#prairie dog tw

[snnynaturalarch]

she says it's a winchester

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I'm curious on your take on the Ratman and ratlings' relationship with animals. Do you think they'd keep any and risk becoming attached? I feel this would outwardly effect Jack the most considering his love for all the weird shit they got in Australia but I think Arthur is also the type to be really hurt by the loss of a pet. But in a dad way. Like he'll begrudgingly take in the fucking cat one of his kids brings to his home out of the rain and the animal ends up being his partner in crime. He's stone-faced when it passes away and it takes a while for the pain to subside but he doesn't let it show for even a second. I don't imagine Matthew could handle the mental load of losing a beloved pet. Alfred is too fucking busy to properly care for one. Zee probably has a few birds whose babies she cares for for generations maybe a kiwi lol

TW for pet death

Alfred has had horses his entire life. He's got a ranch in his name somewhere where the descendants of the pair of horses, Liberty and Justice, that Matt gave him during the Civil War live. Justice got shot out from under him in 1864 but he went full Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, dropped dead of idk, the shits and when he was feeling better Liberty was getting her hump on with a local stallion so he just made a ranch there and their descendants still fuck amongst the grasses or however the prairies work. Liberty is immortal because fuck I already killed one horse this post and I'm already emotional.

Matt... He just kept trying. Nations have semi immortal pets. All he wanted was a goddamn friend. François gave him a lap dog when he was little. It died in its first Canadian winter as was often the fate of anything smaller than a terrier. He tried a newfie. It drowned. Finally, around the 1780s he had a little black and white working dog he named Sel et Poivre who lasted a decade. But eventually he got ripped up by a wolverine and Matt was damned to eternal loneliness until Arthur had mercy on him and got attached enough to the wee fat house lion he named Flufferton he didn't die. Matt's best friend for awhile and favourite heat source at his father's. Cue 1980 with Canada finally getting it's full independence and Jan dropping him like a hot rock and Alfred got him a Samoyed puppy in the aftermath. I've called this dog Kuma, Bud and Buckwheat before. The neighbor backs over him by accident! and Matt low-key has the worst mental breakdown of his life like he's 20 seconds from getting the axe and ending up in grippy sock jail. Then the pupper pops up licks him and Matt has the happiest sob fest for like a solid week. Finally! Immortal pupper. No more perishing.

Jack is a fun example because he's very in tune with the circle of lire and his favourite pet was a tortoise named Harriet he's had on and off since 1830 when she died in 2006. So when she finally died of natural causes he was absolutely fucking devastated. Didn't get out of bed for a week after the funeral, cried his eyes out every time he saw a turtle or tortoise for years. She was his baby since he was a baby. Closest thing to losing a childhood dog a nation can express. He had plenty of snakes and spiders and dogs that passed on and they made him sad but oh Harriet 😭.

Zee has a budgie named Pavlova that Jack got her when she finally dropped the family name. Just so she can say she owns Pavlova. It spent a week with Uncle Matt during hockey season and went back to Mum telling everyone, "Give your balls a tug, tit fucker" and making nondescript sobbing sounds. And the singular devotion with which New Zealand intervenes in its bird's well-being? Oh yeah, they're her children. Entire genomes of Kiwi-birds and Kakapo and Kea. She personally hunts rats that threaten their population like it's 1916, flashlight between her teeth, knife in one hand, Arthur sweating like mad somewhere. Bird watching is something she and the old man have in common so he probably does jokingly call them her grandchildren. Zee gets beat in the shin by a screaming kiwi-bird, and he just picks it up like, "Now that's no way to treat your mother, lad! Mind your manners." Before it toddles off and any on-looker is just pure, what the fuck.

[real-total-drama-takes]

More little snippets of my-total drama-rewrite-that-only-is-in-my-head-because-I’m-too-burnout-to-write-it

Tw: Implied toxic masculinity and abuse

Ezekiel is like that™️ because he’s the second elder child, and second son in his family. And his dad is a piece of shit. So toxic house + not a lot of social interaction = Ezekiel kind of has bad takes….BUT since Ezekiel family are like, farmers or Amish or whatever the hell prairie dog means in Canada..he and his family regularly go to farmers markets and meet Beth family.

Beth and Ezekiel meet, hang out, and become pen pals, and Beth is a family friend. She also tries to make Ezekiel, like, a better person. Stuff happens and Ezekiel and Beth loose touch. Soon total drama happens and they remeet and become friends again. :)

Ezekiel has an older brother name David, and little twin sisters, and a baby brother. His mom is stressed, so Ezekiel help around the house. (Invert that Ezekiel clip of shooting a bow and arrow and that tidbit of him speaking 8 languages)

-🦑

.

[beausling]

˗ˏˋthe inner workings of my brain´ˎ˗

welcome to my blog !!! here you may find things such as; stories and poetry i write, random yapathons, and a fuck ton of reposts of memes or other shit i like, amongst other things.

꩜ writing

i will write for : marvel, the walking dead, greysverse, 911verse, supernatural, screamtv, obx, t70s, 13rw, the society, gilmore girls, the boys, suicideboys, sturniolo triplets, and a few others

most all the fics i write are, or will be, 18+ to some capacity. my blog as a whole is 16+. not everything i’ve written, or will write, will be NSFW, but more likely than not will have mature content/themes, so always check tags and read at your own risk. i have and will often write quite of bit of dead dove. you have been warned.

꩜ MAV NAV

fic masterlist (under construction), poetry masterlist, cai acc

asks are open, but i don’t have any fic or bot req rules atm, so just go scrazy so stupid i guess (but not too crazy).

꩜ my writing history, and style

i’ve been writing pretty much my whole life, as long as i can remember. i started writing fanfics when i was in middle school like most people, but i didn’t get super serious about my writing, as in that i could make it a career, until my freshman year of high school. i’ve been writing poetry for about five or six years now, and i started writing a poetry book in 2022. i also started writing music when i was in middle school, but i’ve stopped quite a few times cause i’ve never thought it was good enough, but i recently got back into it.

basically everything i’ve ever written, be it fics, poetry, or music, are all venting my emotions. i write what i know best, which is trauma. in come many wounded and dead doves.

꩜ about me

i’m a man by many names, but you can call me october/oct, or wren. i’m 19 and my birthday is november 29. i’m okay with any pronouns, but the main prns i use are she/fai/them. i’m queer and genderfluid. my favorite color is green. my favorite season is fall. my favorite holiday is halloween. my favorite animals (in no particular order) are cats, frogs, penguins, hedgehogs, cows, and prairie dogs. my favorite artist is stevie nicks, in and outside of fleetwood mac, and my favorite fleetwood mac song is i’m so afraid (live at warner bros 97’). other than listening to music, playing with my cats, watching shows and movies, and reading+writing, some of my other hobbies are video games (black opps 3 is my fave), smokin tokin, drawing+painting, baking, sfx makeup, decorating my bedroom, collecting little trinkets, and more. i’m an audhder with bpd and insomnia living in michigan, so i’m always awake but sooo eepy and constantly having thoughts and being plagued with visions and such.

꩜ do not follow/interact if you are :

racist, any kind of phobic, etc. basically if you’re bigoted in any way fuck all the way off, you’re under 16 or don’t have your age on your acc or indicate age range, you don’t respect tw or tone tags, you don’t hold your faves accountable, mcyt supporters, w*nce*ties, kieran wilcox + negan smith apologists (but maybeee if you give me valid points), general weirdos

[izzy-b-hands]

Crossed

Weird roadtrip au kind of thing??? in small random scenes?

TW for a moment of emetophobia in one scene

eventual steddyhands.

pls know that this entire fic literally only stemmed from me thinking abt Con doing that arm around the passenger seat thing while backing up a car and going 😳 😍👀 over it. That's it. It's been three days ajsndnfngn

anyway pls enjoy

---

"I don't mind driving," Izzy mocks himself. "Why did you say that? Why would you ever say that?"

"Do you not like driving?"

Izzy jumps at the sound of Frenchie's voice. "Thought you were helping order food."

"There's a slight argument over fries and them being salted or not," Frenchie says. "And it was getting..."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Putting it mildly considering it's literally just fries and Roach literally carries packets of salt and pepper and other stuff with him because...well, Roach," Frenchie replies. "I think we've been in the car too long."

They have, all of them, almost definitely. But Stede insisted that a cross country trip to a country none of them had been to would be good for them all. Bonding and fun and freedom!

Except he chose the United States, aka the biggest fucking desert of a country Izzy's ever had the displeasure to drive through. Not that it's all actually desert of course, but with how far away some cities are from the next, it may as well be.

Add in highway hypnosis now in the prairie states, and Izzy...Izzy is done.

"We've got to get to California yet," Izzy says. "Or Washington. Not sure if Stede and Ed have finally decided."

"How close are we?"

"We," Izzy announces as he peers at the maps app on his phone. "Are currently in Minnesota. That is approximately...1,400 miles and some change away. If we drive without stopping, it says we could get there in less than a day."

"Yeah, in an empty car that'll roll off a cliff into the sea," Frenchie snorts. "Well, not empty I guess. I think we'll all have killed each other by then, without a single break. So our corpses would be in there. Bloodstained windows the only sign of life as we roll through town..."

Izzy stares at Frenchie. "I think we should stick to taking breaks."

"Probably should."

--

"Seriously?" Izzy scoffs. "We were pulled to the side of the road before I started eating! The car is off!"

"All I see is a driver, in the driver's seat, eating. That's illegal here," the cop replies, shoving a ticket at him. "Not sure what else you expected."

"I expected after hours of driving while my food got cold, I could pull into an empty gravel fucking field near the highway and eat," Izzy scowls.

The cop studies him. "Step out of the car."

"Oh for fuck's sake-"

"Sir, I do not appreciate that tone. Out of the car, now."

Izzy looks back to his sleeping companions, all apparently out hard enough that none of this has so much as made them blink an eye open.

He steps out and hands over everything the cop asks for, down to his passport. Then he leans on the car and waits while everything is looked over.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

"What on earth are you doing out there?"

Izzy peers into the car. "How did you get to the front seat, Bonnet?"

"Crawled."

"Why?"

Stede pauses. "I'm not sure. I think I was still half asleep."

"Well, I'm in trouble for daring to eat in a stopped vehicle," Izzy mutters. "Asshole has been over at his car for ages now, 'checking documentation.' Surprised he didn't ask for-"

"Sir?" the cop trundles over. "I'm gonna need the paperwork for everyone in the car, and I've called a drug dog as I have reason to suspect you might be carrying something we don't want in this state."

Izzy gestures to Stede. "See?"

Stede clambers out of the driver's side door awkwardly to stand by Izzy. "Let me handle this! Sir, sir! I need to speak with you about this before you escalate things!"

The cop turns to them. "I'm escalating things?! Who the fuck even are you; where did you come from?"

Stede scoffs. "The car! Where else? Now this is a silly misunderstanding and I want this resolved!"

The cop blinks, then smirks with a lick of his lips. "Everyone out of the car."

"What?" Stede asks, clearly aghast.

"OUT OF THE CAR, NOW!"

"What did you two do?" Ed asks groggily as everyone makes a half asleep panic dash out of the car.

"I was eating," Izzy replies. It's not a lie.

"I got out of the car," Stede says.

Also not a lie.

Ed frowns. "I don't believe either of you, but I'm too cold and tired to dig into this. Can we just bribe him and leave?"

"Ed!" Stede hisses, then pauses. "Oh. You did read about that being done in the States now and again, didn't you?"

"I did. We don't plan to come back here, right?"

"Absolutely not," Izzy says, before Stede can make any differing plans for them.

"Then let's try it," Ed sighs, arms wrapped around himself in his oversized hoodie. "I want to go back to sleep. At this rate, I might be doing that in a jail cell no matter what."

Stede is the one to step forward, a couple of hundreds in his palm. "Um. Sir?"

Ten minutes later, they're a few hundred poorer and back on the road.

"Thank fuck that worked," Ed sighs in the backseat, snuggled against Wee John and Frenchie. "Now hopefully he doesn't realise those are the fakes Frenchie made up."

Stede, now up front in the passenger seat beside Izzy, shoots him a look.

Izzy presses the gas pedal slightly harder, and focuses on how many miles are left to get them out of North Dakota.

--

"Why is this place so much?" The Swede mutters. "Too much land."

"Too much to drive across," Izzy agrees. "They all out again?"

The Swede nods towards the backseat. "Think the food at the diner did it. So much food..."

"Stede wants us to experience the richness of the country," Izzy sighs. "And that was all certainly rich."

"He kept the leftovers in the cooler," The Swede mutters. "I can't. Maybe tomorrow I could try more, but I don't think I'll even be hungry for dinner."

"Buttons will eat whatever the rest of us can't," Izzy says. "Buttons with his iron stomach."

There's a tense pause, and Izzy instinctively slows the car just slightly.

"About to be sick?" The Swede asks. "Me too."

"Yup, give me a second to get us pulled off the road."

--

"We've decided on Washington!" Ed announces. "For sure this time."

"Please," Izzy mutters. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, you can put this town into the GPS," Stede adds, handing over a sticky note with a hastily scribbled name on it.

"This isn't in Washington," Izzy says. "This is in Oregon."

"Portland?" Stede wrinkles his nose. "No, we have it right."

"There was some sketch show literally set there," Jim says. "With the town name in the show name. That made clear the town is in Oregon."

"Was it any good?" Roach asks.

"I'm curious too," Stede says.

"Look," Izzy says, just loud enough to be heard over the beginning din. "I will drive to one state. Choose one. Google the fucking city and make sure of where it is. Otherwise I decide which city we stop at."

"Geez, fine Dad," Frenchie snorts. "Will you turn the car around next?"

"Yeah," Izzy whips around in his seat to stare Frenchie down. "Yeah. I fuckin' will. And then we'll have to spend another fucking...I don't even know how many hours in this car!"

He regrets it immediately. "Fuck. Frenchie, I'm sorry. And Bonnet-"

"No," Stede hesitates. "This was maybe too much all at once."

"No, it," Izzy splutters. "It... I'm just tired."

"I think we all are," Fang says softly. "Why don't we find an actual hotel instead of sleeping in the car, and start fresh tomorrow?"

"I can cover it," Izzy says, and puts the car back into gear before anyone can argue. Normally he'd have no wish to stay any longer in a place as bland as Idaho, but desperate times and desperate measures.

--

"Izzy," Stede sighs. "What is this I hear about you not buying yourself a room?"

"I'm good in the car," Izzy says through a mouthful of stale danish stolen from an ice cold brunch platter in the hotel lobby. "I haven't gotten to fully lay down in the backseat once yet. I'm excited for it."

"You're not serious."

"As serious as I am about stealing the rest of these when the clerk goes back into their office," Izzy gestures towards the remaining four danishes. "Fucking starving."

"I noticed you didn't eat much at the last drive thru," Stede says, arms crossed, bouncing lightly on his feet. "What's that about?"

"Only had time for a bite if we wanted to stay on schedule," Izzy replies. "And I wasn't going to try and eat in the car again after that last incident."

"Come on," Stede holds out his hand. "You accidentally got Ed and I a room with two queens."

"So long as you two are in there, yeah."

Stede snorts. "Well, we need a third one in there with us."

"You're okay sharing a bed with me?"

"What on earth do you mean?" Stede asks. "Ed-"

"Likes to sprawl out. And hasn't been able to for days on end. I got you two beds in the room for a reason."

"He'll end up on one alone, stretched out every which way," Stede says. "Never mind, good call."

"You still want to share with me?"

"I am not letting you sleep in the car," Stede replies, and snags his hand. "Forget the danishes. I told the clerk to switch out your credit card for mine for the rest of the charges on our room. They have room service until midnight, and it's only ten right now..."

"You'll spoil me," Izzy chuckles, but he's happily surprised. "I am sorry. About the thing in the car. This hasn't been all bad by any stretch."

"Yeah, but it has been...intense," Stede says as they wait for an elevator. "Maybe next trip, we pick one city and stay there for a week, hm?"

"Where do you have in mind?"

"I don't know. New Orleans?"

"It'll either be amazing or a complete disaster," Izzy says. "As long as someone else does more of the driving, I'll go."

"Good," Stede grins as they step into the first elevator and head up to the twelfth floor. "It might be an amazing disaster, you know."

"True," Izzy smiles.

"I was planning to give Ed a blowjob in Storyville, so long as I can find an appropriate place for it," Stede continues, leading Izzy out of the elevator and towards their room. "I'd love to do the same for you."

"What?"

"Iz!" Ed shouts as Stede opens the door. "I'm glad you listened to him and came up!"

"Did you hear him?" Izzy asks.

"About the blowjobs? Yeah," Ed smiles. "Come lay down! We've got bad movies to watch and room service to order."

"Okay," Izzy lets the tension flow out of his shoulders for the first time in days. "That all sounds good...blowjob included."

--

"This," Izzy sighs. "Isn't bad at all."

"That's it?" Ed giggles. "Poetry, Iz."

"Shush," Izzy scolds him playfully, tucked against him by Ed's arm around his waist.

On his other side is Bonnet, taking in the view of the sea from the grass and rocks near West Point Lighthouse.

"It was worth it," Frenchie says as he and Wee John pass by them to head back closer to the lighthouse. "By the way. Thanks for this, Stede."

"And Izzy, for doing so much driving!" Stede adds as they walk away. "Ah. Sorry about that."

"S'alright," Izzy says. "I know they're glad they didn't have to do much of it."

"I know it's sort of cold," Ed says. "But you guys wanna sit here for a little bit longer?"

Stede nods. "Everyone is either doing the same or wandering it seems. I think we have the time."

They carefully settle themselves down onto the ground, before resuming their previous snuggle.

"I know we had planned to fly out in the next day or so," Izzy says. "But maybe we stay an extra few days."

"I told you he was still having fun," Ed faux whispers and gently jabs Stede. "See?"

"I think that would be lovely," Stede smiles. "We'll get some hotel rooms and make another few days of it here."

Izzy nods and lets himself fully relax into Ed, listening to the crash of the waves.

[audioaujom]

Sebastian Saves Sam From a Cult

Stardew Hub, < prev, next >

Hello again! This is very similar to the write from last week, but with Sam and Sebastian flipped. Sorry if it feels a little repetitive ;-; I just really like these two and got sucked into the whole “make the small town a cult” thing. Whoops. There will likely be more cult to come, but I’ll try not to make that the next update. As with the last one, this is not canon compliant, as it reimagines a handful of members of Pelican Town as members of a cult that participates in ritual sacrifice. 

Word Count: 1914

Chapter TWs: Cults, Attempted Human Sacrifice, Blood and Injury

--

————————————

From: Abby hey, are you busy rn

To: Abby Nope!

Just finishin up practice with Seb

What’s up??

From: Abby my dad wants help with some store stuff and I need to get out of it lol

prairie king?

To: Abby Sure!

Want Seb to come along?

From: Abby no, it’s fine

come by quickly, though

To: Abby Lol okay

Coming!

————————————

“Hey, Abby wants me to drop by for a bit. Catch you later?” 

“Now?” Sebastian complained, turning his keyboard off. Sam nodded with his best puppy dog eyes from his guitar stand, Sebastian rolling his eyes and crossing his arms with a small smile. “That’s fine. Everything okay, though?”

“Said she wanted out of some shop work.” Sam shrugged, both of them heading to put their shoes on by Sam’s front door. “Don’t mean to kick you out, though.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I didn’t want to stay any longer, anyway.” Sebastian teased, patting Sam on the shoulder as they two headed outside. “See you soon?” 

“Yeah!” Sam grinned, the two then chatting idly as they headed into town, eventually parting ways by the front of Pierre’s so Sebastian could head home up the mountain. Sam waved as  Sebastian walked off before turning his attention to the store once he was out of sight, pausing as he noticed the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the front door. Confused but not deterred by the sign, Sam tried the door only to find that it was open, so he stepped inside.

The lights were all off and the front section of the store completely deserted, the aisles eerie in the faded afternoon sunlight coming in through the front windows. The store was also completely silent—and so was the attached house at the back, Sam taking a couple of steps to get further inside with a small frown.

“Abby? You here?” He called, glancing around the closed shop in confusion. 

Why’d she ask me to come here to help when the place is closed?

He casually wandered further in, glancing down each of the darkened aisles of stocked food as he went. He frowned as he reached the counter, comically jumping up onto it to see behind it as if expecting to find someone hiding back there.

“Abby?” He tried again, hopping off the counter to head for the ‘Staff’ door in the back corner that led into Abigail’s house and pushing it open. He stepped through, glancing around while wondering why the house and shop would both be open when no one seemed to be home.

Upset at having been pranked—he assumed—he glanced around again to make sure no one saw him and slowly backed out of the main room to head back into the store and maybe catch up with Sebastian. As soon as he turned around to push back open the door to the shop he saw a flash of purple hair before a stinging pain slammed against the back of his head and he went crashing to the floor.

“Quickly! Before he recovers!”

Sam felt dizzy—but not any more disoriented than the few times he’s fallen from his skateboard, closing his eyes as his head pounded to try and regain his senses faster. As he felt arms wrap around his torso to lift him off the floor, he blindly started flailing his arms and feeling them occasionally smack against whoever was behind that slowly started to drag him backwards.

“I need a hand! He’s already coming back to his senses!” A voice called out from behind him, and the sudden shock of recognizing it as Pierre’s momentarily halted all of his attempts to get free.

What…?

He opened his eyes to glance around, realizing he was approaching an unfamiliar set of double doors at the end of the main room he’d never actually been through. Limp in Pierre’s arms for a moment, he saw Abigail come running towards him, a grimace crossing her face as she made eye contact with his slack-jawed expression. “Shit.”

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Sam didn’t bother trying to keep the panic off his face as Abigail went to grab his legs, managing to kick her once in the side and once in the leg, sending her crashing to the floor with a groan. She took a second to regain herself as Pierre resumed dragging him back, putting Sam enough off balance that Abigail could grab his legs and help her dad carry him into the room. Sam was too busy thrashing to take a good look at the room, letting himself be carried through a few lines of empty chairs towards a strangely ornate table that looked a little too much like an altar for his liking. 

“Oh, my. Need another set of hands?” Caroline’s head suddenly poked in through the doors, smiling softly as the two managed to lift Sam up and hold him down on top of the altar.

“That would be lovely.” Pierre sighed in relief as his wife came in, Sam panicking even harder and trying to break free from the two. Caroline then took over holding down Sam’s arms as Pierre went digging under the table, triumphantly returning with several lengths of rope, dropping all but one and then starting to loop it around one of Sam’s wrists.

“Okay but seriously, what’s going on?!” With the entire family working together, he could barely even struggle as Pierre made short work of tying the other end of the rope to a leg of the table, then uncomfortably pinning his arm flat against the table as he moved to the other one.

“Honey, is he always this noisy?” Caroline asked Abigail, who shrugged lightly.

“Yeah. Sorry for not warning you.”

“This is fuckin’ crazy…” Actually a little awed by the insanity, Sam winced as Pierre quickly tied down his other arm and then moved to join Abigail on the other side of the table.

“You’ll be fine, okay?” Caroline smiled down at him, but it only inspired a cold chill of fear instead of any comfort. “The others will be here soon, so we’ll make it quick.”

“Make what quick?” Sam asked, though he felt as if he already knew the answer as he looked up to see Pierre tie his legs down.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

——

After passing the dilapidated Community Center and starting up the mountain path, Sebastian slowed to stop as he realized—

“Wait… isn’t today Wednesday?” He wondered aloud, looking back down the hill he already came up at Pierre’s General Store. The lights seemed to be off when he passed, and he knew the store was always closed in the middle of the week. Starting to backtrack as a strange sense of anxiety began to eat away at his stomach, Sebastian walked back down to the staircase leading into town. Quickly descending the steps, he followed the road into the town square, shielding his eyes from the sun as he jogged towards Pierre’s and peered in through the slightly tinted front windows. Not spotting anyone inside and the closed sign on the door, Sebastian tried the front door only to find that it was actually open and he pushed it open so he could step inside.

The store itself was as quiet and deserted as it appeared from the outside, Sebastian glancing around anxiously. After determining that it was—in fact—completely empty, his stomach coiled into a heavy knot of dread as he approached the staff door leading into Abigail’s house. He paused mid-reach for the handle, waiting for a second to see if he could hear anything before opening the door as the house sounded quiet as well. Fighting the urge to call out as he stepped through, Sebastian headed into the main room of the house after poking his head into Abigail’s room and finding it also empty. Before he could check any of the other rooms, he heard what sounded like hushed voices from behind a set of double doors at the far end of the room.

“What’s in there?” He mumbled under his breath to no one in particular, taking slow steps in that direction until he was close enough to make out talking from inside.

“—and with this, we can begin.” Pierre spoke as if addressing a crowd of some type, a brief moment of silence passing before Sebastian heard the familiar—though now incredibly panicked—voice of his friend.

“H—Hey!! What’s that for? Get away from me!” 

“Abby.” Pierre seemed to ignore Sam, his voice dull and bored as if—Has he done this before? “A hand?”

“No, don’t—!” Sam cut himself off with a cry of pain, Sebastian’s eyes blowing wide as he quickly threw the double doors open to charge inside.

The entire room fell still and silent as the assembled townspeople turned to look at Sebastian, who stood just inside the doorway with his mouth agape. The room was strange, with gilded tiles covering the floors and walls, a bunch of chairs set up to model pews and facing a large, ornate altar that sat atop a slight rise in the floor. The recognizable figures of Lewis, Gus, Clint, Pam, and Caroline were sitting in the seats and staring at Sebastian—who was too preoccupied with Pierre and Abigail who were standing over Sam, who’d been tied down on top of the altar. Abigail was also holding a bloodied kitchen knife, which had just been used to slash at Sam’s wrists—which were now steadily dripping blood into large buckets beneath the head of the table.

“Sam!” Sebastian charged up through the center aisle created by the chairs, ignoring the townspeople who stood up in protest as he ran faster than he thought he could to reach his injured friend.

“Sebastian…?” Sam’s head slowly rolled to the side, his slightly bleary and clouded eyes noticing his friend’s rapidly approaching form.

“Now, there’s no need to interrupt.” Pierre warned, starting to reach for Abigail’s weapon but moving a moment too slow as Sebastian kicked out and hit him in the stomach.

“Dad!” Abigail—in her surprise—dropped the knife as her father fell hard to the floor, clutching at his stomach with a winded cough. Sebastian lunged for the knife as she realized her mistake, him standing up in time to punch her hard in the face and send her crashing into Pierre as he tried to get up.

Sebastian quickly sawed through the ropes around Sam’s wrists and helped him sit up, aiming the knife towards the onlookers who had begun to approach. “Don’t even think about it. I want all of you out of here. This… whatever… ends now.”

The assembled townspeople looked at each other warily, glancing between the knife in Sebastian’s hand and the crumpled forms of Abigail and Pierre and started backing away, allowing Sebastian to cut Sam’s legs free and begin to fret over his bleeding forearms.

“Keep pressure on it, that’ll slow the bleeding. We’ll get you to Harvey, he can help.”

“Sebastian, you…” Sam trailed off as he pressed his injured forearms against his shirt in an attempt to slow the bleeding. “How’d you know I was here?”

“This place is closed on Wednesday.” Sebastian explained, helping Sam off the altar and doing his best to support his friend’s weight as they hurried out of the room and into the main area of the store. “Realized that about halfway home and came back to make sure you were okay.” “Thanks, man.” Sam smiled widely, before a new wince of pain came across his face wiped it away.

“Come on, I gotcha.”

[lorepossum]

DD Promptober ‘22, Day 5: Ritual.

Finally getting a little drabble in, I’m gonna at least try to do a few more before the month is out.

Whiskey in the afternoon. Whiskey in the evening and Whiskey in his flask for the afternoon to follow. The mornings were saved for another particular ritual of our favorite Highwayman’s.

Take the hair, it is well written,

Of the dog by which you’re bitten,

Work off one wine by his brother,

One labor with another.

Dismas was never sure where he’d heard it. Whether from the depths of a tavernhall, or from the lips of his own father at the lintel of some long distant, forgotten hearth fire.

Wherever he had heard it first, it did not stop there. Dismas frequented so many places sick with drink and suffering that is was nearly a mantra. The holy scripture of the drunken reprobates. Sometimes they added humorous, dirtier couplets or lines. Sometimes added slurrs and cursed (though that was often not intentional). Either way it was impossible for a reprobate such as Dismas to not know of the proverbial ‘Hair of the Dog’.

Every drunk had their own rituals of the day, every man and woman reliant of drink had ways of keeping sane. Dismas was no different; whiskey in the afternoon. Whiskey in the evening and Whiskey in his flask for the afternoon to follow.

He liked Whiskey. Liked the way it bit at the back of his throat and the warmth is settled in his stomach. Liquid courage on an estate full of monsters. Sure, sometimes he would partake of ale or beer (usually at a meal or while working— for the calories, you see) but Whiskey was his ever constant companion. Whiskey… or the shoe polish that Jubert passed off as it anyhow.

The mornings however were different. Dismas prided himself on not requiring a nip of whiskey in the morning. He saved another of his rituals for the morning.

Gin, Malt Vinegar, dashes of pepper and the ground power of the exotic peppers they’d only recently begun importing from the East. (It was certainly a better mix than the gunpowder some of his old brigand companions had used.) Top off with lemon, and a raw egg yolk.

It didn’t taste good. But it wasn’t meant to.

Nights were for feeling good. For drowning sorrows in the burn of booze and the laughter of others ignoring the shadows at the door. For savoring the hit of a familiar high, playing cards or dice (at the unofficial tables of course) and forgetting to worry for the evening about what horror you might see when you awoke.

The mornings were for sobering up. And there was nothing that could sober a man like the sour spicy punch of a Hair of the Dog.

Reynauld always told him a shower might have the same effect. But what did the old man know…

“I know it looks absolutely revolting.” The crusader said where he found Dismas, sitting on a stool at the bar at Jubert’s at far-too-early as far as he was concerned.

“Probably.” Dismas said with a grin and a wink, which hinted at the ghost of the night passed. “But ah well.”

He downed it in one. Savoring the slide of the yolk, the sour curdling effect on his tongue. The waft of vinegar in the nose, just enough gin to moisten his wrung dry brain, and the pepper burn that lingered after.

Reynauld made a face, but Dismas just laughed. He rapt the bar three times and swung off his stool.

His hip flask was full for the afternoon and evening. His morning’s libation complete. He loped after the crusader with a half smile on his face, out to whatever horror that were to come.

[picsofprairiedogs]

[tea-time-terrier]

Skulls and jaw bones.

[japariguide-blog]

TRY + A CHARACTER try black-tailed prairie dog!

SEND  TRY + A CHARACTER  YOU’D LIKE TO SEE ME ( ATTEMPT ) TO WRITE !

An amazed gasp came from the girl’s lips as her eyes practically shined at the beautiful greenery before her.

&&. ❝ This place… has been untouched ! So much places for me to dig ! I need- no, I must fix that ! CHAAAAARGE ! ❞

She let out a battle cry as she ran straight for the ground, aggressively digging her way into the ground. It wasn’t long until there were giant holes everywhere and a stuck prairie dog muffling screaming while kicking in the air.

&&.  ❝ MMMMMHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!❞

[tinyhousetaxidermy]

I swear the local prairie dogs know that I am a far better shot than my brother. He goes out there and they’ll look at him and bark. I go out there and suddenly it’s a ghost town

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 13

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Dog boy and farmer girl make up!! :) 

Author’s Note: TW // very brief mention of death and attempted suicide

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

Summer is here and it is hot. I’m not going outside today.

Since (reluctantly) getting myself dressed earlier, I’ve been just laying in bed, stuffed Eggy under one of my arms, playing video games.  It’s been a while since I’ve just let myself lounge around for a whole day, and I’ve been hankering for some Legend of Lonk lately. 

I wonder if anyone around here is into games. I know Abby is. Allegedly, she struggles so much with Prairie King because she’s more of an RPG type, which I can relate to. But who knows if I’ll ever be close enough with her to play games together?

Just when I’m about to finish up a cutscene, my phone vibrates. Probably a text. I decide to ignore it for now, until realizing it’s still going. Ughhhhh, I hate unprompted phone calls. I pause my game and set the console aside. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, (y/n)…” fuck, it’s Sam. “Sorry to bother ya.”

“Oh, uh, not a bother at all. What’s up?” I sit up, repositioning Eggy to my lap and hugging her.

“Can we meet up somewhere? I wanna… you know. Talk about… uh. You know. Stuff. If you’re willing, of course. If not then don’t worry about it, it’s cool.”

I sigh, quietly. I do miss that puppy-man. And if I’ve been canoodling his best friend, then I should swallow my pride and stop avoiding this. For all of our sakes.

“Yeah, I’d like that actually. You wanna come over?”

He sighs too — a big, relieving one. I almost forgot how animated he is. “Yeah sure, when’s a good time?”

“Whenever you want, I’ll be around all day.” My overwhelmingly hospitable instincts kick in, “Just let me know when you’re headed over. I can make us some cocoa or lemonade or something, if you want.”

“It’s a little hot for hot chocolate,” he laughs, sorta shyly. “But it does sound good.” 

“Fuck, true,” I mentally smack myself on the forehead. “I can make it cold,” I offer. “Or at least try to. Never done it before.”

“That would be great, it’s okay if you don’t feel like it though. I don’t wanna burden you too much,” he trails off. 

“Sam, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

I hear a nervous laugh on the other end. “Yeah, I guess. Alright. Uh. I guess I’ll head over in a few minutes?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” 

“See ya in a bit then, (y/n).”

“See ya, Sam.”

Fuck, this is gonna be so uncomfortable. At least he seems as nervous as I feel.

Letting out a huge groan, I roll – literally roll, from mattress to floor – out of the bed to find a bra and some less bootylicious bottoms to put on.

Something tells me Seb’s talked to Sam about what we’re about to discuss, so I’m sure Sam knows by now I’m not interested in him the way he might’ve thought. I gotta stay cautious, though. Some dudes are fuckin’ creeps who’ll see a little bit of extra skin and think it's free real estate. Experienced that too much in the city.

I’d doubt Sam being like that if I knew him beyond the surface, but I’ve been so unsure of how to feel about that gumball since The Incident. 

I pick out a pair of long gray bike shorts, and throw a sports bra underneath the white, grandpa-esque tourism tee from Ginger Island that I had on already. The ladies are staying hidden, today.

Now, the cocoa… I follow my usual routine, except I leave out the creamer and opt to put the mixture into a pitcher rather than mugs. If I put it in the freezer with some extra ice – better throw in some more mix, so it won’t get watered down – so it’ll hopefully be chilled enough by the time he’s here. 

Aaand now we wait. I sit back on the bed, scooping Cannoli into my lap while my eyes dance around the room. I really need some more furniture in here. At least an extra chair, if I’m gonna keep having people over. Maybe a desk to work at? 

Fuck, wait a sec! This would totally be big enough for a kotatsu if I put the table in the kitchen or outside instead. My weeb ass has always wanted one of those. I’m sure Cannoli would love it, too. 

After a few more moments of interior design contemplation, I get up to pee. Naturally, the moment I sit down, I hear a knock at the door.

“Fuck…” I murmur. “Sorry, one second!” I yell as loud as I can muster. Hopefully he heard that.

I speed-run my little bathroom break and jog to the door, without drying my hands. Shit, what if he gets grossed out by how moist they are? I shake my head, then shake my hands a bit and pat ‘em on my shorts before opening up. 

“Hey–” I’m cut off with a squeak from my own throat as Sam fucking engulfs my body into a hug. 

“Dude you have no idea how bad I feel,” he word-vomits on me. “I’m so sorry!”

I stand there in shock for a moment. I expected more of a serious, awkward conversation. A weird business meeting, of sorts. Should’ve known that the big guy would do things differently. I’m still unsure of whether or not I can really trust him, but I'm willing to try.

“You big dummy...” I mumble into his boobs before squeezing him back. “I was so worried that you hated me.”

“I thought you’d hate me!”

“We’re both dummies.”

“For sure.”

Realizing I’m still talking into his big ol’ honkaroos, I tilt my head out for air. In a southern drawl, I declare, “We’ve got some stuff to discuss, pardner.”

“Mhm, mhm.” He pulls away, albeit still at arms-length and holding onto my shoulders. 

“Pop a squat, I’ll grab the cold cocoa.”

“Cold-co?”

“Oooo I like that,” I shout from the kitchen.

I can’t help but smile at how easy this is so far. Sure, we’ve got some feelings to work out, but I’d let my anxiety get the best of me for the past few weeks for sure.

“Do you want a mug or a glass?”

“Do you have one of those fancy wine cups?” he asks. I peer back and he’s leaning over from the chair at the table. Cannoli missed him too – he’s already curled up in Sam’s lap. 

“I’ll check.” I back up, peering around the cabinets, hoping the space gives me a better angle to see the top shelf with. Grandpa had to have had those… fuck, I don’t feel like climbing. “Actually,” I exhale, “can you check?”

Keeping Cannoli in his arms like a baby, Sam strolls in, looking confused. Then, the lightbulb goes off. He laughs at me and scruffs my hair, reassuring me with a jovial “Sure thing, little guy,” before easily spotting and taking a wine glass from the back of one of my higher shelves. Fucking tall people.

“Damn it.” 

“I can carry you on my shoulders sometime,” he offers. “That way you can, you know…” 

“I hate you.”

“Not that much, if you invited me over.”

“Whatever, fucko.”

He snickers, watching as I prepare our drinks. When I start pouring the creamer, he questions it. 

“Trust me,” I assure. He just shrugs, letting me do my thing. “You want whip?”

“What do I look like, some sort of monster? Of course I want whip.”

“More of a big, fluffy beast than anything.”

Sam scoffs, “I’ll take it over a goblin or shadow brute.”

I hand off his drink, scooping up a pair of swirly straws. I am an adult. “Want a straw too, beast boy?” I offer while holding one out towards him.

Taking it from me, he responds, “See, I can get behind that! Makes me sound like a Teen Titan.”

“That show kicked ass,” I point out as we walk into the other room. “I used to have the fattest crush on Robin.”

We sit down on my bed, both of us cross-legged, both of our backs against the wall. Cannoli fills the space between us. Our mediator.

“I was down bad for Starfire, myself.” He takes a sip, and I inspect for the signature eye twinkle. Theeere it is! Another chocolate beverage well done. “Holy shit this is so good.”

“Told you to trust me!”

He playfully rolls his eyes. “Oh! And Blackfire fucked too.”

“Dude, she was so hot!”

“But so mean…”

“Yeah, and you’re saying you wouldn’t want her to be mean to you?”

He inhales dramatically, contemplating. Then Sam mutters, shrugging, “I’d thank her for beating me up,” before dejectedly sipping some more of his drink.

“Seeeee?”

“Shut up, jeez. I didn’t come here to be perceived.”

“Eh, you kinda did.”

A short silence. “Crud. You’re right.”

We both laugh, and it simmers into another silence.

“So.” 

I turn towards him, leaning my shoulder onto the wall now. He mimics my movement, placing his already empty cup (?!) onto my nightstand and hugging my pillow to his chest. It looks like we’re having a slumber party. This is the best position for sharing some hot goss.

“So…” he sighs, his eyes roaming me. I blush as he either inspects me or checks me out – not sure which it is. “I’ve got some explaining to do, huh?”

I nod and shrug, “I guess.”

He gnaws at his bottom lip, looking down at the pillow, trying to decide on his next choice of words if I had to assume.

“Well, Sebastian told me that he already let you know I was catching feelings, so I don’t have to explain that.”

“Yeeeah… he fill you in on anything else?”

Sam nods. “I’m happy for you guys, by the way. Dunno what’s going on, but it’s cool you two are like… you know.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I shyly smile, scooping my plushie into my arms. God, Eggy takes up so much of me. It’s fine though. She is my protector. “I’m sorry that you kinda got fucked over. You’re really cool and you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy, but,” I shrug. “I just don’t feel the same that you do. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “No, really, it’s all good. I’m usually better with the ladies anyway. It’s about time Seb has better luck than I do.”

“Pfft. All these Pelican Town girls really swoon for ya, don’t they?” I say that half-jokingly. He’s crazy good looking, and he’s nice, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did well for himself around here.

“I mean, I thought I had a thing with Penny for a while, but that went nowhere.” 

“Aw, really? That would be so cute!”

“Would’ve been cuter if she felt the same way I did.”

“Oof,” I scrunch my nose as I wince. “Unrequited?”

“Nah, she just wasn’t as into me as I was into her, I guess.” He sighs, “It’s starting to be a common theme for me.”

“Heh, whoops,” I apologize as I abandon my cup of coldco onto the floor and hug Eggy tighter, hiding further into her. 

“It worked out for the best. We had different dreams for the future, and whatever.”

“What about Abby?”

“I love her, but more like… as if she were my annoying little sister.” He laughs, “Besides, she’s obsessed with Sebastian. It would never happen even if I wanted to try.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. How’s she feel about me and him, uh…” I pause. Seb and I aren’t dating, per say. “Messing around?” I cringe at my own words. “Gross. Wait.”

Sam howls, “Yoba, you nasty girl.” 

“Shut up! I don’t know what we are, we aren’t dating, exactly!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you… Uhh. She hates you.”

We lock eyes. He’s wincing but I’m stone cold. “I expected nothing less,” I truthfully admit.

“She’ll come around.”

“I fucking hope so. I don’t exactly love the fact that one of the first people I tried to properly interact with here has made such an enemy out of me.”

“Abby’s young and dumb, but she’ll warm up to you eventually. If not when she’s over it, it’ll happen whenever she finds someone else to occupy her. She dated this chick Sophia once, that was the most tame I’d ever seen her.”

“Girl must be a frickin’ angel.”

“She really was so nice.” 

“Was?”

“Well,” he clicks his tongue, “she was hospitalized for a suicide attempt last year. She lives over in Grampleton, so we never really saw her around here much in the first place. But none of us have seen her at all since that happened.”

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” Sam repositions a little, petting Cannoli for emotional support. “She’s supposed to be inheriting her parents’ vineyard, past the beach, actually. Don’t know if she’ll ever be back to do it.”

“Oh, that’s what that place is?”

“Yeah, have you ever heard of Blue Moon?”

“Shit, I have! That brand is all over Zuzu. It belonged to her parents?”

Sam nods, sadness still washing over his features. “Yeah, but they died in a car crash. Happened a little before Sophia had to… ya know. Go away.” 

I recoil a bit, thinking about how tough shit probably is for that poor girl. “I hope she ends up okay. That sucks so hard.”

“Yeah, me too.” He puts the pillow back behind him, and slaps his palms onto his thighs, keeping them there. “Anyway! I don’t like all this sad junk. Back to business.”

“So you were really gonna kiss me that night, huh?” I blurt out.

“Yeesh. Right to the point.”

“Sorry.” I apologetically shrug. 

“You’re fine, uh… maybe I was?” We look at each other, silence filling the room. I lean over to finish my drink before placing the empty cup back on the ground, and then purse my lips, waiting for him to correct himself. “Fuck. Yes. Yes I was.”

“You know that would’ve been, like, crazy uncomfortable considering I didn’t want to kiss you back, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t want to kiss you, Sam.” 

Although, his lips are super nice… 

No.

Stop it. 

“Oh my god,” he giggles.

“Thanks for not kissing me.”

“Oh my god!”

“No, like, seriously, thank you.” I put my hand on his knee, chuckling. “You have no idea how much weirder I’d feel having you in my house right now, had that happened.”

“Yeah, no problem, whatever! I get it, you don’t like me! I’ll just pine for a… taken?” Sam tilts his head and squints an eye, thinking over the word. “Taken!” He nods, confidently. “A taken lady, for forever.”

“Come on, dude!” I playfully whine, swatting Eggy’s arms in his direction. He flaps his hand in unison with each fuzzy, stuffed paw slap. “To be fair, you’re totally hot. I’m sure if you asked that Victor dude to take you to a Zuzu bar, you’d get laid in no time.”

“You think I’m hot?”

I deadpan at Sam’s face to find him giggling and blushing like a fucking school girl. Sigh. 

“Yeah, I do. You’re like, atrociously hot.” I roll my eyes, in spite of the smile on my face. I'm not lying - he really is, like, so fucking hot honestly. “Don’t make it weird.” I point at him, one of the plushie’s paws still in the same hand.

“That’s so cool oh my god,” he giddily exclaims.

I groan into the back of Eggy’s head. “Sammm!”

“Right, sorry!” he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t wanna just get laid. I have Palmela for that stuff.”

“Who the fuck is Palmela?”

Sam grins menacingly, waggling his fingers at me, not saying a word.

What?

...Oh.

OH.

Palmela! Seriously?!

“Dude, gross!” I cackle.

“Heheheheh.” He evilly taps his fingertips against those on the opposite hand. I give him a fake-dirty look. “But seriously, I want someone to cuddle, to go on dates with,” he sighs. “Anyone, I don’t even care about gender. I just want someone to care about and feel loved by.”

Aww. I frown. Everyone who wants that deserves it. Especially this fella. Wait… but if he’s not straight…

I excitedly snag one of his hands in both of mine. “So small,” he whispers, thoroughly inspecting my hands. I ignore that comment.

“Sam, have you ever had a crush on Sebastian?” Wide eyed and menacingly, I flash my teeth.

His own eyes widen. He looks down, then back up to my eyes, and then off to the side…and now he’s blushing!!!

“Sam, holy shit! You have!”

“We dated…” he whispers, twitching a brow. Ayo?!

“Samson Henry Johnson, you sly dog!”

“Dude, shut up! We were, like, kids basically, it’s no big deal.”

“What do you mean by kids? How long ago was it?”

“We were in high school.”

“Bro, that was only, what, a decade ago? Little longer maybe?”

“Sweet Yoba above…”

“Is it a forbidden topic, or do I have full permission to be nosy?”

“It’ll be forbidden if you keep being annoying about it!”

I pout. “Boo, you whore.” 

“Wouldn’t not kissing and telling make me less of a whore?”

“Metaphorically speaking, yeah, but…” I shrug. Then, I have an epiphany. “Oh my god wait, did you guys, like, touch tips?!”

“Alright, it’s forbidden!”

“Fuck!”

__________________

I lied. I am going outside today.

After continuing to fill each other in on our previously failed love lives, Sam and I decided to take a walk up to his ex’s house to present the renewal of our friendship. Formally. Bells chime as we enter the gigantic cabin, announcing our arrival. Smells sawdusty – I guess Robin’s been busy.

“Hey, you two! If you’re looking for Sebby, he’s in his lair,” Robin advises. 

“Thanks Robby,” I chirp, as my tall companion and I pass her station.

“Robby?” she laughs. “Gross.”

I crinkle my nose. “Ugh, yeah, sorry. Didn’t have as nice of a ring out loud as it did in my head.”

“You’re tellin’ me!” Robin shouts once we’re out of sight. 

Continuing the assholery, as Sam raps on Seb’s door, I sing, “Sebbyyy.” 

A loud groan echos on the other side. “Stop calling me that shit,” he voices as he nears the door. When he opens it, he does a double take. “Ah. I see The Conversation went well.”

“Hell yeah!” Sam boasts, tossing a strong arm around my shoulder and navigating me inside. “This little lady and I are good as new.”

“And you came here to celebrate? Of all places?” the hot, emo cave goblin inquires. 

“Hell yeah!” Sam echos himself. “Swimmies and sippies season is here,” he chimes, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you down?”

“Can it wait until it’s cooler out?” Seb asks, returning to his desk and typing away. “Like, later tonight, maybe?”

“Absolutely! Who’s buying the sippies though?”

They both look at me, expectantly. I’ve been lost this entire time.

“What in the actual fuck is a swimmies and sippies?”

“Ahh, much to learn, young grasshopper,” Seb calmly states.

“Stop calling me that.”

He chuckles. “Every once in a while, we grab a bunch of drinks and go swimming at the bathhouse. You know, the one up by the train station,” he explains, as I nod. “Hence… swimmies and sippies.”

“I came up with the name!” Sam beams, as he sits on the couch. Of course he did, I think to myself. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I head pat him for a change. Feels good, man. “Of course it does.” Sam leans into my hand, so I continue rubbing his head. He’s literally a giant dog.

“I nominate you to buy,” Seb peers over at Sam. “Not fair to make the newbie do it.”

“You seemed on board with her getting the drinks a second ago!”

“Yeah, I also thought she knew what swimmies and sippies is at that point.” 

I nod, happily, giving the blonde’s scalp another pat before seating myself in front of Seb’s other computer. “Your fault for not filling me in on your plans, buddy.” 

“Man!” He whines. “Fine, I’ll go do that.” Sam gets up, stretching his arms up and behind his head as he makes his way to exit the room.

“Grab your cooler and some ice, too. There’s not much fridge space here.” 

“Anything else, fuckers?” 

“Snacks?” I add.

Sam looks to me and sighs, loud and exasperated. “Drinks, snacks, ice, cooler,” he counts on his fingers. “Got it.”

“Thank youuu~,” Seb calls as Sam leaves the room, flipping us off before swinging the door shut behind him. 

Chin in hands, I lean my elbows on the desk. 

“So… I’ve got a question for ya.”

“What’s up, baby?”

Yoba, my heart can’t take him giving me pet names. I blush and hide my face further into my hands. Fuckin’ loser.

“You guys were quite an item back in the day, yeah?”

He stops typing and snorts into a laugh. “Fuck. He told you about that?”

I hum and nod. “Did ya fuck?”

“Yeah,” he responds coolly, looking awfully tickled. He must not get to talk about this much.

“I knew it!” I practically screech. “That’s so precious. I wonder why he wouldn’t give me any deets.”

“Sam’s not as, uh,” Seb taps his nails onto the desk as he leans into the opposite hand. “In tune with his sexuality.”

“Ah. Explains why he forbade me from talking about it, too.”

“Look, ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer what I can. But keep it quiet, yeah? Lotta homophobes hidden around the valley.” Seb frowns. “And, Sam’s not homophobic towards other people by any means, but he’s still got some internalized shit to un-learn.”

“Ah. Lame, but understandable,” I nod, taking solace in knowing he at least is comfortable enough that he basically came out to me today. “My lips are sealed, sir.” 

I motion as though I’m zipping my mouth, tossing away the “key” after, ‘cause I’m not a monster. In the meantime, Seb groans. I tilt my head inquisitively and he looks my way. His eyes are dark and intense, like he’s invading my fucking soul oh my god.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

He continues to stare at me, eyes narrowed… Oh!

I gasp, “You naughty bastard! You like that, don’t you?”

“Guilty,” he shrugs, sipping his coffee.

Aaand, just like that, I’m activated. “Sebastian.”

“(Y/n).”

“How much work do you have right now?” 

His eyes dance around the screen a bit before looking in my direction. “Enough. Why?”

“Ughhhhh.” 

“Were you scheming, (y/l/n)?”

“Who, me?” I ask, flicking my wrist as I lilt out my words, all southernly-sounding. “Why I’d nevah!”

Except I totally would, and was. Was gonna like, I dunno… offer a dick suck? Or something. It's easy to forget with how long our tension has been going on that we haven't actually done anything like that, in person at least.

“You're a horrible liar, (y/n).” Sucking in through his teeth, Seb continues his typing. “If I didn’t have so much to catch up on before tonight I’d bend you over that desk right now.” 

Ooooh my god please do, ~sir~. I squeak. Ugh.

“Is that a threat?”

“Sounds like you want it to be.”

He imitates a squeaky toy to prove his point. I (rightfully!) give his shin a kick, and he just laughs and flicks his foot back towards me.

He isn’t wrong though. I want nothing more than that, actually. But, like the little shit I am, I instead respond, “Bold of you to assume such a thing.” 

“What, is it not romantic enough for our first time?” he jests. “Or are you just challenging me for fun, you little perv?” 

“Classified information.” Quick (y/n), change the topic! “This thing still work?” I ask, tapping the monitor in front of me.

“Yeah, you wanna use it?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” When he gives me a nod of approval, I stand up to reach the power button, pressing it and hoping for some RGB as it boots up. There are some — all red — and the poor thing sounds like it’s struggling. “When’s the last time this thing was turned on?”

“Years ago, don’t remember exactly when.” 

I hum, and am met with a black screen and white writing. “Oof. Says something about an improper boot device?”

“Shit. Umm,” he stops typing to think for a second. “Turn it on again, and go to the boot menu, in the BIOS. The right one should be somewhere on the list.”

I follow his directions. “The Windows one, I’m assuming?”

He nods. “Good girl.”

MMMMMM. If I had a tail, it would totally be wagging right now. 

I inhale sharply, trying to contain myself. “Fuck you.”

“Bad girl?” he suggests, raising one of his brows.

“I don’t like it, but sure, that’s better.” 

The computer finally starts up, and I'm surprised to find that it’s not locked by a password. This thing looks empty, though. Must’ve moved all his games and junk to the PC he’s on right now… I do the only reasonable thing to do in a situation like this: open up a browser and download stuff. MapleStory, maybe?

“Hmm, you’re right. I don’t like it either.”

“Good! So don’t use it, forehead.”

“My forehead is beautiful, thank you,” he quips. “What if it was in a different context?”

“What, like,” I clear my throat, “Oh, you’re a bad girl…?” I recite, the attempted deep voice cracking as I speak.

Seb heartily laughs. Adorably. Ughhh. “Yeah, like that.”

“Dunno, never been called that in that way before.”

“Mmm, that’ll be a fun experiment.” 

“There is no reason that should’ve been sexy, and yet…” I trail off.

He chuckles evilly, and I flick the scrunchie on my wrist at him. 

Picking it up from his lap, he holds it up briefly and says, “Cool, thanks.” 

Seb proceeds to (attempt to) put his hair up. Considering how choppy and uneven it is, it ends up being a wonky side-ponytail. 

Unfortunately, he’s still hot.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Rafael Barba:  Cute When You’re Cold

Word Count:  1117

TW:  Fluff.

You knew that life in the NYPD wouldn’t be glamorous by any stretch.  Police work – especially detective work – was never quite as sexy in real life as the television shows made it seem.  Hollywood didn’t show the bags under the eyes or the wrinkled, slept-in clothes, or scraggly hair because you hadn’t gotten it cut in a year and a half.

Still, sometimes your work in SVU seemed less real life and more akin to life in hell.  Currently, “hell” was defined as patrol work with a handful of cops from the 26th precinct, running DUI checkpoints in Manhatttanville as a guise to get DNA from a suspected serial rapist.  It was a flimsy ruse and a long shot, and you were certain that your commanding officer, Olivia Benson, was only trying it because she didn’t have to stand out in the cold for hours.

The first hour was fine.  The second hour was when the chill started to set in.  By the third hour, you were shivering.  By the fourth, when the first fat flakes of snow started to fall onto you, you had stopped shivering because you were numb, and you just assumed that you were dead.

But you weren’t dead.  The captain of the 26th eventually called off the checkpoint as a bust and sent everyone home.  Your partner for the evening, a lean older man whose grumbling has a faint Haitian patois, offered to drop you off at home, and you took him up on his offer gratefully.

Instead of your address in Long Island City, however, you just had him drop you off at your boyfriend’s place in the Upper West Side.  You and Rafael Barba were only in the early stages of dating, and you kept it quiet because he was your ADA.  It had been a fast few months though – the space between your awkward first date and now was slight.  And Rafael had given you a key to his place a few weeks ago with the stricture to come over any time, especially if you were tired and unwilling to drive to your own place.  It was his most endearingly annoying habit, fussily nagging you to be safe, drive safe, get good sleep.  

Tonight you were tired and cold.  You figured it qualified, a sleepover at his place.

When you let yourself into his place, there were still lights blazing despite the late hour.  You’d promised to text him when you were home, so you felt a stab of guilt that he may have been waiting up for your text.  Then you saw the scatter of case files and knew that he probably would have been up anyway.

The man himself must have been dozing on his couch because his head popped up like a prairie dog over the back, his sleepy eyes widening when he saw that it was you.  His hair was mussed, and he was in his usual sleepwear of a soft cotton t-shirt and pajama pants.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff with sleep as he stood and made his way over to you.  You were kneeling in the entryway and untying your regulation boots with fingers still numb from cold.  You finally got them off, and you stood up to face him.

“Hey,” you replied with a tired smile.

“I didn’t think you were coming over tonight.”

You shrugged, apologetic.  “It was late and I am frozen.”

Rafael smiled back at you.  “I’m not complaining.  I have a thing for women in uniform.”  He reached out and tugged at the lapels of your regulation winter jacket.

“Really?”  You quirked an eyebrow at this; your uniform accentuated none of your assets, and in so many layers, you felt like a polyblend potato.

“Well, I have a thing for a certain woman in uniform,” he amended.  He grasped your hands in his and winced at how icy they were.  He dropped his flirty routine and tugged you into his apartment.  “Come on,” he said.  “Let’s get you warmed up.”

He got a warm shower running for you, and you felt the feeling return in your extremities.  Your fingers and toes itched maddeningly with light frostbite.  When you were done, Rafael handed you some of his clothes.  A pair of his sweatpants, a t-shirt soft from a million washings.  He had run them in the dryer for a few moments to make them nice and toasty, and you let out an obscene groan as you got dressed.

“I’ll pretend that you moan like that for me,” he said dryly, but he led you into his bedroom.  You crawled into bed, and you let him tuck you in until only your head peaked out from under the blanket and the down comforter.

“If you join me, maybe we could make that a reality,” you shot back, and you waggled your eyebrows at him knowing full well that you looked ridiculous, trying to be sexy under a mountain of bedding.  Then you gave a deep shiver as your body tried to kick-start its internal thermostat.  You looked up to see Rafael grinning down at you.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head.  “Nothing.  It’s just that you look cute when you’re cold.”

You grumbled good-naturedly and watched him leave the room to go wrap up his work in the living room. You were starting to nod off when you felt him rejoin you, and he let in a draft of cool air when he peeled back the comforter.

“Hurry up,” you said.  “You’re letting all the warmth out.”

He only chuckled and settled in beside you after he snapped off the bedside lamp.  He pulled you to him so that you were nuzzled against him, but when your nose brushed against his neck, he let out a decidedly unmanly little shriek.

“Jesus, your nose is like ice!”

“I thought I was cute though.”

Rafael reached up to cup your nose in his warm palm.  “I said you look cute.  You feel like an ice cube.”

You laughed lightly, but it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn.  “There’s a witty retort here.  Something something hot Cubano boyfriend.”  Another yawn.  “But I’m too tired to put it together.”

He shifted your head so that he could plant a lingering kiss on your mouth.  “Go to sleep,” he told you.  “And tomorrow we can explore all the lines about your hot Cubano boyfriend.”

You made a noise indicating that his proposition was amenable to you, but you weren’t aware of much else after that.  You fell asleep quickly, and the last thing to cross your mind before you did was how lucky you were to have a warm person to fall asleep with.

[general-mahamatra]

Népirtás

Focus: Tommy

Genre: Dark, war

TW: War, betrayal, blood, murder, major character death

Wordcount: 3054

Read it on AO3 here

Népirtás: Hungarian for genocide.

Genocide (n) the deliberate killing of a large group of people, especially those of a particular ethnic group or nation.

--

L’manberg wanted to be free. Justice, liberty. They wanted to secede from the SMP to become their own country--its own nation.

Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy… They just wanted to be separate.

It wasn’t supposed to go wrong.

Silence.

Not the most common thing at night.

There were no groans that echoed eerily off the trees, or the rattling of bones from wandering skeletons. Even the horrid hissing of spiders were nowhere to be heard as the night stood still.

Nothing reached the boy who stood atop the towering wall. Blissfully unaware--ignorant if you will. Standing there, arms perched on the railing as he leaned over the edge, a bored gaze resting on his features. His blue eyes trailed along the barren prairie, standing watch as he waited for the inevitable moment it all came crumbling down.

War.

That’s what it was.

With laws to determine fair play; rules to make sure people didn’t cheat. It was the worst thing to happen to the self-declared nation of L’manburg. After all, all they wanted was peace. They wanted to secede, to become their own country. They wanted to live in harmony with Dream’s SMP.

And yet Dream declared war.

Dawn, two days time.

Then they would attack.

And was the final night.

A gust of wind caught the boy off guard, tousling his blonde hair and snapping him back to reality. The glazed look to his eyes dissipated and he straightened out, suddenly more alert. The breeze nipped, cold against his exposed skin. Rustled his uniform a bit as he moved.

He wasn’t sure what time it was. Without a clock to tell the time, the boy was left to gaze up at the moon.

It glared down at him, bright and full as it illuminated the world, hovering just below its peak. The night was almost halfway over, which meant someone should be coming to take his place soon.

“Tommy!” A deep voice startled the boy, shattering the silence that settled around him. Turning, Tommy peered down from the wall, coming to find none other than Eret themself standing just below. Perfect timing. “Tommy, come down!”

Thankful to be relieved of his position, the boy obliged. "Yeah yeah, shut up already Eret!" he called back, beginning to make his way down the nearest ladder.

Once he needed the bottom, Tommy jumped from a couple rungs up, feet hitting the ground with a solid thud. Spinning around, he came face to face with the brunette. Looking up at them, he came to remember just how weird it was seeing them in sunglasses, especially when it was so dark out. They never had a reason to wear them and every single time Tommy asked, Eret waved it off.

Pussy.

Before Tommy could say anything, Eret was already talking. A bit peculiar considering how little they spoke the duration of the war.

"Wilbur's looking for a plan," they explained, nodding towards the van. "'S the final night. We need everyone inside now."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "What. Y' don't trust yourselves to figure it out without me?" He grinned. "Comin' out to get the true brains of the operation?"

Eret deadpanned, clearly not amused. In fact, they looked rather anxious. "Just get inside, will ya?"

Sticking his tongue out, Tommy passed the brunette and headed towards the van. This late in the night felt like an odd time to hold a meeting. It was almost midnight, a time when everyone was typically asleep. Why they waited this long to hold the meeting was beyond him.

Entering the vehicle, Tommy moved to the back room and found himself standing in the empty space, three others across from him deep within a heated discussion.

Wilbur, Tubbo, and Fundy.

"We need a final plan!" Wilbur exclaimed, pointing to the ground. "There's gotta be something we can do."

Fundy rubbed his face, running his hands along his cheeks before glaring at Wilbur. With the way his ginger hair was frazzled and distressed, it was safe to assume the argument was going on for a while. "You're the leader! You're supposed to have the clutch plan!"

"Just because I'm the leader doesn't mean I have a plan," the curly haired man retorted. "It was your job to figure it out before tonight!"

"How the hell am I supposed to plan something when we're struggling to get food?" Fundy exclaimed. "You want us to work our asses off doing your job when we need to go out and get supplies! All you do is sit here and do nothing!"

"Fundy-"

"No!" The ginger was infuriated. "You're supposed to be leading us, yet here we are! In a fucking van arguing in front of a child when were about to be killed tomorrow morning!"

Tubbo, who had managed to back away unnoticed, paled when he was brought up. He didn't want to be part of the confrontation and his usual quiet demeanor wasn't helping. It left him vulnerable. Perfect to be used as defense.

Thank God Tommy and Eret had dropped in when they did.

Tommy went to speak, opening his mouth and even starting to announce their arrival when Wilbur spun to face them.

Offering a tired smile, Wilbur addressed them, successfully cutting Tommy off. "Eret, Tommy, glad you could make it."

Fundy turned as well, his gaze hovering on the two. His pupils were blown from the argument that just ensued but the fury faded out to pleading. "Please tell me one of you guys have something."

"Have what, a plan?" Tommy asked.

Fundy nodded.

His lips quirked up into a small smile. "'M the man with the plan, of course I have a plan!"

Wilbur muttered, "Not a man", but Tommy ignored him.

Relieved and excited, Fundy's eyes grew wide. "You do? What is it then?"

Tommy grinned, eyes glinting with mischief in the low candle light. "We go in the sewers and run."

If there was a record playing, it would scratch.

Everyone in the room stared at him, confused and shocked. Words were found lost at the sheer stupidity of the boy's suggestion.

"What? It's a good plan!" Tommy defended, voice cracking in the process. "We get out of here before dawn, they can't attack us! We'll be able to take 'em by surprise!"

Wilbur sighed and let his dull expression linger. They stood there, eyes locked in a sort of contest before the boy dropped his gaze. Once he did, Wilbur spoke. "We're not running from the fight, let alone following a plan a child came up with on the spot."

Offended, Tommy's head snapped back up, taken aback by Wilbur's words. "I'm not a child! And it's not running! We're just-"

"Escaping through the sewers to avoid Dream is running from a fight," Wilbur shot back. "That's not what we do."

"But-"

"No buts," the older man snapped. "This is war, Tommy, not some little game where you can run and hide and cheat."

“Tell that to Dream!” shouted Tommy, throwing his hands out. “All he has done is cheat and lie in every single battle!”

Fundy cut in. “And you don’t? All you do is cheat!”

The only thing that kept the boy from turning on Fundy was the hand on his shoulder. Glancing hack, he found Eret staring down at him, the other shaking their head. Then, with one swift motion, they pushed Tommy back and stepped forward.

Staring directly at Wilbur, they said, “I have something.” Despite the abrasive situation, Eret was calm. Their voice was even and assertive, driving home the importance of their words. “I’ve been grinding. Working in the mines for the past few nights. I have something we can use.” They glanced at Fundy. “A last hurrah if you will.”

Immediately, Wilbur appeared to calm down. His usual dignified demeanor returned as his face fell void of emotion. Except his eyes which gave way to his relief. “You really have something?”

The brunette nodded and gestured towards the door. “I have it stashed away, somewhere Dream and his dogs would never find it.”

Tubbo perked up, finally speaking for the first time since Tommy had arrived. “Actually? You really got a final plan? That’s incredible!”

From behind Eret, Tommy beamed. Excitement bubbled beneath his skin--made him itch to move. To run. To fight. His arms crossed and he tapped his fingers, the only way to fidget without the sword that was usually strapped to his side. He was ready.

And it seemed like everyone else was too.

"It's not too far from here." Eret smiled slightly. "I'm surprised none of you heard me mining." With that, they turned around, leading the way out of the van.

They were right, it really wasn't that far. A couple hundred feet and they stood at the base of a hill, grand oak trees scattered along the landscape. A cluster of bushes sat beneath a few of them--exactly where Eret was headed.

Pushing the fronds aside revealed a trap door. Wooden and rickety, it was clear it was a recent addition. Installed far too quick to be of any good use.

“Down there?” Wilbur craned his neck to see, peering over Eret’s shoulder.

Squatting down, they pulled the door open. Dust and dirt fell into the hole, passing the ladder that dropped the entire way down. Ten feet down, the faint glow of torches could be seen, barely reaching the boys who surrounded the opening.

Then something felt weird.

A chill ran along Tommy’s neck, making the boy shiver and frown slightly. The moment he looked down the hole, a voice seemed to materialize. Quiet, nagging, almost inaudible. Sitting in the back of his mind to prod at the barriers that kept it from being heard.

Something…

Plummeting, scrambling, and shrieking. That’s what followed.

A hard shove caught the boy off guard, throwing him forward. His feet slipped, traction on the grass nonexistent as he tried to gather himself.

And then the ground came out from under him.

The sound that came out of Tommy was mortifying. Shrill and girly, he drowned out the wailing laughter from above. Terror was all he could feel, panicking as he grabbed for the ladder.

Ten feet.

Or was it twenty?

It was so far down and it was coming so fast and he couldn’t grab the ladder and he kept falling and he couldn’t-

His hands wrapped around the wooden structure, jolting him to a stop. He was shaking, eyes wide and breath ragged as he wrapped around the ladder. Hanging for dear life, struggling to stay on the solid rungs. A tear slipped down his cheek as more pricked his eyes, slowly dripping down his face.

The cackling finally came into focus soon followed by a high voice.

"Tommy? You alright down there?" Tubbo called. "Did-"

"Didn't die, did you?" Wilbur added, easily drowning out the younger boy. "That's a pretty far fall."

Adjusting his grip, Tommy took a shaking breath. His white knuckles faded back to normal and he began to relax, the tension slowly dissipating. Wiping his eyes as fast as he could, he took another deep breath before looking up at the group with a large grin. "Nah. Not dyin' until after you, ya fuckin' grandpa."

Wilbur giggled and stepped out of view. Unable to see anyone but Tubbo, he could barely make out any of the voices aside from Fundy as he claimed he just wanted to see how deep it was.

In response, Tommy shouted, "You're a fucking asshole you stupid furry!"

It resulted with a twig getting dropped on his head.

Eret's voice cut in, easily addressing them all. "Alright, let's go. I've got a lot for you and we don't have much time left."

"You're right." Wilbur appeared again, this time nudging Tubbo out of the way. "Tommy go all the way down, we'll be right behind you."

So he did. He was only about halfway down, so it didn't take too long to reach the bottom. With his feet firmly planted on the floor, a calm reassurance passed over him, washing out the adrenaline from the fall.

A couple paces forward then Tommy waited.

The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough to allow them to walk side by side. Despite the torches perched on the wall, it seemed like it went on forever. Stretching on and one and on…

Footsteps alerted Tommy the rest had joined him underground, so he stepped to the side. As much as he wanted to see what was going on, the voice told him to hang back. Keep his distance.

Be wary.

Letting the others go first, he took up the rear, casting a quick glance back at the ladder. The only way in and out.

"So, Eret," Fundy said. "You gotta missile down here?"

They chuckled, the reverberation from the tight space giving their voice a dark, creepy edge. "No I don't. I wish, though."

And down the tunnel they went. A short trek but one nonetheless. Most of the time it was quiet, the only sound was the tap of boots against stone. A rhythmic click as seconds ticked by.

It was when they came across the final room that Tommy's nerves grew. A dark enclosure lined with chests, lit by two soulfire lanterns. Meticulous and faultless. Set up with such care…

"Welcome, to the final control room." Eret announced.

The moment the boy passed into the room, his stomach dropped. Something was off, something was wrong. His skin itched, the feeling of eyes boring into him almost burning. Yet everywhere he looked, the room was sealed except the door. There were no cracks, no holes, no slits. Nothing for someone to be watching him.

But he ignored it. Brushed it to the side to act on the shock of what Ereg had done for them.

"Holy shit!" Tommy exclaimed, rushing for the chest with his name scrawled on the front. "This is so cool!"

Wilbur had the same idea, making a beeping for his own at the far end of the room. "Eret, how did you find time for this?"

Tommy flipped the latch and shoved the lid open, excitement growing and-

It was empty.

"Wilbur…" Fundy.

The faint click of redstone powering caught Tommy's attention. Frowning, he slowly lowered the lid and lifted his head.

Piston doors sprang to life and walls fell away.

The shrill scream of Tubbo was the first thing that registered in Tommy. The horrid, terrifying wail.

Spinning, he saw the boy pinned against the wall, kicking and screaming, trying to shove his assailant off. But it was to no avail.

Tommy had no time to react as he watched the man pull out a netherite sword and jam it into Tubbo's stomach. And he twisted it. Ripped it around the young boy's gut and held him in place, watching the child scream and cry.

Then he slit the boy's throat.

"Tubbo!" The horror in his voice… the way the cry ripped through his throat without a way to stop it…

The commotion around Tommy went unnoticed. The fighting fell away as his vision zeroed in on the man who murdered Tubbo. Thoughts were sporadic, if existent at all.

Being unarmed and defenseless didn't stop him.

The sight of the familiar white glasses that now stared back at him didn't stop him.

A raised sword and stoic expression didn't stop him.

It was the hand that grabbed his wrist, tugging him away from George that did.

Tommy yelled in frustration, attempting to yank his arm away. He wasn't going to be stopped. He wasn't going to be stopped from ripping George to shreds. Nothing would stop him.

Nothing.

He pulled free and charged, lunging onto the older man and toppling him to the ground. They rolled, Tommy's attempts to get at George's face falling flat as he got thrown into Tubbo's body.

It didn't even process at first.

Instead, he got to his feet, covered in the hot crimson liquid that continued to sleep from his friend. Dripped from his hands, soaked his uniform, smeared on his face.

"You bastard!" he cried, jabbing his finger at George. "You fucking bastard!"

The man's mouth quirked to a small smile.

"L'manberg was meant to lose."

He charged.

The hand once again grabbed Tommy, pulling him out of the way of George's blade. Tugged him to the door as he struggled to be free.

The person who grabbed him pulled him just enough so they could grab his shoulders. Held him tight, shook him to get his attention.

Wilbur.

"Tommy, I need you to run," he said. "I need you to get out of here, get as far as you can."

The blonde sputtered, shocked and furious. "Run? You want me to run? You're the one who said-"

"It's an ORDER, Tommy!" Wilbur shouted, shoving the boy into the tunnel. "Get out of here!"

Tommy stumbled back, eyes wide and full of terror. He watched, frozen as Wilbur continued yelling at him.

He couldn't hear it.

The red edge of a coated blade cut through Wilbur, sliding out within seconds. With it, fell the commander, crumbling to the ground and slamming his head against the stone.

Holding the sword was none other than the traitor themself; black sunglasses splattered with blood and a hollow grin plastered on their face.

Eret.

It took two steps from them to get Tommy to whip around and run. A dead sprint down the tunnel before jumping on the ladder. Pulling himself up--racing against the man only a few feet behind.

He could've stopped this. He could've and he almost did.

But they didn't listen.

They didn't listen to him, they called him a child. Told him his plan was horrible, that it was running.

And he listened.

If he had persisted, if he kept trying to get them to hide, they'd be alive. They'd be breathing and talking and laughing. They'd be alive.

Once on the surface, he spun, backing away from the hole as Eret climbed out. They towered over him, unsheathing his blade as he began to advance on the boy.

"You fucking bastard," Tommy snapped, holding his ground. "You fucking traitor! You turned on us, you used us! You fucking piece of shit you horrible excuse of-"

The sharp point of the sword against his chest made the boy fall silent and Eret leaned in.

"It was never meant to be."

Tommy's face twisted to a snarl as he shouted. "You TRAITOR, you-"

The blade rammed through his chest.

[izzy-b-hands]

My beard is finally coming in properly and oooh the best stim time!! The texture is A+ and I love it!! And! I did have one awesome coworker who said it was coming in really nicely and he thought I looked nice with it!!

On the other hand somehow my other coworkers (not the one who was nice & complimented me, he's got my pronouns down pat thankfully) are still misgendering me despite the beard, even the ones I've just met which is like. They literally do not know anything abt me before I came out because they only met me now well after I've come out lmao. And my voice cracks and I have a full beard coming in now and a light mustache and like I'm not exactly a Man™️ I'm some mix of mostly masc but fem but in a masc way but also gender is nothing and everything all at once in my head but at the same time literally my pronouns used for work are he/they so even if they didn't want to use he, they could just use they, but instead....misgender. i do not understand it. If nothing else the physical cues should be something of a reminder in my specific case but. Nope.

[kelzebub]

Medicinal Herbs

So, I’m logging onto Tumblr on an actual computer for the first time so that I can post a fic inspired by @kaoticfive and the season two side mission where Sam is sick. Basically this is sick Sam on medical marijuana, and he’s a sensitive boi. 

TW for sickness, marijuana use, paranoia, non-graphic mention of vomiting, and a very slight allusion to nightmares. 

Spoilers: none that I spotted, let me know if I accidentally included any (Sam being sick is in the tagline to the mission it refers to). No spoilers for KaoticFive’s lovely fic But We Sing It Anyway that gave me this idea (go check that out if you haven’t already, it’s awesome.)

Hope you enjoy!

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“Five. Maxine needs you at the hospital.” Amber’s voice broke in to Five’s shallow sleep.

She sat up immediately. “Is Sam okay?” she asked.

Noting Five’s face had gone pale, Amber rushed to explain. “He’s fine. Well, um. He’s fine, but, well, he couldn’t keep anything down, and his fever was still high after taking paracetamol, so Maxine took him back to the hospital. We’re out of antiemetics, but Maxine was able to give him some marijuana for the nausea and, ah. He reacted to it pretty strongly.”

Tension visibly drained out of Five’s face and shoulders, and her lips twitched up a bit. “So, you’re telling me Sam needs a highsitter?”

“Yeah. And don’t tell Maxine, but Sam’s been begging for prawn crisps, if you happen to have any.”

Five snorted. “I don’t, but I’ll see what I can scrounge up,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll be there in a few.”

Fifteen minutes later, Five stood next to Maxine, who was gesturing helplessly to Sam… who was hiding under the hospital bed.

“I don’t want to leave him alone,” the doctor sighed, “but we’re shorthanded here and I can’t spare the time to sit with him. Thanks so much for coming, Five.” She patted Five’s shoulder as if to wish her luck, and was gone.

Five crossed the small room and crouched next to the bed, peering at Sam. His hoodie was pulled up over his face as he regarded her with mild suspicion.

“Hey, Sam. You alright?”

“Fine,” he replied with false nonchalance, “why do you ask?”

The runner bit her lip, caught between amusement and concern. “Why are you hiding under the bed?”

“’m not hiding. ‘s comfy down here is all,” he replied.

“Uh huh. Mind if I join you?”

“Permission to enter the Cave of… of… permission granted,” he said, his voice wavering between his Dragons and Darkness persona and his normal one.

“Thanks.” She slid down beside him, and they lay there in silence for a moment. Five could actually hear his heartbeat, pounding a little too fast. Fever heat was still radiating off him despite the medication. Dr. Myers said it wasn’t dangerously high, but you could have fooled Five. He was like a furnace.

“It’s really not very comfy down here,” Five offered after a couple of minutes. “I bet it’s much nicer on the bed.”

“I don’t want to fall off,” Sam murmured quietly, as if confession a deep, dark secret. “The mattress keeps moving.”

“Well, I’m here now. I can make sure you don’t fall off. Make sure the mattress stays still.”

Sam squinted at her. “Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully.

“Positive. Come on, up you go,” she said as she began tugging him out from under the bed. Sam tried to sit up too soon, whacking his head on the bottom of the bedframe.

“Ow! See, I told you!”

“Slide out first, dum-dum. Good thing you had your hood up over your head or you’d have a lump there.”

Together they maneuvered a woozy Sam onto the hospital cot, onto which he lowered himself as gingerly as if it were a trampoline full of bouncing schoolchildren.

“Maxy gave me marijuana,” he explained in a loud stage whisper. “For the puking.”

“I know. She told me. She also told me you had gotten paranoid ‘probably on account of combining weed, a fever, and a large sleep deficit.’ And speaking from experience, not eating for a while didn’t likely help. So I brought you something.” Five pulled a packet of hobnobs and a Schweppe’s from her bag. “Think you could eat a little? Have a drink?”

“Oooh, I’d better not. The puking. There was quite a lot of that. It was like, like the groundhog’s day movie, only instead of living the same day over and over again, I was just like, vomiting over and over again. I don’t think groundhogs vomit. Are they the same as prairie dogs?��� He trailed off, frowning at the ceiling. “They must be related. Hey, Five?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“If there are groundhogs.” He paused. “Are there skyhogs?” and he burst into giggles, which turned into a coughing fit, followed by a short spell of dry heaving.

What a total goofball, Five thought, rubbing his back. Adorable idiot. Belatedly, she realized she was grinning at him and schooled her expression. Get it together, Five,

“I think the weed should have helped enough to try a little ginger ale, to settle your stomach. Just a sip?”

“That sounds… amazing, actually,” Sam admitted. Five cracked open the can and handed it to him.

After a while, Sam had managed the entire can of ginger ale and a couple of hobnobs. His face lost some of the pallor underneath the fever flush.

“You should rest, Sam. You haven’t been sleeping much lately, have you?”

“Scared to,” he replied, so quietly she almost missed it.

Five felt something twinge inside her chest. Before she could reply, Sam’s expression brightened. “But what is there to be afraid of when the, the brave and mighty Runner Five is here to protect me? It’s like having my own personal superhero!”

Five smirked. “With my super power of running at a normal pace for a regular human, sure,” she said. “I’ll protect you.”

“Leeloo Dallas, multipass.”

“…what?”

“That’s what she said to Corbin Dallas. Well, she said ‘me protect you.’ But it was like, her first day of being alive, you can’t hold bad grammar against her.”

Five was nonplussed. “The Fifth Element! Tell me you’ve seen the Fifth Element. With Bruce Willis and Mila Jovovich?”

“Uh, no? Should I have?”

Sam stared at her, and it almost looked like his eyes were welling up with tears. Oh. They were welling up with tears.  “I can’t believe you haven’t seen the Fifth Element! And now you probably never will! This is horrible!”

“It’s okay, Sam, it’s okay! You can tell me the whole plot, alright? I bet your version is better than the original.”

“But you have to see it! Ruby Rod, and the Diva, and… “

“Sam. Lie back down. Go to sleep.”

It was some time before Sam did, in fact, fall asleep. A little while after that, Jody returned from a successful supply run with a packet of Tamiflu. When Maxine came in to give Sam his first dose, she wished she still had a phone with a camera on it.

Sam and Five were fast asleep, Five’s arms wound tightly around him, the blanket pulled over them both, and an empty packet of hobnobs on the bedside table. Sam snored rather loudly, and Five was drooling.

The medication could wait a little while. For now, Dr. Myers would let them rest. She was pretty sure Janine had a polaroid somewhere…