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[ybklix]

𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 ♡ 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 ₊⊹

CRY BABY .♡⊹ (( bang chan )) mdni this is part 1 » FIC MASTERLIST

Chapters:

1: cry baby ((word count: 4.1k))

2: dollhouse ((word count: 3k))

⋆˙⟡♡

ONE: cry baby

you're all on your own and you lost all your friends, you told yourself that it's not you, it's them ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

It didn't matter how long the journey had been; when it came to reaching his hometown, fatigue and jet lag ceased to exist for Chris once his body felt the air of Australia. He had arrived at a wonderful time, with time to arrange things in his new home and visit his girlfriend.

Chris picked up his phone and sent a text to his girlfriend letting her know he had arrived and that he'd pick her up after work. There were still a couple of hours left, so he decided to order a taxi to take him to his new home. He had planned his stay in Sydney carefully and thoughtfully, considering every angle. It favored him quite a bit; his girlfriend of two and a half years lived here, he could continue working from the comfort of home, and he could pick up extra jobs that he didn't completely dislike. Indeed, for Chris, working hard and keeping his mind occupied was always better.

Everything was going quite perfectly that he couldn't help but smile. He bought his dream house a couple of months ago and had since begun his official move, moving his entire life from Seoul to Sydney. Returning, for him, was something he hadn't expected. He found it almost funny that after all his effort, he returned to where it all began, where everything started as a simple dream. But all his sacrifice had yielded excellent results since he had a steady job and stability, doing what he loved most, writing and producing music. When he announced he had to leave, his colleagues almost tried to stop him. He was quite successful and famous as a producer, but they understood that he could continue working, just not in that distant country anymore.

Chris looked at the beautiful landscapes the city offered through the taxi window. He was so excited that once he spent the afternoon with his partner, he would consider immediately go to visit his family. A long day awaited him, but he knew it would be worth it.

Buying a house in a neighborhood like this, spectacular in every aspect, suitable for childless couples, professionals, and simply for families, whose children rarely went out to play and make noise, and for retired elderly people living alone, was just what he needed, a large space just for him, even though it wasn't part of his plan; but suddenly a change in his life and routine sounded so good. Chris didn't know exactly why a house and not an apartment, to start with, as he had in Seoul; not even his own father understood it, Chris just excused himself saying he needed to own a more spacious place where noise could easily be canceled out, for the construction of his own recording studio... but inside him, perhaps there was a certain instinct that he wanted to start a family soon, he knew exactly that this wasn't his girlfriend's idea, not even as a joke, but maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny feeling like that in him.

Once entering the neighborhood, he felt the warmth of living in Australia again despite it being a slightly cool afternoon with the sun hiding behind the clouds. He never thought he would come to this place; he always believed he would live in Seoul for the rest of his life; he was so excited to start a new life but still leaving aside illusions, if something went wrong, he knew he could flee to Korea whenever he wanted... but he wasn't like that, he was never the type of guy who just run away. In fact, he thought that he left Sydney to pursue a dream, never by choice; it would be a lie to say he didn't like Seoul since it was his home for a long time... but once he could see the green grass, the well-kept roses of the people, he realized he had disconnected a bit and had lived in the noisy city long enough. This was what pleased him the most, nature, and if he wanted more buildings and noise, the city center wasn't far from his new address.

He stood there for a few seconds admiring the facade of his new home and noticed a teenage boy entering the house next door, they must be the neighbors, he thought. When he was initially given a tour of the house, as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, a woman welcomed him, told him her name but Chris didn't remember it, she mentioned that she lived with her family and other things like how much they had started to remodel and modernize that house. Still, he felt strangely safe, the distances between the houses were large enough to provide privacy, to his right was that family he supposed consisted of the teenager, and to his left was an older widow, or at least that's what the real estate agent told him.

He sighed in frustration at the sight of the pile of boxes scattered around and thought that he didn't have enough time, but fortunately, he was always prepared and a step ahead, so the interior designer would come tomorrow with her team to help her move stuff. He had to prepare as soon as possible for the start of his new job in the morning, as a professor at the university. He would teach two subjects related to music at different levels, and a few courses about Asian culture. He was nervous, but he had become a teacher in his spare time, and he felt quite prepared for whatever he might face.

He was hesitating whether to take a nap or move a few things in case Leah, his girlfriend, wanted to come; Chris ran his hand through his hair, thinking, so he opted for the second option; he cleared the living room area, tidied up, cleaned a few things, took a shower, and without thinking twice, it was time to pick up Leah.

He took the keys to his new car, really taking seriously the idea of living in Sydney and being well prepared. Ready to have a new life. He felt tense when he realized that he would be driving in Australia again and that the steering wheel was on the right side, unlike his old home where he had obtained his license from a very young age. Still, he set his GPS and left; this time, as he passed by the house next door, he now noticed it was a girl entering the house.

When he finally picked up his girlfriend, the sky was completely dark, and he noticed how tired she looked; Chris felt slightly bad and reproached himself for not thinking earlier and not bringing her a small romantic gesture of welcome, even though he was the one who had just arrived. They hadn't seen each other for a long month, he missed his girlfriend so much that it almost physically hurt not to be with her. A few seconds later, Leah's expression softened, and her serious demeanor turned into a warm smile.

“Channie” she called him affectionately by his Korean nickname, almost in a sigh, and extended her arms.

Finally, they hugged for just the right amount of time and exchanged a tender kiss. He had met her almost three years ago in Seoul; she worked in advertising for a magazine and was somewhat related to the entertainment world, so her social circle was so similar to Chris's; like him, Leah had grown up in Australia with Korean parents, the only difference being that she did have her whole life back in Oceania; still, he was captivated by her at that party, she was only two years younger than him, Leah at that time was just a beginner still in college on a trip in Seoul with her other circle of friends, and he was a recent graduate with a special gift. Despite the differences, they decided to give it a try, leading them to a long-distance relationship for just over two years, but it didn't matter now, at least not anymore for him; right now, he was with her, and he could have her whenever he wanted.

Chris, or Chan to her, caressed his girlfriend's face as he gave her a gentle kiss, breathing in her perfume one last time before pulling away and lowering his hand to her bare thigh with a smile.

“Do you want to go out to eat? Should we go somewhere...?” he spoke.

“Mm, let's order food and you can show me your house.”

“It's still a bit of a mess” he warned.

Chris let out a small laugh and did exactly as Leah had suggested. She had been inside the house before, but she was always surprised at how well laid out it was in terms of space and design. He found her reaction endearing and with a smile on his face, he thought about how all of this might one day belong to her too. They both headed to eat at the small and only nightstand table in his TV room; some larger items were arriving tomorrow, so for now, that was what they could improvise with. As they ate, Leah kept talking about how stuff should be arranged to create harmony and coherence in the house. Chris listened attentively and lovingly; they talked about their respective jobs and what awaited them.

After sitting in silence and letting the food settle for a while, Leah spoke.

“Is your room upstairs...”

Chris turned to look at her; not seeing her for a long time suddenly had a quick effect on him, and from one second to the next, he found her ten times more attractive.

“Yeah, do you want to give it your approval?” he replied playfully, hoping this would lead to something else.

Chris looked at her profile for a few seconds before she turned and gave him a teasing smile in response. He examined her, from her smooth, slightly upturned nose and her legs barely exposed by the skirt, to her shiny, loose silk blouse. Suddenly, every detail of her drove him crazy and made him feel like a hormonal teenager. He wanted to fuck her right there, right now.

He felt that her mischievous smile and soft gaze were enough signals for him, so he dangerously leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. He started slow and passionate, his right hand traveling up to the hem of her skirt, playing with the thin seam, unsure whether to slide his hand gently between her thighs or do it quickly in one swift motion, while the other hand firmly held her waist. Chris was gradually losing himself, his tongue slipping in, giving her a bolder, dirtier kiss; however, after a torturous session of just wet and hot kisses, Leah squirmed out of his grasp and pulled away from him slowly.

Chris looked confused, but his girlfriend's expression only worried him. With her pink, swollen lips, Leah suddenly seemed shy, with her eyes cast down. In seconds, Chris realized that maybe it was just something she didn't feel like doing right now, and he respected that... but it still seemed quite strange to him. Had she pushed him away? Since when did she reject him? Every time they saw each other, because of their painful long-distance relationship, the most intense and pleasurable sex awaited them.

Chris wanted to believe that maybe it wasn't the best situation for her, tired in her work clothes after a long day.

“It's a bit late... and we both have to work tomorrow” she said, raising her gaze and captivating Chris's gaze, “You'll do great, love” she smiled.

He knew her so well, he didn't understand why she suddenly gave him an awkward smile pretending to be kind... Had something bothered her, and he had no idea? He wanted to ask her so many things, but Leah stood up from her position on the floor and grabbed her bag.

“I really need to rest, and it's getting late. See you tomorrow?” she interrupted.

Chris quickly got up and gently took her waist.

“Of course, I'll drive you home.”

As they got into the car, Chris looked at the completely quiet street, with no noise, the houses perfectly illuminated, there was no one outside except for the two of them and the mysterious girl next door coming out of her house with the cold wind blowing her hair.

During the drive, Leah became herself again, outgoing and energetic. She told her boyfriend how they should spend the short break he had as teachers in September; he just thought about how grateful he was to have a sweet moment with her and looked at her with tenderness when the traffic lights indicated he should stop... yet, he was a little hurt, deep down, slightly bruising his pride as a man that he didn't get any physical intimacy from his girlfriend that night... he had waited so long, he thought he could reward her, and when his house is no longer a mess, he would make sure to satisfy her and shower her with gifts.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Chan” she leaned in, giving him a quick goodbye kiss, “Call me.”

Again, for the third time that day, she felt strange to him. It was obvious she wouldn't be the same young woman she used to be, capable of throwing a party every time they saw each other... but he felt there was something about her that she had to tell him as soon as possible, or he would go crazy. It wasn't surprising, Chris was an intense guy.

Once he returned home, he threw the keys with fury... he had tried to keep his sanity, but the more he overthought it on the way back home, the less sense it made to him. She didn't anger him, never could he be angry with her, it just, maybe, he thought, it was about him.

He went up to his room, in one swift movement he took off his shirt, feeling the cold air seeping through the small opening in his window. He checked the time on his phone, 11:43 p.m., he needed to rest, to take a shower in the morning and start his day... but he could only think about the romantic date options he could do on a simple Monday.

As he took a few steps towards his bed, approaching it, he noticed through his window how a faint, warm light, not so noticeable, managed to penetrate into his dark room. He turned his body and cursed for not remembering to put up curtains before; for a moment, he felt sorry for not realizing that significant detail, he was so used to the large windows in his old apartment in Seoul restricting the view. It was obvious that there was another room, right next to his.

Chris didn't want to pay attention, but catching the subtle silhouette of a girl sitting by his window captivated him inconsistently. She was wearing a thin white tank top despite the cold weather. He thought about how warm her room looked while giving it a quick inspection. The girl had her face buried in her naked knees, and her loose hair covered her face; her arms embraced her legs. Suddenly, she pushed her hair behind her ears, revealing just her profile. Yet it wasn't hard for Chris to see that she was crying. Her cheek was shining, wet, and he could see the small tears sliding down.

The girl by the window began to sob, causing her back and chest to contract. Chris suddenly didn't want to watch; he felt like he was invading her privacy and pain. But somehow, he couldn't stop watching her; he was so dismayed, but he was more bothered by the fact that he couldn't take his eyes off her.

He had no idea how long he had been watching her... but somehow, deep down, he thought, in the most hidden part of himself, that she looked strangely beautiful crying. The large rectangular window frame captured that girl with glowing cheeks and slightly messy hair, crying in what seemed to be a corner with books and a seat by the window.

The girl by the window closed her eyes tightly and slowly lay down, facing away from Chris's window, ending the performance completely. Finally, he reacted; she was still sobbing, her back moving uncontrollably, but it was harder to see her now.

Chris didn't know what had come over him; he almost felt annoyed that his neighbor didn't put up her own curtains. He could see everything, from his bed, which was positioned so that it faced his room directly, to his posters on the wall, to her backpack thrown on the floor.

Chris sighed and tried not to worry about his neighbor anymore. He wanted to think it was just a young girl in the age of broken hearts and not something deeper... but she was crying with such emotion that it made his head spin. He puffed his cheeks, letting out a sigh, and, retreating to the window, he took off his pants, slipping into his sheets, making sure she wouldn't accidentally turn and see him. Unlike her room, his bed was positioned sideways, his front door facing his bed, and her room's door was on the right side of the bed. Somehow, he felt like her room was more exposed, so he would have to move to avoid causing her any discomfort.

At dawn, the light bothered him, and he prayed that the girl had her curtains closed. Otherwise, he would have to get up semi-naked, and if she saw him, she might think he was a pervert. And just for his luck, some pretty white lace curtains covered her window; Chris was able to leave freely and go to wash up, taking his clothes with just a towel covering his lower half and changing in another room.

Chris looked at himself in the mirror, wondering if his outfit was appropriate: formal pants with a black button-up shirt. He wanted to think it was the best option for winter. He adjusted his dark hair before heading downstairs for breakfast, tired of boxes everywhere; he hoped everything would be in order between today and tomorrow for a better rest.

As he left, driving his car towards the university, he saw her again, walking down the sidewalk in the same direction as him; the famous girl who had been crying by her window, his neighbor, wearing blue jeans, white ankle boots, and a thin pale pink sweater. He saw her so fleetingly that he only saw her profile once again and noticed her backpack slung across her body.

And then she saw him too, just in a quick glance, driving his car, dressed all in black. She hadn't seen him completely, they hadn't even introduced themselves, but her mother confirmed it, he's a very handsome young man, he lives alone, and he bought the property outright, he must have a lot of money. His name is Christopher.

She had seen him at least twice, an embarrassing encounter in the morning when she tried to open her curtains just before leaving home, as she always did, but found his broad back naked, wearing only a towel while holding his clothes; Celeste immediately slid the curtain with embarrassment and just left her room. She hated to admit her mother was right, but the short two seconds she saw of his build weren't bad at all. And the second time was just moments ago as she headed to the university.

So that's her new neighbor, a man who emerged out of nowhere, bought that modernized house that had been empty for so long. She was so used to there being no one next to her room, now she had to be careful of walking around wearing with what she’s comfortable with.

Celeste took a couple of buses and one more subway line to reach her campus, where the first classes went by normally, and it wasn’t until brunch when the only person she talked to approached her.

“Celeste” he said to her.

She looked up from her food, observed him, gave him a smile, and invited him to sit with her gaze.

“I heard we’re finally getting a music teacher” he said again.

“Wow, it’s about time, it’s been a week”, she replied.

The guy smiled at Celeste and took one of her fries.

“There’s going to be an art exhibition, you should come” he suggested.

“When?” she asked.

“Friday at 7.”

Celeste raised her eyes, thinking if she had to work that day and concluded that if she asked for the day off they’d give it to her since she worked a week with no days off, she could perfectly go see Hyunjin’s exhibition.

It wasn’t new for Celeste to be somewhat… strange. She didn’t know how to explain it, but little by little, she distanced herself from all the people she once spoke comfortably with, and surprisingly, the handsome exchange student was the only one who talked to her. He was two years older than her and was studying visual arts, yet he decided to take music courses, and that’s where they met.

“I’ll be there” Celeste replied, checking the time on her phone. “We still have about 20 minutes ‘till class” she added.

Hyunjin smiled at her; he was quite handsome and popular, so a part of Celeste wants to feel human and like him like most do, if she paid proper attention to him... she could develop feelings for him, she hated the feeling part, and that feelings lead her to false illusions but she felt that in her dull life she needed to at least, have a little crush on someone. Maybe that would help distract her.

Falling in love was something Celeste didn't know, something that was out of her hands and even something she thinks is out of her reach. It's not that she doesn't want to have attention and affection... she just gave up and decided to think that maybe life is lonely for her. Her last intimate encounter and affection for a man was when she was 13 years old at a birthday party when she was dared to kiss someone, that was her last and first kiss. The rest of her years she lived normally without the opportunity of a prospect and love... that was one of the last things she thought and cried about, truly. Love.

The depression and anxiety was diminishing her libido and she remembers that maybe the last time she masturbated out of boredom was a year ago.

But Hyunjin... Celeste thought about whether she should like him, whether she should bring excitement into her life for the first time in twenty years.

She was an interesting and pretty girl, shy, but lonely, she isolated herself too much and lived absorbing the pain and problems of her surroundings; her issue was that she felt too much that sometimes she would go into a kind of self-control, on automatic, off without feeling anything, until she overloaded herself and exploded, it was always the same with her and she felt pathetic that she could never change. Her behavior led her to pull away from everyone... wondering why they didn't come back to her, maybe it's them, not me, she thought constantly.

Celeste watched Hyunjin closely as they talked for 10 minutes and the next 10 they used it to walk to the classroom. She was quite observant and took it upon herself to memorize every detail about him, his full lips, his eyelids hiding in his sharp brown eyes, the almost invisible mole under his eye, thick dark eyebrows, long hair and big hands, come on Celeste, feel something, she thought.

She wanted to bang her head against the wall, only then did she think she would come to her senses to feel something for someone as attractive as Hyunjin, besides he was an artist and the only person nice to her... she felt like a heartless bitch.

Arriving at the classroom, Hyunjin and Celeste sat together and the teacher was already inside as well. She spotted his silhouette as she passed, but saw him completely once again looked up at him... suddenly he seemed so similar, those broad shoulders and all black clothes, she shouldn't have been excited, but something small grew inside her, perhaps the intrigue that maybe her teacher is also her new neighbor? Suddenly the big city she always grew up in seemed small to her with such a coincidence.

Celeste was at least ninety percent sure it was him, she watched him a minute longer and as she felt their gazes cross, she turned to Hyunjin, embarrassed. Class started two minutes later and he finally introduced himself.

“I am Christopher Bang. Sorry for the delay of the subject by a week.”

TWO: dollhouse

places, places, get in your places, throw on your dress and put on your doll faces. everyone thinks that we're perfect, please don't let them look through the curtains ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Celeste had lived in that house her whole life. It was only when she turned 18 and graduated that she managed to leave for a year and breathe… but due to economic reasons, she had to return. It's not that she wasn't grateful… she just needed a break from what her family could sometimes be.

Her father was an accountant who worked hard to provide his children with a home in what was considered one of the best neighborhoods in the city. At least she agreed that he did the right thing in that regard. However, he was insolent, dishonest, and unfaithful. She discovered her father's infidelity when she was only eleven years old, one June night when her father probably thought the house was completely empty since her mother usually took them —her younger brother and her— to visit their aunt… but that day was different, one of those when Celeste's puberty rebellion hit, and she refused to go with them. So, she wanted to stay in her room… until she saw them, him and his lover entering the house. She was so surprised, scared, and overwhelmed with emotions that she didn't know what to do, so she pretended not to be there. Overnight, her innocence was gone in an unpleasant way.

She couldn't live with the guilt, so a year later, she confessed it to her mother. Celeste already knew the gravity of the situation by then and had considered a million options that could happen: her mother going crazy, even blaming her daughter for not telling her, or a calm and depressive reaction… but in all scenarios, Celeste maturely considered divorce as a good option. She felt that she was no longer a child, she could live with it; after all, she had discovered that her father was not a good person and that her mother could take care of them. The only concern of poor twelve-year-old Celeste was her younger brother, who at the age of eight, for them, everything seemed like a fairytale, and having both parents was part of their fantasy world. She hated that she cared and loved him… but she was sure that the little one could overcome a divorce. She didn't want to be there anymore; she couldn't even look at her father in the eyes, she was always avoiding any encounter with him.

But her mother's reaction to the truth was… something different from the expected options. Even after years had passed, it still seemed so strange to her. They were there, sitting in the dining room, and it was three days after Celeste turned 12, on a rainy day in July when Celeste got tired of crying and wondering every night why… her birthday celebration made her angry; she didn't feel so sad and dejected anymore. She hated the way her father pretended to love her and everything was fine, the way he played with her brother and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, she couldn't stand it anymore, so she told her mother. That time she had murmured an oh, and stared fixedly at a fixed point.

“I know, because I saw them,” Celeste said before her mother even asked anything else, but she didn't, she didn't do anything and was shocked. During the night, it was as if nothing had happened, and she served dinner… that wasn't what she expected, she wanted a scene and chaos; she wanted there to be shouts, but somehow she was grateful that there was no such behavior because of Celeste's little brother. But she was blinded by hatred and remorse towards her father.

The next day she remembers that she reproached her mother, shouting, “won't you do anything?”. She didn't answer. After that, she felt so cold and distant, her father was becoming more and more obvious with his affairs, the smell of a perfume that wasn't his wife's, spontaneous outings, and even nights without returning home.

Celeste couldn't stand pretending to be okay, and two months later, after seeing how her mother deteriorated and faded more and more, she walked to her father's small office in the house, being completely a mess, and told him the truth. “I know you have another woman, maybe mom wants to keep pretending with you but I can't.”

She remembered her father's expression, the surprise on his face and its paleness. Celeste didn't expect a response from him, so she was about to leave, but back then her father acted quickly, getting up from his chair and questioning her. “I saw you, don't try to deny it.”

The following years were him trying to fix it and build a bond with her but it was in vain; suddenly her little brother wondered why his father was too lenient with his sister. Celeste lived through her remaining teenage years trying to be someone normal until she finally got lost in music; she didn't want to spend time at home so she tried to enroll in all the extracurricular courses at her school that didn't involve physical effort like sports. Months later after her horrible confrontation, she found a passion for the piano, all her following school years were based on music, being in recitals whose events she never invited either of her parents to, playing for the drama club, being in the literature club, debate club, creative writing club… until she enrolled in her chosen university dedicated to that one thing she was passionate about.

At first, she knew she would annoy her parents with her career choice, but it was the perfect time to blackmail her father to pay for her institution. She wasn't anywhere near forgiving him, but the psychological damage somehow had a price: getting out of that house. Celeste had a busy life, after rehearsals, she started having part-time jobs since she was sixteen with the dream of living in her own space near the university.

She was so busy, she would come home around 10 or 11 at night and what she found at home was devastating. Her mother was a secretary who became a housewife after her second child was born, a boy named Blake. She dedicated 12 years to taking care of her children until she found out about her husband's infidelity. Cecille gradually became an alcoholic.

Celeste had to see it every night when she came home from work. Her wasted mother lying on the couch with the TV on and a strong smell of alcohol. Celeste had tried everything, her aunt's intervention, enrolling her in support groups, but her mother didn't seem to cooperate.

When she turned fifteen, she begged her father to divorce her mother, but she refused to accept it.

Every now and then she had to go check on her brother, to make sure he didn't turn into a complete idiot like his father, or simply into a bad person, related to what was he seeing at home. But even in that, both dysfunctional parents were lucky, Blake was a shy boy, four years younger than Celeste, who grew up with a passion for physics and mathematics; unlike her, he did go out in the afternoons with his friends and lived a life outside of his home. He didn't care how bad things were, as long as he had somewhere to live and his own space he was more than okay, even when he was fourteen he managed to steal alcohol from his mother to go try it at a friend's house later, not everything had to be so bad, or at least that's what he thought… sometimes Celeste wanted to be like him and try not to worry too much. Little by little, both of them grew up without showing affection, Celeste thought that maybe that's why it wasn't something she sought in other people, her perception of love and respect had been so damaged since she was young but she couldn't accept it. She never felt anything when she saw her classmates holding hands, seeing the cheesy actions of strangers showing affection, a hug was something she only remembered fleetingly from her childhood.

When she finally turned eighteen, she found a roommate and rented a dorm room on campus; that place wasn't her dream, the floor was noisy, full of extroverted theater kids, but it was all she had. She had lived like that for a whole year, with no communication to her parents, working and studying at the same time, only communicating with her brother to wish him Merry Christmas and New Year, and in May, to wish him a happy birthday. It all fell apart in her second year of school when her roommate told her she was moving out and Celeste couldn't afford the full expense, she already had an academic scholarship and her parents were still paying for her institution.

Celeste did it, she called her brother on a normal day that wasn't a holiday, her little brother advised her that she could go back home, that's what he would do when he entered college, since it would only take him routes and buses to get there. “I'll let mom and dad know,” he told her over the phone before abruptly hanging up. Celeste couldn't answer, she couldn't say don't do it. And she insisted by text that she would manage on her own. That day her heart broke when she read the text from her fifteen-year-old brother saying: why do you hate them? come back home for me the uni is literally half an hour away from home

She had no choice, she had everything, she wouldn't pay rent, her payment at the university would continue, she would only work to buy her own things and take care of Blake. She never thought he would feel abandoned. She thought about how much it must have sucked to come home alone, with an absent father and an alcoholic mother.

When she told her roommate that she would return to her home in Woollahra, her expression was incredulous, “you've been living there all this time? Why would you want to live in an uncomfortable dorm?”. Celeste wondered if she was being ungrateful.

And then she returned, her father couldn't be happier, and even her mother's dull face lit up at having her only daughter back. She would go back to being the same, practically just going home to sleep.

If she had everything… why did she feel so empty. Her room was still the same as they had decorated it since she was eight, covered in pale pink and white shades. The years passed and she continued to support her brother, going to academic competitions he attended, and for the first time, she asked him to come see her perform at a recital in her university's auditorium.

And so her life remained, until now that she felt stuck once again, in her third year of university. She felt like she was repeating her high school years and it was suffocating her. If she could leave with Blake she would, but she was just a simple university student with anxiety attacks in the school bathrooms.

“You should ask the new guy next door if he has a girlfriend, seriously, he's cute, Celeste. You've never had a boyfriend, right?” her mother mentioned, leaning on the kitchen counter.

Celeste looked at her incredulously, wondering since when her private life mattered to her, and if she had a boyfriend, it wouldn't be something she'd inform her about. She was about to leave for university, she didn't want those kinds of conversations at 7 in the morning.

“Ew, isn't he like thirty?” her brother added, eating a spoonful of his cereal.

“Age can just be a number, Blakey, we want your sister to find love.”

“I have to go” Celeste sighed, escaping the conversation.

She couldn't stop thinking about it. Once again, she was right, why couldn't she find love? Her only friend, whom she rarely contacted, moved in with her mother in Melbourne after finishing high school. And now socializing at university where classmates change and come and go, it was so difficult for her to establish any kind of relationship with anyone. The only person she talked to was… an exchange student who shared only one class on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Celeste couldn't help but wonder if she should start flirting with him, just to try to feel something in return.

Every time she examined him more… she realized how cute he was, should she approach him? Anyway, he would leave at the end of the semester, no one could die trying.

When they sat together in class, she couldn't help but be distracted by thoughts that tomorrow she would dress up more for Hyunjin, fix her hair more, wear more makeup… the idea of being liked by someone made her so nervous.

And when she looked up, she saw her new teacher, who she could swear was her new handsome neighbor.

As the class began, she remembered her mother's voice saying he was handsome, and without realizing it, a slight mocking smile appeared on her face as she analyzed her new teacher's appearance in detail. Slightly tanned skin, short, dark brown hair semi-wavy, his intense gaze beneath his slit eyes, prominent nose, and thick lips… and his voice was strong, commanding, and nasal, and his build was… Celeste thought… was this what imagination was like when dealing with the sudden rush of hormones?

She had the idea that maybe she wasn't the only one so surprised and delighted by the assignment of the new teacher. She discreetly turned her gaze to the sides, to her other classmates, and noticed how they looked at him intensely without taking their eyes off the man giving the class, Celeste felt foolish, had she looked so obvious? Had Hyunjin noticed?

Once the class ended, Chris said:

“Before you all leave…” he approached his desk and quickly and gently picked up a paper from his desk, “Is Celeste Burton here?” he looked up searching among the students.

Celeste frowned and timidly raised her hand, Hyunjin quickly glanced at her friend and then at the teacher, it also seemed strange to him but he didn't pay attention to it; Chris finally managed to perceive her and added:

“Can you come up for a moment to talk?”

His gaze fixed on hers, Celeste nodded gently and began to gather her things, suddenly she was feeling nervous and not understanding why.

“The rest of you, I'll see you tomorrow” Chris concluded.

With a nervous smirk, Celeste was about to approach but a warm and large hand holding her wrist made her turn, Hyunjin was so close to her face that she couldn't even react.

“I have to go to the arts campus now, but I'll see you tomorrow, Cel” he informed her with a smile, almost feeling his cool breath.

“Sure.”

She limited herself to answer, she was so overwhelmed by the situation's overload, Chris wanted to talk to her and suddenly Hyunjin was approaching dangerously, she couldn't process it. Celeste returned her gaze to Chris, who had his eyes fixed on Hyunjin until he left the classroom, after feeling Celeste's soft gaze, he cleared his throat and looked at her, waiting for her to come closer.

Celeste walked to his desk and the last two students had already left the classroom, leaving only the two of them; she didn't want to appear nervous, she didn't have to be.

“You signed up during the academic break as an apprentice to some teacher at the beginning of the school year” Celeste quickly processed the information while he made eye contact with her, “well Burton, I'll be your mentor, is that okay?”

“Oh, sure, I didn't know I had been selected… it's a pleasure, Professor Bang.”

Chris gave her a smile and observed her, her still and straight posture with her hands together against her jeans.

“Yes well, the other students applied for classes with other teachers, but you were selected as my apprentice, I heard you're the best in the class.”

Chris raised his eyebrows waiting for a reaction from her to his last comment and suddenly he realized that he was starting to ramble, he didn't understand why he did it. He shook his head slightly and tried to refocus.

“I want to discuss schedules. Wednesday is general rehearsal, so I like discipline, how about Monday to Friday excluding Wednesday, from 1 to 4? It'll be in the music room, for tomorrow.”

Chris looked at her intently and Celeste began to think… she would have to shorten her work hours if she said yes, she couldn't miss the opportunity, it would be so beneficial to her resume, she wants to believe that he is a good teacher in terms of his knowledge and being his apprentice could lead her to expand her mind. But she would have to sacrifice a few hours of work; despite being sunk in sadness, she liked the little things like makeup, clothes, going to nice cafes, visiting the cinema alone, all without having to ask her parents for money at her twenty years old, so being his apprentice would only mean a little less pay, and working with him, or for him, for free.

Celeste thought for a second about how young he looked to be a mentor, she wondered if he was really qualified.

“You can’t…?” he interrupted her, expecting an answer.

“Oh, sure, yes, I'll be there. Thank you.”

She smiled at him and Chris returned the gesture. Celeste was about to leave when the female desire to play a little took over.

She was steps away from walking through the door, but she turned, with a playful smile she searched his gaze, Chris was drawn to her sudden movement thinking that maybe she had forgotten to say something.

“By the way, Mr. Bang, did you just move to Woollahra?” he looked at her with a slight furrow of his brow and she continued :“Oh, I didn’t want to sound weird; I just think we're neighbors now too. So, welcome.”

Her tone was so sweet and innocent yet somehow wicked; Chris recognized the slight intentions of approach.

She left and left him sure of one thing, that it was her, the pretty and poor girl who cried through her window the night before. Chris swallowed, she's even prettier up close, he thought.

--------------------------

₊˚⊹ ᰔ TAGLIST: @forklesschowder @bubblebisk @calisnewworld @sunarins-whore @bangchansslut6 @snowyquokka @chansbabygirlsstuff @athforskz @heeyboooo @chrizzztopherbang @yerijaksel @moonlightndaydreams @readr1221 @skzswife

lmk if u want to be add 2 the taglist☆

divider by chilumitos

[moonxytcn]

Hey! Could I request Billie comforting and taking care of an insecure reader with an eating disorder

And, I'd love to be friends :)

Love and Insecurities ||

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – when you feel insecure Billie is there to remind you how beautiful you are.

warnings – fluffy, angst (almost anything ), eating disorder.

word count – 606.

a/n – Heyy! my first request, I'm happy. I hope you like this, and I'm sorry if it wasn't that good I'm a new writer so I'm still learning, constructive criticism is always welcome. thank you very much for requesting.

English is not my first language so there may be some errors

This gif isn't mine, I found it on Google

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You are sitting by the window, watching the city lights sparkle in the darkness of the night. A gentle breeze enters the room, bringing with it a sense of calm and serenity, as you let yourself be enveloped by the silence of the night. Waiting for Billie, who at this moment was in her studio, you can't help but fear the moment when she comes home with the same pizza box she always brings when she comes home late at night.

Your eating disorder has been present since school. Since you were a teenager, you've always been a bit chubby in your thighs, belly, and arms, which at the time led you to suffer bullying. Not wanting to hear any more comments and teasing about your body, you started reducing the amount of food you ate and sometimes even skipped meals during the day, all in an attempt to get as close as possible to the imposed standards.

When you met Billie, it was like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you laid eyes on each other, it seemed like a line had been drawn connecting you two. Billie has always been kind and loving to you, always making sure to tell you how much she loves you and affirming how beautiful you are. Of course, over time, this reduced the insecurity you had around her, but there was always a small flame waiting to grow, I mean, surely she's seen prettier women out there, right? She was a famous singer, you were sure there were better people to be by her side.

But she always assured you that you were the right person for her, that she loved you, and that you were the one she loved showing off to the world, always protecting you from the paparazzi but also showing the cameras the beautiful girlfriend she had.

Snapping out of your thoughts with the sound of the door opening, you got off the window ledge and went downstairs to meet her.

"Hey, love." She says when she sees you, coming towards you and hugging you and giving you a soft kiss on your lips as a greeting. "I brought pizza." She adds, smiling, showing her dimples.

"Hey darling. How was your day?" You ask. "I'm really not that hungry." You say and you don't notice but she already looks at you with recognition in her blue eyes.

"It's okay, come here." She says, taking your hand and leading you to the couch where she lays you down and climbs on top of you. "You are beautiful and perfect just the way you are, and I know I've been a bit distant with the album production, but I promise I'll remind you of this every day. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, and I'm thankful every day to be able to call you mine." She says, looking deeply into your eyes. And with her words, you feel your eyes welling up as you try to look away, but she doesn't let you, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at her.

Looking into your eyes she leans in and gives a soft kiss on your eyes, cheeks, forehead, and until she reaches your lips where she gives a kiss full of love, passion, and affection for you. "You are amazing and I'll never tire of saying that to you." She says softly to you.

She gives a last kiss on your lips and leaves light kisses like feathers down your neck, which she passes to your collarbone and onto your arms, belly, and thighs where she knows are the parts you like the least. "I love you entirely, I love your brown eyes, your beautiful arms, your belly, and those wonderful thighs where I always love to be in the middle because you know I love it when you almost suffocate me with them." She says, making you let out a little laugh which she finds adorable.

You pull her up by her t-shirt and pull her into a deep kiss, trying to show your gratitude and love for her. Coming out of the kiss all you can say to her is how much you love her and how grateful you are to have her in your life, and that you hope that in the future you'll have the life you've always dreamed of together.

[oosa3x]

secret moments (rd3)

prologue

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: ruben dias x f!celebrity!reader

warning(s): language, mentions of stalkers, anxiety + emotional stress, feelings of isolation word count: 3,038

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As the sleek, black SUV glided to a smooth stop, Y/N ran her fingers on the edge of her dress, the fabric soft to the touch. She glances quickly at her phone, right on time.

It’s always like this—the split second of calm that comes before the storm. The instant her head of security, Mark, opens the door, the world erupts into chaos. Cameras flash in rapid succession, each one capturing every single frame of her movements, from a hundred different angles. She steps out, a practiced smile tugging on her lips, not quite reaching her eyes.

She takes in a breath, letting the cool, Manchester night air fill her lungs as she straightens up, the clicking of her heels against the pavement blending in with the click, click, click of the cameras. The noise around her is deafening, a garbled mix of questions, calls of her name, and orders from her security asking everyone to take a step back. It’s overwhelming, yet achingly familiar—this is the life she once dreamed of, no, begged for. From the moment she pleaded with her parents to enroll her in that theater camp all those years ago, she knew she was destined for fame, craving the adoration of fans and the recognition that comes with being a household name. How could she not be famous? Every music teacher had told her she sang like an angel. 'With a voice like that,' they’d say, 'how could you not have a slew of adoring fans?’

And here it was, that fame, blinding her with camera flashes—the often harsh reality of never finding a moment of solitude or peace.

Yet even with its occasional dark underbelly, she loved the life fame had given her far more than she resented it. She loved the art, the work, the human connection. She cherished the way she made people feel—seen, understood, and less alone. How could she not love this job when she’d just been cast in her dream role? 

The stalkers, the threats on your life,  a voice whispered in her mind, the one she tried to silence every single day in her quest for some semblance of normalcy amidst her stratospheric amount of fame. 

She had everything she ever wanted—fame, fortune, admiration—but at what cost? The weight of the spotlight was suffocating, the constant scrutiny exhausting. The thrill of performing on stage, of becoming someone else on screen, was often overshadowed by the gnawing fear that her carefully constructed world could crumble with a single misstep. One slip, one unguarded moment, and the sense of security she clung to, could crack, leaving her vulnerable to the dangers that always seemed to lurk at the edge of her fame.

But she couldn't think about that now. Not tonight. Not when she’d just arrived to this new city, her new home for the next year. Not when she’d worked so hard to get to this point. She’d blistered her feet in character shoes, lost count of the times she’d cut her fingers changing guitar strings, and had done so many vocal warm-ups that they had become a language of their own in her vocabulary. She was thrust into the spotlight at 15, an age when most are just beginning to understand who they are and their place in the world. But while her childhood friends were navigating school and first loves, she was sacrificing sleep and missing important family milestones, trading school dances for long hours on set, in studios, and in board rooms with adults making decisions about her career. The normalcy and innocence of adolescence slipped away as she fiercely devoted herself to the relentless pursuit of perfection. She’d given up friendships that couldn’t withstand the demands of her career, missed countless holidays with loved ones, and shouldered the emotional burden of a life lived under constant scrutiny. 

So, she took the negatives of fame on the chin. She fell into her routine: “head held high, shoulders back, walk with purpose.” The dress she’s wearing—a custom piece, naturally—hugs her figure perfectly. The dress is the furthest thing from her mind, though, as she focused on putting one stilettoed foot in front of the other without losing her bearings due to the blinding glare of the camera flashes.

A few more steps and she’d be inside the up-scale restaurant having dinner with a powerful studio executive, his company footing a large part of the film’s budget. 

As the door closed behind them, sealing off the flashing lights and the relentless noise, she took in the setting of the restaurant. The quiet chatter, the dim lighting, the rich scent of polished wood and expensive food—it was almost enough to make her forget the chaos outside. Almost.

Mark stepped back, giving her space but staying within reach. He was a constant presence in her life, one of the few people she trusted wholeheartedly. "Do you need a minute alone? I could clear out that hallway over there, if you need me to." he asked, his voice low, just for her.

She shook her head. "No. I’m fine, but thank you. I kind of just want to get started." Her voice was steady, but she knew he could see through the mask. He always could. He’s been working for her pretty much from the moment she was thrust into the spotlight. Her rise to fame was as swift as it was overwhelming, making the need for security an immediate necessity. He nodded, respecting her need to push forward, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer, silently conveying his concern.  She straightened up again, squaring her shoulders as if she could physically push the weight of the world off them.

Together, they walked further into the restaurant. As they moved through the main floor, the soft murmur of conversation began to die down, replaced by the subtle rustling of patrons shifting in their seats. Eyes followed her every step, awe flickering in their gazes. Some tried to be subtle, but she caught the movements from the corner of her eye—an instinct she’d honed over the last twelve years of being in the spotlight. Phones slowly lifted, camera apps discreetly launched, as they seized the opportunity to capture the moment.

Mark walked ahead, his broad frame cutting a path through the dimly lit space, while Eric, a second bodyguard, stayed a step behind her, his watchful eyes scanning the room, making sure no one got too close. The atmosphere buzzed with whispers, fragments of her name slipping through the hushed conversations.

The hostess—who looked about one breath away from hyperventilating, tears brimming her eyes—led them to a private dining room at the back. As the door closed behind them, sealing off the public’s eager eyes, the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly, but the weight of their expectations lingered in the air. Her publicist and manager were already seated at the table, deep in conversation with the studio executive. The moment she entered, all eyes turned to her.

Her publicist, Raquel, a woman with an impeccable sense of style, stood first. "There she is," she said with a warm smile, moving to greet her. "You look absolutely amazing, as always, my dear.”

Her manager, Claudia, a calm, steady presence who had guided her through everything, also stood up to give her a quick hug. "Right on time," she said, her tone as measured as ever. "Everything go smoothly outside?”

She returned the smiles, though hers was softer, more controlled. "As smoothly as it ever does." She accepted the brief hug from both her publicist and her manager before turning to the studio executive.

The executive stood as she approached, extending a hand with a smile that was all business. "Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to see you again," he said smoothly. "Thank you for making the time."

"Of course," she replied, taking his hand and then sliding into the chair opposite him. "I’m looking forward to hearing more about the project."

The executive waved a hand, and the hostess quickly poured wine into the glasses before retreating, leaving them alone. He raised his glass in a small toast. "To what I’m sure will be an amazing collaboration."

She mirrored his action, the cool glass against her fingers grounding her slightly. "To new beginnings."

Her publicist and manager joined in the toast, their faces reflecting the mix of optimism and caution that came with every new project. The executive took a sip, then set his glass down, his demeanor shifting slightly as he leaned forward.

"We’re thrilled to have you on board. This role... it’s going to be a game-changer for you. The script is incredible, the director’s a genius, and we’re pulling out all the stops to promote this film."

She nodded, her face calm, but inside, her mind was already running through the list of demands this project would make of her. The hours on set, the press tours, the interviews—each one a small battle in the war to stay on top, to remain the ‘it girl’. "I’m excited to dive in. I’ve been waiting for a role like this."

Her manager, ever the practical one, leaned forward slightly. "We’ve reviewed the schedule, and it’s tight, but it’s manageable. We’ll need to coordinate closely, especially with the promotional commitments. Don’t worry, you’ll also get moments of peace in between."

Her publicist added, "There’s a lot of buzz already. We need to be strategic about your appearances, make sure we’re maximizing the exposure without burning you out."

The executive smiled, clearly pleased with their input. "We’re all on the same page here. This film is going to be huge."

She took another sip of wine, savoring the brief moment of silence. The praise was flattering, but it was also a reminder of the constant pressure to deliver, to be perfect.

The executive continued, his tone more serious now. "I won’t lie, though you’ll still have a few breaks in filming, this is going to be demanding. The director is known for pushing his actors to their limits, and we’ll need you fully committed. But if anyone can handle it, it’s you."

She met his gaze, the smile never leaving her face. "I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. I’m ready to give it everything I’ve got."

Her publicist glanced at her, then at the executive. "We’ll make sure she’s prepared. And of course, we’ll coordinate with your team to ensure everything goes smoothly."

Her manager nodded. "You all made the right choice choosing Y/N. She is more than ready for this."

The executive nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That’s exactly what I wanted to hear." He leaned back in his chair, a more relaxed smile crossing his face. "Let’s talk specifics, then. I want to make sure you have everything you need to succeed."

As they delved into the details of the project—locations, timelines, marketing strategies—she listened carefully, her mind a careful balance of focus and detachment. She knew this was important, that this film could be a turning point in her career, but she couldn’t help the small voice in the back of her mind that whispered of exhaustion, of the toll this life took on her.

But she silenced it, as she always did. She had worked too hard to let doubt creep in now. This was her dream, and she had worked incredibly hard to make it her reality.

Her publicist leaned in, breaking the flow of technical discussions with a smile. "You know, there’s something special about this project. I can feel it."

Her manager nodded, a rare sparkle of enthusiasm in his usually measured demeanor. "It’s the perfect blend—challenging but rewarding. I think you’re going to surprise even yourself with what you achieve here."

She let their words wash over her, allowing herself to believe them for a moment. Maybe they were right. Maybe this was the role that would not only challenge her but would elevate her to new heights. The thought sent a flicker of excitement through her, a reminder of why she had fought so hard to get here in the first place.

As the meeting wrapped up and they all stood to leave, she looked around at the faces of the people she trusted most. "We’re going to make this something unforgettable," she said, and this time, her smile wasn’t just for show.

But as they prepared to exit the private dining room, her eyes drifted across the restaurant. At a nearby table, she noticed a young couple sitting close, their hands intertwined, looking at each other like the other had hung the stars. The woman laughed softly, her partner brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.

She turned away quickly, focusing on the path ahead instead. The couple’s easy affection stirred something in her, a longing she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge. Despite all the success, all the admiration, there was a gnawing emptiness that no amount of fame or money could fill. The men she met were captivated by the image, the glamor, the persona she projected. But none of them really took the chance to know her—the real her, beyond the red carpets and the rehearsed smiles. 

For so long, she had been nothing more than arm candy, a trophy on the arm of powerful men who loved the idea of her but not the reality. They were enamored by her beauty, but quickly intimidated by her fame. Most of them were quick to back away when the cameras weren’t rolling, when they realized that the woman behind the flashing lights was more than just a pretty face. They were drawn to the allure of dating a superstar but recoiled when the reality of her life became too overwhelming.

And those who didn’t run? They were the ones who tried to diminish her, to make her feel small so they could feel bigger. The musicians who thought themselves superior because they didn’t make “pop music.” They treated her like a guilty pleasure, something to enjoy in private but never proudly claim. Their words, cloaked in playful jabs and condescension, had a way of cutting deep, making her feel inferior for the very thing that had brought her so much success in the first place.

She could still hear the echoes of their backhanded compliments, the subtle digs at her craft, and the way they’d say “pop star” sneeringly. They’d smile and tell her she was talented, but there was always that lingering undertone—that she wasn’t quite serious enough, not quite respectable enough to be considered their equal, despite her countless prestigious awards and record-breaking achievements. It left her questioning herself, wondering if the world saw her the same way they did.

The fame, the fortune—it was a double-edged sword. It brought her everything she thought she wanted but took away the one thing she needed most: genuine connection. She had grown tired of the men who saw her as a status symbol, who were either emasculated by her success or secretly resented it. None of them had ever seen her for who she really was, the woman beneath the glitz and the glamor, the one who craved love as deeply and earnestly as anyone else.

The woman who adored dad jokes and bad puns. The one who could watch Clue and The First Wives Club more times than she’d ever admit. They didn’t know about her love for the smell of rain on asphalt or the way she insisted on playing “Neon Moon” as her first song every time she took the stage at karaoke nights. They didn’t see how much joy she found in making children laugh or how deeply she cherished the “-ber” months. The woman whose parents nurtured her boundless curiosity, encouraging her to become a walking encyclopedia.

They couldn’t grasp how deeply her heart yearned for genuine connection, how she longed for someone to hold her—not for the image she projected to the world, but for the woman she was in those quiet moments alone at night. Beneath the polished exterior, she was kind, funny, and deeply compassionate, with a fierce love for her family and an unwavering determination to keep moving forward, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was more than just a star—she was a person, craving something real.

And as she watched that couple, so lost in each other, a pang of longing struck her. She yearned for that kind of love—the kind that wasn’t tainted by envy or insecurity, the kind that didn’t wilt under the glare of her fame. A love that was simple and true, where she could just be herself, not the persona the world expected her to be.

She straightened her posture, pushing the thought away as they reached the door. She couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not tonight. But as she stepped back into the night, the brief glimpse of that couple lingered in her mind, a reminder that there were still parts of her life that even her relentless drive and success couldn’t fully satisfy.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away from the city center, a Portuguese defender was winding down for the evening. After a light meal and some stretching exercises, he stood by the window of his apartment, looking out over the quiet city below. Tomorrow was match day, and his routine was precise—early to bed, clear-minded, focused. The game was his world, and it required everything from him.

As he set his alarm and turned off the lights, his thoughts were already on the pitch, on the plays he would execute, the goals he would defend. In the solitude of his room, there was no need for the public persona he wore so effortlessly. Here, he was just a man preparing to do what he did best.

Unbeknownst to both of them, their worlds, so different yet on a slow and steady path to intersection, would soon collide in ways neither could have predicted.

As the cameras flashed once more, she couldn’t help but wonder—would there ever be someone who could see past the spotlight to the person she really was?

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author's note: i am so excited for y'all to read "secret moments"

i've been wanting to write something like this since 2022.

also, i feel it’s worth mentioning that i am american. i only say this bc i might subconsciously use american sayings without realizing i am because that’s what i grew up saying lol. i also want to point out that because i am from california, i'm on a different timezone than most people that post on ruben's tag so i might answer things in my asks kinda late but i will always try my best to answer in a timely manner!

anyway, enough rambling! i really hope y'all like this ◡̈

-mars

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Today, we have a bunker for sale. It's not as interesting as a decommissioned missile tower. "Originally constructed in the 1960s at a cost of $4.5 million, an equivalent value today exceeding $34 million, this bunker represents the pinnacle of security and resilience." Located in Polo, Missouri, 35 min. from Kansas City, it has 4bds, 2ba, $2M.

The entrance hall has an industrial look, but they tired to make the home look elegant.

It has 2 massive 3,000 pound blast doors, 2.5-foot-thick concrete walls, additional layers of earth & EMP-resistant copper shielding, plus an emergency escape hatch and a towering 177-ft communication tower.

it's roomy- look at the size of the living room. One must wonder why people decorate these with traditional furniture. It needs colorful, modern stuff.

There's a bar for entertaining.

One of the bathrooms.

This is a soundproof room- it's not as if there are any neighbors around, though.

They have a home office here.

Laundry and stuff. The self-sufficient home has a private water well, a pump, and a 10,000-gallon stainless steel water storage tank, all connected to a Water Filtration System.

And, here's your new hobby- it's a glass blowing studio. I wonder if the owner would teach the new owner how to use it.

Looks like a massive air system.

Above the workshop is a large loft area.

There's a family room- notice the windows above, they are for some of the bedrooms. There's also supposed to be a home theater room, but it's not shown.

On the 2nd fl. is the 2nd bath. Not liking the hole in the wall behind the toilet.

This is the kitchen.

This is an odd place to locate the kitchen w/all this other equipment.

Through the kitchen you can see the upstairs living room.

You can see that the kitchen is on the other side.

The bedrooms are off a hall off of the living room.

The bedrooms.

This area serves as a closet.

The plot of land is 10.5 acres and the real estate description suggests that you can built your dream home on it, over the bunker.

[alcestas-sloboda]

I see so many reflections today from different people: someone woke up from the explosions, some from a phone call, some woke up and saw hundreds of notifications from different telegram channels. It is still so unimaginably bizarre. I have no ability to put into words the feeling of your world falling apart and we didn’t even understand half of the danger that was surrounding us. We were so damn close to disaster with half of Europe believing that nothing good will come out of it.

Ukrainians didn’t care what Europeans thought though, I personally saw news pieces about "Russia will take control of Kyiv" a lot later, somewhere in May, when Ukrainian military took control over the north of the country. And I’m so eternally grateful to every Ukrainian who made sure that all this "experts" sat in those flashy studios red from guilt. I’m grateful for my life, I’m grateful for our Ukraine. She persist. She is still the love of our lives. She’s hurt and devastated but she lives despite all the attempts to destroy her. Same as us. Somehow still here.

Yet I feel more detached from the western world than ever and I’m so fucking jealous of you all. It’s not even about the rockets or shakheds - somewhere along the lines you accept the fact that you may die in any moment - it’s about normal things like your Twitter feed that doesn’t look like a necrology, military terms that don’t make any sense to you, your city that doesn’t stop everyday to mourn the dead, you don’t feel guilty for trying to live a normal life while your classmate, who wanted to be a director, posts stories from the trenches. All of that and more. I’m not even entitled to my emotions because there always will be someone who says that my country is not suffering enough. I no longer react to comments like this as emotionally as I’ve done before but it is still so bizarre to see stuff like that from people whose countries have always been the one to inflict suffering on others.

I may sound mean or sarcastic or whatever but there is so much negativity inside of us that was put there by people like I’ve mentioned above that it is going to be released from time to time. "Your country shouldn’t exist", "Only 9 thousand killed", "You all are nazis/racist/zionists/any of the -ist terms" - yet you should always react in a constructive way because the moment you let your emotions go, you are the worst person on the planet. But who am I kidding, some people here do believe that we are. There is a thousand bad people with sketchy patches in a 40-million country and suddenly "That’s why I no longer support Ukraine". Well, honey, that means you never did. Because Syrian flags were quickly replaced with Ukrainian ones and just as quickly with Palestinian. It’s not about the "Support the oppressed", it’s "Anything to not feel guilty" because then you’ll find the reason to hate Palestinians, just as you did with us. If only you cared about the problematic shit happening in you country as much as you care about our political and social life.

But there are people who still are there for us. Countries that are still here. We may not say it as often but we are thankful. So very thankful for everything you’ve done and are doing for us. Thank you for hearing us and uplifting our voices.

Recently one of the most beautiful people here have lost her life defending me and you. She was always in my notes, always making sure that we didn’t feel uncomfortable even if she of all the people had all the right to be upfront about her thoughts and feelings. I don’t think I will ever get rid of the feeling of guilt. She was there while I wasn’t. She said to mourn her through anger. Anger towards the oppressor. Anger that should be directed into something useful: donations, sharing info, contacting your MPs and so on.

The soldier‘s death is not something out of ordinary during the war, it’s not considered a war crime but what if half of the army are civilians? Volunteers who left their homes to protect them. What if the soldier was a teacher, a poet, an actor, an IT-specialist, a scientist, what then? Isn’t it a tragedy? My country is loosing yet another generation of beautiful talented people and it makes my view of the future even darker.

But what can I say? I’m still here. My country still stands. Ukrainian air defence is doing everything possible and impossible to protect the lives of the civilians. Ukrainian military is still the only thing keeping us all alive. Heroes, titans, gods. Glory to them. Eternal glory to those who lost their lives defending Ukraine.

To Ukrainians: якось буде, прорвемся.

[m0thgutzzzz]

part 2 of PIZZA HEROES

Name: Hazel Kuneho

Super/Villain name: Noisette

Age: 36

Species: Human-Bunny hybrid

Pronouns: She/Her

General story/Background: Hazel met Theo when he was first starting up his career. The two soon began to date. Hazel notices Theo’s sudden physical changes and questions them, but Theo simply ignores her. She follows him one day to an abandoned building to see him, Phil, and Totino. Totino constructed a machine to hopefully reverse their mutations, but it backfired and affected Hazel. She fused with the lucky rabbit’s foot on her purse. Hazel runs a cafe to the best of her abilities, and chastises Theo after each one of his schemes.

Name: Scott Snitch Stick

Super/Villain name: Mr. Stick

Age: 38

Species: Human

Pronouns: He/Him

General story/Background: Stick has lived in the city his whole life. At a young age he began to invent a variety of high tech devices. Now as an adult, he sells his machinery to anyone willing to pay. Meaning, he works for both sides! Whatever gets him money!

Name: Drake Contreras

Super/Villain name: The Doise

Age: 36

Species: Human

Pronouns: He/They/She/It

General story/Background: Drake was a MAJOR theater kid. He always wanted to be in the spotlight. Unfortunately, his acting career fell flat and he took up a job as a cameraman for Theo’s studio. Once news broke that Theo was The Noise, he decided to follow in his footsteps to get the attention he deserved, and maybe get away with a few petty crimes.

Name: Douglas “Dougie” Jones

Super/Villain name: The Pizzard

Age: 17

Species: Human

Pronouns: They/He/Fae

General story/Background: A rebellious teen/wannabe wizard that ran away from home. He stumbled upon Pizzahead’s lair and was nearly killed by him. Pizzahead seemed impressed by his skills and decided to take him in, dressing him up as a wizard and giving him tech that mirrored magic. He’s now Pizzahead’s right hand man and possible adoptive son.

Name: ???

Super/Villain name: ???

Age: ???

Species: Dough Clone

Pronouns: He/It

General story/Background: An early version of Fake Peppino that broke out of containment. It is extremely dangerous, but only attacks things it deems as ‘evil’. It often roams around the city at night and resides in the sewers during the day.

Name: Burton Stick

Age: 38

Species: Human

Pronouns: He/She

General story/Background: Burton is Stick’s husband. He’s usually quiet and reserved, only speaking when he needs to chastise Stick for getting involved in superhero business. He works at a local library during the day.

Name: Pizzaface

Super/Villain name: Pizzaface

Age: ???

Species: Robot

Pronouns: He/Him

General story/Background: Pizzahead soon got sick of constantly waking up in pain after Peppino kept beating him up. He created Pizzaface as a bodyguard, although Peppino regularly destroys him. But Pizzahead doesn’t mind rebuilding him!

[necarion]

When you're allowed to actually build really densely (or in really, really high), you end up getting some crazy results for the types of living standards people can have, while still cramming a lot of people into one place.

A city block is something like 200' x 600'. If you decide to ring that with apartments and then put in a central courtyard that takes about half that area, you can put something like 30 apartments that are as much as 2000 sqft (massive, the size of a lot of suburban homes that have 3 or 4 bedrooms) around the ring. If you stack that 20 stories high, that's 600 ultra-luxury homes, plus a courtyard for kids and barbecues. In reality, you're going to break that into some luxury studios at 500 ft2 and some 1000 ft2 one-bedrooms places, and so forth. So you're probably getting more like 1200 units in that building, every one of which can be way oversized for the type, and probably close to about 3000 people in that block. But let's be super conservative and say that people want to live in extreme luxury and there are only 2000 people in that block.

Or, you could elevate that a couple stories and put ground-level parking and a whole bunch of shops, isolated from the main apartment courtyard. So call it 25 stories, or about 250-300' tall. As far as urban downtowns go, that's tall, but not particularly extraordinary. It's well within the range of enegineer timber construction! (Here's a 275' tall timber building in Milwaukee, on the right.)

If you then put one of those every four blocks (25% block density), and converted the rest into parks, schools, offices, or those cool mixed use areas where there are shopping areas with parks on top, and then accept that a further 50% of your land area is dedicated to transit of one variety or another (e.g., streets, but with higher density you could up the effectiveness of transit, and also have more apartments everywhere so you can live closer to work) taking you to 12.5% density, you end up with 2000 people / (200' * 600') * 12.5% = 58,000 people / sq mile.

For comparison, the density of Manhattan is 75,000/sq mile, but New York City is only 30,000/sq mile. Right now, the average building height in Manhattan is only about 6 stories, and the average apartment size is 700 ft2.

Remember that the only difference in this city layout is that you're allowed to build to 20-25 stories everywhere. But then, you're going above and beyond in this calculation to put as few actual people into the area as possible, and to make very under-utilized apartment space, because we want people to be able to live as spread out as they want.

With this, an actually quite comfortable city layout, the number of people living in New York City could go up to 17 million, but with a considerable increase in living standards. SF's population could triple, while more people could live in larger homes.

Energy usage of tall buildings is a tiny fraction of single family homes. Not least among them, units at the top don't really need the same amount of heating, and you can do centralized AC and heating and water for an entire building for cheaper and less energy.

The nice thing about dense, tall construction isn't just that you can fit more people into a tight area, or even that you can use less energy due to the density, increased transit, etc. It's that you can do so while increasing living standards and living space considerably.

[revenancy]

impossible fires || the post.

One hundred twenty years ago, the starship Atalanta left a shattered Earth behind.

Designed by an anomalous intelligence calling herself the Matriarch – something from beyond the scope of human understanding – the mission of the Atalanta was clear from the start: Survive long enough to find a new home for humanity.

Thirteen decades in, doubtful whispers are building. The Matriarch isn't concerned about humanity, they say. The ship doesn't have a destination. There is nothing outside the Atalanta but the void of space, and empty galaxies beyond.

One thing is clear: It's too late to turn back now.

[[ under serious construction ]]

setting

The Atalanta is a layered ship – society given structure, some might call it. Everyone else would call those people apologists. If they're being nice about it.

The odd levels – L1, L3, and L5 – are reserved for the engineers and other scientists that work to keep the microcosm in balance. They follow the Matriarch's vision and commands. L3 is also home to the R&D divisions of most companies on the ship, and is a veritable hive of corporate wealth. L5 is poorer – home to an elite class of engineers that have an innate understanding of the Atalanta's inner workings, that doesn't stop it from being home to the steepest poverty rate and addiction levels on the ship.

L2 is a city of prosperity. French bistros and film studios, pet shops reclaiming nearly-lost species, a vibrant emergency response service and well-trained police force – this is home to the hundred people important enough to have their name printed in the press, and the forty thousand people under them who serve to create a stunning tableau of postmodern life.

L4 is barely a city. Formed of six fragmented quarters, the people of L4 are crowded and filthy and passionate about their home and their faith in the Matriarch. The last century has seen churches built in her honor, and her priests have come to enjoy some semblance of social security. Hundreds of thousands of people are stacked on top of each other, each clawing for survival, clinging to their hope for a better tomorrow.

That doesn't mean there aren't dissenters. Somewhere in L4 is the base of the Stillwater Gospel – a doomsday cult that disavows every promise the Matriarch has made. Followers of the Gospel still their own tongues, communicating solely with the aid of auxiliary radio transmitters installed in them by their leader. They believe the end is coming, faster by the day – and they will do everything in their power to bring it about.

plot

Someone is lighting fires. Building feeds cut. All surveillance down. There are no hints to their identity, their motives, their desires – they're a non-entity, and the all-knowing Matriarch hasn't said a word about them. Instead she's set the police on their trail: Hunt. Find. Apprehend.

On L4, there's a buzz around the latest fires, as rumors start to spread: I heard it's the Gospel.

I heard they're trying to burn it down.

characters

Marley Haight → an engineer, turned dropout. Haunted by her past, searching for her next high, walking out of dead-end jobs – and crashing with whatever friends she has left.

Jacín Rial → an atheist cleric. He inherited the congregation from his father, and he can't turn his back on the hundred people who need him most – or, when an old friend comes knocking, Marley.

Nile Whist → a ghost with a fake name. Pulled back from the brink of death thirteen years ago, he owes his life to the Gospel that saved him, and he would do anything to repay that debt.

Song Liran → an artist and, reluctantly, a daughter. Born into wealth and forced to play into her parents' wishes, she finds herself apathetic at the thought of whatever future they want for her.

Katsura Yukimori → a police inspector and tabloid personality. Betrothed to Liran since they were eleven years old, he's trying to talk himself into being happy about that. He'd rather just work.

Eliza Fallon → chairwoman-elect of her family's company. It took two years to outgrow the title of Yuki Katsura's ex – now the bios call her a devoted wife and mother. But when Yuki needs help, she's there.

—

more to come.

[beardedmrbean]

Argentina Scrapped Its Rent Controls. Now the Market Is Thriving.

BUENOS AIRES—For years, Argentina imposed one of the world’s strictest rent-control laws. It was meant to keep homes such as the stately belle epoque apartments of Buenos Aires affordable, but instead, officials here say, rents soared.

Now, the country’s new president, Javier Milei, has scrapped the rental law, along with most government price controls, in a fiscal experiment that he is conducting to revive South America’s second-biggest economy.

The result: The Argentine capital is undergoing a rental-market boom. Landlords are rushing to put their properties back on the market, with Buenos Aires rental supplies increasing by over 170%. While rents are still up in nominal terms, many renters are getting better deals than ever, with a 40% decline in the real price of rental properties when adjusted for inflation since last October, said Federico González Rouco, an economist at Buenos Aires-based Empiria Consultores.

Milei’s move to undo rent-control regulations has resulted in one of the clearest-cut victories for what he calls “economic shock therapy.” He is methodically taking apart a system of price controls, closing government agencies and lifting trade restrictions built up over eight decades of socialist and military rule in an effort that has upended the lives of many Argentines.

In Buenos Aires—a city dubbed the Paris of the South for its broad avenues and cafe culture—many apartments long sat empty, with landlords preferring to keep them vacant, or lease them as vacation rentals, rather than comply with the government’s rent law.

In 2022, there were some 200,000 empty properties in Buenos Aires, up 45% from 2018, according to a report by Cedesu, a Buenos Aires-based policy group that focuses on urban development. Finding an affordable apartment under the rent-control law was difficult.

Aldana Oliver spent about 18 months looking for a place to rent when she left home for the city of La Plata to study dentistry.

“There were few places to rent and those available were very expensive,” said Oliver. After rent control was scrapped, she quickly found a studio apartment for about $200 a month. “I found something really nice. And I got a good price,” she said.

Many new contracts—now permitted in dollars as well as pesos—stipulate rent increases every three months, real-estate agents and tenants say. That has made housing costs unaffordable for some people already struggling to pay higher food and utility prices, said Gervasio Muñoz, who represents an association of tenants in Buenos Aires.

Romina Misenta, a 40-year-old teacher, said rent on her small apartment increased almost threefold when her previous contract ended.

“My situation has worsened a lot,” she said. “I would be paying a lot less in rent if the previous law was still in effect.”

Still, rental prices appear to be stabilizing. Monthly price increases are now at their lowest rate since 2021 as more apartments become available, according to Zonaprop, Argentina’s largest real-estate website.

The Milei administration has also scrapped price controls on staples such as milk and sugar. The president lifted controls on cooking gas, removed export controls on beef and cut government requirements to import steel, hoping to ease construction costs.

And he ditched the restrictions he said made renting an apartment an odyssey that hurt those it was trying to help.

Critics of Milei say he is deepening the economic pain of the working class. And while he remains popular, some polls show his support eroding. In August, he had a 45% approval rating, down from nearly 60% earlier this year, according to pollster Giacobbe Consultores.

“By freeing up prices, it’s very difficult for all these people, including us, to get to the end of the month,” said Amalia Roggero, whose soup kitchen in La Plata has experienced a surge in people seeking food.

Milei, a libertarian economist, long warned Argentines that his free-market changes would initially make conditions worse before they got better as he slashed public spending to tame inflation. He said it was necessary to unravel tight economic controls he inherited from the previous, left-wing Peronist government, which implemented price controls on some 50,000 products from food to clothing as part of its Fair Prices program.

Milei says his measures are delivering results. He is projecting annual inflation of 18% next year, down from the current 237%, one of the world’s highest rates, as he works to tame the never-ending fiscal deficits at the root of Argentina’s decadeslong economic turmoil.

But the government still faces substantial challenges. Bringing inflation down even further after being stuck at roughly 4% a month in recent months will be difficult, with little room for more spending cuts amid demands to restart public works and increase pensions and wages, economists say.

“They inherited a disastrous economic situation, and getting out of this mess will take time,” said Alberto Cavallo, a professor at Harvard Business School who has studied Argentina’s price controls.

At least for now, the housing market is thriving. Opponents of price controls say Argentina is a cautionary lesson for officials from the U.S. to Europe who have looked to curb surging housing costs with rent controls.

President Biden recently called for some rent increases to be capped at 5% annually. And Vice President Kamala Harris said that if elected president she “will take on corporate landlords and cap unfair rent increases.”

González Rouco, the economist, warned against such plans. “With good intentions or a law,” he said, “you can’t modify how markets work. They have their own dynamic.”

In Argentina, the national rental law approved in 2020 during the left-wing government of President Alberto Fernández required a minimum three-year contract. The rents had to be paid in pesos, the country’s volatile currency, which lost about 90% of its value against the dollar on the black market during Fernández’s 2019-to-2023 term. Rental prices could be increased annually but at a rate set by the central bank, which took into account inflation and worker salaries.

With Argentina’s history of high and volatile inflation, property owners took steps to protect themselves from inflation that would quickly eat into the rents if they were forced to wait 12 months before raising prices.

They instead jacked up the starting price for new leases, making it far too expensive for many people to sign a new contract. That resulted in the average rent for a two-bedroom apartment in Buenos Aires costing 27 times the price of 2019, according to Zonaprop.

Some landlords tried to sell. Others listed them on short-term rental sites such as Airbnb, where tourists paid in dollars. Landlords also focused on renting to people within their social circle, resulting in a big black market with informal rental deals that skirted government rules, economists say. Many apartment owners simply mothballed their properties.

“You’d never see rental signs in windows,” said Mariano García Malbrán, the president of the chamber of real-estate companies, describing how rent controls led to shortages. “And properties that were listed with real-estate companies would be gone in a day or two.”

[scotianostra]

On October 20th 1938 photographer Iain MacMillan was born in Carnoustie.

After leaving Dundee high school in 1954, he worked as a trainee manager in a local jute mill, before studying photography at the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster). He returned home in 1959 to photograph Dundee tenements and street scenes - powerful images of a way of life about to disappear. His talent was soon recognised by magazines and publishers, and by the early 1960s he was getting commissions from the Lutterworth Press, the Sunday Times, Plays & Players and the Illustrated London News.

Later in the decade he took photographs for a book, The Sculpture of David Wynne, and for Wynne's exhibition catalogue, while also working on a photographic essay about life in the capital. The Book of London (1966) contains some of his best work, and brought him to the attention of Yoko Ono, who commissioned him to photograph her exhibition at the Indica gallery, in St James's. It was there that Yoko met John Lennon, who invited MacMillan to photograph the Abbey Road album cover.

MacMillan continued working with the couple on such projects as the Live Peace in Toronto album (1969) and Sometime in New York City (1972). He also collaborated on the film Erection, an animation of shots of a London hotel under construction with a soundtrack by John and Yoko.

By the mid-1970s, MacMillan was teaching photography in Stoke-on-Trent. As well as possessing a sense of composition and a lively imagination, he was a meticulous craftsman with a sound technical knowledge. He tried to instill these values into his students. In the 1980s his photographs were exhibited in galleries in Britain and the US, and on the continent. The BBC used his work in the series The Rock and Roll Years.

In the 1980s, after his parents died, MacMillan moved back to Carnoustie. He continued to take photographs of Scottish landscapes, his friends and families - and his beloved collie dog, Mac - often using a borrowed camera.

In 1993 Paul McCartney invited MacMillan to take another picture on the famous zebra crossing near the EMI studios in St John's Wood, this time of the Beatle and his Old English sheepdog. MacMillan contrasted the simplicity of the earlier picture by including a team of policemen, press photographers and a lively crowd. The resulting image was used on the cover of the album Paul is Live, thus scotching rumours that McCartney was dead.

MacMillan was modest about his own achievements. He retained a lasting affection for Paul and Linda McCartney, whom he described as "the most solidly down to earth and unaffected couple imaginable".

Iain MacMillan passed away on May 8th 2006 from lung cancer.

[landmarkremodelingcompany]

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[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969-71 Continental Mark III

Iacocca’s Lincoln: The Inside Story of the 1969-71 Continental Mark III

Lee Iacocca is remembered as the father of the Ford Mustang and the Chrysler Minivan, but there was another Iacocca vehicle that changed the Motor City: the Lincoln Continental Mark III. 

In auto industry lore, the design studio guys hate it when the people from upper management start fooling around with their work. Nothing good can come from that, or so the story goes. But there’s at least one instance that cuts against the grain of that familiar Motor City tale. It was Ford senior executive Lee Iacocca who originated the two signature styling features of the Lincoln Continental Mark III: the classic stand-up grille and the faux tire bustle in the deck lid.

It’s no exaggeration to note that these visual features created a design theme and defined the Lincoln Mark Series brand for decades. Years later, lead designer L. David Ash would recall that neither he nor Styling VP Gene Bordinat had conceived these two now-famous design gadgets; no, in fact it was all Iacocca. “Neither one of us would have done it on our own, I’m sure,” Ash remembered. “I have to give Lee credit for that.”

As vice president of the Ford Motor Company’s car and truck group—top product boss, among other duties—Lido Anthony “Lee” Iacocca had at least two problems on his plate in the autumn of 1965. First, sales of the Ford Thunderbird had flattened out after a promising start years earlier. Meanwhile, Ford’s flagship Lincoln division wasn’t setting the world on fire, either. While the Elwood Engel-designed 1961 Lincoln was a style maker of the decade, it was nearing the end of its product cycle. Actually, Lincoln was a perennial problem for Ford senior management. According to Bordinat, it had never turned an actual profit since Henry and Edsel Ford acquired the company from the Lelands in 1922.

So a plan was hatched to build a new, small Lincoln on the same platform as the Thunderbird, which was switching to body-on-frame construction for 1967 (in part due to limited production volume). This would help the Thunderbird fill out production capacity at the Wixom, Michigan plant, and it would give Lincoln an entry in the rapidly expanding personal-luxury category, joining the Buick Riviera, Cadillac Eldorado, Olds Toronado, et alia.

The original body design by Ash and his staff, at one point named the Lancelot, was clean and elegant but lacked visual punch, one could argue. Iacocca’s fake-Rolls grille shell and spare-tire bump fixed that, creating a distinctive and memorable look. It was said that the chrome grille shell was the most expensive such piece in the industry, with a unit cost nearing $200. Ash and crew completed the theme by hiking up the rear quarters and deck lid two inches, scrunching the roof down into the body for a classic ’30s profile.

From its exterior appearance, you might never know that the finished design shared its greenhouse with the Thunderbird coupe, or its floorpan, black metal, and 117.2-inch wheelbase with the T-Bird four-door. When Henry Ford II saw the clay model in the studio, he reportedly said, “I’d like to drive that home.” With the Ford family’s seal of approval secured, the new car was christened the Continental Mark III, establishing its lineage with Edsel Ford’s original 1939 Continental and the Continental Mark II of 1956-57. At that point the previous Mark III, IV and V models of 1958-60 were conveniently forgotten—today it would be called a reboot.

Introduced in April 1968 as a 1969 model, technically (Lincoln division downplayed model year designations, trying to present the car as “timeless”) the Mark III was panned by the critics but embraced by the car-buying public. “The buffs may not like it but the people with money will,” Bordinat wisely predicted. The Mark wasn’t big for an American luxury car at just over 216 inches long and 4,800 lbs, but it was big enough, with solid road manners and a comfortable ride. Interior specialist Herman Brunn covered the seats with rich, pre-creased leather, like the easy chairs in a men’s club. Noteworthy technical features included an all-new 460 CID V8 and Sure-Track, an early form of antilock braking developed by Kelsey-Hayes.

With a base price of $6,758 compared to $4,807 for its Thunderbird cousin, the Mark III was quite a moneymaker for the Motor Company, spawning an even more popular and profitable successor, the Mark IV (shown with Iacocca below). The Mark series, which comfortably outsold the Eldorado and effectively doubled the Lincoln division’s volume at times, continued on all the way to 1998 and the Mark VIII, and Iacocca would to on to further glories, including the Chrysler Minivan.

[jitteryjive]

Text ID: Fitzroy and Foster ©1936 Maurice Foster, a shamus with psychogenic amnesia, strictly adheres to reality— until a chance encounter inexplicably manifests a rubberhose cartoon named Fitzroy with his likeness! The two deduce they must solve how Fitzroy (and whoever created her) came to be. End ID.

FITZROY & FOSTER MAKE THEIR GRAND DEBUT!

HERE IT IS FOLKS!!! a shiny post just for the new stand-alone OCs!!! after watching the new trailer for mouse: PI for hire, i had the realization i don’t have any B&W toon OCs… this is my solution! this is also my opportunity to write a more noir-focused story X) there is plenty more art, descriptions of the cast, and a chart under the cut!

also my apologies for the lack of full alt text; i have never done a separate art and text description before, so if anyone has any suggestions, please share :-)

while not obligated i would appreciate reblogs for my troubles!! (silly)

WHAT IS FITZROY & FOSTER?

fitzroy & foster is a great depression-era, noir inspired fiction about a private investigator (shamus) named maurice foster and a rubberhose, b&w toon that looks just like him! along with the motivation from mouse to draw a b&w toon, i wanted to dabble in genre-typical archetypes being interrupted by a character who does NOT fit in (fitzroy). also, as i’ve been experiencing a lot of PTS, i wanted to write a character who’s centered around their trauma.

(the original concept art i did up)

WHAT IS THE STORY?

burnish avenue is the dusky, downtown home of a city’s anticipated activity: construction men, working parents, a moonlit cabaret, and a shamus office on its second floor. that little studio belongs to 34 year old detective foster, a gruff investigator specializing in private cases. he lives with the psychogenic amnesia he received from his unknown past, and due to his memory issues and sensitivity, stays toughened and grounded in reality.

that is, the impossible occurs. a night returning from an investigation ends with an attack by a cartoon wolf, and foster mysteriously wakes up in his office with a cartoon character in tow! after a scuffle of confusion, she introduces himself simply as fitzroy. they both deduce they must work together (despite their flagrant differences) to figure out who created fitzroy, who that wolf was, and how toons are real.

Text ID: Who are Fitzroy and Foster? Maurice Foster is the shamus of Burnish Avenue, as many residents call him. He is gruff and reticent, and due to a secretive past, he holds contempt for, but not limited to, daydreamers, hecklers, clowns, and absurdity. Fitzroy, on the other hand? She's the complete opposite! Where he came from, why he's got Foster's face, and how she's a living, breathing cartoon is an illogical mystery. He is devil-may-care and hates stoicism; all his solutions to problems involve the highest degree of cartoonishness! These two are a match made in heaven, but they both ask the inquiry— why is Fitzroy here, and at that, who created him? End ID.

according to the locals of burnish avenue, foster appeared with the wind some years ago. to this day, the only things people know is his name, his hailing from woodlawn, new york city, and his connections to the burnish cabaret. though he’s known for taking a tough fist to enemies, he is also known for his benignity towards his clients, and is trusted by the avenue.

fitzroy is just as enigmatic. the difference between her and foster, other than being a living, breathing, toon, is his kippy personality! she loves fun, can’t stand being serious for the life of her, and is unnervingly eager to knock down a criminal’s door with some wild weapon he’s made up. he doesn’t know where she came from, either, so she makes the most of it!

fitzroy and foster are two sides of the same coin— if those two sides could staunchly disagree! they may share emotions and the remnants of memories foster has of his past. regardless, to foster, fitzroy’s an unbearably wacky impossibility, and to fitzroy, foster is a killjoy who needs loosening up.

contrarily, they cooperate as well as they can when on a case together. fitzroy comes along for the ride, and though his abrasive, comical methods of investigation may irritate foster, an extra body and friend by his side aren’t taken for granted. (for being a silly cartoon, fitzroy’s weirdly handy with dynamite and pistols.)

eventually, the two will learn to see eye to eye, being foster opens up and fitzroy’s efforts thaw him. but, until then, they butt heads and get no closer to solving the case of the living cartoons.

WHO IS JO/JOSEPHINE?

Text ID: Josephine “Jo” Simon (She/her). End ID.

Text ID: Who is Jo? Josephine "Jo" Simon is one of the satiny performance girls of the Burnish Cabaret. A singer, dancer, and show-woman, she performs every evening below Foster's private office on the second floor. Jo is a debonair dish with the great ability of making all kinds of acquaintances! However, the friend and confidante she deems her closest is Foster. Jo contacted the investigator in early 1932 to help gather enough evidence of her then husband's abuse. She, in return, helped him find an office. In present time, they chat every day, or have a dil-ya-ble if they're busy. When Jo isn't romping with Foster or performing, she's drawing away! End ID.

the hijinks within detective foster’s office aren’t the only focuses of the story. a floor below his private studio is the burnish cabaret, the source of the avenue’s musical nightlife. there, you may see 31 year old josephine simon in the ensemble— but everyone calls the performance girl jo. she is a flirtatious, humorous show-woman who has always loved the arts since her childhood.

jo was drawn to the cabaret when she moved near the avenue with her then husband. as a young child, she was adopted by french immigrants, and eventually left home in search of her identity. the cabaret, which hires and houses chinese-american women, gave her the ability to reconnect with herself. when she escaped and divorced her husband, she fully joined the cabaret, and has lived and performed there to this day.

if you’ve read this far, thank you! while this isn’t replacing crime express in any capacity, and ruth and blu are still my favorites, F&F (as i abbreviate it) is another passion project in the making. keep an eye out for more of the new little guys if you’re interested! X)

as i’ve gotten a couple questions from irl friends about F&F, i will answer the relevant ones here for convenience:

Q: are fitz/fitzroy and foster related/twins/etc?

A: no. they’re not related in any way, despite fitzroy originating from foster and what not. i only clarify this cause they’re shipped in the story and don’t want any misconceptions LOL

Q: is F&F part of the crime express universe/tooniverse?

A: no. this is a separate universe entirely! unlike crime express, which is a toon-human world, this is a world unfamiliar with toons. fitz and the other toons not featured here are outliers.

Q: who is the ‘cartoon wolf’ who attacks foster in the prologue?

A: while i don’t want to spoil the story in the introductory post, i will say that their pseudonym is the big bad wolf, and they are responsible for several denizens of the avenue acting strangely or injured, including foster. their real motivations and identity shall be kept secret for now!

if there are any other specific questions, i will GLADLY answer them. i have a ton of lore i haven’t even remotely touched upon in this post that i shall happily discuss if asked!

border credit goes to @.steddiecameraroll-graphics

[helyeahmangocheese]

realistic-ish percabeth uni au where

annabeth starts school a year ahead of percy so he has time to write (at least) the first pjato book. and get into school etc.

this makes their graduation years actually line up bc a b.arch is a 5 year degree

more on that in a bit though annabeth does not design olympus at 16/17

she probably drafts it but continues developing it through her introductory and intermediate studios

that would be years 1, 2, and the first term of 3. nru is probably on the quarter schedule but she probably only has 2 studios per year

her advanced studios (second half of 3, one or both of 4) are used to finalize olympus' plans and set some of them to action. if the 2nd studio in year 4 is still on olympus, it would be a design/build where she is there for actual construction

personally I think that she might spend the 2nd studio in year 4 getting ready for her thesis with preliminary plans

she probably spends a summer anyway working on these drafts. new rome inspires her a lot even though she is so in love with new york and would like to go back.

her 5th year thesis is new athens. it takes at least a year to configure basic city planning with camp halfblood (which is also designed with upgrades for halfblood longevity of life) as well as sample plans for housing and civil buildings. they aren't perfect bc each of these buildings really could have used a studio of their own, but they're a damn good place to start. her thesis defense is mostly just convincing the Olympians (now in a pretty good mood with her Olympus design) that they should invest in new athens with her anyway.

this lines up pretty well with percy's mission with the pjato books to educate young demigods for their own safety and to help them all grow old in a place with the infrastructure for it.

percy either continues writing or eventually becomes a teacher? or someone else majorly involved in the community. an organizer even.

they just make new athens and chb and nyc just a better home for halfbloods in general they build smth permanent ITS SO GOOD FOR THEIR ARCS

[hermaximalismhome]

HOME TYPE: Apartment

LOCATION: Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York

STYLE: Colorful, Industrial, Maximalist

BEDROOMS: 2

SQ FT: 747

PAINT & COLORS:

All Rooms — Benjamin Moore “Bancroft White (DC-01)”

ENTRYWAY

Coat Rack — ​UTIL

Flowerpot — &Tradition

Taiwanese Mailbox — Yun Hai Selection

Small Rectangular Mirror — HAY

Wall Ledge Shelves — Lichen NYC

Super Stripe Mini Rug — Verloop

Stripe Dog Bed — Dusen Dusen

KORSNING Rug — IKEA

LIVING ROOM

Sofa — Modern Hill

Shlf One Layer — KIOSK48TH

Shlf Three Layer — KIOSK48TH

The Blot Rug — Mush Studios

The Dandi Pillow — Mush Studios

Tubo Bookend — Bi-Rite Studios

Fenestra Bookends — MoMA Design Store

Sowden Tin — HAY

Sowden Water Bottle — HAY

Pillar Candle — HAY

PC Portable Lamp — HAY

Hemisphere Clock — Design Within Reach

Kirby Vase — Areaware

XL Globe Floor Lamp — Urban Outfitters

KITCHEN

Aluminum Float Shelf — Bestcase

Great Jones x Fellow Kettle — ​Great Jones

Great Jones x Zander Schlacter Dutch Baby — Great Jones

Bodum Programmable 12-Cup Coffee Maker — MoMA Design Store

Salt & Pepper Grinder — Mohd

Toaster — Mohd

Arcs Case — HAY

DINING ROOM

Memphis Dining Chairs — ​Betsu Studios

Daphne Concrete Dining Table — Urban Outfitters

Frame TV — Samsung

Frame TV Wall Mount — Samsung

BEDROOM

Bookcase Miniature — Memphis Milano

Shiva Vase — BD Barcelona

Super Lamp — Memphis Milano

The Dune Rug — Mush Studios

BLOQUE 7 in Sottsass Red — Bonne Choice

Aria Headboard — Urban Outfitters

Roma Wavy Wall Mirror — Urban Outfitters

Credenza — CB2

Bed Frame — Keetsa

Stripe Knit Throw — ​Verloop

Object Poster — Gustaf Westman

SOWDEN PL1 Portable Lamp — MoMA Design Store

Shaped Pillar Candle — H&M Home

A thing on a table in a house — Apartmento

Wallpaper* City Guide — Wallpaper

IDROTTSHALL Rug — IKEA

HOME OFFICE

Shogun Lamp — ​Artemide

Pier Shelving System — Design Within Reach

Uten Silo Large — Herman Miller

Perpetual Ring-A-Date Wall Calendar — Home Union NYC

Anya Sconce — Urban Outfitters

Striped Canisters — Dusen Dusen

Everybody Kitchen Timer — Dusen Dusen

Everybody Tissue Box — Areaware

Pesa Candle Holder — Hem

Molino Grinder — Hem

Handmade Storage Boxes — HKLiving

Eames Construction Toy — MoMA Design Store

Scape Trays — Areaware

Stacking Planter Chrome — Areaware

Strata Plant Vessel — Areaware

Recess by Mush rugs — Mush Studios X Urban Outfitters