#elliestwoleftfingers

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

birthday cake - simon riley

synopsis: simon doesn't like to talk about his birthday. what do you do? you give him a new one.

gender: not specified.

proofread: none.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of substance misuse (alcohol), mentions of violence, depictions of death, mild language.

Birthdays are a celebration of a person. A reminder that you've lived another year of life. A chance to commemorate the past years and what's to come in the future.

For Simon Riley, they were a burden. Filled with the violent experiences from his childhood, he wanted nothing more than to leave those memories along with the past. A birthday, to him, was a memento of his upbringing; those countless years of abuse and trauma inflicted upon him by the one person he should've been able to look up to. The one person who should've been there to keep him safe from harm.

The topic of his life was a sensitive one, and others knew not to bring up his past. Simon would avoid the dreaded conversation at all costs. He preferred to keep to himself; always had, always would.

Until you came along.

An optimist, always adorned with a smile on your face and a positive attitude to go with it. You were a ray of sunshine, and Simon, a dark cloud. An open book, widely known and easy to read, and a locked door, hiding everything within from people who don't have a key. An unbroken string, untouched and waiting to be played, and a scratched record, shuffling and replaying the same things over and over again until it broke down.

Simon could never comprehend how someone so pure could join a life of work like the military. More so, the Taskforce. The work was ugly, and the sights that presented themselves on duty were enough to deter a person and change their frame of mind. This kind of life wasn't made for someone like you. You were young, and you had so much more to live for. He'd never understood it.

You were a social butterfly around the base camp, always present and engaging in conversation, always happy and smiling. You had spoken to Simon a few times on operations and in the mess hall, but ultimately, you didn't see much of him.

Simon wasn't a talker. He was more of an observer. He had a couple of friends in the Taskforce, you recalled, like Johnny and Kyle, but he didn't initiate anything with other people. That included you. Simon had the fear that people would be able to see past the large man with a skull mask. The fear that people would see the real Simon Riley; a broken, war-roughened soldier, who was trying to pick up the scattered pieces of his life underneath that black balaclava.

The recent operation was just the same as the other countless missions you'd been on with your team. Infiltrate, gather information, and keep yourself alive. Working in the military was a routine, running over the same system time and time again. You'd go in and come out, leaving the place a little more wounded than you were before; physically and mentally. Sometimes, it was hard to keep looking up when it felt like everything was going down.

At the end of said operation, the members of the Taskforce gathered in the mess hall, surrounding tables, picking at half-eaten plates of food, and exchanging conversation.

When the team talked about reintegrating, you noticed Simon visibly tense up as he sat opposite you. The fork that was balanced in his hand hovered around his plate as he pushed around his food, his gaze lowered, and his shoulders went rigid at the mention of the word 'family.' You didn't know much about Simon outside of the military, though you figured he had someone out there waiting for him, like everyone else. Didn't he?

Your gaze would flick to Simon every once in a while, keeping an eye on his movements. He almost seemed wary, like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

That's when Kyle mentioned something brief about taking his family out for dinner because it was his mother's birthday. The other men continued to eat and speak, but Simon's movements had stopped altogether. His fork had stopped moving his food around his plate, and he watched the idle dishware with a distant gaze. He'd suddenly become disconnected, no longer paying attention to his surroundings as he got lost in his thoughts. You suddenly wished you could read his mind.

Simon's head was a dark place. Lurking with the ghosts of his past, memories threatened to break the surface if he didn't keep them buried deep in the back of his brain. He couldn't let them go, however; it was impossible. His fears kept him awake at night, and he knew that he'd never fully escape the life he was trying so hard to hide.

There was a loud screech of metal against tile, and just like that, Simon was gone. Leaving his dinner discarded and the conversation at a pause, his large figure left the mess hall and disappeared outside. Your brows furrowed, though you could see that the conversation had been making him uncomfortable ever since the crew had spoken about leaving base to go and see their families.

"What was that about?" You asked, head swivelling around to face the three other soldiers sitting at the table. Kyle had stopped talking, Johnny was watching the door shut behind Simon, and Price was eating quietly. Something was going on here, and you were determined to find out what.

One by one, the men turned to look at you. Johnny's expression caught your attention, in particular. His brows were slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed as if he was debating saying something. Again, his gaze would dart from the door and back, until he finally spoke up.

"He's gey closed aff. Doesn't lik' talking aboot his-sel," Johnny told you, his brogue accent rolling off his tongue with every word.

"How come?" You asked. You knew it wasn't right to ask about Simon, even more so because he wasn't there to tell you himself, but you couldn't stop yourself.

"Family matters," the Scotsman replied. "Nae a man o' celebration."

The cogs started turning in your head. What did Johnny mean that he wasn't a man of celebration? And family matters? You suspected that the topic of Simon's family was a sore one, as your mind went back to the Lieutenant marching out of the mess hall. You turned back to Johnny and, despite the voice in your head telling you not to, asked another question.

Simon gripped and twisted the door knob, stepping into the barracks. The noise of the door clicking shut behind him, and the sound of his combat boots clipping against the hardwood floors were the only indicator of life inside the quarters. He found his bunk and ducked down, taking a seat on the edge of the firm mattress. The man blew out a sigh and slid back to the top of the bed, extending his legs out straight across the bottom and putting his hands behind his head.

He stared blankly at the planks of wood above him which served to hold up the bunk above his head, his mind stirring with thoughts and feelings, near the point of overflowing.

Kyle hadn't said anything wrong. Hell, Simon had no reason to walk out of there anyway. He'd just been listening to Kyle talking about visiting his family, right? There wasn't anything wrong with that.

The man felt like he was reaching a tipping point. An edge of no return. Recollections of his drunken father, stumbling through the small town house where Simon spent his childhood with his younger brother, Tommy, and his mother. Evocations of the man swearing at the boys' mother, throwing fists with a beer bottle in his hand. Thoughts of how he'd give his sons a beating after seeing how he'd treated their mother, threatening them to keep their damn mouths shut, or he'd give them something to cry about.

He couldn't think about a family without remembering his own. He'd failed to protect them.

He shut his eyes and tried to get some shut-eye. There hadn't been any more news about any new operations yet, so he took the time to catch up on some sleep. Working full-time for the military could be tiring work, and his exhaustion quickly caught up with him.

As though no time had passed at all, the soldier woke with a start at the sound of knocking on the door of the barracks. He immediately found it strange, considering the barracks were communal. Ladies and gents were separated, but people rarely knocked. There was just no need.

He sat up, avoiding bumping his head on the top bunk as he slid out of his own bed. He had no idea what time it was, but he was still in a bad mood. He was upset and angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his family. Angry at himself.

Grumbling silent curses to himself, the Mancunian approached the door with a slight hunch. All he wanted to do was try and relax until they'd be dispatched again, but he knew deep down that that was impossible. The word "peace" wasn't in the job description, and for good reason.

He grasped the door knob and gave it a twist and yank, pulling the door open and revealing the visitor outside. He was silently taken aback by the sight. "Christ, the hell is all this?"

You stood in the hallway, looking like your usual positive self as you smiled up at the giant of a man. Your military gear had been replaced by civilian clothing, and you were carrying something in your hand. Upon closer inspection from the 6-foot-something soldier, he realised you were carrying a small china plate in your hand. In the centre, a cupcake had been delicately placed.

A small frown grew on Simon's face, but before he could protest your sudden arrival with a cake, you gestured for him to move backwards and took a step forward yourself. To your surprise, he turned around and walked back to his bunk, leaving the door open. You took that as your cue to enter, and you took a small step inside, nudging the door shut behind you.

Simon hunched back under the bunk, pulling his legs up and keeping an eye on you as you walked deeper into the room. You were walking slowly, cautiously, to avoid dropping the cargo you'd been carrying. You looked so careful, and it almost made Simon smile. Almost.

Simon moved his legs off the bed as you gently placed the plate on the thin duvet, and he was now able to get a better look at what you'd brought with you. A small cake sat atop the plate, encased in a gold and white striped cupcake case. The top was messily smothered with cream-coloured icing, and a silver, unlit candle protruded from the top.

"What's this for?" Simon asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice. He silently wondering why you'd brought a cake with you. Was it for him?

"It's decided that today, Simon Riley, is your new birthday," you said, and Simon's expression flattened.

A new birthday? He already had a birthday. He didn't need a new one. He had one already, and that was unnecessary, too.

"And who decided that?" He questioned, his gaze shifting from you to the plate you'd placed on his bunk.

"Me."

"You?"

"Yep."

"Y'know that I'm over thirty years old, right?" He said bluntly, looking back up at you. He watched you as you began patting down your trouser pockets.

"But isn't that only more of a reason to celebrate?" You'd asked him, digging your hand into your pocket and fishing something out. As Simon continued to observe, he noticed that you'd pulled out a lighter.

Without answering your previous statement, he asked a question of his own. "What's that for?"

You inspected the small lighter between your fingers for a moment; adorned with a scratched up flag of your own country, it reminded you of home. You smiled to yourself before flipping up the cap, brushing your thumb against the spark wheel and igniting a crimson flame at the top.

Simon realised what you were doing. You were lighting the candle. For him.

You'd taken a seat on the floor beside his bunk, one arm resting comfortably on the edge of the mattress as you lit the candle up. It glowed with a flickering orange light, melted wax drooling down the candle as it began to melt.

"What's so special about this whole new birthday thing anyway?" Simon asked, the warm light reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Everyone needs to be celebrated," you said simply. "And birthdays are a great excuse for eating cake," you added with a soft chuckle. You rarely spoke to each other, but you acted like you were his friend. Maybe that was what you hoped for.

And just like that, Simon could feel the icy armour around his frozen heart begin to thaw. Solely because someone, you, had done something like this for him. He may have acted like the idea was insignificant and useless, but inside, he was warmed by the thought that someone cared. Someone cared about him.

"I don't know your real birthday, so here's a new one," you added, your eyes moving from the lit candle to Simon as he sat on the bed opposite you. "A chance for you to make some new memories."

Simon was too taken by the gesture to realise that you knew about his experience with birthdays. He hadn't had a proper birthday in years. The last birthday he remembered was his tenth birthday party, where his father had thrown his cake against the dining room wall in a fit of drunken rage. The boys had spent the rest of their afternoon scrubbing chocolate icing off the wall.

Simon was snapped out of the recollection when you spoke again.

"Make a wish," you told him.

The man swallowed and looked down at the melting candle. he felt so vulnerable. He'd never given someone an opportunity to get this close to him, and he felt like he was betraying himself by letting someone past the barriers he'd built.

When he looked down and saw the look of quiet enthusiasm on your face, he lifted the china plate and held it up. He gazed into the weak firelight for a moment before he shut his eyes to obey your ask.

Before he blew out the candle with a small, lingering cloud of dark grey smoke, he wished for his family back.

author's note: i wrote this a few months ago (on my other account) and just now realised how hole-y and choppy it is! that's gonna bother me, but i'm not changing it. i may rewrite it at some point, but that day is not today.

hope y'all enjoyed :D

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

Ellie aggressively taking care of you because you won't do it for yourself

Nah, I inhaled this like crack (not literally, don't do drugs, they're bad for you). Thank you for the suggestion, anonymous human, and I hope you enjoy my first little writing piece on my silly little account :3

Not proofread

Gender neutral / Not mentioned

Word count: 830 words, 4,655 characters

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, Mentions of blood

You were led into Ellie's cabin, where the young brunette produced the chair from beneath her desk and jutted her head toward it. The subtle gesture—as well as her narrowed eyes and pinched expression—were enough evidence for you to bite your tongue and obey without question. You reluctantly sat down, and Ellie immediately examined the wound on your right shoulder.

The pair of you had been out on patrol, monitoring the surrounding area of Jackson for possible threats. The routine was a consistent occurrence, and it wasn’t irregular for you and Ellie to come across hostiles. When you’d come across a group, you had an irrational thought and dived head first into the situation. Having underestimated the number of people, you’d gotten yourself injured.

Ellie pressed a compress against the knife wound on your shoulder, the white material staining a deep crimson as your blood seeped into the lint pad. Ellie’s touch was firm, and the look on her face was enough to tell you that she was pissed off. Pissed off at you. Pissed off at the reckless decision you’d made.

Before you could utter a word, Ellie spoke, her voice hoarse and laced with exasperation. ‘Do you realise how irresponsible you were back there?’

It was always ensured that the people of Jackson were well equipped before being sent on patrols, but you hadn’t put much thought into the situation before you took matters into your own hands. It was a decision made on quick impulse, and it'd landed you in trouble.

Your only response was a quiet, incoherent mumble, but Ellie didn’t want to take that as an answer. She wanted you to acknowledge your mistake. To understand what you’d done. To understand what you'd done to her.

‘Nothing? You aren't going to say anything?’ Ellie questioned, removing the blood-dampened gauze from your shoulder and replacing it with a fresh one. She applied more pressure this time around, and it was enough for you to let out a hiss of pain.

You refused to say a word, you stubbornness coming into play as Ellie tended to your wounds. Even with an inches deep stab wound in your shoulder, you'd planted your feet and were unwilling to argue.

Ellie rolled her eyes, palm digging into the pad on your shoulder. 'Hold that,' she said, and you replaced her hand with yours to hold the lint in place. You felt Ellie's eyes waft over you before she turned to her side and picked up a needle and thread to close the open wound.

She removed your hand and the gauze from your shoulder and waited a moment to see if the bleeding had subsided. She reflected your silence as she inserted the threaded needle through your skin without warning.

'At least give me a heads up,' you grumbled, the end of your sentence becoming muffled when you bit down on your lip to quiet your noises of pain.

'You could've given me a heads up before you went and attacked a group of hostiles,' she said with added emphasis on the sentence. Her annoyance was palpable.

'I can take care of myself,' you opposed, but Ellie left no room for interpretation. With a shake of her head, she kept her eyes on your wound as she sewed it.

'You can't; if you could, I wouldn't be here patching you up,' she argued, and you knew deep down that she was right. The patrol likely would've been more successful, had you not almost killed yourself.

The needle pinched your shoulder as it slid through the first layer of your skin, and Ellie pulled the thread taut to close the laceration. She wasn't in a forgiving mood right now, and simply started putting the first aid instruments away in silence. You watched her as she moved away from you, and let out a deep sigh.

'Look, I'm sorry,' you said, but Ellie didn't look at you. You got up from your seat and stood behind her.

'You do realise they could've killed you, right?' She asked, her voice slightly lighter now that her anger toward you was dissipating. Slowly.

'I know. I wasn't thinking, okay?' You excused. 'Something needed to be done, fast.'

'You know that you aren't supposed to make any rash decisions on your own!' She finally turned around to face you, her voice see-sawing between frustration and relief.

'How many times do I have to tell you, I'm sorry.'

'Sorry doesn't cut it.'

There was no use arguing the fact, as you and Ellie were both too stubborn for your own health. She'd argue that what you did was stupid, and you'd argue that what you did was justifiable. The quarrel went on for what felt like an eternity before the pair decided that it wasn't worth the hassle.

After a still silence, Ellie finally spoke up, her gaze now locked onto yours. Her expression had softened, significantly.

'If you do something like this again, I'll kill you myself.'

Sorry if this sucks, it's basically ten at night, I'm tired and I have an exam tomorrow. Hope y'all like reading it, though. Feedback is appreciated :>

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

Random jesse headcanons as a great and protective boyfriend?

first ask after my long hiatus, and i apologise for not answering this sooner! its been sat in my drafts for months, so let's change that!

jesse is underrated and overlooked; let's give this man the recognition he deserves <3

!! slightly suggestive content ahead !!

- jesse would teach you how to ride (in more ways than one :3) so the pair of you could take the horses out even if you weren't on patrols.

- he's always touching you. it doesn't matter what part of you he touches; he always has a hand on you. he ALSO loves putting his hand in your back pocket.

- he absolutely sucks at cooking. i imagine that you have to supervise him because you're scared of him burning down his cabin, and he feels awful about it.

- i stand by the fact that he'd have snowball fights with you during jackson winters. you're usually the person who starts them, and you regret ever starting a war whenever he beats you because his aim is untarnished. you should remember how skilled he is with his hands, right? :P

- THE DOOR LEAN™. if he's taller than you, he leans against the door frame and looks down at you when he speaks or listens to you. he may or may not like watching you get all flustered by the proximity.

- his accent makes some of his words sound a little different, but who are you to complain? you adore the way he says your name, and the petnames he gives you? they make you melt.

- he's very protective over you. he knows that you can handle yourself, but why should you need to do that all the time when you have your lovely boyfriend to do it for you?

- he finds souvenirs when he's out on patrol, and likes bringing them back to you. watching your face light up when he brings you something new to add to your collection is always worth it.

- always watching you to make sure you're alright. he's a very attentive man, and it's his part of his boyfriend-ly duties to make sure you're safe at all times.

- he's very good at remembering things about you, no matter how big or small. your favourite ice cream flavour? easy. your routine when you wake up? knows it off by heart. you bet your ass he knows how to please a lady.

- he's the gentle type. he's a massive softy, and he loves when you give him affection. he'll also gladly return the favour.

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

Hey, can you write something for Tommy Miller? The reader is tommy's wife and he finds her after serval years after he thought she was dead (she using all his tricks, she learned from him) he being a proud husband. Thank you 💜

Sorry if I took a while to reply to this, my absolute dumbass was reading it at 10 at night and thought the gender was switched (I basically thought Tommy was the one who was supposed to be dead lmfao). This gave me strong 'Huntsman: Winters War' vibes, so if it goes off a little, blame Chris Hemsworth <3 Thanks for the request, and I hope y'all enjoy :>

Not proofread

Gender: Female (She / Her)

Word count: 1125 words, 6054 characters

Warning: Mentions of death, Mentions of violence, Strong language

You knew death was coming to you. It was an inevitable end, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Death seemed like a foreign concept to you; you were always out of reach, but this time, it dug its claws into you and made up for those times you’d cheated it.

With everything you’d experienced in your life, death was more of a welcome than a burden. Your body finally gave in, your mind being able to finally rest from the endless trauma. You’d lived your life, and death opened its arms to you.

Where you were ready to let go, however, Tommy was not. You’d never seen him fight for something so hard before. With half-lidded eyes, you watched your beloved husband as he battled your dance with death to keep you awake. These hands, that had slaughtered more men than you were ever aware of, were so gentle with your broken form as he applied a pressure on the stab wound to your abdomen. The ruthless hands of a killer, handling you with the utmost care.

He tried everything he could think of to stop you from giving in to the temptation of death, but you eventually shut your eyes and let yourself rest.

“Tommy, if you’d just listen to me-” Joel’s gruff voice started, but the older brother wasn’t able to finish his sentence before Tommy interrupted him, for the umpteenth time. He refused to believe what he was hearing.

“Stop fuckin’ lying to me,” Tommy spat, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he turned his back to Joel to pace around the bar. “She isn’t alive.”

No, the dead are supposed to stay dead. Tommy watched you die. In a futile attempt to keep your heart beating, he knew you were long gone. He felt your pulse slip away, the only indicator of your life fading into oblivion like it had never existed at all.

“You aren’t hearing me!” Joel boomed. With Tommy already talking with a loud voice, Joel was now full-blown yelling. He couldn’t get his brother to listen to him; Tommy was convinced that you were dead. Everyone was convinced you were dead. They knew you were.

So how the hell were you alive?

“Because I watched her die!” Tommy snapped back, his voice threateningly low as he whirled around. This was clearly something Joel and Tommy didn’t agree on.

Before the boys could finish this argument, Tommy grabbed his pack and swung it over his shoulder. He didn’t hear any more of what Joel had to say, and stalked out of the Tipsy Bison.

Tommy and Joel’s horses, Justified and Old Beardy, stood tied up outside of the bar, and Tommy was fast to walk down the front steps of the Tipsy Bison and unknotting Justified’s reins. He hopped onto the horse’s back with his pack around his shoulders, spinning the animal in a tight circle and galloping off toward the woods.

As Tommy fled into the woods, he thought about what Joel had told him. It seemed impossible that’d you be alive: you died in his arms. He was first-hand witness to the whole situation, so he knew that there was nothing that could bring you back.

Joel said otherwise. How were you still active, after all of this time? You’d been killed years ago, and Tommy knew what he saw. He saw the woman he loved and valued most, lose the light in her eyes as she gave up the battle of staying conscious to the world.

Tommy huffed as Justified slowed down, the horse trotting his way through the woods with Tommy upon his back. The man needed some time to think about the information that his older brother had just tried to give him. Riding through the woods always gave Tommy some peace of mind.

That is, until he heard a loud gunshot ring through the trees.

The force of the noise was enough to startle Tommy and his horse, the animal immediately taking himself in a circle to run away from the direction that the noise came from. It came from deeper within the forest, the brunt of the shot bouncing around the wooded area.

A normal person’s first instinct would be to run in the opposite direction of a gunshot, but Tommy was drawn to it. Was someone else out here? How close were they? Should he sus out the situation and follow the noise?

The middle-aged man chose the latter, and gave his horse a firm boot with his heels to send him galloping into the woods. The horse wasn’t happy to oblige, but gave in due to the sheer force that was Tommy Miller.

As they raced deeper into the woods, Tommy hoped another shot would ensue so he could try and find the source. He hadn’t seen any people outside of Jackson that he didn’t know, so the situation was refreshing to him.

Tommy pulled Justified to a halt, the horse’s hooves pacing against the foliate ground as the man on his back perked up. Tommy had spotted something – something large, lying on the ground.

Swinging his legs over the saddle and landing with a silent groan, Tommy led his horse toward the thing he’d spotted. As he got closer, he noticed that his observation began to take the shape of some kind of large animal. Upon closer inspection, the animal was a deer. He wasn’t sure what kind of deer, but it was dead.

The deer had a bullet wound at the side of its head, which would’ve killed it instantly. It was a strategically placed shot for a person, so whoever had killed it must have been a good marksman.

Tommy knelt beside the animal and inspected it, one hand holding his horse’s reins, and the other trailing over the wound that the deer had in the side of its face. He wondered who’d shot and killed it. The deer only had the single wound there, so whoever shot it did it effortlessly.

A twig cracked.

Tommy’s head snapped over his shoulder, and his pupils contracted when he was met with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face.

On the other end of the gun, a woman, no older than Tommy himself, clutched the weapon with both hands. She adjusted her fingers against the firearm as she kept the front end of the gun in line with Tommy’s eyes.

As Tommy’s eyes crept up the length of the gun and the extended arms of the person, his gaze eventually reached their face. He swallowed back a lump forming in his throat as he took in the bloody-faced woman standing before him.

You, his wife. You were alive.

As promised, a tag for @musings-of-a-rose

Another part? Let me know in the comments or reblogs :) Thanks for reading, and remember my asks are open so bombard me <3

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

Snippet for a Tommy Miller ask, I can finally write again, so will hopefully be finished today or tomorrow :>

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

a list of what i will write and what i refuse to write. no exceptions.

will write:

- headcanons, drabbles, regular pieces, etc.

- fluff

- angst

- smut / spice (no pun intended) *

- pairings of reader and a ship / my characters and a character

will not write:

- incest

- overly large age gaps (romance between children and adults is a FAT no-no)

- rape / non-consensual acts

- paraphillia (inanimate objects)

- large bouts of homophobia / racism

i have every right do deny or ignore a request if it makes me uncomfortable. please, don't take it personally. some things just aren't my cup of tea.

-

* - i'm a massive noob, and i barely every write anything sexually explicit. i did once, and was crap with a capital 'c,' but we digress.

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

hoi all, it's me, waking up from the dead :D

all jokes aside, i haven't posted on this account since march. i've been pretty busy with exams, but i made it to where i wanted to go! i didn't have a lot of time for anything else, but i'm gradually getting back to doing what i like doing.

however, i'm in another bout of writers block :( i've been reading more, trying to get some ideas, but i just feel demotivated to open up a document and write something. i have ideas of what i want to write about, but i can't seem to articulate them out loud XD.

i will be coming back; i technically already am back, just with a massive brain fart. i have been looking at my asks and trying to write for them, so some are in progress!

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

hi everyone! it's spice, originally here but coming from @splatashawentnatasha. if you're new here, here's a bit of information about yours truly.

i go by the alias spice, i'm 17 years old and i'm a female.

my favourite lessons in school are english, textiles, art, and biology. i like writing, drawing, reading books, editing, playing games, animals, my family, playing badminton, listening to music, and watching things.

in line with my previous statement, i like watching marvel, virgin river, the last of us, and the walking dead. i've watched game plays of the last of us and call of duty.

my favourite characters overall are bucky barnes, loki laufeyson, johnny mactavish, john price, kyle garrick, simon riley, carl grimes, carol peletier, daryl dixon, rick grimes, abby anderson, ellie williams, and joel miller. just thought you'd like to know, if you're still reading, that is.

without giving too much away about myself, that's my little *cough* introduction. i hope you learnt a little about me instead of having me feel like a random stranger (which is what i am, but we digress).

thanks for reading! >:D