HELLO SIR CAN I REQUEST A MEAL?
My friend woke me up at 2am to tell me that the drip marketing dropped and my jaw and their jaw both dropped 👁️👄👁️
His squinty eyes, his fox ears, his smile — the game designers cooked fr fr 🦊🫶 they have my heart and my wallet ASKSKKSSKSKDDKD
AND HE'S A CHEF AND NOT JUST ANY CHEF, HE COOKS CHINESE MEDICINAL CUISINE 👏👏 We stan a man who can cook and fight - chef's kiss ❤️
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My 'Steve gets taken instead of Barb' AU has been churning in my brain for a couple of weeks now and I'm desperate to give it some love and attention, even if I have other WIPs that need my attention more, so I'm throwing a sneak peek out into the world <3
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“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”
Steve’s voice is little more than a frantic whisper as he tries to right himself, hands and feet scrambling under him as they slide on… he doesn’t even know what that is, but it feels disgusting under his fingers. And he wants— No, he needs to get away from it now.
He also desperately needs to get away from whatever the fuck is growling nearby.
Finally he gets some kind of traction and propels himself out of… Steve doesn’t stop to look around and find out. Instead he just heaves himself up and takes off for the line of dead, decrepit trees he can see in the distance. His breaths come in harsh pants and he wants to look over his shoulder, to see if what he heard is chasing him, but he doesn’t. Instead he keeps his eyes forward, pushing as much as he can to create distance between himself and whatever the fuck that thing is.
It’s only once the burn in his legs is too much to bear that Steve stops. His palms find his knees as he doubles over, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. Every muscle in his body feels like it’s going to shake free with how much he’s tremble, both from the exertion and the fear, and it’s all Steve can do to keep his feet under him.
Around him, the world is quiet, broken only by the strained gasps.
Once he finally feels like he might not pass out from lack of air, Steve straightens up and looks around. It’s hard to make anything out in the dark, but he can see the faint outline of bare trees and dark shadows of undergrowth. There’s something off about it all, a sense of wrongness coming over him as he looks around. The area looks familiar and foreign at the same time and he didn’t even know something could do that.
Turning back the way he’d come from, Steve takes a single step before hissing in pain and crumpling to the ground. The rush of adrenaline that fueled his escape is gone now, leaving only a sharp sting down the bottom half of his right leg in its wake. Fingers shaking, Steve prods at the area, whimpering to himself a bit when it makes the pain worse. His fingers come back dark and wet.
Blood.
Whatever it is that grabbed him has also shredded the skin of his leg in the process. Perfect, great, fantastic, amazing.
Sob ripping free of its own volition, Steve falls back. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know a damn thing about dealing with fucking claw marks. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know how to reach help. He doesn’t know if that thing is coming back. He doesn’t know what to do.
Tears slide down from his eyes, down his face to his ears, but Steve doesn’t make any move to wipe them away. Instead he just lays there, staring up at the discomfortingly red sky above him. He’s never seen a red sky before. It would maybe be pretty to look at if he wasn’t spiraling and catastrophizing.
Lightning streaks across the dark clouds, and Steve startles at the sudden brightness of it. But it’s something. It’s enough to get him pushing himself back up, to wipe his eyes with dirty hands, to collect his thoughts again. His leg stings with each movement, but he knows he can’t stay on the ground. He has to go…somewhere. Anywhere but here. Except the part where Steve doesn’t know where he is.
The ground is wet under his palms as he drags himself towards on the twisted trees surrounding him. Reaching it, Steve reaches up to grab onto a branch, hoping and praying that it doesn’t crack under his weight, and uses it to pull himself up. The bark is dry and rough against his skin as he pulls, but the branch holds and Steve gets his feet under himself again.
Leaning heavily against the trunk as Steve tests how much weight he can put on his torn apart right leg. “Fuck!” he swears when the pain sears all the way up as soon as his foot touches the ground.
Another sob tears its way free as Steve leans on the dead tree for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose until the flash of pain fades away again. Once he can straighten up enough to look around again, Steve feels the need to sob again. He really has no idea where he’s at.
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