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myfairgunslinger · 4 years

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Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death [Part 1]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston (eventually)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Implied Rape, Cursing, Nudity

Summary: Arthur saves a woman's life and takes her back to the Vanderlinde Gang. What he didn't know was the ends this woman would take to avenge the family she lost. Most people are scared of fire, she became the fire.

A/N: This is my first Red Dead fic using my OC Maeve Milley. I've been wanting to write this story for some time and have finally gotten around to making the first chapter. Note the first half of chapter starts out as sweet (or as sweet as I can allow) until it turns gruesome and cruel. That said, I know this is a strong opening as far as the violence but as chapters progress it does calm down.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Who Did That To You?

1896 - Blackwater, West Elizabeth 6:13 PM

The piano keys filled the room with it's charming notes, playing ever so effortlessly under the long fingers of the man stroking the ivories. He was being admired across the room by a girl leaning against the bar. Her big brown eyes were locked on the man's hands as he continued to play the cheery melody. She wished she could be him, have his job instead of hers. At least the shift was almost over. "Milley! You got another one upstairs waitin' for you," the bartender said to her while cleaning a glass to pour more whiskey in. Rolling her eyes the girl placed her hand on the newel cap of the stairs while picking up the front part of her skirt so it wouldn't drag, "You can call me Maeve, Lou. Not exactly a formal place to use my last name--" "Just get up the stairs and wash the dirty lad!" He cut her off which made Maeve stomp up the stairs. She was a bath maid, a reluctant one at that but the job paid well enough. She only took this job to help make extra money for her family, which was just her parents.

Maeve was born to Everett and Cecilia Milley in the booming city of Saint Denis. For the most part, Maeve grew up there with her folks being one of four girls that could afford to go to school. Apart from getting an education, her parents found at an early age that Maeve was interested in the piano so they found a teacher to give her lessons. Everett was a wonderful stableman, able to bond with almost any horse he came across while Cecilia was a talented seamstress who's dresses were more beautiful than the last. They lived in a fairly large house that was close to the Tailor's with a black piano in the parlor room. Life in Saint Denis was great, but no family is without their flaws. Cecilia was a frequent drinker, but she wasn't destructive; just a happy, clumsy drunk. Everett picked up on nasty gambling habit when living there. He would bet so much money in such a short time, then lose it all that very night. That's when the Milley's started to struggle, selling off valuables like that piano Maeve loved to borrowing money from the wrong kinds of people when the bank rejected him. Not learning from his mistakes, Everett got it in his head that he could win all the lost money back, including gaining interest for those that he owed by betting it all at poker. He failed at that too, which earned him a violent visit from one of Angelo Bronte's men. After being beaten in front of his wife and daughter, Everett packed up his family to move seeing how they could no longer afford their life in Saint Denis. It was then they were off to the up and coming town of Blackwater. The change of scenery was refreshing and hopefully being across Flat Iron Lake was enough distance from Everett's debts. It was a large lake after all. In Blackwater, while some things stayed the same for the Milley's, like Everett getting a job at the stables and Cecilia making dresses, Maeve found new interests in this small town. Particularly bird shooting contests. One day when she was bored in town she saw a couple of men practicing, all Maeve did was pick up a rifle and tried to shoot at whatever flew over her head. Who would have thought that can lead to Maeve Milley being a six time bird shooting champion? However ammunition and rifles cost money, so Maeve, feeling she was old enough to pay for her hobbies, got a job at the saloon as a bath maid. Despite all of the obstacles, the flaws, the hardships the Milley's have been through one thing was for certain, Everett and Cecilia loved their daughter and she loved them. Sure there were days where they would be angry at one another or maybe not the kindest, but they were all each other had.

Maeve was standing outside the door to the bathroom, using her bony knuckles to give a gentle knock to the wood, "Need a some help in there?" she put on her cheery voice. Her ears could hear the sound of water swishing about as if the person just got in, "Uhh sure. Thanks," the voice was low and gruff. Maeve opened up the door, shutting it behind herself. Keeping eyes down, she went over to the side of the tub finally seeing the man that she was to assist. He had a beard but it had just started growing out along with the hair on top of his head. It wasn't too short, just long enough to comb your fingers through, "Let me know if you need anythin'," she said to him while sitting down on the tub's edge. She noticed his blue eyes watching her hand as it went under the water, getting wet then bringing it up to his shoulders where Maeve gave him a few squeezes. He was well built, having a muscular frame. "Sorry if I smell," he spoke, "it's been a while." Maeve's lips twitched up from his remark, "It's okay. That's what baths are for," she scrubbed his arm with a sponge before he lifted a leg to rest on the edge, "So how's it goin'?" the man asked her making small talk. Maeve gave him a gentle shrug whistle cleaning his leg, "Not too bad. How's your day apart from being dirty?" her hand dipped into the waters again. That got him to chuckle, "It's good," he let out a relaxed sigh when Maeve started to wash his other arm, "You seem nice." As much as she wanted to reply with a 'I'm not', Maeve smiled saying, "Don't make me blush, Mister." She moved over to scrub his back now, "You must get a lot of bad men in here." "I try not to think about it. It's not surprisin' though," she saw scars etched into this man's skin, but Maeve didn't want to mention them in case he felt insecure over them. "Didn't your parents warn you about talkin' to naked strangers?" Maeve chuckled with a hint of redness on her cheeks. Not a lot of customers were funny like this man, "No, no I guess they didn't." She moved on to wash his other leg, the suds just rolled right off his skin, "Well, what do you do on your free time?" he asked looking at her work. Maeve perched her lips, "Been readin' a lot lately. Some Aldous Filson book," she explained. "Oh? They any good?" the man asked. Maeve nodded, "Sure are. You read any?" "Uh once. Haven't found any other books with him," he said as she stopped washing him to go back to messaging his shoulders, "Well, if you want I can give you one of mine. Got one hidin' behind the bar." He smiled at the offer, "That's sweet of you, but you really don't have to do that." "It's okay, I've read it before. Be doin' me a favor if you took it off my hands. When you're dressed, just meet me downstairs," Maeve was about done, but stuck around until the man said, "That's as clean as I'll get. Thank you." Maeve leaned down to peck a kiss on the top of his head, for being good company, "Anytime, see you downstairs." She got up, glancing back to see him relax, "Can't wait," giving a small wave with his hand before she exited the room. When the door shut, Maeve leaned against it with a light blush still on her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip thinking to herself of how smitten she was with him.

Downstairs, Maeve had her coat on now that she was officially free to go home, but she'd do that after the mystery man came downstairs. She played with a loose strand of her black hair that fell out of her messy plait braid with the book on the bar counter. Lou the bartender served a drink to a customer, "Why haven't you left yet? You are out the door as soon as you're told to go home." Just as he finished, Maeve saw the man coming down the stairs, "Oh...that's why you stuck around." "Hush, Lou," Maeve went over to the man once he was at the bottom to hand him the book, "Aww thank you," he took it to read the cover, "I'll do my best in takin' care of it." Maeve gave him a bright smile, "You'll do great, Mister...I don't your name. I feel so rude for not knowin' it when--," she trailed while making a nervous laugh. "Ya seen me naked?" he finished for her, a low chuckle in his chest, "I won't take it too personal, sweetheart. Name's Arthur," his hand stuck out for her to shake. The girl placed her hand in his, "Oh good cause I never ask for names," they shook, "I'm Maeve, Miss Milley if you're feelin' fancy." "Well that opportunity almost never arises, Maeve," he took his hand back as did she. "So, are you stayin' in Blackwater for long? Or you just passin' through?" "Passin' through. Will most likely be gone by mornin'." "Ah, well that's too bad. Would have enjoyed gettin' to know you some more or find out what you think," Maeve noticed there was a light drizzle that began outside. While she was looking outside, he was looking at her. Admiring the softer features on her face, becoming lost. Arthur winced his eyes for a moment, "Think about what?" he had moved a little close to her. "The book," Maeve's eyes glanced over at it in his arms before locking back to his, "Oh right." It was starting to pour now, a boisterous thunderstruck could be heard. Maeve decided it was time for her to part ways now. Her parents would be wondering why she wasn't home yet. While she was already a young adult her mother and father can be so protective of her. "I best get goin'," Maeve broke the silence. Arthur noticed the weather, "You gonna go out there? Sure you don't wanna wait it out?" She gently shook her head, "No, I need to be gettin' home. Folks will worry otherwise. 'Sides, it's a short ride." Arthur gave a single nod, "It was really nice meetin' you, Arthur." "Like wise," he smiled at her before she started to head to the door, "Maybe we'll see each other again one day?" Maeve gave him a gentle wave before going into the stormy night. Maeve mounted up on her Bay Morgan, while it was not considered the best of horses (her father's words, not hers) Maeve couldn't help but love the creature. For her fifteenth birthday, way back when they arrived to this town, Everett let Maeve pick a horse from the stables. She chose the mare that was older than the rest because of her long white hair. Everett told Maeve that she would have to take care of her every day, solely being responsible for the mare to which the then teen agreed to. When it was time to name the horse, Maeve was happy with calling her 'Liability'. Going up the main road to exit the town, Maeve passed by a couple of the local prospectors that would go search around Quaker's Cove for gold. They usually came back empty handed, but completely filthy. Maeve shuttered at the gross memories of washing them. Her dad was lucky in finding gold a couple months ago. He had to travel up to Cumberland Forest to pick up some horses but on his way back he saw a crashed train that had fallen off the tracks. Everett went to investigate it only to find five gold bars. He used up two of them to catch up on house payments while locking the remaining three away in a safe the Milley's kept behind a landscape painting.

"Do not, under any circumstances use the gold bars. We have to save them for when we are tight for money," Everett told his wife and daughter. "Ain't we always in a tight spot, Pa?" Maeve snarked and he held up a finger to her, "It's for a rainy day." "I'm sure it's just for that satisfying thought that we have gold bars," Cecilia chimed in before the ladies laughed. "Make fun of me, we'll see who's laughin' then."

Liability galloped up to the yellow house that was furthest from the others and slowed down so Maeve could dismount. She grabbed the reins to leading her to hitch at the post that had a small bit of shelter for the mare. It was pouring so much rain that Maeve could barely make out the pack of horses that was in the field by her house, she winced not being able to tell if they were wild, but then again why would they be anything but? The woman climbed up the back porch's steps to enter through the door, it was dark in her house as if no one was home, no candles were lit which was odd. Her parents were always here in the living room either reading or drinking, "Ma? Pa?" She grabbed the box of matches on the end table, lighting one to set a candle aflame. Only when the match was lit, the light showed that she wasn't alone in the house after all. A man with a thick mustache and a black bollard hat on had snuck up next to her. Maeve screamed when he reached out to grab a hold of her arm. Quick thinking, she kicked him in his shin while using her fist to hit him in the chest. He wasn't expecting her to have such a reflex. Maeve started to run back out the door she came from only right when she had slammed the doors open, the Bollard Man wrapped his arms around her small frame to lift her up, pulling Maeve back inside the house as the loud sounds of rain and thunder covered up her screams.

The burly man had thrown her on the couch, pointing his shotgun at her, "Quit your yellin' or I blow your head off!" Maeve did as he said, her eyes looking around the room to see if her parents were here, wondering if they were safe until a voice from upstairs pulled her back from those thoughts, "Phil! Did you get her?" Still pointing his gun at the frightened girl he answered back, "Yeah, I got her. Bring everyone else down." Maeve heard many footsteps rustling above making their way downstairs. The first man that descended had a mangy beard with long mangy hair that was down to his shoulders, holding his bollard hat in one hand. He had his revolver out, carelessly aiming it up where the top of the stairs were, "Come on, now! Move your ass," the hesitant footsteps show that it was Everett, hands above his head. Maeve saw her father's face not only covered in bruises but full of fear, as if witnessing something awful. Where was her mother? Three other men came down after Everett all wearing the same kind of hat as the mangy gangster said, "Mike's just about finishin' up. He'll bring mama 'round momentarily." He then smiled wickedly at Maeve, getting closer, "Ain't you a pretty little thing. Look just like your mommy." She shuttered her breath when Everett shut his eyes wanting to cry. "Didn't get a turn with her, ya know. Not really into older ladies," the man reached out to touch her face with his dirty hand so he could make him look up at her. Fumbling was heard again as the last man of the gang came downstairs, the leader, his appearance was almost splitting of Phil just with a trimmed beard. He had brought Cecilia with him, eyes swollen, hair in a tangled mess, her button up shirt torn in different directions, skirt of her dress mangled up, and bruises in different places on her skin. Maeve let out a sob knowing what they did to her. The one in charge of these ruthless men smirked at Maeve, "Well, now that the family is all here we can take a moment to talk business. As I told your father earlier, I'm Mike Bollard. That's my twin, Phil, with the shotgun. And that man eyein' you is our good friend Darren." Darren was still staring at her as if she was food. "We've been hired out by an Angelo Bronte, you know the name?" He asked rhetorically, "Course, ya do. Your Daddy owes him a lot of money. Reason why y'all ran all the way out here ain't it? Anyway, Everett is a hard man to break. We beat the hell outta him, stayed quiet. Fucked his wife, still didn't tell us," her pushed Cecilia into the arms of one of his men to hold while she made a soft whimper. Mike then went to stand in front of Maeve, "Startin' to think the only way to get through to him is if we all do a lot worse to you, Lil' Miss Milley." He grabbed her by the wrist to pull her close to him, "Which is fine by me," Mike grabbed her by the chin so she could look at him then turned her head to look at Everett, "What'chu think of that, Daddy?" he mocked. Mike pulled out his knife to put it against her throat while staring at Mike, "Took a lot of jewelry, even that pretty hair pin that was in your mama's hair," his hand patted over the right chest pocket inside his coat, indicating it was there, "But that ain't enough to cover it." The blade dragged down to where Maeve's collar bone was, slowly getting pressed until blood started to draw. As her face twisted, trying not to squirm Everett couldn't take it anymore, "The painting above the table...look behind there...just please let us go." Mike pushed Maeve against one of his thugs while walking over there to knock the frame off the wall to show the Milley's safe, "What's the combination, Everett?" Maeve's father was quiet for longer than Mike liked, "WHAT IS IT!?" he drew his revolver to point it at Cecilia. Maeve was the one to say it, "18-36-22." He twisted the knob to those numbers then opened up the safe to show the three gold bars stacked on each other, "Well, well looks like we got what we were lookin' for, boys!" Mike cleaned out the safe, putting the bars in his satchel. Maeve was just praying they would leave now that they took everything or at least what she thought was everything. "Ya know, Everett this could have been a lot easier on your family if ya just weren't such a greedy shit," Mike approached her father. Phil had scoffed, "I doubt that." "Well brother, you might be right. We were pretty bored, but point is Everett your stubbornness pissed me off," he took out his knife glaring at Maeve, he was about to slash at her. Maeve screamed out but Darren grabbed his arm, "Wait! Don't kill her yet, Mike...I want this one," the mangy man then nodded his head at Cecilia, "Do the old whore." Mike observing the woman couldn't help but agree, "Got a point there friend." "No...no!" Maeve shouted as Mike pulled her mother close to him and slice the blade across her neck in such a quick movement. Blood spilled from the gash as Cecilia tried to breath for air until the man holding her let the dying mother drop. Maeve screamed out, sobbing as Everett was completely broken; the noises putting a grin on the Twins. Mike looked around, "We've spent enough time here. We better go," he looked to Phil, "Put a bullet in the rest of the Mil-lays, will ya?" Phil aimed his gun to Maeve and Darren once again cut in, "I wanted to have a little more fun with 'em, well that one at least." Mike let out a sigh wanting to get back to his employer but then had an idea, "Alright Darren, since you want to so badly, you, Joe and Gus can take care of this. Bob, Phil and I can go ahead and deliver the debt. Okay?" Darren made a low chuckle as Mike patted his chest, "Have fun. Boys!" The three men walked out the door, whistling for their horses so they can mount. The rain was starting to let up but it didn't stop yet. After they rode off Maeve was still staring at Cecilia. Darren approached Maeve, grabbing her by her chin, "Let's get that dress off of you." Everett was on his knees but he looked up at Darren, "No please...have mercy on her," he begged. "Hmm...I'll have mercy for once," he took out his gun and shot her father in the stomach. "Daddy!" Maeve cried out trying to turn away. Darren forced her to watch Everett fall to the side to bleed out, "He wouldn't want to see what I'm gonna do to you." Maeve took a deep breath, heart pounding furiously against her chest, "Gus, get the bodies outta here," Darren took off his coat, "Joe, hold her tight." Gus had dragged Everett out of the house. Seeing no light in their eyes, just darkness, Maeve's mouth became a gap witnessing her parents bodies being taken. She had nothing left. Joe had her arms pulled back as Darren lowered his head to pull the laces at her blouse. Everything had slowed down around the girl, deep in her gut something exploded filling her with one instinct, survive. Like a feral animal Maeve leaned forward baring her teeth to bite down hard on Darren's ear then pulled back to tear part of it off. He let out a pained scream from the unexpected attack, "You little bitch!" he back handed her across the face but when it should have weakened her, it just fueled her rage. Lifting up her boot, she stomped down on Joe's foot, "Ow hey!--" Maeve then threw her head back into his mouth which did hurt her, but from the groans and loosened grip of her arms, it hurt Joe much more. Darren was feeling his ear as it bled down the side of his face. Maeve took the opportunity to slip out of Joe's arms, quickly turning around on him to pull his gun from his holster. Grabbing the gun too hard, she accidentally fired a round in his leg but that only worked in her favor. Maeve then aimed the revolver at Darren who glared at her, "That's quite a fire you have in you, girl--" BANG! She shot him in his arm. Darren fell down on her floor, grasping at the gunshot. Maeve walked up to him, getting close so she could not miss, squeezed the trigger to blast his head off. Her breaths panted looking at the corpse. Her ears picked up on Joe fumbling about to take out his other gun to shoot the girl. Maeve turned around to shoot back at him while trying to get to the door. Both missed. She had shot the floor board while he shot a picture of her at a bird shooting contest. The revolver was not her strongest weapon to use especially while in the panic state she's in.

Maeve opened the door to escape, finally outside. She started to sprint, pushing herself to run back into town. The ground was wet enough to make her slip in her step staining her skirt with mud. Joe had pulled himself up to hobble over to lean on the door frame to aim in Maeve's direction. A bullet landed by her foot, shooting dirt up. She darted to the left to thrown him off and get back to the main road. Maeve put two of her fingers between her lips to whistle out for Liability. When doing that she saw a light trotting towards her come to a slow stop, Maeve's eye went big when seeing who it was that dismounted, "Miss Milley?"

"Arthur--" another gunshot was fired off from Joe going right through her side. Maeve fell down on the ground whimpering out, blood seeping all over her clothes. Arthur took out his bolt action rifle, aiming it at Joe's head to shoot it off. Coming around the house was Gus firing his two revolvers at him. Arthur dodged out of the way before firing off a round to Gus's hand. The man got up, running closer and put a bullet in Gus's chest, ending him

After the thugs were dead, Arthur hurried back over to Maeve turning her on her back, "No! No!" she started to cry out waving her arms about . Arthur pulled his hands back, "You're bleeding...just lemme help you," he tried to calm her down but the frightened girl's mind was in such a state that nothing was making sense, "Don't touch me...just don't touch me..." Maeve's voice became low as her vision became blurry. The girl had fainted when her horse approached the two. Arthur observed the state she was in, nothing like how she was last he saw her so warm, friendly with smiles that melted snow. Now all of it was just stripped away in such a short amount of time, "Who did that to you?" he scooped up Maeve, placing her up right on his horse before mounting up. The other horse followed behind them as he took her back to the only people that would help Maeve heal.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/oc #John Marston #john marston/oc #red dead redemption 2.#rdr2

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mveloc · 5 years

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Days of Why and How

Chapter 13

Author’s Note: Yes, I’m alive! I haven’t been super active online due to how crazy busy I’ve been, but I promised that I would complete this fic and continue writing, so that’s what I intend to do :) I’d like to thank all of you who’ve continued to stick with this fic and support me--I really do appreciate it. I wish I could find the time to update more frequently and I’m really going to try, but work keeps me pretty bogged down and I’m also working on some original writing, so free time is in short supply these days. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

There is a trigger warning for violence in this one--I don’t think it’s too descriptive, but I want to tread on the safe side. If blood makes you squeamish, be warned (although I really don’t think it’s any worse than Pure Radiance for those of you who’ve read that one).

She’s immune to the sound of blaring car horns and hollered profanities as she weaves in and out of traffic, one hand gripping tightly to the wheel and the other holding her phone to her ear, hopelessly listening for some sort of response. For the fifth time in as many minutes, the ringing subsides and she's greeted by a pre-recorded message of Cosima’s voice that she would normally find charming.

Tonight?

Not so much.

“Cosima, answer your phone! This is important!” Delphine snaps, slamming her hand against the wheel in a fit of fury. “I think Aldous is coming for you!”

She presses the large red circle on the screen to terminate the call before dialling again, hoping six is her lucky number. As soon as she looks up from her phone and back to the road, she manages to react in time to the red light that’s suddenly appeared, slamming on her breaks and nearly springing forward through the windshield.

“Hey, this is Cosima. As much as I’d love to—”

She ends the call again, tossing her phone into the back seat and nearly growling in frustration. Luckily enough, she’s not left to stew in her anger for too long as Bobby’s comes into view. She doesn’t even bother pulling into the nearest parking lot and instead opts to double park right out front, indifferent to the potential consequences. She leaps out of her car and bounds into Bobby’s, head whipping back and forth as she tries to locate Cosima.

“Where’s the fire?” Bobby asks, stopping what she’s doing she address the frantic blonde.

“Where is Cosima?”

“Uh, she’s gone for the night. She worked an earlier shift today,” Bobby replies with a raised brow.

“This is really important, Bobby. Do you know where she went?” Delphine asks.

The tattooed woman shakes her head.

“Sorry. No idea.”

For the second time that night, Delphine feels her heart sink even deeper into her chest. Sensing the French woman’s distress, Bobby tries her best to be helpful.

“Sarah was in earlier. The two left together. Maybe she knows?”

The suggestion permeates her panic. When Sarah had called earlier, she was clearly no longer with Cosima, but maybe Cosima had mentioned what her plans were? In any case, it was all she really had to go on since Cosima was avoiding her calls.

She expels a breathy word of thanks before racing back out to her car, hopping into the driver’s seat and reaching behind to retrieve her discarded phone. She continues to ignore the honking as she scrolls through her call history, finding the number that Sarah had called her from and dialling it back.

Luckily for her, Sarah isn’t as petulant as Cosima.

“Delphine?” she answers, seeming just as surprised by the call as Delphine had been by hers earlier in the evening.

Delphine cuts right to the chase.

“Do you have eyes on Cosima?”

“Not this second. What’s the deal?”

Delphine expels a frustrated sigh.

“Sarah, I told you—“

“Oi! I’m with my daughter right now, okay?” Sarah lashes back, matching Delphine flame-for-flame. “The only kid I babysit is my own.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that Sarah isn’t up to the task, but for whatever reason, she expected more. The Brit clearly has no idea just how severe the situation is.

“Just relax. I have Felix on watch duty.”

Finally, she catches the break she’s needed the entire night.

“Then you need to get him on the phone right now, and tell him he needs to take Cosima and go to ground,” Delphine says sternly.

“Jesus. What the hell’s going on?”

“Just do it!” Delphine snaps again. “I think someone’s coming for her.”

+ + + + +

She doesn’t know when Delphine managed to slip her number into her contact list, but her blood begins to boil the second she sees “Eskimo Pie” staring back at her from her phone screen. She isn’t sure what she’s most insulted by—the fact that her ex had somehow gotten a hold of her phone and entered her information without permission, the fact that she had the gall to use that nickname after everything, or the fact that she’s calling at all after she’d made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with the blonde.

She quickly declines the call, giving an apologetic half-wave when about a dozen people in the theatre turn to her with looks of annoyance.

A minute later, her phone starts up again and so do the glaring strangers.

“Would you turn that bloody thing off?” Felix whispers harshly, swatting her on the shoulder. “You’re going to ruin the best part.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” she mumbles, turning her phone on silent.

She focuses her attention back to the large screen, watching Elizabeth Berkley ride Kyle MacLachlan in what has to be one of the most ridiculous sex scenes ever committed to film. The sound of water splashing is almost drowned out by the thunderous applause and laughter, and while she wishes she could join in on the amusement, Delphine has successfully managed to get under her skin with two simple phone calls.

“Are you okay, darling?” Felix asks, noticing his friend is suddenly distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No—Elizabeth Berkley’s tits are fine. You’re looking morose.”

“Can we just watch the movie? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Felix shrugs, then fixes his gaze back on the screen. Even though she’s seen this movie at least a dozen times, she finds herself completely lost as she tries to wrap her head around why Delphine would be calling her.

Probably more of the same bullshit.

Why does she care?

Cosima pulls her phone out of her pocket again to see that Delphine has called four more times. She turns the device completely off this time without a second thought, fairly certain that a vein on her head is probably looking much more pronounced at the moment.

“I have to pee,” she huffs, rushing out of the theatre with no preamble.

She ascends a flight of stairs to find the woman’s washroom and is thankful that there’s no one in any of the stalls. She hurries into the larger handicapped stall, slamming the door behind her and locking it before plopping down onto the toilet, burying her head in her hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters, sliding her fingers beneath her glasses to press her closed eyes.

Today was full of almost too much bullshit for anyone to take; first, Shay’s uncle had showed up at Bobby’s while she was working to intimidate her. The encounter had left her pretty shaken up and she considered going straight to Shay’s after work, but Sarah had convinced her otherwise.

“Fuck all of this mess,” she had said dismissively. “Come grab dinner with me, Fee, and Kira.”

It had been far too long since she’d seen her niece and the thought of spending time with people who cared about her—people who were removed from the current war that was going on—sounded blissful. They had taken Kira to a diner and laughed as the small girl ordered an entire stack of pancakes and an ice cream sundae for dinner. No one protested—not even Kira as they all stole bites ice cream throughout the meal. Once they were finished and she was ready to call it a night, Felix had somehow convinced her to come to a late night screening of Showgirls with him.

Her true family had somehow managed to take her mind off all the chaos that was encircling her. She hadn’t realized how tightly she was wound until her belly was full of laughter again. At this point, maybe finishing the job with Sarah and taking off with her, Felix, and Kira really was the best thing for her.

She spends several more minutes sitting in the stall, trying to push Delphine and Shay’s uncle and even Shay from her mind. After a short breathing exercise, she feels ready to rejoin Felix for the grand finale—only the second she exits the women’s washroom, he’s standing right there with a panicked look upon his face.

“We need to go—right now,” he says, grabbing her arm.

“What’s going on?” she asks, eyeing the flamboyant young man suspiciously.

“Sarah says you’re not safe.”

She rips her arm out of Felix’s grasp, equal parts confused and angry.

“Sarah? What the hell does Sarah know?” she counters.

“You can ask her yourself.”

Felix holds up his phone, then shoves it in her face. She takes it from his hand and holds it to her ear. The second she says hello, she’s met by the Spanish Inquisition.

“Why’s your bloody phone turned off?”

“Uh, cause Delphine keeps fucking harassing me—not that it’s any of your business,” Cosima retorts with just as much sass.

“Yeah. I just got off the phone with her.”

She stops dead in her tracks, much to the dismay of Felix who’s all but dragging her down the stairs at this point.

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“She’s not fucking around, Cos!” Sarah barks. “She says someone’s coming for you.”

“And you believe her?”

“Yeah, I do!”

Cosima brings her hand to her forehead, resting it there for a moment as she tries to figure out exactly what’s happening and determine her next move. She’d like to think that Sarah is overreacting and Delphine is playing both of them for fools, but considering the fact that Dmitri Davydov appeared at her goddamn place of work earlier in the day, she can’t help but heed the warning.

“I’ve gotta go.”

She hangs up the phone, then shoves it back into Felix’s hand. Without bothering to explain, she races down the flight of stairs and through the front lobby of the theatre, out onto the street.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Felix asks, trailing behind.

“I need to talk to Shay,” she answers, pulling her own phone out and turning it back on.

She can see that Delphine has left her a voicemail and she scowls, opting instead to open the Uber app to call herself a car.

“No—you need to come with me and we need to disappear.”

Cosima shakes her adamantly.

“Look, this is about her uncle. I need to sort this shit out once and for all.”

She isn’t going to wait around for one of Dmitri’s men to come and snatch her up—or even worse. As strange as it seems, she’s probably the safest with Shay right now; Dmitri wouldn’t come for her with his niece standing between them, would he?

“It won’t take long.”

+ + + + +

She bangs loudly on the door three times, her head hanging low as she tries to contain her anger. It wasn’t her intention to come to Shay’s apartment and explode on her lover, but the longer she sat in the back of that Uber pondering the most recent events in her life, the more angry she became.

Shay hasn't betrayed her the way Delphine has, but she did introduce her twisted uncle into the mix, and even though Shay’s been supportive on so many occasions, Cosima can’t help but wonder if it’s all just an act. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s not exactly the best judge of character when it comes to people she’s involved with; Delphine had managed to fuck her over royally and she never saw it coming. Could this be another con job?

Before she has time to give it more thought, Shay’s door swings open and she’s greeted by the wide-eyed blonde.

“Just what the hell is your deal?”

“I’m sorry?”

“First, you bring me to your creepy uncle’s mansion, then he shows up at my work asking all these questions, and now I have Delphine and Sarah telling me that I’m about to be offed,” Cosima immediately spills.

Perhaps it’s too much up front, but she’s unable to contain herself. Sensing this, Shay quickly scans the hallway of her apartment complex for any potential onlookers, then opens the door wider.

“Come inside. Hurry.”

Once they’re both safe behind closed doors, Shay releases a long sigh.

“My uncle isn’t going to ‘off’ you, if that’s what this is about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Cosima remains closed off, her arms folded tightly across her chest and head cocked slightly to the side; everything about her is hard and accusatory—no room for the softness they usually share.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Shay replies.

Cosima shakes her head incredulously.

“He’s a mob boss, Shay!”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t do that to me! He knows I care about you.”

She can see the hurt swimming behind Shay’s eyes, but she stands her ground.

“I can’t do this,” she sighs wearily. “I can’t deal with this shit anymore.”

When did her life become this? Somehow, she doesn’t think she can blame it all on Delphine. She doesn’t even think she can blame it all on Shay, as much as she’d like to. After all, she’s the common denominator between the two; through all the bullshit and the lies and the terrible choices, here she is—at the center of it all.

“Cosima, just calm down.”

Shay’s words have the opposite of their intended effect.

“It’s just been one thing after another! First Delphine, then you!” Cosima unleashes, pacing erratically around Shay’s small apartment. “I thought things were going to be easy between us but I guess that was just wishful thinking, huh?”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Cosima pauses, struck by the sincerity in Shay’s voice.

“I know he’s, like, way out of line by asking you all those questions. I didn't think things would go down like this,” Shay tries to explain.

She moves past Cosima and drops down onto the couch in a long, deflated breath. She runs her hands through her hair and finally settles them on the back of her skull, her head sinking low between her legs.

Cosima shifts from one foot to the other, reassessing their conversation. Maybe she did come in too hot. She didn’t expect such an easy victory. Of course, her and Shay have never really fought before so she wasn’t sure what to expect, but watching Shay shut down like this certainly wasn’t it.

“Why did you bring me up at all? Why did you have to drag me into this shit?”

She tries to swallow the thickness in her voice, but she’s unsuccessful in masking that she’s on the verge of tears at this point. She can’t be sure if they’re tears of hurt, frustration, or exhaustion, but it hardly matters anymore.

“God, I didn’t even mean to!” Shay bursts, her head snapping up again to face Cosima. “I just brought you up in passing! I said, like, maybe three things about you, okay? How was I supposed to know he’d offer you a job?”

“Shay, he showed up at my work! He scared the shit out of my friend! He scared the shit out of me!” Cosima counters. “It doesn’t matter what you meant—what matters is what’s happening now because of what you did!”

She feels like she’s suffering from a major case of deja vu, and that’s when her choice becomes painfully clear.

“I can’t live like this,” Cosima proclaims, her voice cracking.

She’s instantly transported back into that car with Delphine all those years ago; she had meant it back then too, but couldn’t find the strength to follow through when Delphine had captured her gaze, held her close, and fought like hell to keep them alive. When she locks eyes with Shay, there’s no fight, no fire.

Instead, a silent understanding passes between them.

“I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it,” Shay quietly says.

“You’ll take care of it?”

The blonde finally stands again, nodding slowly.

“I’m going to go over to his house right now and sort this all out. I’m going to tell him to leave you alone from now on.”

She makes her way across the apartment and grabs her coat off the coat rack, the urgency in her movements matching the urgency of her words. Cosima merely watches as Shay throws her coat on over her pyjamas and then reaches for her boots.

“Do you really think he’ll listen to you?” Cosima asks.

She has a hard time believing that Dmitri Davydov would simply give up his pursuit at the behest of a woman—family or not. Everything she’s been told about this man tells her he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.

“He owes me one,” Shay mutters over her shoulder as she finishes tying her boots. “When I went down, the cops didn’t even want me. He was their big fish—they were just trying to use me to get to him. They were hoping I’d give them something they could use to take him down. I mean, I totally could have and I probably would have served a lot less time, but I kept my mouth shut.”

It was never a secret that Shay served time because of her involvement with her family, but the particulars surrounding the entire situation remained a mystery to Cosima. It was something they never spoke about. Shay knew all the dark and sordid details surrounding Cosima’s imprisonment, but for whatever reason, the blonde had never shared her own story with her before and she had never thought to ask beyond the CliffsNotes version she was presented with.

“When I got out, he told me he was indebted to me. He told me if there was anything I ever needed, all I had to do was ask,” Shay finishes. “So I’ll call in my favour and you can put this all behind you, okay?”

Again, her mind wanders back to that car ride with Delphine. Her then-girlfriend had made a similar promise—one she couldn’t keep. She wants so badly to believe Shay, but she cannot hide her skepticism.

“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees.

They exit Shay’s apartment in a tense silence, riding the elevator down to the ground level and leaving the complex. Shay’s bug is parked in its usual spot across the street and Cosima watches with hands stuffed in her pockets as Shay begins to cross the street—that is, until she notices Cosima isn’t following and stops.

“Where are you off to?” Shay asks, turning back to acknowledge Cosima.

“I need to go meet up with Sarah and Felix,” Cosima shrugs.

“Wanna ride?”

Cosima stops for a moment, considering.

“No, it’s fine.”

Shay sighs, then takes a step closer.

“Are things going to be weird between us from now on?”

Cosima lifts her gaze, eyes focusing on the black, boundless sky above her. She manages to blink away the tears that almost form and takes the much needed minute to compose herself.

“Honestly?” she counters. “I think I need a break from the whole ‘us’ part.”

She shakes her head, finally able to meet Shay’s gaze.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again.”

The lump in Shay’s throat is visible as she swallows it down hard. She digests Cosima’s answer with a slow nod and distant eyes.

“I get it.”

With that, she turns away from Cosima and makes her way towards her car.

There’s nothing left to say and yet Cosima can’t fight the words that are rising to the surface. They’re fuelled by guilt—guilt that she hasn’t been entirely honest with Shay, and despite everything that’s happened, she can sense Shay’s sincerity; she had said before that Shay’s intent didn’t matter, only her actions. When she reflects on her own actions, she realizes that she’s just as culpable in the death of their relationship as Shay is.

“I slept with Delphine.”

Shay stops mid-stride, the wind completely sucked out of her sail. Thankfully there’s not a lot of traffic on this side street at this time of night, and without the threat of an oncoming vehicle, Shay remains planted in the middle of the road.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that,” she says just loud enough for Cosima to hear as she turns around to face her again.

“I-It was before I met back up with you,” Cosima tries to explain, closing some of the distance between them until they’re both standing in the middle of the road. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d judge me or be mad at me or something.”

Shay cocks her head, her curiosity strangely piqued.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Cosima gives the question some real thought.

Why did she have any reason to believe that Shay would be mad at her? Shay’s been nothing but kind and understanding through everything. Perhaps she’s projecting; if their roles were reversed, she would undoubtedly be hurt and consider her actions a betrayal.

“Because I told you I’d look you up as soon as I got out, but I didn’t,” Cosima admits. “I guess I didn’t technically look Delphine up either, but I went to her first—not you.”

Now that the truth is out, she’s both relieved and angry all over again.

“I didn’t even mean to. I was so fucking mad at her and I still ended up in bed with her anyway.”

Shay places a hand on Cosima’s arm in a bid to quell her stirring emotions.

“Look, you don’t have to explain—”

“But I want to,” Cosima presses.

She’s been grappling with this explanation for years, unable to truly find the words to express what she needs to say. If she can’t be honest with herself or with Shay in this moment, what hope does she have? She takes a deep, steadying breath and finds her legs for the first time in forever.

“I wish I could hate her, but I just… I can’t.”

She quivers as the words crack and crumble in her mouth like she’s chewing on a mouthful of charcoal. They leave a black, chalky texture for her to ruminate as all the toxins are slowly pulled from her body.

“I have every fucking reason to and every time I see her or hear her voice or think about her, I get so fucking angry—but it’s not because I hate her,” she confesses, her lower lip trembling.

Shay is looking at her now with deep and sympathetic eyes, but she slowly removes her hand from Cosima’s arm and allows her to unravel all on her own.

“I’m angry because I can’t, so I just hate myself instead.”

She stares at her feet, eyes swollen and face red. She knows if she looks up to meet Shay’s gaze, she’ll be greeted by warmth—a warmth she isn’t ready to embrace just yet.

“You don’t have to punish yourself, Cosima.”

She hears the waver in Shay’s voice and that’s when she knows she needs to escape.

“I have to go,” she mutters, sniffling quietly and turning away as fast as she possibly can.

She leaves Shay standing there, never bothering to look back and face her. She wipes her glossy eyes on the sleeve of her coat as she continues to walk away, and she can hear Shay’s car door open then slam shut, followed by the sound her driving away. Only once she’s certain she’s alone does she stop her trek; she had bee so desperate to place enough distance between them that she didn’t even consider where she was heading. She pulls out her phone and opens the Uber app, setting Felix’s apartment as her destination.

She takes another deep breath, relishing in the fact that the worst part of her night is now over. All she can think about is getting back to Felix’s, smoking the fattest bowl she can pack, and drifting off to a less-cruel reality… that is, until she senses an unfamiliar presence nearby.

She turns to face the oncoming car, squinting carefully to make out the licence plate. She then refers back to the app and realizes that the car slowly approaching her is not the blue Toyota Camry listed. She folds her arms over her chest, eyes following the car until it comes to an excruciatingly slow stop right next to her. The driver’s window rolls down and she can barely make out the figure at the wheel.

“Looking for a ride?” he asks.

She bends her head a little lower to get a better look at the man. He appears to be in his forties, with a thick beard and pair of aviator glasses that remind her of her dad’s when she was little. He offers her a smile, but there’s something chilling and soulless about it that immediately makes her blood run cold.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. My ride is on its way,” she mutters, trying her best to conceal the creeping panic on her face.

She begins walking again, her pace hurried as she tries to put more distance between her and the stranger. She checks her phone, mentally cursing when she sees her ride is still in the process of completing a nearby trip. She manages to get about half a block before she hears the car come whizzing past her, making a sharp turn up onto the sidewalk to cut off her path.

She freezes, this time greeted by the barrel of a gun sticking out of the window instead of a creepy smile.

“Let’s try this one more time,” the man says, clicking the safety off his weapon. “Looking for a ride?”

Cosima slowly raises her hands into the air, the colour draining from her face completely.

“H-Hey now. Let’s just take it easy, okay?” she tries to talk him down, her voice trembling. “Just take it easy.”

The gun remains fixed on her.

“Get in the car,” the man repeats, his smile gone.

“Shay’s on her way to meet with Dmitri right now. She’s going to clear this all up, okay? You don’t have to do this,” she tries to reason with him.

What happens next surprises her.

“Dmitri?” the man asks in a breath of laughter.

He seems genuinely amused by her suggestion and her brow furrows, confusion momentarily taking the place of fear.

“You really think I’m Bratva?”

The world begins to fade away as soon as she understands what’s really happening, and while she shouldn’t be surprised in the least, she finds herself blindsided yet again and too terrified to be angry that the man who ruined her life the first time will also be the one responsible for ending it.

“Fine,” he sighs.

He makes no attempt to hide his annoyance at the inconvenience her lack of cooperation is causing him. She doesn’t mean to defy his demand, but she can’t will her legs to carry her forward and climb into the car; one would think a gun pointed directly at them would be a brilliant motivator, but the weapon has the opposite of its intended effect on her.

The second he steps out of his car is when sound and colour return to her. She tries to backpedal, but she knows there’s nowhere she can run now, so she closes her eyes tightly and tries to let her usually active brain carry her somewhere else.

“Since you don’t want to get in the car, we can do this right—”

She screams out—the sound of a loud impact cutting through her haze-like shock. The second she’s able to process that the sound isn’t a bullet in her head, she opens her eyes again only to find that the creepy man is no longer standing in front of her with a gun pointed at her face. Instead, he’s several meters away from her in a bloody heap on the ground. Her eyes then land on a second car which sports a distinct, body-shaped dent on the front bumper and hood.

Cosima finds her breath again.

She knows this car.

Her eyes follow Delphine as she climbs out of the driver’s seat, walking over to the groaning man with purpose in every step.

“D-Delphine?” he asks, completely caught off guard by this development.

The blonde draws her own gun, staring down at the man with complete disdain. She points her weapon at his face, prompting him to raise his hands and begin to plead—a plead that’s cut short by a bullet which finds its home snuggly between his eyes.

Cosima drops to her knees, eyes wide and mouth gaping in terror. Tremors tear through her body, even as Delphine holsters her gun and comes dashing over.

“Cosima!” Delphine calls out, dropping to her knees in front of her to assess Cosima’s current state. “Are you okay?”

“W-What…?”

She can’t find her words, mouth dry and tongue swollen as she tries make sense of what the hell is happening.

“You don’t answer your phone!” Delphine snaps. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night—trying to warn you!”

She reaches for Cosima, pulling the brunette to her feet again. She’s shaky on her legs, but Delphine slings an arm around her waist to help support her.

“We have to go.”

Cosima can only nod as Delphine ushers her into the passenger’s seat, buckles her in, then runs back around to climb into the driver’s seat and take off.

+ + + + +

They march down the dimly-lit corridor to Aldous’s office, one of her hands clasped firmly with Cosima’s and the other carrying the briefcase that contains their prize. She had promised Cosima that this would be it—now was the time to tell Aldous they wanted out. If they played their cards right, they could be on a plane to St. Barts this evening.

They both stop in front of the hulk of a man who guards the door. It only takes him a second to scan them over before he nods, stepping aside and granting them entry. Before they open the door, they exchange one last look; Delphine’s smile is weak but reassuring, and elicits a similar one from Cosima.

“Thank God you’re here—the both of you,” Aldous proclaims the second they walk through the door.

He stands, circling around from behind his desk to greet them both properly. He places both of his hands on their shoulders and gently squeezes; Delphine has grown accustomed to the gesture, but she can feel the shiver travel down Cosima’s spine.

“We’re fine, Aldous. We didn’t see any danger on the road,” Delphine answers.

“That’s good news.”

He backs away until he’s pressed against his desk, leaning against it and staring at them expectantly.

“Well?”

As if on cue, Delphine releases Cosima’s hand and steps forward, handing him the briefcase.

“Here it is—all of it.”

He smiles, walking back around his desk to place the briefcase on the surface. As soon as he opens it and peers inside, his smile grows.

“Nicely done.”

He rifles through the case, silently counting the prize as the two young women stand awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Cosima slips her hand back into Delphine’s and the blonde looks over to her side to meet Cosima’s gaze.

“What is it?”

They both freeze, their attention directed back to the older man.

He’s stopped counting his money long enough to notice the tension between the two and he waits for one of them to step forward and explain.

“We need to talk,” Delphine finally breaks.

Aldous pauses for a brief moment, then closes the briefcase.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Delphine opens her mouth, but the right words elude her. How does she explain herself to Aldous without insulting or angering him?

“No, everything’s definitely not okay,” Cosima chimes in.

Delphine squeezes Cosima’s hand a little harder—a warning to proceed with caution. Cosima’s always been too cheeky for her own good and while Delphine usually finds it to be one of her more endearing traits, it’s far from charming at the moment. Cosima responds in kind by yanking her hand away from Delphine’s and folding her arms across her chest, frown all-too-prominent.

“How can I help?”

Delphine expels a mental sigh of relief when Aldous doesn’t retaliate against the insolent comment. She searches Aldous carefully and determines that he seems to be in a sound state of mind; there’s a calmness radiating from him and she senses that it’s safe to tread a little deeper into the water.

“Well,” she begins, taking another step forward. “Cosima and I were talking, and… well… we—”

“You’re making a huge mistake!”

They both jump as soon as the door bursts open. They turn to identify the source of the sound and they’re greeted by the hulk again, only this time, he has his bulging bicep around a much smaller man’s neck.

“Hold that thought, Delphine,” Aldous says smoothly, lifting a hand to stop her.

He makes his way around his desk once more and the hulk tosses his boisterous captive to the floor. Upon closer inspection, both women can see that the man appears to be badly beaten; his hands are tied behind his back, his lip is swollen and dribbling blood, and his face is badly bruised—so much so that one of his eyes is completely swollen shut.

“What’s going on?” Delphine asks in a panic.

She can see the same panic reflected back at her in Cosima’s eyes and she instinctively steps closer to her girlfriend, the two of them stepping off to the side of the room.

“You know Patrick, don’t you?” Aldous asks, gesturing towards the man.

“Y-yes, we’ve met,” Delphine reluctantly replies.

She doesn’t know him well and has never personally worked with him, but she’s seen his face and knows that he’s another one of Aldous’s subordinates. His relationship with Aldous far predates her own and she wonders just what the hell is going on.

“Leekie, what the fuck is this all about?” Patrick spits, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Aldous turns to Cosima and Delphine—now backed up against the wall.

“Patrick here has been stealing from me.”

“Bullshit!” Patrick barks. “You know I’m no rat!”

Delphine feels her heart stop in her chest.

She suddenly knows what this is all about, as well as what’s about to happen.

“He’s the reason for all the panic,” Aldous explains. “It seems he forwarded your coordinates to an unknown third party.”

“What?” both woman ask in unison.

“That’s a goddamn lie!”

“He was probably hoping they’d kill you both, recover the money, then wire him his share once your bodies were cold and they were long gone.”

Cosima wraps her arms around one of Delphine’s, pulling her in even closer. The gesture serves to tether Delphine—to reassure her that they’re here together, that no matter what happens, that’s how it’ll stay.

“You see, I don’t tolerate disobedience. I don’t tolerate disloyalty.”

Aldous’s tone is much harsher now. The calm waters she had detected before have given way to a thundering tidal wave that advances far too quickly to avoid; the only thing left to do now is to be pulled under.

“W-Wait a second, Leekie! It’s not like that, I-I swear!”

As Patrick pleads for his life, Aldous retrieves his gun and promptly unloads three bullets into his face without any sort of preamble or regard for his audience. Cosima cries out, burying her face between Delphine’s shoulder blades in a bid to block out the horrible image. A loud gasp escapes from Delphine’s lips before she can bring a hand up to cover her gaping mouth. She’s unable to pull her eyes away from Patrick’s bloody corpse as the hulk drags his lifeless body out of the room without a word or second, closing the door behind him as if he’s merely taking out a bag of trash.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but I think it’s important that you did.”

Aldous steps closer towards them and Delphine feels Cosima’s grip tighten to the point of being painful.

“We’re surrounded by enemies, even on the inside,” Aldous lectures them. “In this line of work, loyalty is worth far more than any dollar price you can name.”

He stops, considering the two young women before him. Cosima peers out from behind Delphine, her eyes red and glistening with tears but her glare as resolute as ever. Delphine swallows hard, nodding at Aldous’s words. He walks back over to his desk, grabbing the briefcase and then approaching them again, briefcase outstretched.

“Here.”

Delphine is stunned.

“A-All of it?”

Aldous smiles.

“Consider it a reward for your loyalty.”

Delphine reaches out to accept the briefcase and she feels Cosima’s nails bite into her skin as if to force her to retract her hand. The blonde knows that there’s no way she can pull back now, so she bites down hard on her lower lip to block out the stinging in her arm and accept the gift bestowed upon her.

“You have a bright future here,” Aldous tells them, craning his neck to steal a clearer glimpse of Cosima. “The both of you.”

Delphine diverts her gaze to the floor and nearly drags Cosima out of the room, rushing through a pool of blood in the process. She leads her Eurydice to safety, only she manages to make it all the way out without looking back once to assess the state of her girlfriend, the fear of losing her far too great.

It isn’t until they’re back at her apartment that she realizes the woman she left with was not the woman she came with.

This becomes gut-wrenchingly obvious as she sit atop her bed, listening attentively to Cosima’s sobs as they break through the barrier of the bathroom door. After over an hour of the shower running, Delphine finally finds the courage to make her way over to the bathroom door and knock gently.

“May I come in?” she asks softly.

When she isn’t greeted by an answer, she slowly opens the door a crack and slides her head in.

“Cosima?”

She isn’t met by the billows of steam she initially expected (although she’s fairly certainly there’s no hot water left at this point) and she steps fully into the bathroom, gazing through the glass of the shower door to spy her girlfriend sitting on the floor, knees tucked to her chest and face buried in them.

“Cosima…”

Cosima finally looks up, her face red and splotchy. Her makeup is long gone—cried off or washed away in the shower, she’s unsure—and her entire body trembles violently as she tries to catch the sobs and whimpers that rip through her.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” Cosima cracks.

Delphine feels her own chest seize up and she surges forward, climbing into the freezing shower to help pull Cosima up off the floor and into her arms.

#cophine #cophine fanfic #fanfiction #orphan black

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scrollofthoth · 5 years

Text

Emergent Magick - History

EMK also draws influence from the counter-culture of the 1960s, particularly the psychedelic movement. Timothy Leary, Aldous Huxley, Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranksters and the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and the culture surrounding the Grateful Dead all espoused the use of psychedelics in the creation of neo-tribal societies based on community and individual freedom. This philosophy is perhaps best summarized in the works of Terence McKenna and his “stoned ape” hypothesis. McKenna suggested that great advances in human evolution took place due to our species’ use of psychedelic mushrooms, and that a return to their use, along with tribal spiritual values, are key to us returning to Earth-based principles and avoiding the catastrophes of global war and environmental destruction. In our view, the great social experiment of the 1960s led to massive advances in rights for women and minorities and universal enfranchisement. The reaction of the totalitarian right ended that progress abruptly. EMK seeks to refine the methods used by those earlier counter-culture heroes and lead that experiment to its fruition.

#magick #emergent magick #emk

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thesquidkid · 3 years

Text

High school reminiscents

Read on AO3

(Tw: mentions of addiction and rehab, mentions of murder)

Maria had closed up the Pony and was wiping the counter when she heard the door open then shut. “We’re closed!” she said, out of habit of Guerin coming in whenever he wanted, using his powers to unlock the door. Except this time it wasn’t Michael coming in with a tilt of his hat, but a person who once used to be older than her, and was now nine years younger. Maria lifted her head and stopped wiping the counter when she saw that Rosa was the one that had walked in. She smiled and indicated the stool in front of her with her hand, still holding the sponge.

“I didn’t know you could pick locks with your mind.” Maria said in a teasing tone, with a slight truth to it, after all Rosa had spent ten years in an alien pod and had developed some powers. “Still lacking the control,” she answered with a laugh, “and don’t worry, I still know a thing or two about breaking in in places.” She winked at that, making Maria smile, a reminder of how Maria had found out all about aliens and murder cover up in the first place.

Rosa sat on the stool and grabbed the club soda that Maria handed her. She sighed and dropped her hands in her hands, elbows resting on the bar. Maria served herself a club soda too and leaned against the bar, looking at Rosa in silence, not wanting to read her to see what was going on, but also wanting to help as best she could.

Rosa was the first to break the silence, talking about going to rehab in less than a week and discussing some of the advice her therapist had given her. Mari knew it was small talk, but also decided to indulge in it, talking about the latest cowboy gossip from the Pony and any new development in her mom’s state (there weren’t any but Maria refused to lose hope).

Finally, after they had both lost interest in the small talk, they settled in silence, Rosa playing with her glass and Maria looking at her, still leaning against the bar. After a few shaky breaths, Rosa spoke up so quietly that Maria would’ve missed it, was she not paying so close attention. “How different do you think things would be? If I didn’t die after highschool?” She looked up at Maria, with tears in her eyes. She blinked them away and used her thumb to wipe them. She was still staring at Maria, waiting for an answer, who walked around the counter and sat on a stool next to Rosa’s, facing her.

“Yeah, maybe things would be different,” Maria started to say, slowly, still thinking of the best way to formulate her thoughts, “but we can’t really change the past can we?” Rosa turned her head to look at her and smiled weakly, remembering that her therapist had said similar words to her.

“I know that I’ve got to focus on the present but I just…” Rosa started to say but didn’t finish, not quite sure how to express how she felt. She put her head back in her hands, feeling a headache from all the complicated emotions she was feeling. Maybe it was the fact that she was headed to rehab in a few days that made her think back with nostalgia to what was for her just a few years ago. “Sometimes I- I just think that maybe I’d have good memories, after I got clean, you know, with Jim’s help.” She continued after a few breaths, trying to sort out what she meant. She was going to get better, with the help of Jim, but she didn’t have the same opportunity anymore, with her being dead for ten years, and Jim being dead now. The opportunity she had now was a bus, taking her to rehab for a few months.

Maria sensed that Rosa needed, was desperate even, to have some good memories of high school, memories that weren’t blurred by the drugs. “Remember that evening, on the Crashdown roof?” Maria asked, making Rosa raise an eyebrow. After all, they had spent many nights on that rooftop, Maria would need to be a little more precise. She shook her head with a smile before continuing, “The night after I had gotten my literature exam results, the one who helped me study for.” Rosa’s face lit up as the memories of that night came back to her.

Maria had come to her a few days prior, in distress about an upcoming resit exam on Brave New World by Aldous Huxley that she failed the first time round. Rosa, having passed the same class a year prior, and having read the same book had agreed to help Maria out. This is how the two of them found themselves on the roof, the day before the exam, with Rosa quizzing her friend on the book, and explaining to her the complexity behind the words. They had quickly lost track of time, going in depth in the mysteries of Huxley’s criticism of society, and Arturo had to come looking for them to tell them that Mimi had come over to pick Maria up.

By the time Arturo had come, they had stopped studying the book, and were doing their own criticism. Talking about the injustice they both faced daily, in Roswell or at school, the challenges they had to face that others couldn’t relate to, the people that were supposed to stay and love them, leaving.

Reminiscing of their high school days, the days where everything but the present seemed futile and pointless, before their dreams and wishes for the future got crushed, Rosa and Maria had a similar night to the one on the roof. They sat opposite each other on the stools, laughing, joking, crying at the world around them. Their criticism hadn’t changed much in the last decade, it was just more bitter, and had more truth to the feelings. They were both still outsiders, both still facing unique challenges: Rosa with her addiction and Maria with her new found powers and their consequences. Both still holding a glimmer of hope for a better future, a future they had dreamt of on the Crashdown roof many years ago.

#look i just want more of their friendship #also im gonna put all my fics both on tumblr and on ao3 #itll be easier for me #maria deluca #rosa ortecho #rnm fic #thesquidkid writes

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arecomicsevengood · 7 years

Text

Anti-Gone by Connor Willumsen: Book Of The Year

Koyama Press has just published Anti-Gone, Connor Willumsen's first book-length project. It's great. I interviewed Willumsen for the Comics Journal two years ago, and his book is everything I could hope a debut full-length book by someone I went on record with praise before they had a full book out would be. It's a gamechanger on the order of the first Powr Mastrs book, or Ruppert and Mulot's Barrel Of Monkeys. These are books I basically have never even attempted to talk about why they're good, and instead view as an article of faith for people with my critical allegiances. I doubt a better comic will be published this year.

It nonetheless seems in bad taste, or somehow redundant, for me to try to go on at length about the book for The Comics Journal: Let other writers have at it, so that it can be viewed as consensus opinion that this book is great, not just one lone idiot's ass-covering opinion. Still that's not to say I'm not thinking about it, and if you want to know what I'm thinking when I'm asserting the book's greatness, I will attempt to put it into writing here now.

Let's begin with the title: Stating an opposite of "gone" implies presence. "Here" is already claimed by Richard McGuire. That book riffs on place while Anti-Gone is more about presence of mind, as held by its characters, who rove about a vast dreamscape of a world. Partially, it's about the struggle to take in the world around you as the world around you, without say, immediately spitting up references to movies. It's a struggle to see the world without mediating it through your memories of other mediated experiences. This struggle gets spoken of explicitly through dialogue. At a formal level, the book is all about commanding your attention, and holding it firmly, as you experience it without knowing where it's going.

That last bit is what most narrative art attempts, and what most audiences expect. We go into a story wanting it to be something other than our immediate reality, and by giving it our attention we hope for the best. Of course, if you've seen a lot of movies, or read a lot of comics, your own foreknowledge of tropes can lead to feeling you're following along with something you already know where it is going. This feeling is not exactly the same as constantly referencing culture you've consumed over the course of a conversation, but it's related. Anti-Gone sets up a formal system where the reader's full engagement parallels what the book is about. Meanwhile, becoming aware of the rate of attention at which you're engaging with something essentially makes you more engaged.

Connor does a pretty great job at avoiding any sense, at any given moment, that you, as the reader, know the story he's telling. I will do my best to likewise avoid giving anyone reading me before the book any undue advance knowledge of plot points, although obviously a little will be revealed, and the further you read the more I'll allude to.

Let me stay focused for the moment on this theme of commanding attention. Most comics try to engage readers by being as clear as possible, in the composition of a panel or a page. They want to create a rhythm that carries you along. Towards the end of my interview with Connor, he discussed this idea of "visual tension," and wanting to push it further. I didn't know what he meant by that. Essentially, it was a notion of something that trusted the reader's ability to read it, without telegraphing meaning through symbols and shortcuts. I basically still did not understand what he meant at the time that I asked him to define it, or I didn't understand what the point or effect of this would be. It's an approach that runs counter to all sorts of shit, from Scott McCloud and Understanding Comics to that "How To Read Nancy" book Paul Karasik and Mark Newgarden are about to put out, to my understanding of Frank Santoro's workshop Connor was previously a student of. The payoff is here in this book, and it's twofold: One, it feels fresh as fuck to read something out of step with current trends in methodology. Two, you naturally read it at a much slower pace, which works wonders towards the effect that you pay attention to it without expending brain power anticipating what'll come next.

Willumsen increases visual tension in a number of ways. Caleb Orecchio pointed out a couple of examples when he wrote about Anti-Gone for Comics Workbook, which I will link to instead of scanning more pages. The first is varying degrees of detail, where things get dropped out to capture small gestures, juxtaposed against fuller drawings where the smaller action is located inside. Because of this, the layouts fluctuate. Eyes move all around the page, to take in all that might be important. The marks begin to be read almost like lettering: I feel like I am truly reading it, and not just at a level of engagement akin to skimming. I'm not just turning pages, I'm poring over the drawings.

The drawings need to be great for the sort of highwire act I'm describing to work at all, to compel you to want to look at them. It's a cartoon language, lacking extraneous detail, but the human characters are allowed to be ugly, with unwieldy flesh and unflattering clothing. The lines that make the world are smooth, and feel neither anxious nor tepid, but thought-through.

The visual language insists you pay attention to all of it, and the story doesn't betray the art by giving any indications that the plot has a main thrust you should focus on. When Willumsen puts in a page where we essentially are tracking character's progress through a landscape by the light of a window's shape shifting as characters pass by it, we take it in, aware, essentially, the the journey is more important than the destination. In the absence of action, we are paying attention to mystery. What Willumsen called "visual tension" ends up imparting its own kind of suspense to the proceedings. In film, an editor can slow down the pace of a scene, but comics require the reader to slow down their reading experience on their own. A film can create suspense by taking its time getting to something viewers know to be inevitable. Here, we are slowed down by the fact that we don't know what is going to happen next, but we know we need to pay attention to make sense of whatever will come.

The language of drug experiences has a term called "time dilation," for the feeling where the brain's ability to think essentially outpaces reality's sequential unfolding. One of the things that I wanted to talk about in my interview with Willumsen, but was too self-conscious and chickenshit to talk about directly, was psychedelics. The ideas engaged in Willumsen's comics often feel "trippy," but I know that, for instance, both Noel Freibert and Robert Beatty are people who loathe having their art styles compared to the effects of drugs, finding it both reductive and off-the-mark as to their experiences. But I don't think it should be off-limits to talk about this stuff, or leave the discussion of it to Joe Rogan: Drug experiences are frequently overpowering in a way that leaves an impression on most people who engage with them. This is not to say you can't get to similar places via meditating, or reading a lot, or engaging in any kind of spiritual practice: However the fact of drug use allows a shortcut that then can be exploited or talked about in an anecdotal way. The focus in Willumsen's comics on perceptual phenomena could originate from drug experiences, or it could just stem from an intense drawing practice: How paying close attention to something changes the way in which you see it, how you ascertain its essence. It's easy to justify not talking about drugs by rationalizing other ways the mind-state can be reached.

However, one of the things that makes my avoidance of talking about drugs so disappointing to me is that one of the things that happens in this book, that enough pages are devoted to that you can even say it's what it is about, in summary, is getting fucked up and going to the movies. If that sounds like a not particularly deep subject, consider that David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest can be said to be largely about getting high and watching TV. These things, especially taken in conjunction, basically constitute the very essence of the postmodern condition. Drugs increase our awareness of subjectivity, and TV and movies are other people's subjective visions, worked out elaborately enough they can be shared. Wallace was mostly interested in Television or entertainment as a different kind of drug that still held addictive and spiritually numbing properties. Willumsen's narrative interests in drug experiences neatly dovetails with what I view as his themes, and the aspects of attention that are all over the book already.

Another concept that comes up in the concept of drug discourse, like Aldous Huxley or Terence McKenna or whoever, is the notion that these drugs essentially remove the frames by which we look at the world, the learned and assumed contexts where we encounter things and consider them to be the way they are. In a design decision that turns out to be more thematically appropriate and less decorative than you might initially suspect, the front cover of Anti-Gone has a die-cut, essentially turning the whole thing into a frame for a simple cartoon drawing that is the book's first page. That frame, giving the name of the book and its author, can be removed to present the reader with an image unmediated.

(That title, by the way, is a pun on Antigone, a Sophocles tragedy, and a figure in Greek mythology. Rather than summarize the play, I'll just reference Wikipedia's statement that the name means "worthy of one's parents," which is sort of interesting if you view the book itself as being a part of an artistic lineage, but I don't think Willumsen would be interested in referencing that to try to prove a point that he is some kind of heir to the tradition of comics exemplified by, say, Richard McGuire. However if I wanted to interpret it that way to give this positive review a vaguely hyperbolic thesis, I could. If I wanted to point to other forebears, whose work I greatly admire, I'd point out that, on a level of how the book is actually made, the feeling that I am looking mostly at marks made with pencil makes me think about CF, while the computer-assisted shading added after the fact makes me think about Kevin Huizenga.)

The notion of unmediated experiences doesn't just relate to drugs or movies, of course. It's also about how we experience one another: How, in personal relationships, (romantic or non, or ambiguous), the way in which we view another person does not necessarily line up with how that person sees themselves. In fact, often it can be the view of a third party, if spoken aloud, that effects our interpretation of what another person is like. Those who watch a lot of movies might recognize this as the premise of the Nicole Holofcener movie Enough Said, which costars Elaine from Seinfeld and Tony Soprano, as well as Holofcener's go-to star, Catherine Keener. This shows up as a sub-theme here also, and I think it's this element that puts the book over the top for me in asserting its quality.

At a certain point in my life, I started to view "personal relationships" as the most important there is, essentially. In terms of art, insight into these areas became more affecting than, say, how a person interrogated genre. At this point, I even feel fairly resolved and at peace with death, but I know that for as long as I'm alive, how to relate to other people will remain something of a mystery. This book feels useful to me, in these instructive terms: It insists you view people on their own terms, the same way you take in the reading experience. Other books might present themselves as spectacles to be taken in, or puzzles to be solved, or as things where you are meant to relate to the main character as an author surrogate or whatever.

The other aspects of the book that boil up through its willingness to wander feel related to this notion of relating: There are interpersonal relationships, yes, but then there are questions of capitalism and desire, or how one navigates politics when those in power maintain their status by force, or questions of pet ownership. (I love the alligator the two main characters adopt and name Blade.) All the big questions are here, essentially, if you give enough of your attention to see them there: The book demands, and rewards, giving it all you have.

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zehypocriticaloath · 7 years

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Hey, Aldous! You're an uberkaffemensch, right? Why not give the rest of us commoner's coffee drinking, uninformed masses some tips? Like, what you think makes a superior cup, stuff like that.

He chortles at the nickname. How silly it was, butchering his native language– and yet he loved it. He absolutely loved it. It was hilarious.

“You want tips on preparing, making and drinking a perfect cup of ‘kaffe’?”

He rifles around in a cabinet before he finds exactly what he’s looking for. Taking out a few things, he deliberately sets each one down on the counter with added emphasis. A bag of coffee,

“First, start with your choice of coffee.” He examines the bag he has. “Arabica or robusta, doesn’t matter. But I prefer arabica.” Opening the bag, he spills out some of its contents. It’s not finely grated. It’s whole bean. “As you can tell, you can’t brew this. These nuggets,” he picks one up, “need to be ground. There are a few ways to go about doing it.”

He intones (perhaps, to some, in a boring manner) about how one could go about grinding their coffee. A towel and a hammer was one such way, in which you placed the beans in the towel, covered them up in it, imagine the lumpy mound is the face of someone you absolutely detest… and then you release your pent up hatred and frustrations upon the nuggets until they crumbled before your will.

“Though I sometimes go for the hammer routine on a particularly stressful day of losses, failed experiments and annoying fuc–” He cleared his throat, scowling sourly, “–frustrating teammates, I tend to use a mortar and pestle.”

Grabbing a bowl shaped object from the counter, he explained that herbs, medicines and even some teas could be ground into it to create a fine powder. As such, he used this particular one solely for caffeine consumption. Why worry about making medicine as a doctor? One can clearly see his priorities here.

“Of course, if you have to have your coffee right away, use pre-ground. But grinding it up yourself is best. And,” he sharply interrupted his own train of thought, striking his palm with a balled up fist as his memory was jogged, “do NOT take or drink any coffee given to you by this company. If it has, somewhere on the bag, the words saying it has been processed by MannCo… it’s absolute SWILL. Disgusting, vile, inedible sludge! You’ll poison your body faster that way.”

Proceeding to rant on and on about how most of his teammates drank the stuff by the gallons, he becomes impassioned by his love of the stuff. His teammates, uncultured in their ways of coffee consumption. Swine! They didn’t enjoy the act or the moment of making coffee, nor did they truly enjoy the taste, the texture, the aroma. They only drank the sludge to keep going on the field, but it’s effectiveness, in this good doctor’s most ‘humble’ opinion, paled in comparison to anything he drank.

It’s almost a good five minutes before he seems to realize he had gotten off track, completely.

“Anyway,” he continues on from his previous topic, airily waving a hand in quite the indigent manner, “the best way to drink and experience coffee is to make it yourself. It takes time. It takes patience. You make it for the right moment, the right time, to truly sit back and enjoy it. Don’t make coffee if you’re on the go. You won’t get to enjoy it. But, most importantly, if you can,” he gives a subtle, small smirk, “make a pot for, at least… two cups. Sharing it with someone else who enjoys coffee as much as you do betters the experience. Unless they’re addicted to the swill we have on base, or, for that matter anything else decaffeinated or of inferior quality. In that case… kick their ASS OUT.”

#(can you tell I had fun with this?)#(He also takes it black. Black and endless like the pit of his twisted soul)#Aldo talks to anons #ic

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kniznistripky · 4 years

Quote

After an outburst, she would settle down and try to love him as reasonably as she could, making the best of his kindness, his rather detached and separate passion, his occasional and laborious essays at emotional intimacy, and finally his intelligence - that quick, comprehensive, ubiquitous intelligence that could understand everything, including emotions it could not feel and the instincts it took care not to be moved by.

Aldous Huxley - Point Counter Point

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mveloc · 7 years

Text

Days of Why and How

Chapter 5

Author’s Note: We finally get a little taste of Delphine's back story. Enjoy ;)

She pushes her way past the hordes of club goers, sweaty bodies slamming into her as she tries to make herself as malleable as possible in an effort to evade them. The atmosphere is thick, the lighting dark with quick flashes emanating from the dance floor and the walls nearly shaking, pulsating with loud, droning music that’s blaring over the speakers. As she makes her way deeper into the club, she’s all too aware of white eyes following her, of silver-grey hair flashing in her periphery.

This was never her scene.

She always feels uncomfortable every time she finds herself back here, but the matter is urgent and she knows that on a busy Friday night, this is where he’ll be. When she finally makes it to the unmarked door at the very back of the club, two intimidating men standing guard, she offers them a curt nod and they respond in kind, stepping aside to permit her entry. She pushes through the door and steps into the office, the temperature instantly dropping as she leaves the mugginess and noise behind.

“Delphine,” Aldous Leekie greets her from behind his desk, eyes fixed on her. “I wasn’t aware you’d be visiting tonight. I managed to catch you on the cameras. You should have called ahead—I could have had a car sent for you.”

“It’s fine,” she dismisses him.

He sizes her up with a quick scan of his eyes and she brings herself closer, stopping just in front of the large desk. He gestures for her to sit, but she declines his request and peers down at him with a furrowed brow.

“It must be serious if you’re coming all the way down here yourself. Is this about the DYAD job?” he inquires.

“Yes—and no.”

He cocks a brow, slowly rising from his desk.

“Well, now I’m intrigued,” he says calmly, pouring himself a drink from his private liquor cart. “Do share.”

Her body tenses. She wonders just how she should break the news to him, how he will react. It’s hard for her to know for certain since his feelings surrounding her ex-girlfriend have always been murky, but she hopes for the best possible outcome.

“Cosima is out,” she finally says.

She searches him for a reaction but finds none. Instead he takes a drink, tipping his head back and allowing the liquor to slide down his throat.

“Cosima?” he asks, as if the name is the liquor dancing on his tongue—subtly familiar.

She wonders if he’s toying with her; certainly he must remember Cosima. Even though it’s probably been years since he’s heard her name and he never really worked that closely with the hacker in the first place, Cosima’s downfall had been loud and violent (at least in her mind), and so it was impossible to forget or ignore.

“Oh, yes,” he finally mutters. “That’s right.”

She keeps her gaze fixed on her superior, trying to gauge his reaction. Even after the flicker of recognition in his eyes, he doesn’t seem enthused over the news she’s shared—not angry or happy or nervous or disappointed. He wears the same impervious look as usual.

“And how do we feel about that?” he asks, turning the conversation back around.

Now he’s the one regarding her curiously. They’ve grown to know each other quite well over these last five years—well enough for him to know that Cosima is, perhaps, the most defining element of her life. Taking him up on his previous offer, she drops into one of the black leather chairs adjacent to him with a visible frown.

“She never should have gone down in the first place. It was a mistake—my mistake.”

Even after all these years—after all of his coaching and everything she’s had to sacrifice—her feelings still haven’t changed; it was a grave injustice five years ago and it still remains so, perhaps even more than before now that she’s met with her former lover and had a chance to survey the emotional damage that’s been done.

“No,” he adamantly disagrees. “Involving her in any of this was the mistake. We both knew she wasn’t cut out for this line of work.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she mutters beneath her breath, head hanging low.

He pours a second glass of bourbon and makes his way around the desk with the drink in-hand, passing it to her.

“Nothing about this is right or wrong. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

She stares into the glass with a tightening grip.

“Don’t lecture me, Aldous.”

With that, she closes her eyes, tips her head all the way back and downs the liquor in a few long gulps.

He laughs.

“What?” she asks, confused by the suddenness of his laughter.

He shakes his head dismissively, reaching for her empty glass again to take it away.

“You sound like your father,” he explains.

She ignores his comment, shaking it off like a bad case of fleas. Suddenly emboldened, she rises to her feet again decides to get back down to business.

“We could use her on the DYAD job,” she suggests.

She knows Cosima is furious with her, that she probably wants nothing to do with her, but she also knows what she felt in that alley before her ex-lover darted away—a spark. They had both felt it. There was no doubt in her mind.

“I thought you said you were taking care of it?” Leekie counters.

“I am—and in my opinion, she would be a great asset.”

Dragging Cosima back into this may not be ideal, but how is she supposed to just ignore the fact that the only person she’s ever loved is within her grasp again? Sure, the circumstances aren’t perfect, but she’s always trusted her gut and her gut is telling her that she should stay close to Cosima, that she shouldn’t let her go again. If she had only listened to her gut in the first place instead of Leekie and his “expertise,” Cosima never would have ended up in prison and they’d be sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere far away.

“Associating with her now is too risky,” Leekie warns her. “Use the team you’ve got.”

“You told me that this job was of the utmost importance,” she argues. “Cosima is the best. Perhaps she can even tell us who hired her in the first place—knowing who we’re competing against could prove useful.”

He pauses, taking a few moments to mull over her words.

“I’ll consider it.”

She could leap for joy, but instead she maintains her composure, responding with a simple nod. She doesn’t want Leekie to think that she’s straying down the wrong path, that she’s too invested in Cosima; it had taken her so long to gain back his trust the last time and she doesn’t want him to doubt her commitment.

When she leaves the club, she finds herself lost. She usually spends her weekends wrapped up in work, but ever since Sarah and Cosima’s interference with the DYAD job, her work has been on hiatus and so she’s left with too much free time that allows her thoughts to wander.

They inevitably lead her back to Cosima.

She wonders what her ex is up to, if Cosima’s thoughts are plagued by visions of her the same way hers are; she can’t close her eyes without replaying their most recent conversation on a loop in her head. Cosima had told her to stay away and while she wishes she could, she simply finds it to be an impossible task.

It’s settled.

She finds herself pulling into the parking lot nearest to Bobby’s—a bar she hadn’t set foot in in Cosima’s five year absence. It was strange returning to it after so long; not much had changed in terms of decor or ambiance and walking in to find Sarah and Cosima together again at their usual table had thrown her for a loop. She takes a deep breath before pushing through the door for the second time in less than a week, hoping to find Cosima inside. She quickly scans her surroundings, eyes combing over the layout and finding no sign of the petite brunette. She approaches the bar, wondering if Cosima is working tonight. Her question is answered when she feels a gentle tap on her shoulder and turns around.

“She’s not here.”

Bobby greets her with a sour expression, waiting to see how the blonde will react.

“Oh,” is all she manages, deflating. “I was hoping to speak to her again. I didn’t want to leave things on such a—well—I didn’t want to leave things the way we left them.”

Bobby folds her arms over her chest, unimpressed.

“Well, you made that call a long time ago.”

Delphine sighs.

“I know that.”

She drags herself away from the judgmental bartender, ready to leave. As she makes her way to the door, she notices one of the pool tables clear out and some phantom force pulls her back in its direction.

She hasn’t played in years.

Not since Cosima.

She just didn’t see the fun in playing against amateurs anymore and after Cosima, she couldn’t look at a pool table without feeling a pang of guilt—a jutting reminder of her cowardice. She picks up a cue, twirling it in her hands as she familiarizes herself with the feel once more. She glides a hand over the surface of the table and can almost taste the gin and tonic, the tartness of a lime on her tongue.

She smiles.

“You wanna play?”

She looks up to find a rather benign-looking man reaching for the other cue, offering her a smile. She isn’t really in the mood, but she has nowhere else to be and so she caves, nodding in agreement.

She clears out about half a dozen challengers before the other patrons take a hint, steering clear of the shark in the water. She expels another sigh, running a hand through her hair and putting her cue away.

“Guess some things don’t change.”

Bobby is standing behind her again with a tray of empty glasses and beer bottles.

“Looks like you’ve been cleaning up over here,” she remarks. “How much have you made off these suckers?”

Delphine shrugs.

“Nothing.”

Bobby seems surprised by her response.

“What? You not playing the fast game anymore?”

It’s a fair question. She could have made at least a few hundred bucks off of these unsuspecting challengers and yet the thought never crossed her mind tonight. After Cosima, the thought of playing for money seemed way too… mundane. Not to mention that her current work made sharking people in bars look like amateur hour.

“I didn't come here to run a job,” Delphine mutters. “I just wanted to—”

She stops herself.

Why did she really come here tonight?

“Never mind.”

She moves to make her way past the tattooed woman but finds herself drawn in once again.

“Hey. Hold on.”

She stops, turning back around to shoot Bobby a quizzical look. The bartender looks troubled, like she’s being torn between two heavy choices. Eventually she breaks.

“If you wanna speak to her, she’s going out tonight.”

Delphine blinks.

“Out?”

“Yeah. With Sarah and Felix,” Bobby clarifies. “They invited me, but I’ve got a business to run, so…”

Delphine nods slowly.

“Do you know where?” she asks.

“Felix said he wanted to dance. Cosima said she wanted to check out someplace new,” Bobby tells her. “There’s a club that just opened up in the Village about a month ago, so that’d be my bet.”

Delphine offers her a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

Bobby shrugs her off.

“Don’t tell her I told you or she’ll kill me.”

+ + + + +

She miraculously manages to find street parking about half a block away the club which is already in full swing by the time she arrives. She had made a quick stop at her place first, deciding to change into something a little more appropriate for the venue. She still isn’t sure what she’s expecting, uncertain of how she should play this; should she waltz right into the club, find Cosima and attempt to initiate conversation? Cosima would most likely shoot her down, especially if Sarah and Felix are there to offer support.

She must get Cosima alone.

Does she go inside, find Cosima and hang back until she sees an opening? What if there isn’t one? What if Cosima or Sarah or Felix spot her before she spots them? Does she risk making a scene in front of all those people? Is there even a right way to do this? Delphine groans, leaning forward to rest her head on the steering wheel.

Cosima can protest all she wants, say she never wants to see her again, but Delphine knows what she felt—there’s still something between them even after all these years. She knows she’s in no position to make demands, but she has to know what it is. Even though Cosima’s erected a strong defence as a means to deter her, she also knows that her witty ex-lover has more to say and she needs to hear Cosima’s piece; no matter how detached or unaffected she acts, she knows that Cosima is hurting, that the only way she’ll ever be able to heal and move on is if she gets it all off her chest.

The blonde owes her at least that much.

Delphine lifts her head again. She steadies her breathing, deciding that this is the sort of job that can’t be planned out. She’ll have a better idea of what she’s dealing with once she gets inside and finds Cosima. She closes her eyes, collecting her thoughts and preparing to take the plunge, but the second she reaches for the handle to open the car door, she freezes.

Cosima comes spilling out of the club, arm wrapped around another woman. There’s ease in her smile, in her eyes. There’s laughter on her breath. They pull away to the side, away from the line of people waiting to get in and Cosima’s companion digs through her purse for a cigarette, lighting it. Delphine watches as the two converse playfully and she feels her heart retch, her grip on the steering wheel tightening until her knuckles are pale. Cosima leans in to whisper in the woman’s ear and they laugh even more, their smiles grow broader.

Delphine quakes.

+ + + + +

“You’ve been crying.”

She sniffles, wiping her nose on the sleeve on her shirt. She hugs her knees to her chest even tighter, pressing her forehead against them. Her eyes are red and puffy and have been for hours—ever since she learned of Cosima’s fate.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She feels herself spiralling down, down, down the rabbit hole until she can’t make sense of who or where she is anymore. She feels hollow and yet so very full—full of rage and regret that crash against each other like waves against a cliff, carving out pieces of her. She sits motionless on the floor of her lifeless apartment, waiting for the descent to stop.

“There’s nothing more you can do, Delphine. This is out of your hands,” Leekie tells her.

His words roll around inside of her head for a minute.

“Is it?”

He stops pacing, staring down at her through narrowed slits.

“Cosima isn’t dying,” he informs her. “She’ll be out again in a matter of years—maybe sooner for good behaviour.”

She springs to her feet, fury getting the better of her.

“Her life is ruined! Don’t you care?” she screams, her eyes filling with tears once more.

His composure never falters.

“She made her choices, just as you made yours and I made mine,” he tries to rationalize. “We all knew what we were getting ourselves into when we started down this path.”

“Except she didn’t!” Delphine argues.

Her chest is heaving now, tears coming in full force.

She always knew there was risk involved, but somehow, the threat never seemed quite real until she felt the trap snap around her ankle. Even now, she’s still shellshocked—unable to make sense of just what went wrong and how it all spiralled out of control so quickly; one moment they were on top of the world, planning for their future, and the very next she was watching Cosima getting dragged away in handcuffs, their future turning to ash right before her very eyes.

“Cosima never wanted this! She—she tried to tell me so many times, but I just wouldn’t listen!” she bellows. “She wanted out because she knew something like this might happen and now here she is, suffering the consequences of my actions!”

This was her fuck up.

It didn’t seem right that Cosima should have to pay the price.

“Stop selling her short,” Leekie snaps. “She deserves more credit than that.”

He steps closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her, to try to get his point across. He speaks to her sternly like a lecturing father.

“She isn’t some motherless doe who came wandering in for the final act. If she had really wanted out, she had plenty of opportunities to leave—but she didn’t,” he tells her. “She didn’t because she made a choice—a choice to see this through.”

She shakes her head violently.

“For me!”

Cosima had made this choice for her. She doesn't remember ever asking her to, but then, did she really have to? It was well understood from the very beginning of their relationship that they were a package deal—where one would go, the other would follow. She had led Cosima down this path with the knowledge that whatever happened, they’d be together.

Only they’re not.

“Probably,” Leekie shrugs. “But even if she made that choice for you, it was still hers to make.”

“I… I have to do something,” she says, her thoughts racing anxiously.

It can’t be too late. There has to be something she can do to fix this. She racks her brain for a solution, for some sort of scenario where they can both walk out of this together.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe “together” is impossible right now, but there must be some way she can help Cosima; she can’t just leave her to rot in a cell that’s meant for her.

“I could turn myself in,” she suggests, her voice weak. “I could—”

“Listen to yourself, Delphine,” he stops her. “You’re letting sentiment get the better of you. You’re smarter than this.”

She doesn’t care.

“Turning yourself in isn’t going to change anything. Throwing your life away isn’t going to help her and even if it did, do you really think that’s what she’d want?”

Maybe he’s right.

Even though she never asked her to, Cosima had taken a bullet that was meant for her. In a perfect world, she would trade herself for Cosima, but she knows that there’s no guarantee such a sacrifice would work out the way she’s hoping; after all, Leekie had promised her that Cosima would never serve a day behind bars and now here they are: all of their plans blown to shit. He was supposed to have the lawyers, the connections, but none of it made a difference in the end. “Unforeseeable factors,” he had told her; no matter how much thought and care goes into a plan, there’s never a guarantee that it’ll work out the way it’s been envisioned.

She can run through scenarios in her head until her brain exhausts itself, but there’s no way to know if any of them will play out the way she imagines them—if they’re possible realities or just hopeful delusions. She bursts into tears again, falling forward into the older man’s arms as he holds her steady.

“What do I do?”

#cophine #cophine fanfic #fanfiction #days of why and how

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marcusssanderson · 5 years

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100 Quotes About Change That Will Inspire You To Live Better

Looking for inspirational quotes about change? Here are some of our favorite change quotes that will help improve your life!

What is it about change that is so hard? Even for the strongest and most self-disciplined of us, it does not come easy.

We change for many reasons, because we need to change, because we want to change, and because it is the right thing to do. What gives us the courage to have the strength and courage to make real and lasting change?

To help make your life better, below is our collection of inspirational, wise, and insightful change quotes, change sayings, and change proverbs, collected from a variety of sources over the years.

Change Quotes for Life, Love and the Art of Letting Go

1.) The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking. ― Albert Einstein

2.) “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

― Rumi

3.) “One day spent with someone you love can change everything.”

― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

4.) “True life is lived when tiny changes occur.”

― Leo Tolstoy 5.) Your success in life isn’t based on your ability to simply change. It is based on your ability to change faster than your competition, customers, and business.

― Mark Sanborn

6.) “We are products of our past, but we don’t have to be prisoners of it.”

― Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life: What on Earth Am I Here for?

7.) “Let him who would move the world first move himself.”

― Socrates

8.) “But you’re so busy changing the world

Just one smile can change all of mine”

― Jack Johnson

9.) “You can’t stop the future

You can’t rewind the past

The only way to learn the secret

…is to press play.”

― Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why

Change Quotes About Life

10.) Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

― Margaret Mead

11.) Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and discomforts.

― Arnold Bennett

12.) “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”

― Lao Tzu

13.) “Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.”

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

14.) “No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.

Or you don’t.”

― Stephen King, The Stand

15.) If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.

― Maya Angelou

16.) “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.”

― William Jennings Bryan

17.) “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.”

― Brené Brown

18.) “Sure, everything is ending,” Jules said, “but not yet.”

― Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad

19.) “Nothing is as painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”

― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Quotes About Change In the World

20.) Be the change that you wish to see in the world.

― Mahatma Gandhi

21.) Change is inevitable. Change is constant.

― Benjamin Disraeli

22.) “Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby- awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess.”

― Lemony Snicket, Horseradish

23.) Just Because…..“Fashion changes, but style endures.”

― Coco Chanel

24.) “If you love deeply, you’re going to get hurt badly. But it’s still worth it.”

― C.S. Lewis

25.) I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.

― Mother Teresa

26.) “Believe something and the Universe is on its way to being changed. Because you’ve changed, by believing. Once you’ve changed, other things start to follow. Isn’t that the way it works?”

― Diane Duane, So You Want to Be a Wizard

27.) “Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. ”

― William S. Burroughs

28.) “If you want to change attitudes, start with a change in behavior.”

― Katharine Hepburn

29.) “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

― Nelson Mandela

Quotes About Change and choices

30.) Faced with the choice between changing one’s mind and proving that there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof.

― John Kenneth Galbraith

31.) When you’re finished changing, you’re finished.

― Benjamin Franklin

32.) “Change will not come if we wait for some other person, or if we wait for some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

― Barack Obama

33.) “I wanted to change the world. But I have found that the only thing one can be sure of changing is oneself.”

― Aldous Huxley, Point Counter Point

34.) “Things changed, people changed, and the world went rolling along right outside the window.”

― Nicholas Sparks, Message in a Bottle

35.) The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance. -Nathaniel Branden

36.) “Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change.”

― Wayne W. Dyer

37.) “The beautiful journey of today can only begin when we learn to let go of yesterday.”

― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

38.) “Change not only was inevitable, but usually brought its own rewards.”

― Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

39.) “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

― Margaret Mead

Quotes About Change in Politics and Business

40.) Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future. -John F. Kennedy

41.) The price of doing the same old thing is far higher than the price of change.

― Bill Clinton

42.) “Change will not come if we wait for some other person, or if we wait for some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

― Barack Obama

43.) “No matter who you are, no matter what you did, no matter where you’ve come from, you can always change, become a better version of yourself.”

― Madonna

44.) “I realized how truly hard it was, really, to see someone you love change right before your eyes. Not only is it scary, it throws your balance off as well.”

― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

45.) Change your thoughts and you change your world. –Norman Vincent Peale

46.) “Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.”

― Eckhart Tolle

47.) “Anger, resentment and jealousy doesn’t change the heart of others– it only changes yours.”

― Shannon L. Alder, 300 Questions to Ask Your Parents Before It’s Too Late

48.) “To change one’s life:

Start immediately.

Do it flamboyantly.

No exceptions.”

― William James

49.) “Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”

― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Quotes About Change and letting go

50.) People can cry much easier than they can change.

― James Baldwin

51.) The world hates change, yet it is the only thing that has brought progress.

― Charles Kettering

52.) “They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”

― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

53.) “You cannot change what you are, only what you do.”

― Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

54.) “Every woman that finally figured out her worth, has picked up her suitcases of pride and boarded a flight to freedom, which landed in the valley of change.”

― Shannon L. Alder

55.) People don’t resist change. They resist being changed.

― Peter Senge

56.) “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

― Mother Teresa

57.) “If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door”

― Milton Berle

58.) “Books can be dangerous. The best ones should be labeled “This could change your life.”

― Helen Exley

59.) “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

― Leo Tolstoy

Quotes About Change In Life

60.) Change before you have to.

― Jack Welch

61.) If you don’t like change, you will like irrelevance even less.

― General Eric Shinseki

62.) “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large — I contain multitudes.”

― Walt Whitman

63.) “Growing up happens when you start having things you look back on and wish you could change ― Clary Fray”

― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

64.) “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

― Alan W. Watts

65.) You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.

― R. Buckminster Fuller

66.) “We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers – but never blame yourself. It’s never your fault. But it’s always your fault, because if you wanted to change you’re the one who has got to change.”

― Katharine Hepburn, Me: Stories of My Life

67.) “Don’t confuse poor decision-making with destiny. Own your mistakes. It’s ok; we all make them. Learn from them so they can empower you!”

― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

68.) “A bend in the road is not the end of the road…Unless you fail to make the turn.”

― Helen Keller

69.) “Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn’t stop for anybody.”

― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Change quotes about letting go

70.) He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.

― Harold Wilson

71.) Change means that what was before wasn’t perfect. People want things to be better. -Esther Dyson

72.) “The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

73.) “Change, like healing, takes time.”

― Veronica Roth, Allegiant

74.) “If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write.”

― Martin Luther

75.) Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time; what we really want is for things to remain the same but get better. -Sydney J. Harris

76.) “And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.”

― Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing

77.) “When people are ready to, they change. They never do it before then, and sometimes they die before they get around to it. You can’t make them change if they don’t want to, just like when they do want to, you can’t stop them.”

― Andy Warhol, Andy Warhol in His Own Words

78.) “I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”

― Steve Jobs

79.) “Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

― Rob Siltanen

Change quotes about life

80.) I cannot say whether things will get better if we change; what I can say is they must change if they are to get better.

― Georg C. Lichtenberg

81.) Resistance at all cost is the most senseless act there is.

― Friedrich Durrenmatt

82.) “I have accepted fear as part of life – specifically the fear of change… I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back….”

― Erica Jong

83.) “You never change things by fighting the existing reality.

To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”

― R. Buckminster Fuller

84.) “We are the change we have been waiting for.”

― Barack Obama

85.) It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory.

― W. Edwards Deming

86.) “Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

― George Bernard Shaw

87.) “I find the best way to love someone is not to change them, but instead, help them reveal the greatest version of themselves.”

― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

88.) “Stepping onto a brand-new path is difficult, but not more difficult than remaining in a situation, which is not nurturing to the whole woman.”

― Maya Angelou

89.) And just for fun… “Change is inevitable–except from a vending machine.”

― Robert C. Gallagher

Change quotes about people

90.) When people shake their heads because we are living in a restless age, ask them how they would like to life in a stationary one, and do without change.

― George Bernard Shaw

91.) If we don’t change, we don’t grow. If we don’t grow, we aren’t really living.

― Gail Sheehy

92.) “The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind.”

― Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

93.) “Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not.”

― Stephen King, The Green Mile

94.) “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.”

― Winston S. Churchill

95.) There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.

― Winston Churchill

96.) “One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.”

― Malala Yousafzai

97.) “Forget yesterday – it has already forgotten you. Don’t sweat tomorrow – you haven’t even met. Instead, open your eyes and your heart to a truly precious gift – today.”

― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

98.) “We are not trapped or locked up in these bones. No, no. We are free to change. And love changes us. And if we can love one another, we can break open the sky.”

― Walter Mosley, Blue Light

99.) To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.

― Winston Churchill

100.) Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.

― George Bernard Shaw

Did you enjoy these change quotes

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