#equine nursing

[dykedvonte]

I like to think in the P.E au that Anya and Curly specifically get haunted hard by Jimmy's weird reality crossing guilt manifested.

It's targeting them because Jimmy's guilt grows more around them. The idea of him acting and playing nice despite what he did. It's like a buffet that allows it to pick from their plates.

Anya sees this stagnant version of her, blood from her mouth, clutching her stomach with a bottle of pills in her other hand. She's talking about not being heard, a pixel, relief from a burden. She tries to ask a question and it's never the right one. She's not understanding but in a way, she's getting that this version of her is in pain. She tries to help, extends a hand and asks how she can help, stop it. She stares and there's utter despair and disappointment in her eyes.

What did you do?

Curly sees this burnt mangled thing. But he can't call it that. Even with no skin and chipping teeth, covered in sullied bandages and smelling of death overdue, he can see his face. He can recognized that eye, he stares at it a lot in the mirror, usually a second one is attached but he digresses. They are just watching, staring and unmoving. He asks himself what happened, how can he help and his own retched mangled voice comes out from a empty maw.

I told you.

They have no idea what it really means. They don't know who to tell. Flashes of a life they don't know or maybe a future they haven't lived yet. Perhaps they treat it as their own minds trying to tell them something. They bare that burden themselves and that alone makes it heavier. Plumper. More appetizing to the guilt causing it.

Tragically that guilt is not their own.

[cvt2dvm]

Introduction!

TLDR Summary: CVT2DVM is run by me, Elizabeth, a 23-year-old pre-vet student who shares my small on-call apartment with 2 dogs and 2 cats. I work full-time in veterinary medicine while also taking night classes. My Tag: #CVT2DVM

Hi Everyone! My name is Elizabeth, I'm a 2nd generation veterinary professional currently in phase 2 of 3 in my journey to a DVM pursuing my associate's of veterinary technology. I have 4 critters of my own, 2 cats (Olive 10, and Hannibal 6 months) and 2 dogs (Chewbacca 7, and Phobos 2). My Blog is best viewed on a desktop via cvt2dvm.tumblr.com

About Me:

Name: Elizabeth

Age: 23

Meyers-Briggs: ENTJ

Enneagram: 8

Astrology Big Three: Scorpio Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Religion: Episcopalian

Nationality: American

Ethnic Background: Polish & Irish

Languages: English, Polish, Gaeilge, Greek, Latin

Job: Live In, On-Call Veterinary Assistant

Interests:

Bite Sports (PSA, KNPV Trials, French Ring)

Epidemiology

Theriogenetics

Sports Medicine, Canine & Equine Fitness, and Rehabilitation

Hikes

Women's Fitness and Nutrition

Comparative Theology both within the Christian faith and with world religions

Volunteering as an escort for both my local Women's DV Shelter and Planned Parenthood

Feminist Theory

Being on a breakfast team at Church

Line Dancing

Ice Breaker:

Guilty Pleasure: Contemporary Cowboy Romance Novels

Drink of Choice: Coffee with cinnamon and honey during the day,

Cardio or Weights?: Weights, but I love going line dancing as a form of Cardio

Favorite Indulgence: A glass of merlot, a baguette, and warmed brie by a fire

Favorite Show to Binge: ER or American Horror Story

Ocean, Lake, or River?: River

Usually Craving: Soy-Free Teriyaki Flank Steak

Celeb I'd Love to Meet: Anna Wintour or Reese Witherspoon

Alternate Job: Singer-Songwriter or Cabinetmaker

Current Goals

Gain more muscle mass

Maintain a minimum 3.8 GPA

Achieve PSA 1 by Fall 2025 with Phobos, and continue pursuing PSA 2 and PSA 3

Be an advocate for my patients with both their medical team and their owners.

Graduate on Schedule as Class of 2027, and earn my CVT License while continuing to pursue my pre-requisites for Vet School while being realistic about my financial situation and responsibilities

Further deepen my relationship with Christ

Get back into the saddle in a lesson program

Expect

Case Studies

Revised Notes

Studyspreads

Accountability posts

Dog Training & Sports Content

Cats Adventuring

Lakeside views

[phosphoresccent]

almost everyone over the age of 30 (and a few under it) in my country is currently watching one specific horse race so, so get into the spirit of things - jockey au.

honeydew is a horse trainer who works super closely with the jockey xephos, a totally legal immigrant who is Meant To Be Here and is not at all waiting on tenterhooks for his humanitarian visa (he should not be working right now at all, but the other option is starve so.)

this means we get short xeph which <3 (making him a liittlllee taller for a jockey at 5'6 but still short <3) anyway he's just very good at riding, doesn't use a crop or spurs, is almost magically good at getting the best from his horse

enter lalna, legacy doctor from a family of doctors, forced to attend this race so his family can network and show off the newest in their family. hes a trauma surgeon which annoyed them, but they are spinning it to be like 'oh so you see our new compassionate branch of medicine -'. he is stress eating the hors d'oeuvres and just want to go home and take off this stupid suit.

he ends up chatting to a trainer who is also eating all of the hors d'oeuvers. he does not realise this very short man is a trainer until the conversation gets to 'why are you here' and lalna kinda assumes hes a retired jockey or something. honeydew is like "HA no. i have never been skinny enough to be a jockey and i do not want to be! i leave that to xephos - he eats like a bird, i just ride for fun."

lalna is like "oh! is xephos racing today?" and honeydew sees an opportunity to match make his employee (not technically how jockeys work they are more contractors but. thats not important here) with a rich young doctor and lalna stares at the photo for like a solid 5 minutes.

[ametamorphosisaddiction]

Future Plans: Becoming an Equine Rehab Nurse

I have a VERY exciting school update to share with you all! I am less than three weeks away from finishing my courses. I also got to pick my electives, and I chose courses for a career as a veterinary assistant! I’m thrilled because my long-term goal is to become an equine rehab nurse. I want to open my own rescue/non-profit that focuses on rehabilitating animals, specializing in horses. I also e…

[torchflies]

Could you make like a reference sheet or list with all the swamp chickens names and nicknames and hobbies/jobs? I keep getting them mixed up 😭😭

OH of course!!!

Their birthdays in order, nicknames, full names, jobs and hobbies!

Tennessee Jacob “Jake/Ness/Nessie” — July 4th, 1986

Prairie John “Ree” — December 10th, 1991, Nursing Student, inherited the same deep, dark anger as Jake and Joey from their father. He has brittle asthma type two and loves animals, reptiles especially. He’s been putting Jake back together since they were little. He becomes a nurse because he’s been one his whole life. Ree isn’t really amused by anything anymore. He grows up cynical, quiet and cold with people who aren’t his family. Redhead. Thinks of Jake as a big brother/guardian/the big boss.

Gunner Jesse “Gunny” — February 2nd, 1993, Police Officer, family clown and gentle in a way nobody else in the family is. He legitimately became a cop to help people, because no cops ever helped them when they needed it. He loves old movies and can quote them from memory easily. He loves sports and spent his whole life playing them, he got a baseball scholarship to go to school. Strawberry Blond/Ginger. Thinks of Jake as a big brother/parent.

Mackenzie James “Mack” — August 12th, 1996, Art Student, he loves drama, acting and art. He’s ridiculously talented and sees the beauty in things that aren’t. Brunet. He’s the first child to completely make the jump from Jake being big brother to Jake being his Dad. He doesn’t recognize any other father but Jake.

Indiana Joelle “Joey” — April 1st, 2000, future TG pilot, current cheer flyer and captain. She loves lipstick, indie music and pretty girls (Amelia Benjamin). She’s the kid with the worst anger issues and is the most protective of Jake. She hates where they came from, hates her birth parents and Nessie to her is a synonym for Daddy. Redhead, Bug’s identical twin.

Dakota June “Bug” — April 1st, 2000, she is the quintessential cowgirl and she ends up becoming an equine vet. She’s the quieter of the twins and does barrel-racing for fun, FFA and doesn’t care about makeup or kissing other people. She doesn’t expect anything of people, she just figures they’ll disappoint her. She still writes letters to their bio dad that never get sent and talks to her dead mama in the sky like she’s talking to God. Nessie to her is a synonym for Daddy. Redhead, Joey’s identical twin.

[theprissythumbelina]

Biography of a horse

This is a small piece of my current writing project for class. I ended up writing a Black Beauty-inspired short story from the perspective of a working horse in rural Guatemala. It is also heavily based on my research and experience working with an NGO in Guatemala this summer.

Birth Equine pregnancy lasts an average of 11 months, and nearly always results in a single offspring, called a foal. Male foals are called colts, female foals are called fillies. Foals are expected to stand and nurse within one hour after birth. My earliest memories are of my mother, and the family we belonged to. They were there when I was born. I remember those first few moments, in the shock of cold night air, my wet ears sticking to my head. My mother spoke to me in soft nickers, telling me her name, telling me that I was a horse, I was her baby, she loved me. She licked the birth waters from my coat, drying me slowly, as a family of humans peered over the fence, whispering and murmuring to each other. This is our family, she told me, licking clean my ears and face. I wobbled back and forth under her attention. This is our home. I blinked up at the sky. Family? Home? Yes, she said, our home. And I am your mother. I nickered back. The humans made soft sounds of happiness at my first nicker. I pushed my feet in front of me. They were so long. Get up, said Mother. She moved back a step. Stand up. I didn’t know how. I pushed one long front leg to the side, then a back leg. I pushed my others underneath me. Up, my instincts said. Up, Mother said. I tried. There were just too many legs. I toppled to the side. Again, she licked my wispy mane encouragingly. Try again.

for my friends to see what I've been working on during my hiatus

@thetruearchmagos @thatndginger @amaiguri @sergeantnarwhalwrites @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

[vy-canis-melodis]

The Changeling.

The following are extracts of conversations between patients Kalla ***** and Tanja *****, recorded over the course of a week, out of many they had during that time.

“Hey doc”, the sick azure-winged magpie said through her speech device. Her name is Tanja, formerly a human, and now just over 13 months after beginning her treatment, she was meant to be some kind of mix between a human and a magpie. However, something had gone slightly wrong, leading to most of her feathers falling out and some organ failures. She’s in the hospital now, hoping to receive an experimental treatment which would involve injecting her with the type of treatment that would turn her into a slime, allowing her to mould her own organs back into shape, before that treatment is reversed.

“Ms. *****.” Dr. Erian responded curtly, holding onto his clipboard tightly. “I don’t currently have a timeline for the rest of your treatment, and it might get pretty boring here. I do have another patient in the room next door, however, if you want to talk to them a bit.”

“Oh, sure!” said Tanja, chirping and lowering herself onto the floor. Wobbling slightly, she took a few shaky steps forward before collapsing onto a wheelchair. Squawking in annoyance, she allowed the doctor to take her next door.

Inside, the mostly featherless corvid gawked slightly at who she saw. About the same size as her, in the bed, was an insectile, yet equine, person. Glowing, blue, bug-like eyes stared back on a chitinous face with two sharp fangs. The hooves, though tucked mostly in bed, could be seen to have deep holes and gashes in them, running all the way through the limb in some cases, such that one could see the blanket through the hooves.

“...hey…” uttered the bug-horse, known as a changeling, as Tanja was wheeled in, before Erian took his leave.

“Hi,” produced Tanja’s speech synthesizer, “um, I guess we should talk to each other then. How are you doing?” At this, the bird tilted her head in a friendly gesture.

“Oh, I’m just great,” the changeling exclaimed, throwing hooves up into the air, “I only nearly killed my friend, lost my home, and am in hospital desperate to eat people, because some… stupid, vengeful god or something decided to make me dysphoric for not being this!” She pointed at her own body, gesturing wildly. “Oh, hunky dory, me!”

Tanja turned her head to the side to avert her gaze, staying quiet herself amidst the crushing silence that followed. “Sorry.”

“No… I’m sorry.” The changeling took a deep breath, ears lowering and eyes closing for a moment, “Let’s start over. I’m Kalla. It’s just… I get that question every day, and I… lie to the doctors and nurses about it all the time. It’s been weeks.”

“Fair…” the bird brought her gaze back to the changeling, “I guess I should expect that then. I only woke up yesterday. I think I nearly died - the doctor said my medicine was… switched, or something?” Shivering slightly, the bird closed in on herself. “Is it cold in here, or… is it just me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” responded the changeling, shaking her head. “My chitin doesn’t really have nerve endings, and… my kind is much less sensitive to the cold than yours.” Tanja noticed a little smile and blush as Kalla said the words ‘my kind’. “But, to take a guess, you’re probably cold because you’re all… plucked.”

The magpie looked at herself and nodded. “I guess I’ll need a jumper or something” She laughed, pressing the ‘call’ button on her chair. 

After a few minutes, Erian returned. Tanja said to him, “I’m cold. May I have a jumper please?”

With a nod, the doctor left, wheeling the corvid out of the room. Kalla’s tongue unconsciously slipped out of her mouth, tasting at the lingering smells and emotions left behind. There is love there. Not between Tanja and Erian, of course, but perhaps within each, individually. A slight hiss emerges from the changeling, involuntarily.

—

Kalla and Tanja are once again together, the changeling laying down in her bed while the bird sits beside her, comforting her.

“I really didn’t…” Kalla whimpers, “I didn’t mean to feed on my friend.”

“I believe you.” Tanja simply says, through her speech machine.

“Everyone thinks I’m evil.”

“You’re not.” Tanja reminds her. “When… when you’re different to everyone else, like the two of us are, it’s harder for humans to relate to you. To your experiences. They can’t imagine what it’s like to be… you.” She presses a wing comfortingly into the changeling’s shoulder. “Because you look different, or you’re somewhere different. You don’t have a face, to them, in a metaphorical sense. They… dehumanize? Hm, that’s kind of what we’re doing anyway.”

“Depersonalize?” Offered up the changeling.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Tanja, craning her head to the ceiling. “The point is, it’s… what’s the word… chauvinism. They see you as not a person, they label you as evil, and so, no matter what you do, it’ll be evil to them.”

Kalla sighed. “So what? Should I just embrace it?” The changeling brought forth a little smirk. “Go full Adam Taurus on their tails?”

Tanja’s attention was suddenly captured, and her small head feathers perked up. “Was that a RWBY reference?”

“Heh, yeah. I guess we’re somewhat like the Faunus, huh?” At this point, the changeling’s expression had flipped into a grin.

“You wanna make a White Fang movement for us, then?” Tanja laughed in return.

“Maybe! But without the whole ‘collaborating with pure evil’ bit and the, uh, other weird stuff.” Kalla’s eyes shone a brighter blue. “So, like, which was your favourite volume?”

“Oh, it has to be 4 for me. I just really like…”

At this point the recording is fast-forwarded, as the two go on a long tangent.

“...and that’s what they should do to make factions in Stellaris more interesting.” Tanja’s speech machine sparked, and started smoking slightly.

“Oh, you’ve thought this through a lot, then, huh?” The changeling jokes, giggling.

It is at this moment that Dr. Erian enters the room. “Sorry. We need to borrow her for a bit.” Kalla nods, and, once they are out of the room, sighs quietly.

—

One final time, the two therians are in a room together, conversing, before a rumbling sound emanates from Kalla.

“I’m hungry…” The changeling groans.

“Oh!” Chirps the bird, her speech synthesizer whirring into life, “would you like a sandwich? I could get one from the cafeteria if you want.”

“Eh,” responds the changeling, tilting her head downwards and sighing, “I think I can only eat love now.”

“Oh, right. How does that work, anyway?”

“Uhm…” the changeling begins, putting a hoof up to her muzzle, “I’m an emotivore, so I guess I have… emoti-ception now or something.” She chuckles at the statement. “When someone is feeling love, it’s like my horn tastes something sweet. Then, I just suck it up. Like spaghetti.”

A short silence follows.

“You know, that changes, like, a lot of science stuff.” The bird begins chattering quickly. “Do you think it’s, um, a field? Like electromagnetism?”

“Uhh… I don’t know.”

“Is each emotion a separate field or are they all different values on the same field?” The corvid continued.

The changeling snickers, her fangs gleaming in the light. “You’re lucky I refuse to feed on people or you’d be so drained.”

Tanja tilts her head in confusion. “You’re not feeding?”

“I…” Kalla balks, “I lost a friend because I fed on him. I won’t do that again.”

Tanja narrows her eyes and turns her head, pointing one eye directly at Kalla. “But you need it to live. Isn’t that important?”

“I don’t want to hurt others…” whimpered the changeling, “Just to feed myself.”

“But…” started Tanja, as Kalla shakes her head. Tanja continues regardless. “But you deserve to live. Can’t you just… take a little bit of love? From me?”

Kalla remained silent and still, staring down at the blanket. Unmoving. Just thinking.

As Erian returns, and Tanja is wheeled away, the bird stares sympathetically at the despondent changeling. “Just consider it. I won’t mind.” Little did she know, that was the last time they would speak together in that hospital.

Recording over.

[dwllie]

❝ THE NURSES MAKE THEiR ROUNDS ❞

🪭 ︵︵ TURiGiRL4TURiBOY ｡

a term for turigirls who prioritize or prefer relationships with turiboys. this term can also be used as a descriptor for a relationship between a turigirl and a turiboy.

🪭 ︵︵ CHECK - UP NOTES ｡

✦ OO1 : created by us

✦ OO2 : requested by @equine-equius

✦ OO3 : flag colors picked from the turigirl and turiboy flags

✦ OO4 : tagging @x4xarchive , @accessmogai , and @discrophy

[PT: the nurses make their rounds. turigirl4turiboy. a term for turigirls who prioritize or prefer relationships with turiboys. this term can also be used as a descriptor for a relationship between a turigirl and a turiboy. check-up notes. created by us. requested by equine-equius. flag colors picked from the turigirl and turiboy flags. tagging x4xarchive, accessmogai, and discrophy. /END PT]

[monstersandmaw]

Female knight x lady - part one?

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I've had this knocking around for ages, and I don't know if I'll continue it, but I fell in love with all the characters anyway and figured someone might enjoy it. It was based on a prompt that I can't find now, but ran along the lines of: "Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying."

Wordcount: 4149 Contents: Buff, tough, butch knight seeks employment from a local lady, featuring the ugliest horse in all the land, a dog named Muffin, and a brother who just wants his sister to be happy and safe... Fleetingly suggestive moments, but nothing super nsfw.

“Here goes nothing,” she sighed as she drove the nail into the village noticeboard with the pommel of her dagger and stepped back to look at her chicken-scratch writing. “Fuck,” she added as she glowered at it and saw the way her hand had smudged the bottom of it.

“Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying. Find me at the Bleeding Goat until the day after the Spring Equinox.” At least, if she squinted it still looked like ‘Spring Equinox’. If she didn’t, it looked like ‘Stink Jurybox’ or even ‘String Fairyfox’.

“Fuck,” she said again, and turned away. It would have to do. She didn’t have any more paper anyway.

And with that, she led her enormous war horse down the road towards the Bleeding Goat inn. Maggot was a vile mare by anyone’s estimation, but Vika loved her dearly. Built like a brick shithouse, with a shaggy, yellow-ish white coat, pink eyes, and a propensity for biting anyone who came within a three yard radius of her, the mare wouldn’t have won an equine beauty contest if she was the last horse in the land, but she was loyal to Vika, and could keep up a steady trot for days without breaking a sweat. She made a great windbreak too, if the need called for it, and her hooves were the size of a large buckler shield. Once iron-shod, they were lethal when she reared up or lashed out.

The ostler at The Bleeding Goat almost didn’t take her.

“Size of that beast,” he muttered as Vika led her into the fresh stall. “Looks like it might eat one of my donkeys whole if I turn my back!”

“She won’t trouble the others if they don’t trouble her,” Vika growled down at him.

“If you say so,” he said, giving her the once-over too as he looked back over his shoulder at her.

At six foot three, with broad shoulders, thick, wild, dark brown hair that resisted almost every attempt at combing, a jaw like an anvil and a glare to make a dragon nervous, Vika was only distantly aware of the little man, the way a lion might briefly take note of a mouse in the grass.

“Like horse, like rider,” he muttered as he shut the door on Maggot’s stall. He reeled backwards and tripped over his own heels when Maggot lunged for him, teeth bared, red eyes rolled to show the whites and her lopsided, wolf-bitten ears pulled right back against her matted mane. “Fucking hell,” the ostler yelped as he scrabbled to his feet. “Look after it yourself!”

“Suits me,” she said with a shrug. “You never gave me the chance to offer.”

“Bitch,” he spat as he slunk out of the stable yard, nursing a bruised backside and a wet patch where he’d fallen on the muddy ground.

“That’s ‘Dame’ to you!” Vika yelled after him. When he stopped and lurched back around to goggle openly at her, she offered him a cold, feral grin and tapped the pattern of embroidered lilies and swords on her padded brigandine with her thumb. “Dame Vika of Sharkshoal Point.”

“Right. Sorry, m’lady. Ma’am. Dame…”

She snorted and turned away just as Maggot whickered in a way that meant she was thoroughly amused with her own antics. Vika poked her in the chest and she stepped back from the stable door to let her owner in, and with practised movements that felt almost meditative, she had untacked the horse and rubbed her down with a handful of straw. The bran mash and oats she’d paid for were brought to her by a trembling stable lad who had stared up at her from over the stable door with wide eyes until Maggot had neighed with soft, enquiring interest and he’d practically flung it over the door and bolted for the kitchen door of the inn. Anyone might have thought Maggot was a roaring dragon by the way he’d reacted, but it was a common enough occurrence that neither mare nor knight paid it any mind.

Vika spent three days at the inn.

She took the time to sharpen all her numerous blades, not just the greatsword she usually kept sheathed on Maggot’s tack, and she even managed to acquire a needle and thread to darn up a few slashes in her padded brigandine. Her needlework wouldn’t have passed muster in the house of a lady, but delicate embroidery wasn’t the goal. She could make two pieces of fabric meet and stay together well enough, and that would have to do. She could also sew up a person if push came to shove, and she bore the scars of her own neat stitching in a number of places about her body as proof.

On the fourth day, while the lively little town was setting up for the Spring Equinox celebrations, a man entered the tavern’s common room and looked around, asking for the ‘female knight’ who’d placed the advert on the board.

She tensed but let the scene play out, watching as the cute serving girl flushed and pointed across the room at her.

The man turned and cocked an eyebrow when he looked Vika up and down, but he thanked Ella and wove his way carefully between the tables. He was wearing the practical garments of a labourer, with a long tunic that covered his hips and a belt around the waist, but the fabric was far finer than any Vika had ever clapped eyes on, and his fur-trimmed cloak looked soft enough to swaddle a baby. His boots were worn to the point of comfort, but not falling apart, and at his hip he carried a slender sword with a silver pommel.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said with a polite incline of his head and an accent that betrayed him as nobility as surely as the gold stitching on his scabbard. “But are you the knight who placed the advertisement on the noticeboard? You’re looking to serve a lady?”

“I am,” she said, blunt and direct as ever. “Vika,” and she stuck out her hand to him.

He shook it without hesitation and revealed a strong, firm grip. “Lord Roland. Brother of the Lady Elayne Drummond,” he added with a friendly twist of his lips.

He was attractive, for a man, with big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and russet brown hair that fell in easy waves around his ears to brush the fur of his cloak. He had a short beard that was well-maintained, and his skin had the healthy glow of one who had never missed a meal a day in his life and spent much of his time out of doors.

“May I sit?” he asked, eyeing the chair opposite hers across the table.

She glanced down at the throwing knife she’d been in the process of sharpening, and at the black grime that coated her fingertips and around her nails from the oil and the whetstone, and felt a touch of shame beside his immaculate appearance, but she nodded all the same. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” she offered.

He smiled at that and nodded. “The ale here is the best in town,” he said, looking over his shoulder and beckoning over the serving girl with dark eyes and curly, black hair.

“M’lord?” Ella chirped and then shot Vika a smile. She’d flashed her the same smile on Vika’s first night, and again when Vika had made it clear in which room she was staying, should the young woman feel like joining her when she’d finished work. Ella had, and she’d fallen apart with the same glorious light in her eyes under Vika’s mouth and with her fingers buried deep inside her. They’d not met since, but they’d been easy in each other’s company ever since.

They ordered their drinks, and Roland turned back to Vika, resting his forearms on the table. “I suppose I should ask the reason you’re placing advertisements on public noticeboards instead of serving with the king, or even the knight who gave you your title to begin with.”

“A fair enough question,” she shrugged. “He died. Of old age, mind you. I served Gwilym of Sevenoaks from the time I was first raised to the order until two years ago. After his death, I decided to travel. Found myself here, and decided it was time to find myself a new place to roost.”

 “Your advertisement said you’ve slain monsters…?” he asked just as their tankards arrived.

“Thanks,” Vika murmured to Ella as she slid it across the table to her, and then looked up at Roland and shrugged. “Yeah. But nothing that didn’t deserve it first, you know? There was some sick fuck who was kidnapping maidens to feed to a dragon, so I went to the dragon and found out what was really going on, challenged the fuck to a duel, he ran, I put an axe through his skull before he’d cleared the trees. Then there was a vampire that had gone feral back near Reaver’s Canyon, and she refused to let me chain her up til the bloodlust faded. Went into full shift, came at me, and went for my neck —” she bared the side of her throat to Roland where the skin was puckered. “Near tore me open with her fucking claws, but I staked her and that was that. Cauterised it with my own dagger. Nearly fucked up the temper on it too,” she added as an afterthought.

Roland cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and she wasn’t sure if he was impressed or uncomfortable. Again, that wasn’t an uncommon reaction for folks to have to her.

“Right. Well, you clearly know what you’re doing…” he said in his clipped, aristocratic tone. “I do have one more question.”

“Ask away,” she said and drained a third of her tankard in one go. “Ah, fuck me, you’re right. That is good.”

“Right,” he chirped again, shuffling slightly in his seat. “My sister is… Well… She’s… She’s a lady… you understand…”

“Sisters of Lords usually are,” Vika growled. “What’s your point?”

“Quite, but… while your… um… your deeds are certainly impressive — and if you say you served with Sir Gwilym, I can’t argue that he knew good character when he saw it — I must say that your language is… uh…”

“Unbecoming of the knightly order?” she said. “Don’t worry. I can hold my tongue when I have to. I’m just tired and a bit run down. I apologise. I can watch my mouth, if it offends the lady.”

Roland blushed. “You know, it probably wouldn’t offend ‘the lady’, if I’m honest,” he sighed. “It’s just… Well, you understand. Decorum and all that.”

“Yeah, I get it. So is there an opening at the castle or not?”

He nodded. “I think you’ll fit in just fine, but as a formality, I’d like to extend a trial period to you.”

“Oh, Roland,” she grinned over the rim of her tankard. “Never give a knight the challenge of a trial.”

His answering smile went all the way to his big brown eyes, and he raised his own tankard to her. “I look forward to meeting you in the lists, Dame Vika.”

She snorted and drained her ale. “Ready when you are. Just need to grab my horse and my gear.” Roland slid two coppers onto the table and she frowned. “Thought I said I’d pay?”

“I’m the one interviewing,” he shrugged as he stood and made his way past Ella to the door. “You can leave a tip if you like.”

“Oh, I already tipped her,” Vika purred, sliding a silver coin into Ella’s palm while the young woman blushed prettily and tried to hide a smirk behind a dip of her head. “Bring my saddlebags down to the stables, love? They’re all packed up in my room,” she asked before following him towards the stables.

A magnificent black palfrey, still wearing his gleaming tack, stood in the stable next to Maggot’s, staring wide-eyed and stock-still at the mare with a look of abject horror on his face so comical that Vika guffawed when she saw him.

“That’s…your horse?” Roland asked as he saw Vika hang her arms over her mare’s stable door and dangle her hands in a ‘come here’ gesture at the mare.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. Before you say it, we’ve heard it all before. But she’s everything to me, alright? Wouldn’t trade her for a high-stepping prancer like that for the world.”

Roland’s horse snorted, offended.

“Fair enough,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “Come on, Lancer.”

Vika rolled her eyes and hefted her own saddle off the rack near the door and slung it over the stable door. She tacked her mare up in silence and led her out into the yard to mount up after Ella brought out her saddlebags and Vika winked at her just to watch her blush again. “Thank you, love,” she said. Damn, but the girl was pretty.

Ella rested her hand boldly on Vika’s thigh as she looked coyly up at her and said, “It’s been a pleasure, m’lady.”

The ride to the castle took twenty minutes, and passed through some of the loveliest countryside Vika had ever seen. Deer scattered from a nearby field into the oak and beech trees on their right, and as they urged their horses into a canter, Maggot threw in a little buck of happiness and Vika laughed, patting her neck as she sat it with familiar ease.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Roland said as they continued to canter, his palfrey slightly in the lead and looking wary about the lumbering beast a pace or two behind him, “But how did you come by a horse like… that?”

Vika looked down at her mare’s boulder neck and shoulders and sallow, flaxen mane, listening to her dragon snorts as she heaved up the hill. It sounded like a hell of a lot of effort, but she could outlast any fancy racer once the quarter mile marker had been passed. She wasn’t fast, but hell, she had endurance.

“Saved her from a slaughterhouse,” Vika called above the wind in their ears. Her own long hair streamed behind her, probably tangling into an even worse bird’s nest, but she couldn't have cared less after days cooped up in the tavern. She’d expected to have her advertisement ignored, and simply to move on while the town celebrated equinox, but this was infinitely more attractive.

Roland’s horse put on a sudden spurt of speed, nudging from canter to a ground-chewing gallop, but Maggot just ploughed on at the same stubborn canter, pounding her great hooves into the soil until Roland sat back in the saddle and his fancy prancer slowed with a frustrated toss of his head. “A slaughterhouse?” he asked.

“Yeah. They thought she was far too ugly to make a destrier, and too mean to make a carthorse. I took one look at her and bought her. She was a year old at the time, and already built like a siege engine. She could teach mules about being stubborn too.”

“Something I sense you two have in common?” he said, and because he said it not unkindly, Vika laughed.

“You got me there,” she said with another laugh. “So what’s your sister like? And why is she looking for a female knight, specifically?”

He slowed Lancer to a brisk trot, and Vika nudged Maggot up beside him, instinctively tugging the reins to one side when Maggot went to bite the destrier’s glossy, black rump on the way past.

“Ah, none of that,” she barked at the horse, and for once, the mare listened, plodding along like an aged plough horse.

“Elayne is…” Roland began, and then faltered, scrubbing his hand over his face. “She’s beautiful, educated, beloved…” he said, and Vika frowned. When he looked askance at her, he sighed and the weight of it dragged his shoulders down with it. “She’s miserable. Our father… well, he loved her more than anything, but he kept her penned in… like a bird in a cage. She can insult you in about fifteen different languages, but she’s got no experience of any of the places where they speak them. Not even of our own country, really.”

“Sounds lonely,” Vika offered, and not without some sympathy. She’d travelled, and she’d met her fair share of courtly folk before. It wasn’t all it was made out to be.

Roland nodded. “Yes. I think… now that father’s dead, she’d like to see something of the world.”

Vika raised her eyebrows. “And you want someone to go with her?”

“Precisely. We have contacts all across the land,” he said. “She’d never want for a place to stay, but it’s the in-between that worries me. There’s no disguising we’re a wealthy family, and if someone figured out who she is, she could be taken for ransom, or harmed, or… It doesn’t bear thinking about. I can’t go with her because someone would have to run our estates in her absence.”

“She manages that now then?” Vika asked and he nodded.

“Yes. Father taught her everything, and, to my shame, I never had much of a head for it; not the way she does. She’s a natural. I can manage though,” he added, cheeks heating. “It’s not like it’d fall apart completely without her, but… yes. She’s the one who manages the day to day of the castle and the estate finances.”

“I’m surprised she’s not got suitors lining up from the castle gates to Southport,” she snorted.

“Oh, she has,” he laughed.

“None of them good enough?”

Again, Roland barked a laugh. “Seemingly not. Look —” he said, and pointed with his gloved right hand as they rounded a bend in the road and the trees drew back a little way. “That’s Crow’s Nest.”

Vika followed his gesture and spotted the dark castle on the hill easily enough. “Impressive,” she murmured.

“Think your ugly mare can beat my Lancer to the courtyard from here?” he asked.

Maggot was already lurching forwards into a determined canter before Vika had processed the question. “What did I tell you about knights and challenges?” she yelled over her shoulder at him as they took off with an ungainly jolt.

Lancer, of course, was off like a hound after a hare a second later, his silky tail held high as an officer’s plume, but after a mile, he began to slow while Maggot just thundered on like a boulder down a mountain. Vika just sat forward a little in the saddle and gave the mare her head to set her own pace. They overtook Lancer on a corner by an oak on the last stretch and Vika yelled, “I hope they let us in without you, Prancer!”

“You’d just batter down the gates anyway!” he roared back, laughing.

Maggot won by a country mile, though mostly through grim determination and grit than anything else. Her sides heaved by the time she got to the barbican gate, and Vika was forced to sit back and ease her into a trot before the archers on the gate started to shoot at her.

Lancer appeared a few minutes later, his deep, black chest rimed with foam and his nostrils flared wide while Vika was still walking Maggot in a lazy circle just out of bow shot, and Roland shook his head. “Damn,” he laughed. “I’d love to see Maggot race Crocus.”

“Crocus?”

“My sister’s gelding. Don’t ask about the name — something to do with saffron and the fact that he’s probably the most orange horse you’ll ever lay eyes on. Open the gate!” he added in the same breath, and the portcullis rumbled up.

“Bit extreme, isn't it? We’re not exactly at war…” Vika muttered as the ironwood frame ground upwards into the bastion above and Lancer ambled in like he was the lord of the castle, not Roland. Maggot eyed the murder-holes with deep suspicion, and then followed the palfrey inside.

Roland shrugged. “There’s already been one attempt on both my sister’s life and my own since our father’s death,” he said, and all the jollity of the race evaporated from his handsome, boyish features. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Shit,” she hissed. “I can see why you’re not celebrating the Equinox here,” she commented, looking around and finding the castle bailey empty of all the accoutrements of celebration like a mummers’ platform and festive stalls.

“Not this year. We’re funding the festivities in the town though,” he said, “To make up for it. But we’re not hosting anything here. Elayne is devastated,” he added as he sprang lightly down from Lancer’s saddle and loosened the girth while a stable hand strode over to greet them. “And very angry with me.”

“Careful,” Vika advised as a second stable hand approached her. “She’s… not the friendliest.”

“Right…” the young man chirped, faltering. “Uh… you want to lead her in then?”

Vika saw her mare settled and rubbed down, and when the stable hand promised to feed her in an hour’s time, after the strain of the race had faded from her body, Vika relaxed a little. He did know what he was doing after all. “Don’t shut yourself in there with her though,” she advised him while the mare rolled her red eyes at them, and the young man nodded.

She hooked her saddle bags over one arm and strode after Roland to meet him at the castle entrance.

The next few hours passed in a blur, but after she’d bathed and been given a new set of clothes, which not only fitted her but actually suited her, by a tailor who seemed to have magicked them out of thin fucking air, Vika meandered down towards the great hall.

A massive wolfhound lay sprawled across the doorway ahead of her, and just as the sole of her boot touched the marble entrance hall floor at the base of the stairs, a young woman emerged from a doorway on the other side, and the wolfhound looked up. His shaggy, bull whip tail began to wag and he whined and wriggled on the floor like a puppy as the woman approached, unaware of Vika’s presence behind her on the stairs.

“Oh, Muffin!” she giggled, kneeling beside him and playing with his ears and his bearded chin.

Her dress — a silvery, iridescent blue that shifted as Vika stared at it — pooled around her like a cloud on a summer day, and Vika watched as the dog floundered into a sitting position and tried to lick the woman’s face. She leaned back, laughing, and then caught sight of Vika as she turned her face away.

Vika, a woman who rarely found herself without retort or reposte, stood speechless as the young lady looked up at her and parted her lips in a soft ‘oh’ of surprise.

Vika was no stranger to beauty. From milk maids to marquesses, she’d seen it all, but this woman, with her smooth skin and warm, honey-coloured hair coiled up in pearl-studded waves, her flowing silk dress and bright, blue-grey eyes, gave new meaning to the concept of beauty. “Fuck,” she breathed, too quite for the lady to hear.

“Hello,” the lady smiled. The dog had gone still and was staring at Vika as though he was still deciding whether to launch himself at her or let her approach. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” And with that, she rose like a dancer and crossed to her.

Standing in front of her, she was a foot shorter than Vika, but as she looked up into Vika’s face, the urge to kneel, to bow her head and give every shred of her soul to the woman surged so strongly in her chest she almost wept. Swallowing thickly, she managed, “Dame Vika. Of Sharkshoal Point.”

Something cleared in the woman’s face and she smiled so delightedly that Vika felt lightheaded. “You’re the knight my brother found!” she beamed.

Unable to do aught else, Vika bowed her head. “I am, Lady. If you’ll have me.”

“That remains to be seen,” she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I hear you beat my brother in a race today,” she added and turned towards the great hall behind her. “Perhaps you’d care to spar with him tomorrow?”

“Will you be there to judge us?” Vika asked before she could stop herself.

“I suppose I should be, shouldn’t I?” Elayne said, pausing and looking back over her bare shoulder. “If you’re to be my knight,” she added, and as her dark eyes raked the length of Vika’s body from boot to crown of head, Vika shivered.

“I’ll be your knight, Lady,” she promised.

Elayne smiled brilliantly, and Vika bit her lip.

___

I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[sagemonsters]

Kaia on ko-fi has a blind date with...

Stelios the Centaur

Stelios has the lower body of a chestnut draft horse and the upper half of a muscular, redheaded human man with lots of freckles. He works as a ranger in a large, mountainous wilderness park, and takes his job very seriously. He is always rescuing lost hikers and tending their injuries, and sometimes scaring off bears! He carries emergency medical and food supplies in his saddlebags and always has a helping hand at the ready.

Ecology is Stelios’ primary hobby, and it’s not just for work. He is very passionate about reforesting now-barren former woodland and getting rid of invasive species. He can talk for hours about it, but also wants to hear about your own interests and passions. He understands what it feels like to realize that you’re the only person in the room who truly cares about a particular subject, and knows how to push forward against other peoples’ indifference.

Stelios loves gaming, but unfortunately rarely has time for it due to the nature of his work. He’s easily frustrated by technology and prefers tabletop games to video games (and yes, his D&D characters are primarily druids). When you invite him to a TTRPG session, he makes every effort to clear his schedule and come to the event; he wants to make more friends.

Stelios drinks a lot of coffee… maybe too much. Although he isn’t picky about what kind of coffee he drinks, he makes a point of avoiding chain coffeeshops and tries to support small businesses in his area, especially ones owned by queer folks or else that are havens for marginalized people.

CW for giant arachnid (scorpion) + use of firearms

“Get on my back,” the centaur wearing a ranger’s jacket mutters to you.

“Why?” you mutter back, although you are nonetheless already very close to the centaur’s flank in the steep-sided, marshy gully.

“It’s doing a threat display,” the ranger explains, eyeing the giant swamp scorpion with its enormous, snapping pincers and venom-dripping stinger, “we don’t have much ti—”

The massive arachnid rushes forward at you, its legs thudding into the soft ground. You hoist yourself up onto the centaur’s back faster than you thought possible outside of an adrenaline-fueled emergency, and the centaur wheels around and gallops as fast as he can away from the threat—but not fast enough. The boggy terrain is slowing him down, and the swamp scorpion’s wide, flat feet help it move more quickly.

You pull a pistol out of the holster at your hip, twisting on the ranger’s equine back to fire off a few shots at the scorpion. Even on the back of a struggling centaur, your aim is true, and black ichor gushes from the scorpion’s new injuries. It squeals and twitches in pain, slowing down just long enough for the centaur to reach the end of the gully and start climbing up a slope onto firmer ground. Unwilling to leave its lair, the swamp scorpion remains behind to nurse its wounds.

“You could have used that a little sooner,” the centaur grumbles. “The noise of a few shots might have scared it, at least.”

“I don’t have a permit to hunt scorpions,” you explain. “I wasn’t sure I was allowed to shoot that thing.”

“You would have been in luck if you’d tried—they’re invasive, so we would pay you rather than the other way around—and self-defense is a valid defense against being fined. I’m Stelios, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well, and Stelios lets you hitch a ride back to the nearest ranger station. Along the way, he offers some suggestions for how to replace your lost hiking and camping gear more cheaply, and you have a good time chatting with him and swapping emergency medical treatment tips. Once at the ranger station, the swamp scorpion’s lair is reported so that a better-equipped team can handle the giant arachnid, and a kindly human ranger offers you a ride in an ATV back to the park’s main entrance.

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty fun-filled day.

see here if you'd like your own blind date with a monster!

[lookslikethatsallthetimewehave]

For Black History Month, I draw one black Poptropica character a day.

Today is Pat McGonagle from Escape from Pelican Rock Island!

Pat (aka Patches) was arrested for grand theft equine and unlicensed phrenology. They have been in Pelican Rock prison for so long, they are actually the first prisoner there. They found a bird with a broken wing and nursed it back to health. 

[limbus-limousine]

Ik you're mostly a Sinclair poster (a very good one at that) but do you have any animal associations for Dante? Or any of the other sinners for that matter

YES YES ACTUALLY!!! SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS ASK...

I have a list of animal associations for project moon characters in general... I'm still working on it but I eventually want to get to background characters too like the optional ruina receptions etc. But currently these are my thoughts for limbus...

Dante: Merulanella blister/tricolor isopod (a perfect match if you ask me... very expensive collectionist morph too). This might change once we know more about them though!

For Verg and Charon I still have to think some up... But Charon is giving mustelid I must say

Yi Sang: Hooded crow + cicada

Dongbaek: Caramel crow!! (This would be a regular American crow, caramel is a mutation that's still being researched which gives them a creamy brown coloration)

Samjo: Great auk (extinct diver bird/penguin) + Royal tern + otter

Dongrang: African forest buffalo + blue roan shorthorn + Oxpecker + cattle egret

Faust: Rock ptarmigan + wooly aphid (still want to look for more...)

Don Quixote: Quagga + Bearded vulture + Monitor lizard

Ryoshu: Horned owl + Dragontail butterfly + Moth (still need to look into species) + ratsnake/black mamba (reference to Hell Screen)

Meursault: Honestly very hard choice... Mostly for personality reasons, I've been thinking of a Nurse shark + MAYBE badger (noctural + def. want an omnivore in there) + Clam or something

Hong Lu: Mantis shrimp + lemur + Sinosauropteryx (chinese compsognathid with conserved pigments of a ringed tail!)

Heathcliff: Aardwolf + Bronze-tailed peacock-pheasant (want to look for more too...)

Ishmael: Orca (only predator of whales) + kutchicetus (cetacean transitional fossil) + lobster

Ahab: Sperm whale + Narwhal + polar bear

Queequeg: Leopard seal

Rodya: Manul + Cozumel raccoon

Sonya: Leucistic amur leopard + Mediterranean fruit fly

Sinclair (more details...): Eurasian sparrowhawk + indeterminate canine traits. I imagine him as a bilateral gynandromorph (half male/female mutation), inspired by the real recorded specimens of lazuli buntings and canaries.

Demian: Malayan blue coral snake + Boelen's python + Luzon bleeding-heart dove. Pondering on lamb motif + maybe some traces of corvid

Kromer: Mountain lion + Hercules beetle grub + red headed centipede + some mantid perhaps (looking into it)

Outis: Przewalski's horse, or maybe a Mustang (debating, I'm not as informed about equines !) + Harris Hawk + Black headed python

Gregor: Painted trilobite cockroach (infestation) + Ensign wasp (main/original body) + House centipede

[bobfloydsbabe]

LINGER | rhett abbott x oc | chapter 1

one: hey cowboy

SUMMARY: Rhett Abbott is stuck. He rides bulls, works on his family’s ranch, and probably drinks more than what’s good for him. 

Lou Kinney is aimless. She never stays in one place for long, driving from state to state, and picking up odd jobs along the way.

So when she shows up in Wabang, Rhett’s life tumbles into free fall and Lou’s not sure she trusts herself to catch him. But maybe these two lost souls find exactly what they didn’t know they were looking for: each other.

masterlist | next chapter

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, horses/ranching/bull riding inaccuracies, i don't understand american culture but i try.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

JOIN THE TAGLIST (google form–no personal info required)

He’s sitting in his truck in the parking lot of the general store the first time he sees her.

She’s wearing jeans, sensible boots, and a denim jacket. Her dark hair is in a soft braid that rests against her back. He watches her open the door to the cab of her truck. She whistles once and a black and white dog effortlessly jumps in, crawling across the bench seat and lies down.

Rhett doesn’t recognize her, figures she’s passing through town like so many before her. No one stays in Wabang unless they were born here, and this girl definitely wasn’t.

So, safe to say, Rhett’s a little surprised when he sees her nursing a beer at the Handsome Gambler later in the week. Even more so when he stops by the diner for coffee and lunch a week after that, and sees her laughing with Patty, who owns the place.

She offers him a small acknowledging nod when she passes him on her way out, her dog trailing behind her happily. Patty rarely allows dogs in her diner.

A month passes before he learns her name. He’s walking into the feed store when he hears Old Man Arthur call her Louisa. She corrects him and says it’s Lou.

She’s walking away, her dog once again following closely behind, when Rhett comes up to the counter to pick up their order.

Lou suits her, he decides.

A few days later, Amy comes skipping into the house, waving a piece of paper in the air with a bright smile on her face. Her friend from school is having a birthday party at Oak Creek Ranch, and Amy’s one of the select few invited.

Oak Creek went up for sale when Rhett was seventeen, and the Taylors bought it about a year later. A local family who traded their jobs as a nurse and a veterinarian for ranch living. They opened an equine sanctuary and rehabilitation center that’s become popular with people from across the state.

He didn’t know you could host a kid’s birthday party there, but as his truck winds down the dirt path to the Oak Creek driveway, he sees a banner announcing Sydney’s 9th birthday.

He’s late to pick Amy up. Perry was supposed to, but he was too drunk to drive. Rhett tries not to be mad at his brother, but it’s hard not to be when he’s neglecting his daughter.

He passes endless pastures and folds with grazing horses. A large barn comes into view, along with an even larger stable building. He knew the Taylors had renovated the place when they bought it, but it’s nearly unrecognizable to him now. He remembers having his first beer on the front steps of the then abandoned house when he was fourteen.

Seems like a lifetime ago now.

He pulls up next to a line of trucks in various stages of disrepair, but most pickups look worse for wear around here. Rhett looks at the house and spots Mrs. Taylor through a window. He can’t remember her name, but he knows she has two boys who are a few years older than Amy.

He lifts a couple of fingers in an acknowledging gesture, and even though the sun is high in the sky, he sees her smile as she waves back. The Taylors are good people.

He looks around, and a few feet away, at the end of a downtrodden path, is a metal round pen where he spots the back of his niece’s head.

Rhett gets out of his truck and makes the short trek down to where Amy stands on the fence to see over it. As he gets closer, he sees Louisa stand on the inside of the pen, her back turned to a black horse trotting wildly behind her.

She doesn’t flinch when it whinnies. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, coming up next to his niece to watch the scene before him.

“Uncle Rhett,” she exclaims, giving him a hug as best as she can without falling off the fence. “Look!”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips at her enthusiasm before he turns his attention back to Louisa, and the horse that has now slowed down to a walk. Rhett sees the fear in its dark eyes, but there’s a level of curiosity, too.

Louisa still doesn’t move, but casts her eyes upward, meeting his for a brief second. She smiles at him, and his insides feel funny.

The horse takes tentative steps towards Louisa, and all the muscles in Rhett’s body tense, ready to step in if something should happen.

But nothing does. The horse walks towards the center of the pen, and finally, after what feels like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, it stands at Louisa’s side and nudges her arm with its muzzle.

Amy cheers quietly as to not disturb the moment in front of them.

A grin splits Louisa’s face in two, and Rhett watches her dig into her pocket for a treat that she offers to the horse. The wind carries the sound of her soft praises as the horse chews the treat and lets Lou run her hands over its muscular body.

“That was incredible, Miss Kinney,” Amy says as the woman approaches the fence, horse trailing calmly behind her.

“Lou,” she corrects. “Storm’s a good boy,” she replies, casting a look at the black stallion behind her. “He just needs someone to give him a chance to be good.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Rhett says before Amy can say something else.

“It’s no problem,” she says, and he can tell she genuinely means it. “Sydney only got picked up five minutes before you got here.”

“Thank you,” he saying, nodding at her slightly before turning his attention to his niece. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Amy agrees and jumps off the fence, landing on the ground with a thud. Rhett offers a small wave goodbye to Lou, who’s watching him and Amy as they walk back to his truck.

“Bye, miss Kinney!” Amy shouts and waves at the woman who offers an enthusiastic wave back. Amy closes the truck door, and the world goes quiet.

He waits for her to put her seatbelt on and then makes his way back down the drive, the same way he came. “Did you have a nice time?”

“The best,” she says excitedly, launching into a long talk about everything that happened at the birthday party. She briefly mentions her other friends, the cake, and the presents, but most of her endless chatter is about Lou.

“That thing she did when you got there is called join up, and it’s so cool. She just turned around a let Storm do whatever he wanted until he trusted her enough to come. It was awesome!”

He chuckles as he opens the front door to the house, letting Amy duck under his arm to go inside first.

His Ma’s in the kitchen, placing plates on the dining table, but it’s only set for four. Perry is probably sleeping off his bender upstairs, the whole room reeking of alcohol and sweat.

Rhett frowns at the thought and tries to push the brewing rage down. He’s not above day drinking, has done it many times, but he would never do it over taking care of his kid.

It’s a realization that has crept up on him in the months since Rebecca disappeared and Perry changed into someone barely recognizable. He’s putting his misery above his daughter and there’s no one Rhett wants to protect more than his niece.

He kisses his mom’s cheek in greeting and goes upstairs to clean up before dinner, the sound of Amy talking about Lou fading with each step he takes. There’s something about her innocence that tugs at Rhett’s heart and makes the faintest smile spread across his face.

A couple of days later, Rhett rests his head against the rim of his beer bottle, trying not to move his bad shoulder too much. It’s been bothering him for a while, but the bull got the better of him tonight and he took a bad fall. 

The slide of glass along the bar top makes him lift his head. In front of him is a shot of tequila that he downs with a nod towards Jimmy, who’s been a bartender at the Handsome Gambler since before he was born.

Homegrown cowboy almost lost the rodeo tonight. He’s lucky he didn’t.

“It’s Rhett, right?” A soft voice says as a warm body sinks down on the seat next to him.

He hums in agreement, turning his head slightly to face her. He recognizes her voice immediately. It’s been ringing in his ears since he first heard it a few days earlier.

“Amy hasn’t shut up about you since her visit,” he says. It sounds harsh even to his own ears, and he could probably have found a better way to say it, but she seems unfazed.

He wants to ask her name, even though he already knows it. Just to hear her say it.

She smiles, and he could be imagining it, but it looks like her cheeks flush pink. The odd lighting in the bar makes it hard to tell.

She looks down at her hands, then meets his gaze. “She’s interested in the work,” she says finally. “I’m sure she’d talk about anyone who did it.”

Rhett’s not so sure, and he almost says as much.

She orders a beer and wraps her small hands around the glass, immediately picking at the label with her long fingers.

Rhett doesn’t know what to say as the silence stretches between them. There’s a million questions he wants to ask, but all he does is watch, and by the time he’s built up the courage to say something, Lou beats him to it.

“Heard you had a good ride tonight.”

A snort escapes him. “You heard wrong,” he says, sipping from his bottle. He grimaces as the stale beer hits his tongue.

“But you’re moving up, right?”

He tilts his head at her, looking at the paper graveyard surrounding the beer bottle still in her grasp. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s a good ride,” she decides and raises the bottle to her lips, taking a long sip. His eyes trace the lines of her throat. He likes the way her hair graces her shoulders, and he wonders if it feels as soft as it looks.

“You think so?”

She nods, brushing hair behind her ears. “I know so.”

He’d forgotten all about his sore shoulder until he shrugs and a jab of pain courses through it. He half-heartedly suppresses a groan at the strain, but the woman beside him catches it.

“You should take it easy,” she says, eyes flicking from his face to the hand he’s placed on his shoulder as if that would soothe the ache. “Joe said you took a tumble.”

He supposes tumble is one way to describe being thrown off a bucking bull after barely lasting eight seconds.

His brows knit together. “Joe?” There are about seventeen people named Joe in this godforsaken town.

“Taylor,” she clarifies.

“Your boss.”

“My boss,” she agrees. 

Silence falls between them again, but Rhett feels less awkward this time. He drums his fingers on the wooden counter and watches Lou sneak a glance down the line of the bar, only to wipe the tattered scraps of the paper label onto the floor.

He raises a brow at her.

She puts a finger against her lips to shush him as Jimmy comes back down towards them.

“Can I close out my tab?”

Rhett tips his hat down a little to hide the grin he’s sporting, but his success seems doubtful as his body shakes with a quiet chuckle.

He feels, rather than sees, Lou jump off the barstool next to him. Her hand skims along his back as she passes, a touch so light he can’t tell if it was on purpose or not.

A shiver runs down his spine as her touch leaves him. He waits until she’s gone and the door clicks shut to push his hat back up and ask Jimmy to close out his own tab.

He’s going to call it a night. Sitting alone at the bar doesn’t seem as appealing as his bed right now, but he doesn’t understand why.

After a ride, he would normally go looking for some woman to screw hard and fast, just to let off some steam, but not tonight. Tonight he’s just tired and sore and his ego is a little bruised because some new kid placed ahead of him.

He steps outside the bar and feels the cold Wyoming air hit his face.

“You come here often?”

Rhett jumps a good few feet in the air as the sound of laughter fills the quiet outside the bar. His heart races furiously in his chest, watching as Lou clutches her stomach, wheezing for air.

“Scaredy-cat,” she comments through uneven breaths as she regains her composure.

He looks over his shoulder, contemplating going back inside for another drink, just to settle the nerves Lou sparked to life. He can still hear the rushing of his pulse in his ears.

When he looks back at her, she’s already walking across the street to a faded yellow truck that has definitely seen better days. His feet carry him towards her before his head can register the decision to do so.

She reaches out to open her the driver’s side door, but Rhett’s arms are longer, so he yanks it open before she can. She startles, spinning around to face him.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me!”

He pulls open the truck door more with a grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“Not so funny when it’s you, huh?”

She huffs out a laugh as the tension leaves her shoulders and she hangs her head for a moment, letting it rest on his chest. When she lifts it again, he catches a whiff of her shampoo. She smells like summer.

She meets his eye, mischief and laughter radiating off her. There’s freedom in her eyes, making something in his stomach twist.

She climbs into the cab of her truck and lets Rhett close the door for her. She keeps her eyes on him as he takes a few steps back and the engine stirs to life at the turn of her key.

“Say hello to Amy for me,” she instructs him, and throws the old rust bucket in drive.

He watches her truck disappear down the main road until the taillights are no longer visible.

He can’t read her, not that it’s his strongest suit to begin with, but for someone who keeps to herself, she seems to be making an impression on the residents of Wabang.

He shakes his head, trying to will the hot feeling in chest to go away. As he reaches his own truck, he wants to blame the alcohol, but some part of him knows that’s far from the truth.

A/N: I can't believe it's finally here. I've been so excited to share this story with you, but I'm also nervous because this is so different for me, both in terms of style and tone. Comments and reblogs make the world go around. I hope you enjoy! (does this mean I have to watch the show now???)

TAGLIST: @wkndwlff, @joaquinwhorres, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @chickensarentcheap, @bradshawsbitch, @dhwanishah09, @lt-bradshaw, @phoenixhalliwell, @chicomonks, @cherrycola27, @mikaymeee, @callsign-cacti, @laracrofted, @thedroneranger, @yanna-banana, @rhettabbotts

[nurse-floyd]

Rhett Abbott Masterlist

Fanfic

Rhett Abbott x nurse!reader request - Rhett falls from his horse and his nurse girlfriend has to set aside her own emotions and help him.

Ride a Cowboy - Just pure filth.

Not a People Doctor - After a bar fight, Rhett shows up at your doorstep.

How to Smile Again - After a horrific crash and weeks in the hospital, you’re almost back on your feet. You’re out for the rest of the season but your physio and trainer suggest equine assisted therapy for you to get your strength back and your head back on straight for the next season. You didn’t expect to fall for the handsome ranch and programme owner. (Chapter 1/?)

Part 1

Part 2

Moodboards

How to Smile Again

[fafnir19]

The Angel Makers' Heir - Part III

Some days later, as I pushed open the heavy iron gates of the retirement home, an overwhelming sense of unease settled in my stomach. The responsibility of being able to decide life and death hung over me like a dark cloud. I didn't even know if it was real or just a nightmarish illusion. My student job here at the retirement home mainly involved assisting the staff with various tasks, including caring for the residents.

Mrs. Jessen, a 97-year-old lady, had always captured my attention. Despite her good health, she seemed to have lost all joy in living. On countless occasions, she confided in me, expressing her desire for the end, insisting that the higher power had forsaken her. After attending to Mrs. Jessen, I began my walk back home as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the peaceful streets. Suddenly, the tranquility shattered as screeching tires filled the air. With a jolt, I ran toward the source of the commotion. A horrific car accident had unfolded before my eyes. In one vehicle, a child remained relatively unharmed, but the mother's condition looked dire. As panic tightened its grip on my chest, a surreal sight met my eyes. The three-legged stallion stood near the injured mother. The air hummed with a strange energy, and without thinking, I appealed to the equine figure. "Bring Mrs. Jessen and spare this woman," I pleaded, my voice trembling with uncertainty. The ache in my chest didn't leave, even as the paramedics arrived and swiftly whisked the injured mother away. I couldn't shake the feeling that the stallion's presence had significance beyond my understanding. The following day at the retirement home, the news spread like wildfire. Mrs. Jessen had peacefully passed in her sleep.

Despite the melancholy that gripped me, a flicker of hope ignited within my heart as I heard the miraculous recovery of the mother from the car accident. The doctors deemed it an unexplainable phenomenon. Weeks passed, and as I walked through the bustling university campus, I couldn't shake the sense that the events at the retirement home and the accident had irrevocably altered my perception of life and death. The sun illuminated the path ahead, casting an amber glow over the vibrant foliage. My thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the dining hall, drawing my attention to a student attempting to cheat off my paper during an exam. Professor Drather, the strict invigilator, caught him in the act, resulting in the student's failure. Outrageously, the student then accused me of collusion, hoping to drag me down with him. Fueled by indignation, I confronted the professor the next day, only to learn that he was at home nursing a mild cold. Exasperated, I vented my frustrations to my peers in the cafeteria, lamenting the injustice. A fellow student remarked, "If the professor is sick now, it's probably karma." I laughed hollowly, "Yes, may Hel drag him from his sickbed." The next day brought shocking news. Professor Drather had passed away, choking on a piece of ham. The realization struck me forcefully, sending a shiver down my spine. Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, but beneath the fear, a newfound awareness burgeoned—a stark realization of the potential in the mysterious forces at play. And I thought:" Maybe I could make good use of my newfound super power...."

My dear Readers, what do you think? Who should Luci send to the realm of Hel and who should he protect from being taken by the three-legged stallion?

[beabaseball]

Help support Gosling! I see lots of horse memes tumbling around, and if some of equestrian tumblr and equestrian peanut gallery tumblr (affectionate) can give her a hand, or at least pass it into other horse spheres of the internet, I'd appreciate it.

There are no graphic images are in this gofundme, just tubing and fluid swelling. ->

Gosling was born June 19th, 2023, a month earlier than she should've been. She was lively but unable to stand, with no suckling reflex. She had a small seroma on her chest, an umbilical hernia, and her legs were contracted. Though two vets came and a feeding tube was placed in her nose to give her colostrum, within hours she was dehydrated and weak. She was rushed to the Marian Dupont-Scott Equine Hospital in Leesburg, Virginia. Being premature, her digestive system couldn’t handle the colostrum and she developed pneumonia. She was kept for a week on IV antibiotics, tube fed, helped to stand, and taught how to nurse. When she came home, she could (with help) stand for a few hours a day and gradually grew more lively, but continued to have high fevers and required antibiotics three times a day. The seroma on her chest continued to grow, until there was concern it might split her skin. A homemade compression vest was made, antibiotics were switched multiple times, and blood was repeatedly drawn, but the seroma never shrank and no clear cause was discovered. At six weeks old, Gosling and her mother returned to the hospital to determine what to do about the seroma, since the usual treatments of compression and time were not effective. The doctors decided that in this case, the best course of action was to put off the umbilical hernia surgery, and lance and drain the seroma. On August 9th, 2.25 litres of fluid was drained from Gosling’s chest. The first week of care for Gosling’s life at the hospital cost 15,000 dollars. Veterinary care at home has cost almost 5,000 dollars since. We have not yet been given the bill for Gosling’s second stay at the hospital (where she remains as of this writing.) The financial burden is tremendous. Please help us care for Gosling through this difficult start. Information: Gosling is a purebred Cleveland bay filly. Cleveland Bays are a critically endangered breed of horse with approximately 1,000 purebreds in the world. Only about 15 foals are born each year, not enough to maintain current numbers. Because of this, fillies are incredibly precious to the future of the breed.