#Preston Sands

[paulapuddephatt]

Blue Morning by Paula Puddephatt Via Flickr: The view from our window at Preston Sands Hotel in Preston Sands, Paignton, Devon - 28/11/07

[jadeseadragon]

Preston Singletary @prestonsingletaryglass

Connecting the Cosmos, blown and sand carved glass, 26.5" × 4.5" × 12" 📷 Russell Johnson

"Plan your visit to see the 'Preston Singletary: Tlingit Modernism' exhibit opening at the @douglasreynoldsgallery in Vancouver. BC. on October 21st, and on view until November 18th, 2023."

"Get a sneak peek and view the exhibition catalog."

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Super Fly 1972

[oneshutterpush]

Preston Sands, Torbay, Devon, May 2025

📷 Fujifilm X-T5 / XF35mm f1.4

[cattordi]

3. the new neighbor 🥥

a/n 𓇼 i’m writing these chapters a lot faster than expected 😫 but the obx drama has ben fed and obsessed w rafe so enjoy. also my links aren’t working therefore i cant update my masterlist

summary 𓇼 after returning to the obx, you rent the cameron’s guest house; forcing you into close proximity with your ex boyfriend— rafe.

pairings 𓇼 pogue!reader x exbf!rafecameron

warnings 𓇼 angst, annoying guys, ward, weed

˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡° ˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡° ˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹

the three word sentence rafe says isn’t what you expected to hear. those words aren’t anything you’ve heard him say.

at least to you.

you close the door slowly, tears welling in your eyes. as you turn away, a voice startles you.

“he doesn’t mean it.” you turn to see ward, rafe’s dad. he has a slight amused look on his face.

“yeah.. sure.” you say as you begin down the stairs.

your relationship with ward was never good. he never liked you due to your background, and he only dealt with you because of rafe. though his relationship wasn’t good with rafe either.

“he still loves you.” he begins, “to much in my opinion, but” he shrugs, “if you’re what my son wants.”

huffing you ask, “did you just let me stay here so you could talk down on me?”

ward shrugs and walks past you, going down the stairs, “rafe could do better. i’m sure you know that, so i want you to see him do better…. be with someone better actually.”

you’re speechless as he continues down the stairs and into his study.

𓇼

the next morning rafe wakes up, hungover. his head is thumping as his blinds reveal the bright sun outside, but his mind goes directly to you.

specifically what he said to you.

quickly, he gets out of bed, almost throwing up in the process from all the alcohol.

rafe rushes downstairs before asking, “where’s y/n?” wheezie and rose shrug before sarah says, “oh, she went into town early this morning. why?”

“nothing.” he curses, “where’s dad?”

they all shrug, which pisses rafe off, “thanks for the fucking help.” he says before slamming the back door closed and going outside.

outburst from rafe weren’t unusual or out of the blue, but this one just didn’t make sense. he’d made it known to everyone in kildare that he was completely over you, and wanted to be as far away from you as humanly possible.

but gets upset when you’re not around.

angrily, rafe marches over to the dock, pulling a container out from under a patch of sand. opening it reveals five already rolled joints and a lighter.

𓇼

“i don’t think he could ever hate you.” kie says before throwing back a shot. you and kie are at a bar in figure 8, after she begged you to come out and get a taste of the men you’d “never noticed” before because you were all “up on rafe”.

“yeah he could,” you begin,” and also that kinda contradicts why we’re here.”

“well i’ve given up since you won’t talk to anyone. i suggested wyatt,” kie starts and points to a tall, blonde sitting at the bar. he’s covered in tats, and has long hair.

“and landon,” she continues and points to another tall man. he’s brown-skinned and has waves but he’s talking to another girl.

“and even preston.” she finishes and you look over to see preston. he’s on the shorter side, leaning towards 5’10 unlike the last two who were well over 6’2. he has dark brown hair which is buzzed. you had to admit he was pretty hot.

“fine” you give in, “i’ll talk to…..preston.”

kie smiles, “okay okay. i’ll sit here. you go flirt, and then come back and tell me everything.”

“okay” you mummer and walk towards him. you’re wearing jean shorts and corset top, which shows off a lot of cleavage.

he’s looking down at his phone when you walk up to him, his friends are around him drinking beers, laughing, and making unattractive faces at the poor girls walking by.

“hey!” you say as nicely as humanly possible, “i’m y/n. i saw you from across the bar and i just wanted to see if i could get your number or something. if not that’s fi-“

“sure, why not?” preston says and holds his hand out for your phone. suprised, you hand him your phone.

he types his number in quickly, “so y/n, i haven’t seen you in figure 8 before. are you a pogue or did you just move here?”

“i’m from here actually. i moved a few years ago and just came back.”

“hm.. why?”

“why’d i move or why’d i come back?”

“why to both.”

“i moved because i needed to get away from anything, or in my case anyone, who kept me from moving forward. and i came back becau-“

“who was it?”

“you don’t know him” this was a lie. everyone knew rafe.

“i’m sure i do. shoot.”

“no you don’t, honestly.”

“i probably do. just tell-“

“she already fucking said you didn’t know so give it a break.” a deep voice says from behind you and you already know who it is.

we both turn to see rafe. he’s wearing a long sleeve henley and dark wash jeans.

“come with me y/n.”

“what’re you doing here rafe?” you’re slightly annoyed yet slightly relieved because your conversation with preston was going nowhere.

“y/n. come with me.”

“no rafe.”

out of the corner of my eye, i can see kie approaching us.

“i said come with me y/n.” rafe is clearly fuming and you can tell he’s gonna snap.

“dude she said no.” preston says and you admittedly regret him saying that because in a blink of an eye, he’s off his barstool and on the floor due to rafe punching him.

the bar goes silent until one of prestons friends yells “what the fuck dude?”

“kie,ill be right back and preston i am so sorry .” you say angrily and grab rafes hand, pulling him out the bar.

once you’re both out on the sidewalk you shout, “what the fuck is your issue rafe? how’d you even know i was here?”

“kelce texted me saying he saw you here so i asked him to watch you.”

“you sound fucking insane rafe. we aren’t together. you fucking said you hated me.” you start and turn to walk away.

“where are you going?”

“away from you!”

as you walk, rafes hand snakes around uou, turning you to face him. “you drive me insane y/n.” rafe groans and smashes his lips into yours.

[al59]

… encore bien d’autres

Les sex-symbols des ann��es 1980 attirèrent mon attention telles que sont Kim Basinger, Kathleen Turner, Jodie Foster, Kelly Preston, Linda Fiorentino, Meg Ryan, Ornela Mutti, Dalila Di Lazzaro, Valeria Golino, Barbara Carrera, Olivia d'Abo, Andie MacDowell, Phoebe Cates, Sean Young, Lea Thompson, Sigourney Weaver, Rosana Arquette, Bobbie Brown, Tawny Kitaen, Daryl Hannah, Nastassja Kinski, Carrie Fisher, Lara Flynn Boyle, Sherilyn Fenn, Geena Davis, Susan Sarandon, La Toya Jackson, Lynn Whitfield, Irene Cara, Laura Dern, Margaret Avery, Rae Dawn Chong, Robin Givens, Vanna White, Marisa Tomei, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michelle Pfeiffer, Beverly D'Angelo, Adrienne Barbeau, Betsy Russel, Erin Gray, Ginger Lynn Allen, Elisabeth Shue, Kymberly Conrad, Dian Parkinson, Mia Sara, Michelle Pfeiffer, Kathy Ireland, Daryl Hannah, Cassandra Peterson, Paula Abdul, Jennifer Beals, Meg Ryan, Molly Rignwald, Lisa Hartman, Susanna Hoffs, Kim Wilde, Brooke Shields, Heather Thomas, Heather Locklear, Sonia Braga, Kelly LeBrock, Brooke Shields, Robin Givens, Christie Brinkley, Kelly McGillis, Virginia Madsen, Leslie Easterbrook, Jami Getz, Kerri Green, Vanessa Williams, Vivica A. Fox, Stacey Dash, Ola Ray, Lynn-Holly Johnson, Carey Lowell, Melody Anderson, Kristina Wayborn, Maruschka Detmers, Patsy Kensit, Alison Doody, Papillon Soo Soo, Chingmy Yau, Maggie Cheung, Anita Mui, Michelle Yeo, Ellen Chan, Lui Hsiao, Akina Nakamori, Yū Hayami, Momoko Kikuchi, Hiroko Yakushimaru, Yoko Minamino, Rekha, Mary Stävin, Valentina Vargas, Kim Catrall, Charlotte Rampling, Mylène Farmer, Carole Bouquet, Katia Tchenko, Gabrielle Lazure, Fiona Gélin, Sophie Duez, Juliette Binoche, Christine Boisson, Marie Matheron, Cyrielle Clair, Fanny Ardant, et Anne Parillaud.

… sans oublier celle des années 1990 comme les sex–symbols américaines comme Julia Roberts, Sharon Stone, Angelina Jolie, Bridget Fonda, Renée Russo, Juliette Lewis, Winona Ryder, Madeleine Stowe, Rachel Weisz, Diane Lane, Gillian Anderson, Cameron Diaz, Selma Blair, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Uma Thurman, Drew Barrrymore, Julia Ormond, Carré Ottis, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Jennifer Connelly, Liv Tyler, Erika Eleniak, Anna Nicole Smith, Charisma Carpenter, Heather Graham, Sarah Jessica Parker, Rose McGowan, Teri Hatcher, Christina Applegate, Shannen Doherty, Cindy Margolis, Gena Lee Nolin, Donna D’Errico, Nicole Eggert, Janet Jackson, Jennifer Tilly, Gina Gershon, Shauna Sand, Peta Wilson, Katherine Heigl, Natasha Henstridge, Lisa Rinna, Yasmine Bleeth, Gabrielle Union, Aaliyah, Regina Hall, Jada Pinkett Smith, Tatyana Ali, Nia Long, Theresa Randle, Kim Fields, Angela Bassett, Ashley Judd, Kristy Swanson, Brittany Murphy, Elizabeth Gracen, Marley Shelton, Angie Everhart, Lucy Liu, Victoria Pratt, Sandra Bullock, Kelly Rutherford, Christina Ricci, Claire Danes, Kate Fischer, Portia de Rossi, Alicia Witt, Courtney Love, Tiffani Thiessen, Elisabeth Berkley, Belle Avery, et Shania Twain.

… mais aussi les européennes comme Victoria Silvstedt, Rebecca Romijn, Helena Bonham-Carter, Sadie Frost, Miranda Richardson, Anna Tomson, Cate Blanchette, Kristin Scott Thomas, Minnie Driver, Joely Richardson, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Kate Beckinsale, Nicole Kidman, Virginia Hey, Nina Muschallik, Catherine Rabett, Florina Kendrick, Caprice, Victoria Abril, Mädchen Amic, Xenia Seeberg, Sophie Marceau, Ophélie Winter, Élodie Bouchez, Clotilde Courau, Virginie Ledoyen, Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, Emmanuelle Seigner, Inés Sastre, Roberta Gemma, Izabella Scorupco, Maria Grazia Cucinotta, et Francesca Neri,… et asiatiques comme  Gong Li, Amy Yip, Carina Lau, Rosamund Kwan, Yvonne Hung Yung, Loletta Lee, Vivian Chow, Veronica Yip, Michelle Reis, Pia Reyes, Joyce Jimenez, Aya Medel, Natasha Ledesma, Ana Capri, Priscilla Almeda, Nanette Medved, Misaki Ito, Ayumi Hamasaki, Namie Amuro, Koda Kumi, Hikaru Utada, et Nanase Aikawa.

[electricshoebox]

The Eye of the Storm, Epilogue

Sequel to: A Line in the Sand, it will make more sense to read that first.

Pairing: Deacon/MacCready, Minor/Background Preston/M!Sole Survivor  Chapter Summary: Time to settle a bet. Fic Summary: Deacon’s just like any other spy trying to have it all: juggling multiple identities, on thin ice with his boss, spreading himself too thin, and trying to help save the world. Perfect time to be figuring how to be in a relationship, too. As the Institute’s shadow grows ever longer, Deacon tries to balance his life, his work, and his love, and figure out how to keep it all together.  Chapter Warnings: None Noteworthy Tags: Established Relationship, Relationship Issues, Trust Issues, PTSD, Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending

This is the last piece of this wonderful journey. I hope it leaves you smiling.

I also just want to take a moment to thank everyone who took the time to read this fic. Every single comment, no matter how small, was something that made my day better, brighter, and pushed me to keep going. But I know those can be intimidating to write, so even if you just left kudos or even if you just came to read for awhile, that means so much to me. Thank you for taking the time. I hope it was something that gave you a little slice of joy for awhile in all the crap we're wading through.

[scotianostra]

On this day in 1707, 110 members of the then Scottish Parliament sold their souls and voted for the Union of the Scottish and English Parliaments.

The picture is Parliament Square, as it looked back then and , where the vote took place and meeting place of the Parliament from 1639–1707.

As Rabbie Burns later wrote......

Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame,

Fareweel our ancient glory;

Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,

Sae fam’d in martial story.

Now Sark rins over Solway sands,

An’ Tweed rins to the ocean,

To mark where England’s province stands-

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

The following men are listed as being paid for their vote by the English, note, not all voted for the Union and some votes are unknown. The money in todays worth may be a wee bit out of date as this is from a post on my blog from 2012.

1 ~ Lord Anstruther, Sir William Anstruther was paid 300 pounds to vote “yes” on The Act of Union 1707. He voted yes. The 300 pounds received is today worth around 42,000 pounds.

2 ~ The Duke of Athol, James Murry was allegedly paid 1,000 pounds to vote yes for The Act of Union in 1707, but today’s listings show he voted “NO”.

3 ~ Earl of Balcarres – Cohn Lindsay is said to have been paid 500 pounds for his vote “yes” in 1707, vote on The Act of Union. This would be worth about 70,000 pounds in today’s money. He did vote yes.

4 ~ Lord Banff – George Ogilvy was paid to vote yes on The Act of the Union. He did vote yes.

5 ~ Mr. John Campbell was paid 200 pounds to vote yes. This amount today is worth about 30,000 pounds. He voted yes.

6 ~ Patrick Coultrain Provost of Wigton was paid 25 pounds. Roughly 4,000 pounds today to vote yes. Not sure of his vote.

7 ~ Lord Cesnock now Polwarth received 50 pounds, today this would be about 7,000 pounds. Not sure of his vote.

8 ~ The Earl of Cromarty – Sir George MacKenzie is said to have been paid 300 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He voted “yes”. The 300 pounds would be worth roughly 42,000 pounds today.

9 ~ Major Cunningham of Eckatt allegedly received 100 pounds, today worth around 14,000 pounds for his “yes” vote. Not sure of his vote, yes or no.

10 ~ The Earl of Dunmoor, William Murray is said to have been paid 200 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He did vote “yes”. 200 pounds today is worth about 28,000 pounds.

11 ~ The Earl of Eglington, Alexander Seton Montgomerie is reputed to have been paid 200 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes.

12 ~ The Lord Elibank, Alexander Murray is said to have been paid 50 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He did vote yes. To that 50 pounds would be worth about 7500 pounds.

13 ~ The Earl of Findlator, James Ogilvy was supposed to have been paid 100 pounds or about 14,000 pounds in today’s money to vote yes on The Act of Union. He voted yes.

14 ~ Lord Forbes, William Forbes is reputed to have been paid 50 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes.

15 ~ The Earl of Forfar, Archibald Douglas said to have been paid 100 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes.

16 ~ Lord Fraser, Charles Fraser said to have been paid 100 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He did vote yes. That 100 pounds would be worth about 14,000 pounds today.

17 ~ The Earl of Glencaird, William Cunningham is said to have been paid 100 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union, but it is shown he voted NO.

18 ~ Lord Preston Hall, reputedly paid 200 pounds for his “yes” vote to The Act of Union. Not sure of his vote, but the 200 pounds would be worth about 28,000 pounds today.

19 ~ The Earl of Kintore, Sir John Keith was allegedly paid 200 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He did vote yes.

20 ~ The Earl of Marchmont, Patrick Hume is said to have been paid 1,104 pounds for his “yes” vote. Today this would be around 154,000 pounds. He did vote yes to the union.

21 ~ Sir Kenneth Mackenzie, said to have been paid 100 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes for The Act of Union.

22 ~ The Duke of Montrose, James Graham, reputedly paid 200 pounds to vote yes on The Act of Union. He did vote yes.

23 ~ John Muir, Provost of Ayr, was to receive 100 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. He did vote yes.

24 ~` Lord Ormiston, John Cockburn, reputedly paid 200 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes.

25 ~ The Duke of Roxburgh, John Ker was said to have been paid 500 pounds for his “yes” vote on The Act of Union. This would be worth around 70,000 pounds today. He did vote yes.

26 ~ The Earl of Seafield, James Ogilvy, said to have been paid 490 pounds for his “yes” vote. He voted yes.

27 ~ Sir William Sharp, reportedly paid 300 pounds for a “yes” vote on The Act of Union. This would be worth about 42,000 pounds today. Not sure how he voted, but a John Sharp of Hoddam voted NO.

28 ~ Mr. Stewart of Castle Stewart, this was William Stewart, was to be paid 300 pounds for his “yes” vote. He did vote yes to the union. The 300 pounds is worth about 42,000 pounds in today’s money.

29 ~ Marquis of Tweedale, John Hay, reputedly paid 1,000 pounds for his “yes” vote to the Union. He did vote yes to The Act of Union. The 1,000 pounds would be worth about 140,000 pounds today.

30 ~ Mr. Alexander Wedderburn was to receive 75 pounds for his “yes” votes. Not sure if he voted yes or no. 75 pounds today would be worth around 11,000 pounds.

31 ~ The Duke of Queensberry, James Douglas, reportedly was to receive 12, 325 pounds. This would be worth about 2,000,000 pounds today.

[strawberryshortcake1495]

That’s right, it’s another Gravity Falls OC (there’s too many blorbos in my house help me)

This is Isha. She’s Pacifica’s best friend who always follows her around. They’ve known eachother since they were 7.

Back in 2007, Pacifica’s nanny brought her to a playground because she begged her parents day and night to go. There, she tried to play with the other kids but no one liked her because they thought she was a spoiled brat. Only one kid wanted to play with her, and that was Isha. She invited her to the sandbox but Pacifica knew her parents would get mad if they found her dirty and covered in sand so she only watched as Isha built a cool sand castle. While she did this, the girls both talked about eachother’s lives. Pacifica learned that Isha was poor and her family lives and works in a farm where they tend to cattle and crops. When the nanny told Pacifica it was time to leave, she said goodbye to her new friend and left feeling satisfied.

At home, Pacifica told her parents all about Isha and how she wanted to see her everyday and play with her. At first, Preston and Priscilla couldn’t care less and often ignored her, they realized that their daughter was never going to shut up. So, they decided to contact Isha’s family and being the fucking piece of shit he is, Preston actually tries to BUY Isha. Yeah, you heard that right. Isha’s older brother, Vander, angrily told Preston that you can’t just buy a person and after like 10 minutes of arguing, Preston comes to a compromise and tells the family that they can work at the Northwest Manor if they want to look after Isha.

The first thing Preston and Priscilla do when Isha and her family get there is to change them all into more… “presentable” clothing. They put Vander and Isha’s father into butler outfits, Isha’s mother in a maid outfit, and made Isha share a closet with Pacifica. The latter is very ecstatic to have her friend here, and things slowly mellow out in the next 5 years.

Over that time, Pacifica grows nasty, rude, and spoiled to please her parents but her friendship with Isha never wavers. Whenever they go out with Pacifica’s girl posse, she always makes sure to get Isha the second best of whatever there is to offer.

In Double Dipper, Isha meets Mabel, Candy, and Grenda, and doesn’t like how Pacifica treats them. When she’s not looking, she quickly apologizes to the girls and earns their friendship.

She keeps her new friends a secret from Pacifica until the Golf War, in which Isha is forced to help out Mabel when the Lilliputians try to kill her. Pacifica feels betrayed but ends up forgiving her in the end.

She returns in Northwest Manor Mystery, where she accompanies Pacifica and Dipper to hunt down Archibald. There, her past is revealed and Pacifica had no idea that her father tried to buy her best friend and feels terrible.

Their friendship remains as strong as ever, stretching out to Weirdmageddon where Isha sacrifices herself for Pacifica, being turned into stone. At the end of the series, Isha is back to normal and her family quit their jobs now that they have enough money to support themselves. Pacifica keeps in touch with Isha and talks to her everyday.

[fromthedust]

sand dunes - aerial view

Filthy Luker - aka Luke Egan (British) - Art Attack - street art

Elodie Antoine (Belgian, working in Brussels) - Chemisier aux yeux boutonnés (Blouse with Eye-buttons) - cotton blouse, print on textile - 2014

'Lovers Eyes' jewelry - originated in the 18th century - collection of David and Nan Skier

Damien Cadio (French, b.1975) - Cyclone eye - oil on canvas - 25x31 cm - 2017

glass eye from coffin - Egypt, Late Period (724-333 BCE)

Emilio Villalba (American, b.1984) - Red Eye

Gérard DuBois (French, b.1968) - Moby Dick

Nefertiti right eye (two views) - sculptor's portrait model - limestone, painted stucco, quartz, wax - the iris and pupil of the right eye made of beeswax dyed black, covered with a thin piece of polished rock crystal as a cornea - Egypt, Tell el-Amarna, New Kingdom, 18th Dynasty, c.1351–1334 BCE

Louise Bourgeois (French/American, 1911-2010) - Nature Study (Velvet Eyes) - 1984

Michael Hussar (American, b.1964) - Lovers Eyes

painted eye an Amazon - marble - Herculaneum - Roman, before 79 CF

cosmic eye (all-seeing eye, mystic eye) - poster

right eye from a Greek statue - marble, obsidian, glass, copper - 500–100 BCE

Rainer Kalwitz (German, working in Recklinghausen) - The Eye in the Abyss

Bro. William Preston (Scottish,1742–1818) - The Eye Of Providence

[anneapocalypse]

So. About Minfilia.

This one really got to me.

I don't think I've cried over a character death in this game like this since Haurchefant--both of whom, incidentally, I knew going in were going to die at some point, because I'd encountered spoilers well before I ever imagined I would play this game. (Having Ariane fall for both of them in turn was not the plan, it just happened along the way and felt right for her character, and the extra tragedy it ended up adding was a side effect but one that's become lode-bearing for her story in a lot of ways.)

So I'll say to start that given what the writers had to work with going into Shadowbringers, I think Minfilia's story ends about as well as it could have. The variant flow of time in the First, and specifically the fact that a century has passed there since she arrived, is vital to Shadowbringers' story. Minfilia was never meant to be an immortal being, nor did she want to be. And while there's probably an interesting AU in her becoming mortal again and returning home (and I could see myself writing something like that), that's a very involved concept that wouldn't have worked well with the story Shadowbringers was telling. So, her fate was sealed when she departed for the First. Furthermore the way she goes out is really thematically in line with the Scions as a whole, from Louisoix to Moenbryda to Papalymo: one person giving their life to contain an existential threat--not even to destroy it completely, but to slow the tide so that others can carry on the fight. And Minfilia even takes it a step further, managing to stick around in some form long enough for the other Scions to make it to the First. The Warrior of Light even gets to see her one last time, so her promise to return to them when her work was done--it wasn't an empty one. We get to say goodbye.

I'm okay with this. It's a decent end to her story, given where we started from this expansion.

That doesn't make me especially okay with how we got here, though.

I am still a sprout here, having just started playing last year and being mid-Shadowbringers for the first time now. I was not around when ARR was new, and cannot speak to the fan reception of Minfilia at the time. I have heard through my grapevine, however, that she was not well-liked. Whether because she was a non-combat character, a quest-giver in an annoying location, a woman who told people to do stuff while wearing a mildly revealing outfit (and I do mean mildly)... Idk what the dealbreaker was. That's just what I've heard. Having heard that, though, it makes the choice to write her out at the end of ARR feel... motivated, in a way that maybe it otherwise wouldn't.

There is nothing meaningfully wrong with Minfilia's character in ARR that couldn't be said about any of the core Scions.

Wahhh I don't want to return to the Waking Sands for the 80th time? Fair, but that's a game design issue getting taken out on a character who happens to be connected to it. Call it the Preston Garvey Problem. Her outfit is silly? It's hardly meaningfully sillier than other NPC outfit designs, or Final Fantasy fashion generally. Go tell it to the catgirls in the 2b tights by the aetheryte. She doesn't even fight? Honestly kind of refreshing to me to see non-combat characters play a major role in the story, because fighting isn't the only thing that drives stories! (Hey, didn't Tataru have a whole subplot about that?)

She's underdeveloped? Name me a character who gets great character development in ARR. (There is a correct answer to this question. It's Cid Garlond. 😛) But the Scions? A handful of them feel like very well-rounded characters now because they've had whole expansions that explored them as people and deepened their relationship to the setting and story in meaningful ways--Lyse, Alphinaud, Alisaie, Urianger, Y'shtola, Thancred. But none of them are well-rounded in ARR. ARR is not about character development. It's basically a very long tutorial level that gets you acquainted with the world, its major conflicts, and the major players in those conflicts. The character-driven storytelling really starts with Heavensward. If we truncated all the Scions' stories at the end of ARR, I don't think the others are any deeper than Minfilia.

I liked Minfilia right off because she was kind and caring, and she had an obvious talent for bringing people together, probably in a similar way to Louisoix himself. Hence her becoming the Antecedent and continuing to do diplomatic work across three nations. Did she make mistakes? Yeah, absolutely. Lest anyone is tempted to single her out in the Crystal Braves disaster, though, I will point to what I said in my post about how the Scions failed Alphinaud: every adult in the room should have seen the red flags about that, and not one of them did, including Urianger who is extremely protective of the twins, and Thancred who is extremely protective of Minfilia. And yes, she was in charge, and she does bear a greater share of the responsibility. But whatever you think of that plot point, whether it's leaning a little too heavily on Rule of Stupid or whether believable for a group of idealistic apocalypse survivors with martyr complexes, it's written as something that all the Scions failed to foresee. And for the others, especially for Alphinaud, that mistake and subsequent disaster is used as an opportunity for character growth. Alphinaud has to confront his own arrogance, which drives his character growth as he continues to play a major role in every expansion. Yda/Lyse and Papalymo get themselves involved with the Ala Mhigan resistance, providing the setup for Stormblood and a tremendous amount of character development for Lyse. Y'shtola in desperation turns to darker and more dangerous forms of magic, setting us up for her transformation into a black mage in Shadowbringers where will continue to see her turn to dangerous magics at desperate times. Thancred's wilderness survival journey precedes us getting to see a darker and lonelier side of him. And so forth.

Minfilia throws herself on Hydaelyn's mercy, and gets tempered. I mean, carried unto her bosom, granting her a strength long sought. Because of course we're meant to take it as a given that she was weak before. She was the leader of an international organization who did diplomatic work across three nations, but she couldn't throw fireballs or hit people good with a stick, so. She loses her very will for a while there, until Hydaelyn mercifully decides she's strong enough to give it back to her.

And now, no one talks about the work she did as the Antecedent, or with the Path of the Twelve before that. It's all about her noble sacrifice, how she gave up her whole life to save the First. And she was noble, and generous, and a hero. But she was a person before that, and she could have been more. She could have been a character with a real arc, who got to struggle and learn from her mistakes and grow with us, as the others have.

Minfilia didn't get that. She got to be a sacrificial vessel for the salvation of others, over and over again until there was none of her left. And we never have to reckon with her feeling scared or uncertain or angry about this, because she is always the willing sacrifice, always noble and generous and a hero. Shadowbringers spends far more time on Thancred's feelings about Minfilia than on Minfilia's feelings about her own fate. And I do like Thancred, so please don't read this as me hating on him; I even liked getting more of their history onscreen, at first. But at a certain point I just wanted to shake him and say, You are not the only one who loved her! And your feelings about her are not the only thing that matters here!

I love characters who are deeply and deliberately kind, especially when they have a history that gives them plenty of reasons to be otherwise. I love characters with a passion and drive to make their world better, even when that comes at great cost. It's why I love Julie Farkas, and Vanessa Kimball. But I also like to see how they reckon with the cost, how they struggle with the burden of that kindness. I love it when Kimball loses her temper, when she isn't patient and virtuous all the time. We do finally get some of that with Ryne. But not for the original Minfilia. She goes gently into that good night with gentle words and a gentle smile. And yes, after a hundred years, she has earned a rest.

But having loved her gentle soul from the beginning, I am mourning what she could have been, if she had ever been allowed to be anything else.

[hawkepockets]

i’ve said this before but EA wyll gifsets—including some of his most arrogant cut lines, his attitude toward goblins, and the vibe that he might be a simple monster hunter faking at being a folk hero—are what made me want to play bg3, so sanding down his sharp edges to appease players who were never going to favor the Black companion rly puzzles me as a marketing decision. i was actually excited that (with all my love to preston & liam) bg3 seemed to promise a Black man companion/LI with a role more thorny & complex than “good-natured community man.” it’s not like i don’t find him compelling now, but like. i knew nothing about their game except that u could woo the warlock, and larian had me at “im one of a kind >;)”

DAE download the game because of him can we talk about it

[oneshutterpush]

Congregation

Preston Sands, Torbay, Devon

May 2025

📷 Fujifilm X-T5 / XC15-45mm

[vaultlcss]

#VAULTLCSS a dependent & private blog for bitehq, featuring original character HARLAN CREED. a collection of brutality and sacrifice, of power seized and lost, of violent retribution, twisted morality. the art of surviving at any cost and the price of living long enough to regret it.

this blog will contain triggering content, 21+ only.

APPLICATION FORM

jeffrey dean morgan. 55. cisman. he/him. ― i see you meet HARLAN CREED, huh? they are around for… well, it will be EIGHT YEARS, now. time flies when you are busy and as part of THE MILITIA, they are. if you want to meet them, they live in H2A, i think. people say they are INCISIVE + BOLD, but don’t piss them off, okay? because they can be also UNREPENTANT + PREDATORY, so be safe

BASICS

Full  Name: Preston Wyatt Decker Harlan Creed

Known Alias(es): Creed, H.C

Age: 55

Gender: Cisman

Birthday: March 22

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Hometown: Birmingham, Alabama

Sexual & Romantic Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: Divorced

Children: One

Highest Education Level: Bachelor Degree

Occupation(s):  Mechanical Engineer ( former. pre apocalypse ) . The Militia ( currently. post apocalypse )

PHYSICAL  EXAM

Faceclaim: Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Voice: Effortlessly deep and gravelly, with a deep southern accent. His speech have a cool, natural rhythm

Eyes: Hazel ( greenish )

Hair: Dark Brown ( graying )

Beard: Salt & Pepper. Well trimmed but not overly sculptured

Height: 1.88

Distinguishable Marks: Tattoos ( 14 ) . Scar ( A deep, jagged, diagonal gash along the left side of his neck, running from just behind the jawline, under the ear, down toward the collarbone. The scar’s thick, uneven. Someone tried to slash his throat and failed )

MENTAL  EVALUATION

Mental  Illnesses  (if  applicable):  TBD

Positive  Traits:  Incisive, Dominant, Ambitious, Bold, Resourceful, Confident, Charming, Charismatic, Eloquent

Negative  Traits: Unrepentant, Volatile, Manipulative, Cynical, Rough, Competitive, Vengeful, Malicious, Predatory

Alignment  Type:  Chaotic Neutral

Personality  Type  (MBTI): ENTP

Mannerisms: He often carries himself in a confident, relaxed but assertive way. Signature half smirk, often paired with a slow head tilt. Gestures are deliberate but never excessive. Has a habit of running a hand through his hair or rubbing the back of his neck. His laugh is low, gravelly, and genuine

Hobbies  &  Interests:  Sports. Farming. Drawing. Cars

STRATEGIC  ANALYSIS

Combat Style: Brutal, Strategical

Weapon of Choice: Firearms, blades, improvised  weapons

Hand-to-Hand Combat Proficiency: Heavy handed. Not quicksilver fast, but efficient and hard to read. Years of knowing where to hit, joints, throats, ribs, nerves. Pain threshold is insane. Keeps going long after he should fall. He’s not a trained martial artist but he’s got street learned, real world skill. Learned enough to slam, choke, or break limbs in a clinch.

Tactical  Strengths:  Leadership,  adaptability,  strategic thinking

Tactical  Weaknesses:  Arrogance, temper and emotional ties

Defensive  Skills: Counter fighter

AFFILIATIONS  &  RELATIONSHIPS

Family: TBD

Allies  &  Associates: Domus Spei

Rivalries:  TBD

Enemies: TBD

Romantic  History:  TBD ( ex wife) , Jemma Adair ( partner )

Notable  Friends:  TBD

HABITS  &  LIFESTYLE

Grooming  Habits: Rugged and unfussy, but never out of control

Substance  Use:  Alcohol, Cocaine ( pre apocalypse )

Sleep  Patterns: Well rested but occasionally battles insomnia

Personal  Aesthetic: His everyday style is very practical, rugged and not always well coordinated but he tries his best. Always stick to black and neutral tones like gray, charcoal gray, navy, olive and white. Occasionally earthy tones like rust, sand, slate blue. Obsessed with leather and denim jackets. Boots, always. He likes accessories, wears chain or pendant necklaces, often tucked under his shirt. Constantly wears three ( maybe four ) bracelets, usually leather, chains or handmade/vintage look. Wears bold sliver rings, just two

Favorite Movie Genre: Thriller, Horror

Favorite Book Genre: Psychological Thriller

Favorite Music Genres: Classic Rock / Hard Rock / Southern Rock ( AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Aerosmith, Van Halen, Queen, Motörhead, Metallica, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Def Leppard, The Rolling Stones )

BIOGRAPHY

Born under the oppressive weight of a stained glass legacy, his childhood in Birmingham, Alabama, was painted in the brimstone sermons and the cold, silent terror that lived behind closed church doors. His father, the revered Reverend Decker, commanded the pulpit with divine authority and ruled his home with fear disguised as righteousness. To the outside world, the Reverend was a man of God, respected, even beloved. But within the crumbling walls of their home, he was a tyrant who wielded scripture like a whip, using it to justify the unspeakable.

Preston’s mother, a fragile quiet woman with sad eyes and hands that always trembled, died when he was just ten. The “official” cause was illness. But Preston, even at that young age, knew better. Her death marked the beginning of a darker chapter, one where the abuse, both physical and emotional, escalated into something unrelenting. The reverend preached about sin, but it was he who committed the worst of them. Every act of violence came with a twisted sermon of salvation. Preston bore the burden of them all.

At nineteen, the dam finally broke. The weight of the trauma, the years of watching and enduring, became too heavy. One night, without ceremony or forethought, Preston killed the man who had stolen every scrap of peace from his life. He didn’t weep. He didn’t run right away. But he left Birmingham behind forever, shedding his name like a skin that had never fit right to begin with.

He became Harlan Creed - A name born of necessity. For years, he drifted, working under the table, sleeping in cars or borrowed couches, taking what work he could get. He didn’t just move through states, he escaped them, every few years, as if the ground beneath him still bore his father’s shadow. He lived like a ghost with a heart held together by grit and stubborn defiance.

In his late twenties, he washed up in Texas. It wasn’t planned. Nothing ever was. But something about the flat land, the wide skies, and the hum of garage tools grounded him. He enrolled in community college under his new name and earned a degree in mechanical engineering. He worked as a mechanic, eventually buying into a garage. He met her at a farmer’s market, smart, sharp, with a laugh that knocked the wind out of him. They married within a year. Three years later, their son was born.

For a while, Harlan believed he had outrun the darkness. Life on the farm wasn’t glamorous, but it was peaceful. He fixed cars during the week, fed chickens on Sundays, and tucked his son into bed with stories he wished he’d heard as a boy. He did everything he could to provide, but love, he learned, was more than provision. The scars he’d never treated - those buried deep beneath skin, began to show. His relationship with his wife slowly decayed. His emotional distance, his stubborn silence, and the instinct to control what he couldn’t understand unraveled them.

The divorce was ugly. Messy in all the ways that left people bitter. She got full custody, and he watched the two people he loved most walk away from the porch he had built with his own hands.

Harlan left Texas and headed to New York, hoping the anonymity of the city would make the loss easier to carry. He was 43 when the world collapsed. Disease, war, famine, the kind of end times his father once screamed about, only this time the sermons were silent. Cities burned. Systems crumbled. And the polite version of Harlan Creed died with them.

Survival cracked open something inside him, raw, instinctual, ruthless. The guilt, the grief, the fury he’d carried like old chains became weapons in his hands. He did what he had to. He became a leader not by ambition, but by force of presence. People followed him. They saw in Harlan a man who didn’t flinch, who could carve safety out of chaos with blood if he had to.

For a while, he built something. A group. A family, even. But peace is fragile, and power breeds enemies. A territorial war with a rival group ended in fire and blood. Everyone Harlan cared for gone. Slaughtered. He was left for dead, broken in more ways than one.

But death, it seemed, wasn’t finished with him yet. A wandering doctor - a survivor in his own right found him. He stitched him up, gave him a name again, a voice. When he could stand, he led him to Domus Spei.

The community was unlike anything Harlan had ever seen - organized, council run, balanced. It grated against every instinct he’d honed since the world fell. He was a man used to giving orders, not taking them. But something about the place, maybe the presence of hope, maybe just the quiet, began to chip away at the armor.

He joined The Militia, found purpose in keeping others safe. He trained recruits, kept the walls strong, and bit his tongue when the council overruled him, most of the time. He wasn’t trying to rule anymore. He was trying not to lose what little remained.

It’s been eight years since then.

Harlan never stopped searching for his son or the woman who once saw something in him worth loving. He’s left signs, carvings, messages in old shelters, breadcrumbs in the wreckage. He doesn’t know if they’re still alive. He doesn’t know if they’d want to see him if they were. But hope, he’s learned, is sometimes quieter than faith. It doesn’t shout or demand. It just stays. And so he stays, too, guarding the gates of Domus Spei.

If you ask around, most just know him as Creed. The man with steel eyes and calloused hands, the kind who doesn’t talk much but will step between you and death without hesitation. Some call him a survivor. Some call him a relic.

But if you look closer and listen long enough, you’ll see a man still waiting to be forgiven, by the world, by his son, and maybe most of all, by himself.

[taylor-tut-fics]

Hi!!!! i love ur camp camp fics and would DEVOUR cranky david if u offered him!!!! let my boy complain lord knows he deserves it 😩

THANK YOUUUU omg. I personally don't feel like this fic is the best. it's a little short and i had trouble connecting some of the scenes. but it's written, and that's what counts. maybe you'll like it!! i sure hope you do!! and thank you for always encouraging me! it means a lot!! :)

“David, can you get Preston to stop painting the walls?”

“Sure, why don’t I do everything?” he mutters. Gwen rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. She’s been dealing with this all day. The first time he’d snapped at her, she’d thought she misheard. Surely, her sweet, cherubic David wouldn’t say something rude. Of course, it had happened again, then again. When pressed about it, he’d told her that he just wasn’t feeling well. He’d apologized, which had assuaged her anger and replaced it, temporarily, with sympathy. Both of those things dried up when the snippy attitude didn’t stop. 

She’s seen David not feeling his best before. From heat, from a cold once. He always gets quiet, but she’s never seen him like this. He’s slow, dragging, crabby. Though she understands he doesn’t feel well, she’s losing patience. 

“Watch it.”

“Sorry,” he rasps, coughing wetly into his elbow. It brings back what little sympathy she still has for him. It makes her worry a tiny bit, too. It doesn’t sound so good. “I just don’t have the energy for all this.” 

The only reason he’s pushing himself like this is for her benefit, she tries to remember. These demons are not a one person job and he knows it. If he had his way, he’d be sleeping off whatever flu bug he’s caught, but he’s afraid (rightfully so) that if he leaves them alone, the kids will smell her fear and use the opportunity to burn down the camp. Even just having him weakened is inviting chaos, so she can’t imagine how bad it would be if he checked out. Still, she could live without the attitude. He’s even been a little terse with the kids, though certainly not outright rude like he’s been to her. 

“If you need a break, say so,” she says a little pointedly. Though she knows he’s not going to take her up on it, she has to remind him that he’s allowed to take a break because if he continues on like this, she’s going to lose her goddamn mind. She expects him to ignore her like he has all day, but he sighs. 

“Actually, could I take a few minutes? I need to catch my breath.” 

It strikes her as odd. Either he senses that he’s actually ticked her off, or he’s feeling worse than earlier, sand she’s willing to bet it’s a little of both.

“Uh, sure. I can handle this for a minute’. You okay?” 

Upsettingly, he shrugs, then nods. “Just a little dizzy.” 

That doesn’t make her feel any better, but she doesn’t have time to ask follow up questions before he’s dragging himself out of the mess hall. 

“Max, follow him,” she commands. “Come get me if he starts dying.” 

Max groans and grumbles for a while about the order. For so long, in fact, that by the time he finally does get outside, he has to search for David. He assumes he’s going to find him reinvigorating himself in nature by smelling a flower or hugging a tree, but that’s not the case. Instead, he can’t find him at all. 

“David?” he calls, but gets nothing in response. He checks the picnic benches by the mess hall and David’s favorite tree. Just when he’s running out of places to look, he thinks of a long shot: the counselor’s cabin. David probably wouldn’t choose an air-conditioned, sunless, treeless place for his break, but he’s running out of places to look. He pushes open the door and is surprised to find David on the couch, lying on his back with his eyes shut. 

“David?” 

He blinks, clearly already almost asleep. He must really be exhausted. “Max? What are you doing here?” 

“Gwen wanted me to make sure you don’t die.” David rolls his eyes, then forces a smile. 

“I’m fine. I just need a minute to myself, if that’s okay.” 

Max kicks his feet up on the armchair and sits. “Knock yourself out. I’m gonna play Gwen’s Switch.” He has his own save file on her Stardew Valley game and she knows it. For some reason she never deletes it even though she’s banned him from playing. 

David takes a full 15 minutes to recover. He sets an alarm on his phone and Max is pretty sure he actually falls asleep. His breathing evens out and he looks less miserable than he has all day, not that he’s been paying attention. When the alarm goes off, he groans, stops the sound, and rubs his hands over his face. Max has never seen him so tired. 

“Hey,” he says despite instantly regretting showing concern, “are you okay? Because you seem not okay.” 

Gwen had told him to make sure he’s alive, after all, and he can’t do that if David is pushing himself this hard. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that this camp isn’t worth this kind of effort. He’d love to see David give up and throw in the towel. He’d be able to hold it against him, possibly for the rest of the summer. 

“Of course,” he lies. “I’m just not feeling my best today.”

“You know you can just pawn us off on Gwen, right? Phone it in and give up?” 

David shakes his head. “I’m okay. I promise. I’ll just go to bed a little early today.” 

“Your funeral,” Max shrugs. Still, he walks behind David all the way back to the mess hall and a part of him knows it’s to ensure his safety, just like Gwen had asked. 

It’s an excruciating several hours until dinner. Usually, torturing David is Max’s main source of entertainment, but it’s not fun if he’s already maxed out on suffering. Without that to distract him from camp activities, he’s left only with Gwen’s botched knot tying lecture, and he’s not into it one bit. At least David would be delivering it with a mockable passion. Gwen’s just barely managing to read the words on the page in front of her. David’s notes, no doubt, but he’s got the spiel memorized. The only reason she’s giving it over him is because his voice is barely audible. 

Even shivering with fever chills, coughing terribly, and barely clinging to wakefulness, David is alert enough to correct her on misinformation. It’s driving her nuts. By the time she’s gotten to the demonstration, she’s ready to fight him. She doesn’t even care how sick he is. She’ll throw hands, anyway. 

“You don’t hold it like that,” David interrupts harshly. Her eye twitches.

“Thank you, David,” she says, breathing measuredly. 

“You didn’t pay attention when I showed you how to do it.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“So how do you expect to—”

“David,” she curtails, “do you want to teach the lesson?” 

He flushes redder than he is already. “I—well, I wish I could, but—”

“Then stop correcting me. No one is paying attention to this shit, anyway.” His face falls. Great, now he’s embarrassed and crushed. She regrets being so harsh. “I know you want everything to be perfect all the time, but until you’re back on your feet, you’re gonna have to live with it, because I’m trying my best.” 

Though she’s prepared for an argument, she watches him deflate a little, staring at the ground in defeat. 

“Sure. Okay. Go ahead.” 

Despite how pathetic he looks about it, she’s happy to be able to finish the lecture before dinner is ready, if only barely. She leaves him to clean up while she does the more strenuous job of getting the kids fed and seated while also making sure none of them kill one another. 

Unfortunately, though, she’s not able to prevent madness from descending. She’s already lost control when David stumbles into the room, looking sweaty and unsteady. It’s not that she doesn’t care—she just doesn’t notice. Max does, though. He sees everything. Even though he can’t stand David, he’s a perceptive kid and can tell when things aren’t right. Apparently, so can the other campers. 

“David?” Harrison calls. He takes a moment before registering that he’s been beckoned, and when he does, he looks a little peeved about it. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Before you fall down,” Max adds. He shakes his head. 

“No, I’m—what’s going on here?”

“The usual. You and Gwen are both useless, so we’re taking advantage of the opportunity.” He doesn’t react to the jab, which, combined with the pallor of his face and the fact that he’s visibly shaking, proves that something is very wrong. Something worse than the cold he’s been fighting all day. Max glances at Gwen to see how she’s reacting only to realize that she’s not even paying attention to his misery. It takes her a long time to glance up for long enough to see that David is in the room, and even then, she isn’t really looking at him. If she were, it would be obvious that he’s fairing poorly. 

“I need help,” she begs. “They’re monsters.” David doesn’t even appear to register the plea. He’s focusing all his energy on balancing on his feet. He looks like he’s about to fall down, possibly dead. 

“Gwen,” he calls weakly, “I need a break. I’m feeling lightheaded.” 

“That’s great, David,” she says offhandedly, not listening. “Nurf, utensils are a privilege, and I will take them away from you!” 

He can’t stop watching David, who staggers over to the empty counselor’s bench and braces himself against it. It gives him a sense of foreboding. 

“Uh, Gwen?” Max asks. She doesn’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Not now, Max. Space Kid, get down from there!” 

As she fishes him down from where he’s dangling from the fan, David clutches his forehead, his eyes fluttering dangerously. 

“I’m serious. I think I need to go lie down.” Max isn’t sure she even hears it.

“Are you gonna give me a hand here?” she demands. David forces himself forward, but he instead runs directly into Gwen’s back. 

“Hey!” she exclaims when she spills the mug of tea she’s holding, whirling on him angrily just as he slumps forward. For the first time all day, she’s actually got a good look at him, and she doesn’t like what she sees. His blinks are long and slow, and he’s swaying. “David?” she calls, but before she realizes she needs to reach out and grab him, he drops. 

The chatter of the mess hall stops at once, Space Kid still swinging from the ceiling. She kneels down to his side and shakes his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, shit. Hey, David, come on. Wake up.” She taps a worryingly hot cheek. “Crap. That’s not good.” 

“Step aside,” Max says, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve got this.” He slaps David’s face so hard he has to wind up. It does absolutely nothing but leave a red mark. This is not the same unconsciousness as when he’d taken a nap on the couch earlier. He’d really fainted. They’d pushed him too far. 

“Don’t do that!” she scolds. “Okay. This is going to be fine. Nikki, get a wet cloth. He’s burning up. Harrison, get the first aid kit. Have Nerris help you.” 

The children disperse. Neil and Ered go off in search of water and fruit snacks for when he wakes up. David stays unconscious for longer than Max is comfortable with. Gwen has to run the cool dishcloth against his face and neck for several minutes before he blinks awake. 

“Hi,” she greets softly. “Are you with me now?” 

“I—what happened?” 

Hi words are still slightly slurred, but that appears to be from exhaustion rather than a sign they need to go to the hospital.“You passed out a little. How do you feel?” 

He looks to be on the brink of tears and forces the palms of his hands to his eyes, clearly upset to be so out of it. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Okay, okay. In a minute. We need to take your temperature first.” She forces the thermometer on him and waits for the beep. When the number appears, it makes her look nervous. “God, David; I’m sorry. You should have just stayed in bed today.” 

“I wanted to help.”

“Only because you knew I didn’t want to deal with this all on my own.” She extends a hand to help him sit up. “Think you could stand if I help you?” 

He considers this. “Maybe give me a minute.” 

The kids are quiet, well-behaved, even, as he sips his water and waits for his head to stop swimming enough that he won’t faint again if he stands. After a few minutes, he decides he’s feeling well enough to try. Gwen gets him to his feet where he wavers, but manages to stay upright. 

“Kids, I’m going to be gone for 10 minutes. If you’re not in these exact positions when I get back, no one gets dessert for a week.” 

She half drags David back to the counselor’s cabin and sets him on the edge of his bed. While she fishes around for something more comfortable he could change into, he climbs beneath the sheets. By the time she turns around with a set of sweatpants and a t-shirt in hand, he’s already snuggled up tight. She smiles. 

“Guess you’re pretty tired, huh?” 

“A little.” He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for being so crabby all day.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m the one who owes you an apology. I ignored you.” 

“I was being difficult.” 

“You were being bitchy, but it doesn’t matter. You’re my friend. I should have been paying attention.” She doesn’t often call him that, and it makes him smile. “Go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you once I get the kids to bed, but call me if you need me. Think you could eat something if I brought it to you?”

The thought of food makes his stomach churn. “I’m not hungry. Maybe later.  

“Thanks, Gwen.” He rolls over and shuts his eyes, thankful for quiet for the first time that day. He falls asleep almost immediately.

[jadeseadragon]

Preston Singletary @prestonsingletaryglass

"Raven and the Box of Daylight"

White Raven, blown and sand carved glass, 19.25" × 9" x 14"

"Before here was here, Raven was only named Yéil. He was a white bird and the world was in darkness…”

This exhibition told the story of Raven and his transformation of the world - bringing light to people via the stars, moon, and sun.

Photo: Russell Johnson