Broken Boulder i just want to be better than your head's only medicine
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All Welcome 
set directly after this thread
AW bc i like drama

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: overdose
His head hurts and he can't breathe.
These are the only things he knows for certain as he stumbles into the familiar darkness of his den, chest heaving. He pauses and glances around at the scattered herbs, feeling as if he's moving through water. What little air he can force into his lungs feels cold and biting; it's all he can focus on until the pain in his head intensifies, and then he just needs the pain to stop
He can't say for sure how many poppy seeds he eats; too many, he knows. Not enough to kill him, unfortunately. They can't work fast enough. Trembling, impatient, he tucks himself up against one wall of his den and waits. He waits for the seeds to kick in, for the tears to come, for @Zamael to burst in with more cutting words for him. It's the last one that intensifies the tremble in his limbs, and impulsively, a little aggressively, he thinks: I'd rather die than listen to another word he has to say — but it doesn't mean much, he realizes.
He's not so opposed to dying anyway.
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#2


shoegaze has no interest in the big dogs and their dumb dramas. he's got more exciting dramas in his life -- mainly food and how it is super easy to procure, now. the cats are settled nicely and he has grown less afraid and more cocksure, strutting around the territory, teasing the dogs sometimes -- the ones that aren't snappy are fun to leap at.

like this one, maybe. haha it's so dumb just lying around in this big dumb cave. with all the grace of thousands of years of evolutionary breeding (or whatever), the small orange cat creeps stealthily up behind the sleeping dog, eyes gleaming in the dark. no response. gooood. creep, creep -- he leaps, landing directly on top of the dog's head, and bounces up into the air, startling himself. 

but the dog does not respond at all. "you're no fun," he whines, still fluffed up from his attack. now that he's here he's too lazy to leave. hesitantly shoegaze pats at the dog's face, but there's still no response. haha maybe it's dead. gross. well, it's big and still warm, so he shrugs and curls up, forming a perfect loaf on top of the dog's head, a low purr starting in his belly.
join the colony 
shoegaze is low priority. pp ok except for death/fatal injuries
done with your shit
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hope the pp is ok, shoegaze

Alarian had left so abruptly that Zamael had been stupefied for a few moments, shaken by the relief he finally felt at getting that weight off his shoulders. But he knew that what was created could not be destroyed--he had merely shifted that burden onto Alarian, and now his little brother bore it. Breath hitching in his chest, he took off toward the Sanctuary, stumbling anxiously after the pawsteps left behind.

He entered the darkness between the boulder's halves and weaved his way through, bursting into Alarian's den. "I'm sorry--" His voice died abruptly in his throat. The young man was listless, barely breathing. Poppy seeds strewn everywhere. A cat, sitting atop his head--

"Get the fuck off of him," Zamael growled hoarsely, pressing forward and sending the feline flying with a wave of his paw. Ignoring its (likely) yowled complaint, he bent down, anger turning to distress as he examined Alarian. "Oh, god, please, no," he whispered, beginning to sob. "Why, Alarian, why. . ."

He began to rifle through the herb cache, looking for yarrow. All the while, Alarian's last words to him rang loudly through his head.

You ass--

He deserved it. Every bit of it.
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He stirs just slightly as the cat settles on top of his head, but he's still only barely conscious. There's a blissful lack of thought in the fog surrounding him — he simply exists, and he's forgotten any reason to be upset at all. He doesn't move until Zamael arrives, until the cat is flung from his head. He shifts, eyes cracking open.
Zam, He manages, barely more than a whisper. There are so many things he wants to tell him — that he loves him, that he feels better than he ever has, that maybe it'll all be okay. Instead he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and watches him quietly.
done with your shit
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slight pp permission granted

The tiny white flowers, feathery leaves, carefully bundled. Yarrow. He swallowed his panic, gathering a clump and bringing it to his brother, stooping low. He nosed at Alarian's muzzle with a whine, trying to pry it open. Finally, he was able to part the jaws, and he shoved the herb in and down, hoping his brother's throat would take it down naturally. He really. . .really didn't want to have to force it.

"Come on, Alarian," Zamael pleaded, pulling back and staring tearfully at the Governor, who had said his name quietly, but only that--now he just was staring. "Swallow it. Please--please swallow for me." He began to physically detach, thinking of the worst possible outcome. Alarian dies and leaves the pack bereft. Leaves behind Lily. Korei. Delight.

But him, too. And selfishly, he knew he would carry the biggest burden of them all--for no one but him was responsible for this. No one but him had taken Alarian to his breaking point.
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He's not sure why Zamael is so distressed, but he knows this can't stand — his beloved brother, who he'd spent so long searching for, should not look or sound so miserable. He makes a greater effort to move, only to find his brother nosing his muzzle in the next moment. The smell hits him and he wrinkles his nose instinctively; it's not a bad smell, but he knows what yarrow is for. His first instinct is to spit it out as it enters his mouth —
But then he hears Zamael's pleas, and his heart lurches in his chest. Zam— He tries again, but speaking is too hard, so he moves clumsily to take the yarrow into his mouth again and starts to swallow. It's a painful, drawn out process; he doesn't have the energy to chew, and the plant is large and dry in his throat. But he manages it, and with great effort lifts his head to look at his brother.
I — it'll... it'll be okay, He tells him softly, words slurring. He lets his head drop again, murmuring, I love you.
Several moments later, he starts to vomit — yarrow and bile and a few tiny black seeds.
done with your shit
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He wasn't surprised when Alarian fought against the yarrow--he had expected it, really. His brother had done this to himself, he didn't want Zamael's interference. But then, with a struggle, he took it again. . .and swallowed. Zamael let out a shuddering sigh of relief, bowing his head, only to hear Alarian speak again.

"I love you, too," he responded, beginning to break down. He pressed his muzzle against the crown of the other's head in a kiss, holding it there until the inevitable happened. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry."

Vomit spattered the floor--little more than bile and poppies--and he knew he'd have to clean it up eventually, but getting Alarian some rest was more important. He cast a critical eye at the mess, wondering if he had gotten all the seeds up. Not likely; there were only a few--his body must have absorbed the rest. He was still very much in danger. If he let him slip away now. . .

"Stay with me, kid," he begged, nudging Alarian against his bony shoulder in an effort to keep him conscious. Ought he to summon Delight? "Don't fall asleep. Not yet."
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Somewhere during the vomiting, it all comes back to him; the reason he's here, like this. The reason Zamael is so upset. He shivers fiercely, moving away from his own vomit instinctively as the heaving subsides. For several beats he's quiet.
I'll go, He croaks suddenly, literally choking on his own words for a moment. I — I'll go, just don't — please don't leave me again. His words are slurred and rushed, his tone frantic. He can't lose Zamael again, not when he knows it would kill him this time. Even if it means losing everything else.
done with your shit
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He shook his head, bristling with fear at the terror in his brother's tone. "I'm--I'm not taking you back, Alarian," he said, his voice shaky at first but firming as he went on. "You're happy here. You've got Delight, this pack. . .how can I take that away from you? I can't. I won't." He pressed his muzzle into the unkempt ruff of Alarian's neck, breathing deep.

"I'll take Eris, if she wants to go," he whispered. "But you're staying. And I'll come back to stay with you. I'll tell them you died, or something. Fake my own death. Slice my fucking paw open and bleed all over the place. They'll never know." It was foolproof, right? His words came rambling, trying hard to solidify the small pit of bravery in his stomach.

The rest of him was cowardice. Nothing but fear and cowardice.
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want to wrap up? <3
Zamael refuses, and his own resistance crumbles. He can't argue — maybe he wouldn't anyway, but it's getting hard to tell. He's so tired. The words stop making sense to him after a few moments, then his own thoughts — and what is Zamael talking about?
He tries to ask, but he's not really sure how at this point. Instead he curls up, stomach suddenly aching fiercely. He's shivering slightly, and everything in him is begging him to move, to do something, anything — but some part of him is still aware enough to connect his outbursts with his brother's misery, and the fear of it wins.