#joseph (company series)

[yourspeirs]

[lexalexie]

band of brothers || the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead.

[pookielious]

I do really wish leibgotts whole barber 'job' was mentioned/showed outside of that one scene in the beginning

[fishfingersandscarves]

my company series reread continues apace with sky coyote

[hiitsm]

Transient Connection: A Meeting of Worlds

Part 2.

You meet a beautiful woman at your workplace, who isn't a professional actress like you.

Fluff

Note: I'm not very well-versed in the acting world, so it's not described in great detail.

Request here

-

Transient Connection: A Meeting of Worlds Series

-

As you and Alexia make your way to the set, you can't shake the feeling of anticipation mixed with a hint of nervousness. The connection you felt with her during your impromptu dance was undeniable, and you hope it translates well into your scene together.

The set is a picturesque stretch of beach, with the sun setting in the background, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The director, a tall, energetic woman named Lisa, greets you both with a wide smile.

"Alright, ladies, this is a simple scene. It's all about natural chemistry and conversation. Just be yourselves, and remember, less is more," Lisa explains, her hands gesturing animatedly.

You and Alexia nod in understanding, taking your positions on the sand. The scene is supposed to be an intimate conversation between two strangers who find solace in each other's company at the end of a long day. It's a pivotal moment in the movie, meant to showcase vulnerability and genuine connection.

"Action!" Lisa calls out, and you both start the scene.

You look at Alexia, and for a moment, you forget the lines you had memorized. Her eyes, still shimmering from your earlier encounter, draw you in. You remember the dialogue and begin.

"You know, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than to people we know," you say, your voice soft and contemplative.

Alexia nods, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Sí, strangers don't have expectations. They don't judge."

You pause, letting the gentle sound of the waves fill the silence. "But sometimes, talking to a stranger can feel like finding a kindred spirit."

Alexia turns to you, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Like meeting someone who understands a part of you that others don't."

The conversation flows naturally, your characters' lines blending seamlessly with your own thoughts and feelings. You feel the connection deepening with each word, the vulnerability you both share palpable.

"I think everyone needs someone like that," you say, your eyes meeting hers. "Someone who can see them for who they really are."

Alexia's smile widens, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the setting sun. "It's rare to find, but when you do, it's worth holding onto."

The director, Lisa, watches from a distance, a satisfied smile on her face. She can see the authenticity in your performance, the real emotions shining through.

As the scene progresses, you feel a sense of ease, as if you and Alexia are the only two people on the beach. The script fades into the background, and you find yourselves speaking from the heart.

"Maybe that's what this moment is," you say softly. "A chance to be real, to connect without any pretenses."

Alexia nods, her expression serious. "Maybe it is. And maybe, it's a moment we'll both remember."

The scene ends with a shared look of understanding, a silent promise of more to come. Lisa calls cut, and the crew erupts into applause, impressed by the genuine connection they witnessed.

"You two were amazing," Lisa says, walking over to you both. "The chemistry was perfect. It felt so real."

You glance at Alexia, a shy smile on your face. "Thank you. It felt real to us too."

Alexia nods in agreement, her eyes twinkling with a mix of relief and joy. "Gracias. It was… special."

As the applause dies down and the crew begins to pack up, you and Alexia exchange a look filled with unspoken words. The connection you felt during the scene lingers in the air, almost tangible. However, the reality of the situation quickly sets in as Joseph approaches.

"Great job, Alexia," Joseph says, a hint of urgency in his voice. "But we need to get going. The plane is waiting, and you have an important match to prepare for."

Alexia's expression shifts from joy to reluctant acceptance. "Sí, I know," she replies, turning to you with a wistful smile. "Duty calls."

You nod, understanding the demands of her career but feeling a pang of disappointment. "It was amazing working with you, Alexia. I hope our paths cross again."

"Me too," she says softly. "Maybe next time, we won't be so rushed."

Joseph checks his watch, his impatience growing. "We really need to go, Alexia."

"Right," she says, taking a step closer to you. "Thank you for everything today. You made it… special."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Likewise, Alexia. Good luck with your match. I'll be rooting for you."

She grins, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "Gracias. It means a lot."

With a final, lingering glance, Alexia turns and follows Joseph towards the waiting car. You watch her go, the sense of longing returning. But you also feel a sense of hope, a belief that this isn't the end of your story with Alexia.

Valentina walks over, a knowing smile on her face. "She likes you, you know."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "We barely know each other."

"Sometimes, that's all it takes," Valentina says with a shrug. "But for now, let's wrap things up here. You've got a big day tomorrow."

As you help the crew finish packing up, your thoughts keep drifting back to Alexia. You replay the moments on the beach, her laughter, and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. The connection you felt is undeniable, and you can't help but hope for another chance to explore it.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, you check your social media. To your delight, you see a new post from Alexia. It's a picture of the sunset from earlier, accompanied only by a single heart emoji. You instantly recognize the photo, you took it for her. Seeing it there, shared with such simplicity, makes your heart flutter. You know exactly what it represents, and it stirs a mix of emotions within you, hope, connection, and an undeniable sense of something special just beginning.

You stare at the image for a long moment, a smile playing on your lips. The fact that she posted it, even without words, speaks volumes. It’s a silent acknowledgment of the bond you felt today, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something wonderful.

Feeling a warmth spread through you, you double-tap the photo, leaving a discreet like, hoping she sees it and understands that you felt it too.

Several weeks later, you find yourself with a small break in your hectic schedule. After the whirlwind of filming, promotions, and interviews, the idea of escaping to Barcelona feels like a breath of fresh air. You've always loved the city, its vibrant culture, and beautiful architecture. More importantly, it's where Alexia lives, and the thought of possibly seeing her again makes your heart race.

Despite your excitement, there's also a nagging nervousness. You and Alexia had exchanged only a few messages after the shoot, mostly polite and friendly, but nothing deep. The connection you felt on the beach still lingers in your mind, but you're unsure if she felt it as strongly as you did. You've been contemplating whether to message her and let her know you're in her city, but the fear of making the first move holds you back.

Settling into your hotel room, you unpack your bags and take a moment to relax. The memory of your brief but memorable encounter with Alexia lingers, and you wonder what she's been up to. Your thoughts drift back to the sunset photo she posted, and the connection you felt.

Taking a deep breath, you open your social media app and navigate to Alexia's profile. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers hovering over the message button. It's been a few weeks since you last saw her, and although you've thought about reaching out, you haven't had the courage to do so.

Gathering your resolve, you start typing a message:

"Hey Alexia! I'm in Barcelona for a few days and was wondering if you'd like to catch up. Would be great to see you again if you're free. 😊"

You read the message over a few times, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. Finally, you hit send, and the message is on its way. The next few minutes feel like hours as you wait for a response, your mind racing with possibilities.

A notification pops up on your screen. It's a message from Alexia.

"Hey! That's amazing, welcome to my city! I'd love to catch up. How about we meet for coffee tomorrow? ☕"

After setting a time and place to meet with Alexia for coffee, you decide to take a leisurely stroll through a nearby park. The evening air is crisp and filled with the aroma of blooming flowers, adding to the sense of anticipation bubbling inside you.

As you walk, you find yourself lost in thought, replaying the upcoming reunion in your mind. You can't help but smile as you imagine catching up with Alexia, wondering how the conversation will flow now that you have the chance to talk without the distractions of a film set.

Finding a cozy spot at a café in the park, you order a coffee and settle in. Pulling out your phone to check the time, you become engrossed in a message from a friend when suddenly, you feel a slight bump and hear a soft apology.

Looking up, you're surprised to see Alexia standing before you, a small Pomeranian dog on a leash beside her. She looks equally surprised, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Hey! I was just…" you start to say, but your voice trails off as you realize she's on a phone call. You catch snippets of the conversation as she continues speaking in Spanish.

"… sí, mañana," Alexia says with a grin, clearly excited about something. "Sí, creo que sí. Gracias, María. Nos vemos mañana. Intentaré invitarla a salir. Adiós María, que tengas una buena tarde. Hablaremos pronto, sí, te avisaré cómo fue, sí, es mañana. ¡Adiós!"

"Hey!" Alexia exclaims with a slight blush when she put her phone away, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. She quickly composes herself, flashing you a warm smile. Her small Pomeranian dog, Nala, wags her tail happily at your feet.

"I was just… talking to my friend María," Alexia explains, her cheeks still tinged with a hint of shyness. "She was… uh, teasing me about something."

You chuckle softly, feeling a rush of relief that she's just as flustered as you are. "Sounds like an interesting conversation," you reply, trying to ease the awkwardness.

Alexia nods, regaining her composure. "Yeah, she's… Maria always has a way of getting straight to the point," she says, her smile returning. "But I'm glad I ran into you tonight. I was actually hoping I'd see you."

"Really?" you ask, pleasantly surprised by her admission.

"Yeah," Alexia admits with a sheepish grin. "I mean, I wasn't sure how to reach out after our last chat. And here we are, bumping into each other."

You smile back, feeling a surge of happiness at her candidness. "Well, I'm glad we did," you say sincerely. "It's nice to see you again."

Alexia nods, her gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Would you like to take a walk together?" she asks, nodding towards Nala. "Nala could use some more exercise, and I'd love the company."

As you walk together through the tranquil park, Alexia shares stories about Nala's antics and her favorite spots in Barcelona. The conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and shared interests that make the time pass too quickly.

As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm orange glow over the park, Alexia suggests heading towards your hotel.

"Let me walk you there," she offers with a gentle smile. "It's getting late, and I want to make sure you get back safely."

You agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation as you walk side by side. When you arrive at your hotel, Alexia looks around, taking in the quiet street and the dimming light of the sunset.

"This is my stop," you say softly, gesturing towards the entrance. "Thank you for walking with me."

Alexia's gaze lingers on yours, her expression softening with a mixture of fondness and something more. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

Standing there, the air thick with unspoken desire, Alexia takes a small step closer. The intensity in her eyes draws you in, and without a word, she leans in slowly. Her lips meet yours in the gentlest of kisses, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

Time seems to stand still as you melt into each other, the world around you fading into insignificance. Alexia's touch is tender yet filled with longing, her lips soft against yours.

When she pulls back, a blush colors her cheeks, and she chuckles softly. "I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you again," she admits, her voice husky with emotion.

You smile, your heart racing with happiness and anticipation. "I'm glad you did," you reply softly, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers. Leaning in for another kiss.

"So, this means that we are still on for coffee tomorrow?"

[collapsedsquid]

“What I’m really calling for is something like tech Zionism,” he said, after comparing his movement to those started by the biblical Abraham, Jesus Christ, Joseph Smith (founder of Mormonism), Theodor Herzl (���spiritual father” of the state of Israel), and Lee Kuan Yew (former authoritarian ruler of Singapore). Balaji then revealed his shocking ideas for a tech-governed city where citizens loyal to tech companies would form a new political tribe clad in gray t-shirts. “And if you see another Gray on the street … you do the nod,” he said, during a four-hour talk on the Moment of Zen podcast. “You’re a fellow Gray.” The Grays’ shirts would feature “Bitcoin or Elon or other kinds of logos … Y Combinator is a good one for the city of San Francisco in particular.” Grays would also receive special ID cards providing access to exclusive, Gray-controlled sectors of the city. In addition, the Grays would make an alliance with the police department, funding weekly “policeman’s banquets” to win them over. “Grays should embrace the police, okay? All-in on the police,” said Srinivasan. “What does that mean? That’s, as I said, banquets. That means every policeman’s son, daughter, wife, cousin, you know, sibling, whatever, should get a job at a tech company in security.” In exchange for extra food and jobs, cops would pledge loyalty to the Grays. Srinivasan recommends asking officers a series of questions to ascertain their political leanings. For example: “Did you want to take the sign off of Elon’s building?”

[tossyouforedinburgh]

I wrote something and it didn't really seem long enough to post on ao3 but like... vaguely adult content I guess? I've still not figured how that works (or doesn't) on Tumblr. so have it under the cut. short ineffable phonecall about wall slams

"are you on your way?" Aziraphale asked cheerfully down the phone by way of hello. 

"oh. er. Angel, look, I've had a really shitty day, I think I'm going to stay in my flat and watch shitty TV until I fall into a shitty sleep. I think there's a new series of Love Island on." 

Aziraphale had no idea what that was but he didn't think it sounded like particularly good viewing. "if you're going to wallow and sulk, you can do it at mine. I've got wine, and you can tell me about your awful day and I can make very sympathetic noises." 

"no. I would be extremely poor company." Crowley made a point of switching on the TV and turning it up loud enough it could be heard through the phone. 

"oh I've been tolerating your moods for thousands of years," Aziraphale replied airily. 

"Angel." Crowley gritted his teeth. "I am trying. to tell you. that I don't WANT. to take my bad mood out. on you." 

the pause that followed was unreasonably long. Crowley felt his layers of irritation grow; he was trying to do a considerate thing, trying to grow as a person. if Aziraphale didn't appreciate his efforts he could go stick it. and if he didn't stop being so difficult he was going to find out exactly where in some graphic detail.

"but..." Aziraphale began awkwardly. "I rather think the angelic thing to do would be to absorb your bad mood for you. if you let it fester out into the world, that would be terrible, wouldn't it? but I, well I am a creature of, of love and such like, you couldn't harm me by being grumpy." 

this was utter bullshit and it made Crowley's teeth itch. what the fuck was he doing now? was he actually angling for Crowley to snap at him? 

"I don't mind. I could leave all the doors ajar so you could slam them. I... I'll stand near the wall so you can pin me up against it." 

there was another intense silence, but this time it was Crowley's doing. oh, he was. he was deliberately goading him into this. why would the angel want to be roughed up? completely unwanted, a voice whispered into Crowley's brain: maybe he's into that. angels aren't into that sort of thing, Crowley hissed back in his thoughts. and definitely, absolutely, neither am I. 

"I think it would make you feel better," Aziraphale added very quietly. 

Crowley remembered the last time he had done that very thing; in Tadfield, in an ex Satanic nunnery. he'd pressed his hips up against Aziraphale, just to hold him in place of course, and he'd briefly thought, and then thought it was ridiculous, that the angel might just have had an erection at the time. angels definitely don't get erections from being roughed up in Satanic nunneries. 

"just to be clear," Crowley said, and he'd already switched off the TV and picked up his car keys, "are you doing this to be self sacrificing or because you're... you're..." oh Jesus Christ, Mary, Joseph and a stable full of donkeys, he was actually going to say this out loud because if he didn't say it out loud he was going to spontaneously discorporate. "because you're... getting off on it?" 

there was a very guilty silence. eventually, Aziraphale replied, "are you judging me?" 

"yes. massively. hugely." 

"only I did rather think that time in Tadfield that you definitely got hard holding me against that wall." 

the sound of the Bentley roaring to life rattled out of Aziraphale's old rotary telephone. Freddie Mercury launched into Tie Your Mother Down. "Angel, I'll see you in five minutes. think of something incredibly irritating to say to me as a greeting." and with that Crowley hung up the phone and put his foot down.

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 7]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: I know I always say this, but I am very excited for this part! lol I hope y'all like it! Also, if I forgot to tag you in the taglist, or if you'd like to be added, please let me know! I try to add people as they ask, but I'm afraid I'll miss someone. So just let me know! Thanks!

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @parkinglot-nights @rispwr @taetaecatboy @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

“How are you feeling about today?” Namjoon asked his client. 

Jimin was standing with you in the lobby of the courthouse, dressed in his best Ralph Lauren suit, keeping your hand in his. You sported a long-sleeve baby blue pencil dress from Versace that belted around the waist, with a pair of beige Louboutin heels. You chose your outfit knowing that the press would be there that day, and you wanted to appear put together and presentable for your fiancé’s case. Standing by him, with your engagement ring proudly shining on your finger, you could see the cameras outside through the lobby windows, snapping photos that will undoubtedly be front page news tomorrow. You understood fully that the direction the day goes would determine so much; the Park family name, the perception of Jimin as incoming CEO of the company, and most importantly, your future together. 

“I’m ok.” Jimin replied, gripping your hand, before turning to look at your face. “How are you feeling, my love?” 

“I’m ok, too.” You offered a sweet smile. Composed. 

“We’ll get through this.” Namjoon said. “I can’t imagine Judge Harmon being more difficult than he has to be.” 

“How is he? As a judge?” Jimin asks. 

“No bullshit, but fair.” Namjoon replied. “He’s worked in the city a long time, and he’s seen it all. But as long as he can see that you’re trying, he’s fair.” 

Namjoon glanced at his phone, checking the time. 

“We need to go in there, it’s our time.” Namjoon said. “Ms. Y/L/N, thank you for having your statement ready for me this morning.” 

“Of course.” You responded, squeezing Jimin’s hand. “Anything to make this easier.” 

Jimin smiled sadly at your words. He wished it were easier; he wished the situation weren’t so difficult on you. He felt like a liar to your families, and to himself. He knew he’s already failed so many times in taking care of you, loving you, and giving you the life he knows you deserve. Yet here you were, dignified as always, standing by him in front of the world’s attention. He didn’t deserve you, and for the first time, he truly understood that deeply. But he was thankful that you were there nonetheless, holding his hand. 

The four of you walked down the hallway together, and you gave Jimin a quick kiss for luck before slipping away with Jung Kook into the public, gallery seats in the court room, behind Namjoon and Jimin’s council table. The court was empty otherwise, except for the other legal team at their table, as the judge ordered prior to that no cameras were to be inside for this brief decision. 

“All rise for the honorable Judge Joseph Harmon.” The bailiff announced, leading everyone in the room to stand while the judge entered, taking his seat at the bench. “You may be seated.” 

“Mr. Park,” Judge Harmon began, looking up from his glasses to the young heir. “It seems your council is asking for a deferral on your case today. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, your honor.” Jimin answered. 

“Your honor, my client is asking for a minimum ninety day deferral, in order to seek rehabilitation treatment.” Namjoon began. “We request to submit a treatment plan to the court, as well as a personal character statement written by the defendant’s fiancé.” 

“Very well.” Judge Harmon nodded, allowing the bailiff to take the paper work from Namjoon and bring it to him. The court was silent as he looked through the documents quickly. “And, why must the defendant miss his upcoming court dates for this? Could he not be escorted to and from the court during those dates, and return once the day is over?” 

“Your honor, it would be against the suggestion of his therapy team to remove Mr. Park from his in-person support for long hours at a time.” Namjoon reasoned. “His team, as well as Ms. Y/L/N, have requested in writing that Mr. Park focus solely on his health before his dates, as any distraction may disturb his treatment plan.” 

“Your honor,” The opposing lawyer spoke up, her tone annoyed. “Calling this case a ‘distraction’ is insulting to those who Mr. Park misled and defrauded out of their investments. I would argue that Mr. Park is attempting to delay this case in order to lower his chances of facing any consequences for his actions.” 

“If I may, your honor,” Namjoon responded, “I can assure the court that Mr. Park is not delaying consequences, as we feel that we have a strong case against these allegations. My client is simply doing the responsible thing; doing right by his family, his business, and his wife-to-be, by seeking immediate help for his addiction and behavior.” 

“And what behavior would that be, Mr. Kim?” The judge asked. Jimin shot Namjoon a wide-eyed panicked look, not wanting to reveal his private fight with you. 

You became nervous, as well. Jung Kook knowingly reached for your hand, and was surprised when you took it, locking your fingers with his for support. I’m right here, Y/N, he said to himself, as if you could hear his thoughts. 

“Emotional management courses, your honor.” Namjoon replied. “It’s standard practice for someone on this treatment path, as outlined by his recovery team.” 

“I see.” Judge Harmon said, looking at the blonde heir. Jimin was sitting upright, in perfect posture, trying to keep his composure under the weight of the judge’s look. “Mr. Park, I believe it may be best for you to seek treatment before we continue with the case. The court is granting you the request for a ninety-day deferral to focus on your health.” 

“Thank you, your honor.” Namjoon smiled, looking over at a very relieved Jimin. The prosecution lawyer rolled her eyes and tsked in disbelief, but Namjoon paid it no mind. 

Jimin turned around to give you a smile, and Jung Kook mentally thanked his luck that your fiancé didn’t see his hand in yours from where he was sitting, because Jung Kook wasn’t at all ready to let you go; to let you leave his hold, and run back to him. But Jung Kook knew he had to, as much as it hurt him. He knew, despite his heart begging at him to keep you close, that you weren’t his to hold on to. 

————————————————————————————————————

Namjoon brought you and Jimin back to your hotel room to help Jimin pack for his treatment, while Jung Kook retreated back to his office for the rest of the day. When you arrived at the suite, bottles were still scattered among the tables, floors and counters, reminding you of all of the terrible nights, not just the most recent incident, where Jimin had crossed the line. All of the times he messed up, not keeping his promise that he whispered to you that night in front of your families.

“Mr. Kim,” Jimin called out to Namjoon from the bedroom, who was gathering Jimin’s clothes from the closet nearby. “Would you be alright with leaving Y/N and I for the afternoon? My driver will make sure I’m on time for my check-in, I just… I’d like to have some private time with her.” 

“Of course, Mr. Park.” Namjoon said, bowing respectfully. “If either of you need anything, please don't hesitate to call.” 

“Thank you.” Jimin said, waving to him on his way out, before turning to you. 

You were picking up empty bottles with a sadness in your eyes that Jimin never, in his life, wanted to see again. 

“Hi, my love.” Jimin said as gently as he could, approaching you. He could see that sadness so clearly the closer he came, and saw just how deep in truly ran. “Honey, come here. I wanna talk to you.” 

You nodded, and reached out for his hand. Jimin led you to the bedroom, and sat you on the bed before bending down on the floor by your legs to look up at you, making you giggle. 

“Jiminie, what are you doing?” You laughed, earning a smile from your fiancé. 

“Jiminie? Honey, you haven’t called me that in so long.” He replied. “I just wanted to look at you, my love, and I wanted to ask what my pretty girl is thinking about.” 

“I… I don’t wanna fight anymore.” You replied, your voice so quickly turning soft in exhaustion and sadness. 

“There won’t be any fighting today.” He said, rubbing his hands up your legs in comfort. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

“I’m just tired.” You responded truthfully. “I’m so tired, baby. I can’t… I don’t know what to do…” 

“Shhhh, I know.” Jimin said gently, looking at your face as you spoke. He could see it from the dark circles under your eyes, and the dullness of your skin. “I know I haven’t made things easy on you, and I’m sorry honey. You must be so worried all the time, right? Not sleeping or eating much?” 

You nodded to confirm. “Jung Kook made japchae, and that was the first full dish I’ve eaten in a while.” 

Jimin smiled unconvincingly, hating to know that another man took care of you in the way he should’ve. 

“I’m glad you ate well, my love.” He said diplomatically. “When I’m in treatment, I want you to you sleep and eat well every day, ok? And I want you to tell me if you need anything at all. ” 

“Baby, I’ll be ok.” You smiled, delicately keeping your composure. “It’s only for a short time, right? You need to focus on getting better, not on my needs. Besides, Jung Kook is there, just in case. I won’t be alone.” 

“Yeah.” Jimin nodded, trying to keep his protectiveness and jealousy under control. “But listen, honey, I mean it. If you need or want anything, you can come to me, ok? I want you to come to me.” 

“Ok.” You nodded. 

Jimin gazed up at you for a moment longer, unsure if you really meant it, because knowing you, you’ll do things yourself or ask someone else before him, just to make sure he focuses on himself. You knew that giving you things was Jimin’s way of feeling adequate. A manicure, a new bag or dress, a nice meal at a nice place, a beautiful vacation, amazing sex. Jimin felt needed and secure as a man when he gave you these things. But what Jimin didn’t realize, was that you needed something that was somehow both more, and so simple. You only needed him to be ok, and to prove that he can be a stable partner for you.   

After a few moments of committing your features to memory, etching them into his mind, Jimin wrapped a hand around each of your ankles, and began kissing up your exposed legs, distracting you from your thoughts. Softly, slowly moving up your skin with his plush pink lips, making you giggle in surprise.

“Jimin!” You laughed sweetly. 

“Let me make you feel good, honey.” He said, his voice deepening as he moves up your legs, lifting your dress. “Gonna use my tongue just how you like it.” 

He continued to pull your dress up as he moved, keeping himself on his knees, nibbling and kissing your thighs until he reached your lace panties. He kissed you over the fabric, teasing you with just enough pressure and tongue to make you whimper in anticipation.

“Jimin, please…” You begged, running your fingers through his blonde locks. 

“Angel, this sweet little pussy’s so wet for me already.” He murmured, moving your lace to the side with one finger. “Such a needy girl, so easy to get your pretty pussy excited.” 

He gave you wet, soft kisses along your opening, nibbling delicately on the skin, making your throw your head back and pick up your breathing. Then, his tongue, pressing quick kitten licks at your clit, which had already peeked out to seek attention. 

“J-Jimin…” You whined, gripping his hair as he continued to alternate between speed and pressure, licking and sucking, burying himself between your thighs. He slid a finger, then two, moving them in and out, and curling them to caress your sensitive spot. “Baby… Baby… Please… Baby…” 

You had no idea what exactly you were begging him for, with your mind emptying alongside each movement. You knew it was a distraction; a moment of pleasure in a sea of pain that you’ve tasted many times before. But for now, you’d let his familiar touch melt your worries away once again. A few more moments of careful attention had your toes curling and your hands pulling his hair as you came with a cry. .

You let him move you up further onto the bed, so that he could undo his pants and drop them to his knees, to let his hard, sensitive length spring out. He slid fully into you with a possessive growl, and began to fuck you hard, making the hotel bed, and yourself, squeak just as you did the first night you stayed here. 

Each movement was a strong cocktail of loving passion, pleasureful distraction, and begging apology, mixed with a lingering sense of his sense of possession. Jimin locked his lips to your neck, and engraved you with shallow marks as he whispered in your ear, “My pretty girl… Fuck, my sweet angel… My girl, taking my cock so well… F-Fuck…. All mine… ” 

It was a clear reminder, whispered to you through your whines as you let pleasure consume you once more, feeling his thumb massage your clit; Parks got what they wanted, and Jimin intended on keeping it that way. His mistakes could always be fixed with the swipe of a card, some sweet words, or a good, loving touch between your thighs. But as his thrusts became more sloppy and shallow, so too did his promises, when he pulled out and spilled onto you, ignoring his vow to finish inside and be closer to you. 

It was a moment of realization, as you lay there looking at his beautiful face, that no matter how seemingly hard he would try, he would always be Jimin. Flaws and all. The way he showed love, the increasingly obvious emptiness of his commitments, the circles he takes your heart in. He will always be that version of himself, because it is the only version of himself.

As he kissed your neck and whispered “I love you”, you wondered, for the first time, if those words, and that love, would ever truly be enough. 

——————————————————————————————————  

You went with Jimin to the rehabilitation center, and after a teary goodbye, you had the driver take you to Jung Kook’s apartment. He was waiting for you in the living room, only able to imagine the emotional day you had. He had rehearsed over and over again what to say, to give you the comfort and love he knew that you needed. But when you walked in with tears, his mind blanked, and the only thing he could think to ask was, “What do you need?” 

“I… I don’t know.” You said softly, unsure of so many things. 

Jung Kook looked at you with sad brown eyes, walked towards you, and replied, “I think what you need, is a hug. C’mere.” 

As he wrapped his arms around you, he realized he couldn’t have offered anything better. You clung to him like a float in a crashing ocean, desperate for a moment of calm. He wanted to provide that for you, so he held you close, hoping it could somehow meld the leftover pieces back together. Or, at the very least, remind you that you never had to pick them back up alone. 

He hoped you understood that later that night, when he heard you speaking to your father on a video call in the guest room. Jung Kook wanted to give you privacy, but when he heard the angry tone of your father, he couldn’t help but overhear through the thin wall between the bedrooms. 

“So Jimin is in treatment right now?” 

“Yes, Appa.” You responded, nervously picking at your nails. “I think he’ll be better afterwards. He just needs some time.” 

“Y/N,” Your father sighed. “I don’t like that you’re dealing with this again. How many more times are you going to have to go through this with him?” 

“He’s really trying.” You said sadly. “He’s not a bad person.” 

“I know he’s not a bad person, sweetie.” You father said, trying to reason with you. “But I think he may be ‘bad’ for you. I don’t know, I’m just worried about you. Are you by yourself now, in a new city?” 

“No, Appa. I’m staying with Jung Kook.” You said. “He works with Mr. Kim, and I used to go to university with him. He’s been very sweet to me, you would like him if you met him.” 

Jung Kook couldn’t help but smile at your words, but still held on to what your father said. Jimin’s not a bad person, but he’s bad for you. Your own father having doubts about your engagement was not something he expected to hear, but he shouldn’t say he was all that surprised. You deserved more. 

When he heard you say your goodbyes, his thoughts were interrupted, and he began to scroll through his phone as he laid on his bed, pretending as though he hadn’t heard your conversation. 

“Hi.” You said after a few moments, with a knock on his bedroom door. “I think I’m going to bed.” 

“I’m sure you’re tired. It’s been a hard day.” Jung Kook responded, watching you turn around. “Hey, Y/N.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, turning around towards him once more. 

“I’m off tomorrow.” He smiled. “Let me show you some cool places in the city.” 

“Jung Kook, you don’t have to do that-”

“I want to.” He replied. “Please? I think I… um, it can make you feel better.” 

You smiled at his sentiment, ignoring the charming slip of his words. 

“Ok.” You agreed, giving in to the brown, puppy eyes of the man who looked so soft in his bed. “It’ll be fun.” 

“Yeah.” He smiled. "I think so, too."

“Goodnight.” You waved, turning away from him. 

Jung Kook’s eyes widened, watching your hand wave him good night. Something was different, missing, that was clearly there before your conversation with your father. It made his heart drop to his stomach, and his mind buzz for the rest of the night.

Your engagement ring was gone. 

[wcters]

𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗘 𝗕𝗘 (𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨)

pairing: joe liebgott x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k+

summary: four times you question what you two are and the one time you finally figure it out

warnings/notes: established relationships, angst (were dealing with war), kissing, pda, some drug use (cigarettes), alcohol, swearing, weapons, violence | no disrespect to the actual veterans or any of the situations described and written here, this is based on the series and the character of joe liebgott. somewhat ib @softguarnere (if you would like me to change it/take it down i will. it’s not really similar but still). if anyone has any tips for writing for band of brothers, please let me know! longest imagine written so far, and a dedication to my boys skip and penkala

You never knew home could be a person . . . until you joined the army and were surrounded by it, by many different people, and the one person you trusted most ━━ Joseph Liebgott. It was unexpected. To outsiders, they wouldn’t even think you two would speak ━━ let alone be friends. Yes, both of you are different in many ways, but you’re also the same in many ways. Skip Muck, one of your other close friends in Easy Company, joked that part of your souls were intertwined and you two would eventually fall in love. In the beginning, you would laugh it off. But you soon realized how true that was.

1. 1942, TOCCOA, GEORGIA

The army was ruthless. You knew that it would be when you joined Easy Company a couple months earlier, but you didn’t expect it to be this bad . . . only because of a certain officer named Sobel. You swear he had it out for all of you, and lots of the men hadn’t done anything bad ━━ that you knew of. Most of the time your weekend passes were revoked for little things such as some dirt on your gun and a stray string (that wasn’t actually there, you checked multiple times), but this weeked you and Joe were lucky to still have yours. You don’t even know how you both managed that, let alone him.

You two were walking hand in hand down the dimly lit street. You were quietly humming a song as you looked at the various stores as you made your way to one of the bars your group frequented. A few other army guys could be seen walking with each other or a local girl hanging on their arm. On any other night you would’ve looked like any other soldier in the soft lights, but you had switched out your uniform for a dress you had hidden in your barracks. You had thought ‘why not? It’ll probably be the last time I get a chance to wear it’ and threw it on with some heels you borrowed from a girl you knew in town with a promise to return them.

The quietness of the street got smaller and smaller as you made you got closer to the bar. “Crowded tonight, huh?” The man beside spoke out loud, swinging your clasped hands. “I think to us it does, but to them it doesn’t.” You joked while letting out a chuckle. Joe did too before grabbing the door of the bar and opening it for you. You mumbled a “thank you” while music filled your ears. “I’ll find us a seat, you get us drinks.” You told Joe as he nodded and you went to search for a booth.

It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, and soon enough you and Joe were chatting and laughing while couples danced around you. Joe looked around as you sipped your beer before he got up out of the booth and lent out a hand to you. “Would you like to dance?” He smiled. You laughed before looking around. “Why not?” You agreed and got up, making your way to the dance floor as a slow song began to play.

While leaned your head on his chest as you danced with couples around you, you couldn’t help but wonder what you two were.

2. 1943, BROOKLYN NAVAL SHIPYARD, NEW YORK

The heat of the boat taking you to England was suffocating with all of the soldiers packed in it, but Joe managed to have an arm around you waist while you two were playing cards with Muck and Bill. You were just an observer, butting out after the third game and got lost every one.

“Jesus Bill! You must be cheating!” Joe yelled as the brunette man placed another card down, Muck agreeing sourly. You laughed at that while stealing the cigarette out of Joe’s mouth and taking a hit. “You’re just sorry losers.” Bill laughed at their faces. “You don’t get to laugh y/n, you quit because you kept losing.” Skip pointed at you as he saw your face. “At least I accepted defeat, asshole.” You could feel the small laugh that came out of Joe’s chest and imagined the smirk that was on his face. “She got you there, Skip.”

They continued playing for a little while, you and Joe taking turns smoking until Bill won again and Skip slammed his cards down onto the cot. “Calm down.” You told him, soft smile on your face. “I am calm, it’s just Bill keeps winning and it’s fucking hot in here,” the man gestured to the people around you,” I don’t know how you two are that close. I swear I’m going to die of overheating and you two are practically cuddling.” You made a face to your friend while Joe laughed and made a comment that you couldn’t hear.

You and Joe were really close, you basically almost on his lap at this point, but you had a reason. The boat was packed, not being much room to move around. You didn’t want to climb up all the way onto your cot, and you wanted to keep talking with your friends. Plus, you and him had to be close ━━ you were sharing a cigarette. “We’re sharing a cigarette.” You shrugged, grabbing the object out of his mouth as he yelled a “hey” as you took it. Skip gave you a look as if to say “that’s bullshit” and got up, going to find Penkala. You looked over to Bill and he looked down at his cards, smirk on his face.

You had a reason to be that close . . . right? Or was it something different?

3. 1944, NORMANDY, FRANCE

The gravel crunched underneath your boots. You had just landed somewhere in Normandy ━━ you weren’t sure, you had missed your DZ ━━ and were now on the lookout to hopefully find Easy Company and not some German looking to end your life. That’s why you had you gun aimed into the distance. Every little breeze that shook the branches had yoy freezing up and darting you eyes, only to figure out it was the wind or some rabbit that looked as scared as you. It made you feel a little less alone.

When another bush shook, this time a little longer than usual, you crouched instead of just freezing up, gun still trained to where the sound was coming from. You waited before slowly moving forward, trying to minimize the sound of the road beneath you. You saw the bottom of a pair of boots and it seemed you were both waiting for the other to speak first. That decision was chosen for you.

“Flash.” “Thunder.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you heard that and then saw the multiple pairs of boots. “Y/n?” Someone called out within the group. You squinted trying to see who it was. “Bill!” You exclaimed in surprise before recognizing the few other people with him: Marlarkey, Wynn, Toye, Lipton, some people from the 82nd Airborne, and Hall, a man not from your company but you recognized him from Able Company. You quietly said your greetings before continuing on your way to try and find your rallying point.

After finding and following a set a train tracks, a situation happened where Bill shot before Winter’s Command, you reprimanding him again and jokingly pushing his head as he called you a “stupid mick” which you laughed at. Now the group was on the road to the rallying point. The whole time you had been thinking about Joe. God, you wished he was still alive. You didn’t know what you were going to do if he wasn’t. When you eventually got to the farm, you heard a familiar voice. You stopped as you saw each other before you began to run and give him a hug.

You could hear the mumblings of the other soldiers, but at that moment, you didn’t care. When you pulled away you grabbed his face. “Joeseph Liebgott, I would’ve killed you if you died.” You laughed with tears in your eyes as you checked him for and scratches and scars. “I wouldn’t dream of it doll.” He laughed too before pulling you back in.

You decided at that moment in time that it didn’t care what you two were, as long as you had him, you didn’t care. As long as you knew he was okay.

4. 1944, ARDENNES FOREST, BELGIUM

All you could see was white: the sky, the ground, even the trees that surrounded you, that partly acted as a wall. You were sick of it. You think you would feel this way for the rest of your life ━━ the look and feel of the freezing chill of the snow and forest. Maybe you would move to somewhere warmer, somewhere where it doesn’t snow and the lowest it would get would be 59 degrees Fahrenheit.

Imagining what you would do in the future always helped you get somewhat through the hard times, though a person was the one thing that was a blanket to you. He had told you he left to talk to Lipton, but he hadn’t been back for awhile.

As if the world hated you having a small moment of what little peace you could have, a light broke through the white sky. A yell of “incoming!” from someone near you, either Skip or Penkala, caused you to sink further into your foxhole, well what you could, and cover your ears as the bombing started. When you heard yelling with words like “c’mon!” and “hurry!” you looked up to see Skip and Penkala yelling out to Luz who was out in the open. “Luz!” You yelled to him, “get over here! It’s closer!” He followed your voice and jumped in, but as soon as you both turned around you saw Skip and Penkala get hit with a shell. You knew they didn’t make it.

It was over as soon as it happened, but you were so distracted with what had happened that you didn’t feel the burning on your side until George had asked you if you were okay. You groaned when you first felt the searing pain and lifted up your coat to see the blood soaking it. “Oh, shit. Medic!” You had been with a piece of flying shrapnel from the shell that hit the two. You didn’t have time to register how one of your best friends were killed before Doc Roe was at your side with Luz holding you so you wouldn’t move too much. “Christ, y/n.” Gene mumbled as he got a look at it before grabbing a bandage and wrapping it the best he could.

You were frozen now ━━ not from the cold, or the wound on your side that would cause you to get taken off, you were frozen with the realization of what just happened. You wanted to cry, scream, do anything, but you just . . . couldn’t. Everything around you was fuzzy and you didn’t register that the shelling stopped and you were being taken out until you saw Joe. Then, tears managed to fall and you started to sob. He was mumbling about how you were going to be okay and everything was fine as he followed you to the Jeep.

When you felt the rumble of the Jeep engine, you grabbed Joe’s hand as tight as you could. “I love you, you shithead.” You laughed as you told him. You didn’t know whether you would see him again, and you wanted him to know how you truly felt about him, and how much he ment to you. He froze for a second before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too. I’ll kill you if you die.”

You laughed one more time as the image of him started to get smaller and smaller as he let go of your hand, slapped the Jeep, and it started to move. You tried to memorize what you could see: his shadow, the way he stands . . . him. You closed your eyes and felt a tear make its way down your face, settling in with the other dry ones.

+1. 1945, BAVARIA, AUSTRIA

The almost-healed wound on your side was a reminder of what you’ve been through, and what you’d missed. You’d been stuck in the hospital since mid December. You attempted to go AWOL multiple times, but you had failed every time.

Your shrapnel scar had ended being worse than Doc Roe thought and you had to be transported to surgery. When you woke up and heard what happened, you immediately wanted to go back and find your company . . . and Joe. You knew you left on a weird note, and wanted to figure it out. That was looming on your mind, along with the grief you finally had time to face. Not really face, more like confront. It was one of the only things you thought about while in there. You hadn’t fully come to terms with it, but you had made some progress.

You had thought about how George was doing, and especially Malarkey. He was Skip and Penkala’s best friend ━━ you were a close second. Bastogne was a horrible place in itself, but having to deal with that while there, to you, was a death wish. You were worried for everyone, the people you left behind.

You had just gotten to Bavaria when you saw Colonel Sink, and he saw you. As one of the very few women in the army, you could say he had a soft spot for you (though you would never say it to his face). You had been told a very uninformative idea of where the airborne was located, but you had been wandering since you got dropped off.

“Sergeant y/n, is that you?” Sink had called out to you as the car stopped. You saluted before you replied with a “yes sir.” “You lookin’ for Easy soldier?” You answered with a yes and conversed for a little bit ━━ mostly about your time in the hospital and what you missed ━━ before he invited you into the Jeep to get a ride up the mountain that looked over you.

That’s where you were know as you made your way up the hill, the familiar rumble of the Jeep underneath you. You couldn’t deny the feeling of excitement and happiness in your stomach as you got closer. You soon heard voices over the engine and on the horizon silhouettes appeared. When the car stopped, you gave a quick thank you, saluted, and made your way to where some of Easy was sitting.

“Having fun without me?” You asked out loud as people turned to you. There were calls of excitement as they saw you and people made their way to greet you, but one of the faces you were looking for was Joe. You eventually saw him getting up from sitting in front of a wheel and you both made eye contact before people split and let there be a clear path to him. You didn’t have to say anything to let him know you were running towards him before jumping on him and giving him a hug. He held you right, as if you were going to leave again, and spinned you around as you both laughed.

He was still holding you, arms around your waist, but had let your feet touch the floor. “Hi.” You smiled. “Hey doll.” Those were the only things said before you lips crashed together and there were cheers from your friends around you. When you parted, your foreheads fell against each other. “I was so worried, I was afraid you weren’t going to come back.” He admitted. “You can’t get rid of me that easy Joe.” You joked before kissing him quickly again and then went on a mission to find Malarkey.

He was leaning against the side of a car, cigarette in his hand. You gave him a tight hug, saying everything you needed to but couldn’t, before parting. You sat and talked while Joe kept a close eye on you.

“Skip was right, y’know.” Malarkey said as he let out some smoke. “What do you mean?” You asked, looking at everyone and the view. “About you and Joe. How your souls are intertwined. I always laughed at it but seeing you two now, he was right.” You blushed and looked down before your eyes met Joe’s and he winked at you.

“I guess so. But hey, never doubt Skip. He always said that. Guess this is a nice payback.” “Guess so.”

You never thought a person could be home, but as you walk in front of the fireplace, your baby girl in your arms, you realize that it could be ━━ that it is. And you are ever so thankful you figured out what you two were.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH + BAND OF BROTHERS:

JOSEPH "JOE" RAMIREZ

Born October 5th, 1921, in Nebraska

Died April 8th, 1988 (age 66), in Martinez, California

Joe Ramirez enlisted in September 1942 (age 20) in San Francisco, CA, and he trained with Easy Company at Toccoa. Holding the rank of Private, he served in Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne. He was hospitalized in January 1945, and discharged in July 1945. After the war, he was married for many years, and had children and grandchildren. When he passed away he was buried with his wife, who had passed away 11 years earlier. Further information about him is scarce, but the brief character profile in the Band of Brothers series bible describes him as Mexican-American, and his personality as "sensitive and nervous."

Appears in Episodes 1, 3-8, and 10; portrayed by actor Rene L. Moreno

Sources below

A million thanks to @bleedingcoffee42 for tracking down this info for me!

[vondarte]

MEANT TO BE

a Joseph Descamps fanfiction

DISCLAIMER: This story is a fanfiction inspired by the series 'Mixte 1963. The characters, locations, and situations have been modified or expanded, but the original work belongs to its creators. I do not own any rights to the original work, and this piece is written purely for entertainment purposes and without any intent for profit.

This is not your typical 'Joseph Descamps x Reader' story simply because I don’t like writing with 'Y/N'; I prefer to give the protagonist a proper name.

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors or typos. I usually help myself using google translate, so iykyk.

Chapter 1 — Game of Superiority

Summary: Ophelia Montgomery is having a typical summer in Bloomsbury. She went out with her little brother for a summer walk, but as usual, he always manages to get into trouble. He plays soccer with some boys much older than him in the park, and she ends up defending him from a boy with a French accent and a cocky attitude who hurt him by hitting him straight in the face. A few days later, Ophelia receives some unpleasant news from her father.

Word Count: 5,294 words.

Warnings: Minor injury, Joseph being a pain in the ass, some sad thoughts.

📍Bloomsbury Square Garden, London. July 17th, 1963

The birds chirped among themselves, weaving light and unfamiliar melodies, as if lost in a secret symphony. Ophelia Montgomery, lost in thought, walked with a light step, absorbed in reading one of her usual novels pilfered from her mother’s private library. Beside her, her younger brother Oliver looked around with curious eyes. He had already spotted the birds responsible for the singing, perched on one of the sturdiest branches of the tree they had just passed. Now his gaze was captivated by a red butterfly that gracefully made two complete circles around his sister. Ophelia, however, was too engrossed in the adventures of the protagonist in her book to notice the butterfly’s delicate dance or its striking red color.

It had become a habit for Ophelia to take Oliver along on her walks, both out of routine and because it was her only way to escape, at least for a while, the confines of their home. Her mother, after all, would never allow her to go out alone, despite her having turned fifteen.

Still, Ophelia found comfort and joy in his company. Oliver — or Olly, as she had lovingly started calling him from the moment she first held him in her arms — was a child blessed with natural sweetness and an insatiable curiosity, which brightened every moment they spent together. His liveliness, often accompanied by an almost contagious enthusiasm, turned Ophelia's walks into unique occasions, full of laughter and unexpected discoveries. What might have seemed like a simple stroll to her became enriched with a new dimension thanks to him, filled with innocent questions, sharp observations, and small adventures that might have gone unnoticed had she been alone. Olly wasn’t just a walking companion but a bond that, with his effortless lightheartedness, reminded her of the importance of finding beauty in the simplest things.

Oliver, in fact, stood out for his innate talent for observing the world around him and his deep passion for nature. From an early age, he had shown an unquenchable curiosity about the animal kingdom, spending hours immersed in illustrated books and specialized texts that delved into the wonders of creation. His enthusiasm was contagious, and not a day went by without him sharing with anyone willing to listen—especially his sister—the fascinating facts and insights he had learned.

Every conversation with him turned into a small biology lesson, enriched by the liveliness and wonder that only a child could convey. He could recount, in incredible detail, the habits of a rare tropical bird or the life cycle of a butterfly, as if he had witnessed them firsthand. His dedication didn’t stop at theory: he often lost himself in explorations of the backyard or nearby parks, searching for traces, feathers, or insects to study and collect. This passion not only fueled his curious spirit but also enriched Ophelia’s daily life, as she ended up learning, almost without realizing it, many of the marvels Oliver eagerly shared with her.

Ophelia, on the other hand, embodied the essence of the classic "bookworm." However, it wasn’t just a scholarly attitude of always having her nose buried in books; her passion for reading had deep roots, cultivated since childhood thanks to her mother’s influence. Her mother, a university professor of classical literature, had not only passed down the fascination for literary works but had also instilled in her a love for the beauty of words and the power of stories.

Ophelia's mother was a cultured woman, driven by an inexhaustible passion for literature, to the point where books became a central element of family life. Even the names of her children, Ophelia and Oliver, were carefully chosen, inspired by characters from some of her favorite books. Whenever someone asked about the origin of those names, she would recount their stories with a touch of pride, revealing a part of her literary soul.

Ophelia had inherited not only a love for reading but also the habit of retreating into the pages of a book whenever she felt the need to escape reality. For her, books were more than mere objects: they were portals to distant worlds, fascinating ideas, and characters she somehow felt were old friends. If Oliver found his refuge in nature, Ophelia sought hers among the written lines, in the web of words that offered her both comfort and inspiration.

She struggled to admit it, but on that hot July 17th, Ophelia keenly felt the absence of her best friend and inseparable classmate, Lottie. The latter, however, was far away, visiting her maternal grandparents in Italy and wouldn’t return until the start of the new school year. The thought of an entire summer slipping by without her weighed on Ophelia more than she wanted to acknowledge.

Ophelia walked absentmindedly, clutching her book in her hands, while little Oliver told her something clever about the colors of butterflies. His words, however, faded into the void, drowned out by the murmur of the girl’s thoughts. She kept rereading the same lines of the novel, almost obsessively, in an attempt to dispel that gnawing feeling of emptiness.

With Lottie by her side, she thought, those long summer days would have felt completely different. There would have been no room for boredom or the silent melancholy that crept into her moments of solitude. Lottie wasn’t just a friend; she was a refuge, a lively and comforting presence that made every moment lighter and more memorable. Without her, summer seemed to drag on slowly, devoid of the carefree episodes and laughter she cherished so much.

"Did you hear me?" Oliver asked, tugging at her arm to get her attention. Pulled out of her thoughts, Ophelia finally looked up and closed her book, carefully placing the bookmark between its pages.

"No, sorry," she replied, shaking her head slightly to dispel her distraction. "I was lost in thought."

Her brother’s face lit up with an amused smile.

"Yeah, I noticed!" he said with a laugh, turning to face away from the path and beginning to walk backward with a mischievous air.

"Stop it," she scolded, her tone blending slight exasperation with concern. She hated it when Oliver amused himself by walking backward—a risky habit that often ended in inevitable falls. "You’ll hurt yourself, I keep telling you."

"Are you even listening to me?" he insisted, raising his voice in a faintly whining tone, waving his arms dramatically to emphasize his frustration. She looked at him with a questioning expression, not understanding where he was going with this. Oliver, exasperated, rolled his eyes theatrically.

"Can I go play with them?" he finally asked, pointing toward a group of boys engaged in a lively soccer game on an improvised field nearby. In the tall grass, the players moved with a mix of enthusiasm and strategy, alternating between goals and minor fouls no one seemed eager to contest. Ophelia watched the scene for a moment and then firmly shook her head.

"Not a chance." she replied in a decisive tone that left no room for negotiation.

"Oh, come on!" Oliver protested, grabbing her arm again and tugging harder this time. He bounced impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a nearly comical dance. The gesture brought a smile to Ophelia’s face, but she still shook her head.

"They’re much older than you." she explained, her tone patient and affectionate, almost maternal.

"But you’re older than me too!" he countered with the kind of childish logic that seemed irrefutable to him.

Ophelia laughed, shaking her head once more. "They play in a way that’s not for you."

"Oh! Please!" the little boy pleaded, tugging at her arm with more force, his tone growing more desperate. It was impossible to ignore the determination in his gaze, not to mention the sweet puppy-dog eyes he used whenever he wanted something. Finally, Ophelia gave in. She chuckled softly, resigning herself to the inevitable, and sighed.

"Fine!" she said with a nod, finally granting him permission. She immediately felt her arm released from his strong grip.

"But we’re going home in half an hour! And don’t you dare sweat too much, or Mom will start asking questions and I don’t want any problems!"

"I promise, I swear!" Oliver shouted enthusiastically while darting off toward the group of boys, who were erupting in cheers for a goal just scored by the team on the right.

Ophelia sighed, sat down on a nearby bench, and reopened her book, ready to keep an eye on her brother while trying to immerse herself in reading once again. However, the smile lingering on her lips betrayed the joy she felt at seeing Oliver so happy, even if just for one afternoon.

Oliver, meanwhile, slowed his pace as he reached one of the boys. This boy wore glasses, with a tuft of hair slightly plastered to his forehead with sweat. The older boy’s smile faded slightly as he stared at Oliver, casting him a questioning look.

"Are you lost, kid?" he asked, maintaining a mocking smirk. Oliver didn’t let himself be intimidated; in fact, he responded with a confident grin. The boy’s strange accent made him giggle—it was unusual, and Oliver thought he had never heard one like it before.

"Not at all," he replied, rocking back on his heels with a carefree air. "Can I play with you?"

The older boy, someone who enjoyed stirring up trouble and taking pleasure in making others uncomfortable, smirked even wider. His mind was already racing through the possible ways this little kid could entertain him. Not only would he get a chance to test him, but he could also have fun at his expense, along with his friends. He turned toward the others, who were already starting to grin at the idea.

"He’s asking if he can join us," the boy said, not even waiting for a response from the others. Catching the amused grins of his friends, he turned back to Oliver, slipping a hand into his pocket.

"Alright, shorty." he replied, and Oliver’s face lit up with visible excitement. "Let’s see what you can do." With that, the boy walked off toward his team, which was currently celebrating another goal.

"You’re with them," he added, pointing to the other team, who were outnumbered. "They're less than us."

Oliver nodded eagerly and ran toward the boys. He carefully watched where he was stepping, unaware that one of the players of his team had just mouthed the words, "Are you serious?" to the boy with the glasses.

He got into position and started playing with them.

From her bench, Ophelia watched Oliver’s clumsy efforts to chase the ball with an amused smile. The way he ran, full of energy and determination, reminded her of a tiny warrior fighting an invisible battle. But as always, the ball seemed to evade him with every move.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze back to her book, Pride and Prejudice, which she had borrowed from her mother’s library. The elegant prose of Jane Austen flowed across the pages, carrying her into the world of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, who were just beginning to grapple with their misunderstandings and cold impressions of one another.

The summer heat and the distant noise of the game made it hard to concentrate entirely, but Ophelia’s fingers turned the pages naturally, as if reading were an essential part of her being. She felt a kinship with Elizabeth—more for her courage in facing pride and prejudice than for the story itself. Elizabeth’s fiery, challenging words seemed to resonate within her, inspiring Ophelia to see the world with a sharper, yet kinder, perspective.

Sometimes, she glanced at Oliver, still doggedly chasing the elusive ball, but she never truly lost her place in the story. Even the boys’ chatter failed to fully distract her.

Meanwhile, on the makeshift field, one of the older boys grinned slyly, his intentions clear. Holding the ball in one hand, he prepared to throw it. His aim was deliberate. In one swift motion, he launched the ball with considerable force, targeting Oliver’s forehead directly.

The hit landed with a dull thud. The ball smacked Oliver straight on his face, making him stumble backward in shock. Caught off guard and unsteady, he toppled onto the grass with a soft thump, his small frame hitting the ground awkwardly.

The older boy laughed mockingly as Oliver lay on the ground, rubbing his forehead in a daze. He hadn’t anticipated such a blow. Gathering himself, Oliver sat up, his confusion mingling with embarrassment.

The boy with glasses sauntered over, leaning down with a smug smirk.

"Did that hurt, kid?" he asked in a taunting tone, feigning indifference as his amusement shone through.

Oliver scrambled to his feet quickly, trying to mask the wave of humiliation washing over him. His flushed cheeks betrayed him, though. He brushed his hand over his aching forehead, determined not to show weakness.

"It’s nothing!" he replied, his voice wavering slightly as he tried to sound braver than he felt.

The older boy turned to his friends, muttering with a satisfied grin, "Look at him. The little guy just got wrecked." Then, looking back at Oliver, he raised his hands in mock innocence.

"Hey, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to. But, you know, maybe you should watch where you’re going next time."

Laughter erupted from the other boys, their jeers cutting through the air as Oliver, his face still red and his heart pounding, tried desperately to ignore them. He clenched his fists and swallowed hard, determined not to appear too vulnerable.

Ophelia, who had heard the dull thud and the laughter of the other boys, lifted her gaze from the book. The moment she spotted her brother lying on the ground, his face twisted in pain, she sprang to her feet. With speed and determination, she ran to him, gently cradling his head in a touch that contrasted with the irritation burning inside her. Concern for her little brother was immediate, but the thought that another boy had caused this stirred an instinctive reaction within her.

"A truly admirable gesture," she said firmly, her voice dripping with sarcasm, as she stared at the boy who was still laughing with his friends, as though Oliver’s pain were a joke worth bragging about. "You must feel like a real man now."

The boy looked at her, slightly taken aback by her intervention but showing no real emotion. He flicked his hair away from his forehead with a deliberate motion, clearly unused to being challenged in public. Her audacity amused him. Tilting his head to the side, he looked at her with a disdainful expression that radiated arrogance.

"Have you lost something, mademoiselle?" he asked, his tone heavy with deliberate slowness and contempt. "Or is meddling in other people’s business just a hobby of yours?"

Ophelia, if possible, doubled down. Her hands landed on her hips with determination, her posture exuding pride and fierce protectiveness for her brother. And that French accent only made her feel nauseous at that moment.

"It’s not a hobby—he's my brother," she retorted sharply. "And if you think bullying a little kid is fun, then you’re even more pathetic than you look."

The boy’s smirk stretched into an even more derisive grin. He adjusted his glasses casually, as if her sharp comment was just another minor episode in his daily showcase of superiority.

"Pathetic? Interesting. Maybe where you come from, yelling insults at strangers is the norm."

"Only when I meet people who deserve them," Ophelia shot back, folding her arms in a gesture of clear defiance. "And you’re definitely at the top of the list."

The boy paused briefly, as if weighing the force of her response, then broke into a dismissive, irreverent laugh, as if he found the entire situation absurd.

"If you’re done playing the heroine, you can go back to your brother," he said, his tone indifferent, barely masking a hint of scorn. "And maybe tell him not to get involved in grown-up games again."

Ophelia shook her head, visibly exasperated. "Grown-up? Where are they?" she quipped, her voice sharp with fiery irony. "All I see here are a bunch of idiots." With a decisive motion, she turned to Oliver, who clung nervously at her side. The smile that had lit up his face earlier was now completely gone, replaced by an expression of embarrassment and sadness.

"Come on, Olly, let's go home." she said, trying to bolster her brother but also eager to walk away from the scene that disgusted her.

As they walked away, the sound of the boy’s laughter still reached her ears. Ophelia felt an overwhelming urge to turn back, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead. Meanwhile, the boy watched them leave with amused interest, continuing to laugh with his friends, though a flicker of curiosity about Ophelia’s boldness glimmered in his eyes. Ophelia, however, didn’t falter and kept walking, angry and proud, despite the furious pounding of her heart at the intolerable sense of helplessness.

"I told you," she said after a while, her tone laced with mild regret but free of reproach. Her little brother walked beside her, his head hung low and silent as a fish. Ophelia sighed as she looked at him—she wasn’t truly angry. She knew Oliver wasn’t at fault. He had simply stumbled into the cruelty of someone who enjoyed causing trouble. Yet she couldn’t suppress her irritation toward that boy with his smug smirk and arrogant demeanor. How dare he pick on someone so much smaller than himself? The thought kept buzzing in her mind, fueling a simmering anger she tried not to let out on Oliver.

Oliver, meanwhile, walked in silence. His eyes no longer wandered in search of butterflies, snails, or ants on tree trunks as they usually did. All he saw now were the pebbles on the path, which he kicked absentmindedly, one after another. Ophelia immediately noticed the change—her little brother’s lively smile had vanished, swallowed by a shadow of mortification.

"Hey," she called softly, stopping and crouching down to his height. She gently placed her hands on his arms, her gesture radiating warmth and reassurance. When she spoke, her voice was a tender whisper filled with affection.

"It wasn’t your fault, Olly. Sometimes these things just happen."

Carefully, Ophelia brushed his hair aside to examine the spot where the ball had hit him. There was only a red mark for now, but soon a bump would appear. She touched it lightly, taking care not to cause him more pain.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

Oliver shook his head decisively but then, in a hesitant whisper, admitted, "A little."

Ophelia stood up and took his hand.

"Come." she said with a gentle smile, leading him toward the ice cream truck parked nearby. She pulled out some coins from her purse, preferring to use her own savings instead of her mother’s money, so she could replace them if asked. After choosing Oliver’s favorite flavor, she led him to a quieter bench, away from the field and the boy who had upset her so much.

Sitting beside her, Oliver nibbled at his ice cream with a now relaxed expression. After a few moments of silence, his voice rang out, "Sis?"

Ophelia turned to him, surprised by his suddenly tender tone.

"I love you." Oliver said, his smile timid but sincere.

Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh softly. "I love you more." she replied, leaning down to plant a light kiss on his head, carefully avoiding the bump.

Then she straightened up and added with a note of irony, "But now we need to figure out how to explain that bump to mom."

Oliver looked at her with a mischievous expression, the ice cream now reduced to a blue stain on his tongue. "I could say you did it!" he suggested, leaning forward with a playful tongue out.

Ophelia raised an eyebrow, pretending to be stern. "Don’t you dare, little rascal!" she replied, shaking her head, but with a smile that betrayed her deep affection.

As her little brother laughed, Ophelia threw one last glance toward the field, where the French boy was still chatting with his friends. His arrogant laugh echoed in her ears, sharp and annoying.

She turned back to Oliver, who had resumed watching a group of pigeons pecking hungrily around, searching for crumbs. The scene brought a faint smile to Ophelia’s face as she let out an amused thought while pondering the most plausible excuse to make up.

"We could tell them you were looking for snails or ants under a tree, and distracted, you hit your forehead against a low branch?" she suggested with a slightly ironic tone, pointing to an overhanging branch nearby. Her voice was firm, but she had deliberately chosen a simple yet believable alternative, aware that a more elaborate explanation would raise suspicions.

Oliver, finally diverting his gaze from the pigeons, lifted his eyes to her and nodded, though fear still showed on his face. "Do you think she’ll get angry?" he murmured uncertainly, almost hoping his sister could ease that worry.

Ophelia leaned slightly toward him, her smile gentle and reassuring. "No, she won’t." she replied sweetly, stroking his cheek to comfort him. The gesture managed to bring out a faint smile from him, which was enough for Ophelia to feel relieved.

Though she knew the bump would still attract her mother’s attention, Ophelia was determined to protect her brother from any feelings of guilt. She sensed how fragile Oliver was in that moment, and her goal was clear: to make him believe that no matter what had happened, he would always find unconditional support in her.

—

In the following days, the small red mark on Oliver's forehead swelled, turning into a visible bump. However, their mother accepted the explanation about the tree branch without suspicion, believing it to be true. Oliver received a light scolding for his distraction, while Ophelia had to endure a long lecture on the need to watch over her brother more carefully and stop losing herself in her thoughts.

Despite a thread of frustration at the unfair scolding, Ophelia took care of Oliver with affection in those days. She spent a lot of time with him in his room, organizing games and telling him stories to make him forget the incident. Meanwhile, her mind slowly drifted further from the French-accented boy, relegating him to a vague and annoying memory.

Between a card game and a drawing session with her brother, she even found time to finish the book she had started at the park, finding in the final chapters a pleasant escape from the worries of those days.

The warm light from the chandelier illuminated the sturdy wooden table, where the dishes were arranged with almost meticulous order. The Montgomery family dining room, with its walls covered in bookshelves full of well-organized volumes and a window overlooking the flowered garden, had an intimate, family atmosphere. Ophelia, sitting across from her mother, had her face partially hidden behind the glass of sparkling water she was drinking, trying to mask her discomfort with a barely perceptible sigh. Oliver, beside her, was laughing as he recounted his misadventures with his friends, but his enthusiasm felt distant, like Ophelia wasn’t fully present.

The conversation flowed without much substance between the family members until it was her father who interrupted the delicate flow of words. Edward Montgomery set his fork on the plate and, with an elegant gesture, turned to his wife, Catherine.

"Catherine, dear," he said in a calm, almost solemn tone, "I received confirmation from our colleague in Paris: the restoration of the Royal Abbey of Saint-Jean-d’Angély has officially begun. The project will span a long period, and our role is crucial. As the lead architect, I’ve been offered the chance to temporarily move to France to supervise the work."

Ophelia finally looked up, captivated by the revelation. She hadn’t expected something so significant, let alone that it would affect her own life.

Edward continued, his voice calm and measured, but with a subtle note of determination. "We’ve discussed it at length, and after considering the opportunities, we’ve decided it would be best for us to move for a year, if not longer. It will be a unique opportunity, not just for me but for the whole family. The French culture, history, architecture... it will be an experience we can’t afford to ignore."

A cold silence fell over the table. Ophelia felt her heart race. She had no intention of leaving London, her city, her life as it was, her friends, her routine. She bit her lower lip, trying to keep calm. Her mother’s voice finally interrupted her thoughts.

"Edward, do you really think this is the right time?" Catherine asked, though her tone held a certain approval beneath the veil of concern. "Ophelia has just started her fifth year, the most important one before the final exams to access higher education, and Oliver is in the middle of primary school. Moving might disrupt everything. London is their home, it’s our home."

Edward looked at his wife with a barely perceptible smile, as if his proposal were already an unchangeable truth. "I know, Kate, but we can’t ignore the magnitude of this opportunity. In Saint-Jean-d'Angély, Ophelia will have the chance to face a different reality, to grow in an environment that stimulates her curiosity. Also, the project will require my commitment for an indefinite period. We can’t let an opportunity like this slip away."

Ophelia, hearing her father’s words, suddenly felt overwhelmed. Her fingers, still holding the glass, trembled imperceptibly. She couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving her London, of moving to a foreign country where everything would be different. Her life would change in an instant, without asking for her opinion.

With a smile that masked her frustration, Ophelia spoke, her voice barely audible but firm: "When will we move?"

Edward looked at her, but the answer seemed to come with the same naturalness with which he had announced his project. "In September, darling. Soon, so. There’s not much time."

Ophelia felt as if a huge weight had been placed on her shoulders. She looked at Oliver, who didn’t even seem to notice the gravity of the situation, too absorbed in his games and childish ideas.

"I don’t think I like the idea." Ophelia murmured, not hiding her displeasure.

Edward looked at her with an enigmatic smile, as if he had predicted her reaction. "I understand it’s not easy, but I assure you it will be a change that brings benefits for all of us. It will be an opportunity. Once you settle in, you’ll see."

Ophelia didn’t respond immediately. She looked around, observing the house she loved, the garden she knew like the back of her hand, and suddenly everything seemed distant, out of reach. A year in France, far from everything she knew. It was an idea she couldn’t process.

At that moment, her mother, who had not participated in the conversation assertively, spoke with a voice that, while trying to sound understanding, had an undertone of determination: "Ophelia, I’m sure you’ll find a way to adapt. This will be a challenge, but also an opportunity for growth."

Ophelia felt suddenly overwhelmed by loneliness, as if that proposal, that already decided future, was a step she had to take with no possibility of changing direction.

"And then," her mother continued, giving her a smile full of solidarity. "You’ll finally benefit from your French studies."

The rest of the dinner passed in a heavy silence. Her father’s words echoed in Ophelia’s mind, blending with her fears and uncertainties. On that warm summer evening, her life was already taking a turn she had never imagined.

Ophelia tossed and turned in bed, unable to find a position that would bring her comfort. The soft light from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls of her room, a sanctuary she would soon leave forever. The thought clenched her heart, a knot of conflicting emotions that seemed impossible to untangle.

Before retreating to her room, she had stopped in Oliver’s bedroom. She found him already under the covers, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm that knew no hesitation. Talking about the move, her little brother had eagerly imagined a school full of adventures and new friends, as if the change was a promise of a whole new world to explore.

"Do you think there will be kids in France who will play soccer with me?" he had asked, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

Ophelia smiled at him, an almost instinctive gesture, trying to hide the weight on her chest. "I’m sure you’ll find them," she replied as she tucked him in. Oliver was her opposite at that moment: where she saw uncertainties, he saw possibilities.

Later, her mother came into her room to say goodnight. Catherine, with her affectionate yet resolute smile, spoke to her about the beauty of living an experience in another country, the richness she would find in meeting new schoolmates and growing in a different environment. Her words, though full of good intentions, seemed to Ophelia like a mosaic of unreachable hopes.

And yet, what really weighed on her heart was the thought of Lottie. Her best friend, with whom she had shared every secret, every dream, and every laugh, would be left behind, anchored to the life Ophelia would leave. She knew that letters and phone calls wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap of distance. With Lottie, there were no filters, no need for explanations: a glance was enough to understand each other, a laugh to get through tough moments. Leaving her meant leaving a part of herself, a bond she feared she would never rebuild with anyone else.

Lying in the dark, Ophelia felt trapped between the duty to appear mature and the desire to scream her discontent. Her mind kept returning to her father’s words: "A unique opportunity." But an opportunity for whom? For him, surely. For Oliver, perhaps. But what about her? Where did she fit in this grand plan?

She realized that her heart was torn between the desire to please her family and the instinct to stay anchored to her life. It was as if London was a part of her, a place that had shaped her, that knew every thought and dream of hers. Leaving it meant leaving behind a part of her identity.

She pulled the covers up to her chest, holding them tightly as a solitary tear slid down her cheek. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that everything would turn out fine, the truth was she was scared. Scared of what she would find, but even more so of what she would lose.

The silence of the night deepened, and Ophelia closed her eyes, seeking refuge in the memories of days spent with Lottie, of Oliver’s laughter, of the quiet moments in the house that would soon no longer be hers. Before falling asleep, she made a silent promise to herself: no matter how difficult it might be, she would not allow this change to break who she was. London would always remain inside her, and whatever awaited her in France, she would find a way to stay true to herself.

CHAPTER TWO: Long time, no see

Author's Notes:

THE FIRST CHAPTER IS DONE. Hope you enjoyed it!

This is an introductory chapter where the characters are introduced, but it lays the foundation for the story to come.

For those wondering, JOSEPH X OLIVER will get their redemption! Maybe... later on.

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and repost if you’d like!

vondarte ©

[yourspeirs]

this set is for @she-wolf09231982 who requested for more lieb gifs, hope you'd like it :)

[isawken]

in 1883 in the first recorded rodeo takes place in pecos, texas. in 2001 rob smets attends the PBR world finals in jeans and a sports jersey bearing sponsor logos. in 1568 the gelosi acting company coalesces in italy to perform the hot new style of live improv entertainment. in 1780 joseph grimaldi makes his stage debut at 2 years old at london’s famed drury lane. in the many, many years before any white person ever laid eyes on it, a man in what you’d now call northern arizona paints his body in black and white stripes and puts corn husks in his hair. in 1557 ivan the terrible is pallbearer to a man who walked naked in the streets of moscow. in 2017 the ringling bro’s circus announces its last show, 146 years after the titular brothers first formed it. all of these moments (and more!) have lived in my head rolling around like marbles for years now and im so happy to now have the proper method to infect your mind as well:

History of Fools is a hobby project of mine i've been working on for over a year now! part essay series, part half-assed podcast, part descent into madness, this little diddy is the culmination of years' worth of highly specific insanity. i have 4 half hour-ish essays/episodes out now reviewing the histories of:

Jesters! Commedia Dell'arte! Sacred Clowns and Holy Fools! and my personal favorite (seriously if you listen to or read any please choose this one) Rodeo Clowns!

I have more episodes planned to get into clowns proper, hoping to come out in 2024. but until then please take a read or a listen and let me know what you think!

CLICK HERE FOR FOOLS!

[kaijuno]

In light of Fall Out Boy’s GARBAGE cover of the song. Let’s learn about the original. Notice how they’re actually in chronological order instead of just random references 😒😒😒😒

1949

Harry Truman was inaugurated as U.S. president after being elected in 1948 to his own term; previously he was sworn in following the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt. He authorized the use of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan during World War II, on August 6 and August 9, 1945, respectively.

Doris Day enters the public spotlight with the films My Dream Is Yours and It’s a Great Feeling as well as popular songs like “It’s Magic”; divorces her second husband.

Red China: The Communist Party of China wins the Chinese Civil War, establishing the People’s Republic of China.

Johnnie Ray signs his first recording contract with Okeh Records, although he would not become popular for another two years.

South Pacific, the prize-winning musical, opens on Broadway on April 7.

Walter Winchell is an aggressive radio and newspaper journalist credited with inventing the gossip column.

Joe DiMaggio and the New York Yankees go to the World Series five times in the 1940s, winning four of them.

1950

Joe McCarthy, the US Senator, gains national attention and begins his anti-communist crusade with his Lincoln Day speech.

Richard Nixon is first elected to the United States Senate.

Studebaker, a popular car company, begins its financial downfall.

Television is becoming widespread throughout Europe and North America.

North Korea and South Korea declare war after Northern forces stream south on June 25.

Marilyn Monroe soars in popularity with five new movies, including The Asphalt Jungle and All About Eve, and attempts suicide after the death of friend Johnny Hyde who asked to marry her several times, but she refused respectfully. Monroe would later (1954) be married for a brief time to Joe DiMaggio (mentioned in the previous verse).

1951

The Rosenbergs, Ethel and Julius, were convicted on March 29 for espionage.

H-Bomb is in the middle of its development as a nuclear weapon, announced in early 1950 and first tested in late 1952.

Sugar Ray Robinson, a champion welterweight boxer.

Panmunjom, the border village in Korea, is the location of truce talks between the parties of the Korean War.

Marlon Brando is nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor for his role in A Streetcar Named Desire.

The King and I, musical, opens on Broadway on March 29.

The Catcher in the Rye, a controversial novel by J. D. Salinger, is published.

1952

Dwight D. Eisenhower is first elected as U.S. president, winning by a landslide margin of 442 to 89 electoral votes.

The vaccine for polio is privately tested by Jonas Salk.

England’s got a new queen: Queen Elizabeth II succeeds to the throne upon the death of her father, George VI, and is crowned the next year.

Rocky Marciano defeats Jersey Joe Walcott, becoming the world Heavyweight champion.

Liberace has a popular 1950s television show for his musical entertainment.

Santayana goodbye: George Santayana, philosopher, essayist, poet, and novelist, dies on September 26.

1953

Joseph Stalin dies on March 5, yielding his position as leader of the Soviet Union.

Georgy Maksimilianovich Malenkov succeeds Stalin for six months following his death. Malenkov had presided over Stalin’s purges of party “enemies”, but would be spared a similar fate by Nikita Khrushchev mentioned later in verse.

Gamal Abdel Nasser acts as the true power behind the new Egyptian nation as Muhammad Naguib’s minister of the interior.

Sergei Prokofiev, the composer, dies on March 5, the same day as Stalin.

Winthrop Rockefeller and his wife Barbara are involved in a highly publicized divorce, culminating in 1954 with a record-breaking $5.5 million settlement.

Roy Campanella, an African-American baseball catcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers, receives the National League’s Most Valuable Player award for the second time.

Communist bloc is a group of communist nations dominated by the Soviet Union at this time. Probably a reference to the Uprising of 1953 in East Germany.

1954

Roy Cohn resigns as Joseph McCarthy’s chief counsel and enters private practice with the fall of McCarthy. He also worked to prosecute the Rosenbergs, mentioned earlier.

Juan Perón spends his last full year as President of Argentina before a September 1955 coup.

Arturo Toscanini is at the height of his fame as a conductor, performing regularly with the NBC Symphony Orchestra on national radio.

Dacron is an early artificial fiber made from the same plastic as polyester.

Dien Bien Phu falls. A village in North Vietnam falls to Viet Minh forces under Vo Nguyen Giap, leading to the creation of North Vietnam and South Vietnam as separate states.

“Rock Around the Clock” is a hit single released by Bill Haley & His Comets in May, spurring worldwide interest in rock and roll music.

1955

Albert Einstein dies on April 18 at the age of 76.

James Dean achieves success with East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause, gets nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actor, and dies in a car accident on September 30 at the age of 24.

Brooklyn’s got a winning team: The Brooklyn Dodgers win the World Series for the only time before their move to Los Angeles.

Davy Crockett is a Disney television miniseries about the legendary frontiersman of the same name. The show was a huge hit with young boys and inspired a short-lived “coonskin cap” craze.

Peter Pan is broadcast on TV live and in color from the 1954 version of the stage musical starring Mary Martin on March 7. Disney released an animated version the previous year.

Elvis Presley signs with RCA Records on November 21, beginning his pop career.

Disneyland opens on July 17, 1955 as Walt Disney’s first theme park.

1956

Brigitte Bardot appears in her first mainstream film And God Created Woman and establishes an international reputation as a French “sex kitten”.

Budapest is the capital city of Hungary and site of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution.

Alabama is the site of the Montgomery Bus Boycott which ultimately led to the removal of the last race laws in the USA. Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr figure prominently.

Nikita Khrushchev makes his famous Secret Speech denouncing Stalin’s “cult of personality” on February 25.

Princess Grace Kelly releases her last film, High Society, and marries Prince Rainier III of Monaco.

Peyton Place, the best-selling novel by Grace Metalious, is published. Though mild compared to today’s prime time, it shocked the reserved values of the 1950s.

Trouble in the Suez: The Suez Crisis boils as Egypt nationalizes the Suez Canal on October 29.

1957

Little Rock, Arkansas is the site of an anti-integration standoff, as Governor Orval Faubus stops the Little Rock Nine from attending Little Rock Central High School and President Dwight D. Eisenhower deploys the 101st Airborne Division to counteract him.

Boris Pasternak, the Russian author, publishes his famous novel Doctor Zhivago.

Mickey Mantle is in the middle of his career as a famous New York Yankees outfielder and American League All-Star for the sixth year in a row.

Jack Kerouac publishes his first novel in seven years, On the Road.

Sputnik becomes the first artificial satellite, launched by the Soviet Union on October 4, marking the start of the space race.

Chou En-Lai, Premier of the People’s Republic of China, survives an assassination attempt on the charter airliner Kashmir Princess.

Bridge on the River Kwai is released as a film adaptation of the 1954 novel and receives seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture.

1958

Lebanon is engulfed in a political and religious crisis that eventually involves U.S. intervention.

Charles de Gaulle is elected first president of the French Fifth Republic following the Algerian Crisis.

California baseball begins as the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants move to California and become the Los Angeles Dodgers and San Francisco Giants. They are the first major league teams west of Kansas City.

Charles Starkweather Homicide captures the attention of Americans, in which he kills eleven people between January 25 and 29 before being caught in a massive manhunt in Douglas, Wyoming.

Children of Thalidomide: Mothers taking the drug Thalidomide had children born with congenital birth defects caused by the sleeping aid and antiemetic, which was also used at times to treat morning sickness.

1959

Buddy Holly dies in a plane crash on February 3 with Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper, in a day that had a devastating impact on the country and youth culture. Joel prefaces the lyric with a Holly signature vocal hiccup: “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

Ben-Hur, a film based around the New Testament starring Charlton Heston, wins eleven Academy Awards, including Best Picture.

Space Monkey: Able and Miss Baker return to Earth from space aboard the flight Jupiter AM-18.

The Mafia are the center of attention for the FBI and public attention builds to this organized crime society with a historically Sicilian-American origin.

Hula hoops reach 100 million in sales as the latest toy fad.

Fidel Castro comes to power after a revolution in Cuba and visits the United States later that year on an unofficial twelve-day tour.

Edsel is a no-go: Production of this car marque ends after only three years due to poor sales.

1960

U-2: An American U-2 spy plane piloted by Francis Gary Powers was shot down over the Soviet Union, causing the U-2 Crisis of 1960.

Syngman Rhee was rescued by the CIA after being forced to resign as leader of South Korea for allegedly fixing an election and embezzling more than US $20 million.

Payola, illegal payments for radio broadcasting of songs, was publicized due to Dick Clark’s testimony before Congress and Alan Freed’s public disgrace.

John F. Kennedy beats Richard Nixon in the November 8 general election.

Chubby Checker popularizes the dance The Twist with his cover of the song of the same name.

Psycho: An Alfred Hitchcock thriller, based on a pulp novel by Robert Bloch and adapted by Joseph Stefano, which becomes a landmark in graphic violence and cinema sensationalism. The screeching violins heard briefly in the background of the song are a trademark of the film’s soundtrack.

Belgians in the Congo: The Republic of the Congo (Leopoldville) was declared independent of Belgium on June 30, with Joseph Kasavubu as President and Patrice Lumumba as Prime Minister.

1961

Ernest Hemingway commits suicide on July 2 after a long battle with depression.

Adolf Eichmann, a “most wanted” Nazi war criminal, is traced to Argentina and captured by Mossad agents. He is covertly taken to Israel where he is put on trial for crimes against humanityin Germany during World War II, convicted, and hanged.

Stranger in a Strange Land, written by Robert A. Heinlein, is a breakthrough best-seller with themes of sexual freedom and liberation.

Bob Dylan is signed to Columbia Records after a New York Times review by critic Robert Shelton.

Berlin is separated into West Berlin and East Berlin, and from the rest of East Germany, when the Berlin Wall is erected on August 13 to prevent citizens escaping to the West.

The Bay of Pigs Invasion fails, an attempt by United States-trained Cuban exiles to invade Cuba and overthrow Fidel Castro.

1962

Lawrence of Arabia: The Academy Award-winning film based on the life of T. E. Lawrence starring Peter O’Toole premieres in America on December 16.

British Beatlemania: The Beatles, a British rock group, gain Ringo Starr as drummer and Brian Epstein as manager, and join the EMI’s Parlophone label. They soon become the world’s most famous rock band, with the word “Beatlemania” adopted by the press for their fans’ unprecedented enthusiasm. It also began the British Invasion in the United States.

Ole’ Miss: James Meredith integrates the University of Mississippi

John Glenn: Flew the first American manned orbital mission termed “Friendship 7” on February 20.

Liston beats Patterson: Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson fight for the world heavyweight championship on September 25, ending in a first-round knockout. This match marked the first time Patterson had ever been knocked out and one of only eight losses in his 20-year professional career.

1963

Pope Paul VI: Cardinal Giovanni Montini is elected to the papacy and takes the papal name of Paul VI.

Malcolm X makes his infamous statement “The chickens have come home to roost” about the Kennedy assassination, thus causing the Nation of Islam to censor him.

British politician sex: The British Secretary of State for War, John Profumo, has a relationship with a showgirl, and then lies when questioned about it before the House of Commons. When the truth came out, it led to his own resignation and undermined the credibility of the Prime Minister.

JFK blown away: President John F. Kennedy is assassinated on November 22 while riding in an open convertible through Dallas.

1965

Birth control: In the early 1960s, oral contraceptives, popularly known as “the pill”, first go on the market and are extremely popular. Griswold v. Connecticut in 1965 challenged a Connecticut law prohibiting contraceptives. In 1968, Pope Paul VI released a papal encyclical entitled Humanae Vitae which declared artificial birth control a sin.

Ho Chi Minh: A Vietnamese communist, who served as President of Vietnam from 1954–1969. March 2 Operation Rolling Thunder begins bombing of the Ho Chi Minh Trail supply line from North Vietnam to the Vietcong rebels in the south. On March 8, the first U.S. combat troops, 3,500 marines, land in South Vietnam.

1968

Richard Nixon back again: Former Vice President Nixon is elected President in 1968.

1969

Moonshot: Apollo 11, the first manned lunar landing, successfully lands on the moon.

Woodstock: Famous rock and roll festival of 1969 that came to be the epitome of the counterculture movement.

1974–75

Watergate: Political scandal that began when the Democratic National Committee’s headquarters at the Watergate office complex in Washington, DC was broken into. After the break-in, word began to spread that President Richard Nixon (a Republican) may have known about the break-in, and tried to cover it up. The scandal would ultimately result in the resignation of President Nixon, and to date, this remains the only time that anyone has ever resigned the United States Presidency.

Punk rock: The Ramones form, with the Sex Pistols following in 1975, bringing in the punk era.

1976–77

(An item from 1977 comes before three items from 1976 to make the song scan.)

Menachem Begin becomes Prime Minister of Israel in 1977 and negotiates the Camp David Accords with Egypt’s president in 1978.

Ronald Reagan was elected President of the United States in 1980, but he first attempted to run for the position in 1976.

Palestine: a United Nations resolution that calls for an independent Palestinian state and to end the Israeli occupation.

Terror on the airline: Numerous aircraft hijackings take place, specifically, the Palestinian hijack of Air France Flight 139 and the subsequent Operation Entebbe in Uganda.

1979

Ayatollah’s in Iran: During the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the West-backed and secular Shah is overthrown as the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini gains power after years in exile and forces Islamic law.

Russians in Afghanistan: Following their move into Afghanistan, Soviet forces fight a ten-year war, from 1979 to 1989.

1983

Wheel of Fortune: A hit television game show which has been TV’s highest-rated syndicated program since 1983.

Sally Ride: In 1983 she becomes the first American woman in space. Ride’s quip from space “Better than an E-ticket”, harkens back to the opening of Disneyland mentioned earlier, with the E-ticket purchase needed for the best rides.

Heavy metal suicide: In the 1980s Ozzy Osbourne and the bands Judas Priest and Metallica were brought to court by parents who accused the musicians of hiding subliminal pro-suicide messages in their music.

Foreign debts: Persistent U.S. trade deficits

Homeless vets: Veterans of the Vietnam War, including many disabled ex-military, are reported to be left homeless and impoverished.

AIDS: A collection of symptoms and infections in humans resulting from the specific damage to the immune system caused by infection with the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). It is first detected and recognized in the 1980s, and was on its way to becoming a pandemic.

Crack cocaine use surged in the mid-to-late 1980s.

1984

Bernie Goetz: On December 22, Goetz shot four young men who he said were threatening him on a New York City subway. Goetz was charged with attempted murder but was acquitted of the charges, though convicted of carrying an unlicensed gun.

1988

Hypodermics on the shore: Medical waste was found washed up on beaches in New Jersey after being illegally dumped at sea. Before this event, waste dumped in the oceans was an “out of sight, out of mind” affair. This has been cited as one of the crucial turning points in popular opinion on environmentalism.

1989

China’s under martial law: On May 20, China declares martial law, enabling them to use force of arms against protesting students to end the Tiananmen Square protests.

Rock-and-roller cola wars: Soft drink giants Coke and Pepsi each run marketing campaigns using rock & roll and popular music stars to reach the teenage and young adult demographic.

Short summaries of all 119 references mentioned in the song, you’re welcome.

[fishfingersandscarves]

for the departed | shayfer james | company series animatic (unfinished)

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[reality-detective]

Inside the Deep-State Cloning Labs: Clones, Doubles, Actors, and CGI—The Greatest Show On Earth 🍿

Biden was already old. Gray hair. But look closely: Hair style. Complexion. Nose structure. Chin. Mouth. Does it all align? Or are we staring at something far more sinister?

The excuses keep coming: Plastic surgery. Aging. But is that enough to justify the glaring differences? No. It’s time to pull back the curtain.

The Cloning Agenda Unveiled 👇

Reports suggest Biden isn’t Biden. A clone, failing before our eyes. His voice altered, his features disintegrating, and yes—his ears seem to be falling off his face. This is no accident.

The Kamino Corporation—a shadowy operation behind these clones—was allegedly approached by the DNC in 2019. By April, Biden’s clone was ready to run for office. The model? A T-1000, initially flawless but now deteriorating rapidly. And it’s not just him. Sources suggest Marjorie Taylor Greene herself could be another clone—crafted from the same tech.

Widespread Clone Recall in Progress 👇

The cloning company is now recalling their T-series models after mass failures. Nancy Pelosi, Olsen twins, Guy Fieri, Boris Johnson, Tom Brady—all suspected clones. The fix? A sinister "patch" of hydroxychloroquine and adrenochrome, designed to slow cellular decay but incapable of erasing character flaws.

Executions, GITMO, and Replacements 👇

Tribunals authorized by Trump’s Executive Order have reportedly been running since 2019. Charges? Treason, crimes against humanity. Results? Executions. Clones and doubles now serve as placeholders, masking the truth until the public awakens to the depths of their depravity.

Inside the Labyrinth: Revelations from a Deep-State Scientist 👇

Captured in 2023, a cloning scientist unveiled the horrifying scope of the operation. These clones, designed to live only three years, are summoned back to reclamation centers before their programmed expiration. There, they’re dissolved in acid and replaced by new facsimiles.

He revealed that Joseph Biden has had three clones released since 2012. The real Biden? Some speculate that possibly he was eliminated under Obama’s regime. Each clone is equipped with a microchip—a GPS, health tracker, and a recall system ensuring secrecy.

The Rabbit Hole Runs Deep 👇

This conspiracy is not just about politics. It’s about control, deception, and domination. The exposure of these clones forces us to confront the hidden hands pulling the strings. Who else among us is real?

Stay Vigilant. The storm is here.

We’ve waited for years… and now it’s here. The Deep State’s downfall has begun, and nothing can stop it now. 🤔