"For a real, real long time I had a really difficult relationship with touch... Funny considerin' where I am now." She chuckles, taking a look back in the mirror and continuing to adhere gems to her face. "It's definitely gotten easier as I've gotten older and come to terms with how I grew up, though I'm still not much of a hugger or touchy kind of person." Head twists side to side, checking the symmetry of her face, then adjusting her breasts in her bra, giving herself more of the illusion of cleavage. "Sometimes I still feel dirty when touched too. I have to really remind myself I'm not and that I'm not going to hell over a kiss."
❛ i won't apologize for the way i chose to survive. ❜
❛ i won't ask you to love me. ❜
❛ i won't be another thing you ruin and walk away from. ❜
❛ i won't be here when you finally decide you need me. ❜
❛ i won't be the reason for you to stay. ❜
❛ i won't be your second choice anymore. ❜
❛ i won't forgive you just because you finally feel guilty. ❜
❛ i won't hold you back anymore. ❜
❛ i won't keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm. ❜
❛ i won't let myself hope for you again. ❜
❛ i won't let you do this alone. ❜
❛ i won't let you turn this around on me. ❜
❛ i won't make it so easy for you this time. ❜
❛ i won't tell you when i miss you. ❜
❛ i won't wait forever just because you're scared. ❜
❛ won't you at least say goodbye this time? ❜
❛ won't you be lonely without me? ❜
❛ won't you be sorry for once? ❜
❛ won't you look for me when i'm gone? ❜
❛ won't you miss being loved like that? ❜
❛ won't you miss me? ❜
❛ won't you regret this when it's too late? ❜
❛ won't you remember that i tried? ❜
❛ won't you tell me what i did wrong? ❜
❛ won't you wish you had said something kinder? ❜
❛ won't you wish you had stayed? ❜
❛ won't you wonder what could have been? ❜
❛ you won't admit that you hurt me because then you'd have to care. ❜
❛ you won't be able to fix this so easily. ❜
❛ you won't be the reason for me to stay. ❜
❛ you won't even look at me anymore. ❜
❛ you won't find me waiting for you ever again. ❜
❛ you won't get another chance. ❜
❛ you won't get to break me twice. ❜
❛ you won't have to worry about losing me anymore. you already did. ❜
❛ you won't keep using my love against me. ❜
❛ you won't know what to do with yourself when i stop needing you. ❜
❛ you won't remember this the way i will. ❜
❛ you won't say it, but i know you blame me. ❜
❛ you won't understand what you lost until i'm gone. ❜
WELCOME TO SIN CITY, BABY! Where the city has eyes and someone swears they spotted OLIVE SAELI walking down the strip last night. The THIRTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD makes a living as an EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT NURSE . Pit bosses are already taking bets on their loyalty and odds are pointing to THE HOUNDS. Ask a cocktail waitress and they'll tell you the same thing: they're PRAGMATIC but don't mistake that for them being anything less than CUT THROAT. Nothing stays buried beneath the neon forever, especially the fact that they are a VAMPIRE roaming the streets. Pop a tape into your Walkman and let PASS THE NIRVANA by PIERCE THE VEIL tell you all you need to know about them. From the casino floor to the morning headlines, everyone knows THE EARS for a reason. Now watch them TOPPLE THE POWERFUL FAMILIES TO THEIR FOUNDATIONS[AMBER MIDTHUNDER, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER]
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just tell me where to put the rage by olive saeli
i. A child of the sixties in Nowhere, Montana was a challenge only made more difficult when growing up on the reservation. Hiking for water, power outages, assuming they were among the privileged to have power- the times were shifting by the time she was old enough to walk, and the growing pains were not only being felt in her legs but in her community.
ii. The push to move from home to the cities was met with political and social uprisings, but with arguments at home. Both her parents went back and forth on whether to leave their land behind for more modern amenities or hold on to what's rightfully theirs: a government for their people. For their culture.
iii. Olive always felt like their decision didn't include her future. It didn't include the opportunities or the fact they often went hungry, or the fact there were many winters that were almost too harsh to weather. She'd listen to the radio or watch the few channels they had and daydream about a life beyond the lands. Beyond the trees, past the Dakota's, and somewhere warmer. Their poverty only bred hardship and while she didn't face the same disappearing fate a lot of her friends did in the name of religion and righteousness.
iv. she loved her parents. she did. to this day she dreams of her mother braiding her long hair, the warm months where her and her father would spend afternoons driving to the nearest town for groceries and to trade. The warmth of her mothers chest as she leaned into her, curled up under a blanket with a fire going in the winter, falling asleep to stories passed down from generations. But all the good memories are also in tandem with the bad memories. The arguments between her parents, the broken glass, the disinterest in her own dreams.
v. An argument in her teens sent her out the window and into the night. Whatever she could fit into her backpack, all the money she'd saved working as a farm hand, and a flashlight to navigate the great darkness, Olive hopped on the end of the closest train and rode it through Nebraska. Wyoming. All the way through the plains and somehow ending up in Vegas where she finally hopped off. One, because it was warm, and she'd managed to find shelter that wasn't in a gas station, and two because she'd been caught train hopping and needed to give it a rest.
vi. Forging friendships, crushes, and even rivalries with other runaways, she still found community. A small group was formed to keep their hideout safe, rob the rich, and survive in Vegas. Every so often she'd use her findings to call home, let her parents know she was okay, but no she wasn't coming back. Eventually they stopped answering.
vii. Fast forward, the group expanded. Olive infiltrated soup kitchens by volunteering, garnering attention to the cause of helping the city's youth; she and her two closest friends started to make a name for themselves and become a buzzing mosquito in the ears of the Valdez family. The teens felt like they were really starting to make a difference behind the bandanas they hid behind. They grew bold. They felt they were invincible. Olive was no exception until the night she was bitten. A break-in gone wrong, she was able to get her two friends out, but she ended up trapped with a vampire. Almost outsmarting him, but just not quite fast enough, the next thing she knew she was waking up in his house with an insatiable thirst.
viii. He saw something in her. He'd been keeping track of her and the group that had become known as The Hounds. He took her under his wing. Dr. Hokit worked for Las Vegas Memorial and was older than dirt itself. At least, in Olive's eyes. He'd seen her volunteer efforts, her indignant sense of justice, the way she cared about the future— he wanted her to extend that to herself. As such, he'd struck a deal with her; he'd help fund the hounds and their endeavors for a time being, she'd help him at the hospital. Admin work, assisting with research, sparked a deep interest and desire to help further. He fostered her interest, taught her how to control her hunger so she could go to school, and with his continued support and that of her friends, Olive went to nursing school. Not only did this help further her ability to fund the Hounds' philanthropy, but it helped deepen their endeavors and roots in the community. It showed that they really were for the people.
ix. One day, she went to Dr. Hokit's home, and he was just... Gone. She waited. She called his pager. She called his office. He just disappeared. No note, no conversation; the sense of abandonment that followed was reminiscent of her childhood. The concept that she didn't matter in the grand scheme overwhelmed her; it hardened her. She dove into forming the hounds into a force to be reckoned with in the face of the crime around the cities. She became more aggressive. More hard-headed. More withdrawn.
x. Today, she volunteers at the soup kitchen, sets up plans for heists alongside her most trusted and The Halo. She couldn't give a fuck about the Valdez family or the Sloane's. The gang has taken out big names before they can do it again. They just don't realize who they're messing with yet.
THINGS TO KNOW:
Olive is an angry teen turned angry adult. The sense of justice runs deep and sometimes her volunteer outlet isn't enough and she just needs unbridled violence. If you can't find her at work, at the Hounds headquarters, or the regular volunteer spots, you can find her at the kickboxing gym.
Speaking of, she volunteers at the soup kitchen, the boys and girls club, and the Nobody Dies Along program at the hospital
She still tries to call home. It always goes to voicemail.
Olive has sired Sidd.
As far as she knows, the Hounds are better than both families and are not involved in drugs or arms dealing. This business goes under her nose, and both The Eyes, The Teeth, and members of the gang know it's better that she doesn't find out.
WELCOME TO SIN CITY, BABY! Where the city has eyes and someone swears they spotted UKIAH HERNANDEZ walking down the strip last night. The EIGHTY FIVE YEAR OLD makes a living as an NEWS PRODUCER AND REPORTER. Pit bosses are already taking bets on their loyalty and odds are pointing to NO AFFILIATION. Ask a cocktail waitress and they’ll tell you the same thing: they’re CHARISMATIC but don’t mistake that for them being anything less than HEDONISTIC. Nothing stays buried beneath the neon forever, especially the fact that they are a VAMPIRE roaming the streets. Pop a tape into your Walkman and let I AIN’T GOIN OUT LIKE THAT by CYPRESS HILL tell you all you need to know about them. From the casino floor to the morning headlines, everyone knows THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE for a reason. Now watch them PROVIDE AN UNBIASED TAKE ON THE NARRATIVE, REGARDLESS OF SOMEONE’S REPUTATION [WAGNER MOURA, CIS MAN, HE/HIM]
a tale of speaking at any cost by ukiah hernandez
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i. Life was simultaneously complicated but simple. A family of coffee farmers scraping up just enough money to send you and your older brother to school, spending lazy afternoons harassing the raccoons and armadillos that scurry around your family’s property, the occasional trip to the ocean when all the work was done and it was finally time to play. You’d spend time reading, drawing, using an imagination that took you to faraway lands, and never mind the uniforms that marched down the street or the stress on your parents’ faces as they listened to the radio. Too young to know things were about to send your home life crashing down, but old enough to know you needed to run away from reality.
ii. It is your father who is sent to fight first. He can read and write and knows Spanish, an asset to the military. Then it’s your brother. It leaves you, your mother, and your baby sister to tend to the farm. Your school is put on hold but you don’t mind at first. You never liked waking up early or having the older kids pick on you for baby fat that still clung to your cheeks, a representation of the innocence you still possessed. They are among the lucky that return unscathed yet pieces of them remain in the beyond. There is a great world out there, one where men fight for territory and monetary gain, one where blood is shed in the name of what is deemed correct, and something about that fact never sat with you. You don’t see the point, nor do you see the middle ground truth when listening to the radio with your parents. This is the start of your journey.
iii. Sent back to school now with a new passion for writing, for reading, for understanding the world as it shifts around you, your skills are enough; you’re hired onto the school paper. You cover local events, the high school dance, the annual ceremonies and holidays. You write about it all, and you write about your feelings and thoughts, about the opinions of those in the community, about the truth. You’re introduced to the concept of journalism as a whole when you’re drafted into the press during WWII.
iv. People like you. You’re charming and charismatic and steady. The deep voice of your father and his steady hands have become inherited traits that you carry with your camera, with your pen, with rebuilding morale for the men much braver than you who you follow into the belly of hell. You drink beside them, assist the medics, your own hands covered in blood and soil as you document last moments, last rites, and then the shock of reality as you and the battalion return. The war left a husk in your soul, but it also replaced it with something new: a seed of desire.
v. You want to know everything about the world. You’ve seen the evil men are allowed to commit when left uncontested in their beliefs. When they’re allowed to speak with ruthless iron and undisputed facts. It’s a fact that fills you with rage, having watched those you called brother fall to a fate they didn’t deserve in the name of someone who would never sing the praises of each individual who fought for them. So you write. You write about the corruption, you write about the politics, you give an unbiased, unwavering look at the truth from both sides of the mirror. It turns out, not everyone is as keen on this as you are.
vi. A name for yourself is certainly not something you ever imagined. Yet you’ve found yourself traveling city to city, country to country, studying by some of the most talented writers in the world. Photographs stop moments in time, freezing them in place. Words from the people to the people; you cover it all with tenacity. You cover it with compassion. You cover it all with unbridled rage. If WWII hadn’t radicalized you, if the downfall of your own country didn’t radicalize you, if watching those that came from beginnings that mirror your parents were crushed under the boot of those in playing god without permission didn’t radicalize you; Vietnam did. Vietnam changed you in ways you didn’t think were possible.
vii. The horrors you witnessed firsthand stick with you. They drown your memories so you drown yourself in a bottle. All you have are your convictions, and you get names thrown at you. Slurs you’d never even heard of, comments about not understanding what it’s like to be in war, as if you weren’t side by side with people you would have once called brothers. Your work however gets you noticed. Raw, uncensored words and photos garner you attention and you use that platform to say exactly what’s on your mind and spotlight your fellow journalists. You use those fifteen minutes to speak on behalf of those whose lives were ruined, on behalf of the young men who fought for nothing, on behalf of a war-torn country, and on behalf of the people who don’t know what their sons were fighting for. The illiterate, the underserved, the under-represented became your platform— they trusted you.
viii. You aren’t sure how it happened, how you became a creature of the night. Was it stumbling home drunk from a wedding? Was it during a riot where you’d been pushed into a car, head hitting metal, and then it was lights out? You can’t quite remember, and the details are secondary to what it does. The inability to die takes away your ability to also sleep, which takes away your ability to forget the atrocities you’ve witnessed and continue to do so. Times change, and so do you. It becomes increasingly harder to know if what you’re doing is worth it. If the news clippings and photos, TV interview and awards really meant anything. There are years of numbness that follow. The rest of the 70’s being a blur of alcohol, self-loathing, and somehow finding yourself back on your parents’ farm, tail tucked between your legs. It becomes the only place you can feed and not worry about getting caught, though you wonder what your good, god-fearing mother would think of what you’d become. That’s the other part; they age, you don’t.
ix. The years go by. Friends and family age and die; you stay the same. It becomes kind of funny, spinning yarns about how you keep your skin so pristine. You say it’s rolling your own tobacco. It isn’t until the 80’s when DEA shows up at your door looking for the right person to write the story. The idea of helping the Americans after what they’d done in the 60s leaves you spitting on the agent’s shoes, but then you turn on the news and see what’s happening in Colombia. The spark reignites, and you hit the ground running, getting the story on what’s happening to the people. Because it’s always been the people that matter to you most.
x. Photos are published, stories told, and once again your ability to capture the heart of the community, their thoughts and desires in contrast with the overall event shines bright. It’s how you first find yourself in Florida, documenting the crisis. How you find yourself in New York, documenting crime and murder and mob control, and then eventually how you find yourself in Vegas, lodged in the heart of it all. You interview political figures, community pillars, and tell the story live on air. You write, you mentor, you make the public news just that: public.
xi. You cannot be bought. You cannot be waived. And you refuse to give in to the power when so many others would rightfully do so. Money talks, especially in the 90’s and in the midst of a mass societal shift, but you’ll run your mouth all you want and under no one’s dime but the public’s. The name of the game is protect the public from those in higher positions; the name of the game is the truth at any cost, and you’ve already given up your soul, so what else can you possibly lose?
WELCOME TO SIN CITY, BABY! Where the city has eyes and someone swears they spotted SOPHIA PETROVICH walking down the strip last night. The THIRTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD makes a living as an EXOTIC DANCER AND ACTRESS. Pit bosses are already taking bets on their loyalty and odds are pointing to NO AFFILIATION. Ask a cocktail waitress and they'll tell you the same thing: they're AUTHENTIC but don't mistake that for them being anything less than NAIVE. Nothing stays buried beneath the neon forever, especially the fact that they are a HUMAN roaming the streets. Pop a tape into your Walkman and let FAMILY TREE by ETHEL CAIN tell you all you need to know about them. From the casino floor to the morning headlines, everyone knows THE GIRL WHO RAN for a reason. Now watch them LEAD WITH LOVE [MADELAINE PETSCH, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER]
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a tale of things young girls should not know by sophia petrovich
TLDR; sophia escaped a religious cult in her twenties thanks to a few brave people in her life that in turn made her brave enough to commit to leaving. initially finding joy and solace in music, her friend encouraged her to try out for local theater, which then transpired in her pursuing drama at their community college. the two girls made their way out west eventually, aries going to school for a masters degree and sophia pursuing theater. in her free time she likes to go out with friends/colleagues and perform karaoke, play her guitar, bake, and tend to her plants.
quick stats:
+ favorite color is orange
+ go to karaoke songs are You Oughta Know, Helter Skelter, or anything by Janis Joplin, though she will take requests
+ has a borzoi named Zoinks that is trained as a therapy dog
+ loves to cook from scratch
the full bio:
tw: cult antics, leaving a cult, religious trauma, manipulation
+ silver spoon, golden rule, private school, never missed sunday church— it was always expected that Sophia would follow the church, marry young, pop out babies, and serve the community as a dutiful woman. As one who would keep the family tradition alive. The youngest and only girl of the family, she was her mother and fathers hope to stay in the good graces of their community leader.
+ she is twelve years old when she has her first meeting with the community matriarch. they discuss her interests, her disdain of having the bathrooms as her chore when she’d much rather tend to the garden, what books she’s been reading, her crush on Josh Reyes, the boy a grade ahead of her. at her second meeting, they discuss the whispers she hears about their church being a cult, about their leaders preying on the weak and desperate, about the terrible things that happen those who try to leave. sophia is afraid of hell. she’s afraid of not serving her purpose and losing her family when they ascend. when soph begins to cry as she expresses her guilt, her shame, her confessions of sinful thoughts such as a life outside of the church, she notices something change in the elder. the woman, face normally soft and welcoming, turned into one soph would recognize years later as guilt. as her own shame.
+ at 16 she is being primmed and curated to attract her future husband. she isn’t ready to be married. it’s a confession she keeps to herself because she doesn’t want to upset the matriarch, especially not after her transgression years ago. the boys her age are also gross and are only interested in marriage so they can be handsy. it isn’t until her senior year of high school she finds a friend that isn’t part of the church. a girl in her grade that’s artsy, is allowed to be friends with boys, wears what she wants and asks sophia to braid her hair before PE. they sneak away when sophia is supposed to be at an extra study group that doesn’t exist, but is instead spending time at the local coffee shop with aries and her friends. on a day they’re alone, she confesses all of her fears. her worries. her sadness. her dreams. she cries and aries lets her. listens. and more importantly, she doesn’t judge. she doesn’t tell sophia her dreams are a waste, she doesn’t tell her she is meant to fulfill the duty put upon her, she doesn’t tell her the group she’s been in her entire life is a cult. instead, she hugs her. she asks ‘how can i help you?’
+ it takes awhile, aries leaves for college and sophia goes out of her way to not marry. she sneaks birth control. she commits sin by lying about why she can’t marry. she hides letters from aries until one day she’s caught by one of the male leaders of the group. they scream at her. drag her across the community garden and throw her into the churches confessional chamber— a dank and old confessional booth in the basement that can only be opened from the outside. she’s left there for hours, sobbing, begging, praying for forgiveness. in a twist, it’s her mother that saves her.
+ cecilia was a devout woman to the group, though over the years of watching young girls like her daughter, like she once was, fall into a life that they’re not deserving of, having their dreams crushed, she figured it might be too late for her, but it’s not for sophia. a backpack of clothes, a final letter from aries, and some money for a bus pass, she and another mother that recently lost her daughter rescue her from the basement and take her to the edge of their commune in the cloak of night. it is the last time she sees or hears from her mother.
+ another surprise? it’s aries’ father that is picking her up. the truck rumbles off down the dirt path that she once walked to school and hadn’t seen for three years. she cries. she sobs. she sleeps for seventeen hours straight. when she wakes, the sun is shining, there is the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and as her daze lifts, she hears the voice of her friend. sophia carefully walked from the room, afraid of what awaited her on the other side of the door, but became overwhelmed at the sight of aries and her parents having breakfast. her new life started with cinnamon rolls, a hug, and a church free sunday morning.
+ she’d be lying if she said it was easy leaving the cult. that it was easy admitting she’d even been part of one. years of not being a part of society and being told her most normal thoughts were sinful and she’d be punished, sophia struggled to integrate at first. she missed her parents and her brothers. she missed her women’s group and the community. sophia eventually sought help. she got on food stamps and medicaid, she entered therapy, and eventually her and arie’s got an apartment together, sophia even started community college.
+ it was a long road, but she did eventually feel somewhat like she belonged. the loneliness and depression lifted. she started to explore who she was as a person in her twenties. she came to terms with the fact she was part of a cult and those she cared for deeply were still in it. arie’s introduced her to friends that she’s still in contact with today. they’d stay up late discussing the past, waxing poetic about the future, their take on current politics and what it actually means to be human. topics that seemed to evade her sometimes but the patience she was met with most of the time allowed her to continue growing.
+ it was these friends, aries, and aries' father that encouraged her already deep love of music. they'd sing, dance, in school sophia often tried out for productions that her elders deemed appropriate, landing small parts. her new found family and friends encouraged her to continue to explore that interest, fostering and developing a love which lead her to major in drama and theater at their local college. she'd starred in small productions then larger ones that their rag tag troup put together in small city West Virginia, but they were proud of what they accomplished.
+aries got the idea they should both pursue bigger endeavors. she'd applied for colleges out west, asking sophia to join her on this new adventure. it was scary, but she'd already done one of the hardest thigns in her life, what was one more? the two set out for las vegas, forging their own path. sophia started stripping to make ends meet while she auditioned and small roles in theater, music, and dance came in. aries finished her degree, and fell in love. one of the only adventures sophia could not follow her on, and eventually the two said their goodbyes and parted ways. sophia, getting her own apartment and standing on her own two feet, aries making her way to LA where she'd been offered a job at a large hospital.
+these days, she's no longer struggling per se. She still works at one of the clubs, but is not fighting for parts and has been offered and accepted multiple main cast roles.
+ she feels more like a human these days, enjoying her hobbies like playing a guitar her brother had secretly delivered to her in secret, baking, and being a bubbly drunk menace on the streets of vegas. she lives her life blissfully unaware of a lot of the issues and supernatural that walk amongst the city.
snowghoul
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tangentwithtanner
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