#and diamond city newspaper girl is also in love with me

[nthflower]

I used basketball hoops orange chandeliers and that electric thingies that I forgot their name and do amazing lampposts to my sanctuary hills.

Also now it has shops. Beautiful. I wanna live in there.

[miffy-junot]

"A Grand Marriage under the Consulate" - the wedding of Laure Permon and Jean-Andoche Junot

Following up from my last few posts about Laure and Junot's courtship, engagement and wedding, I'm going to take a quick break from translating the Joseph Turquan book to provide a description of the wedding from another historian, Jules Bertaut - Turquan tells the exact same story in his book but it is less detailed, so I'm choosing to upload Bertaut's version instead.

If you can read French then I would highly recommend reading the full article (linked at the end of the post), because what I've translated here is only the main segment.

Always full of vanity, eager to dazzle the city and the court, the young general ordered the trousseau from the best suppliers in vogue: Mlle l'Olive and Mlle Debeuvry, fashionable lingères, were urgently required, as well as the famous Le Roy for the dresses, and the no less famous Mlle Germon for the hats. Foncin mounts the diamonds. Every morning Junot travels around town in a cabriolet and returns in the evening to the Rue Sainte-Croix,* his arms laden with trinkets, drawings, and samples of all kinds collected from Sikes or the Petit Dunkerque, which will be the ornaments of the future residence. He does not forget "his terrible mother-in-law" in this distribution of gifts, nor his brother-in-law for whom he has taken a real affection. Every day, Mme Bernard, the famous boutiquiere of the opera, sends a magnificent wreath of flowers to Laure's home.

Now that the engagement is official, Junot appears daily at the house, and twice rather than once, cheerful, full of spirit, happy to live. He brings the fresh news, the news that no one knows yet: newspaper proofs, army bulletins, private letters that arouse the curiosity of these ladies, that amuse them, and on which they will talk all evening. His position as commander of Paris allowed him to know many things that he confided under the seal of secrecy. Sometimes he is also cautiously silent.

However, as the time of his marriage approached, Junot had his family brought to Paris and introduced them to his fiancée and her parents. They are good people from the provinces, Junot's father, who is about sixty years old, his wife, a little older, and the elder brother, and two married sisters and two uncles, a whole tribe of Burgundians who come to attend the wedding of the great man of the family.

The very evening of their arrival, they were brought to the rue Sainte-Croix. "It was on that day," says Madame Abrantes, "that I was able to appreciate all that was good and perfect in Junot's heart. Since he had come to my mother's house, he had been able to recognize the immense difference which existed in manners, in habits, and especially in education, between my family, which had never lived except in Paris, and his own, which had never left the depths of the province. He loved me too much not to fear finding in me a sign that would have detected a mocking feeling that would have made him unhappy." But Laure, who was a good and very wise girl, did not need to be lectured: she and her mother received the Burgundians with all the desirable grace and kindness, closing their eyes to the little blunders they may commit, showing themselves welcoming and deferential, the young girl quite affectionate for her parents-in-law. For this her fiancé thanked her with great effusiveness.

He will be able to prove his gratitude to her, for now the lingères and the courturiers have finished their work and the bride's basket appears. What splendour! It's a princess's trousseau. From a trunk of pink Naples silk embroidered with black chenille, a quantity of small packages knotted with pink or blue ribbons escapes. Embossed chemises, embroidered by Mlle l'Olive, Indian muslin dressing-gowns, night-camisoles, morning canezous, night-caps, morning bonnets of all colors, of all shapes, all trimmed with valenciennes, malines, or English stitch - it is a collapse of linen of the highest price. In another enormous basket are the cashmere shawls, veils, the trimmings of dresses in needle stitch and in Brussels stitches, black lace, pieces of muslin from India, pieces of velvet or Turkish fabrics that the general brought back from Egypt, the dress for the wedding, "representation dresses", dresses embroidered in silver strips. And then ribbons of all widths, all colors, bags, fans, gloves, perfumes of Fagon, of Riban.

On each side of this basket two "sultans" have been placed. "In the first," she says, "there were two necessities, one containing all that is necessary for the toilette of the teeth and hands, in objects of gold enamelled with black, the other contained everything that a woman uses to work: a thimble, scissors, an awl, all of gold also, and surrounded by fine pearls. In the other "sultan" were the case and a blond tortoiseshell and gold lorgnette with two rows of diamonds. The case contained a very beautiful river of chatons, a pair of earrings also made of chatons, mounted in the shape of a wheel, as was the fashion at the time; six ears of corn and a comb, half pearls and half diamonds, which, owing to the enormous amount of hair I had then, was almost as large as it would be today. In the same case was a square medallion surrounded by fine pearls in which was a portrait of General Junot painted by Isabey. But, in good faith, he was of a size to be tied to a gallery rather than hung around his neck. Oh, it was fashionable... In the same pink "sultan" and next to the case were superb topazes that the general had brought back from Egypt (always the "souvenirs") and whose size was fabulous, multi-layered oriental carnelians and antique engraved stones." 

The bride-purse, which it was customary for the bridegroom to offer to his bride, was made of gold chains fastened by a small star enamelled with green; the sum it contained was in notes of the Bank of France - a great novelty at the time - "covered with fifty louis in Venice sequins". For people who had been completely ruined four years ago, this is a pretty nice success...

However, the date of the ceremony was approaching and suddenly there was an unforeseen incident that upset the guests of the rue Sainte-Croix. Junot had a friend of a certain Duquesnoy, who was mayor of the 7th arrondissement, which was then situated in the Saint-Antoine district, and he asked Laure if she did not see any objection to him officiating their civil marriage**. She replied that, as far as she could see, she saw none, that the only trouble was the rather long journey for her mother which she would have to make to return from the quarter of Saint-Antoine to Saint-Louis d'Antin, their local church, which was opposite their home. Junot said nothing, looked a little embarrassed, and when she had gone away, he asked his future mother-in-law if it was really her intention to have a religious marriage celebrated. Mme Permon jumped up. -"What!" she cried. "You ask me if I want to go through the church? Ah, my dear fellow, do you take us for unbelievers, followers of sans-culotte marriages? We are Catholics - like you, for that matter - and we wish to remain so." "However," he dares to advance, "Mademoiselle Laure..." "Well! send for her, and you will see what she will say to you." The young girl was recalled. She seemed stunned when her fiancé confessed to her that when he asked for her hand he did not have the intention of having a religious marriage. She didn't want to hear any more: "Never!" she said, all pale and already trembling, "will I accept only a civil marriage. Be assured that our union will not take place if we do not go through the church." And she ran to lock herself in her room where she had a long sobbing fit.

What an ordeal! Everyone gets involved. Finally, Albert [de Permon] has a discussion of several hours with Junot and returns, triumphant, that he has decided, but that the general wants the religious wedding to take place at midnight. Laure agrees, but will Mme Permon want it? She wants to, she says with a pinched look, but she takes the opportunity to demand that her future son-in-law ask forgiveness from his fiancée for having doubted her feelings in this way. - "Come on! On your knees before her! And you, give him your hand and your cheek to reward him." Stunned, overwhelmed, too, by grief, his countenance upset, poor Junot complies, and, everything seeming to be settled, they end the evening at the theatre and applaud Talma in Orestes.

On October 30, 1800, in the morning, the bride's toilette began. She has a dress of Indian muslin embroidered with dotted and in open stitches with long sleeves. On her head she has a bonnet in Brussels stitch mounted by Mlle Despaux with a small crown of orange blossoms from which a long veil of English stitch starts. At eleven o'clock, the general arrived with his family and his two witnesses, his aide-de-camp, Captain Lallemand, and a painter, M. Bardin. Laure's will be the Comte de Villemanzy, an intimate friend of her father, and M. Laquion de Bois-Crozy. Her tutor, M. Brunetière, will serve as her father***, and they are proud to count in the procession the bride's uncle, Prince Demetrius of Commene, who has come expressly from Munich. 

As they leave for the town hall, they see two "forts" and ladies from the Halle cutting through the crowd of curious people and asking to be introduced. They each bring a superb bouquet, a tribute to the commander of the Place de Paris. "We were leaving for the town hall," says Laure, "accompanied by their noisy greetings and to the sound of repeated cries of 'Vive la mariee!'" M. Duquesnoy, the mayor, spared them the boredom of a long speech, limiting himself "to a few well-felt phrases." Then they went home.

When midnight was about to strike, they set off again: in spite of the late hour, the street was still full of people, who applauded loudly the procession on its way to Saint-Louis d'Antin. An hour later the newlyweds reached the house in the Rue de Verneuil.****

*Laure and her mother's residence at the time.

**before the revolution a marriage had to be held in a church to be legitimate, but since the revolution the system in France is that the couple must have a civil marriage in a town hall and then a religious ceremony is optional.

***Laure's father was dead and so she needed another paternal figure to symbolically 'give her away' to her husband.

****Junot's residence at the time.

source: Jules Bertaut, revue des deux mondes, 1949

[opheliayuen]

{ ic; Gemma Chan, 37, she/her, female. } yo! have you heard about [ OPHELIA YUEN ]? i couldn’t help but notice them blasting [ THE CHAIN - FLEETWOOD MAC ] when they pulled up.  i saw them moving into [ DIAMOND HEIGHTS ] which makes sense because they remind me of [ CUPS OF TEA ABANDONDED NEXT TO STACKS OF NOTES, A QUIET LUXURY WOVEN IN EVERY FIBER OF HER CLOSET BUT NOT HER BEING ]. word on the street is that they’re [ ARGUMENTATIVE & PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE  ] but i also heard they can be [ HELPFUL & GENTLE ]. i could be wrong but something tells me that they work over at [ THE URBZVILLE TRIBUNE ] but i guess we’ll find out soon enough. { ooc; hannah,est, she/her, 22.}

Hey!!!! I’m back with another lil lady!! Feast your eyes on Ophelia  Yuen!!!

tw: death, pregnancy ( unrelated to the death tw), 

Basics

full name: Ophelia Xiu Yuen

nicknames: none

age: 37

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: heterosexual

sun sign: Capricorn

occupation: editor

workplace: The Urbzville Tribune

residence: diamond heights

History

Ophelia was born in new york city to a very loving and kind couple, Peter and Charlotte Yuen, the owners of a massive international trade company.  Luckily for the newborn she was not to inherit the business itself that would go to her older brother Jacob Yuen.

The family lived in the lap of a silent luxury, they lived in a large townhouse on Carnegie Hill, NY and truly taught the children manners and how to appreciate what they had been given.

Ophelia was always dressed in beautiful dresses and spent much of her free time interested in writing and reading, most mornings she would be found on either her mother or father’s lap reading along to the newspaper

When she reached school age, just like her brother, she was given the best of the best! She was sent to private schools but was never allowed to go to a boarding school, her parents too afraid to send their little girl away.

Throughout school she joined debate teams and school newspapers. Even during the summer her parents would allow her to take private tutoring in creative writing, and journalism.

Though her parents wanted her to have a quiet life, probably as some senator’s housewife they couldn’t deny their daughter’s abilities and interest, they had never done that to her brother and Peter was set on the two being treated equally.

Jacob and Ophelia were constantly surrounded by friends, usually peers from school including one Xavier Wong, he was Jacobs age and Ophelia was smitten, of course the girl didn’t have time to have a crush during school so she would just day dream about what it would be like to be noticed by him. It would soon fizzle out after Jacob and Xavier graduated to university

Once she got to university it became obvious to both of her parents that Ophelia was not just their gentle and sweet little daughter but a girl filled with her own passions and dreams, even an ivy league school didn’t make her want to settle down. Instead she took a job offer ( mainly through Peter’s connections) as a international reporter for a massive paper in England

Later she would become a war correspondent, this would be the first time her mother actually disapproved of her choice but either way she went

There she would run into  Master Sergeant Xavier Wong, and almost instantly all the feelings came back, even the ones he had harbored himself, they would end up dating, they put the effort in and made time for each other and they were both happy. Two years in he asked her to marry him and for once Charlotte was thankful for Ophelia’s career.

Two months before his second tour they discovered Ophelia was pregnant, they had their entire future ahead and this was going to be his last tour for a bit, he had promised her..

Exactly 7 weeks and 4 days after she waved goodbye to him, a man came to her door, telling her that Xavier died, the rest was a blur even now if you were to ask her she wouldn’t be able to accurately recount his death

Luckily, her family, though disapproving of her career choice, feared the idea of a young essentially widowed mother being on her own. They helped her plan the funeral and moved her into their old vacation home in Diamond Heights.  Her brother found a loophole and put his younger sister on the payroll.

She would end up giving birth to a healthy baby boy named Henry Yuen-Wong, and she became obsessed with the baby laying in her arms, determined not to be a weak role model she wanted to work again

Joining the Urbzville tribune, she became the editor and somehow has been able to juggle both a toddler and a fulltime job since.

Personality

Ophelia has always been one to be mannered and polite in every scenario, even as a child her governess and mother were set on making sure both Yuen children always acted as perfect as possible in public, allowing for freedom in the home. She still carries that with her, even if she doesn’t want to pass it down to henry.  But due to these teachings, the only way she could make her point (negatively) in public was to be passive aggressive and she was and still is. Ophelia hates a full on confrontation she’s never really been that good at it anyways.  Ophelia has also been involved with charity her entire life, it doesn’t change when she leaves the new York socialite scene, you can see her often down at rec centers and churches donating old clothes or any extra baby things she can find.  She also makes it a point to be helpful and charitable in her day to day life, often doing favors for friends and neighbors.  Ophelia is none for her gentle demeanor, unless provoked she’s always seems to be a gentle woman, never too loud or rude, never someone to make a point of showing any rough edge to her personality

Random Facts

She calls Henry ‘bear’

she has written some award winning pieces but has left the awards in New York

she still wears her engagement ring and would probably flip shit if she lost it

speaks a couple of languages ( french, german, mandarin and english)

she also always where’s some pearl earrings from her mother

she doesn’t plan to stay in diamond heights forever but if Henry ever says no she might fold

her cursive is amazing but printed is not it

used to have extremely long hair but cut it just past her shoulders after Henry was about 7 months old cause he started pulling

already has two photo albums of henry

used to be a smoker but quit after her dad found out

she still talks to her brother weekly if not daily

the house she’s in is mainly a townhouse with a good backyard, her dad and brother have stated they want to build henry a treehouse once he’s old enough

has a picture framed of her old friend group in her office at work and her study at home

often works at her desk with henry in her lap, or sleeping in a playcot near by

if you read this far like it so we can plot bb

[writer-panda]

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

Chapter 1  -|-  Previous -|- Next

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

-----------

As she hanged up, Marinette rushed to the doors and let her mother in. The previous night she spent mostly on working with Kwamis to prepare. Most were in agreement that she needed to act and not leave her kitty’s fate to chance. Tikki protested for a bit, but in the end, she saw that there was no changing Marinette’s mind and joined in on scheming. Except she had no way of tracking Adrien. Not… until she received the call!

Except now her mother entered. Sabine greeted her daughter by giving her a bone-crushing hug. 

“I was so worried! When the police called I couldn’t just sit there and wait!”

“Maman. It’s alright. I’m okay. See?” The girl did break away from the hug and smiled.

“I know. But I couldn’t help but worry.”

“Maman… Adrien’s been kidnapped.”

“I know.” Her mother’s expression didn’t reveal any emotions now.

“I… he’s been miserable ever since that wedding mess, and now this.”

“I know.” Again, nothing. 

“He’s my friend.”

“Not the love of your life?” Sabine questioned with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“No. He doesn’t need another fangirl. He needs a friend. Someone who can support him. I… I wasn’t a good friend before this…” She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t a great partner either. Chat hid things well, but from time to time his shell cracked. She should’ve seen the signs. She could’ve done something. Or at least do something with Lila. She had connections and Lila deserved a lawsuit or five. 

“Oh, sweety. You were a great friend. You are a great friend. I’m happy to see you’re not about to chase after some misguided love, but after friendship.”

“I know I’m only… wait, what?” Marinette.exe stopped working. If the problem keeps repeating itself, please contact customer service or the nearest Kwami. 

“When I was fifteen, I dropped out of… school to explore the world on my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met your father.” Sabine said in a bit dreamy voice like she was reminiscing. “We had several adventures across Europe before finally settling down in Paris.”

“But… Papa’s a baker.” Marinette protested. “I thought he was always a baker, like his father.”

In response, her mother chuckled. “No. Your father had much more in common with your Nona than with his father. I met him when he was fighting in an underground cage-fighting club.”

“Whoa…” Marinette’s eyes widened. That was a story she never heard before. “So how did you two got together?”

“I will tell you some other time. The point is, I know that even if I took you to Paris with me, you would’ve run away to look for your friend.”

“Maman!” For a moment, the girl wanted to protest. But then she decided that there was no point. “Yes… you’re right. But I can’t just let it happen! If the police find him, he will end up back with his father!”

“I know. And what’ll you do about it?” Her mother had this mysterious smirk on her face.

“I guess… I need to be the one to find him. I will get him situated somewhere safe. Maybe stay with him for a bit. He’s smart. And a quick learner.” He mastered being a superhero faster than I did.

“Good. Then you have my blessing.” 

“I can’t just abandon-” Marinette.exe stopped working again. Contacting the customer service might be in order. Technically, Sabine kept hinting about it. Practically, Marinette would miss a clue even if she was holding a gun to its head. “I have your what now?”

“You can go. Save him. Find yourself. And maybe kick some asses while you’re at it.”

“Most parents would be worried sick about their not-yet-adult children running off to an adventure.”

“You wanted to know how I met your father. The answer is I was the first to beat him in that cage.” Sabine’s smirk was replaced with a serious expression. “Of course I will worry, sweety. I’m your mother. But holding you back now will not help you. You’re a strong young woman and to be fair, I’m not sure how we could hold you down. You have steady access to the rooftop and two years of parkour training.”

“What now?”

“Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice you sneaking off through the balcony?”

“And you didn’t even tell me?” 

“It would be hypocritical of us.” Sabine defended. “And if the worse came to happen, I had several… souvenirs from our travel around the world.”

“Thank you, Maman. I promise I will come back; And call you often. Well, maybe not too often.” Marinette already dashed to start packing. 

“Of course you will. And don’t get into too much trouble. I would hate to have to go and find you.” Sabine threatened with a bright smile on her face. 

“I’ll try, Maman.” The girl was only half-listening now. She couldn’t waste any more time. She learned how to trace the call about one-and-a-half years ago when she was still a bit ‘stalker-ish’. 

Sabine watched her daughter with amusement. So many memories returned to her now. Youth mostly well-spent if someone asked her. The ‘mostly’ part came to bite her just that moment as her phone pinged. She quickly checked the message and frowned. 

“I’m sorry, my little cupcake, but I need to go check it. An old friend turns out to be in town.” 

“I’ll call you later!” Marinette called from where she was furiously working on her laptop. 

When Sabine left, the kwamis swarmed her immediately.

“Your mom is so cool!” one of them cooed.

“And she’s one bad-”

“Roaar!” Tikki scolded the tiger kwami. 

“What’s the plan, pigtails?”

“Adrien’s call was made from within Gotham City. He’s still here for now. I also managed to track him to Burnley.”

“Didn’t that mercenary you called mention some Lawton?” Trixx offered.

“Yeah. I did try to search him up, but the only one with that name that I managed to find is Zoe Lawton. Wait. There is more!” She beamed up. “An old article in some Mexican newspaper.” She clicked on the link and read it aloud for her co-conspirators “Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, was recently arrested after an assassination of a small group of smugglers. It is yet unknown if it was a hit or was it personal.” The article went on, but there was nothing more of interest.

“So the guy’s a mercenary too? That’s good. He’ll bring Adrien to you.”

“Not so fast. I remember hearing about him. Deadshot is one of the few mercenaries who try to keep some resemblance of a code. He’s also noted to be soft around children.”

“Isn’t Adrien almost an adult though?” Kaalki asked rather uncaring.

“Have you met the guy? He’s a literal ray of sunshine!” Plagg protested.

“So… he won’t deliver him and won’t return him.” Seeing that some Kwamis didn’t understand her logic, she clarified, “I don’t think that if he learns how Gabe treated his son he will be in any hurry to return him.”

“That makes sense.” The little being all nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the alternative?”

“He could adopt him,” Ziggy suggested.

“Please.” Marinette dismissed the idea. “He’s not Bruce Wayne.”

“He could smuggle him out of the country.”

“No. Everyone’s looking for him.” Roaar countered. “He would try to lay low somewhere.”

“Burley is large and full of potential safe houses.” Marinette started to think. “But there is also a large concentration of organized crime. Alone, we would have a hard time, but if we got them to help…”

“Is it wise to involve more criminals into your schemes Marinette?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry, sugarcube. To catch a bird you need wings. To catch a criminal you need crime.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“What’s the worse that could happen? I will go there as Seamstress. I won’t even appear in person. Right, Trixx?”

“You can count on it.” The fox kwami grinned.

“But… but…” Tikki wanted to scream her head off. Why did the previous guardian choose a juvenile criminal for her holder. Marinette used to be such a sweet girl. Where did Tikki go wrong?

---------

It was dark when an eerie mist filled one of the less-than-legal clubs in Burnley. From among the smoke, a figure entered. She was wearing a godet-type black dress with a side-cut that reached to her belt. The dress was overlayed with a very visible deep-blue corset that pronounced her blue eyes. It had some intricate laces on it. She also wore a puffy-sleeved blazer (also black, but with a dark blue finish) with large and very pronounced cuffs. Around her neck was a white double jabot fixed to a choker with a large black gem surrounded by diamonds. Her long deep-blue hair was let loose and hung over her shoulder. A simple black-and-white domino mask hid her features.

As she marched, one of her legs shifted the fabric to reveal she was wearing dark-blue socks reaching above her knee and black leather boots. A knife was strapped to the right one and several leather strips around her thigh and knee suggested she had more weapons on her. 

One of the men whistled.

“Looks like the entertainment arrived, boys!” Several cheered at that shout. At least until the man who dared to say it ended pinned to a wall with a rather large needle holding his jacket in place. It was also uncomfortably close to his jugular. 

“I’m not entertainment.” The Seamstress hissed. 

“Then you’re not invited.” Several men got up, many were holding now-empty bottled which they turned into impromptu weapons. 

“You will help me find what was taken from me.” She demanded.

“Yeah? Or?” One of the men laughed before charging at her. 

What followed next was perhaps the strangest carnage Gotham City has seen in years. The Seamstress danced between the attacks with almost unnatural grace and agility while stabbing the attackers in various places with large needles. None of the hits were life-threatening and most would heal within hours. The wounds were meant to incapacitate with minimal long-term damage.

By the time she reached the far end of the bar, almost every man was laid out on the ground groaning in pain or scrambling in fear.

“I am not asking. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” She then disappeared into the back alley. One brave/foolish enough who still had some fight left rushed after her, only to find the place completely empty. 

On the rooftop, Marinette let out her breath. She didn’t use any miraculous for that one, but she kept Plagg’s ring on. Chat Noir wasn’t seen in some time, so it would’ve been easier to explain that the ring was stolen by a criminal. She would really need to thank her mother for all the training she forced on her ever since the Akumas started to appear, as well as the lessons during her childhood. Those were all only the most basic grunts tonight, but she got their attention. One of them would run to their boss. There, she could actually do what she planned. 

--------

Just like she predicted, some of the less injured guys left the bar in hurry and drove their bikes to another part of the district. They disappeared into a three-story building. The windows were boarded, but some light seeped through on the top floor, so that is where she climbed. Indeed, by hanging on the edge of the window sill, she was able to hear the panicked screams inside.

“...and then she just disappeared! It was like that damn Bat, only much more terrifying. She was so small, and yet there was this… this… aura of power.”

Thank you Chloe for being queen B. Marinette stifled a laugh. Mimicking Chloe was the right choice. 

“Probably another one of his useless brats.” The boss dismissed them. Marinette decided that it would make the best impression if she contradicted him right now.

She wondered for a moment how to enter the armored building. She could rip the boards away and enter that way, but she was aiming for ethereal, not brute. In the end, she pulled a pair of glasses and put them over her mask. 

“Kaalki. Would you please help me break into headquarters of a criminal organization to scare them into serving me?”

“How many sugar cubes is it worth?”

“Ten. No more, no less.” Marinette had a small window of opportunity. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

“Kaalki! Full gallop!” The light enveloped Marinette. When it died down, she was still in her outfit, only now the blue accents were brown instead. The gem on her neck held the symbol of a horse miraculous. “I love magical clothes. So easy to maintain the image.” Marinette muttered before a blue portal opened before her and she entered.

Inside, the five men (two who came to report, the boss, and his two guards) watched as the blue portal opened before them. The mist started to pour through it as well as through the boarded window. A figure calmly stepped inside.

“I didn’t expect the Gotham criminal organizations to be so… cliche.” She commented. Two needles sailed through the air and pinned the guards to the wall. Her horseshoe weapon waited patiently on her back should she need to use it.

“Who… who’re you?”

“Me? Oh. I’m The Seamstress. I had business in Gotham, but a fool dared to double-cross me. I need to find him.”

“Why… W-why shou-should w-we help… help you?” One of the guys from the bar asked.

“Oh. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you’ll help me.” She informed. “I’m about to make you an offer you shouldn’t refuse.” 

The boss was now shaking. Damn city with its damn overpowered supervillains. They think they can simply run things as they want. First Red Hood took out most of the top brass of the underworld and then this? Working on his father’s farm was sounding more and more appealing. Then there was the shouldn’t. The reference to the classic movie was not lost, but she said shouldn’t. Not can’t. Once more he remembered how Red Hood took over. Submit, or die. This was the same. She clearly wouldn’t hesitate. He liked to think he could see those things. 

“I’m waiting.” The lady growled. “I’m not used to waiting.” Channeling Chloe is actually fun here. 

“Fine. You can have my seat. I’m going back to dad’s farm. Just let me go and you can have them.” The boss stood from his seat and motioned for her.

Marinette.exe is not responding. Do you want to execute the process? Not yet. 

She managed to keep enough cool to smile and take the seat, although she didn’t even register what was that. 

She would panic later. For now, tracking Adrien. “I need to find where Floyd Lawton, also called Deadshot, is hiding with my… asset.”

“It… I will see to it, Boss… lady.” One of the guys from the bar nodded very fast before rushing out of the room.

“I… will bring you the list of current assets.” One of the guards informed and walked somewhere. They were used to aggressive takeovers. This was their third. Boss change, guards remain. This was honestly the first time the previous boss managed to escape with his life. 

Meanwhile, Marinette finally realized what just happened. She really wanted to hit her head on the desk, but she was too afraid to show any signs of weakness. Why did she end up in this mess again?

----------

Sabine Cheng was waiting for her plane back when an airport guard approached her.

“Lady Cheng?” Sabine’s blood froze for a moment, but she refused to show any outward reaction at her past codename. “There is a man who wishes to discuss some… past debts.”

Damn it. And here she thought that bald bastard would forget about her. He had several more suitable people. He knew the risks of angering her.

Then again, she knew not to anger him either.

“Lead the way.” Her face was stone cold as she stood up. 

Inside a comfortable private lodge sat a blad man in a suit more expensive than the yearly revenue of her bakery. 

“Ah… Lady Cheng. I’m so happy you could’ve joined us.”

Sabine looked around and noticed that there was another man there, standing slightly in the shadows. A man she came to despise just as much as Luthor. Standing there was Gabriel Agreste.

“I can’t return the pleasure, Luthor.” She snarled, not letting her gaze drop from Agreste.

“Figured you’d say that.” The billionaire laughed. “But it doesn’t change that you came.”

“Be quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“About that.” Lex smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be on that plane. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sadly, my calendar is full for the foreseeable future.” She retorted coldly.

“Then you will clean it. Unless that is, you want me to tell my good friend the president about your little assignment for me twenty years ago. If I recall, your pardon didn’t cover that particular crime.” The man chuckled.

The only upside of this whole situation to Sabine was that Agreste finally realized exactly who she was. Or at least how dangerous she was. The deal she made ensured that Lady Cheng disappeared from everywhere but some people’s memory. To her dismay, Lex didn’t forget. And he still had that damning evidence.

She also knew exactly what was the job.

“I don’t do jobs involving kids, Luthor.” She seethed through gritted teeth. It wouldn’t matter, but she hoped it would at least give him a pause.

“Adrien Agreste was about to be married. I think that can calm your conscience. He was all but adult.” That despicable man dismissed her concern, as she predicted.

“I’m a little rusty. Don’t you have someone younger? Someone who would actually want to do this?” Sabine deadpanned. She kept true to the deal she made for her and her husband’s pardon and didn’t do any… extracurricular work.

“Alas, the fact you’re unwilling is why I need you. You see, the client, whoever they are, picked Agreste Jr. as a target in a… battle royale of sorts. It quickly stopped being about the ludicrous money reward. It’s now about proving who’s the best. And they won’t stop until they deliver him to that mysterious Seamstress.”

“So what do you want? I’m sure you could’ve bought some of them to drop the glory part.” She really didn’t want to do this.

“I offered to pay five times the price, but most of the competent ones want a shot at whatever that job is. A mysterious benefactor with no history, nonexistent in any database in the world, paying a small fortune for a simple job and offering further work? Doesn’t it sound familiar?” Lex reclined in his chair and smiled.

“One job only. I want everything you have on me. And ten times the bounty.” She noted his discomfort. “Don’t give me that look, Luthor. You can afford it. My daughter’s about to start a university.” Sabine turned to Gabriel. “I must thank you for the idea. Homeschooling really helps when one is gifted.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lex grumbled. If he didn’t know the quality of her works, he would’ve laughed at the price. Except he foolishly revealed that he was desperate.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.” Sabine smiled. She was like a cat that just caught a mouse.

[keanureevesisbae]

Becky's debut novel (Sugar Sugar fic)

A/N: So, @thelastsock gave me such a great idea: a snippet of Becky's book. So I have a snippet here, including a front cover, back cover and a little dedication page (because I am extra like that 😂😂, what else do you expect from me). Hope you like it xoxo

Chapter 1

YOU ARE NOT WELCOME.

Those are the exact words that greet me when I walk up our porch to our front door. Let’s just say that my mom has a special way of welcoming her quests. I step over the slightly offensive doormat to get inside. Not a lot of people would expect this kind of welcome from the mayor, but then again: no one expected her to win the elections in our town Starfall Fields in the first way.

Not to be mean, but even I never believed in my mom and not for a second did I think she had any chance of winning. Mom has been quite the controversy the second she moved into town. How on earth would she be able to be the mayor?

Weirdly enough, she hasn’t made a complete fool out of herself in these two months she has been mayor. Actually, she’s been doing quite well. It’s just that her housekeeping skills have been lower than low.

I open the refrigerator and scrunch up my nose when I notice there is barely anything edible in here. Great.

I grab my phone and send my mom a text.

Josie: You need to do groceries

Mom: Do it yourself, you lazy bitch

Mom: Still love you though 😘

I chuckle as I read her text. She’s quite something, my mom, and if we don’t call each other bitch at least once a day, there’s something up and we should worry.

People might find it odd that we call one another bitch, but it’s just our way of showing our affection towards the other.

Somehow I find some left over yogurt that isn’t expired already. I peel a banana (to only throw half of it away, because it’s brown and squishy, therefore absolutely repulsive) and cut it into slices. I drizzle some maple syrup on top of it and want to add some raisins, but when I open the jar, I find out there is only one raisin left in it.

‘Mom,’ I whine, though she can’t hear me. ‘Really?’ This is just absolutely fantastic. After a long day at school, a girl can barely enjoy a nice little afternoon snack. I grab my bowl and walk over to the dining table. My butt barely touched the soft seating of the chair, when my best friend Andy FaceTimes me. I place the phone against the fruit bowl before I press answer. ‘What do you want?’ I ask him. ‘You literally saw me half an hour ago.’

He smiles, two dimples appearing in his full cheeks. ‘You know I can’t get enough of you, sugar.’

Andy and I have been best friends since I can remember, but that is mostly because we’ve been in the same class the moment we both stepped foot into kindergarten and we’re neighbors. We’re literally the two houses in a radius of around half a mile (yes, we took the time to measure it) and he isn’t the worst guy to hang around with.

Okay, he is the only one that doesn’t make me that angry, I have to fight the urge to claw his eyes out. I’m not gonna beat around the bush: I love hanging out with him.

While we see each other the moment we step out of our houses to go to school, share every class of the day with one another and we walk from school back to our houses, it’s hard to function without the other one. Therefore, we usually FaceTime the second we can after separating.

We’re quite the symbiotic pair.

‘Spit it out, Andy. What do you want?’ I ask.

‘I was wondering what your plans are,’ Andy says. ‘Mainly for tonight.’

I can’t help but chuckle. ‘There was a plan of me hanging on the couch, watching a movie with my best friend while we eat junk food, but your voice is telling me that you have something else in mind for the two of us.’

He nods. ‘I was thinking about you and I doing some FindUrPricing tonight.’

‘FindUrPricing is not a word, you idiot.’

‘I don’t care, miss Doyle,’ he retorts with a sassy undertone. He shakes his head, gestures I have to wait (like I’m going anywhere) and comes back into frame, this time with a tablet in his hands. ‘I have like five of these things, so what do you say? Want to bury them tonight, while we try to find something cool for it in return?’

Andy has this obsession with solving puzzles in newspapers like the old soul he is and since he is quite good and really fast, he has won multiple prizes, including multiple tablets.

‘Only if I find a diamond ring,’ I answer with my mouth full of yogurt.

‘Yeah, that’s attractive. You’ll find yourself a boyfriend in no time with those manners.’

I show him the finger. ‘I don’t need etiquette lessons from you,’ I say.

Andy sticks out his tongue. ‘Are you coming with me tonight?’ he asks me. ‘You know I need you.’

I chuckle. Andy is a disaster when it comes to being in the dark, but since FindUrPrice is just more fun at night, I have become his personal guard. ‘Okay, okay, but only if I can sleep at your place tonight. I have no idea what time my mom will be back from work.’

Andy’s parents are going to the opera’s tonight and afterwards, they’re staying in a hotel near the big city. Normally, they aren’t the type of people to go to the opera’s, but when their son wins tickets, including a stay in one of the most luxurious hotels in the area, who are they to say no?

Since I have no idea what time my mom manages to pull herself from city hall (to say she is a workaholic is an understatement), I’d rather sleep at Andy’s, then telling her we’ve been wandering on the street late at night.

Especially on a school night.

Sure, my mom knows about FindUrPrice, but she forbade me to ever do it late at night, because “you never know what can happen”. I personally think it’s not that big of a deal, since Starfall Fields is boring as hell and absolutely harmless, but my mother wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t envision my death.

FindUrPrice is an app for the younger folks in our city and the few around. The organization hid a few gifts and presents and whenever you follow the leads and find something, you have to place something nice in return. It’s cute and me and Andy do it from time to time.

‘You’re coming over now?’ Andy asks.

‘To help you do your laundry?’ I ask, nodding towards the screen, mainly towards the enormous pile of clothes on his bed. ‘Didn’t think so. See you in a few hours, Andy.’

‘Please,’ he begs, right at the same time as I hear his mom in the background yelling for him. ‘Yes, wait a minute!’ he yells. ‘Can I live with you? I feel like your mother never pushes you to do chores around the house.’

‘That’s because I do them voluntarily. If mom doesn’t do laundry, no one does it. If mom doesn’t clean the toilet, no one does it. Believe me, with a mom who all of the sudden turns a bit blind when it comes house chores, there is more to do here than there is at your place. Don’t you dare whine about it, Andrew Carter.’

We hang up and I grab a magazine from the table, reading through some of the articles. How to painlessly bikini wax yourself, how to get rid of strawberry legs, how to get yourself a man in a week.

Geez, mom, why do you read this?

No wait, better question: mom, why haven’t you gotten yourself a man in a week? This issue is three months old.

My phone rings again and without looking I answer, since I know exactly who is calling me. ‘Andy, I’m not helping you with your laundry,’ I say. ‘Shirts, sweaters and other items for your upper body go on a hanger and the rest with clothespins on a drying rack. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘Thank you for this wise, yet unnecessary lesson in laundry,’ mom says and I can hear her smile in her voice. ‘But laundry is your chore, so I pretend I didn’t hear it.’

‘What do you want?’ I ask my mom.

‘Wanted to know your plans for tonight.’

‘I was planning on hanging out with Andy,’ I say. Go outside, do some FindUrPricing. ‘Watch a movie. Probably sleep at his place. He is home alone, you know how he gets.’

Mom snorts. ‘Oh, do I know. How old was he when he rang our doorbell, nearly crying because he was afraid of the dark?’

‘The last time was a few months ago,’ I chuckle. ‘Why do you want to know my plans for tonight?’

‘You know,’ mom starts and I do know. ‘There is still a lot to do here at city hall.’

‘Right,’ I say, ‘and you wanted to know whether or not I mind. Mom, I’m your daughter, I truly don’t care.’

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ she says, mostly because she is trying to feel less guilty.

And I wouldn’t be her daughter if I wasn’t going to totally exploit her sweet offer. ‘So, you’re making breakfast for me and Andy tomorrow?’

She sighs. ‘Goodness gracious, really? I’m going to pull an all nighter.’

‘You wanted to be mayor and you’re also a mother. Deal with it.’

Mom scoffs. ‘And here I was thinking I was gonna get some sympathy from my daughter.’

‘Ew never,’ I say.

‘Well, I might just make breakfast for you, only if you eat it here. I might be your chef, but I’m not a waiter and I’m certainly not gonna walk it to the Carters.’

I scoff. ‘Okay, I think I can live with that.’

‘Alright, enjoy your night, Josie and don’t make it too late okay? Ten o’clock lights out, okay?’

No. ‘Of course. Bye mom.’

I look at the picture on the dining table. Despite not being blood related, my mom and I are really close. According to Andy’s mom, it never seemed like my mom would settle down. She moved to this boring place a few years prior to finding me on her doorstep. She was thirty and didn’t have a husband (nor had any intention of settling down with anyone—she turned down a lot of men who asked her out in Starfall Fields). Even back then, she was already a workaholic and worked over time as the mayor’s assistant.

One day, when she was getting herself ready for work, she heard soft cries from her front porch and when she checked it out, there was yours truly.

I was around a year old and in the cradle, there was a note saying that whoever found me, to take good care of me. My DNA wasn’t available in any database, just like there were no matches at all.

I have no idea who I am, who my biological family is and where I’m from.

Mom adopted me, because I only felt safe with her and since that moment, we were a duo.

A year and a half ago she became the mayor and since then she is everywhere in Starfall Fields, except home. I barely see her, but she does a lot for this town and I don’t think I have the right to whine about it, especially because it means many many sleepovers with Andy and many nights wandering around the woods to play FindUrPrice.

Sure, I miss her from time to time, because she’s still my mom. From someone who was home a lot, would wait for me on the porch no matter the weather when I came back from school and had chocolate pie ready for me and Andy, she changed to a real career woman who is everywhere in town.

But that’s okay, she’s happy and when she is, I am too. I should be, especially after everything she has done for me.

[tae-cup]

Old Money and Brooklyn Babies

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Summary:  “Those summer nights seem long ago. And so is the girl you used to call The queen of New York City. But if you send for me, you know I'll come. And if you call for me, you know I'll run” - Lana Del Rey (Old Money) 

Genre: Modern/Realistic Au, Angst, like Fluff if you squint, rich people au??

Warnings: Yandere-ish themes, LANGUAGE, drinking, sexual tension (but no smut!), unhealthy relationships, heavy topics, maybe at the end if you think about it maybe depression?, Pathological liar (s?) are involved, your brain has been warned #trust no one. 

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 7.3k Words 

A/N: Ahhh this was such a challenge for me to write but I hope you guys enjoy it! PS I’m sorry. And I’m really nervous to post this because I don’t know how it will turn out askldfhsalkdfh

Other: Masterlist

      Loving him was intense, a whirlwind of emotions that could only be compared to a hurricane, a tornado. There was a time when loving him was explosive, a train on its way to be wrecked. The feeling hadn’t disappeared. 

      You knew it when you saw him standing on the staircase, a new love around his arm. You felt the room buzz when he saw you. Now, standing in this bar of sweat and alcohol where you could barely pay for your next drink, you wondered how things went so wrong. 

     Just a few weeks ago, you were the queen of New York City, the heiress everyone was talking about, and now you were a nothing, just another nobody in a sea of other nobodies. 

     Did he see it in your eyes? Did he see the desperation? The same look you had given him a few months ago, the kind of look that he had described as beautiful and exhilarating. Now he turned away in disgust. You tightened your grasp on your glass. 

It was your fault. 

You had ruined it all. Like you always did. 

Six Months Ago 

1 A.M. wake up. 

Obsess over what you were going to do for the day and plan it meticulously in your mind. 

3 A.M. 

Get out of bed. 

make yourself a cup of coffee and stare in the mirror for a while. 

    You stood tall, you knew you were a beautiful woman. After all, everyone had been telling you this since you were little. You could easily pass for royalty, that’s what you always thought and you wore it well. 

    You jutted your chin out, running a hand along your jawline. Then you made sure to put every hair in place, perfectly positioned. The mirror had a small crack in the corner, you made a mental note to buy a new one. 

     You put on your dark shades sunglasses so that you could barely even see inside. Nonetheless, you stumbled around your apartment like a model, refusing to look unfashionable even in the cold abyss of your living room. Who knew if someone was peering through the windows? That’s why you kept it as dark as possible. 

     You tripped over the couch. Since when was that there? You asked yourself angrily, as if you hadn’t been living here for the past year, a pretty bubble world built up carefully over a year of work and dedication. 

    Reality couldn’t catch you here. You stumbled around blindly for a while and then found the door handle.

5 A.M. 

 With a decisive click, your day had begun. 

      Astteria Jewelry, a company your father had invested in dearly when he visited the states. You hadn’t been there, but you’d heard a lot about the visit from the newspapers.

“Hello?” You cleared your throat, tapping on the top of the glass counter until someone came over, looking a bit annoyed. The woman’s face was twisted uncomfortably before she plastered a kind smile on her face. 

“How may I help you?”

“Yes, yes, I need to try those on.” You pointed to the chunkiest rings in the case. They were encrusted with large and small diamonds, all glittering beautifully. 

     The woman shot you a skeptical look. You just peered down at her through your dark shaded glasses. She was really straining for that pleasant smile now. 

“Of course.” She said tightly and reached under, unlocking the case, and bringing the rings out. 

“Ah, I quite like this one.” You gasped happily. The rock on your finger was hard to even hold up, but you liked it well enough. “I’ll take it, as you probably know, my father will be quite happy with this gift.” 

“That will be $247,000.” The woman pursed her lips as she removed the ring and placed it back in a box. 

“Perfect.” You declared.

“I need your card.”

“Nonsense! Do you even know who I am?” 

     The woman shook her head, her irritation visibly growing.

“That’s quite alright. You know, my father is a great friend and investor in this company. He has often bought for my mother from this very fine store. I think he even gave us a discount at some point?” You said casually. “My father is the chairman of Sinopec, I think you know it?” 

    The woman stilled then she looked suspiciously at the door and back at you. “I’ll give Mr. Betta a call.” 

“You better.” You snapped back, your patience wearing thin. You were the daughter of Sinopec’s chairman. Everyone knew you, obviously. 

    The dial tone was especially loud in the quiet store. A few rings and he picked up. 

“Yes?” You heard the muffled voice. 

“Sir, there’s someone here claiming you gave her family a discount?”

“Who?”

“From Sinopec.” The woman turned away, whispering furiously. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Okay okay, I will.” 

“Well?” You turned to her, looking every part the agitated socialite, 

“Mr. Betta seems to be under the impression...that you should be allowed this ring and we’ll charge your father.” 

“Of course.” You said quickly, taking the box out of her hands and striding out of the store. 

    Your heart was racing. You felt a weight on your chest and it wasn’t the ring. 

     Heather was rich. You knew her to be Old Money, everyone did. You always expertly placed yourself next to her in class. She didn’t seem to mind. She was beautiful, maybe even more beautiful than you, but you would never allow that thought to come to fruition. 

     Heather held herself like a commoner, to put it lightly. She got her morning starbucks, waited in line, ordered and waited patiently, got on a bus, commuted to school and got to class early. You realized a big part of being a ‘normal’ person was waiting around. 

“Heather, I was also at that party the other night.” You said to her as she scrolled through her photo album. 

“Oh? Really?” She chewed on gum, the sound smacking across her lips. You felt an itch of irritation, but pushed it away. 

“Yeah, really.” You drawled.

     You carefully placed your ringed finger close to her line of sight. She glanced down for a second then back at her phone, then back at the ring. She put down her phone. 

“Where did you get that ring?” She inquired, suddenly very interested in you. She picked up your hand and surveyed the ring from several angles. 

“Astteria.” You said nonchalantly. “My father is a good friend of Simon Betta.”

“Who’s your father?” She glanced upwards with a confused look. 

“Zhao Dong.” You said easily. 

“The chairman of Sinopec?” Heather looked up, confused. “I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you! You’ve changed since I last saw you.” 

    You smiled and nodded at her words. 

“I know. I spent some time away.” You looked nonchalantly at your nails. 

“Well you look great, Y/N.” She continued with a small smile. 

“Thank you, I know.” You tossed your hair. “Tell me, Heather, are we close? Would you consider me a close friend?” 

“I…” She stuttered awkwardly. “N-not close close, but I know your father and...your mother?” She interlaced her fingers and looked away, embarrassed. “Truth be told, I haven’t been keeping up with Sinopec as of late.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” You assured her. “Now, I’ve been looking for a charity to donate to. My dad has been bugging me about the yearly donations.” You said the words so easily, like water out of a waterfall. 

“Oh really?”

“Yes, I was wondering if you know any because...well, I know you’re into those charities and non-profits.”

     The sound of pages being turned filled the room and you turned back to your work. You didn’t even bother reading the page or taking notes, you had another mission at hand. Heather turned back to her work and after a while, she cleared her throat slightly. 

“There’s actually...a gala for an organization that helps fight for LGBTQ+ rights. Would you like to come? I could get you an invite if you just send me your address.” She lowered her voice.

     You glanced around. Everyone was focused on their work so you nodded. 

“I’m really into helping out when I can, you know? Here I’ll give you my number-” you stopped, thinking it over. “Actually, give me your number.” You prompted. 

“Oh? Alright?” She recited her number and you typed it into your phone. You felt her heated stare on the old phone in your hand. 

“It’s a friend of mine’s old phone.” You said. “My father has yet to send me the latest one.” 

“I see.” Heather narrowed her eyes and went back to taking notes. 

     You sent her a quick hello and smirked, going back to write down notes. Columbia College had been quite pleased to hear about all the non profit work and extracurriculars, not to mention your straight As in school. It was what you deserved.

 “Y/N!” Heather waved you over and you descended the stairs with a smile.

     There stood Heather in the middle of this grand ballroom. You tried not to look impressed. 

“Heather.” You greeted her with a smile.

      She pulled you into a quick hug and then grabbed two champagne glasses. Gold rimmed and bubbling with clear yellow liquid, she handed you a glass. The room was decorated lavishly with red drapes covering dark alcoves and chaise lounges positioned in the corners. These lounges were occupied by men and women all dressed to the nines. This type of luxury was what you deserved. 

“You look gorgeous!” She complimented as she took in your appearance. 

      You had borrowed a dress from your much richer friend, though you personally believed that you pulled off the look better than her. You were the most beautiful after all. 

“Ah, thank you. You look exquisite as well.” You brushed a stray hair from your face. 

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N.” 

     You turned to the voice and were met with a familiar face. You were shocked to even see him at a place like this. He hadn’t struck you as this kind of person.

     You had first met Park Jimin in a club. The lights were dim and you could barely make out his face, but you knew he was beautiful, just like you. The club was a world of beautiful people, all pressed against each other and sweating. 

“How old are you?” He asked, looking you up and down as you sat at the bar. You smiled slyly, swirling your drink to the pounding music. 

“Probably too young for you.” You shouted over the music. 

His hands went to his hair. “Listen! My hair looks gray but I can assure you I am a 25 year old man in good standing!” 

    You laughed. He seemed nice, genuine. It was a breath of fresh air. His entire aura screamed that he was important, yet his personality quite opposed this notion. You looked him up and down. 

    He was a man of stature, standing tall and proud amongst the crowd, his hair was a silver gray, his eyes of a similar shade. Jimin was either high society or had no idea how to have fun. You were a perfect match. 

“I believe you.” You replied happily, setting down your drink. “Want to get some fresh air?” 

     He smoothed down his coat and you wondered why he was dressed so formally to go to a nightclub. 

“I’d like that very much.”

 “Jimin.” You greeted him happily. He gently took your hand in his and kissed the back. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He said cordially, a hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“And you.” You bowed your head gracefully. 

    The music of the gala swelled and Heather cleared her throat. Her eyebrows were raised as high as the bronze arches that hung above you. 

“You two...know each other?” She asked, eyeing Jimin. 

Jimin nodded. “Yes, we met, achem, a little while ago.” You were grateful he didn’t mention the club. 

“Well, Jimin is actually performing tonight, aren’t you?” Heather turned to him expectantly. 

“Oh? Performing?” 

The man seemed embarrassed by the sudden attention on him. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Ah, yeah, well, I’m just singing-”

“Jimin is an excellent singer.” Heather nodded and you followed suit. 

“I’m not that great. My mom just had enough money to bribe the manager.” He joked and you chuckled along. 

“Yeah, I get that.” You agreed. “But I’m sure you’re an amazing singer, Jimin.” You looked him up and down, a smile growing. 

“He is!” The other girl chimed in before Jimin could protest. The clock chimed 8:00 P.M. and you glanced upwards. 

“I think that’s my cue to go.” Jimin announced, waving off a waiter who offered him a glass. 

“Alright! Best of luck, Jimin.” You bowed your head politely and he did the same.

    Heather watched the interaction intently. Once he was gone, she started laughing which caused you to look over at her sharply. 

“You guys really just eye fucked each other for a whole five minutes. I didn’t think it was possible after seeing Anna’s reaction to him. At least it was mutual this time.” 

“Anna?”

“Yeah, the daughter of the guy who made Adobe or whatever.”

“Oh, of course, I remember her.” You said easily, grabbing another glass of champagne.

  You were going to need a lot of alcohol to make it through this night, but these luxuries were what you had always wanted. 

 “I would be careful, though, Y/N.” She glanced around. “He doesn’t have the best track record with women, though he attracts them like bees to flowers.” 

“Oh I see.” You followed her eyes. “But from the way you look at him, I can assume you’ve been one of those women?” 

               She narrowed her eyes and then chuckled, though the sound was a bit strained. 

 “Me And Jimin? No, no. I can admit he is handsome, but we would never make a good pair.” Heather was quiet for a moment and then she crossed her arms, her gaze growing distant. “He’s too caught up in himself. You remind me of him.” 

 “I beg your pardon?

 “Forget I said anything.” 

     The music began to swell and you looked up from your conversation as the curtain on the stage began to lift. The din of the room died down. A man with a rainbow pin and black tuxedo stood center stage. He held himself with confidence.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending this charity event for the Audre Lorde Project. Today, we are so grateful to be able to present Mr. Park Jimin as our entertainment for the night. If you donate, he will sing a song of your choosing!” The MC leaned in. “Just don’t be inappropriate, folks.” He winked.

 “Now presenting….Park Jimin!” 

       You watched as the familiar man walked on stage. He looked quite dashing, sporting a rainbow tuxedo and white shoes. You were sure they must have cost a fortune. His rings alone must have cost at least $21,000. Then his shoes, oh, his shoes. They were perfectly clean, so white they could reflect the dim lighting. 

       People were quick to go up and pay for a song. The songs started at $1,000 and you pursed your lips, checking your wallet. Did you have enough? Yes, of course you have enough, you’re the daughter of Sinopec. 

      You set your mind on deciding a song. Heather began chatting to you about school, but you were hardly paying attention. You started drifting towards the box that held the donations. Heather moved along with you, unknowing to your next move. You straightened, holding up a hand, which quickly silenced Heather, and zeroed in on the box. 

    Withdrawing your money, you wrote a quick check for $1,000. Then you haphazardly tossed it into the box. Then you wrote your song on the sign up sheet and went back to the center of the room. You waited, tapping your foot impatiently. You wanted everything now, but you could try to be patient for once. 

   Heather continued talking about...whatever she was talking about. Halfway through her rambling, a familiar tune began to play. Your eyes shot up from where they were resting on your drink to the stage. You could feel Jimin’s heated stare.

“I think I'm too cool to know ya. You say I'm like the ice, I freeze. I'm churnin' out novels like Beat poetry on Amphetamines.” He sang and his voice was a perfect tune.

    You felt your toes curl pleasantly as his sweet voice tingled your eardrums. Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey. You eyed him up and down, taking note of a particularly expensive looking Rolex watch. 

     As you made eye contact with him through the crowd, your heart thumped an untimely beat. Mine. 

     Jimin left hand in hand with you. What a sight to see. A couple that no one had expected, one out of the blue. You giggled, shifting over in the back of the cab to Jimin’s place.

     His hand slowly inched its way over to your thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Your eyes stayed trained on his face. The dark city streets casted eerie shadows over your figures, but you felt calm nonetheless. 

    Your hand reached out and touched his cheek. A wordless communication. May I? To be answered with you may. And he leaned in, diving into your arms, melding his lips against yours like you were meant to be. You both gasped for air, but it was a battle for dominance and neither of you were about to back down. 

    You bit playfully at his lips, devouring his strawberry lip balm like it was your last meal. He pushed against you so your back thumped against the door. His hands found your hips and he pressed into you tightly. 

    Your hands gripped his hair and you refused to part from his lips, the cold metal of his Rolex dug into the fabric of your dress. You wanted that watch. 

    The taxi slowly pulled up to the apartment complex and you both hurried out. Jimin haphazardly overpaid the driver and you both took a break to get your bearings before walking into his high end apartment building. 

“Hey, let’s try to look like we didn’t just make out like animals, okay?” Jimin patted your arm.

    So you went about smoothing down your hair, pulling down your skirt a little lower, and patting your cheeks gently to try and, in vain, dispel the light flush. 

     You both stumbled your way inside, laughing drunkenly. He helped stand you upright, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. There was a jingle of something falling to the ground, but you paid it no mind. He helped you all the way up to his apartment where you leaned against the wall while he searched for his keys. 

“Shit!” He cursed, sinking down beside you, his back thumping against the wall. “I lost my keys.” He grumbled. 

“Ah, that’s fine.” You laughed, “Just my luck.” 

“You seem pretty lucky, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky, I guess, but I want a lot more than luck, you know?” 

“And what do you want?” 

“You.” You answered quickly.

     And that was the first time a lie had registered in your addled brain. Because that wasn’t true, no, not at all. Jimin was wonderful, handsome, smart, but you wanted something more material than these flimsy emotions.

    You wanted money. As you watched his expression melt into a lustful haze, you flexed your fingers and clenched them over and over. You could play his game of emotions, you could do it. You thought as he went in for another kiss. 

    It was a cold morning. Jimin had black out curtains. You could hide from the world very nicely here. You were awake at 1 A.M. 

    After a long night of searching and making out, the searching part of which you found far more enjoyable, you found his keys. He had dropped them in the lobby on the way in and the desk attendant had grabbed them. You went through your routine, replacing yourself with a pillow in his arms. 

“Huh. I always thought that only worked in movies?” You tilted your head and went back to your routine. After a while of getting ready, you sat beside the bed, watching him. 

    He breathed steadily. You glanced around, finally deciding to explore. You stood, picking up discarded clothes and observing his apartment. It was big, bigger than yours. 

   There were expensive things everywhere. You could guess he was old money. A glint of gold in the morning light caught your eye. You walked over, carefully not to disturb the floorboards. On his bedside table was the Rolex watch. 

“You can keep it.” His gruff voice said. “It’s not important to me, but you’ve been eyeing it all night.” 

“Why would you give this to me?” You asked, lifting the watch to look at it in the slim sliver of light that cracked through the curtain. You wanted to applaud his awareness and observation skills.  

“There’s something about the desperation in your eyes, Y/N. It’s exhilarating, beautiful, new. People are so...complacent, so okay with their situations nowadays, especially when you’re in positions like you and I. I’m giving it to you as a promise that this wasn’t just a one night thing. I’m serious about this.” Jimin rolled over in bed. “I like people like you, Y/N. I fall in love with people like you.” His words were soft, his expression was stone cold. 

    And you knew what game he was playing at with extravagant promises and carefully chosen words, you were playing the same game. So you simply let him win. 

    You could do that, for him, because as much as you were using him to help yourself gain a boost, your heart was beginning to lead you astray. And you could not let that happen. Still, that scent of cinnamon and the taste of strawberries would likely always remind you of him. 

    Perhaps it was obsession that took you back to his place over and over again. It wasn’t so much him, but the idea of him. Maybe it was the idea that he was rich, that he had money, that he was handsome, but all that aside, you were perfectly incompatible. 

     Jimin was old money, old money that was long gone. For as long as Jimin remembered, his father had worked very very hard to run his company into the ground. Whether it be with the drinking or the extravagant parties, his money was gone. 

     He had an unquenchable thirst for money. Some could call it an unhealthy obsession. So when he met you...oh boy. You exuded this confidence, the kind only old money could have. He wanted it. 

   Call him cruel, but he didn’t mind stepping on a few toes to get where he needed to be. He didn’t mind crushing some woman’s poor dreams. He really didn’t mind. You were another stepping stone. You were supposed to be just another tool for success. 

     In his alcohol induced state, probably drug induced state as well, he came to the conclusion that you two would make quite a pair indeed, a power couple. But he needed you to become more powerful. It would be a mutually beneficial relationship. 

“I don’t know, Jimin, I can get pretty nervous at interviews.” You had told him in response, but there was a gleam of excitement in your eyes, he didn’t read too much into it. 

“I think you’ll be fine.” He patted your back with a smile.

      Looking back, he never should have gotten you that interview with the New York Times. It was a poor decision on his part. Maybe if things had gone better, if he still remained ignorant of his situation and drank himself into debt like his father, he would be able to continue living his fantasy world. However, this would not be the case. He was not someone who was afraid of getting his hands dirty. And oh how dirty they were to become. 

 “Thank you, Miss Y/N, for joining us.” The reporter settled down across from you. 

“Ah, it’s a pleasure.” You smiled. The woman smiled back and prepared her notepad. 

    She was a hardworking woman. She wore flats and a nice outfit for this interview, but as you analyzed her posture and position, you knew she would most likely prefer something more comfortable. She slumped ever so slightly, her lipstick was well applied but her nail polish was cracking and half peeled. 

“I’m Anna and I’ll be interviewing you.” 

“Anna? As in Anna, Adobe Inc’s daughter?” 

“Yes!” She nodded happily. “I’m glad you remember me! You know, I only met you once really and we were children so I’m not surprised to see you’ve grown into a beautiful woman. Let’s see here…” 

    The interview began. 

“What was it like, growing up with Zhao Dong as a father?” 

“Well, Anna, he was absent a lot.” You said without a second thought, thinking back to your childhood sadly. “But he tried his best. I think I get a lot of my outgoing nature from him. He’s really a role model for me.” 

“And do you have the same goals and aspirations that he has for the company?” 

     You chuckled lightly at the question. 

“Oh dear, oh no.” You said, like it was some preposterous question. “Honey, he is all about the money. I am nothing like that. I’m all about human connection.” 

   Anna seemed pleased by this. Her eyes lit up and she hurriedly went to write down notes. 

“You seem like such a nice, down to Earth, person, Y/N, how do you get this mindset after being raised so...well, rich.” 

“I’ve gotten used to a lot of luxury, yes, but this does not take away from the fact that my father was always strict on discipline. He put a huge emphasis on respecting others and respecting situations we cannot comprehend. It is a valuable lesson I take to heart.” You nodded seriously, your hands gently folded in your lap. 

   Anna was, once again, pleased by your answer. You seemed to be telling her the right things. 

    Soon enough, your face was on the cover of every newspaper. The rich heiress to Sinopec is here in New York City! Or Y/N Dong, the future of the wealthy and elite. 

     You could bathe in the attention all day. In fact, you bought about 15 copies of the story and spread them around your apartment. You meticulously cut out each and every sentence that called you beautiful, complimented you, or even mentioned you and pasted them to the blank walls of your home. Even bad press was still press. After you were done with your hard work, you collapsed on the sofa. 

 “Knock knock!” 

      You jolted upright. You looked around your apartment. The curtains were drawn over the windows, just like they always were. You looked around. Your apartment was a mess. 

     The floor was littered with pieces of paper, the fridge stood open and there were expertly placed scissors just lying on the ground waiting to be stepped on. You blinked wearily. It was a disorientation akin to being hungover but not quite. 

“Knock knock?” 

    Your neck almost snapped with how hard you looked at the door. Shit. You immediately stood up, groaning in pain as you ripped your hand from the couch. You had somehow managed to glue your fingers to the fabric and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. 

    You started madly sweeping the paper, quite literally, under the rug. Then you threw open your windows and were reminded of why you kept them closed. They faced a brick wall. A lovely sight to see. 

    You frowned, but rubbed your eyes and carried on in your cleaning frenzy nonetheless. The knocks sounded once more and you finally answered.

“One sec-” You cleared your gruff voice. “One second!” 

    You tripped over the coffee table and you withheld a scream of frustration. Instead you threw your hands up in anger and let out a silent shout. 

“Everything alright in there?” 

“Yup! Just- give me- a moment-” You held your stubbed toe and every curse you knew flew through your head. 

    You then ran to the mirror and quickly brushed through your hair. Finally, you made it to the front door, looking as presentable as possible. 

    When you opened the door, two familiar people shoved their way in. 

“Ah, this place is smaller than I expected.” Heather announced, setting down a gift bag, Jimin entered after her with a shy smile. His face conveyed Heather’s words. 

“Yeah, sorry, it’s only temporary. I used to live down at Wall Street but then there was a pipe problem with my neighbor and you know...water damage is a real problem.” You clicked your tongue unhappily and they nodded sympathetically. 

“That’s completely understandable.” Heather said, moving to get a closer look at your walls. “Interesting decorations.” 

“I like words of affirmation to hang around my apartment. It helps build self confidence.” 

“Looks like you already have enough of that from the article I read.” Jimin chuckled, fingers brushing over a sentence plastered on the wall. 

“Oh, you read that?” Your cheeks heated up. “It was nothing, really.” 

“You’re practically everywhere, Y/N.” Heather pointed out. “It’s like knowing a celebrity.” 

“But I’m no celebrity.” You said humbly. “I’m just a normal person.” 

“My normal person.” 

    Possession. It was a common theme in your growing relationship with Jimin. You quite liked it. Your heart would always thump. A smile grew on your face and you gave him a quick kiss, one he returned gladly. 

“You guys are disgusting. Get a room.” Heather huffed. “Anyway,” She turned and grabbed a gift bag as you and Jimin parted. “I’ve got this gift for you. Call it a congratulations for being on your first ever cover. I was only 15 when I was on mine, but whatever.” 

“You didn’t have to.” You exclaimed, but happily took the gift. You threw out the tissue paper like an animal. “Oh! Earrings! I love them!” You exclaimed, surveying the expensive earrings. You assumed they must be at least $30,000. 

“Well, it’s just a little thing. Also, I forgot to mention it, my birthday party is next week and I’d love for you to come! I’ll send you the invites!” Heather interlaced your fingers with hers and you shot her a wry smile. 

“Of course, we’ll be there.” Jimin answered for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“Oh! I forgot to ask, has your father seen your article?” Heather inquired, it was a simple ask, one that had you twisting your hands nervously. 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he has.” You said softly. “But he’s very busy as you know, so he just hasn't gotten in touch yet!” You assured her and when she nodded, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

    You didn’t want to know much about Jimin besides his family, his money, and how he looked. You just wanted him to be yours. 

    Jealousy. Yeah, that was definitely the green monster, as green as a freshly mowed lawn at bucking-fucking-ham palace. This feeling in your stomach was definitely jealousy. You told yourself you couldn’t feel jealous of Heather.

     Heather even explicitly said she’d never fall in love with Park Jimin, but that was a real trick, a trap, because everyone fell for Park Jimin. There was something about the way she held onto his arm that had you transfixed, how she casually brushed his side when reaching for something. 

    You were seeing green and red. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her fucking hand for one second, even when other people were trying to get your attention. The party was high caliber, celebrating the birthday of said woman. But you could care less that it was her birthday, that man was yours. 

     You were like a predator, stalking the perimeter before swooping in for the kill. You puffed out your chest and walked straight into their little conversation. 

“Jimin, Heather.” You greeted them with a warm smile, but inside you were screaming. It was a primal urge. 

“Y/N! I’m so glad you could make it!” Heather pulled you in for a hug and you both balanced your champagne in one hand while doing the awkward one armed move. “Jimin and I were just discussing the latest actions of the Audre Lorde Project.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” You smiled slyly, all teeth and no glimmer of joy in your eyes to be found. “I just wanted to personally deliver my gift to you.” You thrust out the package. 

“Oh no no, you don’t have to! Besides, if you do, then suddenly everyone will want to come over and I just want to talk to you guys for now.” She lowered her voice and smirked. 

    You nodded, though your fingers clenched around the handles tightly. You trudged over to the gift table and haphazardly threw the bag among the other gifts. 

    It wasn’t anything special, just the ring you had gotten from Astteria. You had wanted to get rid of that old thing anyway. You glanced at the two, still talking. You gritted your teeth and stormed away to the bathroom. 

      You and Jimin did many things together. You learned his favorite color, his mother’s name and her favorite song, you learned about his life, his backstory. However, your favorite thing to do with Jimin was to make out. 

      Now, this might seem shallow, but making out with Jimin was like heaven on Earth. He knew how to move his lips, touch just the right spots, to get you melting. 

     He was the sun in a New York City heatwave and you were a popsicle melting below. It was truly a sight to behold, although Heather would disagree. As your hands would play a game of untying ties with his suit, your mind played a different game, a far more deadly one. 

“I love you.” You reeled him in. He followed you like a moth to a light. “I love you a lot.” You declared and he simply fell away under your grasp. 

     You had always enjoyed the sight of people falling beneath you as you stripped away their exteriors to find what made them tick. 

“You’re mine, Jimin, all mine.” You breathed heavily, gasping for breath as he moved to your neck.

     He made quick work of the clean skin, littering it with purple marks, delicately crafted by his skilled lips. His teeth grazed your ear, making you suck in a breath. Your, his, rolex watch pressed into his warm skin. 

“Tell me, Jimin, tell me you’re mine.” You said desperately and he groaned in delight. 

“I love it when you talk to me like that.” He peppered kisses along your jawline. “I love that sound, begging for me like a dog.” He gripped your jaw, pulling you closer, but you didn’t mind. “I’m yours, baby, but only if you’re mine.” 

“I’m all yours.” And he dove back to your lips like an animal.

“I’m madly in love with you, Y/N.” He murmured. “And you’re all mine.” 

    It was a perfect fairytale, but all fairytales need a villain.

     I have no idea who this woman is, posing as my daughter. She is an imposter for sure, or delusional. The subtitles on the T.V. read as you flipped through the article that just landed outside your door. 

     You seethed, feeling your heart sink as one by one, the article undid your many lies. You almost wanted this destruction, because with it came release.

   The release of pressure on your chest, from the weight of all these lies. They were carefully built, framing you in the perfect light, but you didn’t want everything to be undone. 

“What’s going on?” He picked up the phone. Your hands were shaking. “Y/N? Are you alright?” 

“I-I...don’t read the news, meet me outside my apartment door.” You said quickly, your voice quivering. You heard him roll out of bed. 

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” 

     You sent the same sentiments to Heather. You needed to explain this before they found out. You needed Jimin to understand your side of the story. Jimin was yours. No one else should have him. Ever since you’d set your eyes on him, you had known he was to be your newest obsession. 

“Y/N?!” Heather’s screeching voice echoed up the stairs and you knew it was too late for her. 

“I know what you think about me, Y/N, but I don’t feel the need to flaunt my riches. I may seem like a real stupid bitch, but I’m not.” Heather snapped, slapping the newspaper down in front of you while you waited with Jimin.  He picked up the paper before you could stop him. 

“Y/N? Is this true?” He asked cautiously, his eyes scanning the page. 

“Y/N? How could you?” 

“Y/N?” Y/N Y/N Y/N. The chant was dizzying. Everyone wanted a piece of you, damn it. 

“Shut up! Shut up!” You cried, breathless. 

    They both stopped. Heather’s eyes were pure anger, but Jimin looked confused, lost. He abruptly stood and you went along with him. Heather turned on her heel, storming out. 

“Don’t talk to me again, freak.” Heather said, her words bitter as she exited into the cold morning air. Mornings were always cold it seemed. 

“How many things have you lied about? Are you even Y/N? Is that even your name?!” He questioned, the buzz of anger growing. 

“I can’t...I can’t tell you that.” And you couldn’t. You’d lost track a long time ago.

“Jimin! Jimin please! Wait!” You grasped his hand desperately. He turned around furiously, sharply. 

“What do you want? You wore your little disguise so well and I, like a fool, fell for it.” His voice cracked.

“I know I’ve lied about-about a lot of t-things, but I know one thing that’s the truth,” You pleaded. “I love you.” 

His gaze hardened. “How do I know that’s not a lie?” 

    And you couldn’t tell him that either. 

      A pathological liar. Your mother would have been heartbroken by the label placed upon her precious daughter. You would have been offended as well if it weren’t for the objective truth. 

     Even when Columbia University expelled you for not only lying about grades and extracurriculars, but also just for being an awful person as they tried to lightly put it, everything still hadn’t hit home. 

     You were beautiful, fit for a queen. It was such a shame, then, when people also found out that you had no money. It made you hungry for the stuff. Now, the trick was to make sure they didn’t find that out. 

    Your mother had always been a good woman, but your father had easily gambled away all the money saved. Perhaps you got this carefree, flamboyant personality from him? 

     A narcissist. Not what you had expected as a new label either, but if it was in the papers, it must be true. In the end, all your little escapades had gotten you in a lot of debt, but the banks had just kept loaning you money. You had no idea why. Maybe it was like Jimin said, you had worn your disguise so well. 

“Wow, a narcissist, huh?” You studied yourself in the mirror.

   Your apartment was always dark, but you felt a particular chill today. You spoke to yourself, everyone else having had abandoned you. 

“I don’t think that’s right.” You argued back to no one. “I’m...Y/N...the daughter of Zhao Dong. that’s me.” You said over and over, but you were no longer convinced and deep down you knew it was all a sham, a lie. 

   One thing had built on another and another until all the lies piled up and you could no longer dig yourself out. Your head was often spinning trying to remember everything everyone had ever told you. 

   But the thing was, at a certain point, it had no longer been a fib, a disguise. You had become Y/N, the daughter of Sinopec’s chairman Zhao Dong. At a certain point, you had become someone else, and that was all you had ever wanted. 

    Then you started laughing uncontrollably before sweeping your arm across the counter, sending various beauty products tumbling to the floor. Your body shook. 

“No, no, no. It was all a lie.” You giggled. “It was just a lie, you’re just Y/N Y/L/N from a goddamn backwater town.” You slapped your cheeks, hard, as if that could erase all that was done.

   It seemed that you were the villain of this fairytale, but you couldn’t quite believe it. As you looked in the mirror, the darkness of the bathroom slowly closing in around you, you could see yourself clearly. 

    There was no doubt in your mind that you were the evil queen and there was no snow white, just you and your shitty castle. And you were alone. Not even Jimin wanted a thing to do with you, having called your reckless actions disgusting. You had assured him you weren’t a psychopath. 

    You remembered the conversation on the phone after calling him several times. 

“I’m sorry, how can I make it up to you?” You had asked. He had simply laughed bitterly and shifted his phone .

“You’ve already stolen everything from me, Y/N, and I fully intend to take back most of it, but you can keep the watch.” and then he hung up. 

1 A.M. wake up. 

Obsess over what you were going to do for the day. Fall back asleep. 

3 A.M. 

Get out of bed. 

make yourself a cup of coffee and stare in the mirror for a while. 

5 A.M. 

Take a deep breath. 

Start your day. 

    You didn’t have a home to return to. You didn’t have anyone who loved you and you most certainly didn’t have a reputation. With your face staining every front page of a newspaper, you had nowhere to hide, but you were just one person. You needed some fresh air, and where to best do that except at the top of the Empire State Building?

    You were surprised to brush past Jimin on the way up to the top floor, but you should have guessed. You supposed his mother worked there. Either way, he followed you, asking if anything was wrong. Like a fucking psychopath.

“STOP!” You cried, turning to him as you reached the top floor. There had to be roof access somewhere up here. 

“I want to know if you’re okay?” His eyes were kind and you were reminded of how everything had been before. 

    But you had already hurt each other, the past was past, there was only forward in this meaningless space of nothing. 

“Haven’t I hurt you enough?!” You shouted, tears finally making their way down your face.

     He pulled you back as you started to search the top floor, which was deserted save for two workers filing out for the night. 

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered.

      His eyes were furious, a volcano, a matchstick ready to ignite. It caught you off guard. 

“Because, even though I hate you right now with every bone in my goddamn body, I would stop you from doing something stupid, like what I think you’re about to do, over and over again. No matter what.” He stopped, words stuttering, jawline clenching as he searched for the words. 

“And maybe that’s what makes me the fool.” 

     He stepped back into the elevator and the doors slowly closed. You couldn’t bring yourself to join him, simply standing in shock at his declaration. And then he was gone. You saw him once more at a club with Heather on his arm, and after that, you never saw him again. 

     You would sometimes think you saw him; the flash of his silver hair, his figure ducking into a shop, the smell of him when you woke up, the taste of strawberry on your lips but he was never there. You didn’t need the money anymore. You realized...you had just wanted him. 

    Loving him was electrifying, like a hurricane at times and calm waters at others. You were a train on its way to be wrecked, and you had finally...run off the rails. 

 Fin

 Blue hydrangea, cold cash divine Cashmere, cologne and hot sunshine Red racing cars, sunset and vine And we were young and pretty

Taglist: @thereaderstea​ , @sadboibts​, @ditttiii​

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Two

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Somehow, Anna had collected quite a bit of jewelry in her twenty-three years of living. She never necessarily went out of her way for it- it would just find its way to her. She was enamored by shiny things. You know, the things that glimmered when you held them in the sunlight the right way. Stones, sea glass, gems. Really whatever she could get her hands on. But she was especially fond of sea glass. She always loved sea glass.

It started off with small things at first, like sea glass, when she was a little girl. Because of this love, Magpie was the nickname her grandmother had given her.

Her grandmother would say things like, be careful, you’ll cut your hands on the sea glass, my little Magpie.

When she got older, more so into her teenage years, she would be gifted with various pieces of jewelry for her birthday or other special occasions. Each piece was beautiful, surely. She couldn’t deny the appeal that came with a pair of diamond earrings, those certainly caught in the light well, but she would’ve been just as happy with a particularly glossy stone from a rocky beach. Jewelry, or whatever stone it was, didn’t have to be expensive, she just liked how they glinted in the light. Like a magpie. She felt quite silly about it.

Nevertheless, she preferred sea glass to anything.

Growing up, she kept her entire collection in an ornately carved hope chest at the foot of her bed. There was no organization, no rhyme or reason for the placement of any of it. Of course, she kept the most expensive pieces tucked away in a separate gaudy jewelry box, nested in swaths of black velvet. The hope chest, on the other hand, was entirely in disarray. Anna liked it that way. It was her big box of things.

She brought the hope chest with her when she went to live with her aunt. It was a nightmare to travel with, surely, but it was hers. For the past year it remained at the foot of the bed she shared with her five other cousins. Living with her aunt and cousins under one tiny roof was an adjustment for her. It was different. The war changed a lot.

The war changed everything.

A family torn apart, and a girl sent packing off to her aunt’s home in an unfamiliar factory city hours from the only home she ever knew.

Anna remembered the day vividly. It was in the middle of summer, 1917, and the trip was dreadfully rainy. She traveled by train and cab to get to Birmingham.

When she eventually arrived at her aunt’s doorstep, she was soaked. The brim of her hat drooped under the weight of the rainwater. She knew her aunt was barely scraping by, she had so much on her plate already, she didn’t need the additional burden of a niece added to that roster. Her aunt had five children of her own, a husband away at war- but Anna had nowhere else to go.

So she stood there, surrounded by luggage and suitcases and trunks full of whatever she had left, waiting for her to answer her pleading knocks. When her aunt did open the door, she quickly ushered her niece in and helped her get settled with all of her belongings.

A few weeks later, word reached them that her uncle died in France. Her aunt was frantic after receiving the news, and understandably so. Not only had she lost her husband, but another source of income for the family. There was no one coming home to work in a factory.

Anna began selling whatever items she could to make extra money to cover the cost of a sixth mouth to feed. She sold dresses, silver hairpins, and combs, shoes, miscellaneous books. She sold almost anything and everything. Her belongings were finite, however, and soon enough, she had sold as much as she could.

Except for her jewelry, except for the hope chest.

She had accumulated enough valuables in the chest to scrounge up a few months rent for her own flat. A shabby little place, not too far from where her aunt lived. She even had a little extra money leftover to tuck away for her family, just enough to help them get by for a little while longer. There would be more space at her aunt’s house now that she was gone, too. More room for her cousins in their bed, one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe.

It pained Anna to look at the chest. It pained her even more to open it. Almost everything she had collected was gone. Of course, she kept a few things, the items that were the most precious to her. An opal ring, a pair of diamond earrings, a golden bracelet, a jar full of sea glass. Each unrelated, but with their own meaning.

There was no point in moping around about it. She could spend another twenty-three years collecting more shiny things.

She was learning to make do with what she had.

Of course, now with her own expenses, she was also learning that her money was finite as well. This made her aunt worry for her terribly.

Finding a job had been difficult, to say the least. She spent hours reading through newspaper after newspaper, clipping away at any job advertisement that she thought she could even remotely qualify for. Most of the time, she wouldn’t receive an interview or would be flat-out rejected on the spot.

It was discouraging- but made sense to her. She really was just a girl, from a village barely anyone had ever heard of before, with a resume that was, to put it plainly, terrible. She never held a job before, and her only experience came from a few accounting courses from a couple of summers back. Truthfully, the courses were something to pass the time, to keep her from boredom while the days were long and hot. She never expected to actually need those skills.

One morning, however, there was a series of frantic knocks at her door. It was no one other than her aunt, giddy and exclaiming that she may have found her a steady job.

“I have a friend from church who can help you,” Her aunt said. “She set up an interview for tomorrow, three o’clock. You’ll be speaking with her nephew. She’ll pick you up from the house. She’s a good woman.”

Anna hugged her aunt tightly at the news, a wave of relief washing over her. Until, she realized, that she wasn’t sure what exactly she was interviewing for. That was when the panic started to settle in.

But alas, when fortune drops something valuable on your lap, it’s best not to question it.

That was where she found herself currently, a few days after the interview, staring at her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror while she got ready for her first day. She was brushing through her hair, smoothing out the curls from the rollers she had slept in. The wan morning light made it a soft auburn that curled down past her collarbones.

She had been ready for work since dawn, and truthfully, even before then. She had a hard time sleeping and chalked it up to be a culmination of nerves for the day ahead of her, and the fact that her flat didn’t feel like a home just yet. In time, she hoped it would.

All throughout the night, the floors creaked, and the pipes hissed. She barely had any furniture, except for a wire bed frame and a hand-me-down mattress she had gotten a deal on. She was also pretty sure that the lock on the front door was broken, so she propped up a chair against the knob and hoped for the best.

Despite all of this, for better or worse, this place was her own. It eased the burden on her aunt.

Anna stood by the window while tucking her cream blouse into the waist of her maroon skirt. She spent the better part of her morning ironing out her clothes, desperately trying to ensure that the linen was fine and creaseless. Her iron was one of the things she couldn’t part with. At the very least, she could look her best with it. Or at least try to.

She glanced at the window one last time before slipping her shoes on by the front door, watching as tiny flurries of snow began to fall onto the city below. She smiled.

It was early this year.

Anna promptly knocked on the door to The Garrison at nine o’clock that same morning. The snow was still falling, each flake thick enough to catch in her hair, a contrast of white on red, but soft enough that it would not stick to the ground, instead, it melted on contact with the muddy pavement. Harry, the barkeep, answered the door.

“Miss Caldwell, good morning.” He took a step to the side so she could enter. His face and nose were flushed red, he must’ve arrived not too long ago himself.

“And to you, Mr. Fenton.” She smiled, her breath turning into clouds as she spoke. “Quite the weather we’re having.”

“I’ll say,” He closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “Haven’t seen snow this early since I was a boy.”

“It’s good luck,” She replied while shrugging her coat off. “They say an early snow brings good fortune.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when my toes are freezing off in the morning,” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Follow me, you can leave your things in the back room.”

Once Anna was settled, she stood behind the bar with her own apron tied around her waist, (already stained, mind you) given to her by Harry. The remainder of the morning was another lesson in “making do” for her. The pub wouldn’t be officially open until noon, so this extra time beforehand was for her to get a feel for everything. To put it plainly, it was additional time to practice.

No matter how hard she tried to mask her nerves and keep her composure, it was like she had two left feet. Spilling drinks, forgetting the difference between vodka and gin, pouring a pint incorrectly, and causing the foam to rise over the rim of the glass.

Despite the extra time she had spent on her appearance, smoothing out any wrinkles on her skirt, curling her hair, and flashing a smile at all times- she couldn’t have felt any more out of place, and painfully unprepared. There was so much on the line for her. She had her own place and an aunt who needed financial help. She would keep trying, she didn’t have any other choice.

Harry was kind to her, and as patient as he could be, but it became quite obvious that she was a terrible bartender. Embarrassingly so. Terrible enough that he insisted that she just watch him for the rest of their shift, assuring her that it was for the best.

“It will be a slow night,” He said, wiping down the remnants of the third pint she had spilled. “A good way for you to learn the ropes. Nice and easy.”

Anna nodded, accepting her wounded pride. In the late afternoon and early evening, business was slow. It was quiet, a few patrons here and there ordering a drink or two. She was able to observe Harry interacting with the regulars and took mental notes of what people seemed to like. She thought it was quite pleasant.

Until it wasn’t a slow night.

Evidently, there was a football game earlier in the day, and all of the men came trailing in afterward. The pub became boisterous and loud. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Just work on collecting the empty glasses,” Harry motioned with his head to the cluttered tables from across the bar. “I’ll take care of everything up here.”

Anna nodded, typing the apron around her waist tighter. She weaved through the crowds, deftly trying to avoid any leering gazes or comments. Of course, she made quite a few spills, and mentally kicked herself for being so clumsy, for letting her composure waver. In the beginning, she was slow going back and forth from table to bar, but eventually, she was able to get into a rhythm.

She placed the last few glasses on the bartop, exhaling heavily. The pub was finally empty. She glanced down at her blouse. This morning, the linen was freshly pressed and the color of cream, but this evening, however, it was stained with splotches of beer and other liquors. She frowned.

It was late.

Harry wiped a forearm across his brow. “You did well.”

“You’re very kind,” Anna wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. “I did terribly.”

He laughed, quite loudly.

“I’ll finish cleaning up here,” He nodded. “You go catch a breath in the back.”

“No, no, let me help with the clean-up. I made most of the mess.”

“You had a long enough day today, and you’ll have a longer one tomorrow.” He smiled, waving her off with his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Anna walked into the back room and sighed, collapsing onto a chair. She held her face in her hands. Her body ached, her feet especially, and her head throbbed. But more than anything, she was embarrassed. She was tired and wanted to weep. It was silly. Her first day of work and she wanted to cry. She swallowed sharply and stood up, untying the apron from her waist and tossing it over the back of the chair.

There was no point in crying, she would make do.

When she stepped back into the main room, Harry wasn’t alone anymore. It was the man who she spoke to a few days before, Mr. Shelby, standing by the bar with a glass in front of him. A cigarette dangled between two fingers, the smoke curling in the hazy lights above the bar. He didn’t notice her at first, and if he did, he didn’t make it known.

It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat, that he tilted his head toward her.

Anna glanced down at her beer-stained blouse and grimaced. She certainly felt like a mess, she could only imagine what she looked like. With a sheepish smile, she combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed it all over one shoulder.

“Miss Caldwell,” He nodded.

“Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, folding her coat over her forearm.

“Heading home?” He turned away from her.

“Yes, just about.”

“Mrs. Gray instructed me to walk her home on these late nights,” Harry quickly interjected. She could've sworn Mr. Shelby scoffed at that.

“Ah, waiting on me then?” The other man raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, of course not Mr. Shelby.” Harry’s voice wavered. Anna noticed his eyes widening, like he was nervous, almost.

“I’m sure you’re both tired,” He finished the rest of his drink in one swig, and then fully turned to her. “First day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anna could feel her face flushing. A disastrous first day, she thought. “Harry was an excellent teacher.” She could see Harry beaming at that comment.

“Ah,” Mr. Shelby nodded, stacking a few coins beside his empty glass. He placed his cap on his head and tipped the brim to the barkeep, “Goodnight.” He paused for a moment, and then he tilted his head toward Anna. “And to you, Miss Caldwell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, her cheeks growing warm. “Thank you again, for this opportunity.”

He hummed in response, shrugging on his coat as he walked to the door.

By the time Harry and Anna had locked up the pub and were outside, Mr. Shelby was halfway down the street. She watched as he walked away, unable to tear her attention away from his retreating form.

As if on cue, it started snowing again. The little white flecks looked more like the ashes that spewed from the factory chimneys.

“This way, Miss.” Harry’s voice interrupted her musings. She blushed, feeling silly for mooning over a man she hardly knew.

Just as she was about to look away, she saw Mr. Shelby stop short. Anna’s heart skipped a beat when he turned around and looked at her from over his shoulder.

All was and quiet and cold.

[signed-yours-truly-the-whale]

Thoughts/Observations on Joker, part 1

AKA I Spent 7 Hours on This, I Will Die if it Gets Less Than Three Notes

I could rave for hours about this movie’s cinematography. Literal hours.

Nobody talks enough about Arthur’s full-fledged dedication to his clown craft. Man is working 60+ hours a week and does not break a sweat. I also fucking love this clowny face he pulls here. The first shot we see of Arthur in full. Holy shit is it beautiful. God bless Joaquin Phoenix.

These two shots together are incredibly important to me. In a split-second we see Arthur’s disbelief that he cannot control the whirlwind of emotions inside of his own head, not even being able to produce a smile, and then his resignation because it’s just another day. Heartbreaking.

Awwww shiiiiit

Gotham City is such a dump but I’d be bullshitting myself if I said I didn’t love the grimy aesthetic of it. It’s technicolor trash.

Arthur loves his job so much. He genuinely enjoys being Carnival. That hurts a lot to think about in hindsight.

This man just got his ass handed to him and he is STILL SPRAYING THE FAKE FLOWER ON HIS VEST

YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT DEDICATION

This opening card is so imposing. Not only does it take up the entire screen to the point of running off the edges, but it’s shielding Arthur from view. Arthur is invisible in light of Joker in Arthur’s own movie.

I screenshotted this by accident but I felt a need to put it here because he’s just so adorable. Even right before an episode.

E y e s s s s s

E Y E S S S S S

I desperately want to know what got Arthur sent to Arkham the first time. A suicide attempt? A public breakdown? I really want fanfics of it.

There’s a really, really good fanfiction on AO3 by Arthur_Fleck about Arthur slowly recovering and meeting a girl called In the Major and Minor Arcana

I highly, highly recommend it

Okay. Joaquin’s immersion into his characters -- all of them -- is absolutely incredible. But Arthur is just ... off the charts, man. No two of his characters are the same and he embeds himself so deeply in their skin, but Joaquin buried himself so deeply into Arthur’s brain that it is so hard for me to see any of Joaquin at all. God, he’s incredible and this shot makes me emotional because this just is Arthur.

ARTHUR WOULD BE A GREAT DAD AND I DO NOT ACCEPT ARGUMENTS

It really speaks to how shitty Gotham is that this man is having a full-fledged screaming/laughing breakdown on the bus and nobody is batting an eye

I adore how the cinematography paints Arthur as so small to his own environment. He’s a speck of dust. A fleck.

Babie is wincing :((((

I have been trying to figure out the layout of this apartment for months and my inability to, even with a floor plan, is driving me insane

I just found out that the Budweiser beer jingle Here Comes the King is on the soundtrack and plays when Arthur comes home and that made me go feral

I  A M  M U R R A Y , K I N G  O F  A S S H O L E S

It is second nature for me to do this stupid pose every time I watch this scene

Arthur blending into the crowd here makes me ... so happy. He looks so happy.

This is Arthur’s best laugh of the movie, fuck you. I am incredulous that I was the only person laughing when I saw this in the theater opening night.

This is one of the few moments I really see Joaquin shine through Arthur. I don’t know why, but this lighting and his voice and his intensity gives me visceral flashbacks to watching a little boy Joaquin in Parenthood. God, I love this man.

It really is a testament to Penny’s (lack of) parenting that Arthur is day dreaming about receiving affection and validation from a parent figure when his own mother is literally right there

GOD DAMN THIS MAN IS GORGEOUS

But also big bruise :(

Yes, I shall trust you, man named Randall smiling down at me in low angle light

Why was Hoyt not informed that Arthur got his ass beat on the job? As Arthur’s employer he should’ve literally been the first person to know so he could make a note of it. Either he wasn’t told or he gave so little of a fuck that his consciousness astral projected to another plane of existence while he shoved the white powder down his throat and forgot Arthur existed at all.

Literally fuck Hoyt. I hate him even more that his office is the coolest shit in the world

ARTHUR KNOWS THE CUSTOMER SERVICE SMILE

Joaquin dislocated his knee in this scene, the poor boy

I could write a full damn essay about why the misleading advertising of Sophie as a prominent character was the greatest twist of the whole movie. Literally I am still speechless how the movie did that.

I am not kidding when I say my sister has this same color scheme in the bathroom of our house and realizing that made me werewolf

Also Arthur being the son Penny doesn’t deserve warms and breaks my heart

The complete lack of reaction to Penny’s “Don’t you have to be funny to be a comedian” makes me laugh and cry internally

This shot? Gorgeous. His face? Deadly. That jawline? Cutting diamonds. Hotel? Trivago.

I really, really want a Joker 2, but at the same time I do not want a Joker 2 because Joaquin Phoenix has a baby who needs him now and he cannot be pulling shit like losing 52 lbs for a role

Also I REALLY need to discuss how much this brass ballet reminds me so heavily of Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. Holy fuck, I got actually chills in the theater

Like holy fuck

And then this shot reminds me so heavily of the opening of Fedddy vs Jason with Freddy Krueger laughing over his newspaper collage of missing children. Holy fuck I love this cinematography.

Guys. G - Guys, his name tag says Dr. Carnival, can you hear me  s o b b i n g

This part is so Chaplinesque, the way he slides the gun into his coat again

These children look so afraid of him for dropping the gun and wowie, does that really hurt

Was this asshole supposed to be modeled after Eric Trump? Because I get really douchebaggy Eric Trump vibes (minus the jacked teeth) from this ringleader

I don’t have much to say here except I am in love with the way Artie’s hair sticks straight up in bottle curls when the clown wig slides off

Also if you decide it’s a good idea to mess with a man dressed as a clown laughing maniacally on the subway of one of the most dangerous cities in the world, you are asking him to shoot you and I will not feel sorry for you

I will never not be in love with this image. I fell in love with it in the teaser trailer and almost went feral in the middle of the mall when I saw this was the poster they used to advertise the movie with. My friend described this movie as “chaos, beautified,” and nothing sums it up as well as this picture.

JOAQUIN AND TODD MADE THIS ENTIRE SEQUENCE UP AND I AM IN LOVE

Hello, handsome

[nymphigeon]

From me, to you || 01

♤ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

♤ Genre: fluff, angst, romance, hybrid au, hybrid!Taehyung, detective!reader

♤ Words: 2.1k

♤ Rating: PG-13

♤ Warnings (for this chapter): swearing, crime, a sex club, mentions of murder, blood, mentions of hybrid abuse, mentions of drugs, mentions of the mafia.

Synopsis: A story in which he has never known love, so you'll give it to him.

Series masterlist

01 02

The weather has been terrible lately. The summer heat has been replaced by cold days full of rain and wind. The sky is constantly grey with now and then a flash of light caused by the thunderbolt that decided to say hi. Leaves have turned brown, dying as the trees don’t have the resources to take care of them anymore.

The flock of people on the streets has all but disappeared, giving shops an opportunity to adjust their opening times. Animals feel the need to hide away more and leave to their homes underground or high up. Some even completely move to places where the sun shines brighter. Of course, because where the sun shines there is warmth.

Now sometimes autumn is associated with warm chocolate milk in front of the fire place wrapped up in a blanket. A slow song is playing in the background on low volume while you’re playing cards on the floor, or well most likely on a rug. Seated comfortably, your back against the sofa and your knees raised, nicely cuddled up into yourself, or perhaps someone else.

The sound of rain hitting the windows acts as a lullaby during your time inside. And if you do forcefully need to get out for a short time, the pleasant petrichor will softly welcome you. Or maybe this sounds more like winter? What does it matter, both seasons are cold.

At the time mother nature decided to shift it’s warmth to other places on earth, a thick layer of unease seemed to settle over the city. Like all the fun the sunrays brought were traded for despair. Awfully noticeable in how the amount of cases for the local police have risen dramatically.

People are staying at home so everyone who was hired during the busy summer has to be fired. There is too much staff otherwise. People in this particular town already aren’t the richest in the world, imagine what happens when employment rates drop.

Crimes have been a regular subject for the news. The few that did go outside, now stay at home out of fear. Curtains closed, lights out, please don’t enter my house. Or curtains opened, lights on, there is someone at home.

Most offenders have yet to been caught. Everyone is your enemy now. Don’t trust the neighbour who came home late last night. The sound of your glass falling is the window being broken. I’m calling the police.

While jewellery is being stolen at one side, someone will use the opportunity of the police being busy to kill the innocent. Or maybe they didn’t pay back the money they got from some sketchy dude in an alleyway down the street. Not so innocent anymore.

The only workers making bank at the moment are those with a career in law enforcement. Oh and those criminals were talking about. That includes hybrid dealers and unlicensed sex clubs.

When my boss called me to work, I didn’t expect to hear about a hybrid deal gone wrong inside said unlicensed sex club. Just for your information, treating hybrids like slaves has been long forbidden. You can own them, show off your wealth all you want, but the instant you hurt the half-animal you can see your money out the door. In return, you can expect expensive fines and imprisonment. At least that’s what is supposed to happen.

Still a blind eye is often turned to incidents involving hybrids by both the general public and law enforcements. You can also be fined for not turning in the information you have of a possible abuser, but say that’s also ignored, there is no other law backing the poor hybrid up.

The laws were originally established because the half-animals are also half-humans, created by some crazy scientist who perished years ago. Some rogue failed experiment turned on him. A warning for humans not to take in wild animal hybrids, not that anyone listened. Those wild animal hybrids are sometimes worth more money than the diamond necklace your mafia-boss husband got you.

The second I agreed to meet my colleagues at the crime scene I was hung up on, the beeping tone at my ear notifying me. I love the work I need to do, but I hate the people involved. It pays the bills though, so you won’t see me complaining. I get my stuff together and head out the house. It’s dark outside, raining too. The darkness might be explained by the fact that it’s 11 pm at night. Not the greatest time to be out. Luckily my job has provided me with a car, so you won’t see me walking.

During the ride the radio plays reports of different crimes throughout the city. Some happened at the exact same time, others had no connection whatsoever, yet they ended up being executed by the same group. Tv shows like CSI have been stuffing these sinners with the confidence to rob a place. The average criminal is luckily stupid enough not to know these shows don’t show the entire picture. However, that didn’t make them any easier to catch according to this radio report. On the other hand, what radio stations don’t know is that police won’t show them the entire picture either. Well they’re just there to spread panic, fact checking isn’t a job requirement.

The rain makes the view basically non-existent. Coming down like the angels are just throwing buckets of water over our heads, everything in the distance is blurry. Or maybe they just drank a lot, who knows. Weather reports have been warning for slippery roads, albeit I think they forgot to mention anything about nature made swimming pools outside of our houses.

Seeing as there is nothing good to report on the news they might as well downplay everything to give viewers their daily dose of good news. There is no good news though, and pretending that there is, is dangerous. Hope will only crush future expectations of being safe. Not that they care, they just need high ratings.

Seeing blurry blue and red lights in the distance is my indication that I’m getting close. I’ve never been to this part of town, if I had this so called sex club would’ve already been long gone. Don’t underestimate me, I can sense law breaking acts from a mile away. The fact that I don’t live too far away from addresses where everyone looks to be a drug addict just makes me better at my job.

I park my car next to the others at the side of the road and uncomfortably bend myself to take my bag from the backseat. I do not want to stand in this rain for longer than needed. I mentally prepare myself to get inside as fast as possible. I won’t worry about the sight inside too much, I’m used to it. 

I get out of the car and lock it, before walking over to the barricade tape. The outside of the club looks the same as any other sexual fantasy indulging club. Pink lights and posters of men and women in nothing but flimsy underwear plaster the windows. If it wasn’t for the bunch of officers behind the barricade tape, nobody would’ve known there was somebody murdered inside.

Reporters collect themselves in front of officers close to the tape, trying to get any kind of information out of them. They’re not getting any, so they keep trying, foolishly believing we know any more than they do. Well maybe a little more.

Anyways, without proper investigation we are just as clueless as they are. I’ll applaud their dedication though, as not all reporters have brought an umbrella with them. Imagine getting soaking wet just to ask a few questions. They might not have a raincoat, but they’re all somehow protecting their camera’s one way or another.

As I get closer to the tape blocking outsiders from entering, reporters notice me approaching. If it wasn’t for my uniform they wouldn’t even have batted a lash in my direction. Right now apparently, I’m the most interesting human being on earth. Remembering my trainings I keep my head low and ignore every question thrown my way, until I reach the officer waiting for me.

“Ah, detective Y/F/N Y/L/N, we have been expecting you.” He allows me to duck under the tape, fore shaking my hand and placing a gentle hand on my lower back. The umbrella he’s holding protects me from arriving inside looking like I just had a shower with my clothes on. Like this, I get escorted inside, leaving the flashing camera’s behind me.

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N.” Another female detective greets me immediately once I step inside. The male officer gives me a nod ere disappearing back into the front garden of the club. Probably going to spend his time listening to silly questions and being blinded by light. At least he might make in on the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers. Maybe he’ll get scouted by some modelling agency just to appear on more front pages.

“David Brown, mid-thirties, and an employee at the club, Mia Labell, 23, both got killed after Brown tried to buy a hybrid of another man we can’t identify from the security footage. Both the hybrid and man wore a hood. We don’t know what went down inside the room as there are no camera’s inside and the walls are soundproof.” The woman, whose name is apparently Blair Miller as shown on the name badge on her chest, explains the situation while she leads me to the room.

“For an illegal sex club they are awfully professional.” I note, having paid close attention to her words. “Well if you don’t want to get outed by a customer I guess that’s the right thing to do. People value anonymity.” I  add as the other female holds up a key card against a control panel to the right of a metal door.

The door slides open after a beep of confirmation. A young girl laying on the large bed in the middle is the first thing I lay my eyes on. The bed sheets are tainted completely red with her blood. Next to the bed lies a man, drowning in a puddle of his own blood. The bodies of the two still look like they could stand up at any moment. “Time of death?”

I walk further into the room, looking around for any other clues I should note. “Approximately 10.38 pm for both of them.” Blair answers, meekly standing in the door opening. “How did they rent the room?” I put on a pair of white latex gloves, before gently expecting the girl on the bed, without moving her from her position. Her hands are tied together, thick ropes cutting into her skin. A gag in her mouth, a blindfold covering her eyes and some lingerie complete the look.

“They wanted one girl for the three of them, paid, then took this room as any other customer would.” Dangerous, there is no way to keep these girls safe. No camera’s, just selling them off to multiple men at the same time. Is there any security around here? The two bodies contain multiple stab marks in their chest and stomach area. There are no signs of any strangling or poisoning. Cause of death for now is bleeding to death, but we’ll have to wait for the autopsy.

“Three?” I don’t look at Blair as I voice my questions. I’m good at multitasking, no need to focus on one thing only. “Mister Brown, the unnamed man and the hybrid.” They rented the girl as normal, then tied her up and proceeded to use the room for their business. Seeing as both died around the same time, the girl was alive during their exchange. We can’t exactly ask her anything right now though.

“How did the culprit leave?” You take a swab from under the fingernails of both bodies, hoping they might have scratched whoever did this. “Leisurely strolled outside the front door with the hybrid on a leash.” The poor hybrid must have witnessed everything. There was never a reason for this to happen. “These two were found by a cleaner going in not even a minute or two later.” It’s not my job to care. It’s not my job to ask either, but I’m not heartless, I am able to feel sympathetic.

“How are they doing?” I look at Blair for this one. Maybe because it’s a different type of question. “Shocked at first of course. They’ve calmed down now.” That makes me feel better. I’ve been doing this for over 2 years, and never will I be able to understand how someone could do this. Then again, the reason for becoming a criminal investigator was not to understand anyway, but to serve, to protect. And protect I will.

[littledreamybeth]

Our little secret

A/N: Happy new year, everyone! Let's make the first post of 2020 a fluffy one! I hope you like it! I haven't properly proof read everything, so I apologize for mistakes beforehand. Comments are highly, I stress highly appreciated.

Picture does not belong to me. Credits to the owner!

“Are you ready?” It was not impossible to overlook how nervous the young couple was. Trembling fingers interlocked, they looked at each other’s faces, searching for confirmation, or even doubt. Harry couldn’t recall being this nervous. An uneasy feeling had settled in his gut since he was sitting in front of the camera. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t really do what they were about to do, however, he also knew keeping this secret forever wouldn’t help either, because at the end somebody was going to find out anyway- as usual. He had promised Y/N he would do this, and they had talked everything out. They had taken drastic precautions, doubling their security guards and placing cameras almost everywhere in their home, so he wouldn’t be worried anymore.

“Only if you are, love,” His raspy, deep voice filled the room.  

The young woman, his partner, soulmate, wife- his love, nodded.

“Alright, here we go…” She gave her sister-in-law, Gemma, who was standing behind the camera, permission to start the recording.  The brunette woman held her thumbs up, smiling assuringly and encouragingly at the couple. Harry squeezed Y/N’s hand in comfort before he let go of her. He knew she was going to articulate with gestures. Besides, he needed to calm down himself. He was sitting there, his body in a tensed form. He had to relax. Breathing deeply in and out, the British man and his wife stared into the camera.

Here goes nothing...

“Hello everyone!” It was Y/N who spoke first. She was going to speak more since it was mostly about her. “Welcome back to my channel! I know it has been a very long while since I’ve posted anything, and I’m aware that many of you guys were concerned for me. I just vanished out of nowhere after all.” Not that anything bad had happened, no- she had a reason for all of that. But one thing after another, right?

“I highly appreciate your worry, guys. I know I owe you an explanation, and here I am, finally giving you one.” Harry’s wife had started a YouTube channel after they got together, uploading videos so that his fans could get to know her better. She was the person who rather spoke through actions than words. The amount of love she received was mind-blowing. She had never expected the support. Her videos always reached millions of views. Some of them were even with Harry and her doing couple stuff or challenges. If it wasn’t for his love, Harry would never agree to things like this. He’s private as we all know.

“First things first, I’ve seen many people speculating that Harry and I allegedly divorced, but as you can see, Mr. Styles is sitting right next to me and I’m still wearing my ring.” She pointed at the diamond ring on her finger. “I’d like to happily confirm that your assumptions about us were wrong.” She leaned over to give a kiss on his cheek, sensing how tense he was. She whispered “It’s gonna be fine” into his ear, running her hands through his brown locks before she focused on what was in front of her.  

“I want to get to the point quickly,” She stressed. “The reason why I disappeared, why I never have accompanied Harry to any special event for the past year, why I wasn’t active on social media, is because something has happened that changed our lives forever. Today, we want to share it with you.”

It was Harry’s cue to stand up, walking behind the camera to have Gemma handing him over something, or even better, someone. When he came back and sat down, he had a bundle of joy in his arms, wrapped up in a pink blanket. The tiny human being underneath, who was sleeping before her father came to get her, let out a little whimper of protest for interrupting her sleep. Harry weighed her back and forth, shushing her softly. “It’s okay, angel.”

Harry’s eyes were full of love for this little miracle. Everybody could see it. He basically had her name written in them. Whenever, their baby girl was mentioned, his eyes lit up and a large smile covered his lips. What could he say? He was a proud daddy.

Y/N blended out the camera for a second and reached out to play with her daughters tiny fingers, then directed her attention back to it. Flustered, she said, “World, meet Olivia Rose Styles. Our daughter…”

She could imagine the amount of confusion and shock their announcement would create. People for sure wouldn’t stop talking about this for weeks. (Online) Magazines and newspapers would report about them. And Twitter? Twitter was going to freak out. She chuckled at the thought.

“It’s true, people,” Harry confirmed, his attention tightly fixed on baby Styles. “We’ve become mummy and daddy.”

“Yeah, we’re parents.” Y/N nodded her head. “That’s why I disappeared. Because I was pregnant. We wanted to keep it a secret.”

It was pretty easy to hide her baby bump in the first couple of months due to the fact that she wore and always loved to wear oversized clothing. Her entire wardrobe consisted mostly of oversized shirts and pullovers, and a few of Harry’s belongings. But the bigger her belly became, the harder it was to cover up the evidence. So, she decided to step out of the spotlight and enjoy her pregnancy to the fullest without any factors that stressed her out. Y/N belonged to the category of people who were easily stressed over the tiniest things; reading negative articles or tweets about her alone was enough to drive her insane, and because she knew that everything stressing her out would also affect the baby, Harry and her had agreed that she lived somewhere else with a better environment; a place where people wouldn’t chase after her and follow every step she did. Not that they would ever admit it, but Harry had bought an island for his Y/N as a wedding gift before they got married (he even ordered to build a house there), and that’s where she had retreated to for the rest of her pregnancy.  She really loved nature. Lying at the beach whenever she pleased felt so refreshing. Knowing that no one was going to snap pictures of her made her feel at ease. Being out of civilization, far away from negative influence, was very therapeutic for her. She attempted to use less social media, or media in general, only requiring it if she wanted to watch a certain event that Harry attended. Of course, she wasn’t all alone. Her husband would never let her. Instead, Harry had bodyguards around her that kept watching her and made sure she was safe when he wasn’t around. Anne and Gemma also kept her company. Harry, on the other side, couldn’t spend much time with her as he hoped, because of tons of work. He at least tried to leave the weekends unoccupied so that he could be with his wife. When it came to the control checks and appointments, Y/N was flown back to the city, with strict measures taken in order to keep her hidden. Or sometimes, her doctor would pay her a visit.

“This was my first pregnancy, and I wanted it to be a memorable experience. I wanted to be at peace, and vanishing seemed the only solution for me.”

Gemma’s voice behind the camera rang. “Explain why you’ve never been seen at a hospital.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot about that. I gave birth at home!”

Harry, diverting his attention to the camera lens, added, “And it was truly an amazing experience.”

The day, Y/N delivered her baby, both of their mums, Gemma and a midwife were present. Their fathers were waiting outside the room, because Y/N found it embarrassing to give birth in front of her father, or in front of Des. It was painful and exhausting, robbing all strength in Y/N’s body. Harry couldn’t bear to see his poor wife in pain; he felt completely powerless over the situation, only holding his love, encouraging her and eventually, crying with her. He even blamed himself for putting her through so much ache. But, the moment they heard the shriek they were desperately waiting for, the young man completely broke down. When he held her for the first time, his heart felt so full and complete.  She looked like a copy of him, a baby version of himself. And her eyes… a shade of bluish- green.

“For the last three weeks, Harry and I have argued back and forth whether we make a wise decision,” She explained. “We discussed the advantages and disadvantages, and to be completely honest with you; even though the cons overweighed, we still decided to share out little secret with you before some strangers have the chance to release unpermitted information.”

Now that Y/N returned back from the island to their home, the chances of being discovered with a stroller was high. Besides, they didn’t plan on keeping Olivia in between four walls; they planned nice family trips for the future, so addressing their secret was the best.

Harry added, “We are in constant worry about her. You cannot really expect what people can do with an infant, especially if it’s my child. I hope you can understand that we don’t want anyone, except for family and friends, around her.” His expression became hard, his eyes transforming into an intense shade of green and his voice deeper than ever. “I may be kind, and don’t address certain things, but even I know how to destroy people’s lives, so be warned. If you come any closer to my daughter, I’ll end you.”

His statement startled Y/N. She had never experienced him like this before. Overprotective.  She looked at Gemma, who shared the same emotion as her. Y/N pulled herself together and continued talking. There was another point she aimed to address.

 “Please, don’t expect me to pull out the Kylie Jenner card and release a pregnancy journey video after all of this, because it’s not gonna happen,” Y/N informed, shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry, not sorry guys. The past couple of months have been the most joyous and adventurous period of my life, something very special and intimate, and I don’t want to share it with the world expect for the people involved- our family and friends. That’s why I ask for acceptance and understanding.”

Indeed, Y/N had every moment recorded. Sometimes, she would even send a video to Harry while he was at work, mocking him for how much he was missing out. One day, she had sent him footage in which baby Styles had kicked for the very first time, and it had Harry almost jumping out of his socks. It had been in the middle of a meeting with his band when he had received the message. He had gasped loudly, covering his mouth in shock which had attracted everyone’s attention and having them stare at him confusedly. Harry, on the contrary, had tears pooling his eyes. And being the little show-off he is, he went around and proudly showed everybody what his unborn daughter was capable of doing now- not forgetting the occasional ‘That’s daddy’s girl!’ leaving from his pink lips.

“We don’t want anyone to expect too much from us. We are against the idea of sharing pictures online until she has reached a certain age, and we insist that this should be okay for everyone.”

The baby in Harry’s arms slowly became restless, a cry escaping her throat. Everyone took this as a signal to end the video. “Thank you guys for watching this short announcement video. Take care of yourselves, and please don’t overreact too much, okay? Bye!” Everyone winked at the camera, and the recording was done.

After the video was cut and properly edited, Y/N posted it on her channel. Not a even a minute had passed before it had scored thousands of views. Scrolling through the comment section, Y/N chuckled at the fans’ reactions.

Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr… every social platform was a mess. She received lots of comments on her accounts. Famous artists and influencers reached out to her, congratulating them for the new addition to the family.

It was just as Y/N expected; the world was going crazy…

[capsized-heart]

Lady Liberty and The Captain / Part One

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (1940′s Brooklyn AU)

Summary: You are a rising young star and the newest breakout actress in Hollywood’s Golden Age! When war finally descends on the west, your reputation as America’s Sweetheart finds you cast in a promotional picture alongside Captain America himself.

Yet, he looks eerily familiar, like your Stevie from childhood…

Word count: 4.7k+

Warnings: fluff!!

A/N: hello, everyone!!!! I hope you’re staying home, warm, and safe during these crazy times. I’ve been snuggling with my doggie and continuing with my university’s online classes in my final semester..absolutely crazy how things are rn. I hope this new story can help brighten up your day just a little bit.

First of all, I just want to say thank you💖💛for all the love that old and new readers alike have shown this blog recently. I’ve been writing on this platform for a little less than a year and I never thought l’incendie would blow up as much as it has. You guys are amazing. I’m really excited and eager to share new pieces and hope you enjoy the content I have coming! Please don’t hesitate to pop in and say hi, or shoot me a message. I’ve really enjoyed connecting with readers and would love to know your thoughts on my fics, or just to talk about fandom stuff! Timmy included! PAHAHA

So, this chapter is gonna be a part of a mini-series for a 1940′s writing challenge and I’m using the prompt of wartime romance! This will probably be split into two or three parts and I will tag the host as soon as the last chapter goes up, I’ll most likely make a masterlist in the end as well. Reader has a name in this fic, but hopefully the choice of name will make sense later on :D

As always, feel free to drop a ask/message if you’d like a tag in the next update.

ENJOY!

THE NEW YORK TIMES

Film: ‘Apple of Discord’, Lola Swanson’s Dazzling Debut! 

By NICHOLAS WATTS                                                                                                                      September 1, 1943

----------

The film drama from the original screenplay written and directed by Andrew Campbell opened to a roar of applause and acclaim at the Radio City Music Hall yesterday evening. Apple of Discord is a reimagining of the myth and Plato’s allegory, focusing on the tumultuous, profoundly elegant life of a young noblewoman during the Trojan wars.  

The film’s frontrunner and leading lady is Hollywood newcomer, young and fresh-faced Lola Swanson. Swanson’s performance is so thoughtful, so unfaltering, so intelligent and controlled that it is hard to believe this is little Lola’s long awaited motion picture debut. And what a debut this is! 

Starring opposite Hollywood veterans Sean Schultz, Kash Dennis, and Gracie Smith, this star-studded cast packs punches and sizzling chemistry and yet, Swanson does not fizzle out but confidently holds her own, demanding your attention in every scene, and rightfully so. Watching Swanson in this picture is watching a major actress in the making. 

Born and raised in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen before moving to Brooklyn to pursue acting, some may recognize Lola from her daytime television roles in Insanity and Passion, It’s a Date! and as Jessica in Jessica Davis Returns.

Now we know these roles were preparing Swanson for the debut of the decade.   

“APPLE OF DISCORD” is now showing at the Radio City Music Hall and Cinema 2. Tickets at 25 cents. Running time: 139 minutes.

★★★★☆

——

APPLE OF DISCORD, written and directed by Andrew Campbell; director of photography, Laszlo Kovacs; edited by John Wright; music by John Barry; released by Universal Pictures.

----------

The newspaper trembles hard between your fingers, threatening to tear its edges. Pulse pounding, ears ringing. You can’t stop smiling. You feel like crying. 

You reread the words again and again, the words written by legendary film critic Nicholas Watts, the man you’ve only dreamed of making an impression on, that he’d someday see you in a picture. And here he’s written a glowing review of your major motion picture debut. 

You erupt in a fit of giggles and screams, twirling around the small space of your apartment in a swirl of nightgown, pinned curls. A neighbor, Mr. Krisinski, you think, pounds on your wall to shut you up. 

It’s still early morning and you had gone downstairs at first light to buy a paper from a newsboy. Outside your window, the streets of New York already yawn and bustle with morning commute. The movement of people, gleaming automobiles against the red brick buildings and muted gray of Manhattan. Warm sun washes over it all, your heart brimming and full, mirroring the glow of golden dawn. 

You feel on top of the world. Maybe you’ll finally make it here.

Your phone rings. You rush over to the mint blue rotary telephone on your bedside table, snatch up the receiver before Mr. Krisinski can break down your door with all the racket you’re making.

“Hello?” You say into the mouthpiece, cradling it between your hands. You feel breathless, high strung and buzzing, like you’d just downed a whole case of Coca-Cola, whirring with the taste of sugar and success, bubbling with starpower. Maybe it’s Kash or Gracie calling to congratulate you. Hell, maybe even President Roosevelt.

“Lola! It’s me. Have you read the paper?” The cool voice of Peggy asks you through the receiver. You quietly laugh at your own fantastical expectations. Of course it’s Peggy. Punctual, collected Peggy. 

Peggy Carter is your talent agent and manager at MGM. Peggy had snatched you up while you had been working as a background actress on Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca, so hopeful and beholden just to be in the presence of such respected artists, willing to stay the extra hours even after the other girls had gone home when realizing they wouldn’t be seen in the shot. It hadn’t been your first time on a hot set, you were used to the itchy costumes, long hours of endless waiting, and the empty stomachs, but no way you were going to miss a chance to see Ingrid Bergman and Madeleine LeBeau up close. 

Back then, only a few years ago yet a lifetime away it seems, Peggy had been a casting assistant, seeing your dedication and marching right up to you between takes to hand you her card. On the back, written in smooth blue ink, a time the next morning for an audition at MGM Studios in downtown New York. Eight o'clock sharp. 

You didn’t sleep at all that night after you wrapped.

She’s worked at getting you into audition rooms and meetings for years, pushing you onto writers, production assistants, riggers, directors. She had secured you an audition with Andrew Campbell after “accidentally” leaving your headshot in his mailroom and later calling his assistant with threats of stolen property. MGM’s new fresh face had been penciled in for a side read the following week. 

Fierce, ingenious, and your own bright star, you’ve risen through the ranks and fought your way up with Peggy at your side. 

“Yeah, Peg. I have it here in front of me. This is...absolutely nuts.” 

“Not really, you were brilliant in the picture, darling. But it’s a comfort to know Watts has finally replaced that cotton in his brain with some sense.”

Another laugh from you, twirling the telephone cord around your finger.

“Let me have this one, Peg.”

“If you insist.” 

You hear the rustling of newspaper from the other end. You can practically see Peggy sitting at her desk, perusing the paper over a morning cup of coffee, her hair curled, makeup and nails all scarlet red and perfect. The golden placard glittering on the frosted glass of the door. 

Margaret Carter, Casting Director.

“I’m calling to tell you about an offer we received this morning from Paramount. I think you should take it.” 

That rush of giddiness burns bright again in your veins, pulse skyrocketing. 

“Paramount? Geez, what did they say?”

“They want you for a promotional picture that’s being produced by Senator Brandt. Brandt is hoping to boost the homefront’s war bond sales with a little starpower from you and from Captain America. You’ve seen his posters, haven’t you? That costumed bloke?”

You have. Plastered everywhere and looking like an absolute buffoon. Nice physique, though. 

The disappointment that settles in your stomach is ugly and cold, like a fruitless pit, hard, rough, a sour taste in your mouth. It’s stupidly childish, yet your own expectations for your first movie, first box office hit, for that very first taste of the promised fame and fortune of success, begin to blink out. Expectations you’ve held on to since you were a little girl, since you realized this is the type of work you want to do for the rest of your life.

You’ve managed to impress Nicholas Watts, the most cynical film critic in all of Hollywood, and this is your big break? A Paramount picture featuring you and a tights-wearing mascot?

Peggy is practically asking you to star alongside Mickey Mouse.

“Is that all they offered?” You respond. You wince at the demanding, ungrateful tone. Afterall, showbiz has hardened you to go after what you want, to take and take because this lifestyle does not guarantee anything. You’re told no more than you are yes, the constant rejection having molded you into a diamond tough girl, glitzy and solid, unbreakable, beautiful. 

But how many girls would kill to be in your place?

“The only sensible deal. They also offered you the role of Violet for It’s a Wonderful Life, and Ruthie in The Grapes of Wrath.”

“What?! Peggy, contract me for those instead!” 

“Well, I’m not going to. And you listen well as to why.”

You twist your lips together. Peggy’s voice filters clipped and disapproving through the phone line, the way she always gets before she offers you damned good advice. 

“Not just Watts is impressed with your work, Lola. You’re finally turning heads and for all good reasons. Anyone can get in front of a camera if they have the right look. But you’ve shown them that you have the look and the raw talent. Critics are saying you’re rivaling Judy Garland, darling. And you’re telling me you want the part of a lousy love interest? A secondary daughter? All because the pictures have big names behind them and people may go see it?

“No,” you mumble.

“No is right. You know better than anyone that people expect young stars to burn out fast so they can take their place. It’s all business. If I put you in for those roles, we’d be playing right into their hand. We’d use up all your potential in one summer. The public would get sick of seeing your face in every big picture. We have to earn their affection, darling. It’s slow and tame and not always glamorous, but this deal is smart.”

You listen, silently.

“Morale is low. War is when people turn to familiar pastimes and simple pleasures. To treat themselves, to take their minds off all the grizzly headlines. Captain America embodies all of that and more. If we take this, I promise you, Lola, that people will remember you as the girl who got them through the darkest times. This will do wonders for your career years down the line. And then, if you still want to play Violet, I’ll phone Frank Capra myself.” 

You close your eyes and draw in a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

“Well, it looks like I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Wonderful. I’ll phone Paramount now. We’ll be in touch.” 

--

Growing up with poor Irish immigrants for parents, the rare moments you could afford to splurge on luxuries, you spent them at local cinemas and theaters with your brother. Any day was a good one when you and Samuel bought tickets for a noon screening, the cheapest showing of the day, scraping together pocket change to split a popcorn if you were feeling extra special.

And reclining in a nearly empty theater with refreshments and goodies between the two of you, you’d watch the silver screen with hope in your mouth and stars in your eyes. In here, it no longer mattered how little money you had, or the discrimination your family faced, or the war in Europe, or the meager apartment you’d go home to, lucky if the electricity and heating had been paid for. In here, nothing else mattered but the visual stories. 

And you realized that you wanted to help tell them. You wanted to be in front of the cameras, to embody characters and personas and let audiences worldwide empathize and identify with your performances. 

You’ve loved playing make-believe since you were a little girl, having never really grown out of it. You could do it, you think. Dangerous dreams, perhaps, but what child doesn’t hold this wish within them? To see their name in lights and to be admired and commended, but most of all, to provide for their family?

 How hard could it be?

**

At sixteen, you land your first speaking role. It’s pathetic. You’re working on set as background, per usual, only this time, the director picks you out from the crowd and gives you the line of, “Good morning, sir.” You’re to look off camera as the actor playing Kent entered the scene and you would then say your line. 

You’re stupidly excited. Three simple words. You’ll be uncredited, of course, but your face would finally be seen! With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the scene resets, Kent takes his mark, the cameras roll, and you deliver.

The scene is cut from the final reel. 

**

You pound the pavement. You scour newspapers and flyers for casting calls, you phone agencies and playhouses, you save up to get your picture taken on glossy photo paper. You keep looking. You keep working in background until you can land a steady role. 

Then, you finally get one. A miniscule part of a friendly neighborhood girl on a TV drama for CBS. You only have mere minutes of screen time, but the checks that arrive in the mail from Columbia Broadcasting System after your first few episodes air say otherwise. 

You open a savings account. You plant your paychecks and watch them grow into a comfortable sum of money. You land another guest starring role for a daytime soap, the secretary of the title character. Combined with your parents’ salaries from your mother’s sewing and your father’s work on the railroads, you become the main breadwinner.  

You move your family out of Hell’s Kitchen, out of your cramped, dark apartment. You sign a new lease under your new stage name and move to Brooklyn together. 

**

Brooklyn is slightly cleaner, but the familiar hustle and bustle, the noise of shopkeepers and dialects and children and cars is comforting, grounds you in your roots. When your CBS drama wraps months later with your last check in the mail and you’re looking for your next gig, your brother works odd jobs to help shoulder the burden. Brick laying, chimney sweeping, milk and mail delivering, Samuel becomes no stranger to any and all work, so long as it pays. You become a typist on the side as you wait for auditions and callbacks. 

Samuel tells you his aspirations to be a poet, a writer. He hasn’t said a word to your parents, but he shows you the small bound notebook he carries with him, leafing through pages of prose and verse. You encourage him to submit his work to newspapers, publishers. He gives you a shy smile, says he’ll consider it as soon as you get your motion picture debut. You shake on it. Together, your already close bond of brother and sister grows stronger as you each work to support your art.

**

You’re waiting for Samuel to finish his shift so you can catch a late showing of His Girl Friday, a warm September day when you first meet Bucky Barnes down at the wharfs. He’s tall, lean, and glistening with sweat when he rounds out of the warehouse with an armful of crates and nearly knocks you off the pier.

“Hey, watch it!” he snaps. His eyes flash like the water around you, blue and cold and dangerous. Brown locks curl with perspiration against his forehead, the sleeves of his workshirt rolled up over his shoulders, the exposed skin of his throat and arms flushed and tan. 

Embarrassed, you try to steady him, to which he growls in annoyance and spins out of your reach. He makes a great show of bearing the weight himself, grumbling as he sets down his load. You don’t miss the way the muscles in his back flex and dip. It isn’t until he slowly stands back up, wiping his palms on his khakis, that you get a good look at each other.

The hostility in his eyes softens ever so slightly, simmering into a look that cinches your chest tight when his gaze travels shamelessly up from your kitten heels to the curves of your lips and cheek. His breathing is still labored as he surveys you and you can feel heat and color blooming against your skin. When his eyes finally settle on your face, you can’t decide whether you want to slap or kiss him. 

“You lost or something, honey?” He asks with a whisper of a smile. He strolls in a lazy half-circle in front of you and moves to go back up the ramp to the warehouse. Then, he pauses and turns back to you.

“Have we met before? I swear I recognize you from somewhere.”

This delights you deliciously, that a handsome young man you’ve met by chance has seen your work. Not glamorous, acclaimed roles by any means, but recognition nonetheless. You bite the inside of your lip to suppress your smile and give him a coy, bashful flutter of your eyelashes.

“If that were the case, I’m sure I’d remember you.” 

He grins wolfishly, pleased, and takes a step closer. “Yeah? Think you’ll let me take you out for dinner tonight?”

“She’s got plans with me, Buck.” Samuel’s voice carries across the water. Your brother emerges with wooden boxes and sets them between you and Bucky in a huff, as if he’s implementing a physical barrier, both childish and endearing. Bucky glances at you and Samuel.

“Are you two..?”

“Steady? No. She’s my sister.”

Bucky snorts and his eyes find you again, glittering in the evening light. “You never told me you had a sister, Sammy. And such a looker too..”

“Makes you wonder why I never brought her up,” retorts Samuel and gives him a playful shove, traps him briefly in a headlock. “At least Steve wouldn’t ogle.”

“Stevie would get a nose bleed and pass out.” You hear Bucky grunt back. Samuel moves as if to dump him into the drink and Bucky pinwheels, scrambling. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Satisfied, Samuel releases him and socks him in the shoulder for good measure. Bucky stumbles, looking boyish and smooth despite his shirt and hair all disheveled. 

You’ve seen his type in casting offices all across New York; bold, alluring, and charismatic. It’s a look and type you’ve longed to act opposite of someday, as all young starlets dream of, but a look that simultaneously sparks the feminine temptation that shivers between your breasts. You wonder if Bucky would look the same in a dark bedroom, with him on top of you and your fingers running over his back…

Bucky grins toothily when he catches you staring and shoots you a wink. None of those movie star hopefuls hold a candle now to his rugged, spirited charm.

Samuel guides you back up the pier so he can punch out his time card and the two of you can be on your way. And as you’re about to set foot on solid ground, you hear Bucky call out to you.

“What’s your name, honey?” 

Samuel sighs and shakes his head. “Cripes.” He mutters to himself. Before Samuel can stop you, you laugh and turn back to the water with a fresh and girlish aire, warmth and excitement whispering through your veins, young and naive and sixteen.  

“Dolores!” You give him your full name, your real name. For once, you don’t want to be Lola Sparks. You want to be your natural, honest self, the girl who deserves young love and joy and an untroubled adolescence. The sound of your voice rings clear and strong, the diva that you are, and Bucky’s mouth curves upwards.

“See you ‘round, Dot.” 

**

Much to Samuel’s displeasure, you tail your big brother around the docks like a lost pup whenever you have time. And being a C-list actress and a part-time typist, you have plenty of it. You loiter with the excuse of bringing sack lunches, waiting on Samuel and Bucky at the edge of the warehouses. It’s lonesome and bores you to no end being all by yourself, until one afternoon when someone is already waiting at your spot by the pier.

Small, skinny as his own shadow with a fringe of blonde hair, he leans hunkered and folded within himself, timid and seemingly conscious of how he occupies space. His jacket droops over his shoulders, eyes downcast even as you approach. He has a sketchbook in his hands, concentrated as the pencil moves across the page in fast, gentle strokes. You see an impressive likeness of the piers and Bucky’s distant figure in charcoaled lines.

“That’s really something.” You say.

He jolts so hard the paper tears and he crumples it into his fist in a single motion. “Huh?” he answers. When he looks to you, you realize his eyes are a pretty shade of teal. He flushes, petrified, the tips of his ears coloring pink. You feel horrible when he goes to pocket the ball of paper.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you,” you breathe. Gently, you offer your palm to him. “If you’re not keeping it, do you mind if I have it?” You ask softly. A few seconds pass and he shakes his head before placing it in your hand. You unfurl the paper, carefully smooth it out as he watches you from the corner of his eye. 

Shyness is a barrier of art you’ve known all too well, from your own experiences in audition rooms to your brother’s reluctance to find a publisher, you understand that sting of insecurity better than anyone. So, you let him watch you as you admire his work, let him know of his talent and let your actions speak for you. You smile and slip the drawing into your purse. 

Then, his stomach grumbles audibly, almost comically loud. He folds his arms around his stomach, so tight you’re afraid he’ll snap in half. You quickly reach into one of your paper bags and hand him a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and a can of lemonade. 

“Here, let’s trade.” 

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I can’t accept..” he starts. The timbre of his voice is surprisingly gallant and sure, pleasant, sweet. You have a gut feeling that the world has been taking advantage of that kindness his whole life, scaring him away from genuine compassion, that everything must have a catch. It makes you press harder.

“I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do for sneaking up on you.” He eyes you warily and again that feeling of regret washes over you. “Consider it payment.” You smile. 

Finally, he takes Samuel’s lunch from you and unwraps the sandwich. He eats quickly and quietly, draining the lemonade only minutes later. Perhaps it’s his bony statue, but you feel happy to see this stranger eat.

When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth and turns to you. His lips, pretty, pink, part as if about to speak, yet no words leave him. Instead, he stands frozen with that transfixing blue-green gaze keeping you still, lingering. 

That is until a stream of brilliant scarlet red dribbles down his chin and splatters onto his dress shirt. He pinches his nose, doubling forward and his flustered complexion matching the blood spilling from his nostrils.

“You must be Steve,” You laugh lightly and quickly hand him your handkerchief of cream yellow lace and embroidered flowers. You help steady him as he keeps his head tilted down. “Bucky’s told me all about you.”

Steve groans and presses the handkerchief to his face, blushing all the way down to his neck. 

**

Steve returns your handkerchief days later with an embarrassed hush, carefully cleaned and laundered. It smells of lavender and clean linen and the image of him working the fabric between his thin fingers with soap and suds warms your heart. 

You tell him it’s his. He blooms and keeps it neatly folded in his breast pocket. 

You and Steve quickly grow close in the hours you spend together waiting on Bucky and Samuel. You pack extra lunches for him and sit by the piers chatting, skipping stones as Steve sketches the Brooklyn skyline day in and day out.

“Draw me!” you tease. “Isn’t that the request that all artists want to hear?”

But surprisingly, he does. He always draws you and Bucky and Samuel with striking, intimate familiarity. His sketchbook gradually fills with portraits and pictures of you, sketches that could put your very headshot to shame.

**

After their usual shifts, the four of you head to the drugstore for your ritual of sodas and sundaes. Two pairs, brother and sister and brothers by blood enjoying a rare wartime treat. With the rations on sugar, it’s a special and memorable circumstance just to be together and sharing something sweet.

It’s there, at your corner booth in Wolfe’s Pharmacy over ice cream, that Bucky opens up a paper for that night’s television network schedule and sees your name. 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dot,” he says. “What do others call you?”

Defeated, you twist your lips, hesitant to break the short spell of normalcy you’ve had with your new friends. Samuel sips at his Coke with a silent grin. 

Time for the truth to come out.

“Well, ‘doll’, by Stevie,” you giggle and toe Steve’s foot under the table. Steve shyly shrinks back into his seat. “But CBS calls me Lola.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. 

“Get out of here. You’re pulling my leg..”

“I absolutely am not.”

“Sammy, tell me she’s pulling my leg.”

“She’s not.”

Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes dart between you and your brother. Bucky’s face breaks into an open smile, laughing. Steve lurches forward. 

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” Steve prods with a hint of that honest, innocent charm.  

You wrinkle your nose sheepishly. “Mason Cook?”

“Who?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sundae.

“Exactly.” Samuel snorts.

“Well, I’m sure he’s very talented.” Says Steve.

You swipe his maraschino cherry and let the stem dangle between your lips. “At least Stevie believes in me.” 

“Dot, honey. I saw your pilot episode. If anyone’s a fan, it’s me.” Bucky feigns hurt, hand to his chest. 

You stick out your bottom lip before sucking in the stem, working it into a tight knot in your mouth. “Are you still gonna be when your girl is signing autographs with John Wayne?”

You place the knotted stem on your napkin. Bucky nearly chokes. 

“I better be.”

Samuel coughs. Steve giggles. 

**

You thank your stars that your secret doesn’t change anything between Steve and Bucky. They treat you just the same; as Samuel’s baby sister who tags along with the boys. The teasing, the fleeting looks all unchanging. 

Girls, you’ve unfortunately realized, are catty and mean. You’re competing for roles, after all. But with Bucky and Steve, your first taste of homecoming since moving to Brooklyn, you don’t have to worry about silly competition, or fame, or being the best in the room. They keep you level-headed, reminding you of your girlhood and life’s simple pleasures.

Bucky drives you and Steve around town in the company truck on weekends. Hopscotch and jacks on brick roads and warm nights, watching sunsets until the sky blushes peach and mango yellow at Coney Island. 

A Saturday afternoon on Rockaway Beach, a vacation for you all after a draining week of work and auditions when Bucky promises to win you a stuffed bear when he sees you eyeing the one on careful display. 

“Buck..Bucky, give it a rest, we can try the next one.” Steve chides.

Another plastic ring pings off the neck of a glass bottle. Bucky curses, rings his hands together and slaps another dollar onto the counter.

You and Steve trade looks. Bucky’s been at it for ten minutes. At this rate, you know you’ll be walking on the train tracks home tonight.

So, you and Steve huddle close and cheer him on. Do it for our doll! says Steve. Finish it so you’ll stop wasting money, you dolt! you cry. Hell, even the vendor finds it humorous and joins in.

And when Bucky wins that grand prize and you’re handed a teddy bear as big as Stevie, you hoist it on your back, careful to not let it touch gravel or dust as the three of you walk in line with the train tracks later that evening.

Paradise, a sheltered haven from the broken landscapes and realities that the European newsreels broadcast home in grim black and white. 

**

True to Bucky’s word, they become your biggest supporters, helping you run lines and monologues and accompanying you to auditions. Bucky’s not bad for a scene partner, and Steve’s awareness of emotion and character motivation is impressive.

The attention you receive from casting directors and auditionees doesn’t hurt your chances either, lanky Steve and smoldering Bucky wishing you luck before stepping into the green room.

You book a drama. Then, a short film. Then another. You call them your lucky charms. 

And when your humble little short film “premiers” at the corner cinema, squeezed in between an empty noon showing of a cartoon rerun, Steve and Bucky whoop and holler when your character is shown on screen. They throw popcorn and gumdrops, jostle you by the shoulders. Bucky even runs down the aisle and mimes kissing the projector screen.

“That’s our girl! That’s our Dot!”

The usher threatens to throw you out. Steve tells him you’ve paid good money for your tickets and you’ll stay and watch as long as you please.

The following week, you’re scouted by Peggy Carter. 

Your world, your career will never be the same.

[nishaapologist]

Dogmeat Me, Dogmeat You (Fallout 4, First Sentinel AU)

people have been asking and yes; both rookie AND sarah have a dogmeat, and of COURSE rookie takes their dogmeat with them to boston. what do they look like, a monster???

*

It’s as Sarah is staring very intently at an old and well-annotated map of Boston — drawn over countless times by various travellers, circling places of interest and scratching big Xs over pockets of deadly radiation or Radscorpion nests that sit atop neat typeface denoting another of Boston’s many attractions for Pre-War families — that Dogmeat starts hassling her for no good reason, prodding her snout under Sarah’s armpit as her owner leans over her desk in thought. She nudges her away gently, absently, murmuring not now as she tries to draw up some strategies for the next battery of missions she’s got planned for the Commonwealth, but Dogmeat’s insistent, snuffling and poking and pushing until Sarah loses her train of thought for the third time, and she finally sighs and stands up, abandoning the idea for now to instead look down into her dog’s big brown eyes.

“You hungry, girl? Is that it?”

Dogmeat wags her tail so hard that her whole body wriggles with the motion, and when she nearly sweeps one of Rookie’s countless collectible bottles of Quantum off the nearest coffee table — waiting to be put into a bulletproof, rocket-proof, explosion-proof and just about nuke-proof container — Sarah curses and starts ushering her downstairs. “C’mon, g’won, down you go—”

Truth be told, Home Plate is a little too small for a fully-grown German Shepard, which is only made all the smaller when Sarah makes eye contact with Old Dogmeat lying at the bottom of the stairs, Rookie’s ever-faithful cattledog now greying in the face. He doesn’t quite have the spring in his step that Sarah remembers him having a few years ago, but he’s a stubborn old bastard and Rookie loves him half to death, so Sarah expects him to be hanging around a few more years yet. If she’s being strictly honest, she’d never understood the appeal of having a hound by your side on the battlefield — dogs die so easily, and Sarah’s determination to save as many lives as possible is often tested by their presence — but now she’s got a dog of her own, and, well. Rookie’s just a little smug about it all.

Still, as soon as Sarah’s foot hits the last step on the stairs, he gets up to give Dogmeat a good sniffling before circling around her legs, and Sarah has a feeling this whole thing is a setup.

“Alright, alright,” she says, stepping gingerly over wayward paws. “You know, you could be annoying someone with a face much closer to your level—”

Old Dogmeat makes a gruff sort of woof in the back of his throat, and right in that same moment the front door opens, Rookie’s red cap poking through the gap before the rest of them follows, glancing down at both dogs before peering up to Sarah’s unamused face. They take a second of contemplation — backed by the sound of Dogmeat’s tail hitting the side of the door with a whud, whud, whud —  before cracking a grin as they put two and two together.

“Oh, man, they turned to you, huh? I told ‘em I was gonna go to Polly’s and pick up some meat, but apparently five minutes is on the long side of time for them.”

As they slide inside, there’s a wrapped parcel under one arm that both dogs look very interested in all of a sudden, and Rookie holds up above their head when Old Dogmeat snarts sniffing for it. “Ey, no! This isn’t all for you, fuckers, back off—”

Sarah snorts as she watches Rookie make for the kitchen, both Dogmeats hot on their heels. “I mean, don’t they say a year for humans is seven in dog years, or something? That means five minutes for them is, like…” Sarah does the maths, and she’s not ashamed to admit it takes quite a bit of finger-counting to get there. “Thirty-five minutes. You left them to starve for half a dog hour, Rookie. For shame.”

Rookie reaches the kitchen, slapping down the meat onto the wide countertop that Sarah had constructed out of scrap metal and a prayer, and Sarah laughs at the blank stare they look at her with. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re on their side now? I heard what you said through the door, asshole, not to mention that look on your face.”

Sarah shrugs with an easy acceptance,  but anything else Rookie had to say is quickly derailed when Dogmeat jumps up to rest her impressive paws on the counter, her angled head now level with Rookie’s eyes, and they yelp, quick to tuck an elbow about her neck to bring her back down to the floor. “No! Counter is for humans, not dogs—”

Meanwhile, on their other side, Old Dogmeat pulls the same trick, nearly pushing Rookie right over to sniff at bloodsoaked newspapers, and Rookie’s face is shot through with betrayal.

“No! Down! I fed you guys this morning, why are you being so dramatic?!”

Sarah just folds her arms, content to watch the carnage as both Dogmeats hop up one after another— not even going after the meat, it seems, with their tails wagging in a way that suggests its playtime — and when Rookie finally looks back to Sarah, it’s with a long and childish whine.

“Saraaaaaah,” they whinge, one hand firmly around Dogmeat’s worn leather collar as they try (and fail) to haul her away. “Control your stupid dog!”

“You first,” she offers in return, but she relents after that, letting off a short whistle that sees Dogmeat settle in an instant, padding her way to Sarah’s side to receive a pat between her pointed ears. Rookie scowls, but a harsh command between their teeth also makes Old Dogmeat finally sit at their feet, smiling up at them with his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, unapologetic as ever.

“God,” Rookie starts, reaching over to a small basin habitually filled with clean water and left on the side to wash their hands and dishes in, dipping their hands in to find a mottled bar of soap at the bottom. “That dog suits you so well, you know that? I look at her face and I swear she looks like you sometimes.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow, and very specifically doesn’t look to Dogmeat, just in case she sees Rookie’s point get proven before her very eyes. “How so?”

“Well, you know! Weren’t German Shepards, like, Pre-War police dogs? Military dogs?” Rookie cants their head in Dogmeat’s direction, who cants hers right back. “Look at her! Tough as Brahmin hide, obeys all your commands, and she obeys even when it’s just a whistle or whatever… is she reading your mind?”

Sarah shrugs again, though even she’s been surprised by Dogmeat’s sheer tenacity out on the field. Picking her up at Red Rocket had been a spur of the moment idea, if only because Sarah’s compulsive need to do the Right Thing had convinced her to try and find the mutt an owner on the way to Diamond City, but then Dogmeat had defended Sarah from a plethora of attacks and had warned her of many more, always returning to Sarah’s side when called and finding her plenty of supplies with the aid of a keen nose. By the time they’d reached the Wall, Sarah found that she just couldn’t bring herself to let the damn dog go, and despite going through hell and high water… well, Dogmeat’s a survivor. Sarah can relate.

“I dunno,” Sarah finally says after a long minute, reaching down to scratch at Dogmeat’s ears again. “Maybe I’m just a dog person.”

Rookie watches her carefully, screwing up their face like they’re trying to puzzle something out for a few seconds, and then they relax all at once with an airy laugh.

“They say that owners and dogs are super similar, don’t they?” they begin, and Sarah’s not sure where this is going until Rookie winks over their shoulder. “Makes sense they’re just as hard to kill and as much of a pain in the ass as you are, right?”

Sarah glares back, and all it takes is for her to give a single disapproving click of her tongue before Dogmeat goes barrelling across the room, leaping up onto Rookie to cover their face in licks and nips. Rookie splutters — getting a mouthful of dog tongue in the process — and stumbles backwards, nearly crashing right into Sarah’s table of gun parts as they wrestle with her dog. “Sarah! Sarah— ugh, gross, Sarah! Call her off!”

Instead of doing that, Sarah crouches down to pat Old Dogmeat’s flank when he turns to nose at her socks, and she watches with a smile as Rookie nearly gets dragged to the floor underneath seventy pounds of muscled hound. “What do you say, buddy?” she asks, and Old Dogmeat’s shining, heterochromatic eyes watch her with wonder. “Shall I call her off in five minutes, or ten?”

The answer is actually about thirty seconds, but that’s mostly because Dogmeat ends up sitting across Rookie’s chest, pinning them to the floor as they squirm about, trapped under her weight. Rookie calls for Old Dogmeat’s help (sicc em, boy!) but when he wanders over just to lie down on their legs, Sarah’s nigh helpless with laughter.

“Traitors!” Rookie wheezes, but Sarah can’t really tell what they’re saying when Dogmeat rolls over, and all their words are muffled into a double-coat of dog hair.

[missielee]

Passion

Day 1&2: Fish & Wisp

Fish – such a fascinating creature

It was Olivia’s first passion as well as pet

When she was seven, her dad took her and her sister to the aquarium downtown.

It was magnificent, she said

It was like a different world, she said

Engulfed by a singular color blue, she was mesmerized by all the moving little diamonds around her

Colorful scales glimmered in the tank lights, felt like thousands stars on the sky

They moved oh so gracefully, bubbles curved along their fins

It was like a water dance.

That was at least ten years ago, little Olivia has already turned into a beautiful young woman who is passionate about the ocean life, specifically sea creatures. Fascinated by them, she indulged hours in books on her dad’s shelves and pursued her dream to become, well, quoted on quote “Fish”.

Fish is a peculiar animal. They live in water and absorb oxygen through their respiration system which is the gills. Their body is covered in scales worked as camouflage, protection and swimming aid. Their fins flutter through the current as they sway their body elegantly. What could possibly better than being a fish, swimming freely in the water blue?

“I prefer whale better” Janet voiced her opinion out loud

“What? That swimming elephant? No way!” Olivia eyed her friend in disbelief “That’s not even a fish!”

“It’s a sea creature too so it sorta counts. Also, FYI, that is super mean. That’s probably equivalent to pointing out someone is obese in fish language.” Janet rolled her eyes, continued eating her lunch

“Whale and dolphin are mammals, so not a fish. Beside, would you really want to be a whale? Big, giant blue whale?”

“Uh, whale is my spiritual animal, therefore, yes I’ll be the big giant and BEAUTIFUL blue whale” a glare was directed right back to Olivia “At the very least, I won’t get eaten by other species”

“Other than human, sure!” Olivia sipped her water “You do know that a fair amount of whale was hunted for meat and oil in the past right?”

“Whale hunting was a thing?”

“Yeah, it was like a thing back in 1800s. Products made from whale, mainly oil, are incredibly valuable. A barrel of sperm-whale oil can even went up to 1500$ per barrel” Olivia shrugged “But it wasn’t used much nowadays because many better resource appeared: like Kerosene, vegetable oil, petrol”

“Uh huh, you know a lot about whale for someone who just insult it” Janet smirked upon her “You like whale too, don’t you ~”

“Said the one who have their nose in Moby Dick like twenty times or something. I only know some of the basic thing about whale”

“Hey, that book is a masterpiece! Brave men against the nature! Battling fearlessly! Unlike you and you’re fish tank obsession.”

Olivia couldn’t bother to say back. It’s true that she’s have an itsy bitsy infatuation with fish, but she couldn’t explain it why she adores them that much. Some have told her she could become mermaid like those performs in aquarium shows but Olivia refused. Even though it was her dream to become of them, she absolutely hates mermaid/merman in generally because mermaid doesn’t swim like a fish does, according to her logically research. Since mermaid have different anatomy, their swim movement is up-and-down, which isn’t the normal side-to-side like fish does. In addition to that, mermaid eats fish, explained her dislike towards becoming one. She understood that it’s normal to pray on one to another in the animal kingdom but she cannot stand the idea of feasting on such pretty shiny thing. ‘I mean people might have evolved enough to even eat gold but not diamond, right?’

It’s not the first time she realized turning into a fish is practically impossible. Despite her fascination of the marine life, she apparently have Thalassophobia, which prevents her from any activities near the open water. It was upsetting to Olivia, having to spend her life in pictures capturing a small part of the vast water part. It’s like try to play puzzles with endless pieces and they all have the same shade of color. No amount of therapy could help her reach the board of the ship, the closest she could ever get is the lightly wet sand shore. Moreover, there’s an unexplainable feeling when she reaches the ocean, she hears it whisper her name in sad serenity. And on a more frightening term, it always seems to seep closer and closer to her.

“Livvy? You’re spacing out again. Come on, we’ll be late for class” she snapped out of her daze, turn to see her friend already finished packing her belongings

Checking her phone, 2:45 and her class started at 3, she needed to hurry.

“Oh I almost forgot. You’ll come to the Jake’s party this evening, right?”

“Beach party? Not so sure, you know how I feel about it”

“It’s just on shore. I’ll be there too. Don’t worry, if anyone tries to drag you near the water then they’ll have to go through me” Janet smirked. Three years in Aikido is enough to take anyone down, not to mention she was a three times champion of the city, as if that isn’t intimidating enough but it ensures Olivia enough to have a good time by the sand.

“But this evening already? I thought it’s on 13th?”

“Today is the 13th, Goldfish. Did you fall head over heel for Jake so far that you forgot to check for the actual date?”

“I might have mistaken a Friday for a Saturday. But that doesn’t make me a goldfish! And goldfish have good memory! The five seconds attention span is a myth!” Olivia exclaimed

“I guess your attention span is probably so filled with Jake that you can only remembered that he has invited you~”

The two kept bickering as they walked each other to class, like all the other days.

  It was around eight when Olivia and Janet arrived at the party, and it sure is a lively one. The torch lit up the area but it was no match to the people’s dancing along the live music band. Sound of chatters mixed with the awry waves of the sea like a symphony. Olivia immediately spotted Jake in the crowd by the barbecue, greeting newcomers and grilled the ribs with his cheerful expression bright like sunlight. Janet could guess what millions thoughts going through her bestie’s mind as she pulled her over to the food court.

“Hey Jake, nice buns you got there. Mind if we have a taste?” Jake laughed wholeheartedly  

“Why I wouldn’t mind you two lovely ladies to have a taste of my delicious buns, of course!” A wink sent towards them as Olivia reddened

“I-I-I brought some cakes from Rosie’s! A-And I think it’s a great party!” Jake took the box from Olivia and gave both of them a small dish

“I love Rosie’s cake! This is great for desert! Thanks Olivia!”

And needless to say, Janet had to play the waitress and lead a very blush female to a table while holding two dish of steak.

“Oh Janet! Did you see him smiling at me? He’s so nice!” Janet have a gulp of soda after settling down and listening to her friend’s love rant.

“Eat your steak Olivia or I’ll help you know how it’s like to be fish”

“Alright, no need to do that. I’m not some toddler, you know” Olivia sulked and cut a piece

Olivia notice a newspaper left next to her seat, seemed like it was today’s news. Curious, she decided to have a look since Janet had went to get a second plate.

“BREAKING NEW:  SUCCESSFULLY FOUND THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE S.S HARVEY INCIDENT

Olivia Breston, eldest daughter of the Breston family and a bright student at Morrington University, was discovered barely breathing and unconscious on floating remains of the unfortunate ship by the fishermen of Devonne port. Lifeboat was sent immediately to revive and take Olivia to the closest hospital. 17h28 of 13th October, we received news …”

‘No way. Olivia… Breston… That’s… that’s my name!? I… I am dead?’

Janet returned back with a joyful meal in hand.

“Man! Jake sure have a knack for cooking! You’re a lucky one, Olivia!” Olivia didn’t respond, still deep in shock “Olivia?”

Olivia handed her the paper. Janet frowned before realization hit her. Surprisingly, she’s quite calm to react.

“So you found out. Any memory came back?”

Olivia shivered, shook her head.

“I survived, did I? So why… am I here? On this day, I was supposed to be found? But no?”

Janet moved next to her, sat down and comforted the confused girl.

“Do you want to know? Truly want to know?”

A silence between made the air thickened before Olivia gave a nod, reluctantly. Janet rubbed her shoulders soothingly.

“What you read is true. You are the only survivor of the S.S Harvey ship, a research ship directed by your father. You accompanied him on a field trip on 19th June when the ship got caught in bad weather, which later escalated into a sea storm. There was no news from the ship until…”

Janet pointed at the date and then at what supposedly to be warehouse, rather than what’s beside it. Needn’t to guess, Olivia could tell what Janet was trying to show her. But it didn’t explain everything that’s happening at the moment.

“I assume you’re wondering what’s happening right now. Care to take a blind guess?” Janet lighted a cig, savored that nicotine taste on the tip of her tongue before let out a wisp of white smoke.

“I died?”

“Eh, close enough. A coma. If you died, you wouldn’t be here to chit chat Livvy”

“Coma? But then, where am I?”

“Well, some might say it’s your subconscious so let just assume that it is. You didn’t die from the incident but drowning left you stranded in your brain, that’s all I could say.” Janet led her to the water. It seeped up close to their feet but it didn’t frighten Olivia no more

“I’m the fish of my own tank” Janet chuckled

“So you do remember”

“Yeah, I just got bits and bits of it. I chose to stay here, because there’s nothing out there for me, no one is waiting for me. At least I achieved my dream here, well, in a way” Olivia stepped back to clean sand, heart ached as she turned to Janet “Because in here I can see the one I held dear”

Janet tossed the burnt butt cig into the cool sand “Old habits die hard. You know, yet you still want to stay?”

“There’s no point going out there. I rather stay here”

“Alright, don’t keep Jake waiting on the dance floor.” Olivia headed back, blushed to the ear “After tonight, it’ll all be a bad dream”

“Wake up anew right?”

“Totally, Goldfish” Olivia’s shadow faded as now only Janet stood alone, water raised above her ankle. The way the ocean surging was unusual than before. There were whispers, cries lingered in the air. Moaned in pain. The thunder struck faraway on the surface warned the upcoming omen.

 “Time’s running out, Olivia”

--- Missielee ---

[gold-and-rubies]

In It For The Long Haul - Chapter 7

Probably a violence warning. Claudia’s POV.

Claudia’s eyes widened as she stepped out into Diamond City. It was completely different from what it had been before the war. Makeshift shacks crowded the field and stands. Smoke drifted from the building building in the center. Children wove between the buildings, as adults went about their business. Although it was strange compared to the past, the life filled stadium was a welcome change compared to the rest of the Commonwealth.

They made their way onto the field. The feelings of safety quickly melted away, and replaced by something more sinister. The children seemed to be fine, but the adults were whispering amongst each other. She caught snippets of “Institute,” “Synth,” and “Replacement.” She had heard these things every now and then from the various people they helped, but it was never anything like this. When she had tried to ask about it she never got any answers. Nothing real anyway.

They stopped between the first two buildings. The one on her left had a giant sign that read “Publick Occurrences.” A girl stood on a small wooden box, shouting about the paper. She stopped, and shrugged her pack off. She dug around in it for a bit before she produced a bag of caps.

She held out the bag to MacCready and said, “Why don’t you do some shopping. Get us some ammo and stuff. I’m going to go talk to that reporter.”

“Why? Are you actually going to do the interview?” he asked.

“Depends on what she wants, and what I can get out of it. I doubt you’ll complain about caps, but I’m hoping she can point us in the right direction for help.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be in the market or the bar if you need me,” he said, taking the bag from her.

“Don’t you think it’s just a little too early to start drinking?”

“They’ve got rooms we can stay in,” he shrugged as he walked away.

She rolled her eyes at his back. Dogmeat looked up at her curiously. She nodded, and he took off after MacCready.

She sighed as she turned towards the girl. The moment she got the girl’s attention, she said, “Free paper to newcomers. If the Institute tries to grab you in the night, at least we warned you.

“Uh, thanks,” Claudia replied, taking the newspaper, “Is… Piper here? She said she wanted to do a story on me.”

“Yeah, she’s inside. Probably hiding from the mayor or security,” she said, and then immediately went back to doing her job. Claudia smiled slightly. She was certainly passionate about the paper.

She walked past the girl and the printing press to the door. She took a deep breath before turning the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust once she stepped inside. Beams of sunlight that made it through small cracks, and a mixture of candles and lamps provided enough light for her to see. It was cramped, but still homey. It vaguely reminded her of cramped apartments from the early 20th century and before. It was nice in its own way.

“Nice for you to stop by, Blue,” Piper said, walking down the stairs from what Claudia assumed was a loft.

“Blue?” Claudia asked.

“You’re a vault dweller aren’t you? You’re not doing a good job of hiding the jumpsuit,” Piper explained.

Claudia’s hand raised to the collar of the suit. It was more out of habit than nerves. Over a month of not wearing a necklace, and her hand still flew to the base of her neck.

“I am, er, I was,” she said.

“Figured,” Piper sighed, “Look, I want an interview. It’s time Diamond City had a little outside perspective. You do that, and I’ll owe you a favor. I’d offer caps, but I gotta look out for Nat.”

“Deal,” Claudia responded. She did not even take a moment to mull over it.

“Good, good. Let me grab something to write everything down on, and we’ll get down to business. Why don’t you take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the couch.

Claudia nodded before sitting down, as Piper headed upstairs. It felt odd to be in the home of someone she did not know well. Part of her regretted not having Dogmeat stay with her.

Piper took two trips down the stairs. The first she carried a chair down. The second she returned with a notebook and pencil.

“Before we start,” she said as she sat down, ��I don’t think I asked what your name is.”

“Claudia-” she sighed before correcting herself, “General Claudia Flynn.”

“General?” Piper asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Minutemen.”

“You’re the one rebuilding them? You seem to be doing a good job so far. You won’t get any arguments from me about how much we need them.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m probably going to have to do a part two,” Piper laughed, “Anyway, Let's start. So, I know you’re from a vault. Was it Vault 81?”

Claudia frowned. She should have guessed that she would ask about the vault. She sighed quietly. She had to stop running from the past. Someone else’s life was on the line, or at least their story was.

“No. I’m from Vault 111.”

Piper’s eyebrows shot up. “Vault 111? I didn’t know there were people in there. It’s the only one in the Commonwealth that hasn’t been explored. What happened? How would you describe your time inside?”

She stared at the wall ahead in an attempt to keep herself calm. She needed all the help she could get. Again she wished Dogmeat was with her, but this time she also MacCready was with her. He was really the only person she completely trusted.

“We barely made it into the vault. We were in shock, and they used that against us. They tricked us into entering these pods. Said they would prepare us for going deeper into the vault. Turns out they were cryostasis pods. They were the rest of the vault for us.”

When she glanced at Piper again, her mouth was hanging open.

“You were alive when the bombs fell? They boxed you all up in a fridge?”

“Yeah.”

Piper leaned back in her chair, “Oh my God. The Woman Out of Time,” she said thoughtfully, “What happened to everyone else? Where are they?”

“Dead.”

Piper’s expression softened, “I’m sorry. I should have known something like that would be the case. You don’t have to answer any more questions about the vault.”

Claudia simply nodded in response.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but what was it like, before the war?” she asked hesitantly.

“Before the war… things were different. There’s the obvious lack of radiation. Disease wasn’t as much of an issue. Neither was murder. But there was a struggle for resources. There was this… malaise. Like you could tell the end was coming. There was a lot of good though. Or at least there was in my life. It’s… complicated. Looking back hurts.”

Piper nodded. “Do you know what the war was about?”

Claudia sighed, “I’m not really sure. I could tell you what the propaganda said it was about. What a lot of the soldiers thought it was about, but what the people actually waging the war knew it was about? My best guess is power and resources.”

“What did the propaganda want you to think?”

“It was about freedom. Protecting our way of life, and all that,” she scoffed as she waved her hand in a dismissive way.

“People were willing to risk their lives for a way of life?” She asked in disbelief.

She simply nodded again.

Piper opened her mouth like she was going to add something, then shook her head as if she was deciding against it. Then she changed the subject, “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the Commonwealth. How exactly does it compare to your old life?”

“The good parts… give me hope. The different farms and settlements show that we can heal, even if it’s slowly. It shows how stubborn we are in the best ways. That people will fight for the right thing. The bad parts on the other hand… the raiders, the gunners… the rampant murders and kidnappings, it’s disgusting. What’s worse is how little is being done about it all.”

“I couldn’t have said it better. The baby you’re looking for, he was kidnapped wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” she said simply. She felt herself relax slightly. It felt better to focus on the task at hand than the past.

“Do you know who kidnapped him? Do you think the Institute is responsible?”

Claudia looked directly at Piper when the word “Institute” hit her ears.

“I keep hearing that word, and everytime I ask about it no one gives me an actual answer. What is it?”

Piper sighed, “That would be the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth. No one really knows who or what they are. Just that they exist. Their handiwork is all over the place. They create synthetic people, or synths, to do their dirty work. Sometimes they even replace people.”

“They make synthetic people?” Claudia asked. She knew how weird and messed up things in the wasteland could be, or at least she thought she did, but this was a whole new territory.

“Yeah, there are two major kinds you have to watch out for,” she explained, “The first is an obvious fake. Skin looks like plastic, glowing eyes, and the robot skeleton may even be visible. They’re the ones who are usually responsible for large amounts of death. Then there’s the ones you can’t tell apart from humans. They’re more… complicated. And I know that the Institute isn’t behind everything that goes wrong, but it’s still a possibility. Do you think they might be involved?”

“I have no idea,” Claudia answered. She was not sure how to feel about this new information. Part of her was already wishing she was eternally confused about the matter.

“No one ever does. That’s what makes them so scary. This baby, do you have any information about him so people can help look for him?”

“Just his name. It’s Shaun. He was kidnapped while we were in the vault… he’s the only other survivor.”

“I understand why you want to find him now. For this last question I want to do something different. I want you to make a statement to Diamond City directly. The threat of kidnappings is pretty much ignored.”

“I noticed,” Claudia grumbled.

“I know. McDonough makes it very clear. Anyway, what would you say to someone who has lost a loved one, but might be too scared, or too numb to the world to look for them?”

Claudia leaned back against the couch while she thought. She answered after a moment, “You have to have hope, no matter what, that you will find them, or at least find out what happened.”

“A strong note to end on, Blue, thanks,” she said as she finished up writing, “That’s everything. It’ll take some time to put this together, but it’ll be worth it, and when you want to cash in that favor, you just let me know.”

“I think I’m going to do that right now,” Claudia said.

“Really, you’re not going to even take some time to think it over?” Piper joked.

“Is there anyone who can help me find the kid?”

“Oh, that’s it? Yeah, I do, I just wasn’t sure whether or not to point you towards him or not. Wanted to make sure you’d be worth his time, since he’s the only one who will help kidnapping victims, and he’s really good too. He’s a friend of mine. I can introduce you if you’d like?” she offered.

“That’d be great.”

“Let me put this stuff away, and we can head over there.”

Claudia nodded as she stood up. She fiddled with the bottom edge of her jacket as she waited. She should have prepared herself better mentally about this. She was not sure why she did not think she would have to talk about the vault this much.

She jumped slightly when Piper returned, and shook her from her thoughts. She followed Piper as she led the way. She could feel the nerves ease slightly, If anything they turned into slight frustration the moment she spotted the neon red sign. “Valentine’s Detective Agency,” it read with a love heart being pierced with an arrow.

Seriously, I have to go to a guy with a sign like this? she thought.

She sighed quietly as she followed Piper inside. The inside looked a lot more professional than the sign outside. It had two desks, several boxes and filing cabinets, and papers and files strewn about. There was a woman in the back sorting through files.

She must have heard them walk in, because before either Piper or Claudia could get a word out she said, “Sorry Piper, I’m afraid you’re too late, the office is closed.”

“Is Nicky not back yet? It’s been two weeks.” Piper asked.

The woman shook her head, “I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

“Maybe I can help,” Claudia interjected, “If you have any information as to where he went, I could go look for him. I’m no detective myself, but saving people is what I do.”

The woman’s face lit up, “Really? In that case, as Piper said he went missing two weeks ago. He was working a case. Skinny Malone’s group had kidnapped a young woman. They’re hiding out in Park Street Station.”

Claudia nodded, “I’ll get him back, you have my word.”

She hadn’t thought she’d have to rescue the person who was supposed to help her save Shaun.

“He should be easy to spot. He’s always wearing that trench coat and hat get up. Please hurry,” she begged.

With that Claudia turned on her heel, and rushed out the door. Unlike Shaun, she knew exactly how long this detective had been missing. Time was of the essence, and she needed to find MacCready and Dogmeat before she left.

She had only taken a few steps away from the door before Piper grabbed her arm.

“Wait, Blue, I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You sure about that? We don’t know exactly what we’re walking into,” Claudia cautioned. She knew Piper was aware of the dangers, and She seemed like she could handle herself in a fight, but that did not stop her from being concerned.

“Nick’s one of the few friends I have. Besides, the more guns you’ve got the safer you’ll be,” she argued.

“Alright, but we have to find my friend first. He’s a good shot, we’ll need him,” Claudia said. There was no way she was leaving MacCready behind.

“I mean to ask about him earlier. Is he a Minuteman? Doesn’t exactly look like what I would expect.”

“No, he’s not. He’s… a friend,” she replied. She did not want to call him a mercenary or gun for hire, even though he was. She felt like it did not do him justice. He was not just some low-life mercenary just in it for the caps. Sure, they were definitely a reason as to why he was there, but at this point she felt like she could also call him her friend.

“Fair enough.”

Claudia weaved between the buildings with Piper behind her. She scanned the market. MacCready was nowhere to be seen.

She turned to Piper, “Is there an inn here?”

“Yeah, there’s the Dugout Inn, why?”

“That’s where he is,” she explained before she started walking again. For once she actually had an idea where she was going in a somewhat unfamiliar place.

She spotted him and Dogmeat just as they were about to go inside.

“MacCready!” she shouted. She winced slightly when she saw him jump a little. She had not meant to scare him.

“Yeah, boss?” he asked. He looked slightly annoyed.

“We gotta go.”

“You already got a lead?” he asked as he walked up to them. He tilted his head slightly towards Piper as if to indicate her as the lead.

“Kinda? I have a lead on who could help.”

“Let me guess, we have to go rescue him?”

Claudia gave him an apologetic smile, “At least we have help for once.” It had been a while since either of them had slept in a proper bed. The last time they had been in Sanctuary neither of them had been able to sleep there.

“Alright, were we headed?” he sighed.

“Park Street Station.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Boss?” he asked nervously, “That’s really close to the Boston Common.”

“What’s wrong with the Boston Common?” she asked. To her it was nothing more than a park.

“When people go there they tend to not come back,” he explained.

Claudia’s eyes widened. She thought back to when she got lost in the city before she stumbled into Goodneighbor. She turned to Piper, and asked, “Do you think that’s why he disappeared?”

Piper shook her head, “Doubt it. It’s probably that gang Ellie mentioned.”

“Who are you, by the way?” he asked suspiciously.

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences. I was going to introduce Claudia here to my friend, so he could help you guys find the kid you’re looking for,” she explained, slightly irritated, “but now, looks like I’m going to help you save him.”

He narrowed his eyes, “As long as you don’t get in our way.”

“Right, because I want to risk my friend’s life.”

“That’s enough,” Claudia interjected, “Mac, did you get extra ammo?”

He glared at her when she called him that, but nodded, and handed over the bullets he bought.

Then she turned to Piper, “You ready to head out?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s go. Time’s of the essence,” she said as she turned to head towards the entrance. This was going to be a long walk there, and back.

Piper took point as they made their way through the city. Dogmeat trotted carefully by her side. Every now and then Claudia would look behind her to see MacCready’s knuckles grow whiter and whiter on his rifle as they got closer to the park. Piper stopped and dropped to a crouch behind a bus across the street from the park. Claudia and MacCready stopped right behind her.

“Any ideas as to how we’re gonna get to the station?” she whispered.

Claudia surveyed the area. She could not see what the issue was. It was a bit eerie, but it was in the same way that the rest of the ruins were. She looked at MacCready. To someone else he would look completely stone faced, determined maybe, but she could see how scared he was. She was worried he was going to break his rifle.

“We’ll stay close to the buildings, and cross the street once we get to the station doors.”

The other two nodded. They slowly crept along the dilapidated buildings towards the entrance. The ground crunched quietly under their feet. Claudia’s ears hurt slightly as she strained to listen to anything out of the ordinary. There were gunshots in the distance, but they were not close enough to worry her. She kept an eye on Dogmeat to watch his reactions. She was amazed at how quiet he was being.

Once they were inside she could practically feel MacCready relax, despite the voices nearby. She looked at him and Piper with a finger to her lips. She drew closer to the door that led from the stairs to the main entrance, switching from her pistol to her shotgun.

The voices did not sound like the typical raiders. She looked around the corner. They were certainly not dressed like typical raiders either. They were wearing different suits, slacks, button ups, and other nicer clothes. Sure, they were all dirty, but the quality was far above a raider. They reminded her of the mob from before the bombs. After spotting a ghoul she wondered if they were the mob.

She listened to them talk a bit longer to figure out a plan. Though they were dressed nicer, they did not seem to be any better than the raiders she had dealt with. She nodded towards MacCready. He immediately took the hint and inched forward to quickly take out a few of the men. He was able to take out two before the others reacted. Claudia and Dogmeat joined the fight before they were able to ready their guns.

“You two don’t mess around. Good thing you’re not on their side,” Piper muttered. She sounded impressed.

No signs of the missing detective were found there, so they went deeper underground. At the bottom of the stairs Claudia peaked around the wall.

“There’s several of them down there. Not quite sure how many. There’s a lot of places to hide. Cover me,” she said quietly.

The other two nodded, and she ran out. They took them completely surprised. Apparently they had not heard the fight that had taken place upstairs. That gave them a good enough edge to take them down quickly.

Claudia checked the bodies as the other two roamed the area looking for clues. When all three came up empty handed they headed down the subway tracks.

Claudia stopped in her tracks when she saw the vault door. She could feel her blood run cold. She was vaguely aware of MacCready shouting at her. The only thing that shook her was the sound of more gunshots. When she came back to the moment there were three more dead bodies on the ground.

“Are you alright, Boss?” MacCready asked. His voice was filled with concern.

She looked at the vault door again before looking back at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

MacCready frowned at her, but did not say anything. She glanced at Piper, who looked concerned as well, before headed to the entrance. She walked up the stairs, and plugged her Pip-Boy to the console, remembering how she and Nora escaped Vault 111. Her hands shook as she pushed the button. She winced as the entrance opened up.

Together, the group fought their way through the vault. Claudia focused on each individual motion and the end goal. She was thankful that this vault was brighter. It was less decrepit. Lived in.

They moved quickly through the vault until Claudia heard a voice echo through the vault.

“How you doin’ in there Valentine? Feeling hungry? Need a snack?” said the voice.

Claudia motioned to the others to stop. She peaked around the corner of the door frame. On the other side was the vault’s atrium. On the third level was a man standing in front of a round window. Claudia assumed the detective was on the other side.

“Keep talking meathead. You’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s going to bump you off,” Valentine responded. He sounded like a stereotypical film noir detective.

“That’s him,” Piper whispered.

Claudia turned to MacCready, “There’s a guy standing guard. Should be easy to take out.”

MacCready nodded, and traded places with her. He lifted his scope up to his eye. There was an agonizing silence as they waited for him to take the shot. The moment the gunshot sounded, they were on the move.

Claudia sprinted up to where Valentine was being locked up. The others were close behind her. She stopped so suddenly when she came to the window that Piper almost crashed into her. Staring back at her was a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

“Piper, is that you?” he asked.

“Yeah, Nick. We’re here to get you out of here,” she responded as she used the terminal on the wall to open the door.

Claudia nodded at MacCready in a way to tell him to keep watch while she went in with Piper. Her eyes widened when she saw all of the Detective. His voice certainly matched his clothes. He wore a patched trench coat, a beaten up fedora, and nice clothes underneath. The clothes were exactly as Ellie said, but his face and body were a perfect match for how Piper had described a synth. Along with the glowing eyes, he had plastic skin that was falling off. He was missing huge patches missing on the left side of his face, and his entire right hand, exposing the metal underneath.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. Question is, why did our heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?” he asked, lighting a cigarette in the process.

It took Claudia a moment to respond. Things had taken a hard, bizarre turn that she was not ready for. After all the whispers and fears, she had not been prepared to ask a synth for help, but if he was allowed to live in Diamond City, and if he was as great of a detective as everyone said, she was willing to ask for his help.

“A baby was kidnapped. I need help finding him,” she said simply.

“Well you came to the right man, if not the right place. I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn’t kidnapped. She’s Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak. Anyway, you’ve got troubles, and I’m glad to help, but now ain’t the time. Let’s blow this joint. Then we’ll talk.”

“Fine with me,” she said and followed him out of the room.

She had only taken a few steps out of the room before MacCready caught her by her elbow.

“You sure this is a good idea, Boss? He’s literally falling apart,” he asked quietly. She had a feeling that was not the only reason he was asking.

She sighed, “Trust me, I know, but it’s not like we have any other options.”

“Let’s just hope this doesn’t come back to bite us in the butt,” he muttered as they followed Nick and Piper down the stairs.

[redhatmeg]

RedHatMeg’s crazy Ralph and Sue theories

I’m rewatching The Girl Named Sue (for research) and I’ve noticed few things:

1. When Sue is in Ralph’s office and they’re talking about her situation with Loring, she starts to walk slowly around the place. For a moment she looks at something and she makes a weird face. First:

And then:

And right after she gives this smile, she turns to Ralph and in the very next scene we see that she was looking at Ralph’s corckboard with clues on her case.

It kind of looks to me that she was actually impressed by Ralph’s work. The way she’s gazing at it from up to down and then smiles at it, might suggest that she thinks it’s kind of amazing what he managed to find out.

2. When Sue and Ralph go into Loring’s warehouse and then start a mini-fight about whenever Sue should come with Ralph to get the evidance, he says that she “is a MIT grad, speaks six langauges and plays polo”; that she “belongs to country club, not in the field”. Now, when one looks at the beginning of the episode, there are some newspaper clippings and pictures of Sue on Ralph’s corckboard - pictures with her as a wealthy socialite and a really sophisticated person. Later, much, much later, Cecile will look at Sue and Ralph and say: “And you are her knight in shinning armor!”

And maybe, on some deep level, Ralph does think of himself as a knight; and of Sue as a damsel in distress. She’s a lady in trouble, a high class woman with taste and superb intellect (again, an MIT graduate with six languages) tangled in the gangster mess. She has a whole world before her and obviously is going places. Ralph thinks of her as someone who shouldn’t be around criminals.

This, obviously, infuriates Sue, not only because she doesn’t want to be treated like a damsel, but also because she thinks Ralph considers her as just a spoiled socialite who shouldn’t dirt her hands. She kinda exploits Ralph’s perception of her as a girl in trouble, but she also let’s him know that she’s not as delicate as he thinks of her.

3. Once they’re in Jitters and Ralph convinces Sue to work with him on the case, they start to discuss their possible plan to infiltrate Loring. Ralph instantly makes up few ideas on how to get to Loring’s tightly guarded place... which earns him Sue’s remark: “You are slick.” and this smile:

Now, one may think that this smile might be part of Sue’s game, but right after she gives him this look, Cecile enters in. She comes to them, looks at Sue and immediately senses something.

When Ralph takes her aside, she says (after the “knight” comment): “By the way, you two... hmm... I’ve read the both of you with my powers, I could barely tell you apart. Emotionally speaking, you and Sue were definately serfing the same wave.”

People are wondering why Cecile didn’t sense Sue’s deception earlier, but I think that she stumbled upon the moment when Sue wasn’t deceiving Ralph. They really did “serf on the same wave”. During their discussion of their plan, there was a moment when they were in sync. They were great minds that think alike, if you will. Sue wasn’t faking her feelings in that very moment. Especially because it seemed that in Sue’s mind, Ralph moved from “the guy who thinks I’m a damsel in distress” to “a potential partner who treats me as equal”.

And since Cecile doesn’t interact with Sue any time later in the episode (and is a hopeless romantic), she doesn’t have an opportunity to sense Sue’s feelings in a different, more “calm” moment.

4. And then, when they broke in to Loring’s base and found the key to a safebox, Sue learns that Ralph Dibny is the superhero Elongated Man. This is a surprising turn of events, and she probably was thinking about how to include this new factor into her plan. At the same time, she sees a different side of Ralph. She knew from earlier that he was a detective, she later learned that he was actually a pretty smart detective... but him being Elongated Man changed few things.

First, now he’s not just a detective, he’s a superhero. And he trusted her with this secret, because he was saving her from potential danger. All throughout this case he did everything protect her... even revealing his superhero identity to her.

Then there is this conversation they share after returning to the office. The way Ralph talks about loving his superhero job maybe made Sue look at him in different light - he’s not a guy who sees her as a damsel in distress, but as a yet another person he wants to help. He also wants to do things in a lawful way and - assuming Sue made a research on him and learned about his fall from grace - it probably made an impression on Sue that he’s now more idealistic than back then.

Sue seems to feel sad, hearing Ralph’s fake backstory that implied he gained his powers through pain; and while saying: “Look, I want you to know that I really appreciate what you’re doing”, she seems genuine. Maybe, in this very moment she really is, even though, she also plans to use Ralph’s newfound idealism and superpowers to her advantage and later leave him be.

5. She’s probably sincere also when she says: “I’m not a hero. So this is the only chance to see my parents again.” Considering that she’s investigating Black Hole, she’s ready to do anything to expose them and destroy them, but she has to be on the run, untracable, because if they find her, they can target her parents and everybody she holds dear. She doesn’t think of herself as a hero, she’s a thief that works alone. But now she works with someone. She has more chance with him by her side, but she plans to leave him.

So let’s look at Sue’s betrayal of Ralph through this perspective:

Up to this point she played a lost girl on the run to make Ralph sympathetic towards her and make him help her find the diamond. Now she plays a cat burglar who’s just here for Loring’s valuables. She also uses blackmail to not be exposed by Ralph as a “common thief”. But, thanks to her last scene in the episode, we know she’s not a common thief. She’s conducting her own little investigation. For now, we don’t know why, but it seems to be connected with Black Hole. Ultraviolet seems to know Sue, so they probably encountered each other when Sue was breaking in to Black Hole’s facilities while conducting her own investigation.

6. Notice that when Ralph’s gets injured by Ultraviolet while shielding the bank director, Sue stands up and begins a fight with the assassin. Loring says later that Ultraviolet “softened [Elongated Man] up” and prepares to shoot Ralph. So it’s good to assume that - seeing Ralph helpless - Sue stepped in to take Ultraviolet’s attention away from him. She later turns it back to him by handing him over the empty diamond case, but the fight between the two women lasted for quite some time. Maybe Sue knew that cavalry is on its way (after all, there are other superheroes in this city too), so she decided to stall until they come to Ralph’s rescue.

In conclusion:

There are times throughout this episode when Sue isn’t faking her emotions towards Ralph. There are times when she really is impressed by his detective skills; when she and Ralph “serf on the same waves”; when she feels sad for him and is grateful for what he’s done for her; and when she cares.

Right now Ralph is heartbroken and distrasful of her. Only time will tell how they will go from this to their future relationship.

[artificialqueens]

Overpowered Part 3 (Branjie)-athena2

A/N: Thank you all for the great feedback on Chapter 2! This chapter is a little angsty, but I hope you like it! Any feedback you have would be amazing, it really means a lot to me. ***This chapter has a mild panic attack, implied abuse, and discussion of medication.*** I also made some Brooke and Vanessa moodboards for this fic! Find them on my tumblr @buffywhovianpotterlock.

I’m surprised you’re still functioning.

We made the drugs that made you.

Precious little Frost.

She throws the weighted blanket off with a sigh, Vanessa following. “Can’t sleep either?”

Brooke shakes her head.

“I want to read it now.” She’s been tossing and turning since she told Vanessa she was ready, and she’s ready now. She has to know. She digs through her dresser.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. You’ll do it with me? Please?”

Brooke can lift a car over her head, but nothing could ever be heavier than this folder.

“Of course.” They drop down at the kitchen table.

Brooke has been picturing this moment since she asked Nina for advice, the older woman’s voice filling her head.

The file might give you some closure. But, given what happened last time, it’s likely it could cause another flashback. We could look at it here, or you can do it on your own if you’d like, but be aware you might respond negatively.

It’s what she figured Nina would say, an answer that wasn’t really an answer.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? Promise?” Vanessa asks, grabbing her hand.

“Promise.”

Her free hand flips the folder open. The vaguely familiar words burn her eyes as she wades through medical terms of the injuries from the plane crash last March. A broken leg, broken arm, 3 broken ribs, collapsed lung, internal bleeding, and several cuts to her body. Does she feel the pain from those broken bones now, or is she imagining it? She touches the thick white scar on her chest absently.

She suddenly remembers a drainage tube between her ribs (she has a small scar there too) and the long scar down her chest, and white tabs stuck to her skin, connected to monitors that beeped piercingly, and pain like someone had carved her chest open and pieced it together with Scotch tape. Then the doctor put something in her IV, and it all went black.

“You good?”

Brooke jumps. She’d forgotten Vanessa was there. “Yeah. So far it’s just what happened after the crash.”

Subject name removed from flight list. No survivors. Flight list not released, subject will be presumed dead if any inquiries. Subject’s public records here (pgs 2-8), scrubbed from databases.

She turns the page. Scans of her birth certificate and driver’s license. She’s Canadian? A fight between her and Vanjie runs through her head, Vanjie grinning and teasing her for saying “soar-y”.

Newspaper clippings. Maybe there’s something about her before, or her family— she hits two obituaries. Her parents. She can’t read the rest. She just can’t.

Brooke should feel something, she knows she should. But she can’t remember. Nothing at all, not even a flash. It’s just an empty space inside her where she knows the memories should be.

She moves on hastily. Hytes New Co-Director of Toronto Ballet Company. She remembers the feeling of her feet in ballet shoes, but co-director?

The clippings are ghosts of her old life and she can’t take the haunting anymore. Brooke moves to lists of dates, starting when they took her and continuing until this summer. Her dosages, her exams, her training, her missions. The first rows cover her progress healing and responding to the drugs. Drugs that the two men she met hours ago had made for her and countless others. Her stomach twists painfully and she jumps ahead.

5/30/2018: Subject at healthy weight, physically approved to begin training. 10% accuracy with ice blasts.

Brooke remembers the row of bright red targets. His voice thunders in her ears. “You have until October to get half those targets.” It’s a command.

8/13/2018: Subject having nightmares, inquiring about old life. Subject sedated, given 100mg dosage in IV overnight. Had no memory of asking questions after waking.

She skips over training logs, punishments, and medical data. It’s like reading about someone else. She has vague images of the events, but they’re getting stronger and clearer as she reads.

 10/1/2018: Subject achieved 65% target accuracy, no punishment required.

“Maybe that’s enough.”

“I’m f-fine.”

11/19/2018: Training complete. 100% accuracy, blast strength increased. Dosage (10mg) steady and effective. Subject compliant and approved for field missions.

It’s all here. Labs she’d broken into. Weapons and technology she’d stolen. Every injury, every new drug sample. Records of fights with Black Diamond, with Shuga Rush, with–her heart skips a beat–Vanjie.

And the last one. The very last one before Vanessa saved her and took her away from them.

7/7/2019: Vitals steady. Subject compliant. Dosage to remain doubled until further notice.

“Brooke?” She can hardly hear Vanessa.

“These are all the bad things I did. ”

“Baby, no. Those things weren’t you.”

She shakes her head, heart straining her chest.

“You want to make us proud on your first mission, don’t you?”

She nods.

“Remember, if you fail, that’s bad. You know what happens when you’re bad.”

“I won’t fail, General.”

“Brooke!”

Her lungs are on fire, burning all her air. 5 things she can see.

She sees the kitchen wall across from her but it’s tilted–Vanessa is holding her tightly, stopping her from falling off the chair she’s half-out of. She pulls herself upright, eyes absorbing the wooden table as her breathing slows.

“Are you okay?” Vanessa tenderly brushes sweaty hair off Brooke’s forehead.

“Y-Yeah.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“So do you,” Brooke says quietly. All Vanessa does is take care of her, worry about her, and Brooke knows she hasn’t done enough to help, especially with the vision. Vanessa’s been through bad shit like her and is suffering in ways Brooke can’t imagine, but she’s always so strong, iron forged in fire–

“Less thinking, more sleeping,” Vanessa insists, leading Brooke to bed.

Their bodies intertwine under the blankets, but neither sleeps. —

“Brooke, come here!” Vanessa yells around a mouthful of pumpkin brownie, tapping on the window.

On the street below, a sea of kids in bright colors weave in and out of pumpkins and decorations. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to look at, until-

“Are they…”

Vanessa nods.

Two little girls head down the sidewalk. One wears a red suit with a V on the chest, the other in familiar royal blue, and she can just see the neon F.

“We’re legit heroes now, baby,” Vanessa grins, but her tears mirror Brooke’s own.

Their lips meet and Vanessa tastes like chocolate.

She thinks it’s the first time they’ve both forgotten about the vision. —

There’s been small earthquakes and electrical damage around the city, but no sightings of Quake or Shockwave.

Their nights are spent tackling common criminals beneath an inky sky.

She watches Vanjie scream at robbers and would-be murderers while desperately beating the crap out of them like it’s the only thing reminding her she’s still alive. The only thing keeping her alive.

Vanessa is suffering but Brooke has no idea how to help.

It’s like watching someone drown but being unable to save them.

Vanessa isn’t eating. Her eyes are rimmed with shadows. Her skin is painted purple and blue from all the fighting.

She doesn’t want to talk about it, and Brooke doesn’t want to force her.

Vanessa is close to breaking, and as much as Brooke wants to shatter, she can’t.

Sometimes she can’t even look at Vanessa without wanting to cry because she may never see her again.

Brooke’s heart is made of glass, but she needs to let it ice over before Vanessa burns herself out.

Because even though they have time, Brooke feels like she’s losing Vanessa already. —

It’s probably a stupid idea, but it has A’Keria’s blessing, so there’s hope.

Brooke works while Vanessa showers. She moves chairs and couch cushions and blankets until she has a sturdy blanket fort. She arranges fluffy pillows underneath, lays out the potato-chip cookies she’d made, and gets The Notebook set up.

Brooke is waiting when she emerges from the bathroom in her pajamas. “I have a surprise,” she says, covering Vanessa’s eyes. “Sorry about the cold hands.”

“I’m used to it. And there better not be any haunted house shit in here. Halloween’s over.”

“Nothing scary, I promise.” She removes her hands and watches Vanessa’s eyes get big, Brooke’s heart growing with them.

“Brooke.” Her hand goes to her mouth. “How did you…A’Keria,” she answers herself as she slides under the fort. “Damn. I love you so much. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Brooke says as she nestles beside her. “So, um, I wanted to ask how you’re doing? Be honest.”

Vanessa shrugs and stares at the cookies. Brooke’s never seen her at such a loss for words. “I…I don’t know. I’m pissed–not at Yvie, it’s not her fault–but at everything, I guess, and I’m confused and sad and really fucking tired of it all, honestly.”

Brooke nods. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But if you want to talk-”

“I know you want to help, but I don’t want to talk. Please.” Her voice gets small and Brooke’s heart aches for her. “I usually love screaming about my problems and feelings and shit, and I know everyone thinks it’ll help to talk about it, but I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “I just want to watch this movie and have you hold me.”

“Of course.” She presses play as Vanessa curls into her side, Brooke’s arms steadying around her, feeling how tense she is.

It didn’t go quite as she planned, but Vanessa falls asleep with a smile on her face, so it wasn’t a total failure. —

“You seem a little distracted. Anything you want to talk about?” Nina’s voice drips with concern and Brooke wants to tell her. She should tell her.

She shrugs, fingers digging into the squeeze ball.

“Anything at all?”

“Meds,” Brooke mumbles, finally bringing them up like she’d told Vanessa she would a month ago.

“Something in particular about them?”

Another shrug.

“Can you give me a little something to go on?” Nina asks gently.

“I think I want to take them,” Brooke says eventually, eyes on her lap.

If Nina is surprised, she hides it well. “Okay. Did something happen that caused you to want them? You seem a little hesitant, and I want to make sure you’re confident and comfortable before I prescribe anything.”

She’s about to shrug again when she can’t keep it quiet anymore. “I…I’m just sick of it! I’m sick of sweating in the grocery store and thinking I’m gonna have a heart attack when I leave the house! I’m sick of the panic attacks and the headaches and not sleeping and I…” The outburst quickly drains her and her next words are a whisper. “I just want to be better.”

Nina is quiet.

“I’m s–I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling.” Nina pauses. “Brooke, I’m so incredibly proud of you. I want to say that first because I think you need to hear it.”

Tears spring in Brooke’s eyes. Nina was proud of her.

“I understand why you’re upset, and why you’re scared. Anyone would be after what you’ve been through. But if you feel ready, I do think medication would help you.”

“But if I…” Her voice trembles as she releases a fear she hasn’t even told Vanessa. “If I take them, doesn’t it mean I’m not good enough? That I’m weak?”

“Oh, Brooke,” Nina says softly, and her eyes look slightly damp. “Not at all. You’re doing so well. There’s absolutely no shame in needing help. Asking for help and taking medication shows how strong you are, how hard you’re working to get better.”

Nina passes her the tissues and Brooke no longer hides her tears. “I’m ready,” she confirms.

Nina smiles. “There’s one more thing I want you to try.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow.

“I want you to try not to apologize when you’re here.”

Nina might as well have asked her to pilot a rocketship.

“I know it’s a lot, and I don’t expect you to do it immediately,” Nina amends at Brooke’s bewildered expression. “It’s just something I want you to try.”

Brooke nods.

“And Happy Thanksgiving!” Nina crows. —

She and Vanessa wake at sunrise.

“Please tell me you don’t play Monopoly on Thanksgiving,” Brooke begs as they season the turkey.

“Oh no, that’s for birthdays only.”

“Thank God.”

“On Thanksgiving and Christmas we do bingo.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Mmm, you haven’t played with Silk. The bitch uses six cards. She used to keep a marker in her pocket and change the numbers. And she has to call out the numbers herself because she doesn’t trust us.”

“So I guess I’ll hide the valuables?”

Vanessa laughs and kisses her cheek.

Brooke knows what she’s thankful for. —

Silk barges in an hour early presenting her sweet potato casserole like it’s made of gold.

“Thank God we got Brooke to make the pies. Last year A’Keria was in her health-food phase and tried to poison us with low-fat nonsense,” Silk grumbles. “I almost wasted away.”

“And she brought that green shit white people love,” Vanessa adds.

“Kale?” Brooke guesses.

“That’s it.”

“She better not mess with my mashed potatoes. Last year she put cauliflower in them. Says you can’t taste the difference. Believe me,” Silk pats her chest proudly, “I can taste it.” —

“Everything good here?” A’Keria checks, glancing at the food covering every inch of counter surface.

“Yeah, I just hope Scarlet and Yvie like it.”

“Girl, you could go on the Food Network,” she declares, pointing to the pie-crust leaves on top of the pumpkin pie. “Everyone’s gonna love it.” A’Keria pats her arm in reassurance and the calm runs through her immediately. Brooke smiles in thanks, and A’Keria winks. —

“A’Keria, these potatoes are so good. What the hell is in them?” Yvie asks and Silk nods with her mouth full of them.

“Just butter and cream.” She pauses, grinning devilishly at Silk. “And cauliflower.”

Silk almost chokes. “You lying hoe!” She grabs a serving spoon and chases A’Keria around the table while the rest of them roar with laughter.

Brooke catches Vanessa’s eye, and she knows they’re thinking the same thing: Please don’t ever let this end. —

After a 2-hour bingo game resulting in 3 ripped cards, 2 spilled cups of coffee, one marker hurled out the window, Yvie flinging whipped cream in Scarlet’s hair, Silk almost swallowing a bingo ball, Brooke launching walnut shells like missiles, and Vanessa’s pumpkin pie fork nearly taking out A’Keria’s eye, everyone heads home.

“Brooke, I almost forgot,” Silk says as she leaves. “That Plastique girl? I found her.” —

She bounces her leg in her and Vanessa’s favorite coffee shop, because Nina had suggested they go somewhere she felt comfortable.

“You okay?” Vanessa asks. Brooke felt fine doing this without Nina, but there’s no way she’s doing it without Vanessa, even though Brooke feels guilty for dragging her along to something about her when they could be focusing on Vanessa.

“Yeah. It’s…she knew me before, you know? Not me now. And I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even know who I used to be.”

“Well, maybe you can’t focus on who you were. Because you are who you are now, and you don’t need to be anyone else. And for the record, I like who you are now a whole lot,” Vanessa bats her eyelashes and Brooke feels warmth spread through her.

Plastique looks exactly like she did in Brooke’s dreams–long black hair and a face so delicate it could be a doll’s.

She bursts into tears when she sees Brooke, touching her arm like she can’t believe she’s real. Which she probably can’t, Brooke realizes. She thought I was dead.

She gives Plastique the Silk-approved story: Brooke survived the plane crash with severe memory loss, met Vanessa, and has been trying to regain her memory. It’s not a total lie, but Brooke still sweats as she tells it, even though Plastique believes it and cries again halfway through.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you. They said no one survived and I never thought…”

“Of course you didn’t. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Brooke, it’s my fault you were on the plane,” Plastique says suddenly, voice thick.

“What do you mean?”

“I was supposed to be on it, but there was a mix-up and there wasn’t enough seats, so I was gonna take a later flight. You wanted to stay with me, but I told you to go…”

For just a second, Brooke considers how easy it would be. To blame Plastique, to have someone to hate for putting her on that plane and in the lab’s hands. But she can’t. It’s not Plastique’s fault, just like it’s not her fault. Nina always tells her it’s no one’s fault but the lab’s, and it’s never felt as true as it does now.

“No,” Brooke says firmly. “Nina–she’s my psychiatrist–she told me if you wouldn’t blame someone else for something, you shouldn’t blame yourself for it either. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you,” Brooke’s voice is fierce as she grips Plastique’s hand.

Plastique nods, wiping her tears.

Plastique had been an intern at the ballet company that Brooke was co-director of. Brooke had danced professionally with the same company for 6 years. She was leaving on her first tour as co-director when the plane went down.

Vanessa’s eyes silently ask if she remembers any of this. She remembers twirling across a stage, costumes light against her skin. She remembers feeling free.

Plastique pulls out her phone. “Here’s a picture of you when you danced.”

Brooke sees herself on the screen but can’t quite believe it’s her. She’s in white from her tiara to her pointe shoes, lacey costume on her lean body, hair pulled into a bun. She looks confident, so far from the Brooke who flinches at loud noises and stutters when ordering food that they’re hardly the same person.

“I’m loving this short hair on you, girl. You cut it right before the tour. I’m glad you kept it,” Plastique says.

Brooke’s never thought about it. It was short when she woke up at the lab, and they had kept it like that so it wasn’t in the way for her training or their medical exams. She likes it short and A’Keria trims it for her.

They talk for another hour, and Plastique promises to keep in touch.

Brooke is quiet on the way home, her mind buzzing.

“You alright?” Vanessa asks. “That was probably a lot, huh?”

She nods. She doesn’t know if she should miss the Brooke in that picture when she doesn’t really know that person. She doesn’t know if she should try to be more like that Brooke.

She thinks of what Vanessa said. Maybe it’s not about who she was. Maybe she doesn’t need to be anyone else.

Just being herself is enough. —

The last day of November dawns unusually bright.

Brooke stands over the sink with a pill in her hand. She looks out the window and her stomach drops, pill slipping through her fingers.

She feels the urge to run outside, let the flakes melt on her tongue, let the cold steal her breath and freeze her cheeks.

But she doesn’t.

Because it’s the first snowfall of the season, and they’re running out of time.