Pretty Princess Star Guardian Megatron Chapter 3 now uploaded:
Princess Megatron makes a friend, Starscream makes a threat, Soundwave makes a hypothesis, Optimus Prime makes a plan, and the Void Eternity makes itself known.
My wife has been playing Final Fantasy VII Rebirth while I watch and I've been mentally writing Cloud/Barret slash while she does, so I figured I might as well write some of it down.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 2 now uploaded. Soundwave and Megatron arrive in Orlando, Optimus Prime and the Autobots start the voter registration process in Tampa, Starscream once again attempts to assert control, and a divorced human father with a swarm of kids has no idea what he's just put in his bag.
A short horror story about how sometimes you should really just not be an asshole.
Steve and Nick walked into the grocery store and were immediately nearly run down by a very enthusiastic coupon clipper with a cart full of bread.
"Watch where you're going, Gramma," Steve said, adding to himself, "Jesus."
"You shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, bruh," remarked Nick, who was the sort of person who liked to focus entirely on the wrong thing. "C'mon, dude, let's get what we came for and get out of here. I hate this store."
Steve nodded, not being a huge fan of this particular chain and their seeming commitment to high prices. He headed for the meat department and approached the counter.
There was no staff apparent to the young men and Steve was about to ring the bell when he noticed the sign next to the bell. It was a small wooden plaque with deeply etched lettering and read as follows:
Ring once for service.
Ring repeatedly for immediate and painful death.
Steve hesitated to touch the bell at all, nudging Nick in the arm and pointing to the sign. Nick looked at it, and chuckled. Then rang the bell.
The two heard a door open and a large and slightly disheveled employee shambled up to the counter.
His nametag indicated his name was blank, the text having worn away years ago, from all appearances.
"How can I assist you tonight?" the nameless employee intoned with a dead-eyed expression which seemed to indicate that he had a hundred other things to do.
"We're having a BBQ," Steve said. "And we need a couple of steaks cut."
"What kind of steaks?"
"What are the best steaks?" Nick interrupted.
"Ribeye," the employee said, not breaking eye contact with the counter.
"I always heard T-bones were the best," Nick indicated, which was true. He had heard that.
"Ribeye is the best. The difference between ribeye and any other steak is like the difference between Serena Williams and any other tennis player. You didn't ask what was a good steak. You asked what was the best steak." The employee attempted to smile, but he seemed ill-equipped.
Nick reached over and rang the bell. The employee looked up at him with just a fleeting hint of rage in his deep brown eyes. Steve felt a pang of terror. The largeness of the employee was emphasized by how his work uniform seemed to strain to contain him. This was a person who was Not Happy, and had access to a large assortment of knives.
"I am here," the employee said, a definite edge in his tone that could probably rival that of the cleaver in his hand. "There's no need to ring that."
"No offense, but you're not very friendly, Mister Butcher." This was Nick again. He was always testing limits, Steve remembered with mounting dread.
"What can I get for you?" The employee seemed to be used to this sort of customer and Steve felt a pang of sympathy. He felt the need to get this back on the rails.
"What's the best cut of meat for the money?"
"Top sirloin cap," the employee said without hesitation, taking his glare from Nick for a moment. "Also known as picanha or coulotte steak. It's the cheapest of the grilling steaks which, in my opinion, are the only ones worth spending money on."
Nick jabbed Steve in the ribs, "Look at this guy with all his meat knowledge. Did you graduate from meat university, Mister Butcher?" Steve ignored him.
"Can we get four of those, inch and a quarter thick?"
"Absolutely." The employee went into the back room for a moment and returned with a large chunk of squarish red beef in a cryovac bag. He opened it with a flick of his knife, discarded the bag and made a small incision in a large chunk of fat, revealing a seam. He then put down the knife and, with practiced ease, used his bare hands to open the seam, retrieving his knife to cut a small triangle of meat from the larger piece. He flipped the fat side onto the cutting block, and delicately filleted a strip of sinew. He then flipped the meat triangle back over and cut four steaks from the piece, each exactly an inch and a quarter thick. He trimmed the fat, packaged up the steaks and wrapped them in peach paper, weighing and pricing them. He returned to the counter and handed the sealed packet to Steve. "There you are. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Nick rang the bell.
Steve stiffened and gave his friend A Look. But it paled in comparison to the one that the butcher had fixed upon Nick. If looks could kill, the butcher would already be in jail. The butcher reached up and placed his hand over the bell.
"What can I do for you?" The words were innocent enough but the tone was filled with malice. Nick seemed oblivious, however.
"Mister Butcher, you should really smile when you serve customers. They might think that you don't care."
The butcher just stared at the bell. After a moment he said, "Okay. Did you need anything?"
"I think we're good here, but I think you need to think about how you come across to customers, Mister Butcher. I mean, did you make this hilarious sign?"
"No, that sign just showed up one day."
"What?"
"I don't know where it came from. But I wouldn't ring that bell repeatedly if I were you."
Nick laughed uproariously. He picked up the sign and traced a finger along the lettering. Pain shot through him. He winced and sucked the fingertip.
"Fuck. I got a splinter. I oughta sue you."
At this, the butcher laughed with only his voice. He shook his head slowly.
"C'mon man, we got the steaks."
"No man, I want an apology. Fucking dangerous bullshit." Nick was mad now, and Steve knew from experience that this couldn't end well.
"Not nearly as dangerous," the butcher said, "as that bell. I don't know where they go. I just know they never come back."
"The fuck are you talking about, asshole?" Nick growled at the butcher.
"I don't know where they go. But they never come back," the butcher repeated, a hint of sadness in his dead eyes.
"We should get these steaks free!"
"That's not how anything works."
"Fuck you."
"Thank you."
"C'mon, man. Let's just go." This was Steve, trying to be a voice of reason in a world that was quickly seeming to lack any. Nick shrugged off his friend's hand. It was no use trying when he was like this.
"This store sucks."
"Yes," said the butcher. And with the transaction seemingly concluded, he began to walk away. Nick took the opportunity and sprang forward to ring the bell like it was a Skinner-box and he was a very stupid rat. Dingdingdingdingdingding!
He turned to face Steve, but Steve wasn't there. Neither was he, as it turned out. The butcher was gone. The store was gone, replaced by metal walls with small holes, in a repeating hexagonal pattern.
Nick had gone somewhere else.
"What the fuck, man?" Nick yelled, banging against the nearest wall with a hollow clang. When he turned around, there was another metal wall directly behind him. To his left, a metal wall. To his right, inexplicably another metal wall, all dotted from top to bottom. He was entirely surrounded by metal walls.
Ding.
Nick winced in pain. His right thigh felt wet. He looked down and was surprised to see a metal spike sticking into his flesh. He screamed.
Ding.
Another spike was in his left shoulder. He turned to look, but the motion just drove the spike further into his flesh.
"Fuuuuck!" He yelled, the metal walls reflecting the sound back at him. "What the fuck is happening?!?"
He was starting to feel claustrophobic now, his heartrate accelerating and his breathing intensifying. No one answered. No one was there, wherever here was. He could feel himself getting angry and he took a deep breath to yell once more.
Ding.
This time he felt the pain in his left buttock. He resisted the urge to look, knowing that it was going to be bad. He wiped sweat from his brow with his non-impaled arm.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was an asshole. I'm sorry. Just let me out."
A heavy silence was the only reply.
Ding.
The spike pierced his right ear and he screamed. He was pinned in, walled in, and utterly alone. After a while, the scream died away, replaced by a dull sobbing.
"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck your fucking face!" There was a sharp pain as he felt the flesh of his earlobe tearing. His clothes were dyed copper from the various impalements, every motion just intensifying the pain and the damage.
Ding.
This time the pain was in his abdomen, and Nick tried to look without moving but he was unable to. How many times had he rang that bell? Four? Five? I was just having fun! That butcher did this. Nick wasn't sure how, and thoughts weren't coming easily anymore. Everything hurt. He closed his eyes to blink out the tears.
When he opened them, there were two more spikes before him. They hadn't pierced him, but there they were, at eye level, mocking him.
"Do it, you fuc-" he was interrupted by a sixth ding.
