Quaking Aspens (Populus tremuloides) are known for developing markings that resemble eyes. Aspen eyes are actually dark markings on the main trunk where side branches used to be, Photography
not a day goes by that i donāt think about the future redfield stole from the marshall twins ... so hereās them on their 19th in a world where they never woke him up :ā)
i hope all of these girls have a great day and i love the girl who forgot her wig but the sis with the hijabi damn near made me cry sob i love this <3333333
Another thing abt this video: nearly every beauty involved is Indigenous or Black, the two minority groups of trans women that frequently get left out of discussions when it comes to highlighting trans women and their beauty, and the two groups at the highest risk of violence while trans. These women deserve love and praise just like yāallās favorite white women do. Show up for Black and Indigenous trans women.
In a previous ask someone asked for the reactions of Eva, Levi, and Amari if MC had died from the Strigoi encounter. Can I get Shaw's reaction? Like Eva delivering the news MC's dead? Because I enjoy pAin I guess oof
here's your pain, all 750 words of itš¤²š¤²š¤² (tw for mc death)
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he's on his way out when he gets the news - another late evening, another meeting over dinner, life or death if his boss is to be believed. shaw runs his hand through his hair one final time, slips his phone in his pocket - and the doorbell rings.
that's not right.
shaw peers through the peephole. it's a woman, vaguely familiar, her expression concerned. when he opens the door, he mentally upgrades that to 'devastated'; she looks like she hasn't slept in a week, eyes rimmed in red and her hair a mess. shaw sighs, leans his shoulder against the door jam and raises an eyebrow.
"Can I help you?"
"Adrian Shaw?" her voice is clearer than he expects, rough like she's been crying but steady. Not aggressive: not a threat, but someone used to authority. His hackles drop a little, relaxing into his stance as he flashes her a bright smile and gets no response.
Huh.
"Can this wait? I have a reservation at-"
"It can't wait," she interrupts, gaze drifting to the side slightly. Shaw tries hard not to roll his eyes - really. He does. He doesn't succeed, but he tried, and for that he deserves credit.
"Well?"
"I'm Detective Reese," she begins, and with just three words she has his hackles up once more. He doesn't show it, just lets his eyebrow inch higher as she takes a deep breath, as if she's steeling herself for something. It's not an arrest, he's reasonably confident - if it was, she wouldn't be alone, nor would she be looking quite such a mess. At least, he'd hope not. She could've at least brushed her hair before coming to ruin his life, after all.
It takes her a minute to gather her thoughts, during which time Shaw pointedly checks his watch, raises a hand to fuss with his hair - should he have got it cut? he likes the way it looks like this, soft and slightly disheveled, but maybe he should have gone for a neater look-
"We were attacked," the detective says, and he stops.
"You... were attacked," he repeats. Reese nods slowly.
"I... I'm sorry. We were working, and-"
Shaw shakes his head, finally straightening from his slouch against the door. Reese is wringing her hands now, her eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Her voice cracks, her face pale, and she pauses, takes a deep breath. Squares her shoulders and tucks her hands behind her back, fixes her eyes on him. Shaw swallows.
"We have you listed as their emergency contact," she tells him, and the world starts to spin.
"I'm-" he's not sure what he's starting to say, but he doesn't get far. "Is... are they-"
"I'm very sorry," she says. Her voice has gone flat, her eyes too, and Shaw can't breathe. He can't breathe.
"What?" he asks, and it's pathetic, how weak his voice is but- "What?"
"We were attacked," she says again, her voice soft, reaching a hand towards him in an aborted movement. An excuse, an offering - he's not sure and he can't care, can't think. The hallway is off-kilter, sliding to the side and taking his heart with it, breathless and cold.
He's clinging to the door, the polished wood the only thing keeping him upright. The detective reaches for him, doesn't touch him, and he can't read her expression, doesn't care to. Doesn't need to.
"I-" he blinks. "I have a... I have to go to work,"
He can't. He can't go out, needs to talk to- needs to talk to them. Needs his phone. He scrambles for it, pulls it out of his pocket with shaking hands and stares at the black screen. Unlocks it, ignoring the detective now hovering awkwardly in his doorway. Dials the number he knows by heart and listens as it rings through to voicemail. Hangs up.
His phone drops to the ground. Bounces. His hands are numb as he runs them through his hair.
"I... I have to," he swallows, throat clicking. "I have to call my boss. Can you-?"
The detective nods, finally steps into the room to squeeze his arm in a gesture he barely feels. She presses a card into his hand.
"If you need anything... call me. Anything,"
He doesn't look at her as she leaves, doesn't move until long after the door has clicked shut behind her. Then he stoops to pick up his phone, the familiar number still glowing on the screen.
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