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Entry tags:

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Who: shiro + keith
When: perm log for these idiots
Where: all over
Summary: say, say o playmate from the august tdm. the butcher's camp from the september tdm. quarter pounder from the september event. keith's birthday. hermy the wormy from the december tdm. in the hive from the december event.new year, new you from the january tdm. end of january, references january event.
Warnings:
say, o say o playmate: hallucination, blood, ritualistic sacrifice, claustrophobia.
the butcher's camp: animal death, animal mutilation, both human and animal butchery, implied cannibalism, stripping ( nsfw ).
quarter pounder: blood, animal attack, consumption of human flesh, violence, gore, body horror, potential for severe injury, including puncture wounds and broken bones, potential for choking, potential for animal death.
keith's birthday: boys being stupid.
hermy the wormy: worms, decay, altered mental states/compulsion, emotional corruption, potential for violence, body mutilation, attempted murder.
in the hive: insects/swarms, bites, vomiting, body horror, death ( npcs ), mental and physical trauma
new year, new you: self-doubt, body dysmorphia trauma, cringe talk about sex safety, hook-up culture, body modification ( steroid and synthol oil use ), mention of drug use
end of january: implied animal death, self-doubt, body image issues, body dysmorphia, self-harm, body mutilation, skin burning, drug use mention ( tren steroid ), implied extreme dieting ( starvation & dehydration ), nsfw ( heavy petting and nudity ). reference to shiro's scars.

Threaded | Flat

[ ah, dogtown. it is quickly becoming shiro’s least favorite place. after the incident with the nudist monsters, shiro’s less than pleased to be tromping along this particular park trail again. nonetheless, preventing an apocalyptic event by running recon for adi does take precedence over any uneasy feelings he or keith have. not to mention, adding more cash into each of their pockets doesn’t hurt in sweetening the deal. afterall, monster blood has a way of staining, so shiro would benefit from making another trip to marshall’s.

this mission is meant to be simple -- though, adi has a habit of downplaying the risks involved, as seen by the clusterfuck failure of finding a portion of their team lodged in seal skin. it’s been just over a week since the mission to essex bay and shiro still doesn’t know what to make of it. he’s seen some pretty horrific things in the past, almost, two years; he’s even bore witness to inexplicable weird shit too. but people masquerading as seals…?

he puts the pin back in that thought and as he has been for the past week, abandons making sense of it. at present, he gives the big, bold never try never win a passing glance and huffs a barely there laugh. hopefully they don’t have to try to the same caliber as last time they were here. well, not here here. they’ve come to the trail from a different part this time. they’re up higher, off dogtown road, whereas last time, they were closer to the babson reservoir.

so shiro isn’t expecting the trail to open a few yards after they’ve ascended an incline and he certainly had not expected a playground to be located off to the side. for this being a relatively popular trail, it’s surprising at how dilapidated the playground is. the wood structure housing a green, plastic slide is worn from weather and misuse. there’s a steel swing set nearby with a singular seat, held aloft by rusted chains. and off to the side there’s… ]

Hey, check it out. [ he grins, abruptly changing the direction of his steps to beeline it for the spring rocker. he remembers these. the design is different but the idea is the same and he laughs a little looking at the kangaroo and her joey. yeah yeah, he knows they’re here to document paranormal activities but… let him have a moment of nostalgia okay. ] Do you think it’s strong enough to hold either of our weights?

[ one hundred dollars isn’t worth it. that’s the fifth, no, sixth time he’s thought that since they passed a familiar trailhead some fifteen minutes ago and yet, his steps keep moving forward. it’s not about the money. not only about the money; even without a monthly rent, living off sporadic payments has been difficult. mostly though, it’s about aiding adi’s surveillance. adi is largely a question mark right now; who is pulling the strings, can they be trusted, is the organization on the right side of things? but the bottom line is this: there’s something very rotten happening in gloucester and unless they get out there to investigate ( and possibly prevent ), the threat of an apocalyptic event increases.

dogtown again though? first time it came with nudist monsters. the second presented a cursed slide. now the third… nothing. so far at least. and honestly? shiro hopes that luck keeps and in a couple hours time, they’ll be back in the apartment, eating ramen and talking about how it was all a waste of time.

he should know better than to hope. because it’s not more than two minutes later that upon looking out into the forest, he notices the smoke seeping between the trees. he doesn’t think there’s a campground along this stretch of trail. not that it matters; neither of them are here to bust some wayward campers. however, it’s the only inconsistency from the norm and well…

check out anything out of the ordinary, right? he comes to a stop and nods toward the smoke. ]

Let’s see what that’s about.

[ and then they’re off the beaten trail. a good thirty yards brings them to a decline and heading down that slope puts them into a ravine of clustered trees, obscuring the view of where the smoke is originating from. twigs snap under their feet as they go and with stealth so greatly hampered, perhaps that is why the camp is empty when they bumble into the clearing. the smoke is thicker and the fire is doused. it’s almost like someone just snuffed it out. scanning the area though, he sees no one. unfortunately, he sees other things.

beyond the triangular structure, made of wooden poles and one sloppily tied down tarp, is a wooden beam held aloft between two trees. from it dangles -- animals. various animals, in various pieces. shiro may be ignorant to the sport of hunting, but he’s fairly certain that’s not how you skin and gut trophy animals. two bunnies hang with their feet missing. there’s a turkey with its throat slit and dark, blood matted earth below it. one deer hangs by a hind leg, the other missing, along with its antlers and… head. it’s over there by the firepit. along with a coyote that is skinned and gutted, it’s entrails sitting in a pile next to a stump.

those are just the animals he can identify. there’s pieces of… things around. some bloody slabs of muscle, fat and bone, others still furred but dismembered. what creature does that belong to? with parts being in the dirt and by the smoldering fire, even some charred flesh among the embers, shiro quickly finds himself nauseated, both from the strong smell of blood and the utter ruin of so many dead things. he swallows, allowing him one last moment of sickness and then he pulls himself together, expression set in a way to downplay his uneasiness. ]

This doesn’t seem right at all. [ understatement. this is creepy. he’s standing there on the edge of the camp, hesitant to do anything further just yet. ]

But it might just be a poacher. [ is that supposed to be comforting? maybe. it's just -- hunting seasons vary, he knows that much. and he doubts all of these animals coincide. only issue with that theory? why ruin the trophies with such terrible butchering? he frowns, again scanning for a hint of anyone nearby. ]

Edited (i am not in the know) 2021-09-07 22:21 (UTC)

[ what’s that famous quote? insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? after three miserable experiences, they should know better by now. yet, here they are again, willingly wandering into dogtown. this time is -- heh -- different, is what he tells himself. they’ve come prepared. aside from keith shouldering a backpack full of survival necessities, both of them are donning full paladin gear. this time, they know they’re going into battle. it looks like they’ve missed most of it, however.

the air stinks. it’s metallic and thick, each draw of breath harder only in the fact that he knows he’s breathing in death. obviously so, because it’s not just the scent of blood, it’s the sight of it too. it’s everywhere. in the underbrush, at the base of a tree, higher on the trunk -- some of it pools heavily in certain spots, while others come in high strewn splatters caught in an arc. and worse, flesh and broken pieces of once living things decorate their walk. they’re sparser than the blood, but they garner a stronger presence, smelling putrid and rotten, even when there’s hefty distance between them. they’re off the beaten path but they may as well be on one still, with how the blood and ripped bits lead them along, deeper and deeper into the forest.

it reminds him of the poacher’s camp weeks ago, only exponentiated to damning results. fuck. damn. the poacher’s camp. thinking of it has shiro peeking over at keith some paces away. they were lucky. as disastrous as each of them have dubbed that experience to be, with their ridiculous antics and naked bodies on display for one another, the worst they’ve suffered is embarrassment and a lingering awkwardness that keeps them from acknowledging it ever happened. at least neither of them lost a piece of themselves.

the reports that came into adi were truly horrifying. imagining someone, something coming in to cut along the marks drawn into his skin has added to the fodder that already keeps shiro up at night. it manifests into that primal fear of reliving the experimentation that took his right arm and worse, gives rise to a guilt that eats and eats at him. if keith hadn’t pushed to leave, if they’d stayed, and if something cut out sections of keith’s flesh by following the lines shiro put there… shiro never would have forgiven himself.

later, he’ll tell himself it’s through this brief, very brief lapse in attention that he misses the trap, not his own incompetence. it’s a slight difference, but anyone with a critical eye would think the ground looks different. disturbed. but shiro’s distracted with misplaced guilt and with the sight of trails of blood that already disrupt the uniformity of dirt, leaves, branches. one moment he’s on level ground and in the next, he steps into seemingly nothingness. the flimsy crisscross of sticks covered by soil, twigs and leaves gives under his weight and shiro tumbles into the pit, yelping as he goes.

pain comes next but not from piercing or ripping or puncturing. again, shiro’s lucky. it’s from landing belly down from a sharp drop. wooden spikes welcome him but they aren’t strong enough, nor sharp enough to stab through his armor. and for the softer, less protected areas? he’s saved from taking a spike through his right cheek by turning his head at the last moment, earning a hard tweaking of his neck as the point hits his helmet instead. and his midsection -- good thing he’s not the first thing down here.

he lands on something. someone. the abrupt drop of his mass on the body, pushes it down another inch and has the spike splitting through, breaching the person’s back to just barely graze shiro’s right side. person. person. shiro pushes himself up as best he can by grabbing the stocks of two spikes, half balanced on a body while his upper torso rests on the tips of spikes. he turns his head to the right and… there’s another someone. someone familiar. now armless, dead, mouth open with something dark moving over his tongue -- shiro’s breath hitches as emotion bombards him and he momentarily loses it, giving into a yell as he tries to scramble away without hurting himself. ]

[ the birthday bash is a success. so far. nothing ever goes quite so smoothly in this universe, so shiro is ever so slightly on guard. it helps though, that they’re back in the apartment, settling down and presumably, spending the rest of the festivities in shiro’s bedroom. keith’s there now, set up on the floor with two sets of plastic carving utensils, two large pumpkins -- keith’s 1.4 lbs heavier than shiro’s, hmph -- and some trash bags. as for shiro, he has a little something else to retrieve from the kitchen.

he tried. he really tried to follow the recipe and duplicate the cute cupcake design he stumbled across while searching the internet for birthday sweets. a chocolate cupcake with a slab of blue frosting and topped with a rainbow candy strip looked one step above simple. even shiro could pull that off.

nailed it?

he frowns at the single cupcake that he’s hidden in the back of the cupboard, behind the box of lucky charms and stacks of ramen. okay, so perhaps it’s a bit lopsided but… -- he sticks a candle into the glob of blue and picks it up, along with a handheld lighter, to then walk back to his bedroom.

he hopes keith is having a good time. checking out a local pumpkin patch is pretty tame for a nineteenth birthday, maybe even too juvenile for the adult that keith clearly is. shiro’s still nervous and stuck in hover mode though, unwilling to let keith venture too far and overexert himself, even if his injury is nowhere near the life-threatening damage of a month ago. keith seemed to enjoy himself? beating the corn maze had them both smiling and even with the seemingly endless amount of cut-out photo ops scattered around the patch that shiro of course turned into a challenge, keith didn’t come off as anything short of delighted. shiro has a lot of photographic evidence in his phone displaying just how delighted keith was with those antics. so hopefully, an unimpressive cupcake and a quiet evening in won’t ruin the momentum.

pausing outside his door just long enough to light the candle, he pockets the lighter and then nudges the door open. he grins, slipping inside and clicking the door shut with his foot. well, keith did say once that he wanted to hear shiro sing more, so: ]

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you -- [ he reaches the makeshift canvas made out of cut garbage bags and lowers down. ] Happy birthday dear Keith… [ cross-legged and sitting now, he extends his left hand, holding out the cupcake. ] Happy birthday to you.

[ the make a wish implied in the large smile he adopts as the last of his voice trails. ]

[ if keith is being entirely honest, mobage aren't exactly high on his list of what he'd consider fun, but sure he'd gotten the message from pam like everyone else. did he click the link to download the app? not at first. but it was an inevitability whenn shiro started playing the game and couldn't stop bragging about his new high score.

where the conversation could have ended with rolled eyes and a bit of teasing... that's just sadly not how his friendship with shiro works. shiro sets the records, keith tries to break them. they egg each other on in the spirit of friendly competition and though this is far from being anything like the flight sims back at the garrison, the low stakes of it also make it seem even funnier to shock shiro by knocking him off his number one spot in the rankings while he's stuck in a security team meeting.

for the amount of showing off shiro's been doing about his high scores though, the game is surprisingly easy. just get hermy the wormy chomp chomp chomping away at his food and -- well, it's kind of satisfying, huh? the admittedly kind of strange when the meals get progressively putrefied, but an hour and a half of non-stop play later, keith frankly isn't doing a whole lot of thinking about anything. his fingers are a blur, tapping on his screen to get hermy to his next rotting meal as he checks out his score.

a few more bites and then it'll be a record, he's pretty fucking sure. grinning to himself, he rolls onto his stomach on the couch, legs kicking in the air as he goes through the home stretch. he doesn't even look up when the door to the apartment opens and closes. eyes glued to the screen, he merely shouts over: ]

Shiro? That you?

[ it’s strange being on a mission without keith at his back. they’ve split up plenty, both in skirmishes against the galra and during adi investigations, but the sentiment is the same: it feels wrong to go at it alone. a lot of it has to do with their last mission to dogtown. he trusts keith to handle himself in most instances but since one of those cursed boars managed to catch keith with a tusk, shiro’s been hopeless in his concern. shiro tries not to hover to the point of suffocation – and he’ll just wince at that choice of wording.

he doesn’t want to be that guy; shiro had that guy in his life for a good while, who wanted to bubble wrap him in comfort and safety. no matter the intention or the argument that it stemmed from a – supposed – good place, that kind of care was difficult to stomach. shiro doesn’t want to drive keith even further away than he already has by smothering him – again, poor wording – with parameters and too frequent check-ins, so this volunteer mission to some abandoned warehouses? shiro bit his lip and didn’t say a word the first time he caught sight of a familiar mullet.

so he’s here too? figures. keith has been dead set on taking this ren person down since she landed on adi’s radar.

similarly to how shiro’s been handling the past two weeks, shiro tries to give keith buffer room. not similarly to the past couple of weeks though, is that shiro doesn’t disappear as he has with extra shifts and long hours at the canteen until he can’t risk curfew. here, he shadows keith as much as he can while also extracting victims and… bodies. he wants to make sure he’s okay. he needs to make sure he’s okay. fuck, he shouldn’t even be here, not when both his hands are busted. is that why keith resorts to stomping a victim’s face in? the creepy crawlies and flutter of winged things coming out of the dead body’s mouth have to be stopped somehow, right?

yards away and beyond a number of rowed shipment boxes, shiro hears it clearly enough; amazingly, unfortunately, the sickeningly crush of teeth and tissue beneath keith’s boot carries all the way to him. it’s gross. it’s wrong. it’s – over.

oh.

keith turns away and he’s hurrying out of the warehouse. shiro follows, of course he does. the wide berth is forgotten and he doesn’t think much of hiding as he exits the building, turning his head one way and then the other to spot – ]

Keith.

[ whispered and barely there. said boy is bent over and retching, shiro’s own stomach churning at the sound of it. they’ve held a handful of conversations in the past two weeks, all of which stilted and half entertained before being sidelined. that same awkwardness they’ve fostered between them shows here, in how shiro hesitates to even approach keith. but keith’s body gives another heave and concern for keith’s wellbeing overtakes shiro’s concern that keith might actually hate him a little. he’s walking over before he can think to stop and then he’s beside keith, wanting so badly to touch him, rub his back and hold the hair away from his face but…

would keith even let him? ]

You’re okay. Everything’s fine. Just get it out and then we’ll sit down for a bit. [ tentatively, he places his palm on keith’s upper back, repeating in low, soothing notes: ] You’re okay.

[ the amount of advertising on tv is ridiculous. keith rarely ever watched the stuff bak home so he doesn't know if it was just as bad in their reality, but it seems ever fifteen minutes there's an interruption in the broadcast just to try and get him to buy something. ordinarily, he would have just turned off the tv and gotten up, but there's a special documentary on tonight about the history of sasquatch and... well, shut up.

that's it. that's the whole argument. shut up. keith doesn't have to justify his guilty pleasures to anyone.

but even so, it's starting to grate on him when one of the world's most eminent primatologists is cut off just to advertise some bullshit keith doesn't need. as if on cue though, an ad for "things of beauty" starts to play. thanks to some over zealous marketing campaign and a bloated budget on their part, keith's seen this ad playing between shows and even on youtube. it's easy enough to dismiss the thing as irritating for its ubiquity, but for whatever reason it's gotten keith thinking in general about things he wants to change this year.

not for the first time, he's circled back to shiro's comment back in the bar about his shitty effort levels. the comment still stings slightly, but he doesn't have a proper argument. which is to say, keith's finally decided new year, new me and downloaded grindr.

as the advertisements continue to play, keith takes a deep steadying and finally clicks on the app to register an account. though.... even if he has this account, who's to say anyone's going to want to hang out with him? keith's never exactly been confident in his body, and even though he's bulked up a little, there's nothing exercise can do to make parts of his chest look less small.

still holding the phone in one hand, he pulls at the collar of his shirt with the other to look down his front. keith groans, not liking what he sees. the door clicks open then, and it's some kind of testament to keith's state of nipplr ennui that he doesn't even bother to straighten up and try to hide what he was doing. ]

Hey, Shiro.

[ after all, who else would it be? their other roommate hasn't been around in a while and keith's beginning to suspect he's gonna have to add a new name to the conspiracy board some time. slowly, keith lifts his head up and lets his t-shirt fall back down naturally against his chest. ]

You ever try one of these dating apps?

[ new year, new me. three weeks now and it’s become the mantra to live his life by. before, shiro used to twist his lips and frown at anyone who set a new year’s resolution for themselves, only to putter out by early february. embarrassing. disappointing. quitter. he’s one of those people now. someone who looked upon the new year as an opportunity and two, three weeks later, decided the effort toll wasn’t worth it. fuck, it’s still january, isn’t it? pathetic. once upon a time, shiro would take any setback and use it as fuel to overcome. failure wasn’t an option back then. but now… – shiro cocks his head and stares at his image there in the bathroom mirror, thinking that some challenges are an impossibility.

he tried. he truly tried.

he increased his hours at the gym. he dumped every box of sugary cereal. he met a guy who knew a guy who hooked him up with a bottle of tren. three weeks and his muscle mass has already shot up, so has the firmness. that stubborn pinch of skin around his midsection has disappeared, but some of that might be contributed to the fact that he hasn’t eaten and drank more than a sip of water in two days. stupid. maybe, but dehydration has his skin tighter and his muscle composition standing out. he almost looks good…

but then there’s a scar. and another. and another. and another…

that’s what that cursed thing whispered to him in the warehouse two days ago. it’ll never be enough. every cut corner and every obsessively counted rep and calorie. muscle can change, fat can change, but ruined skin is ruined skin.

and you’ll never be enough.

to who? he’d ripped the lamb from its stalk shortly thereafter and next, stomped on its corpse turned flesh phone. there was no undoing it though. the words stuck and shiro’s been spiraling these past two days. he’s kept to his security job, only to keep up some illusion that he’s fine, but once home, he’s been shutting himself away, always with the shoddy excuse that he’s tired. it isn’t a lie, technically. his insomnia has only been made worse by the drug use. the drop in endurance is another side effect. as is the acne along his upper back and the bit of thinning to his floof.

fuck, he looks terrible.

he knows keith worries. he also knows it’s only a matter of time before keith decides the excuse doesn’t fly and does something impulsive like kicking the door down. but shiro continues to dally in his misery, rather than make any effort to pull himself from it. here, shirtless and dressed only in a pair of black boxer-briefs, he turns this way and that, gaze never straying from his mirrored image. new year, new me, right. he became a new me two years ago and there’s no coming back from that. this is who he is now. no amount of peppy advertisement can motivate him beyond that. he shouldn't even be repeating that anymore; adi figured out those advertisements were cursed. he’s past reason though. he’s broken just as sendak said. worthless. ugly. less than anything anyone would ever want.

anyone?

he breath catches and then he’s laughing miserably, thinking about how he might’ve had a chance at something, but he fucked that up too. he lost it to some jacked nobody who definitely doesn’t deserve someone like keith. ]

But neither do you.

[ he sees his lips forming around the words but it’s almost like it’s someone else saying them. increased aggression, that’s another side-effect, and it lands here with a throw of his purple-lit fist. by the time the last bit of shattered glass tilts free to crash to the sink, shiro’s already backed against the wall and sliding down into a defeated plop. he stares at his right hand still alight in terrifying promise and thinks that maybe there is a way to erase the scars afterall.

it’s with a detached sort of fascination that shiro glances down at the criss cross of raised, poorly knit tissue on his left pec. maybe he can smooth it out? yes. yes he can. without another thought, he lies his galra index and middle over one line and presses in hard, gritting his teeth for one, two… done. he rips his hand away with a pained gasp, one that only escapes louder when he immediately goes back in to cover the other line. he can do this. he can get through this. it’ll be worth it in the end… won’t it? ]

Threaded | Flat

say, say o playmate

the butcher's camp

quarter pounder.

keith's birthday; backdated to oct 23