#< That’s what I’ll start calling these things now

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - iv

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." social isolation. self loathing. hint of neurodivergent reader. manipulative soap. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

The other side of the bed is empty the next morning, when you wake up.

You feel it as the dregs of sleep slough off—an absence of weight. The heavy drape of the bedsheets around you. The lone sound of your own breathing, and nothing more—

It shouldn’t punch a hole in your chest. You shouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. What is for other people is not for you.

But you are. It does.

The little speck of hope that has survived every attempt of yours to exterminate it had flared a little brighter, fed by Johnny’s attention. A distant star in a clouded sky, finally reaching earth with its light. Stupid. You know better by now, and it should too. You’ve done this before, a hundred different times, a hundred different ways. The outcome is always the same.

You sweep your hand over the empty spot—

It’s still warm.

Your eyes snap open. At the same moment, you hear movement from somewhere else in the cottage, and then, through the open bedroom door, the warm aroma of coffee and cooking food wafts in.

You sit up. Pull the sheets up with you, clutched to your chest.

“Johnny?” you call. Tentative. Unsure.

“Aye!” a cheerful brogue responds from the kitchen. “Don’ move a muscle, I’ll be right there.”

Something sharp and hot pushes through your veins; the corners of your vision darken with it.

You realize you’ve stopped breathing, and inhale. Your need to be contrary subsumes completely underneath your shock. You sit completely still, suspended in place, as something sizzles in the kitchen.

He traipses into the room in nothing but an apron, carrying a tray with two plates of food and two mugs of coffee, which he sets on the end of the bed before he slides into the empty spot beside you.

You stare as if at a wild animal—if he notices your surprise, he doesn’t take it into account as he curls an arm around your neck.

“Mornin,’” he says, dragging you in for a kiss.

A long kiss—his mouth parts yours to permit his tongue, which he slides against yours as his fingers press upward into the soft underside of your chin. He inhales deeply before his lips leave yours, and you reel, listing toward him, as he pulls away.

“Sleep well?” he asks, hand dropping to your sternum to drag his fingertips between your breasts.

You blink several times. “Uh. Yes.”

“Bet you did,” he says with a grin. Then, he taps your neck—ink-blotting soreness with ungentle fingertips. “Sorry about this. Got too into it.”

He does not sound sorry in the slightest.

“It’s fine,” you say anyway, still blinking in whiplash.

He leans away to pull the breakfast tray up into both of your laps. “Made a classic English breakfast this time, but you eat what you like, bonnie.”

A classic English breakfast turns out to be eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, seared cherry tomatoes, and toast, which Johnny digs into with the gusto of the starving. You select a crunchier-looking strip of bacon and break it between your teeth, but you don’t pay much attention to the taste.

Johnny. His mohawk is mussed from the night’s sleep, and other than the apron, he really does appear to be completely naked. It seems like the first thing he did, when woke up, was not shower or dress, but head to the kitchen to start cooking.

For you. Again.

“Why?” you ask aloud.

He turns to you, one cheek rounded with food, dark brows lifted over bright eyes. “Hm?”

“Why did you make breakfast? You could’ve just left.”

Surprise on his face, freezing his expression. Then, consternation, dragging it down. “I wouldnae do that to you, bonnie.”

He says it so gravely—as if even the notion that he would make an early getaway amounts to betrayal on the deepest level.

“It’s,” you say, “it’s fine. It’s not like this…like…”

Like this meant anything. But didn’t it? You meant to punish yourself, with him as your scourge. A necessary reminder—a bitter pill you must swallow, over and over again.

Who better to deliver it than Johnny, because, hopes aside, he with his rockstar grin and wandering hands had not given off the slightest indication that he would stay the morning after a one-night stand. Let alone get up before you to make breakfast.

You had relied on that.

“I wouldnae do that,” he repeats.

Instead—here he is. Warm, bare shoulder against yours. Lashes dark over an insistent gaze.

You break eye contact, looking at your plate. “Whatever,” you say, for lack of any other response.

You pick at your food—it’s good, same as the meal he made you last night. Not pretentious, like he’s trying to impress you, but genuine and hearty. Tasty, the way breakfast in bed should be.

Puzzle pieces forced to fit together, despite belonging to different areas of the composition. A round peg the perfect diameter for a square hole. Incongruous. Confusing. Untrustworthy.

You continue to study him out of the suspicious corner of your eye as he goes back to eating, though it isn’t exactly any hardship. It seems to be a rare sunny day on the island, with warm, buttery light streaming in from the window. It catches the dark hair on his forearms, casts the sculpted expanse of his freckled shoulders in stronger repose.

You see it again—the wound on the side of his head. Nearly hidden by the dark stubble of shaved hair, but not invisible.

“What happened?” you ask.

He looks at you with a question on his face, and then sees the direction of your gaze. He nods to himself, as if he’s been expecting you to ask this whole time.

“Told you I served,” he said, setting down his fork. Then he notices you aren’t eating much. “Ach, bonnie, don’ let it get cold. You eat, and I’ll talk, aye?”

Begrudgingly, you spear some egg and clamp it between your teeth. He smiles indulgently, and continues.

“So you met Price. Was on an operation with him in London. Chasin’ this real bad fucker in the subway tunnels. He was tryin’ to set off a bomb, but we got to him first. Well, we chased him off the payload, anyways, n’ I’m demo, so I’m the one can defuse it.”

He looks at you. You bite down on a corner of toast.

“Guess he figured that part out, ‘cause not long after I get to the wires he comes back. Nearly takes Price out, so I get after him. Stupid mistake. Price can take care of himself, an’ we had backup. Fucker ended up shooting me in the head.”

Halfway swallowing that same bite of toast, you choke. “You—you got shot in the head?”

He nods. “Aye.”

You look again at the scar near his temple. A starburst, in a whorl of dark hair. Dead center in the silhouette of his profile, as if a paper target at a shooting range.

“Johnny—how the fuck are you still alive?”

He leans back against the headboard, folding one arm behind his head, exposing a thatch of curly dark hair in his pit. He runs his hand through the back of his mohawk, mouth canted at an angle.

“Got no fuckin’ idea, bonnie,” he says.

The expression on his face is, perhaps, the most human you’ve ever seen it. Consternation, maybe. Confusion. Aggravation. You’re not sure what you would call it, but just looking at him, you understand that that exact question is one he’s been asking himself since it happened.

Asking, without finding an answer.

“I’m,” you stammer, “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid thing to—I’m sorry.”

He turns to you and smiles. Chagrined, but forgiving. “It’s all right, bonnie. Have some coffee for me, why don’t you?”

You lift a mug and sip. He’s added cream and sugar to it, the way you’d made it yesterday morning.

“So, I survived it,” he goes on. “Woke up in the hospital a few days later. One in a million chance, they said, but I still had to learn to walk again, an’ I was out. Out, out. Medical discharge, thank you for your service, enjoy the rest of your life. The boys went off to kill the guy in Kastovia or Russia or somethin.’”

Quick as the bullet in his brain. Matter-of-fact. The story ending without him, with no hand reaching out to pull him back in.

Well, not quite—

“And then John Price came here with you,” you say.

He gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; strained, much like the only smiles you have to offer these days. “Nah. Came out by myself. He came after I’d been here awhile. Told me he was ‘worried about me.’”

The way this conversation is supposed to go, this would be the part where you would say of course he was worried.

“But he didn’t get it,” you say instead, seeing it etched into the grooves of his expression.

Johnny, in exile, alive when he shouldn’t be. Reckoning with the fact that everything he cared about did not care nearly as much about him. Figuring out how to live without anyone else.

Breakfast turns inert on the plate when you look down at it.

“No,” Johnny says, private and intimate, thick as molasses. “He didnae.”

“You seem okay now,” you say, diaphragm pushing the words up your trachea like debris on an incoming tide.

The Johnny you know—the smug, satisfied prick able to laugh at anything and everything—slides back into place.

“Yeah, can’t hide that from you, can I, bonnie?”

He looks at where you’re still holding the sheet to your chest, to the imprint of his teeth on your neck, and then back into your eyes. You know exactly what he’s about to suggest, and you intercept as he opens his mouth to suggest it.

“I’m still eating breakfast,” you say, forcing a whole cherry tomato into your mouth. It pops and squirts between your teeth.

He grins—too knowing. “Ah, that’s alright. M’ takin’ you to Callanish today, and I’ve got a’catch your supper first,” he says.

With that, he slides the tray fully onto your lap and rises, stretching his arms above his head with his back to you, tensing and releasing the muscles as if for your benefit.

“Callanish?” you ask, swallowing.

“Aye, on Lewis.” Then he turns around and, beating a forkful of eggs halfway up, kisses you on the mouth. “Why don’t you take a walk? Pretty today. I’ll be back ‘round noontime.”

Something hard in your chest, held tight between your lungs. Pressure bending the lid upwards.

“I didn’t say I was going,” you reply, but Soap just laughs at you.

He disappears from the bedroom, and you hear him retrieving his clothes from wherever he’d thrown them the night before. You start to shake with the effort of holding in, listening with straining ears as he dresses.

“Left some lunch in the fridge for you!” he calls, and in a stroke of bright luck you hear the front door open and shut before there’s any chance for you to respond.

Wind strokes its fingers through the thatches of the roof. Stillness retakes the vacated space.

You eventually bring the dishes to the sink, tray held in front of you like a shield, as if wary of some predator hiding just around the counter. You approach the fridge and crack it open carefully, imagining a wire you don’t want to snap. There’s a sandwich on the middle shelf, sitting on a plate, wrapped in cellophane.

It breaks open.

Finally, you are alone.

You take the walk.

The sky is nearly cloudless, and the sunlight has transformed the island’s greys into a storm of jewel greens, with what is likely the last warm breeze of the year dancing across fronds of tall grasses. Clouds tower in the sky as if composed and painted there. You lock up the cottage behind you and find a walking trail to put your feet on.

Johnny.

It’s as quiet on the island as you’d hoped. No road noise. No humming power lines, or distant radio on someone else’s balcony. You can hear tiny insects singing together in the sedge, sea birds calling to each other. The voices of colliding winds arguing like old friends in the wide sky above you.

No other walkers on the path. It’s out of season for tourists, the nice weather a rare gift for the people who belong here and them alone.

Johnny.

You’ve tried to be happy. You have.

All you know is that when things start going well, it doesn’t last long.

You don’t know when it began—years ago, maybe, when you first noticed it. The pattern. Something you think of as a chill; rapid cooling, thermal shock cracking the facade.

It happens like this: you find out about group chats you aren’t a part of. Dinners you weren’t invited to. Conversations you might’ve enjoyed, that happened without you.

A problem. A serious one. But you were solution-minded.

For a long time, you puzzled it out. Acknowledged that the common denominator was you, in every circumstance—and so you looked at yourself. Found your flaws. Stared open-eyed into the mirror and confronted your own lack, internalized that no one owed you what you wanted from them just because you wanted it.

Love is action, isn’t it?

So you tried. You really did. You wrote down people’s birthdays. You invited them out for coffee. You commented on their Instagram posts. You messaged first, every time you’ve thought of them, memorized details about their lives, gave them plenty of space to talk about themselves—

After all, no one wants a friend absorbed in themself. People like to be remembered. Thought of. Considered.

You read books others recommended. You watched their favorite movies. Spent evenings catching up on shows they liked so that you could always have something to talk about with them, because that’s how it happens, right? Mychorrizae for the roots between trees. Fertilized ground.

It worked, for a while. And you nurtured the hope that, perhaps, there would be space for you, that something wonderful might eventually germinate.

Maybe conversations would loop back to you. Maybe all you’d done would be returned in kind.

Exhaustion bared a preliminary truth: it would not.

Puzzling more. The next solution presented itself—people don’t stand in front of mirrors all day. If all you do is echo them, what interest will they have in you? You provide nothing new, nothing more than what they already have.

Human beings love novelty, after all. Something new and shiny to turn in the light at different angles. You needed to gleam so brightly that what you’d been seeking all along could see you well enough to find you.

So you worked on yourself.

You took classes you’d been swearing to take for years. Joined a gym looking for endorphins. Dove into crafts, walking groups, trivia nights at the bar. Wrote out a cleaning schedule for your small apartment and kept to it. You spritzed your pillows with lavender, and ate more fruit.

Joined forums for things you liked. Got certifications for work and then chased down the raises they entitled you to. Went to interesting restaurants, found tiny little card shops or foreign grocery stores to explore. Learned to make Pad Thai from scratch.

Rounded yourself out. That’s what you did—you took the raw block of yourself and chiseled down into it, to set free whatever you found inside.

For another while, it was enough. Endorphins make people happy, and all that. And it seemed to be enough, becoming to attract; drops of water usually obey the laws of cohesion.

Only, in the middle of it, you observed the exact same phenomena as before.

Mirrors of yourself in others. People making the same efforts—which bore a richer harvest than you ever had available to reap. Bounties so plentiful they could barely hold it in their arms.

And you, close beside them, trying, and trying, and trying.

Hairline cracks forming.

In the end, still alone.

The teeth of the preliminary truth fit into the lock holding all the rest, and turned open the latch. They flooded your stomach in a rush, expanding, shattering their container, so abundant that they left no room for anything else. And they all connected, ligaments spiderwebbing inward to an undeniable nucleus—

There is something deeply, deeply wrong with you.

Invisible to you, but obvious to everyone else. A thing you cannot fix. A thing you cannot medicate. A thing you cannot self-care away. Unobservable when you look at it; happening just outside your perception.

Something you manage to hide, even unaware of its existence, only for a short while, before it spills out of you and makes a mess for all to see, entirely without you knowing it.

You do not know what it is. You’ve looked and looked and looked for it, and have not found it. You’ve sanded all the edges of yourself, hoping you might unknowingly catch it—but whatever it is must grow back, like a lizard’s tail or the arm of a starfish.

It must be ugly. It must be so shocking that when it rears its head, people feel so sorry for you for bearing it that they’d feel guilty rejecting you outright, and so they recede from you slowly. Masking pity with compassion, and hoping you won’t notice.

There is nothing good enough about you to accommodate for whatever it is. No matter what you do, you cannot make up for it.

So here you are, on a dying island in the North Atlantic. Far away from temptation—from what you can only, inevitably, ruin.

Hounded by a man who it would be madness to think cannot see that.

You watch one foot swing in front of the other, barely leaving any prints in the hard, packed soil exposed by every walker who’s come before you. You hadn’t brought sunglasses with you, assuming that you wouldn’t need them, and the late morning light is too blinding to look too far ahead of you.

Johnny.

It isn’t about you, whatever his interest is. You see that very clearly now.

You picture him—a special forces grunt, riding high on his own masculinity, suddenly cut down. Ripped away from everything that made him him. Cut off from anyone who might be halfway capable of understanding how that might feel.

And you—a lone woman, marginally fuckable. Obviously flawed goods. An empty well of self-esteem waiting to be filled.

Someone he can impress with a wink and a flex, and make himself feel better taking care of.

He’s enjoying getting to play suitor—that’s all. You don’t think you’ve seen many women your age on the island, so for him, this must be a rare opportunity. You can’t, you suppose, blame him too much. You understand what he’s doing, and why.

You’ve done it yourself. Chosen a likely candidate and thrown all your feelings at them until you’ve felt better.

That’s how people are, in the end—that’s how you are. People look to others to get what they want out of them, and in Johnny’s case, he’s getting it. Not even two days, and you spread your legs for him. You let him come inside of you with barely even a token fuss, because he felt you up and smiled the whole time doing it.

He’s using you. The same way you’re using him.

It’s a shitty thing to do. You are a shitty person for doing it.

And so is he.

Maybe that’s why you’re letting him.

When you return to the cottage, you find the door unlocked, and Johnny on the couch with a romance paperback open in one hand. He turns to grin at you when you walk in, and tosses the book on the coffee table without marking his place when he rises. Today, he’s wearing a dark sweater over yet another kilt, but this time—

“Your—fur, thing, is missing,” you say, in lieu of greeting.

He looks down at his hips, patting his thighs with his hands. “My pelt? Ah, yeah.” He grins. “Threw it off in a hurry, can you blame me? Couldnae find it. I’m no’ worried, it’ll turn up. You ready to go?”

You frown. “I guess.”

“Good! I packed your bag for ya already, but you migh’ wan’ to check if I missed anything.”

Your frown harder. “You—what? You packed my bag? Why would I need that?”

You swear his eyes twinkle at you. “Is a six hour boat ride up to Lewis, hen, an’ six hours back, no’ counting how long y’wanna stay at Callanish. Probably dock overnight.”

“I never said I wanted to go!” you snap, marching past him toward the bedroom.

“A’thought we were past that!” he calls after you.

You find your carry-on open on the bed, and furiously upturn it, dumping everything out—it disgorges its contents like intestines spilling from a slit belly. Three romance novels. Toiletry bag, phone charger, jewelry bag, a shirt mismatched to a pair of pants it’s crumpled up with. One pair of socks. No bra, no panties—and you think Johnny might have a shred of decency after all, but when you go to your suitcase, you find your carefully folded rows of underwear haphazardly unfolded, thoroughly pawed through anyway.

Johnny comes into the room as you stand up with appropriate undergarments in your hands, ire shoving smog from your lungs.

“You’re no’ gonna need those, bonnie,” he says with, the ever-present smirk.

“Fuck you,” you snap. You have never wanted to slap someone so much in your life, but somehow, you know he would catch your wrist in the attempt, and just use his grip to pull you in.

And you’d let him.

“Yeah, that’s why.”

You scoff, and go to repack your bag, folding your clothes and tetrising everything together so it will stand on its own when put down, ignoring Johnny’s leering until you turn around. You make no effort to hide how much you’re grumbling about fucking assholes with fucking boats thinking they’re going to get laid again just because they got their dick wet once.

You sling the carry-on over your shoulder once it’s packed and zipped—fully intending to complain the whole way, even as you go along with his nonsense.

It doesn’t feel good, exactly, but you don’t quite feel your stomach up in knots. You feel clear, at least. You know what’s going on. You know the limits of this dynamic. You can deal with it.

“Oh, one thing,” Johnny says, then sticks one hand into a pocket in his kilt.

He withdraws your phone.

Whole again, back together with a gleaming new screen. Nested back in its protective case.

“Saw you dropped it, so I took it to Castlebay to get it fixed,” he says, holding it out to you like a dog proud of the task it’s completed. “No’ a lot of signal ‘round here, but wanna make sure you can get to me if you need to.”

The words enter your hearing like cotton swaps, blurring the deeper they penetrate. You take it from him without a word. You tap the screen—there almost certainly had been signal in town, and repair places usually charge phones for free.

Nothing.

Just the time, and the stock background you never changed.

Stone lungs in your chest. In—one, two three. Hold. Out—three, two, one.

“Thank you,” you say, the words dropping like pebbles from your tongue.

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerily. “An’ I didnae know wha’ y’liked to read so I picked my favorites.” He quirks his brows. “Thought we migh’ get some ideas.”

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s go.”

He makes you brush past him on your way out of the bedroom, and follows on your heels close behind, enough that you can smell him, axe and diesel and salt spray and all.

Too close—because, when you catch sight of something odd, you stop in your tracks, and he runs into you, having to catch you before he knocks you over over. Hands wrap warm around your upper arms, big enough to shackle.

There—wedged in the lintel, above the front door. Barely visible from this angle. A sliver of white spattered with grey. You’re not sure what you’re seeing, until—

“Johnny, is that your—pelt?” you say, frowning.

You point toward it; Johnny’s chin rests on top of your head, hands squeezing. Chest hot at your back.

“Look at that,” he murmurs. “How did that end up there?”

It looks well-packed into the angle of the thatch roof meeting the wall; nothing tossed away in a hurry, the way you imagine Johnny undressed the previous night, could have ended up where the pelt is now.

It was obviously shoved there.

Moonlit eyes dance in your dreaming memory.

You turn around to look at him. You open your mouth to speak, but there are no words waiting to leave it—and he beats you before you can come up with any.

“Why don’ you head down to the beach, an’ I’ll lock up here?” he says, looking down at you with pleased, half-lidded eyes.

A killer whale will toy gleefully with its prey. For hours, flinging it back and forth, punting it through the air with powerful flips of its tail. Whatever animal unlucky enough to have encountered it has no escape—it spends its last moments thrown skyward, soaring through the only habitat it could never understand, before spinning back down to sea, pulled back home by gravity’s ignorant love.

Too stunned on impact to be able to swim away. Still breathing—the body unaware that its life has already ended. Until the teeth closing around its neck is the only mercy it will beg for.

“Okay,” you gasp out, stepping back away from him. He watches as you escape, smiling slightly. In no rush.

Out the cottage door and down the path on shaking legs—you retreat to the kayak waiting on the sand, heart pounding against your sternum again, bolting from something that isn’t chasing you. Your nerves feel raw beneath your skin, unclosed circuits buzzing.

The short burst of warm weather is rapidly cooling; a passing breeze carries the chill of a cold night oncoming. You realize you left Johnny’s jacket in the cottage, but—you’re not going back for it. You don’t want to see whatever you left behind there.

Then you hear Johnny’s footsteps approaching. You jolt, tense—readying to flee. Turning, all you see is him holding the plated sandwich as he crosses the beach, jacket draped over the bend of his elbow.

“Forgot some things after all,’” he says, grinning—teeth clean and sharp.

“Oh,” you say, trying to keep the tremble from your voice, “yeah.”

You take it from him, and see that your hands are shaking. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.

If he notices, he’s probably enjoying it.

“Let’s get goin’ then!” he enthuses, taking your bag and setting it in the kayak.

There is no pelt around his hips.

next chapter early access

a/n: I won't lie, this was a rough one to write. Part of the prose of this chapter is inspired by september is a weary month by Yasmin Belkhyr. Not sure if this is the proper attribution but it's all I can find.

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

[ur-sick-and-married]

ANTISEPTIC • CAITVI

TW: blood, violence, angst, female reader, Vi and Cait are mad at each other lol

SUMMARY: your girlfriends will always help you after you get in a fight, even when they’re stressed and aggravated.

A/N: literally what is Vi’s last name.

“Dammit, cupcake, you’re gonna get blood on the fancy ass floors.”

Vi held the front door open with one arm, and heaved you through it with her other. She was right. You were already dripping blood onto the shiny floors.

“Let’s just get you a first aid kit.” She huffed.

She helped you up the big staircase, searching for Caitlyn. Neither of you really knew your way around the mansion yet.

You’d made a mistake, and gotten yourself into a fight. Your fighting skills weren’t bad…you were just lucky Vi found you when she did. Sure, your face was throbbing, you were limping, and your fists were pretty banged up, but at least you were conscious.

Vi couldn’t really see things that way. She was angry you’d be so irresponsible, yet worried, and that just came out as more anger. She was stressed with the whole hunt-down-Jinx thing. Everyone was, and it showed in different ways. The fight was your way.

Vi shoved open the doors to Caitlyn’s room, calling for the other girl.

“Gosh!” Caitlyn exclaimed when she saw you. “What happened to you?!”

“I fell.” You fibbed, flopping onto one of the couches.

“Don’t lie.” Vi hissed. “She got in a fight.”

“A fight?” Caitlyn gasped. She was at your side within a second, holding your bruised face in her hands.

“Now you’re getting blood up here.” Vi grumbled, watching your knuckles leave little red marks on the couch cushion.

“Why are you so pissed?” Cait said to Vi, eyebrows furrowed.

Vi simply grunted and shook her head, turning to look out the window.

“Are you okay?” Caitlyn whispered.

“I’m fine, Cait.” You sighed. “Don’t worry.”

“You don’t look fine.” She responded.

“Doesn’t even hurt that bad.” You shrugged.

She brought a finger to your face, and lightly touched one of the forming bruises. You immediately winced.

“Sure it doesn’t hurt.” She muttered. “Let’s get you patched up…”

She helped you stand, and guided you to the luxurious bathroom. While she hunted for a first aid kit, you sat on the counter. Then you realized that Vi was in the doorway, watching anxiously.

“Alright.” Caitlyn said, kit in hand. “Tell me where it hurts.”

You listed your sore spots, and she carefully checked them all. She removed your shoe to examine your ankle, which she confirmed was just rolled. She looked at your hands next, at all the tiny, bleeding cracks in your skin. Finally, she got to your face. Her expression was one of worry as she made sure you weren’t concussed.

“Okay.” She said once she was done. “Your injuries aren’t severe. You’ll just need some bandages.”

You nodded, avoiding her gaze. You felt ashamed of yourself.

Vi still watched from the door. She observed your every move, as if you’d break in half any second.

Caitlyn started cleaning your hands, making you flinch.

“Sorry. Should’ve warned you.” She muttered, her accent thick.

She continued cleaning your hand, then wrapped it up, so it looked like Vi’s hands now.

It wasn’t until Caitlyn had moved onto your other hand that she spoke.

“Vi,” She said, not even glancing at your shared partner. “Care to tell me what’s stuck up your ass while I patch up our girlfriend?”

“Our girlfriend…” Vi responded bitterly. “Was stupid, getting in a fight like that.”

“Call her stupid again and I’ll fight you.” Caitlyn grumbled.

Things had been tense between them. You were honestly one of the only things keeping them together at that point in time.

It was just a rough patch, though. Things did eventually improve.

“It was irresponsible!” Vi snapped.

Caitlyn groaned, annoyed, wrapping your hand a little tighter than necessary.

“I didn’t mean to fight.” You whispered.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Caitlyn asked softly, resting her hands on your knees.

“I was outside the bar…” You explained. “And there was this drunk guy. I think he was hitting on me. He was bad at it. I told him I wasn’t interested and he…I don’t know, sort of lunged at me. So obviously I fought back. Then Vi found me.”

“So you didn’t initiate the fight?” Caitlyn asked.

You shook your head. She whipped around to face Vi, exclaiming, “She was standing up for herself!”

Vi looked conflicted for a second, then she sputtered, “She-she still engaged!”

“Can’t you just be worried?” Cait snapped.

“I am!” Vi roared.

Her yell shocked you and Caitlyn into silence. Cait gave her a look, then turned back to you. She wet a cloth in the sink to clean your face, while shaking her head.

Suddenly, Vi was at her side, standing right in front of you. She put her hands on your thighs like Cait had, but her grip was firmer.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, looking at the counter instead of you. “For being so angry, and ignorant. I shouldn’t have…jumped to conclusions.”

She then looked to Caitlyn, who was eyeing her, and said, “And I’m sorry to you, too. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped.” Caitlyn shrugged.

Vi patted your leg, looking like a sad, little puppy. She hated upsetting either of you, let alone both.

She sat on the counter next to you, manspreading, of course.

Caitlyn took her place in front of you again, and started to clean your face. When you winced the first time, Vi quickly grabbed your hand, trying to soothe you. Her grip got tighter any time you expressed pain.

“Try to stay still, darling.” Cait whispered.

“It’s okay.” Vi murmured.

“You’re all done.” Cait sighed. “You did good.”

Vi’s grip on your hand relaxed. She gently rubbed your back, trying to be comforting.

“Do you need anything?” Caitlyn questioned. “Food? Painkillers?”

You shook your head, quiet.

“Well, since you don’t have a concussion, you should probably sleep.” She said, sounding clinical.

“Rest will do you some good.” Vi added.

You nodded. “Okay, but…first…”

You pulled Caitlyn closer, until you could bury your face in her shoulder. Her arms were around you quickly, holding you tight. Vi continued to rub your back, watching with a sad smile.

“It’s alright.” Caitlyn whispered. “You’re safe here. We’ve got you, love.”

“C’mon, let’s get you out of these dirty clothes.” Vi said.

Together, they got you into comfortable clothing, then into bed. They lied down on either side of you, surrounding you with warmth and love.

“I’m really sorry, cupcake.” Vi repeated, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s fine, Vi.” You responded. “I understand.”

“I do too.” Cait confided. She rubbed your arm with one hand, and played with Vi’s hair with the other.

“Hey, tomorrow I’m gonna go find that guy who hit you, and I’m gonna beat his ass.” She whispered.

“Violet.” Caitlyn said firmly, making you laugh.

Sure, it had taken some time, but they were always able to make you feel better. They could scrape the bad away for a little bit, like the antiseptic Cait had just used.

[asksonicverse]

How did Emerald and Shade end up rooming together?

Were they just the two leftover? Otherwise I would have thought that Shade would pick Eight since they‘ve worked together during the metal virus arc.

Is Shade embarrassed that he got turned? Does he feel cringe now? Is he aggressively dodging that 'I told you so'? Is that what this is?

[ Creator Special! ]

Okay: first note! Sorry for the lack of updates the last two days :D I’m working on ironing out a few bits to Paradox and Prisms story and I’ve been a bit busy with life things! In the meantime: behind the scenes!

-

Emerald and Shade ended up together because, yes to all of your reasons.

They were the final ones left and while I did briefly consider putting Eight and Shade together, I decided against it because while Sonic and Shadow don’t hate eachother in IDW, I wouldn’t call them close enough yet to share.

Going to be real, I don’t think Shade and Emerald really talk. They just mutually agree “ok, pillow wall, you get that side I’ll get this one” they sleep, wake up, and leave the tent.

also I loved how you worded this ask it was hilarious: short answer yes

Same thing for Eight and Bandi, except Eight is curled up all the way on the far side of the tent and their pillow wall is twice as tall.

I wish I could do a bit more with Eights touch adverseness and show it but he’s been ASLEEP.

Also no one rooming with boost was very mutual with all.

Everyone saw an extra tent and was like “uhh boost you can have that one dude” (he kicks in his sleep)

I will reply DAMN YOU!!!! /lh

But yes!! Don’t worry my friends, I won’t ONLY focus on Paradox and Prism. I will do little mini comics of dynamic development between all the others.

I also want to start doing more Shadow and Shadow and Sonic and Sonic’s interactions. I feel like right now I mostly have Shadows and Sonic’s just interacting with their versions and I’m like?? Make friends guys!!

Okay so the way I’m approaching this:

The only Sonics in the same “timeline” are Classic and Emerald.

While Emerald (and other sonics and shadows) have experienced the same/similar events, doesn’t mean he was there for those versions. That might not make sense idk it’s 1 am.

So like, for SATBK, he does recognize Lancelot, but it’s not the Lancelot he knew.

For our SATBK story, it’s the exact same, except King Arthur and everyone had some weird magic spell cast on them that made them weird, Arthur has memory loss, game events happen, memory back, peace restored! Yay.

So yeah, they could have a good chat about it but still different.

Previous | next

[kpop-reactions-povs]

Stray Kids- Their S/O kissing them then running away to tease them

Bang Chan

Chan blinks, his lips still tingling from the sudden kiss as you sprint out of the room. A slow smirk spreads across his face as his brain catches up. His competitive nature kicks in, and he’s not about to let you get away that easily. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” he calls, already moving after you. When he catches you, he cages you against the wall with his arms, his eyes dark with playful mischief. “You’re not getting away that easily, love,” he whispers, leaning in close enough to make your heart race again.

Lee Know

Minho’s initial reaction is pure surprise, his eyes widening as you kiss him and take off like it’s a game. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Really?" he mutters under his breath, the faintest smile playing on his lips. A mischievous glint flickers in his eyes, and before you know it, he’s casually sauntering into the next room, catching you off guard. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and teasing. "Running away won’t save you. I always get what I want."

Changbin

Changbin’s heart skips a beat as you kiss him out of nowhere, but before he can even pull you closer, you’re gone. He’s left standing there, breathless and slightly dazed, running a hand through his hair with a crooked smile. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he calls, a playful warning in his tone. When he finds you hiding, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his breath warm against your ear. “You started this,” he murmurs, “so don’t be surprised when I finish it.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stands frozen for a second, processing what just happened, his lips parted in shock. Then a wide grin spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He loves the chase, and you’ve just made things way too fun. "Yah, come back here!" he shouts, laughing as he runs after you. When he catches you, he gently cups your face, his voice soft but full of intensity. “You can’t just kiss me like that and run. That’s dangerous.” His lips brush yours again, slower this time, savoring every second.

Han

Jisung blinks rapidly, stunned by the sudden kiss, and then bursts into a fit of laughter when you dart off. "Seriously?! What was that?!" he yells after you, already chasing you down the hall. Once he catches you, he pins you against the couch, his eyes gleaming with playful determination. “You think you can mess with me like that and get away with it?” he teases, his voice dropping an octave. “Guess I’ll just have to take my revenge… with interest.”

Felix

Felix’s face turns a shade of red as you kiss him and run away, leaving him standing there, flustered and breathless. He touches his lips, a soft giggle escaping him before determination flashes in his eyes. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with that,” he says, voice low and sweet. He follows you quietly, suddenly appearing in front of you, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I think you forgot something,” he says with a wink, closing the space between you and capturing your lips again, this time not letting you escape so easily.

Seungmin

Seungmin stands there for a moment, stunned by your boldness. He raises an eyebrow, his calm demeanor masking the rapid thudding of his heart. "Really? Running away?" he calls out, shaking his head with a sly smile. You barely have time to react before he appears beside you, his hand gently grabbing your wrist. “You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?” he whispers, his gaze locking onto yours. “I expect a proper kiss this time.”

I.N

Jeongin’s eyes widen, and his brain short-circuits for a second when you kiss him and bolt. He stands there, blinking in confusion before a mischievous grin takes over. “Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he mutters, running after you. When he finally catches you, he backs you into a corner, his playful side in full force. “You think you can just leave me hanging like that?” he teases, his voice soft but full of promise. “Let’s see how you handle it when I don’t let you escape.”

[softlypaintedseafoam]

as soft as a misty rain

synopsis. it's all typical sanji; there's no deeper meaning to his actions. until it isn't all typical sanji and there are many meanings to everything he does.

pairing. vinsmoke sanji x f!reader

word count. 1.3k | masterlist

content warning. recently established relationship, allusions that sanji's past is more complicated than he lets on, reader has a defined devil fruit ability

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

one of two reposts i'm doing today with my valentine's day event nearly completed. this fic was a gift for my friend @hash-slinging-slasher-trash and i wanted it over here too

Sanji has always handled you with care.

There is nothing to realize. It’s an objective fact that has been apparent from almost the very moment you met on Charmed Enclave. Aside from children, there are very specific individuals Sanji will always be gentle with. An enthusiastic softness, eager and ready to serve at the drop of a hat.

I’m not special, you had told yourself, clutching Zoro’s previous warnings tightly. He does this for every woman, with or without a pulse.

It didn’t matter how many treats he brought you, reserved solely for you.

There was no deeper meaning to when he held out his hand to help you down a few steps.

Nor did it matter if he’d push Zoro onto a puddle for you to walk across like a coat taking in all the liquid, amusing as it had been.

It’s all typical Sanji.

The question is raised when it isn’t typical Sanji; that is what makes your skin buzz as Sanj’s fingers thrum across your own. What makes your chest warm as you watch as he wraps a cloth around your palms and your fingers, how he touches you as if protecting a thousand treasures.

“I won’t lie and say the Nervy Nervy Fruit isn’t useful,” Sanji murmurs with a sigh. “But if you can’t feel pain, how are you supposed to recognize your limits? Like the other day.”

You chuckle sheepishly and Sanji’s expression is uncharacteristically sharp, unamused at the display. You are sure he will be sour about your turning off your pain receptors to test the heat of the stovetop a while longer. The blond has been fretting over you like a mother hen even since. “I’ll try to be more mindful,” you promise when your chuckles subside, letting your gaze rest on your connected hands. As of now, you’ve only dulled your senses to a light discomfort. Enough to feel everything without wanting to croak from your injuries. “But this time I was distracted, I normally don’t singe myself when I check how hot the stove is.”

That does little to sway Sanji in your favor.

“I’ll be more careful,” you dramatically let your head hang as if you’re being reprimanded by your boss.

“You’ll make Chopper sad otherwise,” despite his words, Sanji sounds satisfied with the conclusion. “Think about Chopper. That’s what you told me, remember?”

Your shoulders shake with hearty laughter, “don’t use my words against me,” you beam brightly with a hint of challenge. “And you should be thanking me. Quitting smoking is going to help you in the long run. What if they started calling you Black Lung Sanji? What would you do then?” Not to mention with how impressionable the young reindeer is, the last thing you want is to see him attempting to take a smoke break between patients.

With how hectic things tend to get for the Straw Hats, it is too easy to envision.

Sanji’s cigarettes and lighter had to go for the greater good.

As your laughter subsides, a comfortable silence settles over you both.

“So,” you feel possessed to break it. Comfortable as it may be, you fear you’ll drown in it. Sink deeper and deeper in it until you do something foolish, whatever foolish thing that may be. It’s easy to drown as a power holder, it is why you are always careful around the water’s edge. What happens when you find a piece of the ocean you aren’t afraid to fall into, however. You’ve never been prepared for that. “Have you always wanted to become a cook? I know that’s what you were doing before you joined the crew.”

At your query, Sanji’s eyes shine like a child’s, “it is.” As if he’s water flowing over a dam, Sanji tells you about his home in the East Blue. The floating restaurant, the Baratie ー a concept you’ve never certainly thought possible ー and the fighting cooks that reside in it.

He tells you about Zeff and the many cooks that joined his ranks over the years. Laughter falls from your lips as easily as the stories leave Sanji’s. 

The Baratie sounds more like the Waffle House restaurant chain throughout your home island than anything else. At the tail end of Sanji’s story about how a line cook named Peter got into a fist fight with three drunks and a cranky chicken, you finally ask, “what made you love cooking so much?”

“I’ve always enjoyed it, but I’d say my mom is the one who really encouraged it,” he tells you thoughtfully, his hands moving slower against your own as he recalls the woman. He should have long since finished, you know, but you don’t mind that he’s stalled in his ‘wound tending efforts’. It’s nice feeling as if it is only you on the ship when in reality you are just the only ones awake. “I liked making her lunches, not that I was always good at it. But even if it tasted like garbage, she always ate it,” the blond’s dark eyes are miles away from where you sit on the Sunny. “Then she’d ask me to make her something else again.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” you try to imagine what such a gentle person looks like. I think you probably look a lot like her. A good portion of the woman’s character certainly had been imbued in her son. He’s always been gentle and kind, you’ve seen it in how he treats Chopper.

It’s easy to baby the crew’s smallest member, but there is something unique in how everyone does it. Sanji was meant to be a father. It’s a thought that flusters you, but you know it is true regardless. It’s a bit too soon to think about that though.

“It,” Sanji’s gaze doesn’t meet yours as his thumb brushes over the back of your cloth-covered hand. You aren’t able to dwell long on what exactly your newly minted boyfriend means, however, as he continues on. “will probably be easier meeting Zeff than my mother. He’s a stubborn old fart but he means well. You’ll like him. Just don’t believe anything those jackasses at the Baratie tell you about me. I just know they put up that god awful wanted poster of me where everyone can see it.”

A giggle slips from your lips at Sanji’s distressed expression and you recall how he begged for you to pretend the portrait didn’t exist. 

It’s easy to imagine all the cantankerous characters he mentioned growing up with. Zeff, Patty, Carne and you can easily picture the boisterous men hanging Sanji’s wanted poster for all to see like proud parents and uncles. Ones very good at teasing their group’s baby. The men who made Black Leg Sanji ‘Black Leg Sanji’.

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

Sanji pauses at your words before he lips stretch into a dreamy smile and you let yourself arrogantly assume he’s picturing the same things you are. “I can’t wait to introduce you to them.” With that, his tending to your hand is finished, cloth gently knotted so it can’t move. “I’m no Chopper, so he’ll probably have to redo it once he wakes up.”

You smile at his handiwork, “thanks again.” You think that will be the end of your little moment, but rather than let your hand go Sanji holds your fingers a touch tighter.

“Can I kiss your hand,” the cook asks earnestly, dark eyes reserved yet hopeful.

“You don’t have to ask permission for that,” your chest burns a gold the color of Sanji’s hair. It’s unfair how easily he gets your heart pounding like a drum. In spite of your words, he doesn’t lean forward an inch. “Of course you can,” you grumble, eyes darting to a particularly interesting piece of wood in your embarrassment.

The hair of his chin dances across your skin like raindrops.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 14 - Dirty Work

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: Death, use of weapons, little bit of torture, violence, military inaccuracies.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You make it down the stairs last. Johnny came to wake after what felt like no time at all. You really need to get a good night's sleep soon. You have a feeling that won’t be happening though. When you make it to the dining room things feel different. Johnny is standing next to Gaz and Ghost looks almost like he’s sulking in the corner of the room. 

Price is leaning over the table looking at images of a compound. “We split into 2 teams, you three go round the back me and Ghost will go in the front.” He says before looking over at you. He frowns before standing up straight and crossing his arms. 

“The building should be running with the night staff. Al Qatala only, we’ll need to disable the alarms, you should be able to cut the power directly from a room at the back of the building.” Price says pointing at one of the photos. “After that make your way up to the top floor, that's where the main control room is, if Makarov is anywhere he’ll be there. If not, it's where we’ll find out where he is.” 

“Makarov will know we’re here is as soon as we take the place.” Johnny says. 

“That's why we have to act fast, as soon as we know where he is we move.” Price says.

“Unless he’s there.” Gaz says.

“He won’t be there.” you say. Price’s head snaps over to you. “I’ll be the pessimist.” You shrug. 

“We plan for the possibility he is there.” Price says.

“And the possibility he’s not.” Simon says. Looking at him now looming in the shadows. The person you saw in the bedroom just a few hours ago seems like a completely different person then the one hiding in the shadows right now. Ghost is a fitting name.

“Capture or kill?” Johnny asks, stepping forward. 

“Kill. He’s not getting away again.” Price says. Johnny likes that nodding at him and turning back to Kyle. You look round the room, they've been after this guy for a while. 

“Get ready, we’ll be leaving soon.” Price says, crossing his arms. Everyone starts to move and he looks over at you. “A word?” You swallow hard, nodding and walking round the table to him while everyone leaves the room. You’re nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks quietly, bending down to speak to you closer. 

“Yes.” You say holding your ground. 

“It’s going to be dangerous, you could get hurt.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” 

“No. I just need to know you’re ready.” he asks, you look up in his eyes.

“I’m ready.” You nod. He smiles for a second and you move to walk past him. He grabs your arm tight. “You do anything to hurt them and I swear to God I'll put a bullet in your head myself.” You look back digging your eyes into him. Why is he saying this now? Does he know? You pull your arm out his grip. 

“You wouldn’t be taking me if you didn’t trust me.” You say. He smiles. 

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” 

…

There’s thunder in the distance, a chill in the air. You’re all laid on a hill looking down at the back of the compound, there are lights on but no personnel. 

“Soap, we’re in position. How’s it looking on your end?” Price’s voice calls in your ear. 

“All clear Cap, we’re ready to move in.” Soap replies. The comps still sound strangely formal to you. 

“Okay, keep coms open, let us know when you’ve cut the security.” Price says as you all get to your feet. 

“Copy.” Soap says. You have an AR again, you’re still not used to the bigger weapons. Price’s warning is still ringing loud in your head. Why did he choose to say that now. Does he know what happened between you all? He is the captain, maybe he does. You follow Gaz and Soap down the hill to the back door. Gaz's foot slams into the door and it swings open. Soap goes in first and you follow behind him, you’re almost good at this now following his movements cleaning rooms like you’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Soap opens a door to another room, it’s warm you follow him inside. It looks like a maintenance room. Gaz comes back and stands in the doorway as Soap walks over to a control panel. You watch as he opens what looks like a fuzebox, he takes wire cutters off his vest and get's to work.

“Price, security systems are offline.” Soap’s voice comes into your ears as he closes the box.

“Copy, we’re moving in. Make your way to the control room.” Price says. You follow Gaz who leads, Soap following behind you. You run into people on the way but Gaz takes them down, the smell of gunpowder and blood is just something you need to get used to. You make it to the next floor, Gaz calls out your location as you move through the building. 

Each floor you go through you find more people. Gaz and Soap take them down, they’re way more confident firing off at people compared to your hesitation. You all turn the corner and run into Price and Ghost. They stack up on the door, this is the last place you need to check, if Makarov is going to be here he’s behind the door. 

Price nods and Ghost kicks the door open, it all happens quickly, voices ring out, shots ring out too. There's a pained groan as everyone goes into the room. You go over to the computer in the room, as soon as you move the mouse you see how corrupted it is.

“The whole thing’s been wiped.” You say. You turn to see Ghost and Price pull the man to his feet and throw him down in a chair. The man is shouting in Arabic through gritted teeth. You turn to start looking through papers with Soap trying to find anything you can to help. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks. 

“Go to hell!” He shouts in English. You turn to see Ghost tying him to the chair. 

“Where is Makarov?” Price asks again. The man spits blood out on the floor, you see the wound on his shoulder. 

“I’ll never say!” Price sighs and Ghosts fist meets his face. It’s all starting to feel a little deja vu. You stick to what you’re doing, looking through the papers for anything useful.

“This was dated today. What does it mean?” Soap asks handing you a piece of paper. 

“It’s a termination order. They’re storing something here, it’s in the garage. Whatever it is, is being picked up tomorrow then the post will be shut down.” You say turning to look over at Price and Ghost. 

“What’s being stored?” Price asks. 

“It doesn’t say.” You reply, putting the paper down on the table.

“Okay, the three of you go check the garages.” Price says. Gaz leaves the room first and you follow him back through the building. Now it feels weird walking back through this place and over bodies, there weren't that many Al Qatala and now you know why, they probably got sent home days ago. 

“I thought you guys were keeping an eye on this place? You didn’t see them moving anything into the garages?” You ask Kyle ahead of you.

“No, only people moving in and out.” He replies. When you make it outside it’s starting to rain and the thunder sounds closer. 

“When did the message say they were coming?” Soap asks as tests the handle on the door, it’s locked.

“Tomorrow morning, it didn't have time.” You say.

“Strange.” Soap says, you frown looking over at him as Gaz kicks the door. 

“Why? There could have been multiple messages, we only found one.” You say shrugging. 

“Why though? They did such a good job at wiping the computer, shredding everything else why leave that one message?” Soap says. A pit forms in your stomach. You turn to look at him. 

“Probably just didn’t have time before we got there.” You swallow it away looking back at Gaz who gives the door one last kick and it swings open. Maybe he’s right, maybe you’re being too blasé about the whole thing, they are more experienced with this kind of stuff. 

You watch Gaz walk in and you move to follow him. 

“Holy shit.” You say when you walk in the room, the wall separating the two garages has been knocked through, there’s 2 trucks both of the beds look full and have been covered with tarp. It’s the ones you recognise from the CCTV footage Gaz showed Farah, the ones that came over the border a few days ago. 

Gaz walks over to one and pulls the tarp off to reveal missiles. 

“Holy shit.” Soap says. His hand runs over the American flag stamped on the metal. 

“American? These are ULF missiles.” You say.

“Were.” Gaz corrects you. 

“Price, we’ve got trucks full of American missiles here.” Soap says over the radio. There’s no reply, Gaz looks over frowning. 

“Price. Come in Price.” Soap says, you’re all already moving to the door before Soap even has a reply. 

“Ghost, Price come in.” Soap calls as you all jog back over to the main building. Now the pit in your stomach is back. What if they’re hurt? Fuck what if they’re dead? Soap and Gaz keep trying to call them as you sprint up the steps.  

“Price!” Gaz shouts as he sprints into the room. You make it in just after him, Price is rubbing his head using the chair to get back to his feet. The place looks like even more of a mess than before, stuff thrown everywhere a lamp knocked off the desk flashing on the floor. There had clearly been a struggle. 

“Where's Ghost?” Soap asks. 

“He went after him.” Price says, Soap rushes out the door.

“Go with him.” Gaz says, you nod following Soap down the hall. You have no idea where he could be but you follow Soap back down to the ground floor. You both freeze for a moment. Soap putting his hand up to stop you. You’re listening for noise. Soap is scanning down the corridors looking out the windows. 

You hear a gunshot.

“This way!” Soap shouts and sprints down a hall. It’s dark and there are no lights on. When you turn a corner you see an open door. The rain is coming down hard now, the thunder sounds like it’s right on top of you. 

You make it out and see Ghost wrestling with the guy on the floor. Soap slowly walks towards him with his weapon trained on them. You follow what he’s doing, keeping your distance, they’re rolling around on the floor, you can’t tell who has the upper hand. The man is clearly putting up a good fight. 

Soap looks like he wants to intervene. You hear a rumbling sound and the almost deafening sound of the rain on the garage roof. You’re not sure what to do, Ghost manages to push the guy off him and they end up on their sides. You think that's it Soap steps up to them until you see the glint off a knife. You don’t get chance to call it out the sound of crashing metal distracts you, you turn to the source of the noise seeing a truck barreling towards you. 

“Move!” Soap shouts as he grabs your vest pulling you out its path. You both fall to the ground as the car drives past, it stops just before crashing into the garages. Soap is firing at it before he’s even stood up. You get to your feet and click the safety off your weapon as people jump out the car. You see the weapons in their hands, you don’t care about shooting them now. It’s kill or be killed. 

Your shots are not great, you can see some of them hitting the car instead of people, you’ve only ever shot an AR once in basic training. It comes back to you though surprisingly, like riding a bike. You see someone fall to the floor, you hear shouting behind you and turn quickly to see Price and Gaz coming out the building. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at least it’s not all just down to you and your shit aim. You fire off another shot, this one actually hits one of their shoulders and he falls to the ground. You look over to where Ghost was fighting that man they’re not there anymore. There can’t be many more guys left, the car only has 5 seats. 

The shots stop, you follow behind Soap as he moves closer to the car. Its engine is still running, the doors swung open. You make it over, Soap kicks the bodies of the people on the floor. You make it round to the other side of the truck and Soap leans in, turning the engine off.

“Where’s Ghost?” Price asks. You look around, maybe he got up and hid from the gunfight. You don’t see the guy he was wrestling with either. There’s another gunshot. You all turn, raising your weapons towards the source. Price and Gaz sprint off in the direction first and you follow behind them. 

You rush round the corner of the garages and see Ghost stood there over a body putting his pistol back in its holster. 

“You solid?” Price asks as Ghost turns. He nods, you see him reach down pulling a knife out the mans shoulder, he wipes it on the grass before putting it back in his vest.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks.

“They know we were here, they will have told Makarov already.” Price says. You can hear the frustration in his voice. 

“They probably still want those missiles though.” Gaz says. You shiver, the adrenaline has worn off and you’re drenched. There’s a crack of thunder and the rain seems to pick up even harder. 

“Gaz is right. Even if they managed to get word out to Makarov, it’s a big stash he has just sitting here. He wouldn't want us taking it back to the ULF.” Soap says. 

“Okay. We’ll stay here tonight, follow them in the morning.” Price says. “Chances are they lead us straight to Makarov.” 

“And if they don’t come?” You ask. 

“They’ll come. They’ll want those missiles.” Price says. He sounds sure about it as he walks past you back to the building. You look over and see Ghost reaching down to pick the body up off the floor. Price orders you all to clear the place up. In case they didn’t manage to get the word out to Makarov, you don’t want to spook whoever is coming in the morning. 

It feels kind of pointless but you follow the orders nonetheless. When you’re done you wish you could take a shower, dry your sodden clothes. You’re not that lucky though, everyone seems to fall into a routine when you’re back inside and somewhat dry. Ghost collects everyone's weapons, he takes his time taking them apart and cleaning them like he’s done it a million times. He probably has. 

Gaz and Soap end up on clothes drying duty laying everything on radiators and cranking the heat up in the building to an almost uncomfortable level. You decide to go back up to the main control room and search the place for anything useful. It’s a longshot but you would rather be doing something then nothing. 

You end up trying to organise things, for some reason it makes you feel better. Most of the paperwork is out of date or they have done their best to censor or destroy everything. It’s probably fruitless until you come across a locked drawer. Now you want to get it open. There has to be a way to brute force it open. You take your knife out and jam it between the draws. You kneel down on the floor angling the knife down then pulling it towards you. 

It doesn’t seem to be doing anything. You try again using more strength growing out, pulling until it hurts. You let go of the knife now stuck in the drawer huffing and letting out a breath. 

“What are you doing?” Price asks. You look up over the desk at him. 

“There’s a locked drawer here.” You say pointing even though you know he can’t see. He comes in walking round the desk to see what you’ve been up to. You hear him chuckle when he sees the knife sticking out the drawer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small key.

“What you just had that this whole time.” You say tutting and reaching up to take it out his hand. 

“Ghost found it on his body.” He shrugs. You open the drawer pulling your knife out. You see the laptop straight away. You stand up, putting it on the desk and opening it. It turns on and there is no login. 

“What is it with all these people and never using passwords?” You say out loud. 

“Makes our job easier.” Price says. 

“Yeah also probably means there’s probably nothing important on it.” You say opening the documents folder. You sort them by most recent and open it. 

“What is it?” He asks as you scan over the document.

“Something about new orders. They’re moving, they know you’re after them.” You say as you continue reading. “They’re planning something too, something big.” 

“In Urzikstan?” He asks. You shake your head opening another document.

“It doesn’t say, this is a shipping manifest by the look of it. Sent from Moscow.” You close it down looking at the list. “There’s a lot here, it could take hours to sift through all this.”

“Can’t you do a keyword search or something?” He asks. 

“I don’t really know much about computers.” You sigh. 

“Gaz does, c’mon.” He says. You close the laptop lid, you expected him to have moved but he’s just stood there looking at you. You feel your heart pick up speed, he’s frowning at you for a second then his expression goes soft. 

“You did good today.” He says. You swallow the nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me that every time.” You say trying to lighten the mood. He hums, pressing his lips together and angling his body closer to you. 

“How was your time with Soap at the ULF base?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. He knows, he definitely knows and this is a test. Or maybe he doesn’t and he wants you to confess so he can send you back home. 

“Good.” You manage to say. You won’t say anything, you don’t want to get them into trouble. 

“I heard it went more than good.” He says in a low voice, his hand lands on your hip. You freeze in place, his touch is nice, his eyes are blue like Johnny’s, a deeper blue though. Maybe Johnny had already talked about what happened, he did say they were all together. You don’t know if you’re upset or relieved he maybe spoke about you. Price doesn’t seem mad, his eyes scanning round your face is body inching closer to you. 

“I’m only slightly annoyed,” he says. Great, here it comes, this is it, this is where he tells you to leave. You open your mouth ready for the string of apologies to come out. You don’t get a chance though as he leans down to kiss you. 

He takes your breath away, literally. His kiss is deep, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you close to him. You almost can’t believe it’s happening, his kiss is soft like Johnny, he’s slow too letting you control the speed. His beard tickles your face, you don’t mind though. Before you can help yourself your hand runs up his arm. 

He breaks from the kiss first, your heart is still pounding in your chest. He smiles at you. 

“You said you were annoyed.” You say swallowing, he chuckles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Yeah, that MacTavish got to you first.” He smiles.

next

Banners by plum98

[occamstfs]

MuskMask Up

Found footage of the missing persons Eddie Leon and Bowen Chen, last seen vlogging at a new gym with a mandatory mask policy. Well documented is what seems to happen when one forgets theirs.

Mixing it up a bit! Diary entries within a short metanarrative police investigation- Meat of the story is coworkers bulking up at an advanced rate after borrowing masks from the gym, hope you enjoy! -Occam

The following footage was found by the now missing-in-action Detective Smith during a missing persons investigation of civilians Eduardo “Eddie” Leon and Bowen Chen. If you have any information on the whereabouts of the pair or Detective Smith please call APD with information.

February 1st:

The scene opens with Eddie’s face inches away from a tripod he’s setting up. Behind him, stretching outside the entrance to a gym, is coworker Bowen Chen. Eddie smiles once he sees the camera has begun recording and backs away to start the first vlog on his journey to better health. Hopping up and waving both hands with abandon, he does just that.

“Heyyy guys! Today’s day one of hitting the gym with Bowen! Obviously he knows what he’s doing so this whole thing should be a piece of cake- I mean look at him!” He gestures to his friend mid-drink of water and Bowen quickly chokes it down before shyly responding. Face blushing pink as he’s clearly not nearly as comfortable on camera.

“Ah, uhm- Yes. Hello, audience? I’ve been ah uhm, steady? At the gym for a few years now and Eddie was wondering if I could show him the ropes. Sooo, uhm.” Eduardo was very clear that he was going to be doing a vlog about the whole thing but Bowen had no idea how much a camera would put him on edge. Seeing him flounder and hearing every word come quieter than the last Eddie quickly picks up the slack.

“So yeah! We’re going to a new gym that opened up, all their ads brag about retention rate and quick results which is what I’m all about haha!” Seeing a man in a face mask come through the automatic doors behind him Eddie claps his hands and tacks on, “OH! They also still require face masks which, I don’t mind,” he playfully grasps his friend’s jaw causing blush to return over a shy grin, “it does mean you might be seeing less of this little cutie’s face but so it goes~ When in Brome hee hee!” 

Bowen’s phone goes off as a timer set to ensure the pair stretch for long enough comes to an end. He then chastises Eddie for spending so long of their prep time vlogging before crossing his arms and resetting the clock to make sure his trainee stretches. Eddie quickly turns off the vlog with a wink, “Yikes already on his bad side haha~ See y’all later!”

February 9th:

“Helloooo guys~ Took my mask off real quick to record this.” He pauses to sniff the air and almost gags as he smells the musk of the gym, usually covered by his mask. “God is this what all gyms smell like?” Looking down at his sweat stained body and glistening chest he grimaces as he guesses he’s certainly not helping. Shaking it off he returns to his vlog, “Hm. I’ll edit that out- Helloooo Guys! You would not believe how much progress I’ve made already!”

He does a small flex and it’s clear he has put on more weight than would be expected, or rather more weight in a week than should be possible. “No one tells you how much you have to eat to put on mass, guys! Or I guess- Bowen told me huh?” He giggles and then jolts upright and turns the camera to his trainer working at a machine. “Speaking of gains there Mr. Mass is himself.” Behind the lens Eddie continues, “I forgot my mask today so the sweetie let me borrow his. Hear that ladies? This hunk’s also a gentleman. Someone get a ring on that finger!”

As Eddie continues to film Bowen’s reps it’s clear that something besides the effort is causing him discomfort. In fact it almost seems like the workout isn’t bothering him at all as he rolls his eyes before bending down to put more weight on the machine. With a free hand he plugs his nose to have the slightest moment of freedom from the musky scent that must be distracting him. Then as soon as he grunts through his first rep at the new weight a figure appears behind him, wearing a mask over the whole of his head and taps on his shoulder before clearly preparing to confront him.

“Oop, oh shit-” Eddie whispers, too far from his trainer to know what exactly the little confrontation is about, but after a few gestures to his maskless face it’s pretty clear. The sound of Eddie quickly putting his mask back on can be heard behind the camera as across the gym Bowen clearly nods a few times, assumedly acquiescing, motioning to pack up and head back later. He apologies and gestures for Eddie to head to the locker room but then the sweaty masked man waves him off and pats him on the back, pulling out a mask from his sweatpants.

Bowen’s gasp is loud enough to be heard enough on camera as he backs into the machine in shock as the brute holds out a mask retrieved from his sweaty pants. He waves his hands clear as day that he’s not about to put on that must-be stained mask. Eddie quickly gets off his machine and starts to head over check in on his friend. He knows Bowen hates attention and is wont to fold at any confrontation but surely he’s not about to be pressured into putting on that dirty rag.

Keeping the camera trained on Bowen just in case, he’s too focused on the shot to really notice the fear in the man’s eyes as he stares up at the masked figure. And then, with a gulp, Bowen shakily accepts the mask, close enough to read lips one could just about make out Bowen’s whispered apology, “I’m sorry sir it won’t happen again” And then he does the unthinkable and puts on the dirty mask. Eddie reacts quietly enough only for the camera to pick up, “Jesus Christ- Bo!? What are you doing?!” 

After the masked man pats Bowen on the back, harder than one surely should, and offers a rough handshake, he departs. The camera captures a few more frames as Eddie walks the final few feet over. While not covered in sweat, it’s clear that the mask on Bowen’s face is wrinkled and has a small dark patch in its corner. Either from the workout or from the anxious confrontation, the trainer is clearly breathing heavily. 

With each breath his eyes begin to glisten glassy. Staring off into the middle distance he adjusts his pants and seems distracted as each heaving breath strives to be deeper than the one that came before, as each gasp of musky air tries to instill more of the essence trapped within the wretched mask. His eyes almost begin to cross in the last frame before Eddie puts his phone in his pocket, leaving the last few seconds of the recording audio only. “Uhhhhm, Hey Bowen? What the fuck was that?”

There is a few seconds pause followed by the sound of presumably Bowen swallowing saliva before he answers “Oh! Uhhh yeah? I don’t know dude?” “Dude?” “Sorry my head feels like it’s swimming, Eddie? That was so uhh, intense-” The sound of adjusting clothing again comes through, someone pulling on the elastic band of their underwear.

Realizing the whole confrontation only happened because he forgot his own mask, Eddie apologizes, “That wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t take yours. Look we can swap if you-”“NO.” Silence follows once more before Bowen continues, “No I uhm- don’t mind br- Eddie. How about we call it there and head home?” Eduardo agrees and the pair head off to the locker room. After a few steps the recording ends.

February 15th:

The image begins as usual of Eddie from afar, though the sound of weight’s clanging is far louder than usual. After a few false starts interrupted by the din of falling metal, the vlogger walks a few feet away and begins talking to the camera, “Hey everyone, quick update this time-” Flexing to himself he takes a moment to address his continued growth before in the distance he hears brash, deep laughter and what little of his face is revealed makes his worry clear as day.

“I’m still chugging along but Bowen has, well blown up? Ever since the last vlog when that asshole made him wear a dirty mask it’s almost like he’s a totally different person? Here, look-” Eddie quickly pans the camera over to a man almost unrecognizable resting on a bench. Beyond having arms as large as Bowen’s legs should be, the man’s demeanor is indeed entirely different. He flexes his arm and moans to himself as he sees a central vein pushing against the strained shirt sleeve.

“Is it steroids? Do you think? OH! He’s also started using the masks the gym provides- Are there like, inhale-y steroids?” The vlogger quickly heads to the web to research, paying no mind to what the lens catch as the camera unintentionally witnesses the massive man lumbering up from his bench, leaving an unwiped sweat stain in his wake.

Massive pecs bounce with each step and thighs strain his shorts as he makes his way over to Eddie, “YO! Edster- Come help me stretch!” Eddie flinches as he’s shouted at, groaning uncomfortably he obeys his trainer. Forgetting he was taking a vlog at all he sets his phone down. The air fills with groans, cracking bones, and almost deliberately loud grunts from Bowen.

“You know I seem to remember you wanting to not put on too much weight Bo?” 

There’s a deep guffaw, “Pshyeah, but y’know, when the muscle-bug bites huhuh!” The sound of his sleeves straining from a performative flex covers up his breathy moan from hyperextension. “Woah bro, why do you look so down?”

Clearly not thinking his mood would be caught by a man whose only gear has suddenly become self-obsessed, Eddie stumbles, “Well I don’t know, I guess? I’m just worried about- You just seem a little different is all.

“Huh.” There’s a long silence interrupted only by the buzz of music and clanging weights far off. Then there’s a quick gasp as in one motion Bowen stands and hoists Eddie into the air, “woAH! Bo! Put me down!” 

“Huhuh no bro I get it- You don’t know why you’re not seein’ results as good as mine I totally get it!” Eddie grunts and gags in arms that truly could snap him in half, “Ugh B- you’re so sweaty ple-ugh.” Squirming in the behemoth’s grasp his face is forced into sweaty pecs that promptly stain his mask a dark blue. “God you’re going to get your b.o. All over me dude-” 

There are a few more seconds of complaint before Bowen finally drops his little buddy. Picking up his phone there’s a look of concern or questioning on his face, any number of thoughts soar through his mind, has Bowen always been that tall? Why has he grown so much? What happened to him, is it going to happen to me? And then he takes a deep breath. A sigh in relief or irritation, it’s unclear, but it doesn’t matter. The camera gets a much better glimpse this time as the gym-goer breaths in the oh-so musky, mask filtered air.

Under the mask his mouth squrims into a grimace, but already eyes begin to give way to thoughtless longing. With another breath one twitches while the other falls open wide, wanting nothing more than to mainline the scent directly into his nervous system. Pupils dilate large enough to almost hide his cacao irises before a meaty hand pats him on the back, “Earth to Eddo- Bro? You comin’ to wash up or what huhuh!” Jarred back to sentience, Eddie nods and follows him, the recording ending a few moments after.

February 22nd:

The camera alights on someone unrecognizable baring his torso for fans he doesn’t yet have, though the glazed look in his eyes is more than enough hint to prove it is the vlogger before he introduces himself. “Yoooo guys! Back at it again with Bowen, how’re we lookin?”

Eddie flexes a thick bicep and smirks under his mask, adjusting it as he laughs. It’s deeper, slower, a far cry from his usual giggle. “oh yeah, I’ve been usin’ the gyms masks just like Bowen said. And I gotta say, I think they’re the real secret of this place, I’ve just been packin’ on muscle since I started borrowing them.”

Standing to his side, Bowen makes himself known, somehow even bulkier than last time. Veins criss cross his forearms and shoulders stretch wide enough that it’s a wonder he was able to even get the suctioned compression shirt om. The thin elastic straps of his mask almost snap as he speaks up, the meek camera-shy man he once was clearly erased from his mind, “I’m saying Ed! Don’t know why you were holdin’ out on trying them after seeing how much I’ve grown!” Bowen crosses his arms and his top is stretched to his limits.

Eddie laughs before his eyes go dull as laughter leaves him with no choice but to take yet another deep breath. Lost in a thought that seems to never come, his words are barely audible enough to be caught by the camera almost mistakable for a moan, it may as well be one. He whispers “need more.” Drawn out like a death knell his vocal chords creak as they lengthen. And then, the camera captures the impossible.

It looks as if it’s edited. Arms go limp as they hang lower, bloat larger, heavier, barely staying in their sockets before his shoulders similarly bulge into thick balls of muscle. Pecs that have existed for less than a month push his sweaty tank top to its limits. The bench on which he rests creaks under his weight as thighs send tears through athletic shorts that were already too tight to wear. 

Behind him, his massive trainer’s eyes widen as he pauses his workout to stare at Eddie’s growth. Hungrily watching as individual strands of muscle flex and surge. Were his own mask not already sweat-stained, the drool frothing from his mouth may be more apparent. Bowen lets his weights clatter to the floor as he staggers close and leans in close to Eddie’s neck, sniffing like a predator, releasing something in between a whimper and grown as his scarred palms clench at his prey-apparent’s biceps, still bulging larger in his hands.

Bowen’s chest, over doubled in size since he began frequenting this gym, produces a rumble low enough to barely register as words. Through his mask he teeths the man’s neck, “Think I got another idea to get some gains Eddie.” This stirs the man from his reveries though does not for minute stop his growth as he bolts to his feet, almost falling forward from the new weight on his chest. Surely he would have had the man about to work him out maintained the iron grip on his arm.

Not another word is heard from the pair as they swiftly retreat to the locker room. The tripod continues filming until Eddie’s phone dies and contains little else of note. Other gym goers wander around the background, all of them masked and many of them stare forward with the same glazed eyes as they sit at various machines, laughing to themselves, breathing heavily, and lifting more with each heaving rep. Just before his phone dies and the recording ends, the man who gave Bowen his mask collects the tripod, through his mask a smile is clear on his face.

On March fifteenth newly promoted Detective Archie Smith follows up on a lead from coworkers of the missing men that the pair had recently started hitting up the Musclerade Gym. something about vlogging. The detective didn’t care. Miraculously, almost immediately did he find a pair of men who identify as Eduardo and Bowen. The only thing is-both resolutely deny ever having worked in an office building. Beyond that, it barely takes a glance to tell that despite their names and races that they cannot be the men in question. By sheer body weight alone, it’s impossible

Sure Mr. Chen looks healthy enough in his license photo but that massive hunk that stands before him could punch straight through the Detective. With a gulp Archie finds his eyes desperately wanting to trace the powerful muscles, begging for his attention through spandex and strained nylon. He finds his attention drawn to his own crotch as he can’t help but trace the veins on ‘Eduardo’s’ flexing arms to a hairy armpit dripping with sweat. Before he’s lost to his lusts however, he comes to his senses as the acrid musk pouring from both men sears his nose.

With a grunt he shakes off the beyond unprofessional distraction and meets the eyes of both men, neither too pleased to see the officer in their space. He fakes a smile and turns to continue his investigation before being intercepted by a man who seems to be of some authority, pulling him off to the side. Only his eyes are visible which sets Archie on edge. “What seems to be the problem officer?”

He explains his case and the mystery man calls the pair over, their harsh glares soften and Eddie laughs as he’s reminded of his little vlogs. Apparently the pair are trainers at the gym which despite some strange ping at the back of his mind, ignoring something screaming from his gut, when he sees their sculpted forms, smells their noxious odors, he can’t help but believe them. The masked man even offers to give him the recorded film, that is as long as he’s okay adhering to the gym’s guidelines while he waits.

There’s a glint in the eyes of both massive men now standing behind him as they each dislodge wrinkled masks from stained pants that have clearly suffered at least one gym session. Prepared to suffer more discomfort than this to sate his curiosity he throws on one of the hopefully unused masks. It’s at this point that the case goes cold. 

This recounting of events, along with a copy of Eduardo Leon’s ‘vlogs’ were found sloppily scrawled on some magazines near the shredded uniform of Officer Smith. It doesn’t seem to be his handwriting unless he were racing quite hastily against, well. I haven’t quite the idea what. I suppose it is of some note that they were next to a bloated member of the gym who didn’t have any I.D. on him. His clothes seemed to be from a lost and found as they didn’t fit quite right. We were unable to further investigate his identity, but without a doubt it simply could not be Officer Smith.

The junior officer who retrieved the evidence could scarcely spend five minutes next to the man, and given Smith’s predilections towards order and cleanliness it simply could not be him. Unfortunately the state of the gym put the officer in such unease that he did no further investigation. It’s a shame as when an investigation team was sent the following day it was as if the gym was never there. I am not one for flights of fancy, it is my belief that the whole situation was simply some drug front, perhaps steroids. At any rate should you see, or perhaps smell any of these men. I advise caution. And under no circumstances should you borrow one of their face masks, obviously.

Included above are to our best knowledge are the most recent sightings of Bowen Chen, Eduardo Leon, and finally a third depicting Eduardo alongside who we believe to be the man of interest found nearby Officer Smith’s uniform. It seems they haven’t stopped growing, that is, if this all isn’t some wild goose chase. Again, if you have information do report to APD. Though please refrain from submitting any, biological material. We have lost enough of the forensics department to this mania as is.

[musingsofmajesty]

𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝐈𝐈

summary now that you’ve kissed, the two of you can’t help but wonder what it means moving forward. Luckily, it’s so easy being with each other that taking it day by day doesn’t seem half bad | wc 1.1k

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[best enjoyed in order, but not required! ♡]

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

If it’s one thing shy!eddie knows well, it’s labels. They’ve been forced on him all his life. But this—whatever has blossomed between the two of you—he can’t quite pin down. And the universe sure as hell isn’t gonna step in and do it for him. For once, the cards are in his hands, and he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Later that night, he walks you out to your car, and it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. The feeling of your lips still lingers on his. He’s never wanted anyone to stay as badly as right now.

Nevertheless, you hug him one last time, and he gets the door for you without second thought because he’s always done so. Even before you made butterflies a permanent fixture in his stomach. 

“Thanks, Teddy,” you lilt as you settle behind the wheel. “Can I call you that?” You’re teasing, but only partly.  His blush is evident in the glow of the streetlamps that illuminate Forest Hills against the night. 

He hasn’t heard that nickname since it came past his mother’s lips when he was a boy. He smiles a little, lifts a shoulder as if he’s more indifferent than he is. “If you want," he says. 

You’re quiet for a beat, then cutely scrunch your nose up at him. “But what do you want?”  Eddie blinks like he hasn’t heard the likes of this question in a long while. 

“You can call me Teddy,” he decides. You could call him Edward for all he cared. Whatever you wanted, really. That’s when he realizes he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

Shy!Eddie who can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happens, but realizes he’s begun to pay more mind to the way he looks—undoubtedly because of you. One morning at 7 AM, his Uncle Wayne knocks on the bathroom door. Inside, he hears the startled sound of a tub of hair gel tumbling into the sink. “Shit—I’ll be out in a second!” 

An affectionate smirk pulls at Wayne's lips. “Guess I'll use it outside like a dog,” he jokes.  

Later that day, as Mrs. O’Donnell lectures the class, Eddie feels you poke the end of your pencil into the side of his ribcage from where you sit behind him. The way he straightens makes you smile, and he shoots a discreet glance over his shoulder to see what you want. Except your gaze is cast out the window in feigned innocence. 

Three minutes later, he curls in on himself as the ticklish pokes start up again. This time, you pass him a ripped piece of notebook paper that features your neat, bubbly handwriting: hi, handsome ;) 

All Eddie can do is helplessly flush with warmth. 

A couple weeks later, as you’re painting your nails on your best friend’s bedroom floor, you think aloud, “Me and Eddie.” Robin peers down at you from her bed, where she absentmindedly braids a strand of her hair. “I think we’re a sure thing.” 

Her brows lift in surprise. “So you’re official?” 

You purse your lips in consideration. “No, we’re just…us.” 

Robin frowns at first, but eventually nods because, maybe, that’s all love was ever meant to be. Unadulterated in the sense that it could never be bogged down to titles and definitions. 

“Sweet,”  she finally says. 

You nod and begin to smile at the thought of him. The way he gives you his full attention whether you’re talking about life at large or your day. The way he bites back his own goofy smile whenever he unintentionally makes you laugh—which happens all the time. The way he’s welcomed you into his little world.

You’re remiss that you weren’t braver sooner. 

“Yeah,” you agree in a wistful exhale. It is pretty sweet. You raise your hand to gently blow over the sheer pink polish coated on your fingertips. 

Like clockwork, the dismissal bell sounds to denote the end of yet another school day. A few more months, and you'll be kissing these stuffy, bustling halls goodbye.

Eddie catches up with you at your locker and asks if you’d like to go hang out with him in the woods behind the school. It’s nice out today. 

You narrow your eyes as you shut the metal door. “So was this your plan all along? Get my guard down so you can lure me into the woods and go in for the kill?” 

He knows you’re joking, but his answer is sincere anyway. His big bambi eyes dark and gooey as he says, “Never. No way.”

There’s a picnic table nestled amidst the tall trees, as it turns out. A calming breeze glides through the branches and rustles their leaves. Eddie sits first and expects you to choose the bench across from him, but you sit on the same side. You want to be near him. He can’t complain.

A comfortable silence settles between you that he eventually breaks. “Used to come out here a whole lot," he says. “I’d write songs or sit and listen to music," he lists. "Enjoy the scenery…” his words fade as his eyes settle back on you. There’s a tender depth to your gaze. 

He smiles a bit self-consciously, but he's not exactly embarrassed. More so hyperaware because you always make him feel so seen. “What?” he murmurs. 

Without a single word, you scoot closer to press your lips to his. One of his hands rise to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin. This kiss is different. Deeper. Unlike your usual affectionate pecks in every way. 

Warmth kindles in your stomach when his initial hesitancy dissipates. As he finds his way, his lips move sure and easy against your own. Plush and warm. You can feel his gentle exhales puff from his nose, and against your own desire, you slowly begin to pull away to ensure all this is alright.  

But Eddie’s okay. He’s more than okay. For the first time since he’s known you, he feels the soft tug of frustration in his chest. Except it’s not rooted in irritation. It’s rooted in want. 

When he leans back in, cheeks flushed and dark eyes hopeful, you let his lips just barely graze yours before you pull away. He tries again, and you lean back once more, flustered and excited by his newfound boldness. 

You place a gentle hand on his chest and chuckle despite yourself. “Easy, Teddy,” it’s a honeyed warning that carries no bite. 

“C’mere,” he insists, a pout on his face even though it's threatened by a smile. "Wanna kiss you." His voice drops low and shy, like it's a secret.

When you giggle, butterflies aflutter in your stomach, he takes it upon himself to hold you steady and kiss the sweet sound from your lips. 

The two of you are a sure thing, indeed.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡

a/n making this a series because I can't get enough of these two. Stay tuned for the formal announcement!

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[reyno-solis-real]

“Theodore Woods. Do not speak to me like that.” Rey started circling Theo, like a wild animal looking at it’s prey.

“As I said, I’ll call you what I want. You respond to me now, got it? You are not just a mere friend to me anymore. I am your master, and you will listen to me.” he spat. A deep feeling in Rey’s gut was telling him to stop before things escalated, but Rey’s head didn’t care. He wanted authority - and Theo was going to be his first servant. He was playing out his sick fantasies, acting like some sort of version of Nero.

OPEN STARTER: BROKEN PROMISES.

TW: Murder, blood, self harm, suicide attempt, gore.

Why.

Why does everyone leave him? He can't bear it anymore. He can't- there nothing he can do about this anymore. He can't bring them back. He can't bring any of them back. It's over. They're all gone. What would his friends say if they saw this? They'd abandon him for sure. Gods, he's going to be alone again. He already feels alone.

Why did Argo have to do this? Make that deal with Eris? Make Theo kill him? Why- there had to be some other way. Anything at all. If they only had a bit more time, he's sure they could've figured something out. Why do they never have time?

Fuck. This is all his fault. He's a disgusting pig. How could he? How could he do this? No one will ever forgive him. This isn't something he can fix. It just isn't. He can't do this. He can't- he did. He did do this, and he regrets it so badly.

Everything is quiet, the only noise he hears is the horrible ringing in his ears and his quiet sobs. Even the ghosts in his head don't dare speak, though he's sure his parents would love to give him a piece of mind. Or Andrea. He just... doesn't hear anything.

Nothing matters anymore. He doesn't deserve to live. He broke two of his most important promises today- that he'd never kill another person the way he killed his sister and that he would always stick by Argo. How can he stick by Argo if he killed them the same way he killed Andrea?

There are cuts and slashes all over his arms and legs, his sword laying to his side, covered in a mix of his and Argo's blood. Tears mix with the blood on his face. Theo wants to just grab the sword again and slit his own throat, or stab himself through the heart, but he's shaking and crying too much to be able to hold his weapon right now.

He's sitting by a bump in the ground in the woods. A bump that resembles an improvised grave. There's a dagger in the ground on the bump- if anyone knew Argo, they'd recognize it as theirs. Theo's back is turned to you, hands clutching at his hair. "No- no, no... no... please, no..."

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @literally-tinker-bell @the-son-of-the-sun @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @onlymythologypersonincamp @l0st-child-of-war @lyric-of-the-sun @toxic-daughter-of-love

[artsninspo]

004 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 003

♠ authors note: the first part of this chapter was meant to be at the end of 003, I hope it doest interrupt your reading flow.

♠ summary: Mr. Richmond and Lorence have their meeting. This ones messy 🌪️.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~2.2K

⌖ - St. Moritz, Switzerland

I send Joel a text and meet him on the enclosed rooftop. The view is one of one.

“You really know how to get under the boss's skin kid” he sighs, swirling around whisky in his glass.

“What I do”

“I had orders to inform you of our discussion. Now Rich thinks I didn’t speak to you”

“Sorry, I was cornered in an elevator”

“Well, face him sooner than later. Rip off the bandaid” Joel sighs.

“How was today? How many calls?” I ask.

“Thirty inquiries,” he smiles. “Even if the boss only chooses fifteen new contracts, that's a nice check for our team. I’m telling you you’re a natural.” Joel says but he’s always had faith in me.

“Thanks, I’m sorry I got you in trouble”

“I know, you know I love you kid don’t worry about it” he sighs getting up.

“Get some sleep” he says standing with a hand outreached for me. We make our back to the rooms and he walks me to mine. I send my loved ones goodnight messages and drift away.

…

Unfortunately I rise early without being well rested. The clock reads its five thirty in the morning. My internal alarm is so well set that there’s no resistance even abroad. Discipline keeps me going through the motions instead of motivation because there's a huge lack of that. My nerves skyrocket and I decide to stick to my routine. I reconsider using the gym today and have the equipment I need brought to me in my room. I’ll buy all the time in the world not to bump into him before nine. For the first time in my adult life meditation doesn’t bring me clarity. It’s unsettling and I wonder how Mr. Richmond rattles me so deeply. From our first meeting there was some friction. I’d spent a few weeks hearing Joel sing his praises while my colleagues of the fairer sex ‘oohed’ and ‘awed’ about how handsome he was. When he walked onto our floor a hush cut across the cubicles. All I could see then was his complexion, a side profile of facial hair and curls. The minute he was in his office a frenzy started all around me. Everyone was preparing presentations and reports just-in-case. Then there was the constant flow of colleagues into the ladies room to spruce themselves up. The lipstick tubes were being twisted, powder patted one, lashes curled, blowouts scheduled during lunch the whole nine yards.

That first time in Mr. Richmonds office was the only occasion I wasn’t rattled with nerves but it didn't last long. It was the Boss, his barber, Joel and myself. He glared at Joel before looking at me with a dissatisfied expression and outreaching his hand. There wasn’t a welcome or any fanfare, just a hello. His grip was firm and his hands far larger than mine radiating heat without being clammy. I sat there waiting my turn to speak as Joel presented my findings. I watched as Richmond was transformed from scruffy operative to the clean cut CEO right before my eyes. Still I kept my composure and presented my findings. Mr. Richmonds disposition then turned antagonistic as he probed and probed and probed trying to find fault with my research concepts. When there were none to be found he didn't smile and end the angry boss charade like I'd hoped. He gave a curt nod and told me it was good work in a flat tone.

Since then, I’ve given him a wide breadth at every opportunity. I’ve passed up on several opportunities to be in his presence and rub shoulders with him. It’s been almost three years and I don't understand why things have to change now. I’ve enjoyed maintaining a professional distance and avoiding his tirades. Increased proximity will surely erode all of the defences I had set in place and that's not what I need. I quit my morning meditations prematurely and decide on a walk outdoors hoping the movement will help clear my head, hoping the cold will bring some clarity but it doesn't. I return inside and skip breakfast opting for a hot steamy shower. The bathroom gets as cloudy as my thoughts. I turn on the dehumidifying fan and wipe the mirror. The eyes staring back at me are swimming with uneasiness, a deer in the headlights. Not liking my reflection I get my outfit ready for the day. I do my body care routine before my make-up and then slip into my outfit before letting down my hair.

Business, bombshell, barbie; is what it’s giving today. It's a ruse, a fake it till you make it, moment. Maybe if I present like the admins he won't see me as a contender for the director position. Fastening my watch on my wrist I see I have thirty minutes to spare. I make my way to his office for the interim. I walk over to the elevator and get in, hitting the button up one floor. One of my colleagues walks in with red eyes as I exit.

“Good luck” he swallows letting me know Richmond is on a warpath. I send him a sympathetic look making my way to where his secretary is stationed.

“Gordon” I greet and she smiles.

“I’ve told you a million times, call me Cassandra,” she smiles.

“Cassandra,” I amend.

“Lorence,” she smiles. “I hear I’ll be seeing a lot more of you - I’m excited there’s wayyy too much testosterone and serious characters among the executives” she whispers in a dark denim tailored canadian tuxedo.

“Where’d you hear that?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.

“I know everything” she winks, a stiletto nail on full display as she taps her temple with her pointer finger. It’s a cloak and dagger maneuver - Cassandra’s sharper than she looks and too many employees have fallen into her trap. She's Richmond Inc. Chris Hansen. Obviously there's an immense amount of trust between her and the boss.

“What’s it like working closely with Richmond?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.

“He’s a total asshole sometimes. But the man knows how to apologize well when the asshole can't be confined in that gargantuan frame” she says, openly mocking the boss. I snicker a little. “But usually he’s normal, fair, attentive, considerate,” she says. Cassandra’s the only person I’ve ever spoken to that has such a glowing review. I can't help but scoff.

“What’s that for? Has he yelled at you?” she asks, seeming genuinely upset at the prospect.

“No, I maintain my distance.” I tell her.

“Oh I know” she nods.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Terry’s noticed” she says using his first name which is a rarity in this place. I swallow hard, not excited by the revelation.

“Yay!” I remark unenthused.

Cassandra snickers. “Don’t be like that, he's good at everything he sets his mind to. I’m sure it’ll take him no time to learn the best way to work with you-” before she can say more his door opens and we look like a bunch of guilts gossips huddled close to each other with nothing more to say in his presence.

“Gordon, how do I look-” Richmonds baritone crescendos as he looks up from his watch. Cassandra and I straighten, and in an instant all the casual and playful energy is sucked out of the open space. Richmond straightens next before checking his watch.

A silent beat passes between the three of us.

“She’s early,” Cassandra quips. He swallows, sending her a glare but she doesn't cower plopping down into her seat seemingly defeated as she gets back to work.

“Cole” he steps back holding a hand out to his office. 

“Sir” I responded before leading the way. His cologne is an intoxicating mix of clean and masculine, while being a little dark. The room is large with an open concept, there are several seating arrangement options. To my surprise he motions to a sofa instead of the chair at his desk. I take my seat and he takes his, facing me, a coffee table between us. I cross my legs to the side, a habit from wearing skirts. I don’t dare look down into his sprawled legs and oversized thighs sitting in a dominant power pose. His words cross my mind again and I look him over. He looks fine, as usual. I wonder what that was about and look towards the door again. He clears his throat and I feel regret for how it probably looks as I look towards the door.

“Good morning” I greet him, trying to add some levity to the atmosphere.

“Morning” he responds, straightening slightly in his seat. “Well?” He asks.

“Well, what Sir?” I ask respectfully.

“You’ve spoken with Jameson about what’s on the table regarding your employment here. I’m here to answer any questions you may have. I’m open to discussion” he says with body language that reads anything but ‘open to discussion’.

“I was under the impression I had some time to decide,” I respond.

“Decide?” He asks like it’s absurd, like his offer is so good I shouldn’t refuse.

“My day has just started and I haven’t had time to read anything over” I add and he takes out his tablet confirming my words as truth. It only confirms he's a control freak, to be tracking email opens.

“Well then let’s do it now” he says tapping the screen and I hear the printer begin printing.

“Shouldn’t this be done in the presence of HR?” I ask and his eyes light.

“HR?” he repeats in question.

“In case I have HR specific questions…” I explain and he tosses his tablet onto the coffee table making a crash. I sit back and his nostrils flare. 

“Such as…” he responds. At a loss for words I shrug feeling like a mediator should be present already. “What’s your problem with me?” He asks.

“Your temper” I blurt out before my brain can stop me. My cantor takes him by surprise too. “I’m also insulted that instead of self-regulating you increase my therapy stipend” I add, since I’m already halfway to hell I might as well continue right?

“Self-regulating” he mutters and I’ve lit a fuse. He looks at me about going nuclear. “Get out!” he demands, his voice reverberating through the glass office. I swallow while maintaining my composure. 

“No! I’m not a dog, I won't be spoken to that way!” I stand my ground. It’s a surprise to me too. The expression in Richmonds eyes and the hard set of his jaw confirms he’s surprised and incensed.

“You’ve asked me to self-regulate but unless you get out of my face I'm going to continue to speak to you however I choose.” he says with closed eyes. 

“Finally those big ears listen” I quip going low. His eyes shoot open in shock as I get up and head to the door.

“Rescind last night’s email to Mrs. Cole” he shouts standing once I’m out of the office. “Now!” He snaps at Cassandra from behind me. I turn to face him. “You’ve overestimated your importance and outplayed your hand” he snaps and somehow his restraint feels more seething than his tirades.

“Richmond” Cassandra interjects.

“Do IT!” he shouts, blowing my eardrums. Both Cassandra and I wince.

“Do it your damn self!” I snap snatching the cords from Cassandra's docking station.

“You’re suspended.” Richmond swallows, fighting for control.

“I’ll do you one better; I QUIT” I snap giving him a taste of his own medicine slamming my phone and laptop down on the marble desk top. I hope they’re broken. I take my work pass from my hip and add it to the pile with careless abandon. 

“Lorence” Cassandra says with a soft tone.

“I’ll be out in the next hour, don't send me an off-boarding survey. I quit because the Boss is an asshole!” I add having reached my boiling point after three years of being subject to his tyranny.

“I’ll call housekeeping to help you pack and find alternative accommodations” Cassandra relents picking up her phone. 

“Thank you” I nod, swallowing hard. I cast a hateful look over my shoulder at Richmond before heading into the elevator. I swear I see the asshole smirking as the elevator doors shut. I manage to keep it together through packing up my stuff and the entire ride to the airport's hotel but once I'm in my new accommodations I bawl.

Hours later I sit in first class on my flight home and see the email is still there in my personal inbox. I left all my work items in the hotel with Cassandra in spite of her protest. Nagging guilt, curiosity and the prospect of regret makes me open the file. I put in my password fully expecting the file to go blank but it doesn’t. I swallow seeing one million dollars listed under salary along with a list of perks that would make anyone envious. Everything would be the best of the very best and a road to early retirement no doubt. I sigh, closing the document and calling for some champagne. When my flight lands I head to my parents home instead of my own to lick my wounds and recover.

game reveal: those of you who chose 2 and 5 were very much accurate. thankfully, there was no 1. No 4 either, unless you've found a spot for it. If you don't know what I'm taking about check out my page between chapters to play the games I post with us: Richmond Inc. Game & Poll

authors note: thanks to all who played and everyone who's been reading and liking, voting & commenting. What did you think about this chapter? Did you expect it to go the way it did? Are we proud of Lorence?

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when new updates drop.

[deezee112]

The worst ending 19 : Trapped in a Dream of Love.

The worst ending 18 | The worst ending 20

Yandere!Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader

A/N : I remember I wrote this ending at 4am and I was so sleepy I wanted to sleep and I couldn't take it anymore. So if you find this ending bad, well...blame it on my sleepiness.

Warnings : Psychological horror , Unsettling dream sequences, Feeling of entrapment , Slow-burn tension leading to a tragic ending

Tags :

@iris-arcadia @yuu-twisted

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

You don’t remember when the dream started.

It always began the same way standing in the middle of an empty field, the wind brushing against your skin, and in front of you, a boy with dark hair and empty eyes. He never spoke, only stared, waiting.

One night, something changed.

You crouched down, looking at him closely. He was young, maybe five or six, his skin pale and his expression eerily blank. A nameless child. A lost thing.

" You need a name.. " you murmured.

His head tilted slightly, eyes watching you with quiet curiosity.

" Malleus. " you decided. " That’s what I’ll call you. "

At first, he didn’t react. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a small, almost knowing smile.

You taught Malleus everything how to speak, how to walk properly, how to read. In your dreams, time passed differently. Days, weeks, even years seemed to flow like water. He grew taller, his features sharper, more refined. But something about him was always...off.

Sometimes, when he looked at you, his eyes were too intense. Sometimes, you swore you heard a voice whispering in the wind, urging you to wake up.

But you never did.

Because why would you?

This dream was peaceful, wasn’t it?

One evening, you sat by a fireplace that hadn’t been there before. Malleus, now nearly your height, sat beside you. His head rested against your shoulder.

" Sister. " he murmured.

The title was strange, but you didn’t correct him. " Hm? "

" I like this. " His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. " Being here with you. "

You smiled, ruffling his hair. " Me too. "

His fingers curled around your sleeve. " ...You'll stay, won’t you? "

You blinked. " Of course.. "

Something flickered in his expression.

For the first time, you wondered was this really a dream?

One night, you woke up.

But not in your real bed.

The sky above you was pitch black, swirling like ink. The world around you twisted, shifting between familiar places and complete emptiness.

Malleus stood a few feet away, watching.

" Where are we? " you asked, heart pounding.

His smile was slow. Unreadable.

" We're home. "

No.

This wasn’t home.

This wasn’t even a dream anymore.

" Malleus, I— "

" You promised. " he whispered.

Wind howled. The sky cracked like glass.

And then, for the first time, you saw them.

Curled black horns. A flick of a dragon’s tail.

He wasn’t human.

Not anymore.

Maybe he never was.

You tried to wake up.

You screamed, clawing at your own skin, trying to pull yourself back to reality.

But Malleus caught you. Held you close.

" You can’t leave. " he murmured, almost lovingly.

Tears burned your eyes. " Let me go.... "

He sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. " I knew you would try. "

And then darkness.

When you opened your eyes again, the dream was gone.

But you were still there.

Trapped.

Forever.

[hexgirl13]

nobody gets me

wc: 1,329

summary: one night, two loner teens find comfort in one another

warnings(?): fluff, smidge of angst, cursing, shitty dads, smoking, use of y/n

a/n: another edition to the rafe x maybank!reader series. lwk the ending is kinda bad 😭 but i tried. lemme know if y'all wanna see more!!

the cool waters lapped against the shore, washing up little treasures from the ocean. taking a long hit from your vape, you leaned your head back to let the smoke fall from your lips. you slightly grimaced at the watermelon flavoured smoke. it had been a while since you did nic, but jj finished up your last joint. you found comfort in the cold and silence that was wrapped around you. it had been a long night for you.

you came home from your workshift to find jj gone. probably out with john b and all of. however, shortly after, your dad barged into the house. definitely drunk and definitely angry. that was, sadly, something that wasn't new. you took another hit and closed your eyes, trying to drown out the hateful words that he spewed at you.

"maybank?" you heard a voice call out to you.

you opened an eye to find none other than rafe cameron staring down at you. it was a surprise to see anyone, but especially someone like him, this late at the beach.

"what're you doing here?" he asked, moving to stand in front of you. his hair was messy, like he'd run his fingers through it a bunch, and his clothes were disheveled. and was he... crying? you couldn't tell in the dark.

"i could ask you the same thing." you eyed him up and down. his movements were jittery, while his eyes darted across the beach. he didn't stop fiddling with the hem of his shirt either. either he was about to have a panic attack or he was high. maybe both. "you wanna sit down?" you offered, your voice a gentle tone. his blue eyes made eye contact with you, before shakily nodding "y-yeah."

he dropped down next to you on the sand. knee bumping yours as he did so. you glanced at him through the corner of your eye. his gaze stays focused on his hands. numbly picking at his fingers. "stop doing that, you'll bleed." you pushed his hands down. almost immediately you realized what you'd done. "sorry," you mumbled, letting go of him.

he wearily watched you, but stayed quiet. when he wasn't with his asshole friends, he wasn't that bad. he was practically hated by your friends. especially by your brother. you never thought of him that way. with you, he was nice and... shy. "i'm sorry that i interrupted your quiet time or whatever," he muttered, now intently watching you.

"it's okay. it's a public beach, rafe. not just mine," you replied lightly. a minor way to lighten the mood. he let out a quiet chuckle. "maybe not, yeah. but i find you here often. speaking of, why are you here? thought i saw your pogue brother and his friends having a party."

"oh, uh, i'm not a big party person. prefer to be alone and stuff like that." you take another quick hit. his eyes drop down to where the smoke falls from your lips and he suddenly feels his mouth dry up. he swallows. “do you mind if i…?” he asks hesitantly.

you feel yourself stiffen up when you notice him looking at your lips. however, you soon realize he was talking about your vape. “huh? oh, yeah, here ya go.”

he gratefully takes it from you and hits it. a slight grimace spreads on his face when he tastes it. “watermelon, really?” he asked.

you let out a soft laugh. “yeah, sorry. jj finished my last joint. can't even find my dispo, either.”

“you know, i, uh, i sell. all kinds of shit. like, weed, geekbar, whatever you want. if you're interested, obviously. you don't have to feel-” he started to ramble.

you place a gentle hand on his bicep to stop him. “rafe. i get it. i’ll keep that in mind.” you could feel his body stiffen under your touch and gently smiled. no way rafe cameron was getting nervous around you. your hand trails down to hold his wrist, swiping at his pulse point.

his heart was racing.

“you wanna talk about why you’re here so late?” you asked softly.

his breath hitched at your feather like touch. “uh, m-my dad. him and i got into a fight. some stupid shit about the family. i mean, he acts like i don’t care!” he begins to ramble, hands shaking and eyes welling with tears, “b-but i do… i do care, i just don't understand why he can't see that. he makes me feel like shit, y/n… and i-” his voice breaks as some tears fall.

“oh, rafe,�� you cooed, guiding his head to your chest. you ran your fingers through his blonde hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. his shaky hands gripped the front of your sweater, tears soaking it. it was so odd to see a typically strong and cocky boy break so much. you always hated ward cameron. he was a terrible man, both as a person and a father. it was defnitely clear to see now.

there was always an unspoken connection between the two of you. despite growing up on opposite sides of outer banks, you both felt like you shared more qualities than most. both of you always were the odd siblings out, like the black sheep of your families. so you understood what it felt like to be practically hated by your father, yet still craving to be loved and accepted by him.

“i get it, rafe. it sucks to feel like that because of your dad,” you whispered into his hair. “but you're not a careless person. i can see that you care, you just… show it differently. you're a good man, rafe. don't let him make you feel like you're shit or anything less than.”

he sniffled, lifting his head from your chest. “you think so?” he asked shakily.

“course i do. despite what others say, i can tell who you are. who you really are.”

i can tell who you are.

rafe had never heard those words before, and if he had, he'd probably never have believed it. yet coming from you… he did.

“thanks, y/n. i know i don't say it much, hell, i rarely say it, but you're a good person to me. no matter what,” he said, smiling gratefully at you.

you smiled, noticing something. “you called me y/n…”

“what?”

“you called me by my name. like, my actual name. you never do that.”

he hadn't even noticed that. “huh, i guess i am. can't exactly call you by your last name, right? that's reserved for your brother, who i’m… not particularly fond of. i kinda like you though,” he said with a slight wink.

there he was. the rafe that you knew and grew up with. “alright, rafe,” you replied, playfully shoving him. “i literally hate you.” yet there was a smile on your face.

“nah, you love me,” he countered.

you were thankful for the moonlight, or else he’d see the blush blooming on your face. “whatever.” a few moments of silence pass by, but it's not awkward at all. suddenly, you ask, “you wanna go to the gas station with me? i’d rather not walk there alone.”

his head turned towards you, blue eyes shining. “hell yeah. you got a car?”

you shake your head. “dude, i’m a pogue. i barely got any new clothes.”

he laughs softly and it makes you feel giddy. “that's okay, i don't have mine with me. we can just walk.” he stands up, dusting off the sand from his shorts. holding out a hand towards you, you accept it. once he pulls you up, he doesn't let go. neither do you. “c’mon, let’s go.”

the two of you walk towards the boardwalk, a blanket of silence covering the two of you. it isn't awkward though. understanding, and perhaps something else, passes between you two. and maybe, that's all either of you needed. somebody who understood.

[everwalldigan]

just a little curious about the people absolutely crashing out over the Bruce dating Joe chills daughter storyline (which I dislike cause I think it’s lazy and just bad storytelling but like… this doesn’t even scratch top 50 questionable love interests within the batfamily or even just Bruce) I wonder how do you guys feel about batcat in The Batman (2022)?

Bruce pursues a relationship with Selina Kyle and then finds out her father Carmine Falcone hired Chill to murder the Waynes and then stole their money for his own personal gain…. So technically his role is even worse than the Joe chill in the comics cause he actually premeditated their murders and directly benefitted from it, while the comic version of Joe Chill was an average criminal who just wanted some cash.

I’m just wondering why you think one is scandalous and the worst thing to happen to comics (it’s really not) while the other is okay and cutesy. Do you think it would be logical for Bruce to start condemning Selina for her father’s actions? She did know who Falcone was to her, even if she might not have known what he did to the Waynes, so it’s almost the same situation. (Completely ignoring Selinas and Scarlett’s morals/actions here cause it’s not the point I’m trying to make)

I understand most people have probably not even read the issues with Scarlett and are going off shock value from popular fandom posts (considering this has been going on for months and last months issue was not her first appearance, so why the uproar now?) but like most of us have probably watched The Batman (2022) and I have not seen discourse about that. I’m just curious as to what makes those two situations different (other than execution cause I’ll be the first person to call out Tom Taylor’s mediocre writing)

[wickerwax]

to wit -- too witty (Codywan First Kiss Bingo #5)

(Shout-out to @panravenc who made a post about sick codywan headcanons that got me thinking about how I would play it! ^^)

Cody strode on deck with his helmet already in place and precisely on time, and Obi-Wan’s attention snapped onto him like a piqued nexu.

Item One: Cody was, until now without fail, a minute or two early at a minimum.

Item Two: Cody tended to prefer his helmet off when they were having this sort of intra-ship meeting, especially in hyperspace, and especially when he had more reason to glare people down than he needed access to his in-helmet comms.

Item Three: His dear Commander had the very slightest unsteadiness in his gait, which was practically screaming something is wrong.

He nodded to Cody, who signalled him to start. His suspicion went into the stratosphere and onwards immediately. When he reached out to get a sense of him, Cody’s shields felt wobbly, and there was a throbbing sort of discomfort leaking through.

Still, he wasn’t about to have an argument about it here with witnesseswhen Cody was clearly trying to fly under the sensor-net.Obi-Wan went through the updates they had – reiterated the ETA on the drop into sublight, the overview of the supply list, and requests for changes to be passed on the the Quartermaster first. Consolidation helped avoid mistakes.

Also Quartermaster Cross (apparently short for I Will Be Cross-Referencing This And It Had Better Match Or I’ll Be Taking The Difference Out Of Your Bones) was a dedicated and extremely efficient man, and Obi-Wan had no interest in making his life harder so – to him, first.

Cody sent text-comms to his ‘padd a couple of times, and nodded along, but did not speak, did not remove his helmet. He had clearly locked his knees to keep from wobbling. Obi-Wan wanted to offer him a seat but no one else was sitting and, given the entirety of the situation, the likelihood of being not only ignored but getting Cody’s active and monumental disapproval had him hesitating.

He wound the meeting down neatly, incredibly relieved that it was a short thing today, and requested (face in his ‘padd, voice deliberately absent, nothing odd about today!) that Cody stay behind for a quick conversation about a small incident in the training rooms.

Since the training rooms were the only place where incidents happened on a semi-regular basis and mostly consisted of ‘someone got elbowed in the nose again, please remind the men to be aware of their surroundings’ it was neither an unexpected nor interesting request.

The deck cleared but for the nav’ staff, and Cody, and Obi-Wan gave him a friendly gesture and said, “Office?”

The brightness in his voice and his narrowed eyes – facing only Cody – was as close as he could get to calling Cody on his bluff without making anyone else similarly suspicious. Here, anyway.

Cody paused for a long moment, then nodded slowly. Obi-Wan, with a smile like a bantha-heeler on a good day, herded Cody into the halls and towards their joint office.

He deposited Cody in his chair, keyed the door shut, and headed over to the kitchenette with his suspicions locked and loaded. “Helmet off, my dear.” he said, setting the jug to boil. “I’m quite sure it won’t be doing you any favours.”

Silence behind him.

Obi-Wan pulled out preferred mugs for the two of them, opting for comfort. “I’ve only those terrible fake-citron splemsip packets unfortunately, but they do help. Can’t expect a fresh citron-anything with supply lines being what they are.”

He twisted around to find Cody hesitating over his helmet, hands hovering. “My dear,” he said, gentle as a summer twilight, “I know you’re not feeling well, Cody. Let’s see what we can do about it.”

The release hissed, and Cody’s face appeared. Colour burned too bright across his cheeks and forehead and he was visibly sweating, his short curls lank with it. Shadows made hollows of his eyes. “Can’t – throat hurts.” he croaked. Sniffed. Congestion made it horribly bass-note.

Obi-Wan took him in and paused. “I think we might need more than splemsip.”

Cody made a sharp negative sign.

He huffed through his nose. “You have my solemn word vow to only forage through my personal supplies for flu relief.” Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, then added, “If it gets worrying, I will be telling Helix. I’m not losing my Commander to some common cold.”

He finished making the drinks and carried them over, delivering the splemsip directly into Cody’s hands. “Force, Cody, being in full armour can’t be comfortable. Or helping.”

Cody gave him one of his favoured blank-adjacent looks. This one said, I did what I had to do. Obi-Wan poked him gently in the shoulder and watched him sway far too heavily from very little provocation, then raised a slow eyebrow.

His Commander faltered briefly, then settled into the glare of a mantled hawk as he sipped at his medicinal citron drink.

Heaving a beleaguered sigh at his stubbornness, Obi-Wan investigated the state of supplies in their office. First, he unearthed a spare robe which he deposited on Cody’s lap with a suggestion that it might prove more comfortable than armour for the time being. Rustled up some mild painkillers – drew a complete blank on decongestants, but hopefully the drink would help with that.

When he excavated himself from the tiny ‘fresher with the pills, Cody had managed to remove his armour – stacked rather more messily than his wont – and was swathed in Obi-Wan’s spare robe over his blacks.

“Well done for seeing sense, Commander,” he said, amused. “Can I also tempt you to relocate to the couch?” It wasn’t sleeping length, but any amount of reclining had to be better than the hunching currently occurring. Poor Cody’s spine was in danger of getting stuck like that should the winds change. He was stoically refusing to make a face for the old adage to apply to, after all.

“Undressing wasn’t enough for you, General?” Cody rasped, though at least less painfully than earlier. He was smirking, but the lines around his mouth still read like aching.

“Anything you wish to do is enough, Cody darling, though I believe that conversation is best left for when you aren’t actively running a fever.” He fetched water, offered it and the painkillers. “These should help.”

“Is that true?” Cody asked, not moving to take them.

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Well, strictly speaking they’re for pain, but they do tend to reduce fevers when those symptoms are happening in concert-”

“Anything I wish to do, Kenobi.”

He drew in a slow breath. “Ah. Commander, I-”

Cody stood up abruptly – and wavered, wobbling on his feet as his body objected to the motion. Obi-Wan moved without thinking, ducking under his arm and looping his own around Cody’s waist to take his weight. The metal cup clattered loudly on the durasteel, covering the much softer rattle of the pills in their soft tabs. The water was a loss, of course, although he was more concerned about it being a slip hazard. He tightened his hold.

Even through two thick layers, Cody’s skin was notably warm. “This is really not – Could we get you situated before -”

Cody’s fever-hot palms closed around his shoulders. He stopped speaking. He – well, he hadn’t meant to bring up the bantha in the room – hadn’t expected Cody to feed him so blatant a line, if he was honest. Had been playing his part according to Cody’s lead for months now, wary of crossing lines without invitation.

The weakness this cold was having on Cody’s balance and ability to reliably keep his knees locked hadn’t extended to his hands it seemed, for he had pulled them flush together and – while it was a very pleasant thing to be pressed against his very attractive Commander, now wasn’t the best time for it. Obi-Wan would have made like an eel except he was the only thing keeping either of them upright.

“I feel dreadfully manoeuvred, darling.” he tried to joke, and lost it to a wheeze when Cody dropped his face into Obi-Wan’s neck and clutched hard at him.

“The things I want to do to you, General.” he growled. At least half of the growling was congestion.

Obi-Wan patted his back consolingly.”As I said, my dear. Post-fever?”

Cody made a noise that, in a healthier man, would have taken him out at the knees. As it was, his knees were the only ones responsible for neither of them being on the floor, and his poor Commander followed it up with a nasty coughing fit.

“Right. Cody, if you don’t let me set you up on the couch at least, I am going to carry you through the halls to a bed and let your brothers’ gossip chain do what it will.” he said firmly.

“I will never forgive you, sir.” Cody choked out, breathing all rattles and lost bolts.

“I will accept your enmity if you are well enough to perform it.” Obi-Wan shot back. “Can you even stand unaided? Cody? Would you let a single one of our men get away with that?”

To his credit, Cody gave standing a valiant try. He unpeeled himself from Obi-Wan and planted himself like a reed with particularly flimsy roots, but the intention was admirable. If foolish. He wobbled dangerously.

Obi-Wan watched with steely eyes and lowered brows. “Now, let go of my tunic.”

Cody’s eyes were brilliant with frustration. His mouth curved downward. “I don’t think I should.”

“He can be taught!” Obi-Wan ran his hands along Cody’s arms and stepped back in to brace him. “Sitting down while I comm Helix, or am I parading you across the ship with as much style as I can muster?”

“I have quite literally dragged your ass out of your horrible little womp-rat nest when that dodgy-”

“Yes, yes, sometimes the biology gets knocked about unexpectedly but we still see the medic-”

“That is not-”

Obi-Wan took a moment to brace himself properly, then hauled Cody up into his arms. Cody yelped, then groaned. “High noises still bad.”

“Why, what a shock that a bug capable of overwhelming your robust immune system should be resistant to the vicious medicinal efforts of splemsip.” He shifted Cody’s weight slightly, then nodded. “If you pull the hood up, perhaps everyone will just think I am transporting a very lost fellow Jedi.”

“Sir-” Cody squeezed his eyes against the throb of his headache and slumped into him, arguments subsiding.

“Cody, if you want to have the conversation you implied earlier, I am going to insist on you using my name when we’re off-duty. And you, my dear, are so deeply off-duty.”

He nudged the keypad with a little bit of Force use, and slipped into the hall. His senses were on high-alert and he thanked the Force that their office wasn’t so far from his rooms. He only had to duck into a side-hall to avoid being seen the once, and he tucked Cody’s head against his gently while waiting for the coast to clear, worried over the thoroughly crackly breathing.

Jabbing at the door control to his rooms, he swept Cody in and got him situated on the bed. “Don’t move,” he said, pointing threateningly at him as he clicked his comm off his belt and sent off a message to Helix to request assistance for flu symptoms in his quarters. “I’m going to get water again, and this time you’re going to behave and drink it.”

“Behave is not-” he broke off to cough again, then resumed doggedly, “-not what I thought I’d be doing in your bed, Obi-Wan.”

“Post-fever, Cody, so you’re already not behaving.” He brought one of his stashed hydro-packs over. “I should have thought of these earlier really, the straw will be easier.”

Cody took it, nearly pouting as the fever got hold in earnest and his reticence slipped. “I’d rather suck something else.”

“Have you been storing these up?” Obi-Wan asked, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching to press the back of his hand to Cody’s forehead. “Oh, darling, that’s definitely Helix territory. Drink your water.”

Bright-eyed, and in the process of glazing over, Cody gave him an awfully endearing attempt at a sultry look as he stabbed his straw into the bag. “Don’ need to store anything. Look at you.”

Charmed, Obi-Wan ran his hand through Cody’s sweat-damp curls. He leaned his head into the touch as he drank, eyes sliding closed. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His door chimed.

Slipping away for a moment, he returned with Helix grumbling behind him. “Of course it would be you, Cody.” he said, “Half the battalion gets sniffles from some lurgy incubating since our last campaign and Sir Never-Gets-Sick over here drops like a ton of duracrete.”

“Your morning has been busy then?” Obi-Wan said, “With any luck, that other half is immune or threw it off before it took, and not just taking longer about showing symptoms.”

“Sniffles.” Helix repeated. “Hardly even worth mentioning but for the volume. Couple of the Maintenance boys have a low-grade fever, gave ‘em some reducers, they’ll be right as rain. Our dear Commander, as I hear, is well past that.”

Cody, supine on the bed, made an irritated noise. It sounded a lot like a washing unit trying to chop wood. “’m not dead, unconscious, or missing from this room.”

“Give it time,” Helix said darkly, checking his temp. “What was the plan if the General hadn’t interceded, Cody? Crawl into a vent shaft for the MSE droids to find during the night cycle?”

“Thought I’d skip right to the airlock actually.” Cody returned snidely. Coughed. “Why’s there three Generals now, I didn’t think this was that sort of dream.”

Obi-Wan dragged a hand over his face. Helix barked a laugh as he sorted through his medications. “It is not that sort of dream, Cody. Should I step out, Helix?”

His CMO shrugged, preparing his shot. “Do you want the good General Kenobi and his twins to leave, Cody?” He leaned over the bed and poked at Cody’s arm.

“I want the floor to stop moving.” Cody said faintly. “When did the General get twins? I thought we had – ow, fuck, Helix!”

“Sensitised pain reception, that’s unfortunate.” Helix mumbled, mostly under his breath. “Avoid bumping against shit, vod.” He scooped up the half-drunk hydro-pack abandoned on Cody’s chest. “Sir, I need you to take these pills and finish this pack. That’s an order, copy?”

His eyelids were drooping again. “Copy, sir.”

The pill-swallowing was an experience best left to the imagination. Cody’s very unhappy throat made it into a production that took both Helix and Obi-Wan to hold him through – the pills themselves and the coughing fit that followed.

“They really are better ingested than anything I have right now that’s intravenous,” Helix said regretfully in the aftermath. “But he should be able to sleep now, and it should get him through the worst of it.”

“That’s fine,” Obi-Wan walked him back to the door. “I’ll work from in here for the day, and I can always sleep on my couch if necessary.”

Helix gave him a slightly sarcastic salute. “I’d say don’t get sick but that would only encourage you.”

He laughed, “I’m not quite that contrary, Helix.”

“Dubious, sir, I’m dubious. Comm me if he gets worse.” Helix said, and left.

Cody was starting to drift in earnest when Obi-Wan returned to the bedside, propped up on all the pillows he could find to ease his breathing. “Back?” he yawned, wincing.

“I’m back, yes. I’m going to sit at the couch and get some flimsi done, so just tap the wall if you need anything. I’ll hear it, don’t worry.” He traced Cody’s tired, familiar face with his eyes. Every line of him was precious. “I’ll come in to bother you about drinking enough, but otherwise I highly recommend trying to sleep.”

“No- wait,” Cody flailed a hand out. Obi-Wan caught it in his. “I don’t – Obi-Wan, I don’t want to have dreamed – before.”

He threaded their fingers together and squeezed comfortingly. “Which before? I’m happy to confirm what I can for you. For example, no twins.”

A smile curled slow and lazy across Cody’s face. He squeezed back with his too-hot hand. “The talk. We’re gonna talk, right?”

Obi-Wan found his own smile, quite irrepressibly, unfolding in turn. “Yes, darling.” he whispered, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cody’s hand. “We’re going to talk as soon as you’re not any level of delirious.”

Cody had gone wide-eyed. The fever-flush brightened across his cheeks. “Obi-Wan.” he said, longing.

“Not a dream,” Obi-Wan told him, turning his hand over to kiss his palm, to brush his lips over the sensitive pad of each finger. “I promise. You just have to get better first.”

“Suddenly I feel the urge to be a model patient,” his bedridden Commander managed, though what slipped through his shields right then was categorically not that. “You probably won’t recognise it.”

He snorted and returned Cody’s hand to his lap, patted it. “Get some sleep, Cody. I’ll be in periodically – we’ll see if I don’t give you an aversion to nurses for the rest of your life first.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo hi hello! Number Five! I used my free space as 'hand kiss' and that should be bingo twice over xD

[dragonflylady77]

Am I dreaming?

Harringrove | rating PG | 3.5k | trans Steve, fluff, first kiss

Summary:

Steve is at work when he hears a voice he hasn't heard since graduation. He wasn't expecting it, especially since he has changed quite a lot since then...

Read on Ao3

This fic is a birthday present for @intothedysphoria ❤️

“Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?”

Steve recognises the voice before he casts his eyes on its owner. Billy fucking Hargrove. Bane of Steve’s high school years. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Yeah it’s me, don’t cream your pants.”

Steve isn’t sure how he managed to sound so deadpan when he’s feeling less than calm on the inside. He hasn’t seen Hargrove since graduation. They were sitting next to each other, perks of being alphabet buddies, and Hargrove wouldn’t stop with the live commentary and constant innuendos.

With a sigh, Steve finishes folding the shirt on the top of the pile on the counter and looks up to find Hargrove standing in the doorway of the store. He hovers there for a moment before he walks up to the counter and stops in front of Steve.

Steve takes a moment to really look at him. Hargrove’s hair is a bit shorter than it was in high school, and his shirt is still unbuttoned almost all the way, showing off miles of golden skin and a light smattering of chest hair he was missing when they were teenagers. 

Steve feels something tighten in his chest when he feels Hargrove’s eyes roam over his body and he steels himself for the inevitable remarks. He looked decidedly less male back in high school than he does now. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks when Hargrove stays silent. 

“Oh, um, no, I just…” Hargrove stammers and Steve stares. 

What the fuck is going on? He’s never known Billy Hargrove to run out of things to say. Steve throws a quick look around Murray’s Clothing Emporium and realizes that the couple who was looking at the sunglasses display have left without buying anything. He’s alone with Hargrove and he’s not sure how he feels about this.

“I work next door. Started yesterday,” Hargrove starts again and Steve nods. “I saw you walk past and I guess I needed to check it was really you.”

“Why?” Wow, Steve is nailing this conversation thing.

Once again Hargrove seems at a loss for words. And Steve isn’t sure if it’s the lighting but it looks like the guy is blushing and what the fuck? 

This is so far removed from the usual reaction Steve gets from people, especially someone who knew him back in high school when his name wasn’t Steve. 

Hargrove’s gaze drops to his name tag then he makes eye contact again. Steve decides to wait him out. This is the weirdest interaction he’s had in a while, and he’s worked in retail for the past four years.

“Steve, huh?” Hargrove says, a grin gracing his full lips. “Suits you.”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up and he knows he’s blushing but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Um… thanks.” 

Hargrove’s phone dings and he checks it before looking at Steve again. “Fuck, sorry, I have to go. Shift starting. I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

“Sure…”

With another grin and a little wave, Hargrove walks out and Steve stands there dumbfounded.

He’s still standing there five minutes later when Robin comes in for her shift. Steve shakes it off when Robin calls out his name and he greets his best friend, before going back to folding shirts.

“You all good, Stevie?” Robin asks as she puts her bag under the counter and sits on the stool behind him.

“I think so.” Steve isn’t sure how he was feeling. He is still trying to process the encounter.

“What happened? Do I need to cut a bitch?” Robin looks so serious and it warms Steve’s heart.

“Billy Hargrove came in to say hi. He works next door at the coffee shop,” Steve hears himself say, his focus on what he’s doing, but he hears Robin’s gasp.

“What?”

“He said, and I quote, he saw me walk past and needed to check it was really me.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Robin says and Steve chuckles.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Did he say anything else?” She knows the history and he can feel her concern.

“He said my name suited me and then he had to go to work. He even waved at me when he left.”

“Oh my god, Steve! You know what that means, right?” Robin sounds way too excited about this. Steve doesn’t get it. Sure, it is unexpected and a bit strange but whatever. 

Robin gets off the stool and touches his arm. “Come on, Steve. Connect the dots.”

Steve tries to guess what she is talking about. “He did some growing up and he’s no longer the douchebag he was in high school?”

“Well, yes, that, obviously, but also, the guy is totally into you, dingus.”

“What? No. No way.” There’s no universe in which a guy as hot as Billy Hargrove would be into the mess that is Steve. And yet… the guy came into the store to check it really was Steve, even though they hadn't seen each other since graduation, and Steve looked so different. And his opening line… Definitely adds stock to Robin’s crazy theory.

“Steve… Remember when we were in high school, and how you said he was kinda hitting on you but not really? How he was all with the innuendos but never actually asked you out on a date?”

“Yeah… What’s your point?” Steve is over this conversation because it makes his brain hurt. He doesn’t need to relive high school bullshit on a Saturday morning.

“It always confused me then, because my gaydar is never wrong, but now it makes perfect sense.”

“No, actually, nothing makes sense right now.”

“Sweetie, Billy Hargrove is very gay and very into you.” 

***

Steve can’t get what Robin said out of his mind. He spent the last couple of weeks going over that initial encounter with Billy Hargrove, analyzing and overthinking every gesture and every word. 

He went to the coffee shop next door five times to get coffee for him and Rob, and Billy remembered his order every time. Robin won’t shut up about it.

Of course, he’s attracted to Billy, the guy is basically sex on legs, and Steve has eyes, okay? He worked out he was bisexual in senior year, and came out to Robin who displayed absolutely zero surprise. 

Being bi and trans in Hawkins, Indiana, was a scary time and moving to San Francisco with Robin after graduation allowed him the freedom he needed to become his true self. His parents took a while to adjust but Steve getting his top surgery really proved to them that it wasn’t just a phase and they finally don’t misgender him anymore. 

Steve is finishing balancing the till at the end of the day when he hears the bell over the door. Fuck. He forgot to lock the door after Robin left. Again.

“Sorry, we’re actually closed,” he says without looking up, slamming the till drawer shut and hoping whoever it is will turn around and leave. But the bell doesn’t ring again and the footsteps come closer so Steve glances up.

“Billy. Hi. What, um, what are you doing here?”

“Hey. Robin said you were closing today and I—”

“When did you talk to her?” Steve regrets the way he worded his question when Billy recoils like he hit him. “Sorry,” he quickly adds, “I just meant… I didn’t know you knew each other. I don’t… I don’t have a problem with it. At all.”

“She has been coming in when she’s on her break. We, um, we talk about books, mostly. And queer history. Turns out we have some of the same classes in college.”

“Oh.” Steve can see why Robin would be excited about that. “That’s cool.” Steve grabs his bag and his keys and walks around the counter to where Billy is still standing. He still had no idea why Billy showed up but he figures they can continue their chat outside. “I need to lock up.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. I’ll get out of your hair,” Billy says, nodding as he starts turning around to leave. 

Okay, the guy is definitely blushing this time, Steve is sure of it. “Billy, wait. You could… you could wait for me, if you want? I’ll just be a minute.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Cool.” Steve watches Billy walk out of the store then he goes around turning off the lights he needs to turn off, and leaving on the couple that stay on. He sets the alarm and steps outside, locking the door then securing the padlock on the chain.

“Right, now you wanna tell me why you came over?” he asks Billy, putting his keys in his bag.

“I, um, I was wondering if you might want to grab a drink with me sometime,” Billy says, looking straight at Steve and Steve feels his heart rate speed up.

Hoo boy. Robin was right. He can hear her ‘I told you so’ from where he’s standing, a foot away from Billy Hargrove. Billy is wearing a baby blue button down shirt, with the collar up and at least three buttons undone, and dark blue jeans. He looks really good. The color of his shirt is making his eyes even bluer than usual. When did Steve start paying attention to Billy’s eyes?

“Forget about it. It was stupid idea.” Billy shakes his head, looking dejected.

Steve realizes he’s taken too long to reply. Fuck. 

“I’m free now!” he says quickly, his hand shooting across the gap between them to grab Billy’s wrist before he has a chance to move. He smiles at Billy. “Are you hungry? I’m starving and there’s this really good diner down the street that makes a mean burger.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Billy grins at him and Steve lets go of his wrist to bump shoulders with him instead. 

***

“Sooooooo…”

Steve looks up from his breakfast burrito to find Robin staring at him with one eyebrow raised. He doesn’t trust that look. It always gets them in trouble.

“What is it now?” He stops his sigh just in time but it’s a close thing.

“How's your boyfriend?” Robin asks, breaking eye contact to go back to her own food. 

They’re sitting at their tiny kitchen table in their apartment and the sun is streaming in through the window. Robin has the day off today but Steve is closing. He’s made plans to meet up with Billy after work. They’re going to some taco food truck Billy swears by.

“What?” Steve is pretty sure he would know if he had a boyfriend. Right?

“Billy, dingus. How's Billy?” Robin says with a grin and Steve narrows his eyes at her. 

What the fuck?

“Billy isn't my boyfriend, Robin.” It’s not like Steve would be opposed to the idea, really, Billy is pretty much his dream guy, and Steve made his peace with that a long time ago. Way back in high school, even, but he’s not about to jeopardize his only friendship with a guy on the off-chance that said guy might be into dudes, no matter what Robin claims. 

Then, with the added layer of Steve being trans, that’s an extra risk he’s definitely not ready for. Even if Billy already knows about that part.

“Riiiiiiiight.” She still has that look on her face. Steve doesn’t care for it. “You've been going on dates for like two months now. Come on. He never shuts up about you when I see him.”

“No, I'm serious. We’re just friends. We hang out. We talk. It’s nice.” 

Steve is enjoying having a guy friend for the first time in his life and he’s trying to not overthink it. They grab a meal after Steve’s shift a few times a week and talk for hours. 

Billy opens up about his dad who was a complete asshole, and how much better his life has been since he left Hawkins. They bond over moving on from small town narrow-mindedness and feeling free to be who they want to be. 

Billy tells Steve about the books he’s been reading and doesn’t seem to mind that Steve doesn’t really have much to contribute to that conversation. 

In turn, Steve shares all the weird shit he’s seen at the store since he started working there. Billy never makes him feel like he’s stupid or too much, and Steve could listen to him speak for hours.

“It’s not like that,” Steve says again because Robin is still looking at him with that look on her face.

“Stevie, that boy is so gone on you and you can’t even see it,” she says, shaking her head. 

Steve rolls his eyes, because his best friend is starting to sound like a broken record. He’s lost his appetite and leaves the table to go get ready for work, her words stuck in his mind all the same.

What if she’s right? a little voice in his head keeps saying. Steve tells it to shut up and focuses on the day ahead instead.

***

Steve worked the morning shift today and he's meeting Billy for a late lunch, in a bookstore that doubles as a coffee shop he's never heard of. 

Billy texted earlier to let Steve know he didn't have to rush, on accounts of Billy having the day off.

When Steve walks into the store, he spots Billy at a table towards the back, next to the queer romance section. He wonders if Billy told Robin about this place already.

One of the workers stops by Billy's table and Steve observes their interaction. The woman is young and very pretty, with dark blonde hair in a messy bun, and curves in all the right places. She's clearly interested in Billy, Steve can tell by the way she giggles and plays with her hair as she answers Billy's question. 

Steve wants to shove her into the closest book display to get her away from Billy. Okay, yes, so he hasn't stopped thinking about Billy as more than a friend ever since Robin called their outings dates the other week. 

That doesn't mean he is going to do anything about it. He won't jeopardize their friendship like that. He can't afford to. He takes a deep breath and makes his way across the store. 

“Steve, hey, you made it!” Billy says with a huge grin when he sees him. 

“Sorry I'm late.” Steve takes off his backpack, dropping it in the chair closest to him, before sitting across from Billy.

“Nah, you're good, told you not to rush.”

“What's your girlfriend's name?” Steve asks, realising as he says it that this should definitely have stayed an inside thought.

“What…?” Billy looks confused by the question and whatever he sees in Steve's expression.

“I'm sorry.” Steve glances down the aisle where the girl disappeared then back at Billy. “She's pretty and you're free to date whoever you want. Did you want to introduce us? Is that why we're meeting here?” 

Oh God, is he really saying all that bullshit? He needs to stop. He feels his face flush from embarrassment and looks down at the menu on the table.

“We're meeting here because I am looking for a present for Max's birthday and I wanted to scope out a few books and I know the food here is really good.”

Before Steve can apologise again, Billy continues, “Also, even if there wasn't already someone I like, I wouldn't ask her, because she's a woman and I'm extremely gay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Billy. I don't know what came over me.”

He gasps when Billy reaches over and takes his hand.

“Steve…”

“Yes, Billy?” his voice a whisper in the cacophony of the busy lunchtime crowd.

“I feel very lucky you're willing to spend all this time with me, after the way I behaved around you in high school.”

“I enjoy spending time with you, Billy. No hardship there,” Steve replies, in a feeble attempt at humour, that falls flat.

“Good to know. Steve, I—”

“Are you ready to order?” the server asks, seeming blinking out of nowhere, tablet in hand. It's a different girl than the one Steve spotted earlier.

Steve tries to pull his hand out of Billy's but Billy isn't letting go. The whole situation is feeling a bit overwhelming.

“We're gonna need another five minutes, thanks,” Billy said, his eyes never leaving Steve.

“You got it, Blue.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

“What's with the nicknames?” Once again, the words are out before he has the chance to stop them and he knows he's blushing.

“Heather is my best friend, pretty boy. We met at the Gay and Lesbian Alliance at Berkeley.”

“Oh, my god. That's Heather? I understand Robin's reaction a lot better. She's so totally her type.” Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “Robin talks about her day and night. Hasn't stopped since she attended a meeting at the Alliance last month.”

Billy chuckles, then picks up Steve's hand on both of his. 

Steve looks down at Billy's hands. They are so warm, it wakes up the butterflies in his belly. He likes it. 

“Steve, I realise now I should have been clearer that first night when I asked if you wanted to grab a drink with me.”

“What do you mean?” Steve thinks of all those times Billy waited for him after work and they explored San Francisco eateries together. How Robin had said these were dates, and how Steve had said they weren't, while secretly wishing they were.

“I was trying to ask you out. Clearly did a shit job of it if you think I'm interested in anyone else.”

“Billy…” Steve's usually overactive brain screeches to a halt. 

“I like you, Steve Harrington. A lot. I felt such a strong connection with you in high school, but it didn't make sense to me at the time. I knew I was gay and you…”

Steve winces. “Yeah.” He doesn't need Billy to spell it out. 

“So when I saw you walk past the coffee shop, I had to follow you, make sure it was you. That you weren't a figment of my imagination. You looked…”

Hanging from Billy's every word, Steve whispers, “Tell me. Please.”

“You looked like I'd wished you out of one of the dreams I had in high school.” 

Steve puts his free hand up to his mouth to muffle his whimper. He blinks a few times to keep tears away but they slide down his cheeks anyway.

“Getting to know you these past weeks has been amazing, Steve, but if you don't feel the same way, you better tell me before Hank brings you a drink, because you'll probably end up wearing it.”

A volcano erupting in his chest, Steve abruptly stands up, his hand sliding out of Billy's before he gets his backpack off the chair, swinging it onto his shoulders. When he looks down at Billy a second later, he notices how Billy's face falls as he looks away. This won't do.

“Steve, I'm sor—”

Leaning forward to grab Billy's wrist, Steve locks eyes with him. “I feel the same, Billy, of course, I do,” he whispers in a rush. “I've had a crush on you since high school and I will not have our first kiss in public with random people staring.”

“Oh.” Billy's eyes go wide. “Oh!”

He scrambles out of his chair so fast it tips over and clatters on the ground, causing a few people to turn around. He shrugs it off and takes Steve's hand, linking their fingers and pulling him towards the exit.

Feeling like all his Christmases have come at once, Steve follows eagerly.

“Sorry, Hank, maybe next time!” Billy calls out as they walk out and Steve laughs, the warm fuzzies filling him like never before. 

They're rushing down the pavement for about a block when Billy stops to unlock a door. He steps in, yanking Steve behind him before he slams the door.

Steve is still laughing when Billy crowds him against the door, only stopping when Billy cups his face with both hands.

“Hey,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Billy's waist and pulling him closer until they're pressed together from chest to knees.

“Hey, pretty boy. Am I dreaming right now?”

Steve snorts. “You said that when you saw me at the store that day.”

“As I recall, you said something about me not creaming my pants…”

“I did…” Steve's gaze drops to Billy's lips and he feels a zing of heat burst through him when he sees a flash of Billy's tongue. 

There is no silencing his whimper this time. Steve dips his head and presses his lips to Billy's.

The heated way Billy licks into his mouth is even better than anything Steve ever imagined.

He never wants to stop.

And from the way Billy's fingers are buried in his hair and holding him in place, he is pretty sure Billy feels the same.