#bee quake

[the-phoenix-and-the-witch]

Bee and Valerie: Scared Space

Hello Hello loves! Created some for me and my friend @secretsnailor! Small interaction of Bee and Valerie!! This was so much fun to write!!!

wc:2694

Both Bee and Valerie join the crew WBP right around the same time. During their first interaction, they hit it off right away. It seemed every time they were together they seemed to laugh a bit louder catching the attention of some of the crew that passed by. Bee would see the different books in Valerie's room, piquing her curiosity she would look through the books seeing the vase selection on spell work, history, and other literature she had on the shelf. 

It was rather a slower day on the ship. It would be a few days before the ship docked at another island. Bee sees Valerie looking for something opening the drawers and trying to find the item. “Whatcha looking for?” She was laying on her head off the bed as she was looking upside down. 

“It’s a specific dragon scale. I swore I had some, I have a night shredder breed but not the monstrous nightmare.” She had one hand on her hip and the other hand stretching on the top of her head. 

Bee sat up shaking her head slightly as her eyes adjusted to the change. She saw all the ingredients in the bowl. “Knowing that some dragons usually migrate to a designated area for the seasonal changes, we are in the midst of spring close to summer,” Bee remembered reading a chapter on the migrations of the dragons Valerie had on her shelf. Though not a lot of people knew where the dragons migrated to. A lot of people hunted the dragons due to the values they carried from their horns to their teeth. Scales were considered to hold a great deal of magical properties as the old scales tend to shed as new ones grew. The old scales held the mature magic that was ready to be used for multiple purposes. “Any ideas where that breed migrates too??” Bee heard some stories of where Valerie grew up and different mythical creatures that often stayed on her island due to the high levels of magic and the creatures feeling at peace.

“I actually do! Though we may not get there anytime soon, we are in the opposite direction ….Although I have a way we can get there sooner.” the tips of her fingers lightly tapping against one another as she smiles.

“I like that smile hehe what do you have in mind??”  Bee began lightly tapping her own fingers as well.

“Let’s leave the ship for a while and have an adventure!” grabbing a small bag and some jars, then took Bee by her hand leading her to the standing mirror. “You trust me right?” her hands began to glow a light purple

“I do!” She responded

Placing her hand against the glass “Aperit fauces eius ad mundum nostrum, nunc, ianua magna aperta tandem.” The glass begins to light up Bee’s eyes widen seeing the small vortex appearing in front of them.  “Ready?”

“LET’S GOOO!” Bee cheered, eager to step into the vortex. Both of them stepped through the mirror stepping on a grass field. A sudden wave of what could be explained as relaxation hit them both. Bee could feel her fingertips tingling with the high amount of magic after they stepped onto the place they landed. The cool crisp air hit her nostril, the slightly warm wind dancing through her wavy hair. “This..is breathtaking.” She looked around, seeing a large pond filled with clear water. Right above them both, she thought some clouds were coming in but following a Screech sound, it wasn’t a cloud. Seeing the large beast up close as it flew past the both of them as he headed towards the pond. This was the first time she saw before her eyes.

Valerie saw the amazement in Bee’s eyes traveling following the large needle nadder breed. “It is.. This is called the sacred space, lots of dragons tend to stay here for periods at a time, some often nesting here as well.”

~Meanwhile back on the ship~

“Oi where's Bee and Val at?” Thatch asked some of the commanders who were hanging out with Whitebeard on the deck.

“They should be in Val’s room.. Are they not -yoi?” Marco looked at the fourth commander whose arms were crossed.

“I checked and nothing.” he let out a sigh. “I was gonna have them try out some stuff I’ve been working on.”

“I can try it!!” Ace volunteered himself to taste the food that was prepared.

“Wait, did you check the stock room?” Izou ask

“Yeah…I couldn’t find them… Unless. What if they flew the coop?!?!”  Thatch speculated.

“We would have noticed another ship or a boat leaving away from us. They might be playing some sort of a game and we are not in it.” Vista twisted the tip of his mustache. “They always pop up after a few hours.”

Whitebeard didn’t worry too much about the two women as they didn’t cause trouble on the ship. “I trust the two las, if they are in some form of trouble they can get out of it…”

~~~~

Walking down the grass hill both of them heard a few screeches to the side of them in the distance. “I should also mention Monstrous nightmares are a bit more tempermentated out of a lot of breeds and very defensive.” 

Bee stood still for a moment “I’m not going to get eaten right!?”

“No no… If the monstrous nightmare I’m looking at is where we should be fine.” Valerie tried to reassure her.

“And if they are not??” Bee raised her brow.

“We will need to make friends with them. Dragons are very sacred creatures showing them the respect they will show you respect. They are also a good judge of characters as well. Not only do dragons reside here but also a special fruit called Paopu,  if it's shared between two people they are destined to be part of one another's lives forever.” She nudged her friend, wiggling her brow. This sent a scarlet color over Bee’s cheeks. Noticing the interaction between her and the captain of the Whitebeard Pirates.

“Pshhhh I don’t know what you're talking about.”  Bee began to compose herself; she tried to play it cool in front of the brunette.

“Oh nothing… you know seeing that smile on your face when you were complimented by a  very VERY large man today. The smile didn’t leave your face all morning.” a chuckle came from her lips.

After small chatting as they made their way down the path. The closer they got to the large creature the more anxious Bee was getting. She saw the different breeds of dragons. They were in the lounge as some of them were asleep and others were docile. Valerie's eyes saw the dragon she came for, letting some relief sigh out. Seeing the noticeable scar on the right side of his body he was asleep. Some of the dragons got the whiff of both scents and their heads turned toward them both. They heard a few of them growl as they approached closer and closer. Distributing the monstrous nightmare from his slumber, his eyes noticed a familiar person. Hearing the growls coming from the other dragons he let out a low roar to give the other dragons a signal to let them know ‘they mean no harm.  Walking past the other dragons slowly Bee looked at every single dragon noticing some of them having battle scars they survived from attackers, she could hear the rumble coming from some of them. Arriving in front of the Monstrous nightmare he let out a huff.

“Long time no see Cerbeus.” Valerie placed her hands on the snout of the dragon, her forehead resting against his snout; this was a form of greeting yet also showed how much she missed him. Cerberus traveled to her home island often; she knew the dragon since she was a young girl.  “Cerberus I want you to meet my dear friend Bee. Bee this is my long-time friend Cerberus.”

“H-hi big guy.”  she waved slowly, keeping her hand slightly tucked close to her. Cerberus moved his head towards the Bee. He began to sniff her hand before nudging her hand with his snout. Bee was surprised by the gesture of the dragon. His scales shined as the sun reflected them she could hear a low purr sound coming from him. “Thank god he is not going to eat me.” she got out a low chuckle. Her hands began to scratch underneath his chin.

“He likes you.” Valerie smiles seeing the scales that easily came off as Bee was giving him scratches. Valerie saw a small wound on the dragon's leg that was fresh, going into her bag grabbed a small jar with some ointment she made, and began to spread it on the wound. “I see you had another run-in with poachers…”  she spoke to the dragon. Bee noticed the wound Valerie was attending to. Cerberus let out a huff and a growl rumbled. “You have to be careful.. lucky they didn’t get your wings.” she looked at the wings seeing no injuries to them she stood up.

“Will he be alright?” she asked in a concerned tone.

“He will be fine.” giving a reassuring gesture. “Beeee???” Valerie tried to lighten up the mood.

“What is it?” she looked at her, she squinted her eyes giving a sly smile.

“Wonder what it feels like flying on a dragon. It's different from riding on Marco in his phoenix form.”

“That’s what she said.” Bee laughed at her own joke.

This causes the brujas face to turn extremely red. She turned trying to hide her red face. “Oh my god.” 

Bee’s eyes widened “Geez relax it was a joke Val.. unless you have something to tell me, you dirty birdie.” giving her friend the same nudge Valerie gave her earlier.

Valerie changed the subject quickly “Cerberus why don't you take Bee for a short ride. I’ll wait for you guys down here.”

Cerberus leaned his head down making it easier for her to climb onto his back. As he began to stand up on all fours making both of the girls feel shorter than they already did. “God we are short.” Bee looked up at the dragon.

“We are fun size.” Valerie stood a few feet back as she saw his wings expand. “Hold on tight!”

The flapping of the wings began causing a gust of wind. Bee’s hands held tightly onto Cerberus in just a matter of seconds as they were soaring through the sky. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment. The sudden rush of adrenaline filling her body opened her eyes to see how small everything looked on the ground. Her hair flowing through the wind alongside she saw a few dragons, some flying next to her and some flying in opposite directions. “THIS IS AWESOME!!!!” Bee exclaimed, raising her hands up.

Valerie could hear Bee’s shouting from high above her, she let out a  laugh. She continued to pick up the small scales on the ground, placing them in the empty jar. Something caught her eye a short distance and it started to give her ideas. After a few mins, Valerie decided to join Bee in a fly one of the other dragons that Valerie knew greeted her as she put the items in her bag. “Ready Calypso?” she asked as the Stormcutter breed nodded. Bee saw the Calypso approach with Valerie on the back of them. “Having fun?” she shouted a bit so Bee could hear her

“HELL YESS!!! Riding a badass dragon feeling fearless!!!!” Bee exclaimed.

After about an hour of riding the dragons. They let them rest two resting on the sides of the dragons. Both of their hair was a bit of a mess and they tried to contain the frizz as much as possible. “See nothing to fear!!!”

“Yeah!!! Hehe, this was a lot of fun! Things I can take off my bucket list: going through a vortex to another place in the world and riding/ befriending a dragon.” Bee laughed. They both had different lives growing up but sharing their experiences with one another seemed to bond their friendship. Bee shared her experiences of being in the postal office and where she traveled and delivered mail too. Valerie couldn’t travel much as she had to care/ guide the people on her island alongside her mother.“We need to do this again!!! Maybe even going to other islands and trying out the food places the islands are known for!!!”

“Yes, we need to!!!” giving her a cheesy smile.

 Both girls relaxed chatting for a while  before they noticed the sun beginning to set. Deciding to head back as they said their goodbyes to the large creatures. “We’ll come visit soon I promise.” hugging the monstrous nightmare.

Bee made her way and hugged the large creature “It was nice meeting you Cerberus. Maybe we can go on another flight when we visit!” The snorted as it agreed with Bee’s statement.

As they arrived back at the small portal they entered back into the room where they left. Nothing seemed out of place. As Valerie closed the portal she placed the bag down on the counter. “Before I forget I grabbed you a little something.” opening the bag to see a star fruit. “This is the fruit I was telling you about.”

Bee’s reached for the fruit which was a bright yellow. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.” She remembered what Valerie said earlier that day. This caused her cheeks to become red.

“He wouldn’t say no to sharing it with you. But I think you already knew that.” Valerie's expression softened. 

“Thank you.” Bee instantly hugged her Valerie gladly hugged back

“You're welcome.” patting her back.

“Both of you finally appeared after disappearing for a few hours yoi.” Marco was by the door way.

“Sorry about that.” Valerie scratched the back of her head, a light tint of pink dusted her cheeks. 

“Bee Pops was looking for ya..” Marco walked into the room.

“Oh I should go see him. I will see you guys for a bit for dinner!! BYEEEEE!” Bee quickly made her way out holding the fruit close to her chest. 

“BYEEEEEE!” responded back.

Marco let out a low chuckle. “You both seemed to have a good time.”  Marco moved a piece of her hair out of her face. Valerie didn’t grab just one fruit but two of them. Her heart would flutter every time seeing him. During their time on the ship together they developed their own personal bond with one another.

“It was a nice time, it's an adventure everywhere we go” giving the first commander a smile. She cleared her throat before speaking the next part  “There is something I would like to share with you, Marco.”  she walked to her bag grabbing the star fruit.

~~~~~~~

Bee was contemplating back and forth on when she should do it. When she decided just to go for it she did. She noticed Whitebeard sitting down in his favorite spot. Whitebeard could feel her presence as she approached with a tender smile. “Decided to come out of hiding, I see Gurararara.” he laughed.

“Sorry if I made you worry.” still blushing slightly at the large man infront of her.

“You didn’t worry me, I knew you two were fine.” He noticed the yellow piece of fruit in her hand. “What do you have there?”

“It's a paopu fruit. From what Valerie told me when two people share it they are destined to be in one another's lives forever…Eddie, I want to share it with you. I wouldn't want to share it with anyone .”  Her cheeks became hotter by the second she held out the fruit in front of him.  

Whitebeard's expression softened after hearing about this fruit before but never saw it before his own eyes. “It would be an honor to share it with someone as special as Bee.”  hearing his words make her heart race fast and eagerly split the fruit in half. “Always be the light in my life.

[akkivee]

SO IT IS HONOBONO!!!!!!!! ALL HAIL THE EVIL QUEEN!!!!!!!!!!

BUT???????????? THE TOBARI BROTHERS???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[carldoonan]

Cereal Mascot Whiteboard Doodles (2021)

[shrimplicitly]

the original bee and puppycat made me feel things i wasnt ready for so im glad to announce the 2022 remake acheives the exact same result

[nintala]

aaaughhh if I could actually draw vent art without having a 5 hour breakdown through the process, I would draw comics touching on various forms of guilt and shame that others threw onto me with their harsh words.

like jfc the ammount of random flashbacks I get to horrible moments...😵🥴💦💦💦

when something in my brain finally connects the dots on WHY I felt bad on past moments or conversations is often too much to even handle, like a very traumatic sting of that eureka feel lvjsnvnjndjbj

like YYYYYOWCH I understand some stuff better now...good talk brain, now pass me the mania 😎

[transformersarelikemagicalgirlz]

Cybertronian Liminal spaces ideas: TFP

Tunnels (thru Mts, under cities, etc.)

Red Sand Deserts (Rust Sea Similarities)

Large Scale Industrial Sectors (Think big, automated assembly lines; Similar to their factories)

I also feel like truly gigantic cities (Lots of skyscrapers; similar to their cityscapes) would be similar enough to evoke a sense of nostalgia.

Cybertronian Specific Places:

OP - Libraries (the bigger the more nostalgic he gets) and Rome, b/c of the Collusium (I imagine it reminds him of Kaons Arena)

Megs - Rome (Same as OP), Empty Mines, and ruined Forts (even tho their forts 100% looked different, our ruins still give the same effect)

Ratch - Colleges (Academy Days, specifically the long, winding trails from one building to another), Hospital Corridors (If he has a holoform) and Oddly enough, Victorian Houses. Old and creaky, reminiscent of an old era.

Star - The Buj Kalifa (Vosian Remenicent). Sometimes Specific weather patterns, like Hailstorms or Freezing Rain, remind him of the stinging Acid rain of Cybertron. He hates Blizzards too.

Bulk - Construction sites get him. Rome as well (architecture in general, really).

Sounders - Rome, Government Buildings (specifically, the twisting hallways some important buildings have) and castles/forts.

Arcee - Tunnels, Ravines (I imagine she hid a lot on cybertron, cracks in cybs exoplates would be similar to ravines), and old houses (dilapidated buildings, slowly rotting away; similar to one specific spider incident.

KO - Raceways (obv), but also airports (hanger bays specifically) and large scale paint factories. Also, Buj Kalifa (HC that KO is a Grounded Seeker, explaining SS comment in TFP). Maybe medical tents as well? He was a front line medic after all.

Bee - Rocky mountain roads (scouting), ruins like Stonehenge, and ghost towns. Places where life has been destroyed. Also, war ravaged cities and mysterious old paths through the trees.

BD - Similar to Bulk, but add Mines and industrial buildings too.

Smokey - Libraries (not to the same extent as OP tho), old ruins, and abandoned junkyards (similar effect to the transport ship) I also HC that the escape pod made him pretty Claustrophobic. So small spaces are a no go.

Shockers - Labs, research buildings, but also government buildings (Senator days) and hospitals (too pristine/white a room; he slightly panics) HC that Shockers hates the color white with a dying passion.

Jackie - Labs as well, but also hanger bays and random bars get him too. (HC that he basically found Seaspray in a galactic bar.)

Dread/Quake - Old English/French architecture and Rome

Mags - Government buildings, Libraries (somewhat), but mainly offices and conference rooms get this guy.

Arachnid - Dug out Tunnels (insecticon hives), fancy buildings (Senete esch enough; similar to all her targets homes), and out-of-the-way villages (similar to other organic planets easiest targets)

I think that basically everyone (everyone important I think? Cliffs dead so I didn't include him lol).

HOOOOLY FUCK man you put a LOT of thought into this, this is so cool. The bit about lifeless or decayed places igniting that kinda nostalgia in Bee is actually really sad if you think about it.

Man now I wanna see an episode where a relic is found near the remains of the colosseum, and it has a lot of bots on edge.

I feel like the cities with big reflective or iridescent skyscrapers are spot on, especially in the flashbacks. To add to city scenes, in the flashbacks they had huge streets and ramps and freeways that looked a lot like ours too! (Unless I’m remembering wrong and I’m just nuts)

[artiststarme]

Staying Alive, Staying Alive

I was feeling a little angsty today and now here we are. I hope you guys like this and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Title brought to you by @lumoschild!

~*~*~*~

Steve’s stomach dropped when he heard Dustin’s screaming from the trailer park. He and the girls were only about halfway back in their trek when they started hearing his cries which caused Steve to sprint in his direction. Why was Dustin screaming and where was Eddie? They were supposed to be out of danger. They were the goddamn decoys and Steve told them not to be heroes! 

The sight he stumbled on when he broke through the barrier of the trees would forever haunt him. Just past the rows of trailer homes, Dustin was knelt on bloodied knees, sobbing, with an unmoving Eddie situated half on his lap. The two of them were sitting in a pond of blood that was growing ever larger. Steve had never seen Munson so still, he was always flamboyant and larger than life in everything he did. His face, usually so expressive and full of life, had never been so pale either, only made worse with the sluggishly bleeding wounds still leaking from his neck and torso. 

“Dustin!” Steve screamed for him as he ran closer and fell to his knees beside him in a careless slump. “What happened? When’d he stop breathing?”

“I-I don’t know, just before you got here, I guess. He-he saved me. He didn’t run away this time, Steve.” He grabbed onto Eddie’s shoulders even stronger in a desperate hug while tears ran down his cheeks.

“Okay, I know he didn’t. Munson’s a strong guy and he still has fight left. I need you to put him down so I can bring him back, okay?” Steve muttered soothingly. If Eddie had just lost his pulse a few minutes ago, there was still a chance that he could get his heart beating again.

“What? Steve-”

“Put him down, Dustin!” Steve would feel bad for yelling at him later but he had a very limited window for CPR to work and he didn’t have time for any more niceties. 

Dustin flinched back as if struck and let go of Eddie abruptly. His face screwed up in a vicious sob when Steve started applying forceful compressions to his friend’s chest. “Steve, you’re hurting him!”

“He can’t feel pain if he’s dead, Dustin! If this works, he can complain about it later.” Steve struck Eddie’s chest over and over again to the beat of Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees like he was taught to as a swim instructor. He never could’ve imagined then that this is how he’d be using his skills. 

Both Dustin and Steve winced when they heard Eddie’s ribs crack but Steve didn’t stop applying his full body weight into every push. Nancy and Robin showed up at some point between Steve giving compressions and breathing into Eddie’s mouth but he paid them no mind. In fact, he didn’t pay anything any mind until Eddie gasped for air on his own. 

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled and tried to scramble away from Nancy’s arms that restrained him. 

“Ouch,” Eddie whispered before his eyes slid shut once more.

“No, no, no. Munson, wake up. Keep your eyes open. We have to get out of here, c’mon. Robin, help me pick him up,” Steve ordered. She quickly stepped forward and helped situate Eddie bridal-style in his arms. With a few well-placed cloths to act as bandages, she patted Steve’s shoulder and he bolted towards the gate in the Munson trailer. The entire Upside Down started shaking and the ground started to fracture in a horrific version of  ‘the-floor-is-lava’ game. 

But Steve could only focus on holding pressure against a particularly deep wound on Eddie’s side and the soft breaths fanning his neck. One step in front of the other, he sprinted as fast as he could without jostling the injured man in his arms too much. His efforts proved fruitless if the muffled moans of pain into his ear indicated anything. 

When he got to the trailer, Robin was right behind him. She threw the door open and pushed the small kitchen table underneath the quaking gate and threw herself through first, ungraceful and uncoordinated as it was, in order to catch Eddie when Steve pushed him through the portal. Which she did. By falling with him and kneeing him in the spine. Seeing them mostly safe, Steve carefully guided Dustin onto the table and threw the gate with his injured leg and then offered a hand to Nancy and gave her a gentle push. 

As the gate started to close, he hardly had enough time to jump through the portal into the Rightside Up himself. He could feel the sizzling heat on his sides and burning on the outer parts of his leg until his back met a soft surface on the ground. He made it. 

They didn’t have time to celebrate though because Dustin was crying in pain about his leg, Robin was rubbing her side in discomfort, and Eddie was still groaning and bleeding out onto his own stained mattress. Steve’s sides were screaming but he didn’t have time to acknowledge his own wounds until he was sure his friends would survive. 

“Alright Nancy, where’s your car? We have to get to the hospital.” Steve asked her, easily falling into the position of leader once more.

“Um, it's right outside.” With a peek out the trailer’s window, Steve could definitely see that it was not. 

“No it isn’t. Where’d you park it?” 

“I swear,” Nancy promised. “I parked it right in front of the door. We’ll just have to call for an ambulance.”

Steve shook his head and ran a stressed hand through his hair. Eddie didn’t have time for an ambulance. With the earthquakes and the preexisting stigma around the people that lived at Forest Hills, an ambulance would take up to thirty minutes and he didn’t have that. Fuck, what were they going to do?!

He sent another glance out the window to see a small sedan parked outside the neighboring trailer. Bullseye. 

“Okay, new plan. Eddie and I are going to hotwire that car and drive to the hospital. You guys are going to call an ambulance and meet us there.” He nodded to himself and went to pick up a blurry-eyed Eddie. 

“Steve, we should stick together. It’s not smart to go off on our own,” Nancy expressed condescendingly. 

“Well, no one’s ever mistaken me for being smart so I guess that’s par for the course. We’ll see you at the hospital.” Then they were off. Steve was once again carrying Eddie as gently as he could but this time Eddie’s eyes were open and searching. 

“Who knew that Steve Harrington would be so adamant on keeping me alive?” He muttered.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Munson.”

“I’m bleeding all over you, surely we’re on a first name basis now. Right Steve?” His tone was pretty challenging for a guy that was dead less than five minutes ago. 

“You can call me whatever you want, Eddie. Just keep your eyes open.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best. What’re you planning on doing? Lisa always leaves her car locked,” he said as soon as he saw the direction Steve was walking in.  

Steve didn’t dignify his question with a response. He just grabbed the ax from its position secured on his back and swung the dull edge towards the driver’s side window, shattering it instantly. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie murmured in amazement. Unknowingly to Steve, that was the exact moment that Eddie fell in love with him. He had risked his life to save him in the Upside Down and carried him bridal-style out of hell. Now he was committing crimes to keep him alive and looking hot while doing it. Eddie’s heart didn’t stand a chance. 

Steve gently leaned Eddie against the car while he worked to get the driver’s side door open and then picked him up again to gently settle him in across the backseats. His movements caused Eddie to whimper in pain but they were so close, they couldn’t stop now. 

“Okay Munson, focus. How do I hotwire this car?” Steve looked back at him and saw the seats quickly staining red. “Shit Eddie! Put pressure right there, we have to slow the bleeding. C’mon, how do I do this?

Eddie tried to press his bandana into his worst wound as he gave Steve directions. “Pull off the steering column and grab the wires. Did you get my pliers? You’ll need those to strip the coating.”

“Yep. Okay, I got the cover off and I see the wires. What next?”

“There-there should be… two wires. One red and one black. You have to s-strip them and tap them together until the ignition starts…” 

His voice started to taper off towards the end of his explanation and he could hardly keep his eyes open anymore. Steve pulled the wires from the steering column and stripped them just as Eddie had in the RV. When he looked into the backseat, he did a double take. Eddie’s skin was even paler and clammier than it had been before. Most worryingly though, his eyes were glazed and his breathing was labored. Steve reached an arm back to shake at his shoulder. 

“Don’t fucking die, Eddie! I didn’t carry you out of the goddamn Upside Down just for you to die in some stranger’s backseat.” He hissed in angered panic. 

“Ooo kinky.” Eddie mumbled through chapped lips. 

“Not kinky, dying is not kinky! Wake up, Eddie!” 

Just then, the engine turned over and the ignition started. “Yes, yes! Eddie, hold on. I got the car to start. C’mon man, five minutes to the hospital. You’ve got this.”

“Okay…” Eddie whispered. Steve could hardly breathe as he sped down the roads and broke every traffic law. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions as long as Eddie lived. He didn’t care about speeding tickets or jail time, he just needed his new friend to survive. 

“Eddie, you doing okay?”

“I wouldn’t… characterize this as- as being… okay,” he answered between labored breaths. 

“You’re doing great, man,” Steve told him. He looked back at him in the rearview and saw Eddie’s eyes looking back at him. 

“Thanks for doing this, Stevie. You didn’t have to. You-you could’ve left me there-”

“Shut up, man. I wasn’t going to leave you after you risked your life to help us. You’re one of us now whether you like it or not.” Steve told him. He wasn’t going to stand for any self-deprecating comments after he’d almost died (did die for a few minutes) to save Dustin. 

Eddie hummed before the car lapsed into silence for the next minute or so, only broken by the sounds of Eddie wheezing for air and Steve’s fingers shaking against the steering wheel. When they arrived at the hospital, Steve pulled right in front of the emergency room and screamed for help. Nurses, doctors, and assistants came rushing out to help him and they placed Eddie on the gurney. 

His lips were red with blood and his face was ashen without it. But when Steve looked at him, he smiled wide. “I’ll see you later, Big Boy.”

Steve couldn’t even threaten the hospital staff to treat him well or tell them to ignore the rumors on TV (although he would find out later that Nancy and Robin did that well enough on their own). As soon as Eddie was wheeled out of sight, Steve collapsed from his own injuries. 

Just a few days later, Steve woke up from sedation to find himself in a hospital bed with Eddie as a roommate. And if his heartbeat sped up on the monitor when Eddie smiled at him, well, that wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs.

Permanent tag list:@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild

[smallestapplin]

Can I touch them?

-🔞

-🔞

This is based off a conversation me and Zed from @onestepbackwards had about @r0-boat beemas au.

🔞18+Only! Mdni! Proshippers DNI!🔞

Cw : wing play. Reader is GN

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Being in the hive was a dream come true, yet despite how loving and accepting your mates are, you had one question.

Their wings seem sturdy yet fragile, could you touch them?

Their cellophane like wings always shine so brightly, casting beautiful colors when the light hits them just right.

Or how they flutter and buzz happily.

Your attention is always drawn to them, how they shine is always mesmerizing. None of the bee hybrids have noticed yet, only seeing their sweet royal and getting excited.

Currently you were walking with one of your drone mates, Jackie. The man was happily explaining the schedule of the day to you.

But your eyes couldn’t look away from his wings. Jackie was always a bit antsy or gets nervous easily, his wings would give it away, as when he gets nervous his wings twitch.

You walk behind him, eyeing the beautiful colors they make, when you decide what to do.

You speed up your steps a little, just to get right behind him as you carefully place a hand on his back, fingers gently caressing the base of his wings.

His reaction was instant, freezing, body quaking as he lets out an awfully loud whine. Clipboard hitting the ground with a clatter, as Jackie doubles over, kneeling on the ground, panting.

You nearly panic, fretting over the poor drone.

“Oh no! Jackie, sweetie are you okay!? Let’s get you up, can you stand?”

When you see his face though, your mouth snaps shut.

The bee hybrid’s face is completely flushed, eyes glossy and glazed with drool sliding down his chin. Your eyes trail lower, widening at the sight of the bulge pressing against his pants.

“Jackie?” You move you hand lower, trying to place it on his lower back to help him.

“W-wait-!! Mmph! Fuuu-!”

You jerk your hand back, looking at the downed drone with worry.

He’s heaving, breath coming out an harsh wheezes mingled with soft whines. His wings twitch sporadically as his body falls limp to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!”

You know what you’ve done, but you feel bad for making the poor thing drop like this.

Jackie, however, is loving every second! He had no idea his wings were so sensitive like that! And having you, his sweet royal touch them with such care, he wants more, he craves it.

He doesn’t even know if he can stand, or if he could face you with his likely messy face.

“M’fine! I-it’s…haah…just not feeling well, yeah!”

You pick up his clipboard, trying to hide your obvious staring. Licking your lips at seeing his poor green pants, with a large dark spot where his cock is straining against.

You look around the hallway, seeing that it’s just the two of you, though you’re not sure for how long.

Grabbing his arm, you softly shushing the whimpering drone.

“I got you, let’s get you to someplace you can rest.”

You barely manage to get the shaking man up, before the sound of footsteps echo.

A couple of other, worried looking drones appear, quickly taking Jackie from you and back to the rooms.

“Wait I should-“

“We are so sorry, Royal! But you’re running late, and the kings sent us as they were worried.”

“But Jackie-“

“He will be fine. Please, we are sorry, but come with us.”

Unbeknownst to you though, word got around quickly. All the drones, guards, and workers were beside themselves.

None of them ever thought their wings could be so sensitive! Though, most were jealous Jackie got to experience it from you first.

It took him all day to recover, mind reeling from your soft, warm touches on his delicate wings.

By the time you reached the kings, half the hive knew of what transpired.

However you sit with the kings, after Ingo’s worried scolding of course, the two stand beside you leaning down to point at what needs to be done today, and how to prepare yourself.

But you aren’t focused, not on the rules anyway.

Eyes flickering to the sets of wings, how Ingo’s wings move with him, much like his hands when he talks.

Or how Emmet’s wings give a small flap, buzzing softly in his excitement.

Loving how their glassy wings shimmer in the light.

After what happened with Jackie, you desperately want to touch their wings too! Wondering how they would react, are all their wings as sensitive? Or was it just Jackie?

“Dear?”

You look up to Ingo, meeting his concerned gaze.

“Are you alright?”

Emmet perks up at his brother’s words, leaning down to you.

“Can’t have our sweet royal unwell. Nope!”

They coo over your bashful face, not noticing your hand coming up, not until it was too late.

Emmet tenses, shuddering as you touch his wings. His eyes go wide, his breathing turning shaky feeling you gently rub his wings.

“I’m sorry! It’s just your wings are so pretty, I couldn’t look away.”

Emmet’s face blushing a bright green, his wings trembling at your gentle caresses.

He bites his lip, eyes fluttering back as he leans into you.

“D-darling that’s so-MM! O-oohhh I’m- gonna, fuuuuck!”

Emmet cries, hips humping into the air as a wet spot forms on his white pants. You’re just as surprised as you were with Jackie, but you can’t help but chuckle at the trembling king.

Emmet collapses to the ground, barely holding himself up with the table. He leans against you, pressing his shaky wings more into your hand.

“More! More! Please, again again, I need it!”

His smile quivers with a shriek, drool dripping down his chin. His cocks twitching at your laughter.

“I never thought you’d beg so prettily like this. Such a well behaved king.”

His nails drag across the table as his maw hangs open. His spit hanging and coating his chin and coat, but he doesn’t care! He just needs more, he needs it! Wants it!

A softer whimper catches your attention, making you look over to your other king, who’s pouting.

Ingo has his hands crossed in front of him, hiding his throbbing cocks from your view. His face bright green, and silver eyes refusing to meet yours. Hard from all his thoughts if you doing that to him! He wants your attention, your touch, it’s not fair!

“My royal…please?”

The older king flares his wings out a little, silently asking for you to touch him too. You smirk at his shy he so about it.

Emmet whimpers as your hand slows, nearly shocking you with how he throws himself back at him.

“No! No! M’sooo close! Please I want it, milk me!”

Both their antennae’s twitch, smelling the air and smelling just how aroused you are from seeing them fall apart like this.

You pat Emmet’s head, trying to sooth him before you focus on Ingo.

“Use your words, honeybee. What do you want.”

His face darkens, whimpering at your order.

“Please, please touch me. I want you to touch me too! I want you too…I-I’ll be good! I promise!”

You raise a hand, gesturing for him to sit by your legs, which he’s quick to do, nearly tripping as he does so. His back facing you while he sits at your feet, wings up and out for you to hold.

“Such good pets for me!”

You coo at your trembling lovers.

Ingo waits with baited breath for your touch, jumping once your hand slides from the base of his glossy wing down to the end, and back up again.

He can’t stop the squeal that rips from his throat, his back arching as he cries out from your touch.

You can’t help but smirk at having both of these large bee hybrids at your feet, both squirming and creaming their pants.

You’ve never has them this loud.

“Oh! Haaa! Royal! S-so good, so goodsogoodsogood-!” Ingo squeals, eyes squeezed shut. Body twisting and squirming.

Quickly growing addicted to the feeling.

“M-m‘sensitiiiive! Cumming! I’m cummiiiing!!” Emmet wails, painting his pants once again with his cum.

You tugging and caressing his wings is too much!

They want more! For this to never end!

And by the end of it all, the entire hive wants you to make them cum over and over again from their wings alone.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Quick!! Link a scene or piece of work you're created that you're proud of! First one that comes to mind!!

*bounces in place* ohohohohoho you've gone and done it now!!! Feast your eyes on this scene from one of my many WIPs - I hope I'll finish it one day. It really is one of the Big Three of my Magnum Opuses.

Below the cut:

Female whumpee

Mute whumpee

Disabled whumpee

Female Caretaker

Recovery

Mentions of Scientific/Medical Trauma

Bruises and bandages

Collapsing

Fatigue/Weakness

Samira slept for another day. Until the pangs of hunger and other necessities grew to be too much to ignore. She drew in a slow breath and sighed, then lifted her arms in a stretch. The skin of her elbows pulled uncomfortably and she stopped at the telltale sensation of scabs beginning to split. Even now, days later, she felt the bone-deep ache from her journey here. The dull throb of a lingering headache. The pulsing pain in her knees. Her hands still held a tremor without the slightest provocation. More than anything, she wanted to go back to sleep until the soreness went away, but nature had other ideas.

Turning her head, she saw she was alone. The lights to the room were dimmed low, and the only other source of light came from the glow of a safety light in the bathroom five feet away. Blessedly, she saw the IV pole was on the same side of the bed. All she had to do now was walk. Piece of cake. Pulling the blanket back, she slung her legs over the side of the bed. She stopped long enough to wonder at the sight she saw.

Socks. Soft, fuzzy yellow socks with grips on the bottoms. She turned her attention to her gown. It, too, was buttercup yellow, decorated with bumble bees and daisies, and the hem - stopping at her knees - even had the tiniest decoration of white lace. She longed to rub the material between her fingers, but the bandaging on her hands prevented her from doing so. It would have to wait. Besides, the thick wads of cotton taped over each knee ruined the effect. Her skin, she noticed, was far paler than its healthy cinnamon color, and even the patches of vitiligo, normally rosy, held a sickly shade. She frowned, feeling like the ghost of her former self.

Gripping the IV pole for balance, Samira scooted forward. Tentatively, she settled her feet on the floor. No fear driving her to move. No dizziness. It didn’t matter how many times she had tried to stand on her way here. She was stronger now. She was rested. She could do this. Carefully, as if to balance on an egg without breaking it, she put weight on one foot. Her knee began to quake and she grabbed the IV pole with her other hand, clinging to it, and the momentum of doing so forced her full weight forward. Quickly, she brought her other foot forth to catch herself.

For the briefest of seconds, she teetered, awkwardly poised between the IV pole and her fawn-like legs. She could feel the cuts in her palms reopening as she clung to the pole, the gauze slackening her grip. Then the wheels of the IV pole rolled. Samira flailed, gasping as her crutch moved before she was ready, and tried to snatch it back. It fell, and she followed, knocking a metal tray and its contents to the floor with a great crash.

She might have cringed at the noise if she hadn’t instinctively tried to catch herself. Though the gauze cushioned the fall somewhat, it didn’t stop her knees and elbows from cracking against the hard tile - biting through the cotton and clawing at her already-shredded skin. Tears sprung up and a mute yelp rattled her throat before she could stop herself. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, and still a hoarse sob wrenched itself from her chest.

Hurried footsteps sent a dart of panic up her spine, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The lights switched on, then a set of hands were on her. She flinched, but they didn’t release her.

“Samira.” Jean. Jean was there. “Samira, it’s alright. It’s just me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jean lifted her back to the bed as easily as a child might lift a dropped doll. Samira tucked her hands beneath her chin, arms pressed against her chest, and tried to control her breathing - all while fighting the urge to curl in a ball right there. Hot, thrumming pain rolled up her limbs, coiling into tight knots and biting, clawing, digging into her bones. Why did it hurt so much? How could things go wrong so quickly? She opened her eyes from where she’d squeezed them shut, peering between wet lashes at the mess she’d made. Fresh, unused medical supplies lay strewn about on the floor. The IV pole lay on its side, and the tray had skidded a couple feet away. She drew in a shaky breath, shame heating her cheeks.

Automatically, an apology tried to leave her lips. Instead, it came out in a pitiful wheeze.

Mistaking the gesture for one of pain, Jean smoothed a hand over Samira’s back. “It’s alright, Samira. Do you want something for the pain?”

Samira shook her head and hid her face behind her hands, the gauze absorbing her tears.

“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need to be brave, not here.”

Samira shook her head again, gulping back another sob before it could surface.  She already owed them so much, and it shamed her to anticipate their response to her inability to speak - and now, it seemed, the inability to walk. Had the Team left any part of her untouched?

[bringthekaos]

MH Viktor being 100× more sensitive because he barely takes his armor off + Jayce being 100× more touch-starved since their fallout to the point that he can't spend a second without at least an inch of his body doing contact with his lover = peak fiction.

Assfadagdaaff I agreeeee. And TBH if/when I write a PotM sequel, this is probably gunna play a huge part.

—not NSFW per se, but suggestive as hell—

For Viktor, he has spent the last 6+ years focusing on his Glorious Evolution™ with little to no time/effort spared on connection or intimacy. And any sort of sexual dalliances he entertained were purely casual. In fact I can see him, on his more bitter days, actively shying away from anything of a romantic nature—if his hookups dared to get too close, he would lance them from his life without a second thought. But this of course has some unintended side effects—namely his sensitivity. He doesn’t have a whole lot of flesh left, but what remains has become hyper-reactive; after all, he’s weaned himself off of gentle touches, of soft caresses. His hookups were only ever rough. And he’s doing his best not to cringe and pull away from Jayce, now that they’re kinda sorta rekindling things, but it’s difficult—he reacts to it like a sudden bee sting. And it’s not because he doesn’t like it, of course he does, especially from Jayce, it’s just that he had associated gentleness, intimacy with that feeling of betrayal. Rewiring his brain is going to take time, and he has to tell Jayce as much, because the first time Viktor cringed and pulled away, Jayce looked at him like he’d ran him through. But Jayce understands, so he does make an effort to go slow, to be careful and intentional with his touches, even though he’s clearly hungry for so much more. And every once in a while, when Jayce is able to coax him into accepting more—a long massage, perhaps—he becomes like putty in Jayce’s hands. His walls just melt away, and Jayce can have him shivering in minutes; he knows all the right places, all the right touches that can make Viktor blue screen. It’s vulnerable, and Viktor isn’t always prepared to be vulnerable, but when he is… Jayce could spend days just soaking up Viktor’s trust (and his moans of pleasure 😈).

And Jayce… Jayce is suffering a bit of separation anxiety. He knows he has to build back up to this, that he can’t just throw himself at Viktor… but just being around him is painful. He can hardly stand it, sharing Viktor’s space without touching him. He has to catch himself, because it’s second nature—resting a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist and just holding him close. And he doesn’t want to put the cart before the horse, test Viktor’s boundaries before they’ve even been reestablished. Especially when Viktor reacts like a spooked deer half the time. But they’re both working on it. They’re walking a bit of a tightrope, as things stand, a hazy twilight sort of phase—it’s all so delicate, and they could both stand to be hurt if it all goes wrong. So they’re taking baby steps, even though it’s agonizing a lot of the time. But occasionally, when their respective anxieties can be quelled and they can meet in the middle… it’s paradise. Jayce can cozy up to Viktor, ease him into it, and have him melting in Jayce’s hands in no time. He can have those vents steaming, the metal quaking. And it’s like taking a hit off something strong, for Jayce—touching and being touched by Viktor is a drug to him now, after such a long stint of separation. And yes, sometimes his separation anxiety gets worse after, because he’s had a taste, a hit. He’s working on that too.

They both have a lot to work on, but neither of them has ever shied away from hard work. And they’re both painfully aware that it can never be like it was. There’s too much history, too much pain. But maybe, just maybe, they can forge something new.

[icy-popsy]

Riptide incorrect quotes

from ScatterPatter's incorrect quotes generator

Chip: I told Gillion his ears flush when they lie. Jay: Why? Chip: Look. Chip: Hey Gillion! Do you love us? Gillion, covering their ears: No. Jay:

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me Gillion: Okay, but in my defense, Chip bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo. Jay: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

~~~~~~~~~~

Gillion: Please bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste Jay: We got spring water Gillion: NO. Chip: with EXTRA minerals Jay: it's like licking a stalagmite Gillion: DON'T COME HOME. Chip: Mmmmm cave water

~~~~~~~~~~

Chip: Gillion and I don’t use pet names. Jay: I see. Hey, what do bees make? Chip: Honey? Gillion: Yes, dear? Chip: Jay: Don't ever lie to my face again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: We need a distraction. Chip: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Gillion, whispering: My time has come

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: WHY. why did you give Gillion a KNIFE?! Chip: I’m sorry. He said he felt unsafe. Jay: Now I feel unsafe! Chip: I’m sorry. Chip: … would you like a knife?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gillion: You have to apologize to Jay Chip: Fine. Chip: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: What do you think Gillion will do for a distraction? Chip: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do. Building explodes and several car alarms go off Chip: … or they could do that.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chip: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold? Jay: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house. Gillion: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million. Jay: Good thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chip: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night. Jay: You were flirting with Gillion. Chip: So what? They're my partner. Jay: You asked them if they were single. Chip: Jay: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chip: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it Jay: Just rip the bandage off. Chip: It’s Gillion. Jay: Put the bandage back on.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: Naturally, we are on the cutting edge of technology. Chip, amazed: Wow… Gillion, to Chip: Well what does that mean? Chip: I don't know. Chip, to Jay: What does that mean?

~~~~~~~~~~

Jay: Why are you on the floor? Chip: I'm depressed. Chip: Also I was stabbed, can you get Gillion, please.

~~~~~~~~~~

[The group is a prison cell that was just hit by an earthquake] Jay: Uh, I'm gonna roll a perception check of… 4, and see if our cell is, uh, in any way damaged by this quake Grizzly: You're in a prison cell :) Gillion: You did great. Well, I got a 10- Grizzly: You're in a prison cell with bars on it :3 Chip: I got a 1! Grizzly: You're in… a cube-shaped place.

[friedfriedchicken]

Out of nowhere I just remembered that Bumblebee and Breakdown never got to actually race but even when they did get to drive around together Breakdown was always in front of Bee, faster than him. Bumblebee wouldn't have won that race anyways

My weak soul at midnight is quaking

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 22

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 22: What kind of cigarettes do angels have? Holy Smokes!

Aziraphale was having a miserable time trying to kick the habit. He didn't even want to, really, but unlike his other vices, this one apparently managed to cause cancer in humans just by their being around it, and he wanted to avoid unnecessary harm more than he wanted to indulge in the pleasure of a good long smoke.

Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale had seen enough of his neighbors in Soho quit tobacco over the centuries, and especially the last three decades, to know what to expect*. Irritability, cravings, increased appetite, restlessness: all common symptoms. All symptoms the angel was experiencing right now.

He glowered at a young woman who had entered his shop with her eyes on his first-edition Milne, handbag at the ready, until she gave up her nerve and left to threaten some other bookseller with buying their precious books. He paced behind his desk, unable to focus on any the new novels crowding his desk or on any of his favorites. He thought about dinner at the Ritz with Crowley with unusual fervor, his stomach actually grumbling in the way it usually didn't.

He really wanted a damned cigarette.

By the time Crowley swung in his blasted automobile, Aziraphale was three days clean and quite ready to bite his head off (or someone's head, anyway).

"Must you make such a racket?" he demanded in lieu of greeting, having bustled out of the bookshop as soon as he heard Crowley lay down his horn outside. (He'd forgotten to flip the sign and lock the door, but the bookshop knew to do that itself anyway.) Crowley's answering smirk and wink—and how did he always make sure it was clear he was winking through those dratted glasses, anyway—only irritated him further. "You may not care what your neighbors think of you, but I actually live with mine."

"I care!" Crowley protested. "I make sure they're good and frightened of that terrifying stranger who haunts the top floor, don't I?"

Aziraphale gave Crowley a once-over and sniffed.

"Yes, the terrifying stranger who dresses like a junior MP; I'm sure they're all quaking in their boots."

"I'll show you boots," Crowley grumbled, and turned the radio to bebop to get out of this conversation. Aziraphale took the forfeit as a win, restoring his mood slightly.

Eating also helped. Aziraphale's conversational snipes subsided somewhat once they were served and generally changed target from Crowley himself to the ideas presented. By dessert, Aziraphale felt nearly himself again, though his lungs still craved the bright grassy smoke of his Sweet Aftons.

Not that he had Sweet Aftons anymore. He'd smoked his last pack before quitting, to make sure that temptation did not lurk in his bookshop. He knew well how temptation worked, and would not fall prey to it unless he really wanted to (see: exhibit Crowley).

"So what bee's gotten into your bonnet today, angel?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale finished his pudding and dabbed at his face with a napkin, a gentle smile on his face. "That Thompson bloke try to buy your Wildes again?"

"Edmund Thompson will never get his hands on my Dorian Gray, no matter how many times he bats his eyelashes at me," Aziraphale said primly, "and he should jolly well know it by now." Crowley's suppressed laughter at his irritation was at least as sweet as any Virginia blend, Aziraphale thought.

He still rather badly wanted a cigarette, but it wouldn't be so bad; he was used to wanting things he wasn't allowed to have, and the pleasure of Crowley's company was always a balm to it.

--

*Crowley, who would quit smoking in two years because he'd be assigned to working some Phillip Morris executives in America before realizing exactly how evil they already were on their own, did not know what the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal were, and therefore would not experience any of them.

--

Author's note:

I would like to thank people on this pipe-smoking forum for actually talking about what tobacco tastes like instead of delivering a lecture on why I shouldn't start smoking. I know that already, Reddit! That's why I'm Googling it instead of smoking it myself!

I mentally set this in the mid-to-late 90s, since it seemed like that was about when the dangers of second-hand smoke began to percolate out to the public. Smoking bans in the UK seem to have begun in 1987, but they also seem to have been primarily fire-safety bans, not public health bans, until 2006. The 90s seemed like a good compromise position.

I chose Sweet Aftons for Aziraphale for a couple reasons: 1) they had a literary name and history; 2) they were unfiltered and single-source, which seems like an especially Aziraphale way to smoke; and 3) I liked the way the name sounds and looks!

[werethehellami]

Runaway Toy Bee AU

Display

TW: objectification, previous non-con body modification, unconsentual touching (non sexual),

Don't read if you are in any way uncomfortable or triggered by these, remember to take care of yourself and your mental health.

_______________

B-127, or Bee was silently fuming as he was shown off like a Fancy toy. His small frame being handled by strangers, pulling at his limbs and shaking him about. He couldn't help but grimace at the action.

Bee hated his 'master', hated his slimy grin, hated his sea green paint, loathed his large almost giant hands. Yes, Bee hated a lot of things, he has hated these things for years now. But that didn't matter here, not as StoneEater paraded him around as the toy he saw Bee as.

Bee didn't know when his Master, StoneEater, first got ahold of Bee. All Bee knew was that he had a family before, a sire and a carrier who would kill and die for him in the same breath. That he was stolen away from them. Not that. It mattered, while StoneEater paraded him around like the toy he saw Bee as.

Bee sat in the plam of StoneEater's hand, so small compared to the fingers alone. His tiny frame rattled with each step the giant took. Unfamiliar faces jeered and quaked at him as if he was some exotic pet, and not the individual he was.

"He is so tiny, how do you even manage to feed the little thing?" Someone asked, their finger too close to Bee's face. A bot a little older than Bee but much taller stood by the stranger's side. "Oh that was a fairly simple obstacle, just some simple hand feeding, and a little bit of convincing to get him to corporate. He still needs a little bit more training, but soon he'll be ready for tricks." StoneEater said with nothing but enthusiasm.

Bee's teeth grinded against each other, listening to them talk about him like he was a pet. Oh how he wanted to start them apart. But he was small, weak, and currently on a leash. If he tried to swing, throw a punch, kick to the pit and back, it wouldn't do anything. At most it would lead to Bee being locked up in a kennel for a couple days again. So Bee bit his tongue and tried to focus on literally anything else.

Bee's fingers twitched, wanting to touch his neck, his fingers brushed up the smooth metal collar around his neck. It was a gaudy looking thing, silver in color but adorned with yellow and orange gems, it was uncomfortably tight. If Bee were to breathe too quickly, he'd probably choke for second. He was half tempted to just let it choke him out, if it got him out of this place. But knowing his luck, it would only end up with more restrictions on what little crumbs of autonomy and choice he had. StoneEater had the unfortunate ability to know what were genuine accidents and what was Bee's own doing.If choosing what color of shiny rock to fit a collar meant to keep you lock up counted as a choice.

Bee silently hissed as the bright lights burned into his optics. Everything about this stupid party was overwhelming and exhausting to look at. Bee glanced at the ground, and decided he loathed the neon colors for the floor. Bee closed his optics, his arms wrapped around his legs. He really wanted out of this.

"looks like the little thing tired himself out, it's almost his bedtime anyways," StoneEater chuckled softly. His thumb rubbing against Bee's back. If he had his voice Bee would scream at StoneEater, but Atlas, his voice was the second thing Bee lost.

_______________

Bee wondered how long until he lost everything that made Bee himself.... He didn't want to know that. He wanted his family back, his voice, his future. He wanted his life, his choices back. Bee wanted to steal them back, tear them from StoneEater's servos and beat him with them.

Nee couldn't help but wonder about how hard and futile it would be. He couldn't help but also think about the satisfaction of his defiance. But Bee was but a sparkling, and the collar had purpose besides showing off his master's wealth. A painful shock shot through Bee's body, and he opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.

"Oh little one, did you think I didn't notice that ugly expression earlier? It was quite embarrassing, you know, having to explain it away. And here I thought you were trained enough to handle this. No matter, I shall see to that your are next time" StoneEater said as he clutched Bee in his hand, fingers painful tight.

Bee wanted to snarl, hiss, bite, and growl like that animal his master thought him of. But no noise escaped his mouth. Yet he struggled, squirmed wildly, and kicked. All of his movements meant nothing, they didn't scratch the paint, didn't dent the metal; However it brought a smile to Bee's face when he saw the disappointed face of his master. It was oddly satisfying to be half hardly thrown into the metal kennel.

Bee would get his freedom. He would fight and steal for it. Maybe even kill, but that would happen much later.

________________

Please send asks or comments as much as ya want! I hope everyone enjoyed this and that they stay safe. @cozzzynook here's an update

[mychlapci]

au of skyquake’s ep where bee tries to jump on his jet mode but just fucking faceplants into the canyon and quake just flies off to megs. Ideal universe

if he'd lived, skyquake would have crushed starscream's head like an empty soda can before he could've ripped the dark energon out of Megatron's chest and before u know it Megs is back with his warrior at his side.

and a crumpled starscream

[hislittleraincloud]

(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.  I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.” 

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.” 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” 

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.” 

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility?  I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering.  “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.  

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?” 

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?” 

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't  miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium. 

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one.  Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little. 

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what?  To avenge your rejection? To punish him?  Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes.  But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well. 

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors. 

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo!  Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1” 

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds. 

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else. 

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo?  Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house!  Alone!  With you!   Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park. 

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before.  I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors.  “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —” 

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost.  What am I supposed to do with you now? 

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run. 

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where. 

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home. 

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing. 

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall. 

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea. 

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.  

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there. 

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time  was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.” 

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one. 

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.” 

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension  n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.” 

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.” 

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.” 

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.” 

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry.  Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance. 

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —” 

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't  mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate.  It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance. 

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then?  What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”  

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that. 

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head.  Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face. 

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection. 

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.” 

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before. 

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair. 

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim. 

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives. 

“I haven't slept much either, you know.” 

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching. 

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”