del :)

queer. 27. she/they.

[lostamongthefearnes]

howdy

welcome to my little corner :)

you can call me del or fearnes, i'm very friendly and only sometimes bite. i'm 27, queer, happily married. i try to write fic and post lil headcannons in between my many jobs (logistics coordinating a nonprofit, working with kids, owning and operating a different nonprofit, making theatre)

it's all sapphic here all the time - (the pitt mostly, sometimes d20 and crit role)

generally 18+, so mdni please :)

below the cut is a lil master list of things i've written

Working On It - established relationship garsanshimi hurt/comfort long fic

part one

part two

both parts, but on ao3

garsanshimi things

pwhl fans

mother's day

moving in together

secret relationship (currently in progress as a long fic)

mechanical bull

massages

late to work

learning each other

shower not-sex

caffeine intake

mel and becca

family wedding

having another kid

garsantos

hands

barantos

first time

and all my other really short headcannons are tagged #tiny hc

and also my ao3 is here, though i haven't posted anything in a loooong time

[theballadofmemories]

Sepideh Moafi/Gigi Ghorbani

[un-holy-girls]

[goodysaurus]

mutuals what perfume or cologne do you use? 👀

[as-syllable-from-sound]

she’s so freaking cute

[graveyarrdshift]

women's thighs. you agree. reblog.

[ceruleanheaven]

not to be a disgusting pervert but i really want someone to hug me from behind wrap their arms around me and rest their head on my shoulder

[blueeyesshyskies]

The Spyglass

(Aka- the period pain trinity fic)

The words cracked something inside her. We can feel it. Of course they could. They always could. Yolanda with her sharp, intelligent eyes, Baran with her uncanny ability to read the silences between sentences. They saw through every mask she put up, every careful performance she staged.

And that was the problem. Because if they could see through her, then they would eventually get tired of what they saw. They would get tired of her needing things, of her hurting, of her being too much.

Or

Trinity has painful periods, Baran and Yolanda show her how much they adore her, even when she hurts.

Read here on ao3

The morning light crept through the curtains in long, golden waves, painting soft stripes across the rumpled sheets and the three bodies tangled among them. The air smelled of sleep and warmth and the faint floral hint of Baran’s shampoo, white jasmine, and something earthy beneath it.

 

Trinity was straddled across Baran’s thighs, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Baran's hips. She could feel the solid heat of Baran's body through the thin cotton of her singlet, the way Baran's hands rested lightly on her waist, thumbs tracing idle circles against her hipbones. Behind her, Yolanda’s chest pressed warm against her spine, breath ghosting over the curve of her shoulder.

 

It was supposed to be perfect. Most mornings, it would be perfect.

 

Yolanda’s hands slid up from Trinity's waist, fingers dragging slowly over her ribs, and settled over her breasts. She cupped them through the fabric, squeezing gently at first, then with more intent, her thumbs brushing over Trinity's nipples in lazy, teasing strokes. Trinity's head fell back against Yolanda’s shoulder, a moan building in her throat.

 

But when Yolanda squeezed harder, her fingers pressing into the tender swell of Trinity's breasts, a sharp spike of pain lanced through her. Her breath caught, and she winced. It was a a tiny sound, an almost invisible flinch, but it was there. Her shoulders tightened, and her hands, which had been resting on Baran's shoulders, curled into fists against her will.

 

She forced her body to relax, forced her lips into a smile, forced herself to roll her hips against Baran's lap as if nothing had happened. "Keep going," she murmured, her voice pitched low and breathy. "Don't stop."

 

But Baran's hands stilled on her waist. Her dark eyes, usually soft and warm in moments like this, sharpened with something like concern. She caught Yolanda’s gaze over Trinity's shoulder, having a silent conversation that Trinity couldn't follow, but could feel in the way the air shifted around them.

 

Yolanda’s hands didn't move, but they stopped squeezing. Her fingers lay flat and still over Trinity's breasts, warm but no longer demanding.

 

"Trinity," Yolanda said, her voice low and careful. "What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing." The word came too fast, too bright. Trinity laughed, a breathy, dismissive sound that didn't fool anyone, least of all her girlfriends, "I'm fine. Really. It's just…I'm a little sore, that's all. Keep going. I want this."

 

She tried to pick up the rhythm again, grinding her hips forward, but Baran's hands caught her waist and held her still.

 

"Trinity." Baran's voice was quieter than Yolanda's, but it carried the same weight. "You're hurting. We can feel it."

 

The words cracked something inside her. We can feel it. Of course they could. They always could. Yolanda with her sharp, intelligent eyes, Baran with her uncanny ability to read the silences between sentences. They saw through every mask she put up, every careful performance she staged.

 

And that was the problem. Because if they could see through her, then they would eventually get tired of what they saw. They would get tired of her needing things, of her hurting, of her being too much.

 

"It's nothing," Trinity insisted, her voice still bright, still polished. She reached up and covered Yolanda’s hands with her own, pressing them back against her chest. "See? I'm fine. Let's just, let's go back to what we were doing."

 

Yolanda didn't move. Her hands stayed where they were, but they were still, unresponsive. "Trin, look at me."

 

Trinity didn't want to. She knew if she looked, she would crack. But her body moved before her mind could stop it, turning her head just enough to meet Yolanda's eyes.

 

Yolanda’s face was open, soft, utterly without judgment. "You don't have to pretend with us, cariño."

 

Something hot and sharp lodged in Trinity's throat. She swallowed against it, but it didn't budge. "I'm not pretending. I just, it's just a little discomfort. It's normal. It's fine."

 

Trinity felt the old familiar shame clawing its way up her throat again, and broke eye contact, looking down. It was a mistake, because now Baran had caught her gaze.

 

"It's not fine if you're wincing," Baran said, her voice even, patient. "Tell us what's going on. Please."

 

Trinity's jaw tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to deflect, to change the subject, to laugh it off and redirect them back to pleasure. That was what she was supposed to do. That was what she had learned. That was what kept people from getting frustrated with her, from rolling their eyes, from telling her she was being dramatic and selfish.

 

Don't be selfish, Trinity. It's normal to hurt a little. You're making a big deal out of nothing. You really want to stop? Now?

 

The memory slid through her like a cold draft. She pushed it away forcefully.

 

"I'm on my period," she said finally, the words clipped and flat. "It's bad today. My back hurts, my tits are sore, and I feel like someone's twisting a knife in my hips. But it's fine. It'll pass. I don't want to ruin the morning."

 

"You're not ruining anything," Yolanda said immediately. Her hands slid away from Trinity's breasts, dropping to her waist instead, where she began a slow, firm massage. "Why didn't you tell us?"

 

Trinity shrugged, the motion jerky. "Because it's stupid. I'm a doctor. I know how periods work. I should be able to handle it."

 

Baran's thumbs pressed into the small of Trinity's back, finding a knot of tension that made her breath hitch. "Handling it doesn't mean suffering in silence," Baran said. "It means telling us so we can help."

 

"I don't need help. I just need to get through it."

 

"Trinity." Yolanda’s voice was soft, but there was a thread of steel underneath it. "Tell us why you think you need to keep going.”

 

She looked carefully at Trinity before she asked her next question, softening her voice, “was that something your ex would say?"

 

The question hit Trinity like a slap. She stiffened, her entire body going rigid. "What does that have to do with anything?"

 

Yolanda and Baran exchanged a glance, continuing their silent conversation from before with a longer, heavier look. Then Yolanda shifted, climbing off the bed and circling around to kneel in front of Trinity. Her dark eyes were steady, unwavering.

 

"Because I've seen this before," Yolanda said quietly, her eyes shining with sadness. “The way you push through pain like it's a test. The way you act like your comfort is optional." Trinity could tell she was thinking about their casual situationship, felt the waves of despair rolling over her.

 

Yolanda paused, reaching out to take Trinity's hand. "That's not something people learn for no reason."

 

Trinity stared at Yolanda’s fingers wrapped around hers. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to laugh it off. She wanted to say it's not that deep and bury it all back down where it belonged.

 

But Baran's hands were still on her back, warm and steady, and Yolanda was looking at her like she was something precious, and the words were rising in her throat whether she wanted them to or not.

 

"My ex," she said slowly, the words tasting like ash, "used to tell me that it was normal for sex to hurt a little on your period. She said it was just part of being with someone. That I was being selfish if I said no, because she wanted me, and I should want to be wanted."

 

Neither Yolanda nor Baran interrupted. They just listened, their hands still on her, their presence an anchor.

 

"Most of the time, she would stop if I asked her to," Trinity continued, her voice flattening. "But she would make these comments. Little things. 'I guess you're just not in the mood tonight.' 'Fine, we can just go to bed.' Like she was doing me a favour by letting me say no. Like I was letting her down."

 

She took a shaky breath. "And eventually, I just stopped saying no.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy. Trinity could see Yolanda clench her hands and Baran bite her lip to keep from reacting.

 

Baran's hands slid up from Trinity's waist to cup her face, thumbs brushing away tears Trinity hadn't realised were falling. "That wasn't love, my sweet girl," Baran said softly, "that was someone controlling you, hurting you, and masquerading it as desire."

 

"I know," Trinity whispered. "I know that now. But I still feel it. I still feel like if I say no, if I need too much, if I'm not easy, you'll get tired of me."

 

Yolanda squeezed her hand, "We won't."

 

"You say that now, but—"

 

"We won't," Baran repeated, her voice firm but not harsh. "Not ever. Not for any reason. You can say no at any time, for any reason, or for no reason at all. And we will still be here. Loving you."

 

Trinity's breath hitched. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to let herself sink into the warmth of their words and be held there, safe. But the ghost of her ex's voice was still whispering in her ear, telling her this was a test, that they would fail her eventually, that everyone did.

 

"I don't know how to let you take care of me," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I don't know how to just... stop."

 

Yolanda stood, pulling Trinity gently off Baran's lap and guiding her to lie down on the bed. She stretched out beside her, one hand resting on Trinity's stomach, while Baran moved to Trinity's other side, her fingers threading through Trinity's hair.

 

"Then we'll teach you," Yola said. "Slowly. One moment at a time."

 

 

 

-

 




The morning stretched on, unhurried. Trinity lay between them, her body still tense, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

She watched Baran disappear into the bathroom and return with a heat pack, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a steaming mug of rosehip tea. She watched Yolanda rummage through the nightstand drawer and pull out a small device—a TENS machine, the kind she used at work for patients with chronic pain.

 

Baran set the heat pack over Trinity's stomach and hips, the warmth seeping through her singlet and into the tight, knotted muscles beneath. "This will help with the cramping," she said, adjusting the pack so it sat just right.

 

Yolanda peeled the backing off the electrode pads and pressed them onto Trinity's lower back, her fingers precise and careful. "This might feel a little weird at first," she warned. "But it should help with the back pain."

 

When she turned the machine on, nothing seemed to happen. At Trinity’s confused look, Yolanda adjusted the levels until Trinity could feel a gentle pulsing sensation spread through her lumbar region, rhythmic and soothing. She felt the muscles in her back unlock for the first time in days, and a shuddering breath escaped her lips.

 

"Oh," she breathed. "That's... that's really good."

 

Yolanda smiled, a small, private thing that softened her whole face. "I know baby. I use one myself sometimes."

 

Trinity closed her eyes, letting herself feel the warmth of the heat pack, the pulsing of the TENS machine, the weight of Baran's hand in her hair and Yolanda's palm on her stomach.

 

It was overwhelming, almost too much. The gentleness, the care, the way they were giving without asking for anything in return.

 

She wanted to give something back. She wanted to prove she was worth this.

 

"I can still—" she started, shifting as if to move, but Baran's hand tightened gently in her hair.

 

"You can still nothing," Baran said, her voice carrying a hint of a smile. "You can lay down here and let us take care of you. That's what you can do."

 

"But I should—"

 

"You should rest," Yolanda interrupted, stroking her thumb over Trinity's hip. "You should let your body recover. You should let us hold you and feed you and make you feel better."

 

She paused, then added, "Please, Trin." And that did it.

 

Trinity's throat tightened again. She wanted to argue, to find the loophole, the way out of this vulnerability. But the TENS machine was humming against her spine, and the heat pack was melting the knots in her abdomen, and Baran's fingers were so gentle in her hair, and she was so, so tired.

 

"Okay, Yola” she whispered, the word barely audible.

 

Yolanda smiled at the use of her nickname, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Good girl."

 

They rearranged themselves on the bed, Trinity's head resting in Baran's lap, Baran's fingers still tangled in her hair, Trinity's feet in Yolanda’s lap. Yolanda reached for the nightstand and picked up a worn paperback, its spine cracked from years of reading.

 

"I saw this mentioned in your journal a while back," Yolanda said, holding up the book. The Amber Spyglass. "You used to read it when you were a teenager, didn't you?"

 

Trinity's eyes flew open. "You read my journal?"

 

Yolanda smiled, unrepentant. "Claro que no.You left it open on the coffee table. I only saw one page. You wrote out the whole passage."

 

Trinity's cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Despite the horror of it, a strange, unfamiliar warmth was settling in her at the idea of being known so well. "You remembered?"

 

"You underlined it so many times the ink bled through the page," Yolanda said. "Of course I remembered."

 

The words she didn’t say were clear. I take notice of you. I remember you. I love you.

 

She opened the book, flipping through the pages until she found the right one.

Her voice was low and melodic as she began to read:

 

"I will love you forever; whatever happens. Till I die and after I die, and when I find my way out of the land of the dead, I'll drift about forever, all my atoms, till I find you again..."

 

Trinity closed her eyes. The words settled into her chest like warm stones, familiar and ancient. She had read that passage so many times as a young, newly minted teenager, hiding in her closet with a flashlight, her heart aching with a loneliness she hadn't yet known how to name. She had yearned for a love like that, a love that transcended death, that promised to find her even in the darkness of the underworld.

 

She had never told anyone how that passage made her feel. But Yolanda had found it, and she had kept it, she had remembered it, and she was reading it back to her now, in this quiet morning light, and Trinity felt something in her chest crack open.

 

"That was my favourite book," she said, her voice rough. "When I was thirteen. I used to read it over and over again."

 

"What did you love about it?" Baran asked, her fingers never stopping their gentle rhythm in Trinity's hair.

 

Trinity thought about it. "The idea that love could be that strong. That it could survive anything. Death, distance, even the end of the world. That two people could promise to find each other no matter what." She paused. "I wanted that. I didn't know how to say it, but I wanted it."

 

"You have it," Yolanda said simply. "We're not going anywhere."

 

Trinity opened her mouth to argue, to point out that nothing was guaranteed, that people left, that promises broke. But the TENS machine pulsed against her back, and the heat pack was warm on her belly, and Baran's fingers were carding through her hair with a tenderness that made her eyes sting.

 

"Read more," she said instead.

 

Yolanda smiled and turned the page.

 

 

-

 

 

 

The morning bled into afternoon. Yola read aloud from The Amber Spyglass while Baran kept up a steady rhythm in Trinity's hair, occasionally pausing to trace patterns on her face, neck, and shoulders. Trinity drifted in and out of sleep, her body finally relaxing into the care they offered.

 

When she woke, the heat pack had cooled, and the TENS machine had shut off automatically. She was alone in the bed for a moment, disoriented, before she heard voices from the kitchen, Yolanda's low laugh, Baran's murmured response, the clatter of dishes.

 

She sat up slowly, wincing at the residual ache in her back. It was better than before, but still there, a dull throb that reminded her she was still human, still fragile.

 

She padded into the kitchen on bare feet, finding Yola at the stove and Baran at the counter, slicing fruit. The sight of them there, so utterly domestic and ordinary, struck her with a force that stole her breath.

 

"Hey," Yolanda said, glancing over her shoulder. "You're up. How's the pain?"

 

"Better," Trinity admitted. "A lot better."

 

Baran set down the knife and crossed to her, cupping her face in both hands. "You look like you have something on your mind."

 

Trinity leaned into the touch, her eyes falling closed. "I still don't know how to do this," she said. "How to accept it. How to stop waiting for you to get tired of me."

 

"We're not going to get tired of you," Baran said. "That's not how love works."

 

"It is, though," Trinity said quietly.

 

Yolanda turned off the stove and joined them, wrapping her arms around Trinity from behind, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "We are not your ex," she said firmly. "We are not going to punish you for needing things. We are not going to judge you for being in pain. We are going to be here, every cycle, every bad day, every moment you think you're too much."

 

"You're not too much," Baran added, her thumbs stroking Trinity's cheekbones. "You're exactly enough. You always have been."

 

Trinity felt the tears come again, silent and hot. She let them fall, and didn't try to stop them.

 

"I don't know what I did to deserve you two," she whispered.

 

"You existed," Baran said simply. "That was enough."

 

They stood there in the kitchen, wrapped around each other, until Trinity's tears slowed and her breathing steadied. Then Yolanda guided her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed with a fresh heat pack and a cup of tea, while Baran brought her a plate of sliced fruit and toast.

 

Trinity ate slowly, letting Baran feed her, letting Yolanda tend to her, letting herself be small and vulnerable and loved.

 

Yolanda picked up The Amber Spyglass again, finding another passage she had marked.

 

"Every atom of me and every atom of you...We'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pin trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams...And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they won't just be able to take one, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be joined so tight..."

 

Trinity tilted her head up, meeting Baran gaze above her.

 

"That's the part I need to learn," she said. "To trust that you’ll still want to be a part of me."

 

Baran smiled, soft and warm, "We'll help you. However long it takes."

 

Yolanda leaned over and pressed a kiss to Trinity's temple, "However long it takes," she repeated.

 

Trinity nuzzled into them both, smelling their combined scents of white jasmine and violin rosin, and let herself believe it.

[charlesdrawing]

Trinity Santos

[scout-spaeny]

Trinity slipping into the ED after an MMA training session gone wrong or a fight to suture up a cut above her eyebrow. Baran leaving late and noticing a bed in use even though the board says it’s empty.

Her walking in on Trinity throwing stitches and either finding it extremely hot or tragically sad

barantos - half a million dollar baby

“I thought we’d spoken about this.”

trinity’s fingers froze over the suture kit, wincing at the curt tone of baran’s voice slicing through the quiet of the trauma room.

“shit.”

“mhm.”

“I, uh, thought you’d have gone home by now.”

“no.” baran said evenly, though her voice simmered with anger. “abbot’s late on account of traffic so I’m just covering until he gets here. you can imagine my surprise as I prepare the hand-off to find an empty room not only being used by someone that isn’t on the board, but being used by my wife who’s trying to sneak around a suture kit without me noticing.”

trinity winced again. she didn’t need to turn around to know how her wife was looking at her. jaw set, arms folded, eyes disapproving. she wished then, briefly, that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“baran-“ she started.

“turn around.” baran said shortly. “let me see.”

trinity did as she was told. baran’s face fell.

“jesus.”

trinity had a dark bruise over one cheek, a large gash splitting the brow above her left eye, about three or four centimetres in length. she smiled, hoping it looked reassuring.

“okay, it’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. I was just sparring with crus and-“

“with crus?!” baran swore something under her breath in farsi, anger flickering over her features again. “jesus fucking christ, trinity.”

“hey, I’ve fought him before. it was just a slip, I feinted and he lunged for my left, he barely glanced me-“

“it doesn’t fucking matter!” baran said, suddenly a little sharper and louder than she meant to be. trinity could spy nurses glancing up from central. “that man is twice your size, you could’ve been hurt - you are hurt, oh my fucking god.”

“baran-“

“no, no, don’t baran me right now. we’ve spoken about this before. no more stupid decisions, no more mismatched fights, even when it’s just sparring. not after last time, not after-“ she cut herself off, glaring at trinity, her expression a mixture of hurt and anger. “you’re sneaking around my ed like a goddamn cat burglar. did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

a muscle in trinity’s jaw flickered and the corners of her mouth tugged downwards.

“I was hoping if I could fix this,” she pointed to the cut in her brow, “you’d be less pissed at me when you saw.”

“uh-uh, right, and how’s that working out for you?”

“not great.”

trinity felt the guilt beginning to seep in as baran pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you.” she mumbled quietly.

“no,” baran said softly, defeated, giving her a knowing look. “you never do.”

that landed.

trinity looked away, ashamed.

baran was right. whenever she stepped into the ring, no matter who it was against, trinity fought for herself and for herself only. for her, fighting was life or death, the only way she felt really and truly alive.

for baran, it felt like losing a part of trinity every day. it felt like watching trinity give herself all the pain she thought she deserved.

with another sigh, she gestured for trinity to sit on the bed and dug out the suture kit.

“I’m sorry.” trinity mumbled as baran put a set of gloves on.

“I know you are.” baran muttered, threading the needle and preparing to push it through trinity’s skin. “but it won’t stop you doing it anyway.”

“I will one day. I’ll get too old and won’t be able to do it anymore. I’ll quit.”

baran only hummed, not meeting her eyes. there was an unbearable sadness in her being.

“if you live that long.”

[scout-spaeny]

mowalsh!tlou - blood in the rain

(i’ve reached peak delusion) - @puppiegracie have fun with the premise

emery walsh had always wondered how she would die.

if it would be from infection, a fight, a stray bullet or something much nastier. it was a fool’s dream to believe she’d die of old age, slipping away peacefully in her sleep. she’d had nightmares before of being dragged down to the sewage line by her ankles, drowned amongst the dirty water as infected ripped her apart, tore the scream right out of her throat.

so, considering that, she figured this wasn’t so bad.

lying against the cracked concrete of a mangled hospital building with an arrow sticking out of her thigh and her face turned towards the burgeoning sun. she smiled, she’d always liked the smell of petrichor.

the sound of gunfire had died out by now, replaced by thick, bloodied sobs.

she wondered if any of her crew were still up and running, if any of them had made it out. she wouldn’t blame them if they had left her behind, it was the least she deserved.

maybe it had been seeing her friends die that had taken all the fight out her, seeing the light go out crus’s eyes when he got bit, seeing jack be held down as they’d cut off his infected leg with a machete. maybe that was it.

the wound in her leg wasn’t even fatal, she could probably stand if she tried, she just didn’t want to.

she didn’t have it in her anymore.

instead, she simply wrenched at the velcro of her W.L.F chest plate and let it lay in the dust beside her. it wouldn’t be long until the scars got to her, she was sure there’d still be some around.

she wasn’t mad about dying, not even remotely afraid of it even. if she had a gun on her right now she’d probably just do it herself but it was too far away, too empty, too much effort to try and grasp.

no, she’d sit here until they came. let herself be a warning to anyone who tried to fuck with the seraphites. another story to the wolf kids about what happens when you’re a reckless idiot.

it’s not until nightfall that someone finally finds her. she’s half-asleep and half-dead, barely alive enough to call out, even if she wanted to.

she can smell the leather of their coat, just about make out the scars on their face through the dark.

she expects a knife to the throat, maybe a bullet to the head, a quick end if they’re feeling merciful for an old soldier like her. if they’re feeling creative she’ll be dragged under a tree to hang by her ankles, let out guts spill out over her face.

instead, a gentle hand is pressed against the back of her forehead and she’s briefly ravaged for bite marks. when they don’t find any, the hand comes away and emery closes her eyes, ready for it to be over. ready to join parker and the others, if they’re anywhere waiting for her.

instead of a bullet to the head, bandages come around her head and cradle her, soft and safe and clean.

[theincorrectpitt]

Samira: Ah, yes, my train of thought. Samira: Or, as I like to call it, the anxiety express.

[garpen]

"you already left kudos here"

And??? Let me like it again??? Clearly it deserves more??

[bhebah]

[nohoperadio]

Scooby-Doo is a dog who can talk, which is amazing, and he largely uses his powers of speech to communicate how scared he is of ghosts and monsters, and basically the only thing his owners do is drive him around the country putting him inside various haunted houses and such. I wish I could take Scooby-Doo aside, I want to say to him, these people are not your friends.

[santos-dreaming]

trinity who was never given the tools to work through her grief when her best friend died. trinity who sometimes even now still gets the urge to tell her things and is sucker punched all over again that it’s impossible to do so.

trinity who is trying to simultaneously hold onto her memories of her without letting the guilt of still living her life without eat her alive

[santospilled]

after a rough shift, trinity finds herself at the hospital chapel. she doesn’t know why, a piece of her catholic upbringing causing her feet to unconsciously walk her there.

she sits, tries praying but can’t think of anything to say. trinity hasn’t believe in god since she was a child. how could a god so loving, so all knowing, let something like that happen to a child?

her mind is stuck on her friend. on how much she misses her and wishes she could tell her all the things that were left unspoken between them. so she does. she drops onto the kneeler, closes her eyes, and whispers everything to her. and for the first time in a long time, she feels lighter.

[blueeyesshyskies]