#had to take her to the vet to make sure it wasn’t broken but she’s fine

[red-mountain-flower]

it wouldn’t be a finals season without some kind of accident

[pyxxiestyxx]

Mysterious Illness

The affini looked worried…to a non-affini, anyway. The body language was all for show of course; a fun part of the performance she had scheduled for her little one. She sprinted into the Sniffles Ward of the hospital, where her friend (one of several Vets that enjoyed taking shifts here) was ready to greet her. “What seems to be the problem?” The Vet’s voice was calm and professional, well-rehearsed with scenes like this already. “Oh Doctor! It's my floret. I woke up this morning and went to collect her and she’s…she’s…” Unable to finish (without breaking character and laughing), the Owner looked down at her beloved pet, who was lying limply in her vines. “She won’t wake up! I’m worried I’ve broken her! Oh Doctor, you have to help us!” The Doctor nodded gravely, gesturing towards a nearby bed that had already been set up for situations like this. The Owner laid her floret down carefully, making sure not to let her golden curls move over her face and tickle her nose. She had managed to act asleep for about thirty minutes now- even through a rigorous bout of teasing. The Owner had brought her here to continue the fun…and to see how long her floret would last without breaking, of course. The Doctor procured a chart from seemingly nowhere, leafing through the pages with practiced disinterest. “Let’s see…Her vaccinations are all up to date. Has she been eating normally?” “Yes, Doctor; four triangular meals a day, and plenty of snacks in between!” “I see…and what about activities?” The Owner nodded, smirking slightly. “We’ve gone out for walkies at least once a day, and she finishes about one coloring book a week!” “All in order, then…hmmm…” The Doctor produced a feather from within her vines, lightly brushing it across the floret’s skin. Both affini ignored the obvious twitching and struggling the floret was doing in an attempt to stay still. “Oh my, this is very serious indeed…” Pulling out a stethoscope next, the affini pressed it to the floret’s chest. “Breathe in nice and deep for me, dear?” The floret did so, dutifully following instructions as she was told. The Doctor smiled, shaking her head softly as she returned the medical devices to their places. “Well, I’m afraid it's grave news indeed. Your little one is quite bratty. I’m not sure where she picked it up, but by the time it reaches the ‘comatose’ stage, the only cure is to withhold all ice cream and candy, and to limit coloring books to only the black and white crayons.” Immediately the floret came alive in a panic, sitting up so quickly that she likely would have toppled over had the Doctor’s hand not already been there to catch her. The floret waved her hands around wildly, looking frantic as she sputtered, “N-no, wait!!! I’m fine, I’m fine! I swear I promise I’m awake and I feel much better please please please let me eat ice cream!!!!” The Doctor only just managed to keep a level voice, replying, “Mhmm….in that case, there may yet be hope. I’m going to prescribe you a treatment of extra-strength praise. You’re going to be getting and receiving compliments at least five times an hour for…let’s say a week, to be safe.” The affini paused, then applied a colorful band-aid to the floret’s upper arm. She wasn’t exactly sure why they all seemed to love them, but it usually made them smile more, so it was fine. The Owner nodded, adding, “Thank you so much, Doctor. Petal, say thank you.” “Thank you, Miss Doctor Lady!”

[heyyypuddin]

Withering Petal (Armando x OC) Bad Boys chapter 5

Hey puddins! I finally have posted Chapter 5. Sorry about the wait I kept changing things up. Just know this is a longer chapter.

I really hope you enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts! Enjoyy 💕

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Chapter 5 

Amora entered the black-and-white guest room that held a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, facing a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall surrounded by lots of paintings. Armando entered through the door after her, inspecting the room, looking at all the art she had in the room, and raiding an eyebrow at one of them.

“You can go use the bathroom to shower; the bathroom is right across the walk-in closet, and there should be towels and spare clothes you can use. They should be large enough to fit you for the time being. I’m going to go check on my dog, and then I’ll bring the first aid kit so I can start on your injuries.”

Amora finished explaining, and she looked at him, making sure he got everything or had questions. He gave her a curt nod and headed to the bathroom, where she heard the shower turn on, and she quickly turned on her feet, walking out of the room to go run up the stairs, giving multiple glances over her shoulder to make sure she didn't see him trying to run up on her.

She gets to the top floor and calls out for Bowser, hearing his whines coming from her room. She took one last glance behind her to make sure Armando wasn’t sneaking behind her, then glanced down her hallway to see the aftermath of their fight. 

On the wall was smudged blood, and littered on the floor were broken glass and soggy, wet food from what she had brought up for him originally. 

She sighed and ignored it for now so that she could check on her baby. Going to her room, she immediately checked under her bed, pulling up the sheets, and saw her baby giant Schnauzer hiding under there.

"Awwwww, baby, come here." She extended her arms out, and he slowly crawled his way out into her arms. She carefully picked him up and sat on her bed, cuddling him and telling him he did such a great job. “I love you so much, baby. You were so helpful. Such a good boy. I'm so proud of you.”

She kissed his head and gave him more rubs, feeling the sting of tears falling out of her eyes as she finally got to relax and grasp the situation she was just in. Silent sobs wrecked over her body.

“You were so brave. I'm so proud. I know you were scared,” she mumbled in his fur, half talking to Bowser and the other half talking to herself.

After allowing herself to sit for 20 minutes with Bowser, she finally got up and checked his leg that he was limping on. There were no open wounds, and it didn't feel broken; it may possibly be sprained.

"Okay, baby, tomorrow I'll take you to the vet so we can get you all fixed up." She took him off her lap and set him on a doggy bed beside her nightstand so he could rest.

She walked over to her vanity mirror, inspecting herself through her puffy red eyes, and saw that she had a small cut on her cheek and a deep purple bruise starting around her neck. Letting out a huge sigh, she walked out of the room to the hallway, grabbing the first aid kit and pain medication off the floor, and headed back downstairs to the kitchen, filling up two cups of water for them, and walked to the guest room.

Standing in the room, staring at the TV, was Armando wearing her old gray sweatpants, laying very low on his hips, exposing not only all his wounds but also all his muscles. Her eyes raked down his body, going over every last crevice of his and down past his v-line to where his sweats started. Her breath hitched softly when she saw his member slightly pressed against the gray pants. 

From the corner of Armando’s eye, he watched her ogle at him, feeling a swell of pride and his ego bloom. “Maybe this stay wasn’t so bad after all,” he told himself.

Not taking his eyes off the screen, he commented to the woman gawking at him, “¿Como lo que ves amor? (Like what you see in love?)

Amora quickly averted her eyes from him clearing her throat, embarrassed from being caught and putting her focus on what was playing on the TV to distract herself, but she quickly realized it was about Armando as they had his mugshot on the screen and news on police Captain Howard being fully exonerated after being framed by James Mcgrath, a former DEA agent who'd gone rouge. 

A light bulb went into her head as she was listening to the details of the news.

“Is that where you're coming from? She asked as she placed the first-aid kit and water on the dresser next to her. 

Without looking at her, he gave her a small nod, eyes now locked on the screen where a picture of the famous detective Mike Lowrey was on.

“Can you come sit on the bed, please? It's pretty late, and I would like to get some rest,” but she knew tonight she definitely wasn't going to be able to sleep with him in the house.

He moved to where she was standing, getting very close to her before sitting down on the edge of the bed. She stepped back away from him, not wanting to be so close since, truth be told, he intimidated her a lot. Amora reached over to the dresser, grabbing the kit and pulling out two packs of pain pills.

"Here, take these; they’re 500 mg each." He eyed the packets suspiciously and reached for them, only holding them in his hands. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed one packet out of his hand, ripping it open and taking the two pills dry to prove a point, and since she needed it for the headache she was gaining 

"Again, I didn't do all the work of helping you, just to kill you." She reached over again to pass him another pill packet and his water.

“Why are you helping me?” The quiet question came from Armando's lips. Amora slightly stilled before grabbing the alcohol wipes and the stitch emergency kit.

“When I saw you outside, I thought you were maybe someone who was sent to find me, and I wanted answers, but now... I don’t know.” She opened up the alcohol wipe and gripped his broad shoulder to inspect what looked like a stab wound that looked pretty deep but clearly didn't hit any main nerves, just his muscles.

“You might wanna embrace yourself; this is going to sting,” Amora grimaced before swiping over the cut. Painful hisses and grunts filled the silence of the room. Amora took a sneak at his face and saw that he squeezed his eyes shut, his jaws clenched. It's such a shame for him to be so handsome; maybe in a different life they could’ve met in a much different way, she admired.

“Dios mío, ¡apúrate ya!” (My God, woman, hurry up already) were the pained words, gritted from his teeth. 

Snapping back to reality, she quickly finished cleaning his wound up, picked up the needle and thread, and worked on closing up the 3-inch wound. This caused even louder, pained grunts and groans from him. She was halfway done to closing the cut when she felt large hands grip her hips, squeezing her tightly. Her eyes widen in shock, feeling a tightening in her stomach, but she doesn’t slow down, understanding this isn't an easy process.

Finally, she got to the end of the cut, closed it off, and started bandaging it up to protect it from any outside damage. He still had a tight grip on her and was breathing heavily, with his head hanging low and sweat dripping off his head. She grabbed more thread to work on the side wound he had been holding since she first saw him. 

“I’m going to need you to lay back, please, so I can work on this for you.”

Armando silently obeyed, sliding his hands off her and leaning back on his elbows. Amora looked around, feeling herself get hot and trying to focus on where she could get a good angel to do this, but where the wound was, she decided to step closer in between his legs.

Armando watched her intensely as she kneeled down between his legs so that she didn’t have to bend over, hurting her back. The image before him brings wicked thoughts to his mind. Does she even know what she’s doing? He wonders, but that all flew out of his mind as she started working on his wound.

Louder, pained groans echoed the room, as did a stream of Spanish cuss words spitting out of Armando's lips. Amora didn't understand everything he said, but she wouldn't be surprised if he cursed her whole family lineage.

She finally finished up that cut and stood up to quickly scan over him to make sure there were no other cuts that required attention. There was a slice on his arm, but it wasn't too deep for stitches, thankfully, but she still cleaned and bandaged it.

. “You should really go to the hospital; I know how to do a lot, but I'm not a doctor.”

He slowly sat back up, letting out a low groan. “No, I'll be fine; just pass me another pain pill." 

She quietly nodded and slid out from between his legs, doing as he told her. She felt his gaze piercing into her face, but he wasn't saying a word. She came to realize that he's just a man of few words. Or, at least to her, he is. 

She watched him take the pain pills and looked at him, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind, but Armando just stared, unspeaking. Rolling her eyes, Amora stepped away so she could go to bed until he finally spoke up.

“Who’s looking for you?” He watched her completely still at the question; he wasn't even sure if she was breathing. A heavy silence hung over them, the energy in the room going cold as the woman was clearly having an internal battle from the question he asked, but he didn't care. 

He wanted to make sure he wasn't getting involved in whatever drama she had going on, considering how paranoid the woman was to be so reclusive. "Probably a crazy ex-boyfriend,” he scoffed at the thought. If said ex-boyfriend tried to come while he was here, he would handle it personally; he wouldn’t allow anyone to disturb the freedom he finally has. 

Coming out of his thoughts, he realized another moment of silence had passed, and he felt irritation rise at the unanswered question. He parted ways to ask her again. “Who is Lo-?”

“-Vicky Ortiz,” she cut him off. Armandos face fell in shock; his eyes widen in recognition of that name—definitely not an ex-boyfriend problem.

“Vicky Ortiz? As in Victor “El Segador” Ortiz?” He questioned her darkly. Amora turned away from the man, trying to hold back the sting of tears that threatened to fall just from speaking that wretched man's name, but Armando stood up and grabbed her arm, spinning her back to him. 

"Why, of all people, would Victor ‘The Reaper’ be looking for you? A merc turned drug lord?” He grilled her face.

“What game are you playing at?” He seethed. He couldn’t help, but think this was some sort of set him up. Of all the people she could’ve named, she’s going with an enemy of the Aretas Cartel. 

Amora’s head snapped up, her eyes matching the flames in his. ”A game? A game! Do you hear yourself? Clearly, you know the man and what he’s capable of. What reason would I have to lie about something like that?” 

He continued to stare down at her before rolling his eyes and backing up. 

“Once I'm healed, I'm out of here. I don't want to be mixed up in whatever shit you got going on,” he told her, waving her out of the room. Amora's moth dropped at his dismissive behavior in her house for a question he asked.

“First of all, you asked me a question; I didn’t have to answer you! Second of all, nobody told your ass to pass out in my front yard; I was happily minding my own damn business till you came!” She raised her voice at him, but he turned around, dismissing her again.

“Callado. No quiero escucharlo." ( Be quiet. I don't want to hear it.)

“You know what? Whatever I don't owe you, A fugitive, ANY EXPLANATION! You’re welcome for saving your ass; I could've left you out there to die or called the cops on you—you selfish bastard!” And with that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut, but not before coming back and adding her door stopper to make sure he couldn't get out of the room again without her knowing.

Armando listened to what she was doing, not caring about the door stopper because that wouldn’t work on him but making sure she wasn’t on the phone with anyone or the cops, before laying on the bed, turning the news channel up, and looking at his father on the screen with some of the footage that came out of the battle zone he escaped from. 

The last thoughts floating through his mind before sleep took him were his father telling him he did well and that he was proud of him before sending him out on that boat.

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Authors note: guys this chapter made me so stressed, I was literally working on it alllll day and night yesterday even at work 💀 but I hope yall enjoyyy it 💕💕

Also if anyone knows a good translator website please let me know especially for (Mexican Spanish dialect )as I want to try to get as accurate as I can. Spanishdict and Itranslate been holding me down 🤞🏽

[otterandterrierwrites]

45

21

12

14 Days of Scoundress 2024 ♥ February 11th

His reason why

Han had started coming to these things a few years after the war—the veteran support groups. Not for himself, at first. He didn’t need support from strangers, wasn’t going to spill his most personal experiences to a nosy bunch. No; he’d started coming to see how he could help.

It had been Leia’s idea. He’d heard that someone in his old Pathfinding group had passed away unexpectedly, and—it had fucked him up for a while. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen plenty of fucked up things in his time, known of other people who’d died the same way. Maybe it was the fact that he’d made it out alive, and with so much to boot. Who knew how the mind worked. In any case, he thought he could try to help. Listen to people, at least; tell them it could get better. He hadn’t expected the groups to be so… cathartic. The first few times, he’d come back declaring to Leia that he wasn’t going back there, it was just too much, who the hell was he to play at shrink with those people, emotions made him uncomfortable anyway.

He’d always gone back again and, eventually, he’d stopped complaining. Sometimes, he even took advantage of the space to talk about some of what he’d been through—things he hadn’t wanted to burden Leia with. It surprised him how good it felt to drop some of that weight, which he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Han was never going to do therapy, even though he saw how good it did to Leia. He just didn’t think he needed it. But the support groups—those helped him even more than he thought he’d helped them.

And yet, some days were hard. Sitting there, listening to vets talk about the people they’d lost, the feeling of hopelessness that crept in when grief took hold, when they couldn’t see themselves moving on and building a new life for themselves… it reminded Han of the darkness he’d glimpsed in Leia during the war, how it had scared him, moved him to act. Sometimes, by annoying her into feeling. Other times, by dragging her kicking and screaming out of martyrdom. He couldn’t take all the credit—but he wanted to believe it’d helped some. (And, incidentally, doing that had saved him, in more ways than one.)

Today was one of those days. Han had sat for an hour with a former frigate nurse whose wife had passed away recently from sustained injuries she could never fully heal from. In the end, she’d decided to give up. The surviving partner was struggling not only with her grief and broken heart, but also anger at being left behind, which added a serious dose of guilt to the mixer. No word of comfort had felt good enough, and Han had headed home in a dark mood. What could he possibly have to say to someone like that, when he got to come home to his wife?

His wife.

The sense of dread that had lodged in Han’s chest all evening ramped up as he made his way back to his and Leia’s apartment, inexplicably—he knew everything was okay, but he was still eager to make sure—and then he opened the front door and walked in, the familiar scents of home enveloping him. Leia came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of food, which she set down on the dining table as she greeted him.

‘Hey sweetheart,’ she said, a warm smile lighting up her fierce brown eyes. ‘I’m so glad you’re back; you won’t believe the gaffe Senator Arbo made in session about the Candovant refugees—honestly shows money can buy anyone a seat at the table, but not an ounce of empathy or—’

In a few strides, Han had closed the distance between them and snatched her up in his arms, the inertia of the movement making him dip her backwards as he interrupted her with a kiss. There, in the safety of her warmth, the turmoil in his heart finally quieted.

‘Just shut me up by kissing me from now on, won’t you?’ Leia asked breathlessly, smirking at him. Her expression softened as she looked into his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Han assured her, bringing her hand up to press his lips over her knuckles. ‘Can’t wait to hear all about Senator Fargo.’

‘Arbo,’ Leia corrected with a chuckle, passing him a plate as they sat down for dinner.

It wasn’t wrong for Han to have survived, to have this while others had lost so much. That was something they always said in the groups—but he knew that already. Had spent years trying to make Leia believe it. Maybe it was the Force, or maybe it was sheer, dumb luck that it’d happened. But it was also… holy. His to cherish and protect. And it was the fuel that kept him going when he tried to make the galaxy the tiniest bit better.

******* Prompts:

45: without a motive

21: “Just shut me up by kissing me from now on, won’t you?”

12: [tango dip] a kiss shared while one partner is dipped backward

[slowandsteddie]

27 June 2010 - 8 February 2024

When I laid on my side, Emmett used to start at my feet and walk up my entire body before digging his tiny, little paws into my ribs. His stinky, old man breath would assault my nose, and then he would cram his entire tiny, fucking face into my armpit before purring so loud that I swear you could hear it in the next room. I’d lift my arm up at angles that actually really hurt because of my collar bone having been previously broken and drop my hand down at the right angle to be able to play with the fur that was from his mid-back. Grip and shake and tug while he is purring somehow, impossibly, louder. After awhile, I would adjust my arm, that always fucking popped, and cradle him on one side with it. He’d pull himself up just a bit and proceed to start licking/chewing on my chin and cheek. I’d use my other hand to half-ass cover us up. We’d fall asleep like that. I’d wake up on my other side with him laying across my face most days. Some days I’d wake up because he was trying to steal my nose piercing again. Occasionally, I’d wake up with him on top of my dresser. “Excuse the fuck out of me” was always met with the cutest little mew before he’d come running back to me.

I’d set my alarm for an hour early so I always had plenty of time to pet and snuggle my old man before I had to get up and get ready for work. As I walked around my room, making sure he had everything he needed, he’d follow me by walking quickly across my bed. Back and forth. When it was time for me to get dressed, I’d grab three random shirts and drop them on the bed. He’d pick the one I’d wear by laying on it. I always had to carry him to the bathroom with me, even if I was just going to pee, because he would cry the entire time I was gone and it broke my heart. Now he’s gone and I’m the one who can’t stop crying.

He was given to me when he was just 8 weeks old. My aunts cat had had a litter and I was promised one of the babies. My mom was taking too long to be “ready,” so her sister brought him to me. Zipped up in her coat. When she got out of the truck, I remember thinking “it’s so warm, why is she wearing a jacket?” She looked at me with a grin while unzipping it about half way and presenting him to me with a very smug “I brought you something!” I instantly pulled him into my hold and ran inside. I remember my mom saying something along the lines of “well, I guess I’ll be back. Have to go to PetSmart.” I was too busy giggling and introducing Emmett to his new space. I did have to rearrange my room a bit so that the dresser was under the window for him — needed to make it easier for him to see the backyard.

He had me keeping my room very clean because he would knock everything off of whatever it was on if it was out of place. His favorite place to hide was in the laundry hamper, and it was even better when there was clothes in it. He also liked to go into my closet when the door was opened. He’d crawl up and find a comfy spot. Most of the time, the comfy spot was on top of my Bag of Bags. Sometimes he’d squeeze between all the clear totes and then mew at me until I fixed it AKA either made more room for him or helped him get back out.

When I moved out of my mom’s house and couldn’t take him with me was the hardest two years of my life. I’d go see him everyday after work and would see him for at least an hour every Saturday. It wasn’t enough. When I moved in with my dad’s sister and was able to get my baby back, full time… I’m so glad I had him with me the last two years of his life. He got all of the loves and attention and vet visits he needed/wanted. He made friends with my aunts dogs, Gunner and Bandit, and fell in love with her cat Jackson.

Emmett left us a few days after Bandit did. I just know they’re together again and that Grandma is taking care of them.

I think it makes it a little easier for me, thinking that he’s not alone wherever he is. Picturing Bandit waiting for him and then slobbering all over him before taking him to Grandma.

A huge part of me is missing, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.

[alphacrone]

11 for lockwood and lucy please!

11. picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face 

For once, the job going sideways was not their fault. 

The client had guaranteed the property had been properly vetted by safety inspectors during the day, but that had clearly been a lie. How could Lockwood tell? Well, the stairs he and Lucy had just climbed were now not much more than rotted scaffolding and a pile of rubbish on the floor, ten meters below.

“Well,” Lockwood breathed. “Shit.” 

Lucy cast him an exasperated look. “Let’s just find the source and worry about that after. I’m certain it’s up here.” 

“I trust you,” Lockwood said, glancing down at the hole in the floor where they’d just been. “Not sure I trust this house quite as much. Hope George hasn’t fallen into the basement or through a wall.” 

“We really could do with some better clients,” Lucy said, slowly moving across the room, testing each floorboard before putting her full weight on it. “A modern office building. A school built in our lifetime. A nice, level, totally intact car park. I’m not picky.” 

This made Lockwood chuckle. “I don’t even think Fittes gets jobs like that.” 

“Alas.” Lucy paused, whipping her head to the side, eyes sharp. “Did you hear that?” 

“No.” He rarely heard what Lucy and George did. “I’m seeing some fog in the corner, over by that armoire.” 

“Bet it’s in there,” Lucy said. “I can hear a door opening. Something clicking. Maybe a key in a lock.” 

“Great work.” Lockwood made his way closer to the armoire, rapier aloft. His steps weren’t as cautious as Lucy’s, but he had faith the floor would hold up long enough for him to find the source. “We’re looking for something that locks.”

“Or the key itself.” Lucy sped up her pace, trying to keep up. “Go slower, Lockwood, these floors aren’t stable.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Lockwood brushed her worries aside as the armoire drew near. “The fog’s getting thicker.” He flicked his rapier at it, dispersing the clouds only he could see. 

Lucy appeared at his shoulder, frowning. “There’s a sadness in there,” she said, cryptic as always. “It’s strong.” 

Lockwood gave her a reassuring grin. “That makes it easier to find. You open the doors, I’ll ward anything off.” 

“It’s George’s turn to open mysterious doors,” Lucy grumbled, tentatively placing her hands on the armoire’s knobs. “Ooh, that’s cold.” 

“Well, George is probably running around downstairs like a chicken with its head cut off,” Lockwood told her. “And we’re up here. So, your turn.” 

Lucy pouted and Lockwood’s heart skipped a beat. She always surprised him by how cute she could be, pouting like a child in a haunted house because it wasn’t her turn to do the horrible, dangerous thing. Lockwood licked his lips and shook away those thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. 

“On three,” he said and Lucy glanced sideways at him. “One…two…” 

“LOCKWOOD!” 

Before he could say three, Lucy was pulling him against her, the two of them stumbling back against the window. Something icy cold brushed past him, just missing contact, and Lockwood realized as they tumbled over that the ghost had snuck up behind them. 

Unfortunately, it seemed the windows of this God-forsaken house were as feeble as the floors. They crashed through the rotted wood frame and fractured glass as easily as though it were wet paper and then they were falling. Why was Lockwood always falling from great heights with Lucy? Why couldn’t their thing be walks in the park or sharing a pack of biscuits? 

The overgrown garden cushioned their landing, though it still knocked the wind from Lockwood’s lungs. He cradled Lucy close to his chest, hoping he took the brunt of the impact. 

“Fuck…” she groaned, breath hot through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Better clients, Lockwood. I’m serious.” 

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Lockwood managed to gasp out. His entire body vibrated like a tuning fork, an electric pain shaking him to his bones. Nothing felt broken, but he didn’t move, just in case. 

Slowly, carefully, Lucy pushed herself to her knees, extracating herself from Lockwood’s arms. She hovered over him, looking for any obvious signs of trauma. There were gashes in her shoulder from the glass and her eyes were a bit unfocused, but overall Lucy seemed alright. Her hair, however, had become a rat’s nest, tangled with leaves and twigs from the shrubbery they’d crashed through. 

Despite himself, Lockwood reached up to pick a half-crushed flower from her temple. He let his fingers brush across her cheek, tracing the curve of it to her jaw. He watched as she swallowed roughly, throat working just below the soft expanse of her neck. Then, with a grin, he presented the flower to her as if it were the greatest jewel in all the land. 

Lucy frowned in confusion, but took the flower nonetheless. Lockwood loved the way her brow furrowed, forming a little crease between her eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but his head was starting to spin, so he put his arm back down. 

“I…I think I might need a medic,” he admitted. “But at least we know where the source is. You and George can go back at dawn to contain it.” 

“You idiot,” she murmured fondly. “Forget the source. I’ll call an ambulance.” 

Lockwood could hear George shouting in the distance, and Lucy called back to him, but their words escaped him. All that mattered to Lockwood was that Lucy still held onto the flower. 

[vintervittrannerd]

Training Challenge #3

“Based on my experience on the beach the day before, I form a new plan.”

How did your rider’s first day of training go? @thescorpioracesfestival

Freya had spent her fair share of time down at the beach during training season. The capaill uisce were driven mad by the autumn sea, and there were too many of them packed at the beach, so injuries that required a vet were bound to happen. The first days of training was always a mess. It was screaming horses and screaming humans and broken bones and blood on the sand and very very little actual helpful training.

Freya wasn’t interested in risking both her and Corax life in the chaos called training that was happening on the beach these first days. Later, after the parade when things are more orderly, she’d take Corax down to train amongst the others. But for now, they’d stick to the cliffs and the occasional early mornings on the beach.

It’s still early, the sun barley risen over the horizon as they make their way down to the beach. It’s not the Skarmouth beach, where everyone would be today, but the beach below their farm. The beach where Freya found Kaja all those years ago. It feels like an eternity ago, and like it was yesterday, all at once.

The beach isn’t fit for riding, it’s too rocky and uneven, but riding is not what they’re here for. Instead, Freya leads Corax along the shoreline, just barley letting the waves touch his hooves. With one hand she’s firmly holding the lead rope, while the other ties knots in Corax mane, and she whispers low and constant in his ears. The knots are to ground herself, to guard from the magic in Corax veins and the lure of the capaill uisce. The whispers are to ground Corax, to remind him that she is there and to distract him from the call of the sea. She leads him back and forward on the beach, each turn taking them a little further into the ocean. It’s a dangerous game, but one they’ve played many times before. Freya has all of her attention on Corax, making sure he still pays attention to her and not the sea, but in doing so she can’t watch the sea for signs of any wild capaill uisce. Luckily, the sea is shallow here, only slowly getting deeper, so the sea horses must rise from the sea a distance away if they want to attack. They’d still reach Freya quickly, but at least she would have a warning.

Corax is calm and focused today, so Freya slowly takes them further out until Corax has water up to the middle of his cannons. Then they stop, and Freya feeds Corax a few pieces of raw meat as they stand still, letting the sea suck and tug at their legs. The sea is luring them, wanting to drag them out into its depth, but it’s still far from November, and they’ve done this every year since Corax was just a colt. They can resist the sea. Freya just hopes that will still be true on the day of the races.

Masterlist

[not-a-space-alien]

All Creatures Great and Small Chapter 9: Post-op

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to @static-stars and @appelsiinilight, without whom I wouldn't have ever written this far into the story! 🥰

Thistle has been through a harrowing experience and has taken just about as much adventure and stress as his tiny body can handle. Let's find out how he's doing!!

***

"Thistle?......... Thistle, are you awake?"

"No," he mumbled.

Amused laughter, faint and far above him.

"Thistle, sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

"Tired," he muttered, fighting through thick black fog to reach the surface where everyone else was. "I'm so tired, I've never been this tired. Please let me sleep. Don't make me be awake yet."

The voices stopped bothering him for a while, and three seconds later when a few more hours had passed, they came back.

“How ya feeling, buddy?”

Thistle groaned and tried to roll over.

“Don’t try and move, sweetheart.”

“When happen?”  Thistle blinked his eyes open, finally being pulled into some semblance of wakefulness.  Everything was dark–until he heard the squeak of metal hinges, and a door opening, letting light flood in on him.

He was in one of the metal kennels he’d seen at the vet’s office.  The ones with wire cage doors, except apparently they’d blocked his off somehow, to keep him secret.  He might have been anxious about this–and about the hands touching his shoulders, but he was still so, so tired–he had no energy to be anxious, let alone try to run away.

“It’s been a few hours.”  Marcy’s voice.  “It seems like everything went well.  How does it feel?”

“It feels like nothing.”

“The pain meds will probably be in his system until tomorrow morning.”  The voice of the doctor, the nice one who’d said she would make his legs stop hurting so much.  “I expect he’ll need more soon.  Just don’t give him more than 2mL in a 24-hour period.”

Thistle fought to accomplish the Herculean feat of raising his head to look down at his legs.  They were all wrapped up, multiple layers of bandages and braces and wire–the whole thing encased in a metal device that looked like it was pulling his leg taut–to keep him from flexing the muscles attached to the broken bones, he realized.

“Thank you,” he said muzzily.  His head dropped back down.

“It should be okay for him to go home now.  Just follow the instructions in that packet.  I’ll make sure I’m alone in the office at 8AM tomorrow, and I should be able to come by at 5, or I can cancel appointments if there’s an emergency.  The pain meds are for however much he needs them, but do make sure he takes the full course of antibiotics.”

“Thank you.  Thank you so much, oh my god, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Just doing my job.”

Marcy’s soft hands on his shoulders again, the pads of her fingers stroking his head.  “Thistle, are you ready to go home now?”

He tilted his head back, looking at her face, enormous and upside-down.  “G’home…?  I’m not still sick…?”

“You’ll be doing the rest of your recovery at home.  We can leave whenever you feel up to it.”

“Okay,” Thistle said.  Up to it, he has to be up to it.  “I can leave–Just, just give me a few minutes to–to stand up.”

“Oh, no,” Marcy said, and there was light pressure from the fingers, pinning him down gently.  “No, don’t get up.  We’re going to be carrying you for a while.”

He sagged with relief.  Of course they wouldn’t be making him walk, that was silly.  Still, the idea of being jostled around in a hand wasn’t much better.  “Okay.  Please just be steady.”

“We rigged up a little thing to carry you,” Marcy said.  “So you can just lie on it, and it’ll keep you as stable as possible.  We need to make sure you don’t move around too much until you’re all better.”

“Oh.”  Marcy was so smart, so kind, so nice…  He reached up and patted her finger.  “Thank you.  Hehe.  Mieas mias…teeel, amamaz….ahaha…Marcy….Telgeta, Marcy, Marcegeta, hehe…”

“All right, don’t hurt yourself, now.”  A little device appeared next to him, something made of wood and cloth and rubber bands.  “I’m going to lie you down in this, okay?”

“Thank you, Marcy.  You’re so smart.”  Huge fingers curled around him, getting under him.  “You’re so smart, and nice…and…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”  The last yell came as Marcy picked him up and electric pain shot through his legs.  He squirmed and whimpered.  “Fuck, hurts, Marcy, hurts, it hurts.”

“Fuck, sorry, sorry.”  Marcy brought her other hand up to support his legs, keeping them straight, and the pain faded.  “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.”

Thistle groaned and tried to stifle his wiggling.

“Lalitha, can you–”

A second pair of hands came over and slid the device underneath of Thistle, and Marcy set him down in it.  He sunk into it comfortably.  It was a little bit like a hammock, suspended by rubber bands, to keep it steady yet allow it to sway, dampening the motions so it didn’t suddenly jolt him.  Thistle quieted down as he was lowered into it, the pain meds erasing all the aches and pains he would have felt while lying there still.

“So how about it, buddy?  You ready to go home?”

“Yes,” Thistle answered, and then immediately fell back asleep.

***

It was dark when he woke up again, but he heard Marcy snoring.  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the faint outline of familiar shapes–his belongings.  He was inside his little wooden house.

He groaned as he came to, his legs aching again.  As he became more lucid, snatches came back to him–Marcy talking to him in the car, carting him into the house, asking where he wanted to be put down.  He’d answered in his little house, on the table.  He barely remembered it–he’d been drifting in and out of sleep the whole time.

He was awake now, though.  He’d gotten a decent amount of sleep–although he would prefer to just keep sleeping if he were perfectly honest—-but what had woken him up was the pain in his lower body.

Oh, that must be the pain meds wearing off.

He remembered Lalitha talking about this.  He just needed to ask for more, right? He fumbled around in bed, trying to think of some way to get Marcy’s attention.  She was quite closeby judging by the snoring, but he was in his little house and all the windows were closed.

“Marcy,” he said, and when he got no response, repeated louder, “Marcy!”

The snoring stopped, and he heard the sound of her enormous body shifting on the couch.  “Hm, Thistle?” her sleepy voice said.

“I’m awake now, Marcy.”

“Can I open the window?”

“Yes.”

Marcy’s hand appeared, drawing the window open, and then her face came down level with the window.  “Hey!  How are you feeling?”

He still hurt, but it didn’t feel like he was actively dying anymore, which was definitely an improvement.  “Better.”

“Good.  Do you wanna come out?”

“Sure.  You can open the roof.”

Marcy unhinged the top of the little wooden construction, reaching down in and picking him up bodily by the hammock-like device he was still lying in.  She set him on the coffee table outside his house, then shut it again.

“I’m starting to hurt again,” he said.  “Can I have medicine?  For the pain?  Or did the doctor say not to yet?”

Marcy checks her phone.  “Let’s see, what time it is…Yeah, it’s been way more than 8 hours at this point, so we should be good to give you another dose.  We need to give you your antibiotics too.”

Thistle let out a puff of air.  “Thank you for keeping track of my medicine, I don’t think I could do it.”

The tip of Marcy’s pointer finger stroked his temple.  “Of course.  You just focus on getting better now.”  She wanted to ask about what had happened, and why he’d run out in the middle of the night, but figured that’d be a conversation for later, when he wasn’t so overwhelmed.  

Marcy got a syringe to measure out the tiny amount of medicine, serving it to him in one of his novelty-sized small mugs.  It tasted foul, but he forced himself to down it.

“What do you want to do now?” Marcy said.  “I imagine you won’t wanna do anything but watch TV for the next few days.”

He nodded.  “I think I’d like to go back to sleep, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.  Back in the house?”

“Nah, I can stay out here.  I’ll just doze.”

“Okay.  I think I’d like to go back to sleep, too.  I’m pretty tired. I called off work today.”

Thistle was completely disoriented about what time of day it was, but luckily he didn’t have to concern himself with such things.  “Okay.”

“Anything else for now?”

“No, I think this is good.  Thank you for taking care of me, Marcy.”

“You’re welcome.”  She smiled fondly at him as she lay down on the couch.  The couch, she’d slept on the couch to be near him, so she could help him as soon as he woke up.  I love you, Marcy.

Marcy was back asleep fairly quickly.  Thistle lay awake a bit longer, waiting for the pain medicine to kick in, so the stabbing pain in his legs would stop keeping him awake.

Movement out of the corner of his eye, from the couch.  Except it wasn’t Marcy.  It was two mousey brown shapes on the back of the couch.

Violet and Petunia, the two mouse-borrowers who’d gotten him into this wretched mess.  They’d put up such a fuss about not wanting to go near humans, and now they were here, two feet away from Marcy as she slept.

“You!” Thistle hissed.

Marcy stirred at his yell, and Violet and Petunia both bolted down and out of sight.  The human rolled over, but otherwise made no movement.

Thistle eased himself back in his hammock a little so that he could sit up.  He crossed his arms stormily.

A minute later, he heard the distinct sound of Violet climbing up onto the coffee table.  Her furry hands appeared a moment later, pulling her up.  Petunia clung to her back like a monkey.

“You have a lot of nerve!” Thistle snapped in a strained whisper.  “You left me there!  You didn’t tell them where I was!”

“No!” Violet said.  “I’m sorry, we tried to do it, to get to the house, but the dug was in the way.”

Thistle’s face darkened.  He was absolutely fuming.  “I was lying there for forever!  I almost died!”

“I’m sorry,” Violet said again.  “I’m sorry, please, please get it, we did our best, I-I wouldn’t have just left ya there, I swear, I swear we tried to get all the way to the house and get the beans’ attention somehow, but they came out on their own before that.”

“I’m sorry, mister,” Petunia said.  “I am, really we are, I promise we’re so, so sorry.”

Thistle let out a sigh.  These two had already been struggling when he’d found them, it was hardly a surprise they’d failed to make it all the way to the house and communicate to the humans where he was, before Marcy realized something was off, woken up by his shout.  “Okay, I guess.  Well, I had surgery, and I should get better, so I guess it’s okay.”

“So you’ll let us stay here?” Violet said.

“What!” Thistle peeped.  “When did I say that?”

They all fell quiet as Marcy let out a breath and rolled over again.

“Please let us,” Petunia said.  “Please, our folks passed down, and it’s just been Vivi trying t'take care of me, and it’s so hard to find a good place.”

Thistle rubbed his temples.  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just tell Marcy you’re here?”

“Please don’t!” Petunia cried, terrified.  “Please!  The beans can’t know!”

Same as Jewel.  He wanted to tell, so, so badly, he didn’t want to keep things from Marcy.  But he knew all too well what it felt like to be terrified and helpless before someone so much larger and more powerful than you.

“Fine,” he sighed disgustedly.  “It’s not my house, so I don’t have the authority to give you permission to stay.  But I won’t tell Marcy you’re here.”

Petunia smiled widely, showing the gap between her front teeth, and clapped her little hands.  “Thank you, mister!  You won’t even know we’re here!”

Sheesh, how many little creatures were going to secretly call this place home ? Thistle settled back down into his hammock.  “Well, if you’re going to-”

He looked up to see that they’d already gone, leaving him alone.

“Goddamn it!” Thistle shouted.

Marcy jolted.  “Hm?  Is everything all right?”

“Oh,” said Thistle.  “Um, yeah.  Sorry.”

“Did you move your leg in a way that hurt?”

Ugh, he hated this, hated hated hated being expected to lie to Marcy.  He nodded, knowing if he opened his mouth to try and lie a bunch of garbage would come out.

“Well, let me know if you want more medicine.  Sleep well.”

****

UPDATE 2/3/23 - It's come to my attention that the tag list is sometimes not giving people notifications even though I have you listed here. I have fiddled with the tag list to try and fix it. I guess let me know if it works or not? it seems like for some people changing their URL might have caused a problem 🤷‍♂️

@cloudwatchingtoday   @theepiccreatorofmagic-blog-blog  @waitisthatgt @itssmoltime @ratcatcher0325  @crazytinygirl @bittykimmy13  @whumpsday @theroyaleemily @kitn-underfoot 

@tinyguy42069

@jewel-fan-wys

@cheeseybeans8

@whumpshaped

@lucentbliss

@alilbitlesbian

@aceouttatime

@alarcomet

@becca-but-bitty

@tiny--pineapple

@bittykimmy13

@whumpsday

@kitn-underfoot

@gt-brainrot

[lolablackwrites]

MC Mixer #2--Alice x Bastien

Here is my submission for week 2 of @choicesmcmadness​ ‘s MC Mixer!

Hello, Trend readers! Check out this online exclusive sneak peek from our upcoming exclusive interview with the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria, Alice Ayers and Bastien Lykel.

—Ana de Luca

***

Ana: As the newest duke and duchess of Cordonia, the two of you must have to attend a lot of parties.

Alice: I find them easier to stomach if I think of them as networking events.

Bastien: Which they are—from the outside it might look like just a party, but policies and international relations can be made or broken at these events. Alice in particular has been very adept at navigating these and strengthening Cordonia’s position on the world stage.

Ana: My other sources have said the same thing.

Alice: (laughing) You both give me too much credit. It has to do with my years of bartending and learning how to talk to just about anyone.

Ana: A skill I’m sure comes in handy, especially at events with an open bar…

Alice: I can neither confirm nor deny this…although I did once impress another member at court with my knowledge of top shelf whiskey.

Ana: I’d be remiss if I interviewed you for Trend and didn’t ask you about fashion—what are you wearing to these events?

Alice: If it were up to me, I’d exclusively wear jeans and my leather jacket. (Laughs). But in the best interest of Valtoria and Bertrand’s blood pressure, I’m very fortunate to have those with better fashion sense than me at my side—especially Hana.

Ana: Just to clarify, you mean Lady Hana Lee?

Alice: Of course. She’s an incredibly talented seamstress and the only reason I look even mildly presentable most of the time is because of her.

Ana: Lady Hana is quite talented—the photos of your wedding dress were stunning. Now, Bastien, I understand you had a hand in that?

Bastien: Only in that I recruited Hana to make Alice’s dress, I can’t take any credit for the final product.

Ana: And what about the fashion you wear to these events?

Bastien: I honestly wasn’t aware anyone was looking at me, seeing as I’m always standing next to her.

Alice swats his arm and smiles before taking his hand.

Alice: You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re particular about your suits and you always have them tailored so they fit you perfectly. Your style is timeless.

Ana: I have to agree—I’ve had a lot of men asking me about your suits.

Bastien: It’s like Alice said, it’s all about the tailoring.

Ana: Let’s talk a bit more about party prep—what do you do to get ready before any big event?

Bastien: Nothing too extensive, just a shower and shave. I can get away with a lot less than Alice.

Ana: It’s true, men get off easy. Alice, what about you?

Alice: It depends on the event, really. Sometimes I hire someone to do my hair and makeup so I’m sure things turn out right, other times I do it myself. Mostly my party prep includes psyching myself up to be “on” for the event. Despite how I might come across, I’m a homebody at heart.

Ana: As we know, you two are currently expecting your first child, so arranging for child care isn’t an issue quite yet.

Alice: (Laughs as she places a hand on her stomach). Not yet, for now this little one just goes with us. But that is something we’re going to have to consider sooner rather than later.

Bastien: Because of our obligations at court, we’re already starting that process now and reviewing applicants for a nanny.

Ana: I can only imagine what that process looks like, especially as King Liam as named your child as the royal heir.

Alice: Olivia is personally vetting each applicant.

Ana: Given the queen’s reputation as a Nevrakis, I can only imagine what that entails.

Alice: She’s…thorough. And a force to be reckoned with, which is why we love her, both as a friend and as the queen of Cordonia.

Ana: It’s true, our beloved queen is a powerhouse. Let’s circle back to your party prep—how do you usually get to your events?

Bastien: Given that we attend many events while being hosted here or at the homes of the other members of court, our travel usually includes walking downstairs. But when given the opportunity, I’ll drive us.

Alice: Bas restores vintage cars and I get to be the lucky one who is chauffeured around. Who wouldn’t love that?

***

The full interview with the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria will run in our next print issue.

[talkativetrashpanda]

One of the things I’ve been dreading has happened. We had to put Emma to sleep. I’ve lost dogs before, but that pain was NOTHING compared to this. Emma was more than just a pet. I grew up with my first dog, Kristen, and she passed away when we were fifteen. I was devastated, we’d literally grown up together, but I was too young to have a deep connection with her like I did Emma.

2013 was a horrible year. Arguably the worst in my life. We lived in a duplex owned by my grandfather, he lived on the other side. I was very very close to my grandfather and we spent A LOT of time together. I literally spent time with him every single day. I was a senior in high school when he had a massive heart attack and died.

We’d just been there. Not even ten minutes before. We asked what he wanted for lunch, and mom headed back to our side to cook. When we came back, he was gone. He’d had a massive heart attack that (thankfully) killed him instantly. But my mom and I found him. It was an incredibly traumatic experience that I still have a crystal clear image of in my brain, but at least I’m able to talk about it now.

He died in October. Kristen died EXACTLY a month later, to the day. It was devastating, trying to cope with two major losses. A few months later, I experienced a third, when my boyfriend of three years dumped me in a text message and ran off to florida with some whore. We’d literally been planning a life together after school. He’d given me a promise ring, which he said he’d replace with an engagement ring once we graduated. He’d given me absolutely no indication he’d changed his mind and I was completely blindsided. It was for the best in the long run, but at that time, it felt like I’d lost everything.

We’d said no more dogs after Kristen, but we were all so heartbroken and lost that we decided to get a puppy. I’ve taken the long way around to explain that we raised Emma, and I don’t know how we would have gotten through all that without her. My mom said she knows for certain that dog saved her life. I know she saved mine.

Trying to go on without her is just…it feels impossible. I got through everything with her. She was there every time I was sick, or had surgery, or had my heart broken. She was the one that comforted me when I was hurting and now she’s gone.

It’s even worse for my mom. Emma was basically her emotional support dog. I’m pretty sure she loved Emma as much as she loved me. When she was coping with my grandfather’s death, she’d sit up at night and hold Emma and talk to her. Emma always listened, too. She’d cock her head when you spoke to her and she’d make eye contact the whole time. And she was so damn smart.

She had such a huge personality too. She’d argue with you, she’d throw tantrums like a toddler. She was smart enough to understand you and stubborn enough to ignore you. God, I still can’t believe she’s gone.

We knew it was coming. We knew she had heart failure and we were on borrowed time. We tried to prepare, but how can you? Nothing compares to the real thing. We were given 12-14 months, and we got sixteen. We could see her deteriorating. We could see her beginning to struggle. But she was so damn happy and playful.

We called her wiggle butt because she’d always wag her tail so hard her whole butt shook. She was still doing it when my parents took her to the vet. But she was struggling to breathe and we swore we wouldn’t let her suffer.

I was worried about how my mom would take it, I figured it would destroy her and I was right. They brought her home and she was in a little box, sort of like a coffin. I’d originally said I didn’t want to see her, but mom said she just looked like she was sleeping so I went to say goodbye. And she did, she looked peaceful. It was what came afterward that’s been really traumatic.

Mom was convinced she was still breathing. She made me feel Emma’s chest and was begging me to tell her she was still breathing. Obviously she wasn’t. I had to tell her. She still wouldn’t let Emma go. I told her she had to and she started screaming that she couldn’t. Having to pull my mother away from my dead dog is something I’ll never be able to unsee. Then she started having a panic attack and I had to make her breathe. She was inconsolable. She heard dad begin digging the grave and freaked out. She’d originally said cremation would be silly and expensive but she couldn’t stand the idea of burying her. Then she freaked out about them burning her. I told her she had to choose. She finally chose cremation and I was able to call a place and make arrangements. A family friend offered to cover the cost.

I haven’t really had time to process my own grief and feelings. I expected my dad to stay strong, as he’s usually the strong one, but both my parents have been wrecks. So I’ve been the strong one, making the arrangements and taking care of things. Unfortunately we had to go to Nashville literally the next day for my wrist surgery. It’s been a time.

My dad said something he meant as a compliment, but upset me. “You’re handling this so well.” That’s something I have heard my entire life, and it was never true. I just got better and better at hiding it. My childhood was pretty damn traumatic in an unconventional way (death, death, medical trauma, more death, etc) and I didn’t deal with any of it. I just packed it away. For YEARS I heard “gosh, Allie has handled everything so well, she’s so mature. I couldn’t have handled it. I’m impressed with how she takes everything in stride!”

No I just got excellent at concealing and repressing and has crippling anxiety and depression and wanted to die a little bit.

But I digress.

Hearing those words again were triggering. I can’t do that again, I can’t repress everything again. I’ll lose my mind. But right now I have to be the strong one, the level headed one, and I feel like it won’t be long before the dam breaks.

[janeykath318]

Taserbones Royalty AU friends to lovers

“Are you okay, your highness?”

Darcy was sitting in a reverie beside the giant fountain in the garden of her palatial country palace. She’d just ended a very public relationship and had fled to the peaceful spot to get away from the annoying questions. Everyone was disappointed in her.

She looked up at the sound of Brock’s voice approaching. He was her trusted security chief and a close friend and unbeknownst to him, the reason she’d broken up with Ian. She’d decided she couldn’t marry someone just to earn public approval and she’d been kidding herself that her feelings for Ian were anything beyond surface level. If only she’d got a clue sooner, she thought.

Brock looked ruggedly handsome and professional in his dark suit, but his usual badass poker face had been replaced with concern. She swallowed. Did she dare admit it? What if he didn’t feel the same?

“Relieved, actually,” she answered him. “I couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t fair for either of us. No one else gets it and I can’t deal with any more disappointed lectures. I just need a friend.”

“Well, you’ve got one, Darce,” he reassured her, standing a respectful distance away, as was his habit.

“I know you’re off duty, so get over here,” she ordered, patting the stone bench beside her.

He grinned at her and obeyed.

Heaven help her, but she loved that grin. It was rare, but gorgeous. She couldn’t help but stare.

“Um…..Darce, do I have something on my face? You’re looking at me funny.”

“Oh, sorry,” she blushed, returning her gaze to the fountain. “I’m all out of sorts today.”

“I gathered that,” he observed. “But I’m glad you made the hard choice to follow your gut. Ian would have made you miserable. He clearly didn’t appreciate you.”

Darcy couldn’t help but smile at the way he emphasized appreciate. Almost made it sound like he meant it another way……but no, it was just her crush making her read way too much into things.

“So far, you and Jane have been the only people who understand that,” she told him sadly, a trace of wariness in her tone. “But there was a much bigger problem than him not appreciating me.”

“And what was that?” he asked.

Darcy toyed with her jacket hem as she tried to find words.

“Um………I……might be in love with someone else,” she managed, avoiding even looking his direction. She felt like she was on the verge of a precipice, scared to ruin their friendship, but scared not to say anything.

“Ah-hah! So now we get to the root of the issue,” Brock declared, folding his arms and looking (if she had seen it) delighted.

“You gonna tell me who he is so I can vet him?” he asked. “Gotta make sure he passes muster.”

Darcy smiled. She loved that protective part of him, even if it annoyed her sometimes.

“Oh, he’s pretty trustworthy,” she hinted. “I’m pretty sure he’d die for me.”

“Wow. Sounds hardcore,” Brock commented. “I approve. What else?”

“He listens to me ramble about science, he never talks down to me, he knows my go-to take out order by heart, he laughs at my bad jokes, and I’m pretty sure he’s got killer abs hiding under those tight black shirts,” she finished, turning pink again.

Brock was looking right at her now, understanding dawning in his expression.

Her heart started pumping rapidly.

“Also, he’s my best friend.” she added, giving the last piece of the puzzle.

“So, what you’re saying is, I should run a background check on myself?” he asked quietly, looking at her very intently.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” Darcy admitted, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for the worst.

Brock didn’t say anything for a moment, but then she felt herself pulled up against him and an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“There are all sorts of reasons why I should say this is a bad idea, but I’m going to just say, It’s about effing time. And yea, I do have killer abs.”

Darcy opened her eyes to see him smiling at her with a sexy mischievous gleam in his eyes that definitely boded well for her.

“So, you feel the same way?” she ventured hopefully.

“You bet your diamond tiara I do,” he said, then kissed away her last doubt.

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: jennifer morrison

full name: windsor archer browning

nickname(s) / goes by: winnie, win, windy. 

pronouns & gender: she/her,  cis woman

sexuality: heterosexual

birth date: may 26th, 1980

birth place: Nashville, TN. 

arrival to merrock: 2002 (after college)

housing: The Coast and Pier

occupation: stay at home mom + part time large animal vet

work place: Merrock Countryside

family: theo browning (husband) + 2 children

relationship status: married

PERSONALITY

windsor is a kind and loving soul, she's very sweet and open, but don't take her as a fool. her pretty face and blue eyes may have you mistaking her for someone who's foolish and naive, but pay no mind, her parents made sure from a very young age that she knows what she's worth, how to never take no for an answer and to stand your ground and protect your people over everything. 

WRITTEN BY: Charlie (she/her), gmt+3.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content: affair tw

Windsor Archer is the daughter of big investment banker, William James Archer, from Nashville. She’s the daughter of an affair he had with his secretary when he was 35, and when her mother realized he wasn’t going to marry her after having his daughter because it’s not what he wanted, she left Windsor with him and never came back. It didn’t mean William never loved Winnie any less. 

William worked a lot, which in turn had Winnie raised by lots of maids and staff, but he still loved his daughter very much and everything he did, he did to give her the best life possible. He spent every second of the weekend with her, playing outside, going to her horse riding competitions and watching Disney movies together. With her dad being outside of the house until the very late hours of the night, Windsor turned to after school activities to keep herself interested. She’s always been very interested in animals and loved them as a child, keeping all sorts random pets at home and taking the stray ones she found on the street to the shelter. She’s always had a special bond with animals that couldn’t be explained, from the horses she rode and jumped on since she was old enough to hold onto reins, to the dogs and cats that came into her house uninvited and found a new home.

Windsor worked her fingers to the bone to get into college -not that her dad couldn’t have waved one finger and gotten her into any finance program she wished, but she wanted to make it by herself-, and she sent out tens of application letters. So when the letter came from Florida telling her that the University of Florida program of Veterinary Medicine would be delighted to have her, she couldn’t have jumped high enough. Moving to Florida was going to be a big jump in her life, she loved her dad and wanted nothing more than to be with him, but this was a change she wanted to do. Move away from the nest, create a life for herself. She was gonna miss her dad, he was her best friend, but this was her lifelong dream. A chance to study the every animal in the world? Hell yeah.

Moving to Florida was such breath of fresh air. Her father visited at least once a month whenever he could, and Winnie lived for those moments with him, but she’d definitely found herself and had broken out of her shell of being a little girl, transforming herself into a young woman.

While in Florida, one night at a bar, she met Theo. He looked like the guy every girl wanted to date, and she couldn’t be bothered at first to fight through the competition, figuring he could be a good friend and just that. He was so interesting, working towards becoming a firefighter, he had great morals and values, and wasn't bad looking either. She would've been happy with being just friends for longer, but one night, but after a few drinks and an even longer conversation, it clicked on her. She was in love with him. And nothing else, nobody else, would do. They lived together in Florida while they were both in college, and after they were done with their degrees, Theo wanted to return to Merrock. Winnie’s dad would’ve loved if she'd returned to Nashville, he’d already lined up a residency at a racetrack there, but Windsor wouldn't spend a day without Theo, so she said no. She would return to Merrock with him, and do her residence at the big animal hospital in Maine thirty minutes away. 

After she was done with residency, she started working at Harmony Ranch as their on-call veterinarian for five years, but that all stopped about when she got pregnant with Riley, and soon after him, Lily came along. With two kids, and Theo always out of the house with his job and training, she realized that working a high demand job wasn’t really in the cards for her, so she hung up her coat and dedicated herself to being a mom to her two children and all their pets. Now that the kids are older, she’s picking the old habit back up, offering to do emergency or last minute calls at the ranch or the animal sanctuary for no pay at all, only to be in contact with the animals and make sure she hasn’t lost her touch with healing. Both from Theo’s side of the family and her dad setting up a generous trust fund he still feeds daily for his grandkids, Winnie wouldn’t have to work if she didn’t want to. 

Aside from being a mom, Windsor likes painting, still enjoys horseback riding whenever she an, going to her kids soccer games and spending time with her family. 

[j-graysonlibrary]

Silverfalls Court Chapter 10

Title: Silverfalls Court

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 50K

Genres: drama, suspense, who-done-it, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: A young girl, lost in the bliss of her first relationship, will do anything in the pursuit of what she believes is true love—even sneaking out of her house in the dead of night. Unfortunately, she is met by someone she didn’t quite expect. Her fight or flight instincts kick in but she in no match for the killer in the woods.

And her death won’t be the only one.

The once peaceful and quaint neighborhood of Silverfalls Court is thrown into chaos and upheaval when bodies keep showing up in the woods. When it becomes apparent that the murderer must be one of them, suspicions grow thick and trust is shattered.

Some, like Lisa-Marie Castel, want to play detective and solve the case on their own while others, like Dominique Pulmer, want to keep their heads down and wait for things to return to normal. Some might even wish to capitalize on the bizarre nature of the story while those who have been personally affected are left to pick up the broken pieces of their lives amidst the chaos.

Full chapter 10 under the cut:

10. Good Faith

Every day Dominique had walked across the street and rang Lamar’s doorbell. And every day he waited on the porch for at least five minutes. Once or twice a week, he’d walk around the house, seeing what he could glean from the windows.

There was never any response. There was never anything suspicious that he could see from outside. There was just…nothing.

Occasionally, Dom would be joined by someone else whether they shared his concern for Lamar (Diana and Carson) or if they just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to break in and steal something (the Dicksons and Karowitz).

Dom rang the bell as was his new ritual and waited. He knocked too—just to be sure—but, of course, the result was the same as it always was.

He crossed his arms and cursed under his breath. Both Lamar and Susan’s cars were still parked in the driveway like monuments to their disappearance and death respectively.

“Hey!” The yell of Karowitz carried through the air so Dom reluctantly turned to face his house. The man wobbled down his front steps and pointed his finger at him. “What are you doing over here again?”

“Same thing as last time, Sebastian,” Dom said with a forced smile. He knew the old war vet had a gun strapped to him somewhere and he had little doubt that he’d use it if he felt he needed to. That threshold, however, was hard for Dom to judge so he figured playing nice from the start was his best bet. “I’m just checking to see if maybe Lamar came back. You never know.”

Karowitz scowled deeply and looked to the Vick’s place with narrowed eyes. “Well he ain’t there.”

“…Seems not.”

“Then you ought to get back home.” The man waved his hand to the side as if to shoo Dom back to his house.

There was only so much he could take—he was a grown man not some pesky fly. Dom set his hands on his hips and stared down at Karowitz. “Why does it bother you so much, Sebastian? You don’t want to get to the bottom of everything that happened? Or does it just make you uncomfortable to see me outside? To see me at all?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he snapped, “You know how I feel ‘bout all these killings. It was that man in there who done it and now he’s run off. Case closed. Why you gotta stick your big nose in it?”

“Maybe I don’t believe it is a closed case,” Dom challenged.

Sebastian let out a breathy sigh before he shook his head. “Shoulda figured you’d stick up for your ‘brotha’. Makes sense. But even you gotta face the facts eventually.”

Thinly veiled racism aside, Sebastian was right—just not in the way he meant to be. Dom frowned and slowly started to nod. “I do have to face the facts.”

The facts were that he’d seen, without a shadow of a doubt, the Castels walk away with Lamar. Reason led him to the conclusion that they must have either A; taken him somewhere else to help him ‘escape’ or B; they had brought them to their house. Lisa-Marie helping a suspect escape made no sense so it was immediately tossed aside which only left the option that they escorted him to their house.

And it made sense. If Lisa-Marie was playing detective then she’d want the chance to interrogate someone as well. Even if she didn’t think Lamar was responsible, he was still the last victim’s husband so, in any normal scenario, he would have been questioned anyway. If she took that role upon herself then she would most likely take him to her house and question him there.

But no one had seen him since. So he had to still be there.

Dom felt his stomach twist into a pretzel the more he thought about it. How would he even approach the situation if he was right? Talk to Lisa-Marie? He doubted that would get him far. Calling the cops was out of the question too. Clearly, they were no help.

The only person he had to discuss his theory with was Collin. For a brief moment he considered calling Diana and Carson over but if he was wrong in his assumptions, he didn’t want to rile them up or, worse, scare them.

Collin wasn’t directly involved so he had a perspective that was unique and valued. He might even see something that Dom missed on Thanksgiving.

Well after sundown, Collin came over, looking exhausted. He was in the throes of the last semester at college so it was understandable. The bags under his eyes would disappear once he started work and his energy would slowly return over time. Dom remembered those days well.

“Thanks for coming by,” he said and helped him out of his outer layers. As he pulled the coat off of his arms he recognized it. With a smile, he asked, “Is this the coat I bought you for Christmas?”

Collin brightened up and smiled. “It is. I wear it all the time—it’s very cozy.”

Dom hung it up on the coat rack before giving him a small kiss. “I’m glad.”

“I hope you don’t mind but I’m probably not going to be very fun tonight,” Collin said as he headed toward the living room. “I’m so tired.”

“We can just watch a movie or something.” He didn’t mind a low-energy date. “I do have something I wanted to talk to you about though.”

His boyfriend threw himself down on the couch, quickly getting comfortable. “Nothing serious, is it?”

“Yes but it’s not relationship related if that helps.” Dom smiled a little to ease any worry he might have had.

Apparently, it was unnecessary as Collin chuckled. “Of course not. What problems could you possibly have with me?”

Dom decided not to touch that at all and instead just sat beside him. “It’s about Lamar.”

“Is he still missing?” Collin grabbed the TV remote off of the coffee table and then leaned back into the couch. He started flipping through channels but still glanced over occasionally.

“..Yes.” Dom sighed. “It’s been almost two months now and…I just don’t believe he ran off.”

“He didn’t seem like the type, no,” Collin agreed but did little more than shrug.

“I worry he’s still in Lisa-Marie’s house,” he said and tensed when his boyfriend finally gave him his full attention.

Collin’s brow furrowed and his lower lip poked out just a little more than usual. “You think…Lisa-Marie and her…very average husband…are keeping Lamar—the Greek God of a man—locked away in their house?”

“It was the last time I saw him,” Dom explained though, at this point, he could tell he was losing Collin, “And no one saw him leave. Couple that with the fact no one has seen him at all since then and…what else am I supposed to think?”

“…Still…” Collin frowned.

“I mean,” he started but then stopped immediately as he tried to reason it aloud, “Lamar had to have been devastated when they took him in. I saw him. He looked depressed as hell—he probably just found out about Susan. They offer him a nice place to sit and talk and…who knows? Lisa-Marie probably has several pairs of handcuffs at her disposal. She could have just been trying to play the cop role on her own but things went wrong?”

Collin stared at him and blinked in silence for a few seconds. “That’s quite the picture you painted. I…suppose I can see it but, I don’t know. You’d think someone would have heard or seen something in that case, right?”

It made sense that if Lamar was locked up against his will that he would have called for help and his yells would have been heard by the Castel’s neighbors. Unless Lisa-Marie had a soundproof room or a crazy basement. Both of those options seemed likely when Dom really thought about it but he doubted Collin would be on the same page as him.

The real question he had—assuming Lamar was taken in and possibly handcuffed somewhere in the depths of the Castel’s house—was why had two months passed with no news? After a few days, anyone would have started to tell Lisa-Marie whatever she wanted to hear just to be let out of there and, if that happened, then Lamar would have been taken in by the cops by now.

So either his imprisonment had nothing to do with the ‘investigation’ or he wasn’t alive anymore. Or, Dom was still willing to humor, Lamar never went to the Castels. Even if it seemed less and less likely the more he thought about it, he still kept it open as a possibility.

“You know, the more I consider the possibilities, the more worried I get,” Dom admitted after a few moments. 

“You’re a worrywart, that’s why.” Collin snickered softly almost to himself. His eyes were back on the TV as he landed on some reality show that Dom had never seen.

He wanted to keep working through theories but he could see his boyfriend’s eyelids flicker and slowly droop. There was no sense in carrying on when he was clearly about to fall asleep.

Dom rubbed his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”

Collin pouted like a stubborn child. “It’s only ten though.”

“AKA, my usual bedtime.”

That at least got a laugh out of him. Collin nodded and then turned the TV off. “Alright. You win.”

“Don’t act like you’re not tired.” Dom helped him up from the couch. “A mature adult knows their limits, you know.”

“Isn’t that what you always tell me when I drink too much?”

“…Well it applies here too.”

He had to practically push him into the bedroom with how badly he was dragging his feet. Dom undressed on his own and kept looking to Collin who was slowly removing his shirt with eyes that looked closed already. He smirked and shook his head.

“Just get in bed,” he told him and pulled down some of the covers. Every so often, sleeping with pants on was just inevitable, Dom knew from experience. Though, if he said it aloud, he knew Collin would chalk it up to being another nugget of his ‘old man wisdom’.

***

A bright light landed over Dom’s face, waking him before he was ready. His brow knotted and he frowned before slowly opening his eyes and looking about the room.

The window was pulled open and he was fairly sure he hadn’t left it like that when he went to bed. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, removing the last bit of sleep from them.

“Collin?” he called out groggily but received no response.

Dom turned to look beside him and saw that the bed was empty. Odd, Collin usually slept later than he did.

Even stranger was the folded up piece of paper on the nightstand. He snatched it up and opened it, instantly recognizing Collin’s handwriting on the page.

“Morning sleepyhead!

I got up early and I decided to help you out since I know you’ll never do it yourself. Don’t worry, I brought my phone with me in case things go south.

If it’s not clear, I’m going to Lisa-Marie’s place. I figured I’d ask her straight away what she knows instead of you brooding over all the possibilities for who knows how long. If I’m still gone when you read this then maybe you can come join me.

Xoxo,

Collin”

Dom woke all the way up and was instantly filled with energy. He rushed to the bathroom to freshen up in what had to have been record time for him. Before leaving his house, he threw on a couple of coats that were probably mismatched but he didn’t care.

No one else in the neighborhood was up yet, it seemed, so Dom ran to the next cul-de-sac without stopping. If anyone had been outside he might have had to stop to give an excuse for his erratic and urgent behavior.

Even in the other cul-de-sac, it was like a ghost town. The only occupied porch was Lisa-Marie’s. From the other side of the circular road, Dom could see Collin sitting on the woman’s patio chair.

There was less reason to run so he slowed down and just kept his eyes fixed on his boyfriend. The irritation that had been secondary to the fear started to push itself to the forefront the closer he got.

Along with Collin there was, of course, Lisa-Marie. She poured him a glass of what looked like lemonade before sitting down across from him and talking with animated hand gestures.

Dom made it to the base of the stairs and, by then, the two had definitely taken note of him and looked over. “What’s going on?” he asked, unable to hide the frustration in his voice.

“We’re just chatting,” Lisa-Marie responded with a smile. “Want to join?”

Dom looked from her to Collin.

“It’s fine,” Collin said and coaxed him closer, “Come sit.”

Against his better judgment, Dom took the spot next to Collin. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to know what Lisa-Marie had to say for herself.

If she had some grand explanation.

If she had anything to say at all.

“I was just explaining what happened with Lamar,” she opened with and rested her hands on her knees. “See, my husband and I did bring him over to talk but he left after about an hour.”

“See?” Collin smiled.

“I know it must have looked suspicious,” Lisa-Marie said and scratched the back of her head, “I had no idea you’d seen us. Otherwise, I would have talked to you sooner than this.”

“I figured it was just a misunderstanding,” Collin confidently replied.

She grinned and nodded in his direction. “Right,” she said before turning her gaze back on Dom, “But I do understand your concern, Dominique. I would have been worried too. Really.”

Something about her wording still didn’t sit right with Dom. She always laid things on a little too thickly for his taste and this was no different. Only now, his longstanding dislike of the woman was mixed with his ever growing suspicion.

“So,” Dom started and felt his boyfriend’s stare burning into the side of his head. He knew what was expected of him in the moment but he couldn’t help but push his boundaries. Just this once. It was too important to not try. “You wouldn’t mind showing us around your house?”

“Dom,” Collin spoke lowly and there was a hidden warning in his voice.

Lisa-Marie, however, chuckled. “It’s fine if that’ll convince you. I don’t have a problem with it since I’m telling the truth.”

“No, we don’t need to walk around in your house,” Collin said and placed a hand on Dom’s arm but the grip was much tighter than it appeared. “We should head back. Sorry for bothering you.”

Dom’s jaw set and he felt torn. He didn’t want to upset Collin any further, obviously, but he did want to check Lisa-Marie’s house. Even if she said it was fine, he didn’t believe her.

He didn’t believe anything she was saying.

But he knew he’d wind up bending to Collin’s will. It was the safer option anyway and, as much as Dom wanted to get to the bottom of what happened with Lamar, he wouldn’t put them at risk if he could help it. Just because Lisa-Marie was clearly full of shit didn’t mean he had to be the one to expose her.

He wasn’t the hero type.

[kitty-cross]

[WARNING: ANIMAL DEATH. in the storytime too]

I'm more like the happy, cute illustration kind of girl - as you probably already noticed - who usually doesn't really do pieces from pure emotion, but this month's beginning was actually really hard for me. Like, rock bottom hard. Overall, life was too much, everything became overwhelming and around the 3rd of May I really thought for a second that I didn't want to continue it. I wanted to run away from my life, leaving everything behind. Understand as you wish, you're probably not wrong.

The only thing that kept me going was music, but The Poet and the Pendulum became my theme song, and if you know this story, you know what it means.

I had two panic attacks that day. Two breakdowns, but I had to go because of my work and then I scraped myself together enough to go to the nail salon. My nails are still short, even though it's been over a year and I haven't even touched a guitar. I was walking home when life hit me in the face with such a maternal slap as the world has never seen.

Call it the main character moment, call it destiny, intervention of the universe and beyond, or just a series of coincidences that turned out exactly like this. To be honest, I don't care, but for me it was the biggest slap I ever got, enlightening and sobering, the greatest manifestation of my strangely religious still without organized religion spirituality. And because of this ‘i’m one of the parts of Mother Nature’ belief of me, I am the person who, every time I walk down the street, even pays attention not to scare the birds.

I didn't for once. I was so down that I couldn't think about anything but my pain. The song on my phone switched from The Poet and the Pendulum to Amaranth, at the exact moment when a blackbird, scared of me and the people coming towards me, was hit by a car passing next to us. If you know me, you know very well that I will even take a thrown plant home to save it (...happened last week), not to pass an injured animal. The poor thing was very much alive, but it was terribly scared, so after we scraped it off the road, we tried to see if it had broken anything. Quite honestly, I'm not even sure if the car caused it or the little fool herself as she suffered on the ground, but when I caught her so that she wouldn't do more damage to herself, she was already behaving strangely. I started to go home with her to find a vet, but she did not survive.

That poor thing died in my hands. Literally.

And she took with her all of my pain, all my second thoughts about whether it made sense to continue.

Does it make sense? Or I'm really just delusional.

I won't lie, I publicly cried the rest of the way home. Then I cried all night, so much so that I couldn't open my eyes the next morning. My eyes were so swollen.

Like everything that happens to me, of course I told this too to my little sister, even if I wasn't able to put it correctly into words. Probably I still could not make justice in writing for what all happened to me because I’m not a writer or a poet, just somebody who draws. So I drew it. Out of my system, out of my heart. Is this the most unique creation in the world? Of course not. Do I feel that somehow I commemorated the little bird who saved my life from myself with her own death? I hope.

My little sister said that maybe I should check out of the meaning of blackbirds, although the meaning was completely clear to me without symbolism. But it's even weirder that it also resonates: “a dead blackbird may symbolize a release of negative emotions.” “One of the most common interpretations of the symbolism of dead birds is a fresh start, renewal, and transformation. It can also be taken as a warning for some danger that your soul is about to go through.”

Are there so many coincidences in real life? Why does this feel like someone wrote it and not like it happened to me?

[cursivebloodlines]

Dougie smiled gently as he listened to Felicity talk about her paintings. It was nice, actually—her enthusiasm shone through as she described her work.. He could almost picture it in his mind: picture an old pubs, faces of some regulars, and endless scenes that seemed to tell stories all on their own. There was something very comforting about that, about capturing moments of life that others might walk past without a second thought. “That sounds incredible,” he said softly, his hands pausing for a moment as he looked up at her. “You’re painting life as it happens; real people, real places… it’s like you’re freezing those moments in time. I don’t think you should apologize at all for talking about it. I’d be nervous too if someone was operating on my dog, but honestly, I think it’s lovely hearing you talk about what you’re passionate about.” One of his favourite things about people was listening to them talk about their greatest loves, their hobbies, the things that make life worth living. He adores how animated they become, hearing the warmth and love in their words. It was everything.

As he continued to work, Dougie appreciated the way she tried to turn the focus back onto him. It was kind of her to say that his work was an art form too, though he didn’t entirely agree. Art was beautiful, crafted with love and care. Surgery and veterinary work, well… it was messy, stressful, and didn’t always end in a beautiful outcome. But the sentiment was nice. “I guess you’re right in some ways,” he mused with a small chuckle, a light flush rising to his cheeks. “There’s definitely a rhythm to it, a certain balance you have to keep. But you’re giving me too much credit. What you do—putting yourself out there with your art for the world to see—that’s the real bravery.”

He turned back to Rosie as she lay on the table, peaceful and relaxed despite the earlier ordeal. The broken leg was certainly an issue, but it could be fixed with a proper cast and care. Dougie was just glad she didn’t seem to be in too much pain. “She’s doing well,” he reassured Felicity as he gently stroked the dog’s fur. “She’s been an absolute trooper. We’ll need to get her leg in a cast, but nothing’s too serious. It’s just going to take some time for her to heal up fully. But I’m fairly optimistic that with some regular check ups and plenty of rest, she’s going to be just finel.” 

Dougie couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of going to Felicity’s show. It sounded like she was so talented. Of course she was, if she didn’t have any talent then there wouldn’t be a show with her work! The fact that she wanted him there, even if they had just met, and he was merely the vet who treated her dog made him feel… well, special. “I’d love to go. It’d be an honour, truly. And I promise, no more talk of payments. I’ll accept the free ticket and count myself lucky,” he added with a grin. Though, he told himself he would find a way to make them even, so he could pay in other ways. Like what, he wasn’t sure, but he could figure that out.  The idea of seeing Felicity’s work in person, learning more about her… it stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt in a while. What it was, he wasn’t sure yet, but maybe, just maybe, Dougie could figure it out as they went along.

She nodded her head slowly as he described how his friends would disagree about the impact on Dougies life. It was curious, something told her that their habit to ramble was not the only thing they shared in common. There was a past there that Dougie's brightness seemed to have survived through.

"Well, I like painting everything, nature, cities, people, but mostly I love painting scenes, like one that sold recently was of this old man pub that's near my house, and all it's usual guests, or I did some of the park in town, and the people their with their dogs...so I am not really sure what you would call it...but I love painting's that kind of have a story to them...I'm sorry I don't usual talk this much..." she apologised, looking over to her dog on the table. "I think the adrenaline of everything that has happened has just brought it all on...when I get nervous I just...talk" she said sheepishly.

She admired how he spoke about how art was all around them, and she smiled. "Yeah, yeah it really is...but I mean what you do is an art in itself, not everyone can perform such operations and examinations...there's a skill and a performace to that as well" she said, watching him as he tended to her beloved pet. She couldn't help but smile when he said he would only need the one ticket, and to hide that delight she moved her cup to her lips again and took another sip of her tea. Catch yourself on, Felicity thought to herself, but he agreed, he agreed to come to her show, this guy who she'd only just met wanted to come to see her-her work. "No need to pay, I'll cover that...I'm allowed bring up to two guests free...and, well I don't really know many people who would be interested in going...so if you'd like to that would be great" she felt kind of awkward talking about it. Should she have invited him? Maybe that was coming on too strong...but still...she liked the idea of seeing him.

"How's...how's she doing?" she asked, gesturing to Rosie, who had behaved herself for the time she was on the table. Dougies presence also seemed to relax her.

[aramorehq]

Your name is LEO BISHOP, though you do look a bit like TOM HOLLAND. You are 25 years old, identify as CIS MALE and your pronouns are HE/HIM. You work as a VET TECH, and live in an APARTMENT. Some would say that your seven deadly sin is GLUTTONY and that’s because HE ABUSES HIS XANAX PRESCRIPTION DESPITE THE FACT HIS MOM DIED OF A DRUG OVERDOSE.

SUMMARY: (AT LEAST FIVE HEADCANONS)

Leo mostly grew up with his grandparents. His mom was a struggling addict since before he was born and actively used drugs and drank while she was pregnant with him. He believes maybe that’s where so many of his mental health issues stemmed. For as long as he could remember he was always scared and sad. His whole life he felt like there was a stormy rain cloud above his head and that it followed him everywhere. Ask anyone though and they’ll say Leo is one of the kindest and brightest souls around. After a while he got pretty good at hiding his true feelings. 

His dad was only in the picture until he was about two years old. He doesn’t remember the man and from what’s he’s heard of him he doesn’t want to. He was a pretty heavy dealer and ended up getting busted for selling heavy drugs and was sent away. Leo never heard from him ever since. After that it was him and his mom. Well, for a little while. His maternal grandparents knew their daughter was an addict. Hell, her long time boyfriend, and father of her child, did just get sent to prison for dealing. Well, long story short they stepped in and brought little Leo to Aramore so he could grow up normally. His mom was sent to rehab time and time again but she loved drugs more than her son. It was sad really, because whenever Leo was able to see his mom he was ecstatic but she was always gone so fast. She was never sober long enough to be in his life. Looking back now Leo realizes that it was best his grandparents took custody of him, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Then it happened. He was in his early teens. He came home from school and his grandparents told them his mom overdosed. Things took a turn after that. Leo shut everyone out, even the few friends he did have at school. His mental health declined and he was put on mood stabilizers and anti depressants. Sure, they helped a little, but that didn’t prevent every other shitty thing to happen in his life. When he was a senior in high school things started getting better for him brain wise. He took his meds but then his grandmother fell ill. Leo was very, very close with both of his grandparents and did not take their passing well. After his grandma passed it was just a matter of time before his grandpa did too. They do say old people can die of a broken heart. Leo truly believes his grandpa held on for as long as he could. Long enough to see Leo get into college. 

College was strange. Leo wanted nothing to do with it. He just wanted to curl up and die. Still, he had dreams too. He was very passionate about animals and was very attached his grandparents' dog growing up. He was always helping any critters in need and actively refuses to eat or use any animal product. He has always been quiet about his passion, but it was there. 

Surprisingly college went by like a blur. Well, maybe that’s because his anxiety had been at an all time high and he was put on Xanax. It helped, but it wasn’t enough to keep him calm on a bad day. So, he started taking more of it. And when swallowing wasn’t doing the trick he put it straight up his nose. The effects kicked in much faster but they didn’t last nearly as long. That only made Leo seek out more. He was never one to do hard drugs. He saw what that did to his family. No, he stuck with his prescription and occasionally smoked a little weed. 

Before he could say the word Leo was addicted to Xanax. He never saw an issue with it because it was legal and he had a bottle to prove it was his. When he began running out of a month’s worth after two weeks though things began to get ugly. He knew he needed it and the pharmacy wasn’t going to refill his script if he was abusing it. So, he looked elsewhere. He found someone that would sell it to him and he was thankful for that. It was pretty easy to find dealers in college though.

After school Leo was quick to find a real job. He doesn’t really know how he managed to graduate nor does he really remember half of the time he was in school, but he did it and that’s what mattered. He got a job at a veterinary clinic and soon enough was able to quit his shitty paying job that was barely keeping his head above water. Sure, he had money from his grandparents as he was the only living beneficiary, but he needed that money to pay for school. He still had rent to worry about. Thankfully, his job at the clinic was much better paying and he can live a little less stressful when it comes to money. He’s in no way well off, but he can order takeout and buy Xanax and not worry about if his rent will be late.

So far, his addiction hasn’t effected his work life. He loves his job and he loves all the animals. He doesn’t have the space for a lot of them right now, but he does have a dog. When he gets a bigger place he would love to add a cat and maybe a bird to the mix. For now he’s content with his dog. He probably loves her more than anyone else in the world, but that’s because he doesn’t have anyone besides her. He’s a very lonely person and he knows he should try and make some more friends or maybe try and score a date, but he’s awkward and has no desire to try and form any real relationships that he doesn’t already have.