#there’s only two animals that need fostering at the shelter right now and they’re both dogs with serious aggression and bite history and I

[madigoround]

So I’ve been working on my anxieties about the future a lot lately and I’ve made some really great improvements, including getting almost entirely past my stress over getting a pet because it could lead to financial turmoil (I have a million back up plans in place now to make me feel more comfortable about such things) and I had been thinking I might get a dog because not only would it be company but as a woman living alone it might provide me some level of intimidation from outsiders, and as a step in the direction of getting a pet and also just because I enjoy it I have been fostering and today I brought my foster kitten back (I already miss her but she never got less feral and her scratching and biting only hurt more as she grew, hopefully she’ll calm down as she grows up) and I was sad that I would be going home alone tonight so I took a stroll around the shelter and I was only really looking at the dogs entertaining getting one and then this meow calls me over to the kitten side and there’s this little fur ball and she comes right to me to get pet (my foster kitten hated being pet or held so this was a nice change) and I ended up sitting down with her in a one on one and she was so sweet but I had to go back to work and they’re closing early tonight so I said if she’s still there tomorrow then it was meant to be and if she’s not I hope she has a good life and now that I’m sitting at work I can think a little more clearly beyond the OH MY GOD THIS KITTEN IS SO CUTE AND SWEET but I keep looking at her photo and I think I would really love her, I kept saying I would keep my foster kitten if she was cuddly or affectionate lol but getting a kitten wasn’t the plan really so I don’t know if I should abandon the dog plan and get this kitten or not adopt the kitten and keep looking for a dog and fostering until I find the right one

[lenafromthenordiccoven]

Call Out Our Names - Bob x f!reader x Phoenix

(moodboard made by me, Top Gun Maverick screencaps by hd-screencaps, rest free-pik.com)

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x afab!reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Requested? yes

Rating: M – MDNI 18+

Word count: 3244

Warnings: why choose, threesome (FFM), oral (f!receiving), bi!reader, soft dom!Bob, definitely pleasure dom!Phoenix, Bob Floyd fucks, and so does Phoenix, fingering, unprotected PinV (be smart and wrap it, folks)

Summary: When your best friend, Mickey, invites you to come stay with him in San Diego for a bit, you didn’t expect that to lead you to meet two new people who would catch your eye immediately. Only problem is: you don’t think, they’re the sharing type. But maybe – just maybe – you’re wrong?

Read on ao3

Taglist: @high-speed-r

A/N: Thank you for sending in that lovely request, anon! Hope, you’ll enjoy what my brain cooked up. (Cause those two definitely have me in a constant state of bi panic) And I’m so sorry for the long wait 😭 Please accept my first humble offering to @attapullman’s International Bob Floyd Fucks month.

You didn’t quite know what to expect when Mickey had told you, you’d both be going to a BBQ at his former instructor’s home. In fact, you had no idea what to expect of your time in San Diego at all. Mickey, your best friend since kindergarten and WSO for the Navy, was now stationed permanently in San Diego for the foreseeable future and, thus, had invited you out to stay with him for a bit. “You can meet the squad and you can relax. Most importantly, relax. I know, you’ve probably been working yourself to the bone again,” he’d said.

And, though you would never admit it, he wasn’t wrong. Running an animal accessory boutique in Northern Cali, as well as volunteering at your local animal shelter and running the shelter’s social media accounts were more than enough to have you falling into your bed face first at the end of the day. But you’d also recently started remote classes for a degree in psychology and social services, trying to establish a program in your town that would bring together veterans and pets that needed foster homes or new, permanent homes. To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. You didn’t think, you’d ever get rid of the tiredness in your bones. So, while you felt guilty for going away at all, your boss at the shelter had urged you to take some time off. And then Mickey had offered his guest room.

And now you were standing in Captain Mitchell’s backyard, who’d introduced himself as Pete. “Although Maverick or Mav are both fine, too,” he’d joked given that most of the squad called him Mav now. Mickey had introduced you to everybody and while Hangman and Coyote had both flirted with you (after Mickey had made it clear that you were just friends), you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering to Bob and Phoenix, both standing next to Rooster and Mav and helping with the BBQ.

You know, you’d caught their eyes wandering back to you multiple times by now. Especially since Bob was now sporting a blush that surely had little to do with the heat from the grill. But you had yet to exchange more than polite hellos with either of them – and you wanted to, badly.

“You can talk to them, you know,” Mickey said, nudging you with his elbow in your side when he caught your thousand-yard-stare.

You jumped slightly, brought back to reality by your best friend’s teasing hint. “I-I…? What?” you sputtered before opting to just keep your mouth shut entirely. He was right. You could go over there and introduce yourself. You wanted to, after all. But you were taken aback by the ferocity of your own desire.

“They don’t bite. Well, Nat might. But Bob usually doesn’t.”

You tear your gaze away from their backs – you were 99,9% sure, they should’ve felt your stare burning into their flesh anyway – and turn to look at your best friend. “You think? But—”

“No buts. Just go over there, talk to them and, most importantly, relax and have fun.” He gave you a little shove with his hand on the small of your back in the direction of the grill.

Phoenix saw you first, nodding at you before lightly tapping on Bob’s shoulder, so you’d have his attention as well. He turned around, the light blue eyes behind his gold-wire-rimmed glasses immediately locked onto yours and you could feel the heat creep up your own neck and into your cheeks.

“Y/N, right?” Phoenix asked and you nodded. “What’s up? Need us to save you from Bagman?”

You chuckled at the variation of Hangman’s callsign. Mickey hadn’t been able to tell you much from his last deployment, but he had told you why people called Hangman Hangman, or sometimes Bagman in Phoenix’s case. “Uh, no. Came over here to talk to the two of you, actually.” You nervously put a strand of hair back behind your right ear.

“You-you did?” Bob asked, his eyes now wide with surprise before he exchanged a quick look with Phoenix, who was now smiling at you like she knew how to read your thoughts and knew exactly what you had on your mind.

“Yeah, I did. I do.”

***

You still had no idea how you’d gone from talking and laughing with Phoenix and Bob in Mav’s backyard to now having Phoenix steal the breath from your lungs with a searing kiss as Bob tried to open his front door. You couldn’t help the whimper rising in your throat when you felt Phoenix’s thigh wedge itself between your legs and bump against your core.

You heard Bob groan next to you as the door finally gave way and the three of you tumbled inside. It didn’t take long for him to retake his spot behind you, the heat radiating off his body making you shiver. His hands drifted down your sides and to your hips as Phoenix’s came up to massage your breasts over your bra and shirt. You openly moaned against her mouth, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Somebody’s sensitive,” Bob murmured against your ear. “You know,” he continued, gently taking your earlobe between his teeth and quickly tugging, “I’m not usually one for sharing. But I’ll make an exception this time. If you let me take the lead, Nat.”

Phoenix pulled back from the kiss, chuckling as you chased after her lips, having grown addicted to her taste after just a few minutes. “Can’t promise that, but I’ll try.”

“Fine by me. Now, let’s get ourselves to the bedroom, shall we?” Bob grumbled against your neck and you nodded furiously. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your core throbbed in time with your heartbeat. All you could think was desire, all you could feel was how their touches and kisses set your body ablaze even through your clothes. Fuck, this was definitely not what you’d envisioned when you’d accepted Mickey’s invitation. But it was so much better than what your brain could have ever come up with.

Somehow, the three of you had made it into Bob’s bedroom without falling, your bodies fused together and limbs tangled. It was a miracle, you thought, that you’d managed to take off your clothes at all. Leaving the three of you in just your underwear.

You licked your lips as your eyes raked over their forms, drawing a chuckle from Bob. “You like what you see, darlin’?” His eyes had darkened as his pupils had blown out with lust; Phoenix looked equally as hungry as you felt.

You nodded, your hands moving to cup him through his boxers. He groaned, snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you to him to press his lips against yours. You sighed against his lips, easily allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Then you felt Phoenix press her front against your back and nibble on your shoulder, her hands gripping your hips and guiding your movement as you rubbed against Bob’s thigh and crotch.

“Are you going to be a good girl for us, Y/N?” Phoenix whispered and you broke the kiss with Bob as you nodded.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything you want.” You’re pretty sure, your brain has actually stopped working as the only thing you cared about was the feeling of their bodies against yours, their touches, their kisses—the noises they made. So, you’re surprised, you can get any words out at all, let alone a full sentence.

“Eager, are we?” Bob mumbles, you blink up at him and barely catch the slightly smug smirk on his lips. The brief glimpse you got sent you reeling regardless, never having thought it possible for this softspoken, shy-looking man to be so dominant in the bedroom. Oh, you’d been wrong. So wrong. And you loved it. You’d forgotten what it was like to have somebody else make the decisions for you, to be able to just let yourself fall, relax and enjoy pleasure.

“Maybe just a little bit?” you replied in equally hushed tones. Your voice drifted off into a sigh when Phoenix’s fingers brushed your core over your soaked panties. Your head falls back against her shoulder.

She clicked her tongue at you. “You’ve ruined your panties, pretty girl. Soaked through them cause you want us so badly, hm?” You whimpered in response, her touch growing firmer, rubbing circles over your pubic mound, but the pressure wasn’t enough against your clit.

“What, can’t even answer us anymore? We’ve barely touched you, darlin’.” You squeezed your eyes shut and your thighs together, essentially trapping Phoenix’s hand between them at Bob’s words. Condescension and lust were dripping off his voice like honey—or drops of oil, only adding fuel to the flames of desire raging through your veins. You reached out your hands for the hem of his boxers, you managed to begin dragging them down over his hips. You slipped out of Phoenix’s grasp on your own hips and were about halfway to your knees in front of them before Bob stopped you by grabbing your wrists.

He shook his head at you, you blinked at him in response, wide-eyed. Had you done something wrong? The question must have been clearly written on your face because he shook his head again, gently cupped your jaw with one of his hands. His thumb stroked over the skin of your cheek and you leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed at the touch. Bob cleared his throat and brought your gaze back to his face.

“Not that I’m not dyin’ to find out what your mouth feels like around my cock, we can do that another time.” Another time. You almost lost your mind at the implication of doing this again. And your mind was already tirelessly spinning out of control in the haze of lust and promised touches. Bob continued, “Why don’t you get on your knees on that bed, ass in the air and show Nat just how badly you wanna please us?”

You heard her groan above you at the implication and you nodded. At this point, you couldn’t give a single fuck anymore about how needy you’d come off to them. You needed them, wanted them, practically burned with the need to please them and have them take care of you in return. Your body should have turned to ashes by now with how hot you felt. However, despite the desire making your every motion feel hazy and inefficient, you managed to climb onto the bed. You hadn’t noticed Phoenix getting comfortable with her back propped up against the headboard. She reached out one of her hands for you and you took it, scooting up until you were almost kneeling in her lap.

“Come here,” she whispered and drew you in by your hand. The other landed on your neck and jaw. She pulled you ever closer, until your breasts brushed hers just as her lips captured yours in a honey-sweet kiss that did nothing to hide the hunger burning underneath her skin, too. You kissed her back, desperate now that you’d gotten a taste, and tried to deepen the kiss. But then you felt Bob’s hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs drawing soothing circles onto your skin when you’d jumped at the unexpected contact.

Just as Bob pulled your hips and ass backwards and up towards him, Phoenix pushed you down with a hand on your shoulder until your upper body rested on the mattress between her legs. Your face was now eye-level with her bare pussy. When had she taken the time to take off her own panties? You barely had time to wonder, let alone voice the question, when Bob’s lips on your lower back drew a sigh and a shudder from you.

His lips briefly brushed the shell of your ear as he let almost the whole, delicious weight of his body rest on top of yours, and whispered: “Go on, don’t be shy. Show us what that pretty mouth of yours can do, darlin’.” You almost whined when he withdrew from your back again and the cool air of the bedroom hit your heated skin. He hooked his

“What are you going to do, Bob?” Phoenix asked, the gaze from her half-closed eyes was glued to yours. You could see no hesitation in them and decided to just try and see what her reaction would be. You leaned forward and gave her pussy a tentative kiss, your eyes never leaving her face. When you saw her eyelids flutter, you grew bolder, licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit and then closed your lips around the bud.

“Fuck, Y/N. Knew your mouth would feel good,” Phoenix breathed and slipped one of her hands into your hair on the back of your head. “Keep going, pretty girl. Treating me so well. Use your fingers.” You did as asked, kitten-licking her again. You were about to suck on her clit and slip your index finger into her entrance, when Bob gripped your ass with both his hands and pulled you back against his face. Your mouth fell open and you couldn’t hold back the moan bubbling up your throat as he mirrored your actions. With the difference that the two fingers he was slipping inside of you felt deliciously thicker than your own, now pumping in and out Phoenix at a slow, cautious rhythm while you were figuring out what she liked.

Phoenix’s hand tightened in your hair, her fingertips digging into your skin as you kept going, moaning against her own slick core. You could feel her walls clench down on your fingers as you hooked them and brushed against the sweet spot. She let her head sink back against the headboard and a moan tumbled from her lips; the sound made your heart soar and your chest swell with pride.

“Fuck. You’re seriously missing out, Bobby,” Phoenix said, her voice breathless. And you saw her chest heave with every breath. You could hear Bob chuckle behind you.

“I believe you, Nat. But I’ve got a gorgeous little pussy over here, beggin’ for my attention.” He pressed another kiss to one of your ass cheeks, then he brushed his thumb over your clit, practically strumming the bundle of nerves as if he was trying out the feel and sound of a new guitar. You moaned against Phoenix again, letting your head fall away from her core.

You whimpered, felt your own release approach quickly while Phoenix’s walls pulsed around your fingers. “Please, Bob. I need you. Need to feel you.”

Bob didn’t stop his ministrations; instead, he put his free hand on your back, right in the middle of your shoulder blades and pushed you back down towards Phoenix. “I know, baby. We’ve got you, I promise. Just need you to come on my fingers first, can you do that for us, hm?” His weight was back against your back and you felt him press a kiss against the spot where your neck joined your shoulder.

You nodded, his weight on top of you and Phoenix’s hand that had now slipped from the back of your head to cup your cheek felt like the only things still anchoring you to this world. Otherwise, you were sure, you would fully lost yourself to the stream of pleasure. Phoenix whispering your praises and Bob encouraging you to keep eating her out and pumping your fingers in and out of her, had you clenching around his in your core. The tingling started in your toes and you hadn’t realized, you were curling them up until pleasure shot up your legs and spine to flare out through the rest of your body. Just as Phoenix sighed your name with a satisfied smile on her lips and her thighs clamped down over your ears, muffling any other sounds.

You came up, gasping for air, just as you could feel Bob nudge the head of his thick cock against your entrance. Phoenix drew you up and towards her to press her lips against yours in a kiss of gratitude. You gasped against her as Bob slowly pushed inside of you. One of his big hands was gently rubbing circles on your back, Phoenix reached down to your breasts. She grinned against your lips, you’d almost call it a smirk if you weren’t so lost in the way Bob’s cock was stretching you. Then, Phoenix took one of your lips between her fingers, only rolling it gently at first, before she gave it a quick, sharp twist. Something between a gasp and a moan escaped your mouth and you felt her chuckle more than you heard her. Your own heartbeat was too loud in your ears.

Bob quickly set a delicious pace of quick thrusts, never fully pulling out of your pussy or lifting his chest off your back. You faintly heard him groan against your ear, felt his breath leave his mouth in short pants against your skin. “Fuck, Y/N. You feel fucking heavenly. Takin’ me so well.”

“Faster, please. N-need you to go faster.” You had no idea how you’d managed to get the words out, let alone string together two whole sentences in the same instance. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering so hard against your ribcage, you thought, it was either going to burst or break through your ribs. Bob complied, moaning loudly as he felt your walls clench in response.

“I know, you’re close, darlin’. Come on. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” You maned at his words. But when you felt Phoenix shift slightly underneath you, then her fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit, you couldn’t hold back the scream any longer. Pleasure erupted inside you, the coil that had tightened in your belly finally snapping. You faintly heard Bob ask, if he could come inside you and you don’t know how you’d responded with a “Yes” loud enough for him to hear. He groaned, before mouthing at your neck and shoulder as his perfect rhythm faltered and his lips ultimately stilled inside you.

The two of you practically collapsed on top of Phoenix, your legs and arms no longer able to support both your weight as you desperately sucked air into your lungs. You heard her giggle underneath you and felt your lips stretch into a tired, fucked-out smile.

“That was…incredible.”

“Agreed. Now, let’s get ourselves cleaned up and cozy, shall we?” Phoenix asked. Bob only mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand beyond the ringing in your ears finally, slowly, subsiding.

You felt him pull out and whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your own limbs too heavy with exhaustion and the afterglow of pleasure to keep him on top of you. You had no idea how you formed the words leaving your lips next. “Can we…do this again, sometime?”

And you barely caught their affirmative responses as you tried your hardest not to drift off to sleep already. Damn it, Mickey had been right. This had been fun. And you never would have guessed, his invitation to stay with him for a couple days ever leading to anything like this. But you also weren’t about to complain. No, never that. Meeting Bob and Phoenix had been a godsent and you hoped, you could hold onto them in the future.

[cuttoothed]

A little fic for @jonsimsandcats and also inspired by some adorable art on discord! Featuring notes on kitten rearing, and of course some Jmart because it’s me.

Jon works at the Institute here, but a non-spooky version of it!

*

Martin is doing a final check on the fish tanks when he hears the bell above the front door jingle. He sighs; he knew he should have locked up first. Just his luck.

“This is your fault,” he tells the angelfish balefully. They don’t seem contrite, too busy nosing in the fine gravel for any food they’ve missed. Martin walks out to the front of the shop, preparing his best customer service smile to tell whoever’s come in at—he glances at his watch—three minutes past eight that they’re closed, and no, they can’t just wander around for a few minutes to look at the animals. Honestly, some people seem to think there’s no difference between a pet shop and an art gallery.

There’s a man standing at the front counter, looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.

“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.

“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing and they were out there for hours on their own, I know you’re not supposed to move them in case their mother comes back but I couldn’t just—just leave knowing they were still there, and all the vet offices nearby are closed, this was the only place I could think of!”

The man is wild eyed, almost panicked, and Martin lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Woah,” he says, “Uh, maybe start from the beginning again? Slowly?”

“Right, ah, sorry. Sorry. I spotted them this morning, under a bush just outside my work.” The man sets the bundle of jumper down on the counter, and unfolds it to reveal two tiny scraps of fur: one gray, one black. Kittens, Martin realizes, so small they can only be a week or so old; certainly not old enough to be without their mother.

“I left them alone, because I’ve heard that the mother usually comes back after a little while. A-and I meant to go and check on them again during the day, make sure.” The man sounds anguished now, his face miserable. “But I—I got caught up in work, forgot about it. It was only when I was leaving that I remembered. And they were still there, on their own. Barely moving. Please—is there anything we can do?”

Martin looks down at the tiny creatures in their nest of wool; he can just about see the shallow in-out of their breathing. All day outside alone, at their age, the odds aren’t great. But he’s met enough kittens to know that they’re shockingly resilient little sods, and he’s never given up on a so-called hopeless case before. He’s not about to start now.

“You did the right thing moving them,” he assures the man, moving to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. “We need to get them warmed up and get some food into them. Body heat is the best thing for them right now—can you start warming them with your hands?”

“Oh—ah, yes,” says the man, turning to his bundle of jumper with a worried frown. Martin leaves him there while he rushes around the shop, grabbing kitten milk replacer and nursing bottles, and then into the back to heat two mugs of water in the microwave while he makes up the bottles. He pops them into the mugs to warm, and brings the whole lot out to the front. The man now has a kitten in each hand, and is holding them pressed carefully to his chest for additional warmth; his expression is still worried, but also desperately tender, and Martin feels a pang of something behind his ribs at the sight.

“One of them is moving,” the man says eagerly as Martin sets the bottles down. Martin can see the gray kitten wriggling weakly in the man’s grip, responding to the heat. Its sibling is still motionless, and Martin’s heart sinks a little.

“That’s great,” he says. “Hold onto her for another minute, and let me see if I can get her sister moving too.”

He holds out a hand, and the man almost reluctantly passes him the black kitten. Martin doesn’t try to notice that the man has lovely hands, with long, slim fingers, narrow wrist jutting out of his shirt sleeve, but, well, he notices a bit. He turns his attention to the kitten; he can’t make out the motion of its breathing anymore. He takes it in both hands and starts to massage it gently. It lies limp in his palms, head lolling, and Martin starts to feel despair crawling cold up his spine.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You can do it.” The man is watching him anxiously, the gray kitten cradled against his chest, and Martin knows he can’t give up. He keeps rubbing the kitten’s small body, trying to will warmth and life back into the tiny, fragile form. At last, after what seems like an eternity, the kitten squirms in his hands and a faint, plaintive mew escapes it. An answering mew comes from the gray kitten, and Martin laughs, relief washing over him.

“Right, let’s see if we can get them to eat.”

After checking that they’re not too chilled to feed, Martin tests each of the kittens with a drop of formula on their tongue; thankfully they both seem able to swallow without difficulty. He shows the man how to feed the gray kitten, holding its body in a neutral position with the bottle tilted for a gentle flow. It doesn’t take long for the kittens to figure out the process, and Martin can feel the tug on the bottle as his kitten begins to suckle.

“Oh,” he hears softly from beside him, and turns to see the man gazing in delight at the gray kitten, whose tiny, unfurled ears are twitching as it sucks.

“She’s doing great,” Martin comments. “Good job.” The man gives him a tentative, pleased smile, and Martin still isn’t trying to notice but it’s a very nice smile. “I’m Martin, by the way.”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon,” says the man, and then gives a small, tense laugh. “God, I haven’t even apologized for storming in here while you were clearly trying to close up for the night.”

“That’s all right, I didn’t have any exciting plans tonight anyway. I’d much rather be spending time with these little beauties.”

Jon smiles again, more sure this time, and all right, maybe Martin deliberately notices the dimple in his right cheek. Just a bit.

Once the kittens are fed, Martin shows Jon how to stimulate them; both of them only pee a little—poor things are dehydrated—but it’s a good sign. They clean them up and tuck them back into the nest of Jon’s jumper, where they curl up into a small puddle of black and gray. Jon gives a sigh that’s somewhere between relieved and exhausted.

“Thank you,” he says. “I, ah, I think I forgot to say that as well. You know a lot about this.”

“I volunteer at a shelter, there are a lot of kittens. If you like, I can take them for tonight and bring them in tomorrow?”

“Ah,” says Jon. “Do you think that’s—I mean...I-I’m not sure I’d feel right, handing them off to someone else. Not that I think you’re not capable!” he rushes to add, and Martin finds himself smiling.

“No, I get it. You found them, you want to take care of them. I’ll warn you, though, it’s a big commitment. For the first couple of weeks you have to feed them every two hours, even during the night, and then it’s every three or four hours until they start weaning. It’s like having a newborn baby.”

“I don’t get much sleep generally,” says Jon. “At least this way I’ll have something to do while I’m up all night. And my work is—well, I’ll explain the situation.”

He looks set on it, brow furrowed with determination. Martin considers arguing more: that a shelter will be better equipped to care for the kittens, that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive in any case, that Jon doesn’t know what he’s signing up for. But the shelters are always crowded, and kittens this young have simple needs, and really, a dedicated foster parent—armed with the right knowledge—is probably the best thing for them.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s make sure these two are well wrapped up before you take them home.”

He scrounges a cardboard box from the back and they settle the kittens into it, still wrapped in Jon’s jumper along with a soft fleece blanket printed with cartoon fish. Martin gathers a couple of cartons of liquid formula and extra bottles to get them started, and shows Jon how to pierce the nipple so the flow isn’t too strong.

“It should be warmed to body temperature,” he explains, “But not directly in the microwave—put the bottles in heated water, like I did earlier. Do you have a hot water bottle?”

“Yes, I do,” says Jon, frowning intently as he listens. Martin nods.

“It’s better than a heating pad at this age, they’re less likely to get overheated. Don’t make it too hot—body temperature, again—and wrap it in a blanket so they’re not touching it directly.”

“Got it,” says Jon firmly, and Martin believes him. He bags up the formula and bottles and an extra pet blanket, and presses them into the hands of a startled Jon; the till is shut off for the night, but Martin can explain and pay for the items tomorrow.

“What’s your phone number?” he asks, and Jon looks even more startled.

“S-sorry?”

“Or your email. I’m going to send you some links—videos, a couple of good blogs that should be helpful.”

“Oh, ah, right. Of course.” Jon recites his number and Martin saves it under “Jon (Kittens).” He peeks into the box one last time before Jon scoops it up, and sees the kittens snuggled in the folds of the jumper, paws waving in little kitten dreams.

“Thank you again, Martin,” says Jon. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.” His tone is shy but genuine, and it sends warmth through Martin’s chest and up into his cheeks.

“Any time,” Martin says. “And feel free to text me if you need anything—if you have a question or...anything. Or call me if you like.” He’s aware he’s rambling a bit, but it’s not every day an attractive man says that he doesn’t know what he would have done without you, so he can hardly be blamed.

“I will,” says Jon solemnly.

*

He doesn’t text Martin any questions that night, but when Martin sends him the links to a youtube channel and three blog posts on kitten care, he replies:

Thank you :)

Martin spends most of the rest of the night wondering what that smiley face means.

*

He doesn’t necessarily expect to see Jon again, and certainly doesn’t expect to see him the very next day. But just before one o’clock in the afternoon the bell above the door jingles and there’s Jon, looking tired and more than a bit sheepish.

“I got all the way into work this morning before I realized I’d never paid for any of the things you gave me,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Those were gifts,” Martin tells him firmly. “Sort of a “welcome to foster parenthood” care basket?”

“No, I couldn’t let you—” Jon starts to protest, but Martin shakes his head emphatically.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. I get an employee discount anyway.”

“I...well, then I suppose I need to thank you yet again,” says Jon.

“It’s becoming a bit of a habit,” Martin jokes, grinning, and Jon smiles in return. He hesitates a moment before continuing:

“Maybe I could buy you lunch instead, then? To pay you back.”

“There’s no need, honestly,” says Martin, even as his brain berates him: What are you doing, idiot, he’s asking you to have lunch with him? Say yes!

“Please, I’d like to,” Jon says, and then gives a thoughtful frown. “Only if you want to, of course, don’t feel obligated—”

“I’m on lunch in five minutes,” Martin blurts out before he can overthink it.

“Great!” says Jon, sounding pleased. “If you have time, we could go by my office as well and visit the kittens. I just fed them before I came to see you.”

Before I came to see you, not before I came to pay you back, and Martin feels that warmth crawling up towards his cheeks again. Even if Jon’s intentions are purely friendly rather than...anything else, well, Martin could always use more friends.

“How were they last night?” he asks, and the smile that spreads across Jon’s face this time is pure delight.

“Oh I barely got an hour’s sleep,” he says, waving a hand. “And today they’re sitting under my desk reminding me every couple of hours that they need attention and that they are far more important than whatever I’m working on. They’re perfect.”

“Sounds like cat parenthood suits you,” Martin teases gently, and Jon laughs.

“I think it rather does.”

*

Lunch is...nice, and only slightly awkward in the “getting to know a new person” sort of way. Jon is serious, but also funny in an understated, acerbic way, and there’s a gentleness to him that wouldn’t be immediately apparent, if Martin hadn’t seen him cradling two tiny, fragile lives to his chest last night. He’s the kind of person Martin would like to know better, he thinks.

Afterwards they go to Jon’s workplace, which is extremely academic with a brass nameplate by the door and everything, and down to the basement office where Jon works; Martin doesn’t really know what archiving entails, but it looks like mostly a bloody great pile of paperwork. Jon’s two colleagues give Martin friendly and extremely curious glances as they pass; Jon pointedly ignores them in favor of directing Martin to his desk and the cardboard box sitting beneath it.

When Martin glances inside, the two kittens are curled up in the folds of the fish-print blanket, lying against the shape of what he assumes is the hot water bottle. Their bellies already look rounder than they were last night, thanks to regular feeding, and their limbs twitch as they sleep.

“I’ll take them to the vet for a check up after work,” Jon murmurs quietly, gazing down at them with a soft expression. Martin recognizes that look of adoration, and he knows this pair won’t be going to a shelter or anywhere else; they’ve found their home with Jon.

“They’re lucky you found them,” he says, and Jon smiles self-consciously.

“I think I’m the one who was lucky,” he says.

They spend a bit more time with the kittens, and then Martin realizes that it’s about time he got back to work if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He excuses himself, waving goodbye to Jon’s still curious colleagues, and Jon walks him out to the grand front entrance of the building.

“Thanks again for lunch,” he says. “And—you have my number, right? The offer is open, if you need anything, just text me.”

“I will,” says Jon. “And, ah, let me know if you’d like to come and see the kittens again. Any day. Well, most days,” he corrects himself. “We could, ah, maybe have lunch again?”

“That sounds...really nice,” says Martin. Jon smiles, pleased, and Martin isn’t trying to notice the faint flush that spreads across his face, but it’s very cute anyway.

*

As he walks back to work, Martin’s phone vibrates with a text. It’s a picture of the kittens, curled up on top of each other, with the message:

Come back and see us soon!

Martin grins; the kittens, he thinks, weren’t the only ones lucky to be found last night.

[sonnetthebard]

a writing prompt maybe? A Lilo and Stitch AU where Hannah is Lilo, Lex is Nani, and Ethan is David and then Wiggly is Stitch and Hannah's trying to teach him to be good.

Ok, I feel where you're coming from and I love it! This is so cute! I'm gonna be a bit flexible with it though, stray a bit from the strict Lilo and Stitch story. It's gonna be similar, but differ a bit.

Genre: Fluff/ Comedy

Words: 1966

TL;DR: When Hannah said she wanted a pet, Lex thought she would end up with dog or a rabbit like a normal person... not an eldritch.

TW: Swearing, mention of sexual themes? I don't know how to label it but you'll know it when you see it.

______________________________________________________

"No, Wiggly!" Hannah chided. "Stop! You got to be good, otherwise Lexie isn't gonna let me keep you!"

If Lex knew half of what was going on, Wiggly would be back to the pound in before you could say "eldritch". She had told Ethan to take Hannah out to get her a dog at the shelter. Duke had said maybe giving her another friend at home would help her to be a bit less hostile towards the kids at her school. Not that she was physically aggressive, but... ever since their mom had been sent to prison, apparently she'd been a bit snippy and reserved. It concerned her teachers. While Lex was technically old enough to be her legal guardian, Hannah's teachers were concerned that maybe she wasn't emotionally ready for that kind of responsibility. They were about ready to file a case for Hannah to be put into the foster system.

So... this was a desperate last attempt on Lex's part. Because she was *not* losing her little sister. She'd been through so much shit to get her mom out of the house. So that they would be safe. She wasn't letting anyone take that away. So... even though she may not really have the money to support Hannah *and* a dog, she'd agreed to let Hannah get one. There were very few people that Lex would trust on these matters, but... Duke was one of them. He knew the system. Mostly because he was a part of it. But he also knew Lex, and he knew that she was the right person to be caring for Hannah. So... if he thought that this was going to help, she'd do it.

But... she probably should have gone with Hannah herself to get it. Because Ethan... was not the brightest, and he was prone to completely crumbling for Hannah. Which is precisely what had happened at the pet store that afternoon. He'd suggested a cute little chihuahua with a limp paw, or a sweet maltese, but... Hannah had gone right for the weird, green thing. Was it even a dog? Probably not. It had tentacles and it walked on two legs. Had the people at the shelter called it a dog anyways? Yes. Because what else were they supposed to call it? The only indication they'd gotten as to what he was was a small collar reading 'Wiggly'- which didn't help at all. Look, they'd just found it curled up behind Toy Zone one night, and it was their duty to care for him and then get him to a family.

Things had not been easy for Hannah so far. It seemed her little green friend had a thing for getting into trouble... and tastes for household furniture. He'd already eaten two of her books and one of her sock dolls. Right now, she was trying to get him to stop eating one of her pillows. He seemed to revel in tearing his prey apart before eating it. His eyes got all wild, and... he looked so happy that Hannah almost didn't want to stop him. But she had to, because if he destroyed anything noticeable he'd be gone. And Webby had told her that she needed to pick this little guy. He seemed to make 'hr' sound in disappointment. But what came next was far from anything Hannah would have expected him to do.

"But Banana... it's so yummy-wum!" A goofy, light and child-like singsong tenor voice protested.

"You talk." Hannah breathed, eyes widening.

"Only to you, Hannah Banana." Wiggly giggled. "You are the only person who can hear my voice."

"Is that why Webby told me to get you?" Hannah asked, curious. He seemed to scowl at the mention of her name.

"Stupid bitch... thinks I need to rehabilitate." Wiggly grumbled.

"What's rehabilitate?" Hannah asked.

"It means... I've been very naughty." Wiggly told her. Hannah cringed at that.

"Don't... Mom..." Hannah mumbled.

"I've been bad." Wiggly corrected himself. "So she sent me to you. She thinks you can make me good."

"Me?" Hannah blinked.

"She says we'll be good for each other." Wiggly mocked her, clearly not happy about it. "She wants me to be your fwendy-wend. Because we both need a fwendy-wend, according to her."

"I don't *need* any friends." Hannah shook her head, her mood dampened by that implication. "I got Lexie and E."

"That's not what the teachy-weachers think." Wiggly cooed, the tiniest hint of amusement in his tone.

"Yeah, well... they're dumb!" Hannah fumed, turning on her bed and putting a pillow over head in frustration. That was a sore subject for her.

Hannah knew what the teachers thought of her. She knew what everyone thought. She didn't care. She knew who she was, and... she knew what she needed. She knew that she shouldn't have to put up with the shit the kids at her school gave her. She knew that they chose her because she was the easy target. Because they could get away with blaming her for anything. She was that girl from the trailer at the edge of the Witchwood, whose mom had gone to jail. That was enough for them to paint her as the punk. But that wasn't who she was, and... she hated that it's what people thought. She didn't even do anything wrong. She never said the things they said she did. She took a few deep breaths under the pillows, trying to calm down.

"That pillow-willow isn't going to help, Banana." Wiggly sighed. "My voice is in your head. "Like Webby."

"Leave me alone!" Hannah snapped.

"Nuh uh..." Wiggly tutted. "Webby says I have to help you be happy again before I can go back to my homey-wome."

"Yeah? You're not doing a very good job!" Hannah huffed. "Don't wanna talk right now."

"But Webby says-" Wiggly started.

"Webby can be a stupid bitch!" Hannah cut him off, frustrated to the point of tears.

"Uh oh! That's not very nice!" Wiggly chided.

"Just... shut up!" Hannah groaned.

"Fine." Wiggly sighed.

He sat on the edge of her bed for a minute as Hannah remained unmoving, trying to cool off. He dangled his feet for a moment before hopping off and walking over to a bookshelf. He tipped it over, letting everything crash and giggling. He surveyed the ruins, grabbing a small clay structure. He started to nibble on it softly, satisfied with it's taste. At around that precise moment, Lex entered the room. She was immediately drawn to Hannah on the bed. Her brows furrowed, and she sat down on the edge of it, rubbing Hannah's back. She was more confused than anything. Ethan had said she was so happy after getting her dog.

"Hannah Banana... what's wrong?" Lex cooed.

"Nothing... just annoyed." Hannah sighed, pulling the pillow off her head and setting it on the bed. "Teachers think I'm bad 'cause of Mom, don't they?"

"Yeah... yeah, Mom kinda gave us a bad rep." Lex sighed. "We gotta fight hard to make people see we're not her."

"Yeah, but... I don't wanna fight." Hannah grumbled.

"I don't either." Lex admitted. "Soon... we won't need to. Soon we'll have California. We just gotta stick it out and make it through life here until I make enough money to get us out of here."

"Okay." Hannah nodded, biting her lip, staying put.

Lex sighed, looking down at her feet. Sometimes he just didn't know what to say to Hannah. It was then that she noticed Wiggly crunching on the little clay figurine, surrounded by the mess of everything Wiggly had broken. It was one of a dog that Hannah had made at a birthday party when she was younger. She'd named him Bruno. He wasn't so special to *Hannah* anymore, but... it was to Lex. Wiggly and Lex looked each other in the eye for a moment, and Wiggly seemed to freeze, already knowing he was in trouble. Lex's eyes widened both in fear and in shock.

"Hannah... what the fuck is that thing?" Lex tried to ask levelly, but her tone was shaky.

"Oh, that's Wiggly." Hannah shrugged, sitting up. "He's our new dog."

"Banana... that's not a dog." Lex chuckled nervously. "It has fucking tentacles..."

"He's cute!" Hannah giggled. And she genuinely believed that, even if it was a jab at Wiggly. She knew he wouldn't want to be seen as cute. He grumbled at that and she stuck her tongue out at him discreetly.

"Okay... I think we may need to take Wiggly back to the pound." Lex tried to ease gently. "I... don't even fucking know where to begin taking care of him, and clearly you don't either because he's eating Bruno. I mean... look what he did, Banana! Look at your stuff!"

"Wiggly! I told you to stop eating stuff!" Hannah chided.

"Sorry, Banana! I'm just so hungry!" Wiggly whined. "I need to fill my belly-well!"

"Okay... the little noises are cute." Lex chuckled softly. Hannah blinked, confused, before remembering that Lex couldn't hear him. "You can't just tell an animal to do something. You gotta train it."

"Oh." Hannah blinked. "I think... think he's hungry."

"Yeah... we gotta get him some real food." Lex agreed. "Do you know what he eats?"

"Um..." Hannah bit her lip. She gave him a look. He shrugged. She turned to Lex, shrugging. "Clay?"

"This is yummy." Wiggly nodded.

"We can't feed him clay, banana... I don't think anyone can digest it right." Lex laughed. "This is why we should go get a dog! Let the people at the pound deal with this freak of nature!"

"Well that wasn't very friendly!" Wiggly pouted.

"Webby told me this one." Hannah insisted, ignoring Wiggly.

"Really?" Lex groaned, rolling her eyes.

"I dunno why! Said... said we gotta help him get good." Hannah shrugged. "But... Webby said it, so we gotta."

"Maybe... maybe Webby can find someone else to help him get good?" Lex sighed. "Banana, this isn't Disney. We're not Lilo and Stitch."

"Nani." Hannah corrected. "Lilo and Nani. And Ethan's David."

"No, banana. We're not." Lex sighed, shaking her head. "We're Lexie and Hannah and E. And Lexie is already having enough trouble with child services *without* that thing around. I don't know what it is, and I get the feeling that no one does. I don't think he's from around here, banana. We should leave him to be taken care of by someone who knows how to do it right."

"But Webby told me!" Hannah pouted. "Please! Just a week."

"Just a..." Lex muttered, sighing again. She bit her lip. She knew she would be insane to give in. But... she'd also be insane not to. Clearly Hannah was emotionally attached to this. And hey, at the end of the week, she could take the thing back. "Fine. Fine, we can keep him for a week and see how it goes. But if you can't train him to behave in a week, then he goes back to the pound. Deal?"

"Deal!" Hannah beamed. She smirked at Wiggly. "Welcome to the family!"

Wiggly rolled his eyes, putting on the most obviously fake 'smile' Hannah had ever seen on a pet. Clearly, he didn't think he was all that bad. But Webby had thought he needed the help, and Webby was usually right about these things. So whether he wanted to or not, it was now hannah's mission to make him good. She didn't know the half of what she was getting into, or what the week ahead would entail. But neither did Wiggly. Wiggly didn't know the half of what life on earth could do to you. And maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing. Because people can find the most beautiful things right where they least expect them to be.

[jaskiersvalley]

I ADORE THAT ESKEL AND LIL BLEATER IN THE SHELTER FIC OH MY F U C K.

And I adore you for your messages and asks! You’re an absolute gem and I love seeing you crop up in my notes and all the other places. Plus, now I can’t get a silly idea out of my head thanks to a couple of goat videos. So...here’s some more goat shenanigans for you!

It was the shelter’s policy to check up on all adoptions. The whole goat incident hadn’t been standard by any means and technically it wasn’t even an adoption so Jaskier wasn’t exactly planning on making a follow-up, especially not to Geralt’s brothers. However, he was surprised to get a phone call, inviting him (and Geralt) to dinner. It was a mixture of checking that Lil Bleater had a good home as well as the official ‘meeting the family’ because he and Geralt had been together for a while. To say it was nerve-wracking was a bit of an understatement.

Thankfully, Geralt offered to drive them so Jaskier didn’t have to worry about getting there before his boyfriend of anything like that. The house looked quite lovely from the outside, set back from the road with some trees dotted around. A tall fence surrounded it and Jaskier wondered whether it was to keep something in or the curious gaze out. With Geralt, they walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. Given how Geralt rocked back on his heels, hands jammed into his pockets, he was used to waiting. From inside, there was a muffled yell of “they’re here” and, soon after, Eskel was pulling the door open and ushering them in.

“Keep your shoes on,” he said as Jaskier made to undo his shoelaces. “Your toes will be safer.”

Mystified, Jaskier straightened up and followed as Eskel and Geralt headed deeper into the house. The first thing that struck him was how the flooring throughout was either laminate or tiles - definitely an unusual choice. They arrived at a closed door and, strangely, Eskel knocked with a call of “is it safe?” before opening it.

They stepped into a kitchen where Cahir was stirring a pot on the hob while Lambert was rummaging in the fridge. Both of them were wearing shoes.

“Welcome,” Lambert waved and pulled a jug of what looked like milk out and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel like he had walked into the middle of some domestic madness.

A yell of “inbound” from Eskel was the only warning and there was the sound of little hooves on tile. Turning, Jaskier watched as two tiny goats thundered into the kitchen, bucking and jumping as they played. It was endearing but neither of them were Lil Bleater from what Jaskier could remember. Mesmerised, he watched the two play, heedless of their surroundings. The table leg was bumped into, Geralt’s toes trod on as they raced past, only to collide into the back of Lambert’s knee and almost took him out.

“Where’s Bleats?” Eskel asked, looking round. “She’s not in the garden.”

Without saying anything, Cahir stepped away from the hob and gestured to it. Eskel called again and Jaskier watched, almost speechless as, from the small gap under the stove, came a soft bleat, followed by a goat’s head squeezing out. Lil Bleater emerged and gave herself a solid shake before trotting up to Eskel who scooped her up with practised ease.

“I’m fairly certain I only had one goat. And Geralt didn’t mention you already had some.” Jaskier scratched his head and watched as Lambert put three feeding bottles into a pan of warm water.

“You did,” Eskel replied but his eyes were firmly on Lil Bleater. “But Bleats needed friends. And, it turns out that Lamb and Cahir had already made arrangements for the terrible two as a surprise before Geralt called about Bleats.”

Looking around, Jaskier had to admit, he couldn’t think of a better place the goat could have ended up. Especially when Lambert fished the bottles out of the pan, dried them off and passed one to Eskel and one to Cahir.

“You spoil that goat already,” Geralt muttered as he watched Eskel bottle feed Lil Bleater.

“She’s only a little older than the other two. And she got jealous.”

Jaskier watched and admired the domesticity of the scene. Three large guys, each bottle feeding a goat like it was the most natural thing on earth. To them, it probably was.

“I don’t suppose you ever want to foster kittens or puppies that need to be bottle fed?” he asked, thinking of the spring when unwanted litters were dumped on the shelter.

The growl of “no” from Lambert was lost under Eskel’s thoughtful hum and Cahir’s “yes” as his head whipped up to look hopefully at Jaskier. It was Geralt’s laughter that was the loudest though.

“You give them any babies, you’re not getting them back,” Geralt warned. “Don’t let looks fool you. These three will fall in love and will cry when you try and take their babies away.”

In other words, they would absolutely fail at fostering because they would adopt every animal, Jaskier was familiar with the type. But Geralt was right, looks would be very deceiving because he would never have guessed any of the three would be like that.

As the bottles emptied, the goats were put down on the ground and Eskel shooed them out towards the garden. Curious, Jaskier followed.

“If you do need foster families for young ones, feel free to give us a shout,” Eskel said as they stepped into the garden. It was big, had tyres, ramps and hay bales strewn through it, along with a large area that seemed to house some grumpy chicken. “We’ve got the space and the time between the three of us to keep them socialised and fed. Just be prepared that if you give us a very poorly or needy one, or if it’s a litter, Cahir will definitely sweet talk us into not giving the runt back.”

The fond resignation in Eskel’s voice had Jaskier smiling. It only grew when the other three bundled out into the garden, carrying dishes and cutlery, settling them on the table by the open backdoor.

Getting to know Geralt’s brothers was most definitely a brilliant idea, Jaskier decided. Especially when one or the other of them was always getting up and running after the goats as they got into more and more creative messes. Looking around, there was just one question Jaskier had.

“This is a lovely set up you have for them but where do they sleep?”

Geralt hid his laughter into his drink but it fooled nobody. Lambert muttered something under his breath but Jaskier didn’t quite catch it while Cahir seemed terribly interested in his plate, hair not hiding his grin in the slightest.

“I said they sleep in the bed,” Lambert barked, cheeks bright red as Geralt kicked him under the table. It had Jaskier laughing until Geralt looked at him with dark eyes.

“I win,” he said simply and Jaskier nodded. This was a bet he was all too happy to lose.

[thisentertaining]

As the Blue Spirit Howls - Chapter 4

Zuko was not a good shifter.

Azula could switch between her wolf and human skins between steps. Not Zuko, he needed several minutes before he even started the shift, and that was on a good day. If it had been Azula who Animal Control found in that alley, they would have walked away convinced that their eyes had played a trick on them. There had never been a dog there.

But Zuko’s long transformation would have only revealed his kind to the world. Father may think he has no honor, but he wouldn’t stoop so low as that. Even if that meant being dumped in animal shelter, trapped as much by the 24/7 security cameras as by the cage bars.

He had the worst luck. -

“Come on guys!” Aang said as he lead his friends through the clamoring barks of the shelter. “I want to show you my favorite dog! He’s a sweetheart.”

Aang lead the pair to where a monstrous beast of a dog was growling with raspy barks loud enough to drown out the rest of the shelter. His bright white teeth contrasted against golden eyes and a bright red scar that stretched over the side of his face as he lunged against the cage door.

Sokka laughed nervously. “Did the word ‘sweetheart’ change meaning when I wasn’t looking?”

Chapter 1

Read on Ao3

“Wait,” Katara said as they neared the shelter doors. “We should make sure he get’s along with Appa first.”

Zuko sat as they paused, pointedly looking away. He’d been surviving off of disgustingly cheap donated dog food for weeks. Even his wolf side didn’t like it. That had been his first shot at real food in what felt like forever and they had ruined it. He was furious.

No, he wasn’t sulking. He was too dignified to sulk.  

“Oh, good point!” Aang said brightly, pivoting from the doors to a fenced in yard to the side. It was a larger yard for the dogs that didn’t react poorly to being around other dogs, allowing them to run around and exercise without a volunteer walking them directly. A smattering of potential future-dog owners were in the yard, petting and playing with the pups.

“Who’s Appa?” Toph asked, her face scrunching softly as they moved off of the sidewalk and onto the gravel, her expression smoothing again when they made it to the grass.

“He’s my dog!” Aang said happily. “He’s the best! A big sweetheart. And he’s a service dog too*! Not a seeing eye dog, but still really well trained. He’s not in his vest right now though so you can pet him.”

Toph opened her mouth, as though to ask what Aang needed a service dog for, but the boy forged on, likely practiced at avoiding the question. “Anyway, Spirit hasn’t been super dog aggressive. He growled at Bosco earlier, and sometimes if other dogs bark too loud he’ll get an attitude, but he isn’t like some dogs who will lunge at or go after other dogs. Well, you know, more so than he is with everyone.”

By the time the boy finished his explanation, they were at the gate of the fence. He whistled, and a dog immediately broke off from a pack that was tussling together. It was a huge white and brown furred beast of a dog, toung out and leaking drool as he happily panted. An orange bandana on his neck proclaimed the words ‘Not Available for Adoption’, one of the many such dogs of the pen. Zuko narrowed his eyes at the stranger. The Saint Bernard’s scent was familiar, Aang was practically drenched with it.

And with drool.

Appa ambled over to the group, waiting patiently as Aang slid the gate open and coming directly to his owner’s side. Zuko was vaguely aware of Sokka advising the two girls to hold on to his leashed and step back for the introduction. He wasn’t paying much attention though, instead eyeing up his opponent. They were fairly close in height, well at Aang’s chest, but Zuko’s shaved fur made him look much smaller compared to the other dog’s floof. Something about the way that the other dog held himself belied strength, confidence. He seemed solid**.

Zuko was still pretty sure he could take him.

He didn’t want to hurt him of course. But he was not going to be bottom of the totem pole. Being dog and having to act like a mindless animal was going to be bad enough, but he refused to defer to an actual dog. If this ‘Appa’ didn’t yield, he was prepared to establish dominance (it hadn’t ever worked for him in the past, but this wasn’t his sister, or his father.)

…he really didn’t want to hurt a kid’s service dog.

Especially not a therapist prescribed service dog. That meant he had PTSD or something, and Zuko shuddered to think what a kid this young and happy had gone through to qualify. Maybe something related to what landed him in witness protection, a traitorous bit of his mind suggested, and Zuko violently shook his head to force the thought out. He couldn’t think like that.

Appa let out a  soft noise as Zuko shook his head, not quite a bark. It sounded more like a low moan, and it brough Zuko back into the game. Right. He had something else to focus on. It didn’t matter why Appa was here, Zuko refused to submit to him. He would fight tooth and nail to-

The Saint Bernard bumped their noses together and let out a low ‘boof’ before sitting down beside Aang, evidently no longer seeing Zuko as a threat. Zuko relaxed as well, sitting to show his acceptance. Equals. Probably the best outcome that could have happened.

Aang grinned as the dogs sat and largely ignored each other. “They’re going to be best friends.”

Sokka let out a bark of laugher as Katara lead Toph closer so that she could pet Appa. Reminded suddenly of the presence of the blind girl, Zuko resumed the low rumble that he’d halted during the standoff. He kept careful eye on Appa as he did so, but the other dog seemed to recognize that the noise wasn’t meant to be aggressive.

“Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t like to eat small rodents.” Sokka snarked.

“Why?” Toph asked. “Is your home so gross that you’re attached to the pests? Well, animal pests.” She amended, elbowing Sokka as the other teen came up to make sure their new (temporary) dog didn’t get left out considering the girls were more concerned with Appa.

Aang laughed in reply, seeming to miss the dig completely. “No rats. I have a sugar glider back at home though. His name is Momo and he is the cutest thing ever. He likes to land on my shoulder and I just walk around the house with him attached to me!”

She let out a semi-interested noise, but otherwise seemed to largely dismiss the statement. “I don’t like pets that I can’t tell I’m about to squich.”

Sokka hummed. “That’s fair.”

Aang perked up however. “Don’t worry, he loves new people! If you give him some fruit, he’ll stay on your shoulder the whole time you’re there and you don’t have to worry about it!”

The girl was quiet for a moment, her usual brass and assertive personality falling away for a moment of awkward uncertainty. “You would want me to come over?”

“Sure!” Katara said brightly. “Do you have a… um… phone?”

The girl snorted, her earlier personality restored, but a bit happier. “No, sweetness, being blind prevents me from hearing voices through technology. It’s a real struggle.”

Katara groaned. “Just give me your phone.” She commanded and Toph cackled as she handed it over.

“I can text too, using text to speech. Just put your company as ‘Snarly’ for me, will ya?”

“Sure.”

Zuko rose, sniffing towards the phone in attempt to see the number she was entering. He didn’t trust any hackers enough yet for it to be of use, but it had to come in useful somehow someday. However, the more he tried to get close to the phone, the more Katara lifted it away from his head. Zuko wanted to growl. No one wanted dogs to get too close to something valuable and fragile like phones.

He had not foreseen this problem.

He huffed and sat back down. A flash of irritation hit him, but he forced it back before it manifested into a growl. Instead he focused a moment on relishing in the smell of the grass and the feel of the sun hitting his fur and overly-sensitive skin. He hadn’t gotten the chance to enjoy it much recently, either stuck in the loud, bare rooms of the shelter or working out his restlessness with the Boulder power-walking behind.

Finally, after several moments of fiddling around with phones, Katara started herding them back into the shelter to fill out the paperwork. Long Feng glowered at them when they entered, but since Kuei was still in the corner, arranging the new owner pamphlets for the millionth time, he said nothing as he slapped the paper’s onto the counter. “I’m afraid one of your… friends will have to complete the paperwork. According to your volunteer application, you are underage. I’m afraid we will need to conduct the full new foster interview and-”

“Oh no, its okay!” Aang protested. “I’m a legal adult, I was emancipated.” He pulled a folded certificate out of his wallet along with his license, handing both over to the sour-looking man.

Zuko’s ear’s perked. This was his second chance. He jumped up so his paws were on the counter, pretending to sniff at the ceramic jar holding treats while his eyes sought out the license and certificate. It made sense that they would emancipate a 16 year old who apparently went into Witness Protection without his family. Or at least emancipate his cover. Wait, did that mean he was emancipated or wasn’t?

Zuko eyed the license, trying to catch the address and license number. The name ‘Kuzon Gyatso’ was emblazoned on the front of the card, a smiling picture of Aang adorning it. The rest  of the writing was in smaller font and he squinted to read it.

“Ah ah, no!” A voice said from behind as a pair of arms snaked around behind his armpits, pulling him back away from the desk.

Wat.

Zuko blinked owlishly, utterly thrown to have been lifted away like some kind of rag doll.

Does not compute.

“No, no jumping on the table.” Sokka's voice said WAY TOO close to his ear.

Zuko finally brought himself to awareness just as Aang tucked the documents away once more.

This… was going to be harder than he thought.  

_____________

* So, to clarify, in the first chapter, Sokka calls Appa a 'therapy dog', he is actually a trained PTSD dog prescribed to Aang after the offscreen events that landed him in witness protection (which will be revealed later). I just didn't think that he would throw out the phrase PTSD in the middle of a casual conversation.

Unlike therapy dogs or emotional support animals, PTSD dogs are considered service animals and are highly trained to do a lot of cool things. They can sniff out if their owner is headed to a panic attack, 'distract' from flashbacks, lead them away from stressful situations, keep them from hurting themselves or others, and a lot of other essential tasks. I'm not a professional, just a person with google, but I have been super interested in PTSD dogs ever since Chef Jet Tila did a cooking competition to raise money for a service that trains shelter dogs to be PTSD service animals. They are real cool. For more information, check out this link: https://usserviceanimals.org/blog/ptsd-service-dog-tasks/

** One of the cool things PTSD dogs are trained to do is to always watch their owners backs and make them feel comfortable knowing someone on their side is keeping lookout. To represent that, Appa walks confidently and self-assuredly to give Aang more comfort. Some of the dogs can be trained to check a perimiter or check out new houses or rooms before the owner enters. Again, I just find them super cool.

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 1: anybody have a map?

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warning: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight who very graciously let me use it! I’ve made a couple changes, mostly surrounding Virgil’s involvement and I gave Logan performance anxiety because I thought it would be neat. There will be warnings on the chapters that have potentially triggering talk.

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP 

Word Count: 2584

There he stands, at the precipice of his own destruction. By all accounts, it is fair to say that Logan is blowing this out of proportion. Wildly. Though he was doing much more than adequately in school, had a fairly stable mental health, and was better than most teenagers in regards to his physical well-being and room upkeep, it apparently wasn’t enough. Don’t misunderstand, his parents were in no way vindictive or cruel. Just...positive. Overtly so. In a way that made Logan cringe. How he, a man of logic and science, was ever made from these two extremely lovey-dovey saps, we will never know. Despite all his successes his parents still encouraged him to partake in activities with his peers. ‘Oh Logan, why don’t you join the school football team?’ ‘Logan, wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends at the local animal shelter?’ ‘Why are you always by yourself? Wouldn’t it be nice to make some friends?’ No, it would not. Not for him. Other people are stupid, especially teenagers. His whole life was planned on the cork board above his desk, and there was nothing important enough to make him deviate from his goal. 

To him, at least. To his parents, his social life being active was figuratively their number one priority. He’s been hoping for a calm dinner with his mother and father, he even enjoyed it most nights. He and his mother would discuss new things going on at the schools they respectively learnt and taught at. His father would discuss his work managing the popular local theatre. Discussing his father’s work tonight was a mistake.

“You know, Logan,” His father begins, and he knows where this is going, “The youth production is going to be starting up again soon.”

His mother smiles, taking his father's hand, “Loganberry, we think it would be good for you to join. You’re in your second year of high school and you don’t even talk to the kids in your class!”

“Mother, please try and understand, I really don’t think it’s necessary for me to find friends. I don’t enjoy having acquaintances, let alone having close personal friends.”

“Logan-” His father starts again but his mother pats his hand, and he quiets. 

She smiles at him and reaches across the table to put a hand on his cheek in a caring motherly gesture. 

“I know you don’t like other kids dear, but...think about it this way! It could be a fun experiment!”

Logan pauses, leaning into his mother’s touch, and nodding to show he’s listening. 

His mother started again, “You can gather data on a lot of different kinds of people, and then find out who you most enjoy hanging out with so that...in your...career…” 

Even though she’s trying, she stumbles, and his father picks up the slack, “So that in your career, you can find the people who you think are easiest to work with and be more efficient that way!” 

He knows what they’re doing. They’re buttering him up with some flimsy science experiment and explaining their position with a strange metaphor. But when both his parents are smiling at him like that...he can’t bring himself to say no to them. When he looks at them like this, he suddenly remembers how similar he looks to each of them. His mother’s dark brown hair, His father’s icy blue eyes, the glasses that sit snugly on both their faces...They smile at him so brightly that he just can’t say no to them. 

“Fine. I will do it, just this once.”

His parents erupt into literal cheers. He finds it a tad too much, but as long as they are happy he supposes he can put up with socialization and scheduling conflicts for a few months. 

That’s how he ended up at the theatre with his father at eight in the morning, on a Sunday in July. If it were his choice, he would be eating Crofter’s by the spoonful and reading some classic literature. Instead, he’s here. His father did get them both coffee, however. So he stands there awkwardly, nursing the cup that’s gone lukewarm, and he starts to feel nauseous. As he follows his father, he can hear the other kids. They’re loud. Too loud. Logan is going to hate this, he already hates this. He’s overthinking a bit, eyes trained to the floor when he accidentally trips. He’s bracing to be smacked in the face by the floor and his coffee when someone taller than him places a hand on his chest and props him back up. 

“Hi there!” Says the smiling man, who is tall with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks very kind and is wearing a Steven Universe t-shirt. 

“I-I apologize for that, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Logan manages to stammer out. Had he been this nervous the whole time? He takes a deep breath and tries to get a grip. 

“Oh, no problem!” The man nods to his dad, “Hey, Edward! This is Logan?”

“Yes, he is! He’s usually a little more focused, though.” Edward nudges Logan with a smirk, and Logan has to nod and concede. He’s right, of course. He is usually more focused. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Logan! I’m Thomas Sanders, I’m the head on the performance department here! Your dad’s been talking you up for weeks, you’re going to fit right in.”

With these words, Logan feels himself flush a little. Leave it to his father to talk him up for no good reason. He had never even been in a performance before! 

“Uhm-Yes. Thank you-” Logan begins and is cut off by a large crash.

Thomas lets out a deep sigh and turns, motioning for Logan to follow. His dad gives him a big smile and a double thumbs-up, Logan gives him a small and tired smile in return. He wishes desperately he had refused his parents the second he enters the auditorium. On stage, an adult in an orange beanie is reprimanding a boy dressed like he just crawled out of the mosh pit of a rave. The boy is laughing maniacally as off to his side, a nearly identical boy in a strangely put together outfit is pouting and crying crocodile tears. Logan makes a note to steer clear of the neon-garbage-rave kid. 

“What did you do now, Remus?” Thomas asks with a sigh, as the kid points off stage and cackles. 

“Remus started this year off by glue-and-feathering Roman’s make-up bag.” The adult in the beanie says, and Logan looks shocked. They’re certainly going to kick this guy out, right? Right!? 

“Remus...Dude…” Thomas grimaces, making his way over to who Logan assumes is Roman and supportively patting his shoulder. 

“What!?” Remus nearly shouts through his laughing, “It was funny!”

“It was not!” Roman cries with such an intense amount of drama. 

This only makes Remus laugh more. 

He’s watching so intently that he doesn’t notice that someone has entered and is standing next to him. 

“Oh, Hello.” He politely mutters, turning to look at the person. He’s shorter than he is, and definitely a lot bouncier. Even at eight am, he looks joyful. His eyes are a lighter blue than his, and his head is a mess of blonde curls. He also has round-ish tortoiseshell glasses. He isn’t unpleasant to look at, aside from the fact that he’s wearing cargo shorts and socks with sandals. 

“Hi! Don’t worry about them, Remus does something like that every year! He likes a-uh...fun start!” The kid starts talking, and even his voice is joyful and bubbly. 

“I’m Patton Foster, it’s nice to meet you!” Patton offers Logan a hand, which he takes and gives a firm shake. 

“Logan Lark. Is it typically this rambunctious, or does it calm over time?” 

Patton looks down, a little sheepish, then offers Logan a smile, “It’s always like this. Sorry!”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll just need to adapt to my circumstances.” As he says this he knows that it is going to be an especially arduous task. 

Pointing to his cup, Patton starts speaking again, “Is your coffee getting cold? We have a microwave backstage if you want me to warm it up for you!” 

The offer is sweet and genuine, so he lets Patton take the cup and run off behind the curtains. If he’s going to be here, he should start on that experiment, so he thinks. Patton seems sweet, potentially too sweet. It may be a ruse, but if his behavior is genuine Logan thinks he might be able to get by in his interactions with him. At least he’ll be able to send him off to do polite tasks if he ever needs to. 

Returning with his coffee reheated, Patton is nearly bouncing on his heels. Throughout the early morning, Patton drags Logan around and Logan realizes the bouncing is just how Patton is. He scoots by as Thomas introduces the staff. The person in the orange beanie, Joan, is the stage manager. Stood quietly beside them is a darkly dressed kid who only acknowledges the audience with a nod, his name is apparently Virgil Storm and he is running lights and sound for the show. Logan wishes desperately he could be up there on that stage. Not because he’s decided he wants to be here, but because he wishes he had known tech was an option. Damn his father for making him act. There are only about twenty kids in the audience, and by the time Thomas is done explaining the rules and conduct, the time is reaching noon. When Thomas announces that the production they will be putting on is called “Hamilton” and is a musical, the others begin to cheer wildly. Now, Logan has no clue what Hamilton sounds like, but he knows it is about the Founding Fathers. Musicals have never interested him, and especially not one about men who owned slaves and were all hoity-toity. He’s heard of it, of course. His father talks about how it revolutionized musical theatre, but Logan has never been interested enough to ask any further questions. As everyone is buzzing, he turns to Patton and taps him on the shoulder. 

“Is that a good thing?” Patton looks a little puzzled and goes to answer before he hears an offended gasp from behind him. 

“A good thing!? Is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s pride and joy, the musical that revolutionized musical theatre, the Emmy Award-Winning show Hamilton any good!?” Roman gawks at him and sputters like he’s never heard something so blasphemous in his life.

��I have no interest in musical theatre, therefore I was asking to gain clarity.” Perhaps saying this is a mistake because there are many gasps from other students, and Logan is pretty sure someone yells ‘Sexy!’

Roman snaps at him loudly and rises from his seat, “Why are you even here then!? You look like a nerd!”

“Roman!” Patton stands up and now Logan is cornered between them, “Don’t be rude!”

“Wha-Well I’m sorry that I’m confused as to why he’s here if he doesn’t even know about Hamilton!” He steps closer, cornering Logan even more.

Then he stands, “My father enjoys musical theatre and asked me to join, I don’t see what the issue is with my joining but if it truly perturbs you I suppose I will take my leave.”

He’s really grateful for this opportunity to abandon the theatre, and he turns to try and leave and ends up nearly chest to chest with Patton. 

“Hey now! There’s room enough for everyone here Logan!” Patton says brightly, and from the stage, Thomas nods. 

“Patton is right, Roman. We welcome everyone to try their hand at theatre, so please sit down so I can let you all go have lunch.” Thomas looks exasperated as Roman sits with a huff, followed by Patton and Logan.

On the stage, Thomas continues to explain what they will be doing, and then they’re being released to lunch with the goal of listening to the musical and beginning to practice their audition material. 

Logan manages to slink away from Patton, who had started talking to Roman about being nicer to the newbies or something. He had forgotten to bring lunch, which was probably fine. He’d just have to go and find his father and ask for some money. Pushing the auditorium door open, Logan finally notices he has attracted someone’s gaze. He makes eye contact with a glaring boy in a bright yellow hoodie, and he nods. The guy looks away and Logan shrugs him off. The front desk happily calls his father, who comes and brings him some money for the lobby vending machines and promises to buy him something more filling on the way home. This would severely throw off his new healthier diet, but he caves. After this day he would probably need some disgustingly greasy fast food to make him feel a little better. After the stunt with Roman, he’s not sure he’s going to go unnoticed. He buys a bottle of water and a granola bar from the vending machine and decides to sit at one of the lobby chairs to avoid the others. As he turns to find a space to sit, a voice from beside the vending machine makes him jump. 

“You’re not going to fuck up the show, are you?” The voice says, and Logan turns to find the same kid who was glaring at him before. From up close, he’s around the same size as Logan. His eyes are green-brown heterochromic, his hair is messy and brown, and one side of his face has vitiligo in a pattern that looks eerily similar to a reptile’s scales. He is glaring Logan down and he can’t help but feel a little intimidated.

“I don’t plan on it, no. Just because I am here against my will does not mean that I am going to attempt to make the show disreputable in any way.” He tries to say this confidently and he thinks he succeeds when the boy grins and offers him a hand. 

“Janus Devine.”

“Logan Lark.” And then he stops, and realizes he recognizes the origins of that name,“Are you by any chance named after the Greek god of doorways?”

Janus blinks, seemingly not expecting that reaction, “Shit-Yeah-How did you even know that?”

“I pride myself on being well-read.” Logan adjusts his tie as he says it and Janus gives a little chuckle. 

“Very good to know.” Someone yells from down the hall, and Janus rolls his eyes at the noise, “How would you like to come to join me and my...friends this afternoon?”

“It would probably be of good use to me.” He replies with a small shrug of his shoulders. Hopefully, these friends are nicer than that Roman fellow, but not as nice as Patton. 

“Oh no, it’s going to be totally useless. We aren’t going to get anything done.” Deadpans Janus and Logan just stares at him a little confused.

“That was sarcasm, specks.” His counterpart tacks on when he sees the confusion on his face. 

“Oh, right” 

All he can do now is follow Janus as he walks down the hallway towards the loud group of people. Logan follows behind and watches Janus’ movement. He walks so confidently that it’s almost like sauntering, but it’s too slow. Too smooth. It’s like slithering. 

Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for whatever horrible experiences await.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Travelers in the Dark Chapter 4

Chapter Title: Bunker Underneath the Surface

Summary: If Virgil was told a month ago that events that transpired and led him into meeting Logan and the others, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans. Still he has some fears over staying with them, fears that swirl in his mind when Logan asks for a quick chat between the two.

Pairings: platonic lamp

Chapter Word-Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Vampires, Fear, Panic, Implied Non-Graphic Violence, Blood Mention, Fantasy Racial Discrimination

Previous Chapter | Present | Next Chapter      AO3 LINK

*dusts off this fic* It’s been a while, huh? Massive thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing this chapter as always!

I don’t think I mentioned this besides the ao3 tags, but the original plan behind this fic was to include villain!Janus later down the road. It won’t happen until the second half of this fic, and honestly, I’m still deciding if I’m still including that or going a different route, I just wanted to mention that it may be occurring.

 If you don’t want to read content featuring him depicted that way, I understand. With the way the first half of this fic is designed, you can easily read the fic up to the point before villain!Janus might make an appearance and still enjoy it, as there’s basically two different story arcs that occur in this fic :)

-

Over the course of the next week, Virgil’s resolve to leave dissipated. It chipped away with Patton’s humming as he mixed together ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. It splintered as Roman sauntered into the kitchen and swept Patton into an impromptu waltz. It fell apart as Logan tried to maintain a steady gaze on his physics book but the curve of his lips told Virgil he was amused by the others’ antics.

He’d never experienced such a warm, loving environment. He didn’t know they existed outside of fiction. If Virgil was told a month ago of the events that would transpire, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Now it scared how quickly he’d grown to care for these humans.

In the stormy bleak world he’d grown up and lived in, it was every person for themselves. His foster parents took care of him simply for the money involved. His teachers could care less if he, a vampire, passed or failed. The one person he’d considered a friend only used him for their own gain in the end.

It’d been better to cease social interactions altogether. What was the point of subjecting himself to it when it always resulted in a negative outcome? After all, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.

Virgil was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Or at least, he was smart enough to recognize it wasn’t worth it. Any other person might’ve gone the other extreme. They might’ve done whatever they pleased, regardless of what everyone else thought. They might’ve become what others expected them to be, because there was no other designated role in society for them.

Virgil refused. The last thing he wanted was to prove that the prejudices against vampires were valid. But again, he wasn’t stupid. He was just one person fighting an ocean of bigotry. Everyone knows you can’t fight the ocean because it does whatever its damn well pleases.

That was why he ran away from his foster family, from everything. He disappeared into the park, taking refuge in the trees. It had been safer to just give up than to play society’s game.  He didn’t even finish high school. Every day became about finding his next meal, his next shelter, his next—well he didn’t need water to survive. One of the perks of being a practically immortal vampire.

When he reached eighteen, he stopped aging. Physically. Which sounded just as fun as it felt; being trapped in a perpetual state of puberty for potentially a hundred years or so. It varied from vampire to vampire, when they’d start showing signs again of physically aging. He was twenty-eight now, and still practically an adolescent by vampiric standards.

In fact, vampires at his age required more frequent feedings to put up with their young body’s fast metabolism. It meant that Virgil was hungry all day every day. It had been hard at the beginning. He’d never had to worry about meals while under the care of the state.

Quickly he understood how hard it was to resist the urges wired into his being. Once, he’d gone three weeks without a meal. Hunting down animals hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought. Even when he managed to capture the odd bird or two—it was enough for him to starve off the urges. But never enough to truly satisfy it.

Virgil blacked out at the end of those three weeks. When he regained consciousness, he stood in an unfamiliar alley over an unfamiliar body. Fresh blood dripped from his lips as he recoiled in terror—did he do this? Did he really kill someone? But then---then! The body’s chest rose, and he knew for certain the person was still alive.

Virgil should’ve called an ambulance, he should’ve turned himself in. He should’ve done something. But he didn’t.

He ran—his mind clouded with panic. He ran and ran until he reached the secluded security of the parks’ groves. There he collapsed, his body wracked with sobs.

The kids at his school had been right; they’ve been right all along, and Virgil had refused to see it. He was a monster. Maybe they were also right that he deserved to die. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Virgil secluded himself further in the park—being more mindful than ever to stay away from human contact. It was safer this way. Both for him and for everyone else. He couldn’t trust himself not to act on his impulses again. He became better at hunting wildlife animals. Too good, in fact.

There had started to be a suspicious shortage of squirrels in the park.

For years, his only focus in life had been on survival.  He’d forgotten almost anything that wasn’t vital to that goal. The days all blurred into each other, a continuous cycle of monotony. He’d liked it—routines were comforting. They were predictable, they were safe.

Despite this, even vampires needed social interaction. There was a reason why vampires preferred to live in covens rather than in isolation. He lived ignorant of that need throughout his time in the park. He didn’t realize it existed until this week spent in the apartment with Logan, Patton and Roman.

There had been a void in his heart and those three humans managed to fill it. For the first time in a long, long while Virgil felt…happy. The sensation was alarming and terrifying but also good.

Did that make him selfish if he didn’t want to give that up?

He tried his best to fight against the growing desire to stay. The last thing he wanted was to endanger the only humans who have shown him kindness. The idea of one day waking up standing over their unmoving bodies tormented him. He grew used to constant hunger, yes, but it was different in the woods. At least there he wasn’t constantly around three viable food sources. Not that he wanted to ever think of the humans in that way. They were so much more than a source of food. Vampiric urges be damned.

Several days after the garlic bread debacle with Roman, Logan sat him down.

“I have a few questions to ask you. But before I ask them, I want to let you know that you are not obligated in any way to answer them. Nor does this inquiry have anything to do with my scientific pursuits or anything of that sort.”

If he was a human, his pulse would’ve quickened from the anxiety swelling up inside of him. His thoughts pinballed into a million different directions as he tried to figure out what could possibly be on Logan’s mind. Externally he leaned back on the couch, arms crossed in a casual manner.

“Shoot.”

“Shoot? Why would I shoot—”

“It’s slang. It means ‘ask away.’” Virgil clarified.

It became apparent quickly that Logan was not adept at slang. It was a sore spot for the veterinarian—he took pride in being right. He told Virgil that he only spoke if he was certain of what he was saying was correct. Still, he found discovering new knowledge invigorating. Rather than denounce slang, he tried his best to understand it. He kept a pack of flashcards with him to help remember the correct usage of them.

“Ah! I’ll have to remember to add that later,” He murmured before clearing his throat, “moving on. My first question would be, how often do you actually need to feed?”

Virgil froze, meeting the knowing gaze of the human. He’d been careful to take the bare minimum blood from both Logan and Roman. He hadn’t fed from Patton, and frankly he was trying to avoid that. The bond between a vampire and a donor was a complex, tricky thing.

The more blood he took, the more he risked strengthening such a connection. But both Logan and Roman were stubborn humans that refused to see their vampire guest starve. He’d managed to convince Logan he survived off less than what he actually needed. It was the truth—as long he conserved his energy and slept for longer periods. But it appeared Logan became suspicious—or maybe, had always been suspicious from the start.

“Did Roman put you up to this?” Virgil demanded, his nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

“While he did mention what happened with the garlic, he did not set me up to this. I’m asking out of my own vocation and…concerns,” Logan frowned, adjusting his glasses, “I’ve refrained from asking you questions about vampires’ physiology because the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable but…I just want to make sure you are getting proper nutrition. Your health is just as important to me as the others.”

Virgil sighed. What did he have to lose? Perhaps upon learning the truth, Logan would realize Virgil wasn’t worth their time and energy. As much as that thought hurt, it was for the best.

“I don’t really know,” Virgil confessed, “I’m always hungry. Squirrels and birds are enough to get by, but they’re…not enough. Maybe once, per day?”

Virgil closed his eyes, unable to force himself to see Logan’s reaction. There a was a few beats of silences before Logan inhaled deeply and said,

“I see. How many liters do you think that is?”

“Liters?” Virgil knitted his eyebrows together as he tried to recall how measurements worked, “I…have no idea.”

“As you know, I do not know much about vampire physiology, but do you think it’s similar to vampire bats?” At Virgil’s vacant stare, he elaborated, “vampire bats consume half their body weight per feeding.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Virgil shook his head, “It’s less, I think? But it depends on the source.”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, leaning forward in interest.

“Look I don’t know how all the scientific shit works. But like, for some reason human blood is more nutritious? We can sustain on animal blood, but it’s not the same it’s like—it’s like—”

“Eating junk food compared to healthier alternatives?” Logan suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Virgil shrugged, slinking further into the couch, “We don’t have to drink as much human blood as we do with animal blood.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muttered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to scribble down these findings in a journal. He instead cusped his face with a hand, frowning. Virgil shifted nervously, waiting to hear the rest of Logan’s thoughts.

“I’m not sure though…if I and the others would be able to donate blood on a daily basis without severe risk to our health.”

“Wh—what?” Virgil said, his eyes widening in surprise. Logan actually sounded regretful of this fact. Whatever Virgil expected to come out of his lips, it wasn’t that.

Logan, however, seemed to take his reaction for something else entirely.

“You see, when humans donate blood for medical purposes, we are only allowed to donate every eight weeks or so to allow time for our red blood cells to replenish. Having a low red blood cell count is dangerous for humans…I am truly sorry about that, Virgil.”

“Wh—you have nothing to apologize for—I mean I wasn’t expecting you guys—” Virgil’s voice cracked, causing him to glance away in embarrassment, “you don’t have to do anything, really.”

“Virgil,” Logan said softly, “do you remember what I said when we began this discussion?”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you mean what you said about how you cared for…my health?” He asked hesitantly.

“Precisely,” Logan said, “I was stating the truth when I meant your health is important to me. After all, you are a friend.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, “only serious people wear neckties.”

He gestured to his necktie, and Virgil let out a chuckle.

“Y’know, you and the others are really making it hard for me to leave.” He murmured, “but I can’t stay. I—I just can’t. I can’t stay and possibly become a danger to you.”

 “Virgil, you will not be a burden to us. It might be difficult, but I know the others and I would be willing to help figure out a solution for your dietary needs. Let me repay you—”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then at least let me do this for you as a friend.”

There was again, the f word. It was really devilish of Logan to use it against Virgil. Especially since all he had ever wanted in life was to be loved and accepted by others. It was oh so tempting to just stay and live in the solace of the apartment. Until the day he outlived the others, by his hands or by natural causes. He didn’t know which one was worse.

Virgil swallowed, throat tightening, “Are you sure of this? Are you sure you want me around? I mean, you barely know me.”

“As certain as I am of the sun rise, yes.”

“Well there is one solution.” Virgil said with a slight groan. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

 Logan perked up, looking at Virgil with childish excitement. “What is it?”

“I’ve never done this and I don’t know like the exact scientific crap behind it. But if a vampire feeds from a, uh, human consistently, um, it’s like we inject something that keeps humans’ blood healthy. So like, I guess it helps reproduce red blood cells faster.”

“Incredible,” Logan murmurs, “I can’t believe—well, unfortunately I can understand why this isn’t common knowledge. But something like this proves vampires and humans as a whole could one day live harmoniously.”

“I mean, I doubt that,” Virgil laughed bitterly, “There is some…side effects. You might become, uh, enthralled for a brief period after a feeding. Like, very agreeable to whatever I suggest. So I get it if that makes any of you uncomfortable.”

He flitted his gaze towards his ratty shoes. A hand rested on his shoulder, soft and tentative. As if fully prepared to draw back if Virgil brushed it off. He looked up at Logan. The human looked back, a determined glint in his eyes.

“Virgil, I trust you. I can’t speak for the others but I’d like to test this arrangement between you and I. If for whatever reason, it does not work—either for you or for myself, then we can always find a different solution. Alright?”

“Okay.” Virgil choked, forcing his vision to remain clear and not blurry with tears.

So, he stayed. Patton’s eyes lit up like a kid receiving a puppy for Christmas. He immediately bombarded Virgil with one of his signature hugs. Roman laughed triumphantly as he clasped Virgil’s shoulder and promised him that he wouldn’t regret this. Logan hung back, but his soft smile told Virgil all he needed to know.

Staying meant that he had to find a job. Virgil had never held a job in his entire life, never mind the fact he didn’t have a high school diploma. Yet Virgil couldn’t live in good conscious as a freeloader in the apartment. He wanted to contribute to the apartment rent. In order to do that, he needed money. He was certain that the two quarters and the one nickel he had floating in his jeans pocket wouldn’t be enough.

He searched for businesses that would hire someone like him. Not only was he dealing with a rather sparse resume, but there was of course prejudice against vampires. The humans flaunted around words like “peace among species” and “equal rights for all” but that rarely was the case. Even with the Helsing Laws in effect. He’d like to say that their prejudice was entirely unwarranted but well…

Most vampires kept to themselves. They either believed staying quiet would bring about peace or they just stewed about it away from human ears. Then there were some vampires that believed they were the superior beings and not the humans. So they really didn’t have qualms about hurting humans to bring about their agenda. Something Virgil knew about too well.

Of course, the businesses couldn’t openly discriminate. The Helsing Laws prevented that. But the laws did nothing to stop the prejudices that still clung heavily to the air.  It took just one smile—one laugh for them to see a flash of pearly white fangs and freeze up. They wouldn’t say it in words. But he could tell by their tone of voice and not so subtle wording that they were afraid.

They were afraid he’d snap and become an endangerment by attacking and drinking the blood of the first human he came into contact with. Honestly, humans were perfectly capable of eating their own kind’s flesh, yet you don’t see them worrying about that possibility.

It made it all the more hard to decipher then, who would hire him and who would cuss out his existence.

“So what makes you interested in working at our establishment?” The lady conducting his seventh interview asked. It was at a local, quirky coffeeshop—the kind that regulars claimed was way better than Starbucks.

Um because I want money? Virgil thought. He didn’t say it out loud, learning from his first interview that was apparently not what they wanted to hear. After that mishap, the others helped coached him through the right things to say. It still didn’t keep his intestines from knotting up out of nervousness.

“It seems like a chill, clean environment.” He shrugged.

“Well, thank you, we like keeping it that way for  our customers,” She laughed, “but we do still expect our employees to work hard and not slack off. We can get busy especially in the weekday mornings and all day on the weekends. Do you think you can handle that?”

No.

“Yes,” Virgil said, lying through his teeth, “I’m pretty good at handling stressful situations.”

“Is there a specific example you can think of?”

Virgil twisted in his seat, doing his best not to fiddle with his fingers.

Here goes.

“Well, as a—a vampire, I’ve had to deal with people who don’t…like that much. So I’m good at making sure I keep my composure. Like if there is an upset customer, I—I think I could be good at staying calm and making sure they walk away happy.”

She pressed her lips together, “I see.” And then, “What would you say are some weaknesses of yours?”

The rest of the interview continued on. She didn’t make any sort of comment about Virgil being a vampire. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’ll call you soon on what my decision is.” She told him, although he learned by his second interview not to trust those words.

“How was it?!” Patton asked upon his return back to the apartment. He and Roman were sitting on the couch watching TV. Logan was gone from the apartment, too early for him to be home from work. Virgil said nothing. He took a few steps before crashing into Roman’s side.

“That bad, huh?” Roman chuckled, already drawing his arms around Virgil.

“Tired,” Virgil closed his eyes, “job interviews are fricking exhausting.”

He heard Roman’s voice say something as his senses turned all muddy and muted. Someone laughed. Patton? If he wanted to, he could’ve forced his eyes open to see. He was content, however, to just lie there and steal Roman’s body heat.

It was stupid how easily Virgil taken to be at ease with these humans. Then again, it was also stupid how easily they accepted him. If either party had malicious intent, it would be almost effortless for them. Like taking candy from a baby.

Sleep was a strange thing for vampires. They needed rest, yes, but they never slept as deeply as humans could. Even in his soundest sleep, Virgil had a murky awareness of things. He could feel Roman mess with his hair, carefully untangling it with his fingers. He heard Patton’s and Roman’s heartbeats, steady and strong as ever. There was also a different sound. A buzzing, ringing sound.

“—gil! Hey Virgil! Wake up!”

Virgil jolted, alert and ready. His eyes scanned everywhere but found no threats. He looked at Roman and Patton in confusion, “Huh?”

Patton smiled, holding out his phone, “It’s for you.”

For him? But that could only mean one thing—someone actually called him back after a job interview. With a shaky hand, Virgil took the phone from Patton.

“Hello?”

“Hi Virgil, this is you, right?” The voice on the other line said. It did sound like the lady from the job interview.

“Yes.” Virgil answered, biting his lips and trying not to hiss from the pain that produced.

The voice said more words. Virgil managed to say words back. The conversation lasted scarcely a minute yet seemed like an eternity. He handed the phone back to Patton, eyes glazed over.

“Well?” Patton wiggled his eyebrows, bouncing in his seat like a rambunctious Labrador.

“Well,” Virgil began with a hesitant sliver of a smile, “I got the job.”

[more-miserables]

A Knock At the Door

Hey y’all. It’s @cubeswhump . Don’t blame April for this terrible title.

So yeah. This is a collab with me, @cubeswhump . Second collab in this series. This is a collaborative thing that is 99% self indulgence but the collab was planned from the start and will make sense plot-wise, I actually was like “April I have an idea make a whump blog” and here we are.

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @liliability

Warning for institutionalized slavery, aftermath of abuse, descriptions of wounds and infections, medical stuff.

Time seemed to slow as Jamie went up to the door, but somehow she still moved much too fast.

"Oh! Andrew, right? David's kid?" Jamie talked much too casually, letting the broad-shouldered man come in. He was a few years older than herself, wearing a green knit sweater over plaid pajamas with his black hair in a lopsided bun like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"No, it's-"

"Oh yeah, you use some unusual name,  right? I remember the press getting mad and comparing you to that celebrity kid named after a fruit. Hold on, I'll get it."

He turned to Yates, smiling widely. It almost looked friendly. "Hi! I'm Andromeda. You can call me Andy if you prefer." 

"Oh, Andromeda! I was gonna guess Milky Way," Jamie snorted, and went ignored.

Yates automatically knelt down and pressed his head to the floor. “I shall wake my partner, sir, and then we can accompany you.”

Andromeda knelt down too. "Look, we're on the same level now. But that can't feel nice on your forehead, can it?" 

Yates glanced up at him, feeling like his brain just short-circuited. How was he meant to react to this? They’d never taught him what to do when someone superior goes down to your level. “Um… No?” It came out like a question. 

Andromeda pressed his forehead to the floor. "Hm. No, this doesn't feel too good. What do you think we should do instead?"

“Maybe you should stand up..? If that’s what you’d prefer, sir.” This was weird. Yates felt like he was flying blind. 

"Just me, or both of us?"

“Am I allowed to stand?”

"Well, do you want to?"

This was really stressful. What was the right answer?! “I don’t know,” Yates whispered, suddenly near tears. 

"It's okay, it's okay! How about we both stand up? Oh, I think I've made a bad first impression."

Yates stood obediently, blinking back the tears. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s been… difficult for the past few days.”

Andromeda stood too, just about towering over Yates, but that wasn't unusual. "That's okay, you're allowed to be upset. I'm sorry I made you upset. But how about we don't worry right now? I have the heater on in the car and we'll have your friend's hand looked over at the house, okay?

“Okay.” Yates dashed off to coax Ginger awake, glad to escape. Andromeda was weird and confusing; nobody ever asked Yates what he wanted. He didn’t know how to answer. 

Ginger was less polite when he staggered into the hall on Yates’s arm, not bothering to bow. He nodded to Jamie, then did a double take when he clocked her bare face, makeup scrubbed away. “Oh my God, your eyebrows are gone.”

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut your gob. Like you lucked out in the eyebrow department, red." 

Ginger smiled a little. It was nice to have playful banter instead of hostile bullying. “Thanks for helping us,” he said, quieter now. “We owe you one.”

"Nah, no debts with me," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Andromeda hovered, watching Ginger as if he expected him to fall over. 

Ginger nodded at him, looking wary. “Hello.”

"Hello! I'm Andromeda."

Ginger just nodded again. He clung to Yates, partly protectively and partly because he really was struggling to stand. He was white as a ghost and shaking, but he tried to look fierce. 

"I have my car out front," Andromeda went on as he walked. "Would you both be all right going for the ride?"

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Ginger said. “To take us to a safe place.”

"Well, yes."

He hesitated for a second and looked at Jamie. “You’re sure this is that David’s son?”

"Yep," she said. "Adopted. Maybe fostered? I dunno."

“Okay. Thanks again.”

“Keep in touch,” Yates added. She gave a thumbs up. 

"Thank you for all your help, Jamie," Andromeda said as they walked out. 

The car in the formerly empty drive was a smaller one, pale blue and shimmering in the dim streetlight. The two runaways couldn't even guess the make,  or know if it was expensive or not. Andromeda opened the back door, and there was a blanket draped across the seat and more folded ones (knitted wool, soft fuzz, none if the scratchy material like in their bedroom at Stanley's or the thin sheets at the facility).

"Feel free to use the blankets, any of them, if you get cold."

There was another man in the passenger’s seat too; they could see a silhouette of smooth, dark hair and then big, curious eyes as the person turned to stare at them. Ginger pulled Yates close and cocooned them both in a blanket, shivering. Those bright eyes staring at them were eerie, though they didn’t show hostility. 

"Hi Harley! These are our new friends," Andromeda enthused as he got into the driver's seat. 

“Hi,” Harley said quietly, still staring. “Two ones. Like Xander and Jay?”

"A bit, but Jay wasn't a… he wasn't made to be a pet," Andromeda explained. "These two both were, but I think they're very good friends like Xander and Jay."

Ginger and Yates watched this new boy warily. He just smiled in a docile way, fiddling with a strand of his black hair. “Pair.”

"Mhm. They're friends like you and Crow too." 

“Is Crow a person or an animal?” Ginger muttered. 

“He people!” Harley giggled. His voice was lively, but slow and deliberate, like it took him longer to select and vocalise the right words. Andromeda smiled a bit, but when he went to adjust the rearview mirror he seemed to look at the two in the backseat for a split second.  

“I figured as much,” Ginger said. “I didn’t think you could buy real crows.” He didn’t care how Harley spoke. It was just nice to be smiled at for once. 

"Some people in our house picked their own names," Andromeda explained. "I think Crow likes the wild birds he sees out his window, though we do have some chickens too."

Ginger nodded like that made perfect sense. “Maybe I could be an animal name…”

"Maybe! No rush on it though. I think rest should be priority the next few days. Speaking of, this is a long drive. Do you want to sleep?" 

“You really should sleep,” Yates whispered to Ginger. “You’re poorly.”

“I’ve only just woken up. You’re the one who should sleep.”

Harley didn’t speak to them directly, but he very softly started singing lullabies, mixing up the words, sometimes jumbling several together, but the tunes were soothing. In the end Yates and Ginger both slept, and Harley smiled triumphantly. He hoped he’d been helpful. 

Andromeda laughed a snorting cackle that made him sound ten years younger. "Good job, Harley. 

****

The sun was shining bright. 

No one touched him, but Yates jumped like he'd been slapped awake. It was only Andromeda standing two feet away from the open car door going, "Hey guys, we're here."

Ginger was harder to rouse, and Yates had to shake him. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat where he’d leaned on Yates and he was very pale. Yates hoped he wasn’t going to vomit again. It wouldn’t be the best first impression. 

Andromeda was ready with an unopened water bottle, handing it to them. He started talking while Yates helped Ginger drink, wringing his hands and looking up toward the sky thoughtfully. 

"So um, we tend to give shelter to runaways that will need a bit more support. A lot of Romantics will fall under that category. So we have some Romantics staying here, but everyone is friendly and no one will bother you."

Yates bit his lip, glancing at Ginger nervously. Now Stanley was gone, Yates had shifted to taking orders from Ginger instead, though Ginger told him not to. Yates knew they'd been taught not to trust Romantics. He didn’t want to be outright rude to anybody, but they weren’t really supposed to speak to them either. 

Ginger shrugged indifferently. He was far too miserable to care about decorum and rules now. Yates mirrored the shrug, but he still looked worried. 

"A woman named Tina will want to have a look at you both if you'll come inside," Andromeda went on. "She has some medical education under her belt, and she helps me run the house. It seems David's here." Yates followed his dark eyes over to a very shiny blue car. "I asked him not… He'll be inside, but I think we should see Tina before we talk to him." 

“Is Tina… Does she have access to proper medication, sir?” Yates asked shakily. 

"She can tell us if the materials she has on hand are enough to treat it. If not, we have a doctor who treats our residents and would never tell." He looked to Harley. "Remember Doctor Miller?"

Harley nodded. “She nice. Kind. Tell jokes and blow up plastic gloves.”

Andromeda nodded. He didn't say anything more to Yates and Ginger, no questions or commands.

“Um… can we come inside please, sir?” Yates asked. 

"Of course! Come on."

Yates helped Ginger stagger over the threshold. A plumpish woman with short blue hair and a nose ring came down the stairs to meet them, smiling warmly. She was carrying another child on her hip. Scrawny as he was, he looked way too old to be hauled around like that. 

Looking around, there seemed to be no one else in the living room or around the stairs, but the floorboards creaking overhead and hushed voices in the kitchen were so ominous that neither noticed the child's rapid hand movements at first. 

“Hello,” the woman said, keeping her voice lighthearted while her eyes flicked over Ginger and Yates, looking for injuries. “I’m Tina. It’s lovely to meet you. And this is Nils.” She gently jogged the child on her hip. 

Nils reached toward Ginger but Andromeda pushed his hand down. Ginger moved away instinctively, standing in front of Yates, though he was so weak he could barely stand, let alone fight people off. 

"We should probably get them lying down," Andromeda murmured.

Tina nodded, gently putting Nils down. “How about you go play with Harley while I help these two?” she said. 

Nils made some gestures the newcomers didn't recognize and grabbed Harley's skinny wrist. Yates worried that the kid must have been freezing, shirtless and barefoot in just a pair of thick pyjama pants. 

“Is he being punished?” Yates whispered fearfully. “Is that why he’s not allowed clothes?”

“No!” Tina said quickly. “No, Nils isn’t a fan of clothes. It took a lot to get him to wear the pants.”

"Perhaps the downstairs sitting room will be a good place for right now?" Andromeda suggested, no connection to the previous conversation. "It's not a proper sleeping space, but…" 

“They’ll have privacy,” Tina agreed. “I think it’ll be okay.”

Andromeda nodded. "It's this way."

Tina went to help Ginger, but he shied away and clung to Yates instead, following Andromeda down into the basement - because that's what it was, a basement, even if it was furnished and given deep plum walls and a cream carpet, even if Andromeda gave it a different name.

Ginger was laid on a sofa the colour of pink candy floss, and Andromeda shared a look with Tina. She smiled at him, though her eyes were trying to give him stay here signals. New arrivals could be nervous, skittish, sometimes hostile. She might need his help. He just smiled too, and Ginger bristled a bit, feeling that something was just communicated between them, but having no idea what. Now he kind of wanted to puke on their carpet. 

Tina turned to him, still smiling. “David said you were injured? Could you show me, please?”

Ginger stuck his arm behind his back, scowling. Yates tugged at his shirt. “You need help!” he hissed. 

"Aren't you in pain?" Andromeda asked. 

“No,” he muttered, while Yates nodded his head vigorously. 

“He is.” Yates put his head on Ginger’s shoulder, his fingers digging into his shirt. “Please let them help you. For me?” 

Ginger sighed heavily, and held out his bandaged hand. “I hate it when you do that,” he mumbled, but he laid his head against Yates’s. 

Even as Tina's fingers encircled his wrist and turned his hand over in hers, Andromeda's eyes taking this in from over by the wall was somehow worse.  Ginger felt itchy and exposed under his gaze.

“What?” Ginger snapped at him. Honestly, he wanted to see what Tina would do when he was so blatantly rude to this man who was her… boyfriend? Who knew. But she clearly liked him. “Why is he staring at us? What’s he even doing he— OW!” He gasped as a sharp stab of pain travelled all the way up to his elbow. Tina was pulling off the bandages, trying to be as careful as she could, but the blood and pus had hardened into a clumped mess with the bandages. Removing them would also mean ripping off scabs and bursting blisters.

Tina shook her head. “This is bad. You’ll need stronger pain relief than we have here.” She nodded at Andromeda. “We need Doctor Miller.”

Aside from his light brown skin paling a few shades, Andromeda didn't react much. He nodded. "Mm. Okay, I'll call her and let David know what's going on." 

“Probably best not to let David come down here. You know he’s pretty squeamish.” She turned back to Ginger as Andromeda headed up the stairs. “Your old owners did this to you?”

Ginger gave her a look. “No, I just really felt like holding my hand against the cooker one day.”

“I tried to help but I didn’t have the right medication or supplies,” Yates said miserably. “And now it’s so much worse.”

“You did a really good job, considering the circumstances,” Tina said. “Don’t worry, we don’t do those kinds of things here. No punishments. Nobody deliberately hurting you.”

“But what if we’re bad?” Yates whispered. “Don’t we get punished then?”

“Nobody will hurt you now, no matter what you do.”

Ginger and Yates glanced at each other. Neither looked convinced. Stanley had played nicey-nicey at first, after all. The punishments came later.

Andromeda was back down within minutes, and for some reason he had several metal mixing bowls and washcloths. He put them on the marble coffee table.

"Doctor Miller is on her way. You know I'm a dope with the medical stuff but I did my best to explain it and she doesn't think he needs to come down to the clinic, but if he does you know how that goes, that's fine, but hopefully they can just stay here," Andromeda gabbled, scarcely taking a breath. 

Tina went to put an arm around him. “Thanks, love. Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine. I’m sure she can treat them here.” 

Yates and Ginger stared. Obviously Ivy and Stanley weren’t a couple, so they’d never really experienced any sort of romantic affection between two people before. They knew about the Romantics, of course, but they had been taught to ignore those things themselves. How much was allowed in ordinary households? Was kissing a private or a public thing? 

"And David's aware," Andromeda went on. "I convinced him to wait here a bit longer and see these two after Doctor Miller leaves. Priscilla's keeping him busy for now."

“That’s good. Hopefully he’s keeping an eye on Nils and Harley too. You know how Nils can lead Harley into trouble.”

Andromeda nodded, very serious. "Crow and Briar are still in bed but I'm a bit late to making breakfast. I'll try to get Nils and Harley to 'help'," he said, doing air quotes. 

Tina laughed. “Thank you. I’ll come help as soon as I can.”

Andromeda grinned and dashed off. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of motion, running to and fro every which way.

“Are Harley and Nils your brothers?” Yates asked. 

“They’re like family now, but we’re not biologically related. Nils is my adopted child,” Tina explained. “Harley is like you guys, though he was on his own. He came to us a couple of years ago.”

“He’s nice,” Yates mumbled. 

“Yes, he’s a sweetheart. But he was treated very badly before he came here. It took a long time for him to feel safe, and he still struggles sometimes. But Harley is proof that it can get better for you guys, okay?”

Ginger and Yates exchanged glances again. They didn’t say anything else to Tina until Doctor Miller arrived. 

She was a big, plump woman - not as tall as Tina but rounder, and decades older. Her coiffed hair, stiff as a helmet, was dyed very bright orange, but Ginger didn't think she was a redhead before she'd gone grey. Her lips were crimson and her eyelids blue all the way to her miniscule eyebrows. She wore the signature white lab coat but also a big wooden bowtie and giant, round glasses. Under her coat were lilac scrubs patterned with puppies and kittens. 

She was, without a doubt, a pediatric doctor.

"Hiya lovelies, I'm Doctor Miller!" she said, shaking both their (uninjured) hands.

Somehow the doctor was more comforting, strange and patronizing as she seemed. Well, not comforting, but… predictable. The scientists at the facility's clinic were never as serious and cruel as the handlers. This was just a job, a paycheck. Few got the sick thrill the handlers did. Doctors were doctors and that was that. These people, this Tina and Andromeda… not so much. 

As this clown of a doctor looked at and gently prodded his hand, Ginger imagined her mercilessly stripping flesh right from bone along with the bandages. But she filled one of Andromeda's mixing bowls with some clear fluid and had him keep his hand in there for what felt like ages. When he started to get fidgety, she said, "There there, we're almost done."

Finally she instructed him to pull his hand out. 

"This might feel a little funny," she told him, "and it'll look worse. You might not want to look." 

Yates buried his face in Ginger’s shoulder obediently, but Ginger shook his head. “I’ll watch.”

If soaking his hand took ages, removing the bandages took a lifetime. Sometimes he wasn't sure if she was even pulling, and when any gauze didn't strip away instantaneously she stuck his hand back in the water. And as the last of the rusty-coloured gauze came off, his stomach turned over.

"This here," she said, pointing with a blue-gloved finger to a giant red lump with smaller bumps of yellow-green, "is a carbuncle. Funny name for a not so funny thing. But we can easily defeat this beast."

“It’s disgusting,” Ginger said hoarsely. “Just cut my damn hand off.”

"It looks worse than it is," she promised. She moved the bowl of fluid away and replaced it with an empty bowl, continuing with this no-big-deal attitude even as she delved into her bag and pulled out torture devices in plastic packaging.

Vague memories of needles and bags of icy fluid and the white walls at the facility pushed at his brain and he initially refused to give his hand over until Yates pulled the, "Please? For me?"

"That's so not fair," Ginger grumbled. 

She stuck the needle in and injected it around the "carbuncle" and the smaller pustules around it, and his hand became numb and tingly. Doctor Miller had to ask him to stop poking at and shaking it. 

"You were so brave!" exclaimed Doctor Miller. Ginger felt… was that frustration?

When she pulled an actual knife from plastic packaging, Ginger wondered if they vacuum sealed thumbscrews and pears of anguish too. Other instruments of torture.

He frowned then. Where did he learn about those? He couldn't place the era those tools were from. Probably not modern… right? Though maybe Ivy would’ve liked them. 

“What’re you going to do now?” he asked Doctor Miller warily. “Slice it?”

"We need to drain as much of the pus as we can. The rest will be treated with medicine and bandages."

“Fantastic,” Ginger sighed. He glanced at Tina. “Is… is everybody going to watch?” He felt strangely self-conscious, as if they were watching him use the toilet. 

"They can go if you're sure that's what you want." 

“It’s just embarrassing,” he mumbled.

"It's your decision, lovey."

He sighed. “Just… nobody else? Please?” He didn’t think he was allowed to order people around yet, even if they were playing nice. He couldn’t just tell this Tina to get lost. 

"All right. Some privacy, please, you two," she told Yates and Tina.  

“No, I need Yates!” Ginger cried, grabbing at Yates with his right hand. He pulled away from Doctor Miller again, his eyes suddenly wild and panicked. 

"Okay, then. Tina, love, give us a moment," Doctor Miller said calmly. Tina smiled and nodded, going upstairs without a word. 

Yates cuddled against Ginger’s side. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

Doctor Miller nodded, smiling a bit at them. It only lasted a second, and she pulled on goggles and a new pair of gloves. "Can I see your hand again?"

Ginger held it out reluctantly. “Will it get better?” It had looked so awful before that he’d worried it’d never heal. Yates told him it would, but Yates probably would’ve fibbed to stop him panicking. 

"If we keep up with treatment, it will. You came just in the nick of time." She continued talking as she moved his numbed hand over one of the bowls and pressed the tip of the knife into one of the yellow-green bumps on the carbuncle, not flinching as cloudy liquid spurted out.

Ginger pulled a face. “Yuck…” This was going to take ages. His cheeks started burning with shame. He felt responsible for having such a disgusting thing happen to him. “I’m sorry.”

"Don't be. Bodies do yucky things. We humans can't help being gross sometimes." 

His face went from pink to crimson. The childish language was even more embarrassing, though Ginger knew it was kindly meant. He started fidgeting again, a tight knot tying itself up in his chest. He had that terrible, itching urge to run.

She didn't just slice and poke, she squeezed and scraped and splattered the metal bowl with cloudy yellow-white and red. It smelled like rot. 

It was horrible. After a while Ginger stopped watching. He fixed his gaze on a corner of the ceiling and tried to forget where he was, his vision blurring around the edges. He used to do this during training, when the pain was so bad and he felt so miserable he didn’t want to wake up. Yates called it dissociating; Ginger didn’t know that word. Maybe it was a medical thing.

Eventually he was jolted by a firm pat on his back. "All done, love."

His hand was wrapped and everything. He remembered none of it. 

“Will it get all disgusting like that again?” he asked. 

"Not if you take your medicine and let Tina change your bandages." 

“What kind of medicine?” He looked panicked again. “The sleep medicine?”

"No, none of that. Antibiotics. All they do is stop the infection and help you heal," she explained, and as she zipped up her bag Ginger realized everything was already packed up. Where did she put the dirty bandages and instruments? Both used bowls and the other unused ones still sat on the table, and the smell lingered. "I'm going to send in a prescription to the chemist and someone will pick it up." 

“Thank you so much,” Yates whispered. “We’re very grateful to you.”

She stood up, smiling at them. "I'll tell one of them to pick up his prescription on my way out. Be good, loves."

“We’ll do as we’re told,” Yates promised. That’s what be good meant, right?

"No, no, only with the medicine. Well, and other things meant to keep you safe. You listen to yourself otherwise."

Yates frowned. Listen to himself? He didn’t think he knew how to do that anymore. Maybe he’d just listen to Ginger instead. 

She was gone, upstairs, and they were alone in this frilly pink-and-purple room, not sure what would happen next. 

[sanders-sanctuary-au]

Sanders Sanctuary for Borrowers/Tinies

Hello! Welcome to this AU! Have an info dump post to get yourself acclimated to the universe! And read the first fic installment if you haven’t here! 

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse (of both humans and borrowers),  lots of talk about treating people as pets, starvation, mentions of intelligent people being used as science experiments, minor character death, please let me know if I should add anything!

Premise

The Sanders Sanctuary for Borrowers (or as it’s publicly known, the Sanders Sanctuary for Tinies) is located in and around the farmhouse of one Thomas Sanders. 

Officially to the public, the sanctuary is a place where tinies who were in bad situations, such as an abusive owner, an illegal zoo, or underground fight club, can be taken to recover. Unofficially, the mission of the sanctuary is to rescue any borrower it can, from any situation where they’re being exploited by humans, whether the rest of society deems it “abusive” or not. 

The Sanctuary currently has two human “employees,” Thomas Sanders, the founder, and Deacon Jacobs, Thomas’s best friend. Thomas would love to one day bring in more humans to help, but for now, Dee is the only one he trusts to keep the secret of the sanctuary’s true purpose. 

The eventual goal is to turn the sanctuary into a force for change; through education and rescue work, Thomas hopes to change the public’s perception of borrowers and stop their mistreatment at the hands of society. 

The sanctuary is designed to allow the borrowers to live as independently as possible, if they so wish, and the eventual goal is to have it be completely borrower run and serviced, though there simply isn’t enough manpower yet for this to happen.

Humans

Thomas Sanders 

Thomas is a 30 year old actor and singer who moved to the country when he inherited a big farmhouse and a little chunk of land from his  Aunt Patty. 

He mostly does stage acting, which is where he met Deacon, and it’s his biggest passion besides helping borrowers. 

He doesn’t have very many human friends in the area, and everyone in the small town that’s near his house thinks he’s a bit weird: a city boy who moved out to the country and started a sanctuary for tinies? But he’s super friendly and polite to everyone, so there’s no ill will. More like animosity, which for the kind of operation he runs, suits Thomas just fine. 

Thomas is very active online, where there are a smattering of other Tiny Rights groups. The groups are mostly advocating for safer care of pet tinies and against using tinies as lab subjects or who are fighting and spreading awareness about the illegal zoos or fight clubs, very few of them view tinies as people (think groups in our world that are against animal cruelty), but there are a few who do see that truth, and Thomas has been working to grow that community as best he can. 

Janus Deacon Jacobs

Deacon (he’s gone by his middle name since middle school due to teasing surround the name “Janus”) is a 28 year set designer and builder, and worked in the same theater as Thomas for about five years or so. He’s snarky and a bit abrasive at times, so he didn’t have many friends, but Thomas reached out to him and the two just clicked instantly. 

Deacon (or Dee, for short) was the first person who Thomas confided in about the tinies that he found, and surprised Thomas with the knowledge that he already knew that the creatures were intelligent and that they called themselves borrowers. 

When Dee was a child, he was in a pretty abusive household, and he used to hide in the attic when his parents got into one of their many screaming matches. There was a borrower living in that attic, and they became Dee’s only friend. For a long time, that borrower was Dee’s refuge from his parents, but his mom found out about the “pest” in the house  and had animal control come to catch it and take it away one day while Dee was at school. He never even got to say goodbye. 

When Thomas expressed interest in Dee about the sanctuary, Dee immediately offered his services. He knows its unlikely, but a tiny part of him hopes that one day he’ll find that borrower again. 

Deacon is the one who designed and built most of the more elaborate structures at the sanctuary, and once they started having borrowers actually living there, he helps them with the upkeep of the facilities and follows their lead on what needs to happen for things to run more smoothly. 

Borrowers (in the order that they arrived at the Sanctuary)

Joan and Talyn

Joan and Talyn are wild borrowers who lived by borrowing from Thomas’s Aunt Patty for years. When Thomas moved into the house, their borrowing woke him up in the middle of the night (Patty was a much heavier sleeper than Thomas is) and they were discovered.

They were initially very wary of Thomas, but when he realized how scared they were, he backed off. They were prepared to leave, but then they realized Thomas was leaving food out for them and that he hadn’t called animal control, so they decided to stay and give the guy a chance. 

Joan and Talyn are the only borrowers at the sanctuary who have been free their entire lives. They helped Thomas design his facility so that it would be a borrower’s idea of a sanctuary, not a human’s idea of one, and they help to find and bring other borrowers to the sanctuary. 

Roman

The first borrower besides Joan and Talyn to arrive at the sanctuary, Roman was born in captivity and raised for the pet trade. His owners were a rich couple who had expensive and exotic tastes. 

He was kept in a gilded cage in their sitting room during the day, and was expected to pose elegantly when people were in the room. 

One day the lady of the house overheard him singing to himself to pass the time, and after that, he was also made to sing for guests. 

He ended up at the sanctuary after the mansion burnt down in a fire; his owners only evacuated the “essentials,” so he was left in his cage as the house burnt around him. A support beam ended up falling in just the right way, knocking his cage down and damaging the door enough for him to crawl out and escape the house. 

For a few days, he was alone, wandering the city streets in search of food and shelter. He’d been dependant on humans his entire life and had no idea how to survive, so when Deacon found him and asked if he needed help, Roman was all too eager to accept. 

Logan

Logan was bred in captivity and was used as a lab-tiny. He was used for product testing (cosmetics, mostly), and still considers himself very fortunate, as he only encountered severe side effects two or three times over the course of his life in the lab. 

He never thought he’d know a life outside of the lab, but one night, an intern didn’t close his cage door properly and he took a chance on escape. He knew he might get himself killed if he tried, but he didn’t care, he’d take the chance on freedom. 

He succeeded, and managed to survive on his own for a couple months before Joan and Talyn found him on one of their scouting missions. He accepted their invitation to come back with them, and has lived at the sanctuary ever since.

Logan hates how borrowers are assumed to be inferior simply because of their size with a burning passion. He’s determined to prove that borrowers are just as intelligent as humans.

He taught himself how to read in the lab, and when he arrived at the sanctuary, attended online schooling (because online, everyone assumes you’re a human). He got a high school diploma in less than two years, and is working on his college degree now. 

Emile

Emile was born into the pet trade like Roman. He was bought for a little girl’s birthday present, and genuinely loved his human. 

He was by her side as she grew up, she told him about her day every single day when she got home from school, he met her best friends, he cried with her the first time she got her heart broken, and she let him roam free around her bedroom (though her parents wouldn’t allow him to roam the rest of the house.) 

They both thought that they’d be together forever, but then her dad got a job in a new city, and their new apartment didn’t allow pets. 

Emile had to be given away, and the home that he ended up in was not a nice one. He was no longer allowed to walk about as he pleased, he wasn’t fed very much, and he was basically neglected. The worst thing for him though, was watching his old human’s friend be neglected alongside him. Their parents were drug users, and didn’t care about much else, and it broke Emile’s heart to see such a sweet kid wilting away. 

When the parents were both arrested for drug use, the teen was put into foster care, and the police were planning on just dumping Emile at a shelter, but Thomas had caught wind of the case and offered to take him in, which no one else had a problem with. 

Emile wants to train to be a therapist to help both humans and borrowers alike work through their pain and trauma. 

Remy

Remy was born free, but was captured as a young teen by a group of humans that use tinies in underground fighting tournaments. 

Definitely had the worst of things physically. Was covered in cuts and bruises when he was rescued, not to mention dozens of old injuries that had never really healed properly. 

He fought just well enough to make it worth his handler’s while to keep him after losses. Was found when the police raided the operation. Unfortunately, while they did make a few arrests, most of the participants got away, along with all the other tinies. Remy was left behind because he’d just been knocked out losing a fight, so when the police get there they’re met with a few spectators who were too drunk to run away and one unconscious tiny in the middle of the ring. 

After being made to fight at night and sleep during the day, his sleep schedule is all out of whack, and he basically sleeps whenever his boyd gives out and he crashes. He doesn’t like bright lights or loud noises very much, and he wears dark glasses to keep everything a little dimmer. 

Patton and Virgil

Patton and Virgil are brothers who were born free. They were captured when Patton was 19 and Virgil 16 and sold to a pet store. 

Patton was sold right away, and spent just over a year living with a kind old man who needed a companion. But then, the old man passed away in his sleep, and Patton nearly starved to death with no one to take care of him. He was eventually found and taken to a shelter, who then called the Sanders Sanctuary. (more on this)

Patton was half dead when he was brought to the sanctuary, but when he started to recover physically, his mental state stayed very poor. Eventually, Emile was able to coax his story out of him, and Thomas and Deacon decided that their next mission was to track Virgil down and reunite the two brothers. 

Virgil spent two years wasting away unwanted in the pet store, until after nine months of looking, Deacon finally tracked him down and brought him to the Sanders Sanctuary to be with Patton again. 

Patton and Virgil join Joan and Talyn in helping borrowers who were born in captivity learn more about borrower culture and what it means to be self-sufficient. The two are still pretty shaken after everything they’ve been through, but with the help of everyone at the sanctuary, they’re beginning to heal.

Follow this blog for more content in the Sanders Sanctuary verse, and asks are open!

[artemismoon12writes]

Title: Ryan and the Raven

Daltonfic 2020 Big Bang Week 1, Day 1: Windsor House “That damn freshman is keeping a crow in his room!” Luke shouts, jabbing towards the door Ryan has just left. “And I don’t know if he even feeds it, because all that is left of my tarantula is one leg, and a lot of feathers! If he isn’t punished-”

Prefect Ryan Cobb walks down the halls of Windsor House, intent on doing one last surprise dorm inspection before heading back out to the gardens. Roman and Alexander take the longest time to inspect, their dorm is a spreadsheet meant for sleeping, plastered with barely understandable Ponzi schematics- but if it’s not cocaine, Ryan cannot do much. 

His priorities are more than inspections today. A group of butterflies were making their home in the flowerbeds. His hopeful successor to the prefecthood of the house alerted him to it. One more floor, pick and choose, then wildlife.

Stopping, Ryan thinks he overheard an argument coming from one of the freshman rooms. Black bat stickers, sparkly letters, and a Transformers stick decorate the space surrounding the number. A cracked door betrays the muffled noise of the two roommates’ disagreement.

With disappointment, Ryan realizes that it is his most difficult room pairing. Houston has already burnt through two roommates already. If they aren’t getting along, he needs to try and find a new person who can put up with their new occultist.

Stepping towards the door, Ryan listens in.

“You can’t keep a raven in here!” It sounds like Hendricks, he thought to himself.

“She’s my familiar!”

“Seriously Dwight, there’s weird and then there is dangerous. She needs to be outside!”

“I’m handling it, I just need to-”

“At least let Ryan tell you what to feed her.”

Well, if called upon he has to see what is happening now.

Knocking, Ryan called out, “Room inspection!”

He hears Dwight yelping. Todd saying something in hushed tones. A squawk? The window is slamming. Movement. A lot of movement. His wildlife senses are tingling. 

Ryan opens the door, looking at the freshman. Todd looks as bored as ever. He’s on his bed with a book, shooting annoyed glances at his roommate. Dwight, contrastly, is just as steadfast in consistency as he looks as disastrous as always. The claw marks on his hands though, those are new.

“Last surprise inspection of the day, lucky you.” Ryan said with a smile, coming further into the room. He paused, “Dwight, the salt lines? Really? Housekeeping has enough to deal with.”

Dwight starts on a spiel about their necessity. Ryan has heard it three times now. Instead, he turns to Todd, “are you okay with them?”

“When he keeps them to his side.” He says plainly. “Maybe housekeeping should just skip our room? We can keep our own sides clean.”

“This doesn’t look clean.” Ryan says concerned, the randomly coloured stains on Dwight’s side not immediately recognizable.

“We’ll get it cleaned up.” Dwight assures him.

Ryan gives him a look, circling the room. “I know I confiscated some of this stuff last week.”

“Does that stop him?” Todd asks.

Point.

Ryan sees he’s going to have to compromise here. “Is there anything you’d like to declare at least? What was that noise I heard before I came in? Todd, is he smoking again? Wes told me about the incident behind the garden shed.”

“If he needs to be concussed again, just let Charlie know. He stole Wes’ baseball bat after that.”

“Might be because it was the garden shed.” Dwight says sheepishly. “He didn’t like the smell.”

Todd’s side is cleaner, but not spotless. There are some items of altered uniform in the closet, but as long as he doesn’t see them wearing them it is okay. He wants to ask what that squawk was, but if they’re hiding an animal in here, it should be large enough to see. A bird? Out the window? Hopefully it would fly away. He does not trust Houston’s ability to care for an animal, but he can deal with that when he’s certain what it is. 

“The posters can’t be pinned to the wall. Sticky tack or nothing.” Ryan points out, the map on Todd’s side and the sci fi posters on Dwight’s side both being held up with staples.

“Can we get some from the secretary’s supply? I don’t want to order any.” Todd complains, like his desk isn’t already overflowing with raided folders, paperclips, and fine line markers from the Underclass Newspaper Room.

“Order it.” Ryan says, hiding a smile at Todd’s annoyance. “And if you do have anything I can’t find, throw it out. Or come to me. You know I’m here to help.”

“Yes Ryan.” The freshmen chorus.

Unable to figure out what is happening, Ryan leaves. He will figure out what those two are hiding, though he wishes Todd would just tell him outright. The fact they seem to be getting along only hinders attempting to reign in Houston’s more outrageous behaviour. Not that he can say too much being Windsor’s Prefect, but unless the kid mellows it will be hard for Windsor to continue to stay under the administration’s radar- especially with Alfalfa Brightman’s kids destroying the water fountain with dish soap. The sparrow’s drinking water was ruined.

Luke Baldwin, one of his more sedate sophomores skids around the corner. Angry, his face is almost red with how furious he is.

“That freshman and his pet crow killed Yorvik!” Luke shouts without preamble.

“What?”

“That damn freshman is keeping a crow in his room!” Luke shouts, jabbing towards the door Ryan has just left. “And I don’t know if he even feeds it, because all that is left of my tarantula is one leg, and a lot of feathers! If he isn’t punished-”

“Baldwin, calm down.” Ryan puts his hands up. “I was just in there, there was no bird. And you know I would know.”

Luke isn’t deterred. “I know it was his! Who else would be crazy enough-?”

“Hey! Ix-nay on the azy-cray.” Joshua pokes his head out of his own room. “Kid’s got OCD.”

“You’re just saying that cause you’re taking that psychology class.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how words work.” Joshua counters.

“He’s going to get more than just that if something isn’t done about-”

“Luke. Enough.” Ryan said. “I’ll talk to him later, but as I said. I just did a room check. There was no bird. I believe you, but I can’t just punish someone without a little more proof.”

He continues down the hall towards the stairs into the main common room. Some of the Juniors are playing Rock Band against the seniors. Right now, Sullivan is the only sophomore so Ryan decides it is okay to leave unattended. Luke follows, still rambling about how the freshmen can’t get away with illegal animals in the dorm.

Ryan sighs. “I can’t bring Yorvik back. You know I feel badly. He was a good spider. But if you want, I can talk to my arachnid guy, maybe we can try fostering in a safer tank? It’s not Yorvik, but there are a lot of spiders who would benefit from a territory of their own.”

Luke didn’t like that idea; but considers the suggestion of perhaps upgrading to a scorpion, which can defend itself much more easily against predators within the dorms.

Perturbed, he wonders how there could be a whole crow (though Ryan does not think Luke could properly identity a corvid without a lineup) loose in Windsor without him knowing about it. There is always a lot going on in Windsor, but animals were supposed to be his thing. He would have to be on the lookout for a black bird on campus. While birds can eat a variety of things, an entire tarantula might make it sick. Great. Now he has a poor corvid to worry about, on top of the warbler the Stuarts were keeping in a tiny cage as a mascot instead of allowing to fly in an enclosure the school could clearly afford for their own caged songbirds.

“Incoming!”

Ryan ducks on instinct from previous incidents. A mop flies over his head, clattering to the ground beside him. He turns to see the Seniors sheepishly trying to hide the bucket. It seems someone spilled a bottle of cola, and bleach was the solution they devised to clean it. Maybe if the common room was smaller he would have noticed this side of the room.

“Keep that away from Van Kamp, he’ll trip.” Ryan says to his fellow seniors, who give him enough platitudes to let him continue unworried out the double doors of Windsor House.

The sun is warm, grass as green as it will be before the winter frost settles across campus. Only a few more days until the cold snap. He’d wanted to get the ducks an indoor shelter earlier, but so far only Mr. Tamerlane is listening to his advice. Ryan keeps warning his boarders to leave the duck alone, but this is a reason they don’t officially have a house pet like Hanover’s ridiculous pony.

Walden, one of the freshmen, wants to bring his dog Cookie to school. The dog is supposedly a therapy dog, but from what Ryan sees of Walden’s understanding of therapy dogs it may just have the right sheet of paper. That kid seems to have more money than sense, and cannot even tell Ryan that his dog is anything beyond ‘white’. With enough training, maybe Ryan could change that status, and educate the owner on behalf of the dog.

Jogging across the campus to the gardens, Ryan sees the greenhouses and some of his Windsors there amongst the gardening club. A row of cracked pots and half-eaten greens are strewn on the ground in front of them. Large bags of supplies are also half full, spilling into the decorative beds and Mr. Tamerlane’s immaculate lawn work.

“Hey, prefect!” The club calls over. Charlie, one of his more reformed Windsors, is among them.

 “What’s up guys?” Ryan asks, diverting his jog to see the butterflies.

“Amos says you’re good with animals.” The Day student in charge of the club says, pointing as the mess. “What kind of rat did this?”

“I keep telling you, it’s a Windsor prank. It doesn’t even look like much is missing.” A Stuart sneers, a foul look on his face. 

“It is field mice, I’m telling you.” Charlie looks close to snapping. Thankfully the group of Seniors who have beaten his delinquency out of him, also stressed the importance of saving your cursing for emphasis alone. “It wasn’t Windsor.”

Ryan shrugs. “I haven’t heard of anything about messing with Gardening Club. Most Windsors don’t find it would give enough of a reaction.”

“So what did it?”                                 

“He’s biased.”

“You wanted a prefect’s opinion.”

Ryan ignores the chattering, kneeling in the grass in front of the ruined supplies. Small holes, certainly rodent sized. Pellet dung mixed in with the bag of grass seed, but oily residue around the holes? Signs in the potted plants of the teeth marks were inconclusive, but he did already know what caused this.

“They’re common brown rats. It’s not a huge problem, but it’s not a prank.” Ryan says, brushing his knees off.

“How do you know that?” The Stuart challenges.

“Simple.” Says the prefect, “Mr. Tamerlane already told me about the infestation he’s fighting off. Haven’t you guys noticed the humane traps around campus?”

The silver boxes scattering the campus are meant to be inconspicuous on purpose. Ryan paid extra for the grounds to have the best versions so he could release them back into the fields where they belonged.

“Were you going to tell us?” The head of the Gardening Club exclaims.

“It’s being handled.”

“So what the hell are we supposed to do?”

Ryan considers it. “If you really want to keep pests away, you can invest in a garden snake. Something large enough to be a good rat catcher, but small enough it shouldn’t cause issues if you do something stupid to provoke it to bite you.”

“Justin mentioned something about that.” Charlie says, cutting off other arguments. “His gardens back home have loads of natural pest control.”

“The warmth of the greenhouses should also allow a year round solution.” Ryan said. “I know a guy who runs a rescue, he has a pair of them he’d love to rehome.”

“And you still say this wasn’t a Windsor prank?” The Gardening Club head asks, suspicious of Ryan’s immediate solution.

“Ask the groundskeeper, or the office admin. She took the order for the traps around campus.” Ryan raises his shoulders, his good nature taking over. They would believe him or not. It did not entirely matter as long as they did not try to kill the rats with poison that may hurt the other local animals on campus.

It does not take long for the club to believe him. A phone number is given and snakes promptly rehomed. Ryan walks away in a good mood. Truth be told, the snakes please him more than the clearing of Windsor’s reputation; but a double win is a good bonus.

Finally he reaches the rose garden. Ryan breathes in the sweet smell of the flowers. Around him the swarm is feasting on nectar, and he is careful not to startle them from their important task. They ravage the carefully manicured briars, returning some of the ridiculous ornamental roses into a more natural state. Ryan thinks the twinkling light of the white, yellow, and oranges on their wings is far more beautiful than the flowers could ever be.

His camera does not do them justice, flitting from flower to flower as he follows with soft steps. He has been to sanctuaries before, but never with this much privacy to observe them. Thankfully, most students do not frequent the rose gardens. Dobry’s rose garden is more of the clandestine spot for lovers; Ryan has found he is far more likely to find his Windsors in the library, the gym locker rooms, or one notable incident behind a curtain outside the entrance hall with David Sullivan and a Dobry girl who should not have been there. It is not of his concern though, he’s got his private time alone with the cloud of glittering wings.

Ryan stops. A black feather is resting on the ground in front of him. Could it be?

Around the corner of the briars he spots her. A juvenile raven, a monarch held between her beak in twitching death throes. Her movements are lazy. Her feathers do not shine, they barely reflect the light at all. The dying butterfly she is trying to eat looks more alive than she is.

Ryan’s heart drops. He cannot rush forward. He will not disturb her. She is in pain. Is this what his freshman was trying to hide?

There are no marks, just an air of sadness around her. She cannot swallow her prize. The butterfly falls to the ground. He’d run and offer her any food he can, his mental stores of knowledge on birds are gone. He cannot think.

The raven gives a sad quork at her lost food, flapping her wings weakly.

“Did someone hurt you?” Ryan approaches, hands up and thinking of what he’d heard last time at the vet for poor Markie when the Brightman twins tried to feed him potato chips. Birds will eat too many things near human dwellings that are not good for them. He had to believe the freshman duo would not intentionally copy such Windsor insanity.

Her inky black eyes met his. She flew off, stumbling in the air. Ryan looks to where she is going, but she ducks behind a building not to be followed.

Its’ looking down near the dead butterfly that Ryan sees it. Exposed piping with dark peck marks in it. The shiny copper paint gives way to a chalky white. He informs Mr. Tamerlane, but it is too late for that raven he will learn later. Ryan’s walk back to Windsor is sombre.

Another win, another loss. He tucks the black feather into his pocket. Back in Windsor he has to negotiate with the sophomores to stop trying to cook anything larger than a sandwich. Worrying about them stops him from worrying about the animals. It mostly works.

[emmalinesmind]

So many people around me are abandoning their animals, its awful. I don’t understand how you can get a pet, name it, love it, live with it for years and then just give it to a shleter. 

You know Pumpkin, my housemates cat? Well my housemate abandoned him at a shelter. She literally sent me a text telling me that I had a deeper emotional connection with the cat that she didn’t have and she didn’t feel she had a bond with him. That was her excuse until I pushed and the real reason came out. I’ve mentioned that this cat was aggressive, well he was really almost feral when I moved in. I spent over a year taming him and teaching him that humans were good and by the time I left he was sitting on my lap purring every time I sat down. When I moved out, suddenly there was no one paying attention to him, making sure he got fed consistently, making sure he was socialised and he went back to his bad behaviour. She neglected him to the point where he went feral again and started attacking everyone in sight and then just handed him over to a shelter. Agressive cats that scar people and make them bleed don’t last in shelters. Agressive cats that have to be pried off someones arm and then wrap themselves onto the person removing them to dig in with teeth and claws, and who need months of socialisation do not do well in shelters. I doubt he’s still alive. 

Another old housemate of mine had two big dogs. They were sweet but loud and had a lot of energy. She abandoned them because she didn’t have time for a dog. A few months later she bought a hyper, super-destructive collie puppy. Normal puppy behaviour that is easy to train out with a little time. She gave it no training, had no time to spend to teach it how to behave, no time to pay attention to it to give it love. I moved out a few months later but I still saw the facebook post when she abandoned it as well. 

My brother abandoned one of his cats recently. The cat was a beautiful sweet ginger cat who wanted endless amounts of love from everyone. My brother abandoned him at a shelter because he was too “needy and loud”. My brother has far too many animals and when he first found this kitten everyone told him not to foster it because he would end up keeping it. He didn’t listen, kept the cat for a few years and then got rid of him when he became overwhelmed. That kitten could have been raised by a family with time to put into him and lots of love to give. Now he’s just another abandoned adult cat. 

My mother just told me she wants to abandon her dogs. They bark a lot and try to dig under the fences and she says that they are “too destructive”. They destroy the fence and try to escape but I suspect thats because they have an awful life. Mum runs a daycare from home so the dogs are locked in her bathroom all night and all day, with only an hour in the morning and 2-3 hours in the evening to be out in the yard. They get walked once or twice a week if they are lucky. I feel sorry for them, they need a better home. I still don’t forgive her for neglecting them and choosing to abandon them instead of finding a way to make things right. 

If I lived in a house where I could have animals, I would have instantly offered to take them in and give them the love they deserve. I could never throw them away. I have the scars to prove that I’m willing to work with the worst ones and help them learn that they’re safe and loved. I was offered both cats, if I wouldn’t have been at risk of being evicted for having unapproved animals I would have two sweet cats living with me today. I don’t understand how it doesn’t break peoples hearts to give away part of their family. I don’t understand why people don’t take responsibility for the animals whose life they control. My heart is breaking and theres nothing I can do except wait for the day when I live somewhere where I can have pets and then adopt the hard cases, the ones who need me.

[medea10]

Medea’s Top 10 Worst Anime Parents

[this-lioness]

Another Meandering Update

Like I do.

The new Animal Crossing came out Friday and I’ve been playing it in seemingly constant cycles of running out the Switch battery, then letting it recharge while I do other things.  Well, okay, maybe I’m not quite that bad but... close.

Today I finally decided to wear Actual Clothes instead of just pajama sets or comfy sweats.  Even pulled my hair up and put some makeup.  Don’t ask me who I’m trying to impress.

My Mother has shut the fuck up about Maggie for the time being, thank God, so hopefully she’s resigned herself to the fact that there’s just nowhere to put her right now. Like, logically I hope she understands that. I can’t just ditch these fosters at a shelter, I can’t open the door and let them run free.  They need a place.

Fortunately they have an appointment Monday for their spay and bloodwork.  Once that’s done they’re essentially ready to be adopted out, so it’s not a question of just dumping them off on another rescuer with work still to be done.  Assuming their bloodwork comes back clean, that also means we can slowly try to introduce them to our crew and, assuming that goes well, they can join the pride temporarily and we can -- if we need to -- move Maggie back into the cat room.

Don’t ask me what the fuck my life is going to be like with five fucking cats (plus one) running around, because I don’t want to think about it.

I’m still... concerned... about their prospects.  We spend as much time with them as we reasonably can, but they’re not particularly cuddly or affectionate.  They do a drive-by for a few pets, but Baby (surprisingly) is the only one who’s shown any interest in sitting on you and being petted.  Blue, who was initially the more outgoing, is aloof and largely disinterested in prolonged human interaction.

I’m hoping that after their spay they’ll be more mellow and inclined towards affection (as well as putting on some weight).  Adopting out a (fully indoor) cat that doesn’t want much to do with people is not going to be easy.  Unfortunately, I’m not 100% sure how much of their current affection level is hormonal, meaning Blue could become even more aloof after she’s spayed.

I regret taking them in, but here we are, and this is what we do. :/

The broccoli seeds I planted started to sprout the very next day, and I’ve had to take the lid off the container as they continue to stretch taller.  They don’t much like the grow light, preferring to grow toward the sun, but I’ve got it on anyway.  It’s still far too cold to plant anything outside, unfortunately.  Once we’ve had a few 60-degree-or-better days I’ll hose out the icing buckets I bought last month and hopefully get my hands on some potting soil to start planting things properly.

I’ve been saving all my little yogurt cups from lunch to start more seeds, maybe a bit later this week.  We’ve got some nice ripe bananas for more banana bread, as well.  I think I’ll throw some mini chocolate chips in this time.

I put in another grocery order, mostly for my Mom but a handful of things for us, as well.  We’re honestly good on most things, it’s just “topping up” things that have dwindled, and if we can’t get our hands on them it’s not a huge deal.

There’s a Walmart down the street and two grocery stores nearby, but neither of them were offering pickup delivery anytime soon.  Walmart has eliminated the ability to schedule pickup or delivery more than 24 hours out (you basically have to keep checking and checking their website until something opens up) and the Giant was absolutely booked up for both until next Wednesday the 1st at something like 8 at night.  I jumped on that and started loading our cart, but it’s all contingent upon what’s available at the time, and they’re not making any substitutions.

Like I said, I’m more concerned about my Mom than us.  We ordered her a chest freezer to help her keep food longer, but unfortunately Best Buy closed before they could get the order in stock and they pushed it off to the end of April.  We just cancelled it.  Wish we’d had the idea sooner, you can’t seem to order them from anywhere now for anything less than a fortune.

I ordered a pullman pan off Wayfair to arrive Thursday, so I’ll be able to make sandwich bread at least.

But other than that, life goes on in its way.  Apart from puttering around our own yard on Sunday we haven’t been out of the house since Friday.  We get up, shower and dress, have breakfast and coffee, then sit down to work.  We break for lunch, go back to work until dinner time.

I try to distract myself at night, but it’s when I seem to be the most anxious and tense.  During the day I’m actually okay? Like... I don’t pace around the house wringing my hands or anything, I just go about my day doing what I can.  I guess when my mind is allowed to wander that it starts to tangle itself in knots.  I’m like a pair of earbuds -- I’m fine when you use me, but the minute I’m not in use I get completely tangled up.

It isn’t the routine that bothers me, really, it isn’t the inability to go out and do things (we’re probably going to take a walk around the neighborhood after lunch), it’s the fact that none of the Big Picture things are in our control, and are instead in the hands of people who have no value for human life.  No sense of reality or decency.

The joke about Krypton being allowed to explode because nobody in charge wanted to listen to the scientists is so sickeningly true, and it’s unnerving to see it play out in real life.

Anyway.  We are doing our thing, we are doing our part as much as we can, and just waiting patiently for... normalcy, I suppose.

[happyhealthycats]

Seymour

This story feels a little weird to tell, because it’s so new. Seymour is still only seven months old. He’s not fully grown. He still is very much a kitten. But he’s a little dude that completely blindsided me when we found him.

My local shelter was having a really hard kitten season. It started early and ended late in our area this year, and there was no room in the shelter. It’s a county shelter that doesn’t turn animals away. Any animals. When I went in to foster, they had a pig, a pigeon, and rabbits, not just your usual dogs and cats.

We had fostered before, but it had been a single kitten through a different rescue that I was no longer keen on using. At least with this shelter, if the cats got sick, I could take them to the shelter’s vet and have them seen by a professional, not the back of the van diagnosis I had experienced with my previous foster.

I told the shelter workers that my husband was still on the fence. I wasn’t working at the time, so the work would fall entirely on me, but he was still hesitant. So they said “Okay, we’ll start you out with something easy. Here’s a litter of four, almost five week old kittens. They’re all healthy, all weaned to wet food. They just need to be brought up to weight to be fixed, and that should be about three to four weeks.” (I am taking the briefest moment to mention as an aside - this is not the post to argue about the age of spay/neutering. This is the shelter’s policy and that was that. I could either comply with their policy or I could not volunteer with them). 

I took home this litter of four beautiful kittens. Three girls, one boy. They were unnamed, so I got to decide what they would be called. A friend suggested naming them after Steven Universe characters, so I did. They were Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, and Steven.

The kittens honestly were hardly work for me. They were so young we handled them frequently, inviting people over so they could experience as many different people as possible. Their little personalities flourished and I felt so, SO honored to get to know these amazing little animals. Garnet was confident, willing to rough house, explore, approach new people without hesitation. She was a little more afraid of dogs (unfortunately without dogs in our house her only experience with them was adoption events). Amethyst was a little more shy. She would play with her siblings and with humans, but wound up getting bullied out of her food bowl if I didn’t give her a separate dish. She learned to push back and make sure she got what she needed, and went from the skinny little “we’re not sure if she’s going to thrive” threshold to feisty little girl. Pearl was a cuddle bug. We would pick her up to give her medicine, and I always had to do her last, because she would fall asleep in my arms every time I held her.

Then there was Steven. 

Independent, confident, curious, played beautifully with his sisters. If they had too much, he learned to walk away instead of pressing his luck with them, and was able to entertain himself with nearby toys or people.

He had no fear, and when their two week quarantine period was up, he met the household cats and absolutely meshed with them immediately. Keeping him separate from the rest of the house in the “kitten room” was darn near impossible, and he made his best attempt to escape and explore the house every time we opened the door.

As spay/neuter-day came closer, kittens began to get spoken for. Amethyst was first. A friend of mine messaged me and asked to meet her. It was love at first site. Amethyst is still Amethyst. Next was Pearl. Funny enough, Pearl now lives with my previous foster, Chainsaw, who is now Alice. Pearl also kept her name. Garnet was next, after a long push on social media to find a loving home. Garnet is now Widget. I still get updates on all three girls, and they are amazing and I’m so proud of them. (For privacy’s sake of their new homes, I can’t share current pictures). 

But Steven, for all our socializing, was so attached to me that it was tough to imagine not waking up and seeing his wonderful little face. Simcoe and Citra had also taken an IMMENSE interest in the kittens. Every single morning, we woke up with a mountain of toys laid in front of the kitten door, gifts for the babies they knew were on the other side. We became concerned that Simcoe would grow depressed with the absence of kittens. Normally, yes, cats can get over these things, but as a semi-feral and fairly sickly young cat, we have to keep Simcoe’s stress levels down as much as possible. And oddly enough, Simcoe is less stressed when she can take care of other cats.

I had the moment when I had to start taking Steven to adoption events, and knowing he would have to leave, I was sad, but knew I would get over it. The girls were sweet and wonderful, but they were never mine. Steven would come to me no matter who was in the room. He would climb on me and sleep on me, and while I did everything in my power to socialize him with as many people as possible, he still loved other people, he just preferred to be with me. Removing myself from his life for the sake of his care and his ability to be adopted out would be negligent to him, so I had to continue caring for him.

So my husband said, “He really gets along with the other cats, doesn’t he?”

He did.

“You’re going to be really upset when he leaves, aren’t you?”

I was.

So my husband paid Steven’s adoption fee as an anniversary gift. (Steven, mind you, was not the gift, we discussed his adoption prior and both agreed we could realistically home him here). 

But what to name him? We considered “Mosaic”, and would call him Moe for short, to keep with the theme of hops since he got along so well with Simcoe and Citra. But it didn’t fit. He already had an S name. We considered keeping Steven, but without the girls the naming convention wasn’t quite right.

A few other names fell by. Zevran was a tempting runner up, but my husband wasn’t terribly fond of it, and try as I might to call him that, he didn’t FEEL like a Zevran (Sorry, Dragon Age fans).

Remembering one of my favorite movies/musical productions, Little Shop of Horrors, I laughed and thought of the name Seymour. My husband liked it, but not for the same reason I did.

“Seymour Skinner, from the Simpsons!” He said. “Or Seymour Asses, like from Futurama...” I let the fact that Seymour Asses had been a dog slide, because as I called “Seymour”, over he ran, meowing happily. We didn’t name him. Seymour picked his name.

We did our usual slow introductions, but as always, the resident cats pleasantly surprised me with how easily they allowed Seymour into their group. Within a week they were allowgrooming and sleeping together. When they would play, Seymour could understand who he could play rough with, and who didn’t like to play as rough. Citra took a shine to him immediately, and Heimdall began caring for him like the nurturing big dude he’s always been.

Seymour is my little shadow. He comes when he’s called, he almost always needs to be in the same room as me, and if I’m sitting on the couch, he’s near constantly on my lap. That being said, he’s also the absolute friendliest cat in the house. While Heimdall is a relaxed and easy going cat, Seymour seeks out new people and will rub up to them and meow at them for attention within moments of someone walking through the door.

He’s also photogenic as anything. He just loves the attention he gets when I take pictures of him, so he’ll sit there and just let me snap countless photos because he knows it means I’m looking at him.

I adore all my cats. Each one has a piece of my heart for a different reason. Seymour was the final piece to our family to make our home and lives so wonderful and full. He’s comic relief. He’s a wonderful foible for every single cat in the house. He’s best buddies with Heimdall, a playmate for Sif, a partner in crime for Citra, and a snuggle buddy for Simcoe. 

And I couldn’t imagine my life without every single one of them.

[thaeher]

°✧｡ [LINDSEY MORGAN, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER] It's been two years since Occāsus joined velia from Baltimore, Maryland, USA. Apparently their name is Raeka Flores and they're an archer. The have been fighting as a vixen member for a while now. Didn't people say they were a beta tester? I heard they turned twenty-five this year. Let's hope they make it out alive.

About Raeka

Raeka Flores has no recollection of her parents, despite living with them for a few years before they seemingly disappeared. Thought she’s always had the option to find out what happened to them, she prefers not to know.

Despite living in a few different foster homes with adoptive families through the years, Raeka never found somewhere that she could call home. There was one family that she could see herself staying with, and she did for several years, but in the end Raeka’s lack of trust and fear of abandonment led to her pushing them away and they let her.

She did form a close bond with a few of her foster siblings, and kept in touch with them consistently up until she joined Velia. Raeka worries about those that are younger and still in the system, but trusts that her older “siblings” will look after them.

One of her foster sisters, Violet, was terminally ill when Rae entered the game. The doctors guessed that she had a year left to live. Rae hopes she’ll get to see her again, but doesn’t know that Violet passed away two months ago (just before her fifteenth birthday).

She doesn’t mind being called Raeka by those that would know her real name, or Rae by those she’s extremely close with.

Raeka wouldn’t have been able to afford the VR gear she needed to play if she wasn’t working three jobs at the time of release, and if one of the jobs wasn’t at a game shop that offered an employee discount/

Occāsus, the name most would know her by, is the latin word for a falling, the setting (of the sun), ruin, the end, etc.

Raeka is an archer, a well practiced skill that she’s proud of. She is also a guard for the Vixens.

Rae never had any intentions on joining a guild, she figured she would always be solo and team up only with those that she trusted. This included Jal, who Raeka had fallen for after spending a lot of time with them in the game.

One day, Rae was unexpectedly attacked by another player and though she fought her hardest she knew she was being overpowered and was sure it was the end for her. But, one of the Vixens happened to be nearby and heard the commotion. They saved her, and promised her the shelter and time to heal that she desperately needed if she returned to their headquarters.

Raeka has stuck with the Vixens since, though it has only been a month or so, partially because she feels indebted to them and partially because she feels safer with an entire team to back her up. Rae hated feeling so vulnerable that day, and never wants to feel the same again.

wanted connections

A foster sibling - this could be one that joined around the same time as Rae, not realizing what would happen, or one that joined knowing what was going on if they wanted to help her (probably around her age or older in this case?). Either way, Rae is guaranteed to protect them no matter what (this will probably be sent as a wanted connection to the main, since it’s a bigger connection).

The Vixen that saved her ass - While the player that attacked her is likely dead, the Vixen that helped her kill them would likely be someone that Rae trusts. It’s rare for her to put a lot of trust into people, but she knows that this person had her back when she meant nothing to them.

Training Buddy - this is someone that Rae hangs out with the level, though she can probably handle the monsters herself she figures that it’s always nice to have back up (just in case), and someone to talk to so the process isn’t quite as mundane.

Little sibling-esque figure - Being a beta tester, Rae knew some information that others may not have coming into the game. This would just be someone that she helped guide through the beginning stages. Maybe they’ve grown apart since then, or maybe they’re as close as ever.

TBA.

Current Connections

Jaleh Zandi aka Thanatos - Jal and Rae met in game. The two developed crushes on one another after spending a lot of time together. The two haven’t spoken since Raeka joined the Vixens, Rae is endlessly guilty for disappearing the way she did but she’s sure that Jal will understand when she gets a moment to explain herself (though, the no dating policy of the Vixen’s inhibits them regardless).

Jack Navarro aka Jupiter - Jupiter and Occāsus teamed up early on, and though they aren’t particularly close, the two have always had each other’s back in battle since beta testing. They fight well together, as they’ve learned each others styles and habits throughout the years. Things between them are somewhat unspoken and just come naturally. When the two were in the beta test, they were friends with a younger player that they sort of carried through the game. Upon release, all three reunited and Jack and Rae continued to help the third player out. Until, during one dungeon, it was too much for them to handle and the player was killed. Both Jack and Rae blame themselves, and haven’t spoken to each other in fear that the other will blame them as well.

Abby Valentine aka Noir - These two are a powerful duo that should undoubtedly be feared by anyone that opposes them. They fight together like a well-oiled machine and have been known to team up in and outside of dungeons despite being in separate guilds.

Yong Kyu-Chul aka Silver - Early into the game, Silver attempted to give Occāsus some tips on how to complete a task. Rae took this as him looking down on her, as if she was weak and needed his help. It was a misunderstanding, of course, but to this day whenever Silver offers her unrequested assistance, Rae can’t help but to glare at him.

TBA.

About the Writer

Hello, everyone! My name’s Heather, I live in New York (therefore, EST), and I use she/her pronouns. I’m a leo, I’m not a morning person at all (mostly because of my typical work hours being 2-10p), I’m a cat person (I have two, but I also just love all animals tbh) and I’m very fascinated by this rp we’ve all decided to join. To warn everyone, my internet sucks because of me living in the middle of nowhere, and the weather sometimes causes outages. Also, sometimes my J, L & K keys don’t work right so if I write something and they’re missing please forgive me!!

I love plotting so pls feel free to pop in with any ideas you have that you think Rae could fit into!! Or just message me to say hi!