#off season sled dog

[rhiannatruex]

Bounding Thru Snow

[darkwood-sleddog]

ZOOMIN’

[innytoes]

So the @secretlovesongsfest Discord Server is the place to be, and last night we accidentally spun the tale of Sunset Curve Retiring, ft Luke ‘no I’m never retiring’ Patterson, Alex settling down with his husband Willie, and Bobby Deciding He’s Going To Be A Hermit And Move To The Woods In Canada. Only Reggie says: Yes of course, and I’m coming with you. And we’re adopting a bunch of dogs.

Luke goes on Writing Retreats that are really just ‘visiting Bobby and Reggie and their ten dogs’. His next album has an amazing love song about a girl with beautiful brown eyes and soft curls and when asked in interviews who it’s about, he stares at the interview and says, honestly: Shania the Labradoodle.

The song he writes for Reggie and Bobby is way less romantic. When the same interviewer asks about that, Luke shrugs and says ‘Well I didn’t want to be too cheesy. Bobby’s not big on PDA and Reg likes keeping our relationship private.’

Not featured: the helipad next to Bobby’s Hermit Cabin, Billy Ray the chihuahua in a baby sling, Bobby’s vegetable garden, and Alex making gay and short jokes about Luke.

Yes of course eventually Alex and Willie also move into the Sunset Curve Cabin Commune. Willie took one step out of the chopper Bobby picked them up in, got swarmed by dogs, and told Alex he was never leaving.

[scoops-stevie-archive]

the "eddie feeds trailer park raccoons" posts made me remember my tags on this post so i cleaned them up and made this ✨

wayne takes him hunting one season and while eddie doesn't particularly enjoy waking up before the sun and bundling himself in camouflage and traffic cone orange on a saturday, he does enjoy a good homecooked meal made with meat you hunted yourself. makes him feel good about what's going into his body (though you'll never hear him pass up burger king, especially if someone else is paying.)

eddie's got himself a hefty prize pile going in the sled they brought, made up of smaller game.

(he's only a little disappointed it isn't deer season.)

wayne's grumpy about it and says eddie's got an advantage because of his age and his eyesight being better. normally, they'd be in the woods from sunup to sundown, but wayne's gotta work the next day, a rare day shift, so they call it quits around three pm. wayne gets his last shot in and he goes to pick the animal up, lamenting the lack of a retriever dog as his knees crack and pop, when he hears a rustling in a nearby tree trunk.

ah shit.

a tiny, furry grey head pops up and wayne doesn't figure it's old enough to fend for itself yet. he motions for eddie with a flick of his fingers and puts them to his lips. he drops the body in the sled as eddie scruffs the raccoon kit and lifts it from the tree so it doesn’t put up a fight and scratch or bite him. they're strapped for cash enough as it is and rabies shots are expensive.

"what do we do with it?" he asks, holding the thing up to eye level. it can't be more than a couple months old, still completely dependent on its mother for survival.

wayne sighs and starts packing their gear. "got a buddy who works at the rehab center. we'll take it there and see if they can do anything."

the drive there, eddie keeps the little thing tucked into his coat. the middle of january still brings cold snaps and snow and the animal is shivering despite its thick winter fur. eddie thinks it's kind of cute.

they were right about the raccoon's age; around three months, wayne's buddy estimates from her weight. she's a female, which delights eddie for a reason he can't explain. after she's got her shots, he tells them that, legally, they need a permit to keep her, but since he and wayne go back a ways, he can let a few things slide.

so they go home and dig out an old cage to keep her in until she stops growling and hissing at them when they get close to her. she lives off a diet of eggs mixed in milk and has to be bottle fed. it's eddie's favorite part of the day because he gets to hold her and he thinks she's getting used to it because she stops trying to squirm out of his arms and doesn't bite him as often.

he calls in a favor to nancy and asks if her mom has any of holly's baby onesies and she is rightfully curious.

"it's for a raccoon."

"....right."

he dresses her up and thankfully, nancy brings diapers (he doesn't ask how awkward that particular shopping trip was) because the baby has started treating the trailer like her bathroom and wayne's already threatened to throw her back out into the woods if he has to clean up another mess. so she walks around the place in her little onesie and diaper like the little trailer park princess she is and everyone knows who she belongs to. max has already claimed the spot for cool aunt.

eddie has to stop himself from buying a secondhand stroller.

unfortunately, eddie's spent the last couple weeks so caught up in the thrill of being a single parent, he forgets that he's not actually single at all.

steve pulls into the trailer park on a cold, cloudy day and before he can even get a foot out the car, he's greeted by a raccoon wearing a pastel pink baby onesie with white lace frills that's clearly meant for a human baby. he blinks down at it, visibly confused, and looks around to see where it came from.

the trailer door opens and his boyfriend is yelling with all the energy of an exasperated parent, hands on his hips and a dish rag thrown over one shoulder, a baby bottle in one hand,

"jezebel munson, you get your furry lil hind end back inside this trailer right now!"

as if the raccoon understood, it toddles toward the porch steps and eddie moves aside to let it pass, pointing inside. "straight to the couch, little missy!"

steve slowly follows behind her and stops at the last step, watching as the animal climbs a jerry rigged set of steps next to the couch.

"eddie. what the hell."

eddie turns to grin down at him, hands still on his hips. "stevie, we're parents now! meet your daughter, jezebel."

steve can only sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose before accepting his fate and going inside for father daughter bonding time.

[puppy-steve]

wayne takes him hunting one season and while eddie doesn’t particularly enjoy waking up before the sun and bundling himself in camouflage and traffic cone orange on a saturday, he does enjoy a good homecooked meal made with meat you hunted yourself. makes him feel good about what’s going into his body (though you’ll never hear him pass up burger king, especially if someone else is paying.)

eddie’s got himself a hefty prize pile going in the sled they brought, made up of smaller game.

(he’s only a little disappointed it isn’t deer season.)

wayne’s grumpy about it and says eddie’s got an advantage because of his age and his eyesight being better. normally, they’d be in the woods from sunup to sundown, but wayne’s gotta work the next day, a rare day shift, so they call it quits around three pm. wayne gets his last shot in and he goes to pick the animal up, lamenting the lack of a retriever dog as his knees crack and pop, when he hears a rustling in a nearby tree trunk.

ah shit.

a tiny, furry grey head pops up and wayne doesn’t figure it’s old enough to fend for itself yet. he motions for eddie with a flick of his fingers and puts them to his lips. he drops the body in the sled as eddie scruffs the raccoon kit and lifts it from the tree so it doesn’t put up a fight and scratch or bite him. they’re strapped for cash enough as it is and rabies shots are expensive.

“what do we do with it?” he asks, holding the thing up to eye level. it can’t be more than a couple months old, still completely dependent on its mother for survival.

wayne sighs and starts packing their gear. “got a buddy who works at the rehab center. we’ll take it there and see if they can do anything.”

the drive there, eddie keeps the little thing tucked into his coat. the middle of january still brings cold snaps and snow and the animal is shaking despite its thick winter fur. eddie thinks it’s kind of cute.

they were right about the raccoon’s age; around three months, wayne’s buddy estimates from her weight. she’s a female, which delights eddie for a reason he can’t explain. after she’s got her shots, he tells them that, legally, they need a permit to keep her, but since he and wayne go back a ways, he can let a few things slide.

so they go home and dig out an old cage to keep her in until she stops growling and hissing at them when they get close to her. she lives off a diet of eggs mixed in milk and has to be bottle fed. it’s eddie’s favorite part of the day because he gets to hold her and he thinks she’s getting used to it because she stops trying to squirm out of his arms and doesn’t bite him as often. (there's a photo on the fridge of eddie covered in ban-aids and holding her in one arm, giving the camera a thumbs up with the other, a giant grin on his face. 'progress!' is written on the bottom.)

he calls in a favor to nancy and asks if her mom has any of holly’s baby clothes and she is rightfully curious.

“it’s for a raccoon.”

“….right.”

he dresses her up and thankfully, nancy brings diapers (he doesn’t ask how awkward that particular shopping trip was) because the baby has started treating the trailer like her bathroom and wayne’s already threatened to throw her back out into the woods if he has to clean up another mess. so she walks around the place in her little onesie and diaper like the little trailer park princess she is and everyone knows who she belongs to. max has already claimed the spot for cool aunt.

eddie has to stop himself from buying a secondhand stroller.

unfortunately, he's spent the last couple weeks so caught up in the thrill of being a single parent, he forgets that he’s not actually single at all.

steve pulls into the trailer park on a cold, cloudy day and before he can even get a foot out the car, he’s greeted by a raccoon wearing a pastel pink onesie with white lace frills that’s clearly meant for a human baby. he blinks down at it, visibly confused, and looks around to see where it came from.

the trailer door suddenly opens and his boyfriend is yelling with all the energy of an exasperated parent, hands on his hips and a dish rag thrown over one shoulder, a baby bottle in one hand,

“jezebel munson, you get your furry lil hind end back inside this trailer right now!”

as if the raccoon understood, it toddles toward the porch steps and eddie moves aside to let it pass, pointing inside. “straight to the couch, little missy!”

steve slowly follows behind her and stops at the last step, watching as the animal climbs a jerry-rigged set of steps next to the couch.

“eddie. what the hell.”

eddie turns to grin down at him, hands still on his hips. "we're parents now, stevie! meet your daughter, jezebel.”

steve can only sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose before accepting his fate and going inside for father daughter bonding time.

🥐☕💕 buy me a coffee

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough. 

It is seldom worth the consequences. 

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind. 

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect. 

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle. 

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you. 

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth. 

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure. 

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

 A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?” 

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.  

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No. 

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you. 

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power. 

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain. 

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was  impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking. 

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home. 

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity. 

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation. 

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.  

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

— 

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks.  Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace. 

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species. 

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice. 

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?” 

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer. 

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you. 

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink. 

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it. 

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead. 

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape. 

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones. 

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into? 

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

 You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself. 

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life. 

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

 “No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations. 

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly. 

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and..  Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm. 

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment. 

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work? 

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.  

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting. 

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door. 

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation? 

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron. 

“Silly girl.” 

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires. 

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with. 

[bonesandthebees]

If u wanna talk more about the tntduo detective au I am ALL ears 👀👀👀 but also totally understand if u wanna keep it a secret for now hehehe

honestly I have no idea where I'm going with it so I'll throw it to the wind and let you guys chew on it while I let it simmer lol

so basically I started watching true detective: night country the other night with my mom and I immediately got inspired (I have not seen the first season of true detective although I really want to watch it now and hopefully will soon). also, I've always had a fascination with the polar nights phenomena. I've gone on wikipedia binges before reading about Utquiagvik (the Alaskan town I'm fairly sure the town in true detective s4 is based off of) which experiences polar night for roughly two months or so, and I've also gotten a few videos in my Youtube recommended from a youtuber who lives in Svalbard which experiences polar night for nearly three months. so suffice to say the concept of a several month long night has intrigued me for a while, and finding a show literally set during that multi-month nighttime immediately piqued my interest.

and when I watch really fun things I usually get the urge to write something in the same genre. originally I thought about a crimeboys detective duo fic, but then I was like wait has anyone done tntduo as detective partners? because I know there's crimeboys detective fics out there but I don't know if I've seen many of them for tntduo. and I realized that would just be a very fun dynamic for the two of them.

so grizzled small town detective partners tntduo who bicker like an old married couple, seem to have a lot of shit in their past between them, work incredibly well together and bounce off of each other perfectly during investigations, and also have the kind of tension where no one else in the room with them can tell if they want to punch each other or make out just felt like the perfect vibe to dig into. all set against the backdrop of a frigid arctic circle town that's in the midst of a 2 month long night. and then someone gets murdered.

so this post doesn't get too long I'll talk more about the specifics of the au under the cut

so tbh this idea while it is tntduo /r, it wouldn't be that focused on that and more focused on the murder investigation going on. besides our two overly tired small town detectives that definitely aren't repressing any feelings towards each other, we have several other characters going about their lives as well! of course tommy is there. he's a junior officer who only joined the police force a year before the start of the story (also, yes I'm very acab when it comes to real life but I just wanna write one of those stereotypical murder investigation stories man).

anyway, tommy is only 20 and his dad, phil, was part of the force for most of tommy's life. once he turned 18 though phil quit because he'd always hated the institution of police (and government in general) (although like wilbur he was a detective) but wanted to have a stable job to keep his kid supported. phil was... not thrilled in tommy's career choice, but who is he to protest?

phil mentored wilbur during his early years in the force, and in turn wilbur mentors tommy. he's trying to teach him how to think like an investigator, and will often ask him questions to get his brain turning pieces of evidence over and try to get him to look at situations in different ways.

since quitting and getting that sweet sweet government retirement money, phil pretty much spends all his time at his bestie techno's place. techno is the town hermit who lives on the outskirts. he also breeds sled dogs (not formally he just has a lot of dogs since people need them in that kind of weather) and usually has 10 huskies at a time running around his cabin. techno might also be a retired eco-terrorist but wilbur knows not to ask too many questions about that and quackity is scared of techno so he's definitely not gonna bring it up.

niki is a phd student from germany working at the nearby arctic research station for her dissertation. she focuses a lot of her studies on climate change and all that. she and wilbur are best friends and has heard way too many drunken ramblings about quackity.

jack manifold is one of tommy's best friends and works at the oil fields that employ most of the town. he's trying to get placed onto a proper oil rig out in the ocean at some point since those jobs pay really well. he's friends with niki too, although his job and her research certainly cause a bit of contention between them.

tubbo is another best friend of tommy's. he's born and raised in the arctic town but he went off to a prestigious uni down south to get a nuclear engineering degree so he's not really around for the most part

sam oversees and manages all the oil pumps and makes sure things are running smoothly. and in turn, schlatt owns the oil fields. he and quackity have, uh, a history.

and lastly, ranboo is an intern at the research station that niki is doing her dissertation work at. they're also close friends with tommy, although wilbur and quackity both have only met them a few times. the whole story kicks off when they go missing one day, only to be found dead outside in the frigid temperatures within a few hours. that's when the mystery kicks off against the backdrop of a nearly three month long night :)

anyway I do have the overarching mystery figured out, but it's the actual specific plotting bit i'm struggling with. I really don't want to write the entire investigation but also I don't wanna just write a single scene bc theres so much going on in this universe I wanna show arghhhh. and also I love slowburn and I think the really weird tense dynamic tntduo have in this would be so intriguing with that layered on top of it. just arghhhh motivation and time.

hope you enjoyed learning about my brainrot over the past few days lol I already made a playlist for this fic even though I don't think I'm gonna write it it's so joever for me

[noneedtoamputate]

Happy holidays, @land-sh. I'm your HBO War Secret Santa, and I hope you like this modern holiday AU featuring Ron and Carwood. I know you don't live in the United States, so I wanted to let you in on a few things in case you didn't know (and my apologies if you already know). The Pentagon, where Ron works, is home to the U.S. Departmen of Defense, and Instacart is an app where you can order groceries and get them delivered to your house. Fair warning for anyone else reading, it's just a tad spicy toward the end. I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful holiday season, no matter how you celebrate!

Ron stared at the calendar hanging in the kitchen. If looks could set paper ablaze, the month of December would have burnt to a crisp thirty seconds ago.

He took another sip of his steaming black coffee, careful not to let any get on his Army dress uniform.

He took the calendar down from its hook and walked over to the kitchen table they purchased three years ago, when Ron accepted a desk job at the Pentagon and Carwood left active service and started teaching history at a local high school. 

Car’s messy handwriting filled almost all of the squares. He had Army reserve duty the first weekend of the month, and as assistant coach of the boys’ junior varsity basketball team, there were practices or games almost every weeknight up until holiday break. There was the neighborhood cookie exchange, where he promised to make his famous gingerbread people, and then there was the Santa Paws fundraising event at the humane society. Car volunteered to dress up as Santa.

Ron’s small, neat cursive only filled Mondays for his personal training appointments and on December 22, with one word and arrow ending on December 30.

Home.

No one at work would ever guess that Lt. Col. Ronald Speirs loved Christmas. He loved the lights, the movies, the gifts, and, most importantly, being with the people he loved. He hadn't made it back to his parents in Massachusetts for the holidays since moving to Washington. He finally had enough seniority in his department to take an entire week off in December.

He couldn't wait to taste his mother’s shortbread, to be spoiled by his sisters, to take his nieces and nephews sledding. There really was nothing like Christmastime in New England. 

He heard Car come down the stairs of their townhouse. He wore a black turtleneck sweater, fitted tan pants, and loafers. If Ron’s teacher had looked as half as good as Car, Ron would never have passed U.S. History. 

Car smiled at him as he walked over to the coffee maker. 

“The calendar’s getting pretty full,” Ron said, trying to sound casual.

“December’s always busy,” Car replied as he sat down across from his husband. “But not too busy that we can't find time for each other.”

“Movies?” Ron asked. 

“Of course. Die Hard. Love Actually. We’ll watch them all.”

Ron leaned closer. 

“And we’ll drive around to look at the lights?” Ron was a sucker for Christmas lights.

Car nodded. “I’ll drive, so you can really look at the displays.”

Ron smiled. “Well, if that isn't love, I don't know what is.” He reached over to kiss Car.

“I gotta run.” Car picked up his travel mug. “Have a good day. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Ron replied.

He finished his coffee and tried to get into work mode, the mode where no one would guess he loved watching Home Alone with his husband and dog and a fire roaring in their living room.

*

The next week, Ron looked at the calendar again. 

He was not happy.

“Why do you have ‘choir concert’ filled in on Wednesday?” Ron asked as Car buttered his toast.

“Yeah, about that …” Car trailed off as he nervously scratched his head. “Mrs. Ramirez needed some help setting up for the holiday show.”

“That was supposed to be movie night.” Ron tried not to sound too upset. 

“I know,” Car conceded. “Practice gets out early Friday night. We’ll have movie night then. I’ll even make the popcorn.”

“With extra butter?” Car nodded, Ron’s mouth curled up into what was almost a smile.

“It's a date,” Ron replied, and gave his husband a kiss.

But movie night never happened. A student teacher’s car wouldn't start in the faculty parking lot. Car tried jumping it, and when that didn't work, he waited while they called a tow company and gave them a ride to their apartment. 

By the time Car got home, Ron didn't feel like watching anything. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked Ron. “I couldn't just leave them there.”

“Of course not,” Ron agreed. 

But Ron lost his patience the following week when he walked into their home office and saw Car furiously typing away on the computer keyboard. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Ron said. He stood behind Car and put his hands on Car’s shoulders, giving them a gentle rub. 

Car moved away from Ron’s touch and rubbed his temples. 

“What's the matter?” Ron asked. 

“Two students asked for recommendation letters at the last minute. I need to finish these tonight.”

Ron narrowed his gaze. “You could have said no.”

Car sighed. “No, I couldn't. They’re great kids. Smart, responsible …”

Ron cut him off. “Asking for a recommendation letter at the last minute isn't responsible.”

The two just stared at each other. 

“You need to eat,” Ron finally said.

“I'll grab something when I'm finished.” Car went back to looking at the monitor. 

“And I guess this means no looking at lights tonight.” Ron crossed his arms.

Lulu came into the room and nuzzled up to Car, looking for some love. 

“Can you take her? I can't focus with her with trying to get attention “

“You don't even have time for the dog?” Ron asked, no longer hiding his anger. He leaned down to pet Lulu. “C’mon, girl, let's go for a walk.”

Ron set off on a good clip toward the park, Lulu happily keeping up the pace. 

Why does he do this? Why does he put everyone first?

He felt disloyal asking himself the question, because the way Car looked out for people was one of the reasons Ron loved him so much. 

Ron hated admitting that he felt jealous of all the attention Car had shown other people this month while making no time for him, or so it seemed.

And sadness crept over him. They seemed so distant over the last few weeks. No cuddling on the couch, binging the latest series. No long conversations over dinner. No spooning in bed before falling asleep.

And certainly no sex.

The brisk air and exercise cleared his head a bit, but he still paused for a second before opening the front door. The house stood quiet, and the chicken tetrazzini on top of the stove remained untouched. 

He threw the baking dish back into the oven to reheat and poured dog food into Lulu’s bowl. He ate dinner alone. He rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. He sorted the mail and cleaned out the fridge. When he ran out things to do, he poured himself two fingers of Scotch and tried to read a book, but he read the same page over and over. It was only 9:30 pm, and he wasn't tired, but he gave up and got ready for bed. 

It was just before midnight when Car finally made it upstairs. He didn't say anything as he took off his clothes and slipped into bed, staying far away from Ron’s side. 

“You're going to wear yourself out,” Ron said quietly.

“I'll be fine,” Car replied. Soon, his deep breaths signaled that he was asleep.

Ron put his hands behind his head and stayed awake for two more hours.

*

On the morning they planned to leave for Ron’s parents, Car woke up with the flu: Body aches, chills, and a pounding headache.

He wouldn't admit it. “Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow,” he told Ron. 

Ron titled his head to one side and gave Carwood that Ron Speirs look.

“It's possible,” Car said meekly, not really sounding convinced himself.

Ron called his mom and dad and explained the situation. Though disappointed, they completely understood and sent their love to Car.

He put in an Instacart order. There was not a lot of food in the house, as they planned to be gone for a week. Plenty of Gatorade, rice, bananas, bread for toast. All the ingredients for chicken soup, and easy meals for Ron to eat in between caregiving duties. 

The next day, he felt even worse. Ron added another bedspread on top of him for warmth and plugged in a heating pad for him to use. 

“You don’t need to stay here. Go to your parents. I can take care of …” Before Car get the last word of the sentence out, he started coughing. 

Ron rubbed his back. 

“I'm sorry,” Car said, once he caught his breath.

“No reason to apologize for coughing,” Ron replied. 

“No, not the coughing. For …” He started coughing again. 

Ron took a deep breath. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about what he was missing at home. His family, the epic games of Yahtzee, his mom's roast lamb on Christmas Day. 

But he knew Car hadn't gotten sick on purpose. If Ron had gotten sick right before they were supposed to go to West Virginia for the holidays, Car would have taken care of him without a second thought.

“It's okay,” Ron said. 

Ron couldn't have said that the day before and meant it. But today, he did.

*

On Christmas Day, Car felt well enough to get into the shower by himself. They exchanged gifts. Ron bought Car a new messenger bag for work, and Car bought Ron the watch he’d had his eye on for a while. Ron made chicken soup for lunch, and they finally watched Home Alone together on the couch. Car felt asleep halfway through, but Ron could tell he was finally on the mend. 

The rest of the week was mainly more of the same. Ron would make something for lunch, and they would watch one of the holiday movies they never got around to before Car got sick: Gremlins, Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street, It's a Wonderful Life. Each day, they would sit a little closer on the couch to one another, hold hands, spoon. 

New Year’s Eve arrived, and Car felt great. They had an invitation to a party, but they decided it was bit soon to go out.

Ron, being a great cook, made steak and lobster tails for lunch. They splurged on a bottle of good champagne and talked and laughed like they hadn't the entire month of December. 

They turned on a football game, and Ron fell asleep before halftime. He woke up to the feeling of Car’s fingers in his hair.

“I didn't mean to take a nap,” he said, reaching for his husband's hand. 

“You needed it. You've been taking care of me all week.”

Ron stroked Car’s cheek and reached in for a kiss. 

They started slow, almost uncertain, the tension of the last few weeks still present. But then Car traced his tongue along Ron’s earlobe, a surefire way to get Ron hard. Wordlessly, they walked upstairs to the bedroom.

Car started undressing Ron, taking his time. Ron hadn't realized how touch starved he was for Car's hands and lips. He kissed his neck and worked his way down, nuzzling Ron’s chest with his stubble and gently biting Ron’s nipples. Ron couldn't help letting out a moan, and he could feel Car smile against him.

He let out an actual groan when Car grabbed him, stroking him exactly the way he liked. He put the head of Ron’s cock in his mouth and teased him, before taking it all in.

Ron tried to pull away, but Car shook him off. “I want to take care of you,” he said. 

Ron realized that for all the things Car did for other people, he would only do this for Ron. This was just for the two of them. He had no reason to be jealous.

Ron realized and ran his fingers through Car’s hair, staying in the moment and taking in every sensation. He knew he wouldn't last long, and that it wouldn't matter. 

Ron said his husband’s name as he came, and Car kept him in his mouth and teased the inside of his thighs as he came down. He took Ron in his arms, and Ron lay his head on Car’s chest. 

Another thing no one at the Pentagon would guess was how much Ron loved the time after making love, when they would hold each other and talk quietly. He didn't used to, not before he met Car. It was one of the ways he knew Car was the man for him. 

They stayed quiet for longer than usual, enjoying the closeness.

“I am sorry you didn't make it home for Christmas,” Car finally said. “You said was okay, but I know how much it meant to you.”

Ron kissed him. “I was home for Christmas.” He looked the man who meant everything to him in the eye.

“You are my home.”

[hungerofhadarr]

Tagged by @ikarons AND @asharaks MWAH TO YOU BOTH thank uu

Name: Danior “Flamehair” ( not his last name , but he no longer remembers his , so this nickname ended up taking its place )

Nickname(s): Flamehair , of course . I don’ t think he really gets called any nickname that often . Aside from Wyll’ s pet names , Ofc

Pronouns: He does not care ( 2spirit gender apathetic transguy )

Star Sign: Sirius star

Height: 5’ 11

Orientation: Gay DemiAroAce . Just shrugs if asked

Race: Half Wood Elf

Romancing: Wyllyam …

Fave Fruit: Give this man a Kiwi or a Pear and leave him alone he’ s gonna devour those things sloppy style . Any Melon is also a good choice

Fave Season: Winter , even though he knows the cold of the season is Very Bad for him . It is beautiful , and peaceful . But the damn cold …

Fave Flower: Bee Orchid , Bat Flower and the world famous Corpse Flower !!

Fave Scent: Leather polish , the scent of cold ( like snow and such ) , Spiced rum and ciders , ozone … yeah

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Teas , he can brew a variety of them with … a variety of tastes . Never drink the morning brew it is medicinal and slightly unfit for consumption but he can down a cup and feel good so …

Average Sleep Hours: . Well ! He doesn’ t sleep , or rest like elves do . He does lay down and let his body heal , but he doesn’ t ever drift off

Dogs or Cats: Dogs , but like sled hounds . Dogs that help bring wood home . Dogs that carry prey in their jaws and drop it at your feet . Dogs that can win against you , and they know they can , but they never strike agaisnt you . You get it

Dream Trip: He’ s an avid Wanderer . Anywhere is the dream trip . Literally just take him somewhere and be happy about it and he’ ll be pleased with the journey no matter what

Amount of Blankets: He says he needs one at most , but his body temperature is always a bit too alarmingly cold , so he ends up bundled often . Good for him

Random Fact(s):

While in a pact , he doesn’ t see himself as a warlock , nor does his patron treat him as one . He still uses magic on occasion , but they’ re not as powerful as a true caster’ s spells could be . #EldritchKnightLife

Also due to the pact , he’ s still quite young , but basically magically slept through plenty of decades of life . He doesn’ t like getting into it .

Habit of chewing on lips and hands , to the point that scar tissue has built up on joints of his fingers and his lips are always a bit bloody and raw

THANK U GUYS AGAIN … I already tagged people on the Zerxes post .. but if you see this one first and want to participate Please !!! Do so

[jessource]

desperate housewives. season six, episode five.

it is in our nature to judge the people around us.

i think you're a lousy mother.

the monkey's killing the clown!

my laundry is clean, folded and put away.

look! open, closed. open, closed.

you shot me!

i'm a good mom, aren't i?

i understand why you're upset. i'd be on edge, too, if my marriage were having problems.

she asked me a question, i just answered it.

they can't keep a goldfish alive for more than one day. what makes you think they're gonna take better care of geraniums?

why isn't [name] helping you?

you're like a dog with a bone. let it go.

you think you can dangle that axe over my head?

let's have a nice father-son chat about how you're cheating on mom.

if it was no big deal, why didn't you just tell me?

things got a little heated the other day, and i think we both said some things we didn't mean.

it left her with this constant fear that everything could suddenly fall apart, and that's why she needs to control everything.

let him go. i can do the gig alone.

stay out of our lives, or you'll be sorry!

we don't need to use that spatula anymore.

if [name] would like to come to [name]'s birthday party, we'd love to have her.

when i first brought you here, you didn't want to set foot in this room.

you're kind of a wet blanket since you quit smoking.

he just went over my head to you.

you tried to kill me!

what were you doing sneaking around my house?

oh, don't blame me. i wasn't even in the room.

last month, we needed a sitter for [name], but you didn't want to miss oktoberfest.

we're gonna have face painting, and a cotton-candy machine, and a clown.

what did i tell you about sledding down the staircase?

[name] just shot [name]

i told you she was gonna snap. it's always the pretty ones.

a monkey almost killed a clown.

she grew up without her dad. her mom was a drinker. so, she had to be responsible for everyone.

we judge the way strangers dress.

i just fired you, so you can go home.

you're the one with dirty laundry.

sorry, but i'm not comfortable with that.

you'll never know what you've done for my sex life.

more cake for us. beat it.

i haven't been able to sleep.

you said you were seeing a guy. you think maybe he had something to do with it?

i thought you saw me.

just 'cause you like crunching his walnuts doesn't mean i do.

do you like pizza?

for example, if she were to ask me if we were having a bouncy house, i'd have to say, "just the biggest bouncy house you've ever seen!"

i knew i liked that guy the minute he walked in.

if you love me at all, you'll give me a match and an alibi.

you want to destroy her life?

i'm just saying, you shouldn't make snap judgments about people.

please, let me go.

this isn't about winning!

did i say one cross word to you?

i make plenty of decisions around here.

i won't look at you no more, okay?

stop it. stop loving me. i'm not worth it anymore.

i had a very irksome encounter myself today.

getting the picture isn't the problem. it's getting rid of it.

you're right, i'm sorry. this is cruel.

i'm so sorry i'm late.

oh, please, if i were gonna kill you, i wouldn't do it in my own front yard.

i know it wasn't you, [name].

you see i'm having an affair, and you just assume i'm a bad person.

i don't have time to argue.

why would people lie to get out of a kids party?

i'm not checked in, i came here to see you.

[name], when you've needed a favor from me, have i ever let you down?

i followed her home, and it turns out she does have a boyfriend. you.

i didn't tell you because i, crazy me, thought it might upset you.

i flipped her the bird the other day after she cut me off.

you know, if you'd taught your kid how to tuck and roll on impact, we wouldn't even be having this conversation!

since you're using a cell phone, you know what century it is.

it's not what i would've chosen, but it's growing on me.

you're just sneaking off here to do the nasty with your boyfriend.

your disdain was perfectly clear from the look you gave me.

well, what are we supposed to do?

if you have a moment, no rush. would you hang this birdhouse for me?

i think you should clear the air.

i was like you. i wanted fun, excitement.

yes, we make these judgements all the time, never thinking that one day we may be judged ourselves.

your gentleman friend stand you up?

let's talk about it.

why are you calling [name]?

and your point is?

well, if you two are so happy, then where did he just disappear to?

[name]? over there. that tree.

i feel guilty all the time.

if you knew more about my marriage, you'd see me very differently.

i don't have any weed, lady.

you won't let us play on the roof anymore.

if you finish your magazine, there's a bible in the nightstand.

i was so startled, i didn't know what to say. i just let it go.

honey, do that thing where you run into the wall. 

i'm sorry. and for what it's worth, it's over.

why would you let them do that?

boy you're everywhere. we should get you a bell.

i know she's going through a rough time, but i have trouble feeling sorry for her.

i have a gun! i've called the police.

these two knuckleheads decided to sled down the staircase.

listen, i've been so worried about you.

we're not doing this anymore.

when did that happen?

you should have whipped out a copy of your best-selling cookbook.

you know nothing about him.

what do you want me to say? that cheating's not a sin when you do it in pearls?

...and i'm trying to make nice with you, as a fellow man, so i guess...

[netherzon]

Nadezhda

This is for the @hws-anthology Secret Santa exchange! I present to you, my gift for @arachnoidmater! Their request was "anything with Russia" so I hope this is alright ^^'

Pairing: Canada/Russia (not explicit)

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 3512

Featuring: human and dog OCs, dog sledding, Kuma is a full size polar bear again, and questionable winter camping advice

Summary: Russia takes a vacation to the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug, where he meets an old friend and makes a new one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a special occasion whenever he came out this far. The travel had become much easier with the invention of planes, but there still wasn’t much out here. Not for him. Not for work. Not anymore.

Besides, it was nice to have something that remained mostly the same.

He made the journey slowly, using a train when he could, and when the train tracks ran out he rented a snowmobile. There weren’t always roads here either —the Chukotka Highway was still unfinished, and wouldn’t extend Lorino even if it was — but in the middle of winter that was not such a problem. There was plenty of snow.

Perhaps one day that would also change.

Thoughts for another time.

He rode all night long. A human would never be able to make this journey the way he did, especially not while carrying winter camping supplies the way he was. Regular camping supplies felt heavy enough until one experienced the weight of winter camping gear. He didn’t want to dig into those just yet, though. He needed to save food for the next part of his trip.

Plus, he liked arriving in the morning. That was half the fun of traveling east. Watching the gradual lightening of his surroundings, feeling the gradual warmth as the sun finally slipped up into the sky. The weather was pleasant despite the season, and it made him smile under the scarf covering the lower half of his face.

He rides all the way into town. People hardly glance at him as he goes by. Without proper roads, snowmobiles in the winter and ATVs in the summer were common forms of transport. He too utilized them when necessary, but he also found them cold. Inhospitable. He craved something else.

He passes many dogs on the ride, some of whom follow him to his destination. They run beside him, tongues lolling out of their mouths as he approaches the wooden building, their home. The bright blue exterior paint has been stripped away in some spots, but the painted sign is legible even from a distance: чуко́тская ездова́я - Chukotka Sled Dogs.

He pulls up to the porch outside. One brave dog approaches him, almost all black besides his stomach and a thin rail of white fur up his nose. He recognizes this as one of the eponymous Chukotka breed sled dogs. The dog puts its front paws in his lap, even with the engine of the snowmobile still rumbling, and licks at his face. This makes Ivan laugh. The dog responds by licking him more enthusiastically. He can hardly see through his goggles now, but that’s alright.

A sharp voice calls, “тень!” - Shadow, and the dog immediately climbs off his lap. A woman with a wrinkled face and long gray hair stands in the doorway. The dog obediently lays down at her feet.

Ivan grins at her. “I assume this is one of the leaders,” he says cheerfully. He stands from the snowmobile, wobbling a little as he readjusts the weight of his pack.

Pulling a rag out of one of her many pockets, the woman gestures for his goggles. The shine of the sun makes Ivan blink a couple times. A few other dogs gather around them. Even more approach the woman, hoping for treats. Ivan assumes this woman runs the tour company.

His goggles are significantly cleaner when she hands them back to him.

“I am Zinaida,” she says.

“Thank you, I am Ivan,” he says, appreciatively. He keeps it simple for now. The woman is not wearing a coat, and he can see she is already starting to shiver. Her skin has thinned with age.

Zinaida nods, and turns back towards the warmth of the building, making it clear she is uninterested in small talk outside. Ivan follows her. The entrance appears to be a singular office, with a small, lit fireplace to one side. Leather hides cover the walls to block the draft. It is sort of like an inside out yaranga. Seeing it makes Ivan both smile and feel deeply sad.

“Are you here for a tour?” Zinaida sits down heavily in a chair by the fire. The wood creams in tune with the crackling of the fire. She picks up a sewing project she must have been working on before Ivan got there. It’s hard to tell what she’s making, but it looks large and warm. She multitasks through the whole conversation.

Ivan drops his sack of camping gear on the floor and sits down in the other chair, quickly removing all his outer layers. Hopefully this will not take long, but it would be worse to overheat. Shadow places himself between them.

“No,” Ivan says, ”I only need a sled team.”

The woman regards him: his fur and leather gear, his content smile despite the season, his stature. She must judge him to be a competent sled driver, because her next question is “How long?”

Ivan watches her practiced fingers pushing and pulling thread through treated leather. Rather than a number of hours, he answers, “Three or four days.”

She frowns minutely. Ivan does not take it personally. A stranger has entered her town and just asked to take six of the dogs she and her family rely on for multiple days into unpredictable conditions without the usual supervision they get. This would give anyone pause.

Ivan knows Zinaida is not the type for spur of the moment adventures like this, but she must sense something abnormal about him. Something in his eyes or the way the light of the fire flickers across his face is something beyond human. After another few minutes of studying him silently, she says yes, to Ivan’s surprise. “Only my slowest dogs,” she specifies, “And I want all of your information before you go.” Her face makes it clear that Ivan will be found personally responsible for anything that might happen to the dogs, or if any of them are not returned. He readily agrees.

An hour later he has a lightweight wooden sled, the kind with a basket for multi day trips. He is grateful to store his heavy camping equipment there instead. Zinaida calls all the dogs in —- Ivan counts 26 at least —and singles out the slowest of them, so if Ivan proves to be a runaway dog thief, they would be able to catch him.

He is introduced to five new dogs: another Chukotka sled dog, one Siberian husky, and three Yakutian Laikas. A few have gray appearing along their muzzle. Ivan wonders if it was a natural coloration, or signs of age. It would explain Zinaida’s assessment that these would be the worst getaway dogs.

Regardless, they are all impeccably trained. “My husband and my son used to handle the dog training,” Zinaida explains as she tests his knowledge of harnessing the dogs. “Now, my son is teaching my grandchildren how to do it.”

Ivan does not meet any of these people before he leaves, but the loving warmth in Zinaida’s voice as she speaks of them prompts him to ask more. “So this is a family business?”

It is the wrong conversational path to take. Zinaida gives a noncommittal shake of her head, something between a physical yes or no. “It is how we live,” and she says no more about it.

“How old are your grandchildren?” Ivan goes for a less loaded subject.

Zinaida’s warm smile returns to her face. “I have five grandchildren,” she states proudly, “one is 14, old enough now that we are teaching him to see the trails so he can lead tours one day. Another is 12. When the 14 year old has learned, we will have him teach the 12 year old on the trails. The others are all under 8. We have them work with only the puppies for now.”

As she talks about her family, Ivan hooks the five dogs onto the gang line. A few other dogs paw at the harnesses, evidently disappointed at not being chosen for this ride. It is then that Ivan notices that there is no lead dog for this team yet.

“Sorry,” Ivan begins, interrupting Zinaida’s story about how one of her brothers once got into a fistfight with a whale, “who will be the lead dog?”

Zinaida glances towards Shadow. The dog waits eagerly by the end of the gang line, tail wagging. Ivan is sure that he is not the slowest of their lead dogs, but Zinaida says, “Shadow seems fond of you,” and so he begins strapping the dog in, more slowly than the others in case Zinaida decides she wants him to take a different dog.

She does not stop him. She merely scratches Shadow’s ear, and says a prayer for their safe travels.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nobody bats an eye at Ivan as they leave town, as unsurprised by dog sleds as they are snowmobiles.

The land around Lorino is an open, hilly tundra caught between the The team, used to hunting trips on the ice flows, begin curving towards the beach out of habit. They follow the tracks from other sleds that Ivan can still see, but he wants to remain inland. Ivan gives the command “Le!”, before he remembers the right word. “Ho!” he calls, and the dogs quickly turn. Ivan sees a thicket of trees in the distance, and he aims for those.

The weather remains beautiful in this open expanse of white, and the trees are still quite far. So far they’ve stayed at a relaxed jogging pace, but Ivan gives the command to speed up.

The dogs are zooming across the ice now. Ivan clings to the handle bar of the sled through his mittens and laughs, pure unburdened joy.

They pass many whale bone markers standing up through the landscape. Jaw bones and ribs curl up into the air, reminders of the area’s maritime culture. Further down the path they had been following Ivan spots two other dog teams, this time with hunting sleds, canoes strapped to the backs. He waves to them, still laughing loudly.

It takes an hour to reach the tree line. Here they pause for a light lunch. When Ivan unhooks the dogs two of them immediately begin play-fighting.

“You still have so much energy!” he laughs. When they notice him digging out six collapsible dog bowls, they quickly put aside their differences.

“You burn a lot of energy in this environment, so eat up!” He gives them each one scoop of the high protein dog food Zinaida had given him. It looks like fish mush. It smells like fish mush. It’s probably some kind of fish mush.

The dog’s lick their bowls clean. Ivan is glad for the bread and cheese he packed for himself.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was many hours before they stopped to camp for the night. He didn’t have a real destination in mind, so it was a good thing he couldn’t get lost. He could just ride and ride and ride, enjoy the wilderness, enjoy the company. Whatever guides him is something intangible, an internal sense of the path, a path. One that has not been used in a long time. It does not take long to reach a distance where they no longer see any other people.

When Ivan finally decides he’s found a flat enough area among the trees, they stop. This time, the dogs lounge around, having gotten most of their energy out on the way there. Their attempts to play are half-hearted, only the Husky is still in the mood. The others whine with irritation when she tries to engage them. One of the other dogs leans against his legs. They remain as vocal as before. Only the lead dog, Shadow, is still in work mode. He circles around the camp, sniffing everything, assessing, before flopping down right where Ivan had planned to put the tent.

He walks over to try and convince the dog to move somehow. It doesn’t work. Shadow stares up at him with big brown sad eyes, you wouldn’t make me get up and move would you? The plan is abandoned before he even gets a word out.

So the tent might be tilting slightly. Could be worse.

Shadow gets comfy, even curled up in the snow. Ivan stays bundled up as he searches for mostly level ground for the tent. It is most important that the thermal sleeping pads will not shift inside the tent. It will be their first defense from the frozen ground. Their next defense will be heavy duty sleeping bags, then their layers of clothes. The ancillary heat source, their fire pit, he arranges after the tent is situated.

The sun is beginning to set when he hears the echoing barks of a different team of dogs. The dogs around him perk up, curiously. He feels that itchy feeling they all get when another nation is coming closer.

Through the trees, another sled and dog team appears. Someone equally bundled up in furs clings to the back.

The mystery person’s identity is proven when Ivan looks further back and sees the great white bear following behind the sled at an easy pace.

“Hello!” Matthew greets him as the sled pulls up to Ivan’s camp. Pieces of his curly hair stick out from under the edges of his hat, bouncing as Matthew hops off and starts unhooking his own dogs. Matthew has also brought a six dog team, but he recognizes them as an Alaskan Husky, two Samoyeds, two Qimmiq dogs, and a Siberian Husky. Not breeds he’d be likely to find in Russia.

“How did you get all those dogs across the border?” He asks.

Matthew’s answer is cagey. “On a boat,” he says.

“Ahh,” Ivan laughs a little, “‘Illegally’ is what I am hearing.”

“Then you didn’t hear anything,” Matthew snaps back playfully.

“Perhaps I did not,” Ivan agrees, offering Kuma a nose rub as the bear nudges the side of his head. It’s a miracle that the dogs do not freak out at his presence in the camp considering their use in polar bear hunts, but he also knows Kuma manages to be invisible to humans too sometimes. It must be related to that. “What would you do if I did ask to see their papers?”

“I would show them to you,” Matthew answers honestly, “but it’s a hassle to do all that with border guards even for one dog, much less six all at once.” Ivan nods in agreement as Matthew continues, “So it’s just easier to bring them over through port. It’s not that they weren’t declared, I just had each one paired with a different crew member, they did the work for me.”

“Ohh, that’s a clever strategy!” Ivan is not at all bothered by Matthew’s flagrant disregard for the Federation’s pet import restrictions. If the roles were reversed, he would’ve done the same.

It is lucky Matthew picked up firewood on his way. Ivan had expected they’d go the first night without a fire as the wood they would collect around them would need to dry out before it was usable. Instead, they get a fire going then, and the difference in the warmth of the tent is tangible. They leave the fire burning low overnight. It’s not recommended, but Matthew assures him Kuma would wake them up if anything went wrong.

Matthew goes to sleep quickly, slightly behind from the shift in time zones. Ivan sleeps peacefully, lulled by Matthew’s light snores beside him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days they spend the daylight hours sledding. They gradually pack down the safe paths. When something appears dangerous they warn each other. Kuma keeps guard. If there were any wild animals who might have bothered them, the bear’s presence keeps them away, although the howling of the wolves at night still spooks the dogs.

When it is dark, they return to the camp they’ve established. They move the warm stones from the fire pit close to the tent each morning to maintain a heat source during the day. There is only one close call with their heat source. Ivan cut a small ventilation hole at the top of the tent so they can keep a candle inside. On the evening of the second day, Matthew accidentally knocks it over. He quickly grabs it, saving their tent from catching fire, but the hot wax and glass burn his hands badly. It will heal by the morning, but for that night Matthew pouts all through dinner.

“This is embarrassing,” he mutters. His face feels like it's burning as much as his hands.

Ivan scoops up another spoonful of their rehydrated rice and beans, “

Matthew opens his mouth to accept Ivan feeding him, but Ivan suddenly jerks the spoon back. He blows gently on it before presenting it to Matthew again. “Sorry, it looked too hot, and I would not want you to burn yourself,” he teases.

Matthew glares at him for a moment, before taking the food. “You’re gonna feed me s’mores by hand too for that,” he declares, “We still have a tent to sleep in because of me.”

Ivan’s smile widens, “Of course. You have earned it.”

They entertain themselves with various means. Ivan packed a couple small books. Matthew brought a pack of cards. During dinner they watch the dogs follow Kumajiro around. Whatever the dogs know of Kuma’s presence, it seems they can sense his body heat. The dogs go from sleeping all in a pile together, to snuggling with the bear. Occasionally Kuma huffs and tries to move away, but all twelve dogs follow him every time.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The third morning begins as peacefully as the others, but with no small amount of disappointment that their vacation must come to an end. They do not speak about it. They do not have to. It is clear enough in how they reluctantly take apart their camp.

At least they will both be going through Lorino, so they will travel back together. Ivan must return the sled and the dogs to Zinaida, and Matthew’s return ship will leave from the harbor there.

Following the paths they’ve tread for three days now, the travel is faster, even if they don’t want it to be. The two teams burst out of the woods in a flurry of snow and coniferous evergreen needles. As long as they are in the woods they prioritize safety, but now the landscape stretches out around them again, flat and smooth. Ivan glances over at Matthew, the shape of his smile under his face guard. Matthew glances back, and briefly pulls down his face guard. His smile is better described as a mischievous grin when he calls out to his team, and suddenly they are racing away at full speed.

Shadow watches them pass by. When Ivan gives the call to keep pace with them, it feels like Shadow was waiting for it. Matthew’s laughter rings out across the ice when he glances back at them.

The last thing Ivan hears before the wind is roaring in his ears is a loud huff from behind him. Kuma had been keeping pace with them in the woods, but rather than speed up, Kuma starts to walk more slowly. The bear speaks into Ivan’s mind, I refuse to run.

By then Ivan is out of range to respond. He is confident Kuma will be able to find the town if they get out of view, because Matthew must be confident of that if he left the bear so far back in the first place.

Ivan’s dogs are slower than Matthew’s, so his chances of winning this impromptu race are none. When Lorino appears on the horizon, Matthew takes pity and slows his team down, allowing Ivan to pull up alongside them. The ride together into town. Matthew is still slightly ahead, but the fun doesn’t come from winning. Their smiles are equally wide as they stop outside Zinaida’s business.

“Well,” Matthew begins, “Thank you for inviting me to do this.” He does not unharness his dogs, likely planning on riding them to the boat.

“You are welcome,” Ivan answers honestly, “and you are welcome to come with me anytime.”

Matthew smiles sweetly. “Maybe we’ll make this an annual trip,” he adds.

Before Ivan can agree, Zinaida opens the door and the loose dogs rush towards her. Even as she turns away to keep them from jumping on her, she looks at Ivan appreciatively. Her relief at having all the dogs returned safely is palpable. Later, Ivan will offer to cook dinner for her and her family as another thank you.

A ship blows its horn to announce its approach, and Matthew interrupts, “I had better get going now, but seriously, thank you for inviting me.”

Ivan grabs his sleeve before he can get going. “We will do this again,” he states.

Matthew smiles, and calls “Hike!” to his team. Ivan watches them speed away.

“Did you have a good trip, then?” Zinaida asks behind him.

“Yes,” he answers, cold air burning his lungs, “Yes I did.”

[rhiannatruex]

Basho, recall

[darkwood-sleddog]

I could weep from how happy I am with these dogs today! 8 km on the rig and the trail was a lot snowier than we anticipated so it was tough going. The dogs however were super motivated, listening excellent and running like a well oiled machine! Hardcore!

[drdepper]

Harveston Kelkkarotu/Sledathon and Finnish representation🇫🇮

Hello!

Now that i've finally played through the whole event, i want to talk about all the finnish inspirations and representation i've found in this event, and there is a lot of it!

I'm finnish (Finland swede to be exact) myself why would i else be making this hehe

This is the most proper finnish rep i've ever seen aside from Lotte and her home in little witch academia. And to also make something clear, Sami rep ≠ finnish rep and vice versa, to not intertwine these two.

And before we start, because swedish traditions have as well been mixed into this event, i will be color coding anytime i'm talking about something Finnish and something Swedish

Alright lets get to it!｡･:*:

First thing's first, the name for this event that they used in the JP server, Kelkkarotu, is made up of two actual finnish words, Kelkka (sleigh, sled) & Rotu (race)

All tho the word rotu is a word used more for breeding, like ex. A dog race, while kilpailu would've been more appropriate for a sled race. Either way i think this was a really neat addition and am sad that it wasn't carried over to the EN server :,)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Mount Moln

The game is correct that the word translates to cloud, but moln is actually swedish, the word for cloud in Finnish would've been pilvi.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Marja

The name Marja means berry! But it is as well a pretty normal finnish name that you could find someone have.

I love meemaw Marja so much, she reminds me of my own grandma💙

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Kokko market

once again the translation is correct. Kokkon are usually seen around easter or midsummer, but can also been done off of those holidays.

It is also really common to find plenty of different home made sweets at the markets depending on what holiday or season is going on. As well as handmade wooden things, some more useful such as butter knives, spoons and cups, But also decorations or souvenirs.

I'm so happy they mentioned it as it was something i was NOT expecting.

within Finland (and a few other countries) we have a thing called jokamiehenoikeudet/allemansrätt/everyman's right. Which as Epel describes it you're free to roam public or private forests and nature, pick berries and mushrooms as well, but it all to be done respectfully of course. You are not to disturb the wildlife or nature by ex. being unnecessarily loud, breaking plants or trashing nature. i as well really love how Epel brought up when Grim wanted to go get some himself, that he was not gonna get squat from the villagers. Cus once berry and mushroom picking season is amongst us, it's on.

A user made a fantastic post Here listing each plant Jade mentioned, and safe to say every single one can be found in Finland (an other nordic countries). Seen them all myself too! (also who brought the nestle??)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fika/kahvi

Even tho the idea of sitting down to enjoy some sweet treats originates from Sweden's fika, it is still very common within Finland as well!

we call it kahvi/kaffe and it's the same idea of sitting down for a cup of coffee with family or friends and enjoying some cookies and other goods. We usually do it on the weekends or free days in our family, or anytime we visit someone or vise versa.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Foods

As again, the sandwhich cake (voileipäkakku/smörgåstårta) originates from Sweden, you will still find it at ex. Finnish family gatherings, birthday parties or other events.

FISH SOUP!

Due to the amount of lakes an water that makes up Finland, fishing is very common here and so is the food. The most common type of fish soup that you'll have here is lohikeitto (salmon soup).

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Respect for the elderly/seniors

this is definitely a stretch on my part but still think it's fun to mention^^

in finnish we have a thing called 'Teitittely', it's hard to explain as it it is not used in the english language, but rather than directly referring to you (sinä) we use a more indirect 'you' (te) to show respect for our elderly and other occasions. If or once they would prefer the person to stop, they just need to request that there is no need to be as formal.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Pancakes

Again was very surprised out of all things that they referenced a type of pancake we have here (pannukakku which literally translates to pancake)

The pancakes that Epel is talking about look like this, and are put into the oven. it's hard to describe the texture of the inside, like a really soft sponge?

On the topic of pancakes~ i want to also mention the ones that we saw at Kokko market (that the bois mistook for takoyaki), all tho i have never seen or heard of pancakes being done the way they were in the event, during autumn or colder seasons if there is a market you will usually find at least one stall making flat (lettu) pancakes on a big pan!

which you can then buy and fill however you like. The most common fillings are apple- and strawberry jam, and/or whipped cream. And some even add sugar to them. People like to roll them up and either eat them by hand or cut in slices, kind of resembling a cinnamon roll.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Extra thoughts

I won't be commenting anything when it comes to the clothing, as it seems that they are loosely inspired by traditional Sami attire. And not being Sami myself or having any relations to it i am in no place to comment about the rep.

but the embroidery on the outfits are a really nice and familiar touch^^

The backgrounds were lovely and had a very cozy feel to them, but didn't find any particular reference or inspiration of note.

Even tho the mix up of swedish and finnish traditions most likely was an accident, aside from mount moln it still works in our favor! be that if Epel is finnish or hecc, even a finland swede!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

But thank you for listening to me ramble on about the rep, i was genuinely surprised on how MUCH of it there was in this. If you have any questions please feel free to ask and i'll do my best to answer!

take care everyone💙

[stillxnunpxidintern]

Steddie x Reader Imagine - Seasons

Out of the all four season, you could deal with three of them, Spring, Autumn and Winter. Summer was your least favourite season and you had Eddie back you up on that.

For all of you, Spring meant the days started getting longer, so no longer waking up in darkness to get ready for work. It also meant you could go on longer walks, with both the dogs and Eddie and Steve, though they did protest a little bit just cause they could. Spring meant you could start putting flowers into Scoops and Ozzy fur, as well as sticking flowers into both Eddie and Steve hair to see how long it would take for them to notice, or you would be making flowers crowns all them, even Slayer would allow for a few minutes.

Autumn was probably Eddie favourite, cause it meant Halloween and he could start planning and putting that year's decorations. You enjoyed the cooling temperature while you went on walks with Steve and the dogs, as well enjoying the colours of the leaves changing. While none of you enjoyed the reeking the leaves did you love watching how Scoops and Ozzy would go running or jumping into the leaf piles.

Winter was your favourite, sure while it was pitch black when you woke up for work, it also meant getting snuggling on the couch with a hot drink and the tv on or a book, or the three of you cuddled up under the bedcovers and blankets without overheating, most of the time. It meant Christmas was near and snow. It means that you get to have snowballs with Eddie and Steve when it does snow, or shoving snow or ice down their backs and running from them as they tried to catch you before then going inside to warm up. Winter was when the three of you would take your younger cousins out sledding, after much bribery from them and their parents.

Steve never gave you a straight answer when you asked him what his favourite season was, he would just say he like them all, they all had their pros and cons, even summer.

Summer for you and Eddie was the worst thing, being sweaty all the time, not being able to cuddle to each other or your stick together, nearly getting brunt every time you went in the sun, or at least that what its felt like. You both would complain about the heat non-stop and saying you weren't meant for the heat, the whole Steve would just mhmm you both, used to you both complain about summer and would gave you both cold drinks, or sometime he would throw water or ice at you both.

Both you and Eddie just wonder how he could deal with it, when you and Eddie need to have the ac on or a fan in front of you at all, so you didn't melt.

The only good thing about summer you had found and would never complain about, was that both Steve and Eddie went shirtless 95% of the time at home. No matter how often you saw them naked, there was just something about that as soon as their shirts/tops were off, your eyes were glued on them. Plus Eddie would also put his hair up in some messy up-do.

You supposed that having water fights with them was another good thing summer, as you it meant the dogs got to play with you all, trying to eat the water when it came out of the hose.

[boasamishipper]

I’m so mad we never get to see Nate having in depth interactions with Disco or his players. He’s good at his job! He’s treating it more like a job and less like his life than he did at Richmond! He’s hard on the players at practice, but no harsher than Roy calling Richmond’s players maggots and treating Jamie like a sled dog! He’s not friendly with his colleagues, but no ruder than Beard ordering Will to get out of his chair! When he’s calling out a strategy, he doesn’t yell, he just signals! He knows who he is and what he wants and how he wants to live his life! I seem to remember Nick Mohammed saying he gets to show off a surprising skill this season, and I can’t wait to learn what it is!

in the show's defense, there are still five episodes left for them to show nate having in depth interactions with disco and his players and everyone at west ham (this week's ep in particular seems to be setting that up), but god do i wish we got to see more of nate growing in confidence outside of a taste of athens.