someotherdog

[someotherdog]

the woman had appraising eyes, he noticed. she looked at him the same as she looked around the room: appropriately wary. domhnall had to follow suit, slowly pushing himself off of the floor. it occurred to him briefly that maybe she was just a decoy, sent in there with him to make him think she was an ally in his confusion. he didn’t entirely do away with the idea, but chose to believe—until further notice—that they were two peas in a pod. “duri.” domhnall parroted her name, but offered no niceties about how good it was to meet her. his brow quirked at her humorless laugh, placing his hands on his hips. “yeah, well, i’m in no position to arrest you now.” he responded dryly. his forced retirement was a sore spot, but he doubted she’d care. “nope, not a clue.” remaining calm was essential. weighing their options even more so. “you don’t remember much before waking up here, do you?” his own memory was blank; he went to bed at home, woke up here. he looked towards the door at the far side of the room, “how much do you want to bet that the door isn’t locked?”

duri doesn't exactly have the best track record with detectives, so her heckles are, of course, immediately up a little more than strictly necessary. she shifts, tests all of her limbs to make sure nothing is broken, takes mental inventory of her body, nothing seems too out of place, discounting the fact that she is completely, as a whole, out of place in whatever the hell place this is. eyes linger on him for a moment before she gets up, starts moving around the room like she's a real estate agent assessing the property she's meant to be selling. "i'm duri." she offers after a moment of quiet, fingers running along the wall closest to her, looking for cracks, imperfections, anything she can work with. "i sell antiques and occasionally commit petty crimes." blunt, to the point, and duri lets out a humorless laugh about it. whatever this is, there's some kind of sick humor in being trapped with a cop, or at least a former cop, being who she is. "i take it neither of us are caught up on what weird escape room bullshit we've been dropped into."

[someotherdog]

for / @kercsene (spun the wheel and got a non-zombie apocalypse plot) participants / hank & the muse of your choice! story / the sun exploded, leaving the world in total darkness and bringing on eternal winter. our muses are surviving together a few weeks into the apocalypse, but maybe they don't fully trust each other yet. setting / a motel room somewhere in the southwest

it had been weeks since he last felt the sunshine on his face. hank had grown up on a ranch, something he equally despised and cherished. he was used to the sun warming his skin, bleaching his hair, freckling the bridge of his nose. already his color was paling, his blond hair darkening. electricity had become a resource more precious than gold, clutching flashlights and camping lanterns like bibles. the only thing that kept hank from fully succumbing to the darkness was the fact that he wasn’t alone. sitting up on the bed, hank woke up to darkness once again, though he guessed it was probably early morning. he noticed his companion wasn’t asleep either. yawning, he fought the urge to fall back asleep—what did he really have to wake up for, anyway? nothing besides them. “morning,” hank greeted, though he wasn’t actually sure of the time. suddenly, he sat upright on the bed and pointed towards the lamp on the motel room desk, “wait—turn that off. i think i hear something outside.”

[someotherdog]

how in the fuck do my days off go by so fast?? back to work tomorrow already :( and i'm seriously considering purposefully falling down the stairs and breaking my ankle just so i don't have to go lol but i was able to knock out a few more replies tonight after the movies/finishing up we were liars. now i must slumber, but i also touched up my rules a bit and tried to make things a little clearer. i would appreciate it if y'all took a look, and while you're at it, why not check out my opens too? 😉 night night my loves!

[someotherdog]

Adam DiMarco as Peter in Overcompensating (2025)

[someotherdog]

he knew better than to give into lyla’s taunting, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself. she enjoyed it, too, and he knew that. his irritation built up until the dam burst and he unfortunately couldn’t always control it, often pulling lyla off to the side and chastising her until they were both blue in the face. the arguing was cyclical and exhausting, but the making up was the best part. “don’t act like you’re five years old, lyla.” dallas countered, pinching the bridge of his nose. he could feel a headache starting to form against his browbone. “i’m sorry that i had to make my rounds and hold a conversation with someone other than you, i can’t spend every second of my life attending to your every damn whim.” and by that, he meant that he wasn’t sorry at all. “go on, then. go have your fun, i won’t be around to watch it. and you sure as hell won’t be doing it in my hat.” dally adjusted his hat on his head for emphasis.

“don’t piss you off?” lyla’s expression was neutral—innocent, even—as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. but she did. and deep down, she liked it. she liked that she could get that kind of reaction out of dallas. it made her feel like maybe, just maybe, he cared. even if he’d never say it. and honestly, she didn’t want to believe otherwise. but with the way they pushed and pulled at each other, it was hard to imagine them ever finding their way to something real. “don’t talk to me like i’m five years old, dally.” her voice was low. measured. lyla never liked airing out her personal business—maybe that’s why half the cowboys in that bar didn’t even know she was with dallas. “you ask me out, then yeah, i expect your undivided attention. what was i supposed to do—stand by the bar like some lap dog waiting for its owner? no, honey. i got dressed up tonight. i’m gonna have fun. with you, or without you.”

[someotherdog]

like any young man in his early twenties, vinny had trouble with consequences. with accountability, responsibility. it was the impetus for why he was even at school on the opposite coast, having spent years bemoaning his family name and what was expected of him. the piganelli empire was hanging over his head, waiting for him to take the reins. vinny would rather play video games all night than be some mafioso. his father even allowing him to go on to college was supposed to be some grand gesture, letting vinny off leash to go play as long as he remembered what was waiting for him back in boston. he had to enjoy being vinny peters for as long as he could.

“i’m sorry, evelyn.” he hung his head, curls brushing over his forehead. “i didn’t want to lie to you—not really—but then we got closer and it was harder to admit the truth to you until it just kind of snowballed.” and now the first true friend he ever had in his life was angry with him. “is there any way i can make it up to you?”

Evelyn hums as he stutters his explanation out. In reality, she understands wanting to go somewhere new and not have anyone know who you are. That was how, at least in part, she ended up here rather than staying in Sicily.

"My family has our own money." Is what Evelyn says first - the implication being that she wouldn't have wanted his, even if she knew he had it. Mostly, though - "I don't like being lied to."

Sure, Vinny said it hadn't been on purpose. Or rather, that he'd been doing it for a good reason. It still stung when Evelyn had thought they were developing a real friendship. Especially when she'd found out like this, rather than him telling her.

[someotherdog]

she smelled intoxicating. jocelyn always smelled good, but since his change, he had been following the scent to her house from half a mile down the road. it was as if the blood in her veins was singing to him, begging him to enjoy a taste. his body was overcome with desire, shuddering as her hands came to rest on his sides. “i’ve missed you, joss.” junior truly had, but he missed her for different reasons now. before, he just wanted a place to sleep. now, he wanted her to satiate his hunger. “just hold still, okay? i need you.” if she really wanted him to stop, he’d find it within himself to pull away, but he had to hope she’d let him drink. once he had his fill, he’d go on. really, he would! his fangs fully extended, junior leaned further down and dragged the points of his canine teeth along the freckles on her neck, waiting to see if she’d push him away or not.

Despite inviting him inside, wanting to, regret still filled her once she saw him inside her home. Jocelyn lingered by the front door, slowly letting it close behind her before turning to look at him pacing around. She chewed on her bottom lip, watching him and questioning his intentions. Did he miss her or just miss what she could do for him? Did she want him to miss her? Or care? It was difficult to tell with her insides all twisted. Her breath caught all the same when he suddenly was in front of her, his face in her hair and whispered breaths against her ear. "What are you--What are we doing?" Jocelyn questioned, pulse racing. Her hands rested against his sides in an attempt to still him. "I don't think this is a good idea."

[someotherdog]

judge judy taps wrist.gif NOW JUST WHEREEEEE are my zombies/infected plots hmm??

[someotherdog]

heroin took more than it gave, but the giving was so good that junior couldn’t ever break the habit. he had tried, though. he had been with women that allowed him into their home, either knowledgeable about his addiction or not, and the majority of them begged him to get clean. some even paid for his rehab—three times and counting, each time failed. every time he even thought he was going to stick with it this go around, something would happen and he’d run straight back to the needle, as if the drug’s arms were open and waiting to envelope him against its breast. like a mother, it accepted and welcomed him each time he returned. it was his most loyal friend, and it filled the frances-shaped hole in his heart. it filled the holes shaped like his family, too. it was the perfect salve to every worry, every sorrow, every bad dream or bad day he had. sometimes, it was even celebratory, supporting the high of his emotions with a physical one. that was one thing he hadn’t understood about frances—why she hadn’t joined him in his sea of opiates. she had her own tragedies, her own sorrow, why didn’t she want his wonder drug? why did she judge him for dealing with his emotions by using a needle full of poison? she was so hurt, so angry. it could’ve taken her pain away, and then they could be together again. frances was smart, she knew better, and yet it still hurt to be pushed away. even when he knew he deserved it. “most of it, but i appreciate you saying that.” he smiled briefly, gone before it could settle onto his face. “yeah, it does sound stupid.” junior said softly, though his voice was absent of any malice or anger. “but i can understand that. all i do is ruin things.” there it was again, his other best friend: self-pity. “i’m here now, though. i can be here for you, if you let me.”

once in her life , she would've easily said that junior was her best friend --- the person she can rely on no matter what but really , when was the last time they'd seen one another ? their paths had diverged but not for the better . she was plagued by memories of a plane crash , days upon weeks thinking the end was near --- wishing it was and he was wasting his life away to drugs . needle after needle to reach some form of temporary high that would never reach the height of the last . she was too damaged from her own shit to notice his own earlier enough but even if her life hadn't fallen apart , would she have been equipped to save him from himself ? set long winded years of feelings aside enough to be the support someone in his position needed ? probably not . frances had never been any good at understanding her feelings , processing her emotions --- it was always much worse when it came to him so in the end it culminated in the only way she knew how to express her pain : with anger . it was all born out of a misunderstanding , jealousy for an inanimate object that had begun to take her place in his life . out of it birthed this frustrating pain she had buried so deep within her and upset that he was withering himself away , tossing his life away for what ? it wasn't fair , she said so many things she did not mean but none of those words could have hurt more than the emptiness of him , gone from her life . no more late night calls or inside jokes , she had no one to talk to or lean on when things felt wrong . she left , unwilling to swallow the impending rejection and he was gone from her life . years later , it still left a painful prodding ache in the spaces between her ribs like a bruise that had only begun to yellow around the edges . " maybe some of it but not . . . not all of it . " she was never good at sugar coating . " i didn't want to give you the chance to realize i wasn't worth the trouble and shove me out of your life so . . . i did it for you ? it's real stupid saying it out loud now . i ruined a lot for . . . for nothing . "

[someotherdog]

The Bear (2022-present) Next (S03E02)

[someotherdog]

for / @dcymcres (spun the wheel and got a slice-of-life plot) participants / vasiliy & the muse of your choice! story / vasiliy and your muse have been married for over a year now. he promised that he really loved your muse, but he's really only with them because marrying them would help vasiliy advance in his political career via their family's connections. he left them at a fancy party, uncaring about their feelings, and now has returned to their martial penthouse apartment. setting / their home, likely in new york city

he had gotten what he wanted. a wedding ring on their finger to tie himself to their family, and to exploit those connections their last name came with. once the marriage license was signed and they were moved into his penthouse, vasiliy no longer had to play the charming fiancé. he could stop pretending. his spouse was just a means to an end, and now he was at that end, he didn’t care much for their feelings anymore. that was why he once again left them alone at the charity gala without a goodbye or even a text to say he was leaving. it was early in the morning when he finally arrived home, and just as he expected, his spouse was still awake. leaning against the doorframe, vasiliy crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily, “you’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

[someotherdog]

sadia didn’t know how or when, but maya had become incredibly important to them. it was an easy friendship between two very guarded people, and while sadia could be particularly friendly when needed, they valued their privacy. they valued the box they put themselves in and enjoyed the solitude being alone brought them. she dealt enough with people at work all day—like most servers, they hated working with the public because it just killed their faith in humanity by the minute—so it was nice to be able to go back to their apartment, kick their feet up, smoke a bowl, and decompress.  it could be lonely sometimes in that box, but it was safe in there, too. no one could make her into a fool if she didn’t let them in. no one could bully or ridicule them, make fun of their eclectic interests, point out their bony shoulders or call them names. it was so, so comfortable. 

until maya. of course, until maya.

their interests weren’t exactly the same, but sadia could respect maya’s thirst for answers, and they were always there if maya’s head got a little too into the clouds. an anchor. their personality meshed well with maya’s, which wasn’t a simple feat. while they had never been the caring, motherly type, it was easy to be concerned over their roommate. to make sure maya had eaten in the last few hours, or got a little sleep. sadia had never really cared about anyone, at least not in the way they cared for her. they loved their family, they had friends, they cared about humanity at large and social justice, but with maya… it was more than that. it was personal. maybe it was just that maya was in front of them every day, as they lived together. it couldn’t mean more than that.

still, their natural skepticism couldn’t be entirely quelled. as much fun as it was to chase ghosts on the dark web, sadia had to be the one that didn’t believe in it. the one to pull maya back if she went too far down the rabbit hole. the one to meet all fantastical ideas with stone-cold logic. sadia had their own share of conspiracies, but more about the government and science. the most outlandish it got was about aliens. the idea of ghosts went against their own personal beliefs and the religion they had been raised in, but they didn’t want to rain on maya’s parade. not just yet. not until it was time to bring maya back into reality.

“let us join?” they asked, swallowing a bite of burrito down. “we don’t even get to choose who we do a séance with or when? that’s lame.” like all internet rituals, sadia assumed there were strict rules they had to follow; as a preteen, they had fallen victim to the midnight man creepypasta game that ended with them disappointed in their living room, ritualistic supplies laid out in front of them and with no one chasing them throughout the house until the witching hour, no midnight man in sight. games of bloody mary or playing with the ouija board at sleepovers always ended the same: with sadia disappointed and their cousins annoyed she made them play again. they had to know, though. that was the problem. they had to know the answer, and the answer was always disappointing. they expected the same out of the echo chamber.

sadia laughed at her furtive glance, shaking their head in affectionate disapproval. as much as they cared for maya, they wouldn’t force her to sleep. they weren’t her sister, nor her mother. certainly not her girlfriend. if maya wanted to stay up until sadia got home from their breakfast shift at the diner, then that was her choice. even if the bags under her eyes sometimes worried sadia. “yeah, but i saw this episode of law and order: svu once and this girl was so sleep deprived that she killed her dormmate and didn’t even remember doing it!” their eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, teasing smile beneath it, “i don’t have to worry you’re going to be standing over my bed with a knife tonight, do i?” they wiggled their fingers and made a ghostly oooo sound, “unless you’re gonna get possessed by a serial killer from the beyond?”

at her question, they nodded in confirmation. “no, there’s, like, two left. maybe we should head to the grocery store before we reach out to the afterlife?” sadia suggested. like all broke twenty-somethings, their diet consisted of frozen meals and ramen. frequently, they were able to take home some fries or some unsold soup from work, but it was getting harder to do that with their new manager cracking down on free staff meals. “i got an eight dollar tip today—i know, big bucks—so maybe we can spring for some donuts or something fancy.”

if maya could see her own smile when sadia agreed, she would’ve had to look away—it was that blinding. it felt stupid, really, the way something so simple could pull so much joy out of her, but she’d never been good at playing it cool. not when it came to things that made her feel less like a walking question mark. and sadia... sadia had this quiet way of making her feel chosen. like she belonged somewhere. like she wasn’t just another loner.

maya had always been that way—alone. not by choice, not really, but because being passed around foster homes and halfway houses had a way of chipping at your trust until there wasn’t much left to offer. she told people she liked it that way, that solitude meant freedom, that no attachments meant no disappointments, and maybe part of her even believed it. but even she had to admit that being alone for too long made your bones cold in places you didn’t know could freeze. she didn’t talk about it. not the adoption. not the churches or the case files or the way her name had been scribbled on that note like it was a prayer. the therapist had called it abandonment trauma, said maya sought answers in fiction and puzzles because she couldn’t face the biggest unsolved mystery of her life. that she was addicted to chasing ghosts because the real ghosts—her ghosts—were too heavy. too complicated. maybe that was true. maybe it wasn’t. either way, she preferred the comfort of fake ghosts. they didn’t ask questions back.

but sadia had changed something. it was terrifying how easy it was to grow used to them being around, how comforting it had become to hear them laugh from the other room or complain about the weird smell of the mystery box last week. maya told herself it didn’t mean anything. but she also knew damn well she was lying. because every time sadia smiled at her, maya felt her heart stutter like faulty code—something glitching under her ribs.

and now there was this. the echo chamber. just the name alone sent goosebumps down her arms. a strange digital séance room, tucked into the folds of the deep web like a hidden altar. god, if her therapist could see her now—pulling sadia into something like this while probably projecting every unspoken wound she’d ever had onto ghost data and chatroom whispers. at least she wasn’t dragging anyone else into her mess. just the person she had a massive, stupid, obvious crush on. “it’ll definitely be something if they let us join a séance right away,” maya said, squinting toward the window like the sun personally offended her. her eyes burned a little. maybe from the sudden light. maybe not. “could be chaos. i mean, half of these sites are just jump scares and creepypasta-tier horror, but... i don’t know. this one feels different.”

her voice dipped slightly. her parents flickered in her mind like a static image—are they even alive? would a séance reach them, or would it just confirm the worst? she shook the thought loose before it rooted too deep. sadia didn’t need to know all that. they didn’t need to know about the church steps or the note tucked into her baby blanket. they didn’t need to know that she sometimes still dreamed of the voice that had never told her goodbye.

she was about to say something else when sadia hit her with the sleep question, and maya flinched internally. “uh... define lately?” she offered with a sheepish twist of her mouth. “i mean, you know i’ve never been big on sleep. i’ve always sort of hovered in that four-to-five-hour zone since i was a kid. it’s not new.” she waved it off, though her fingers were jittery and she could still feel her pulse thumping in her throat. “what’s one all-nighter turned thirty-six-hour sprint? i’m just... you know. powered by the thrill of internet ghost hunting and artificial fruit flavoring.” she pushed herself to her feet, slightly wobbly, rubbing at her face with both hands. “you know what? i should eat something before i start seeing ghosts outside the screen. we’ve got frozen waffles, right? please tell me we didn’t finish them. if i eat another pop tart i might actually die.”

[someotherdog]

“i’m not looking at you.” vinny obviously lied, evident in the way his eyes darted in any other direction but collins’. he tried to think of a decent lie quickly. “there was a… seagull behind you, it just stole that guy’s fries.” there, that should do it.

muse: collins dilaurentis, socialite. twenty5.

"you can't keep looking at me like that ."

[someotherdog]

i really don’t think most people want to be special. it really fucking sucks to be special, actually.

ingrid didn’t mean to laugh, not really. it was a sardonic, angry sound, swallowed by a lengthy pull from her cigarette. “clearly, you’ve never been a teenage girl.” that was all young girls wanted: to be special. to be seen in a crowd, plucked out of obscurity. chosen from a sea of girls that looked just like them, talked just like them, dressed just like them, and to be told they were unique. special. better. ingrid supposed that feeling never really went away, just shoved into the recess of the mind, or transferred to being picked for a promotion or a marriage proposal. certainly not being chosen by a supernatural entity that just wanted to drive her fucking insane. 

“just there…” ingrid was developing a habit of repeating what dave said in fragments, as if rolling each word in her mind. she laughed again, strangled and full of anguish. what a lucky, lucky girl she was. a silence settled between them, subtle as an erection, and it gave ingrid enough time to finish her cigarette just as they came upon the bar. she had half a mind to ask him for another, but she didn’t want to out her secret as a chain-smoker. it was a recent development, if that made it any better. instead, she flicked her cigarette butt into the gutter and produced a bottle of hand sanitizer out of her purse as they entered the bar. she followed dave to the bar, ordering herself a vodka cran—easy to make, easy to get her drunk.

once they were sat at the bar, silence settled between them again until dave downed his whiskey and started to speak. ingrid sipped her drink quietly, nodding appropriately when prompted. something in him snapped? that intrigued her, and vaguely scared her. she hadn’t considered that dave could be a dangerous man until then. in fact, before they officially met, she had assumed him to be sort of… a wuss. it was just an assumption based on his job description, if what he did could even be called a job. she couldn’t exactly say she wasn’t surprised he had been bullied in school, but she knew how cruel children could be. ingrid had suffered teasing and occasional ostracizing from her closest girlfriends throughout middle school, but nothing compared to what dave was describing. for what it was worth, ingrid had never been a bully herself.

she noticed that dave wouldn’t look at her, so she kept her eyes darting between the side of his face and the bar around them. some basketball game was playing on the tv. there was a couple in a booth on the other side of the room, sweetly holding hands. some old guy at the opposite end of the bar was staring into nothing. the bartender wordlessly refilled dave’s drink, then went back to looking at their phone. everything was so… normal. the world was going on as usual, as if her own life wasn’t fucking falling apart. ingrid felt like crying again. she had to wonder if the entity was there, watching and waiting. could dave see it? what did it look like? ingrid matched his sigh, then placed a hand on his wrist and patted tentatively. somewhat comfortingly.

“but i’m not.” ingrid smiled sadly and spoke softly. “and neither are you. we’re people, not ants or toys for them to play with. there has to be some way to deal with them—that’s your whole job, right? dealing with them?” there was a spark of hope in her eye, wanting him to have all the answers, though he already indicated that he didn’t. “how are we supposed to get rid of these things? i can’t just put my life on hold and hope it goes away, dave. i really don’t think i can spend the rest of my life being tormented, i really don’t.” never had she ever considered suicide before, but she didn’t think she could stomach another day being followed by that fucking entity. “please, dave.”

Dave assumed it would be inappropriate to say ‘whew, good’ to a pretty girl declining a hug. But shit he was glad. He wasn’t a hugger. Still feeling like his limbs weren’t properly attached after puberty meant that Dave didn’t think he moved well. Sure he could load a shotgun blindfolded and take down a moving target provided it was shouting profanities at him. But a comforting hug? Where the other person would feel the thrum of tension that was constantly running under his skin? Where they could feel how scared he was based on the rigidity of his muscles? Absolutely not.

He happily surrendered the cigarette and shrugged at her reaction. “I really don’t think most people want to be special. It really fucking sucks to be special, actually.” In all ways. Having the psychic-like abilities that he now did was unsurprisingly terrible. Being known by intergalactic cosmic horrors was an inconvenience to say the least. He was special all right and if he didn’t already know what was waiting for him on the other side, he’d end it right there and save his energy.

“Yeah, could be. But more likely, you were just there.” That was the curse of tragedy. Victims so rarely chose to go down the roads that led them to experience the darkest side of life. Dave couldn’t say that people were fully blameless for their actions and repercussions. The whole reason he had to deal with unexplainable eldritch horrors was because he had loved and trusted his best friend. And when John showed up at 4am needing help with a small glass bottle containing two more strange black pills, Dave had given him a hug and let him inside. “It’s uh, more about the metaphor I guess. Than if you were actually being bullied.”

Dave couldn’t bring himself to speak further until there was some sort of alcohol in his system. He pulled open the door for her when they got to the bar. Another pang of sadness struck him as he ordered a double shot of whiskey. If John were there, he’d have ordered them both the most ridiculous fruity item possible, flirting with the bartender to entertain them as they made something elaborate. By the end of it, John would likely have gotten everyone in the bar singing some bad 80s ballad and no one could remember their problems. But he was dead and Dave was doing all he could to keep his muscles working.

As soon as the majority of his drink was gone, Dave cleared his throat. “So I was bullied.” Was there a less obvious statement he could have made? “For uh, well, most of school. Up to middle school. Real shitty. One day they went too far though and something in me snapped. It had been great for them. They got something to take their anger out on because their lives sucked fucking much that they could look at this little kid with his dead parents and thrifted clothes and say that he isn’t human, he isn’t like them. They can break this creatures fucking bones because it makes them feel better about getting hit by their parents.”

He let out a long exhale then drained the rest of his drink and signaled for a refill. Dave didn’t look at her throughout his speech. He couldn’t. How could someone like her understand? “The thing haunting you is just like them. Just like those assholes that tortured me until I fought back hard enough and blinded one of them.” And if only that was his biggest regret. If only Dave wasn’t still proud. “I’m just here to try to teach you how to fight back in a way that your bully understands. Because you’re not just a sad kid to them, you’re barely an ant.”

[someotherdog]

CANDICE KING AS BESS SINCLAIR IN WE WERE LIARS

S01E01 - Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

[someotherdog]

amazingly, my drafts are actually below forty!! it could've gotten even lower but i got distracted by photoshop for two hours and now i must go to bed. i probably could go on for a bit and knock out one or two more but i'm gonna finally go see 28 years later this afternoon so i need to get some sleep! i'm expecting to be a changed woman by this movie so i will most definitely want 394230 more zombie/apoc threads later tonight. now i'm off, bye bye!

[someotherdog]

maybe, just maybe, sean purposely left his messes around the rink. perhaps he enjoyed watching sawyer fly off the fucking handle, and suppose he didn’t collect his pucks or left his equipment bag open on the bench so its contents might fall out. that might’ve been a possibility, but sean would deny it until the sky fell down. “barbaric?” he parroted, brows inching upwards in faux-offense, but the expression was quickly replaced with his natural smug smirk. “what would happen to me? you’d sue me? i’m so scared, klein!”

closed starter for @someotherdog because they liked this post !!

plot: based on this post ( hockey player x figure skater ). open to anyone!

"i know your 'sport' is barbaric, but i thought you at least had the decency to clean up after yourselves," sawyer snapped at them as she quickly approached where they stood, flinging a puck at their feet. "i was trying to warm up and almost ate shit on this stupid thing. do you know what would happen to you if i had been injured?"