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milafms · 2 years

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samantha logan , she/her , cisfemale ! have you met mila james yet ? they're the twenty-six year old artist that lives around evergreen shores . i think they've lived in seattle for their whole life . from what i've heard , they're amicable but they can also be credulous if you get on their bad side . when i think of them , i usually think of tongue tied by grouplove .

* BACKSTORY !

TRIGGER WARNING ! minor mentions of home invasion and brief mention of assault .

Planned addition to the James household, the first and only child to a doting couple.

A silver-spoon upbringing, only ever knowing a life of luxuries. Anything and everything she desired was given to her, regardless of cost.

Parents showered their daughter in love, failing to ever be absent, especially when it came to momentous occasions.

Most friends within her social class were not as fortunate, their luxuries coming at the cost of present parental figures. Mila grew to learn she was lucky, and never took it for granted.

Perhaps it was just her nature, or if could be thanked on how she was raised, but Mila never developed the "brat-like" traits. The same could not be said for previous friends.

Parents always have, and will be, Mila's number one supporter. Encouraging anything that peaked her interest, and spilling the funds to ensure she has the full experience in exploration.

Sometimes, they would last only a couple of days to weeks, but sometimes they would stick. Ballet, violin and fencing were what time was most dedicated to.

Performing on stages, showcasing skills, earnt many medals and trophies. Only increasing the pride her parents had for her.

Heavily sheltered, learning lifestyles away from her own was uncommon. Seeing or learning about struggles was never first-hand.

Good intentions, behind the protection of their child, brought consequences. Mila grew to be blissfully unaware of the negativity which existed in the "real world".

When she was eighteen, parents agreed (after a lot of debate, and convincing) to allow Mila to move into her own residency.

An apartment within walking distance, humble by their standards.

New sense of independence came with risk, a young woman unaware of the dangers lurking around the corner.

START OF TW!

Couple months into residing in her own place, Mila experienced a break in, whilst she was occupying the home.

Fortunately, if it could be classed as such, she came away with only a couple bruises. Fault of being shoved by the perpetrator, landing against furniture.

Material possessions lost were not worried over, aside from one item. Her mothers locket, gifted when she departed from the family home, a treasured keepsake.

Agreement was made that she could move further away, now too afraid to stay in the location. Moving to Evergreen Shores.

Finding of a roommate was essential, now too fearful to reside alone, but still earning for the independence.

END OF TW!

Several years have passed, and whilst some days prove to be more difficult, Mila's naturally bright nature has returned.

Living off parents funds allows Mila to pursue passions in the art world, without fear of when the next pay check is coming.

Long term goals fail to be even a consideration, taking each day as they come has always been Mila's approach.

* PERSONALITY !

PROS.

Imaginative and open-minded. Mila forever has some new idea on her brain, whether that be a new skill, or adventure, and she is not afraid to venture outside of her comfort zone to experience it.

To Mila, every person is important to her, whether they are friends or not. She makes an active effort to recognise the shifts in another person's mood or expression, and does what she can to accommodate. Having a caring, and considerate, nature, and being overly sensitive to other people's feelings and needs, Mila always wants to do what she can to support others. Even if it is methods she is not necessarily acquainted with.

When inspired, typically following the introduction of a new hobby, Mila wants to share it with anyone who will listen. She is known to ramble for a little too long, but always takes into consideration what others have to say. Mila is genuinely interesting in hearing other's ideas and opinions, even if they are different to her own.

Known for talking, perhaps a bit too much, Mila rarely runs out of things to say. That being said, she still is capable of being a good listener. Mila cares about what others have to say, which can create a comfortable, and sometimes a safe, environment to converse in. It has allowed her to make friendships with a wide variety of people.

Mila finds joy in the present moment, she is spontaneous and is known to act with little thought behind actions. This joy that she finds, she always wants to share it with other, getting a greater sense of satisfaction form others happiness.

Having an approachable nature, many find it easier to talk to Mila than most. She's altruistic, with a warmth that radiates, and can sometimes attract even the coldest of people. Mila strives to get along with everyone, and this approach has allowed her social circle to grow, spreading far and wide.

CONS.

The idea of being disliked by another person brings Mila a sense of discomfort, because of this, Mila can often compromise on things that matter to accommodate. Sacrificing at the expense of her own feelings is a common occurrence. Mila can be treat like a doormat frequently, being treat poorly is something she will allow, for the sake of making another happier. Despite all these sacrifices, there are times people still dislike her, which she will lose sleep over ; wondering how she can change minds.

Interests are forever changing with Mila, and she frequently abandons newfound skills within a short time frame. Maintaining discipline over a longer time frame is challenging, and sticking with things is near impossible.

Extremely disorganized. Mila avoids boring and practical matters, struggling to focus when it comes to more important matters. It can cause issues, her parents having to bail her out on more than one occasion.

Whenever another person asks for guidance, or help, Mila will never hesitate to say yes. She has a strong desire to uplift others, but failing to set up boundaries, causes her to become overwhelmed. Becoming overcommitted, with a lack of time, causes issues.

Mila's outlook is seen to be overly optimistic. Her opinion on others is higher than most, which leads to well-intentioned but naïve decisions, believing those who haven't earned her trust. It lands her in hard situations from time to time, which is something she struggles to accept.

Outwardly, Mila always appears to be a happy-go-lucky person, rarely displaying signs of being upset. However, on the inside, she frequently experiences self-doubt. Questioning her abilities, and wondering if aspects of her life are good enough.

* HEADCANONS !

Since the incident at her first home, Mila finds it impossible to sleep alone. She does not have to have someone physically next to her, but in the same house/apartment. There are occasions, when she is having a hard day, when she feels that she needs someone besides her. It takes someone she is really close to, as it is when she is at her most vulnerable.

Being from wealth and never fully understanding the concept of expense, Mila is known to be overly generous. For those she is friends with, she is known to spoil them, whether that is with gifts, or dinner time dates. Anything that has a price tag on, she does not hesitate to cover the fee. Even if the other member of the party is fully capable for covering their cost.

Despite having what seems to be unlimited funds to decorate her home, it is not overly luxurious. She does not tend to care about whether an item is more expensive than another, only if it fits to her personal tastes. Most of the artwork hanging on walls is her own, or other artist friends, and potted plants are her go-to decoration.

Despite coming across as childlike, Mila is a hard worker and puts her all into everything she does. Sometimes forgetting to prioritise herself over work. Getting lost in paintings is a frequent occurrence, forgetting to tend to her own needs on the process, tirelessly working towards the final result.

Mila has never been above shopping, or dining, at inexpensive venues. Most inexpensive places, thrift shops or local diners (for example), are establishments she is not fully acquainted with ; parents rarely taking her. For this reason, she is more inclined to visit, always wanting to find someplace new.

To this day, Mila still actively practices with her violin. It is not something she would pursue as a career, no longer performing for crowds like she did when she was younger, but her own private concerts are something that bring her great joy. She is extremely talented, though she does not consider herself as such.

Extremely close with her parents. Mila still visits her parents at least once a week, always making the time to visit, whether it be going for a quick coffee or spending the day together. She has a lot of respect and love for them. Mila gets most of her advice from them, and values their opinion the most. If her parents like someone, they instantly get bonus points.

Avid lover of plushies, and stuffed animals. When the whole squishmallow craze was at its peak, Mila spent most of her time hunting down ones she had never seen before. Most of her collection is safely stored elsewhere, only a select few of her favourites in her room. A lot of her plushies that she treasures are extremely old and tatty, but she refuses to ever replace them.

Mila enjoys physical contact, there is rarely occasions that she is opposed to it. The type of person to link arms or hold hands with friends and is never opposed to cuddling up with friends on the couch. She respects boundaries, as much as she expects others to respect her own, even if hers a lot less than theirs.

Likes to draw on her arms and can often be seen with tiny doodles over her hands and fingers. If given the opportunity, she’d draw on other people’s arms too, usually making it somewhat personalised.

#sewa.intro

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bisexual-yuri · 3 months

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“Me Time” ft BUSDRIVERR and Rafael García

(Not Trujillo, for sure)

90s babies, just turned 27

1996, baby see me, Rafito

Despacito, JOSH ALLEN #17 spread EAGLE

Number for her

Heard

Jalen Hurts

Ow, you’re not allowed to float on clouds

Hurts people hurt people, sing out loud

Take a bow

I own who I fuck

Collar horse hurdle, colonize Hertel

Monsoon, Hudson grown, Cannabis hurl

Curly Q, baby G, where to

Weester, that’s who! For you!

Logan licked me in the divorce

Redact the DRIVER for MF DOOM

All caps motherfucker, don’t sue

Famous Moss, Zack, not like that

Leftist hair perfect heir, political space

Cookie faced machiavelli, love me

Spell out your name, philosophy, Ralfie

Colonize the moon with whom

Directly indirect, Kdot got rekt

Drake got fucked on the whetstone

Street fashion redaction

Capaz que te amo, no te voy a mentir

La puta verdad es que todavía te amo

I wish you didn’t know

No sabo kid from New York City

Seattle is a cool city

Ya no es lo mismo que era

Tango era fácil, but this is making it hard to be Sara

Shirley Caiza lies to ya, her real name was Curly

That wasn’t even her name but honestly?

We should have babies

Rafito, tell me, would you call me?

Promise me, maybe, honey?

It’s a love song now, the puta verdad es queen es unanimously songlike

I love you and it’s all I can write

I was up real late with you last night

Flying the wrong way, far from your light

La puta verdad es que todavía te amo

I wish you didn’t know

No sabo kid from New York City

It’s a choice between a few of them, I’mma be real with you

But you’re the one who I get the jolt when you text back out the blue

iMessages, FaceTime

Nos quisimos hacer toda una cuantas verdades

Se corre la voz, y todo el mundo ya sabo

Sé, conjugate it right she says through tears in the middle of the night

Bilingual babies, Rafaelito, lady

Rafito, tell me, would you call me?

Promise me, maybe, honey?

Miel miel miel lover, miel

Ricardo never called me in hell, lost his shot because Ali’s a big sell

She’s a lot of work, high maintenance, her life’s a living hell

Back injury, leg injury, hip injury, what did you tell?

Bones knows it too, hence the ghoul

Ghosting me motherfucker, that shit ain’t cool

Fool, in the time of the butterflies, no sabotage kid in school

Gucci shop, straight flunked time

Damn, daft punk references

Grimes is a bully references

Wikipedia on the fences

Elon musk will see this if you tag him, he’s a bitch big lenses

Shit should wear glasses it’s so nerdy

Sara’s so thirsty

Ralfie cutie, only straight man who gets me

Bisexual, pansexual, burn down the Ben’s sins

Ho kid, time to raise, and I know allabout that

Bilingual babies, Rafaelito, lady

Rafito, tell me, would you call me?

Promise me, maybe, honey?

Miel miel miel lover, miel

Weird in my skin and bones, Chris again

I got my inner child with yours

Ghost Ten Four, billscord lore

Receipts keeper, Mongrel and Dominik know Ali’s not a whore

I love you, I think, and it’s scary

I don’t even want to, I’m wary

You keep being the main foo’ who got away

Tango class cutie, what do you say?

Come see me, okay?

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justpupnova · 7 months

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Boys in Black: The Problem with Kinky Cops

I was never the kind of kid who wanted to be a police officer. In my mind they were always scary and violent men, not aspirational protectors. Being raised white and middle class, my dislike for cops wasn’t necessarily founded, but perhaps some queer impulse within me understood that these bastions of hypermasculinity did not represent safety for people like me. Even before I knew what queer meant or that I was it, I instinctively knew that cops did not protect and serve queer people. Little did I know at the time, the history of policing in America runs parallel to its history of oppression.

A History of Oppression

Cops have always been an oppressive force. With its foundations in pre-Civil War slave hunting, the history of policing is inextricably linked with the history of violence against minorities. The original policing was the enforcement and regulation of slavery. The original police officers ensured that slaves couldn’t escape, that they didn’t have the means of revolt, and that they existed in a constant state of terror. Slave patrols are where police badges originated, along with excessive force.

When slavery became outlawed, slave patrols became obsolete and faded away. But in southern states where Jim Crow laws were the new means of racial oppression, the need arose for enforcers, and so the police were born. These forces, developed by local municipalities were once again primarily a means of enforcing racist laws and enacting violence upon African Americans. They may have been freed from slavery, but they were still burdened with the weight of brutality and terror. When the backlash to the advancement of Black civil rights was lynchings, the police were complicit, and sometimes participants, in these murders.

And into the modern day, policing continues to disproportionately affect communities of color due to latent bias and incentivization. Private prisons and arrest quotas lead to police officers acting not as enforcers of law, but enforcers of oppression and private interests. People of color are disproportionately stopped and charged by police officers, especially in the south, and so the terror continues to permeate those communities, just as the slave patrols perpetuated terror.

Another modern form of policing is ICE, or Immigration and Customs Enforcement. ICE is primarily responsible for detaining and deporting undocumented immigrants. This purpose doesn’t sound inherently violent but the bloody legacy of policing has made ICE an armed and dangerous force. From guns, to barbed wire fences, separating families, and the placement of traps on our borders; ICE uses the same terrorist tactics as the police, still primarily against people of color.

People of color are primarily affected, but all marginalized groups are subject to the terror of policing. When queer people created underground communities for ourselves, the police were the ones sent to disperse us. Incidents like the Stonewall Riot were direct and violent responses to the police trying to take away our space. And in the present, police continue to disrespect our voices. When we cry out for justice for the murder of our trans brothers and sisters the “justice” system responds with trans panic and minimum sentences. When we protest the senseless murder of our black and trans community members, police are sent in with tear gas and rubber bullets. And, recently, when Seattle gay bars were raised under the false pretense of unenforced liquor regulations, it was the police that took compromising pictures of queer people and nearly had those pictures released.

Listing everything that the police and ICE use to enforce “the laws”, it becomes clear that these forces are terroristic against minorities. They use force and violence and fear as weapons. Murder and threats and excessive force become means to the political end of keeping us downtrodden and afraid. To observe that policing is corrupt, violent, and oppressive is a lukewarm take at this point, especially to those intimately familiar with police violence. But if it’s so clear that the police are oppressors of minoritized people, why is there a subculture of kink dedicated to police?

Kinksters and Cops

I can’t describe the feeling I experience when I see a kinkster in a cop uniform. It’s some vitriolic mix of repulsion, confusion, and downright disdain. Tactical gear isn’t necessarily a problem, but if there’s a ‘police’ badge or a patch I don’t need more than a second to decide that I have no interest in knowing that person, let alone interacting with them. It’s this impulse that has kept me from interrogating the appeal of a cop fetish, though. In this section I hope to unravel the mindset behind cop play. This is not an endorsement in any way, but to understand why something is problematic, we must also understand why it’s appealing. My primary understanding of cop fetishes is that it’s about power and masculinity.

Power

Most elements of kink are about exploring power imbalances. Whether that be a “daddy” and his “boy” or an office worker and his boss, or the inherent power exchange of bondage; much of kink is fascinated with the loss or gain of power. The history of leather kink cultures comes primarily from biking subcultures, but also from police and military traditions.

In regards to the historical context, it’s obvious that police have power, and an oppressive amount of power at that. The police are an almost omni-present force in day-to-day life and everyone has an experience with policing. So police officers, uniforms, and insignias become a near universal symbol of power. Because of this, it’s quite easy to see how donning a police officer’s uniform confers onto an individual that level of power.

Cop fetishes are often combined with a fetish for tactical gear or a bondage kink in the form of restraint. In this way cop fetishes have something of a wide appeal. Kinsters who enjoy gear likely enjoy tactical gear, kinksters who enjoy bondage are familiar with handcuffs and physical restraints, and people who enjoy power dynamics have likely fantasized about a traffic stop turned sexual.

Masculinity

Tom of Finland, or Touko Laaksonen, is one of the most notable queer artists. His depictions of masculinity and leather are iconic for their eroticism and content. In the world of Tom of Finland every man is just that, a man. Quintessential, muscular, but still oh so queer. Laaksonen created a vision of queer men that maintained their masculinity and epitomized what heterosexual society wanted men to be, while still making them deliciously gay; creating a vision of queerness without compromising masculinity.

Tom of Finland’s body of work included cops, though sterilized of their violent history. It’s almost utopic, a queer dream, the way a cop stopping a speeding biker turns into an erotic image of sexuality. Where we might normally be met with violence or hatred, we instead find sexuality, liberated and glorious. When two blue collar workers, notably of a darker complexion than the officers, pull down an officer’s pants they are not met with brutality, but instead it is the prelude to an sex scene.

I have an immense respect and appreciation for Laaksonen’s work but I find these specific illustrations involving cops to trigger a cognitive dissonance. I am enraptured by the eroticism of the scenes and overcome with a drooling admiration of the aesthetic of masculinity but also disturbed by the presence of police officers in a queer space. It’s not dissimilar to the feeling of spotting a police officer at a pride event, the inescapable question of if they belong there. But what Laaksonen presented to us was an idealization, an erotic fantasy not meant to be viewed in line with the reality we live in.

One part of Tom of Finland’s legacy I can not defend is the use of Nazi imagery. This imagery is incredibly offensive and should never be fetishized. In an essay for Recon, @dogboibailey says that this art “has even indirectly led to a sub- fetishization of military clothing from the Third Reich. The more modern aesthetic of the skinhead holds undeniable parallels to those in white nationalist and Neo-Nazi movements”. I wonder if this is how Laaksonen’s use of police imagery will be perceived one day. I hope so, at least.

The Other Side

I felt it would be irresponsible to not consider the perspectives of those who engage in cop fetishization, and reached out to a handful of kinksters that engage in police fetishization to try and understand their perspectives both on policing, and the adoption of problematic iconography in kink.

One pup that I spoke to insisted that his fetish was simply for the gear, though his social media presence was full of references to arrest, crime scenes, detainment, and jail. Further, he advocated that I look for a European perspective. This was strange to me as we are both Americans living in America, which means we’re both aware of the history of policing in America.

I did, however, reach out to a few European kinksters to see if this European perspective had something to it. In theory, without the deeply problematic history of American policing, cop fetishization would be harmless. I was told by a Swiss kinkster that both the methods and public perception of the police is different in Europe, though I was also told that police systems across Europe have similar issues to American policing of brutality, oppression, and bigotry. Which makes me wonder why this European perspective was used to defend the fetish so often when it is clear that the police in Europe are also an oppressive force.

Another interesting perspective presented to me by a non-police-fetishist was that police fetishization can be used to address issues in policing and to bring awareness to the history of violence in policing. This is a pleasantly optimistic view reinforced by how many of the kinksters I talked to acknowledge the history of policing, especially in America. However, none viewed their beliefs surrounding policing as in conflict with their fetishization of it.

One kinkster, self-identified as a police fetishist, said “ tactical gear is associated with police whether I like it or not”, but made a distinction between his fetishization of the aesthetics of police (wearing tactical gear, participating in roleplay, wearing police or sheriff patches), and fetishizing police actions (violence, bigotry, oppression). He went on to say that his interest in cop role play, including jail scenes and the like is respectful of what the submissive wants and mindful of their safety. One comment of particular interest was that kinksters can engage in police fetishization in a positive way without condoning the actions of police officers. This person was very open about their disapproval of police actions and agreed that there are “negative” forms of cop fetishization, which he defined as those involving racism, abuse of the sub, or that which is performing in a right-wing fanatical way.

Aesthetics Versus Action

Returning to Tom of Finland, I question the division between the aesthetics of a cop and the actions of a cop. Is it good to create a fantasy of a cop that will give you head instead of assault you? Didn’t Laaksonen’s art erase the trauma associated with the badge of an officer and replace it with sex appeal? To reduce policing to an erotic aesthetic which can be worn regardless of the problematic history is to erase the trauma inflicted by police for generations. For the same reason we can recognize that Tom of Finland’s Nazi art is problematic for fetishizing a uniform associated with trauma, I believe that police uniforms carry a similar weight.

When I mentioned this to the kinkster he responded that “there is a large separation between the actions of police and the actions of someone playing police in a role play kink setting”. But what is the difference? I personally hold that the difference is not as significant as one might believe. Police officers wear their uniforms, whether they’re conscious of their history or not, and go act like police officers. Fetishists do the same. Aware or not of the history, they put on the iconography of a cop, and act like a cop for sexual gratification.

Kink is a prime example of aesthetics creating function. We adopt the aesthetic signifiers of a daddy or a pup or a drone, and in doing so, we become that. That transformation carries into cop fetishization. Fetishists wear the iconography of cops and in doing so, they confer the status of cop onto themselves, with all its violence and bigotry. To recognize the traumatic impact of police brutality or prisons but see no issue in co-opting those as fetishistic experiences illustrates an inability to comprehend the scale and impact of American policing.

Is the aesthetic of policing meaningfully separate from the actions or function of policing? No. Tactical gear and weapons and badges are all integral to a cop’s function. The badge is a reminder of power, the weapons a reminder of force. These are aesthetic in nature, yes, but they also have a function, which makes the aesthetic part of the function. Police uniforms and threats of imprisonment are just as much part of the system of terror as the actions of the police. Cop aesthetics are tools to their ends.

If kinksters can recognize the harm of policing, why are they unable to see how that harm is translated into the tools used to enact harm? My opinion is that it requires a certain level of cognitive dissonance to be able to participate in police fetishization while acknowledging the terror of American policing. They believe that police are bad, but they believe that the ‘bad’ of policing is singularly within the system, some abstract evil that exists, rather than a history of iconography and behavior working in tandem.

Conclusion

I can understand how wearing a certain uniform can make someone feel powerful. I can see how wearing tactical gear may lend kinksters an image of power and masculinity that cis-het society may have denied them. But in doing so, many fail to take into account how wearing a police uniform confers onto an individual the bloody and bigoted history that is inherent to American policing, and policing around the world. One can acknowledge that the police are oppressive, but if they are able to don the uniform of those oppressors comfortably, they clearly do not understand what that uniform represents to so many people.

My experience with kink has been predominantly white, and many of the kinksters of color I’ve spoken to cite white kinkster’s micro aggressions and unconfronted biases as reasons for feeling unsafe and unwelcome. So I question why we value white kinksters’ ability to participate in a cop fetish over the comfort of our community members of color, and how we can justify erasing the history of oppression that police officers carry for the sake of an aesthetic fetish.

#gay #queer #queer theory #acab1312 #think piece

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breakfromwork · 11 months

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October 11th-November 8th, Washington

Gae took Raina to puppy class on October 15th, where she did very well, considering her fear of everything that moves:-)

I made some noodles on the 15th, a favorite for both of us.

We attended a Port Angeles Garden Club meeting at the Dungeness River Nature Center on the 16th, where the coordinator gave a a fascinating presentation about the center and ongoing restoration projects.

We got out mushroom hunting on the 18th along the Olympic Discovery Trail, which we all love.

The area is heavily picked, but I foraged enough for a nice batch of wild mushroom soup.

We went to Rialto beach, west of Forks, thinking Raina could run on a beach for the first time ever. Must look at the tide charts before making the trek next time... the waves were crashing within 20 feet of the logs at the top of the beach!

The Garden Club co-sponsored a Gold Star marker at the Captain Joseph house, which was dedicated on October 25th.

I thought our 28" high raised beds were safe from the dogs, but not, apparently, if there is a critter rooting around them. More fencing?

I volunteered with Stream Keepers on the 27th to record several metrics at 3 places along McDonald Creek. Interesting, but chilly work, on a 40 degree day:-)

We walked to the coastline after finishing the last measurements... beautiful spot.

We had 10 yards of Alder chips delivered on the 28th, which were quickly spread to cover cardboard we had laid over more grass. Raina loved playing queen of the hill:-)

Gae performed her duty as civic beautification leader with the Garden Club on November 1st, cleaning up "Betty Loo's" garden bed just down the street from the ferry terminal.

November 2nd, we tour of a yard in Port Angeles that had been awarded the Garden Club quarterly beautiful yard award. Everyone loved the colorful use of glass and other decorations all around the yard.

We got this nice picture of Rob and Ben enjoying a walk through Schmidt's Park in West Seattle on the 5th.

The third civic cleanup during this period was at the gardens around the Blue Star Marker along Lincoln Street... good work Ladies!!

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jenysmooth · 2 years

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Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson

This is a book I started several years ago, but I never got very far into it. The writing is so stylized, I found it hard to just sit and read this thing! That led to me picking up and putting down the book again and again until now, two years later and 24 chapters in! This time, I'm committed to finishing it.

Although it's a mentally exhausting book to read, it's still super fun. I'm never less impressed by how Stephenson was able to so accurately predict the future of virtual reality! Still, I always think back to my husband's friend, who was in a fencing class with Stephenson when he lived in Seattle. He hadn't known his fencing buddy wrote the book Snow Crash--so he told him to his face the book sucked. Legend has it Neal took it like a champ.

This one's for you, dumbass!

Whenever I choose a book to read, I try to match it with a fitting tarot deck and card to use as a bookmark. For this one, I saw The Fool as the perfect avatar (teehee) for Hiro Protagonist. The deck I picked was the stylish hand-drawn set by the incredibly talented svnddlsnts.

#this is a motivational post to make me read this damn book!!#snow crash #reading #books #book blog #tarot

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thedaddycomplex · 3 years

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My Friend Vlad

Vlad changed my life in so many ways, but the most important way was that he saved it. He saved my life.

I met him in 7th grade English. Having just moved to town, he was the new kid, but unlike the cliché timid “new kid” character, Vlad had no fear—socially or otherwise. He was a big personality and made friends fast.

I was the opposite: Quiet, timid, terrified of even being called on by the teacher. During junior high, Vlad and I became acquaintances, but not friends, not yet. Then, in 9th grade I was sent to private school where I was picked on a lot, which just exacerbated my sense of isolation and depression.

My friend and neighbor Mike told me he’d been hanging out with Vlad and dragged me along one day to hang out with him and the motley crew of skaters from around town. Vlad and I hit it off and, by the middle of 9th grade, if I wasn’t at school, I was with Vlad.

We did everything together, which usually meant hanging out at various places or traveling to those places (him via skateboard, me via 10-speed). And that motley crew of skaters welcomed me into their circle of friends.

Vlad liked having fun, no matter what, and he spent the night at my house a lot because he and his mother did not get along much. We commiserated and joked late into the night, we caused trouble, we went on late-night road trips to Virginia Beach, we sneaked into the Woodbridge reservoir to swim, explored abandoned mills. For a joint science report, we wrote a punk song about William Thomson, Lord Kelvin, creator of the Kelvin scale... We quite simply had a blast nearly every time we were together.

And most importantly, when I felt like I didn’t fit in, he encouraged me to embrace my inner weirdo. Vlad didn’t fit any mold and, by example, he showed me how that was a strength, not a fault.

When I finally returned to public school my junior year, I was nervous about making friends, about fitting in. Vlad helped with both. You see, he knew everybody. Cliques be damned, everybody liked Vlad—jocks, band geeks, preppies, cheerleaders, metal-heads, wallflowers.

I’d never seen anything like it. It was incredible. And so, I did what Vlad did: I acted like I belonged. Because whether I believed it or not, I did.

With Vlad leading by example, I went from a mousey introverted nerd in 9th grade to a vocal extroverted nerd my senior year. I won a superlative in the yearbook, joined drama and acted in a bunch of plays, and even ended up performing with Vlad and some other people in a (not-so politically correct) sketch in front of the entire school during the homecoming game, earning cheers from the entire student body.

(We also had the single most disastrous double-date in high school history. It started with Vlad scaling a fence in his suit and sprinting down a dock to chase after a dinner boat that had already left the dock because we were late. It only got worse from there.)

I moved to Richmond, Virginia, for college and about a year later Vlad moved there, too. (An incredibly talented musician, he used to pick up new instruments and teach himself how to play whenever he got bored.) We started a band that I fronted, an act I acknowledged I couldn’t have done without Vlad encouraging me to be myself, to be bold all those years.

We continued to hang out pretty much every day. If I wasn’t at class and he wasn’t at work, we were tooling around Richmond or at the practice space.

I dropped out for a while and Vlad got me a job at a big box store, where he worked in the photo lab. I saw him carrying around an ASL book one day and asked him if he was learning sign language. He said, yeah, because one of his coworkers was deaf. Nobody told him to learn it, he just wanted to, so he could talk with the guy. That’s the kind of person Vlad was.

Years later, I moved to Seattle. And shortly after Vlad moved there, too. We went to shows together, formed yet another band, and, yes, got into more trouble. Once, after I’d moved away, he called me out of the blue and invited me to Las Vegas. He flew to my town and from there we drove through the hills and desert like one of our old road trips, met up with his friends, and had a drunken week of debauchery.

He was the best man at both of my weddings. And though, we ended up living 1,200 miles apart (he stayed in Seattle, while I eventually made a home in Los Angeles), we stayed in touch. The time between our phone calls grew, but it never felt like we had to catch up when we talked. We just picked right back up where we left off.

He was a constant in my life, my best friend, the guy who saved my life and helped me become who I am.

In recent years, his health started to wain. A few days ago, I found out he passed away suddenly last week.

The thing that’s hard to explain is everybody loved Vlad. He was just the type of person that made your day better just by being there because he was always interested in you, he always supported you. And he didn’t do it instead of caring for himself, he could do both.

He was an incredibly special person in that way. And the fact that someone that wonderful chose to spend so much time with me made me feel wonderful and special, too.

Vlad made me feel worthy of friendship, of love, of respect. I try every day to instill that in my boys. And I’ve told them countless stories about him—about his kindness, his compassion, his love of life, his absolute bonkers weirdness.

To put it plainly, I am a better man for having Vlad in my life.

Now, I have to be that man without him in it.

And I will because he would want it that way. And because of him, I do, too.

#friendship #best friend #memorial #grief #love

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bighermie · 2 years

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lucifers-daughterr · 2 years

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Modern | Aro & Sulpicia

artist : fabian perez [ i highly recommend checking out his works, they are honestly one of the most amazing pieces i’ve seen, truly incredible ]

a. ― m. sheen

s. ― m. belluci

disclaimer : it is the first time I write something like this. It's my headcanon for modern au of Sulpicia and Aro, but I also briefly touch the topic of Marcus and Didyme (which will be covered in a few days). I am aware that Aro is in fact, not Italian and that Sulpicia isn’t British. You might not agree with my portrayal of the characters, but I am asking to please be respectful. I am not a native English speaker so there might be grammar mistakes (sorry Aro please don’t unalive me). Enjoy! :)

Sulpicia comes from a very old, well-established family. From young age she has been privately tutored until she reached age when she could be sent to a boarding school. It has been a wonderful convenience for her parents, since it allowed them to travel for business reasons more often. She has received a Bachelors degree in Psychological and Behavioural Sciences from Cambridge followed by two Master degrees from London School of Economics — one in Economics and second in Public Relations. Since then she pursued a career as a lobbyist in the United Kingdom. Both her personal and her family’s connections combined with extreme determination and understanding of dynamics between politicians and private companies, made her one of the most successful women in the mostly male-dominated field. In her free time, Sulpicia enjoys fencing and opera. When someone invites her for a friendly golf play, she rarely refuses. For a long time she has wished for a dog. Unfortunately, her busy schedule and constant travelling make her unable to properly take care of one. Her guilty pleasure are sweet, romantic movies — she loves watching them with a glass of wine and always tears up when there is a happy ending. However, she also doesn’t mind listening to a good old fashioned crime podcast while getting ready.

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Aro, unlike Sulpicia, comes from a broken middle class Italian family. Constant juggling between his parents’ new homes made him mature quickly. He has learned to become his own friend, as well as a parent. Switching schools from young age didn’t exactly help him with maintaining meaningful long-term friendships. Since early childhood he was a very curious creature with insatiable appetite for knowledge. Constantly learning and researching fascinating things that he came across. He passed final high school exams with the highest marks, despite being mostly self-taught. Due to his poor health, he couldn’t attend school as regularly as his peers. After high school, he took a gap year to focus on learning English and Greek, all while working as a waiter and freelance writer on the side. Next year, he decided to study law for Bachelor and later ― Masters degree. He was always fascinated by origins of legal systems and especially the relation between a crime and a punishment. After receiving his Master’s degree he pursued a career in politics, becoming the youngest elected vice-president of the Italian High Council of the Judiciary (consiglio superiore della magistratura). He has strong interest in arts, especially architecture and theatre. His secretaries arrange invitations for auctions all over the world, so he can purchase another valuable art piece for his personal collection. Unfortunately, due to his high expectations and quite eccentric personality, secretaries tend to be replaced, sometimes a few times over the course of a year. As for personal life, he did have relationships with a few fashion designers and more meaningful one with a certain paediatric surgeon. Unfortunately the affair has ended shortly after the doctor got offered a job in one of Seattle’s teaching hospitals.

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

One day Aro has attended a fundraising event, hosted by Sulpicia’s family in one of their lavish mansions. She was in fact, the main speaker during the gala, also presenting items for the charity auction. At first he didn’t really pay attention to her, as his interest was mostly focused on the beautiful art piece the woman was presenting. It was a wonderful Rubens’ painting. He got discouraged when the price of the artwork reached a higher amount that he originally intended to spend. Eventually, he decided it was worth the price and right after the auctioneer’s fair warning he raised his paddle. At his convenience, no one increased the bidding.

As he stood up, being the winning bidder, his eyes met with the woman on stage. Instantly he was mesmerised by her presence. He was watching her the whole time, but he didn’t see her. When the auction ended he decided to approach her, striking a conversation about the gala. She knew, of course, it wasn’t the real reason he came up to her. Regardless, she decided to further engage in the conversation as her companion was quite knowledgable in the topics of her interest. As the night went on she grew rather fond of the dark haired man. They conversed about politics, arts and common friends. During his leisure hours, or “night time” as he referred to them, he sponsored many artists and happily observed their careers thriving. To her surprise, Aro’s sister was a teacher in elementary school close to her parents’ house in Florence. Apparently she was married to a history professor and they had three children together. By the end of the event Aro and Sulpicia got quite drunk, keeping each other’s company for the past few hours. The night eventually became a morning and alas, the gala has come to an end. Both Aro and Sulpicia weren’t fond of this fact, but they had their own responsibilities and work duties. After both arrived to their homes, they realised none on them has other’s contact information. It was very unfortunate, since they hoped to meet each other again.

As the months have passed, Sulpicia’s memory of an attractive stranger became foggy. To be fair, she always moved on quickly and had the ability to forget situations that didn’t exactly go as she planned. That was until one day she came home to find a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in dark ribbon. She picked them up, curious about the sender’s identity. There was a little white card attached to the velvet cloth. Her hazel eyes opened wide as she read:

“I was hoping to see you again”

― Night time patron of arts

+39 0393 7511779

#modern au #the volturi #twilight #aesthetic #aro volturi #sulpicia volturi #headcanon #fanfiction #oneshot #kinda lol #canon divergence #guess who the doctor is #hint #he is blonde

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

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Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acosf countdown #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury

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glassbxttless · 3 years

Text

Part 1/?

Matt Solo x Reader

Word Count: 1,093

Warnings: none that I know of!

Notes: this is sort of just setting up the story! it’s also set in a different “universe” than my other Solo Bros AU! Enjoy!

2017…

Washington, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Ohio, recruiters lined up along the outside fences, quietly watching each inning. You know how much is riding on this game for Matt. You watch him laughing with his friends in the dugout as you all hear Solo up to bat next. Leia has your hand in hers, just hoping he gets an offer.

The wink you watch him send over to the two of you as he positions himself at home plate— he’s left handed— waiting and waiting for just the right pitch. Most of these pitchers walk him, almost every time. But it’s unmistakable, the crack of aluminum and the ring in the air. The cheering coming from Leia as she stands, watching Matt run base to base. You’re holding your breath, watching the ball land over the fence.

You catch Ben speaking with one of the recruiters down the strip, while the cheering just intensifies. You smile as you watch Matt round home base, getting high fives and pats on the back from his teammates and friends— ending the last game of his Senior season on a high note. Ben knows how important this game was and maybe that’s why he showed up. Maybe that’s why he’s talking to the recruiters, just trying to land Matt a spot. But your Matty doesn’t need the help. He’s got talent all his own and he doesn’t need Ben or Randy Solo of the New York Yankees or Han Solo from the Los Angeles Dodgers to pave the way for him.

Matt’s downing a bottle of water when you’re climbing out of the bleachers, running over to meet him at the gate of the fence. Kissing that smiling face. “You did it.” You grin, tucking a few strands of his sweaty hair under his cap. He smiles brightly, rolling his eyes as his hand settles on your lower back.

“Best scores of the season, Sunny.” He mumbles, eyes scanning over the crowd as he downs the rest of his water bottle. He spots his mom and dad, Randy grabbing something at the concession stand. He continues on to find Ben speaking with the ones who determine his future and his heart drops to his stomach. “What is he doing?” He asks softly.

“I’m sure he’s just catching up with old college friends.” You rub his side gently as he peels himself away from you, batting bag over his shoulder. “I’ll wait with your mom then.” You say softly, waving a bit to him as you pick up his glove, watching as he makes his way over to the group where his brother stands, talking him up.

2018…

You’re sitting at Matt’s college signing quietly. In succession to his brothers and his parents. You’ve known for three years what college Matt was going to pick and you aren’t sure why the Solo family continues to argue over where Matt’s going to pick.

You two have started looking at apartments in Seattle, almost deciding on one. You’ve both begun job hunting, working around what he planned to schedule for his classes. And you’re the only one it doesn’t surprise when he slips that University of Washington hat on, smiling bright and wide for photos from his mama and dad.

“He couldn’t have stayed closer to home?” You hear Leia ask one of the boys, and you just clap along in the crowd— proud of your boy for making the best decision for himself. Not to follow his brothers blindly. You pull out your own phone, to snap a few photos of him. You’re proud of him, of how hard he’s worked these last few years. Every date he’s cancelled to hit the cages or every dinner with your parents he’s missed to sit in on one of his brothers practices. It’s strained your relationship, but every time he lays in your bed— smiling over at you and saying, “it’s for our life, Sunny.” You melt back into him, feeling that soft little kiss against your forehead before he’s relaxing back and scrolling through his phone.

Matt meets you and the family at the bottom of the stage, laughing happily as he pulls you into him, letting Leia catch a quick picture of the two of you. Three years you’ve been in this family and you aren’t wanting to give it up ever. You can hardly hear over the chatter in the crowd, or the chatter from the family itself. Matt’s rubbing your hip as he talks with Randy, laughing when they bump around with each other.

You two aren’t even in your Seattle apartment two days before Matt’s scheduled a practice. Before he’s dressed in his practice uniform, bag over his shoulder, and giving you a quick peck on the lips before he’s out the door. And that’s how it goes for the next few weeks, for the rest of the season. Spending your time sitting in the bleachers alone at home games, cheering when Matt hits yet another home run or sitting at home for hours while Matt’s at practice after practice— rubbing his back until he falls asleep after he’s home.

2019…

The first time Matt’s approached by the Mariners, he comes home with the biggest smile on his face. Cleats hanging over his shoulders, dropping his batting bag inside of the door. He corners you against the kitchen counter, kissing up your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist. He’s still dressed in his practice uniform, covered in sweat and dirt. “Sunny,” he mumbles against your skin, “we’ve gotta talk, you aren’t going to believe this.”

“Go shower and dinner will be done. We can talk then.” You smile, turning your head to press a kiss against his cheek. He smiles at you happily, giving you a gentle smack on the backside before dipping into the bathroom to shower.

And over your garden salsa dinner, Matt sits across from you dressed in a pair of plain joggers, clean socks, and a shirt you had tie dyed for him. He’s quiet for a few moments, just smiling to himself before he speaks up, “the Mariners want me to sign for the majors.”

“Really?” Your eyes grow wide, smiling brightly at him as you place your fork down. “Matty, that’s so great! Congratulations!” You grin, moving to sit in his lap, kissing that pretty face over and over and over again. “I’m so so proud of you!”

“Dad and my brothers aren’t going to be too happy.” He chuckles quietly, fingers curling around your hip. “They hate the Mariners.”

@sacklerscumrag @mrs-zimmerman @fizzywoohoo @thepriceofstars @2000andwhat @loganluckylover @themuseic @clydesfavoritegirl @caillea @maybe-your-left @driversmutbucket @cornmousequeen @mrs-kylo-ren @peachyproserpina @mrs-gucci @millenialcatlady @leatherboundbirate @jynzandtonic @awkward-katiesaur

#glassbxttless adcu #glassbxttless #matt solo x reader #matt solo #a league of their own // matt solo #the solo bros au #the solo bros #the solo brothers au #baseball au

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vicctm · 3 years

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hey look, it’s victor donavon! they’re thirty eight years old, they’ve lived in shrike heights for 2 years, and they’re currently working as the hr director. i heard they’re pretty uncompromising, but i think they’re so passionate at the same time. can they make it out alive?

Biography

{TW: Violence, parental death, alcoholism, marijuana}

Victor Donavon, born in 1949, date unknown, in California. Adopted first son of Bernard and Carol Donavon, a wealthy couple in love. For the first 12 years of his life, Victor was the apple of his parents eyes. A genius when it came to academics and numbers, he received praise both in school and from family for his intellect. He got anything he wanted, and every summer was a trip somewhere new. Was he spoiled? Perhaps a bit, but who wouldn’t spoil their only child if they could

Everything came crashing down with the birth of his brother Jerimiah when he was 12 years old. Suddenly he wasn’t his parents pride and joy anymore, he felt more like an after thought than anything else after a few years. Nothing he did seemed to phase them, whether it was good or bad, he’d get a wave of the hand and some cash to solve his troubles. He was obsolete, an old model they didn’t need anymore. He graduated top of his class, and the only person that was their was his grandmother. Jeremiah did give him an adorable macaroni art piece of the two of them though, which he still has.

He moves to New York for college, business and management classes, anything to get away from a house where he felt like an outsider with everyone but a kid. He learns about himself, and falls in love with a boy he meets in a street. His name is Hugh and he convinces Victor to start writing like he’s always wanted to. Victor is close to confessing his love for him nearing his 20th birthday when he gets a call that changes his life. His short lived freedom is just that, short lived, as he receives news of his parents death. Parents he hasn’t talked to or heard from in almost two years.

He returns home hollow, and sorts out the affairs of his parents estate in a daze. He puts half of it in a trust for Jerimiah. He doesn’t even touch his half for over a decade. He doesn’t return to New York, he’s a different person now and he’s got Jerimiah to take care of. They settle down in Seattle, and develop a new normal. All Victor does is work and raise Jerimiah, dreams of writing gone and repressed along with memories of Hugh. But it’s okay with him because Jerimiah needs to him more than Victor needs a break. He starts to spiral due to stress, and gets meaner due to it. Him and Jerimiah are constantly at each others throats. It takes Jerimiah crying and shoving him into a table, only 17 years old, threatening to leave and never come back for him to get the help he needs, to deal with what happened to their family.

Jerimiah moves to go to medical school, it’s hard for both of them, having relied on each other for so long. Victor is 35 years old and has no friends and no life and hasn’t ever done anything for himself in over 15 years, and he stands at the airport where Jerimiah just left for Massachusetts. He remembers standing at the airport in New York in the middle of the night, and then he remembers Hugh and the two years they spent creating together. He realizes he could write now, if it wasn’t too late then it couldn’t be too late now.

He’s in Shrike Height’s half a year later, an apartment just for himself in a quiet town that can give him solace to write. He still works, wouldn’t be able to function without the ritual of it. At first for a warehouse and distribution center, but he only makes one friend there, who hates it as much as he does. Through them, he learns that Shrike Mall is hiring for their own HR department soon, and decides that a mall would be much more interesting than a paper company. He’s got 13 years of experience, and lands the job easily.

Personality:

Victor is very rigid with most people, though that's really because he’s never taken the time to socialize before. He always took his job in HR so seriously he wouldn’t even mention he had a brother to coworkers in the past. However, he’s since mellowed out and has been attempting to be better about this. He’s a great conversationalist once he becomes comfortable with someone.

Once you get to know him he’s very caring, and his love language is physical touch. He doesn’t care about people he isn’t close to, at all. Though he’s a bit touch starved because the only person he’s been close with recently was his brother, and a few short lived flings back in Seattle. He also has a tendency towards buying things for people he likes, and passing it off as though he just had to get rid of it.

Once he decides something it’s very rare that he changes his mind. He never thought twice about taking in his brother, and he trusts in his own judgement more than he cares to consider anyone else’s opinion on his life, or things he has control over.

Has a well hidden sweet tooth, but would deny it to his grave.

Likes to smoke weed on occasion, especially if he’s having writers block or just wants to relax and wine isn’t cutting it.

Victors all time favorite genre to both read and write is horror, and while he came to Shrike Heights to get inspiration to write his first book, he never expected this. He’s an observer at heart, and is more intrigued by the reason and motive of the killers and why it’s all happening at once at the moment, than he is with the deadly consequences.

Wants to fall in love and is a romantic deep down, but doesn’t know if he should open himself up like that in Shrike Heights because he isn’t sure he’ll remain living here longer than a few years. He is still on the fence, and deciding how much he likes Shrike Heights and its antics.

Is becoming more and more susceptible to peer pressure because he is in fact very lonely

Connections!

Apartment neighbors/floormates

Fwb: Someone he would’ve met before getting the HR job, at a bar within his first few months of coming into town. This is so we could maybe have some drama of the fact that he’s in the HR dept for the mall now and they also work there, which is something he wouldve written someone else up a few years ago

Smoke buddies

down to spit ball as well :)

#shrikeintro #this is way too long i am so sorry jkdfvdj #feel free to message on discord to plot!

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 4 years

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Backyard Black Bird Mystery

It was a warm, almost-summer day in May 2020 when I accidentally stumbled upon an intense bird meeting. After a morning of attending online classes for school, I took a break by looking out a window that faced my neighbor’s fenced backyard. Perched on black fence posts and in the surrounding trees were a handful of crows watching a larger congregation of small black birds gathered on the ground below them. The scene was reminiscent of a playground full of children playing while under the watchful eyes of their parents. "Those must be baby crows!" was the thought that first came to mind. But something wasn’t right. I pressed my face to the window, squinting to see the smaller birds. (If my neighbors had walked into their backyard at that moment, it would have been an awkward explanation.) The birds’ beaks were bright yellow, unlike the dark beaks of the crows, and when they moved in the sunlight their feathers revealed a beautiful green and purple iridescence. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I googled “black bird with yellow beak.” Up came a list of various black birds, challenging me to match my observations with screen images. The birds I saw didn’t have a patch of red and yellow on the wing like a Red-winged Blackbird, had a more slender neck than a Brewer’s Blackbird, and had a shorter tail than Common Grackle. That’s when I discovered starlings. Clicking on the image, I knew that I had the right bird. As I scrolled through associated information, I found some riveting facts about these unassuming birds.

European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris). Photo credit: Powdermill Nature Reserve, Carnegie Museum of Natural History The European Starling gets its name because it looks like a small, four-pointed star when its stubby, triangular wings are spread out in flight. Starlings tend to travel in mixed flocks of similar-looking bird species or one giant flock called a murmuration. Some murmurations can number several thousands of birds. The seemingly perfect flight coordination of such flocks make them a wonderful spectacle to witness. However, starlings can be rather aggressive in displacing other birds in feeding and nesting situations, earning them the title of a “bully bird.” The species is not native to North America. Instead, they were introduced from Europe by Eugene Schieffelin, a William Shakespeare enthusiast. His mission was to introduce birds mentioned in William Shakespeare’s works, although starlings appear only once in Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part I. From introduction points in New York’s Central Park in 1890, starlings have spread over much of North America.

American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos). Photo credit: Powdermill Nature Reserve, Carnegie Museum of Natural History The American Crow, on the other hand, is larger, measuring around 17.5 inches in length. Unlike the starlings’ shimmers of iridescent color, crows are all black, down to their beaks and feet. These relatively large plain-looking birds are better known for their intelligence. Studies have shown that crows can identify individual people and associated threat levels, and even pass that knowledge to their offspring and flock members. For example, John Marzluff, a wildlife biologist at the University of Washington, and two students trapped, banded, and released seven crows while wearing a caveman mask, creating, for the briefly captive birds, an association of danger with the mask’s exaggerated facial features. As an experimental control, the research team also used a Dick Cheney mask for neutral non-contact encounters with the targeted birds. In the following months, volunteers wore one of the two masks while walking around campus, not bothering the crows. Those wearing the dangerous mask were scolded by the crows, while those wearing the neutral mask were not harassed. As more time passed, the number of crows that attacked the dangerous-mask-wearers increased, indicating that crows learned to recognize humans from parents and other flock members.

As for the crow and starling meeting that afternoon? An overlap in their respective diets may explain the gathering. Starlings eat insects, invertebrates, berries, fruits, and seeds, while the omnivorous diet of crows includes all those items plus small vertebrates and carrion. Perhaps the crows had been simply waiting for their turn to feast on the buffet of insects and seeds in my neighbor’s backyard. The items on the menu must have been particularly delicious that day.

Angela Wu is a Teen Volunteer in the Education Department. Museum employees, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

Works Cited

"American Crow: Identification." All About Birds, Cornell University, 2019, www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/American_Crow/id.

BBC. 24 Apr. 2014, www.bbc.com/news/magazine-27055030. Accessed 21 Nov. 2020.

Bradford, Alina. "Facts About Crows." Live Science, Future US, 2 May 2017, www.livescience.com/52716-crows-ravens.html. Accessed 20 Nov. 2020.

"European Starling: Life History." All About Birds, Cornell University, 2019, www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/European_Starling/lifehistory. Accessed 20 Nov. 2020.

Nijhuis, Michelle. "UW Professor Learns Crows Don't Forget a Face." The Seattle Times, 26 Aug. 2008, www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/uw-professor-learns-crows-dont-forget-a-face/. Accessed 23 Dec. 2020.

NPR. Npr, 4 Jan. 2017, www.npr.org/sections/13.7/2017/01/04/506400719/video-swooping-starlings-in-murmuration. Accessed 23 Dec. 2020.

"Starlings." Maine Department of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, 2020, www.maine.gov/ifw/fish-wildlife/wildlife/living-with-wildlife/avoid-resolve-conflict/starlings.html. Accessed 20 Nov. 2020.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Powdermill Nature Reserve #European starling #American crow #Birds #Identifying birds

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dilliebar · 4 years

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Scraps: A Dillie Fic

Hey guys! I’m happy to announce that I’ve finally posted the first chapter of Scraps (aka “The Farm Fic”). This one will be multi-chapter, and I’m looking at 5-10k words per ch so hopefully that’ll be worth the wait. Anyway, here you are, hope you enjoy!

Months after Joel's death, and a couple months after the confrontation in Seattle, Ellie and Dina find themselves moving out of Jackson and to the farm: a place where they hope to start their new life and family. But even though their lives were spared, not all is well. Ellie still struggles with her inner-demons and the pressures of the ghosts that haunt her, and with how her mind wanders, she's not sure how long the peace will last.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25317292/chapters/61382233

Sunday, May 9th, 2038

The dark, dingey atmosphere and cold air biting at Ellie's nose told her exactly where she was. She'd lived it only once, but had seen it a million times before in her darkest memories and worst nightmares. But this was no dream; she was convinced by every small detail of the rustic mansion- every frosted pattern on iced glass, every crack in the layer of paint, and every anguished cry from the bottom of the staircase- that this was real. He was down there, in the basement. Joel was down there, and she had to save him.

She ran down the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her. Each step seemingly took years to pass, the fear and sheer panic coursing through her veins and making her skin hurt. After what felt like a painful forever she reached the basement door, throat dry and lungs gasping for air. She wrapped her fingers around the cold door handle and turned it with her very last ounce of energy, only to be denied by the lock. She tried again and again and again, each time making the panic set deeper and deeper into her bones.

"Ellie!"

Joel's strained voice called from the other side. Dammit, she was trying. She was trying like her life depended on it, but the door wouldn't budge. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as another tormented cry of her name filled the silence between her sobs.

Suddenly the door gave way after what felt like the thousandth turn, her heart dropping at the sight in front of her. The room was empty except for Joel's still, bloodied and beaten body lying motionless on the hardwood floor. The smell of iron filled her lungs that were previously desperate for air, only to find herself begging for them to empty again. She watched as his lips parted slowly to mutter their final words.

"Ellie!"

All she felt now was a pair of hands gripping her shoulders. All she saw was red. All that her rapid heartbeat pumped through her veins was adrenaline and agony and rage. The voice that called her name didn't register. She pushed away in desperation. She had to get to Joel. Maybe she could still save him.

"Get the fuck off me!"

But her captor wouldn't budge. With sheer distress she pulled their hands off of her shoulders and went to push them away, only to be quickly met with two soft, familiar hands cupping the sides of her face.

"Ellie," the voice said, softer and calmer. It was familiar, too, yet she couldn't quite place the sweet sound. She grabbed their wrists tightly in an attempt to pull them off of her as the red began to fade from her vision, but stopped as she processed the girl sitting in front of her.

She was met with two big, concerned, dark-brown eyes; the pair that she always associated with not hate nor violence, but both gentleness and a tender touch; the warm-toned skin that felt soft underneath her fingertips; the near-black hair that smelled of life and lavender. Dina. Her presence alone made Ellie’s heart rate slow.

Confused at the sudden change of scenery, she took a look around the room. The walls were a faded eggshell white, with one window directly facing the bed, allowing the moonlight to cast a pale glow on the scene. Cardboard boxes- most sealed and unopened- were labeled and organized in stacks on the wood floor; linen; Ellie; Dina; decor and some unmarked. She looked back into the shorter girl’s eyes.

“We’re home, El,” she whispered softly, “do you remember?”

Gentle thumbs brushed the skin of Ellie’s face as her heart and breathing slowed. She didn’t quite recognize the room. Not as her room in Jackson, anyway. She looked to the window, and to her surprise, didn’t find the suburban-like view of the town outside. Instead she saw a field of long golden grass, the tops of great pines, an old, rusted fence…

“The farm,” Dina confirmed, “we moved a couple weeks ago.”

Ellie’s memory came flooding back at her girlfriend’s words.

The couple had been mulling over living in town since they left seattle. They knew they’d want to stay near family, or more so Jesse’s parents considering the baby, but how could they live in Jackson after all that had happened? How could they walk past Joel or Jesse’s old houses without feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt? How could they rebuild their life there at all? They needed peace. They needed a home. They needed a new beginning.

Of course, Jesse’s parents were completely against the idea of moving away from Jackson. They had a right to be concerned, but after all, the farm was only about ten minutes or so outside of town, close enough that if there was ever an emergency they could get help as needed. Ellie had her own concerns, too, like how they would deliver the baby with only a blanket and her 7th grade health class military prep, but Dina assured her it would be fine, and Ellie believed her. As long as she was with Dina she knew everything would be alright.

And life back in Jackson county so far had, in fact, been alright. But what wouldn’t stop picking away at Ellier were these constant nightmares. Each one made her feel as if she were living it again. As if the blood splatters across frosted glass weren’t illustrated by the depths of her mind. As if she wouldn’t wake up again, that she would die in that basement and never see Dina or Tommy or Maria again. This was the fourth one she’d had since they arrived in Jackson. Ellie thought the move would help, that the absence of reminders of Joel would help ease her anxiety, but alas, she had woken Dina up in the middle of the night for the fourth time.

Ellie let go of Dina's small wrists and leaned into the tender touch of her girlfriend; she was the only thing in the world that seemed soft anymore. The only thing that seemed solid. Her body sighed as Dina lifted her thumb to wipe away a tear that Ellie didn't even realize had welled.

"Did you have another one?"

Ellie hated when Dina had to see her this way. She hated being vulnerable. She hated how she kept interrupting Dina's well-deserved and needed rest. The mental toll her own mind was taking on her was overwhelming, but she wouldn't allow it to affect Dina if it was the last thing she did. After all the unnecessary hell she went through just to be there for Ellie, she was convinced that she shouldn't have to deal with this, too.

She nodded, "I'm okay."

Dina looked unconvinced.

"Ellie, your hands are shaking."

She shook her head and clenched her fists into the sheets.

"I said I'm fine."

Ellie kept her gaze down but she could feel her girlfriend’s eyes on her, examining. She prayed that Dina would just let it go, that she would go back to sleep and forget that this ever happened.

The smaller girl's hand found its way under Ellie's chin, tilting her head up to look into those beautiful emerald eyes.

"I'm here for you, El."

Dina closed her eyes and leaned in to place a tender kiss on auburn hair before moving back to the right side of the bed and tucking herself back under the covers.

Ellie hesitated for a moment, watching the girl settle back into the clean white sheets. She studied how they fit around the curves of her body, and how each strand of dark hair contrasted against the pillows. Sometimes, or more like all the time, Ellie wondered how someone like herself could end up with such a beautiful soul. She'd killed how many men? Taken how many lives? She had almost stopped at nothing to bring down one measly person, and despite the fact that the bitch still made her blood boil, the innocent part of Ellie couldn't find herself wanting anything more than this girl lying next to her. Not even vengeance.

But the hardened part of herself wouldn't leave her alone. It didn't just want blood, it wanted to be the one to spill it.

Ellie took a deep breath and turned over on her side, reaching an arm around the smaller girl's waist and pulling her in to fit their bodies together. She brought her pointer finger up to her girlfriend's arm, gently tracing patterns on soft skin until she slowly felt the bad thoughts melt away one by one. She did her best not to bother the sleeping girl, and continued on to draw her finger on her neck, and then down to her shoulder, until she saw it.

The scar.

It was about two inches long, and ran along the back of Dina’s right shoulder. It had healed for the most part, but the line was still red and angry.

“Almost done.”

Ellie noticed Dina wince as the needle pierced her skin again. She was trying her best to stitch up the arrow wound as steady as possible, but with one broken arm, it was proving to be a difficult task whenever the smaller girl would flinch and she wasn’t able to hold her still.

“How’s Tommy doing?”

Ellie looked behind her to where Tommy was resting on his backpack and one of the old leather sofas.

“Should be alright, the bullet didn’t go too deep.”

As much as it brought back bad memories, with everyone’s current condition there was no way they’d be able to leave the theater and make it back to Jackson alive. It was already going to be difficult enough with Dina being pregnant and all, but on top of that, she had also lost a lot of blood and probably had at least a minor concussion. Tommy’s right eye was shot to fuck, and he’d barely been able to walk ever since the confrontation. If that weren’t bad enough, Ellie had this broken arm to show for it, too. She wondered how they would even get back at all with the little medical supplies they had.

Ellie leaned forward and bit off the excess string.

“All done.”

Dina sighed and relaxed her shoulders.

“Thanks babe.”

The pair had tried to pack light, so extra clothes weren’t really a priority when they left Jackson, but they were able to scrounge up some ones without blood on them from around the place. Most of the clothes- or costumes- were fancy dresses or black-tie attire, but the last guy who set up camp there left quite a bit of things behind, too. Ellie grabbed a black tee for herself and a blue hoodie for Dina, which she helped to slip over her arms amidst pained groans.

The memory of the night before still haunted her. It used to be Joel’s face that lurked in her mind, but now it was Dina’s. The arrow through her shoulder. The sound as her head banged against the floor. The knife held to her throat by a muscular arm. It only made her more hungry for blood, but she also knew that she had a responsibility to Dina, Tommy, and Jesse that she had to fulfill.

“Ellie?”

She sighed and packed the rest of the medical supplies away as the tender voice broke through her tortured thoughts.

“Hm?”

Ellie’s muscles relaxed as Dina stood and wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s waist from behind, leaning in and resting her head in the crook of her neck. She was grateful; god, she was so grateful. But something still didn’t sit right for Ellie. They had come all this way, gone through so much hurt and for what? For the father of Dina’s unborn child to die? For Tommy to be permanently injured? Sure, they had killed some of the people associated with Joel’s death, but not the one to give the final blow. It was like starving, finally finding a meal but settling for a side. Unsatisfying and disappointing.

“I can’t go back there.”

The shaky words tugged at Ellie’s chest. They had so many great memories in Jackson. It was where they first met. Where Ellie first played a video game. Where she first watched a movie. Where she got her first tattoo. Where they first laughed and hung out together, and where they’d first kissed. They’d had a semi-normal life; one like Joel had described. One where people roamed the streets, no one was struggling to survive, and there was a sense of both community and safety. Jackson was their home, but it had also been Jesse’s, and Joel’s, and they both knew that they wouldn’t be able to escape the guilt as they saw their ghosts mingling at the bar or dancing and laughing under string lights at the winter dance. It was too much; at least for now.

Ellie turned around and pulled Dina into a loving embrace.

“I know.”

Crisp air whispered through the towering firs, grass rustling underneath Ellie’s feet as she whisked herself into the woods. She left while Dina was still sleeping, hoping they wouldn’t have to talk about last night like she knew her girlfriend desperately wanted to. She felt bad, knowing that all Dina wanted to do was help, but they were both grieving in different ways, and right now Ellie didn’t know if she could bring herself to even think about the subject more than her mind forced her to. So she left a note, so hopefully Dina wouldn’t worry, and assured her that she’d be back for dinner, hopefully with something other than canned tomato soup to eat.

Ellie held the notch of the arrow up to the string, making sure to keep it ready in case any critters decided to show themselves. Fall was beginning to fade into winter; the air was starting to turn chilly and frost made an appearance on the grass in the early morning before melting away under the semi-warm, overcast sun. Even as the cold air bit at her nose, Ellie found herself at peace deep in the tall trees. Maybe it was the quietness of it all; how calm everything seemed to be, with nothing but the chirping of the warblers and the sway of branches filling the autumn air; maybe the openness, how any and all structure was overtaken by the brush and roots of the forest; but most of all it was the familiarity. Though her and Joel had spent so many days and nights meandering their way in and out of cities and small towns, most of their travel was spent in the wilderness, which was something she'd always admired and appreciated ever since she left the QZ.

She solemnly dug through the memories of setting up camp after a long day of hiking, where she would gather the wood for a campfire while Joel scouted the area and set up traps. She remembered vividly each tiny detail and sidetrack he fit into his stories of his life back in Boston, and sometimes, but rarely, of his travels and life before the outbreak. She remembered back then how she had so many questions. It pained her to think that over the past few years she had distanced herself too much to ask more. Now his answers and stories were all she wanted, but instead she was left with nothing but a flat grave and her own imagination.

A rustling from the brush beside her caught her ear and pulled her from her thoughts.

Ellie crouched down in the grass to make herself less visible and nocked the arrow, keeping a keen eye in the direction of the noise. She watched for any and all movement, a tactic that had grown to be second nature to her over the years. She waited patiently until she saw it: a small rabbit peeking out from above the grass. She raised the bow and pulled back on the string, holding her breath to take aim. For a split second before she released the arrow the little creature turned its head in her direction, its black eyes meeting hers. She felt a tinge of mercy in her chest before hands began to shake and she released the arrow, missing the animal and sending it running by mere inches. She cursed under her breath before standing to retrieve her arrow and continued into the quiet depths of the woods.

“We got everything?”

Dina helped Ellie slip her backpack over her shoulders before turning to give Tommy a small nod in response. It had been a couple weeks since the confrontation with Abby. Everyone was still in a world of hurt, but the tension between the scars and the WLF was growing day by day, and supplies were becoming more and more scarce. It was only a matter of time before they were blocked off from leaving Seattle completely, and without any means of travel other than their own two feet, making it back to Jackson in one piece would be much, much harder; they had to move, now.

“Should be it, unless we want to bring sparky from the roof along with us.”

Despite the tension in the air Ellie released a small puff of laughter, earning both of them a glare from Tommy’s one good eye. Ellie knew he didn’t want to leave Seattle. She didn’t want to, either. But he couldn’t fight, she couldn’t fight, and Dina’s condition was getting worse day by day. They had already lost one of them, it would be irrational to keep running after this girl and lose another, right?

The trio made their way out of the front door, making sure to keep an eye on the nearby buildings and cover. There was no telling what, or who, was lurking in the shadows anymore. Any fight at this point was a death sentence.

“Main gate’s this way,” Tommy noted, opening the map, “though we best sneak out the east jus’ like last week.”

“Still no guards?” Ellie asked.

“Not as far as I heard over that radio.”

Ellie shrugged and nodded. The main gate would be impossible to get through with all the trouble they had to go through just to get into the QZ. She began to follow Tommy before she felt a tug on her good arm.

“El’s?”

She turned around to meet a pair of sad brown eyes, brimming with tears sparkling like polished glass. As much as they wanted to leave, they also wanted to stay. Not just for the vengeance of Joel, but for Jesse now, too. Ellie wanted it. Dina wanted it. Tommy wanted it. But it wasn’t about them now. It was about their child; someone who would carry on the legacy of that brave friend and father; it was about their family. They were a family now, no matter what, and anything outside of that would have to wait.

“What’s up?”

She watched as Dina blinked tears away from her eyes.

“Can we stop for him?”

Ellie felt her heart ache at the unevenness of her voice.

“Of course.”

They had wanted to bring Jesse’s body back to Jackson, back to his parents, back to where their child would grow up. But frankly without a horse there was no way they’d be able to, not to mention the trip would take maybe a month or two. Having to see his body like that wouldn’t be good for any of them, or for him out of respect. The least they could do was give him a proper funeral somewhere nice, somewhere he could rest, where when they buried him, he would still be the man that everyone remembered so dearly.

They buried him along the same route Ellie and Dina had taken to Seattle, off the side of the main road by the overgrown bus stop where the sunlight broke through the trees and would be easy to find if and when they came back to see him again. They marked the fresh mound by lining it with rocks, and neatly folded up his bloodied jacket, slipping it into one of the clothing bags from the theater and setting it underneath one of the bigger stones at the head of his grave. It wasn’t fancy, but Dina, having a decently vast knowledge of her religion, was able to send Jesse off the best way she knew how.

They stopped at his grave again as they passed through the area to head back to Jackson, at Dina’s request.

Ellie watched as Dina leaned down and took some of the freshly-turned dirt in her hand, squeezing it gently before letting it fall through her fingers. Her breath remained shaken as she took the rock off of the garment bag, unzipping it and bringing Jesse’s coat to her chest to feel his presence one last time. Ellie listened closely as her girlfriend began to whisper a small prayer under her breath in a language she couldn’t understand.

At first when Dina had described her religion in the synagogue, Ellie found herself intrigued. She didn’t just want to know how something as simple as a string of words to someone unknowable could help, but she desperately wanted it to. She had even tried it a couple of times; she tried it on their first night in Seattle, when she found out Dina was pregnant and she said poisonous things and she prayed for everything to be okay; she tried it after she killed Nora, when she was begging for forgiveness to anyone who would hear her; she tried it after she killed Mel, a pregnant woman, which was something she could never forget or forgive herself for but maybe a higher, more perfect being could. At first it did make her feel better to know, or at least make herself think, that there was something greater than all of this bullshit out there. But then, after seeing Dina’s bloodied face and body with a knife held up to her neck, she came to the conclusion that any “perfect being” would never allow that bullshit to happen.

But she wouldn’t tell Dina that. Not when it was the only thing she clinged to for hope.

When Ellie got home it was around mid-afternoon, and she could see smoke coming from the chimney. Despite how dark her mind was, she couldn't help but feel her heart warm at the thought of having a place to come home to, a person to come home to. It was something she'd always wanted but also thought she'd never have the chance to get, especially after they left Boston. The more she thought about it as she approached the front door the more guilty she felt.

What if I was that person to him?

A chill ran down her spine and all that warmth that previously filled her heart began to fuel her guilt. For the last year that Joel had been in her life, she had barely acknowledged that he even existed. She had been his home. For the longest time, he had been hers, as much as her angry self hated to admit it back then. All of the stupid dad jokes, his fatherly, protective demeanor, their unbreakable bond; all of that was taken away within minutes, and not a year later, here she was, attempting to start over and forget that it ever happened or that he ever existed.

I don't deserve her.

When Ellie walked in she immediately noticed her girlfriend on the couch, beautiful as ever with her little baby bump and frazzled head of hair.

"Hey," she greeted with a sweet smile.

Ellie set her backpack down by the door and leaned down to place a fragile kiss atop Dina's head.

"Sorry, I was gone a bit longer than I planned."

"You're alright, I was just taking a break from dishes," Dina paused, attempting to read her girlfriend with concerned eyes as the mood shifted, "everything alright?"

Ellie knew what she was referring to. It was the reason she'd gone out in the first place. She didn't want to talk about it then and she didn't want to talk about it now.

She shrugged it off as she untied the couple squirrels she caught from her bag.

"Everything's fine, just needed something for dinner."

Even with her half-hearted response Ellie could still feel the smaller girl's eyes on her. They were pressing, piercing, and probing every emotion she had left in her. But like she said, everything was fine. She just needed more time.

"You sure?"

Ellie shook her head to herself, her walls going up as she tried to avoid the conversation yet again.

"I'm fine."

Dina shifted on the couch.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, and that's fine, but-"

"Dina."

Her tone was calm but firm; enough to tell her girlfriend to take a step back but tender enough to let her know it wasn't personal. Frankly Ellie hated telling Dina to back off, because she knew she was lucky to have any sort of support at all, but this was the one thing she felt too guilty and pained about to ever bring up to anyone when she needed care the most.

Ellie stood up, squirrels in hand. She made her way to the kitchen before turning back to the girl on the couch.

"I'm gonna go work outside,"

Dina looked up, meeting her girlfriend's eyes just briefly before nodding in response.

Work life on the farm was pretty dull, but relaxing for the couple. Ellie had settled on doing the majority of the manual labor or most work outside, really, like making sure the sheep were well-fed and that the crops were growing as they should. Dina would always do her best to help, although with how the pregnancy had been affecting her body, most days she'd end up doing some of the household chores and preparing anything that Ellie happened to bring home when she went out hunting. The rest of the day they'd spend together, whether they were cuddled up under the stars or dancing in the living room, just as they'd always wanted to be, now and forever.

Working the garden didn’t take too long since they only really grew enough to sustain themselves, and even then the plants were just little saplings considering they’d only been there for a little over a week; for now they mainly relied on non-perishables and the little fresh vegetables they’d brought from Jackson, and the food that Ellie brought home of course. It didn’t take long for her to round up the couple of lambs Maria was willing to spare, either, and by the time she was done the sun was just setting.

And so Ellie finished up, brushed off her jeans and wiped the mud off her shoes before making her way back inside the kitchen where her beautiful, exceedingly patient girlfriend had dishes in the sink and the squirrels she’d caught on the cutting board. She felt a tinge of pain in her heart as she thought of how she’d snapped earlier. Ellie didn’t want to push her away. She knew Dina didn’t want her to push her away. They needed each other more than anything, but Ellie could barely think of Joel without breaking down, let alone talk about him.

And yet, despite everything, Dina stayed by her side.

Ellie felt her body warm as those brown irises met her own, bright and sparkling as ever. There was something different about them; something different than before that day in Seattle. It was the absence of the carefree, fun, glowing light behind her eyes. The one that put everyone at ease, yet so on-edge at the same time. Instead of being sharp and direct and sarcastic, it was soft, and concerned, and forgiving.

She walked up behind the smaller girl and wrapped those strong arms around her waist, pulling her in and planting a kiss on that soft neck of hers.

“I love you,” Ellie said, just above a whisper.

Dina closed her eyes and leaned back into her girlfriend’s touch, allowing herself to revel in the rare softness of the hardened girl. Before Abby, Ellie had always been shy but always so warm. And in all fairness, she still was, but the grief and trauma over the past couple months had overcome her like a thick ice. No matter how much Dina tried to dig at her, she wasn’t revealing any of the water below, and it was both frustrating and disheartening to see her not just ice out the people of Jackson, but herself as well. They had always been close, ever since the day Ellie arrived in Jackson. But now Dina felt like they were a million miles apart, and she had no idea what to do about it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said calmly, “but don’t leave without telling me like that.”

She felt the taller girl release a sigh against her shoulder, contemplating for a moment before speaking.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Dina turned around in Ellie’s arms and moved her hands up to cup her girlfriend’s face with a tender touch. She studied those deep-green emerald eyes, searching for any sign of the emotional openness Dina had been looking for since they’d left Seattle. Something was there. It was an understanding; a glimmer of hope in that mossy ring; something that told her that the innocence and goodness Ellie once had was still in there somewhere, hiding underneath, but still very much there.

She leaned up on her tip-toes to plant a brief kiss on her girlfriend’s soft lips before pulling back.

“Tommy and Maria mentioned they wanted to come over for dinner,” Dina switched the topic, “kind of like a house-warming thing.”

Ellie groaned.

“Doesn’t the fireplace warm it enough?”

The shorter girl playfully rolled her eyes and pushed her girlfriend away from her. “Go wash up, you look like Todd out there.”

Ellie scoffed as she turned to head out of the kitchen.

“Alright, but you didn’t just kiss Todd so I’d like to think I’ve got something on him.”

“You wish.”

It took them nearly twice as long to get back to Jackson as it took them to get to Seattle. Ellie was fairly mobile and her arm was healing nicely, but breaks had to be much more frequent for the sake of Tommy and Dina. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d stayed up with the pregnant girl, comforting her in any way she could and helping her to keep water and food down. Tommy’s gunshot wound appeared to be healing just fine, but his leg still wasn’t managing to function as well as it used to. As much as she hated to think it, it was very well possible that the damage was permanent, but all that mattered was getting back to Jackson in one piece.

It was the fourth week, second afternoon of their trip when they finally saw the lights of Jackson appear over the grassy Wyoming hills.

Almost in-sync, the trio stopped side-by-side, looking down on the settlement which used to be their safe-haven; their serenity; their home. For Ellie, it was a curse in disguise. A seemingly perfect community where all of the troubles of the outside world would melt away suddenly became a barren wasteland that led her family- her father- to his demise. For Dina, it was the place that had raised her since the age of twelve. She had seen the horrors of the outside world, but now she had seen the pure darkness behind it. Now all she saw were four walls filled with distractions; things to keep everyone’s minds off the fact that there were people out there suffering while they wasted away in front of their televisions and danced along to music of the old days. All Tommy saw were his broken hopes and dreams. Jackson was supposed to be a second-chance; a place for people to redeem themselves and finally live a rare, peaceful life. Now he realized that the only place for redemption was outside the wall, where vengeance could be taken and revenge could be had.

Ellie felt a soft hand grip her calloused one, and she turned her head to see a teary-eyed Dina.

“I’m not ready.”

The taller girl felt her heart ache at the three words. She squeezed the small hand reassuringly.

“Me neither.”

The three of them made their way down the hill, past the old gas station, through the brush and through the golden grass. They took note of the fresh horse tracks, signaling the first friendly presence they’d seen in months. Ellie continued to squeeze Dina’s hand as they made their way past the last line of trees, and took a deep breath as the main gate came into view.

“Open the gates! They’re back!”

As they approached the wall Ellie kept her eyes down, not out of sadness but out of shame. How could she look Jesse’s parents in the eyes and tell them he was gone? All because she decided to leave; all because they hadn’t been more careful; all because Ellie couldn’t help but make one last swing at the woman who killed her father.

She had no clue, but she would have to do it sooner or later, for Dina’s sake.

The gates opened, and Dina was the first to be bombarded by warm embraces from Jesse’s mother and father. Tears rolled down red cheeks and sobs were heard among them, but all Ellie heard was a muffled ringing in her ears. She could feel their sad, grieving eyes on the side of her face, begging for an answer that told them their son wasn’t gone. Something that could give them hope. But she couldn’t. All she could muster was a pained “I’m sorry” as his mother’s cries grew louder.

The next to appear by the gate was Maria, but unlike Jesse’s parents, stayed there, waiting for Tommy to approach her. Ellie looked to him, seeing the pain ridden on his face as he went to take his first limping step forward, but she stopped him.

“Tommy,”

Ellie shook her head as he looked up to her. She thought for a moment, pondering what she would even say to him. They had left for one purpose and one purpose only: to seek vengeance, and not only had they not accomplished that, but they had even more of a reason to seek revenge now more than ever.

Slowly she brought her eyes up to meet him.

“I’ll make her pay.”

“So how’s it been out here?” Maria asked, “Farm life been treating you two nice?”

Dina smiled as she set the portions down on the table in front of them, taking her seat down next to Ellie.

She poked at her food as Dina and Maria went back and forth about the ins-and-outs of their life so far on the farm. In all honesty there wasn’t really much to talk about. Since Jackson sent out patrols every so often there wasn’t really any issue with infected around the area, and even if there was a straggler or two they weren’t two difficult to get rid of silently.

And then they went on about Jackson, how everyone was doing, how Jesse’s parents were. And of course the conversation shifted to the inevitable topic of Dina’s pregnancy. Since they had gotten back to Jackson she had been doing much better, especially now that they had access to medicine and heat and decent amounts of food. But the further along she got the more Ellie realized that there was one thing she wouldn’t be able to do.

Ellie couldn’t help but notice how quiet Tommy was as he sat across from her, barely even sneezing at the plate of food in front of him as the tension in the air grew more and more thick. She knew he was antsy to get back out there; to go find Abby yet again, and she was, too. But she had a family now. She had a responsibility to Dina and to Jesse. She couldn’t just up-and-leave. But no matter what, she would never place the blame for that on Dina. And she’d make sure Tommy didn’t put that pressure on her, either. Certainly not in their home.

“We’ve been talking about names,” Ellie finally interjected, “any suggestions?”

Maria pondered for a moment.

“Well I’ve got a few, but just in case, I think I might save those for myself.”

Ellie waited and gave Tommy one last chance to not be a dick before deciding to include him in the conversation whether he wanted to or not.

“Tommy? Any suggestions?”

She watched as he visibly scoffed before crossing his arms over his chest and looking up to meet Ellie’s eyes. There was a tangible frustration in his eyes; like he knew that this quest for revenge was coming to an end. She held his stare, silently daring him to make a snide comment towards Dina.

“So you’re keepin’ it, huh?”

The blood boiled in Ellie’s veins as she pushed her plate aside and leaned forward on her elbows.

“Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

Dina leaned forward to place a calming hand on Ellie’s shoulder, lightly attempting to pull her back and de-escalate the situation. But as far as Ellie was concerned, no one was going to come into their house and talk to the mother of her child like that.

Tommy stood from his chair, loudly scooting it back and practically throwing his fork down on the table.

“You want some names? I got plenty for ya.”

Ellie stood up to meet his eyes along with Maria, who already had two hands on him and was gently pushing him towards the door. He turned to her and brushed her hands away, then heading out the front door.

“I’m already goin’.”

At first the three of them stood in shock, appalled by the suggestion that he’d just made. This was their child. It was Jesse’s child at that. Even if Jesse were alive, it was completely Dina’s choice as to what she wanted to do, and she wanted to keep it. And if that’s what she wanted to do, Ellie would be there for her every step of the way, and would support the hell out of that kid as if they were her own, because they were a family now.

Before she knew it, Ellie felt her feet carrying her outside while Dina called out for her to stop, but she couldn’t feel or hear anything over the rage and blood coursing through her veins.

“You fucking asshole.”

Tommy turned from the knot in his horse’s lead to respond.

“Right, I’m the asshole,” he shook his head, “I’m the asshole for keepin’ my goddamn word? Is that it?”

Ellie shoved her hands against his chest, full-force.

“Don’t you fucking dare-”

“I’m not the one out here tryna forget the man who raised me ever walked this goddamn earth.”

The mention of Joel shook her, and she took a step back.

“But what’d I expect?” he scoffed and deepened his tone, “He raised one selfish child.”

And then she saw his face; the last time she’d ever seen him.

Without thinking Ellie cocked her fist, fully intending to deliver a well-deserved punch to the good side of his head before she felt two soft hands pulling back on her shoulders. She kept her eyes locked on the asshole in front of her even as her girlfriend came into view and held both sides of her face, trying her best to distract her.

“Ellie? Ellie.”

She watched as Maria stepped in front of Tommy, telling him quietly to back off. When he was out of view she brought her eyes back to Dina, who was looking at her with a deep sense of concern and worry. Her heart rate began to slow, but she was nowhere near calm.

Ellie scoffed and pushed back from her girlfriend’s grip, stomping her way back inside and up the stairs until she got to their room, slamming the door behind her and sitting herself down on the white bedsheets. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, face in her hands as tears began to brim at the corners of her eyes.

As much as Tommy pissed her off, there was an aching in Ellie’s chest that told her he was right; that she hadn’t kept her word; that everything she did was for nothing, and to stop now would be an insult to Joel and his memory; that she didn’t deserve this seemingly perfect life with Dina and their soon-to-be child. No matter how many times Dina told her it wasn’t her fault, she still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

She still saw their faces. She saw Joel’s face, battered and bloodied, as the lids of his eyes parted one last time for their eyes to meet before that bitch brought the club down. She saw Tommy’s face, unconscious and helpless as the scene played out in front of their eyes. She saw Jesse’s, one of the best friends she’d ever had, lifelessly splayed across the theater floor with a bullet wound through his cheek. And she saw Dina's face, the love of her life, seconds from death, who if she lost she would lose her mind and her life along with it.

Ellie looked up through glossy eyes as she heard a soft creak from the bedroom door.

“El’s?”

Ellie wiped the tears from her eyes and attempted to slow her breathing as they continued to spill. She didn’t want Dina to see her like this; so helplessly lost. But the smaller girl sat next to her anyway, rubbing a comforting hand on her back.

“He didn’t mean it,” she whispered, “it’s just a lot right now.”

Ellie shook her head and hid her face in her hands.

“He’s right.”

Dina’s heart ached as her girlfriend’s voice cracked. It pained her to see her like this, but she would always be there for her in any way that she could. Slowly Dina brought her hands to the sides of Ellie’s tear-struck face and gently turned it to look at her.

“Hey,” she said, looking deep and genuine into those emerald eyes, “You’re allowed to be happy.”

That’s when the dam broke, and every bad thought and emotion that Ellie had been withholding came flooding through the gates in the form of anguished sobs. She let Dina pull her into her chest, allowing herself the only emotional release she’d had in months.

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

She told herself she didn’t deserve this, that she didn’t deserve her girlfriend’s warmth, but she was crying so hard she didn’t think she would be able to stop even if she really wanted to. Everything that built up to this, every slit throat, every harsh word, every cruel thought didn’t release her anger or grief. It was this. The few times, this being the first, that she allowed herself to be vulnerable to the one that she loved. At the end of the day, maybe she didn’t deserve it, but Dina chose to stand by her anyway, and after everything that happened, Ellie decided that she would never aim to take advantage of that ever again.

They stayed like that for a while, Dina rocking Ellie back and forth as she let her emotions flow, as the tears soaked into the smaller girl’s shirt and her girlfriend’s body grew less and less tense until the tears stopped. Ellie gave in as Dina pulled the warm covers over them, and they held each other as they drifted off to sleep.

But before Ellie let the exhaustion overtake her, she let her mind wander. Usually it took her to the darkest of places, but now she could see something a bit brighter; a future in which things weren’t so grim after all.

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