#behemoth chicken

[gifs-of-puppets]

Celebrating 70 Years of The Muppets

Week Twelve: Behemoth (also known as Gene)

[loadsofcats]

I was not expecting Master and Margarita to be so fun!!! Pleasantly surprised

[kamakih]

@evie-bb Is us.

best dynamic. you agree

[rejectedbytheempty]

all day and all of the night

pairing: simon riley x f!reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.7k

cw: mentions of kidnapping

synopsis: after a long night out you wake up in a stranger’s bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt you assume to be his, chaos ensues

Before you even open your eyes, you feel a painful throbbing at the base of your skull. You groan as you roll over onto your back, putting your hands on either side of your face as if it would soothe the pounding in your head.

The last thing you remembered was thinking that one more shot wouldn’t hurt and that it was the weekend anyway, what’s the worst that could happen? You guessed that there were many more drinks to follow, but nothing you could recall. you managed to peel your eyelids open, half-crusted with leftover mascara.

The room spun slightly as the world came into view and you resisted the urge to lean over the side of the bed and empty your stomach from the vertigo.

“Christ”, you muttered, your voice hoarse and painful.

Rubbing at your throat, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and looked out into your room. Only... it wasn’t your room.

It felt as if ice water splashed down your back as the haze from your hangover was won over by a new feeling: fear. Looking down, you saw that instead of the clothes you wore to the club last night, you were in an oversized army green t-shirt. Now you really felt like you were going to throw up, and you did, managing to scramble over to a trash can before last night’s dinner could be spewed all over the carpet.

After a few dry heaves, you figured the worst was over and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Now that the wave of nausea had lessened significantly, you started taking stock of your situation.

You were in a sparsely decorated room, a couple of books sitting on the desk, and a dresser nestled in the corner of the room. That, and the cologne smell that was wafting off the shirt you were wearing meant that you were in a man’s room.

Although your mini skirt and low-cut top were nowhere to be found, you did note that you were still wearing the same bra and underwear you had on last night. And it didn’t seem like there were any marks on you or any indication that you had been touched beyond the obvious fact you had been changed into different clothes.

Suddenly, you realized that your phone was nowhere to be found either, instilling you with a new sense of panic.

“Shit!” you muttered softly, searching under the covers and crouching to look below the bed frame. You looked over at the door, and since you didn’t have your phone or any way of knowing where you were, you supposed you were going to have to try the door.

You cautiously stepped over to it, reaching out for the handle like it was some kind of cursed object. You shrieked loudly in shock when the handle turned abruptly and the door swung inwards.

In stepped a behemoth of a man, with white scars running across his face, almost like how the sky looked in a lightning storm. The scar on his lip deepened as he frowned, looking directly at you. You were frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at him like a deer in headlights.

“What are you yellin’ for?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

“W-what?” was all you could manage to say.

He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him, “You squawked like a chicken when I opened the door.”

You swallowed thickly, “You scared me.”

He seemed to soften at that, his brown eyes losing some of their edge as he took in your situation. You probably looked a mess, remnants of makeup still on your face, your hair mussed up from sleep, and a shirt about two sizes too big hanging off your frame, just barely covering the lace panties you had on.

To be fair, if he was the one who took off your clothes, then he had already seen them so it wouldn’t really faze him if he saw the black lace poking out. Not that those semantics really mattered to you when he was standing there and staring you down.

“Why am I here?” you asked suddenly, unsure where you got the courage to speak from.

He blinked at you and then his mouth twisted into a mischievous grin, “You mean, you don’t remember?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, as it seemed like this conversation was slipping away from your control by the second, “I.. uh, maybe, maybe not.”

His grin grew even wider at your words, then he started laughing, actually laughing in your face. You folded your arms across your chest, face turning into a scowl. Kidnapper or not, he was being rather rude.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

He shook his head, still laughing softly, “Oh, nothing. Just that you got pretty wild last night.”

Your angry expression faded slightly, you let your crossed arms fall down from your chest to your midsection, “I was?”

He nodded, “Oh yeah, climbing on the bar, singing along to all the songs, even if you didn’t know the words.”

You gulped, feeling your face flush slightly, “I.. might’ve done that, I’m not sure.”

He nodded, and you noticed that he was enjoying this, the sick bastard. “Mhm, and you kept saying that you were, quote, going to remember this night forever! unquote.”

Your hands had now fallen at your sides as flames licked up your cheeks at the mentions of your antics. You looked down at the ground as you asked him, “So, how did I end up here?”

“After the bartender cut you off, you threatened to sue him and then you tried to punch him. I stepped in, pulling you off of him and wrangled you out of the bar. I was gonna get you an Uber or a taxi but you wouldn’t let go of me. Even after you threw up.. on the both of us.”

You looked up at the last sentence, suddenly realizing why he had changed you out of your clothes. It all made sense, and as he was describing last night to you, some fragments and pieces of your memory came back. Although, you wish they didn’t. You hid your face in your hands, groaning slightly, both from your memories and from the pain of your headache coming back with a vengeance.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry” you said through your hands, not even wanting to look him in the eyes.

There was a pause for a moment and then he said, “It’s alright, couldn’t just leave you to be by yourself like tha’ at the bar, who knows what coulda happened?”

You managed to take your hands off your face and look back up at him again, “Thank you, seriously. If there’s any way I can pay you back or-”

He put a hand up to stop you, shaking his head, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, how ‘bout you let me make you breakfast, hm?”

You weren’t sure if you could keep it down, but you nodded anyway. Who were you to refuse his offer when he had already done so much for you?

“Right then, it’s settled. Why don’t you freshen up some and breakfast should be ready by then?” He pointed to the hall, “the next door is the guest bathroom, has some toiletries for you to use.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He nodded gruffly and left the room. You shut your eyes forcefully, feeling the roar in your ears at the pressure. “Fuckkkkkkk” you let out a long sigh. After scrubbing your hands down your face, you decided to follow his directions and headed to the guest bathroom. You figured that maybe after you splashed some cold water on your face, it would turn out that this was all some horrible dream.

It wasn’t a dream like you were hoping but you were grateful for the toothbrush and toothpaste, finally cleaning the taste of bile from your mouth. Digging through the cabinets, you found a new package of travel deodorant and some hair products that you also made use of. You also found a container of paracetamol and quickly took two to ease the pounding in your head.

Looking in the mirror you saw death staring back at you, but at least the person you were looking at didn’t smell so much like vodka anymore.

He was right, when you walked into the kitchen he had just finished up breakfast and was setting out two plates with plentiful servings. You took a seat at the kitchen table across from him and after he picked up his fork and started eating, you looked down at your plate.

He had made you two fried eggs with runny, orange yolk, toast slathered with butter, strawberry jam dripping down the sides, and some browned sausage, covered in a light sheen of oil. Hesitantly, you picked up the piece of toast, taking ginger bites out of fear the food would come rushing back up.

After eating about as much as you could stomach, you washed it all down with the glass of orange juice he had set out for you. When you looked up you saw that he had raised an eyebrow at your still half-full plate but said nothing about it.

He gestured his head towards your plate in a silent question of ‘you gonna eat that?’ You shook your head and he eagerly took the plate from you, scooping your leftovers onto his own portion.

As he began digging into the spoils, you broke the silence, “Sorry, I’m not sure if you told me yesterday, or not, but what’s your name?”

He swallowed the bite he was chewing and shook his head, “I didn’t tell you yesterday, you were too busy puking on my leather jacket.” You winced at that but he continued, “The name is Simon. Simon Riley.”

You nodded, it was a fitting name, you supposed. In turn, you shared your name and he hummed in acknowledgement, “I know.”

At your confused expression, he elaborated, “I had to close your tab at the bar, needed to know your name so I.. may have looked at your driver’s license,” he at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed for going through your personal items. You weren’t really sure what to say. On the one hand, you were grateful he closed your tab for you, but he also invaded your privacy.

You settled on ambivalence for his actions, “Thank you, I guess?”

“You’re welcome” he said, around a mouthful of toast. You just barely hid your expression of disgust. As nice as he was, he didn’t really have any table manners, and must be limited on human interaction based on your short conversation with him.

“So,” he asked after he wiped his mouth clean, “were you there with your friends?”

“Yeah, we were having some kind of girl’s night.” He frowned at your words, “And your friends let you go on like that?” You opened your mouth to defend them, but at that moment, you couldn’t really think of anything to defend them.

For one, they watched as you got blackout drunk, and instead of making sure you got home, they let some random man take you home? You hoped they at least had the decency of texting you this morning and asking if you were okay. Speaking of, where was your phone?

“Did I still have my phone on me when.. well, when we went home together?” He nodded, “I put it on a charger last night, should be fully charged by now.” He pointed to an outlet in the entryway where your phone sat on a small wooden table next to a scratched up old iPhone, that looked so outdated that you wouldn’t be shocked if it was the first model Steve Jobs came out with. You laughed audibly but quickly covered your mouth when you realized what you had done.

“Right, what’s so funny, then?” he asked.

You turned to look over at him, and grinned, pointing at his phone, “This yours?”

He nodded, “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

You laughed again, “I’m surprised this old of a model still works!”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Of course it still works, wouldn’t be using it if it didn’t.”

You shrugged, “Guess so, just maybe think about buying a phone from the past decade, yeah?”

He just grunted and shook his head, “Don’t need one with all those fancy gadgets and whatnot, if it works, it works.”

You took your phone off the charger and walked back over to the table, “Whatever you say, Simon.” He scoffed in response but seemed more amused than actually angry at your teasing. You smirked at him but then turned your attention to your phone as it powered back on.

Must’ve died last night, then, good thing Simon charged it, you thought.

You did have a few texts from your friends, as it turns out, but not the worried ones you were hoping for. They were all from last night, something along the lines of ‘met this cute guy, see ya!’ and ‘hope you have fun with that total hunk you left with.’ “Assholes,” you muttered under your breath as you scrolled through the thread.

You weren’t expecting them to babysit you, but maybe a little check on you would’ve been nice. What if you had been drugged, or Simon had been a kidnapper? Your death could’ve ended up on a true crime podcast sandwiched between a distasteful comment on how hot your kidnapper was and a Hello Fresh ad break.

“Not good news, I take it?” Simon asked.

Your scowl did make it pretty obvious, and you sighed, “Yeah, not good. I mean, it’s like they didn’t even care if I made it home last night!”

He hummed in response. He was not a man of many words, you had discovered.

“I mean, seriously, I can’t even count the number of times I’ve held their hair back when they puked behind the bushes, or gotten them home when they overdid it on the tequila, and how do they repay me? By leaving me in the dust, that’s what.”

You were genuinely fuming now, as if last night had woken up years of pent up rage. “They never appreciated me, they never invited me places unless they wanted to have someone DD, they always hung out without me, and they constantly asked for money without even paying me back for the other times I had lent them money!”

It was silent in the kitchen for a moment, then Simon laughed, “Good on ya, luv. Knew they were wankers anyway.”

You helped Simon clean up the dishes, even though he had emphatically insisted you didn’t need to, he finally relented when you had explained that it wasn’t fair that he do all the cooking and all the cleaning.

You both made quick work of the chore and as you wiped your sudsy hands on your shirt, you remembered that it was not, in fact, your shirt you were wearing.

“By the way, where did you put my clothes?”

“Laundry room, put them in a plastic bag on top of the washer. Figured you would want to wash it yourself, considering most girls have some kind of preference for drying or not drying, or the temperature of the load.”

Hm, someone cooked here.

“Oh, thank you. Just.. I figured I wouldn’t stay around long enough to do laundry at your place, and since I wanted to not get catcalled the second I stepped outside, I’d prefer if I had some kind of pants. Do you think I can maybe borrow one of yours?” You asked hesitantly, you felt like you had already overstepped a million boundaries and here you were asking the poor man for more things.

He nodded, “Sure, I think I have some old sweatpants in my closet that are too small for me now. You can have those. You can keep the shirt, too, I have about a dozen of the same kind.”

You brightened, “Thank you, so much. I mean, seriously, you’re like an angel or something.” He froze, blush spreading faintly across his cheeks, “Not an angel” he muttered softly, “but you’re welcome.”

a/n: ok so i did post this before my blog got accidentally deleted and im ngl this fic did flop hard, and you’d think i’d take the hint, right? but nope!! gonna post it again bc i’m insane!! anyways, lmk if you guys want me to continue this 🫶

[spiceywawa]

@boolger <-

I couldn't help myself and had to try doing this shite again and write my little idea inspired heavily? by their fic.

Kitty♡

Current -> Next

John price moved from the city and bought a farm with all the works. Cows, pigs, chickens, etc. He previously considered getting a hybrid kitten along his other hybrids but never did due to living deep in the city with not a lot of room. After his abrupt retirement, John decided why not to help make the farming/food industry just a little better.

He decided to start his farm, and funny enough, the farm came with its own kitty hybrid. A beautiful stone Grey short haired kitty that took care of rodents and smaller predators. Kitty would laze wherever they pleased and previously had the freedom to come and go around the property and house as they saw fit.

John never minded them, and on the listing for the farm, the hybrid was in the description as a poor kitty that was left behind. It took quite a bit of time to get the skittish kitty used to him and even let him close enough to smell him. It's not entirely surprising the cautious and skeptical looks kitty gives him because while their owner left kitty, and the seller forgot to mention the many working hybrid dogs they owned went with them Abandoning poor kitty, leaving them all alone with not one to cuddle with at night.

Sweet farm kitty hybrid only met John price at first, but little did they know John had his own three dog hybrids. All retired from military after many years of admirable service. Before John thought you were ready to meet his three boys, he set up your own room and safe spots around the giant farmhouse. Giving you your own designated space when you decided to stay in the house with him. Of course, at some point, when john gently lured you into your new room, it was somewhat of a shit show. You went as far as deciding using the window to the roof to come in, and out of the house was a better option than using the actual doors.

You eventually settled and decided the room was better than the hay loft and tried out being a couch potato. When you quietly and cautiously joined John on the new couch for the first time, he immediately froze to not deter you from approaching him. He watched you out of his peripheral lay next to him, resting your head on his thigh. Only when you relaxed and began quietly purring did he attempt to stroke your head, petting your fuzzy ears watching them flick at his gentle touch. After that encounter and many positive moments, john decided it was time to bring the boys home for good.

The boys often dog piled in John's room, so separate rooms for them were pretty much unnecessary unless they asked for it. They had freedom to roam and wouldnt be allowed in your room without permission, he doubted you would so he would make sure the boys knew if was off limits until otherwise said. But considering they had all the space they needed and john has the biggest room and bathroom amenities in the house, the boys had their own section of the room, including a corner cubby with their stuff and combined beds.

Of course, after being out of a strict military environment for so long the moment the boys arrived when they got a whiff of your scent, johnny and gaz scattered trying to find you and simon ended up chasing after johnny trying to get him to quit it. Gaz beat johnny to the punch, chasing you up above the fridge on top of the cabinets. He was leaning against the fridge, wagging his tail sniffing the air, trying to get closer to you, curiosity and excitement emanating from him. When johnny heard the commotion, he wriggled away from simons grip toward gaz. John yelled stop, and all his hybrids looked at him.

You were less amused than the three behemoths before you. Johnny and gaz both whined, saying they only wanted to meet their new friend, and simon was glaring at the two having more self-control of his instincts and curiosity. John cringed at the poor first introduction. The low growl in your throat brought everyone's attention back to you. John shooed the three away simon, grabbing the two by their harnesses being the most dominant out of the three.

You glared at John as he began trying to coax you in getting down. "It's alright, my pretty girl. You're ok. Those two aren't gonna get ya, I promise." He coos at you. In John's defense, he told the three to behave simon was indifferent, but gaz and johnny were the ones he was worried about. You watch him with your ears pinned down and tail flicking rapidly in annoyance as he is trying to get you down with treats and your favorite toy your, very first toy ever. But you don't budge for a solid 20 minutes. "Come on, sweet kitty, there are all a bunch of big ol teddy bears they aren't gonna hurt ya." He says to you, running his finger down the bridge of your nose as you won't let him pet you.

Johnny and Gaz are sitting a few feet away patiently waiting for you to come down and allow them to scent you and say hello, their tails swishing excitedly behind them. They are all definitely German Shepard or a mix of one you can see that much, and they are all ridiculously large compared to you.

Simon is standing next to John, watching you with a curious expression. You eye him, taking in his scared face and equally battered fuzzy ears nestles in blond hair. Much to everyone's surprise, simon reaches up and grabs you gently, taking you off the fridge and into his big arms. You freeze from shock as simon settles you against his chest, holding you with one arm. You latch onto him to prevent yourself from falling, watching his face suspiciously.

Simon traces the scars on your face and arms from fending of other critters around the farm. "That's simon Kitty." John says, trying not to laugh as your frozen form clutches to simon. You frown as johnny and Gaz laugh, simons low chuckle vibrating through you. "You're a stubborn little thing." Simon says as he sits down next to the other two, positioning you in his lap, keeping a protective distance from gaz and johnny.

His tail swishes behind him as you let him hold you, unsure if you're gonna bolt or stay. You settle to johns surprise, holding onto simons arm, watching the other two scoot closer. You did miss your pack mates, so you tolerated the curiosity for a bit unsure if this was even gonna be permanent. Simon watches gaz close as he scents you first, seeing as he did find you first. He sniffs for a bit, his nose gently bumping your chin as he sniffs higherup your neck, simon lets out a low growl, telling gaz that's enough. Johnny takes that as his cue that it's his turn and bounds in face first into your neck. Simon reaches for johnny, pulling him away. "Careful with the lil thing, johnny. Don't wanna break em do you?" He shakes his head rapidly tail going a mile a minute. John chimes in watching this interaction unfold. "Gentle boys." He says, watching your face for any discomfort.

The only feeling you have is confusion. Have they never seen a cat hybrid before? And why are you letting them so close so quickly?

Simon lets Johnny's scruff go, and he gently smells you for a bit. Then simon tells them you're done, and it's his turn. He breathes in your scent, enjoying the sweet, subtle scent holding you closer

You sigh, giving up, seeing as much simon claimed you technically it seems they all did, and this is your life now. It doesn't seem so bad, really, you could get used to this.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

In the 1927 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, spectators goggled at a "human behemoth." The 21-foot tall float was lying on his back in order to pass under the elevated railway. There was also a 60-foot dinosaur "attended by a bodyguard of prehistoric cavemen" as well as a 25-foot-long dachshund that "swayed along in the company of gigantic turkeys and chickens and ducks of heroic size," reported the New York Times.

Photo: Bettmann Archive via the Daily Mail

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Safe (M, cold)

Well, here I am.

It's been a few months since I've written anything in the Elliot's universe, but recently someone asked for a Mark-centric story, and this behemoth is what ensued. Allow me to preface by saying this: Mark is basically my self-insert. This was a very hard story to write. If it sucks, my apologies, hah.

In this, Mark gets sick from Matt and wants to hide it from Elijah. It is significantly more hurt/comfort-slash-sickfic than snzfic, honestly. It starts fairly benign, fluffy, and silly and gets really intense a few pages in. There's a lot of musing, a lot of being inside Mark's head. Idk. I'm not sure if I love it or hate it. This is the first story I've written on here that has taken me a full week to get down, and that I've written and scrapped multiple scenes. It is very long. I really hope you enjoy it if you read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but also understand if it's just too long-winded for people to read. Also, there's a real chance of spelling/grammar errors because I just can't look at this monster of a fic any longer, ha.

Anyway. Onward.

CW: Male snz, illness, coughing, contagion. 6K words (almost exactly)

Safe

“Don’t go near them.”

It’s the first thing that hit his ears as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors; no ‘hi, Mark,’ no, ‘good morning’, just a barked order with absolutely zero context thrown in. Mark whipped his head in the direction of the stern voice of his boss.

“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, making his way towards the office, where Elijah was stationed, seated, but not doing any computer work. “Who and what are we avoiding?” he asked as he entered.

“The chefs,” Elijah said, moving his chair to let the younger manager in to sit. Mark placed his backpack on the ground, tossed his coat over top of Greyson’s on the second office chair. Waited for further explanation that did not come.

“Okay…” he said, sitting beside his boss. “And we’re not going near them because…?” Mark hadn’t even seen Greyson or Matt yet this morning. The avoiding was being done for him, so what was Elijah’s deal?

Elijah hummed a low disapproval – of what, Mark couldn’t guess – and turned towards his computer. “You’ll see,” he said, shaking his mouse and pulling up an order guide. “Just don’t breathe your boyfriend’s breath, okay?”

Mark colored at the implication; it had only been a couple of months since Matt and Mark had been outed to the restaurant, and the floor manager still wasn’t used to their relationship being casually dropped into conversation. While Elijah busied himself with admin work, Mark stood – time to figure out what the fuck Elijah was on about.

You would think that finding chefs in a kitchen would be a relatively banal business; they’re chefs. They’re cooking. Hardly a moving target – but you’d be wrong. Somehow, the second a front of house manager starts looking for a chef, they become a ghost. They haven’t existed for a thousand years – are you sure this restaurant even has a chef? Mark couldn’t help but ponder how the fuck this hundred-square-foot kitchen somehow became a labyrinthian nightmare the second he wanted to find his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boss; c’mon, he’d checked the walk-in, the back kitchen, even the dock to see if they were smoking, where the fuck were they?

Maybe Elijah had told the two of them to stay away from Mark and the front of house staff before the floor manager arrived, and they were playing a cat-and-mouse style keep-away game that Mark was unaware of. Or maybe they had gone to the store to pick up chicken or some shit. Either way, Mark was done looking. Elijah said don’t go near them, he thought to himself, heading back towards the front of the kitchen, easy enough.

Of course, it was the moment that Mark decided he was done looking that he quite literally bumped into his boyfriend coming through the kitchen doors.

“Oof,” Matt grunted as they collided. Greyson, not even a step behind him, turned their two-person bump into a three-car-pileup that nearly ended in hot coffee being spilled over all of them.

“Christ, Chef, watch where you’re going,” Matt muttered untangling himself from the middle of the pack.

“Mbe watch where I’mb going?” Greyson asked, wiping his coffee-covered hand on his chef’s pants. “The two of you are practically grinding on each other here and I ndeed to watch where I’mb going?”

Mark clocked it in the chef’s voice immediately – oh. That’s what Elijah meant.

But… he had said both of them… right?

Mark’s head shot up from checking to make sure he didn’t have coffee all over his button-down to look Matt directly in the face – ah. Fuck.

“Hh-! Hh’ITSHZH-ue! HRTSHH-ue!” Matt collapsed to the side to sneeze, seemingly in lieu of responding to Greyson’s dig. “Snf. Fuck off, Chef.” There it was.

“Bless you,” Mark said, attempting not to sound accusatory. Matt just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Before Mark could respond to the unnecessary apology, Elijah’s voice rang out once again from the office. “Mark, I told you to stay away from them!” The GM stood from his desk chair and strode into the kitchen, physically pushing Mark and Matt away from one another. “Six foot distance,” he said, pointing at both of them. “And you,” he said, addressing his counterpart, “didn’t I tell you to go get some tea and sit the fuck down? We have a big night tonight and I need you conscious, please.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held up his cup. “I was on mby way to sit when the children starting gyrating on each other in the mbiddle of mby kithcen,” he said. “Don’t put this one on mbe.”

Elijah squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “First of all,” he said, moving towards Greyson and plucking the cup from his hand, “that isn’t tea.”

“The tea we buy is gross,” Greyson whined. “And I’mb ti – hh! Hh...hhuh-ETSHZH-ue! Snrf, fuck.” Greyson took a moment to collect himself, to wipe his nose on his sleeve and cough – a wet, concerning sound – before finishing his sentence. “I’mb tired,” he said, snatching the cup back.

“Which is why I told you to go sit down,” Elijah said, pressing his palms together and accentuating each word with his hands. “And please do not get my front of house manager sick. I beg, Greyson.”

“Talk to him,” Greyson said, thumbing towards Matt. “I’mb ndot the one with my tongue in Mark’s mbouth twenty-four-seven.”

Mark’s face flamed once again, but Matt, either too sick to care or beyond the embarrassment that was a public relationship in the work place, just rolled his eyes.

“Jealous, much?” Matt asked under his breath. Greyson shot daggers with a glance at his sous, and Mark decided it was probably time to step in.

“Listen, how about I go grab the two of you some medicine from down the street, you both take a rest, and then by the time the meds have kicked in, everyone should be good for service.” Mark looked to Elijah for his blessing; his boss was obviously mulling it over, considering. “And this way, I’ll be out of the metaphorical splash zone,” he finished, which finally prompted a nod from Elijah.

“Okay,” his boss said. “Good idea, Mark. You two – come with me.”

The GM led the two chefs back into the dining room to lay in the back booth while Mark let out a sigh. He was happy, of course, to be out of the fight, to have seemingly calmed everyone down, and to have put his boss’s mind at ease.

Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that – despite Elijah’s eased mind – it was already too late for keeping himself away from the newest restaurant pestilence.

***

“Elijah is going to kill me, Matt.”

“Oh, please, he is ndo – ITSZCHH-ue! ndot,” Matt said, swiping the bottle of Dayquil from Mark’s hand and chugging it. “You gonna sit?” he asked, sniffling and patting the milk crate beside him and shivering. Mark sighed.

“I’m not gonna sit, because Elijah is going to kill me even more if he sees me sitting right next to you.”

“I’mb gonna go out on a limb here and say that’s ndot possible,” Matt said, dissolving at the end of his sentence into a chesty cough.

“You’re coughing now, too?” Mark asked, worry about Elijah’s anger usurped very suddenly by concern for his boyfriend. Mark placed a hand to Matt’s head. “Oh, honey.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, not bothering to move Mark’s hand. Mark huffed out a little laugh.

“Don’t apologize for being sick. Please,” he said, moving his hand to cup Matt’s cheek. “Even if Elijah might kill us both.”

Matt smiled, pressed his face harder into Mark’s hand. “You might ndot get sick. You ndever know,” he muttered, eyes closing as Mark held his head up.

“Matt,” Mark laughed, “I mean… I don’t think that’s, uh, possible after last night.” Matt’s eyes blinked open at the mention of it, and a little smile flitted across his lips.

The apartment had been quiet.

“Matt?” Mark called as he stepped inside. “Babe, are you home?”

He strained his ears; the shower was on. Mark had an idea.

He tiptoed across the cold apartment floor, quietly stripping as he went; by the time he got to the bathroom door, he was nude as the day he was born. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so he pushed inside silently and pulled back the curtain.

A fact about Matt that shocked Mark more than anything was that the man did not get scared. He had yawned through their first haunted house together; he fell asleep during the Terrifier movies, for Christ’s sake. So Mark was unsurprised when, instead of screaming bloody murder the way he would’ve if Matt snuck up on his in the shower, his boyfriend simply turned away from the spray and smiled.

“You’re early,” he murmured, ushering Mark in.

“I came right from the gym,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mmmm,” Matt hummed, pressing himself into Mark’s arms. “That’s nice, baby.”

They stood that way for a few minutes, until Mark tipped Matt’s chin up towards his face. “I wanted to see you,” he said, pressing his lips onto Matt’s neck, “but I also wanted to… do things. With you.”

Matt’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low. “Like what?”

Mark stood back to his full height, and pushed Matt against the shower wall. “Let me show you.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said now, lifting his head. “But, I mbean, are you feeling okay right ndow?”

He was, for the moment. But, Matt had seemed alright last night, and clearly he’d already been on the trajectory towards ill – despite that fact that he had been very good at hiding it. Whatever he and his boss had picked up was certainly quick to come on.

“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me,” Mark said, rummaging through the drug store bag to hand Matt, who’d fallen into another paroxysm of coughing, the Robitussin. “I’m more worried about you than anything.”

Matt snapped the top off and chugged this medicine as well, seemingly without any concern about mixing two medications. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I kndow Elijah is worried about getting through the weekend, but it’s ndot like any of us haven’t worked with a cold before.” He shrugged then, handed Mark the medicine, and stood. Mark stood as well, and once again cupped Matt’s hot face – this time with both hands.

“Please just take it a little bit easy tonight, okay?” Mark said. “I know Greyson is sick, too, but don’t try to do too much. We don’t need another moment like a few months ago.”

“And to think I’d just forgotten about that,” Matt said, going on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend. “I’ll be okay.” Mark kissed him back, a little longer than was maybe necessary; long enough that neither of them heard the back door open until it was too late.

“Mark, what the fuck are you doing?”

Oh, fuck.

Elijah.

***

By the end of the night, Greyson and Matt were shadows of their former selves.

“Hh-! Hhhuh… hhNGTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! ETSZCH-ue! Fuuuck mbe,” Greyson muttered as he wrenched into the sleeve of his hoodie – chef coats had been abandoned about an hour into service, when both he and Matt started shivering hard enough to fuck up the plating on more than half the dishes – for the millionth time that night. He attempted to clear his throat, prompting a flurry of congested coughs.

Behind him, Matt was sitting on the cold, industrial kitchen ground, head between his knees. “I’mb gonna pass out, I just kndow I am.”

“Don’t fuckigg pass out,” Greyson growled, pulling his sous to his feet. “You ndeed to get your blood mboving, you gotta stand up. Idiot.”

The two of them, bickering and sneezing in near-unison by the pass, had captivated the attention of both front of house managers, who had turned away from their computer work to watch the mess unfold.

“Hope you like what you see,” Elijah said, finally. “Because that’s gonna be you tomorrow.”

Behind his boss’s back, Mark rolled his eyes. “Boss, I’m fine. I don’t feel sick at all, trust me, I’m going to be okay.” It was mostly true; he’d sneezed a few more times today than was normal for him, yes. And he was a little tired – no more than usual, surely. The rawness in the back of his throat was easily ignored with huge gulps of water. He was fine.

“Mmm,” Elijah said, swinging his chair around to look the younger man in the eye, “sure. Whatever you say, Mark; just remember, if you look even close to how bad Matt does tonight, you’re off the floor. And I mean off the floor until you return to normal. A cold is one thing; whatever these two have is entirely another. Understood?”

Mark swallowed around his burgeoning sore throat; off the floor. Off the floor didn’t mean relegated to busywork behind the scenes; it meant sent home. Being sent home meant days without a backup manager to help Elijah on the floor, and no one to help on the floor meant Elijah would realize there was a gap in their team. A gap in management. Mark had been the only floor manager in all the years Elliot’s had been open; Elijah had mentioned a few times that maybe they should hire another person, someone to cover if both Mark and Elijah couldn’t come in, but Mark had been vehemently against it. Elijah couldn’t hire another manager, because if he did, he’d see how truly unqualified Mark had been for his position all this time. Once he saw how unqualified he was, he’d be out on his ass. No job, no money… no second family. No place he truly belonged.

Mark’s face flushed, and he cast his eyes towards the floor. “Yes, boss,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good,” Elijah said, nodding. “Now, go collect your boyfriend and take him to bed.”

***

The first time Mark was sick while working at Elliot’s was well over a year into his tenure.

Elijah had regarded Mark with concern, clocking him as unwell the second he sat in the office. “You don’t look well,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Mark’s face had flushed, embarrassed; not getting sick for over a year working front of house was honestly a feat of accomplishment in the restaurant industry, but he still felt guilty for coming down with something, despite its inevitability. He shrugged, an attempt at playing it cool.

“I’mb okay, boss,” Mark croaked. “Just a cold.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You feel okay to work?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, confused. Did he look that unwell? “I mbean… yeah?” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“Well,” Elijah said, opening a drawer and pulling out cold medicine, along with a small bag that looked like it could’ve come from his mother’s medicine cabinet. “A cold, we can work with.”

The GM explained to him, then, that there were marked differences between the front of house cold, and the back of house cold. “You’ve seen Greyson sick at work a dozen times,” Elijah said, passing Mark a cup full of pills and a water bottle. “Right?”

“Sure,” Mark said, swallowing the pills around a painfully sore throat. “It’s ndot like he’s hiding it.”

“Right. Right,” Elijah said, popping open a stick that looked like – was that concealer? “The chefs, the cooks – they don’t have to hide anything. Us, though? No one wants to be served soup by someone with a stuffy nose. We all get the same shit, but only they’re allowed to look like shit.” He dabbed the concealer under Mark’s eyes, used an expert finger to blend it into his skin. “That’s the industry for you.”

“Are you… putting makeup on mbe?” Mark asked, laughing a bit.

“Sure am,” Elijah said. “A little concealer goes a long way in this profession, Mark. Concealer, and enough meds to tranquilize an elephant.” His boss closed the little concealer pen, put the medicine and makeup away. “I want you on the floor, but I want you to look… alive.” Elijah shut the drawer, shrugged. “Let me know if you start feeling really shitty. Otherwise? Come to the back to blow your nose, and feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in here.”

Mark blinked, a little confused, but grateful for the advice. Elijah seemed… almost fatherly, like this, and he could feel embarrassing tears welling in his eyes at this, the smallest gesture of being cared for. Mark looked down, cleared his throat. “Uh… okay, boss. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said, patting Mark’s knee. “We’ve gotta take care of each other in this hell hole of an industry, y’know?”

Mark couldn’t look up. The thought of his boss seeing him cry was entirely too much for him to handle. “Right,” he whispered. “Right.”

***

The hardest part of hiding an illness, Mark knew from experience, was speaking.

Putting on makeup and looking like a human instead of a corpse? Easy. He’d learned how to apply concealer so it didn’t look like he was in drag – just enough that in the dim lighting of the restaurant you couldn’t tell if those were dark circles or shadows. He’d learned if you added a tiny bit of blush to your cheeks, no one noticed that your nose was also red, and he’d figured out the hard way that there was never a world in which he needed eyeliner, even if it made his eyes look less bloodshot.

He always dressed immaculately when he wasn’t feeling well; extra-crisp button down, sport coat, his expensive Ray Ban glasses, not the cheapos from Zenni he usually donned. Mark shined his shoes the second he felt a tickle in his throat, broke out the cuff links if he suddenly sneezed more than thrice in a row. He’d been trained well by Elijah to hide the visual cues of any oncoming malady.

Hiding how he really felt came even more naturally; he’d been practicing that since childhood. Complaining wasn’t in his nature, or had maybe been stamped out entirely at some point – either way, Mark could be actively passing out, unable to breathe, coughing so hard he couldn’t form a sentence, and he wouldn’t even mention it. Of course, he’d been sent home from work for being ill before, but never once had he chosen to go. Even the thought of saying ‘I’m sick’ made him dizzy with unease. You need to work through that in therapy, Matt had said to him multiple times, and he knew it was true, but it was also helpful. In this industry, admitting defeat was akin to admitting you sucked at your job.

The voice, though? That was always what gave him away. No matter how much medicine he took, he could always hear the rasp that overtook his voice immediately. His m’s and n’s turned to rounded shadows of their former selves even if he blew his nose every five minutes. His timbre lowered considerably, to the point that when Matt first saw him sick he asked how it felt to be able to do a perfect Johnny Cash, but only when he felt like shit. It was a problem, but Mark was a pretty quiet guy in general. If he was quieter than usual, usually no one was the wiser.

That’s what he hoped – that his boss would be none the wiser – as he dressed in his perfectly-tailored suit that morning, stifling sneeze after painful sneeze into handfuls of tissue all the while. Just don’t talk, he thought as he dotted Maybeline under his eyes. No one has to know.

Of course, not talking was a bit… difficult when his boss was around. “Good morning,” Elijah called to Mark as he buzzed through the kitchen, trying to make his way into the dining room without having to make small talk. Dammit. Mark stopped, begrudgingly, and nodded at his boss, who raised both eyebrows at the younger manager’s outfit choice. “Is there an event tonight I’ve forgotten?”

Mark shook his head, straightened his tie. “Just felt like dressing up,” he said, tactfully avoiding words with too many nasal letters. “How’re you, boss?”

“I’m well,” Elijah said, pointedly. He patted the empty chair next to him, prompting Mark to sit; don’t let him get a good look at you, a voice in Mark’s head chastised. Don’t get taken off the floor. “Greyson’s not coming in till three, if you want to do your preshift report in here today.”

“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I like the dining roomb.” Fuck.

Elijah cocked his head to the side, but didn’t mention Mark’s voice. “How’s Matt feeling?” he asked, another pointed question.

“He’s okay – a little better. Said he’d be here at four.” Mark patted himself on the back for maneuvering around any pesky m’s or n’s that time. Elijah nodded slowly.

“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said, standing. The younger manager was several inches taller than his boss, but Elijah was still able to look him fairly closely in the eye. Once again, one word rattled around in Mark’s head: fuck. “How are you feeling?”

Mark allowed a smile to form on his rapidly-chapping lips. “Good, boss. Ready to work,” he said simply. God, he needed to clear his throat. And more than that, he really, really needed to blow his nose.

Elijah nodded. “Alright,” he said, apparently placated. “Go ahead, then.”

“Thanks, boss,” Mark said, stepping out of the office doorway and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors before Elijah could say anything else. He’d made it through the first test, somehow. Just in time, too, he thought, making a beeline towards the bathroom. Because I really fucking need to -

“NTSHH!” Mark stifled a near-silent sneeze into his wrist as he yanked open the guest bathroom door. Finally, locked in the bathroom alone, he allowed himself to be as disgusting, as sick as he really was.

“Hhuh -! Hh- ETZSCH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Huh… hh’RRSHH-ue!” Mark collapsed in on himself, scrambling to collect a handful of tissues so he wouldn’t ruin the sleeve of his suit. He blew his nose as thoroughly as he could – not that it made any difference, he was still stuffed up to the gills. A pathetic little cough escaped his lungs, prompting another tickle in his sinuses. “HUHTTSCHH-ue!”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chastised himself, blowing his nose again. He’s going to fucking hear you.

He waited a moment or two to see if Elijah would push through the door – he didn’t – before sitting fully clothed on the toilet and pulling out his phone.

11:56AM

Mark

what is this, the fucking plague?

Almost immediately, Matt texted back.

11:57AM Matt

o shit, did we get you already? baby im so sorry. u shouldve told me u weren’t feeling good last night u couldve stayed over

11:57AM Mark

not your fault. and I’m ok, just trying to avoid Elijah, he’s gonna be so pissed.

11:59AM

Matt

omfg he’ll get over it. its not like someone in that restaurant isnt sick every other week

Mark sighed, his lungs crackling at the effort. Matt was right; someone was almost always sick at Elliot’s, that was the way of things in this industry. They all shared drinks, they worked in close quarters, it was bound to happen. This was less about the illness itself – of course he’d been sick at work before, who hadn’t? - and more about the look he knew he’d see on Elijah’s face when he’d finally have to crack. He’d gone directly against his boss’s orders, had put his job and the restaurant second to his baser desires. That’s no way to get ahead in this world, his dad’s voice bellowed from the base of his brain. Mark shuddered; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Elijah’s look of pure disappointment. He wasn’t sure he had it in him.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Mark stood and washed his hands. He took an inventory of his face in the mirror – eye bags poorly covered by drugstore makeup, his nose raw and red, his mouth slightly open to allow him to breathe – and realized how truly awful he looked. Was there even a chance that Elijah didn’t know he was sick? Doubtful, his dad’s voice muttered.

You have to just try, another voice in his head pleaded. Just push through, you know how to push through. You’ve done it a million times before. He doesn’t have to know.

That voice, Mark knew, was delusional – a child’s gnawing plea to be accepted, to not get in trouble, to not be thought of as a burden – but he knew that sometimes you had to be delusional, had to listen to the saddest, smallest part of yourself to get through a day. He pulled his phone back out before leaving the bathroom.

12:04PM

Mark

just please don’t say anything to Elijah when you get here, ok? I’m fine, I promise. its honestly probably just in my head, it’s probably nothing so just don’t say anything. see u soon.

Pathetic, his dad’s voice spat, and Mark knew the voice was right. But that was nothing new, nothing to dwell on; he’d always been pathetic. Mark switched off his phone then, not wanting to be comforted by his boyfriend, and stepped onto the floor.

***

“Mark,” Matt said, reaching up to touch the front of house manager’s forehead, “you really need to go.”

Mark pulled away before Matt could touch him, though not by choice. “HRRSHH-uhh! Hh-! HhNTZSHH-ue! Snrrf. Leave mbe alone.”

Matt’s hand recoiled at the ice in his boyfriend’s voice, obviously hurt. Normally, Mark would’ve nearly fallen to his knees at the thought of hurting Matt’s feelings, but today, with the cold from hell progressing quicker than he ever could’ve anticipated, he couldn’t even find it in himself to apologize. Obviously he needed to go, but that would mean admitting to illness; it would mean begin taken off the floor until god-knows-when. It would mean Elijah replacing him.

No. He wasn’t about to go.

“Honey,” Matt said carefully, touching Mark’s hand across the expo board, “I’mb sure Elijah would understand. It’s a slow ndight, he already sent Greyson back home. What are you trying to prove?”

Of course, Matt was right; last night’s crazy shift was in stark contrast to this evening’s steady pace. There were hardly twenty more covers for the evening, and yes, even Greyson had admitted defeat and slunk out right at six p.m., in a fevered haze. The only reason Matt was still here was because his fever had broken this morning and, despite the lingering cough and stuffy nose, he was clearly feeling better. Good enough, even, to have gone behind Mark’s back and talked to Elijah.

“Matt told me,” Elijah had cornered him right before preshift started, in the back server station while everyone else ate family meal. Mark felt his stomach sink. Fucking Matt, he thought, clearing his throat to address his boss in the most normal voice he could muster.

“Told you what?” he asked, straightening his tie. Elijah gave the younger manager a knowing look.

“You don’t look like you feel well, Mark,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. This time, Mark’s stomach knotted; he felt, for a moment, like a little kid, wanting to fall to the ground in front of his mommy and just allow himself to be comforted. He thought for a fleeting moment of how good it would feel to just admit it; I’m sick, he would say, if he were a normal fucking person, I want to go to bed.

Instead, Mark shook his head. “I don’t kndow what Matt told you, but he doesn’t kndow what he talking about,” he managed, his voice cutting out only once. “I’mb fine.”

Elijah sighed. “Mark, listen, I know I was an asshole yesterday -”

“Boss,” Mark cut Elijah off. “Please. I’mb okay. Just please, let mbe work.”

He’d walked away then, hadn’t let Elijah say whatever it was he wanted to say, and had avoided Matt as well as he could throughout service. Now, mid-shift, when all the cooks and servers were side-eyeing them from he expo board, was not the time to hash this out.

“I’mb ndot trying to prove anything, Matt,” Mark said now, grabbing two plates from the window. “Just stay out of mby business. What table?”

Matt bit his cheek, peaked at the chit. “Please don’t be mbad,” he said, voice quiet. Mark prickled; he couldn’t help it. He was mad. He’d asked one stupid thing of Matt, and now here he was, career in trouble, embarrassed in front of both of their staffs, and once again gearing up for another painful -

“HTTSHH-ue! God, fugck,” Mark swore, ducking expertly away from the plates he was holding. He sucked in through his nose hard enough to make himself dizzy, and looked back at Matt. “What table, Chef?” he asked, pointedly. Matt winced.

“Thirty-three,” he said finally. Mark nodded.

“Great. Thangks.” He turned on his heels and pushed out the kitchen doors.

***

Before it happened, Mark found himself thinking exactly what his boyfriend was moaning the night previous: I’m gonna pass out, I know I am.

The only difference was, Mark was correct.

He’d been feeling shittier and shittier as the night went on. It began with spells of dizziness that came anytime he moved his head too fast, then moved on to an ache in his chest every time he coughed. A cold is one thing, he remembered Elijah saying the night previous. Whatever they have is entirely something else.

Elijah the prophet.

He kept pushing through. Plate after plate came out of the kitchen on his aching arms; he shook drinks while coughing into his shoulder, and sniffled his way through seating guests. Mark could feel Elijah’s eyes on him, though his boss refused to speak to him throughout the shift. I’ll show him, his fever-addled mind kept saying. I can do this. I’m fine.

It wasn’t until the last table had sat that his body well and truly told him he’d had enough. Mark was seeing stars when he grabbed a filet and swordfish, and once again he ignored it. He ignored the room swimming before him as he pushed out of the kitchen. He ignored the sway in his step.

“Shit, Mark!” was the last thing he heard, standing in the middle of the dining room with hot plates in each of his hands. There was no way to tell who said it – Elijah? Matt? – but it didn’t really matter, because before he could respond, his vision became a tiny pinkprick, his knees buckled, and the lights went out.

***

When the world came back into focus, he had somehow teleported into his bed.

At first, Mark tried desperately to get up; he’d fallen in the middle of the restaurant, that he unfortunately remembered immediately. There had been people around, guests watching, and he immediately felt his face flame with embarrassment. Oh, Elijah is going to kill me.

That was when he realized he was no longer in the restaurant. Mark placed a hand over an aching eye; was it all a dream? He looked down – no, it couldn’t be. He was still in his tailored suit, the tie and ciff links missing, but otherwise dressed to the nines.

“Whoa there, kid,” a familiar voice came from the doorway. “Go ahead and lie back down.”

Mark blearily glanced towards the voice. There, just outside his bedroom, stood Elijah, a steaming cup in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Fuck.

“Shit, Elijah, I’mb so sorry I ca – HTSHH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe,” Mark, any facade of health finally washed away, used his expensive suit jacket to wipe his nose. Elijah glided across the small room and sat on the foot of the bed, handing the younger man the cup. Tea.

“Save your breath,” Elijah said. “You already apologized about a hundred times at the restaurant.”

He had? Mark gave Elijah a confused look, and sat back on the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come to at the restaurant at all.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah said, nodding. “To me. To Matt. To the guests. To the EMTs. I would think you’d be apologized out.”

EMTs? Mark cringed; as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. He wanted to ask, but at the same time he figured it was probably better that he didn’t remember. Small mercies, he thought.

“Lij,” Mark croaked, taking a sip of the tea, “I really amb… sorry. I mbean, I can’t imagine how mbuch I embarrassed you. Thangk you for bringing mbe home… I understand if you can’t…let mbe, uh. Work there. Anymore.”

Mark, destroyed by fever, and aches, and what was probably some sort of bronchitis-sinus-infection super-fucking-hybrid, couldn’t help but let the angry, ashamed tears fall as he said it. Matt wasn’t here, which most likely meant he was out both a boyfriend and a job. You fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot, how dumb could you -

Elijah broke through the screaming in his head – he took Mark’s arms in his hands, placed his cup on the side table, and pulled him in for a hug. “Mark,” his boss said, “you really had us worried.” He pulled the younger manager back, concern painted on his face. “Of course you aren’t fired, I don’t know why you’d think that of me,” he said, a moment so raw that Mark felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You should’ve just told me you were so sick. So you could go and rest. I would’ve even let Matt go with you.” Elijah patted his knee then, and handed Mark back the mug. “It’s just a restaurant, Mark. You’re more important than service.”

Mark felt his eyes well up once again. Had anyone ever told him he was worth more than the work he did? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure, and that felt like an even harder gut-punch.

“I just…” he managed, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just didn’t wandt you to replace mbe. I’mb sorry for letting Mbatt get mbe sick.”

At this, Elijah actually laughed. “Mark,” he said, “you’re young. You’re in love; it comes with the territory. I was annoyed because Greyson and Matt are constantly getting everyone in that restaurant sick. I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He smiled then, a small and slightly sad smile. “I’m sorry if that’s how to came off.”

Mark didn’t know what to say; he felt awful, like he’d been hit by a semi, and he just wanted to sleep. See Matt. Apologize for being a dick. And sleep.

“Is Mbatt mad at mbe?” he croaked, pulling his legs into his chest. This time, Elijah actually laughed.

“I don’t think Matt knows how to be mad at you,” he said. “He’s just closing up the line; he was actually the one who brought you back here, but you were racked out so I said I’d come keep an eye on you till he got back.” Elijah shrugged, gave a little knowing smile. “He’ll be back soon. Okay? We don’t have to talk any more about this now. Just… try to sleep.” He patted Mark’s shoulder; a fatherly gesture from a man who claimed to know nothing about being a parent. “I’ll call Matt.”

Finally, finally, Mark conceded. He wanted to thank Elijah, or maybe apologize again, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words. Instead, he just nodded, grateful, and sank back into his pillow. He felt his eyes close, and allowed himself, for once, to let someone else take care of him.

He knew, maybe for the first time in his life, that he was safe.

[thatguywhofedme]

A lardy death to go

Chapter 1

The first experience

It was your first day on the job as a food delivery driver

You were excited for it and it was a job you needed, but you also heard about the horror stories a delivery driver could go through sometimes and you were expecting the worst

But you know there was also a good side to your line of work, seeing all the food you could get after work, getting to know your area more and especially when it comes to meeting new people, you never know what could happen and that was part of the excitement

Your first day went pretty well, you had your run of the mill customers (guy who doesn't tip, Karen's,etc.) But you had one final delivery that popped up and it was a big one, you had to park your car backwards at McDonald's just so you can fit the entire order in, then it was just a matter of following the gps

You thought it could have been for a party or something like a normal person would think, but my god you were wrong

You got in the driveway and realized that there was only one van parked in front of the house and thought it was weird but okay

You approached the front door and rang on the doorbell

You heard someone yelling "the door is uuuuff unlocked, you can bring it into the UUURRPP living room"

With that said, you opened the door and thought to yourself that the voice sounded out of breath just from talking which was odd to you

When you entered the house and went into the living room, that's when it all became clear to you

You saw someone sitting on their couch, demolishing what could have been the third kfc bucket and licking their fat finger after finishing the last chicken breast

"Aaaaahhh thank you for BOOOAARRPP coming in, I hate heaving my FFFFRRRRRHHHHHTTT fat ass from the couch to pick up my order"

It wasn't hard to understand why, with that fat face being lowered by a double chin that resembled a stack of pancakes, arms bigger than your own thighs, a belly that was resting between some jiggly, meaty thighs completed with a gigantic ass that was wider than the person who's on top of it

It was your first time seeing someone this big outside of sometimes watching "my 600lbs life", but you weren't hating it, on the contrary, you became really excited and horny by the sight of this behemoth

"Of course, the pleasure is all mine and I can understand not wanting to move after a good meal" you said after winking at them

They became flustered and started rubbing their big belly

"Well, I'm glad we can agree on this, but don't you think for a second this was a "good meal" for me, that was just an appetizer" they said giggling

"Well in that case, you better order up, we wouldn't want you to go hungry" you said as you slapped their belly

"I'll be back when you order something else, don't keep me waiting"

You left as they were completely in shock while being incredibly turned on, so much so they started digging into the order you just brought up and stuff themselves silly no matter how dirty they became

You got in your car and we're also in shocked, especially because of how you acted towards them, so confident, dominant and controlling

You kind of scared yourself a little, but you felt amazing and you couldn't wait for the fat whale to order more so you can tell them to eat up

Chapter 2

The routine

You became a regular at their house, delivering feast after feast each day for them to stuff themselves

You were also becoming an unabler to their diet, buying butter and lard to make the orders a "little" more fattening for your own pleasure

They told you they used to weigh 523lbs when they met you, but now, after 8 months, they were now at 612lbs, which they couldn't be more happy about

She explained to you what a feedee and feeder was after you asked them why they were willing to gain so much weight and that's when you realized you were a feeder And loving it

One night after finishing your delivery and realizing they were your last one, you decided to stay a little longer and see if you could feed them yourself

You opened the door and got into the living room where you saw them eating like the slobby pig they are

Their belly was enormous, almost reaching their ankle when they sat down

Their face has become even fatter, so much so they were now slurring their words sometimes because of how much they've grown

Their ass has become a new shelf, with packs of leftover food laying on it

Literally everything on their body has grown much fatter

"Heeeyy gorgeous… I'm sho happy to see UUUUURRPPPP your sexy ass in FFFRRRHHHTT aaaaahhh my living room"

Without saying a word, you go over and feed them the rest of their huge burger with some "small" sausages on the side

You didn't even wait for them to finish eating, you stuff bite after bite in their mouth whether their ready or not

You could hear them moaning and you also got a lot hornier as the minutes passed by

After the burgers, it was time for the sausages

"UUUUFFFF please, I'm…. not….. sure BUUUAAAARRRRRRPPPP I'll be….. able to finish all….. of this……"

"Listen carefully, because I won't say it twice

you wanted me as your feeder, you got it, you wanted me to personally deliver all your food, you got it

But now, I want you to finish everything I brought for you, otherwise, let's just say the food you see is not the only thing that's gonna go in your mouth, I found other ways of making you eat you massive pig !!!"

They couldn't believe how more dominant you have become and with what you said, you heard them almost yell, but realize they had just came on the sofa

"I'm sorry, did you just cum without me letting you ?"

They bit their lip and looked at you, face all red and sweaty with terrified eyes, they knew they had fucked up, even if they truly couldn't control themselves around you

"I…I…….yes i did"

You took the huge sausages beside them and began forcing them in their mouth one by one

"You better swallow every last one of them, you're already in for a big punishment, but I still want you to eat all of them you greedy pig"

Has they started to choke a little from the sheer amount you were putting in their mouth, their cheeks becoming so swollen they were turning red and with them struggling to breath, you knew you were doing the right thing for them to grow at the pace you want

After all the sausages have gone through their gullet, you saw them puffing just from having to breath because of how painfully stuffed their stomach was

"HUFFF…..HUFF…..HUFF….FUCK….ME……PLEASE…..FFFFRRRRRHHHHHTTT"

you heard them yell at you as they couldn't speak quieter then that from how exhausting it would have been

You took their meaty, jiggly, cellulite riden thighs apart as much as you could and lifted their gut up with a lot of effort, but when your head went in between, you knew they were going to get it tonight, they couldn't have all this fat to play with and not have someone fuck them senseless

When you started doing your thing, you felt perfectly at home, you knew there had to be more, more fat to love, enjoy, fuck and jiggle

You simply needed to make them fatter, even fatter than in your wildest fantasies and you knew they felt the same way

Chapter 3

Life goes on.... For now....

It had been a year ever since you fucked them senseless and in that time, you wouldn't have imagined what would happen afterwards

You didn't just deliver to their house anymore, you're now their caretakers and live in their house

Helping them with everything 24/7

It could be something as simple as helping them get up from the bed using the railings connected to them and the bariatric walker, going in the shower with them as they put their wide ass on the shower chair that was specially fitted for them while you take a sponge and wash in between their many, many rolls of jiggly lard, as well as letting them know their doing an amazing job as your fat piggy with a little "helping hand" from under their now almost unreachable fupa

Or it could also mean helping them with the oxygen tank they need to have with them at all times if they don't want to pass out from the exhausting movement that is moving their near immobile body from one room to another by changing the bottles when their empty

In any case, you're there to make sure they eat more each meal and get fatter by the hours

Speaking of which, you've grown darker with every pound they've gained and every fantasy they told you

From getting treated like a literal pig by never taking a shower, eating from a trough, doing everything on the floor form eating to fucking and making piggy sounds to being so fat, their heart struggles and hurts all the time and to suffocate the pain they can only open their mouth and let everything flow through to relieve the pain

As you were preparing their next feast, you were mesmerized by the enormous sight on the broken couch

They had grown so much ever since you became their at home feeder

Especially since the last bariatric scale you've gotten, which had a capacity of 750lbs said "error" while trying to weigh them a couple of months ago

They were finishing up their second cake by hand like the good piggy they were, and even that was getting difficult from them as their arms were becoming really heavy with all that fat hanging and their fingers becoming too fat to make any kinds of movement

Their flabby chest hanging on both sides of their body while their stretchmarks riden belly was touching the floor as they're cellulite covered ass was taking the entirety of the couch

They were always out of breath no matter what they did, with all that lard crushing their insides, you could understand why they had their cannula at all times, but that's perfect, you thought they look beautiful with their unhealthy look, bite after bite nearing another heart attack

Yes, I did say another, two months ago, while getting funnel fed a lard shake and getting fucked by you, they started to say how tight their chest was becoming as they swallowed the liquid, but as they were about to finish, they started to touch their chest where their heart was

"HONN..UUUURRRPPP..EEYYYY…..my heart….it'sh beating really….fassht….I think…..FRRRTTHHH…thish..ish….it……AWWWWW FUCK"

You weren't scared at all, ok the contrary, you took the tube out of their mouth, took the pizza nearby and started force feeding them while their heart was giving out

"YESSS, that's the moment we've been waiting for

EAT !!!! I want you to eat everything I give you no matter how bad it hurts

I want to see your heart pop as you take your last breath doing what you do best, stuffing your pig mouth"

You heard a moan escaping their mouth as they were clutching their heart, swallowing as fast as they could as you fed them with no signs of mercy

But after a while, they seem to have regained their composure and their heart wasn't hurting as much anymore

"HUFFFF….you know…..what…that meansh…?"

"What's that gorgeous ?"

"I'm not…..fat …..enough …yet…..feed…BOOOAARRPP……me….more…please

Feed…me….into my….early grave…like the slobby….mmmh…disgusting……piggy I am…..oink….oink"

From that day on, you've been even more unforgetful whit your feeding method

You've been putting weight gain powder,lard and melted butter in EVERYTHING

They were all but too happy to oblige and take everything you were giving them

You both knew there was no coming back, you had to make them so fat justovijg a little would cause some the risk of another heart attack to appear

You had to close those arteries and cover their heart in unhealthy coats of fat

You had to make them as unhealthy as possible no matter what it took

This is your piggy and the fun was just getting started

Chapter 4

The fatal one

As you walk through the hallway with your trolley with gallons of lard shakes, you realized how lucky you are of having the life you got

You're the caretaker to an immobile piggy who hasn't moved in a long time, their health getting worse by the day just the like you both want, it's gotten so bad that you had to fit a mechanized crane on top of them if you wanted to clean them or fucked them

Their health was now a mountain of obesity related issues

Ranging from at least type 2 diabetes, hypertension that as gone through the roof, multiple strokes a year which they called "ooopsies" which was the cutest name for them, their breathing was now so bad, the cpap was struggling to feed them fresh air

All in all, you've done an amazing job of feeding them without any restrictions and they did their part of keeping that belly packed to the point of exploding at any given time

You both knew they were certainly on the verge of having "the big one" as you called it as you entered their fully furnished bariatric room and looked at the display on top of them showing "1126 lbs" in bright red

"Hello there piggy, hope your ready for me to turn the feeding machine back on"

They could only blink as they couldn't really do anything anymore

Their body so completely engulfed by fat even talking was a restraint as the fat was pushing against their vocal cords and their arms were standing up, not because they wanted to, but because all the fat surrounding them was keeping them up with how much of the stuff there was

Their belly was so impressive it was spilling on both sides of their bariatric bed which was an achievement on itself

You've grown them to such an epic proportion even the bariatric bed was creaking just from how much weight there was to support

The bed's side rails had broken a long time just from the sheer force that was pushing on them when they tried to adjust themselves on the bed one last time before you both decided it was best to let the piggy themed face mask, which was both a feeding tube and an air cannula forcing as much oxygen as possible just for their lungs to feel something to work with, at all times to make them bloated at all times

You saw that the feeding tank was nearly empty, so you started taking the containers and pour the unhealthy liquid one after the other

You knew it was working when you hear a small moan coming front them meaning the flow was much better

After you were done, you sat on a nearby seat and started talking

"I know you don't have much time and you could die at any given times, which is why instead of being your bad death feeder, I wanted to thank you

Thank you for being your amazing self and becoming the fattest person to wanna eat themselves to death

Thank you for being the best feedee someone could ever ask for, you just kept on stuffing yourself no matter how hard it got or how bad it hurts,

But mostly, thank you for giving me this incredible opportunity, I couldn't have dreamed of a better life and it's all thanks to you

I love you and I'm by your side no matter what happens"

Tears started coming out and when you looked at them to see their reaction

They were also crying, their eyes getting red, the heart monitor going even faster

they were also trying to say something that was muffled by all the fat surrounding their face

You got up and told them

"Sorry baby, I couldn't hear you properly"

And in a very low whisper they said

'i…………..love …………..you………….too………."

You smiled, lifted their mask which hasn't been turned on yet and give them a passionate kiss

You were so happy in that moment and nothing could have changed that

But then, as the mask wasn't on them

They started to breath in an even more unsettling way

Their eyes started bulging as the hear monitor became ballistic with bpm's of 196 started showing

THIS WAS IT !!!!!!

You started the feeding machine back on and the lard began pouring again as they were truly struggling to stay alive, you were hornier than you've ever been and started straddling as much of their big belly as you could

Their face became reder and reder by the seconds, then it became purple with lard coming out of their mask as they struggle to swallow with what was happening

Until you saw the life in their eyes disappear and the heart monitor do a "beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee………" as you knew it had been fatal

Even as their body began turning white, you decided to let them machine on to finish the liquid

After 30 minutes, the tank was empty and the only part of their body with some color was their gut as you could see the redness of how bloated it was, but also surprised at the fact that it didn't explode from the inside

Unfortunately, after 9 years of being their feeder

it was all over

you were sad about it even if you knew this was coming a looooong time ago

You've lost them, but have accomplished your ultimate goal and their most important wish in life

feeding them to death

Chapter 5

Who's next ?!?

After what happened, you decided to go and not look back, not knowing what could have happened to you if you would have stayed until the police, medical crew and crane have arrived to lift their corpse out of their house

You kept it low key, out of the eye of anyone for 10 months, finding shelter in an old apartment building situated in a small town far away from where it all happened until you felt it was safe to go out again

You looked online for some news article about anything that could be related to you and them

Nothing ?

Surprisingly, no one as talked about it online, not even a news article

You were surprised but relieved at the same time

That's when you got out of your apartment and decided to go to the local grocery store for some supplies

You walked through the isles, looking for what you could have during the week

You were also reminiscing about your feedee while passing the lard on one of the shelves

You could never forget all the incredible experiences you've experienced while being with them

You smiled and chuckled remembering everything

Then, in one of the isle, your heart stopped

From the back, you saw a massive form on a mobility scooter, basket full of snacks and fattening food

You couldn't contain yourself from the sight of another morbidly obese person in front of you

It's been so long

You were craving it

The need to feed someone to another fatal heart attack

You found your next feedee and this time, you were going to make them even fatter

Even slobbier

Even more unhealthy

You had all the experience you needed and you were going to make this happen no matter what

This was the beginning to a new chapter of your life

You were more than ready for another piggy 🐽

[katerinaaqu]

The Humanity of Odysseus: Fear, Pity and Honor (an analysis based on Sophocles's "Ajax")

This analysis has been suggested/requested by my amazing friend @artsofmetamoor with whom we are dealing with various of projects, mainly W.I.T.C.H high fantasy related material! Please visit her profile and check her amazing art!

So as you see from various accounts and much more my recent analysis in regards to whether Odysseus is someone without actual essence of right or wrong, we have one of the few cases in which we have a more complicated Odysseus rather than the usual anti-hero figure we have in post-homeric tradition. Sophocles in his tragedy "Ajax" tells the story of Telamonian Aias, how he lost his sanity when he became furious that the armor of Achilles was not given to him. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Odysseus opens and closes the tragedy by being in both the first and the last scene. In the first scene we have one of the most hilarious (and daresay extremely modern even for today's standards) dialog between Athena and himself. Athena has just explained to Odysseus what happened to Aias and then proceeds to call him, earning this HILARIOUS reaction by Odysseus!

Odysseus: What are you doing, Athena?! Don't call him to come out! Athena: Easy there! (Lit: Hold up, or Keep your posture), are you taken over by cowardice? Odysseus: Don't, by gods! If you please, let him stay inside! Athena: What's the matter? Isn't he the same man he was? Odysseus: A man who was an enemy, especially now

(Translation by me)

Okay, other than the fact we have the absolutely HILARIOUS moment of Athena going in a "What are you? Chicken?" mode with Odysseus (which has me laughing to this day!) we also have an increasingly panicking Odysseus! From the moment he hears Athena go "Hey, Ajax!" from outside you can almost see him jumping out of his skin! We even have him go increasingly more panicked when he says "By gods, don't!" like the last thing he wants is to come face to face with a 2m tall behemoth of a man who not only has a personal grudge against him but also now he is mad and murderous. And his anxiety is also shown by some low-key homor he does even when Athena talks again:

Athena: Certainly isn't it the sweetest taunt, the taunt of one's enemy? Odysseus: For me is enough that he stays inside his chambers! Athena: Are you afraid to see the madman? Odysseus: I wouldn't be so terrfied of him if he were sane (Lit: If he were in fact, sane, I would lift my fear) Athena: But now he won't see you being present near Odysseus: How? If he sees with his own eyes?

(Translation by me)

Okay we have once more Athena being cheeky (like a very interesting trope) basically sayng "why? don't you want to laugh at your enemy?" and Odysseus answering with equal humor in a "thanks but no thanks!" manner! Like "nah I'll pass!" but I find it also interesting how honestly Odysseus speaks with Athena. If other people call him coward he retaliates and in fact most of the time he is prudent but now he is truly terrified and he is not afraid to admit that to Athena who, let's face it, knows his soul. He is so afraid to the point of forgetting that gods can do stuff humans find impossible and he even asks her how she would achieve that Aias won't see him. He doesn't ask if she will protect him. He asks HOW she'll do it! XD

Athena: I will darken his eyes so he won't see clearly Odysseus: Indeed, everything is possible when the gods are acting Athena: Then, be silent now and stay where you are! Odysseus: I'll stay: even if I'd rather be anywhere but here!

(Translation by me)

Honestly...I love this to no ends! Odysseus finding some composture in a "Oh! Right!" mode as he remembers it's Athena we are talking about, Athena basically be like "Shut up and stay still!" mode as if she talks to a dog and Odysseus whom I can so imagine mumbling that last part to himself is just an amazingly human roller coaster for Odysseus who even if he has the wits that all people would wish to have, he still is blocked by fear like everyone else. And then we have another amazing detail and scene here;

Aias comes out in all his mad glory, covered in blood of the sheep he killed and holding a bloody whip. Athena asks him questions and Aias answers how he ellegedly killed the greeks and how he captured Odysseus in his tent! He then proceeds speaking on the gruesome death he has in store for his rival, that he wil whip him to death (And again cheeky Athena inserting some dark humor like "Don't hit the poor man too hard!") She then turns to Odysseus as if expecting praise! She basically asks him "Well? What do you think of the power of the gods?"

And how does Odysseus respond?

Odysseus: Well, I don't know of anyone: however I pity him, the poor man, even if he is an enemy, for he is taken over by this devastating delusion. Neither do I think myself better than this purpose; I can see that we who live are nothing more than deaf shadows.

(Translation by me)

Not only does he recover from the shock and fear even after he heard all the horrendous things mad Aias wants to do to him but he now pities Aias; He knows he used to be a powerful dignified king who is now reduced to a shadow of himself in madness and he pities his condition but he also PUTS HIMSELF IN HIS SHOES! He sees that he as well can easily become him! He admits that he doesn't feel any better than him, that he is also weak before the gods and he even speaks on how humans basically are pointless, temporary existences on earth compared to the immortals.

Athena even closes the scenes with a threat. She threats Odysseus never to be blasphemous to the gods because the gods can do this and much more to a man. In a way we also have a foreshadowing or an "easter egg" of the Odyssey here. In a way that threat or warning coming out of Athena coming in place.

However his humanity for his elleged enemy doesn't stop there for later he is the only one of the offended party of greeks to actually insist upon allowing Aias to be buried with honor. I will not speak on the moments where he says some of the most iconic things like "I hated him when it was honorable to hate him" which was done by another tumblr creator @ilions-end here

The clip that this analysis talks about is not his unparalleled diplomatic nature but rather the humaity that we analize here. And some of the phrases he uses to put himself in Aias's shoes as well as the people who love him and want to see him get honors after death. One of the phrases he uses, which seems to reflect to the words he gives to his wetnurse Euryclea (you can see in my other analysis) in which basically he advises her not to take pleasure upon the face of death. Sophocles seems to place a similar word to his mouth here with:

Odysseus: Do not rejoice, Son of Atreus, to take benefit from something not good

(Translation by me)

Basically Odysseus here shows once more the other side of his; the need to be just to others. He advises Agamemnon that he should never be happy by taking revenge with an unholy act such as leaving someone without a decent funeral. Despite the fact that in Iliad for example in the heat of battle he often threatened to leave someone without a funeral, in reality here in a calm environment he realzes that one must be just before the gods. Despite the fact that Aias threatened to do unspeacable things to him, he seems to recognize not only his pain and misery but also the nobility of his spirit to which he feels sorry to see derranged like that. Odysseus KNOWS it is not noble or right to leave someone yet alone such an honorable man without a funeral and he knows the consequences of that act would anger the gods and make them become something they ellegedly should be looking down upon.

Odysseus advises against feeling joy with such type of revenge.

Of course one can argue that it would be for his own personal benefit as well to do some last act of kindness to the man that felt wronged by the decision to hand the arms of Achilles to him (and depending on the source seems that the anger was quite righteous). However it seems to me that it is his genuine drive to do it right at least in the end, in a way showcasing one more time the complexity of character in Odysseus; a man who often makes severe mistakes or even brings controversy to the table but at the same time he has a large fose of humanity inside him and a strong will to make things right

Quite frankly Sophocles is ranking as one of my favorite post-homeric sources for Odysseus's persona and inspiration apart from my top favorite Homeric version exactly for this reason. Because we can experience the many different human emotions of this character called Odysseus of Ithaca! In this one play we see Odysseus freeze in fear even his mind having trouble to work for a second in his worry, then he experiences pity and compassion for the man that had murderous intentions towards him and finally the final tribute to that said man; having surpassed all the previous carousel of emotions he experienced and finally seeing clearly what is the right decision to make.

But what do you guys think? Let me know! ^_^

[rottenpumpkin13]

Hey pumpkin, what do you think the zoos in ff7's world are like? Do they have behemoths, dragons and malboros or more like our world's zoos? We know they have cats and dogs and chocobos, but do they have cows, goats and other cattles too? WHERE DO THEIR MILK COME FROM

also, what's ASGZC's day at the zoo like? (Sorry if somebody has already asked this before)

I'm going to use the reasoning that if they have chickens, they also have cows and other cattle. Their zoos have regular animals, but also have creatures of their world, but in a controlled environment.

• Zack is so excited to see the tigers that he's wearing his tiger-print hoodie, and a baseball cap with I <3 tigers on it. He's SO HAPPY when a tiger runs up to the glass and starts scratching and jumping on it.

Zack: Look! Look! He likes me!

Sephiroth: Actually, the tiger might perceive you as a rival and is trying to engage in a confrontation to assert dominance within its territory.

Zack: .....

Sephiroth: Either that, or it's exhibiting predatory behavior with the intention of attacking and consuming you.

Zack: .....

Sephiroth: Or it could just be insulted by your hoodie.

Zack: Aww man.

• Cloud brought his camera with the intention to take as many pictures as possible to send back to his mom. Somehow he has the worst luck possible today.

Cloud, taking pictures: Look, these Nibel dragons are wrestling! That's so cool, I can't wait to show my mom. We've never seen them do that before.

Angeal: ......I don't think they're wrestling.

Cloud: ......dang it *lowers his camera sadly*

• Sephiroth is growing more and more concerned. Sure, he's killed a good portion of these animals in the wild before, but that was monster extermination and self defense. This is inhumane. These poor animals are locked in cages, stripped of their freedom, taken from their natural habitats, forced to perform and be a source of entertainment for a bunch of greedy onlookers.

• Genesis spends a good 30 minutes at the monkey exhibit trying to teach a flock of them (who were attracted by his red coat) how to put up their middle finger. He's pleased when one of the monkeys learn.

*The monkey sticks up his middle finger*

Genesis: Excellent!

*The flock of monkeys show their middle fingers to Genesis*

Genesis: ALAKSHSJAKA

• Overall they had a pretty good time! Time to get in the car and go home now. Angeal is in charge of driving, so he does a head count—There's Genesis with his ice pack after he infuriated a peacock who attacked him, Zack with his giant komodo dragon plushie that he plans on gifting Lazard, Cloud having a mental breakdown as he realizes that in all of his pictures, his finger is in front of the lens, and.....

Angeal: H-How—when did you—WHY?

*Sephiroth has a meerkat in his lap*

Sephiroth: I couldn't leave her there to suffer. I plan on taking her home and preparing her for reintegration into her natural habitat.

Angeal: I'm actually surprised you took just one.

Sephiroth: Don't be ridiculous, Angeal.

*Sephiroth takes a baby meerkat from his pocket*

Sephiroth: She's a mother.

[transformation4life]

Daddy Growth

"Become a real Daddy in minutes with Daddy Growth! Buy NOW!"

Those were the words that brought Dean to his local supermarket. Dean had been trying to bulk up for ages, but just couldn't no matter how hard he tried. The 22 year old was fresh out of college taking freelancing work in art and making it by but just barely. Dean was desperate for any quick solution to his muscle building problem and this product promised fast results he couldn't have driven faster to the supermarket than he already did.

"Is that all?" The cashier said to Dean as he put the bottle on the conveyor belt"

"Yea- WOAH!" Dean was shocked to see that the cashier was JACKED.

"Notice the guns? Pretty weird for someone like me to be working here yeah?" The cashier spoke with his deep voice

"Y-Yea.. a little... And how come they let you wear no shirt!" Dean was getting a little bit flustered as his attraction to guys was starting to show.

"Oh believe me, after this stuff came out dress codes got REAL lenient," He points at the bottle of Daddy Growth

"Wow... I didn't even really notice..." Dean twiddled with his thumbs.

"Don't worry about it, bud. Say... random question but are you a parent?"

"W-Wha? No... I'm only 22!" Dean was shocked to get asked that by a random person let alone a buff one.

"I see... yea good luck with that. Here's your bottle. Have a great day!" The man said with a wink giving Dean shivers.

Dean arrived home shortly after with the bottle in hand a little shaken by the whole experience, but was still determined this bottle will be the solution to all his problems. Dean carefully inspected the bottle instructions: Step 1: Open Bottle

Step 2: Drink bottle all at once

Step 3: Enjoy The Muscle!

Warning:sideeffectsmayincluderapidagingrealitychangingsuddenlybecomingaparentofabodybuildingsonlocationchangeandrealitychange

"Seems simple enough. I can't understand the warning though... Oh well!" Dean popped the bottle open and drank the whole thing in one chug.

"Damn... that was actually pretty refreshing... so now what..." Dean pranced around the room expecting something to happen but a couple minutes pass and nothing did.

"Is this a scam? Did i just spend 20 dollars on a drink? Hell why do I always fall for these kind of thi-" A jolt hit Dean as he clenched his head in pain.

Dean's body began to sweat at a rapid rate as his body began to grow. First to grow was his chest as they ballooned up into two massive clashing meat mounds with sweat adorning their surface. Next to change was Dean's stomach as a sexy set of abs popped in with the sweat making them glisten. Soon after Dean's arms became behemoths in size both having large biceps and triceps and... veins with an accompanying back widening and shoulders prop up! That marked the end of Dean's button up as a loud *rip* led the shirt to fall to the floor. As the shirt fell it was beginning to change. The buttons fell off as the sleeves rescinded and the shirts blue became a white with a black rim until it was the perfect bodybuilder tank top. Letter by letter the words "Better Bodies Gym Issues" appeared with the change finished right as it reached Dean's feet.

The top of Dean's body had their fun so it was the lower half was ready to grow with the thighs as thick as chickens and godlike status were already forming on his legs. Dean's feet growing by a couple inches whole too good thing he wasn't wearing any shoes. Unlike his shirt dean's bottoms held on pretty tightly before becoming elastic and breathable shorts as a direct cut sliced his pants right above his now thick knees as the rough material became more free. The leftover material wrapped around his feet becoming a nice pair of blue and black shoes with the laces tied tightly. Everything about Dean had changed besides his head, but not for long.

The main change began as Dean's body began to age. Wrinkles forming in the face and general gruffness that definitely didn't suit the 22 year old as he became someone in their late 40's as derek gained some stubble and his hair flattened and became slicked to the side with some gray hairs here and there as well. Dean couldn't speak through the whole ordeal as the pain in his body was too much, but it was finally over... right? WRONG

Dean's room morphed into a busy gym in a flash as the pain subsided little by little. Dean was able to snap back to reality as he now realized he wasn't in his room anymore and he was sweating like a bullet... on a workout bench? Dean couldn't even speak as a gold necklace with a cross wrapped itself around Dean's thick neck signifying the end of the changes.

"W-What... happened... to..." Dean couldn't process what just happened. How did he get at the gym and why did he feel sweaty.

Just then he felt something move. It was his new pecs... bouncing.

Dean looked down to see his new BIG and MEATY body in complete dumbfoundery. The drink actually worked. He became a "daddy"! Dean immediately stood up and flexed to the nearby mirror.

Dean looked great and he KNEW it. He did every bodybuilder thing under the book. Flexing, pec bouncing, and touching his muscles. the works and Dean loved every second of it. He felt like a new man!

The fun had to end though when someone walked up to Dean with a look that definitely wasn't friendly.

"Dean. What are you doing here?" It was a sterner older man not dissimilar to one Dean met at the store.

Dean wasn't sure what to say and just looked at the guy and spoke nothing.

"That's all you got to say to me? Your SON has been looking for you!" Wait... Son? Dean didn't have a son, let alone sex! How did he-

"Not to be rude sir, but I don't have a son I just drank this potion and-"

"Don't sir me, young man! I am your TRAINER. Now take off your tank top that shit is too sweaty to show your son!"

Dean not wanting to be rude to his "Trainer" reluctantly removed the tank top in order to satisfy him.

"Now put this on!" The trainer holding a tank with the word Evogen surrounded by stars.

Dean put it on and when he put it on he felt... comfortable in it. Almost like he's been wearing it for the past ten years. Like he...

Suddenly a whole slew of memories came flooding into Dean. Firstly being the 20+ years of life now under his belt, his years bodybuilding, and of course his son. Daniel. Dean always loved how the rascal took after him ever since he was young.

"Wait... no I don't-" Dean fought against the memories but when he saw the spitting image of his son in his mind dancing just like how Dean remembered he would, he felt at ease he somehow helped brought someone into this world.

Xander was a lot like his father. A bodybuilder and knew when to have fun. Dean was proud of him more than any father could ask for.

"Feel better now?" The trainer he now remembered as his longtime friend Ron.

"I'd say... yeah," Dean giving his pecs a firm lift.

And right on cue came Dean's just as big son.

"Hey pops," Xander was sweating from presumably a workout.

"Son! Good to see you! How's... Maria?" Dean randomly blurted out the name, but somehow knew it was related to his son.

"Oh, she's doing great! I'm so glad you were so accepting me being straight dad, you know how you can be sometimes?

"Know how I can be sometimes? What do you mean oh son of mine?" Dean said in a cocky manner before getting into a dance.

"That's what I mean dad! Anyways... ready to workout?" Dean almost already forgot he was supposed to be working out with his son.

Wait... what just happened? How did this all happen? Dean didn't realize that none of this was normal. First he become buff and older and not to mention has a child??? That's not normal in the slightest. Even with the new memories he still he had his old ones, the ones where he was skinny and scrawny and lived in a shoddy apartment, but he also had the memories of his kid and living in a big house. The mix of memories was getting to his head, and yet when he saw his new life and now body... he was fine with this. All this. He's never been a parent, but it won't hurt to try! And this BIG body is a huge bonus Dean can't complain at all. Now the real question is who did he fu-

"Dad? You good? We should head to the machines!" Xander looking at his father with confusion

"Oh! Sorry my boy, just lost in thought. Let's get to work!" Derek gave a confident flex to his son.

"Well I'll see you two later. Have fun!" Ron promptly left to help out other bodybuilders.

This new life was gonna be a bit hard for Dean to adjust to and Dean knew that and his old life was over but he was ready to start anew in exchange for this sexy body.

And so the new Dean waddled his way to the workout machines with his new son and looked as hot as hell doing it. He was a real Daddy now!

[littlesmartart]

DRAWTOBER #26 - Baba by @crownofpins

Deep in the wilds, mysterious things wander through the lands on mysterious trails. Dracula isn't the only legend that walks their earth. In stumbling across an abandoned village that seems too good to be true, Trevor stumbles across himself, too. Lucky for him and the lives of the countrymen riding on his success, Alucard and Sypha are there to pick him up.

I think most people in the fandom probably know of this absolute beautiful behemoth of a fic, but I couldn't rec Castlevania stuff without mentioning it. I marathoned it over one weekend and came out of it like robin williams in jumanji. I think it fundementally altered my brain. the ot3 getting heckled by sentient multicoloured chickens really isn't a great representation of what the whole thing is like, but it DOES happen. if you have the time to delve into this, I CANNOT recommend it it enough. it's creepy! it's spooky! it's beautiful! it's terrifying! it's utterly wonderful and hilarious and brilliantly written. and yes, I cannot draw chickens. please forgive me.

[perpetuallyconfuzzled]

TFONE - Next time

"No, I did it for us" Orion is so glad that speaking before thinking is working in his favor for once because the sting of guilt that just shot through his spark at how surprised and touched Dee sounded was going to eat him up alive especially as he meets the other mech's hopeful optics. 

I am still kinda new at writing and I honestly had this one gathering dust for months but JUST got the time to clean it up to post (I was also chickening out constantly so JAAAAA;;;;;;;;;;) so here have my horrid little fluff(?) of Optimus making the biggest fumble in Cybertron's known history

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city was loud, louder than it had been in Primus knows how long, and then some, and Pax was going to take advantage of it to the fullest.

The day before had been hell on wheels, nothing really going according to plan and just going from bad to worse; He hadn't been able to check on Jazz again or face the rest of the team after what happened with Elita, especially knowing that, if he were given the choice, he would have done it again. 

But frag it! He wasn't here to remember that, he needed to clear his helm. After this was done, he would be able to face them all again with a head held up high, knowing their sparks would be soaring in hope. This was the day to show all of Cybertron who they were and that no matter if you were born with or without cogs, anyone can make a difference and change the faith of their people!

Orion navigated the crowd with relative ease, optic sharp as he looked around for the promised opening he KNEW would lead them to the arena "Come on, come ON" he looked over at Dee every once in a while, vaguely paying attention to his friend's rambling, probably something about the race and who he was hoping would win Dee hasn't stopped talking about it since they woke up.

"-and with Behemoth on the race you KNOW it will be AMAZING, they have been one of the toughest speeders in the last few cycles! With the redoubling of the mine shift I haven't been able to see much of him anymore but I am sure he'll easily make it to the top 10 or maybe even win-" Orion chuckled as they kept walking to the stadium, his friend was practically glowing with delight and sang Sentinel's praises between each step they took, thankful for the Prime rewarding them all for all their cycles of devotion and sacrifice. Orion walks and listens, and for a second he gets swept with the current, just happy to follow along with Dee until his eyes finally catch the opening he has been looking for.

BINGO

"I have a surprise for you"

"Wha- Where are you going? The stadium is that way!"

"Yeah, yeah I know... Follow me" Pax moves to the side, not needing to look back to make sure if Dee is following or not. No matter how much he grumbled or bemoaned his shenanigans Orion knew Dee was always a few steps behind him; besides, he was already occupied watching out for the turbines "Pull up!" The current throws him off for a second as he held on to the handles at the left of the tunnel, making sure his friend was able to hold on and stand back up once the coast was clear to continue "Get caught in one of those and it'd launch you halfway across the city"

"Okay? But where are you taking me?"

Orion can't hold back the mischievous smile that breaks out, Dee is going to FLIP when he sees it, he can't wait to see his face! "Don't be a glitch, this will be totally worth it! Trust me" and once he wins him over with this there is no way he can say no!

"Hey, you don't be a glitch!" Orion opened the grate at the top of the stairs, looking around and making sure the place was as unprotected and deserted as it always had been 'Perfect, no one is here!'

"I know this is fun for you like, joking around-" Pax holds in a chuckle as he steps aside for his friend, ooooh this was going to be great "but if you make me miss ANY part of the IACON 5000 I swear I will smelt your-" 

Primus, he finally noticed

"-face right off..." and he lost him, he wasn't sure if he should laugh at how dumbfounded Dee looked or pay any attention to the warm swelling of pride inside his chestplate knowing he made D-16 lose all his words. 

The more he stared outside the brighter his optics burned, like that of a sparkling exploring Iacon for the first time, he was mesmerized and the larger Dee's smile grew the harder it was to ignore the burning joy dancing around his spark, he was going to love his plan! "Look- LOOK! There's Thunderglide and BEHEMOTH"

Hearing the other's, usually more calm and otherwise sarcastic, tone morph into one so full of genuine happiness was amazing. He really liked it!

"This. Is. UNBELIEVABLE!"

He can't help but smile just as broadly as Dee, his joy was just so contagious! And how can he not when the mech sounds way too cute when excited... Would Dee kill him if he said that out loud-

"It feels like I'm in the race"

And he is IN femmes and gentlemechs, The bot is on our side!! Okay, it's now or never Pax, Dee has always been pretty emotionally driven so if he is in a great mood, there are close to no plans he won't participate in! He just has to give him the jetpack now and explain what to- 

"You did this... for me?"

I-

Oh

"No, I did it for us" Orion is so glad that speaking before thinking is working in his favor for once because the sting of guilt that just shot through his spark at how surprised and touched Dee sounded was going to eat him up alive especially as he meets the other mech's hopeful optics. 

Orion lifts his fist with (what he begs all primes ever created it to be) a relaxed reassuring smile as he hides away the light panic rattling inside his helm and Dee, ever trusting and ever loyal, meets his fist with his own, smiling with such a goofy, genuine, happy smile it was impossible to look away while his spark stabbed at him once more. That was the smile of someone who trusted him to not lie about this not being another scheme or another misadventure, of someone who just wanted to spend a well-deserved break with his best friend and watch something fun before heading back to work the next day, of someone who fully believes that even after everything there could never be any deception behind such a sincere (bordering on intimate!) act.

... but there was no lie, right? It really was for them, all of them, he wasn't exactly lying to him! This was for Dee to finally see himself as someone who should be able to be whatever they wanted to be and for all the miners to be free of their oppressive and brutal routines.

He'd see, they would all finally see that they are more than meets the eyes (and if a small voice that sounded eerily similar to Dee's whispered with a twinge of hurt 'You are a liar Orion Pax' he pays it no mind)

His mind quickly picks up on Sentinel's speech and he mumbles a soft curse (Frag, since when has he been there?) as he starts paying attention to the prime above them, he can worry about how Dee will or will not hate him later this was important! This was their only chance to show Iacon and Sentinel Prime that they could help out, that there had to be a way to let bots be more proactive with their own lives instead of having the miners waste away between the rubble and scraps of Energon.

Orion examines Dee one more time as the other stares at the Primes of old with reverence, his goofy bright smile replaced with a more solemn frown as if he were in the presence of the actual Thirteen. There is a fire on his optic Orion only sees whenever the other speaks about Megatronus Prime before going back to the spark of joy he had before, the mech really couldn't wait for the race to start and-  and for a moment Pax falters once more.... is he really going to do this? He knows Dee is always cleaning after him and saving his aft from every disaster he drags him to-

"Racers"

This is not the first time he has done something like this and it won't be the last-

"On your marks!"

Besides, Dee is going to love it! Once he is soaring into the skies and gets to meet that Behemoth or Thunderglider guy he would know it was a good plan!

"I can't believe we get to watch from the starting line-" 

This is for all of us, everyone is counting on them now, and there is no turning back.

"The best seats in the house-... why'd you bring jetpacks?"

He'll make it up to him next time. Definitely. Next race they'll sit back here and watch, no adventure, no trick, just the two of them like Dee wanted.

"Get set!"

Next race for sure, but not this one.

"It's time to show them, we are more than meets the eyes"

And those golden eyes grow dull again, the smile vanishes into a frown and for some reason, Pax feels his spark drop painfully when it does.

"Oh no"

It's not angry or sad, it's not even exasperated, he sounds... disappointed, almost defeated.

But it's alright, he'll make it up to him, 1000% 

Next time, promise.

But right now they have a race to win.

[hyperfix-wip]

Webbed Together

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Author's Note: Credit goes to @the-kr8tor for their original characters Ramona and Billie. I also want to thank @pinksugarscrub as my beta reader!

Tags: Parent Trap!AU, Dad!Hobie AU, Twin!AU, Billie and Ramona!AU, Older!Hobie, Mom!Reader, Older!Reader

Chapter 3: First Meetings

<<< Chapter 2 Chapter 4>>>

Laughter echoes against the cobblestone walls as campers rush into the mess hall and line up at both sides of a large central buffet table. Tides of hands reach out to piles of food lined up along the long table– plates of hamburgers and hotdogs, containers filled with chicken nuggets and fries, cling-wrapped sandwiches and burritos, and everything in between. Sweet treats also await for the hordes of children– fudgy brownies, frosted sugar cookies with rainbow sprinkles, custardy pudding cups– while platters of fresh fruits and vegetables remain barely touched in the sidelines. 

A beaming Billie eagerly grabs at a plastic-wrapped sub sandwich before stacking it along the small mountain on her plate, carefully balancing the heavily growing tray with one hand while her free one wiggles her fingers in anticipation for another morsel of food to pique her interest. Annie stands right beside her with her own tray, staring at Billie’s behemoth of a plate with a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“Are you seriously going to eat all that?” Annie blurts out as she looks up at the taller Billie, who only grins wider as she snatches a brownie.

“Oh c’mon, I’m Hank Marvin!” Billie giggles, her eyes lighting up as her nimble fingers grab at a sugar cookie. “Haven’t eaten in hours since I got here! My dad always told me to tuck in and take advantage of all the all-you-can-eats whenever we have the chance to go out–”

Billie’s eyes nearly bulge out when she sees a lunch lady set down a tray of the most immaculate macaroni and cheese she’s ever seen– creamy, bubbling yellow cheese hiding underneath the golden-browned breadcrumbed top, steam wafting from the tray with the baked cheesy smell tantalizing her nostrils– and a shuddering gasp hitches into the poor girl’s throat at the sight.

“Bloody hell, I’m in love.”

“Jesus Christ, dude–”

While Billie nearly floats towards the middle of the buffet table with Annie following along with a snicker, Ramona approaches from the opposite side. Her long fingers reach out for a chocolate pudding cup before another set of fingers accidentally brushes against hers. Her hand flinches away as she glances up to her side, and her eyes meet a frantic boy quaking before her.

“Uh, I– uh…”

Ramona stares at the boy with a furrowed brow before grabbing the pudding cup and sets it down on his tray.

“You can have it,” she reassures him with a sheepish smile. “I can get something else.”

The boy’s pale face flushes red as she looks away from him before he snaps out of his stupor and follows her lead. “You’re, uh, you’re in the jazz ensemble program here, right?”

Ramona glances back at him with a quirked eyebrow before nodding along self-consciously. “Uh yeah, for bass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ramona furrows her brows at the boy, who flushes harder and panics. “I-I mean– I mean, I know be-because I’m in the program too! I just– I’m in the brass section, and I just happened to see you at the front with a bass, and I didn’t think this year’s bass player would be a girl– Not that I think it’s weird! I was just surprised, ‘cuz it’s normally one of the counselors playing, and…”

The boy shrinks down in front of the taller Ramona as he trails off, fingers fidgeting with the indents on the plastic tray. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m not trying to be weird or an asshole…”

A soft huff of laughter slips through Ramona’s lips while she grabs a water bottle from the table. “It’s okay, I get it,” she quietly waves him off with an understanding smile. Her face then scrunches up slightly for a moment, hesitation flickering in her eyes, before she glances back at the boy.

“...I’m Ramona, by the way.”

Ramona struggles not to squirm as the boy stares at her with a dropped jaw, but he soon relaxes with a relieved smile. “I’m Arnold.”

The two finally relax around each other as they start to talk and continue down the line, with Ramona slowly approaching the middle of the table. At the same time, Billie heads to the same direction from the opposite side, her eyes dead-set on whatever else is available while her hand grabs for a carton of apple juice. Both girls continue to shuffle along the table until they stand directly next to each other, unaware of each other’s presence. Just as they are about to turn their heads and see each other, one of the counselors steps between them with a plate of her own.

“Excuse me, girls!” The chipper elderly counselor chuckles as she grabs a large spoon. “I just got to have a scoop of these pineapple pieces.”

The counselor carefully shoves the spoon into the large bowl filled with the bright-yellow chunks and scoops them up before holding it out to the unsuspecting Ramona. “Would you like some, dear?”

Ramona looks up at the woman and shakes her head with a sheepish smile. “Oh, no thank you, ma’am. I’m allergic.” Ramona then gives a parting nod before walking off with her tray and her new-found friend.

“Oh, well, too bad.” The counselor then turns to Billie, who just shoved a slice of watermelon into her mouth, and holds the spoon out to her. “What about you, dear?”

Billie swallows her mouthful, her tongue quickly licking off some of the juice off the corner of her mouth, before she looks up at the elder. “No thanks, ma’am. Wish I could, but I’m allergic.”

“Oh yes, dear, you’ve told me that alrea–”

The counselor does a double take at Billie, her eyes wavering in confusion as her face pinches up. “How– how did you get there?”

Billie looks at her with the same look of confusion before shrugging it off and walking away with Annie, all the while the counselor shakes her head with a chuckle.

“Oh well, you’ll have to excuse the ol’ gal, first day of camp and all. At least I’m not adding salt into the sugar shakers– no, no, wait, it’s actually sugar in the salt–”

As the counselor turns back to where Billie was, her eyes almost bulge out when she meets with a different camper, who looks back at her with a puzzled scrunch on his face before walking off, leaving her alone and more perplexed than before.

----

Arnold's a cool guy, Ramona thinks as she glances over at him fidgeting with the piston valves on his trumpet. After their encounter in the mess hall, the two have started to hang out after their jazz band rehearsals, finding kindred spirits in each other. Right now they’re sitting under a towering oak tree with their instruments, away from some of the other kids playing. Arnold cringes at the sight of growing sweat stains on the other kids' clothes, preferring to stay under the shade and not burn under the sun.

Ramona doesn’t mind, though. She prefers his awkward small talk from the other kids’ clique-like attitudes anyway.

“So your mom actually made that sweater?” Arnold asks in awe as his eyes land on the small pops of red knit cherries lining along Ramona's sweater.

Ramona glances up from her bass guitar, a shy smile curling up on her lips while her eyes light up with pride. “Yeah, this was actually one of the first things she made.”

She adjusts her bass on her lap, the sunshine beaming through the foliage of the large oak tree. “She’s been making clothes for a long time, since highschool I think? She’s been doing a lot of freelance commissions for a lot of people recently though.”

Arnold nods along as he unscrews the mouthpiece off his trumpet to clean it. “So like a part-time fashion designer?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Ramona shrugs before propping her bass on her lap again. “I mean, she has a clothing brand, but it’s not like those fancy designer ones. There’s more for everybody, I guess.”

Her nimble fingers deftly position themselves along the fret and strums, and alow chord reverberates in the air. She then reaches up to one of the tuning begs and twists them before strumming again. “Her designs are so cool though, especially when she’s working with my uncle, who’s an artist based in Brooklyn. He'd sketch out one of his–”

THWAK!

Arnold flops back onto the ground and lands on his back while a volleyball bounces and rolls away from them.

“Arnold!”

Ramona quickly sets her bass down as she crawls up to her friend in a panic. “Oh my god, are you okay?!”

Arnold only groans as he rubs his forehead before an obnoxious laugh rings out nearby.

“Oh man, that was a loud smack!” A stocky boy laughs at a nearby volleyball court. Some of the other kids around him try to turn away and stifle their snickers.

Ramona bristles at the laughing kids as she helps Arnold up, her chest burning and swelling up to yell at them.

An angry British girl’s voice rings out soon after.

“Oi! Why the hell are you laughing, you daft idiots! You just hit somebody!”

Billie hollers at the kids on the other side of the court, her face pinched up into a dirty look. “Benny, you bollock, you better hope a ball doesn’t knock your fat head off your neck!”

She then jogs up to the duo with an apologetic frown as she picks the volleyball off the ground.

“You alright, mate?” Billie asks with a furrow in her brows. “ ’m sorry about those arseholes. Annoying lot, ain’t they?”

She shuffles her feet and lowers her head in regret despite not being the one at fault. “Your head’s hurting, innit? You need help going to the infirmary?”

Ramona lets out a grudging sigh before she finally looks away from Arnold and at Billie. “If you can, do you think you can pick up his stuff from the ground and follow us? I can help him walk–”

As soon as Ramona meets Billie’s eyes, they both freeze at the sight of each other. Dark curly tresses, deep-set brown eyes, darker complexion, tall and lanky stature– no matter how they look at it, they're nearly identical to each other. As they continue to stare at each other in disbelief, Arnold quietly groans as he looks up with a pinched up face.

“Ramona, I’m fine, you can let me go now–”

Arnold nearly snaps his neck as his eyes double-take at Billie, his jaw dropping and his eyes bulging out. He then looks back at Ramona as his face pales.

“...Ramona, is it just me, or do I see two of you in front of me?”

Ramona finally looks away as she looks down at her injured friend, her face scrunching up with shock and worry. Billie snaps out of it soon after and starts picking up Arnold’s trumpet, screwing the mouthpiece back on before putting it in its case and picking it up. She then grabs the bass and slings it over her shoulder before helping Ramona carry Arnold.

“C’mon now,” Billie mutters out to Ramona, “we can’t dally from this right now. Gotta getcha friend checked up first, alright?”

Ramona hesitantly looks back up at Billie before she finally nods. The two girls then carry Arnold over to the nearby infirmary, ignoring the giant elephant in the room for now.

----

British Phrase of the Chapter:

Hank Marvin - Starving (Cockney). Reference of 1960's-1970's British guitarist Hank Marvin.

Reference: https://www.businessinsider.com/british-slang-that-will-confuse-anybody-who-didnt-grow-up-in-the-uk-2017-11#hank-marvin-44

[rejectedbytheempty]

from the dirt we rise, ch. 3

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.2k

cw: misogynistic language

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

masterlist

when you got upstairs soap had already set your bags in a spare room, though you noticed that they hadn’t been snooped in, probably ghost’s doing.

nathan was sitting on the bed huffing loudly, having thrown his luggage on the floor in exhaustion after going up the stairs. he didn’t say anything, just gave you a glaring side eye and went back to his huffing and puffing. the room was.. nice? like genuinely nice.

it seriously could be a picture on some teenage girl’s cottage core bedroom inspo pinterest board. which is not something you thought you’d ever say about an adult man’s decorating style. he had delicate flower print bedsheet, sheer curtains with lace trim, an antique dresser, and cream colored wallpaper.

“this room is nice, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

nathan just glanced at you, “it’s creepy. and this bed is too hard.” you just rolled your eyes when he turned back to go through his luggage to grab his phone.

“right, well, i’m going to head downstairs, help them get dinner ready. you can stay up here, if you want.”

nathan just grumbled an affirmative, his eyes glued to his screen. you made your way down the creaking stairs, now quite sure that you

couldn’t get a drink of water in the middle of the night without alerting the whole house.

“how’s the room for you? need anything?” john asked, hearing you coming around the bend to the kitchen.

“it’s beautiful, actually,” you said, a grin on your face.

soap laughed, “didnae peg the big guy to be an interior decorator then?”

you shook your head, “no, actually, i didn’t.”

john just waved johnny off, “i’m not an interior decorator, i just had some stuff laying around the house, you know?” when he turned around to grab a towel off the counter, johnny gave you a pointed look as if to signal that he was only telling a half-truth.

you giggled slightly, then muffled it behind your hand when john turned back around. he eyed both of you apprehensively but returned to the stove.

“what are we making for dinner?” you asked.

“i was thinking potato soup, if that’s alright with you?” john asked, pulling a sack of potatoes from beside the door and hefting them onto the counter.

“is there anything i can do to help?” you asked.

“och, no, cannae make a lady such as yerself get her hands dirty” soap said, making you laugh again, blushing slightly.

“you can help peel the potatoes?” john offered. you nodded, taking a knife from him, then picking up a potato, you started peeling along with price and soap.

“where’s simon, by the way?” you asked, suddenly wondering where the masked behemoth of a man had gone. it’s strange how well he was able to disappear since he was such a big man, seems like it’d be the opposite. though, you suppose, that was his job for however many years, hard to break the habit of being stealthy.

“he’s checking on the animals for me” john answered. he and johnny were going noticeably faster than you, and you tried to pick up the pace.

“animals? you mean you have some here at the farm?” you asked. “some chickens, a few pigs, and a couple cows”

he answered, “if you’d like, i can show you around tomorrow morning?”

“that’d be wonderful! tha- shit!” you cried out as your knife slipped and you sliced deep into your hand.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, i’m so sorry” you said, cradling your hand to your stomach, watching helplessly as blood rushed to the surface of the cut.

“hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for” john said, rushing to your side with a towel, taking your hand in his and pressing the towel onto your hurt hand.

“i’m gonna get the first aid kit” johnny said hurriedly as he rushed off into the other room.

the room spun slightly, and you wobbled into john while trying to keep yourself steady, “sorry” you muttered.

“it’s okay, stop apologizing” he said gruffly, leading you to the couch. you sat down and he maneuvered your other hand on top of where his was a second ago, “keep pressure on this, alright?” you just nodded, deciding to focus on holding the towel rather than the faint ringing in your ears. you closed your eyes, willing the nausea to go away.

after a while of keeping pressure on your wound, john found it okay to take it off as the bleeding had ceased. johnny brought over the kit, which was a metal box with a red cross symbol on it, and a bottle of whisky.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “what’s that for? cleaning the wound?”

johnny laughed and shook his head, “it’s for yer courage, lass, dinnae wanna waste a good whisky on yer hand.”

he fished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the metal box and showed it to you, “this is for cleaning the wound, aye?”

you just looked to john who nodded, “he’s right. the cut is big enough that we’ll probably have to stitch it up, and i find that it’s better when your senses are a bit dulled.”

he grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and walked back over to pour the whisky. he offered it to you, “i’m not gonna force you to take it, but i think it might do you some good.”

you hesitated for a moment and then grabbed the drink from him. you paused for a moment and then threw it back, the alcohol hitting the back of your throat. you coughed at the sensation, making both men laugh.

“good, ain’t it?” johnny said with a toothy grin.

you grimaced but nodded, “strong” was all you could get out.

“now’s the hard part, you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?” john said, sinking to your level, his dark brown eyes had softened as they looked in yours.

you swallowed thickly but nodded, “yes, sir.” he smiled softly and started opening the bottle of peroxide.

“ye want to hold onto my hand, bonnie?” you looked to johnny, who had sat beside you on the couch with an outstretched hand. wordlessly, you took his hand with your unharmed one and squeezed it appreciatively.

soap maybe regretted his offer after john poured the peroxide onto your hand, finding the tips of his fingers had gone bloodless from you squeezing the life out of him. he seemed to be having a worse time of it than you, he was barely holding back numerous curse words from spilling out.

“see? all done” john said as he gently dabbed at the wound. you nodded weakly.

“you’re doing so good,” he said in a softer voice, brushing your hair behind your ear. it was actually embarrassing how quickly that made you flush. “stitches next, alright? you need to take a break or anything?” he asked. he looked so earnest, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time nathan had ever looked at you like that, maybe never.

“i.. i’m fine, you can keep going, thank you” you said, hurriedly.

he nodded and got to work, moving quickly with the needle like he had done this many times before. he probably had, now that you were thinking about it, ended up in some desolate place with just the stuff on his back and some kind of bullet wound. and here you were, complaining and whining about getting stitches in a nice, warm house after you accidentally cut yourself while peeling potatoes. “sorry, i didn’t mean to make this into such a big deal,” you said as he finished.

the scot breathed a sigh of relief when you let go of his hand, shaking it about to get the blood flowing again. “och, nonsense lass, nothing to be sorry for. it was a nasty cut, think that any one of us might’ve reacted worse than you, aye?” johnny comforted you.

“johnny’s right, no sense in apologizing for things you ought not be sorry for.”

“so-“ you stopped yourself before you apologized again.

“alright, thank you, then.” both men’s faces brightened.

“ah, anytime, bonnie.”

“of course.”

after john finished wrapping it in gauze you heard the creak of the stairs. you looked over to see nathan coming down the steps, seeming like he had gotten over his temper tantrum. his eyebrows furrowed when he looked over at you three,

“what the hell happened?”

“i.. cut myself when i was peeling potatoes.”

“god, well, here, let me see” he said, walking up to you and grabbing your injured hand. he twisted it back and forth sharply trying to see the injury through the gauze, making you cry out in pain. “hey! be gentle with her, i don’t want you to rip her stitches.” john said, quickly rising to his feet.

“i was just trying to look at it, i didn’t hurt you, right baby?” nathan asked you. you looked between the two men and could only stammer out an incomprehensible response.

“speak up” nathan said.

john stepped closer to him, “don’t talk to her like that.”

johnny quickly stepped between the two, sensing that this argument was going to just get worse and end with someone in the hospital. “let’s just calm down, don’t wanna do anything we’ll regret, aye?” he looked pointedly at nathan.

just that moment, simon walked in the door, peeling off his muddy boots before he looked over at the spectacle in the living room.

“what the hell is going on here?” he asked, immediately straightening up, his eyes narrowing. if nathan thought that he could maybe take on john, or johnny, he was sure he couldn’t take on simon, so he withered under simon’s unabashed glare.

“it was just a misunderstanding” johnny explained, which nathan nodded along vigorously to. seeming satisfied, simon just huffed and continued stripping off his muddied outerwear.

ghost, soap, and john all finished peeling the potatoes, though they made you swear you’d never go near a knife again. something that you agreed to readily, you needed a break from sharp things, for at least a little while.

you couldn’t imagine how things would have gone if you were by yourself when it happened. or even if nathan was there, he didn’t seem much help and he even ended up gripping your hand a bit too hard later, something that got another silencing glare from simon.

once john had finished the soup, he ladled it out into bowls and set them onto the delicately decorated table. you bit back another comment on him being an interior decorator, guessing he had been teased enough by johnny and simon.

“it looks delicious, thank you” you said, picking up your spoon.

“i wouldn’t thank me until you’ve tried it” he said, taking his place at the table.

“dinnae be putting yerself down cap’n, besides, not easy to mess up this soup.”

“well, soap, i’m sure price can do anything he puts his mind to” ghost said, his eyes crinkling with a smile, he had taken his mask off to eat, revealing a face that was ruggedly handsome, especially because it was covered in scars, a particularly large one slashed through his lips.

john just shook his head at them and started eating, you followed suit. it was delicious, almost worth stabbing your hand for, really.

nathan hardly touched the stuff, however, claiming that he wanted to stay in shape, and nothing so fattening as potatoes and cheese. he gave you a pointed look as you finished your bowl, making the food settle like a stone at the bottom of your stomach.

john stood up from the table suddenly, the chair scraping on the floor harshly, “alright, that’s enough of that. i’ve tolerated your comments and actions long enough but that’s the final fucking straw. you’re in my house now, and in my house we are kind and respectful to women,” john said, pointing an accusatory finger at nathan, whose face turned a bright shade of red.

“i don’t care if it’s your fucking house, that’s my fucking girl that you’ve been basically flirting with all day, and you know what? i’m done with it. i’m done with it all. i won’t take this disrespect anymore. get up, we’re leaving. i’ll call my dad to come pick us up,” nathan said, pulling up at your arm.

you stayed put, looking around the table, simon raised his eyebrows to you, as if silently asking for the signal to take care of him. you looked from nathan’s angry face to john’s stern expression back to simon and shook your head.

standing up, you turned to nathan, who looked mildly relieved that you had listened to him. “nathan, i have something to tell you.”

he rolled his eyes, exasperated, “can it wait?”

you forced down a scream, “no, it can’t.”

he sighed, “okay, spit it out then.”

“i’m breaking up with you.”

a/n: i honestly hc that john watches hgtv or some variation bc one time it was the only thing palatable on tv. he denies ever watching anything of the sort but best believe he can outdo martha stewart.

taglist:

@readgoods

@rip-cod-brainrot

@anticipayosbot

@cyaniderainfall

@theclassicvinyldragon

[boltedfruit]

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Steve's attempt at a record-breaking gangbang ends up with him flying back to Hawkins to track down number one-ninety-eight. The mystery man who left an impression. - A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings. Steve hopes he drew blood. “I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

Thank you to @cowboythighs for giving me permission to write this fic based on their super fun prompt, which you can read here~

Read the full fic below:

What’s in his fridge?

There’s at least one bag of broccoli, half a container left of that nice parmesan he splurged on…maybe the chicken wings in his freezer are still okay. Hopefully? He still has some of that decadent hickory barbeque sauce. There’s no reason he can’t cover a bit of freezer burn with a healthy dousing of the stuff. He didn’t do the dishes last night, but that’s fine. Has time to run the dishwasher before–

Something vibrates. Loudly.

Someone’s phone is going off in the middle of the shoot.

Steve lifts his head, annoyed that the director hasn’t called cut yet. The man on top of him is dripping sweat, a bead of which narrowly misses landing in his eye. Steve casts a look sideways, hoping to catch the director raising his walkie.

Nope. Still posted up behind his wall of cameras. Stoic as ever, the man watches Steve work.

Steve lets the moment drag, his expectant silence punctuated only by the grunting and groaning of the muscled man pumping away between his spread legs.

More loud vibrations.

He cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder, sees the clock over the huddled producers and decides himself it’s time for a break.

Steve presses a hand against the massive chest above him and pushes lightly. The man’s movement falters, stops. Steve meets his eyes with an easy air of I’m the star, get off me, and it does the trick. The behemoth withdraws from Steve’s body with a mutter and wipes the sweat from his red brow as Steve swings his legs over the platform and sits up. He tests his weight, but finds he can still place pressure where he needs to without any pain.

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Calls back, “Somebody’s phone is going off! It’s ruining the vibe.”

“What phone? I don’t hear a phone,” the director says in his heavy German accent, shrugging in a way that rankles Steve. “We’re almost at two-hundred, surely it can—”

“No, it can’t wait. I need five anyway.” His own assistant appears by his side with a robe.

Steve shrugs it on and heads toward the source of the vibrations. Around him, production comes to a standstill while fluffers and PAs run around tending to the talent.

Steve tracks the phone down in a bag near craft services, but a producer beats him to it. She sheepishly digs out her phone and shuts it off, muttering an apology.

Steve sighs, grabs another cracker and decides to take a much needed bathroom break. On his way, he grabs his own phone and sees a text from Robin.

still good for eight?

I’m only at 197, might be closer to 9 or 10.

big ew, but congrats. should I pick up dessert?

Coffee double dutch choco cake pls?

obvi, my very spoiled friend. have fun you little award winning superslut!

Thx, lov u!

Robin sends back a string of emojis. He finishes up in the bathroom, thinking of all the times he’s been nominated for an AVN but never won. And it’s not like it’s terribly hard. He chooses interesting projects. He works with skilled teams. He stays clear of scandals and keeps his nose figuratively and literally clean of all the seedy underground bullshit that comes with the job.

But best actor still eludes him.

It grinds his gears, or at least the ones he used to have back in high school. The ones driving him to be a better player than everyone else at basketball practice, the ones that pushed him to state championship games three of his four years at Hawkins High. The ones that crowned him prom king and made him a bullshit name for a bullshit time in his life.

It’s his inner machinery, and even though he’s grown up a lot in the last five years, he’s still yet to replace some old rusted parts.

As he returns to set, Steve runs his hands through his hair, pinches both cheeks a little to bring a fresh blush back to the surface. His assistant applies lip gloss as he situates himself back on the black and white platform where he’s been fucked for the last three hours by one-hundred-and-ninety-six men.

He’s aiming for three hundred before dinner. Three-fifty if more than a good chunk of the men left are two-pump chumps. It’s about scheduling.

Steve shifts his weight from one asscheek to another, feels a brief twinge in his lower back. He flips over, stomach pressing against the slim pleather cushion.

It’s almost five.

The director claps his hands, and once Steve is in position, everyone resumes their roles. He gets comfortable on his elbows, cock limp between his legs and showing for the camera. He hears the next guy shuffle up behind him, can hear the shaky breath leave him.

Everyone knows their part to play in this circus, and Steve knows his best of all. He’s front and center, surrounded by a seemingly endless line of men of all ages, shapes and sizes. He’s taken more dick and strap today alone than he probably has in the last few years combined.

He’s going to win best actor, and he’s going to win best gangbang.

The thing about sex work is that it’s like any other job, really. There are good days, long days, fun days, days that drive him up the fucking wall. There are times he’s excited, nervous, bored out of his skull. Most shoots he books last a day or two, and hardly ever does one last more than a week, tops. This isn’t his first gangbang scene, but it is a record breaker for him, and several others in the industry as far as he’s researched.

But so far it’s been a lot of the same. Almost two hundred men and he hasn’t held a steady erection since an hour in and now he’s been daydreaming while giving tried and true sultry looks to the camera, fake moans of practiced pleasure leaving his throat.

Steve’s good at his job.

He’s been doing it since his parents cut him off and kicked him out at eighteen. He moved to LA and lived in his car until Robin graduated and followed him to the big city. It was exhilarating at first, fun. These days, at twenty-three, he’s mostly just bored.

And he knows better than to ignore an ache. If he holds one position for too long, he’ll be wrecked for a week. He’s big enough of a name now he can negotiate a lot of his contracts, and so he always gets control over how he’s positioned. The cameras can figure it out from there.

“And…action!”

Steve pouts for the camera in front of him, parts his freshly glossed lips and crosses his eyes a little. He never got the cross-eyed thing, but it’s apparently a huge kink for some.

Fingertips tickle over his ass, lead to palms lightly petting his hips. Steve wiggles for the man he can’t see, encouraging and coaxing as he goes to his knees and leans back. Wants to be grabbed, manhandled. Add the potential for a little healthy bruising and the audience eats it up.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he hears a breathy sigh from behind him, and then the sound of spit a second before he feels it hitting his hole. It drips down slowly, painting him wet, and Steve keens for the lens trained on his face.

The thing about this shoot is that it’s been a nightmare to plan. A year to put together a schedule, another six months to find the talent. There’s been cancellations, reschedules, a few deaths even, more casting, issues with health insurance and testing dates. Steve’s been along for it all, because this is his project. His idea, his brainchild.

All for one day.

One day to break some records. Prove to himself he can do this. That what he does can win awards and not only nominations.

After that he can take a very, very long break.

The hand rubs up and down his spine, firm and sure. Applies a little pressure at the lumbar and Steve actually lets out a small moan. It’s nice. He might set up a massage for tomorrow.

The camera swings wide, leaves Steve’s face and gives him some breathing room. The hand on his back remains while the other presses two fingers to his hole. He’s stretched, lubed beyond the meaning of the word even before the spit. There’s no need to finger him open.

But he receives a gentle probing with two fingers, a few deep, slow strokes that press in search with what seems to be a practiced touch. Steve rolls his hips back. Takes a few tries, but when the extra finds his prostate, he gasps, drives back to meet that zing of electricity again and again.

“God, just look at you,” the extra whispers. “Can’t wait to feel you. I’m so lucky.”

Steve moans. Not so fake this time. He drops his head, catches sight of lightly haired thighs covered in scribbly tattoos. He doesn’t even take into account the size of the man behind him, too focused on his own swiftly filling erection.

Huh.

It’s not like it’s a requirement or anything, by contract or personal preference of his scene partners. A lot of the time the bottom isn’t hard. Not exactly fair, but a limp bottom does not a film break, or whatever. More than a few of the men who have been inside him today have paid him plenty of attention, even tried for longer than Steve felt necessary. But they were all here to do a job, and that was to film a gangbang scene with Steve as the gangbangee. Hard or limp, he just wanted them to finish in him so they could get the shot and all go home to a nice hot shower.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?”

Though dirty talk was common, it wasn’t in the script for this shoot. And it wasn’t the usual lead-in of fuck yeah, look at your puffy hole, you take it so well, you’re like a bitch in heat, take that shit, take it like a whore.

“That’s it, baby, relax for me.”

It’s sweet…it’s kind. Things a lover would say.

Another strike of lightning burns him from the inside out, and Steve lets out a breath he’d been holding.

The hand at his back glides down, calloused fingers smoothing over his skin, until the director calls for penetration.

Steve wants to snap at him to shut the hell up. This is fine. More than fine, even. His prostate hasn’t exactly been the star of the show today, and a little pleasure makes his job that more enjoyable.

The fingers leave, and in their place frustration grows. That is, until the blunt head of another cock is pressing against him–no, dragging. The man is rubbing himself over Steve’s hole. Isn’t shoving in and taking like all the others.

More spit hits his rim , makes him startle. The hand on his back draws circles to settle him like a spooked horse.

This isn’t lovemaking. This is a scene. Steve huffs at himself, thinks just stick it in already, dude.

The extra’s hands slide from his back to his hip, his other hand joining in and pulling Steve’s weight, using Steve’s own body to slide inside. Steve groans. The guy’s big, thick. Should have paid better attention while he had his head down.

“Knew you could take it, Harrington,” he says softly, and Steve almost misses it when the man whines as he bottoms out. Fingers dig into his sides, tight but not bruising. “Pictured it a little different, but a guy can’t complain.”

So the guy’s got a fantasy, that’s fine. A lot of the talent cast for this production expressed a desire to work with Steve. Came with the territory, and the long filmography.

But something about this man hits him a little different. His words have him melting enough to feel warmth build, begin to spread.

His legs are tingling, insides burning with the stretch and latent pleasure. He wants more.

He grinds his hips back, trying to put his weight into it. The man moans low and finally, finally, starts moving his hips. Drags Steve back on every thrust.

“Jesus, you’re so–so–” Another drawn-out moan and the man collapses along Steve’s back. He’s slim, but his arms are strong as they wind around Steve’s waist. More tattoos. Bats in flight, stretched faces with sharp teeth. Long hair tickles over his shoulder as the man noses along the back of his neck “You feel like a dream.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough Steve knows the cameras won’t pick it up. It’s just for Steve, and that sends his blood rushing, dick kicking as tension builds in his belly.

“Shit,” he grinds out, feels drool slip from his open mouth to pool on the black pleather underneath. “Oh, God.”

“That’s it. Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Come on. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s so hard he’s aching. Feels the weight of himself slap his stomach on each ever harder, deeper thrust.

Steve’s going to come. He’s actually going to come.

“Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you. Wanted you forever. And look what you’ve accomplished,” he babbles, Steve’s heart growing three sizes, “You’ve changed the industry. You showed LA who’s king.” A particularly deep thrust has his elbows giving out. The man effortlessly braces his abrupt fall, a calloused hand snaking up to pillow his jaw. Steve is vaguely aware of the camera in front of them both, but he couldn’t care less if he tried right now. It feels too good. Feels better than anything all day, all month, all year. To the cameras, it must look like Steve’s being choked, but it’s the farthest thing from it. He’s being held, kept safe. “Always knew you’d go places. Get everything you wanted and more. I was actually jealous, and look at us now. Can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Steve’s cursing, praying, something as he’s pressed into the pleather. Now, his cock is trapped, facing backward so every time the man draws out and pushes back in, their cocks drag for a brief moment of bliss. The cherry on top. Neat trick.

“Never thought I–never even dreamed–”

A gasp, a flash of teeth in skin and Steve is coming with a shout, flexing his ass to get more, more.

He feels warmth spread hot and wet inside him and knows this will only last another moment or two. He needs to turn around. To see the man that just took him apart without touching his cock. Needs to–

A thumb swipes his lower lip. Breath ghosts along the bite mark on his shoulder. It stings.

Steve hopes he drew blood.

“I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.”

The director shouts something Steve doesn’t hear. Can’t comprehend past the pleasant hum buzzing inside him.

But then the weight on his back is gone, the cock inside him slips free and with it a spurt of come. Cameras circle back around to catch the aftermath, hears a muttered nice from some crewmember when they see the twin puddle beneath himself.

He rolls his eyes, safe to do with no coverage on his face.

He feels so empty. Cold begins to creep in.

Steve blinks quickly. Why is his throat suddenly so tight?

Then another man approaches, is lifting his hips up, is pushing in with absolutely zero patience or attention paid to Steve at all. And that’s fine. It is.

They’re on a schedule, after all.

-

“Yippee!” Steve claps when Robin sets the plate of cake before him.

She joins him on the couch, a forkful of her own piece of cake already in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’re even sitting right now.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Look who’s literally talking.”

Robin pulls her own fork free and sticks her tongue out. “Seriously though, you sure you don’t need anything? A heating pad? Ointment? Therapy?”

“Ha ha. I already took care of what I needed to–stop making that face, oh my God. I’m just dandy, Robs, don’t worry. I want to veg out and watch tv for the next six months and gain like twenty pounds.”

“You are too skinny.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, still like. Wow.”

“I know.”

“Three-hundred sixty-eight guys. Whole ass men were inside you today. That has to be a health issue for the community or something, right? How are your insides not melting out of you right now? I should have laid down a towel to protect your precious piece of shit couch.”

“You’re so funny, and it’s our precious piece of shit couch.” But even so, Steve preens a little. He did it. He broke his goal and then some. “I’m gonna win that goddamn award if it kills me.”

He looks over when she doesn’t answer. Robin is looking down at her plate.

They’ve had this argument before.

“I’m taking a break,” he says, reaching for her hand. She squeezes, and he squeezes back. “Promise.”

Robin nods. “So,” she says, shaking herself from the momentary tension, “you mentioned one guy was unique. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I mean, was he like eighty or something? Was he dressed all in latex with one of those gas masks? Did he have two dicks or what?”

Steve laughs, drops her hand to grab a pillow, and throws it at her instead.

Then he tells her.

In as much detail as she can handle, anyway.

“Did you get his number?” Robin asks, and frowns when Steve shakes his head no. “What about a name?”

“It was kind of a rush, an in the moment kind of thing. Wasn’t really time for a lot of talking.”

“Oh my God, Steve.”

And then, his best friend in the entire world has an absolutely batshit idea.

-

He gets the call sheet from his favorite producer, an easy going older man with decades of experience in the industry. He doesn’t ask questions.

Three days later, Steve's got a list of three-hundred-and-sixty-eight names, including himself and the crew. Beneath the call sheet is a packet of numbers and addresses.

It might be a crazy idea…but Steve’s one of the world’s leading gay adult film stars. He can afford to be a little crazy.

So when his sabbatical officially begins, Steve starts calling.

-

The first thing he tries is going down to number one-ninety-eight. That makes sense, and even Robin had agreed.

But the man who answered was a fifty with a slightly higher voice than he remembers. He quickly thanked Steve for the experience, and the paycheck, but explained he didn’t have any tattoos. He was afraid of needles.

Steve huffs, crossing the name and number off.

His guy was definitely younger than that, had a deep, smooth voice. Had ink that looked homemade from a glance.

The list he has is in no discernible order. It’s neither numerical nor alphabetical. He checks the first few addresses and finds it has nothing to do with location, either.

So he calls each and every single person. Actually blocks out time to do it around breaks and lunch, time spent with Robin which they both agree is long overdue.

After a week and a half of calls, Robin drags him to the beach for an afternoon of sunbathing and people watching.

“I don’t know, Robin. I already crossed off the guys I know, the ones I’ve seen in other projects. But I’ve still got over a hundred people left.”

“Says the guy who wanted to bang over three hundred guys. This is your own fault.”

“I know,” he agrees, swirling his fingers through the sand. “I’m just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What if he thinks I’m a freak for tracking him down? What if he wants nothing to do with me?”

Robin snorts. He looks her way, sees her nose and cheeks are red from the sun despite her large sunhat. Her toes are dug into the sand, and the book she’d been reading lays forgotten on her stomach.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. From what you told me, it sounded like he had a little crush.”

“Yeah, but that could have been my filmography talking. Lot of guys say I’m on their shortlist of dream lays. It’s like a fantasy thing for them.”

“Disgusting. Absolutely abhorrent,” she says easily. “But you said your guy was different. You think it was just an act?”

“I couldn’t tell. He seemed…sweet. If that makes sense?” Steve shrugs, hands her the bottle of sunscreen. “You need another layer. You’re turning into a tomato, birdie.”

She cups her hands, and he squeezes a dollop out. As she rubs the lotion into her skin, she seems to consider what he’s said.

“How sweet can an actor in a gangbang be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then you have to keep at it. You have to keep calling until you find him. You may strike out more often than not when it comes to dating, but you have, like, a good good people radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you naturally attract decent people,” Robin says, smiling. “Take me, for example! I’m the best person you know.”

Heat climbs his face, settling at the tips of his ears. He sinks further into the beach foldout, embarrassed for a reason he can’t name. Robin’s smile turns knowing before softening into something closer to friendly pity.

Robin drops her book in the sand and stands, grabs Steve’s hand and starts pulling him toward the water’s edge.

“Come on, sourpuss, let’s go swim!”

-

He’s down to five people.

The phone numbers they gave were either disconnected or, more likely, fake. So he has no choice, really.

He decides to fully embrace his apparent new level of creepy stalker and physically visits their listed address.

The first three people are surprised but happy to see him, and he ends up sharing beers with two of them, but all three are very clearly not the person he’s looking for. The fourth is nice enough, if wary, but is in his forties and is trans. Is all too happy to show Steve the strap he used on the day. So that rules him out.

There’s one address left, and honestly Steve had been hoping it was a fluke. A mistake.

Because the address is in Hawkins, Indiana. His hometown.

He never chose a stage name, a mistake that many a producer and actor used to lecture him on in the first couple of years he was in the business. But he made it his own. It worked. His parents haven’t contacted him since he was kicked out, so if they know about his career choice, Steve isn’t aware. He prefers it that way.

He always imagined he’d send them a photo of him smiling with his AVN award when he finally won. A final, brief fuck you and career announcement all in one.

Needless to say he hasn’t been back to Hawkins once since he moved to LA. And though he isn’t shy about his legal name, Steve has never discussed his past, his childhood. Nobody in the industry that is legally allowed to discuss his association with Hawkins never has, because they simply don’t know.

Steve’s honestly a bit surprised nobody he used to know has reached out in the last five years. He knows Tommy at least frequented the sites his agency posts to. Nowadays, gay and straight films can be found in the same tags, same pages. Even if someone didn’t go looking for gay porn, they still might have come across Steve in something. An ad, even.

But no, nothing.

He’s not ashamed of what he does. He hasn’t actively avoided his past or anything. If anything, he’s simply strived to not care about it. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen a Hawkins address in years.

Until now.

It’s weird. Could be some kind of underhanded prank. Maybe he should call his lawyer and tell him to expect some sort of blackmail soon.

The last four have led him to the neighboring cities around Los Angeles, but he’s not had to leave California yet. And being back in Indiana has him off his feet. Wrongfooted in some small way that leaves him feeling like a stranger. An impersonator.

He left small town life behind and made it big in a way that would have had every gossiping homebody’s heads turning if they knew.

Half expects to burst into flame the second he steps foot within city bounds.

But nothing happens. His rental car keeps driving. The turn off the highway is familiar, second nature.

He pulls into Hawkins and follows the directions parroted to him by his GPS. He notices several new fast-food places, the old mall has been redone, some houses seem bigger–but it’s still the same small, old town.

He comes to a crossroads. Left to Forest Hills Trailer Park where he’s never been, or right to what would eventually lead to Loch Nora and his childhood home.

He takes a left.

The trailer park isn’t huge, but each home has a small yard. He drives through a winding road that’s half gravel until he finds number fifty-three.

He parks, gets out and stands. Butterflies swarm his stomach, his palms sweating.

Steve gives himself a silent pep talk and walks up the short drive to the front door.

He knocks twice and waits.

It’s getting colder in Indiana. A few more weeks and there might be the first fall of snow. Back in California it was eighty-six degrees when he boarded the plane. He shivers.

Steve jumps a little when the door opens, the screen between him and an older man who frowns down at him.

“And who are you?”

“Hi! Hello. My name is Steve. I, um. Is there a Wayne Munson here by any chance?”

Steve steadies himself, tries to calm his rising nerves. He steps back to make room as the man opens the screen door and steps out into the early afternoon light.

“That would be me, son. Can I help you? You look a little lost.”

It’s not him.

Not his guy.

Steve’s stomach drops. Feels a little sick to his stomach.

The voice isn’t the same. It’s low, sure, but rougher with age. And Steve remembers the tickle of long hair along his skin. This man, Wayne Munson, is balding.

Unless he wore a wig…then, maybe…

He rechecks that this trailer is indeed number fifty-three.

“No, I uh. This is the place. This is going to sound strange, but I don’t suppose you have any tattoos?”

Wayne huffs. He pulls up his sleeve and shows Steve a faded old tattoo, a blue cross with blown out edges.

“Just the one.”

Steve nods, disheartened. “I see. Okay. I, uh, thanks for your time. I’ll just go–”

He turns, feeling foolish.

“Kid, wait a minute. Come on inside and warm up. You drink coffee?”

Steve debates. He’s cold, sure, but that’s an issue fixed by turning around and driving back to the airport to hop on a plane back to California.

Staying could turn out badly. Hawkins was never friendly to outsiders, and the rumor mill sprinted when it came to talk of things like sin and violating the good word of the Lord.

Steve’s pretty sure being a porn star is hidden somewhere in there.

And it was never a secret in backwoods like these people tended to dole out their own justice. Some kids were killed in Indy for being gay and working corners. Why not here, in the home of a man Steve doesn’t know?

He puts on his best smile. “That would be great, sir.”

The man drops his eyes to the ground, waves a hand at him. “Please, enough of that. I’m just Wayne. Always have been, always will be. Come on in, it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Steve shuffles inside, thanking him. “Looks ready to snow soon.”

“Ah, another week or two I think. You from around here?”

“Used to be,” Steve says as Wayne gestures for him to sit on a stool at the kitchen counter. “I moved to California a few years back.”

“Hm.” Wayne starts a fresh pot of coffee, old-fashioned kettle on the stove. Steve’s grown used to his Keurig. “Big place compared to here. How d’you like it?”

“It’s busy. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I imagine there’s always something for doing.”

Steve nods. “You’re right.”

“What d’you do for work out there? I’ve heard it’s all tech companies and wannabe actors.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I’m an actor.”

“Ah, geez. Don’t mind me, it’s the stereotype.”

“No offense taken,” Steve says. “It’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I had this big, uh. Film. Scene. A big scene. It required a lot of background actors. Extras, you know?” Wayne nods. Steve is flubbing this big time, Christ. “I kind of hit it off with one of the–one of them. Fell a little in love if I’m being honest. My best friend, she had this crazy idea to get the call sheet and go down the list to see if I could find him.”

Wayne’s eyes go a little wide and it’s only when the kettle starts whistling that Steve realizes his slip up.

But Wayne beats him to it. He takes the kettle off the burner and starts fixing two cups of coffee. Says, “Young love’s hard to come by, kid. I’ve been telling my boy for years now, if ya find somebody worth chasing, you run. Doesn’t matter the obstacles, if they’re a boy or girl. Just run to em.”

“That’s…that’s really good advice,” Steve mutters, surprised and relieved when Wayne doesn’t seem to have a problem with him. “Means a lot, being from here.”

“Me, I’m from back south, but Hawkins is home. Strange as it is to hear, this town’s actually progressive compared to where I grew up. But there’s still work to do, that’s for damn sure.”

Wayne reaches into a cabinet and brings down a bottle of liquor Steve recognizes all too well. Good quality bourbon. Steve doesn’t miss the healthy pour that goes into each mug.

“Good for warmin’ up,” Wayne says as he passes one mug to Steve. He goes for the fridge next and pulls out a half eaten chocolate cake. “You fancy a piece? My boy whipped it up, but I told him like hell he expects me to finish it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up your time–”

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Wayne cuts in, smiling in a way his parents never did. Kind, warm. Real.

Steve relaxes the rest of the way, the tension leaving him all at once. Wayne Munson’s a good guy.

“I’d love one.”

-

“...and I told my boy, I said, if music is what you wanna do, you go and do it. Convinced him to get his GED and get out of dodge. School was never much of a Munson family pastime, anyway.”

“God, yeah. I hated school. I barely graduated, and that was still a few months after I got kicked out.”

Wayne shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. They’re sitting on the front porch, watching the sun begin its slow descent. Steve almost forgot how pretty Indiana skies could be.

“I knew your folks, y’know. Back in high school. Forgive me for saying it, but your father was a real piece of work.”

Steve can’t help the bitter sound that leaves him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Can’t stand a parent dumping their kid on the world like that. More like dumping the world on their kid. Real life is tough shit. If you love your children, you don’t just abandon them to figure it out for themselves.”

Steve hums. Takes a chance. “It sounds like you’re talking from experience?”

Wayne scowls out into the distance. “It was just me and Al for a long time. Our parents weren’t around much, and when they were they weren’t the best. We all did what we could.” He shakes his head again, meets Steve’s eyes. “Just a shame Al turned out exactly like our old man. Couldn’t spot respectable if it bit him on the balls.”

Steve laughs again.

Wayne lifts his beer and points out to the gravel road. “‘Bout time!”

Steve looks out and watches an old beat-up van wind down the road, music getting louder the closer it gets.

“You’ve got company! You should have said. You’ve been so kind, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne tells him good-naturedly. “That’s just my boy. Owes me dinner since I’ve cooked the last few.” Adds when the van is parking behind Steve’s rental, “You should stick around for supper. He makes a mean lasagna.”

“I really should…”

Then Steve sees him.

Wayne’s boy, who he’d assumed at first was his son but learned was the nephew he took in after his brother fucked up somewhere along the way.

Steve’s throat goes dry.

The music cuts off as the van door opens and out hops a man with wild black curls tied up into a mess of a bun. He’s not even looking their way as he hip checks the door closed and walks back to the double doors. He swings them open, grabs a duffle, many bags of groceries baring the local Krogers logo, and a large glass casserole dish that looks far too fragile to be balancing the way it is. Before he closes the doors again, a large orange tabby hops out and winds around his legs, rubbing and trotting after its owner as he heads up the drive.

“Sorry I’m late, old man. Store was packed, and then Garfield here didn’t want to…Oh.”

He slows when he sees his uncle has company. Stops completely when his eyes land on Steve.

The guy’s young, could be a few years on either side of Steve’s age. He’s wearing all black denim, complete with chains and large belt buckle. His knuckles are tattooed and Steve wonders where else he has them.

And he’s familiar is the thing.

And isn’t that funny?

Because back in school. Steve would play reckless and brash. He’d skip school, get in plenty of fights he always lost. Made friends with the wrong crowd and got into enough trouble. And he would wonder, in the way only a closeted bisexual boy could in the Midwestern US, what it would be like to run away with someone a little older, a little rougher, a little more mean. Someone who knew more about the world. Who didn’t give a shit about kid stuff like Steve used to, like reputation and dating and getting into girls’ pants as much as possible. On being the best all-American athlete he could so others would think, wow, that Steve Harrington sure is going places.

He would wonder, in profound secrecy and silence and repression, what it would be like to kiss someone like the man stood before him under the shade of a tall tree in the woods behind his house. What it might be like to touch another boy and not have to be afraid to death of the idea.

The large cat, Garfield, rubs up along Steve’s legs then. Walks a figure eight between them and yowls to be paid attention to. Steve reaches down to pet between his ears, is vaguely aware of the two other men talking to one another, of Wayne explaining why Steve is here, who Steve even is.

And Steve knows this guy. He does.

He’s got long hair. Tattoos, maybe more hidden away. Has plush lips and flushed cheeks from standing in the cold with arms weighed down by too many things, and, and–

“You’re–”

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, straightens back up and holds out his hand. “Steve Harrington.”

The other man gawks. A bag slips from his fingers and a tub of cream cheese goes rolling right back down the small incline.

“Jesus, boy,” Wayne’s muttering, walking down to help with the groceries. He grabs the serving dish first, then heads for the runaway cream cheese. “Where’d your manners go? Introduce yourself!”

Wayne grumbles as he heads after the thing.

Steve’s hand is grasped, shaken, held. Steve smiles. Wants to roll up the long sleeves to see if he’s covered in the bats he saw during filming.

“I’m Eddie,” Eddie says, breathes really.

And oh wow. Wow.

Steve doesn’t let go, and neither does Eddie.

“I heard you make a mean lasagna.”

A smile splits Eddie’s pretty mouth. “That so? I wonder who said that.”

“Somebody who loves his nephew a whole lot.”

“Huh, no idea. Could you clue me in?”

Steve steps closer. “Think a little harder? Maybe you forgot.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, and though it’s soft, it’s undeniable. “Always forgetting things, that’s me.”

It’s him.

Wayne passes them by again, taking another bag from Eddie’s hands. Eddie sets the rest down at their feet, sparkling, dark eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Steve here’s an actor. Eddie, weren’t you telling me you had a gig down in LA with the band a few weeks back? What a coincidence, that.” He keeps walking.

Steve watches him go inside, Garfield hopping happily after him.

When he turns back around, Eddie’s close enough he can feel his breath.

Steve glances at his lips. Sees them bend with amusement.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“King Steve, here in my uncle’s humble abode. What a surprise.”

King Steve is as close a moniker he’s ever received working in the industry. An irony that’s followed him from high school into adulthood, even though the two weren’t connected.

And something inside Steve breaks apart, blooms, shines.

It’s him.

Eddie reaches up, traces a thumb along his bottom lip.

“I think we’ve met.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Care to stay for some homemade cooking, your liege? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The thumb at his lip dips, goes inside his mouth, briefly makes contact with Steve’s tongue. He wants to suck on it, wants to do a whole lot more.

“We definitely do.”

Eddie’s hand falls away. He picks up a few bags and lets Steve take the others.

And as Steve follows Eddie Munson, his mystery guy, inside it hits him all at once. A punch to the solar plexus.

Just knew you’d be so good for me. Could tell the first day I ever saw you.

He knows him.

You showed LA who’s king.

Not just from the shoot.

“Oh my God, I know you! We know each other!”

Eddie Munson, the guy who walked over lunch tables and caused a scene. The guy Tommy shoved into lockers. The guy who dealt at every party. The guy who wore denim and leather and was in a band. The guy Steve watched, who watched him right back.

Wanted you forever.

I was actually jealous, and look at us now.

Can’t believe how lucky I am.

I’ll remember this forever, sweetheart.

And Steve hurries in after him as Eddie’s knowing, familiar laughter leads the way.