awwcutepets:Baby Raccoon

serial time killer

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  misshawaiipizza:

  protectdean:

  I HAVE BEEN QUEUEING THIS SINCE DECEMBER 11, 2013 BECAUSE I MISSED MY CHANCE LAST YEAR.

  taking my chance.

  12/10/19

• The Hardest Thing: Chapter Thirteen

  claryclark:

  Shoutout to my ride google doc ride or dies @lcbeauchampoftarth​ and @happytoobserve​ . This wouldn’t be half as much fun without y’all. 

  

  Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve 
  

  Chapter Thirteen: The Storm 

  Claire

  1995 - Three Years Ago
  Greenwich, Connecticut

  ‘When Harry Met Sally’ is so much more interesting than my calculus homework. It’s a struggle to focus on the trapper keeper spread open on my knees, especially when my eyes keep wandering to the large television in the center of our living room.

  As usual, I’m home alone. Mom is teaching a late class at the medical school and Dad is working at the hospital. Even Lamb, who I can usually count on as a companion, is out of town at a conference.

  The phone rings, making me jump. Putting my homework aside, I jump up from the couch and trot into the kitchen to answer it, my socked feet sliding a bit on the slick tile.

  “Hello,” I say into the receiver.

  “Claire.”

  I blink in surprise at the sound of my father’s voice. “Dad… hi. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got to go to Boston for an emergency surgery. They’re chartering a plane for me and I have to leave in half an hour.”

  My dad is the best pediatric trauma surgeon in New England, so last minute trips out of town are pretty common for him.

  “Okay. I’ll tell Mom not to expect you.”

  “I actually need you to do me a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  “My work bag. I left it in the study by accident. Bring it down here.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Hurry.”

  Without another word, the line disconnects. I roll my eyes as I hang up the phone with a muttered, “No need to thank me.”

  I grab my father’s work bag from his study. I notice that this isn’t the bag he usually brings on out-of-town trips, but I know better than to ask why he suddenly needs it. I grab a jacket and my shoes before retrieving my car keys and slipping out the back door.

  Keep reading

  12/10/19

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  artist-picasso:

  Night fishing at Antibes, 1939, Pablo Picasso

  
  Medium: oil,canvas

  12/09/19