The girls started coughing, and you ushered them away from the donkey, enjoying his dirt bath.

"Come on, let's see if you can get the bunny back. Or maybe there's another animal here you'd like to play with."

The blonde huffed as she adjusted her bow. She said nothing and marched off in search of another rabbit to hold. You sighed and spared a glance at the donkey wallowing. It rolled onto its legs, tucking them under its body, and looked your way before it blew a raspberry at you.

When the time came to head to the next destination, you got the students to line up near the entrance of the petting zoo. Lydia and her uncle lagged behind, and you swept the area to see where they might have gone off to. The only real hiding spot would be the large open barn.

You turned a corner and could hear BJ's voice before you saw him. "What? I'm telling you, Lyds, it was an act! I was just playing the part."

You stepped closer and cleared your throat to get the pair's attention. Both their heads jerked your way, and you gave a half smile. "It's time to go. We need to get to the Asian section of animals next."

Lydia's face lit up, and she grabbed BJ's hand. She pulled him along, saying, "Let's go! I can't wait to see pandas!"

You shook your head as she dragged him passed you. However, you called after them when you got a look at BJ's back.

"Goodness BJ, did you fall down? You're covered in dirt."

You closed the gap between you and dusted off his back. Some of the light brown dirt came off, but the shirt needed to go through the wash to get off the rest of it. Once you wiped off all the dirt you could, you smiled at him and lead the way back to the others.

You held the gate open for everyone. The girls chatted among themselves, still gushing about the cute animals. As BJ passed by, you noticed his face flushed again. You hoped his allergies weren't too severe, but he never asked for an antihistamine, so they must have been tolerable.

You fished through your bag for the bottle and bumped into the arm of a man. You stepped to the side and apologized. His sunburnt features twisted into a sneer. He said nothing as he walked with his two screaming boys into the petting zoo. You tapped your finger against a metal piece on your bag before you hurried off to get back ahead of your group.

You lead the group through the other continents, showing the students animals from Asia followed by North America. You and BJ kept up your jokes while the girls watched the different animals on the tour. To your surprise, BJ even sprinkled in a few more questions about yourself between jokes.

You shared your favorite movies with him, a story about an awful vacation you had a few years back, and what insects you were fond of the most. BJ then told you his own answers. Like how The Exorcist was his favorite comedy, he hated trips to his aunt and uncle's place, and how beetles were his absolute favorite bugs. No surprise on that last one.

You lead the group to the last of the continents for your tour. Your chest ached as you counted the handful of animals left to visit, but you put on a smile and lead the students through the Australian part of the zoo. The girls cooed at the kangaroos and flinched away from crocodiles in the middle of their own lunch. BJ even flinched away from the large perentie lizard that, as far as you could tell, was just soaking up the sun in a nice little sandy spot. When you got to the last animal on the list, the girls rushed to the railing.

"Hey! Don't climb on the railing! Get down from there!"

"But like, I can't see the koala bears!"

"I said get down Claire. And they're not bears."

The girl did as told, but she groaned and griped. You frowned, but let it be so long as she nor the others climbed up again. The kids had trouble getting good vantage points, but with time everyone found spots to watch the koalas. Once the kids settled, BJ stepped back to crack a few more jokes with you.

"Goodness, BJ, you sure have a vast pool of jokes to pull from."

He cracked a half-smirk-half-smile at you. "Well, it's nothing but koala-ety jokes from me babes."

You laughed harder and caught yourself a moment later with a cough into your fist. "BJ, I've been meaning to ask; do you help chaperone for the school often?"

"Not really. Came this time cause Lyds was beggin' me to come along with her. Sweet girl, wants to spend as much time with her uncle as she can."

You smiled and looked back at the girls. Only for your blood to chill. "Claire!"

Your shout shocked the blonde scaling the bars. She lost her grip and fell back onto the ground. You scowl and march over to her. With your hands on your hips, you tapped your foot, waiting for her to get back to her feet.

"I told you not to climb the railing. What if you fell in?"

"But I can't see them!"

"If you won't listen to instructions, you can stand back next to me."

"Ew! Gross."

Claire wasn't happy in the slightest, and neither were you. You stood closer to the railing so Claire could still see. However, standing with her put a stop to your banter with BJ. You sighed and mindlessly checked over your clipboard for the last lesson.

A few minutes later you rattled off the educational part of the tour. It didn't last long, only five minutes, and once you finished reading, that was it. No more lessons. No more tour.

"Alright. That's it. We got a bit of time left before we need to head back to the buses."

"Teacher?" the tall brunette said. "Can we go by the gift shop? I want to get something for my mom."

You checked the map. It was on the way to the buses, so you didn't see any harm in perusing the shop for a while. You nodded, and the girls got excited. You showed BJ the location of the shop and guided the kids there.

After the twists and turns of the zoo pathways, and weaving through the growing number of patrons attending the zoo, your group makes it to the gift shop closest to the front gate.

You crossed into the shop where colorful souvenirs stacked high on every wall. Shirts in every color of the rainbow lined two of the wall, along with hats and tote bags. Stuffed animals of all sorts piled into the shelves of another part of the wall. Display stands covered most of the sales floor, packing in as much products as the building could hold. The girls scatted the instant you stepped inside, each drawn to different areas of the store. You rolled your eyes and strolled through the shop, interested to see if anything jumped out at you.

Claire and Mindy played with the plushies. The two pulled the smaller toys from the shelves and checked each one. As you passed by, Mindy asked you to check the price of the large giraffe toy on top of one of the floor displays. You found the tag of the toy nearly as tall as her and told her the steep price. She frowned and hugged the smaller giraffe toy in her arms tighter.

She went back to playing with Claire, and you moved on to check on the other girls. Bertha, Prudence and Gwen examined tumbled rocks that sat in a large bin. Prudence meticulously inspected rocks before deciding whether to place in the velvet pouch. Bertha and Gwen, in contrast, didn't scrutinize the rocks they put in their velvet pouches.

You passed them by with a smile and wondered to a corner of the shop stocked with candy. Odd that none of your girls browsed that section.

You shrugged to yourself and looked over the selection. Packages of chocolates, bags of gummies, jars filled with rock candy, and many, many more types of sweets crammed into that corner display. You grabbed one thing for yourself and notice peculiar lollipops next to it. The longer you looked at the lollipops, the more you thought it a good idea to buy one as well.

You grabbed one and took your selections up to the register to pay. The cashier rang up your items, and you handed them the payment as a booming voice cut through the air. You and most everyone in the shop turned to find a sunburnt man jostling two rowdy boys into the store. You sighed but turned back to finish your transaction. Not your circus, not your monkeys.

Once paid for, you take your candies, and head over to check on the last two members of the group. Lydia and her uncle compared boxes of solid white figurines in need of painting. You glanced over the various sets for sale, dinosaurs, birds, savanna animals, fish. Lydia held a box of the dinosaurs and looked it over with a slight frown.

"Can't decide which one you want?" You asked.

"I was hoping they'd have the one with bugs. I can never find that one."

You hummed and looked over the shelf. Birds, birds, fish, dinosaurs, birds, oh? You leaned closer and pulled out the front kits, handing them off to BJ. You grabbed the kit from way in the back and handed that one to Lydia.

"Deadly voo! I can't believe you found it!"

"They always hide the good stuff in the back."

"Thank you!" She rushed off to the register, clutching her prize. You chuckled and turned to BJ, still holding the stack of other kits. "Oh dear. Here." You helped him put the kits back on the shelf and freed up his arms. "Sorry about that."

"Nah, you're fine. Plus, you helped Lyds get that kit she's been wanting."

You breathed out a small laugh and gave him a half smile as you fiddled with something in your coat pocket. "Oh!" You pulled out the lollipop and handed it to him. "Thought you might like this since you said you were a 'connoisseur of bugs'."

He studied the lollipop, where the transparent pink candy encased a whole cricket. BJ grew a lopsided smile on his face and he put the candy in his shirt's chest pocket.

"Thanks babes! Save that for later."

"What do you think you're doing? Get out of the way, you brat!" The booming voice from earlier cut through the room again.

You spun around and find the man glaring down at Claire and Mindy. Hackles raised, you darted straight over to your students. You pulled the girls behind you and away from the upset man.

"Is there a problem?" you asked in a tone so sharp it could have cut diamonds.

"Yeah, these stupid girls of yours are in my way."

"Sir. I'm sure if you had asked politely they would have moved."

The man leaned to sneer at you. The faint stench of alcohol drifted on his breath. You glared back with your nostrils flared.

"Ow! Hey quit it!"

You break eye contact with the man to find the other girls getting pelted with rocks by the man's two rowdy boys.

"Stop that this instant!" you barked

"Hey, don't you go telling my boys what to do!"

"It's showtime!"

The lights flickered, casting the entire store in shadow for a moment. When the lights turned back on, the head of the giraffe toy had lowered to separate you and the man. The toy faced the man, and you swore it leaned in closer to him and said, "Hey, how's it going."

The toy's head swung at the man, decking him square in the face. The man reeled back and stumbled to the floor. You took that opportunity to remove yourself and grabbed the girls' shoulders to usher them to the other side of the store. You left them with Lydia up front by the cashier—on the phone with what sounded like security.

A deep scream bellowed out. Stuffed animals covered the man on the floor. He squirmed, but couldn't sit up, let alone get to his feet. You spared a disgusted glower at him before darting over to round up the other half of your group.

The boys chased your students into a corner and pelted the girls with their arms full of rocks. You grit your teeth and barked at the two to move. The boys turned. The younger of the two stuck out his tongue while the other said they didn't have to listen to you.

A second later, the boys screamed out and dropped the rocks. Beetles crawled up the two's arms and they both frantically flung their arms to get the bugs off them. The younger started wailing for his dad—still pinned to the floor by stuffed animals. The boys ran over to their father and you grabbed the girls to escort them to the rest of your group.

BJ stood with the other half of the group, laughing at the misfortune of the disaster family. You got the girls accounted for, triple checking you had everyone, and asked the cashier if you needed to stay. The poor kid looked like a deer in the headlights. They couldn't be more than a year out of high school. The cashier made another call and after which they said it was alright for your group to leave.

From there you lead the group back to the front gates and met up with the rest of the school. It wasn't long after that you and the girls boarded the bus. Once you sat, your head started swimming as the last bit of adrenaline drained out of you. It was maybe ten minutes into the drive home that you let out a deep breath and tried to collect your thoughts.

"Are you okay, teacher?"

You sat up and looked back to the row behind you. Lydia sat with her uncle, with her brows knitted in concern. Your mouth felt dry, and you swallowed to relieve the discomfort before answering.

"I've been better. But no one got seriously hurt, so there's that." You lolled your head onto the back of the bench and hissed out a small laugh through your teeth. "Got a crazy story to tell people now. First the bugs, then the jerk in the gift shop."

You heard movement in the seat behind you, followed by BJ's chuckle. "Crazy stories are the best kind!"

"They are after the fact, but between that jerk in the gift and the bug break out earlier, I am very much done with today. My leg still hurts from that wasp sting. If not for that little frog I would have gotten a lot more stings."

"I suppose the frog took a liking to you," Lydia said, "just like that donkey at the petting zoo."

You closed your eyes and sighed once more. BJ muttered something that you didn't bother to decipher. When he spoke clearly, he said, "Besides the minor mishaps, that was a fun trip though!"

You huffed out a dry laugh, but couldn't muster the energy to reply right away. When you did, you asked them to let you rest your eyes for the trip back. They agreed to, and you mumbled a thanks.

Regardless of whether you crossed over into a proper sleep, you managed a semblance of rest by the time the bus pulled up to the school. You sat up and rubbed at your eyes before glancing out the window. The students filed off the bus, followed by the other teachers. You got your things and left just behind the other teachers.

The crowd outside the bus thinned at the edges as students left the school grounds for home. You got to the edge near the building to watch over the students leaving. Among them you caught sight of Lydia and her uncle BJ. You bit your lip a tad worried you came across as rude earlier. An urge to correct that mistake overcame you, and you scurried over to catch them.

"Lydia, wait."

"Is something wrong, teacher?"

"No. Well, possibly. I wanted to apologize if I came across as rude on the bus. After that incident in the gift shop I felt rather drained."

"I understand. I didn't think you were rude."

You gave a soft smile to the girl. "I guess I should let you head home now. I'll see you in class, Lydia. Oh. And BJ, I... hope to see you around too."

"Ya really mean that, teach?"

"Please, you don't have to be so formal," you said with a laugh. You told him your name, and he repeated it to himself with a smile. "I enjoyed your company and wouldn't mind spending more time with you. Perhaps you could even show me around town."

He blinked at you a few times before the biggest grin split his face. "You got it, babes! BJ's Peaceful Pines Town Tours! Just say the word and I'll show you everything from here to the Neitherworld!"

"The Neitherworld? What?"

"Ah, uncle Beej, I think we should get going now. I need to get home for dinner."

"Oh. Right."

They waved you a farewell. You waved one back as you bit your lip and chuckled. Such a strange duo. Especially her uncle. But you've always liked the strange and unusual.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #cartoon beetlejuice x reader #toonjuice x reader #my writing

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branded-witha-j · 4 years ago

Text

Hello, Doctor

An Arkham Asylum Imagine

♤♡◇♧

Your shoes click on the worn, smooth floor, several guards eyeing you up and down before allowing you entrance to the room. It's his, The Joker, everyone abuzz with his recent arrival. The last doctor assigned to him was long gone, off conducting her own chaos, and you were warned that there would not be a repeat.

You were selected and groomed especially for the job, the madman waiting for you on the other side of enforced steel refusing to speak to anyone else. Everything, from the clothes you wore, to the questions and responses you were to give, were all being orchestrated closely by your superiors.

There were to be no fuck ups, no manipulation, no confusion as to what you were sent to do.

Your nerves are rattled as the bolts loudly and audibly turn to release the door, the entrance revealing a dimly lit room. A rectangle of light from a nearby barred window gives the room some illumination, but mostly the figure is hidden in shadows. Rays of dust-mote thick light hits an angular jaw and cheek, neon hair bursting to life as his head turns.

As your eyes adjust to the light, you step inside, hearing the heavy door shut behind you. You jump as heavy bolts fall into place and seal you inside, your nerves trying to get the best of you. Now you're alone. With him.

The chair creaks slightly as he shifts forward, more of his shadowed face coming into focus. His mouth is ajar, a glint of metal from within, and a purr clicks from deep in his chest, prefacing his words.

"Hello, Doctor." Each syllable comes out crisp and more light splashes across his face, revealing razor sharp blue eyes that make you drop your clipboard.

Like static on a television, your mind goes fuzzy, hand groping blindly as your eyes never leave his. And then he smiles, the corners of your mouth twitching in response, and a new, familiar, imagined sound filters across your brain, your hand giving up the search for something that no longer matters.

Sirens and gunfire pour through your mind, a new sound building in pitch and crescendo until you can hear nothing else. The Joker's laugh is unnerving, infiltrating into every crevice of your brain until you can focus on nothing else.

Soon he begins to laugh before you, both sounds melding and growing loud. It bounces off the cinderblock walls, building to a deafening roar that has the guards scrambling to reach you.

It isn't until you're being dragged from the room that the sound follows and you realize it's coming from you, your lips contorted in a grotesque smile.

#jared leto joker #leto joker #joker imagine #joker x reader #arkham asylum imagine #hello doctor #not my pic

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 5 years ago

Text

My Little Secret part 6

Summary: You’re excited about your first date with Arthur, so excited that you find yourself nearly stressing over it. When you finally get there, some unexpected events happen.

Warnings: Blood mention

The rest of the weekend could not go by any slower.

You’d returned to work that Saturday, expectedly hounded by your boss and coworkers after the news had spread about Tom’s attempt. You kept yourself vague, reiterating that you didn’t want to take matters to the police and that a simple ban should suffice. You finally managed to get away from the prying questions once you were slammed with the expected weekend crowd.

Arthur hadn’t stopped in that night. Your own disappointment did not dampen your excitement for Monday night however. Sunday flew by in a breeze after you spent the day diving into your schoolwork, having been more eager to finish it now.

Monday morning though was dreary. You’d woken up to iron clouds and the taste of rain in the air. It began to storm once your classes were over, and you were nearly soaked from the short distance from the building to your car. Once settling into the warm and dry interior, your phone chimed.

Sam had invited you out for a late lunch, which you responded. You hadn’t eaten since 7 am and your stomach rumbled loudly at the mere thought of food. You met her at a small café on campus, which was fuller than usual due to students trying to stay out of the rain.

Sam managed to find a corner table, and waved you over once you stepped inside. You squeezed past the others and managed to sit down.

“Hey girl!” she greeted.

“Hey,” you huffed, shaking your head slightly to rid of the rain droplets. “Damn, it’s packed in here.”

“You’re telling me,” Sam sighed. “Feels like a can of sardines.”

With a few minutes of idle chatter and ordering your food, you two quieted down to enjoy your meals. After a few short moments of silence, Sam spoke again.

“Anything new with you?”

You paused, wondering if you should tell her what happened the other night with Tom. You decided against it, especially when in a crowded place such as this. The last thing you needed was Sam grilling you after your coworkers and boss, in a public place of all things. Instead your mind returning to your ever building excitement for tonight. “I have a date tonight.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? I thought you were gonna focus on school first!”

You gave a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah well…I couldn’t resist.”

“Who is it?” Sam pressed. “Is he cute?”

You smiled shyly, eyes casting down at your soup bowl. “It’s, uh, Arthur. That guy that bought me the drink in Saint Denis.”

Sam’s face twisted in thought for a moment before she blinked with realization. “That older guy? You’re into him?”

“He’s…really charming and sweet. Very gentlemanly too. And you said it yourself, you thought he looked good.” You responded, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Sam tilted her head in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. Just be careful, okay? He might just try to get into your pants.”

“He’s not like that,” you answered immediately. “Believe me, things got…a little heated between him and I the other night-“

“Oh?”

“He stopped it before anything big happened, though. Said he didn’t want to do something he’d regret.” You continued.

Sam’s eyebrows raised at that. “Wow, you don’t hear that often from a guy at any age. Guess you nabbed yourself a good one.”

You rolled your eyes. “I haven’t nabbed anything, Sam. It’s just a casual date.”

Sam raised her drink to her lips, muttering, “A casual date after almost having sex.”

“Oh, shut up!” you hissed, your voice shuddering with a laugh, throwing a small napkin at her face.

---

You’d gone home after your lunch with Sam, though having a good few hours before your date with Arthur. Your excitement was at its peak, making you feel restless. You could not stay still, bouncing back and forth between this and that and everything else. You tried to study, only having gotten through a few pages of notes before your mind jumped elsewhere. You cleaned, only finding minimal things to actually clean. You eventually turned on your TV, though it was just background noise at this point as your thoughts were abuzz with how the evening would play out.

The burger joint wasn’t anything too fancy; just a small restaurant with some good cheap food and a couple of good cheap beers to boot. Dressing up would be inappropriate in this scenario, although you were tempted to wear one of your nicer pieces just to show off for him.

How would he dress himself? Probably the same way he usually does, which you wouldn’t mind at all.

Should you order your usual food or go with something light as to not appear like a slob? Wait, why were you even considering your food choices? He probably would not care, he didn’t seem like the type that would.

With nearly two hours left to kill, you managed to calm down enough to settle on your couch. The TV was still on, and you began to flip through the channels for something interesting to watch. You eventually lost interest, landing on a news channel before turning your attention to social media.

“…Citizens of Saint Denis say they came across a dead body in an alley…”

Somehow, that sentence diverted you back to the TV. The news anchor was standing on the side of a busy street in Saint Denis.

“Coroner’s report that the victim was drained of his blood from multiple puncture wounds on various places of the body. Some say that they may resemble vampire bites.”

You stared at the TV in confusion.

“Farfetched as this seems, this is not the first body to be found like this. Other reports from New York and Los Angeles have found victims of similar fates. Are there killers who are mimicking the actions of fictional monsters?”

Who the fuck would try to pull themselves off as vampires? And why? The mere thought of it seemed farfetched that you wondered if you turned to some sort of channel of satire. Not that it was amusing, you felt bad for the victims and their families. Dying of blood loss must be a terrible way to die.

You turned the TV off then, shrouded in complete silence before the chime of your phone made you jump.

Sam had texted you again, asking about what you planned to wear.

Oh shoot, in your distraction you hadn’t exactly picked anything out!

After sorting through what you had your closet, you eventually picked out a nice blue button-up blouse and some black skinny jeans, laying them out on your bed and snapping a photo. Within a few minutes Sam sent you a thumbs up emoji.

You hopped in the shower, spending a little extra time to make sure you’d washed yourself thoroughly. You got out, brushing your teeth and drying your hair simultaneously before getting dressed. You plucked your eyebrows, inspected your face for any incoming zits, and finally added a light touch of eyeliner and lip gloss for some extra flair.

You observed yourself in the mirror, admiring yourself of having done such a great job on yourself. It’d been a while since you’ve been able to doll yourself up, having confined to the usual work clothes or your usual hoodie, T-shirt, and jeans or sweatpants when in class. You snapped a picture of yourself, posing cutely. You sent it to Sam, and a moment later you got a response.

Babe you’re so hot!! You’ll knock him on his ass for sure!

You giggled to yourself. Having dressed up like this gave you a confidence boost, enough that all prior nerves had drained away. When you finally glanced at the time, you’d realized your preparation took more time you thought. It was 7:45, and the burger joint was a ten minute drive away.

You threw on a light sweater on top of your outfit, slid into a pair of your favorite shoes and hurried out of your apartment, stepping into the cool and humid air left behind by the storm. You drove off, your heart beginning to pound from your excitement.

Sally’s Place, it was called, a quaint little building placed just on the outskirts of the university on the corner of a street. It had a gravel parking lot on the empty side, which was only half filled with cars. The outside tables were still soaked from today’s rain, so that meant inside for you.

As you parked and got out, you gazed around, hoping to see the motorcycle. No such luck yet. You took a deep breath and began to cross the parking lot when the familiar roar of an engine ripped through the night air.

As if on cue, you spotted him riding down the street, the slick black body glowing underneath the golden streetlights. You smiled widely as he slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, you noted, when he came to a full stop at a spot just a few yards away. Once he killed the engine and stood up, his eyes immediately met yours, a smile crossing his face.

He closed the space between you two with a casual walk, his hands resting in his pockets as he crossed the gravel. He was wearing a leather jacket, a different one that his normal attire, that shone underneath the fluorescent lighting of the entrance. Colors of the neon signs bouncing off the wrinkled black surface. Underneath he wore a simple white V-neck shirt tucked into crisp blue jeans, held up by a leather belt with a Western style buckle. His hair was slicked back as it normally was, but it appeared he had it trimmed neatly. He’d shaved as well, his cheeks and jawline smooth but with the faintest hints of stubble reappearing.

God, he was gorgeous.

“Hello, darlin’.” He greeted with a warm smile, stepping forward to give you a kiss. You’d almost stumbled forward, catching yourself at the very last second to awkwardly meet his lips briefly.

“H-hi.” You said, keeping your breathing even. Why were you this awkward around him again?

He chuckled slightly, clearly amused by your fumble. Instead of commenting on it, his eyes searched your features, traveling up and down your body with an expression of content. “Y’got all dressed up for me? Didn’t have to go n’ do that.”

You blushed heavily, turning your gaze away slightly. “Well…you didn’t have to look so damn handsome yourself.” You countered with a giggle.

He let out a huff. “Jus’ wanna make sure my ugly mug ain’t too hideous to look at for ya.”

You blinked, your shyness disappearing as you met his eyes. “You’re not hideous, Arthur. Hell, you’re one of the best looking men I’ve met.” You said seriously.

He shook his head slightly as if in disbelief. “Ready to go in?” he asked, holding his arm out to you.

Deciding not to continue to conversation, you nodded and took his arm with a smile. He led you closer to the door which he opened for you, allowing you to step in before walking in himself. You were greeted by the hostess, who brought you over to a booth.

As you walked, you noted the amount of people inside certainly reflected the amount of cars outside. Most were students from the school with a few older people here and there. The bar was half full with already tipsy middle-aged men watching a football game on the flatscreen on the wall. Soft country music played overhead.

The booth was illuminated by a soft red light. Once the menus were placed in front, you opened yours. “You ever been here, Arthur?” you asked.

“Nah, can’t say I have.” He replied, idly playing with the pages of his menu.

“Oh, then let me recommend some things. Their burgers are bangin’ obviously. But they also make good steaks and quesadillas. Oh, and their fried chicken is truly southern style!” you giggled.

He gave you a slight smile, then sighed and pushed his menu away. “They all sound great, darlin’. But I’m gonna pass on eatin’.”

You frowned and tilted your head in confusion. “Um…why?”

“Food intolerances,” he responded. “Can only eat…certain things.”

“Oh…well, they have gluten free options, and they don’t cook anything with nuts if that’s what you mean.” You pointed out.

He shook his head. “Appreciate the thought, but it’s more complex than that. S’okay though, I’ll pay for your meal and whatever else ya get. All you gotta do is provide me with some good company.”

How unorthodox. You supposed you couldn’t feel upset over this, if he had a legitimate intolerance, who were you to judge or say otherwise? Hell, you were still happy to just be here with him. “Alright, we’ll do that then.”

Arthur smiled at you. “So go on ‘head n’ order what ya want.”

It took you a while to really decide, given you were concerned about ordering something that may be too expensive for him. He assured you it would be fine, which only made you more awkwardly aware of the pricing. You eventually settled on a quesadilla and a beer. Once the waitress walked away after taking your order, it’d fallen silent between the two of you.

You took a swig of your beer, the bitter taste a welcoming sensation. You weren’t sure what to talk about at the moment.

“How was school today?” he asked you.

You blinked. “Oh, uh…same old, I guess. Boring and a lot of information to unpack,” You sighed. “How was your day?”

“Uh…borin’, same as yours. Spent a lot of it inside.” He said, clearing his throat.

“As part of your job?” you asked curiously.

He gave a slight shrug. “Eh...not really. I work durin’ the night actually.”

“So you’re not working tonight.” You said as a statement.

“I asked off just for this,” he said, giving you a small smile. “Can’t say my boss was very happy with me, but he’ll get over it.”

You smiled as well, feeling once again shy underneath his gaze. You took another swig of your beer. “So…now that we’re actually here, what is it that you do exactly? I know you’re definitely not an outlaw.”

He chuckled, leaning back in the seat. “Let’s just say my job requires me to travel.”

You tilted your head, curious as to why he was reluctant to share details. “Where have you gone in your travels?”

“Everywhere, feels like it anyway,” he let out a slight sigh. “All around the states, different countries.”

“That’s pretty cool. I’m kinda jealous actually,” you mused. “Never been outside of America.”

Arthur shook his head. “It gets tedious after a while, miss home n’ all. But it’s somethin’, keeps me busy and puts money in my pocket.”

You nodded in understanding. That’s what your job was right now. “I feel that, bartending isn’t the most glamorous of jobs but it’s something to get me by until I finish school.” You sighed.

“Brings you some interestin’ people, don’t it?” he said with a slight smirk. “Even if it’s just some ol’ fool who don’t drink no more.”

You snorted into a small laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

It’d gone quiet between the two of you once again. You cradled your beer in your hands, thinking of other things to talk about. You’d noticed Arthur’s gaze seemed to have traveled elsewhere, watching as another couple entered the restaurant. An odd little quirk about him. Perhaps he just liked to people watch.

The waitress soon returned with a full plate of cheesy quesadillas, placing it in front of you. The steaming food appeared so delicious, the savory scent wafted into your nostrils. You took a deep breath, feeling your stomach growling with each passing second. “God, this looks so good.”

“Good choice, darlin’. If I could eat it, I would,” He commented. “Enjoy it.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks, Arthur.” And with that, you began to dig in. You’d had their quesadillas before, and each and every time was more delicious than the last. The conversation had died down a little while you ate, occasionally speaking up about something or another before turning back to your food. You’d learned he was 36 years old and had a love for horses. He also liked to draw in his spare time, which prompted you to ask him if he’d show you some of his work. He had a photo on his phone, a sketched out drawing of a woman staring out the window. Despite how rough the lines were, it was beautiful.

You were nearly finished with your food when he suddenly stood up.

“S’cuse me, Y/N. Be back in a few minutes.”

You nodded and reabsorbed back to your food, paying no attention to where he wandered off to, assuming he was just going to the bathroom.

However, you’d finished your food and he still hadn’t returned. Another five minutes had passed and still no sign of him. You craned your neck around, hoping to see his figure elsewhere in the bar. No such luck. You decided to wait a few minutes longer, though couldn’t wait as you became increasingly fidgety and worried over time. You stood up and headed toward the bathrooms. Of course you couldn’t go into the men’s room, so you awkwardly waited outside.

A man walked up and you asked him to check and see if Arthur was okay in there. He gave you a weird look, but shrugged and nodded, pushing the door open and heading inside. After a short moment, the man came back out.

“Sorry ma’am, your friend ain’t in there.”

A spike of anxiety shot through your heart. If he wasn’t in the bathroom, did he somehow leave without you seeing? You thanked the man and headed back to your booth in hopes that he made his way back to wherever he was, only to still find it empty.

Was he outside, maybe? Unless he decided to up and ditch you entirely. You shook your head. Arthur didn’t seem like the type to pull off something that immature, at least you hoped he wasn’t. You headed toward the door, hoping he was outside and smoking a cigarette or something. As you pushed the door open, the damp air greeted you like a heavy blanket. You didn’t see anyone in your immediate vision aside from a couple of people clear across the parking lot who were loading into their cars. Your eyes scanned the rest of the lot quickly, and your mind flooded in relief to see the motorcycle still in its spot.

But where was Arthur?

The relief did not last long as it was quickly overcome with concern. Did he get hurt somehow? Should you look for him just in case he was hurt? You couldn’t fathom any other reason why he’d disappear on you while still remaining in the vicinity. A myriad of different thoughts tornadoed through your head, and you shook it. Maybe he genuinely needed help.

You began to walk the perimeter of the restaurant, though it was becoming harder to see the further you ventured from the entrance. You were careful with your steps, and your ears strained for any sounds of struggle. Aside from the melody of nature’s nightly ballad around you, it was quiet.

A thump of somewhat close proximity made you jump, originating from the very back of the building. Through the chirping of the crickets, you detected a soft, low moan. Both curiosity and anxiety overcame the better of you as you headed toward the noise, the moaning growing steadily louder the closer you got.

You rounded the corner, and through the dim you immediately spotted two silhouettes rammed up against the wall. Or, at least one was. The other had the first pressed against it in an odd embrace. Your first thought was that it was some couple attempting to get freaky in public, until your eyes adjusted and you recognized the second silhouette as-

“Arthur?”

He immediately pulled back upon hearing your voice, a popping sound resonating from the other one. Alarm coursed through you. Was he kissing the other person?

“Arthur, what’re you doing?!” you demanded. “Are you making out with someone? Because if you are-”

A loud and disoriented moan cut you off, resonating from the figure on the wall. You squinted your eyes toward them, making their features out in the dim. It was man, couldn’t be much older than you. His face held a look of distant serenity, as if he were high. His mouth hung slightly open. The next thing you noticed were two dark streaks painted down his neck.

“Y/N.” Arthur’s voice rumbled. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?!” You exasperated. “So I wouldn’t see you making out with this guy?!”

“No!” he shot back, holding up his hands. “You just…you shouldn’t see this, you can’t.”

“I already just saw you mouth to mouth with this guy, Arthur.” You hissed.

He stepped closer to you slowly. “I ain’t makin’ out with him. Hell, I ain’t even into men. But you need to listen-“

“For what reason could you possibly have to-”

When he stepped even closer to you, his features became more prominent in the dark. Two identical streaks ran down his chin from his lips. You frowned in confusion.

“Look, ya need to relax.” He said calmly, reaching out to you with a hesitation as if you were a scared animal. He was close enough for the wisps of his breath to skim across your face, bringing forth the coppery scent of-

Blood.

Your eyes widened and you immediately stepped back. “What…” you choked out, unable to form any coherent words. You finally spluttered, “What have you done?!”

His hands dropped to his sides, his entire figure hunched over as if in defeat. He however kept his eyes on you. “Y/N-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. Every instinct screamed at you to turn and run, and you did. You spun on your heel and launched forward, your muscles straining as you sprinted away.

Unfortunately, you didn’t make it further than a few steps.

Strong arms wrapped around you, pinning your body to his. You gasped and wriggled in his grip in any attempt to pull yourself free. He was not budging, and you dig that back of your heel into his shin. “Let me go!” You yowled, only uttering the first two words before a cold hand clamped across your mouth.

“Y/N, stop!” He hissed under his breath, completely unphased by your attempts of defense. When you didn’t listen and continued to fight him, he held you to him with a vice like grip. “You need to listen to me!”

Despite every effort you’d tried to escape, nothing seemed to make him budge. Your legs flailed uselessly against his body, and wiggling proved fruitless from how tight he held you. Every part of your brain told at you to keep trying, but you knew this struggle wouldn’t end with you winning. He was too strong and you were no match for him. You reluctantly sighed in defeat and halted your struggling.

“Fine.” You grumbled. As soon as you’d submitted, his grip on you loosened.

He placed you carefully back on your feet, a notion you weren’t expecting. It’s caught you off guard given the circumstances. His hand lingered briefly on your arm before removing it. His head tilted down, hiding his eyes while he stared at the ground.

“I ain’t sure how to say this, Y/N.” he mumbled to you, the tone in his voice absolutely hesitant and resigned. He wiped the blood from his chin. “Never did want ya to find out, least not this way.”

“Find out what exactly, Arthur?” you asked him as your voice wavered.

His head shot straight up, his blue eyes staring right into you with burning intensity. “I’m…” he took a deep breath. “I’m a vampire.”

#Arthur Morgan x reader #vampire au

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years ago

Text

Peaches and a tyrannical sea

(I decided to play around with this prompt, trying to make the story not overly contrived. I’m not sure I succeeded at that 😂, but it was SO fun to write what I imagine of young Hayffie 💕. I became a bit addicted to this fic, and I didn’t know when, where, or how to stop. Plus, I discovered a path to joy through writing dialogue for Caesar Flickerman, and who can resist a path to joy? So this story got long, probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, and if you read all the way through to the end, then I’m in awe of your stamina and devotion to THG/Hayffie crack.)

Category 5 “Hurricane Cronus” hit the coast of District 11 less than a month after the 60th Hunger Games, right in the middle of the summer harvest.

Being inland, the Victors’ Village was barely touched, but Chaff’s hometown was destroyed. Every shack collapsed, and every citizen who couldn’t get to higher ground perished.

The Capitol projected the fallen into the night sky with lights and music. 24 decimated crops: apples, beans, blueberries, cabbage, cantaloupes, eggplant, figs, gooseberries, grapes, herbs, kale, muscadines, nectarines, okra, peaches, pears, peppers, potatoes, raspberries, summer squash, corn, tomatoes, and watermelon.

Montages on screens throughout Panem showed flooded fields, flattened plants, and broken orchards. The images were accompanied by the voice of Caesar Flickerman, thick with serious tones. “Cronus, Titan of the Harvest, has unleashed His wrath upon Panem. But through the strength of the Capitol, we will replant. We will rebuild.”

Haymitch hurled a half-empty liquor bottle at the screen in the Hob, nicking the corner and leaving a crack. If he’d been more sober, he would’ve nailed Caesar in the face.

“You’d better be careful, honey,” Greasy Sae warned him. “They can still find ways to hurt you.”

“I doubt that.”

The older woman knew Haymitch well enough to not touch him when he was angry, but she soothed with her voice.

“Is that friend of yours okay? ...The one in 11.”

Over the past decade, Chaff had become a lifeline for Haymitch. His companionship through each Games was effectively an antidote to alcohol poisoning. If Chaff didn’t drink more than his share, then Haymitch probably would have had cirrhosis of the liver before age 26. His buddy always managed to bring some laughter into the atrocities of mentorship.

Sae was right. Haymitch still had people to lose. The Capitol could still hurt him. They would keep on hurting him if he didn’t feign indifference. And throwing a bottle at the screen showed the opposite of indifference.

“He’s okay.”

Sae offered a smile. “Good. That’s good, boy. From the way the Peacekepers are talking, it sounds like there’s been a lot of death. At least a thousand with the count rising. Some people got no fresh water to drink.”

“And the Capitol eulogizes crops.”

“It ain’t right. That’s for sure.”

Haymitch wasn’t drunk enough to face this conversation. And he was pissed about having thrown away the rest of his liquor.

“Can I offer you a bowl of beef stew? ...It’s on the house,” Sae added.

Normally Haymitch wouldn’t turn down a free supper, but the mystery meats that Greasy Sae served up under the name of “beef” sometimes turned his stomach.

“Not hungry,” he lied, “But thanks for the offer.”

“You take care, honey.” Her face fell as she watched Haymitch walk away to buy more booze.

***

The Capitol was abuzz with excitement about the fundraising event planned for hurricane relief. Replanting and rebuilding would come at a cost, and an auction was an opportunity for the wealthy to show off the depths of their family pockets.

“‘Picnic with a Victor’ is the promotional title,” Claudius Templesmith announced on screens throughout Panem.

“Sunshine... a day in Capitol Park... by the water...” Caesar responded with a neon white smile and a slap to his knee. “I LOVE it!”

Seated side-by-side in red velvet chairs, the two bantered back and forth about event details.

“The baskets will be stocked with delicacies prepared by the Capitol’s finest chefs, and made from crops harvested before Cronus hit our very own District 11.”

“Claudius, I’ve heard whispers that the picnics will include artesian wines made, not from grapes, but from muscadines.”

“Ah, muscadines! Amazing and desired for their incredible super-fruit properties.”

“Sweet, aromatic, and native to District 11. A truly unique Panem experience and proudly exported across the globe.”

“Caesar, do we know yet which victors have volunteered to picnic with the highest bidders?”

“Well, we’ve been trying to keep that, shall we say, under wraps, but if you twist my arm, I might be able to let out some hints.”

“Well then consider yourself twisted!”

“Ha HA, you know me so well!! And ouch, not so hard!” The two of them filled the airwaves with hysterial laughter.

“Seriously now. Let’s tell them.”

A drumroll began off camera as Caesar and Claudius took turns dramatically listing off numbers of the Games of the participating victors.

Effie was listening with mild disinterest until Caesar said “50.” When he said “50,” she knew her life was about to change. She was bound and determined to MAKE it change.

***

“Mother, Daddy, this is an excellent opportunity to be noticed, not just by society but by the professors who will be influencing my education and future career opportunities,” Effie lobbied hard to bid in the auction. At 18 years old, her parents’ permission was not as deep of a concern for her as their financial backing.

An afternoon with Haymitch Abernathy would draw a price. He was reclusive and young, but not young enough to deter the interests of wealthy older women, and men for that matter.

Effie would have competition in the bidding. She was certain about that in the same way that she knew wigs would be all the rage in a few years. Some things an observant and savvy woman simply KNOWS, and Effie considered herself to be both observant and savvy.

She’d inherited money from her great-grandmother, but she could keep that in savings accruing interest if her parents would back her now.

“Which victor will you bid to picnic with?” her mother asked.

“I’ll decide based on the way they present themselves on stage,” Effie answered evasively. “I want an investment which reflects positively on our family.”

“You need to be careful,” her father insisted, “Alto made such a showing in the Games last year that he’ll surely draw a high price, probably more than we can afford. Whoever you bid on, you need to win.”

“I’ll judge by applause and whispers in the crowd. I’ll be discerning; I won’t bid if I can’t win. ...Daddy, do I EVER lose?” Effie glanced between her parents without a single blink of her false purple eyelashes.

When her father blinked, she knew she had their support. “Your budget is $5000. Invest wisely.”

Effie would not be deterred by the limits of her parents’ generosity. Haymitch would be hers for the afternoon, no matter the cost. She’d imagined a connection with him for too long to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Her classmate, Fulvia Cardew, would help. She was sympathetic to Effie’s interests, and with extended family in banking, Fluvia had deeper pockets than the president.

***

Haymitch would’ve almost preferred death over participation in the *dog and pony show* that this fundraiser was sure to be. Except Chaff had confided in him details of how badly the coast of District 11 had been wiped out. Since the Capitol depended on 11 to literally feed the lavish lifestyle of its citizens, then money raised would be of some help to the people of district. The Capitol needed workers alive, and for people to be stay alive to work they required basic shelter, drinkable water, and rations of food. Since Cronus, many towns in 11 lacked most essential survival needs.

Haymitch took pleasure in imagining Snow in fear about where his next meal would be coming from. Though he knew the tyrant would be the LAST person in Panem to go hungry. It would never come to that. Surely a traitor in his inner circle would slaughter that pig and eat him before either of them starved. The traitor would probably die afterward from the poison in Snow’s veins. Haymitch would have taken pleasure in all of that imagery too if it didn’t make him want to vomit.

August was warm in the Capitol. Late afternoon temperatures usually reached high into the 80s. So the auction was set for morning with the victory picnics beneath shade trees by the lake. An elaborate system of misters had been rigged up throughout the covered amphitheater and the Capitol Park.

Oh, the *horror* if one of these hoity-toity Capitol people should melt in the sunshine before the bidding even started. Haymitch had the thought, but the misters actually felt great by mid-morning when the participating victors were called on stage one-by-one for their interviews with Caesar, who was functioning as Master of Ceremonies.

Caesar introduced each of them to the audience by name, number of their district, and number of their Games. Each victor had been directed the night before to memorize a brief script about what moved them to volunteer for the fundraiser. The script Haymitch had been given included a ridiculous ode to peach trees.

He had let himself be dressed up for the event. He’d even let them trim his hair and shave his face. He’d get up on that stage mostly sober. He would smile and let himself be auctioned off to the highest bidder. But there was no way in hell he was going to eulogize peaches when nearly every person in his best friend’s hometown was a corpse.

He had a flash of the Seam and the dead bodies of his loved ones, poisoned. That was 10 years ago, and the flashbacks still came to haunt him with pale faces. In earlier more innocent times, he and his brother had found a peach tree while exploring north in the district. That was in the days of fewer Peacekepers and fewer questions about destinations. His brother picked two peaches, one for each of them. The flavor, texture, and color were unlike anything Haymitch had experienced before. That peach was full of dualities: sweet and tart, uncomfortable skin yet soothing flesh, solid and juicy. Yellow and red swirled on his tongue.

He thought of that peach years later when he had sex with his girlfriend the night before the Reaping. HIS Reaping. She felt like that peach when he came inside her. So tender. It was his first time. A few weeks later she was a ghost.

Haymitch shivered under the misters, waiting like livestock in line for slaughter. He needed a drink, badly, but if not for sobriety, then in lieu of delivering an ode to the fruit, he might inadvertently describe making love with the girlfriend murdered by Snow.

That conversation would not only get him killed, but would get him the wrong type of bidders. He was a volunteer today, not a prostitute. This commitment did not carry over from afternoon into evening. He would not be fucking the fool willing to pay hundreds of dollars for his company, some food, and a hill-billy-red-neck bottle of wine.

...Except for maybe HER, he thought as he scanned the paddle holders in the crowd. That girl with blonde hair. He’d fuck somebody like her, all soft and shit, dressed up in clothes and makeup that made her look older than she probably was.

***

“He’s looking at you,” Fulvia whispered to Effie, “He’s been staring at you for at least a minute.”

Of course he’s looking at me. Have you seen me today? Effie thought. Manners prevented her from praising herself out loud.

She met Haymitch’s gaze and offered him a controlled smile, warm but not flashy. I see you, was what she wanted to communicate for now. The rest could wait until after she won the bid.

Their eye contact broke when someone poked Haymitch in the back. Caesar had called him onstage, “Winner of the 50th Hunger Games, from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy!” While eye-fucking with her, he’d missed his cue.

Effie watched him saunter over to Caesar, as if things like cues and pace were irrelevant. He relaxed into the chair with his knees slightly splayed, like he and Caesar were old friends meeting at a bar. Effie half-expected Haymitch to call out for a server to bring them drinks. Maybe he and Caesar actually WERE friends. She knew nearly nothing of the life of a victor.

“Haymitch...” Caesar began, “It’s a rare treat to have you here, the victor of a Quarter Quell.” Then to the audience he added, “Isn’t this exciting!!”

The audience cheered wildly. They’d been served pink champagne all morning in an effort to up the bidding. A few people were already raising their paddles. Effie held hers firmly by her side. Patience. Control, she told herself. She would not appear too eager. With this event televised throughout Panem, her every move was a reflection on herself and her family.

“Now, hold on, ladies and gentlemen,” Caesar continued, “Let’s allow this young man to introduce himself.”

Effie liked the way Caesar called him young. Over the past several years, Haymitch’s shoulders had broadened and his body had filled into its frame. His eyes sunk deeper with each Games, but his face was still boyish. She still saw in him the kid who held Maysilee’s hand as she died.

“What inspired you to volunteer to be here today?” Caesar asked gravely.

Haymitch pushed his hair back from his eyes, and spoke not to Caesar, but to the cameras, to all of Panem.

“I have friends in 11.” He thought of Chaff and Seeder. “They grew up there climbing trees in the orchards. Kids are light enough to reach the fruit at the top, so they climb a lot and grow strong — but not as strong as a tyrannical sea...

“...I ate a peach once. The kid who picked it is gone now. I couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t save those kids in 11 either who were flattened under the walls of their own houses. When you’re a scared kid, you run home.” He looked straight at Effie, and in that moment she felt the weight of so much she didn’t understand.

“...But sometimes home is the least safe place to be. I’m here today to help raise money so the families that survived Cronus can have shelter, fresh water, and food again.”

Caesar was as stunned into silence as the crowd.

Haymitch quickly added from the script that he’d ripped up the night before, “...So they can replant and rebuild through the generosity of the Capitol.” He skipped the ‘Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever’ victory tour-style bullshit.

“And replant and rebuild they shall.” Caesar’s gloom rapidly up-shifted to elation. “...Am I right, folks?!”

The crowd broke into thunderous applause, and the bidding for a picnic with Haymitch began.

“Shit...” Fulvia muttered, “After that speech, he’s going to cost a fortune.”

“Language!” Effie chastised her lightly, “We’re all on the monitors.”

“Well, he will. How much do you have?”

“$5000 plus the money my Nana left me, but I’m hoping to save as much as I can of that for after University.”

“Let’s see if that’s enough.”

Effie pressed her paddle to the side of her skirt. Her hands were shaking. She watched the bidding go back and forth between several individuals, with Caesar raising the amount in $100 increments, as he had with the other victors.

Most of the bidders eventually fell away, and a battle commenced between two women Effie didn’t recognize. Fluvia knew them through her family’s social circle.

“The short one’s divorced. The other is widowed. Her husband died last year of a heart attack while screwing his secretary. Both of their investments are shit right now.”

“Once again, language! ...And thank you for the information.”

“Let them tire each other out, and then jump in.”

When Caesar said, “$4500. Do I hear $4600? No? $4500 going once...” Effie raised her paddle as high as she could reach. Since she was wearing 5 inch heels, her bid couldn’t be missed.

“$4600 it is! Do I hear $4700?...”

The bidding continued between Effie and the widow. Effie selfishly hoped the dead deadbeat husband hadn’t left her with millions in insurance money that Fluvia knew nothing about.

$4800... $4900... $5000... “I am absolutely thrilled! Are you thrilled!?” Caeser chimed in, and the audience cheered again.

Effie refused to be distracted. She didn’t look at the audience or the widow or Fluvia or even Caesar. Just Haymitch. Just those sunken eyes that had seen things she wanted to understand. She didn’t dare glance at his mouth. Patience. Control. She needed to stay on task.

She kept her paddle up now, trying to intimidate the widow, wanting her to think that Effie was bidding with all the money in the world, rather than an allowance from her parents and her personal savings.

The widow took the bid to $5100, but Effie refused to let go. She kept her paddle up, dipping now into the money from her great-grandmother. Nana would approve of this investment, Effie justified. Because this is an investment in ME.

Effie kept her paddle raised as the widow volleyed with her until Effie had the bid at $7000. The widow glared at Effie whose eyes stayed fixed on Haymitch. Fluvia, however, flashed the widow a wry smile and waggled her fingers in a clear message... This girl is with me, Fluvia Cardew, of the multi-millionaire Cardews. We own the banks, honey, and we’re not backing down. You’re wasting your time.

“Do I hear $7100? No? $7000 going once... going twice... and the picnic is sold! Congratulations to the winner! Ms...” Caesar glanced at the monitor which matched her paddle number to her name, “...Effie Trinket!”

Everyone cheered except for the widow, the divorcee, and a handful of earlier competitors. Fluvia embraced Effie, pressing a plump silver-flower-tattooed cheek to Effie’s flushed one. “Holy shit! You did it.”

Effie didn’t bother to chastise this time about language. Her hands were steady now, but the rest of her body was shaking.

***

Haymitch knew he wouldn’t forget the intensity in those blue eyes for as long as he lived. A tyrannical sea was nothing compared to this girl. He shook Caesar’s extended hand and then left the stage to gather with the other chosen victors as the bidding continued for the rest.

“$7000 for lunch with me?” He uttered with incredulity. “Capitol people! That girl isn’t a fool though. She was stoic as fuck. What’s her motivation?”

“She wants more than lunch.” Chaff clapped him on the shoulder and left the pressure of his hand there to emphasize a point. “I saw you two eying each other before you even went on stage. I know she’s hot, man, but she’s jailbait. Maybe she’s technically legal, since she was bidding and all. But if you touch that girl, I guarantee her father will hunt you down for his own picnic, and he’ll hand you your ass on a platter.”

“I wasn’t thinking about touching her. I was thinking about 11 and the goddamn script and peaches...”

Chaff lifted his eyebrows, and Haymitch lowered his voice to confess.

“...And now I’m thinking about eating peaches off her body. Jesus Christ. Did you see her out there?! Who is Effie Trinket?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll find out soon.”

***

Effie had spent her entire life rehearsing the practice of patience and control. She wore those manners as masks while the auction continued and the sun climbed the sky. She didn’t let her guard down, even as the cameras moved on to other bidders and winners. She could credit the heat with flushing her cheeks. No one would notice her shaking, except maybe Fluvia, but her friend wouldn’t make a big deal of it. Effie applauded when the audience applauded. She declared, “Wonderful!” with each sum of money raised.

Inside herself she was a cyclone of insanity with a pounding heart, feeling everything but patience and control.

When the auction was finished, she made her donation through a system of direct withdrawal from her bank account. Sometime between her winning the bid and making payment, her parents had transferred an additional $2000; therefore, she wouldn’t need to dip into her savings today. OF COURSE they did. There would have been nothing more embarrassing for the Trinkets than their daughter coming up short financially in such a public way. Then again, her inheritance from Nana wasn’t a secret, so maybe they simply saw wisdom in Effie’s investment.

When the donation was complete, an official escorted her across the Capitol Park lawn to her picnic. Haymitch was sitting on a shaded blanket with his back against a tree and his legs out straight, crossed at the knees. His pants were rolled half-way up his shins, and his shirt sleeves to his elbows. His tie draped over the back of his neck, the buttons of his vest were unhooked, and his shoes and socks were off.

He watched her approach and didn’t stand up to greet her. This would have miffed Effie if he didn’t look so good sitting there, casual, like with Caesar on stage, as if she was a friend he was waiting for before ordering drinks rather than a stranger who just paid thousands of dollars to have lunch with him.

“You’ve come undone,” she said, as she kneeled across from him on the blanket, just close enough to reach out and touch.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Me undone is not such a pretty sight.”

She mulled over his words, and chose hers carefully, “We’ll see about that.”

She held out her hand, covered from wrist to knuckles in lace gloves woven with golden thread. “I’m Effie.”

Haymitch consided his options. He could shake her hand. He could hold her fingers and kiss her knuckles. Or maybe...

He leaned forward and slipped his fingertips beneath the lace at her wrist and peeled off her glove slowly enough for her to object, but she didn’t.

She liked the way he did it, gently and without asking. His hands were uncaloused. The touch was soft along her skin.

He laid her glove on the blanket between them and captured her hand between both of his. “Haymitch,” he said.

“I...” She could feel her cheeks blazing and made a mental note to wear more layers of makeup in the future to prevent her feelings from being so readily exposed. “...I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “These picnics are being televised. Is your father watching?”

“Possibly. ...Act chivalrous.” She presented her other hand, which he divested of its glove in the same manner as the first.

“I don’t ACT, sweetheart.” He whispered, “Chivalry isn’t what I have in mind when I take off a woman’s clothes.” Shit. He was flirting with this girl, and he MEANT it. She was lighting him up like crazy.

Effie thrilled at the thought of him regarding her as a woman. She had wondered if her youth might prevent him from perceiving her as she was.

“And chivalry isn’t what I’m thinking about when a man takes off my clothes,” she whispered back.

He recognized that despite the differences in their ages, she possibly had more experience with nakedness than he did. He found himself picturing her that way. wondering what shape her breasts would take when not fashioned by the stays of a corset. Would they be soft, like her hands?

“My eyes are up here, Haymitch.”

This girl was bossy beyond her years. Either she was precocious or a bitch or both. He didn’t know yet. Whatever it was, he was amused and turned on, especially after imagining her breasts in his hands. How did this turn personal so quickly? This Effie was a Siren. He would need to be cautious.

“I was just wondering where’s your school uniform?” He teased her, subtly inquiring about her age.

“Burned! I’m attending University.” She was vague about her age with intention.

Too bad, Haymitch thought. He wouldn’t mind seeing her in one of those pleated Academy skirts.

“Thirsty?” The wine was uncorked and chilling in a bucket of melting ice.

Effie nodded, eager to be just a bit drunk with him. Not too much, but enough to let go of a modicum of tight control.

Haymitch had been sober all morning. This girl had been a welcome distraction from craving, but he was salivating now in anticipation of a drink, even if it was just muscadine wine. Stemmed glassware for a picnic was Capitol nonsense. He was tempted to drink straight from the bottle and pass it to her to do the same, but he resisted. He set the goblets on the breadboard and filled them. The wine was the color of crushed plums.

Effie curled her legs to the side and relaxed onto the blanket. She unzipped her boots and slipped them off along with knee-high stockings. “When in Rome...“ she said as Haymitch stared at her bare calves and feet.

“Let’s drink to that.”

She swirled the wine in her glass before clinking his. “And what else did the Romans do — besides picnic in bare feet?” she asked after a sip.

He drank the contents of the goblet in one swallow. He wouldn’t hide who he was, not from this girl or anyone else. “The Romans were into self-indulgence.”

She followed his lead and swallowed half the wine in her glass. “Satisfying one’s desires, pleasures, lusts, and whims without restraint?”

Capitol parties, he thought, wondering if she was old enough yet to take part in that life.

“A lot of that happens here...”

He admired her for being aware of at least that much.

She lowered her voice. “Except in the House of Trinket, where the only *indulgence* encouraged is in perfecting oneself.”

He took another look at her in light of that personal information. Her long blonde hair swooped over her forehead and trailed down her back in immaculate soft curls. Not one hair was out of place, even with misters and fans blowing at a summer picnic.

“Is there much self-indulgence in District 12?” she asked.

Clearly an Academy education didn’t teach much about the real world. “Only in the *House of Abernathy.*” He refilled their goblets and drank more slowly this time.

“Are you mocking me?” she asked straight-up.

His tone had indeed been mocking, and he hadn’t really meant for it to be. He liked this girl, and he wouldn’t judge her for things she’d never seen or heard before.

“I’m mocking my own reality, sweetheart. ...You know how many victors live in 12.”

“Only you...” She didn’t know what that meant for him other than the words sounded lonely. Victors were celebrities here in the Capitol. Maybe it wasn’t like that in the districts. Maybe... “Are you alone?” she asked, “In the *House of Abernathy*...”

What to say to her? She surely didn’t pay all that money to spend an afternoon listening to his sad stories. Though something about her made him want to speak openly in the way he told the cameras about 11. Something about her made him want her to know the truths of the world, while her mind was still supple like her skin.

“I’m not alone today, not here,” was his answer. Evasive, yet true.

She watched his mouth say the words. His lips were lightly stained by the wine. Effie had never wanted to kiss a person so badly in her life. “Haymitch...” She touched him instead, caressing tanned skin and fine hair just beneath the rolled up hem of his pant leg.

She felt so good; he closed his eyes for a moment. Then they shot open. Chaff was right. If he wasn’t careful, this girl would be his downfall. “Effie... the cameras...”

It was the first time she heard him say her name. She smiled and reluctantly withdrew her hand. “Are you hungry?”

That question was safer to answer, but barely. “What’s in the basket?”

Effie took out one item at a time: Steak sandwiches with melted cheese on dark crescent-shaped rolls dotted with seeds, the signature bread from district 11... A warm succotash of corn, shelled green beans, diced potatoes and summer squash, tomatoes, multi-colored sweet peppers and okra... And for dessert an apple pie, plus sliced peaches in a jar full of honey. The latter inspired Haymitch to revisit his daydream from earlier. The honey only added to the fantasy.

This one basket contained more food than an entire family from District 11 or 12 would eat in a week or more. Should he mention that in response to her earlier question about self-indulgence? Maybe later. For now he’d rather be with her in the fantasy.

“A $7000 picnic. Is it what you were hoping for?”

“Let’s taste everything and find out.”

As they ate and drank, their questions for one another grew more intimate.

“I always watch for you among the victors at these events, but I’ve never seen you do this kind of thing before.”

“You watch for me?” He grinned. “HOW LONG have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to know you’ve never done this kind of thing before.”

“I don’t do these kinds of things because I don’t like feeling like livestock... or a hooker.”

Effie gasped. “Haymitch, I wouldn’t! I’ve thought about you a long time. This isn’t a passing fancy. My interest is too marked to pretend I’m not pursuing you. But I’d never expect you to...” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “I didn’t invest that money so you would... fuck me.”

...I want more than that, she didn’t say.

...I’d fuck you in a heartbeat if these cameras and people would disappear, he didn’t say, but he’d decided it this morning the first moment he saw her.

He grazed her pinky with his, liking the idea of her *pursuing* him, whether or not her efforts were misguided. “HOW LONG?” he pressed,

“This feels like confession.”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t a priest. I just want to know you.”

Effie released a long sigh of feelings she’d been holding in forever. “10 years.”

“Shit. Since the Games?! You were just a kid.” You’re still just a kid. ...Only she wasn’t.

“I sat for an hour every day for years as my mother wove pink ribbons into my hair. In the stillness I thought a lot about the boy who separated from his friend in the Games so they wouldn’t have to kill each other — the boy who held her hand so she wouldn’t have to die alone. I watched you grow up in my mind more than anyplace else.”

Her honesty deserved his in response. “That boy is gone. It’s just me now... a man who drinks in order to try to sleep through nightmares — a man who goes to bed alone so I don’t accidentally slit anybody’s throat. ...It may not be what you paid all that money to get to know about me, but it’s the truth.”

Effie was stunned into silence and sympathy. She felt pity for him now, and she didn’t want to. There were some realities she wasn’t quite ready to face. His description wasn’t what she imagined the life of a victor should be.

She wore masks well, but he could see the change in her expression, and he didn’t like it. Pity, especially from a Capitol girl, was the last thing he wanted. But better that than her wasting her life dreaming about somebody who isn’t even real.

“Why DID you come here today? Beyond what you told Caesar.”

“One of those friends I mentioned in 11 — well, the hurricane flattened his hometown. Hundreds of people died, and the survivors have nothing, honey.”

“HUNDREDS of people died?”

“Over a thousand.”

“Why did the news show only crops?”

“That’s for you to figure out. I don’t expect they’re gonna teach you that at University.”

More sympathy crept over Effie. She was overwhelmed and started shivering like during the bidding.

Haymitch wasn’t sure what to offer her. She was so close to still being a kid herself. But with the face and body and guts of a goddess.

“Do you want to get out from under these misters and walk down to the water? We could pack the food away and eat more later. If we just have this one day...” He didn’t finish the thought. This day was hers. He’d let her fill it in anyway she wanted.

“We’ll have more than this one day. Every fiber in my being tells me we will.”

There was no point in arguing with so much gumption. He stood up and held out his hand. She grasped it, and he pulled her up. They walked barefoot through the grass, then ran across the beach to the water’s edge where the damp sand cooled the soles of their feet.

The lake lapped at Effie’s toes and she scribbled in the sand with one. How many times in adolescence had she come to this spot and written “Effie Abernathy” over and over again, dotting each “i” with a heart? Had she been a fool?

“There’s a lake near 12. It’s a secret spot. My brother and I used to sneak there as kids and swim naked so we wouldn’t have to hike back home in wet clothes.”

Now she was picturing Haymitch naked. And wanting him naked, regardless of his drinking and nightmares and sleeping with knives — and regardless of what she said she didn’t expect from him. She’d been with boys, plenty of boys, but he was a man, and she was so curious about the way he would fill her.

Effie cleared her throat of unspoken longing and pedaled backward in the conversation. “You have a brother...”

“I had a brother then. ...He died a couple of weeks after the Quarter Quell.”

She brushed her fingers against his, wishing she could offer more, but the cameras were on them. “I’m sorry,” she said in reference to everything.

“It was a long time ago.”

“You must miss him.”

Haymitch nodded. “He’s more free dead than alive. It’s a small comfort.”

Effie wanted to understand. She just didn’t.

“My great-grandmother died too shortly after your Games...”

District 12 is in your future, dear, Nana had said. And that boy is an important part of it. Effie dwelled a moment in silent memory before confessing more.

“...She told me you’d be in my future.”

Haymitch had no faith in fortune telling wishes and dreams. He usually flipped people off who tried to tell him how the future would be. The shit he’d been through was unfathomable. How could anyone predict anything but more horror.

“That said, Nana was a bit eccentric in the end.” Effie smiled wistfully.

“You still miss her...”

“Every day. Unconditional love is a rare gift.”

“Do you think her *prediction* was just eccentricity?”

“It was a long time ago, but I remember how certain she was.”

“How can anyone be certain about anything in this world?”

Effie considered his question. “Did you know I would win the bid today?”

Haymitch thought of that drawn out moment with her eyes on him and her paddle in the air. “Yes.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw it in your eyes... Determination, and this... wild control.”

“Maybe that’s how my Nana knew.”

“She saw our future in your eyes?”

He said ‘our future’ like it was almost fated. Maybe it was a slip, but Effie wouldn’t ignore it.

“I didn’t ask her. And then it was too late to ask her.”

She gazed down at the sand, and the tips of her long purple eyelashes touched her cheeks. They were the same color as her skirt which loosely hugged her curves then flared at mid-thigh. The hem brushed her knees as she moved. She reminded him of the violets that bloom in 12 after the snow melts. Birdfoot Violets his mother used to call them. He smiled at the name, watching Effie’s toes curl in the sand.

When she looked up at him, her eyes reflected the water, the sky, and intensities of her own. Haymitch had never wanted to kiss a person so badly in his life.

“Later, when these cameras are gone, do you want to go somewhere together?” she asked.

“Cameras are never gone. They’re always watching, even when you least expect them to be. He recalled Greasy Sae’s warning, “You’d better be careful. They can still find ways to hurt you.”

He’d been so preoccupied with thinking that Effie might be his downfall that he hadn’t considered the possibility that he could be HER downfall. Intensity crashed over him in waves. He hadn’t expected to feel any of this. Yet here it was.

Effie picked up a stick and started writing in the damp sand. To anyone at a distance it would look like play. ‘Cameras aren’t watching quite everywhere.’

He erased her note with his foot then took the stick and wrote, ‘Where would we go?’

Her turn to erase and write. ‘I know a bar. It’s just dark enough...’

‘When?’ He wrote.

‘Tonight?” ...She hesitated, then dotted the ‘i’ with a heart.

“You’re so young,” he said aloud, “You have your whole future ahead of you. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“I hold my own. No one’s going to hurt me. ...Not even you, honey.”

He wanted to believe her. He erased the letters, leaving the heart for an instant, then brushed that away too. The word stuck in his throat. He could either swallow it or say it out loud.

“Tonight,” he whispered, “...And bring the jar of peaches — in case this afternoon isn’t enough.”

#hayffie #hayffie fanfiction #effie x haymitch #haymitch x effie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #chaff #caesar flickerman #fluvia cardew #thg #thg fanfiction #hunger games #the hunger games #claudius templesmith #greasy sae #the capitol #HayffieFics

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fleetwoodmoth · 4 years ago

Text

Sunset

An oc/Scorpion NSFT fic! I am just playing around in the CP2077 setting at this point lol

Enjoy!

Shiloh sat on the edge of the bed in the dimly lit motel room, the light from the Sunset Motel sign outside casting a strange rust colored glow across the wall opposite the window, the light landing in neat even stripes from the blinds. They tapped their foot rapidly as they checked the time, again, they had just checked it thirty seconds before. They stood, like they had a couple times already, and paced to the bathroom where they tried to force a stray hair to align with their loose white dipped mohawk, giving up and returning to the bedside. Before they could sit in the divot that had yet to bounce back from when they stood initially, they heard the familiar hum of an engine grow closer, before it was joined with the crunching of tire on gravel.

Their heart immediately rocketed into their throat, however for the first time it was equal parts nerves and excitement, they hadn’t had much to be excited about in a long time. They waited, stuck to the spot on the threadbare carpet, boots feeling a hundred times heavier than they were as when they were waiting, hearing footsteps approach the door, before a knock finally startled them from their stupor.

They glanced out the peephole, knowing who it was just by the sound of his bike, but checking again just in case, before opening the door, the neon light flooding in as they did. Driss was dressed in a heavier jacket than normal to keep out the late night desert chill, but otherwise he looked like he always did, unbothered, with a hint of curiosity. They stepped back, beckoning him inside silently, their heart loud in their ears.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he said as he shut the door behind him, turning back to Shiloh who felt like a deer in the headlights, completely paralyzed by their own nerves.

“No I--” they stumbled over their words, they were never really great with them anyways.

Their eyes darted to his lips which hung in a relaxed smile, any hint of apprehension was either well hidden or not present at all. They swallowed hard, taking a breath of the admittedly musty air, only to get a whisper of him. They took a step forward, then another, and before they knew it they were pulling him in by the edges of his hood, lips meeting his in a heat they didn’t know they possessed. He didn’t recoil like they had expected, instead he let out a small noise of surprise, before a hum of contentment, and they felt his hands settle on their waist, fingers looping around their belt to pull them closer. He smelt like dust, leather and motor oil, a musky mix that they had come to associate with him.

“I was scared, not of you, of losing you,” Shiloh said as they broke apart, Driss’ breath rolling over their lips, their eyes still closed, when his answer didn’t come immediately, they opened them.

“How could you lose me?” He asked, his voice quiet but still playful.

Shiloh paused, before reaching for his wrist, guiding one of his hands between their legs.

“I just didn’t want to be a disappointment, I didn't know what you would be expecting,” they said.

Driss smiled, before moving to kiss their jaw, then just below their ear “I didn’t know exactly but,” he bit down just slightly against their throat, and Shiloh wondered if he could hear their heart racing, “I want to find out.”

Shiloh groaned as Driss groped at them, their thighs tightening around his hand between their legs still. His other hand went to the back of their neck, pulling them against him for a deeper kiss to the lips, walking them backwards until their heels hit the edge of the bed. It was then that he moved to unclasp the nylon belt that kept their half open coverall on, before pulling the white tank top they were wearing up and over their head, the action knocking their grey beanie off. They busied themself with his jacket and belt, his lips not leaving theirs as they fumbled with shaking hands. They didn’t have time to do much else but get his pants loose before they were tossed backward, their coverall left on the floor as they landed on the bed.

Driss stood over them a minute, and they felt suddenly overexposed, but the way it raised goosebumps across their skin was not unpleasant, in fact it felt good. They weren’t sure what it was but they figured it may have just been the way Driss was looking at them. They felt a thrill go up their spine, a heat pooling between their legs, at the hunger they saw in his eyes, he looked like he was about to play with his food. The next time he moved it was quick, pulling his shirt off and climbing onto the bed, pants still hanging loosely around his hips as he caged Shiloh in against the mattress. He leaned down to press kisses against Shiloh’s chest, his hands on their hips, pulling them against his body, before he curled his fingers over the waistband of their boxer briefs. Shiloh moved to help him, but instead their hands were seized, Driss pushing their wrists up over their head, a sly smile on his lips as he leaned over them, stealing another kiss as his other hand slipped under their waistband.

They nearly yelped as his fingertips slipped over their folds, the sensation of warm metal and synthskin against the heat at their core set their head abuzz, and they couldn’t keep their mouth shut for long. As Driss dipped his fingertips inside them, they let out a heavy sigh, a whine getting caught in the back of their throat as they tried to keep quiet, their toes flexing as they instinctively rolled their hips upward, trying to gain more attention. They felt his laugh against their cheek, a deep husky rumble as Driss moved, nosing at their jaw to prompt them to allow him access to their throat which they eagerly obeyed.

“I like the sounds you make,” he growled against their pulsepoint, before they could feel the slight pinch of his teeth and they gasped.

They could feel their ears heat up, knowing that if they clammed up now it would only lead to more teasing.

“You are so wet for me,” he said, moving down to bruise another hickey into their collarbone.

Well maybe they would be teased either way.

“I wanted to, when you asked last night at the camp, I did,” they said, voice breathy and light.

“That’s in the past,” he said just as he pressed his fingers inside of them.

They let out a moan, short and surprised as their hips canted up, Driss slowly fucking his fingers into them, before he pressed his thumb against their clit. This time around Shiloh couldn’t keep down the raspy shout of Driss’ name that escaped them, their head falling back against the bed as Driss hummed a laugh against their skin.

“That’s it baby,” he said, breathing heavy as he pulled back, releasing their hands at the same time as pulling his fingers free.

Their mouth hung open as they gulped in the cool air of the motel room, whining at the sudden emptiness, but hoisted their hips up to allow him to pull their boxers over their butt nonetheless. Driss pushed their legs up, throwing them over one shoulder, their boxers still only half way down their thighs, before pushing them forward, bending Shi at the hips. They felt his hand against their clit, even a gentle touch was enough to have them shaking with each bolt of pleasure, but Driss decided that wasn’t enough, rubbing rough circles against their clit as they cried out, voice high and rough, a hand grabbing for his, to anchor them as their head spun. After a few merciless moments Driss stopped, pulling away to adjust their legs on his shoulder and lean over them, pressing a burning kiss to their open mouth. As he kissed them they felt the head of his cock against their entrance, prodding, teasing, drawing tiny swallowed whines from Shiloh’s throat before he pressed into them.

“Fuck, Driss!” In normal circumstances their tone alone would have been enough to cause them to go bright red, but at the moment it didn’t matter, none of it did.

“God you feel so good,” he said, seemingly spurred on by their voice “so tight, so perfect for me.”

“For you,” they echoed.

“Say it again,” he said, rolling his hips a few cursory times before he fell into regular thrusts, “tell me you’re mine again.”

“Yours, I’m yours,” they said “this cunt is yours.”

"Shit," Driss set a brutal pace, dropping his head to their shoulder, his cock hitting deep inside them with the angle he was at, causing stars to burst behind their eyes as they wrapped their arms around him, panting as the rise and fall of pleasure sent bolts of electricity up and down their body. One of Driss' arms helped to prop him up over them, his hand finding their hair, while the other one ventured down between the two of them.

Shiloh felt high, their head filled with air, their mind empty save for how Driss' body felt against their own, how he felt inside them, but a sudden jolt shook them. Driss' fingers glided over their clit, wet with their own slick, they felt the pressure build at the action, their mouth opening to warn him of their incoming orgasm, but it was too late and all that came out were broken keens of Driss' name as their body felt like it was going to shake itself apart.

"Fuck, Shiloh," Driss' voice was tight in his throat, his breathing erratic as his thrusts stuttered.

They felt him cum as they rode the wave of their own bliss, body twitching and shivering as they came down, Driss fucking them through both of their orgasms. It wasn't until his hips stopped moving that they finally felt the last of the aftershocks wear off, the sound of their combined breathing suddenly loud in their ears. They felt his fingers in their hair, lazily brushing their scalp as they both caught their breath, Driss pulling out in order to properly collapse on top of them. They must have looked a mess together, Shiloh's underwear still half on, Driss' pants gathered at his knees, the two of them side by side in a heap. But as he kissed their throat and pet their hair, they couldn't think of anywhere else they would want to be.

#CP2077 #Cyberpunk 2077 #nsft #Driss Meriana #Cyberpunk Scorpion #Shiloh #my writing

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mcww-writing · 5 years ago

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Nova

█████████ COMMISSION

FINAL REPORT

2037-06-15

*Please note that some sensitive information has been redacted, in accordance with the Post-Council Security Act of 2037.*

SUMMARY

In its findings, the Commission has concluded that through at first sheer ignorance, then, increasingly, a calculated campaign of repression and control, ███████████ leveraged the developing situation with ███████████████████ to his economic and political advantage. The Commission recommends the death sentence for ██████, and a rapid removal of his cult of personality, and re-education of the populace.

The Commission, however, recognizes the contributions both ██████ and ████████ made to the war effort; the successful defense of █████ and repellant of the ██████’s army are not to be forgotten. The Commission recommends that Premier ████████’s contributions be highlighted instead.

The Commission, furthermore, recommends a more decentralized government to replace the Nova Transition Government currently in place after the specified date in 2040, to prevent the abuses of the ██████ regime from ever happening again.

Lastly, the Commission recommends an immediate cessation of the further development of ██████████ weapons, and the development of a universal ban on their research and use. The Commission recognizes the sovereign right of the ████████ to control itself, and understands its frustration with the use of these new weapons.

By the authority of Acting Premier ████████, on this day, the fifteenth of June, two-thousand thirty-seven, this Commission has completed its report.

The following report and narrative was composed by ██████████████ under order by the Commission for the purposes of the ongoing investigation. Please do not distribute this report.

CHAPTER 1: SOMETHING, SOMEWHERE, IS WRONG.

Dr. Mark Haller (h.c.), First Marshal of the Condominium of Nova and its Protectorates, Councillor 6 (hon.) of the Eternal Council, had enough titles to fill a small dump truck. He wouldn’t let you forget it, either. But like everyone else, he required sleep. At exactly 4:32 AM on the morning of July 6, 2027, however, the long and drawn-out process of his frankly inevitable downfall began with the shrill shriek of a buzzer.

BZZZZZZZZZT!

Mark flopped over in his bed and grabbed his phone. It was an emergency call.

“Hello?” he asked, in a questionably-woken state.

“Mark, it’s Sol.” said a familiar voice in an unfamiliarly-nervous tone.

“Oh?” Mark asked. In this liminal state on the edge of sleep, he had the feeling deep in his stomach that “something, somewhere, is wrong”.

“I’m in Earth Ops right now. There’s been some kind of data breach and it l-”

“What?” Mark had a bad habit of cutting people off.

“…yes, please let me finish. It looks like there’s been some kind of data breach, and it doesn’t look like anything was stolen, but just deleted. It happened during the night some time, but we’re not exactly sure what was deleted,” Sol explained.

“How can’t you all tell what was deleted?” Mark asked, now suddenly very awake.

“The data in question was stored on an LTO tape in cold storage in the datacenter. It was remotely inserted into the drive, erased, then put back. We’re trying to see what was supposed to be stored on that tape, but no one seems to have a good answer for that.”

Mark frowned. Data breaches and hacks weren’t unheard of at all, but they were always small-scale and more apparently obvious. Publishing fake quotes, stealing sensitive information – nothing had ever just been deleted like that before, and never so quietly.

“Alright, you have my attention. I’ll be there in three hours.” Mark said. He hung up the phone and turned on his light, and stuffed himself into the classic three-piece suit that he always insisted on wearing.

His attention turned quickly from the brewing of trouble to the brewing of coffee. He hadn’t taken a single vacation in the past three years. Regrettably.

He quickly stepped out the door, and into his car. As he drove down the road to the spaceport, he stared out the window and admired the planet that he called home.

Most people thought building a base on the planet Mercury was a “terrible and stupid idea”, as Sol called it at the time. But Mark had a strange fascination with the planet, and built it was. Situated in a crater to protect it from extreme temperatures, a giant dome encircled the base, providing a breathable atmosphere. Most people who lived and worked there were humans, so atmospheric content wasn’t much of a concern.

He arrived at the spaceport and strolled out on the tarmac, in view of his ship that could affectionately be called only “rustic”. He had built it himself years prior, and it showed. As compared to most contemporary starships, it was quite, for lack of a better term, “blocky”. The name was haphazardly stenciled across the side: Impulse. Odd. In my experience with him, he was anything but.

Author’s note: my editors have asked me to please refrain from referring to myself in the first person. I asked if they could find anyone else better to write this narrative, and they replied with a begrudging “no”. I tried my best for the first one-and-a-half pages, rest assured. This is my report, after all.

My relationship with Haller? All in due time, dear reader.

Climbing on board, he flipped switches and tapped keys in a furioso of checklists and standardized procedures. If Haller was nothing else, he was at least incredibly litigious. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if that man had a checklist for brushing his teeth at night.

He passed his ship through the airlock, and took off into the cold Mercurian sky. “Sky” is, of course, a bit of a misnomer for a planet that has little more than a thin exosphere to speak of. Nevertheless, then began the short, three-hour journey to Earth. Not that the Impulse couldn’t make it there in milliseconds – what it lacked in looks, it made up for in speed. Interplanetary speed limits were a big deal back when there was any semblance of a government.

Author’s note: Reader, it is perhaps mean of me to keep tantalizing you with bits of the future of this story. I mean, this report is only meant for a committee, as it is. I wasn’t supposed to write a novel, but what are they going to do about it? There’s barely a government to speak of anymore. But I’m revealing too much. So I’ll reveal some more, and put you at ease: Mark Haller will die. Eventually. How, when, where, and why are details you’ll surely find out later. But die he did. I visited his grave just yesterday. A small plot with an unmarked stone at its head. It’s an ironically humble grave for such a pompous man. I’m getting ahead of myself. So let’s jump back a bit. Allow you to fill me in on Haller’s past, in case you somehow missed all of that during your life.

CHAPTER 2: STARS ARE BORN FROM NOVAS.

On June 18, 2023, ESA satellites detected a small asteroid that had been captured in orbit around the Earth. This was the second time a detection such as that had ever been made. The scientific community was briefly abuzz, but lost interest when the small asteroid deorbited somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

Somewhere slightly to the left of the Atlantic Ocean, a young physics student was pacing around his grandparents’ farm in rural Iowa. Something was bothering him – he couldn’t quite remember what.

A bright streak flashed across the sky, red in color. It made an abrupt turn to the left, and then to the ground. Before poor Mark Haller could even figure out what was going on, a large, well, thing – smashed into the ground at an alarmingly high speed.

A tsunami of dirt and pulverized rocks knocked Mark off his feet, and buried him up to his knees. He jerked himself out, and cautiously approached what appeared to be a large, well, thing – sitting in a crater in front of him.

He doubted his sanity when a hatch opened on the side, and out crawled a figure only describable as – well, an angel.

No, really. Large, white wings, white robes, even a golden ring around the head. Her head? Mark wasn’t entirely sure. He had more pressing matters on his mind than gender.

“Hello?” he called in vain, as the creature fell to the ground, suddenly crying.

Mark approached her with the same outstretched hand as he would approach a crying dog. He gave the fallen angel a small pat on the head, and sheepishly said, “There, there!”

The figure made an oddly-human laugh. “You’re interesting,” she said unexpectedly, in a soft voice.

“Oh, I suppose so?” Mark asked, a bit unsure if this was a compliment or not. “So, uh, are you an-”

“What you’d call an alien, yes child.” she interjected.

“Child? Oh, no, I’m actually twenty-one, which for our species is-”

“You are a child compared to me.” She smiled.

“Okayyyyy. Do you – have a name?” Mark asked, feeling knocked far off of his guard.

“Neona.”

“Uh huh. After… neon?” Mark asked, curious.

“Absolutely. Neon is the fifth most common element in the universe, and thusly, I’m fifth in command of the universe,” she said with a sly smile.

“Wait, wh-” Neona cut Mark off.

“SH, quiet. I hear something,” Neona cautioned. “It’s not safe here.”

She drew a small device from her cloak, pressed a button, and Mark instantly passed out.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Mark began to wake up, and slowly became aware of his surroundings. It was… odd. The walls were a pristine, glowing white. So were the floors. And the ceilings, too. But on the walls were… posters? Band posters. Contemporary band posters. Mark turned around, and noticed a window, offering a dramatic view of what appeared to be outer space.

“Welcome to outer space,” Neona announced, pointing at the window. “You must have a lot of questions. About life, the universe, e-”

“Actually, my main question is what’s up with all these posters?”

Mark thought Neona blushed. Of course, he couldn’t really see. She was covered head to toe (does she even have toes?) in a pristine black cloak, hence the angelic appearance.

“Admittedly, I’ve taken a taboo liking to human culture. These are some mementos I’ve kept from my visits to your planet,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Visits? Come to Earth often, eh? What for?”

Neona’s sheepish smile instantly gave way to a frown that could only be described as “queasy”. “I really do wish I could tell you, child. But I could get in lots of trouble if I did. In fact, I will be already if the others find out you’re her-”

A panel in the wall swung open, and in walked four other “angels”.

“Uh oh,” Neona squeaked.

Mark had no idea what they were saying; to him, the language they spoke was incomprehensable gibberish. There was lots of what sounded like yelling, and one of them started gesticulating wildly at him. He gulped. This went on for a couple of minutes, until they finally stopped, and Neona turned around to open her mouth.

“Mark, I’d like you to meet my, uh, associates. From right to left: Hydrona, Hela, Oxa, and Carba. Together, the five of us form the Eternal Council. I suppose you could call us the “rulers” of the universe, but really, we take a very “hands-off” approach, mostly guiding regional and planetary governments.”

Mark frowned. “So you’re the famed rulers of the universe and yet no one on my planet has ever seen or heard of any of you? Fascinating,” he quipped.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s really the, uh, advanced planets we’re concerned about,” Neona admitted.

Mark scoweled.

Hydrona broke the awkward silence that followed in what was supposedly her native language, whispering to the others as if Mark could actually understand them. Neona nodded, stepped forward, and placed her hand on Mark’s forehead.

What followed could only be described as having a vivid fever dream while completely awake. Mark’s eyes rolled back in his head, and the landscape turned dark. A voice spoke:

In the times before, there was no light, and there was no dark. There was nothing. Then from order came chaos.

A single speck of light appeared in the distance.

All of existence was a singularity. The singularity, noting the need for order, split itself in four.

Mark watched as the speck split in four.

“I am gravity”, said the first figure, and the Universe began to take shape.

“I am the strong force,” said the second, and matter was born.

“I am the weak force,” said the third, and the matter began to change.

“I am light”, said the last, and the Universe began to shine.

The four, noting the need for order, combined their powers for the force of creation.

A group of five hooded figures appeared, floating in space.

“You are five, a council Eternal. You shall watch over all of creation. You are guardians and peacekeepers. You will do whatever is necessary to sustain order in existence, and you will not fail,” the four fundamental forces said in unison.

One of the Council spoke. “And of you?”

The forces replied in a booming unison. “We do not exist as you do. You exist in the Universe. We ARE the Universe.”

The four forces, their immediate job done, disappeared in a colossal wave of energy, and the Universe began to expand outward.

Mark was thrown backwards as an explosion of light screamed across the cosmos.

For eons more the Council ruled over time and space. But the Universe grew too large. Noting the need for order, the five harvested the materials for life, and created their own.

A group of small creatures stood on a riverbank, watching the sky intently.

“You will act in our image and our interest, and assist us in ruling over all of creation,” the Council spoke in unison. The Universe grew and life developed. The Council, as promised, did their job. All was well.

Mark opened his eyes, and woke up.

CHAPTER 3: FALLING STAR

An hour later, the Impulse skidded to a stop on the runway of the Nova Earth Operations Center. NEO, as the “complex” was affectionately called, was Nova’s home on Earth. This “home” also happened to be an unfathomably-large floating fortress docked just off the coast of Bermuda. It was no ship – more like the biggest analogue to an oil rig ever created. It was the size of a very small, crowded city – and that it was.

Many countries, even those who joined Nova, did not want the base built in their borders. Mark also didn’t want to choose favorites, so he went for a compromise: a giant floating city. Bermuda was happy to have it dock there, so there it remained. The whole thing was basically an entire military base condensed into one staggeringly-large vessel. It had everything: a bank, a hair salon, thermonuclear weapons, a bowling alley – you know, the usual.

In all seriousness, Nova enjoyed a very respected position by every single country on Earth, for a good reason: no one wanted to pick a fight with a force that had enough firepower to obliterate every planet in the star system in an instant. Even terrorist groups played nice.

Mark strode into the concourse, and went through security. He could opt out, but he thought it wouldn’t be fair. He was quite humble at that point in time. Quite genuine. He ascended the building up to the top floor, where his office was. Expecting to get a few minutes alone, he was surprised to walk into his office to find Sol and Neona standing inside. Sol was scowling.

“Neona has just informed me that the Council will be handling the data breach investigation, for… whatever reason,” she said, with an air of mild annoyance.

“...Oh?” Mark asked, a bit caught off guard. “We don’t usually get this kind of request,” he added.

“It’s unfortunately not a request. It’s not my decision, either; Hydrona told me to let you both know that we’ll be handling it from here.”

Mark smiled cheerfully. “That’s okay! Have a good rest of your day then.”

“You do the same!” said Neona, and she left the room.

Sol chuckled. “You’re going to do some investigating, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. I know it’s none of our business, but I can’t pass up a mystery like this! If they’re taking it over from here, it must be really important. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

Sol laughed again, then her smile flipped to a frown. “Does it rub you the wrong way at all that they’re keeping us in the dark on this?”

Mark stroked his bare chin. “Not really. I’d think they have a good reason.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sol said, and left Mark’s office, leaving him alone in the room.

He frowned, got out of his chair, and paced around. He could tell that something, somewhere, was wrong. But that could wait. He had a few hours of prep time before the Earth Planetary Assembly met.

Reader, it may be pertinent at this point to outline the structure of Nova’s operations. It goes (well, went) a little something like this:

At the top of the chain of command was Mark Haller, Marshal of Nova. He acted at the time like a President of sorts.

In charge of operations and policy decisions was the Supreme Assembly. Each member planet of Nova got one representative, as did a couple of groups internal to Nova. Of course, the Supreme Assembly, and even Mark himself, all answered to the Eternal Council.

Each member planet of Nova had its own Planetary Assembly, too. Earth’s consisted of one representative from each member state.

The Justice Department handled the judicial branch of government, and acted as a court subservient to the Eternal Courts that provided judicial services to the universe as a whole.

That just about sums it up, wildly oversimplifying in the process. Earth’s Assembly was scheduled to meet that day.

At that point in time, Nova had 192 member states, leaving just 11 UN-recognized countries that were not a part of it, all of them war-torn Middle Eastern countries.

Oh, right, the UN. The original one collapsed in 2032. It was ugly. The new UN, created after that, was as close to what conspiracy theorists would call a “new world order.” As opposed to the UN of before, this one actually had teeth: legal standing and an army. Those war-torn Middle Eastern countries I mentioned? They were, to put it tactlessly, turned to glass after they refused to cooperate after the great global unrest following the first UN’s collapse.

Anyway, it was time to get ready for the meeting.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“Good morning, all, and welcome to today’s meeting of the Earth Planetary Assembly. Glad to see you all here. Let’s get started,” Mark said, shuffling some papers around.

“Before we get started, I’ll open up the floor for a few minutes for questions, comments, and concerns. Who wants a microphone?” Mark asked. The delegate from the Union of Sovereign States picked up a mic.

“My friend, I would like to relay the concerns our scientists have of your organization’s – how do I say – space junk problem. Just yesterday, yet another one of your satellites crashed in Siberia, just kilometers away from a village!” Delegate Tarasovich said fiercely.

Mark had heard a few complaints from the USS about satellites falling. He opened his mouth to respond, but Tarasovich continued:

“Yesterday’s craft was almost ten times bigger than any others we’ve seen, and this one even had the Council’s blasted name written on it!”

This immediately grabbed Mark’s attention. What was a Council satellite doing swinging around Earth? The plot thickened.

“My apologies, Delegate Tarasovich; we’ll discuss that later,” Mark said, before continuing on.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Soon after the meeting adjourned without incident later that day, Mark stopped by Tarasovich’s office, and knocked on his door. He came in, and Tarasovich was surprised to see the troubled look on Haller’s face.

“Something troubling you, Marshal?”

“Sort of. I think some funny business is going on with the Council, actually. I had no idea one of their satellites crashed in Russia, either. Would your administration mind if we flew out there to take a peek? And clean up the damage, of course.”

“Not at all, and thank you for the cleanup effort.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Not two hours later, Mark and Sol were on-board the Impulse, touching down in the remote forest in Siberia where the satellite had supposedly crashed. Powdery snow filled the air as the ship drifted gently onto the ground. Bundled up in coats, Mark and Sol clambered down the ladder and onto the ground.

Peering around, they immediately noticed a large gash in the treeline up ahead. Both tree and snow were shoved violently out of the way. The two cautiously made their way over to the damage; the deep snow made it slow-going. Eventually, they reached the treeline and kept going into the interior of the forest.

Up ahead was a large mound of dirt, with a large metal thing resting in front of it. The satellite.

It was a gray cylinder, dulled and charred by its fiery reentry. It looked to have previously had antennas, which had been shorn off by the crash. There was an identifier on the side: Eternal Council Explorer 42069. Interesting.

Mark pulled out his phone, and opened the Intergalactic Vehicle Registry, the central database of all registered vehicles in the inhabited universe. He entered the registration number from the satellite.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

He entered his authorization password.

AUTHORIZATION NOT ACCEPTED. TIER 1 ACCESS REQUIRED.

He frowned. Tier 1 access was reserved for the Council; his was only Tier 2. But he had never encountered something that locked even him out before.

“Trouble?” Sol asked.

“It says I’m unauthorized,” Mark replied. His frown deepened, and he called Neona.

“Hey, it’s Mark. Can you give me a temporary tier 1 access code? A satellite crashed on Earth, and I’m trying to identify it in the registration database, but I’m locked out.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“We’ll come take care of it. Leave it alone,” Neona finally replied.

Mark’s frown turned to an annoyed scowl. “What’s gotten into you all this week? This is my jurisdiction, just give me the code so I-”

A different voice cut into the line. “This is Hydrona. You will do as we say. Leave it alone and we’ll take care of it. Is that understood?”

Silence.

“Is that understood?”

“Fine,” Mark said, and he hung up, and was immediately startled by a loud bang. He whipped around to see that Sol had kicked off a loose panel on the side of the satellite, exposing the computer within. She began prodding at the terminals with her scan tool, and eventually was able to connect to the console.

“Nice work! Now let me take it from here,” Mark said gleefully, as he started typing. Sol frowned.

“It’s just spitting gibberish onto the screen. I think it may be fried,” Mark said, defeated. Sol peered over.

“Well, that’s a hexadecimal code it’s spitting out. I think it’s a memory address. I can check and see what’s stored there.”

She tapped some keys, and a very different string came up on the screen:

63°58′39″ S 61°48′20″ W.

Coordinates.

The two looked at each other. “I suppose we’re going on a trip then,” Mark said. His frown finally turned to a smile.

Author’s note: The commission has kindly asked me to stop writing such ornate prose, and to write what I assume would be a dry technical report instead. I thanked them for this kind compliment of my writing skills, and reminded them whose report this is. Never mind that I’m on their payroll. Reader, you are no doubt wondering where and/or what the turning point is of this story. Rest assured, for the plot device you’re waiting for is coming shortly. But it’s just that: a plot device. The real turning point happened long ago.

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ofspark · 4 years ago

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INTIMACY / NON-CRINGY NSFW PROMPTS MEME

@youmourn said: can i kiss you? : )c

THE NIGHT LIVES on in the vivacity of hearts that sing only for freedom, for a liberation held close to the night-life that Wall Market brings. In truth, it’s not a place one might typically find she who has bested fate time && time again. Stalwart; a passionate soldier kept taut to the soul && prevents the heart from lingering to close to the sleeve. She’s strong in every way, eyes a reflection of this very fact. But even in this strength, she’d caved under the collected pressuring && coaxing of an all too cheery individual. Begging of her company, wanting only to experience a less uniform evening with whomever of his choice---which happened to be her. In a way, it’s a challenge. One she had accepted for the sake of putting a smile on a friend’s face. No matter how stern she may have seemed, there is depth in the way she so genuinely cares for those who deserve it && are worth the effort put forth.

He’s overbearing most days. He’s pushy. && yet, on those days she doesn’t displace or scold. She’s grown accustomed to his ways && has found her own manner of becoming a chameleon, of sorts. Blending well with his antics, fluidly appearing && wavering in a way that silently paints a picture of forced involvement even if she’s done naught to prevent it. No preventative measures could prepare her for the wholesomeness in his gaze or the warmth that yet lingers in his touch when he snags hold of wrist at her arrival. Coaxing her further into the den of mischief && temptation, dragging her along into an array of colors && neon that leave her gaze lingering longer than she’d thought possible. && it’s a memory that finds her in tandem to the flashing lights && the cooing beyond. Of an evening of fireworks along the coast && a higher ranking officer bidding her respite on her birthday.

It’s a good memory. One she’s glad she hadn’t lost through the warring perpetuity that yet clings to her bones && scorches the lungs in its damnation.

“Light? You okay?”

The words come && garner a delayed response that consists only of her gaze finding him once more. Lost in those thoughts && here all the while, somehow simultaneously taking heed of reminiscing && upholding unhinged footfalls. “Yeah--I’m fine. Where are we going?”

“Oh just a little spot that’s got the BEST food in all of Wall Market!” He’s so bright.

&& she’s all but stumbling down a flight of stairs down to the lower level of this.. domain. She grunts && nearly yanks free from him, were it not for some instant reeling of stability in final step. His brightness, a star nearly incapable of burning out to naught, is nearly blinding. Which is why she’s incapable of expecting the bite of food practically shoved into her mouth without warning. She nearly chokes back, rearing to spit before the flavor hits her. She relaxes, storm receding back into its recesses of the soul. A low hum ensues, some delight coming to the surface as she idly comments. “---It’s good. Really good.”

Which only serves to brighten that star all the more. A wondrous smile, superheating the air around them in superluminous supernovae persona. && it’s enough to pull an amused huff from within her breast that cycles free from the cage of ribs. A canary’s singsong, ever content. It’s so rare a thing but no less genuine. && the rest of the night would unfold just the same. Exploring different territories, avoiding eye contact with shadier denizens, && trying different things galore that send the taste buds abuzz. Until they finally slow down && find some calm just beyond the entrance to the Coliseum. He’s rambling on about this && that, his eyes clinging so desperately to her face but she’s welcoming it without so much as a single ounce of hesitation or refusal. There’s something innocent in a togetherness like this.

Simply enjoying one another’s company, nothing complicated or complex. Two living beings resonating on a similar wavelength, the marrow of their bones electrically charged from the events of the evening that seemed to be reaching into the early hours of the morning. She’d lost track of time && yet makes no note of it or utters any inclination that this may be so to him. The humanity dusting across porcelain flesh revels in this togetherness && it’s a realization that comes to her that she’s long since found peace in his intensity. Unaware that nearer && nearer do they become, his steps closer falling on deaf ears. He compliments her a thousand times over && all she can do is shake her head, maybe laugh inaudibly in breathy release. To fawn over her.. she takes heed only when he’s hovering over her. Taller than her; she feels so small. && what’s more is the question that catches in her ears && sends a current up her spine after a lingering silence && exchanged looks.

“Can I kiss you?”

She doesn’t believe she’d heard him right at first, what with the way she’d glanced askew mere seconds before utterance. Her brows furrow, her body tenses. There’s no shortage of expectancy of such a question && yet it so paradoxically is unexpected all the same. It’s mulled over, each word && syllable grinding against the processing of the mind. Her face must’ve gone to disbelief for worriment crosses mako depths. A breath comes, her voice almost cracks. “Wait.. what?”

“Can I.. kiss you?”

She’d made him repeat it && she’s remorseful all the while. It’s an awkward moment, painfully so. There are eyes on them && yet they’re the furthest from her consideration. She does not feel pressured by those expecting a show. She’s a grown woman with a grown mindset capable of making a decision without influence. && all the while she wonders if he’s closer because it feels like it. She feels his breath on her face && absentmindedly her hand had pressed the bridge of her knuckles against a chiseled abdominal cavity. Fabric does little justice but it hardly matters. Their breaths mingle, her heart pounding thunderously in her ribs && that canary is in a frenzy of a fit. Chirping loudly, crying out on a basis of fight or flight. But it’s that damn humanity crashing through all over again.

What makes her human, what makes the heart pump the blood by means of normalcy, is the same exact thing that wills the crane of neck && cant of crown. A roseate wonder bound to her own devices, chained to no being or god alike. && yet she gives way to the heat. Galactic profoundness, tempestuous buzz; supple tiers graze against his in the teeter of her crown. For once in so long a time, she’s reduced to a youthfulness she’d long since forsaken. In him, she feels respite. She feels an excuse to let loose the flooding of warmth && throw wide the gates of want.

And so she does. Her lips gingerly capture his own before aught else could be said, before the exchange becomes more awkward than it already was. Mingling breaths && cooperative touch a prevalent thing. She kisses him.

She kisses him.

#youmourn #v; to be determined.#fucking END me this got hella long #and i am so sorry #BECAUSE NO CONTEXT AND DETAIL WOULD'VE BEEN A INJUSTICE #cw long post #**double small text exemption.

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years ago

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The Many Trials of Becoming

genre: flash fiction, LGBT, slice of life: recovery and dating

words: 1.4k

summary: as he begins to date a boy struggles with the legacy of his father and becoming his own person

warning for dealing with trauma and abuse.

-----------

I am not my father.

That was Cam’s first thought when he got his first boyfriend. He would kiss his bruises, the ones laid there by the needle-point world, and move like daylight through his hair, every strand of it swaying in time to his jittery fingertips.

Why does he let me touch it? He never really knew.

Jake was all secret looks just for him, wrapped up in packages and left like private invitations at his doorstep. He was the encouragement to catch butterflies and lightning bugs between your palms and try to hold something there that wasn’t. Jake Zhang trusted airplanes not to drop him and every piece of candy to taste like birthdays.

I am not my father.

If Cam was angry he would leave the room, if he was something more than that he would leave the city. That was the hard part, it was all the hard part, every passing look and returning touch, every moment he could mess it up.

He drove as far as the road would let him in those days, even if it stung like a scab underneath the skin. He still loved that `98 Chevy with all his blasted heart, even if it’s engine parts were all the hands of that man.

But maybe that’s why Cam kept it, he and the Chevy were the same. I won’t be him.

Cam hit the gas and went so far out of town he couldn’t see anything but sky and his own trembling hands on the wheel.

When Jake Zhang broke up with him it made sense. Cam never stayed, never talked it through, never said any of the overflowing thoughts going through his head. But this way was better, he never had any proper words, only beggars excuses. So Cam let him go.

I won’t cling, I won’t make him stay. I’m not my father.

His heart felt like a birds nest being swept away by the stormy breeze, empty, and twigs falling through the cracks when Jake left. He had golden in his eyes and a laugh so full and round it could make balloons float.

But he refused to hold the string.

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

I won’t be like him.

That was the second thought Cam ever had when he got his first girlfriend in college. She was movement and sound and buzz he couldn’t get out of his veins, sugar pop and hands on his hands. He’d kiss her bruises if she let him, be the daylight through her swaying red hair if she’d sit still long enough.

But Lillian Michael was not one for kissing bruises or light, but she was heavy metal rock music and shoes that never fit. She took him out of his self-made bubble and had him jumping out of vans into lakes and high-pitched laughter.

He thought nothing would fit the twigs back together in his birds-nest heart, but robins return with spring. For a time.

“Come on Cam,” she laughed, freckles popping across her nose in the neon lights. “It’s just one sip.” She offered him the beer and held his gaze like a WWE wrestler ready for a rematch. “It’ll help you loosen up for the party.”

I won’t be like him.

Cam put his hands up, “I’m good.” “It’s one drink,” her smirk was turning into a handsome grimace, “don’t be like this. When haven’t I had your back? Work with me here.” He looked away, “no thanks.”

Lillian engaged in one of her spectacular eye rolls, “I swear Cam,” she hopped down from the hood of her van, she loved it almost as much as he loved his Chevy, “don’t you trust me?” He shook his head. Don’t ask me this.

Lillian sighed all the air out of her lungs, “at least give me a reason.”

He shook his head again.

He got in his car and drove as far away as he possibly could out of the college town of Bozeman. Lillian said she wanted an “open” relationship after that, Cam wasn’t one for an open kind of anything. He didn’t say anything and left.

Am I different enough, yet?

Mostly he felt the oppressive lonely stars and cold sky of the highway.

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

He was tattoos and hands so slow and large it felt like he could cup everything Cam was in one palm and still have room left for small suns. Vivaan Singh was a double major in poetry and physics and he said they were all the same thing, the words of the heavens and the universe wrapped up together.

He was devout. He was brilliant as a sunrise on mountain tops. He was all deep voices and a shiver down Cam’s spine.

Most of all he was too good for Cam, and Cam knew that.

“I see you and Vivaan are doing that internship,” Lillian teased him, she never really left his side even after everything- and never stopped teasing. “I heard you applied together.” Cam didn’t meet her vicious gaze, it was always too knowing. “It’s only for the summer. Professor Montez has ten spots for it.”

“Yeah.” She said shortly, “but you and Vivaan, you know, together.” She tried to make it clear what she was implying, she lost patience when his silence answered, “Ugh, are you gonna ask him out or anything yet?”

Cam shook his head and gave a weary smile, “you know I’m not dating anymore.” Lillian just frowned so loudly it could deafen gale storm winds, “you’re impossible,” she shook her head, “how long has it been? You can’t live as the most eligible boy in Bozeman and do this again.” He flipped his pencil in his hand and looked to the library window, “it’s not like that.” It’s not like anything.

Cam hadn’t seen his father for years by then, but the problem with time is that it felt more like a loop than a line. A well built glacier on top of a volcano could still produce boiling water no matter how much ice you poured down it.

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

“You really believe that?” A woman with glasses perched on her long nose looked over at Cam, “that you’ll be like him?” Cam studied his hands and scratched a scab there, “I get angry sometimes.” He mumbled, “I can’t stop myself.” “When haven’t you stopped yourself?” Cam’s eyes went wide, “it takes hours for me to calm down. Days sometimes.” “When haven’t you stopped yourself from acting on it?” Cam looked out toward the birds in the trees outside, they were twittering, it was too early in spring for that, but there they were. “What does this have to do with me having a shitty nervous breakdown at the internship?” “Cameron, you brought it up,” Dr. Jenny said evenly, her eyes were even more discerning than Lillian’s, “that you feel like you’ll become your father.” He shrugged loosely, “it happens,” he clenched his hands and bowed his head down, “you’ve heard the stories. Alcoholics become alcoholics. Abusers become abusers.” And there wasn’t far enough Cam could run from it.

Dr. Jenny adjusted her glasses, “and what do you think about that?” “I won’t,” he cringed, muscles tensing up from his shoulder blades to his toes, “I won’t be like him.”

“There you go,” she said so slowly it felt like something trapped behind glass. “You just said it. You aren’t like him.” Cam wrinkled his nose, “I don’t understand.” “You will,” she started writing, “Cameron.” She smiled softly, “everything you just said already makes you different.” He exhaled, he didn’t know how long he was holding that breath for.

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

Cam was lucky he could go back to his internship at the observatory, but Dr. Montez was more understanding than Cam expected. In fact, he patted him on the back and told him to take all the time he needed.

But Cam was sick of taking time, he was sick of marking his actions with binary 0s and 1s: am I different yet?

He walked through the drafty halls of the college and opened glass doors to a room abuzz with computers. A tall young man with boxy-square glasses and a soft expression looked up. Cam put his hands in his pockets and held his gaze, “hey.”

Vivaan gave him a very careful look, “how are you feeling?” “Terrible,” Cam looked up and took a deep breath, “do you want to go for a drive with me?”

#flash fiction #LGBT fiction #original writing #original story #mlm #f/m #poetry #almost #warning for dealing with trauma

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terminallydepraved · 8 years ago

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Forgone

hey! i wrote a fic for @yougei! my lovely yogl ;-; thank you also to my patrons over on patreon, @happyclappyhippydrift @intrepidescapist @illumiknife @razzledazzlered and @officialpeakspider!

support me on patreon

read on ao3

Over the roar of the crowd, Hisoka almost missed Chrollo slipping off the arena stage. The intercom was abuzz with the shouting commentary, the flashing neon screens alerting any who cared to look that an intermission was to be held, so please, exit to the sides for concessions and souvenirs. Hisoka stretched out his shoulders and wiped at the blood on his chin, almost missing Chrollo disappear. Almost, but not quite.

“Fighters! Please remain in the arena until the new referee can be brought in!” a haphazard call sounded, but Hisoka brushed it off, his eyes locked on the slender black flutter that made up Chrollo’s retreating form. He was impeccable, even after all the combat, and Hisoka felt a smile tug at his split lip, the familiar feeling of chasing after Chrollo an urge that truly could never be quelled. “The intermission is scheduled to last only thirty minutes!” the voice yelled, no doubt directed at him, and all Hisoka didn’t spare them a single look, already losing himself to the crowd, and to Chrollo’s magnetic pull.

Where on earth could he be off to? They’d eaten before the fight, since Chrollo couldn’t wait, and though he enjoyed to snack, this was hardly the time to do it. Hisoka smiled and the crowd before him parted, whispers trailing behind him like spider silk stuck to his back. With the arena this packed, Chrollo would definitely be avoiding areas with foot traffic. He wouldn’t wait around to be mobbed by his adoring fans. A flash of black and porcelain skin caught his eye, guiding him away from the masses and towards what looked to be a rest room.

The moment he stepped down the branching alcove, he knew he had been led here for a reason. He saw it coming, but he didn’t bother dodging. Chrollo’s delicate hand snatched him by the wrist, yanking him inside the nearest bathroom with an insistence rarely seen. Hisoka went willingly, his blood pumping faster from the mere touch of Chrollo’s skin against his own.

“What’s all this about?” he asked softly, wondering how anyone could look so beautiful under cheap, fluorescent lights. Chrollo had let go of his hand, and was kneeling on the filthy floor to check under the stalls for occupants. “Getting cold feet? Don’t tell me you want to call this all off, Chrollo, right when I’m about to break you into pieces?”

“Lock the door,” Chrollo replied, pushing off his knees to stand back up, his check yielding nothing.

We’re they going to fight in here? Hisoka couldn’t say he hated the idea, though it was a far cry from his ideal victory setting. Regardless, he did as he was told, turning around to lock the bathroom door. It clicked into place with a conclusive click, just as Chrollo wrapped his arms around him from behind, his cheek nuzzling Hisoka’s bare arm.

“This is a surprise,” Hisoka remarked, stroking his hands over the ones locked around his stomach. “Does it hurt you to hurt me? Or are you simply overcome?” It’d serve him right if he were. Hisoka could barely think with the force of his desire. Not with the collective weight of Chrollo’s intent on him and him alone.

Chrollo squeezed a little tighter, spreading his fingers along Hisoka’s abdomen, feeling the muscles just beneath his shirt. “I want you,” he breathed, his voice ghosting along Hisoka’s exposed skin. “I want you so much, Hisoka.”

“Are you seducing me? Now?” he asked, his voice a laugh. “Isn’t that in poor taste, since you’ll be dead soon?” But, for all his teasing, he was already turning around, the heat from the fight pooling in his stomach to rekindle the fire Chrollo always seemed to stoke. Chrollo was so cute like this, dressed in his imperious coat and with his boyish mop of hair. So cute, and so beautifully breakable.

Chrollo rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide how flushed his cheeks already were. He bit his lip and tugged at Hisoka’s arms, rolling his svelte body against him, already so desperate for contact. “Stop talking,” he ordered, looping his arms around Hisoka’s neck, and Hisoka grabbed him by the thighs, lifting him in time to the unspoken choreography inherent in their every interaction. “We don’t have much time.”

The way he worded it, Hisoka almost wanted to ask if Chrollo had killed the referee on purpose, just to provoke an intermission. Fortunately for Chrollo, Hisoka didn’t care enough to tease. He moved with intent, slamming Chrollo against the nearest wall to begin tearing at the clothes hiding him from sight. Their mouths locked roughly in a kiss that hurt, Chrollo’s lips parting when Hisoka palmed him through his pants.

Tearing his mouth away, Hisoka moved his mouth to Chrollo’s neck, ripping at the button on his trousers, Chrollo undoing the clasps on his coat. “Chrollo,” he panted, rutting against Chrollo’s ass. He spared a moment to free his own cock from its confines, hissing as the cool air kissed his fevered skin. “I didn’t plan for this. Do you have lube?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chrollo moaned, shimmying as much as he could to help Hisoka strip him of his pants. “Just hurry.”

Hisoka clicked his tongue. “Where was all this insistence before? You’re never this eager,” he wondered, maneuvering Chrollo expertly to cast away the offending clothes without letting his feet touch the ground. “I had no idea that fighting got you this excited, Chrollo. Or is it just because it’s me?” He grabbed at the panties and didn’t spare them much courtesy before ripping them off Chrollo’s body, baring him entirely to his sight.

He realized instantly why Chrollo had said not to worry about the lube. “You naughty creature,” Hisoka crooned, staring gleefully at the shiny black plug buried in the thief’s ass. “You really aren’t taking this seriously at all, are you?”

“You ruined my underwear,” Chrollo complained, but it was a poor distraction from the toy he’d been using the entire fight. His cheeks turned pink when Hisoka played with the base, twisting and shifting it until he moaned. “And I’m taking it seriously-” he tried to say, but his voice broke on a choked gasp. Hisoka gave him no warning as he yanked it out, the plastic dripping with lube enough to spare.

“If you are, then I don’t know if my sanity can take this,” he admitted, tossing the plug into a nearby sink. He dipped his fingers inside, both to check that he was stretched and to collect the lube on his hand. “How long have you had this in?” he asked, his fingers meeting no resistance at all. He pulled them out and coated his cock with the slick, staring at Chrollo’s dark, embarrassed eyes until he answered.

“Since this morning,” Chrollo whispered, giving another impatient bounce. “So hurry up already and fuck me.”

Hisoka wished he could draw this out. He wished he had the time to make Chrollo tell him about opening himself up, about how it felt to run and fight with the plug inside him. His hands clenched brutally around Chrollo’s hips, a bead of sweat running down his neck. Did he do this for him? Had he planned this from the start, counting on an intermission to be called just so he could drag Hisoka off to fuck him in some grimy bathroom?

He couldn’t wait, not with Chrollo like this. Why was he like this? He was never so forward, at least, not in public, where they could be found so easily. Hisoka buried himself inside, his eyes rolling back at the tightness. Chrollo may have been stretched and waiting for hours for this, but it was apparent that he sized the plug perfectly. “You’re absolutely filthy,” Hisoka groaned, bucking his hips to make Chrollo choke and gasp. “All this time, while I was bleeding and planning, you were standing there with that toy inside you, thinking about me fucking you.”

“Yes,” Chrollo breathed, his voice hitching in time to the thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes, I wanted it,” he said, his fingers clawing viciously at Hisoka’s shoulders, drawing more blood and pain as easily as he’d done on the arena stage. Hisoka drank it in, savoring it.

It’d be the last time Chrollo injured him.

“Fighters!” that annoying voice grated over the intercoms. “Please begin making your way back to the arena! We are set to resume the battle in fifteen minutes!”

That wasn’t enough time, Hisoka thought, nearly drowning in the taste of his blood in Chrollo’s mouth. It wasn’t even remotely enough time, not for him to savor the warmth around him, to burn this moment into his skin so that he’d never forget how Chrollo felt. His taste, his scent, his warmth, his smooth, rolling voice-

“Hisoka, hurry,” Chrollo begged, his fingers tight in his hair, yanking and pulling and urging him like a horse refusing the yield to the reins. “Hurry, hurry, I need-”

Hisoka didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him say what he needed. Instead, he kissed him as deeply as he could, as filthily as he could, thrusting into the tight, slick, mind-numbing heat like a man who only just realized what was at stake here. Blood and bruises rose beneath his fingertips, and, for just a second, Hisoka wanted to laugh. It figured, he thought, feeling more than hearing Chrollo wail against his lips, that the first blood he drew on Chrollo would happen like this.

“Ten minutes!” the damning voice reported, the tinny, filtered roar of the crowd sounding like static behind the words. “Ten minutes before the fight resumes!”

What else could he do? He could kill him easily like this, Hisoka thought, but it was a lazy, uninspired idea. He’d had Chrollo in his arms hundreds of times before, moaning and begging and ultimately blind to the threat he embraced so easily. Hisoka dug his fingers deeper, clawing into his hips and stretching his thighs as wide as they would go. No, he told himself, he’d rather end Chrollo on a stage where the world could witness him beg.

“Hisoka, Hisoka, I’m going to cum,” Chrollo gasped, and Hisoka knew his own end wouldn’t be far off either, not after looking at the thief’s face. His cheeks were flushed, his shaggy, unkempt hair an utter mess around his delicate features. Obsidian eyes, clouded with lust and need and want, stared at him unerringly, and Hisoka groaned.

Those eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him.

He hardly knew who came first, only that his own release hit him somewhere in the base of the spine, hard enough to white out his vision. Chrollo sang in his ear like a mourning dove, sweet and broken in a key that only he could manage. His fingers loosened in Hisoka’s hair, falling to his shoulders. Hisoka wished they had more time, if only so he could appreciate the afterglow the way it deserved to be appreciated.

“Five minutes! Five minutes! Will the fighters please report back to the arena? A forfeit will be called if the fighters do not make it onto the floor within five minutes!”

“They’re bluffing,” Hisoka crooned, kissing Chrollo’s ear until he fidgeted. Always so ticklish. “But I think this was a good interlude while it lasted.”

“Put it back in,” Chrollo mumbled, the reason slowly coming back to his hazy, black eyes. He bit his lip when Hisoka pulled out, gesturing lazily at the plug in the sink. “I want it back in.”

Hisoka’s heart nearly stopped, his dick twitching abortively. “Of all the days to be kinky, Chrollo,” he said huskily, doing as he was told and pressing the plug back inside him, stopping the release from trickling out. How would he fare now? Hisoka doubted he’d be able to focus at all with the idea of his cum still locked up inside Chrollo. Then again, after the fucking he’d just had, he doubted Chrollo would be any better off.

Chrollo’s boots clicked against the tile when he finally sat him down, and he helped the thief tug up his pants, buttoning his jacket for him. High as it was, Hisoka knew the marks he’d left would never show. It’d be like Hisoka was never even there, though the two of them would know just how much he’d done. Hisoka shuffled himself back into his boxer briefs, wishing for more time. The time to do more.

“Fighters!” the intercom shrieked, the announcer downright livid. “Please report to the arena!”

“I think our break is over,” Chrollo murmured, smiling up at him with that infuriating smile, looking anything but rumpled. His damnable calm was back, the vestiges of his frantic need only visible in the pink of his cheeks and the sated ease in his movements.

“Shall we?” Hisoka asked, holding out his hand for Chrollo to take. To his surprise though, Chrollo bypassed it, wrapping his arms around Hisoka’s shoulders to kiss him instead. He stood on his toes and clung to his neck, dark eyes closed as he kissed Hisoka. It was tender, soft, none of the previous need or sloppiness to be seen. Hisoka let his eyes fall shut, wondering why his heart felt so heavy all of the sudden.

When Chrollo finally broke away, the intercom buzzing incessantly above their heads, Hisoka kept his eyes closed for just a moment longer. “For good luck,” Chrollo whispered, his hand lingering on Hisoka’s cheek. “I hope you finally get what you wanted.”

He started to let his hand fall, but Hisoka held it to his face, his throat suddenly tight. “I will,” Hisoka said, knowing they had postponed this long enough. “I will.”

#hisokuro #fic #deathmatch tryst #check ao3 for othe rwarnigns im fuckin tired #hisoka #chrollo lucilfer

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theeurekaproject · 5 years ago

Text

Suppressio Veri

Cassandra was weird.

It was easy to tell that she was no Cantator; she looked too full and too healthy for that. Lyra couldn't decide if she was a very aged-looking thirty-something or a very young-looking seventy-something; her face fell into a strange category that was somehow old and young all at once. Inexplicably, she wore thick holographic sunglasses, which seemed very unnecessary considering the darkness down here. Her entire outfit looked like it would have worked better on a 13-year-old, and she was drenched in so much body glitter that it looked like she'd taken a dip in a pool full of the stuff.

"Hey," she said, her voice a gravelly soprano. Lyra didn't know people's voices could even sound like that. She wondered briefly if Cassandra was a cyborg, but she didn't see any wires or metal on her person. Maybe she was a rich cyborg. They could afford implants that looked so humanlike it made detection impossible.

"Hey," T said, leaning on the wall behind her. He looked very, very cool, like the main character of a gritty sci-fi holofilm. All he needed was a cigarette and a big, black laser gun.

"You gonna explain yourselves or what?" Cassandra asked. Lyra wasn't sure if she was angry or just being facetious. Nothing about her expression made any sense to her. It wasn't that she was stoic or hard-looking—it was more like her face was displaying the entire spectrum of human emotion plus some extra feelings simultaneously.

T's brow furrowed. "Explain what?"

"Last night."

"You know what happened."

"Um, actually, I don't."

"Are you joking around or are you really that stupid?" Ace snapped. Lyra assumed he was referring to the assassination—the whole room was abuzz with discussions about it. That was the one advantage of being born a Cantator; nobody cared about the lower castes enough to even pay attention to what they thought. They could talk about whatever they wanted, and Alestra Cipher would be none the wiser.

"Hey now," Cassandra said, "watch your temper. Do you want even more media attention?"

"Attention for what?" Lyra asked. She didn't recall seeing Ace before, on the telescreens or elsewhere. Even if he had committed a crime, who would notice? Upper-class kids could get away with anything scot-free, and even if whatever he'd done was bad enough to get people fired up about it, it would have been completely forgotten after the assassination attempt. Nothing could eclipse that, especially not a white collar crime. (And it had to be a white collar crime—Ace looked like the type of guy who'd probably fall over if he tried to punch someone. Most of the army strategists did.)

Cassandra reached to her lips, looking for a cigarette that wasn't there. (Not that smoking would have made her appear any cooler; she already looked like an overgrown bubblegum-pop idol singer.) "I told you," she said, "to lay low."

"What was I supposed to do? They were going to kill her! Besides, it's not like anyone put the pieces together about T—"

"Don't," Cassandra said sharply. "We can't talk about this here. Look at all these people." She gestured to the crowded room and the adjacent alleyway, which was very nearly empty.

"No offense, but I don't think the guy sleeping in a dumpster or the girl passed out on the sidewalk are going to be reporting back to the Nova," Ace said dryly.

T rolled his eyes. "Well, if there's something to discuss here—which, keep in mind, I had no idea about—we should stop bickering and start talking already. Let's go." He gestured for Lyra to move along with him, but she paused, wondering again if this was really a good idea.

Cassandra turned around and looked at her, her bright purple eyes glimmering. "Who are you?"

"They call me Lyra."

"She helped us track you down," T explained quickly, "and she was bleeding, so she's coming with us now." He smiled awkwardly, like a little boy who'd brought a stray kitten back to his unassuming father.

Lyra half-expected Cassandra to inquire further, but instead, she merely shrugged. "If you think she's safe, then I trust your judgement."

"Hey!" Ace whined. "Why do you have so much faith in him and not me?"

"Because you're an idiot and T is usually semi-responsible."

"That's not fair—"

"Yes it is," T interrupted. "Now, let's go."

Cassandra's house looked like someone had taken ancient Rome and painted it bright pink, then added a heavy dose of surrealism and glitch art. The walls were held up by elaborate Dorian columns, but the floor was neon magenta and pitch black, like someone had forgotten to add the texture there. The lighting was hazy and fluorescent white, and it flickered on and off in a way that suggested it was intentional. Corporate-sounding stock music played from another room, looping endlessly, on and on ad infinitum. It was a vaporware fever dream, rife with nostalgia for an era Lyra never lived in, and she had the uncanny feeling that it'd be easy to get lost in this place.

"Your apartment gives me a headache," Ace whined. "Will you turn off that music?"

"No," Cassandra said simply.

"Why?"

"Aesthetic."

Lyra almost laughed, then she remembered the rumors she'd been told about digital drugs, and she wondered if Cassandra was benevolent or… well, something else. It was incredibly hard to tell—nothing about her seemed normal. Ace and T didn't seem bothered, though, which Lyra took as a good sign.

Seemingly annoyed by the music, but unwilling to debate the matter, Ace collapsed onto a plasticky-looking, translucent couch. It pulsed under his body's weight like a living thing, looking far more repulsive than a lavender sofa had any right to. Cassandra glared at him. "You're tracking mud all over my house."

"I am not!"

"Ace, stop," T groaned. "Will you two quit bickering and clue me in to exactly what you're talking about? If you haven't noticed, I'm still out of the loop here, and whatever this is must be pretty serious or Cass wouldn't have mentioned it to begin with."

"Oh, right, that," Cassandra said, rolling her neon eyes. "So about the assassination attempt… apparently Alestra has decided that house Generalis is back in her good graces now, because she's decided to shift the blame away from Cassiopeia."

T furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that all the news stations have suddenly shifted from accusing Cassiopeia of losing her mind to pretending that they don't know what's happening. Have you watched the news since last night?"

"I was busy going on a wild goose chase for an agent who can never be bothered to remember where she said she'd meet us," T replied dryly. "So no, I haven't."

"Well, you should pay a little more attention, because they seem pretty hell-bent on picking a scapegoat… and their scapegoat of choice seems to be the random-ass soldier who jumped on top of Acidalia and started tearing at her clothes."

"What?!" T demanded. "Who—"

"You, idiot. Or, him, rather." Cassandra pointed at Ace. "They have a beautiful picture of him that they took off the surveillance cameras. 4D HD and everything. He's all covered in bloody taffeta and he looks like he just ate Acidalia Cipher alive, and he definitely seems more threatening than fragile little Cassiopeia, last of house Generalis." Ace looked down at himself, panicked, and Lyra realized suddenly that Cassandra was right—though he'd obviously tried to clean himself off, there were drops of blood splattered across his front and in his lap. Diamond dust sat on his shoulders like glittery snow, and there was a thin, fluttering strip of transparent fabric wrapped around one of his pins. She supposed it wasn't out of the question for a high-ranking AX soldier to have met the Imperatrix, but there was no way those scraps actually came from her clothes—her guards would probably kill any other man who came within five feet of her. Ace would've been shot before he could even touch her.

"That's not fair," he protested, picking at the lace. "I was trying to get her out of the way so T could—"

"Wait, you met Acidalia Cipher?" Lyra interrupted. "How did you—"

Ace sighed moodily and brushed glitter off his shoulders. "Don't get so excited. I've only actually spoken to her, like, twice. We have a recurring thing where I dive in front of her to protect her from danger and then she dives in front of me to protect me from danger and neither of us really acknowledge it, and you'd think it'd come across as romantic, but it really, really doesn't."

"So you're on the Imperial Guard?" Lyra asked.

Ace and T looked at each other. "Sort of," T said.

"Wow. What are men like you doing down here?"

"Getting blamed for trying to kill the Imperatrix, apparently," Ace replied, looking sourly at Cassandra. "For the record, I have never once tried to kill Acidalia. I'm pretty sure T would shoot me if I even tried."

"For the record," T added, "I absolutely would."

Ace rolled his eyes. "You only say that because she loves you."

"Quit saying that. You're making our relationship sound like something it's not."

"Wait," Lyra said. "What relationship? Are you two—"

T's eyes went wide. "No! Not like that! Not like that, at all, whatsoever, not even a little bit. We are just friends. Strictly friends. We are absolutely one hundred percent not dating, and we never ever ever will."

"But you just said she loves you." Lyra thought suddenly of the stereotypical royal romance plot: the high-and-mighty, extraordinarily wealthy princess falls in love with a rough and hardened-around-the edges peasant, and they have to keep their relationship under wraps because they're from two different worlds. Acidalia never seemed like the type of woman to engage in flings with soldier boys—most of the noblewomen presented themselves as either painfully chaste or too scary to attract anyone—but maybe that was why T was denying it so hard. Lyra thought it was sweet, in a way, that he was so willing to protect her reputation. Most boys she knew would shout it from the mountaintops if Acidalia—or any rich girl, for that matter—so much as looked at them.

"She does love me," T sighed, "but think less eros and more philia. Or maybe storge? Definitely agape. But not eros."

"You're going to have to explain a little more, I'm not educated on the classics." A tinge of blush crept up Lyra's cheeks. Of course she didn't know what he was talking about; she barely knew how to read.

T leant forward slightly and balanced his head on his hand. A moment passed, and Ace and Cassandra looked at each other like they were sharing a secret. Finally, T said plainly, "she's my sister."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry I even mentioned anything—ugh." Lyra shook her head. Wonderful, she thought. I've just insinuated that a high-ranking TB-class soldier was sexually attracted to his sister, who happens to be the Imperatrix Ceasarina. Why did every conversation she had seem to end up with her putting her foot in her mouth? Then, abruptly, her momentary exasperation with herself was replaced with shock as she realized that she was sitting right next to the brother of Acidalia-Planitia herself.

"Way to let the cat out of the bag, moron," Ace snarked before Lyra even had the chance to respond.

"Don't be stupid. Everyone can see it." T was right; now that Lyra knew his secret, his relationship to the Imperatrix was staggeringly obvious. Their features were nearly identical—they had their father's deep brown eyes and jet-black hair, but Alestra's high cheekbones and her pretty Grecian nose. There was no way T was lying; they looked so alike that it simply couldn't have been coincidental, and his face was so natural that she doubted it was plastic surgery or genetic mods. She had no idea how she hadn't seen it before.

"I guess the rumors were true, then," Lyra said, still slightly awed that this man she was sitting next to was of the same flesh and blood as the royal family. "Alestra really did have other children."

"There are rumors about me?" T asked, concerned.

Lyra blushed. "Well, not you, exactly. But people know that Acidalia wasn't really… well, planned, and they think that Alestra might have had other unplanned children, too." She didn't want to say the word bastard.

"Oh, believe me, Acidalia and I were planned," T scoffed. "I'm pretty sure she intentionally got pregnant just to make our father stay with her, or maybe to get revenge on him for something he did. My mother is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She had to have had a reason… even though I must admit that I don't know what it is. You're still bleeding, by the way."

"Oh." Lyra looked down at her shirt. Fresh red blood droplets soaked into the black fabric, leaving little pools of dampness behind. She'd grown so numb to the taste and smell of blood that she hadn't even noticed the drip-drip-drip of her nosebleed. It was probably more due to the acrid air and the burning chemicals than anything; the atmosphere down here was so toxic and abrasive that the cells in her nose and throat were constantly raw. Of course, being hit didn't exactly help, either.

T wordlessly handed her another handkerchief. His hands were smooth and soft—he'd clearly never done any manual labor in his life.

"Thank you," she said, lifting it up to her nose. It was a flimsy thing that seemed very ill-suited for such a bloody purpose, all white silk and lace trim. She wondered briefly where T had gotten a lady's handkerchief, then she noticed the initials A.P.C. in the corner.

"Does this belong to—"

"Acidalia? Yeah."

"Will she miss it?"

T shook his head. "With the amount of stuff she owns? You could probably steal a car from her and she wouldn't notice. She has a million of them and she doesn't even drive. One time Ace literally took two thousand credits out of her coat pocket and she didn't say anything, because she had so much money that two thousand credits was nothing."

"How do you even fit two thousand credits in your pocket?" Lyra asked, awed. She couldn't imagine having that much money. She envisioned Acidalia with her pockets overflowing with bills, but that seemed trashy.

"They make thousand-credit bills now," Ace said, "for all your rich-people needs. You know, for the awkward moments when you want to buy a new yacht—" he pronounced it yak-it— "but you have to pay credit."

"Yachts cost a lot more than two thousand credits," T replied dryly.

"Eh, after a while all the numbers blend together. One of Acidalia's ladies-in-waiting spent three million credits on a dress that used to belong to Anna Luminosa, so I've stopped pretending I know how much anything is worth."

"Well, buying historical artifacts is a little different. Anna Luminosa was one of the Founders, by the way," he explained to a bemused Lyra. "She was a friend of Katerina, or maybe a relative."

Lyra nodded along, not wanting to seem uneducated. She had no idea who Anna Luminosa was, but that probably didn't matter. She knew enough to understand that anyone who had ever met Katerina was important by virtue of that alone.

"Anyway," Cassandra said, interrupting the conversation, "let's talk about the fact that everyone is out for Ace's blood. Why did we stop talking about that? That seems more important than the spending habits of idiot Princips-castes with more money than common sense."

Ace groaned. "Can we maybe not? Listen, I get it, but what am I going to do about it? I can't exactly go out there and say I'm innocent. Nobody will believe me—I'll get eaten alive. The only person who could possibly save me at the moment is Acidalia Cipher, and everyone knows she won't." His voice had a slight edge of resentment to it, and Lyra wondered if he was jealous.

"See, the problem with that is that Acidalia absolutely would defend you if you asked her to," T said. "But you are not going to ask her, because we don't need her getting more scrutiny than she already does. They're probably planning on killing her as we speak. Her jumping to Ace's defense will only accelerate that."

"Yeah, but if she doesn't, they'll kill me."

Cassandra glared at him. "Stop the melodrama. They can't kill you if they can't find you. They know you didn't do it, and they have no interest in really tracking you down—they just need someone to blame, and you happened to be convenient."

"But what if they do try to hunt me down?" Ace asked, his tone high-pitched and whiny. He picked at the neon purple fabric of the couch, looking equal parts stressed and immature.

"Then you'll just have to hide," Cassandra shrugged.

"Easy for you to say. You've spent your whole life hiding."

"You get used to it."

"Maybe you and Kalyn do, but I'm not like that." Ace shook his head. "This is insane. I can't believe I've been accused of trying to assassinate my best friend's sister. Sure, I've said I wanted to kill her before, but it was just a joke, you know? I would never—"

"Don't," T interrupted. "It's not me you have to convince."

Ace leant back, crestfallen, and Lyra's heart sunk. "Why are they so hell-bent on making Cassiopeia into a heroine?" she asked. Noblewomen defended their own—they usually did—but house Cipher and house Generalis hated each other. It was an open secret that the only reason house Generalis was dying was because Alestra had murdered all of its leaders. She supposed it made sense that she was only pardoning Cassiopeia because she didn't like Acidalia, but even then…

"Blame the Nova," Ace said miserably. "The goddamn Novagenetica are behind everything."

"What?" Lyra had only heard the name Novagenetica once or twice, but it had never been in a particularly good context. They were a group of fringe caste supremacists who believed staunchly in the merit of eugenics, but Lyra had never taken the time to really understand what that meant. She knew they were annoying and sometimes violent, but they weren't that big or important—to her knowledge, at least.

"Don't listen to him," T said. "We don't know that for sure. We have our suspicions, but we can't prove anything definitively. Alestra is Nova, and so are some others, but the notion that they're secretly controlling everything in the whole court is a little out there."

"But Alestra is Nova?" Lyra didn't know why she was surprised. The empress and her court were notorious for their dislike of the lower castes—Alestra's obsessive hatred of everyone below the Logos cohort far eclipsed that of Ciphers past. It made sense that she'd be in the Nova, naturally, if they held such similar opinions. But still…

"Yes," T said, "and that's a problem, because Alestra is rich. Really rich. She's turned a fringe hate group into a paramilitary powerhouse, and fighting against them grows more difficult every day. Luckily, Acidalia has money, too, and the court is fractured and splintered enough that it's unlikely for every noblewomen to be a part of the same cause. Maybe Alestra and Cassiopeia are allies now—I don't know. But the notion that the Nova is behind every single event that's ever happened in the court, that's too much for even me to believe."

Ace shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"It doesn't matter, anyway," T replied. "Acidalia is in danger regardless. The Nova don't like people they don't consider perfect, and who's more imperfect than a Martian bastard who somehow managed to swindle her way onto Eleutheria's throne? Last night was just one attempt, but if this pattern continues, it'll be the first of many. And who says they'll even be things she can fight off? Someone once killed a spy with a poison dart hidden inside an umbrella gun. How do you even defend yourself from that?"

"Stay away from umbrellas," Cassandra said flippantly, like the answer was obvious. Lyra didn't know if she was playing dumb or if she actually believed that was a viable long-term strategy. The truth was if Alestra wanted someone dead, they'd die—even Acidalia could never hope to evade the grip of someone so powerful. Maybe it wouldn't be poison darts shot out of umbrellas, but there were a million other ways an aristocrat could go about killing a woman she didn't like—cyanide-laced food, nerve gas in the air vents, shots fired by invisible snipers, handheld items rigged to explode when touched. And Alestra wouldn't even have to take the blame for it. She could do what she'd done with Ace and pass it off as some crazed attack by a lone-wolf psychopath, and she and everyone she loved would come out of it unharmed. There was no way Acidalia would last another week with so many people after her blood.

"Does nobody but me realize the severity of this?" T asked, looking stressed. "Forget about losing your leader for a moment. Forget about the fact that she's my sister, forget about Aleskynn taking the throne, forget about Alestra ruling unabated for another seven years until she reaches her majority. Forget about all that. Acidalia is a Cipher. She's a lethal biological weapon in the form of a twenty-something empress, and if she dies, so does the whole Revolution."

"Biological weapon?" Lyra asked. "Revolution? What—"

"Don't ask," Cassandra said sharply. "All right, fine, Acidalia is important. What are we going to do about her imminent demise, then?"

"Are we just going to ignore the fact that I'm—" Ace began.

"Yes," T interrupted. "We can talk about that later once people stop trying to murder my sister in broad daylight, okay? First we need to get Acidalia out of danger. She is our priority right now."

Ace sighed melodramatically. "Fine. But when they kill me, I'm going to haunt you so hard."

T evidently elected to ignore him. "We should get Andromeda on this," he said, "and let someone from the Magistratum know. There might be enough time to get someone capable on the Imperial Guard if we can get the bribe money. Maybe we can even arrange an impromptu rendezvous on Mars or something—any excuse to get Acidalia away from this planet. The only caveat is that she can't plan things herself—it'll look suspicious. And—" Suddenly he jumped up, looking alarmed.

"What is it?" Ace asked.

T looked down at his hands. They were bright red and sticky, drenched in coagulating blood. Lyra cringed—she hadn't realized that she'd been bleeding badly enough to cover the whole couch.

"This girl needs a doctor yesterday," T finished. "We have to get back to base ASAP. Are you coming with us?"

It took Lyra a minute to notice that he was addressing her. Did she want to go back "to base" with them? she wondered. If they were talking about a military base built by and for the Eleutherian space force, then she'd stick out like a sore thumb, but the fact that he spoke to Cassandra like she was a member of his group made Lyra think that they were not discussing standard army procedures. And he had mentioned the word "revolution" before. Did Lyra want to be a revolutionary? She had no strong feelings towards Acidalia, but this man who had been so uncharacteristically nice was her brother, and that had to count for something. Besides, Alestra was no saint.

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding louder than she expected. "Yeah. Yeah, absolutely."

"Great." As T ran out of the room, presumably to get a transport machine of some kind, he tossed her another white handkerchief emblazoned with his sister's initials. "Hold your nose tight and keep your head down—you don't want the blood going down your throat."

"I will." Lyra felt dizzied, but she didn't think it was the bleeding. What the hell had she just said yes to?

#eurekaproject #on the edge of eureka #POV Lyra #Lyra #Cassandra #T #Ace (Character)

0 notes

keaalu · 8 years ago

Text

Keeping it

Setting – Deixar, Cybertron. “Blue” AU. Probably about 8 years (deci-vorn?) before the missing Skywarp finally reappears. TC gets a cameo here but this is mostly OCs. (Whitesides and Pulsar)

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It was getting late. Not that you could really tell.

Most of the day had already drained out of the sky, leaving only a thin rind of surly orange at the horizon, but lurid night-cycle advertisements bled unreasonable colours up into the dark and turned everything confusing shades of pink and cyan.

That was one of the drawbacks of this whole ‘urban renewal’ thing. Pulsar preferred it when the dark cycle was… well, dark.

Deixar central police station was quiet and calm; a little island that the vivid neon hadn’t quite invaded yet. The grav-bike traipsed heavily past the front desk, dragging her feet and leaving dirty scuffmarks on the tiles of the foyer. She’d pulled a double, as a favour to her sister, and now had a head full of data and no space to think.

“Hey, Pulse?”

A voice bumped into her thoughts; she glanced up to see the desk sergeant watching her.

“You’re late back, tonight. Problem shift?” he prompted.

She realised she was trying to get into a storage cupboard instead of the lift, and vented a small sigh at herself. Maybe she was more depleted than she’d thought. “S’fine.” She found a smile for him. “Just need to defrag. Pulled a double, covering for Beemer.”

He bobbed his head in a single nod. “That's the second time in ten orns. You know you can say ‘no’ when she asks you?”

Pulsar spread her hands, and offered a little shrug, smile and roll of the eyes before stepping onto the lift. The instant the doors sliced him away from view, she sagged back against the wall, and let her head bonk down onto the mirrored surface.

That’s what siblings were for, right? Bailing you out if you got in a jam. So why was it always her that seeming to do the bailing?

’Cause you’re a fragging doormat, Pulse; that’s why.

She covered her face with both hands and sighed into her palms. There was a difference between bailing someone out because they were a mate, and shamelessly preying on a femme’s good nature because you knew she was a mug who’d always cave if you laid it on thick enough.

The lift ding!ed softly and the doors opened on the office. She stared out at the first row of desks, with their high partitions and banks of computer terminals, and for the count of ten thousand, wondered whether she’d end up on disciplinary proceedings if she just… turned around and went home, scan data be damned?

No. She had to upload it all at some point. Better to get a clear head than attempt to defragment this almighty mess. She slipped out between the lift doors just as they began to close, and headed into the maze of untidy workstations.

The upper floor offices were quiet; this time of night, no-one really wanted to head all the way to the top of the station just to upload their sensor data. A handful of officers were spread among the desks, but she didn’t know any of them very well, and none of them acknowledged her. Suited her just fine.

She made her way over to the corner, and her favourite terminal, furthest from the dirty white street-lighting pooling in from outside. It was a glitchy piece of slag that really needed replacing, but it was also the most comfortable, being closest to both a decent air conditioner and the tower’s main ground rod, and she’d got the hang of exactly how to get its flaky connectors to respond. She scrambled inelegantly up onto one of the high desk chairs, and delivered a single sharp blow to the top left of the terminal screen.

After a second or two where the screen just flickered, ominously… it hummed to life and chirped a saccharine greeting that made her want to punch it for real. It extended a cable for her to hook up with.

Next time, she told herself, accepting the handshake and slumping back in her chair, one of her sibs could do it.

If she could actually find either of the lazy fraggers. Her two siblings must have precognition in their skillsets, because they always managed to slope off right before Longbeam came along, pleading for cover. Surefire had conveniently been called back to Earth, ostensibly to work. Whitesides had gone completely off the grid, unannounced as ever; she was trying not to worry about him. You know the mech’s in a relationship, Pulse, because the whole station is abuzz trying to work out who with.

-you owe me- she pinged Longbeam, and glared when the only response was a smiley face.

Trying to swallow her irritation, Pulsar turned her attention onto the deliciously cool air pouring down from the venting, leaning her stool back into it. Maybe she could get a few minutes defragment while it was quiet? She shut off her optics, relaxed back in her chair, and let her free arm dangle.

Pit, it was nice to just ground for a while. It didn’t take long to ease into a pleasant doze, letting her higher awareness slip into idle while her head-full of data slowly cleared.

Something small and light bounced off one of her antennae. She rebooted her optics and watched as a scrunched-up candy wrapper rolled to a halt next to her outstretched hand.

She frowned. Why was someone throwing things at her when they (presumably) had a perfectly functioning communications array – or vocaliser, for that matter – that they could use to get her attention?

She stretched up to peer over her terminal, trying to spot whoever had thrown it, but no-one looked back. Instead, she leaned forwards and picked up the ball of glittery cellophane, and smoothed it out between her thumbs. It was disappointingly blank.

“Psst!”

The voice came from one side. She turned to look, and in the gloom of an unlit storage alcove, finally spotted two dim blue lights; the optics of someone trying very hard not to draw attention to himself. A small yellow hand emerged briefly from the shadow to wave her over.

“Whitesides?” She frowned at her sibling. “Where have you-”

He interrupted with an urgent little ssh! and beckoned more emphatically.

Her frown deepened, but she obediently unplugged from the terminal, and made her way over to him. She’d uploaded enough data to have regained a clear head – the rest of her scans would have to wait.

“So you’re not too good to be seen with us, now?” she challenged, arms folded.

Whitesides managed a nervous giggle and shooed her behind a shelving unit.

“Where have you been?” Pulsar had to fight off the urge to shake him. “You couldn’t even ping us a hello to let us know you weren’t stuffed in a dumpster in a back alley somewhere?”

“Sorry.” For someone who’d made a name for himself as the master of the gossip around the station, his voice was unusually soft. Shaky. He met her gaze for only a few uneasy seconds. “I-I would have, but-… I wanted to skate under the radar, for a breem or two. Didn’t want anyone else spotting my signal just yet.” He shifted from one foot to the other, brought one hand up to rub the opposing arm. “I sneaked in through custody.”

Pulsar had heard the babble about Skyshout wanting extra hands to help quell a riot in the cell block, at the rear of the station, and could imagine one little bike managing to slip past the ruckus without attracting much attention.

He twisted his hands together and drew a short, steadying intake of cold air through his core. “Listen, I’m in a spot of bother. Could I-… could I ask a tiny favour off you?”

“A favour.” She tried to swallow it, but the sigh slipped out anyway. “Sure.” She threw up her hands. “Why not. Why should Beemer be the only one allowed to monopolise every last astro-second of my spare time.”

Whitesides almost flinched, and shrank back on himself. “Sorry! Sorry. I-… I mean, it’s-… All right. Never mind! It doesn’t matter.” He cast a furtive glance around the alcove, as if hopeful of finding a helpful person among the cluttered shelves. Or maybe looking for an exit. “Sorry. I knew you were busy, I shouldn’t have barged in. I’ll, I’ll… think of something-”

Pulsar vented a sigh of stuffy air through her pursed lips and put out an arm to stop him slinking away. “No, no. It’s all right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just… feeling a little taken for granted, right now. And not by you. It’s made me fractious.” She managed to find a tired half-smile for him that didn’t come across as a complete snarl. “What kind of favour.”

He shifted his weight back onto the other foot, unable to keep from fidgeting. “Maybe I should start over. Could we go and, um. Talk in private somewhere?”

“How bad is the trouble you’re in?” she intuited.

He gave another of those funny nervous little laughs that wasn’t mirrored in his expression. “…I try not to make it too obvious, and I might as well just paint it across my chassis. It’s… complicated.”

“It’s always complicated, with you. Who was it this time?”

“It’s not that. Or rather it is that as well, but it’s more than just that.” He laced both hands over the back of his neck. “Primus. I practiced what I was going to say the whole way up here and then you asked something I wasn’t expecting and the words are escaping me and-… I’m just making myself look an idiot. Give me a moment?”

“Sure.” She stood and quietly took in how scruffy the mech was – dusty, dirty, with little dents and flecks of someone else’s paint scuffed into his pale enamel, and such a dramatic kink in one of his antennae, the whole unit would probably need replacing. He rarely got so bumped around when he was actually on duty.

Must have been a pretty sustained attack. “Was it them that roughed you up?” She reached out a hand to see if she could straighten the bent aerial somewhat, but he ducked back out of reach.

“Oh, that – no, it was my fault.” He covered the long silver stems spreading from behind his audio venting with both palms. “Wasn’t watching where I was going. Took a wrong turn somewhere. You’ve ended up in districts that aren’t friendly towards police; you know what it’s like?”

It wasn’t remotely convincing, but Pulsar didn’t push. “...right.”

His unusually-shifty manner was setting off a whole cacophony of alarm bells in the back of her head. Whitesides’ lack of guile – and inability to lie convincingly – was what tended to get him in trouble in the first place. Who had he lied to? And – mercy – what had they done when they’d seen through it? A hundred terrible scenarios had already invaded her thoughts.

“So, um.” Whitesides twisted his hands together and took another long stabilising draught of cold air. “I have to go to the hospital. Would-… would you come with me? I’ve got an appointment, and, um-” His voice stuck, briefly. “I’m scared to go.”

The terrible scenarios all immediately stopped, only to be replaced by terrible scenarios of a slightly different flavour. He didn’t look badly hurt. Maybe that was the problem. “…Was that the favour?”

He nodded, silently, just once.

“Of course I will. But why don’t you wait until you feel better, though?” She held out a hand for him, but he declined to take it. “Give yourself a chance to stop and think. You might decide you don’t want me there, after all.”

She almost added, because you don’t look that bad, you vain little mech, but swallowed the words at the last moment. At least nothing looked life-threatening. He was a bit bashed around, but a trip through the washracks would deal with the dirt, and the bent antenna might be distracting but it wouldn’t hurt.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, although she couldn’t quite shed the frown tightening her brows. She gestured an arm towards the office. “Or, if it’s easier, we could just go see Spotweld? He’s on duty downstairs and he’s pretty good at being diplomati-”

Whitesides jumped as though stung. “No-! No, uh.”

Pulsar gave him a funny look.

“I-I mean. I’ve already got an appointment. Uh. Out in Tysta.”

“Tysta? That’s a whole district over! Why ever did you want to go all the way out there?”

“Privacy. No-one knows me, over there. Plus, uh, this is the second time I’ve made the appointment.” His voice was little more than a whisper; so unlike him. “I don’t want to annoy them by cancelling again. I went once already, but, uh…” He shrugged. “I got spooked and came home, instead.”

“What’s wrong, Whites?” She took both of his hands and refused to let them go, leaning closer to meet his gaze. “Please. You’re scaring me. Is someone threatening you? Has someone hurt you?” She strained to catch any flicker in his expression that might betray his confidence. “Is someone trying to blackmail you? If they’ve tried to embarrass you, or something… Look, we’ll sort something out, it’ll be fine-”

He jerked his hands free, and choked the words out: “I’m sparked, Pulse.”

Silence yawned up between them like a monstrous black hole. He looked like he wanted to suck the words back in, or have the ground swallow him, or perhaps both.

For several seconds, all she could do was stare at him.

“Yeah. I’m-… I’m sparked,” he repeated, shakily.

“Sparked?” she finally managed, and he flapped his hands, frantically shush!-ing her. “How?”

He spread his palms. “Well, see, when two people love each other very much…” His voice broke and the words strangled off, and he forced out a laugh or maybe a sob or something to cover it. “Careless, I guess? An accident? Maybe my baffle slipped, I don’t know." He gave her a loaded glance. "You know better than me that accidents happen."

Her optics narrowed and he looked away.

She gave him a long, wary look. “…this… is a good thing… isn’t it?” She tried for a small smile; the mech always got a funny wistful look about him when the idea of children came up. So why doesn’t it look it? “Have you told your partner?”

This time, the noise was definitely more of a sob. “Yeah. I’ve… explained. I think.”

Okay; it definitely hadn’t been a good thing. She squeezed his hands. "I've been worried spare about you, mech. Why did it take you so long to come talk to me?”

“Needed a few orns to myself. To-to… brace myself for the gossip, I guess?”

Whitesides’ loose plating wasn’t precisely a secret. Making his way up the chain of command, one berth at a time. It never took much to win his affection, and he might not be too fussy who he shared sparks with – or where, or how often… -- and current opinion held that it was a miracle he hadn’t got himself in this kind of a mess three times already.

But he’d always been a bright, passionate, generous little mech, too, who never asked for much except to be loved back, and it made her furious to see him so shaky and broken.

“Did they do this to you?” She ran her thumb over the kink in his aerial and gently tried to press it out.

“No!” Too fast; he hastily added an ineffectual lie that the expression in his optics said he knew she didn’t believe. “No. Just-… ended up in a rougher part of the district, where policebikes don’t usually go on their own and certainly not in uniform.” Another of those horrible little attempts at a self-deprecating laugh.

“Through your own choice?”

“Of-… of course through my own choice. Why else would it have been?”

“Nobody perhaps encouraged you to go, to make sure you knew to keep your vocaliser offline?”

“Of-of course not. It’s not like I’d have said anything unless they wanted-… I wasn’t trying to blackmail anyone-!”

“…When did I ever mention blackmail, Whites?”

He shook his hands free of her grip, but she’d already felt him trembling. “I’m sorry. Primus, I’m sorry. What a mess.” He paced out a tight circle in the alcove’s limited floorspace. Heat already made the air around him shimmer. “I should have made sure I could get under control before talking to you. What a mess.” He groaned and clutched at the shelves for support. “Primus. Is it meant to always hurt like this?” His knees wobbled underneath him.

“Shh, shh, it’s only feedback,” she soothed, holding his shoulders and supporting him while he shook. “You’ve got hot and stressed and your core pressure has gone up.” She straightened and looked briefly out into the office; the few officers still around didn’t even spare her a glance. “Let’s not hide in a cupboard, eh? We’ll go and find somewhere nice and cool. The mess down the corridor should be empty this time of the orn.”

She shepherded him through the empty washracks, to rinse off the worst of the dust and maybe cool him down a little, then retreated to the quiet staff break-room next to the Superintendent’s office. Officers of her grade weren’t strictly allowed access, but she knew a few strings she could pull if anyone gave her a hard time.

Not as if two bikes quietly huddled up together in the slouchy cushions in the corner by the big window would raise many eyebrows. They gazed out over the city together; watching life go on under the intense dark of a sky turned starless by the riot of colour in the streets below.

“Come on.” Pulsar let him snuggle closer, curling an arm around his shoulders and trying to extend her electric field enough to support him. He felt so prickly, it was like trying to comfort a small magnetic storm. “You’ve got to give me the details, now. How long have you known?”

The words were still quiet, but Whitesides didn’t sound quite so shellshocked as he had. “About… five orns, give or take. It started to hurt, but I wasn’t injured, and-… I remembered what you said happened with yours. Why you went to speak to Sepp that time.” He let his helm rest against the front of her shoulder. “I went to a doctor in Tysta. Somewhere no-one knows me, just in case. He says it’s not very old yet, probably only about twenty orns.”

“You’ve already got it checked out? Why do you need me, then?”

“Because I’m a coward.” He laughed, miserably. “It all seemed so big. I didn’t- didn’t want to rush into something I hadn’t really thought about and couldn’t undo.” He gave her a hopeful glance, although he still couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You don’t have to actually do anything. I-I’ve got the appointment, I just…” His voice dwindled, fracturing into a whisper that she struggled to hear. “Need someone with me. Don’t want to go and… stare at the door for half an orn then run away, again.”

She managed a small smile. “I never said I’d changed my mind. You’re still going to have to put up with me tagging along behind you.” She stroked his antennae, gently. “Just wondered why you needed to go back.”

“To, uh.” He couldn’t force the words out, and had to reboot his vocaliser. “To get rid of it.”

She stayed silent, to let the words sink in.

He struggled on, in the silence. “It’s. The doctor said, uh. Not very stable yet. Uh. If-if… I wanted to get rid of it, it won’t… it’ll be quite straight-forward-”

“Why?”

“Might forgive me, if I dissolve it.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Might even want me back.”

Anger surged inside her, and Pulsar had to work surprisingly hard to keep her field even. “Oh, Whites. Primus. Look. Whatever you want to do,” she said, in a soft, stilted voice. “You have my support. All right?”

She felt him nod against her shoulder.

“But it’s got to be what you want, Whites. Primus, please.” She cupped his cheek and forced him to look her in the optic. “This has to be your decision, spark! Don’t you dare do this just because some overbearing, jealous… slagmunch… doesn’t want to take responsibility for their actions. They gave up their chance to have any input on your decision when they left you feeling like you didn’t.”

He actually flinched and averted his gaze. “It’s not about what I want, though, is it? It’s something I don’t have any choice about. I’ve got to be sensible about this. P-practical. I can’t just be… selfish. I-I… have no idea how I’d even afford to look after it.”

It didn’t take a psychologist to work out exactly what must be going on. Someone was embarrassed; probably someone much more important than a lowly policebike.

Well if they hadn’t wanted to feel ashamed of sparking up one of the juniors, they shouldn’t have led the poor spark on in the first place!

She could feel her field starting to bristle, angry – furious – on his behalf.

He could feel it, too, and was actually cringing away from her. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Pulse. Please please-… I can’t lose this job, I can’t-!”

“Is that what they said to you?” Her spark hurt, hot and constricted.

“Is-… is what?”

“Keep your mouth shut or you’re on the streets. Get rid of it or you’re out of a job.”

“N-no. No! I just-… I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought they’d be happy-! I-I-… I don’t know what to do, Pulse.” His words dissolved into static.

Pulsar curled tighter around him and pressed her cheek against the top of his helm. “It’s all right,” she whispered, humming softly. “It’ll be fine, we’ll think of something.”

For someone who never normally needed an excuse to snuggle, Whitesides clung to her like a mech who’d been starved of friendly contact for millennia, arms so tight around her chassis she thought her plating might actually buckle. She tried not to fantasize about what she’d do if she ever caught up with the sparkless scrapheap that put her friend in such a state.

“S-said-… thought I was t-trying to blackmail,” he tried to explain. His vocaliser was hitchy and discordant; most of the words came in fits and starts between the static. “Poisonous, treacherous little whore-”

“Oh, Whites-… who cares what they think, when they clearly can’t even see what’s right in front of them?”

He made a funny strangled little noise, and shut his vocaliser off altogether.

She swallowed any further words, and just hummed softly for him instead.

After what felt like a very long time, he finally began to calm – his deathgrip began to ease, his field began to smooth out, his shaking began to ease. “Thanks,” he croaked, faintly, sitting forwards and wiping his face with one hand. “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Don’t apologise, mech. Who else could you have got involved?” she chastised, gently, and he finally found a more genuine flicker of a smile for her. “So. What do you want to do? I’ll still come with you to the hospital, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

He remained silent, for a few moments; lifted his hand and flattened the palm over his spark, almost absent-minded. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” She set her own hand over the top. “It’s why you didn’t just go and do it in the first place.”

He let his hand slip back to his lap. “How will I afford it? My salary doesn’t precisely make me affluent on a normal day, let alone looking after a newspark.”

“You afford it the same way that I afforded it – and I had two hungry monsters to keep in fuel.” She offered a small, sheepish smile. “You’re not the only one to have ever had an affair, you know? Or an accident. Besides, you helped me drag my twins up to be mostly-responsible adults without even being asked, it’s only fair for me to return the favour. You know the rest of the guys will help out.”

“I can’t take you all for granted like that-”

“It’s not taking someone for granted if they offer to help in the first place.” She watched as he scrubbed a palm over his antennae, trying to wake himself up a little. Poor mech looked exhausted. “You need to get some rest, because you look almost flat. When’s your next shift?”

“Uh.” He had to think about it for a full few seconds. “Not for an orn and a half?”

“Good. That means you can come home with me and get some proper down time. Infinitely more comfortable than dealing with that flock of gossips down in dorms.” She grasped both his hands in both of hers, and leaned backwards, encouraging him to his feet. He responded heavily, but at least he was still responding.

Large families were mixed blessings. Pulsar had never quite got used to the noise… but the benefits vastly outweighed the annoyances.

She pinged Footloose, asking her sparkling to meet them on the roof, then boldly marched through the superintendent’s empty office and up the short flight of stairs to the air gate. Whitesides followed, clinging to her hand, looking like a lost turbopuppy – small, silent, emotionally exhausted.

Footloose scooped them both up and gave them a lift to Pulsar’s suburban home, and although you could see the worry in her optics, she didn’t push; just wrapped her uncle in a hug and held him for a few moments before whirling away to attend her next trauma case.

The house was empty and dark; thank Primus for small mercies. It meant she didn’t have to figure out how to explain with Whitesides and his frazzled emotions right there, listening in.

By the time Pulsar had got her brother settled in her room and ensured he was recharging, and gone down to the storage unit to fetch a flask of something well-filtered and ice-cold, she felt half-grey already; dead on her feet. Making it back upstairs to her room just wasn’t going to happen.

She folded a thermal foil around her shoulders and plopped down on the enormous couch at the rear of the atrium, then pressed the heels of her hands against her optics. “Ugh.” So much for that downtime she’d been looking forwards to. Wasn’t that long until her next shift was due to start. She hoped she’d get the chance to finish her upload before then, or she’d be the one conked out in a back alley.

She glared briefly at her flask, and drained it in one single long gulp. It didn’t make her feel even remotely better.

It felt like she’d stared at the reflection of her own optics for a very long time before the thunder of jet engines shaded subtly into her awareness. Sounded like her housemates were on the way home, at last; she’d not seen either since yesterday, when they’d headed out to New Vos, to discuss the ongoing rebuild-…

She caught herself scanning the sky for the familiar pinpoints of paired running lights, and realised just how much she was looking forwards to having a trustworthy audio to unload on. (Assuming she could stay awake long enough to do so. Or figure out how to even start the conversation.)

The two jets touched down in their comparatively-luxurious front yard. Leaving his wingmate outside, discussing something with Nightsun, Starscream was first through the door in the huge glass front wall, his arms loaded with plant samples. He did a brief double-take at seeing Pulsar on the couch… then stood and stared more suspiciously at her, as if to ask why she was on the couch and not in the chaos of her own room. When she failed to volunteer anything, he muttered something she didn’t catch and carried on his way without further challenging her.

Thundercracker was more forthcoming. He hesitated in the centre of the atrium, and just frowned at her, for a few seconds, waiting for her to speak. “Everything all right?” he coaxed, when she didn’t take the invitation.

She opened her mouth to speak, and realised that she didn’t actually know how to broach the subject. After a few seconds where his brows perked higher and she felt like even more of an idiot, she finally managed to clarify; “there’s going to be a new addition to the family.”

He… froze… for just long enough that she realised the implications of her words.

“Not me,” she hastily added, sitting straighter in alarm. “Primus! Haha, no, Primus, not me.”

The dark head perked briefly to one side. “Whitesides?” he guessed. She figured he must have picked up the mech’s frequency, and added the two together. He lowered his bulk to perch elegantly on the arm of the couch. “…is he all right?”

“No.” She laughed, sourly. “And for once he’s not even trying to pretend everything’s fine.” She covered her optics with one hands and vented a huff of hot air in a short, frustrated sigh. “I swear, if I ever find out who’s been treating that poor mech like a dirty little secret?” She stabbed a finger at him, as if to drive home the point. “I will yank their spark out, through their damn exhaust.”

“All right, firecracker.” He rested a giant hand on her shoulder. “I’ll even hold ’em down for you. But maybe you should wait until you’ve got some rest, eh?”

“Rest! Pit. That’d be nice,” she groaned, and let her arms flop out to either side. “But I’ve got to be back at work at any time. Talk about Beemer’s bad timing.”

“No you don’t. I’ve already organised cover for you.”

She looked up at him and frowned.

“Why do you think I was talking to Nightsun? Nice though it is to actually get the chance to talk to my deputy every now and then…” The blue mech smiled in a way that Pulsar took to be a subtle telling-off. “When the junior officers invite themselves into the senior lounge, then leave the building via the superintendent’s private air-gate, people take notice.”

“…oh.” She hunched her shoulders and glanced away. “Iiii didn’t think anyone had spotted us.”

“That much was obvious.” He flicked a finger gently across her antennae. “Get some rest, eh? I think we’re all going to need it…!”

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Crossposted to http://keaalu.dreamwidth.org/33224.html and http://keaalu.livejournal.com/470242.html for people who prefer those platforms...

#whitesides #pulsar #Blue au #transformers #short story

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