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tiny-minecraft-rabbit · 2 months ago

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Please do Rats Treebark #4!!!

"Captain! Look out!" Martyn shouted, shoving Ren to the side. The snap that resulted turned everything into blinding white fire, an explosion going through his leg.

"Lieutenant!" Ren's voice was distant despite him being right next to him.

Martyn couldn't think. Martyn couldn't see. His world had narrowed to the pain that was moving in waves across his body, centering from the place where the trap had snapped around his leg.

His leg. Thank goodness it was his leg and not the rest of him. Thank goodness it was him and not the Captain. The Captain that had been too focused on backing away from the cat to see the trap in the first place.

Oh FUCK the cat-

"I got you. I got you Lieutenant," Ren's voice was near his ear. He could barely register the Captain's arms wrapped around his own and pulled them further under the cabinet they had slipped uner.

His eyes blinked away the spots just enough to see the cat's paw reaching under. It's claws just barely grazed the trap still snapped around his leg- he quickly closed his eyes when it processed in his brain that that was his leg that was smushed in the trap that was dragging with him.

"You guys okay over there?"

That was.. That was Owen, he had going on the supply run with them. He was on the other side of the room, he thinks, the three of them serperating when the cat had entered.

"No!" Ren's voice was screechy with panic, octaves higher than his voice actually allowed, "Martyn's leg- we can't- we can't leave like this."

"O-Okay. I'll get the cat out the room, lead it away for a bit. Do you think you can get to the tunnel out when I do?" Owen asked, taking charge of the situation quickly despite his own panic.

He could feel Ren's chest heaving. Ren must of sat against the wall and pulled Martyn into his lap. That was nice. "I- I don't think- It's still in the trap! Juice, his leg is still in the trap."

"Shoot. Right, okay. I'm leading the cat out and I'll circle back around. Hang tight you two. Be right back."

Martyn heard the telltale squeak of a rat hitting the floor running and then the skittering of cat claws on a wood floor.

The blinding pain had reduced some, it was still throbing all through out his body, but at least there was some space to think now.

Ther was an arm wrapped around his torso, holding him in place against the Captain, and a hand wrapped around his head and fingers scraping against his ear. It was probably meant to be comforting but Ren was too panicked himself and was scratching a little hard and fast. Not that Martyn minded, it certainly wasn't the worst thing he was feeling at the moment.

"What were you thinking?" Ren muttered, head dropping and resting against Martyn's.

It took Martyn a few deep breaths to get his answer out, fighting against the fog. "You were backing right into it. Would have- Would have been a lot worse than a leg if I didn't do something."

"You could have died," Ren hissed, the hand around his ear unintentionally squeezing. Not painfully. Ren couldn't hurt him.

"My life or yours, Captain? Yours. Every time."

Ren was silent for a moment, "We will be talking about this later. When you're not delirious with pain."

They wouldn't.

Martyn wasn't changing his mind on this. He was a selfish man. A very selfish man; and if potentially dying to a stupid human trap meant he never had to see the end of Ren's life, then so be it.

#whoops this one is actually angsty #sorry <3 #rendog #martyn inthelittlewood #rats in paris #rats smp 2 #squeaksblr #treebark #traffic shipping #rats shipping #renchanting #owengejuicetv #angst #tw injury #rabbit writes

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seriowan · 11 months ago

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BREAKING NEWS: THE RELUCTANT FATHER FIGURE TROPE HAS HIT FULL STEAM AND WE ARE GETTING SUSPICIOUSLY HEARTFELT CONTENT THAT MAY OR MAY NOT SUGGEST POSSIBLE PERIL IN THE FUTURE. IF YOU OR YOUR LOVED ONES HAVE FALLEN FOR THIS TROPE BEFORE (i.e: the last of us), YOU MAY BE ENTITLED TO FINANCIAL COMPENSATION.

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chiropteracupola · 3 months ago

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"What Grows on the Oak," 2024.

it's the time of year, once more, for an original spooky story!

The oak trees lie across the hills like low smoke, soft and near, and the road dips down into the valley, as inviting as any road has ever been, but the girl on the bench of the buggy on the hilltop makes no move to follow it.

Rose looks out down the road and over the hills, and taps her fingers beside her on the bench. It’s a quiet enough afternoon that there’s little other sound but the high thin sound of insects, and the wind in the long grass, and Rose’s fingers, tapping. The horse, still in harness, looks up and flicks its ear, as if in protest at the sound, and Rose sighs and forces her hand still.

There is a girl in the nearest tree, Rose notices — the fact of it is idly categorized, without true interest. All the same, the light is catching in her hair, dashing shadows over her face as she sits draped across the curve of a branch, and Rose cannot look away from her.

The Fosters, at whose door Rose waits, have no daughter — no children but the one still-toddling son, who Rose remembers as a colicky, twitchy boy. Besides, this girl looks nothing like Mr Foster and his wife, for her hair stands out about her head like a bundle of mistletoe, pale as sun-worn wood. She is, perhaps, their hired girl. Rose is struck by envy, suddenly, that the Fosters’ hired girl had the time to shinny up a tree in the last light of evening, and still would be paid for her work…

Rose sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps it is enough for her to be her father’s driver, and to have bed and board in his house — perhaps some day there will be money for school again, in San Francisco or even out east. And perhaps it is not enough, and perhaps there will not ever be.

“Hello, doctor’s driver,” says a voice at Rose’s elbow. Rose yelps in surprise, then turns. It is the girl with the mistletoe hair — dry moss hair — hair like a cloudy day in August.

“No, you’re his daughter, are you not?” asks the Fosters’ hired girl, and Rose nods. “Miss del Llano, that’d make you.”

“Just Rose, please.” She’ll be Miss some other day — not now, in her too-short skirts and with her plait hanging over her shoulder.

“May I come up?” asks the girl.

“Surely,” says Rose, and the girl has swung herself into Rose’s father’s accustomed seat in a fluttering of pale skirts.

“Your father is the doctor — what does he do here? “He is a leech, then? A bloodletter?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not medieval!”

“Hm-mm, I shall believe you when you prove it me,” says the girl, laughing, and leans her chin on her hand to make herself Rose’s mirror. Side by side they sit for a while, and the dark gathers in across the hills until oaks and grassland alike are made one mass of shadow. Somewhere in the trees beyond the road, a horned owl utters its deep, melancholy cry out into the dusk.

“If ghosts had telephones, I should think they’d sound rather like that,” says Rose, the early chill of after-sunset driving her quite easily to a morbid sort of cheer.

“How the times change,” says the girl, with an odd, but not entirely unhappy, look in her eyes. “No, my dear; ghosts use the same telephones as you and I, as you well know.” Rose does not know, well or otherwise, much at all about ghosts, so she nods, and feels a little more of the girl’s weight settle on her shoulder.

“You have very cold hands,” says Rose, and the girl from the oak tree smiles and taps at Rose’s cheek with clammy fingers.

“I always have, I’m afraid.”

“It’s no bother, really.” And so they sit and watch the sky, the falling-dusk and the distant fog that creeps over the hills, until there’s light, sharp as a door opening.

Rose turns, and it is only Dr del Llano, leaving his patient with his hat in his hand. She turns back, and the Fosters’ hired girl is gone.

“How is Mrs. Foster,” Rose asks, without any particular feeling in her voice, and her father shakes his head in reply. But the road down into the valley, where lies the town, is before them, and Rose is pleased enough at the journeying that she asks no further questions.

It’s in the hills and on the road that Rose meets, again, with the oak tree girl, the mistletoe girl, the girl with hands like marble in the shade. Once again, Rose is waiting for her father while he attends a patient, and, lazing in the sun, Rose has pushed the sleeves of her shirtwaist up to her elbows.

And then the girl is there again, with her shock of cobweb hair moving, ever so faintly, in a breeze that doesn’t seem to reach as far as the buggy-seat.

“Hello, my pretty-lovely,” says the girl, putting her hand out to the horse still in its traces. Though usually affectionate, the horse puts back its ears and pulls its head away.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” says Rose, half-laughing. “Save your sweet words for someone who wants them, all the same.”

“Has she a name, then?”

“Other than Morgan, for what she is? Not at all,” Rose replies. Neither she nor her father have ever thought of one, for all that they’re fond of the hardworking little mare. “And have you a name, then?” For she’s remembered, now, that her oak-tree girl had never told her of it.

“I’m called Saro,” says the girl, and again swings herself up beside Rose. “What does your father do here, my Rose?”

“Oh, I oughtn’t say,” and Saro looks back at her with a stare of please? and Rose laughs and says anyway. She shouldn’t gossip, but she leans in close anyway, and whispers that “Old Man Lucas has got the clap, and him a widower these ten years!” Saro’s mouth twitches at the corners — she can’t hide her laugh for long, and it bursts, bright, out from her.

“I shall tell, I shall tell!” says she, and Rose coughs on her own laugh with a still-merry “Don’t!”

“You’ll have to catch me and make me, first!” and Saro leaps down from the buggy and runs, her skirts, her hair a flash of white in the golden-dry grass. And Rose, her spirits raised beyond what a grown girl such as herself should permit, follows. She’s less fleet-footed than Saro, earthbound still, stumbling on furrows in the land, catching her heels in ground-squirrel burrows.

Saro, she’s sure, is holding back for her benefit — letting herself be caught. And Rose does catch her, knocking her off her feet and into the grass. Saro’s laughing-merry still, her hair stuck full of grass-seed and foxtails. Close-to, Rose can see the freckles that dapple her cheeks and nose, the squint of her dark eyes when she smiles. Saro flicks Rose’s cheek, the snap of her fingers like a prickle of frost, and Rose lies there in the dusty field, entirely lost.

But Saro’s on her feet again before Rose can blink, before Rose can reach out to her, and Rose is standing, blinking in the sunlight, stumbling back to the buggy as she dusts bits of dry grass from her skirt. She buttons the sleeves of her shirtwaist again, the cuffs of which don’t quite come to her wrists anymore, and laughs when her father hands her up into her seat like a lady.

“The best whip I ever had,” he says, perfectly straight-faced.

“Gee-up!” says Rose, holding the reins in one hand and imagining herself perched atop a stagecoach. But even for all her imaginings, she’s as good a driver as her father says, and draws the horse into a gentle trot to see them home. It’s hill and dale down into the valley, hill and dale again like a song, and in the inner slopes lie trees in amid the dust-golden grasses of summer. Beneath the sparse, spreading branches, it is suddenly cooler, then warmer again, as the horse steps evenly onward and back into the sun.

“That’s mistletoe, you know,” says Dr del Llano, as he’s said a thousand times before, and points up at the gray-green mass that clings among the summer-sparse branches of an oak.

“Isn’t that for Christmastime?” asks Rose.

“It’s an odd thing we bring it in for the Nativity,” muses her father, still looking back at the tree as they pass it by. “Poison, that — and it chokes the life out of the oak tree, too. Not a kindly thing, mistletoe, but we hang it up with the flor de Nochebuena all the same…”

He doesn’t speak after that, but sings instead, an out-of-season hymn of sons newborn and deaths already foretold. If the verse telling of tombs ought to be grim, Dr del Llano doesn’t make it so, and so the story of gloom and gravity is nothing but a blithe eventuality, predicted all light-hearted by a man very certain of the truth of it.

Mrs. Foster dies soon after. Rose sits in the church as the priest says the first of the masses for her, the first of seven that her widower has paid for. She waits at the door while her father makes conversation — how she wishes he would hurry up! But the doctor in his black coat and the priest in his cassock are two crows alike, and so she is there in the doorway until her father says ‘good-by, Padre’ and comes to join her. Rose hardly has the time to shut her hymnal closed over the catalog tucked inside before he bustles past her, eager now to be on his way.

“Damned quiet place now that the mine’s shut up,” he says on the walk home, and Rose nods, though she does not remember the mine-town as her father does. She knows that there is no more coal to be had here and no more sand, and that with the mine has gone much of her father’s custom. Without black-lung and burns and broken bones, there is far less for a doctor to do in these hills.

But there is no other doctor than Juan Soto del Llano, with his limping step and his rosary about his neck and his rattletrap of a horse-drawn buggy with his only daughter to drive it, so he goes on as he has, and mends up broken bones and offers fever-cures to farmers and their wives, and to the valley townsfolk nearer home.

Henry Freeman is twenty-two, the bright young son of a new-money farmer. He is sickening for something, he is grey-faced and cold and his eyes do not focus.

Dr del Llano is at his door with hat in hand — money passes from the elder Mr. Freeman’s worn hand into his, and the doctor closes the older man’s hand over the coins. Out on the bench of the buggy, Rose scoffs and shakes her head. The fog-touched night is cold even through her coat, and she shivers involuntarily.

“He oughn’t to do such things,” she says, to no one but herself. But all the same, Rose turns her head, and Saro is there beside her, smiling.

“What oughtn’t he do?” asks Saro, with the questioning merriment in her voice that Rose has come to like so well.

“He doesn’t ask for payment, when it’s hill sickness,” and, seeing Saro’s quirk of the mouth, the way the question lurks in her well-dark eyes, Rose continues. “Father doesn’t know what it is, still, and he can’t mend it. It cannot be consumption, for it doesn’t settle in the lungs, but all the same — it is as if something is drawing out the life from them, every one.”

“So your Henry Freeman shall die, then,” says Saro, blunt.

“Don’t—“ says Rose, and stops, cold. “Who are you?” she asks, and looks Saro in the eyes, the brown of them so dark that Rose can barely find her own reflection. And the girl with the mistletoe hair reaches out, and pulls her hand across the golden curve of the hill as if she is stroking the grass that lies like dry cowhide on the ground.

“You know my name, doctor’s daughter, is that not enough?”

“Saro—“ Footsteps, and Rose’s head turns without her willing it. Doctor del Llano still has his sleeves rolled up, the edges wet from scrubbing. He doesn’t let them down again as he drags on his coat, hauling himself up to the buggy-seat as if held down by a great weight.

“Father—“ says Rose, and looks to Saro beside her, but even as she turns back, Saro is gone again.

“I’ll not talk of it,” he says, and hauls his bag into the buggy. It might well weigh as much as all the world. Rose huffs, and pulls her arms against her chest, and sets them on the road again.

And so it goes, over and over again — the Misses Hayward, unmarried, a few years older than Rose herself — Martin Foster, only three — the widow Ruiz, whose husband died down the mine before Rose was born. All of them greying, cold, dying quick. There is sickness in the hills, and it is sickness that the doctor cannot cure, and Rose — Rose finds that she barely cares. She stands in the church, once more, at Lillie Hayward’s funeral, and cannot look at the coffin, but only turns her head to search for wild light hair among the townsfolk in the pews.

But Saro doesn’t come to town; that’s not the place for her, Rose knows. How could she stay anywhere else but where the wind drags the points of oak leaves down the sky, where the tall grass parts under her hands like water?

So life goes on as it did before — the spiders building their webs across the age-grey clapboards of the doctor’s house by the old mine, the oak leaves stuck by their prickling edges to the drying wash, Rose’s father singing softly in his parents’ Spanish as he stocks his black bag at his desk in the front-room.

Rose leans against the desk, chipping at the varnish with her fingernails. In concession to the afternoon heat, the eastward window is flung open, and the thinnest breeze flicks at the pages of the last Sears catalog laid idly within her reach. She has begun to resent the sun — she closes her eyes, hunting darkness for darkness’s sake, and thinks of Saro in her white skirts, standing candle-slender in the dusk between the hills, Saro’s hands that are always cold, pressed softly against Rose’s face, her neck, her chest.

Telephone, its jangling sound sharp in the late-summer quiet — her father’s soft noises of questioning and assent — the practiced movements of putting harness to the horse. But for all that the interruption is sharp, there’s a pleased rise in Rose’s heart nonetheless, for if she is lucky, she will see Saro on the road.

She reins in the horse when her father tells her so, and hands him his bag as he jumps from the buggy — once he’s gone, Rose allows herself a secret smile. It’s early in the evening now, with the light all golden, her father’s horse with its dark mane a-gleaming in the last of the sun. Rose has a flask of coffee with her, brewed black as her father’s coat. She drinks most of it, hot and bitter, never mind that it had been meant to be shared. It doesn’t keep her awake — she drowses, head on her arms, and feels a breeze like soft hands stroke along her neck.

Today she has a headache. Her face is hot, even with her collar unbuttoned and her hat laid aside in her father’s seat. The day is warm, and the air tastes of dust, hot and dry in Rose’s throat. Saro’s hand on her cheek is as sweet and cold as anything Rose has ever snuck from the ice-house. Saro’s mouth against her neck is a cool draught.

“My dear sweet Rose,” says Saro, quiet, with only the barest hint of her usual merriment. “You’ve been ever so patient, even while I took my time with others.”

“Mm,” says Rose, and lets the weight of her body press up against Saro’s cold frame. Perhaps — perhaps that cold could leach the heavy heat from her head, the feverish blur from her eyes.

Saro’s fingers are at the buttons of Rose’s shirtwaist, now, the full breadth of her hand an ice-print on Rose’s chest. Saro from the oak tree, Saro with her hair like mistletoe. The hills rise golden around them, the wind rushing in Rose’s ears without touching her skin.

“May I?”

“Please,” says Rose, at the last, and lets Saro draw away the last of her living warmth.

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #oak savanna vampire #AND LO! AS PROMISED! EM HALLOWEEN STORY 3!#in the tradition of the very first round of em halloween story this is written for benjhawkins and pentecostwaite's spooky season challenge #except that. this took Two Years whoops.#(this was supposed to be last year's but it wasn't Working so I finished rat piper instead)#bit of attribution for the header-image -- 3/4 are from the california academy of sciences #(and public domain as part of the uc berkeley calphotos project! yay!)#and the fourth is of some relatives of mine (my gram's cousins iirc; and to put it as she would) 'standing there like the grapes of wrath'#some of the concepts of the story itself are also based on the experiences of some relatives (not those ones though)#[lying on the floor] CALIFORNIAAAA

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backpackingspace · 5 months ago

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Do we think odysseus started pranking Athena and her temples at some point? Because I do. He argued that it was good for sneaking and evading training. And you know what Athena couldn't argue that. Her chasing odysseus across the island was good training.

#Odysseus #Athena #Epic the musical #Yes this does go along with my other post about how Athena is with odysseus vs. Telemachus #After the fourth time Athena yanked odysseus from his bed at 3 am to drop him into the depths of shark infested ocean #Odysseus didn't even bother going home or drying off once he swam back to shore #He grabbed multiple buckets and filled them with seaweed and sand and crabs and dumped them in the closest temple #The priests are actively sobbing begging throwing up sacrificing because athenas going to kill them #The locals are preparing for dooms day they're going to be cursed so so badly and it's their kings fault #This just in local 15 year old king was seen dumping sea stuff all over athenas temples muttering see how she likes it #The first time Athena was too stunned to do anything she honestly didn't think anybody has had this much audacity before #To desecrated her temples in just a way how would dare who would even think to do that #Odysseus her chosen human apparently #It is admittedly a little funny how freaked out everybody was...not that she would EVER tell odysseus that #It is also coincidentally FOR NO RELATED REASON SHE SWEARS that she slammes odysseus into the palace wall at full strength for the first ti #After all odysseus it's just training what's there to complain about #I might actually have to write out athenas and odysseus's wacky “training” adventures #Odysseus being a rat bastard

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mj-iza-writer · 3 months ago

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Whumptober Day 24

Radiation Poisoning - Collapsed Building - Equipment Failure - I never knew daylight could be so violent (Florence, The Machine No Light, No Light)

Twenty-four hours.

It had been twenty-four hours since the equipment had a minor blow up in the lab.

Twenty-four hours since Whumpee was given a lab shower to get all of the goop off. They were always harsh when these showers were done. Whumpee knew the goop needed to come off, but how they longed for a gentle hand. Someone to make it feel okay... even while in pain.

They shuddered.

They were now restrained in a wheelchair in the center of their room. Naked as naked can be.

"Do you feel any different at all Whumpee?", a researcher went over the radio. They had to monitor the lab rat. They weren't sure what the goop was, and the rat had been covered in it.

"I'm cold and tired. Please I just want sleep", Whumpee whined, "can I have my clothes back at least?"

"No, we are monitoring the burn on your stomach, and can't do anything until we know what the goop was", the scientist sighed, "so nothing has changed?"

"I'm more tired. Can I at least go to bed yet? How long has it been since I've slept?", Whumpee whined some more.

"You may not sleep as we are monitoring you. You've been awake for twenty-four hours now", the scientist replied.

Whumpee swung their head back and groaned, "why am I being punished for this?"

"It's not a punishment. Whumper is actually concerned about you. Hence the monitoring", the scientist sounded annoyed now, "be patient."

"Can I at least have some heat? I'm shivering. I'm still fairly damp because someone didn't dry me off properly. Plus, I'm naked", Whumpee pleaded.

"I'll ask Whumper", the scientist sighed.

- "Whumper, patient 01134, Whumpee is asking if we may turn up the heat in the monitor room. Body temp is normal. Room temp is 60°F. They said they are freezing", the monitoring scientists texted Whumper.

- "Yes, that's fine. No wonder they're cold. We are finishing up with the research. The substance doesn't seem to be dangerou. We need another hour or so. I'll come up when all is done. Does everything seem to be okay on their end?"

- The scientist received the text, "yes they say there are no changes. They are tired from being awake for so long. Sore. Cold. Nothing major."

- "Perfect."

"Whumper has given permission to raise the temperature for you", they spoke into the radio again, "now, be a good little patient and sit their quietly."

Whumpee sighed happily when heat started in their room.

"That's nice", Whumpee whispered in relief.

Whumper stepped into Whumpee's room after a little while and knelt beside the chair.

"Whumpee", they whispered.

Whumpee had fallen asleep. Those monitoring them had run out of ways to keep them awake.

Whumpee let out a disturbed snore before opening their eyes.

"Doc", Whumpee looked at Whumper.

"Yes, it's me. We just got back results. The goop was nontoxic. I'm pleased to say you are in the clear", Whumper smirked.

"That's good", Whumpee yawned tiredly, "can I sleep in my bed now?"

"I actually have a surprise for you. I'm going to cover you in a blanket, and take you somewhere", Whumper stood up.

"Where?", Whumpee questioned.

"It's a surprise", Whumper chuckled, "you've been such a good lab rat lately, so you've earned it. Plus, I now have to fix the lab due to the explosion." They unlocked the restraints, "are you ready?"

Whumpee was stopped in front of an elevator.

Whumper waited for the doors to open then backed Whumpee inside.

"Are we... are we going to Caretaker's floor?", Whumpee questioned when they saw Whumper hit the button.

"I don't know. Are we?", Whumper chuckled, "yes, Caretaker said they would take care of you while the lab was being fixed."

Whumpee excitedly watched the floors change.

"How long will I be with Caretaker?", Whumpee peaked back at Whumper.

"What, are you in a hurry to get back to my tests?", Whumper laughed as they pushed the wheelchair off of the elevator.

Whumpee thought for a moment on what they should say.

"No", Whumpee finally whispered, "not really."

"Aww, you're breaking my heart my dear", Whumper joked, "I guess I understand though. I'd rather stay with Caretaker, too. He spoils his patients."

"I wouldn't call it spoiling", someone stepped out of a room, "we just treat patients a little differently in the infirmary."

"Other wise known as spoiling" Whumper smirked, "not knocking it, I definitely appreciate you taking care of the accidental injuries my experiments cause. Here is your newest one."

"Yes, I've read a little bit already", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee, "let's see", they knelt down.

Whumpee couldn't help their nervousness and watched Caretaker closely.

Caretaker sensed their unease.

"It's alright, I'm only going to check your burn", Caretaker promised as they carefully pealed the blanket away, "we will get you in a nice warm bath. Then a snack. Then you can rest for a while."

Whumpee perked up at the plan.

"Alright. I'll leave you in Caretaker's capable hands. Have fun being spoiled. They don't have any limitations on them either. They earned a full rest, so there are no restrictions."

"Perfect", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee, "are you ready?"

Whumpee excitedly nodded.

Whumpee stood beside a giant sink while Caretaker filled it up with water.

"Caretaker what is that?", Whumpee watched them pour something else into the water.

"That will help your burn and any other wounds you have. It's antibacterial and soothing", Caretaker felt the water temperature, "perfect "

Whumpee climbed into the sink and sat down.

"This feels so much better than the lab showers", Whumpee sighed contentedly.

"Anything feels better that", Caretaker smiled, "alright lean your head back please."

Caretaker worked shampoo into Whumpee's scalp until it was fully covered. The lather sat an inch above Whumpee's head.

"I might cut a few inches of hair off. Would you be okay if I did that?", Caretaker reached for a cup to help rinse Whumpee's head.

"I don't know what Doc wants", Whumpee whispered.

"It's not up to Whumper. If you want some hair cut off, we will do it", Caretaker tipped Whumpee's head back and started to rinse away the shampoo. They held one hand on Whumpee's forehead to guard their eyes from getting soap in them.

"I feel really good", Whumpee smiled as they ate a snack.

Caretaker trimmed some of Whumpee's hair.

"I'm glad to hear that", Caretaker grinned, "after this I'll get you into bed. It's pretty late, so you will be able to sleep in tomorrow."

Whumpee nodded eagerly.

The next morning.

"Whumpee it's time for you to get up", Caretaker gently shook them.

Whumpee squinted their eyes open and smiled.

"It wasn't a dream?" Whumpee looked around and saw the room, then Caretaker.

"Not at all, you're up in my infirmary to heal" Caretaker smiled, "are you ready for breakfast?"

"Yes sir", Whumpee nodded, "what do you want me to wear?"

"Your pajamas you have on are fine. You get to be cozy up here", Caretaker smiled as they helped Whumpee up, "pajamas are more than welcomed."

Whumpee sat happily until they saw Whumper walk in.

"Hey, are you ready to come back yet?", Whumper looked at them seriously.

"But, but, but" Whumpee almost felt their lip quiver.

"Hey, I'm just kidding. The lab is definitely not ready and you still have time to heal", Whumper waved their hands in surrender when they thought Whumpee was going to cry.

"That's a mean prank", Caretaker came in with a plate of cut fruit, "no wonder your patients are always on edge."

"I just came up to see how they were doing. They look happy, so that's good", Whumper grinned, "Caretaker can I talk to you privately?"

Caretaker nodded as they set the plate in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee wondered what was said, but didn't ask.

Caretaker still seemed to be in good spirits so that was good.

Whumpee was taken back to their room after breakfast.

"All of my things are here?", Whumpee looked around.

"Yes" Caretaker nodded, "you will be staying up here for a little longer", Caretaker sighed.

"I-is something wrong?", Whumpee backed away.

"Uhm, some what, but don't worry about it right now. How about we get your decorations put up", Caretaker went for one of the boxes.

"Caretaker, I want to know", Whumpee frowned, "I'm happy to stay up here, but I know Doc isn't one to retire lab rats unless something is wrong."

"You are one if my smarter rats", a voice came from behind, "Caretaker I'll let them know."

"Doc?", Whumpee frowned.

"Sit down", Whumper pointed at the bed.

Caretaker sat down and held their arms open for Whumpee.

Whumper leaned against the wall.

They sighed, "that goop that got on you was deemed nondangerous... at least so we thought. It is highly radioactive. For fun, we held a meter tool by it. Unexpectedly, the meter read a large amount. You were unfortunately in the room when the explosion happened. It got all over you... and inside of you. I believe some entered you through your burn. Unfortunately, you have what is called radioactive poisoning. Your blood work came back highly positive, so there is a lot."

Whumpee gulped, "so how does that get fixed?"

Whumper looked down.

"You can fix it right? Doc? If anyone can it's you", Whumpee pleaded.

"There isn't anything anyone can do", Whumper looked at Whumpee compassionately, "it's unfortunately inside of you."

"What about everyone else?", Whumpee looked down, "and Caretaker?"

"It isn't contagious. So Caretaker and I are safe. The team had appropriate protection on, so they should be fine as well. We are waiting on bloodwork. If you had just gotten it on you I think you would have been fine too. I think though it got in through the burn and maybe other ports of entrance like your mouth."

"What does this mean for me?", Whumpee whispered.

"Well you are retired from being a lab rat. Caretaker is going to give you the best retirement he can. The end result...", Whumper's voice cut out with a small sob, "Uh, the end result will be death... a sooner death than you deserve I fear."

Whumpee looked down over themself, "I'm going to die?", Whumpee looked at Caretaker, "bu... but I don't want to... die. There is nothing that can be done?"

"No Whumpee, I'm sorry. I will help make sure you won't experience pain or discomfort. You will be very comfortable", Whumper frowned, "I'm sorry, I really did not want this to happen. To you especially."

"I'll make sure you are comfortable as well", Caretaker chimed in as they hugged Whumpee close.

Whumpee had wiped a few tears away already, and was shaking in Caretaker's arms.

"How long do I have?", Whumpee whispered.

"I, uh, don't really know. You might start displaying signs soon, or you could be alive for a few more years. Everyone is different", Whumper reached and held a comforting hand on Whumpee's shoulder, "I am really, really sorry that this happened. I really did not want to deliver these news, but I know how smart you are. Let me know if you need me for anything."

Whumpee nodded and burried their face into Caretaker's chest to cry.

"I'll text you if they need something", Caretaker rubbed circles into Whumpee's back.

Minutes turned into hours.

Whumper came back up to check on things after not hearing anything else from Caretaker.

Caretaker was just stepping out of Whumpee's room.

"They cried themself to sleep", Caretaker whispered.

Whumper nodded, "I'm heartbroken. I had planned to retire them. I told myself just one more experiment, then I will pack them up and move them up here for permanent retirement. That decision cost them their life... that's my fault."

"You didn't know. It would have happened regardless of who was in that room", Caretaker frowned, "though I don't always like what you are doing.."

"Someone else would have been expendable", Whumper looked back at the room, "my favorite rat wasn't."

"Maybe this will teach you not to play with people's lives so freely", Caretaker frowned.

Whumper nodded.

"Will you keep an eye on them for me. If you notice any pain let me know. I've got stuff to keep them out of pain."

Caretaker nodded, "I will, they are in good hands."

"Thankyou... Caretaker, I, uh, appreciate you taking care of them" Whumper started to turn.

"Doc?" Whumpee peaked out through a crack in the door.

"Yes Whumpee?", Whumper quickly wiped a tear away, "how can I help you."

"Will you visit me a lot until I die?", Whumpee whispered.

"Of course I will. I will be here daily to check on you", Whumper smiled, "I promise."

Whumpee nodded and gently closed the door.

Whumper turned back to Caretaker.

"I need to leave. I'm about to cry", Whumper hurried away.

"Yep, hate for the big tough scientist to be seen as sensitive", Caretaker called after them.

Caretaker sighed, "and I'll clean up your mess... like always."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

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nulltune · 1 month ago

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ME @ U ALL......! YOU ARE ALL SO LOVELY BTW UBUBUU.... 2025 WILL BE MY YEAR OKOK. am thinking of a soft restart (?) kinda thing bc i have an insane backlog >_> 200+ drafts..... oh my hoarder ass.... and i have not been here for 💀 A While. will make a proper post asking if anyone would want dynamics/plots to stay tho! :3c

#&&. out of #rubs my grubby raccoon hands 2gether......#was even thinking of moving to a fresh blog entirely but nah this is my lil rat lynn cave _(:3」∠)_ VEKCGSJDJD #ALSO I JUST WANNA WRITE MORE SOON UE UEE #i am just so bad at work-life balance istg #but i finished 2 assignments today and i feel POWERFUL #(it is also 1am but dw ab it..... /sssh/)#BLASTING U ALL WITH LOVE AS ALWAYS THO . BTW <333

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vampyre-rat · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Dudu (The Witcher), Dainty Biberveldt Summary:

After his confrontation in the market with the shapeshifter Tellico (known to his friends as Dudu), Geralt is a bit frazzled. Having seen the doppler take the shape of Geralt's best friend Dandelion, he can't stop thinking about the small details of the bard's appearance and personality that the doppler mimicked perfectly and those he didn't quite get right. Some of the things the shapeshifter said and did while impersonating Dandelion have lead Geralt to start to rethink some aspects of his relationship with his bard, in particular the feelings of affection towards him that he's denied for so many years. (Inspired by the short story "Eternal Flame" in The Sword of Destiny.)

#rat writes :3 #finally posted the first chapter of this fic i started working on MONTHS ago #will be posting the rest soon :D #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #gerlion #geralt x dandelion

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shititsarat · 3 months ago

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CW: slightly suggestive themes, (almost) choking?

— ✧ˎˊ˗

Hm... König leaving KorTac and joining Shadow Company. Graves being intrigued by this big guy who normally seems so shy and anxious; who barely speaks and always fumbles with his huge, baggy clothes; who wears a mask to cover the lower half of his face while his brown, messy hair mostly hides the rest.

Getting any words at all out of König is a challenge. The man looks like a unit so it is not hard to guess that he is strong and can hold his ground in a fight, even if his demeanor might not hint at his capabilities and his love for battle. On top of that, when Graves mentions the possibility of them fighting against each other as training, the Austrian's eyes light up and his usual nervousness seems to vanish in an instant.

...

Graves had expected König to be strong but not that he would go down against the taller man this quickly; that it would be so easy for König to trap Graves below his large, muscular body. The Commander's stomach hurts since the new Shadow had rammed his knee into it, and his back aches from having been slammed onto the ground. In addition, Graves' breath catches in his throat now as König's fingers wrap around his neck, holding him in place.

König looks different than before as he stares down at Graves without averting his gaze, now no longer appearing shy and hesitant in front of the Commander but instead staring at Graves almost with belligerence, as if the man is nothing more than König's prey.

And Graves…. Graves feels trapped underneath the giant's body and gaze, small and vulnerable even—despite being on the taller side himself—as he has no way of escaping. His heart beats loud and fast inside his chest because the way König stares and speaks with him—the look in his eyes hungry and oppressive, his voice dark and heavy—terrifies the shit out of Graves…

But it also causes his heart to skip a beat and goosebumps to spread across his skin when König's large fingers squeeze the Commander's neck, a gasp fighting its way over his lips.

Graves is not the type of man who enjoys feeling vulnerable. On the contrary, he loves nothing more than to be in control, to be the one who leads in almost every situation imaginable—it is for this reason that he left the military and created Shadow Company after all. And still, his slightly trembling body and warming up skin betray how this situation causes him to feel, unbeknownst to König though whose focus seems to lie solely on the battle and the life he holds in his grasp at this very moment.

"Why are you not struggling? You want me to choke you to death?" König asks, the dominant and mocking undertone in his voice evoking something inside Graves no one else has ever managed to bring forth.

"Actually…" Graves utters, his own voice somewhat shaky as he speaks—from just having gotten kicked in the stomach, he tries to convince himself, "I'd prefer it if you don't, thanks…"

"Than fight," König demands, his words showing that, despite the position they find themselves in, this clearly is not over for him yet, that he wants Graves to keep fighting, to not give up.

But while a part of Graves tells himself to do as the man ordered, to fight like a caged animal, to struggle, even if it seems pointless considering their size difference, another part tells him that having this big man choke him into unconsciousness would not be the worst outcome of this little training session. And if Graves is honest, he is unsure which option to pick...

#hmm... rarepairs... tasty #somebody needs to show graves his place and könig is the perfect candidate for this job imo #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #cod mw3 #phillip graves #könig cod #könig call of duty #königraves #mini fic #ficlet #my fic #rat writes #konig x ghost

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mrghostrat · 11 months ago

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I hate au's but I am absolutely FERAL for both of your stories. How did you do this?! Witchcraft? It's the only explanation. Please never stop. You inspired me to write again and I haven't written since rhe heyday of HP. THANK YOU!!!!!!!

#ask a rat #these msgs are so fuckin flattering please enjoy a meme on the house #rat writes #WELCOME BACK TO WRITING BAYBEE <3

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arthur-lesters-spinal-cord · 6 days ago

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Divine punishment drawings

#The last one is from the fic im currently writing <3 #i cannot draw two characters in the same art style at once #i dont know how i do this #divine punishment #detective noel #malevolent #malevolent fanart #charlie dowd #malevolent podcast #noel finley #kayne malevolent #noel malevolent #malevolent kayne #kayne fanart #kayne #53 rats with a pencil

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undermattsun · 5 months ago

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18+ minors dni!!!

uh oh reader has a new skate rat to torment today <33 just another tiny bite so sadly no real fucking :( it’s mattsun btw and i made him a stupid pussy whipped bitch cus i can !!

“Damn if it isn’t my third favorite boy toy.”

“Who the hell are first and second?” He all but pouts.

“Not you, so mind your own business.” You don’t really have any favorites, and Matsukawa honestly wouldn’t be anywhere near top three let alone top five. Maybe not even top ten.

But you needed some alcohol and weed and if the payment was blowing Mattsun for all five minutes he could last then you could make it work.

“What do you want?” He rolls his eyes, stepping back to let you step into the shitty apartment he shares with a rotation of his even shittier friends.

You watch him kick the door close and cross the filthy living room to snatch a vape off a coffee table with a hole punched into it, waiting for him to look back at you.

“Missed you.” You lay it on thick, complete with fluttering lashes and honeyed tone, knowing full well that the poor dumb desperate fuck would fall right into your hands. Ever since his one that got away finally left him behind for good he’s been off his game.

“You didn’t.” To his credit he tries to shrug you off, but the crease in his brow and the way he immediately began to lean into you was enough to tell you he’s still hurting or whatever. Delectably vulnerable even.

“Issei you’re gonna hurt my feelings.” You grab at his arm, watching as he puffs on a menthol vape you recognize as Iwaizumi’s. “Let’s get high.”

“So that’s why you’re here, can’t, smoked all my shit last night.” He doesn’t look at you.

And you’d be an idiot to not take advantage of that.

“No, you didn’t.” He’s a shit liar, right there next to Kindaichi.

“I didn’t.”

“I’ll blow you.” And you know you’ve got him when you see that telling tick in his jaw.

“Let me put it in.”

“Nope.”

“Just the tip?” It’s never just the tip and both of you know that.

“That desperate?” To his credit he nods solemnly, probably too “heartbroken” to try creeping on some unsuspecting pretty little things in the club like he usually does.

You make a show of tapping your index against your chin, as if you’re really considering your options. You figured there was a chance he’d pull this move, and today you’re feeling a tad generous.

“If you can last longer than five I’ll let you put it in, raw.” You’d be impressed if he makes it to five minutes, the poor guy is clearly pent up.

“Really?”

“But either way I get whatever bottle Oikawa’s hiding in your room.” The idiot always hides his alcohol in Mattsun’s room, for some reason no one else has figured it out.

“It’s Jameson.” He winces.

“So? I’ll take it, cmon big boy let’s see if you’ll last today.” You grab his hand and make your way to his room, trying (and failing) to hide a smug grin when you shove him past the doorway.

#skate rat hq #under.mattsun #– miki writes #miki start ur fics n blurbs w something other than dialogue challenged failed again <//3 #and honestly i do not care anymore if this is who i am then so be it lmao #ok but this is mainly dialogue lmao i hate that i’m like this #also oikawa isn’t hiding his alc cus they can’t drink or whatever #but bc he doesn’t want his moocher friends to steal his shit #he just didn’t factor in moocher hookups LMAO

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atrueneutral · 11 months ago

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I had an idea for a cute scenario for Raphael x Tav involving Scratch and the baby owlbear. Now, Raphael probably wouldn't be a fan of the two, but Tav either comes with the fur-babies or not at all. However, one day Raphael (and, to a lesser degree, Tav) are tricked into a trap by other fiends - maybe implying a desire to negotiate with Raphael - where Raphael ends up being drawn away and separated from Tav while other fiends/warlocks ambush his little mouse, either to kill or maybe use as a hostage, (a 'If you're here, Raphael, then who is watching out for your little mouse?' kind of situation) and the only reason the scheme fails is because Scratch and the owlbear intervene to fearlessly protect Tav until Raphael arrived and could help Tav put the attackers in their place.

Judging by their protective body language and their overall wariness of their surroundings, the owlbear cub and the mongrel didn’t trust the devil Mez’gal.

They were smart creatures, at times, but they were also filthy, malodorous, and an unfortunate, bothersome consequence of his… partnership with Tav.

“I was summoned to hear you grovel, and yet I hear none,” Raphael said with a sneer and a gesture to the pit fiend.

Mez’gal had ‘surrendered’ to his little mouse as soon as she and her four-legged hunting party had found him outside a village, and she aptly called a mortal appearing Archdevil Supreme to hear the fiend's final pleas.

“Might we conduct business within your House of Hope, my lord?” Mez’gal proposed. His large fiendish body bowed - a sign of desperate submission.

“I’d sooner let that dog step foot in my House than you, but, seeing as how eliminating you here would only send you back to the hells, and I desire to end you completely...”

Raphael looked back to Tav. She gave him a nod and a small smile, and he raised his hand in preparation to snap.

It was at the last second, just as friction was applied to thumb and middle finger, that he caught a malevolent glimmer in Mez’gal’s infernal eyes.

Snap!

They materialized in the entrance hall, and Raphael shed his mortal visage.

“Grovel,” the Archdevil Supreme demanded.

Mez’gal smirked.

“I was under contract, my lord,” he spat. “And by bringing me here, I’ve just fulfilled it.”

“By bringing you here… I’ve guaranteed your death.”

Mez’gal's face turned mocking as his arms opened wide. “I’ll be a martyr - by the time you kill me, your little pet will be dead from the ambush.”

Rage boiled, spilling over, and Raphael ascended - to rip and bite and tear the pit fiend asunder as quickly as possible.

—

When he reappeared, no longer ascended, there was nothing but the scent of bloodshed; the bodies of three warlocks were scattered about with gashes in their clothes, bite marks in their skin, and arrows embedded in limbs.

The two remaining enemies were busy throwing panicked spells at the filthy, malodorous animals coming for them.

Snap!

Hellfire consumed the warlocks - their screams deafening as they instantly fell to the ground.

The two creatures watched, growling and posed defensively as they waited for the last breaths to leave the warlocks. When death came, smelling of burnt flesh and blood, Tav went over to the cub and mongrel. Raphael was somewhat irritated to see how non-plussed she appeared - as if attempts on her life were an amusing everyday occurrence.

And she was ignoring their true savior!

“My two good boys, yes, you are!” she said, giving them pets and scritches that delighted the animals greatly. Tav then leaned her ear towards the mongrel’s head. “What’s that, Scratch? Why, yes! I do think Raphael owes you both a ‘thank you’!”

Raphael’s irritation increased; he knew she could not speak to animals.

She was grinning at him, and he was weak for loving her smile so.

“Thank you,” he bit out.

Tav grabbed the mogrel’s muzzle , and the mongrel allowed her to move his jaw as one would a puppet.

“Rawrrororor,” went the mongrel.

“You’re most welcome, Saer Raphael,” said Tav as the mongrel.

Yes, filthy, malodorous, and sometimes helpful creatures they were.

#thanks for the prompt!#bg3 #my writing #baldur’s gate 3 #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #drabble #rat-fucking-bastard #prompt #answered

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