This is the Laos Legacy feed. Currently working on generation 3! Also, you can read the whole story here: https://thelaoslegacy.tumblr.com/ BlueskyFeedCreator.com
Feed on BlueskyFeeds Stats
- 💙 Liked by 60 users
- 📅 Updated 5 months ago
- ⚙️ Provider blueskyfeedcreator.com
- 📈 In the last 30 days, there were 13 posts about this feed. These posts got a total of 282 likes and had 13 reposts.
The Laos Legacy Likes over time
Like count prediction
The feed The Laos Legacy has not gained any likes in the last month.
Feed Preview for The Laos Legacy
By the time she reaches the room at the end of the corridor, she’s exhausted. She closes the door behind her, locks it, then climbs onto the bench beside the bed, curling into herself like she’s trying to make her body disappear.
The first tear slips free. Then another. And another.
1
1
31
Her breath hitches as she leans closer, trying to find something familiar in the lines, in the shape of her mouth, in the curve of her jaw. But all she sees are the marks of what she ran from. The trace of hands she didn’t choose. The terror is still clinging to her like a shadow.
2
1
31
When she finally steps out of the shower, steam rolling off her skin like a second layer of fog, she forces herself to look.
She almost wishes she hadn’t.
4
1
39
Virginia turns the shower on as hot as it will go. For a moment she just stands there, gripping the edge of the sink, watching the water run in a steady stream. Her hands tremble, not from cold anymore, but from everything else she’s been holding back.
0
1
33
“There’s a bathroom between the two rooms. Use whatever you need.”
She gives a small, guarded nod.
“I’m Rowan,” he adds gently. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be over at the main house.”
Then, barely above a whisper, her voice breaks the silence.
“Virginia.”
4
1
38
“Here,” he says softly. “I brought a first-aid kit and some clean clothes.”
She doesn’t reach for them, but she’s listening.
“There's a room at the end of the corridor.” He hesitates, then adds, “You can sleep in my sister’s room if you’d rather. She wouldn’t mind.”
1
1
36
With a gentle nudge of his heel, Rowan signals Clover forward. The mare responds instantly, shifting into a careful, steady trot, nothing like the wild sprint she tried earlier. It’s as if she knows the woman behind him can barely hold herself upright.
1
1
35
He steadies her as she swings a shaky leg over the saddle, guiding her until she’s settled behind him. Her arms hover uncertainly for a second before she finally grips his waist, fingers cold and trembling through his jacket.
Rowan exhales slowly, adjusting the reins.
“Ready?”
1
1
34
“Separate everything?” she repeats.
Rowan nods once. "The clinic’s downstairs, but it has its own entrance.”
She studies him for a long, tense moment, as if waiting for the catch.
“I don’t want you treating my wounds,” she says finally.
“Alright,” he says gently. “I won’t.”
2
1
33
“I live on a ranch nearby,” he says softly. “Not far from here. There’s a guest side of the property. Separate entrance, separate everything.”
Her eyes flick toward him, wary.
“You could rest there for a bit. Just to warm up. And I have clothes; my sister’s, actually. They should fit well enough.”
3
1
31
“I’m not asking for your name. Or what happened. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t collapse out here.”
She looks away, jaw tightening like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
Rowan takes that as permission to try one more time.
0
1
31
“But you’re hurt,” he continues. “And since you’re clearly not going to let me take you to a hospital…” He pauses, waiting for the inevitable interruption.
It comes. “I’m not.”
“Right,” he says softly. “Then at least let me make sure nothing’s seriously wrong.”
0
1
33
“You know…” he begins quietly, “I’m a vet.”
“Good for you.”
“I mean I know how to treat wounds,” he says, keeping his tone even. “Fix things. Clean cuts. Set bones.”
“I’m not an animal,” she snaps.
“I know.” He lifts his hands slightly, a peaceful gesture. “I’m not treating you like one.”
5
1
34
Rowan settles into the snow, arms draped loosely over his knees, the cold cutting straight through his jeans. It hurts, but he keeps his face steady, eyes on the dark stretch of trees instead of the bruised, furious stranger beside him.
0
1
31
“What are you doing?”
“If you’re staying out here,” he says calmly, “then I’m staying out here.”
She stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “So what, now you’re gonna freeze to death with me? That’s the plan?”
He gives a small, lopsided shrug. “Apprently."
1
2
33
Rowan exhales hard, a frustrated cloud of white hanging in the air. He stands there for a beat, torn clean in half. Leaving her isn’t an option. Forcing her isn’t one either. So he makes a choice that surprises even him.
The cold bites instantly, crawling up his spine, but he doesn’t flinch.
5
1
32
Her eyes snap to his, sharp despite the shaking. “No.”
Rowan frowns. “What do you mean, 𝘯𝘰?”
She clenches her jaw, lifting her chin with that same wild defiance that’s holding her upright more than strength.
“No means no.”
He blinks, thrown. “I’m trying to help you.”
1
1
31
Up close, the truth is impossible to ignore; her hands are scraped raw, dark bruises bloom along her face, and blood streaks down her chest in a way that makes his stomach twist.
“Okay,” he says softly, steadying his breath. “But at least let me take you to the hospital. You’re clearly hurt.”
1
1
31
She presses herself harder against the rock, as if pushing distance into existence. “Turn around. Go home. Pretend you didn’t see me.”
Rowan freezes, stunned, not frightened, just thrown.
She lifts her chin, jaw trembling violently. “𝘎𝘰,” she insists. “Unless you wanna join the ghost stories too.”
6
1
31
Rowan hits the ground harder than he means to, boots sinking deep into the snow. Clover, for once, doesn’t bolt or wander.
"Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly.
Her eyes flare. She pulls in a ragged breath, then bares her teeth in something halfway between a warning and desperation.
“Stay back.”
1
1
30
Clover halts so abruptly Rowan nearly pitches forward in the saddle.
“Girl, what’s wrong?” Rowan mutters, straightening, rubbing her neck to steady her.
Clover just stares ahead, muscles tight, hooves planted in the snow. Rowan narrows his eyes, following her gaze down the moonlit path.
"𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘵."
1
1
33
This is the last thing Rowan wants to be doing, riding through Chestnut Ridge at night, frozen stiff, guiding a horse who’s one flick away from chaos.
But even when he’s cold and tired, and Clover is doing her damnedest to make him regret owning boots at all, Rowan keeps going.
0
1
30