noiranamnesis

[noiranamnesis]

PUBLIC   CONTENT     ⸻     marion   cotillard   ,   macbeth     （ #362 ）  ，

click   on   the   source   link   below   to   be   redirected   to   the   gifs.   all   the   gifs   were   meticulously   crafted   from   scratch   by   our   team.   we   kindly   ask   you   to   respect   our   work   by   not   claiming   it   as   your   own,   refraining   from   editing,   and   not   redistributing   them.   lastly,   if   you   find   these   gifs   helpful   or   plan   to   use   them   in   the   future,   we   would   greatly   appreciate   it   if   you   could   like   and   reblog   this   post.

content   warnings   include:   kissing,   violence.

commission   work:   refer   to   our   pinned   post   to   request   your   own   commission.

#ressources: marinette beauséjour #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Bread of Happiness (2012)

#c: marinette beauséjour #La Boulangerie de Marinette #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Any semblance of reprieve in those initial steps vanished in an instant, Russell’s voice furthering an unrelenting presence. Don’t tell me how to act. I don’t care if you were joking- everything is a joke for you. You do not like me...A flood of retorts she didn’t dare say aloud, her gaze focused on the dressing room door. Is that supposed to be a compliment? Regardless, Marinette knew she’d receive shit for his careless words sooner than later.

For better or worse, Russell was far from an uncommon topic in the dressing room. Often a pivotal character in some sort of party shenanigans- though she rarely heard any complaints. On the few occasions her name had been added to fray; there tended to be a common thread; how she seemed to be "playing hard to get" with him. A notion she found hilarious especially now considering the commotion she'd caused.

The door was nearly in reach when Spice suddenly eased their pace, casting her a sympathetic look. In return Marinette offered silent outrage: Really? For HIM? Perhaps she needed to start copying his mannerisms- it clearly won him most things. With no allies, she resigned herself to perch against the wall, arms crossing over her chest as she focused on nothing in particular. A solid enough tactic until he tried his hand at humor. Gods help me. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, waiting to exhale before looking at him. Rejection was imminent, with her only allowing him to finish out of common courtesy.

Then he spoke French.

"Oui?" In a way she was impressed; both in him remembering any French and being cunning enough to use it on her. A part of her felt as though she was giving him too much credit, doubting he thought much of it, which somehow irritated her further. "That's the point Russell. You want to make it up to me? It would take longer than a night and who can say you'll even remember this come morning? That it won't just be another haze for you where 'what happened, happened'?" She gave him a once over then, a small shake of her head answering questions left unsaid. "So as much as I would love to stay and chat with you, I have to go pull glass from my foot." Marinette feigned a sweet smile, wary of drawing anymore attention. "So I'll be a bit busy, but feel free to buy the girls a round of drinks. They deserve it."

With that she turned to Spice. "Take my slot tonight. I won't be able to dance anyway." Or tomorrow for that matter. Their manager, Charles, was not a fan of injured dancers whether a bruise or a cut- unless makeup could mask it and even then he often decided on a whim. Marinette figured her best bet would be to swap to the bar for the next few nights; if Charles agreed.

"O-okay." Spice nodded. "Do you need help?"

"Absolutely not." Pushing off the wall she hobbled the final few feet to the dressing room, finally slipping inside. At this hour there it was practically empty, most dancers already working the floor leaving her to settle on a bench in relative peace.

"I dunno, maybe I woulda played along", he shrugged, an amused grin spreading across his face. He didn't really feel offended by her words, maybe because he was a little high right now. He found them more funny than offensive. Everything was more funny when he was high. But she did seem angry, so he tried his best not to say anything that might piss her off even further. Unfortunately, he had never been great at that. "Hell, you prolly woulda had a point! I can appreciate a good roast if it's done well." Wrong word choice, it seemed, because the expression on her face didn't look any brighter. Then Spice appeared out of nowhere to inform her that she was bleeding - something he hadn't even noticed until she said it - and his face fell a little bit. "Oh, shit", he grimaced as his gaze wandered lower, down to the blood that was drying up on her foot. "Are you good?" No answer, outlook bleak. The moment she looked back at him, telling him that he ought to pretend as though she didn't exist, he felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Was she really that upset? It was really just some bullshit to him. He was an entertainer - small lies were par for the course. As she began to walk off with Spice on her arm, he abandoned his post and followed after them, a sudden determination seemingly coming over him. "Don't be like that. Are you serious? Look, I was really just fucking around. I didn't mean it. And you know I like you, I think you're the most interesting girl here." It was true, he did think that. Okay, so maybe it had to do with the fact that she had refused to service him several times but she was also kinda mysterious and he liked a little bit of mystery. Getting rejected also wasn't something he encountered a lot, at least not for such a long time. Even Spice, who initially seemed annoyed by him, had changed her tune after a while and they ended up having fun together. Maybe they didn't have sex, but she did dance for him and they smoked together and made out a few times. He had built some decent rapport with her but with Candy, it seemed like for some reason she was harder to get to and that just made her more intriguing. "Shit...hey! Hold up, hold up, Spice, let me talk to her", he rushed forward to address Spice now, knowing that she was a lot more likely to give him a break. When she slowed down her step, he addressed Candy once again.

"Just listen, okay? I'm really sorry. It was a dumb joke, I'm kinda messed up tonight, it's a problem, trust me I know. But I'm working on that. Anyway, I didn't mean to fuck up your night or nothing. And I definitely ain't gonna pretend you don't exist. You're way too fine for that. Hell, why do you think I'm out here lying my ass off? You gotta let a guy dream sometimes", he joked, but quickly returned to his more serious tone when he realized the joke wasn't landing. "Lemme make it up to you. How about...how about I buy you and your lovely friend Spice a round of drinks, and we can talk about what I can do to make amends. Sound good, oui?"

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: russell parker #b: rustyparker #marinette x russell: 001 #v: stripper #[he slipped some French in there. smooth lmao]

[noiranamnesis]

Je ne sais pas… c'est une question difficile.

Lightly stained lips parted with intention to offer a small quip, an attempt to provide potential avenues, yet she elected to merely offer a small smile of encouragement. It was curious to think him unable to recall anything less savory in his past. Perhaps his nature was to focus on the positives in life. An approach she could hardly take issue with, although she doubted it to be the case. Memory of how he spoke of supporting his family- most notably Mylan, lingered in her thoughts; how he seemed to regard it with a sense of apathy. Suddenly she wondered if it was how he recalled most things in life. Would he perhaps look back on tonight with the same apathy despite earlier smiles? Could she blame him if he did? She supposed not. Time spent chatting with a dancer wasn't something most thought relevant, although without having to ponder she knew she'd remember this all in a positive way. An evening spent in her native tongue with a rather curious Frenchman. If she were feeling generous she might even have to thank Russell- not that she would say why she was thanking him.

His voice pulled her from idle thoughts, Marinette unconsciously straightening as he delved further into the story. Brows furrowing as her imagination gave life to his words. Images of a young boy, only a year or so younger than her own siblings, sitting in a room with his eyes closed and no one nearby to intervene. Completely at someone else's mercy...What if Hugo had decided he couldn't leave? What then? A question which may not have been relevant now. Afterall, Tylio had made it home unscathed, but still, she couldn't find it in herself to simply brush it aside. Just what had Hugo been planning? Two answers immediately came to mind. Neither were pleasant. Then there was the manner in which Tylio spoke of it; almost as though he hadn't fully explored what Hugo likely had in store for him that fateful afternoon. Or perhaps she was thinking about it too deeply, too influenced by her role as a surrogate parent of sorts. "…Ouais. Je dirais que ça compte." A soft murmur as she tried to will herself to smile. In the end she couldn't manage, instead leaning closer to wrap her arms around him. Her touch was light, gentle as she pressed herself against him. I'm sorry. Words she couldn't bring herself to say, concerned it might make him uncomfortable.

A thought which mirrored her not so distant past. When her brother had been sitting alone, not long after their father had left- not long after his own mother passed. By nature he had always been quiet, rarely one to over express emotions, but she recognized the shift- how he had fallen within himself. Marinette could still remember when she hugged him. How he tensed, not saying a word to her. And she hadn't said anything back, simply holding him until his breaths were uneven and her shirt grew damp. Back then she had refused to release Rem, but with Tylio she was poised to pull away on a moment's notice.

Once she pulled away she immediately set her gaze on the phone, swiping randomly to pull her next card. "Trèfle." Something embarrassing. "Hm, okay. Est-ce que tu achètes parfois des céréales ? Il y a ces céréales appelées Trix et dans les pubs, ils disent que c'est uniquement pour les enfants. Bon, j'étais en train d'accompagner une sortie scolaire et ils nous ont tous fait prendre le petit-déjeuner à l'école. Alors je regardais les options et j'ai failli en prendre, mais ensuite j'ai fait un commentaire sur le fait que je ne pouvais pas en avoir. Quelques élèves m'ont demandé pourquoi et j'ai dit que c'était parce que je n'étais pas un enfant, donc je ne pouvais pas avoir cette marque de Trix." Marinette shrugged, biting back a grin. "En fait, ce n'est pas vrai. Trix n'est pas spécialement fait pour les enfants… mais je n'ai toujours pas essayé parce que, au fond de moi -" Her voice fell to a whisper, "je pense toujours que c'est vrai. Juste un peu.”

No relationship. She seemed to think it was to be expected. Was it? Were there not plenty of dancers who still had relationships? Maybe they didn't always go very well. But surely it was not uncommon. It was also interesting to him that the other person not wanting a relationship was one of the main reasons she gave for why she didn't have one. Did that mean she wanted one, and she just couldn't find anybody? Or did she also not want to? He was reluctant to pry, after all she'd already answered the question and it was his turn now. Before he'd made up his mind about asking her any follow up questions, the subject had shifted to the cigarettes he lost.

"C'est différent, je te l'ai donné volontairement", Tylio clarified, now thinking back on the time he'd opened his desk drawer and found that the cigarettes he'd most definitely left in there the night before had vanished. It only happened once, because he immediately put a lock on his desk drawer, but it was clear who'd done it. Not because he was such a great detective, but Russell was very sloppy at hiding things. Tylio ran into him on the roof, during the break, and found him smoking the very same brand that had 'mysteriously' disappeared from his drawer. He'd decided not to confront him, it seemed like a useless thing to do. He didn't want to get into an argument, and he knew that if he said something there would most definitely be one because Russell had a reputation for lying. He would probably deny the whole thing. Either that, or he would admit to it, offer to pay him back but never actually do so. Out of all his colleagues, Russell was the one who most annoyed him. He still wasn't as bad as Simon, because Simon could be dangerous, but he was a lot more irritating. Marcus was the only one he could stand, so whenever some collaboration was required, Tylio would team up with him.

But she didn't want to know about his colleagues. She wanted to know about him. That was more difficult. Something dark...about himself? Aside from his poor spending habits, he didn't think he had a lot of darkness in his life. Sure, it was a bit isolated at times, but it wasn't unbearable. He even enjoyed being alone a lot of the time. It gave him more time to work. "Je ne sais pas… c'est une question difficile." Had he felt robust enough to dig a little deeper, he probably would have mentioned the fact that his family was constantly hounding him for money, or the fact that no matter how much they asked for, he couldn't bring himself to say no, or the fact that providing for them and impressing them with his financial accomplishments had become his main objective in life. Maybe he'd mention the fact that he'd never even been in a long term relationship because of this, that his marriage to his work had taken over everything, that his lack of friendships and connections were mainly his own doing. That he was terrified of dying alone and yet couldn't deny the fact that at this point, his loneliness offered him more comfort than a relationship ever could through its sheer familiarity. Any of those would have been a good answer, but he wasn't quite aware of most of it. He preferred not to think about these things, if he could at all avoid them. It took him a while, before he finally decided on something to share with her.

"Je vais vous raconter une chose assez sombre qui m'est arrivée. Quand j'avais quatorze ans, j'avais un ami à l'école, il était un peu plus âgé que moi. Je crois qu'il s'appelait Hugo, si je me souviens bien. Nous déjeunions ensemble et nous traînions parfois chez lui après l'école. En y repensant, je ne sais pas si nous étions vraiment de bons amis, je pense que nous n'avions tout simplement personne d'autre avec qui passer du temps. Mes frères étaient tous deux dans des classes différentes et nous voulions tous faire nos propres choses. Une fois, nous sommes allés chez lui, ses parents n'étaient pas là, nous avions donc la maison pour nous seuls. Je pensais que nous allions jouer à des jeux vidéo, c'était ce que nous faisions d'habitude, mais cette fois-ci, il a dit qu'il voulait que nous montions dans sa chambre pour me montrer quelque chose. Je suis monté avec lui et il a fermé la porte à clé, je n'ai pas compris pourquoi sur le moment. Il a fermé la porte à clé et m'a dit de m'asseoir par terre avec lui, et que nous allions jouer à un jeu différent cette fois-ci. J'avoue que j'étais un peu curieuse, il agissait bizarrement mais je trouvais ça drôle. Ou peut-être que je m'ennuyais ? Je ne me souviens pas… Je me souviens juste que je me suis assis et qu'il m'a dit que nous allions jouer à un jeu de défis, et que c'était lui qui avait le premier tour parce qu'il avait eu l'idée. Son premier défi était que je ferme les yeux, je me suis dit que c'était nul, que c'était trop facile. Je l'ai donc fait. Puis il m'a dit de compter jusqu'à cent. Je ne sais pas vraiment ce qu'il a fait pendant ce temps. Je l'entendais se déplacer dans la pièce, je crois, mais je ne suis pas sûre de ce qu'il faisait. Tout ce que je sais, c'est que lorsque j'ai ouvert les yeux, il était soudain assis très près de moi et il avait un regard très étrange. Il avait l'air presque en colère. Je pense que j'ai eu peur, parce que je me souviens lui avoir demandé d'ouvrir la porte et lui avoir dit que je devais rentrer pour dîner. Il a ouvert la porte et je suis sortie rapidement, mais pendant que je sortais, je l'ai regardé et j'ai eu l'impression qu'il tenait quelque chose dans son dos. Je ne sais pas ce que c'était, ni ce qu'il préparait, ni si c'était une farce ou quelque chose comme ça. Mais les choses sont devenues bizarres après ça, l'amitié n'était plus la même."

At the time, he didn't think much of it but being older now, he had a feeling that whatever his friend wanted to do to him that day was something kind of sinister. Nothing really happened, it was more so the implication of it that still had him thinking back on it sometimes. "Est-ce que cela compte?", he chuckled, realizing that in a way, he had once again told her about someone close to him rather than himself. It happened to him, sure, but he was not the source of the darkness in this story. He could only hope she didn't notice.

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: tylio cellier #b: tyliocellier #marinette x tylio: 001 #v: stripper #[why is Simon dangerous?? >_>] #[I'd feel so bad for Tylio if Russell walked in on that hahaha] #[Tylio is just out here casually telling horror stories! >_>]

[noiranamnesis]

John Wick + outfits

#c: rem vilein #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Continued from here.

for: @rustyparker

...

Light hues never wavered from his, even when she he rose to full height and she had to tilt her head back. At just over 5'5" herself, he practically loomed overhead, yet she remained unmoved. If he thought for even a moment that just because he was a tree he could diffuse this situation easily, he was sorely mistaken. Marinette had no qualms climbing him and smacking him sober. And then there he was, attempting to serve her a fast food apology as though his face alone was enough to sell it. "Do I look like I care whether your sorry excuse for friends will remember this!?" She didn't even spare them a glance. "It's the fact you said it! And don't pretend you were joking. Would it be a joke if I said: Of course he fucked me! He'll sleep with anything. Hell! He'll be too high to notice whether he's sticking it in you or your thighs! Ha-ha! How funny am I!?"

“Candy…” Ellie; better known as Spice, tentatively called her name amidst a sea of onlookers.

“Yes?”

“You’re bleeding.”

A flicker of confusion crossed her features, brows knitting ever so softly. Bleeding? In her adrenalize fueled haze she felt little more than a pin prick of pain. One glance down, however, revealed stains of crimson trailing her leg. “Merde.” With a shift of her weight she tensed, a wince caught in her throat as a shard pierced through flimsy heels into her foot. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she persisted, forcing her attention back to Russell. "From this moment on, I do not exist to you." Slow breaths punctuated each word. "If you see me or hear me- no you didn’t. Do not talk to me, do not look at me, and for the love of your music- do not ever mention me again." Only then she finally retreat, taking Ellie's arm for support on the fastest route to the dressing rooms

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: russell parker #b: rustyparker #marinette x russell: 001 #v: stripper #[you were right. she would know better than to tell him her name lol] #[she might give him one of her second names but not to first haha]

[noiranamnesis]

"Ah," Coiled tension eased in her chest, a soft breath escaping her as fragments of a wavering answer fell in place, "d'accord." Reaching over, Marinette plucked the jacket from his lap to once again seek refuge in its warmth. "La dernière chose que je voulais, c'était que tu rentres chez toi et que tu te disputes à cause de mon odeur." While she had yet to find herself on the receiving end of a disgruntled partner's ire- it was a common enough sight for her to be wary. In fact, if one were to ask how often clients' partners came in demanding to know who smells like peaches & creme or who wears pink glitter...Marinette's follow up question would be whether they meant per week or month.

Je n'ai pas beaucoup de médias sociaux…et vous?

"Non. Les seules fois où je suis sur les réseaux sociaux, c'est à travers les publications de mes amis." A small grin played on her features then. "Je me dis que c'est mieux de l'éviter jusqu'à ce que je sois sorti de ce métier." A pause. "Je dirais que c'est plus sûr." Such beliefs weren't widely shared with many others having leveraged social media to expand their client base of sorts; something she wasn't against per se, but simply never considered for herself. No. As of now her plan was to rejoin social media once she stepped back in the world of culinary arts. Because no one cares what a baker does, so long as they bake a good cake.

"Bien sûr que non." Despite a small smile, it never quite reached her eyes. "Comme tu peux probablement l'imaginer, la plupart des danseurs ne se retrouvent pas en couple. Soit parce qu'ils n'en veulent pas… soit à cause de tout ce qui est impliqué dans la danse." An unfortunate consequence although not a hidden one by any means. In the rare cases when a new dancer was blindsided by their 'drop in stock' as Ellie would say, it seemed to come from a place of naivety or blind confidence. In that sense Marinette was grateful she had not been tempted to date since taking over her siblings affairs. Lingering thoughts danced on the tip of tongue, just about to slip free when a knock had her snapping her mouth shut. Initial assumptions believed it might be the club manager- until Russell's banshee voice cut through.

In an instant her expression grew painfully dull, every fiber of her being wanting to open the door just a crack so she could send him on his way, but she found herself deferring to Tylio. Brows perking in an unspoken question: are you going to answer him? A request for cigarettes of all things nearly made her burst into a fit of titters, a hand clamping over her mouth to muffle it. Why would he ask someone in a private room of all places? Were there not dozens of other patrons in the club he could ask? Tylio's sigh seemed to be an answer of sorts. "Hm… je vais garder ça en tête." Twirling her unlit cigarette between her fingers she smiled. "Est-ce que tu les as perdues pour lui de la même manière que tu as perdu celle-ci pour moi?" As if to prove a point she placed it between her lips as though she might take a drag. "Ne t'en fais pas, je te rendrai celle-ci si tu veux. Je ne les fume jamais." His question took no time to consider. "À propos de toi, bien sûr. Tu m'as déjà parlé de tes collègues, non?"

Out of all the things she could have asked him, he was a little surprised by her question. T'es célibataire? The answer was yes, he doubted he would have been in a place like this if he wasn't single. It wasn't his type of hangout spot. But it was true that his coworker, who was getting married tomorrow, was also here. So maybe she was used to people coming in here and having girlfriends and wives. He was flattered in a way, that she thought he may have charmed a woman enough to be in a committed relationship. But even if he could, he was married to his work and didn't have much time to date around. "Oui", he answered without really thinking about it, because answering the question was a much better option than posting to social media about his whereabouts. Not that anyone would really care what he was doing, but it didn't exactly go with the image of 'responsible worker' that he had been trying for years to project to the world and to his family. He didn't have a lot of social media accounts, anyway. Nothing beyond the bare necessities, because it was impossible nowadays to keep a job while having absolutely zero online presence. If it had been, he would have opted out years ago, especially since he knew how easy it was to obtain information about a person through their socials. For this very reason, he was careful, even a little paranoid at times, about posting anything online about himself. "Je n'ai pas beaucoup de médias sociaux…et vous?"

When she pulled the Seven of Hearts, the choice was easy for him. Normally he would have been a bit more cautious asking about relationships, he might have asked instead about family or friends, but since she just asked him if he was single, it seemed this topic was safe. "Et vous, êtes-vous en couple?" He realized that even if she answered, she may not give an honest answer. She may want to keep that part of her life more anonymous. She may even opt to hide having a relationship, to make herself seem more attractive to clients. Although...he was hard pressed to find any reasons why she would ever need to make herself seem more attractive. He blinked, shifting slightly in his seat when a short but loud knock on the door interrupted the conversation. A drunk voice followed: "Ay did you fall asleep?!" A moment of silence, then laughter, all while Tylio tried to decide whether or not he ought to respond or just wait for Russell to go away. He usually did, whenever he was ignored - at least whenever Tylio ignored him. As another knock sounded against the door, he began to wonder: was this door locked? He didn't remember locking it, and he didn't remember seeing Marinette do it either, but maybe it locked automatically. "Do y'all have any cigarettes in there?!", he heard Russell shout but just as he'd hoped, the guy didn't wait for an answer. Pretty soon, he could hear disappearing footsteps and for some reason he found himself letting out a large sigh. While he pulled another card, Eight of Spades this time, he warned her jokingly: "Vous devriez cacher vos cigarettes… J'en ai "perdu" beaucoup au bureau." He stared at the screen for a moment. "Révéler quelque chose de sombre… à propos de moi-même ? Ou sur quelqu'un d'autre?"

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: tylio cellier #b: tyliocellier #marinette x tylio: 001 #v: stripper #[I love how Tylio's way of dealing with him was to just ignore him hahahaha] #[if he walks in while she's giving Tylio a lap dance...>_>]

[noiranamnesis]

Make a assumption about my muse and see how they react! Anything goes!

#memes & prompts #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

It was akin to watching a tragic comedy, listening as the infantile prince regaled a tale of his own creation to a faceless crowd of giggling men. With every few words her grip on their tray of drinks tightened, the slight clinking of glasses falling on deaf ears. Ignore him. Let it go. You can let it- 

She let me hit that shit raw!  

“Have you lost your fucking sense?!” In an instant the tray was cast aside, glasses crashing against the wall. Once pounding music went silent, but she barely noticed, glass shards cracking beneath deliberate steps. “You want to sleep around, Russell? Fine. You want to take drugs? Go ahead. You want to come to strip club every night? Have a blast for all I care. But you want to lie and say I gave you the gift of sleeping with me!?” A short laugh escaped her then, Marinette forcing her hand into a fist to keep from smacking him clear across his face. “Je préfère me laver les yeux avec de l'eau de Javel et manger des balanes pour le reste de mes jours plutôt que de te laisser me toucher. T'es pitoyable. Et j'ai entendu des histoires sur tes talents au lit. Ça n'a pas l'air très encourageant- t'es probablement trop défoncé pour remarquer le plaisir de quelqu'un d'autre que le tien.” Nearby snickers earned a fleeting glare before she turned back to their dunce of a leader. “Con.”

Open to female muses | Rusty brags to his friends about having sex with your muse, not realizing she’s been standing right there and heard the whole thing. (Could be they didn’t even have sex and he just made the whole thing up, could be that they did, either way.)

“‘Course I banged her man, come on! She’s the town’s biggest slut!”, Rusty boasted out loud to the handful of guys he liked to call friends. They weren’t really, the only thing he really had in common with them was his love for music, heavy drug use and a variety of poor habits. “She’s freaky too. She let me hit that shit raw!”, he continued, blissfully unaware that the very girl he was speaking so freely about was standing right behind him. A few of the others had noticed her, but they weren’t saying anything - they were too high and amused to give a shit and just waiting for things to pop off.

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: russell parker #b: rustyparker #marinette x russell: 001 #v: stripper #[i figured I would keep her in the stripper verse for peak chaos]

[noiranamnesis]

“Bien sûr que t'es content de l'avoir fait.” Marinette scoffed, “T'es le chat qui a eu la crème. Moi aussi, j'serais content.” Remarks on her singing were something easily shrugged off, well aware her voice wasn’t destined for much beyond karaoke bars and living room concerts. A fact which didn’t particularly bother her. Aside from time spent in kitchens, much of her youth involved the art of dance- once grueling days spent training her body now something looked upon with fondness. If only my instructors could see me now. They’d likely lay an egg.

Vous craignez de ne pas être payé? Si c'est le cas…Je peux vous dédommager si vous restez plus longtemps.

A series of conflicting thoughts and considerations flitted through her mind, brows furrowing at the ease with which he offered his wallet. One could believe it a compliment, easy money, to have another pay for little more than your company. In her eyes, however, such a notion was fleeting, nulled by simmering concerns. How could she, in good faith, accept money for nothing in return? Perhaps his desire to avoid his colleagues was worth it for him- there were certainly times she would have happily paid Russell to disappear for a night. I may have even been able to write it off my taxes as a donation. Hints of a smile formed at such a ridiculous thought, her gaze flicking to the screen. Diamond…His sudden ‘advice?’ Made her pause, confusion giving way to melodic laughter. “Quel genre de mentalité est-ce? Je devrais pas arrêter pendant que je suis en avance?” She countered, “Partir sur une bonne note?” A rhetorical question for she wasn’t a gambler, at least not in the traditional sense. If she pondered it for too long she could hear the muted yells of friends past, scolding her for risky decisions. But it was never over money. A positive point in her eyes though it conveniently disregarded context.

Tapping her cheek in thought, she weighed whether it best to follow the trend of their game or step outside of it to answer a niggle in the back of her mind. A question which could seem awkward, but would ultimately inform her decision regarding his offer. “T'es célibataire?” As soon as the words slipped free she realized she hadn’t decided on a dare. I dare you to say if you have a partner? That won’t do. Suddenly her backlog of potential tasks was nowhere to be found. “Ou tu dois publier sur les réseaux sociaux que t'es au strip club.” Peeking behind the couch she spotted light controls. “Je peux mettre la musique et même les lumières spéciales pour vraiment vendre le truc.” Weak. Horrible. Subpar. All immediate thoughts, but there was no turning back. Now it was for him to decide. While curious to see if he would take the bait, she slid the phone back to her side, pressing the deck to draw her next card. Seven of Hearts. “Hm.” It felt as though fate was calling her bluff in a way. Happy memory or relationship? Could stick to happy, but I did just ask about his relationship… “Une préférence particulière?”

The sensation of Marinette's hair brushing against his cheeks when she leaned over was an oddly pleasant one. He found himself smiling, again, at her mannerisms and gestures. For a second, when he'd given her a compliment, she had seemed almost shy. But it only took one second before she was back to the seemingly unafraid and confident version of herself. He wasn't sure how much of that version was real, and how much of it was the face she put on whenever she was interacting with clients. But...it was convincing. And a little contagious, too. With every passing minute he spent with her, he was getting more comfortable and feeling less out of place. He was glad now that he'd made the decision to confine himself to a room with one of the dancers, even if he initially did it mostly out of a slight panic and desire to be away from the rest of the group. Get some air. Avoid the awkward conversations about how this was Simon's last night of freedom. He seemed to expect that because it was his last night of freedom, everyone ought to go along with him and indulge in whatever he wanted them to. It was not only that, Simon also sort of presented it as a form of team-building. Right now, listening to the distant sound of house music, laughter and suggestive whistling, Tylio wondered why he had believed that at the time.

Pretty soon, their little bubble was popped and Marinette was showing him her phone screen. A message from her fellow dancer, wondering why Marinette was playing 'breakup music'. Funny. He hadn't quite interpreted it that way. He'd thought of the song more as a ballad, sung to a past lover in hopes of perhaps reaching out and getting through to them again. Tylio shrugged. "Ah, mais elle pensait que c'était un enregistrement, non ? Ça veut dire que c'était bon.", he argued, though the boldness in his voice waned when her lips found the space beside his ear and she whispered to him yet again. Avenge herself...was she going to demand he sing, too? It might make her feel better, honestly, since his singing voice left a lot to be desired. He quickly agreed to her terms: "D'accord, je ne le demanderai plus. Mais je suis content de l'avoir fait." He was still grinning a little bit until she reminded him that while they could play a little longer, she most definitely had to go soon. For monetary reasons. He could feel a bit of doubt settling in the pit of his stomach. Was she telling the truth or simply looking for a way out of this room? Perhaps it was truly about money...everything usually was. But lucky for her, that was one thing he could offer quite easily. Though he accepted the jacket back, he found himself pushing back against her announcement a little bit.

"Vous craignez de ne pas être payé? Si c'est le cas…" He paused, reaching into his pocket to take out his wallet. "Je peux vous dédommager si vous restez plus longtemps." He understood. There were still her work hours. She may lose money if she spent too much time in here with him, and she already told him that she needed that money to take care of her siblings. That could have been just a story, but he related to it too much to question its validity for very long. While she mulled it over, he took the opportunity to draw another card. Two of Diamonds. "Il semble que votre chance ne fasse que commencer… cela signifie que vous devez continuer à jouer." The motto of every gambler, of course. But the way he saw it, she had nothing to lose now. And he was not ready for either one of them to leave this room.

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: tylio cellier #b: tyliocellier #marinette x tylio: 001 #v: stripper #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Marion Cotillard in Jeux d’enfants (2003)

#c: marinette beauséjour #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

There was an element in music, unspoken by nature, yet no less comforting in solace provided. Allowing Marinette to surrender to melodies written under another’s intention and for a small moment, adopt them as her own. This version of Pink Lemonade was the only one she’d ever known, a random find one late night. In a way, the tune had come to reflect her views on herself: a person aware of their inability to provide what a partner may need- with memories of failed romances clouding her thoughts whenever she found herself drawn to someone new. Warning bells in the form of past parting words and how if she pursued, her prize would ultimately be a new variation of the same. Funnily enough, a few dancers had been singing it in the dressing room a few hours earlier, a way of helping one get her emotions out over a breakup before guests arrived. Perhaps that’s why I picked it? Because it’s fresh in my mind? A brief consideration which faded as quickly as it arrived. Otherwise focused on controlling her volume and pitch, teetering the line between doing the song justice and not wanting those outside to overhear. Once finished, she released a steadying breath, unable to believe she’d actually sang to a guest. When their eyes met she scrunched her nose playfully. His words gave her pause, a faint rose dusting her cheeks. “Merci.” A soft murmur despite her former confidence. Still cheeky. Within moments she recovered, hands coming to rest on the back of the couch on either side of him. “Mais n'aille pas te faire des idées.” Marinette leaned over him then, dark tresses falling forward to brush against his cheeks, “Chanter, c'est pas quelque chose que tu peux demander normalement ici.” Without taking her eyes off his she slipped her phone from his grasp. “Et tu peux pas me demander de chanter encore. Même si je tire une autre carte diamant. T'as compris?”

A notification popped up on her screen then, Marinette swiping to see;

Ellie: are you playing breakup music in there??

“Oh, super. Regarde ce que t'as fait.” She tilted the screen for him to see, shifting her weight so her lips brushed dangerously close to his ear. “Je me vengerai.” A devious grin graced her features as she finally moved from behind the couch. Her thoughts were already racing with potential ideas based on the card he might pull next, but Ellie’s text remained at the forefront of her mind. I can’t stay all night. I’ll have to go out soon to earn some money. By the time she sunk down next to him she knew she needed to bring their time to an end. Pulling the card app back on her screen she held it out for him to take. “Écoute, c'est génial et on peut certainement jouer encore quelques tours, mais après ça, je devrai retourner sur la piste de danse.” And you need to get back to your party. In a perfect world she would have played all night, just as she used to, before all this. But such was life and given how busy the club was tonight…she simply couldn’t afford to miss out. Not wanting to dwell, Marinette smiled, giving him a nudge. “Alors dépêche-toi et choisis un diamant, que je puisse prendre ma revanche.” Do I make him sing? I could always have him dance and really turn the tables…or take a page from Ellie’s book and have him show his dating profile- but would he even be on the apps? Giving him a once over tilted her head in though. It’s impossible to tell. He could have zero, he could have one, he could have forty. A sudden possibility sobered her in an instant. He could be in a relationship. An idea she was admittedly torn over. If he’s in a relationship and has been hiding in here with me then that’s quite commendable…ish?Still, it didn’t exactly make her happy. This is why you aren’t supposed to think about it. Play your role, Mari. And give this man his jacket back. Her body moved on its own accord, letting warm fabric slip from her shoulders to set it on his lap. “Tiens. Merci de me l'avoir prêté.”

"Oui, vous aimez les voitures?", he asked, surprised, even though he didn't know why. She may have a whole lot of hobbies. Although looking after her siblings probably took up a lot of her time. When she teased him about the vengeful nature of his dare, he chuckled. Was that part of it, revenge? For making him tell her about his casino habits? But she didn't really make him, he volunteered that information. Why did he do that? He still wasn't sure but it felt quite good talking about his life to someone. Especially when he knew it wouldn't make the rounds in any of his circles. It wasn't a completely conscious course of actions, but he always maintained a certain amount of anonymity. Telling other people about his business or about what made him tick simply didn't feel like a good idea most of the time. More than that, it felt scary. But speaking about it to a stranger was easier. Stranger...maybe she was more of an acquaintance at this point. He was still speaking to her quite formally but stranger sounded a little too cold, and she had such a warm face. Even acquaintance seemed a bit wrong. He didn't like to touch any of his acquaintances. But he'd felt the light pressure of Marinette's chin against his shoulder just now, when she leaned over to glance at his phone, and it felt natural somehow.

"Je n'ai pas fait les règles", he reflexively offered a defense, even though Marinette had already decided that she was very much going to play along. Before he knew it, she was tapping his nose with the tip of her finger and making him almost laugh again while he watched her rise from her seat and rush to stand behind the couch. His first instinct was to turn his head and follow her with his gaze, until she warned him not to look. "Pourquoi?" Was she shy? He was again surprised, was she not used to performing? Maybe dancing was different from singing. Maybe it was the song she chose, did it mean something to her? He almost asked her but in the end held his tongue, because he wanted most of all to hear her sing. She handed him the phone and he took a quick glance: Pink Lemonade by YVA. His finger hovered over the play button, but he lost sight of it when two soft hands covered his eyes, obstructing his view in the most welcomed way possible. Then she whispered, so very close to his ear, her voice raising goosebumps on the back of his neck with its playfulness and its soothing confidence. This, he was not prepared for. He nearly dropped the phone in his hand. He'd always been sensitive to sounds. The sound of music, the sound of footsteps, the sound of rain and cash registers, rustling leaves and boiling water. But it had been a long, long time since he heard the sound of such a rich, warm voice speaking to him, whispering to him in his mother tongue.

Just barely, he caught the phone he was holding, briefly confused by his own sudden lack of hand-coordination. He pressed play, quickly, as if to smooth over his own distraction, or maybe just to hear more of that voice. Even when Marinette removed her hands, he kept his eyes closed and when she started to sing, he was instantly enjoying the familiar feeling of pleasant chills down his shoulders. The song was a lot more melancholic than the title had him believe. Now he really wondered whether it was about someone. He could tell just by the tone in her voice that she could relate to it. Tylio loosened up a bit, his back leaning more comfortably against the couch as the mix of Marinette's voice and the background music aiding her made the room feel much warmer. It was so easy to let himself be carried away in the same way he did when he listened to music on his way to work in the morning, or when he was alone. Nearing the end, Marinette's voice grew more powerful and so did his delight, carrying him through the next few minutes as though he was floating. Then it was over and he felt instantly nostalgic. He opened his eyes, a hint of enthusiasm still gleaming behind his irises as he turned his head and looked at her, only to realize that he had no idea what to say. "Merci", was all he could come up with. "Je ne savais pas à quoi m'attendre, c'était… J'ai vraiment aimé ça. Votre voix. Elle est très belle."

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: tylio cellier #b: tyliocellier #marinette x tylio: 001 #v: stripper #[he dared her to sing so she had to give it a proper go hahaha] #[he has her so stressed 😂]

[noiranamnesis]

"Hannah." Rem exhaled through his nose. "If you have a question, ask it." His jaw clenched imperceptibly, subdued tension leaving him on edge. "When I asked, you said this wasn't about getting to know me. That you didn't care about personal details." Harsh truths he fundamentally couldn't take issue with. "...When I keep things from you it's either a safety measure or I'm trying to maintain boundaries."

There were instances in his past he loathed to share. Actions weighing on his conscience and his sister was the heaviest of them. The fact they worked in similar circles only made things more tangible. If Hannah and her were to cross paths...he could guess the result.

Hannah nodded when he said that he was going to be out for town for three weeks, trying to keep her face neutral. She knew she couldn't get involved in it all, that he wouldn't let that happen. She wanted to pry and ask more questions but maybe it wasn't the time. He was only going to shut her questions down.

"Fine, if I happen to see you I won't say anything." Hannah said, although she knew that this relationship was a secret it was hard to think about not seeing him. About them not being able to cross paths. "I'm a lawyer, I know to lie. We both know there's another reason you don't want them to see me. If you won't say what it is, then that's fine."

#m: rem vilein #p: hannah morgan #b: scinglives #rem x hannah: 001 #v: criminal #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Controlled, even breaths tapered residual adrenaline, dark gaze unwavering from his target. Bellamy. An unfamiliar name in spite of a recognizable face- vague memories of past encounters briefly coming to mind. It wasn't in his nature to fraternize unnecessarily, opting to instead observe until he served his purpose. The two instances where he recalled Bellamy were no different: the first when he accepted a hit from a higher up and the second when he confirmed the hit was complete. Two months ago.

Further violence huh? You did just break my nose.

In lieu of a response, calloused fingers procured a cigarette from inside his jacket, a matchbox not far behind. With every shift of his hand a dull ache pulsed up his wrists, a sensation ignored in favor of lighting a match. The crunch of reset bone went unacknowledged, Rem merely taking a long drag to further lull the pain of fresh bruises marring his skin.

If this is about the drop off, that wasn't my fault- plus I don't even know where they are.

"My client is not interested." Rem dismissed lackluster excuses. "He gives three options. Take me to your boss-" Bring his death, "retrieve the shipment-" Delay his end, "or take your boss' place." Explanations were clipped, shortened versions of what he was told forty hours prior. The notion of offering a mark a choice was foreign, but he had no intention to argue. In the future, however, he would require more details before taking an assignment. "You have two minutes to decide."

"I would prefer to avoid any further violence, and encourage a moment of consideration." via Rem

Blood slipped down his nose, palm pressed against the flow as his gaze refocused on the dark haired man before him. Dizzy. Broken nose most likely, given the way pain was beginning to radiate across his skull. At least he had landed a few punches himself. Out of breath, knuckles bruised, perhaps consideration may be an avenue worth taking. "Further violence huh? You did just break my nose." He mumbled out, both hands coming forward to the bridge of his nose, feeling lightly along the skin until he found the point of breakage. 3.2. Snap. Back in place, hot white pain erupted across his face, and he groaned as his fingers gripped the table to ground himself in reality. Eyes refocusing, he glared over at the other, willing himself to remain composed in the face of whoever this was. Familiar. "If this is about the drop off, that wasn't my fault- plus I don't even know where they are." The guns are in a personal storage unit.

#m: rem vilein #p: bellamy blake #b: protectmypeople #rem x bellamy: 001 #v: criminal

[noiranamnesis]

“Clean aprons are hanging behind the door.” Marinette gestured with her free hand, but otherwise stayed on task. Once peeled she was able to get through each vegetable in less than a minute, falling into a trance of sorts as she began clearing her pile. At the sound of a splash she exhaled through her nose. “Dirty aprons go in the hamper by the back door. Et tu ferais mieux de ne pas utiliser de savon!” And you better not be using soap! A warning she didn’t have the heart to check.

When youse was a kid, you ever help your ma in the kitchen?

Nah. My ma though, I tell you what that woman could do with a branzino...

Never helped his mother once? No wonder he thought to wash a vegetable with soap…Merde. If this goes wrong Johnny better be as quiet as a lamb. Still, while revelations of their banter kept her alert, the ease with which they chatted provided a sense of comfort. Mirroring the chaotic nature of conversation that often dominated her kitchen throughout the day. Topics were rarely off limits and perhaps it was why their crass nature didn’t bother her in the slightest. When her usual employees accidentally burned themselves were they going to just say ‘ow’? Of course not. They cursed and sometimes even blamed the ghosts of their enemies.

Eh, Mari, is this right?

“Em,” Peeking over she gave a quick nod. “Oui.” Yes. Not wanting to dirty his clothes she gave him a slight nudge with her elbow. “I knew you could do it.” Well, she’d hoped at least one of them would.

Then he spoke French.

A flicker of recognition reflected in her gaze, nimble fingers slowing their precise movements as she turned to face him. “…Oui.” Her voice fell to a whisper then, a glance cast towards the quarreling lovebirds before her attention settled once more on this Garner character. Garner…not very Italian, is it? With newfound interest she gave him a once over, noting everything from his plain attire to the distinct features of his face. “Pourquoi?” Why were they suddenly whispering? Why did he care to know? Why was he speaking French so well?

Implicit assumptions led her down a rabbit hole of sorts. Perhaps he was only half Italian and hiding it from the others? It seemed plausible. If Johnny’s comments were anything to go by, it seemed Italian organized crime had a preference for keeping their ranks particularly Italian. But if he was sent by Johnny then she had to figure Johnny was aware…unless Garner had managed to fool him- not the most difficult task she supposed. Within days of becoming acquainted with Johnny it was clear he wasn’t revered for his insight, but rather brute strength and temperament.

Brow furrowed, he looked with almost intensity at the way she cut the carrot, knowing he likely wouldn't be shown the grace of further examples.

"Voilà."

"Voilà." He found himself parroting, his voice dangerously close to catching the accent though when he considered it now, he wasn't sure what the point was of refusing to speak. It could've been more out of habit, the habit of intentionally not speaking freely except during his visits home. All things considered, it didn't matter what he said, he surely couldn't make much worse of an impression as his companions presently bickering over the sink.

"It's really just a Julienne cut that you dice."

"Mhm." He took one of the too small carrot ends and popped it into his mouth. Mari was a better instructor than he would've assumed.

"Hell no! Then people'll be blaming me for soap in their carrots. Ain't my fault you don't know how'ta wash a vegetable."

"Fuck off."

Rolling his eyes, Mack called to Falcone, "He's right, you're outvoted. You're supposed to be on the vegetables anyway."

There was muttered swearing then the other man spoke clearly, "Fine. Got any more of those aprons?"

Brasi, "Scared of a bit of water?"

"I'd prefer not looking like a drowned rat when I'm done."

"What do you think I look like then?"

"A drowned rat."

"You hearing this shit, Garner?"

The sound of water being splashed but Mack didn't dare turn to look. He glowered at the carrot on the cutting board, his cuts slow, methodical, trying to make at least his first attempt look like the example before he got comfortable with the knife.

Falcone, "When youse was a kid, you ever help your ma in the kitchen?"

"Nah. My ma though," a faint whistle in appreciation, "I tell you what that woman could do with a branzino..."

"Eh, Mari, is this right?" Mack spoke quieter, trying not to get drawn back into the other conversation while he gestured at his first attempt with the carrot. Once he had Mari's attention, despite his reservations, he asked in an almost hushed tone,

"Tu viens de France?" You from France?

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: mack garnier #b: retrograderesemblance #unwilling volunteers #marinette x mack garnier: 001 #v: l.a. confidential #v: 1950s

[noiranamnesis]

･*:.｡.･✴☽ 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓒𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓭 ☾✴･.｡.:*･ gif pack

click the source link (or here) for 275 gifs of MARION COTILLARD born in 1975, in A Good Place (2006). All gifs were made by me, 268x150, for RP use only. She’s of European descent, so, please, cast her accordingly. Please, do not repost in gif hunts, gif packs or any other media without my explicit permission, nor claim as your own.   Like or reblog if you end up using them. Consider buying me a ko-fi if you enjoy my packs. TW: drinking, sex, bruising

#ressources: marinette beauséjour #queue queue

[noiranamnesis]

Yeah, actually, I think I might need help cutting these.

Marinette had nearly forgotten Mack was in the mix, so distracted by the others that he'd nearly faded into the background entirely. "Ah, okay." Her tone softened then, a cursory glance cast in Brasi's direction only for her blood pressure to spike. "Non!" Plucking the vegetables from sudsy water, she shook her head. "Pourquoi? You just need water. No soap. The heat kills the rest." Without waiting for an answer, she stuck the soap under the sink- out of sight and away from his hands. "I need you to work with me, s'il te plaît." Please.

Despite her desire to be positive, there was a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. A realization that this may very well be the beginning of a long and stressful day. These men clearly didn't want to be here and she couldn't blame them, but for better or worse she needed them to come together for a few hours at least- and that was if she was being woefully optimistic. Truthfully, she was half expecting them to get fed up and storm off before noon.

Combing her fingers through her hair she fought to urge to sigh, turning on her toes to stand at Mack's side. He said he needed help with the Brunoise. "For this, we start by cutting the sides so it's a square or rectangle shape...." As she began showing him the steps, her movements were smooth, words warming as a faint smile graced her features. "Then we cut it into long strips...Once we have a few, we stack them and cut thin strips about the size of a match...Then the final step is dicing the sticks and voilà." Peeking up at him she smiled. "It's really just a Julienne cut that you dice." With a slight shrug she handed him the knife.

"What's a pat-ate?" Falcone asked as though he were saying it perfectly.

"It's a potato." Marinette figured that by the end of this she'd likely have heard every variation of vegetable name there ever was.

"I wanna switch." Brasi grunted. "Falcone's s'posed to be doing this shit anyway."

Marinette didn't even bother looking up from the vegetables she was slicing through with ease. "Then have Falcone switch back with you."

"Hell no! Then people'll be blaming me for soap in their carrots." Falcone shot back. "Ain't my fault you don't know how'ta wash a vegetable."

"Fuck off."

She was back then, prattling on and perhaps that was the part he found most grating. He was irritated by the urgency in her tone, feeling an acute panic welling within him, feeling trapped, cornered, no better than a pot on the precipice of boiling over even if he knew there was nothing to be frustrated about.

"Use cold water and gently rub them with your hands. Like if they were a woman.”

Silently, he exchanged a look with Brasi, nearly laughing aloud when the other man raised a brow beginning to move his hands to draw an hourglass only to pretend to be interested in a recipe card when the owner set her sights on him: her next victime.

"If you aren’t sure what the vegetable is- either try to read it out loud or call for me. I won’t bite- unless you call me Mary. It’s Mari.” Mack nearly flinched when she stepped closer, ushering him along. “We will be cutting and there are five cuts. We have Julienne, Batonnet --" he stared through her with her finished speeches, "If you don’t know I can show you.” Newfound panic in her tone, "What are you doing?” She was gone.

Mack watched the discussion unfold like the makings of a bad film. For her sake, he hoped she wouldn't turn and assess the somehow worse job Brasi was making of washing vegetables. There was soap involved now...

"Yeah, actually, I think I might need help cutting these." He spoke up, wondering if there was much that could be salvaged from the display of ineptitude; what did one expect from forced volunteers? "Just get me started that that, erm, Brunoise one. I don't think I ever learned that."

Was it better to keep talking? Maybe. Maybe it'd distract her from finding something to critique Brasi or Falcone on; hell, maybe it'd distract Falcone from butchering the name of another vegetable.

"Haven't done kitchen prep in about ten years."

Not entirely true, but he wasn't about to put his time dishwashing at Terminal Island on his resume.

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: mack garnier #b: retrograderesemblance #unwilling volunteers #marinette x mack garnier: 001 #v: l.a. confidential #v: 1950s #[the fire in the gif is symbolic XD] #[Marinette is so simple. Ask and she'll happily help. Go off making dumb decisions without asking and well... >_>]