#location: the whitlock home

[thehill-rpg]

Episode 2: Whispers on The Hill Part: 1/??

The quiet shuffle of bare feet on the gravel courtyard fills the air, accompanied by the faint squeak of a rusty pool gate reluctantly opening. With a pair of composed steps, a slender figure, tall yet delicate, makes her way towards an ageing pool chair. As she reclines on its worn surface, the chair emits a soft groan of protest, bearing witness to both its own well-worn years and the age of its current resting place: Palm’s Motor Hotel. Donning a pair of Ray Bans, she settles in, clad in a casual ensemble of a Washington Nationals' tank top and a worn pair of denim short shorts. In her hand, she opens a well-read copy of Cosmo, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze. Tucked between them is a torn clipping from yesterday’s issue of The Hill, resting over an article titled ‘The Secret to Finding Your Soulmate: Date Your Alter Ego.’ A good article, offering the kind of advice you could only get out of a drunk best friend, yet not the one currently capturing her attention.

Chelsea Dalton reclines beside a pool that seems questionably operational (was that the smell of an impending bacteria infection?), her gaze fixed on the familiar words. She reads it again, for what feels like the hundredth time, each word etched into her memory. She knows every line by heart. It’s beautiful.

It’s also months of dedication, collaboration, and hopefully, justice. Sure, it’s a departure from her usual flair, and while, yes, she’d normally sell her soul for this kind of traffic on her blog, she knew there was no way her posting this story would get it the attention it deserved. Hence, her email to Violet Shard, almost three months ago. She’d been hesitant at first. Sure, she was a fan, but this was something that needed to be handled with care. She was too close to her own source. She couldn’t risk being named. However, Violet had assured her of anonymity and a series of follow-ups that wouldn’t brush any pertinent details under the proverbial rug of Washington D.C. political justice. That's why she had agreed, and why she now found herself just outside the District, technically in Maryland, waiting for said blonde journalist. 

Where was she?

As she waited for Violet’s late arrival (had her trusty Saab finally coughed its last puff of exhaust?), she let her thoughts drift over to Gray, and the party she would have been at if the news she’d just leaked to The Hill, hadn’t implicated his father. She’d probably have been in some uncomfortable sundress right now, watching as Gray loosened a tie, only for his mother to promptly tighten it again, while she discreetly passed another crab puff to Mac. Of course, she hated every second of it, but even without her mom’s urging, she hadn’t missed one since she’d moved in next door to his family at six. What could she say? She had a thing for fish paste covered Hors d'Oeuvres. And tortured artists… She’d let the last one remain unsaid, stubbornly resisting even her subconscious attempts to divert her down that worn-out, oh so familiar road. Not today, Bucko! 

Just as she was attempting to shift her focus, fate intervened with the unceremonious thud of a bottle of sunscreen hitting her thigh, yanking her back to the realm of the living—or, more accurately, a realm that didn't revolve around pining over her best-friend of twenty-seven years. “Slip, slop, slap…” She glared over her glasses at a man holding a faded beach towel and a copy of The Hill. 

While quick judgments were usually her forte, she decided to withhold hers until he extended his hands to offer assistance. She leaned towards labelling him as the "concerned dad" type rather than a creepy motel lifer. "Uh, thanks, but— Is that the latest copy of The Hill?" She hadn’t been able to pick up a copy before she’d left her house in order to get here in time and she was keen to see how Violet had followed up. “Sure, kiddo. It’s yours.” She dropped her guard, leaning over to take the paper from his outstretched hand, “Are you moving in?” She’d have answered if the headline story hadn’t caught her attention. Violet Shard, facing charges of defamation and harassment, for her latest story on Congressman Whitman and Harris. “Uh, sorry, do you mind if I–” She was already up, picking up her copy of cosmo and hurrying out of the pool area and back towards her day room and her burner. FUCK. Voicemail. “Violet, call me. I— What can I do?” 

Well, she knew one thing she could do…  

She hastily opened her laptop, disregarding the unread emails clamouring for her attention with their requests for her usual freelance work. Instead, she navigated to her blog and swiftly crafted a new post.

Ms. Whisper here, emerging from the shadows with a scoop hotter than the Capitol's political inferno. It appears our esteemed journalist, Violet Shard, finds herself in the clutches of controversy. But this isn't your run-of-the-mill scandal, my darlings—oh no, it's a tale of truth-telling and the ruthless consequences that follow. Violet dared to shine a light on the dark dealings of Congressman Whitlock and Harris, revealing their insidious involvement in the war-torn realm of Matamba. Yet, instead of accolades, she's met with handcuffs and accusations of defamation and harassment. But fear not, dear readers, for Ms. Whisper is always on the case, ready to peel back the layers of deception and hold the powerful to account. In this cutthroat world of political intrigue, even the bravest truth-seekers like Violet Shard aren't safe from the claws of injustice. So, keep your ears to the ground and your eyes peeled, because when it comes to unravelling the truth, there's no hiding from the relentless pursuit of Ms. Whisper. #StandWithViolet

Her phone buzzed—an SOS. She shot a text back that she’d be there soon. Though even with her foot planted to the floor of her beemer she knew she’d never break an hour. Hastily rummaging through her overnight bag, she retrieved a somewhat acceptable dress (she didn’t own many); though the party might've been cancelled, she was certain Gray's mom wouldn't want the reminder. Hastily, she made her way over to the shower, and tried her best to find the password to get the hot water working longer than two seconds.

She did her best to keep her hair from getting wet, as she washed her nervous sweat from under her armpits. Chelsea hadn't seen this coming without a fight, but nabbing a journalist? This wasn't just a hiccup; it was the kind of move that had First Amendment lawyers rubbing their hands with glee.

She gave up trying to tune the shower into submission and let the cold water run down her back, as she wracked her brain for a way to assist Violet beyond mere page views. Nothing. Nothing.

When it came down to taking action, what good was being Ms. Whisper if all she had in her arsenal were a sharp tongue and a quick wit? That certainly didn't grant innocent journalists a Get Out of Jail Free card, did it?

After a quick drying session (as evidenced by her dress clinging to her back and making it a challenge to slide down over her thighs), Chelsea grappled with her wayward curls, victims of the fierce heat akin to the Battle of Waterloo. With her belongings in tow, she checked out of the motel, conceding that, for the time being, there was little she could do for Violet. As for Gray, a sense of obligation stirred within her to mitigate the unintended turmoil she had caused him. Nonetheless, she refrained from assuming full culpability, acknowledging that the root of this mess lay primarily with his father. All she’d done was overhear a phone call, sneak into his office at night, and make a few dozen or so copies of a report that she only wished now had more than just Congressman Harris’ name to it.

Pulling up to Gray’s house, adjacent to her own, Chelsea switched off the ignition and discreetly covered her overnight bag with one of Mac’s car seat covers in the backseat before stepping out and making her way inside. The atmosphere was sullen, with white chairs being shuffled in and out from the patio to a van parked out front. From a distance, Chelsea observed Nora overseeing the operation with an overflowing wine glass in hand. She couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for the sombre mood, knowing she had played a part in it, at least partially.

Following the faint strumming of a bass, Chelsea ascended the stairs, purposefully bypassing Mr. Whitlock’s study. She had been instructed to call him Brody, but it just didn't sit right with her. Instead, she made her way down to Gray’s room at the end of the second floor. Her fingers brushed against the wooden door as she announced herself before slipping inside.

"So, on a scale from six-pack therapy to a spa retreat in the German highlands, how concerned should I be about you?" She offered a tentative smile. However, the instant she caught the strains of "Darn The Dream" by Ron Carter, being plucked, she realised she was entering yodelling territory.

[goldenboywrites]

where do we go from here?

Apollo sat in his study, reading over the latest contracts. The requests for Cassio’s potions far exceeded what the two could handle, but they didn’t have a choice. It was either to fulfill the orders or suffer the consequences. The consequence had been the same over the years since graduation; Oliver and Isaac’s safety. It was something the two could not risk. So they worked overtime to make the potions and send them out, and they both ignored the lingering question regarding what these people were doing with them. It was better not to know, or it would drive them insane. He signed the latest contracts. As soon as the ink dried, the contracts glowed a dull red before disappearing from his grasp. “That takes care of that,” He muttered, pushing a hand through his hair. 

Apollo pushed himself to his feet, stretched, and ignored the popping of his bones, which confirmed that he had been sitting there for far too long. He ventured out of the study, waving his hand over the door to place an illusion over his work in case Isaac entered. Even after years of secrecy, it never got easier. Doing all of this behind Isaac’s back had never gotten easier. It would never get easier. But it was to protect him. To protect them and the life they had built together. 

He only made it so far from his study when his phone rang. The sound nearly gave him a heart attack because he never expected the damn thing to be on. “Yeah?” He answered it without checking the name. There were only three people who ever called him. 

“Mr. Maddox?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Apollo pulled the phone away from his ear to see who it was, but it was an unknown number. Dread filled his bones. His immediate thought went to it being his employer, but they never called him before. “ My name is Healer Emerson. I am a medwizard at St. Mungos. I need you to come down here as soon as possible.” 

The phone almost slipped from his grasp. “What?” 

“It is best if you come here so we can talk.” 

Isaac. 

He trembled his way over to their fireplace, and before he knew it, Apollo was standing in the St. Mungo’s waiting room. On shaky feet, he made his way over to the desk, gave his name, and waited impatiently. His fingers drummed against his legs; his feet tapped incessantly against the ground. Please don’t be Isaac. Please don’t be Isaac. 

“Mr. Maddox?” Apollo glanced up and saw an older man standing in front of him. His badge confirmed this was the healer that called him. 

“Is he okay?” He asked desperately. 

“He is doing just fine. Would you like to see him?” 

Entering the room, Apollo was taken aback. “I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m here for my boyfriend.” He glanced around the room, taking in the colors and cartoon animal wallpaper. “This is…” 

The healer’s brow furrowed, and he pulled back a curtain to reveal a smaller toddler curled up in a hospital bed. “Your boyfriend? No, you are the emergency contact for Theodore Whitlock…” Apollo tilted his head, looking at the child. He could have been two or three years old. So, this little guy belonged to Alexandria. The woman Apollo had almost been forced to marry to continue their pureblood line. They hadn’t spoken since he was in uni. Why would she have made Apollo the emergency contact for her son? 

“I don’t understand,” He said softly, finally pulling his gaze away from the child and over to the healer. 

The doctor looked one step away from admitting Apollo to the hospital. “Sir…” he said uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "This is your son. We have been unable to locate Alexandria. A neighbor brought Theodore in yesterday when she did not return home to pick him up, and she could not reach her. We have been unable to contact her as well. We pulled his records, and you are listed as the father on his birth certificate. You are also his emergency contact. Hence, we are contacting you to pick him up."

This wasn’t his son. Not biologically, that was for sure. But why would she have listed him without forewarning him? “I didn’t know..” He said as he mulled the pieces together in his head. He did not want to give too much away to the healer. There must be some reason she would go to the lengths she had to forge his signature on her son’s birth certificate. “Of course, I will take him, and I’ll handle reaching out to the authorities to track her down, too. But can I…I'm sorry. Can I have a moment?” 

The healer was barely out of the room before Apollo had his phone out again and prayed that Isaac wouldn’t leave him over this. Isaac answered on the first ring. There were a handful of moments when Apollo tried to speak but couldn’t. It wasn’t until he heard the alarm in his boyfriend’s voice that he forced himself to say, “It’s me. I’m at St. Mungos. Can you come?”

@magiclwritings

[ofgravcyards]

        ❝  entre ser y no ser ... yo soy. ❞

    𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟⧸𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑒 :  maria   »   vampire   »   jenna ortega  .

❛❛   aesthetic.  ❜❜   ⸻   ◜   ❏  . ⸻  a girl with the taste of sweet copper in her mouth , the smell of gladioli and honeysuckles she tends all over her home and garden   ,   soft   voice   dripping   off   of   her   tongue   like   honey   ,   she’s a midsummer night’s dream , she's stained in blood as she rips the wings of a butterfly . ⸻ triggers : death , manipulation , murder .

🇦​🇵​🇵​🇱​🇮​🇨​🇦​🇹​🇮​🇴​🇳 »

* ⠀ ✞ ⠀ &. jenna ortega : cis woman : she/her : esa hembra es mala by gloria treviie — It seems maria has been lured to Volterra . the 24 / 500+ -year-old vampire has been in the city for two days . Whispers in volterra says they’re part of the mexican coven .

🇧​🇦​🇸​🇮​🇨​🇸 »

full name :  maria .

age :  24 / 500+ .

date of birth : unknown .

occupation : unemployed .

species :  vampire .

language(s) spoken :  universal .

hair color :  brunette .

eye color : red .

notable scars :  n/a .

🇮​🇳​🇹​🇪​🇷​🇮​🇴​🇷​»

positive :  perceptive  ,  calculative .

negative :  manipulative  ,  selfish .

moral alignment : chaotic .

hogwarts house : slytherin .

deadly sin : pride .

abilities : intangibility  | the user can move through solid objects and ignore most physical effects in their way; the exact means of how this is done vary between slipping partially into other dimensions, being able to make their particles move between different particles, being a non-physical being of energy, vibrating their molecules into a new quantum frequency, etc. Regardless the user can ignore most attacks, physical dangers, and gravity. .

🇫​🇦​🇻​🇴​🇷​🇮​🇹​🇪​🇸​ »

book : all kind .

movie :  n/a .

food :  blood .

flower :  gladioli .

season :  the summer .

🇫​🇦​🇲​🇮​🇱​🇾​​ »

father :  gerardo salazar ( deceased ) .

mother : unknown ( deceased ) .

mate / husband :  wanted connection .

🇧​​🇮🇴​​ »

— not much is known about maria other than as a human she raised by her father in their remote estate after their mother is killed by colonel José Montenegro, and a corrupt judge dismisses the case as an accident. Grief-stricken, her father diligently trains maria in the arts of combat—fencing, archery, shooting, self-defense and espionage—and instills in her the fierce desire to bring all the culprits involved in her mother’s death to justice. as she grew older , she would carry out missions and assignments given to her by the Independence Army, and in return, the army gives her information on the location of the culprits so that she can intercept the murderers and accomplices of Montenegro and thus bring justice .

— eventually maria and her father get their revenge. while her father wanted him to rot in jail , maria ended up killing him. the night she was caught by a vampire who was building his own army and seeing what she had done and who she really is, turned her.

—  being part of a coven in Monterrey, where she met her mate and then turned her own father, maria thought she had finally found happiness. for a while she was until one of the battles of the Southern vampire wars, her coven was destroyed and her territory was claimed by another coven. To get her revenge, she joined forces with Lucy and Nettie, who had also lost their respective territories and covens. While Maria's goal was to reclaim her land and exact vengeance, Nettie and Lucy hoped to gain more hunting territory...

— maria took newborn armies to a new level by choosing humans with combat potential and giving them more training than anyone had bothered to do before. When she met Jasper Whitlock, she hoped his physical stature and military experience would make him a helpful addition to the coven. When she realized his ability to control emotions, she put him in charge of her other newborns. He made the newborns cooperate with one another. With Jasper around, Maria's army began working together better and their army began winning back the territories they had previously lost. extending her powers and control.

—   the group was later torn apart when Nettie and Lucy attempted to rebel against Maria. Jasper felt their malevolent emotions and warned Maria; and together, they killed Lucy and Nettie in a preemptive attack. after all, maria was the true leader of the coven and knew how to navigate in the world filled with blood and war. she also knew not to attract much attention from the volturi by killing the newborns she made.

—  when jasper left / ran away , while she was disappointed in his departure , she knew he would be alright and not cause her any trouble and continued with her ways. Maria being the fearless leader that she is , runs all of mexico and controls her territory with an iron grip. remaining in the dark from human population to avoid the Volturi's attention

—    when she got invitation from volturi , curiosity got the best of her and decided to go to volterra. especially when she thought they knew nothing about her and her dealings in mexico.

[autumngremlin]

Introducing: Rise of the Guardians DR

L O A D I N G . . .

"So when the moon tells you something, believe it."

Ashlynn Marie Whitlock (Ash), She/They

(Doesn't like using middle name? Haven't found out why)

Occupation(?): Autumn Spirit, Guardian of Bravery and holiday is Halloween(after plot)

Center: Bravery

Home: ...surprisingly not scripted, but probably somewhere in Burgess. Autumn forest

Location only appears when I or anyone else that is or soon to be a Guardian wishes to go there

Relationships

Jack Frost: Childhood best friend in past life, future s/o

Three year age difference appearance-wise (he outlived me by that amount); we're both 323 but I'm 20 appearance-wise

Tropes: One Fell First (Jack), One Fell Harder (me) (past life); Second Chance (past life to spirit life); Mutual Pining (past life and spirit life); Slow Burn; Best Friends to Lovers

Nicholas Saint North: Allies, becomes good friends, family-like bond (father figure)

E. Aster Bunnymund: Acquaintances, allies, becomes good friends

Toothiana: Allies, becomes good friends, family-like bond (older sister figure)

Sanderson Mansnoozie: Allies, good friends

Clover/The Leprechaun: Future friend and ally

Rosalie/Cupid: Future good friend and ally

Ayla/Mother Nature: Future best friend and ally

Pearl/Polaris (The North Star): Future best friend and ally

Guardian

Spirit Halloween

Duties: Helping bring autumn to the globe, creating protection lanterns for homes when the veil runs thin around Halloween

Powers: Pyrokinesis, wind generation/manipulation, Aeroportation (teleporting through air and wind currents), flying/levitation (without wings), animating autumn/Halloween-themed objects (carved pumpkins/squash, piles of leaves, etc), turning self into a small whirlwind of leaves

Divider: firefly-graphics

[cryptidkeepp]

(avan jogia) [THE INTERSTELLAR]. Please welcome [RIVER PATEL (THEY/THEM)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [32]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [THE COMMUNE]. You may see them around working as a [UNEMPLOYED]. They are looking for [LINK MURPHY] their [ROAD TRIP BUDDY/BEST FRIEND] Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

GENERAL.

full name: river luna patel

nicknames: riv

title: the interstellar

hunter / gatherer: neither

birthplace: new orleans, louisiana

time in huntsville: 4 years

gender / pronouns: genderqueer, they/them/any

age / birthday: 32, february 7th

orientations: pansexual, panromantic, polyamorous

occupation: unemployed / tarot card, metaphysical amateur, astrologist for hire

location: commune, visitor

status: single

family: luna patel ( mother, deceased ), parthiv patel ( father, deceased ), morgana whitlock ( aunt )

strengths: affectionate, playful, charming, creative, adventurous

weaknesses: addictive, impulsive, unreliable, promiscuous, flighty

character inspo: eric effiong (sex education), phoebe buffay (friends), klaus hargreeves (umbrella academy), nymphadora tonks (harry potter), jules vaughn (euphoria), jesper fahey (shadow & bone), jenny curran (forrest gump), riley blue (sense8), jaskier (witcher), ian gallagher (shameless), sabrina spellman (chilling adventures of sabrina)

BACKGROUND.

tw: drugs, addiction, death

born in new orleans, louisiana. diagnosed with type one diabetes as a young child. mother was wiccan and a strong believer in metaphysical practices along with many astrological practices- she owned a small shop in new orleans. father was deeply in love with their mother and worked as a street musician and helped with the shop when needed.

they lost both parents in hurricane katrina and was sent to live with their aunt in new jersey. she was vastly different from the free-spirited and loving home they’d grown used to but she tried and they don’t resent her for it.

early in their teens they developed an increasing awareness of this void inside of them which never quite could fill no matter how hard they tried. slowly it would spread, creeping into their brain to fill their head with dark thoughts and leave them debilitated if not dealt with. everything has a cause and effect. the result of this was a rush to keep trying to fill this dark hole with anything and everything they could get their hands on. drugs, alcohol, people, sex, love, affection, things. it became an endless merry go round of self-destruction interrupted by glimpses of peace and serenity in between.

this is how they fell into the group of friends they did, spending their time causing trouble, skipping school, and partying. by the time their aunt noticed their change in behavior and the truancy, it was far too late. their apathy for all things rules and conventional society standards were gone and they'd made the pact with their best friends and set out to explore the country together.

river felt a growing satisfaction in the nomadic lifestyle. they'd always had a wanderlust they couldn't quite confine. it opened them up for more creativity, writing song lyrics and music on occasion, learning more instruments. panhandling their songs on the sidewalks of various cities they stopped in or offering their better talents in tarot readings and astrology to get some extra cash to get them to the next city because the more they got in legitimate ways, the less they had to steal.

after several years of this, some of their friends got tired of found reasons to settle down in various places they'd stopped. river always hated saying goodbye, ever harboring a string of abandonment issues since their parents were unexpectedly taken from them. eventually it came down to them and link, which they were fine with because they weren't alone ( despite missing those who left ) and they'd always felt a strong connection to link, like they were made from the same stardust.

when they stumbled upon huntsville, it was a complete mistake and all the perception in the world couldn't have led them to the situation they found themselves in. forced to settle in, they worried what the future might hold for both them and their best friend. rationing the substances they could find could only last so long. river had to wonder what would take them out first the long list of vices they indulged in, the creatures that emerge from the darkness, or the withdrawal.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

found family

bandmates/creative friends

yoga buddies

therapist

doctor/nurse

clients/customers

rivals or haters

party buddies

victims of thievery

lovers

HEADCANONS.

river has type one diabetes and had a pump to regulate it better but their supply has since worn out so they're having to find other methods to regulate their glucose which can prove difficult, it's important they are able to see a medical professional regularly. they also wear a medical alert bracelet with this information.

they despise sleeping alone, whether it be from having friends around them for a decade on the road or just the loathing of being alone in general, they tend to stick close to people if they can sleep at all.

comparable to a cat they can sleep anywhere and will curl up or drape themselves over people for affection.

they wear their heart on their sleeve and fall in love quite easy, unfortunately their over devotion and wandering eyes have made it difficult to hold any long term relationship except with one person who understands the amount of love they have to give does not mean that person gets my less.

they have a long history of casual relationships and having a select few they are fully committed to exclusively, however they develop deep feelings for people easily and adore them long after any romance leaves. they are very open with their sexuality and the love of the human body. river has often used casual sex as another coping mechanism and occasional self-destructive tendency.

they love dancing, parties, poetry, and music - they also adore talking to people and will be happy to introduce themselves to anyone and everyone

they adore music and can play almost any guitar, bass, piano, pan flute, viola, and harmonica.

they can also speak spanish, french, creole, american sign language and some hindi besides english

more to come

[astarab1aze]

Viresca Trivia

Viresca sees magic as a tool, a neutral force, that is not subject to nightfolk or human moral scruples. A means to an end.

She is not afraid to kill, though she has never done so before. 

She has some reservations about how far she's willing to go in order to achieve her goals; The prospect of having blood on her hands does, occasionally, give her pause.

Viresca likes to snack; She can never be seen with the same snack twice. 

The Mandragora Family’s ancestral home is located in the small town of Scarcroft outside of Leeds, which she would one day like to repair and reclaim, but there's another in London.

She is a natural on a broom and was once in a competition to see how fast and sharp she could fly, with some flair - she won.

She duels as if her wand is a whip, a 'flowing extension of herself', like a fencer does their rapier - her footwork could use improvement, however.

Viresca is allergic to blackwyrm slime.

She hates being able to see certain things others cannot, observant and perceptive in the best and worst of scenarios. 

She adores Gretl's and Simone's.

She hopes to one day enter and compete in a (legal, and illegal) dueling tournament to prove her mettle.

Her wand handle is made from carven blackstone (a type of marble).

She can dance....er, passably, but she's better off as arm candy, in her opinion. 

She is intimately familiar with torture curses.

She also desperately dreams of escaping; From what is unclear, but may be a maladaptation / trauma causing her to feel this way.

She may be liberal with secret information, if it benefits her. 

She doesn't know why, but she particularly dislikes certain people and is sometimes quite open to being outright rude to them.

She finds dueling to be great fun, actually - hence why she's endeavored to become so good at it. 

She's not afraid of dragons, deathbloom, brachio, vampires, ghosts, or anything like that; Specific scenarios, however, different beast.

The only plants she has a way with are kanpari, gangrove lilies, and morphagora.

She's partly deaf in her right ear.

She has a profound respect for some of her former professors, particularly Salem Morteatum, Madame Theresa Davenport, and Vexine Whitlock ; Ms. Whitlock reminds her of her grandmother, in a way.

She keeps a journal - very well-guarded, mind you. 

She's good with children, despite being uncomfortable around them.

She does not like mirror travel; There's a vague worry she might be trapped inside her mirror forever.

She occasionally likes to draw, though much of her work is academic or related to her work as an herbaflorist.

Her favorite time of day is midnight; That's when she gets the most done.

She smells like cool rain water and primordia root - and oats. Really, like breakfast on a cool, rainy morning.

‘Viresca’ is an anagram for her great-grandmother’s name, Viscera - as in gore.

Her blood status is impure; To what degree is unknown, and entirely irrelevant.

The family tree is quite expansive, but they lost track some 4-5 generations back.

[fearhidden]

muses — parker whitlock + 

location — their home.

Fourteen hours. She’d spent fourteen hours (and twenty-seven minutes) on the clock. It was no secret that her rotation in the emergency room was going to be a wicked time, but she hadn’t anticipated the sheer torture it would be at the end of her very first shift. She’d even stayed after to group with the attending that had called on her for everything. He was handsome, kind, and a big reason she’d been excited about stepping away from peds and into another portion of the hospital.

The drive back to her place, well, their place, had been short. The clock on her dash read nine in the morning, but it was always off by a couple of minutes. She scooped her bag up in one arm and fumbled with her keys to unlock the front door. Seeing as his keys were still in the catch all bowl by the door, she knew he hadn’t gone anywhere. Truth was, all she wanted was to melt into his arms.

She tossed her bag onto the side of the couch and padded towards the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her scrubs. First step? Coffee. There was too much to do around their place considering his parents were probably already on their way. It was the worst timing for the longest shift of her first year, but it was the very thing she’d have to get used to if the ER was the specificity she picked.

The quiet padding behind her had Parker turning slowly on the balls of her feet, a tired smile on her mouth as she looked back at him. “Surprise?” She’d texted him right before midnight with an update about how busy things were. A two car accident had turned into something bigger. It was an all hands on deck kind of night and though incredibly stressful, they hadn’t lost a single person.

“Before you say anything, I’m fine. I’m making coffee and I’m going to grab something to eat and then I’m good to get things ready for your parents. When will they be here? I can run out to the store we’re missing anything. I just... I want this to perfect.” Correction, she needed it to be perfect for them. It was the man’s presence that caused her to realize her engagement ring was still tucked into the velvet pouch in her bag. Seeing as it ripped every pair of medical gloves she’d tried to sneak on, she’d needed to take it off. “I missed you, by the way. It was a long shift. I’m sorry I didn’t text this morning. After we wrapped up shift, we all talked for a little and then I came straight home.”

@alwaysxangel​

[alan-duarte]

TIMING: Friday, 7th of April, 5pm LOCATION: Whitlock Wares PARTIES: Ariadne @ariadnewhitlock & Alan @alan-duarte SUMMARY: Creating models takes time, money and quite a few materials. What better place than Whitlock Wares for all your crafty needs? CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw

Good afternoon White Crest. It’s 5 o’clock and you’re listening to WWMJ. This is your hos- 

Alan reached out for his phone, the sound drowning out as he scrolled through his emails. Though he had a secretary who dealt with responses, he liked to keep an eye on the messages they sent to the office. Just in case. He got out of his car, making his way toward the hardware store, this time with his eyes focused on his surroundings.

He was aware of the importance of timing, caution and knowing how to get your point across when it came to the essential matter that was problem solving. So far, there had been no problem Alan couldn’t find a solution to although his creativity had been challenged quite a few times already by the locals. In the end, what mattered was that his business was thriving, and so was he. 

Although he had been very busy with work, Alan also knew how to take time to recharge his batteries, and this was a far cry from massage parlors, pilates classes or the kind of bullshit where people seemed to waste time, energy and certainly a lot of money. He wasn't stingy, but he didn't like throwing his money away either. That was not how he had been brought up.

“How are you doing Simon?” Simon Whitlock was about 5 years younger than Alan, which meant that they hadn’t really grown up together and yet were familiar with one another for a long while. Back when Alan was a teenager, Simon used to sit on the counter, by the register. That had changed, but there was always a Whitlock kid not too far away, working at the store. Speaking of… “Ariadne, Alan’s here !”  

Her family’s store had always been a second home - in more ways than one. Her father claimed that it had been where she’d taken her first steps, and though video footage technically proved otherwise, the rest of Ariadne’s family went along with it. It added another layer of wholesomeness to the store - not that it was something the store was in need of, but it certainly added to the familial feel of it.

Today she didn’t have classes in the afternoon, and so she’d stopped by the store, electing to organize some new boxes of nails and tape measures. Something about the sheer sameness of it, the fact that she could restock the shelves with her eyes closed, served to at least somewhat help the constant nerves that crept all throughout her body. Nerves that she couldn’t get to go away no matter how many hours of mediation she attempted to listen to on any of the applications she’d downloaded onto her phone. Nerves that felt wholly and entirely constricting, that left her with little ability to focus on much else. 

Her dance professor had noticed, multiple times. Even pulled her over at the end of class, to check in, to make sure that there wasn’t anything she could do to help. No, Ariadne had said, I’m just not sleeping well, just trying to do too much, probably! and even she knew that the grin she’d flashed had to have seemed completely and entirely faked.

Her dad’s voice startled her for a moment, and she looked up and over to the counter. Ariadne set her work down, and made her way over to the counter where her father stood. “Mr. Duarte,” she bowed her head, briefly, because there was something about the man that commanded an extra layer of respect, even beyond what she would normally have offered to any adult. “How can we - I - we - help you today? My dad was just about to run out and get us some smoothies, so I’d be happy to help you, if that’s quite alright with you?”

We - I - we. Wasn’t she the poster girl for confidence ? Then he couldn’t say many people her age qualified for the position either. He was certainly glad to be out of his twenties. What a dreaded time that was, sitting with your ass on two different chairs, one for teenagehood, one for adulthood. Being in the army, and being the eldest of four forced him to grow up faster, yet he still recalled not liking it all that much. His thirties were a lot more comfortable, but he found that this new decade of his life was his favorite one yet. Nostalgia who? Alan smiled at her, his fondness forming wrinkles at the corner of his nose and eyes. “How are you doing Ariadne?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Alan picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. 

“I’m in good hands then,” Alan pointed out with a polite nod to her father.

He liked a challenge, but the store was such a landmark of the town that Alan never dared trying to purchase it from the Whitlocks. Alan would not have many qualms about investing in a commercial zone should the chance arise, but until then, he wouldn’t lay a finger on that family or their business. Too much trouble for too little profit. The thought left his mind as swiftly as it had arrived. “I’m gonna need plastic for the 3D printer,” he fished a piece of paper out of his wallet, a list he’d scribbled on the back of a receipt while waiting for a client to return with a complimentary coffee cup. “It’s probably best if I just hand you the list,” he smiled politely, and turned his eyes toward the shelves. Paper, wood, glue, paint, led lights and batteries, they had everything. He could have gotten it all from Amazon, but his networking would have suffered from it and it was a good look, politically, to avoid purchasing from the internet giant. 

Her face brightened at his smile. “Pretty well - school’s wildly busy, but that’s okay! Better than being bored, I figure.” She fiddled with her necklace for a moment. “Which is pretty much super obvious, but figure it’s worth being said, still.” Ariadne nodded. “How are you doing? The real estate market still good?” Even if she certainly didn’t know all too much (or much at all) about real estate, she knew a bit here and there, and she knew that it was Alan’s business, and therefore something he’d enjoy being asked about.

“I mean, I do know my way around this store pretty well. When I was about seven, I even helped to reorganize the housewares section…” Ariadne let her voice trail off. “So I promise I’m not going to lead you astray or misguide you or anything at all like that!”

She tapped her fingertips against her thigh. If nothing else, helping out at the store gave her reason to focus on something besides the very thing she was so avidly avoiding - and she liked it here, it was familiar, and Ariadne had gotten a new blush to add some extra color to her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she looked as pale as she imagined she did, but a light bit of extra color wasn’t going to do anyone any harm, right? “Oh, yes, of course.” Another nod. “You can give me the list, and we’ll grab you a basket and we can go about the store and make sure we’ve got everything you need. Does that sound good? I’ll hold the basket if it’s easier for you, too, even.”

“School?” His eyebrows furrowed while he tried to remember what the girl was studying. Alan didn’t actively try to keep tabs on everyone (though he did do that for people he needed to keep dirt on), but the Whitlocks were folks he saw at least once or twice a week, every week for the past ten years, and that tended to help with remembering details. “School’s alright, it’s the exams I used to dread,” because that meant learning every little detail about a lesson, just in case the teacher would ask about that. It wasn’t practical, and he’d never been one for pure theory.

“I know,” well, he certainly wasn’t aware of those details. His parents weren’t running a business, which meant that he was never exploited that way. This being said, they expected him to keep the house in good shape on the weekends, especially when they were working, and he did more than a fair share of dishes and cooking from the age of 12 until the age of 18. He assumed first that the second oldest sibling would help out in turn, but his parents bought a dishwasher the very year he left home to be in the Air Force. Ouch. 

A smile graced his lips as she took charge and Alan happily handed the list over to her, following her around the store while she went to get a basket. 

“Yeah, that thing where you get a degree so the wilder world accepts you as like, legit or whatever?” Ariadne shrugged. “I like college better than I liked high school, so that’s something, at least?” An emphatic nod followed his comment about exams. “Oh, absolutely. Exams are the worst. If I could learn without worrying about grades, I’d be all set.” She made a face, “grades are not fun.” She shook her head. “Am I talking too much?”

Ariadne glanced down at her feet. “Right, okay, sorry.” She wasn’t even sure why she was saying sorry. Just that somehow, it felt right - she hadn’t talked this much about herself to anyone in what felt like forever, and the last thing she wanted to do was overburden someone - a patron, no less - with random facts about her childhood. 

Grabbing the list, she quickly scurried over to get a basket. “Do you have a preferred brand for any of these things, or would you like me to just give you the best we’ve got? Also, any restrictions on cost? Just ‘cause I don’t want to suggest something that’s out of an allotted budget, if there is an allotted budget for this.” Ariadne grabbed a couple packs of batteries. “These good?”

“And for a great price too,” Alan chuckled. Things weren’t so bad in his youth, and doing the army was his way of being debt free all while getting proper education, though he would never blame anyone for not being willing to do the same sacrifice. “College is supposed to be about learning about something you’re passionate about, I sure hope you prefer it to high school,” otherwise it would just mean she picked the wrong major. As if he had decided that this was enough chit-chat for now, Alan fell silent then, and picked up a can of paint from a shelf, to have a look at the color on the lid, and then at the one next to it, repeating the same course of actions over and over until he set his hand on the right shade of white he needed. Eggshell white. “What? Talking too much?” Yes. “No, it’s the contrast. Contrast is beautiful,” he offered a kind smile and put the small can of paint in the basket. 

“Reasonable quality, I’d say. Not the cheap stuff, but I don’t need a top brand either,” what mattered was that he could tend to his hobby in peace, just him, his paintbrush and a tiny world growing beneath his fingertips. 

“AAA batteries. That sounds right,” with an encouraging smile, Alan turned his attention to the front of the shop, glancing toward the front door as he heard it chime on her father’s way out. He could have asked her if she planned to take over after them. The store was in their family for two centuries after all. He remained silent instead. Chit chat wasn’t his thing and he’d already done his fair share of it already, yet when his eyes settled on something that looked straight out of an infomercial, he had to open his mouth. “That thing actually works?” 

“I don’t hate school, but I like learning more than I like actual school, if that makes sense?” Ariadne shrugged. “I don’t actually normally talk a lot, but maybe it’s the whole ‘I want to be good with customer service’ that’s turned this on.” Anyhow… she shook her head, taking in a steadying breath. There was no reason to be worried right now. 

“Okay, that makes sense. I’ll make sure you get stuff that won’t go bad or whatever on you, but also isn’t like the super high-end fancy stuff.” Luckily, her father saw it fit to stock a wide variety of items, and Ariadne at least liked to believe that he charged as reasonable a price as was possible - though of course, she knew full well that she had a certain level of bias at play with everything.

“Good, good.” Ariadne offered a tentative smile back to him. “Sorry?” Her head whipped toward him. “What thing? Batteries work well, yeah -” she followed his gaze. “That? No, I - that isn’t anything we’ve ordered, I don’t think, at least. Unless you want it! In which case, we can grab one and see about it.”

“If that’s the case, I hope you picked a job where you’re going to be learning every day,” if Alan honed his skills each day that passed, he didn’t feel like you could really learn to be good at it. It was a matter of temperament. Some jobs just required the right attitude, or a good amount of charisma, some others, diplomas, diplomas and truckloads of experience. “Less is more sometimes,” he pondered. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing well,” 

With a polite smile, he nodded along as she told him his purchase wouldn’t go bad or whatever on him. What a completely positive and non worrying thought that was. Maybe not doing so well after all. Alan figured she was just clumsy with words, like most kids were, and instead turned his attention toward a dog brush - glove fusion that seemed a whole lot too good to be true.

As seen on tv, the product read. Not on my tv, Alan thought as he reached out to get a look at the cardboard box. “Removes hairs from clothes, dogs, cats, and all living things,” he read out loud. If the first bit was enticing, the last part provoked in him an urge to put that thing away. Yet, instead, Alan started to turn the thin box around to find a way to open it. “Do you mind if we have a look?”

“I might be a professor, maybe.” She wasn’t sure, but that seemed like a good enough answer to keep away any further questions about her future. Ariadne had used to have elaborate dreams about what her future held, but those had all been brought to a halt, doubly so, now. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“We can look.” Her face scrunched up, puzzled once again. “But I don’t remember my dad ordering this, but I mean, I’m not like, in charge of keeping track of what we have in stock, or what we order. Maybe they were a freebie or something?” Ariadne shook her head. “Regardless, feel free to open it, I think we probably should look to make sure it’s not something dangerous or otherwise questionable.” She adjusted the basket on her arm.

“That’s one way to do that,” it sounded exhausting, and he heard it didn’t pay well. All those years in school to be broke? No thanks. Alan gave a courteous nod to the young girl, and finally found the tab to open the damn box. “Well that was easy.” With a raise of his eyebrows, the wolf pulled on it and folded aside the top of the cardboard. 

The object within seemed to resemble the one on the package, except for one highly disturbing detail. Glancing at Ariadne Whitlock, Alan gave a grimace, holding his fist to his mouth while he tried not to feel too sick over the gruesome sight. If this was a marketing strategy, he certainly wasn’t buying it.

The glove looked exactly as the one on the box, yes, but by the look of it, it had been used. Covered in hairs, wet hairs, the object, inanimate as it might be, had a threatening aura the wolf was quick to get as far from him as he could, even if that meant throwing it away back on the shelf. “What.” Pause. “The fuck is that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. Of course, she probably wouldn’t end up doing that, but having some sort of stock answer at least helped a little bit with Ariadne’s nerves. Alan not giving her too many followup questions was also something of a relief. She could help with finding things in the store; that was easy enough to fake being normal about.

A small scream escaped from her lips. “I - what?” She glanced around, “I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it absolutely wasn’t supposed to be like that. “Maybe - maybe someone used it and brought it back, and didn’t want to try to return it?” Except that didn’t make sense because, again, until Alan had pointed the box out, Ariadne couldn’t remember seeing it at all.

“Do - I - I can look at it, if you want?” She did her best to contain the look of disgust on her face. If he said yes, she’d just have to imagine it was like looking for roly polies under rocks as a kid. Curious, a bit strange, but not bad. At least the glove couldn’t kill anyone. Ariadne bit down on her tongue. “I’ll have to tell my dad about this.”

“Why is it wet?” Saying it outloud was enough to make him feel like gagging, and Alan put his wrist to his mouth, shaking his head in disapproval. “You’re gonna want to look at the security cameras,” did they have any? They didn’t look like the type. They looked like the type to trust everyone blindly, which was beautiful, he supposed. 

“Look at it? Do you expect it to suddenly not be disgusting?” That made absolutely no sense, and he was protective enough of innocent folks that he had to raise his hands on that. “Absolutely not. You want to burn this thing to the ground,” his eyes went toward the other boxes on the shelf, who weren’t supposed to be there either. “Do you think the rest of the boxes are like that ?” 

“I don’t know.” This time, the look of disgust was clear all across her face. “I - we don’t have those. Or I don’t think we do. Maybe one by the cash register, because of the money and stuff but…” Ariadne’s voice trailed off. “I - I’m confused.” Which didn’t even begin to cover it, but still.

“I don’t know, I just - well,” she bit her lip. “I don’t think we should light things on fire in the store. Which - I doubt is what you meant, but I - shouldn’t we show my dad? In case it’s someone playing a rude prank on us?” Ariadne sighed. “I think it’s probably worth checking out, at the very least? Maybe this one’s just faulty, or something.”

Alan raised both his hands, as if to say : your shop, not mine. He didn't have to make decisions for them although he did hope that they'd decide to get rid of that thing in the most brutal way.

"A prank which consists of putting your shower drain," or something that looked like it, but also not like it, as if the hairs were human, but not quite. "On a glove. In a closed box." With a deadpan stare, Alan took a step back, turning his heels on her. "What if there's something else in each box? A surprise per box?" As horrifying as it was, he preferred to fear the worst than be surprised.

"It's not faulty," she knew that, right?

“Please. Let’s not further visualize it.” Ariadne made a face. “It’s gross and really quite mean, if it’s some sort of prank. Like, why would you do that?” Except she was with a customer, and that meant you had to be as professional as possible. 

“That’s a very good point. Would you like me to open the next one?” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth to steady herself as much as was possible. Which wasn’t a whole lot, but Ariadne figured anything counted, at this point.

“Defective, then?”

“Quite mean?” It was none of his business, really, but had it been, Alan would have tried to track the scent on that box back to whoever had brought it here. Depending on who it was, his reaction would have ranged from casually leaving that glove in their mailbox to breaking in and putting it on their pillow, like a fucked up redo of the Godfather. “Why would you do that? I don’t know. Maybe people are disgusting, maybe your dad has beef with someone. I don’t know kiddo.”

Opening another might not have been such a great idea, but he was too curious not to nod along, all while standing further from it. 

“How can this leave the factory looking like this? Those must get made by the thousands, it’s not that,” how could someone be so naive? Alan bit on the inside of his cheek and glared over at the box in her hands instead, as if to urge her to get to it. 

“I don’t think anybody’s ever been mad with my dad, ever.” Ariadne shrugged. “Though I guess I am biased, so I don’t know.” There was a lot she didn’t know, she was discovering. Which wasn’t a comfortable feeling to sit with, but one that she was realizing more and more than she didn’t really have any sort of choice about.

“I don’t know, there should be some quality control, right? I don’t know what to call it, if not defective or just confusing. I - well, gross, I guess. That just seems rude though? The glove didn’t ask for this. Not that it could - I -” Ariadne opened the next box and, with a small squeak, dropped it on the floor. “Okay. Safe to say they might all be like that.”

"That's not possible. Your dad sees too many folks every day for this to be true," it didn't have to be something bad either. Sometimes saying no sufficed to make a certain brand of people offended. He learned the kids like to call them Karens and Kyles but Alan, from what he gathered, understood that these people were usually all about words and not about actions. Pathetic shits. 

"The glove didn't ask for this?" Rather than to ask ok, and, Alan gave Ariadne what looked like a sympathetic smile. Who the fuck cared about the glove's feelings ? His answer to that question promised not to be pleasant, which was why he preferred to remain quiet. "Alright, well while you settle this troubling case of folks being unjust to gloves," with a raise of his eyebrows, Alan turned his attention toward the list he gave her, in the basket, with the batteries and the paint. Being alone with his thoughts at home didn't seem so enticing anymore. "I'll go get myself a drink," or more. He'd probably find a former client to chat with, and hopefully forget about that damn horror. Alan didn't suspect it already, but anytime he'd come to Whitlock’s Wares ever again, the mental image of the hairy moist glove would come and haunt him.

“I guess, but this just feels extreme. Like, he doesn’t even really have bad reviews on Google or Yelp or whatever.” Ariadne made another face. “I guess I’d expect something like that before whatever this is.”

She paused, offering him a somewhat awkward smile, “I mean, I know it’s not sentient, that’s not possible, but I - it’s not fair to try to do harm to anything, really. Even non-sentient gloves or whatever.” At his next comment, Ariadne swallowed. “Oh - okay. I’ll just save everything for you to come by and pick up whenever’s good for you?” 

“So, whoever did this is too old for Google Reviews. You should be wary of the elders,” ominous as the warning may have sounded, Alan shrugged it off. “Harm gloves? Wait...Do you not eat vegetables? Fruits? Cause I have some bad news here.” His eyes narrowed in faux suspicion, and it was about then Alan picked up just how silent the store was in this instant, how silent she was. With the sound of their footsteps, of clatter and chatter, he hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that she lacked a heartbeat. Right. Alright, perhaps was this his cue to get the hell out. “I’ll be back in the morning, I suppose.” There was another full moon tonight but he could probably get a drink or two in his system before it started. Maybe it would dull some of the pain, and maybe he’d forget about the lack of a ticking inside of her. “And there’s your dad back with smoothies. I’ll let you tell him about the non sentient gloves,” his nose wrinkled as he scoffed. “Good evening you two. See you next morning.”

[longroadhcme]

SELF PARA : Ileana Whitlock

FEATURING : Evelyn Whitlock, Orion Kugler (mention), Sev O’Connell (mention) & Miscellaneous NPC’s.

LOCATION : Ileana & Orion’s Apartment

Life in McKinley had been going relatively smoothly thus far, which was more than she was ever expecting. A pleasant surprise, of the highest order. But, with that, meant, there was one thing always present on her mind. When was the other shoe going to drop? Sure, things were still relatively complicated, particularly where Orion was concerned. The curse, keeping them from being together, was ever present on each of their minds, as of their conversation earlier that day. It wasn’t six hours earlier, where she sat in a coffee shop with the man with whom she loved, telling him that she wanted to really focus on getting this curse removed. To finally be able to indulge in one another in every intimate way that was ripped from them. Emotional intimacy was great and all, but even if she could just place one kiss against beckoning lips, maybe she would feel a lot better about their standing.

So, following her time with him earlier that day, she’d decided to swing back to the apartment they shared, for he was likely off to a shift at work, and she was busy job-hunting herself. It wasn’t a comforting feeling, knowing Orion was quickly getting his life together, whilst she was struggling a little more to find her footing in McKinley, but she was mostly chalking a lot of that up to the fact that her mother was the one doing this. That there was a large amount of guilt washing over her. If it wasn’t for her, Orion wouldn’t be in this position. If he’d only fallen for another woman of their coven, and maybe they could’ve stayed in the place they once called home, in Salem. Though, there was more than one reason as to why they should’ve gotten out, and that was surrounding their distrust of magic, and all that came with it. It’s why each of them were branded, scarred, and generally traumatised by those that ran the coven. Orion gave into his magic on more than one occasion, encouraging Ileana to do the same, ultimately causing them to fall in love, bonding over their passion for witchcraft and all that it entailed. Not a relationship that Ileana’s mother encourage, by any stretch of the imagination.

Tapping away at her laptop, the red headed witch was busy looking at potential job listings, but there just didn’t seem much that got her excited. Though at this point, it was more for the money than anything she’d seemingly enjoy. So, that barista job at a local cafe was beginning to look really nice right about now. Before deciding anything, she shot Orion a quick text to check if it was something she should take up, even just temporarily.

[ TEXT : 5:24pm ] : Found a barista job, part time, but it’s better than nothing, right?

She didn’t know it at the time, but that timestamp on her phone was going to become very important. In fact, it would be the last text she sent, before her phone would become damaged beyond repair, and left behind in an empty and very questionable apartment. Items thrown around, and obvious signs of a struggle.

For, following that text, there was a large bang at the door, and before she was even able to answer it, the door flew off it’s hinges. Magic. Whoever it was, was very much like her. However, the last person she expected to see walk through said doors, was an all too familiar face. A face with whom she’d run all the way from Salem, to hide from. Her mother. Evelyn Whitlock. “Daughter.” She called out, almost aggressively. Why was she using magic? Was she that desperate to get Ileana back? Or was all of their rules nothing but a ruse? Was she practicing magic this entire time, and thus becoming stronger, whilst the remainder of her cult remained malleable and weak in comparison? Nobody to truly challenge her? Whatever it was, the younger witch did not have time to figure it out. She stood there, looking at the woman who raised her, whilst a few others entered behind her, all of whom she recognised from back home. And, all she could think right now was, ‘thank God Orion isn’t here’, for she knew this was going to go one way, and one way only. She was out-manned, especially given her lack of know how with regards to magic, she was still learning.

“Where is Mr. Kugler? His mother is missing him dearly.” Evelyn commented, but of course, Ileana remained tight-lipped on the matter. Well, initially, before her response seconds later. “We seperated. Figured it would be harder for you to track us. But, clearly that wasn’t the case. ‘Cause here you are, mother.” Of course, not true in the slightest. But, the less her mother knew of Orion’s location, the better. Let alone the fact that his mother was the reason why they had managed to escape. Or, was her comment about his mother, a dig? Was she aware of her involvement? It was safer not to dig. Right now, anyway. Not until she knew further details, about what her mother knew and what she didn’t. “I suppose you’re here to try and bring me back?” A nod immediately following on her mother’s part, looking as smug as ever, as those behind her, looked like they were ready for just about anything Ileana threw their way. And whilst she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, she had a feeling it was a needless venture. She knew this wasn’t going to end in her favour. In the meantime, she just needed to make it obvious that something had gone awry, so when Ri inevitably returned, he would be aware this wasn’t just her picking up and leaving. For, she would never. Not without him.

And with that, before much more could be said, Ileana let rip. Immediately throwing the first metaphorical punch, as she tried to use the little magic she was familiar with at this point, but it was unfortunately not enough. Not with the number of them surrounding her. “You’ll have to kill me, before I go back there.” And unfortunately, it sounded like it wasn’t too dissimilar to what they had in mind for her betrayal. It was too much. The power. She was too weak. Her nose beginning to trickle with crimson, as she ultimately began to fall to the ground, the apartment in disarray as each of the items were damaged in one sense or another. But, right before she ultimately succumbed to the exhaustion, she did manage to call one person. Someone she knew could track her. Who could find her. “Sev!” It was repeated on a few occasions, each time, her tone decreasing in strength, until it became nothing but a whisper, her head falling to the floor, eyes closing, as she knew for when she eventually would awaken, this is not where she would be. However, had she just unexpectedly dragged an unwilling victim into this situation, luring him to danger, by calling to her whitelighter? Despite it being his job? Only time would tell.

[agentcable]

Law & Order Season 21 Ep. 9 "The Great Pretender"

Bernard and Cosgrove need to distinguish between fact and fiction to identify the killer of a young Manhattan socialite. The murder trial takes a personal turn for Price and places Maroun in a compromising situation.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

At a club, a woman makes a toast to someone who is uncomfortable being in the spotlight. The person responds in kind, and the woman expresses gratitude for her wonderful friends. Suddenly, the paparazzi interrupts, and shortly after, the woman, Ella, is found dead. She fell from a high height, possibly while struggling to survive. She had invitations to the opening of her nightclub with her, but there were no witnesses or surveillance cameras in the sketchy part of town where she was scouting locations for her club. Phone and text data are being awaited. They only have a lawyer's card in her purse as a means of contact.

According to the lawyer, Ella was a hard worker, but not a good business woman. Despite her creative energy, she struggled to raise capital on her own. The lawyer does not have any information about Ella's parents.

When the police visit Ella's apartment, they find no evidence of recent visitors, but they do find a photo of Ella with her parents. The police should have been able to find the family by using the last name Whitlock, which had already been mentioned. Mr. Whitlock refused to receive the notification in private, claiming that he has no daughter and has no idea who Ella is.

The police discovered that Ella's real name was Mary Costello and that she has a criminal record for theft. When they spoke to Mary's parents, they discovered that she had informed them that she was working in the fashion industry in Paris. Her parents did not notice anything unusual. Mary had received a new diamond necklace worth $200k from someone, but her parents did not inquire about the giver. The father asked, "What do we do now?" as he wished to bury his daughter.

Cosgrove believes that Mary's actions were twisted. Bernard finds it sad that she hated herself so much that she created an alternate persona. Cosgrove also shares a story about lying and pretending to be a doctor. Mary was in a lot of debt, with her credit cards maxed out. On the night of her death, she spent 7 thousand dollars on credit.

The police speak with Reese, the woman who toasted to Ella. She does not have any useful information. They inquire about the diamond necklace, which was not found on the body. Reese also does not know if Ella was dating, but they used the same matchmaker.

The police then speak with Tiffani, the matchmaker, who only matches people worth 200 million dollars or more. Ella has met someone special from a prestigious, old-line family, according to her.

The police speak with Wyatt, who appears shocked by the news of Ella / Mary's death. When the police ask about his whereabouts, Wyatt is taken aback. Wyatt reveals that he and Ella / Mary were dating and that they had discussed the club over the phone the day before. He is surprised to learn that Ella / Mary's real name was Mary Costello and that she was struggling financially. They can check with the doorman to see if he was home.

Ella's personal data was obtained because she charged her phone in Wyatt's car. A creditor named Matthew Dooley, who was arrested five months ago for aggravated battery, was aggressive about wanting his money and sent threats.

The man claims that he travelled to Istanbul with someone named "Ella" and ended up paying 40,000. "Ella" had previously mentioned receiving money from her trust fund, but the man suspected she was a fraud and ended their relationship. Although he knew of her fraudulent behaviour, he denies any involvement in her death. He states that he was working until 3 am on the night in question. According to him, a man from a Mexican drug cartel was also threatening her. It was later discovered that the man was pretending to be someone else to retrieve his money.

Recently, footage was found of Ella getting into a cab two nights ago. However, the cab driver claims to have no recollection of Ella. The police have GPS data that shows the cab driver dropped Ella off at the warehouse where she was later found dead. According to the driver, nothing unusual happened during the ride, and Ella paid him before entering the warehouse. The driver also noticed a nice car parked across the street.

Wyatt has been arrested and is claiming his innocence, insisting that he did not kill Ella. He has requested a lawyer.

Maroun argues that Wyatt is a flight risk, but the judge does not buy it. Wyatt's lawyer claims that he has an opioid addiction and should go to inpatient rehab instead of Rikers. Price delivers the news to McCoy that Wyatt is trying to claim his opioid addiction is responsible for his actions, using the not guilty by reason of insanity defense.

Maroun speaks with an addiction counselor who previously worked with Wyatt, and the counselor reveals that Wyatt had planned to propose to Ella.

The defense attorney's motion to plead insanity has been denied by the judge. The prosecution has been approached by the defense attorney for a deal. According to the defense attorney, there is a recording of Wyatt discussing opioid addiction with his uncle, who was only interested in making a profit. This conversation occurred five years ago when the uncle's marketing strategy was to get people addicted. Wyatt has expressed his desire to testify against his uncle. He has suffered from the loss of his treatment counselor, who died of an overdose, and wants to put an end to the pain and suffering.

McCoy is told by Price that their case has many holes, including the fact that the victim was conning the perpetrator. Price suggests taking the plea, but Maroun disagrees. McCoy states taht this is beyond their jurisdiction, as they are not the FDA. Price argues that they should prosecute the CEO who is defrauding the public and causing deaths. Last year alone, 75,000 people died from opioid overdoses. There is an opportunity to save hundreds of thousands of lives. McCoy agreed to take the plea and bring enterprise corruption charges against the uncle.

Price wants to change the individual with manslaughter, but the defense is attempting to suppress the tape. According to his lawyer, he was in Boston at the time, so there was no consent to the tape pursuant to MA law. The judge agreed.

Maroun and Price debated whether they could win the case. Price argued that he was trying to hold a bad man accountable, but Maroun seemed skeptical. He stated that, for their purposes, the victim was a man named Eric Howell who had passed away. The jury needed to see who he was.

The doctor testified that he was paid by the company to promote the medication in question as the best on the market. He was rewarded with trips around the world for prescribing more of it, earning almost half a million dollars in the end.

The defense argues that the doctor, who never met the client, is being blamed for the death. The court adjourns for the day. Nolan tells Maroun that Wyatt needs to perform well. However, Wyatt arrives and admits that he cannot testify because he is under the influence of opioids, which he started using while at Rikers. He is experiencing withdrawal symptoms and feeling unwell. He has requested Maroun to bring him some pills from his house to court in the morning.

The following day, Wyatt testifies. The defense attempts to object to hearsay, but it is overruled because it falls under an exception. Wyatt discloses everything, including his uncle's statement that addicts choose to use drugs. During cross-examination, the defense questioned the witness about the murder and any deals involved. Additionally, they inquired about the witness's drug use, to which he denied being under the influence.

The defense attempted to ask about a woman who allegedly obtained drugs for the witness the day before, but this line of questioning was objected to. Meanwhile, the prosecutor expressed frustration with the witness's testimony and actions, stating that she had to take certain measures to ensure that the witness fulfilled his obligations.

During the trial, CEO Ackman testified that the drugs he marketed were legal and not intended for addicts. However, Price pointed out that the drugs were marketed to veterans, who have a higher risk of opioid overdose compared to the general population. Ackman attempted to deny responsibility for the deaths of addicts. The defense requested to go to chambers. The defendant argues that Price cannot be impartial due to his brother's death from opioid abuse nine years ago and requests a mistrial. However, the judge maintains that he has followed both the facts and the law. The judge denies the request for mistrial, and Price proceeds with his closing argument. High highlights the disparity in sentencing between heroin dealers, who receive life sentences, and oxy dealers, wh receive stock options. He believes that drug companies have cause more harm than street dealers. He acknowledges that it is easy to blame addicts, but implores to move past that way of thinking. He accuses Ackman of prioritizing profits over human lives.

The verdict is in: the defendant is guilty.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek21 - Day 7: No Dialogue: This Time

Is... is this what organisation feels like? Having a fic ready to post?

Kayla wanted more Divorce Jalice, which I haven’t posted outside of Discord yet, but this is basically a snapshot of their reconciliation. 

he.

I saw you for the first time when we were seventeen and, Alice, I fell in love with you first sight. God, I was a goner who made a complete fool of himself trying to impress you and, despite my very best efforts, somehow you felt the same way.

It takes him the best part of the week to write the letter.

He struggles to find the words he wants to say. It feels a little dangerous, even writing the letter - she made herself clear when she moved in, that she didn’t want to remarry him. That it had taken months of negotiations for Alice to even agree to move in. And then there had been the long debate about her paying her share, even though her freelancing was successful and she was rarely at a loss for work, every trip to the ER left her exhausted for days. She didn’t make a salary, didn’t have any benefits… it just wasn’t reasonable or even expected for her to cover exactly half of the household expenses plus her own - he knew how much she loathed taking money from her family, but had made peace with it when she had no other choice.

And they had been had reached a good place, together. He’d argue it was better now than it had been when they were younger - there was so much laughter, so much conversation, and there was never a night when he didn’t look at her, curled up asleep in his arms, when he didn’t thank every power on earth that he’d been given another chance with Alice.

This… this was something else entirely. This was putting his entire heart in her hands, and risking losing her entirely. He knew Alice, better than he had before, and he knew that if she wasn’t at least a tiny bit open to this, she’d just move out again. Give them both ‘space’.

So, he writes the letter over and over again until it’s as good as it’s going to get. Then he writes it again because he’s smeared the ink.

But finally, it’s done, and he keeps it in his bag - like a ticking bomb. He goes home, they have dinner together and go to bed early to make love and watch the end of a movie. He sleeps with her in his arms, and he tries not to think that if this all goes wrong, this will be it - the very last time. That she’ll be gone again, like a ghost, and he already knows how wrong that will feel.

He leaves her sleeping the next morning, with a kiss to her temple. He walks across the road to the bodega for the good bagels and a bunch of flowers. He leaves them in the kitchen, and props up the letter in front of the vase.

And then he pulls the rings out. The fine, etched wedding ring, and the sapphire engagement ring. The initials and dates are engraved in the inside of both rings, three sets of Whitlock grooms and brides. He’d felt like a failure when he’d taken them back, had broken a link in an unbreakable chain. They were always destined to be passed to one of Rosalie’s children, but freely given, maybe even bequeathed. Never across a conference table, in front of lawyers.

Never as an act of pity and kindness when he had been buzzing from whatever cocktail of pills and alcohol he’d chased with an espresso before he signed away any legal or emotional connection to Alice.

Fuck, he was still ashamed and guilty. He still hated himself, especially now he knew the entire story.

He stares at the rings in his hand and hopes. That’s all he has left. Hope. And then he tucks them into the envelope.

It’s done. Whatever happens next, it is what it is.

she.

I have struggled with how close I came to losing you forever, and I think I always will. I need you to know that you are, and have always been, the best and most precious thing to me.

It’s a normal morning when she wakes up. Jasper leaves the curtains drawn these days, leaves her to sleep the morning away, if that’s what she needs. There have been a few little set-backs with her health over the last few years, but mostly she’s good.

No, not good. Better than good. Happy, content, loved. It’s more than she ever hoped for, in those dark days between one failed surgery and the next; when she and her surgeons had to debate the benefits of more surgery versus a full transplant, and she was alone with no one to lean on, no hand to hold.

Looking back, she wants to comfort her past self, let her know that better days are coming, that Jasper will come back to her - and her Jasper, not the man she divorced - and she’ll be okay. That every empty hospital room, every nurse that pitied her lack of flowers, and family and friends clustered around her bedside as she waited for the doctors’ verdict, her chest stitched and stapled and swathed in bandages, is just another step closer to things being wonderful again. That she and Jasper are both better people, better friends, better partners and lovers for everything that happened.

She gets out of bed, and heads towards the bathroom - detouring into her bedroom to retrieve clothes. She’s got a half-done piece on her desk, one that needs to be finished and shipped to her client in the next week or so.

After her shower, she locates her phone. The lock-screen is a photo of her and Jasper, the weekend he dragged her to California for some conference. They’re sprawled out on a sun-lounger together, grinning at the camera. It’s her favourite photo of him, of them. She can see his tattoos snaking around his side, his arm, his shoulder, and his neck; his hair is pulled back in a ridiculous ponytail she finds impossibly sexy, and the smile on his face is pure, unadulterated happiness. She’s tucked into his side in the silly (he called them ‘hot’ and ‘adorable’) heart-shaped sunglasses he’d bought her when she forgot hers. She’s got her hands clasped against her chest, her head nestled against his, and she’s smiling too. She remembers being so nervous about wearing a bikini for the first time, with her scars, but he’d convinced her, and they’d had a great day. A few people stared, but that was normal.

That had been the week he’d started wearing his wedding ring again, and when she’d asked, he’d dismissed it by saying he was tired of people hitting on him, even after he told them he wasn’t interested - and at the conference, with alcohol and the beach, it would be more annoying.

She’d let him think she believed that excuse and let it go.

It’s after eleven, and there’s no messages from him. Usually when she gets up, there’s at least three or four - maybe a photo of good coffee art if he stops by his usual place; a link to a restaurant or a movie he thinks they’d enjoy; or maybe an article that will make her laugh. And always a ‘good morning beautiful’ just before lunchtime.

Not today, not yet. Not so much as a dirty emoji message as a joke. There’s one from Rosalie (lunch on Friday), one from a prospective client, and one from Esme (family lunch on Sunday, can she and Jasper bring a dessert).

She frowns as she slips into the kitchen, and her gaze falls on the flowers - a mess of bright yellows and blues and pinks and purples. They’re beautiful and unnecessary and she’s already reaching for her phone again when she sees the letter propped up against it.

And for a second, she thinks her heart stops.

they.

I know you didn’t buy whatever I told you about me wearing my ring again. Because it was never about anyone else. It’s about you and me, and my commitment to you - my promise that as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here. And that’s why I want you to have these back - because they have always been yours.

He walks home the long way. Home, in that moment, feels like a trap. Until he gets there, slides the key into the lock, he still has a partner, a girlfriend, a quasi-wife who told him so damn clearly that she didn’t want more than what they had.

(He knows it all now. The depth of the hurt, the pain. Pondering if she should have just cancelled the surgery and died quietly in the bed next to him whilst he drank and got high and fucked around behind her back. The days she spent in a hospital bed, alone and forgotten whilst he sat in a hard plastic chair in a church basement and admitted he had a problem. The long nights in the ER, holding her breath that it was just a false alarm, and nothing to worry about. Couples therapy had been as damning as it had been cleansing, and he carries her lost years with him everywhere, reminding him to be better, reminding him of how close it all came to being unfixable. He understands why she shies away from remarrying him when their marriage was always tangled up in so much hurt, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting more, wanting the most she can give.)

She’s in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when he walks in the door. That has to be a good sign. The apartment is warm and cosy, and it feels more like a home than anywhere he’s ever lived. He doesn’t want that to change.

Clutching his peace offering - a raspberry cake from the place a few blocks away - he walks into the kitchen.

She’s always the most beautiful woman in the room, in the world, to him and that’s no different tonight. There are no words for her, flitting around the kitchen like she knows what she’s doing, the curl of her hair against her cheek, the way she bites her lip as she checks something on the stove.

The way she brushes her hair out of her face with a hand that is wearing a fine, etched wedding ring, and a sapphire engagement ring that has their initials and wedding year engraved on the inside, and his heart definitely freezes in his chest and she’s wearing them again and that’s not something he let himself hope for. He prepared himself for the very worst and he’s found the very best and he doesn’t know what to say.

She meets his gaze with that warm smile, the one that is a little secretive and knowing that she only ever offers to him, and he holds out the cake like an offering and as she takes it, her eyes lighting up, he moves around the island to scoop her into his arms and kiss her. She squeals and somehow manages to put the cake down before she throws her arms around his neck, and he can feel her smiling against his lips.

He kisses her like it’s the very last time he’ll ever kiss her, like he’s trying to prove something. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s always going to be making up the past to her, like he can erase the hurt, the pain, the suffering. But they don’t have a time machine, and she’s long since made peace with everything that happened. Addiction is an illness, like everything else, but one that never truly goes away. The same way her heart will always been a little bit broken, he will also have that struggle. Maybe some day it will win again; there will probably be days when he does fall, just as long as there are more days he doesn’t. And that’s okay - she didn’t fall in love with him expecting him to be perfect. And the more she thinks about it, reflects on the apologies and the things he’s told her about everything that happened, she knows he never intended to hurt her.

Jasper’s been the centre of her universe since they were seventeen, since he looked across a classroom at her like he was starstruck and then grinned, that same grin he’s wearing now like he’s won an unwinnable prize. As if she could have resisted him, back then and right now.

That everything she is to him, he is to her.

He pulls back to look her in the eyes, to take her hand wearing the rings and to kiss it. She kisses him again hard and that’s all he needs to hoist her over his shoulder, her squealing and laughing, and it’s the best sound in the world as he turns off the stove and the oven, and sweeps her off towards his room.

Towards their room, both of them giddy, drunk on each other, on the idea that they’re in the same place at the same time, happy, healthy, and whole. Together, forever (this time.)

There is nothing in the world I love or will even love a much as I love you.

[claracivry]

@geriatricsloth this is my entry for the Jalice secret Santa! Apologies for the weirdness lol 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557003

Today, we are going to back to civil war times to talk about the very mysterious and murky disappearance of Jasper Whitlock, a man whose convulse life story may not be over yet.

"Wait, may not be over? But didn't you say if from the civil war?

Wh - what are we talking here?"

                                         "Let's put it this way, I don't think Buffy and Jasper would get along."

"Wh- Vampires!?!?"

Our story begins in Texas, in 1863, in the middle of Civil War. Jasper Whitlock is the youngest major in the Texas Cavalry, having reached that rank at the age of 19. Soldiers that served under and with him, describe him as quote "an excellent strategist, loyal and extremely charismatic" end quote. In fact, some people claim that it was that "charisma" that got him to that rank.

                                       "What people are saying is that maybe that charisma was manipulation or mind control of some kind."

"Oh?"

                                   "I mean some other time, I get making a kid Major."

"Maybe he's the nephew of some lady you like."

                                          "Or maybe you think the kid has potential.”

“But at war?You want someone who will be very good."

                                         "And how was that kid so good? Furthermore, how did he convince a bunch of older soldiers of it?”

“t is - it is a bit funky.”

                                         “Funky?”

“Well, forgive me for not knowing the slang from the

"1860s! Four score and funky ago?”

Jasper is on the way to the top, to becoming one of the big names of the war,when one day, after evacuating a column of women and children, he vanishes on the way back to his camp. The people on the cavalry search for him for days, but found no trace. Some of the soldiers he served with say that his disappearance was a "devastating loss", as they were counting on him for his original and out of the box strategies.

“So he was this super soldier with like Jedi mind powers”

                                        “Yep”

“And he vanished on the way back home? Not even on a fight?”

                                      “And he clearly knew how to defend himself, I mean that wa what he made a living of.”

“Weird.”

                               “It gets weirder.”

While in most of our episodes vanished people are never seen again, this is not the case of Major Whitlock. In the year after his disappearance, many people claimed to have seen glimpse of him. The most detailed account is from thirty two years later, from a soldier that served under him, Julius Buckley, who says, quote “Saw major Whitlock at the market today. He was as young as the day he disappeared, accompanied by some Mexican woman. He seemed in pain” end quote.

“Was that a g-g-ghost?”

                                   “You don’t sound convinced.”

“Well, honestly, this guy didn’t seem that easy to kill.”

                                  “Accounts do say that he was always helping out.”

“Hmm”

                             “Maybe some starving dude saw his uniform and decided,hey, this outfit is sure gonna get me some nice soup.”

“The story of the Jedi soldier who died for soup”

                                         (wheeze)

Let’s Jump to 1948, when a man fitting Whitlock’s description-

“Wait, 1948? The dude would be, what, a hundred?”

                          “A hundred and four years old. But wait, it gets... juicier.”

A man fitting Major Whitlock’s description, just the age he was when he vanished. was seen in several locations with who looked like mental hospital escapee Alice Brandon.  

“A mental - what?”

                      “And get this, this girl was institutionalized by her family because...”  

“This is gonna be strange. I can smell it.”

                     “she apparently had premonitions. And it spooked her family.”

Alice Brandon was reported speaking to the man, who had a Texas accent, and referring to him as Jasper.

“But it can’t be the same guy, right?”      

Here’s a sketch of Major Whitlock from the war and here’s a picture of who seem to be Whitlock and Brandon coming out of the movies in 1963.

“Holy shit that’s the same guy!”

                                      (wheeze) “Are you a believer?”

“saint Obi Wan Kenobi that’s some Twlight zone shit!”

“Yes! I believe!”

Lately there hadn’t been as many incidents where they had been sighted, although, there’s some records of a couple of foster kids of a doctor also called Alice and Jasper who seem to bear a striking resemblance to Brandon and Whitlock, and who had been involved in some incidents.

                             “And this doctor that is supposed to be their foster dad”

“You don’t tell me. He weird too?”

                “There’s records of a doctor fitting his description all the way back to the middle ages.”

“Ryan, you’re making this up!”

                                 “I’m not! We should do an episode on him, too, cos there’s stuff there.”

Now that we have the puzzling facts, let’s go to the theories.

“This should be good.”

Theory #1

Is that Jasper was taken by that mysterious woman and the people that have been seen later, like Brandon’s companion, are simply people who bear a striking similarity. Jasper was quite a popular name back in the day, and this could just be a family saga from Texas who all look quite remarkably like the lost Major.

                                      “I don’t buy this though. They’re too similar.”

“Yeah, me neither. Not weird enough.”

Theory #2

Is that neither Major Whitlock nor Miss Brandon are human. We have previously mentioned that they both seemed to have some sort of psychic power, and the pictures, testimonials and records all seem to indicate that they haven’t aged in a century.

“So what do you think, vampire?”

                           “Or they could be from an alien species that just doesn’t age.”

“Seriously?”

                         “They could! Here was a crash in the middle ages and they got stranded an are now looking for each other and now pretending to be a family.”

“Hmmmmm.....”

                        “Human people don’t have actual premonitions, Shane.”

“Still...”

                       “Ageless aliens. I’m calling it.”

Whether they are vampires pretending to be foster children, or simply the offspring of the first Jasper and Alice, named after their ancestors, it seemed that for now... their case will remain... Unsolved.  

[adrwi]

{Please Reblog} Pet-Friendly Shelters in Eastern Central, North and South Florida 🐶🐱♥️

Update: I am so glad this got the notes it needs but we here in Florida were so fortunate. Our friends in the Bahamas however were not, please if you can donate to the Mercy Corps!

Please reblog this list of Pet Friendly Shelters from Jacksonville to Orlando to West Palm Beach.

My County is in this list, kinda got sad composing it. Please stay safe and Never Leave Your Pets Behind

Orange County-

East River High School 654 Columbia School Road Orlando, FL 32833 Pet Friendly

Freedom High School 2500 Taft Vineland Road Orlando, FL 32837 Special Needs, Pet Friendly

Lake Nona High School 12500 Narcoosee Road Orlando, FL 32832 Pet Friendly

Oak Ridge High School 700 W. Oak Ridge Road Orlando, FL 32809 Pet Friendly

University High School 2450 Cougar Way Orlando, FL 32817 Special Needs, Pet Friendly

Seminole County-

Lyman High School

865 S Ronald Reagan Blvd, Longwood, FL 32750

Bentley Elementary School

2190 S Oregon Ave, Sanford, FL 32771

Volusia County-

Hinson Middle,1860 N. Clyde Morris Blvd, Daytona Beach (Pets Separate)

Pine Ridge High, 925 Howland Blvd, Deltona (Pets Seperate)

River Springs Middle, 900 West Ohio Ave, Orange City (Pets Seperate)

Volusia County Fairgrounds, 3150 W. State Rd 44, DeLand (Pets and People Together)

Brevard County-

Port St. John Community Center, 6650 Corto Road, Port St. John

Viera Regional Community Center, 2300 Judge Fran Jamieson Way, Viera

Wickham Park Community Center, 2815 Leisure Way, Melbourne

Ted Whitlock Community Center, 1951 Malabar Road NW, Palm Bay

Polk County-

The only pet friendly shelter that will be open will be at Lake Region High School, 1995 Thunder Road, Eagle Lake. Pet owners must bring shot records for their pets, an airline-approved carrying case or crate and pet food.

Flager County-

Rymfire Elementary, 1425 Rymfire Drive, Palm Coast, FL 32164 (special needs)

Bunnell Elementary, 305 N. Palmetto St, Bunnell, FL 32110 (pet-friendly, general)

St. John’s County-

Pacetti Bay Middle School, 245 Meadowlark Ln. (Special needs)

Timberlin Creek Elementary School, 555 Pine Tree Ln. (Pet-friendly)

Southwoods Elementary, 4750 State Road 206. (Pet-friendly)

Duval County-

Atlantic Coast High School (Special Needs/Pet Friendly)

Chimney Lakes Elementary School (General Population/Pet Friendly)

Enterprise Elementary (Special Needs)

Landmark Middle School (General Population/Pet Friendly)

Mandarin Middle School (General Population/Pet Friendly)

Oceanway Elementary School (Special Needs)

Nassau County-

Hilliard Middle Senior High (Special medical needs only, Pet-friendly))

Callahan Middle (General population, Pet-friendly)

Osceola County-

Harmony High School (pet-friendly shelter) 3601 Arthur J Gallagher Blvd, St Cloud, FL 34771

First responders and their pets will be housed at Osceola Heritage Park at 1875 Silver Spur Ln, Kissimmee, FL 34744.

Indian River County-

Liberty Magnet School, located at 6580 81 St. in Vero Beach

St Luice County-

Fort Pierce Westwood Academy, located at 1801 Panther Lane in Fort Pierce

Martin County-

Willoughby Learning Center, located at 5150 SE Willoughby Boulevard in Stuart. The facility will accommodate up to 300 residents and their pets.

Palm Beach County-

West Boynton Recreational Center at 6000 Northtree Blvd., Lake Worth. Only available to Palm Beach County residents who reside in a mandatory evacuation zone, mobile home, or in sub-standard housing.

@mostlycatsmostly

[bonjour-rainycity]

A Firefighter in Shining...Denim?

**Originally posted on ff.net**

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters nor am I making any money from this story. 

Summary: Human AU. Alice gets stuck in a tree while trying to rescue her cat from the woods. Thankfully, a certain firefighter just happens to be trying to meditate nearby. Hopefully, he can lend a hand. 

Pairing: Alice x Jasper

Word count: 1275

Rating: K

Warnings: None

“Oh, no you don’t. Lou, come back here!” Begging her to understand me although I know she can’t, I chase my aging cat Louise out of the backyard from which she has escaped. 

“Louise, please!” Heedless of my pleads, she darts across the road. I follow and nearly collide with a banged-up vehicle. The driver skids to a stop whilst shouting profanities that I do my best to ignore. I shoot a “sorry!” over my shoulder and continue the chase. 

At a height of 4’10, my legs can’t be expected to be that long, and Louise has the distinct advantage of having four of them. She uses her speed and agility to disappear into the one of nearby forests of Forks. Knowing my search just became a thousand times more difficult, I groan. I take a deep breath, jog a few more paces into the forest, and look around. Growing up hunting and fishing with my family has taught me a few things about tracking, and it’s this knowledge (coupled with the quite obvious paw-prints in the mud) that leads me on a journey through the woods.

I follow the trail at a gym-teacher’s pace, doing my best to pay attention to my surroundings. After about 20 minutes, the trail goes cold. Frustrated, I lean up against a tree and think about what I’ll have to tell my little brother. In my head I see the tears he’ll try hard to hide. He’ll be so sad. 

“Mew.”

My head snaps up. 

“Meow.”

There it is again! I step away from the tree and spin in circles. Finally, I spot her, high up in a lush tree. Crap.

I pace as my mind works out the problem I’m facing. On one hand, poor Edward will be devastated when he finds out Louise is gone; on the other, I don’t very much like heights. It’s the image of Edward’s tear-stained face that finally motivates me to throw off my blazer and hop for the lowest branch. Four tries later, I’ve jumped and pulled my way up, about five and a half feet off the ground. 

“Okay, good,” I sigh to myself. Gulping, I reach for the next branch and pull myself up. Then the next. And the next. The next. I keep going until I’m a good thirty feet off the ground and Louise is just out of arm’s reach to my right. “Louise,” I huff. In order to reach her, I’m going to have to stretch. I secure my hand as best as I can around the sturdiest branch closest to me and slowly walk along it to place me closer to Louise. I reach my arm out and continue stretching as far as I can. Almost there…

Crack!

I scream as I fall through the branches. Sticks and leaves scrape my body during my downward tumble. A cluster of branches halts my descent about ten feet down from my previous location. The noise evidently scared Louise, who has now jumped like a squirrel from this tree to the one next to it. Ugh. 

“Ow,” I pout, looking over my now slightly-bleeding skin. There goes my Ralph Lauren blouse. Just as I’m wondering how the heck I’m going to safely untangle myself from this mess, I hear footsteps approaching quickly. Great. Someone to observe my extraordinary embarrassment.

A deep voice with southern drawl travels up to where I am caught in the tree. “Is someone up there?” 

I briefly consider not answering so I can save my pride, but I reason that I would most likely seriously injure myself if I tried extract myself and capture Louise. I sigh, resigned. 

“Yes, hello!” I try to sound as though I’m not in pain, but the stinging is becoming quite obvious. 

“Are you hurt?” He’s noticed, then. 

“Not badly. Just some scratches, is all.” 

“Can you get yourself down, or do you need help?”

“Um,” I once again consider lying, but decide that is not in my best interest in the long-run. “I might need some help.”

“Comin’ up.” 

There’s some rustling, and I gasp and grab the branches around me tighter as they begin to shake in response to the second presence. 

“Well, look at you all tangled up.” His voice is lightly amused, much to my annoyance. “Might I ask what happened?”

I look up to answer and am met with the alluring combination of honey blond hair and brown eyes. I smile, annoyance fading quickly. “Hello.”

He gives a crooked smile in return. “Hello.” There’s a pause as I take in the sight in front of me. I should be wary--he’s a stranger, after all, but I feel strangely at peace. Safe, even. I remember his question. “Oh, I was trying to catch my cat, Louise. She escaped from my house and made a run for freedom.”

He chuckles, and it’s a lovely sound, like a bubbling spring. “If she’s still around, I can probably catch her after we get you safe on the ground.”

I nod and follow his instructions on how to untangle myself. The branches are unsteady and shake, which is frightening, but he keeps his hands on my forearms the whole time and I know he won’t let me fall. In just a few minutes I’m standing on the branch beside him, which bows a little under our combined weight. We make our way down the tree slowly, him descending a branch or two and then reaching his arms up to guide me down to meet him. Finally, we’re on the ground. 

He heaves a breath, clapping his hands together. “Where’s the cat?”

I point to the tree next to us. He nods and scales it at three times the rate we descended the tree. There’s a yowl, a grunt, and man and cat drop down to the ground beside me. 

“Louise, you bad cat!” I chastise her when I see the shining scratch across the man’s cheek. 

He smiles easily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“So you frequently rescue cats from trees, then?”

“I’m a firefighter so, yes, it does take up a significant portion of my time.” He smiles almost bashfully, looking at the ground before meeting my eyes once again. “Meeting beautiful women thirty feet up, however, that might just be a one-time thing.” 

I smile up at him even as a blush takes over my cheeks. “I’m Alice Brandon.”

“Jasper Whitlock, ma’am.” His southern drawl is once again evident, and my smile grows. 

“What brought you to this neck of the woods today? If I may, that’s not quite a firefighter’s uniform.” I chuckle as I take in his outfit: Denim jeans, hiking boots, and a dark gray long-sleeved tee. 

He snorts. “I was attempting to meditate. The high pitched scream kind of ruined it for me, but I’m pleased with the exchange.”

A comfortable silence passes as we stare at each other and grin. A disgruntled hiss from Louise interrupts us. 

“My dad’s a doctor and should be home any minute if you want to get those scratches cleaned up. House is about a mile and a half that way.” He points west. 

I know I shouldn’t follow a stranger to his home, but I feel perfectly comfortable with Jasper and I somehow know he isn’t a danger to me. 

“Sure! What will we do with Louise?”

He scrunches his eyebrows in an adorable display of confusion. “She can have the run of the laundry room? I have a dog who’s never met a cat, but I’ll be sure Louise is safe.”

“Wonderful.”

On a whim, I slip my hands through his and we begin the walk to his home.

A/n Just something cute I would add to my Tumblr page! 

xx, 

Bjr

Permanent tag list: @puer-de-infinitate

[gongju-juice]

5. Once Upon a Southern Night

Crescent City

Warnings: Mentions of slavery and Confederacy

New Orleans. Hot and humid as home. Sister city to Mobile. Walking down the steamy streets, it smelled like spicy seasoning and margaritas—sounded like jazz beats and rushing crowds. 

This year, Ash Wednesday fell incredibly late; March 10 to be exact. You never thought you would find yourself stumbling through New Orleans in the middle of Fat Tuesday—half-naked dancers screaming at your boyfriend from parade floats and indiscreet tourists flashing themselves as your family walked by. It was the most humiliating experience you ever felt, and all you could do is curse the Lost Cause soldiers who started the damn holiday in your home city in the first place.

The hospital was located smack in the middle of the old French Quarter where colonial buildings towered above the people, decorated in royal colored beads and winding lights. Nobody could drive the car through the crowd, so you had to get there by walking. You held your mom’s hand with your left, Jasper’s hand with your right.

“It’s never like this at home,” you explained to Jasper with a nervous laugh. “Did you know that the New Orleans mayor has to get permission from Mobile’s mayor every year to practice Mardi Gras?”

He looked down at you with his burning eyes. Since becoming aware of your family’s secret, he’d hardened himself to this emotionless being whose only concern was your safety. You were not allowed to leave his side, and when you had to go to the bathroom, he stood right outside the door like some long lost puppy.

“Something tells me they wouldn’t care whether or not they got permission anyway,” Emmett cackled. “New Orleans is wild.”

“Yeah, and you keep your eyes on the ground, sir,” Rosalie said, punching the side of his arm. The reverberating echo sounded like cracking glass.

The hospital was in very good shape on the outside despite being closed indefinitely for the past seventeen years. According to your mom, immediately after you were born, the place had been completely shut down and abandoned. 

There were pictures of all kinds of historic events hung in antique gold frames on the walls: naval ships on fire at the Battle of Galveston, slaves picking fresh cotton on a South Carolinian plantation, Jefferson Davis’s inauguration in Montgomery, Alabama.

And in the middle of the lobby were a series of three grand portraits of Texas Majors. And at the end: Jasper Whitlock, Houston native, (1845-1863), died during a surprise Union attack in an evacuation order. There he was in his fine uniform, a cowboy hat over his honey curls. He looked so recognizable. . .so familiar in those white gloves—

He touched your side, and you looked around. The others were gone from sight, but you knew they could still hear everything where you were. 

“If I could go back in time, if I could start all over again, I would do so in a heartbeat. I’m not proud of my past, Y/N. Not when I was human, nor when I changed. And I. . .I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness but I—”

There was venom glistening in his eyes. Vampires couldn’t cry. It was one of the things Rosalie said she missed most about being a human. But looking at Jasper now, he looked like he was on the very verge of doing the possible. He fell to his knees.

“I’m so sorry for it all. I’m so sorry for what I did. I never. . .I never did some of the things my comrades did, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty. I still killed people. I killed people for the wrong reason, Y/N. I was a monster, and I can never wipe that blood off my ledger.”

You cradled his face in your hands. “We all have our past, Jas. You might’ve made mistakes, you might’ve done bad things, but you’re not the same person you used to be. It was a different time and era, and frankly, you growing from what you’ve suffered and experienced makes me love you even more.”

“But I was evil. There was evil in my heart, and I thought I was doing right. I convinced myself I was fighting for my neighbors—for my way of life. But the truth is, that way of life was wrong. Whether it was enslaving African Americans or newborns, I still felt all of their pain. It was so much, so much death and heartache,” he insisted, holding on to your wrists like they were the only thing they could hold him upright. “And I’m not worthy to be your man.”

“You damn right, you aren’t,” a feminine voice snapped behind you.

You turned around to face a black woman, just about her early twenties, menacing at Jasper by your side. She had a thick, kinky head of natural textured hair, and she was very well built—like she could run a marathon and beat everyone in the race. And her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of hazel that stood out against her skin.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, your voice trembling and barely above a whisper. The Cullens appeared from the shadows, surprised and slightly on edge that someone was in the hospital that they did not know about.

“My name used to be Ava Lafayette,” she explained, glancing you up down like you were nothing more than a roach. “We used to be—we are sisters.”

“How do I? I feel like we’ve met before.” Jasper touched his head, his fingernails digging into his skin like he was in severe pain. You hugged his waist, trying to comfort him but there wasn’t much you could do for the ailment of a vampire. Carlisle held him upright with his steady hands.

“That’s because we have, Major. You had a mission to gather all male, able-bodied volunteers from Mobile when you stumbled across the Lafayette plantation. I was a house slave of that household, of Preston Lafayette Sr.’s household. And he is also my father.”

You reeled back in horror. “So. . .does that mean? Preston Lafayette II is my brother???!”

She shook her head. “Nope, not this time. He’s my brother. Your father’s name was James. He was a full-blooded slave who lived on a neighboring plantation about thirty miles north.”

“But how is this possible?” your mother demanded, holding your arm. “She was born right here seventeen years ago. My husband and I adopted her. She was a baby!”

Ava glared at her, her eyes brightening inhumanely blue. “How are you skeletons still standing and breathing? It’s the work of the witches. The rule of supernatural order. Except in this case, Y/N is an exception.”

“. . .What?”

Ava suddenly waved her hand, and the air around you transformed into a place that was not the hospital. You were in the middle of a hot, blazing field, there were little black children running around carrying cracked buckets of water. Horses whinnied at the swarming flies, and poorly abused men and women sang in the fields.

“Massah completely forgot about Mama after I was born. About six years later when she had enough cloth to make her own wedding dress, she and James jumped the broom. You were born a couple of months later, right around the time Preston Jr. himself was born.

The two of you were inseparable. You played in the fields together when you weren’t in the Big House secretly learning lessons with Missus. He taught you how to ride his horse, Midnight, and you showed him how to gather berries by the river where the girls washed the laundry.

The two of you fell in love, and although you’d gotten much too old to be running around, Preston loved you to pieces. He begged Massah to let you in the house with all the fair-skinned servants. So, Massah took it one step further. He gave you to him for his nineteenth birthday.

The night of the party, however, Major Whitlock and some of his men came riding up to the front steps. They invited him in for dinner, and Preston had no choice but to join since his father was much too old to serve and he had no other male siblings. 

He had to leave you behind, but not before finding out you were expecting’. It wasn’t uncommon for those kinds of things to happen back then, but it was still big news. Preston was devastated. He never believed in slavery anyhow, but he was afraid Missus would sell you if she knew about the baby. He was supposed to be getting married to Miss Abigail Mae Shepherd, and it would not be good news to hear about a half-negro baby in the plantation.

Unfortunately, Preston was right. While he was gone, Mama was furious. Missus had made arrangements for you to be sold up to a whore house in Charleston the next week. But see the thing about Mama—she was no ordinary slave. She was a witch who’d given up her magic in order to be with a human, James. 

She sought help from her friends, but they would not help her. So, with no other choice, she decided to cast the forbidden spell.

She ignored the laws of time, erased your memories, and de-aged you in order to send you to the year (----), when you were ‘born.’ This hospital was never real, just an illusion that came with the spell. She intended for some human to adopt you so you could grow up as a normal child in the 21st century, but instead you were adopted by a white vampire.”

The illusion melted away, and once again you were in the dusty hospital.

“You don’t know the pain and suffering I went through while you were enjoying the amenities of the future. Mama, after breaking the most sacred forbidden spell of the witches, was sentenced to death by all of the North American clans. They allowed Missus to have her hanged, and then she turned her rage onto me.

I eventually ran to New Orleans to escape the Lafayettes and find the truth of our supernatural background. There, the witches accepted me, albeit begrudgingly, and taught me how to use my power. I knew I’d eventually find you, one year or another, but I didn’t expect it would take nearly two centuries to do so.”

Your heart was broken. Your whole life—as tragic as it was—was built with that man who was chasing after you now. He was the father to your unborn child, the child that would never be born. You’d grown up together, known each other inside and out. But you’d completely forgotten him and now he was coming back—and for what reason?

“So. . .witches. . .are they immortal?” Carlisle asked.

“Precisely—if they choose to enable their powers and stay that way. Only a witch can kill a witch. We witches created the first vampires in the world as a part of our Goddess’s order. The werewolves and shapeshifters and La Push were created some time before that as well.”

“But why is Preston trying to come for Y/N? I thought you said he was against slavery? If he really loves her, why didn’t he just tell her the whole truth in the first place?” Your mom demanded.

Ava's eyes turned back hazel, and a chair appeared behind her. “Because he wants to completely ruin Jasper. He blames Jasper for making him leave, and he blames Jasper for all the wars he fought with Maria in the South. And the little devil has allied herself with his cause, for no one wants to see him suffer more than she does.”

You felt Jasper tense beside you. None of this was his fault, he was just doing what he was ordered. But Preston was focusing all his energy on completely destroying your bond with him. Earlier, Jasper explained that you were his mate. Perhaps, this was a revenge plot?

“But why would he think I’d willingly fall into his arms like we’re still in love? It was over a century ago, and I don’t remember any of it!” you shouted.

“That man died in 1863 when he was turned. Since that day, he’s been stuck in the past—eternally bound to the promise to return back to you. No matter what you say, he’s always going to after you. That’s what he told his mother, and the next day she signed your papers.”

Jasper wrapped a protective arm around your middle. “That won’t happen. He won’t take her away from me. And as for Maria, I know her better than anyone else in this world. I’m not scared if it comes to a fight.”

“Why can’t I see anything anymore?” Alice cried. “And why can’t the witches help?”

“Because once a witch is aware of what they are, vampires can no longer turn them or use their gifts on them. Maria and Preston have also probably enlisted the help of witches or wolves to cover their tracks. And as for the witches. . .they have completely shunned Y/N from society. In fact, they’d probably be more willing to kill her than help, but because of me, they’re holding their preference of the law at bay.”

Edward, frustrated at the lack of his telepathic abilities, said, “So we’re going in blind, the witches won’t help—isn’t this a Volturi level threat?”

Ava sighed. “The Volturi is completely submissive to the witches. If they come near a witch family or steps within a mile radius of even the city of New Orleans, the entire vampire race will be completely wiped out. Sorry, but they won’t be much help in this fight.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Immediately, Jasper caught you as you wobbled on your feet from the lack of oxygen. His scent comforted you, but you felt the distance between the two of you more than ever. At one point, you were pledged to another man; the same man after his life now.

“So what can we do?” your mother and Esme pleaded. “How can we save her? They’re bringing their newborn armies after us, the seven of us won’t be enough!”

Ava twirled a ball of light in her fingers thoughtfully. You realized that despite the fact she was biracial, she looked so similar to you. You shared the same round nose and shape of lips. 

“I really hate you more than anything, if I’m being honest. Your mom favored you and sent you away, leaving me in the dust and without a mother in a time when I didn’t understand a bit of what magic was or that the supernatural even existed,” she admitted. “But you’re still my sister, and you’re the only family I’ve got left. I’m going to try to get some of my friends to come to our side, but that’s no guarantee. Sadly, Helen of Troy is still pinned for being the start of war.”

“And we have some friends of our own,” Carlisle said. “And we’ll try to convince the shapeshifters to help too. If we could lure them back to La Push, that would mean infringing on werewolf territory and it would give them no choice but to defend Y/N.”

Jasper held you tighter, and his eyes darkened. “I don’t care what I have to do. Preston has been sorely mistaken, and now we have an old score to settle. Y/N and I are in love now, and we always will be. What happened in 1863 will stay in 1863, and I will be the one to make sure that happens.”

You snuggled into his chest, closing your eyes. You prayed to God—the Goddess or whoever—that you and your family would end up okay. You prayed for the baby that was never born, the baby that was never loved, and you prayed for your biological mother’s tortured soul. But lastly, and more importantly, you prayed for Jasper.

Don’t you like watching Jasper ride his hOnSe??

Part Three   Part Four