#forged cheques

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Girl of Many Aliases Sentenced To Three Year Penitentiary Term,” Montreal Gazette. August 8, 1942. Page 13. --- "l wonder what you'd get around here if you robbed a bank?" half-tearful, half-defiant Isabel Smibert Griffiths, alias Loretta Eccleston, alias Agnes Rodgers, soliloquized yesterday morning as she was led away to start a three-year penitentiary sentence on 29 charges ol forgery, uttering forged documents, obtaining merchandise under false pretences and receiving stolen goods.

Obvious reason for her query was the three-year sentence Judge F. X. Lacoursiere had imposed after the 24-year-old woman had pleaded guilty to the 29th accusation that of receiving stolen articles worth $50, property of Elizabeth Wilkes, an Oakville, Ont. teacher who boarded at a Dorchester street west home while visiting in Montreal. 

Until it was explained to her that Judge Lacoursiere's sentence was to be served concurrently with the sentences she had received earlier from Judge Maurice Tetreau three years for each of the 18 charges of forgery and false pretences, six months for each of the stolen goods counts the woman could not understand how such a long term could be exacted for such a minor amount as $50. 

'She realizes the nature of her anti-social conduct and understands the consequences," Dr. Daniel Plouffe, Quebec Government alienist, reported after he had submitted the accused to the mental examination ordered by Judge Tetreau. 

Completely garbed in black, the woman hung her head throughout the long lecture Judge Tetreau delivered in his private chambers. Her request that the sentences date from the time of her detention was denied, but she was granted permission to use the telephone. She had regained her composure by the time she was brought back before Judge Lacoursiere and bandied words with court attendants at she was led away. 

During the course of a severe reprimand, Judge Tetreau emphasized that the Eccleston woman was liable to life imprisonment for her crimes. 

Taken into custody after she had obtained merchandise from an uptown departmental store by means of a false cheque, the woman found charges mounting up against her when municipal detectives took over the investigation begun by Insp. Emile Paquette and William Coady; of the Broderick Detective Service. The investigators were heartily congratulated by Judge Tetreau yesterday morning on their fine work. 

With a long police record behind her before she came here to operate, the woman admitted 19 separate charges of receiving stolen goods, the Crown being satisfied with the pleas and dropping tne accompanying charges of theft. 

The woman, among whose possessions were found several National Registration certificates, was originally charged with petty larceny in Buffalo, N.Y., six years ago. Since then she had been deported to Canada and convicted in Toronto on several charges of uttering forged documents.

[AL: Curiously, Ecclestone’s prison record does not indicate any previous convictions, despite the statement of the Gazette. She was 23, single, Anglo, from Hamilton, and had no job at time of conviction. Like all women sentenced to a federal term (2 years or more) she was sent to the Prison for Women in Kingston, Ontario. She was convict #7027 there, and worked at sewing and cleaning. She was released December 1944, and went to Hamilton.]

#montreal #obtaining goods by false pretences #obtaining money by false pretences #forgery #forger #forged cheques #passing forged cheques #long criminal record #psychiatric examination #woman in the toils #women prisoners #sentenced to the penitentiary #prison for women #kingston penitentiary #canada during world war 2 #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #hamilton

[bharatlivenewsmedia]

Karnataka Bhovi corporation chief accused of forging cheques

Karnataka Bhovi corporation chief accused of forging cheques

Karnataka Bhovi corporation chief accused of forging cheques The director of the Karnataka Bhovi Development Corporation has been accused of forging the signature of the corporation’s managing director and general manager. The director of the Karnataka Bhovi Development Corporation has been accused of forging the signature of the corporation’s managing director and general manager. Go to Source

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#accused #bhovi #cheques #chief #corporation #forging #india #karnataka #news

[forgeofthenine]

Hi everyone, this is the surprise I've been working on! It's actually a collaboration with the lovely @swordcreature where we gave the other person a soulmate AU and a character to write a vaguely 1,000 word fanfic on. My prompt was 'you see visions of your soulmates life through your dreams' with my forge hubby Dammon. If you'd like to see what prompt I gave (for a different tiefling bachelor 👀) then you should go check out Worms blog ;)

Overall this collab has been so much fun, we've had a great time chatting behind the scenes with me teaching a little local slang and I hope you guys enjoy reading what's resulted from our shared love of soulmate AUs! Thank you so much for working on this with me Courtney, and I hope everyone enjoys!!

Of blacksmiths and thimbles (soulmate AU)

The dreams had always been there. Your Mother assured you they were normal, good even, that you should enjoy them. Every night you stepped into the world of someone else, someone with red-orange hands that reached up towards their own Mother. Those hands belonged to your soulmate. You watched each night as they grew up alongside you, playing with similar wooden toys, eating strange food, living somewhere that wasn't Baldurs Gate. Soon however, you learned to stop telling people of your dreams, unsure why so many people had to force smiles when you'd talk about what you knew of your soulmate.

It was when you turned ten that the dreams changed. Your own life had altered significantly, and you knew your soulmate would be seeing you learn to tailor, watch as your pinpricked hands hemmed pretty skirts and dresses. After work, every night, you'd watch him learn to forge. You could almost feel the heat of the fires glow on your skin, overwhelmed by the clang and clatter of the men hammering out metal platters and ploughshares. You knew nothing of your fated love than his hands and his skill in craftsmanship. Though, this wasn't the last time your dreams would change.

Soon you'd have nightmares each night, watching as an entire city was dragged down to the hells below you. Soon the lovely hands you grew to admire switched from crafting farming implements to weaponry. The forges grew larger, hotter, much more fierce. As you grew in your own craft, moving from hemming to pattern making to custom fitting boned bodices in silk dresses, you watched your soulmates life fall apart each and every night. Needles found your skin despite your thimble, your eyelids drooping while working, so tired from worry for a man you've never actually met.

It was then that you learned his name. Dammon. The tiefling you were destined for, stuck in Elturel. You heard the name called across the hectic forge, hands stopping their work as the man looks towards the call, your own dream ending right afterwards. It's no surprise you grasp at any news of Elturel that makes it's way into the Gates Mouth Gazette, much to the growing curiosity of your fellow tailors.

You watched on as he was cast from his home, joining a group of others who all found themselves driven from the only city they'd ever known. By day you were an up and coming tailor, by night you watched tiefling refugees try desperately to survive. It was months of near torture, and you were sure this Dammon thought you overly privileged, living in your parents home and sewing pretty dresses for a pay cheque. A vast difference from his own existence.

Slowly, he makes his way closer to Baldurs Gate. Closer to you. By now watching his escapades was a nightly adventure, but your work called each and every day. Clients of renown, endless comissions and repairs, the replacement of even your most trusty tools. It only took you losing your thimble, the small tool nowhere to be seen, encouraging you to venture to a blacksmith.

Blacksmiths in Baldurs Gate were bleak, rude, or downright incompetent. You trudged through the crowded streets, dodging refugees and steel watchers alike, before stumbling on a new blacksmith's forge. It was a gorgeous open air shop, with a large clear sign. 'The Forge of the Nine'. Worth a shot, you decided while climbing the cracked stone staircase.

Honing a blade on the whetstone was a tiefling, somewhat tall and very broad, his skin an oddly familiar red-orange. Small stones grind under your feet as you see the blacksmith perk up, ears lifting and a smile on his handsome face. "Oh, just a minute!" He calls out, voice soothing as he places the sword off on a random bench. Hands pat over his apron, wiping off any residue as he walks over to you. "Welcome to the Forge of the Nine, what can I do for you? A dagger, maybe? Or a bow?"

You let out a chuckle at his assumptions, it seems you've found another forge that can't meet your needs. If only you could find your soulmate, a proper blacksmith on demand would be so very useful. "Nothing quite so aggressive. I need a new thimble actually, for tailoring?" You ask, wondering if he'll be like the last blacksmith who made one almost the size of a cup by mistake. It seems you don't need to worry however, as his eyes light up in recognition and his smile relaxes into an easy grin.

"A tailor?" He questions, motioning for you to follow him further into his forge. "Interesting... Well, you have nothing to worry about, I have a few thimbles here I've already made." His voice picks up at the end, body turned away from you as he pulls out a small, ornamental box that rattles with thimbles and stacks of finely crafted sewing needles. "Pick what you'd like."

You peer at the shining metal, delicately picking up a gleaming thimble, the loveliest one you've ever seen from a blacksmith. "It seems odd, to have a stack of such nice sewing supplies premade. Most blacksmiths hardly know a thimble from a goblet.“ You chuckle, trying the thimbles size.

"Ah well, I've spent a lot of time watching them be used." The tiefling responds almost hesitantly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. As he sees your confused expression, he explains further. "My soulmate, I believe they're a tailor. I've watched them sew in my dreams since they were young."

It's then that things click in your head, only one word able to leave your lips. "Dammon...?" Bright blue eyes light up as soon as you say it, all the air leaving your chest as you look at the man you've been thinking about for years. Dammons lips part slightly, closing again, a hand reaching out for you that you take instantly.

"It can't be... It's you?" He murmurs, seemingly not quite able to believe it. It's not long before a small laugh leaves you, your thumb running over his calloused hand as you pull him closer.

"Always has been." You respond, quickly being pulled into a hug you can't help but reciprocate, wrapping your arms around him. Like most tieflings, he's endlessly warm, but the difference is how his body seems to engulf yours. The smell of smoke and iron heavy on him as it surrounds you like a blanket. Finally, your soulmate, safe in your arms.

#Surprise! #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #dammon x you #collaboration

[shepherds-of-haven]

Oh, if we’re talking about subtle hilarious SHOH moments… I always laugh at the scene during the briefing for Lockwood when Chase, Tallys, and MC are clowning Lavinet for sending such a huge cheque in the mail like “she’s SO naive lol we can cash this and she wouldn’t even be able to dispute it for weeks teeheee” and Shery is just like “…..is it naive for her to trust OFFICERS OF THE LAW not to swindle her??” and everyone just goes dead quiet.

Lol, I'd forgotten about that moment, thanks for remembering it for us! 😂😂 Sometimes the Shepherds are so chaotic that Shery--when she can forge past the excruciating experience of Being Seen--is the necessary moral compass that keeps them in check... the only one who can shame them...

#the others even give in to peer pressure way too easily or are just naturally chaotic/a little too lax about the rules lol #one of their commanders is a former assassin who genuinely considers whether killing someone is a viable solution to many problems #and the other is a morally gray extremely ruthless businessman who also... 'considers all variables' LOL #tis only the reproachful gaze of St. Shery that keeps things from getting out of hand sometimes........

[purgatorypoetry]

can't fit no more brass rings round the heart,

no more black hair ties round the wrist,

you ain't know its torn me all apart,

been past as good as it gets,

done been forged,

all them cheques -

all tracked through the carpet old, love you,

a thousand-thousand times before,

loved you then and still

as a dead heart still

as the deepest dark still

love you,

still

#poetry #stillness #port in storm #i dont know what this is but its yours now

[neverinadream]

They Don't Love Me, They Just Want To See Me Naked - Part II

Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: Billy broke her heart, corrupted her reputation with lies and left her unable to trust anyone else. Eddie just wants to love her for who she was. And Y/N doesn't know what to do.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Song Inspo: Tattoos - Reneé Rapp

Warnings: post season three/pre season four, slow burn, aspects of angst, strangers to friends and then eventually lovers in later parts, soft!eddie, talk of money problems

Notes: feedback is always welcome and greatly appreciated

With each pay cheque she collected, Y/N stashed some of the money in an old shoebox, kept hidden in the back of hers and Delilah's shared closet. Originally, the words COLLEGE FUND had been written in big, black block letters, but she had no hope of going to college; especially not after her mother 'helped herself' to half of what had already been saved. She argued that she had every right to help herself to a few dollars because Y/N lived under her roof free of charge and happily eat the food that she bought. Y/N could've argued that the food in the fridge had actually been bought with half of her week's wages, but she knew Delilah would've had her ear pressed to their bedroom door, listening in on their argument.

Now the words had been crossed out with a single line through the middle, the words NEW LIFE replacing them. If college was no longer an option, then maybe she could provide Delilah with a new life. A better life. A life where they didn't have to check down sofa cushions for spare change or worry about the electricity being cut off because someone had forgotten to pay the bill.

"Are we poor?" Delilah had asked one day, holding onto Y/N's hand as they walked back from summer camp. It wasn't a real summer camp, just a club held in the library, mainly attended by kids whose parents couldn't afford to take time off work to watch them over the summer. "Daniel Bishop says I have to go to this camp because we can't afford for me to go to a real one."

"Well, that is not why you don't get to go to a real summer camp," she answered, telling her a white lie. She could've told her the truth but she didn't want Delilah to grow up worrying about money the same way she did.

"He says that's why I only have one pair of sneakers and why we live in a trailer." She looks up at Y/N, with big eyes that matched her own. "He said we were trailer trash."

Y/N could handle people calling her trailer trash, she had heard the two words her whole life, but it broke her heart knowing her seven-year-old sister was being called the same thing. "First off, you love those sneakers," she pulls Delilah to a stop, kneeling down in front of her, pieces of gravel and dirt digging into her knee, "and this Daniel Bishop guy, he sounds like trash." She frames her face with her hand, brushing away some gold glitter that was on her cheek. "Look, money doesn't make you who you are. Okay?" Delilah nodded her head. "You're either a kind person or you're not, and Daniel Bishop sounds like he is the smelliest piece of trash."

That was the day that Y/N had promised that she would always provide Delilah with a better life, a life lived like any other regular kid in Hawkins.

"Come on, De!" Y/N shouted for her sister, forging their mother's signature on Delilah's permission slip. It was for some field trip to a museum in the next town over. She stuffed the letter and the money into an envelope, counting that the correct amount was there, before sealing it and scribbling her sister's name on the front. "Eddie's going to leave without us!" She shouts when there was still no sign of her sister.

Fast footsteps approached from behind, a soft thudding against the dull brown-ish coloured carpet. "He wouldn't do that," Delilah says, appearing behind her. She turns her back to Y/N, allowing her to unzip her backpack and slide the envelope inside.

"He might."

"He wouldn't," Delilah shakes her head, "he likes you too much to do that."

She places her hands on Delilah's shoulders, spinning her around to face her. "What have I said about telling lies?"

Delilah frowns, a giant pout appearing for her sister to see. "I'm not lying."

"Come on," she grabs her bag and her keys off the kitchen counter, "time to go."

Eddie stood outside his uncle's trailer, his fingers playing with the bracelet on his right wrist, as he waited patiently for Y/N and Delilah. A smile breaks out when he sees the two of them approaching, the younger of the two breaking away from her older sister, running in front of her to get to Eddie first. In the few weeks since Eddie had stumbled upon Delilah's older sister, the two of them had formed an unlikely friendship, with Y/N often feeling like she was third-wheeling their friendship.

"Hey, little monster," he greets Delilah, opening his hand out in the air for her to high five. She has to jump to reach his hand, gravel and dirt kicking up as she lands. Eddie waves his hand in the air, faking his reaction just to make her giggle. "What are you feeding her?" He asks, looking at Y/N as she finally met up with them. "I swear she hits my hand harder every day."

"Oh, you know, just a concoction of things: the eye of a newt, the toe of a frog," she lists off for him, giving Delilah's shoulder's a gentle shake, "you know, just all the good things to keep her fit and healthy." Delilah tilts her head back at her, scrunching her face up in disgust. "She loves the stuff," she tells him, making him laugh, "drinks it by the gallon."

"Let me guess, there's wool of bat and tongue of dog in there too?" He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishing out the keys to his van. "Yeah, I think I've heard of that recipe before," he mumbles, joining in on her joke, "in Mrs P's class."

Y/N smiled, her lips parting to show her teeth. This was a real smile and not something many people were a witness to. "I see your memory is getting better then," she compliments him, glancing down at Delilah as her sister pulls at her sleeve, "what's the matter, De?"

"I forgot my books."

"What books?"

"The ones Miss Gomez leant to me," Delilah replies, the sadness showing in her eyes, "if I don't take them back today, I won't be able to get some new ones." Miss Gomez was her teacher, who kindly lent books to Delilah for her to read. She did the same with Y/N when she was her teacher too. She didn't do it just to be nice, she did it because she saw a bright academic spark in both of them, a spark she didn't want to be extinguished just because the two of them weren't as privileged as some of the other kids in their classes. "Please, can you go get them?" Delilah pleads, pulling at her sleeve again. "Please!"

Y/N sighs, rolling her head back. "Okay, fine," she glances over at Eddie, "do you mind just watching her? I'll only be gone two minutes."

"Go," Eddie insists, a fuzzy warm feeling unlike no other spreading in the pit of his stomach when she shows her thanks in the form of a smile.

Delilah doesn't watch her sister run back to their trailer, she keeps her attention on Eddie. Her little eyes look up at him, squinting them as she tilts her head to the side. "You're not scary," Delilah states, having already heard tales of the scary Hellfire Club's leader. He didn't look like a monster. He didn't have grotesque skin, with spikes or scales. His eyes were a normal colour and there were no fangs to be seen when he talked. He was normal.

"Excuse me?"

"People say you're scary," she explains, with her arms still swinging stops her sides, "but you look normal to me."

"Normal?" Delilah giggles as he gasps, one hand hand clutching his chest and collapsing to his knees in front of her. "You think I look normal?" Delilah nods her head, her giggles growing louder as he throws his head back. "Well, that definitely has to change," Eddie decides, shaking his head in a disapproving manner, "I can't be looking normal." He covers his mouth, acting like he was going to be sick; Delilah squeals, shaking her head. "What will make me look less normal and more scary?"

"Maybe..." She drags it out as she reaches out to touch the sides of Eddie's forehead. "...some horns."

Eddie looks up at her hands. "Just some horns?"

"And fangs like a vampire." She adds, pointing to his mouth. "And green skin."

"Okay," he counts them off on his fingers, "I just need some horns, some vampire teeth and green skin-"

"-red eyes!" Delilah eagerly cuts him off. "All scary villains have red eyes."

"What about red eyes?" Y/N asks, returning with Delilah's books tucked under her arm. She spots Eddie on the ground, unable to stop herself from laughing. "What are you doing on the ground?"

Eddie gazes up at her, hearing the zipper of Delilah's backpack as she tucks the books in with her permission slip and homework. "Your sister thinks that I look normal," he explains to her, Delilah giggling again as he pokes her arm. "This little monster called me normal."

"Ouch," she pulls on the zip, "I hope she gave you some tips on how to improve that."

He pushes off the ground, groaning as he stands back up. "She did," he nods, "I just need some horns, some vampire teeth, green skin and red eyes. You know, just all the things one has lying around." He spins his keys around his index finger, signalling an end to their conversation. "Right, little monster, time to get you to school."

Between dropping Delilah off and driving to the high school, Y/N had stayed quiet, which wasn't out of the ordinary for her to do. Most of the time, she'd just sit back and let Eddie and Delilah do all the talking; this mostly consisted of Eddie educating her sister on the rules of Dungeons and Dragons, or him listening to Delilah describing the dream she had the night before.

Billy had been kind to Delilah for his own selfish gain, offering to take her for ice cream if he knew it would get him a step closer to sleeping with Y/N, but Eddie's kindness was genuine. He wanted to listen to everything she had to say, always apologising if he spoke over her and promising that she could finish telling about her dream at a later point if they arrived at school before she had a chance to finish.

Kindness like that was refreshing and almost a rare occurrence for people like Y/N and Delilah in a town like Hawkins.

"They're staring again," Y/N mumbles, catching Gareth quickly turning his attention to one of the other Hellfire Club members, the small group, excluding the two freshmen that had joined that year, standing in front of the parked van.

"You know, I think you'd actually like them," Eddie tells her, taking off his seat belt, "all you'd have to do is come and sit with us to find out." He attempts to persuade her with his big, brown eyes, a little pout forming on his lips as she shakes her head again. Each day he'd ask for her to sit with him and the rest of the Hellfire Club and each day she would reject him. "Is your chemistry textbook really that more entertaining than me?"

"Hey," she playfully slaps his shoulder, "leave my chemistry textbook out of this; she's a sensitive soul."

"She?" He raises his eyebrows. "You refer to your textbook as a she?"

"Says the guy who refers to his guitar as his sweetheart," she bites back, half-smiling as Eddie holds his hands up in the air, backing down from the subject.

Y/N would be lying if she said she didn't admire Eddie for his determination. For nearly a year, she had been excluded from her friends, the two friends that she did have believed Billy's lies over her truth. Very quickly, she took to sitting at the lonely table, a place where people sat because they just didn't fit in with the rest of society. Eddie would've argued that the Hellfire Club was just that, a place for the misfits and the lonely, and he had after she had told him she preferred to be alone. But there was a form of comfort in knowing how hard he was trying.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not asking you to sell your soul to me," Eddie begins again, "I'm just asking for one day."

"One day?"

"One day," Eddie repeats.

She rolls her head back, exhaling a sigh. "Okay."

His head whips back to look at her. "Okay?" He wasn't sure if his ears were deceiving him or not.

"Don't make me regret it."

Taglist: @alcottsangel @addisonnie @calpurniatypes @ilovedilfs32 @jay-u-so-gay @kneelforloki @marrigold-2002 @pillowjj @teenwolflover28 @thisisntmyrightera

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic

[haveyoureadthispoll]

Frank W. Abagnale, alias Frank Williams, Robert Conrad, Frank Adams and Robert Monjo, was one of the most daring con men, forgers, impostors and escape artists in history. In his brief but notorious career, Abagnale donned a pilot's uniform and co-piloted a Pan Am jet, masqueraded as the supervising resident of a hospital, practiced law without a licence, passed himself off as a college sociology professor and cashed over $2.5 million in forged cheques, all before he was 21 years old. Known by the police of 26 foreign countries and all 50 US states as 'The Skywayman', Abagnale lived a sumptuous life on the run - until the law finally caught up with him. Now recognized as America's leading authority on financial foul play, Abagnale is a charming rogue whose hilarious, stranger-than-fiction international escapes, including one from an aeroplane, make 'Catch Me if You Can' an irresistible tale of deceit.

#book: catch me if you can #author: frank w. abagnale #genre: non fiction #gere: biography #genre: true crime #year: 1980s

[kthynes]

infliction

18+

Steve comes to you as a broken man.

sin and sorrow masterlist

warnings: course language, brief mentions of blood. Falsified death. Mafia dealings and volition. Angst, pent up aggression, familial resentment.

word count: 4.3k

pairing: mob!Steve x CEO!fem reader; mentions of a Senator!Andy Barber

authors note: big shoutout to the one nonnie who kept checking back on this mini mosh series. I remember your asks every time I go in to edit and write this piece. I appreciate you so very much and I hope that you (and anyone else reading) enjoy this spin out of a story xxxx

This has not been beta’d. Any mistakes are my own.

Ever since the club ordeal, you never heard back from Steve that night onwards. The days turned into months and your forefronted help wasn’t needed after all. Albeit, you still forged his tax returns and balanced a mountainous amount of cheques. Business went on as per usual. He didn’t ask for you. Call on you. Or even arrange a follow up. You were, for the most part, left alone.

So why did you feel indebted? Expectant almost?

“Fuck.” You were dry shaving despite routine. Egregious by will, you agreed to be somewhat presentable and astute. Not that it required much.

“Please tell me you’re ready.” Cyrah, your best friend of uncountable years, laments loudly over the phone. She’s set you up with a hot date, an attorney turned Senator from Boston, another townie recalled for your commiseratation. You knew very little about this man, except for the fact that he was 6’2 and a dom. You were reluctantly sold on a sex dream, behest your devotion to being single and independent.

“Y/N!”

You wince, noticing traces of blood smearing against the dull razor and your chafed Achilles’ tendon. It’s agonizing to say that beauty is pain when all you wanted to do was drop dead.

“You know what…” You pitch while aggressively chucking things away in your lavish ensuite. First the ruddy razor, then the wet cloth. You surrender your truce. The hem of your dress is hitched up and over your thong clad ass, feeling an expected breeze as you wipe down your sandpaper legs with a towel.

“This’ll do. This will have to do.” You proclaim to yourself, half done up while knocking back the rest of your Cabernet. “I’m dressed. My makeup is on, whitening strips off. Completely hairless. Pussy poppin’—“

“You did not just say that.” She cackles.

The overheated phone goes from one ear to another. “God, I don’t know what it is that I can say or do that’ll get me out of this.”

“Funny. What’s going on, babes?” She softly patronizes.

“I’m being serious Cy. There isn’t a bone in my body that feels good right now.” Premonition maybe?

“It’s just a date, Y/N. Not a debilitating disease. You have absolutely nothing to lose.” Her voice follows you out to a lonelier precipice.

“Easy for you to say, you’re always playing a new man every night.” You grovel, pacing out of one room and to another. You were looking for something, although forgetfulness is a constant woe.

“So I’ve retired. Now FaceTime me. I wanna see the full haute couture.”

You stalk around your penthouse loft and finally set the ringing phone down on the small half table by the door. Following a lungful exhale, you step back to adjust your stance in an elongated satin pearl white dress. The spaghetti straps were tied up in small little bows which then drew attention to your cleavage and shapely figure. The hot pink strappy, wrap around heels made you stand taller than intended and that was enough to throw Cyrah into a fraternizing fit.

“Damn girl, look at you. And those shoes!” She appears nose first into the screen, squinty eyed and speculative.

“Stuart Weitzman.”

“Pftttt like I’d know! Turn around.” You shamelessly do a 360 for her, hands pivoting in the air as if the Queen of England could’ve done any better. “Ass, ass, hot ass!”

“All thanks to Dalton.” You mention your faithful trainer. Cyrah tuts, hooting on about her dislike for gyms and fitness. There’s some silence as you get adjusted, scampering for your tennis bracket and rings and then finding a moment to put on some earrings. Your ornate ability to play nice has Cyrah grinning from ear to ear. She knows you were going to put out. It’s been a long time coming. Even all of Sinderson had their stock money on it.

“I’m going to head out soon but I do owe you for this.”

“Just have fun and we’ll call it even.” Cyrah abids in the distance.

You pause to make a face, opening your mouth to say something crucial before getting startled by a loud, ceremonious bang. The door rattles off its hinges when a succession of impatient knocks erupts through the annex. The phone falls flat against the glass countertop, shielding Cyrah into darkness.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea.” You answer, brows drawn together.

“Y/N do you need back up?”

“It’s fine.” You calmly state following a voice that, in any circumstances, was the most recognizable.

“Open up!” An unrelenting pupil called out while roughly wiggling the brass knob. You barely get the door open when two men finally barge in.

“Oh good you’re home.” Bucky hisses, impaled by the infractions of his own dismay. He’s lugging around another man who looks to be in terrible shape. He’s hunched over, a hand clutching his side. Bloodied and bruised.

“What are you doing here James?” You stand afar while becoming a stranger in your own home. Bucky deposits the wounded man onto the sectional, giving you a clear sight of Steve. Your insides twist into an undoable knot. He tries to sit up, neck tilted back as his eyes glaze over the ceiling moulding, chest rising and falling.

“Oh my god, is he OK?” You don’t recognize the discerning pitch in your tone, eyes wide open, mouth agape.

“See Buck, I told you she’d give a shit.” Steve adds weakly. It’s the first time you see him like this. Hurt, powerless and at mercy. The deafening perils of his own doings were finally catching up to him. And now you’re reaping those repercussions as well.

“Never thought I’d see the day of light,” You mutter, rushing to his side like a willing assailant.

“Now there’s a lie.” The chary look on his face lulls when you place a hand over his. He’s sprawled back, knees apart, breath baited as your eyes meet. There’s some tenseness, deliberation. Every iota behind Steve’s aquatic blue eyes swirled with contemplation, crinkling in the corners to conceal the throbbing pain.

“Let me see.”

There isn’t a word said otherwise as you begin to move his rigid hand away from the side of his soiled white Givenchy dress shirt.

He groans a firm ‘easy’ that ruminates every sensation. Steve tips his head back, surrendering a bloody palm that lays flat on this thigh.

“Unbelievable.” You enunciate, inspecting a half open wound. Fresh blood defaces the fabric of your dress as you lean in to take a closer look. Maimed with a bit of dry and glistening gore, you couldn’t look away. There’s an enticing allure that keeps you focused.

“You look nice.” He murmurs right in your hair, taking in the sweet nostalgic scent of white floral and patchouli that placates his senses for a fleeting moment.

You peer up at him, nose to nose, eyes feigning your innocence that quickly shuns him.

“Of all the things you could say to me right now.” Steve weeds a delicate smile, forcibly extricating his need to hold you close. His likeness grew fond and strong. He was sure enough that you were his woman. But for now he’d have to shelf that thought out of delirium, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“We need you to watch him.” Bucky sweeps through your studio with zero regard, checking behind every chiffon curtain and balcony window that takes up half the space.

“She’s not doing anything.” Cyrah intercepts. She was still on the line. Thank god.

“Cyrah, long time, no fuck.” He booms from one room and into another, grabbing your unattended phone with him.

“Leave her alone Buck.” She says a little too wearily. They start to have a more serious conversation as Bucky rounds the guest room, keeping his tone at ease.

“So who was it this time?” You calmly inquired in private while seated on the edge of your seat. Anger wasn’t your prized countenance but with Steve it was a permanent one.

“Couldn’t tell you.” He cat stretches himself out on the couch, almost pulling you in with him.

“What ever happened to the bloody knuckle rule?” You reflexively move back.

“Oh angel, you gotta take a hit every now and then.” He harrumphed, arms slung over the couch top as if he were being crucified. He turns his head over slightly, besting his predicament with some factuality and sarcasm that you don’t see for. “Though this time it was a stray bullet… Undecided between the head and the heart.” He laughs.

You emote a million different emotions, shoulders sulking with pitiful dread. A soft, pathetic ‘oh my god’ escapes your lips.

“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks, I promise.” He falters, just as concerned for you.

“He needs to be admitted to a hospital.” You advocate.

“Bruce is on his way.” Bucky appears from the hidden troves and tosses your phone onto the couch cushion next to you. “He should be able to take care of this.”

“I think my little sparrows got it.” Steve teases in a daze, deliberately wanting your soft hands to nurse him back to good health. You’re a bit uncomfortable.

“How far away is he?” You inquire.

“Zipping down Adelaide as we speak.”

“Great, then I’ll make myself useful elsewhere.” You get up on your feet feeling ten times heavier than before.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bucky cautions.

“Stay.” Steve softly pleads. Your gaze bounces from the two men, incredulous.

“This is incriminating.” You fathom.

“So be it… Sam and Nat have the area covered. But for now we need you here.” Bucky demanded while keeping surveillance. Your silence earns a catalytic eyeful. “Can you do that?”

“Bucky.” You give your fondest nemesis a sideways look. He mirrors the same hardened expression to no avail.

“Please, Y/N. This isn’t me asking.”

🩸

It’s for certain that if you fully let yourself go then you’re just like him but worse. Every part of you spited the New York gangland and being a seldom ally was unfavourable to repent. You were essentially stuck in a tax bracket, piling on a different reputation for yourself and being an absolute phoney at it.

But as the admonitory saying went—Do as he says. Not as he does.

"He should be fine now.” Bruce appears before you, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while passing you a grave look. You stand right by the corridor, leaning against the wall adjacent to the guest bedroom. Unmoved throughout the night, your lips press into a fine line, motioning him with a carefully longing demure.

“The stitches are somewhat tight so make sure he’s not being riled up which I believe requires you to hold your tongue for once.” He tuts, completely jaded by the ordinary. You glare at him, jaw shifting. “Otherwise, bed rest and plenty of fluids should get him going.”

“For how long?”

“Could be a couple of days, given the fact that he nearly suffered from major blood loss and acute sepsis.” Bruce walks you out to the dimly lit living room, standing at a safe distance as he searches and gathers his belongings.

“Oh my god.” You proclaim, a hand pressed to your forehead.

“Not to worry, I’ll check up on him throughout the week and there’ll be a nurse on standby to dress the wound and run vitals as needed.” He tugs on his ear mid-thought. “Also no painkillers, just a double cask.”

Your face drops. He softly chuckles.

“I’m just messing with you. He's only on local anesthetic which should be wearing off soon.”

“Great.” You grumble.

Bruce unrolls each shirt sleeve with precision, stalling in silence. “So I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what exactly?”

“He has a warrant out for him.” He meets your leery gaze, enticed by your fleeting ingenuity.

“The NYPD has a ‘no say, no tell’ matter of course. They usually don’t interfere in his business.”

“Sure. If that’s what you think.” He answers, sardonic and reproachful.

You take a few short steps, closing in on him while categorically choosing your words.

“What am I supposed to know?” You challenge at a calmer stance.

“There are some documents that I need you to look over and act as a witness to.” He explains while rummaging through his satchel. You simply nod, thinking very little. “They’re sort of… official.”

“That’s it?”

“Take a look and see for yourself.” He urges while handing over the Manila folder. In the partially sealed envelope there’s a small bundle of documents and prurient detail that glazes past your scope of thought. That is until your eyes land on the last page. Your heart races in your throat, stomach churning at the words embossed in courier M font.

Medical death certificate.

“What the fuck?” You whisper yell, frantically looking up at the chief doctor himself. “This can’t be legitimate.”

“No, it's temporary avoidance.”

“That much I figured.” You huff with buoyant frustration, flinging the notice far from your reach. The sealed documents land on the rug by the coffee table. A careless reckoning that you refused to fall accomplice to. “Why’s he doing this?”

“You’re better off asking him yourself.” Bruce’s time is honoured as you walk him to the door, slowly stopping at the marbled landing.

“Who am I to him?” You rebut.

He scoffs, getting on his proverbial high horse that reminds you of your place. “You are the neck that turns his head.”

Wrong.

“Thank you… for everything.” You snap, holding the door wide open.

“Of course.” He nods before biding his time elsewhere.

🩸

At the break of dawn you finally decided to creep into the guest room. Making your presence small while surrounded by eye blinking darkness. You’re overcome. Angry and devoid. You were…

“You’re awake.” Steve incites in a deep sleepy baritone, buried under a swamp of sheets that quietly rustle. You suck in a deep breath, offloading your disarmament with fervour. You hated every bit of confrontation yet here you were, in the lion's den.

“Couldn’t really sleep.” You answer.

“Come lay down with me then.” He infers. There’s a slight air of confidence as he begins to readjust himself against the quilted upholstery.

Through his struggle you didn’t flinch to help. He had it down to a contentious science. Hurt and almost boastful, he finally slumped against the headboard, staring at you dead in the eyes.

“You did this on purpose.” You finally retaliate.

“Angel…”

“I’ve bear witness to a lot of things but this…” you flap the folder for show. “This isn’t my call.”

“Nor is it your concern.” He hisses. “I just need you—”

“Need me to what, huh?”

“Just be with me.” He groans, eyes screwed shut as he tries to get comfortable.

“I’m not for you Steve.” You patronize him, longingly.

“I guess not.” He spitefully surrenders, coughing a lungful that rasps every manageable word. “Fucked if I do. Fucked if I don’t.”

You’re back on your feet, getting him water before sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

“Is my father after you?” You ask, watching him take shallow sips of water in a daze.

“I wish.” He gully answers. Steve doesn’t keep in touch with your father despite his satirizing tendencies. The two men stay at arms length of the other for reasons that have your best interest at heart. It’s honorific actually.

“Tony?”

“No.” He enunciates, watching your beautiful expressions flummox some more.

“HYDRA?” You quirk.

“Are we going off the roaster now?” He finally sets the empty tumbler aside, showing off his trivially healthy physique.

“Might as well.”

Steve sighs, looking gravely inept. He’s always admired your tenacious spirit that tests his hard kept valour.

“My father wants to reign his own dynasty.” He claims. “My dynasty.”

“All of sudden?” You ebb with confusion, leaning into the conversation with concern.

Steve was a mob man from infancy. A glock thrust in hand, he’s never known another honest way of life. So this came as a surprise, an inimical one to privy.

“Well that’a because I picked a bone with him.”

“Steve.”

“Son of a gun decided to get remarried and so without will or way, there’s been some inheritance pandering.” Steve’s been escrowed for his existence and every second meant that he’d be held financially culpable. Something he’s never had to consider till now.

“That’s… wait what?” Your thoughts consume you. A million to one.

“Be my eyes and ears.” He calmly pursues. This time he was being sincere. “See what’s being moved around, scope out the infiltrator.”

You shake your head, befuddled. “We talked about this months ago, Steve. You need a benefactor.”

“Which is where you come in.” He calmly adjourns. “I’ve seen your track record and you move money better than any other capitalist institution out there. If you can forge and freeze my accounts then I can go ahead and acquire my shares.”

“If it were that easy. Why don’t you offer a pay out? Even a collateral?” You rack out all the possibilities.

“Not a chance.” He hisses as the pain resurges.

“You have land, ammunition. How about pawning off those useless boats down by the harbour?”

“I’m a made man, Angel.” He forewarned. “Nothing goes.”

“With an ego at that.” You scoff to yourself. “I’m just in the way.”

“Then stay as you are.” One too many intercessions kept Steve away from you. Not this time around.

“I have an early morning so I’m going to turn myself in.” You begin as his eyes follow your quick upward ascent. “If there’s anything you might need, just knock on the wall behind you.”

“Do I scare you?”

You freeze, tailbone pressed against the bedpost as your feet barely touch the floor rug. Steve’s ingenuity was starkly contrasted by the bruising on the side of his face. His brows drawn together formed a grimace altogether. Some days this look would make sense but right now it paralyzed you with unsureness.

“No.” Your response is almost immediate. It cuts through him as he discernibly takes in your cold defensive demeanour.

“So how can I make this easier on you?” He pageants on the low.

“By doing the right thing.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “We’ve been in this together for the long run, Angel. If anything, your moral code is a bit convoluted, don’t you think?”

“Maybe I’m finally coming to my senses. Better late than never right?” You retort, reminding him of the many wayward instances that you’ve been at his beck and call. Immune to the worst possible scenarios. A be all, end all.

“Maybe.” He growls. “But when have I ever let you down?”

“There can be many firsts.” You assure. Knowing Steve for nearly four years meant Jack shit. He’d still run you to your wits end and be covetous about it. Who were you to take any chances?

“I wouldn’t see for it.” A disproportionate smile graces his lips as you land on your feet and pad across the room, scouring the dormant abode, high and low.

“You have far more potential than who you are and who you choose to be in this lifetime.” You say while peering through the rod pocket curtains that overlooks an empty south side lot and an unmarked Escalade in tow. Natasha.

“You’re not a preacher's kid to tell me that.”

You exhale loudly, drawing back from the windowsill and the lingering chill. “No but I have every right to tell you how it is.”

“Look at you.” Steve begins a fixated taunt. “It’s as if you care.”

“You’re dead to me.” You snarl, rounding the room in distracted fashion. “Gone.”

“And that right there is the plan.” He points while meandering a mirthless chuckle.

“I’ll keep the door open just in case.” You curtly state from the doorframe, sound on leaving.

Steve keeps to himself. There’s nothing he can say or add to that’ll appease the situation. It was a lost cause. He wasn’t on your side and your jarring discretion told him just that.

“You have me when you need me. That’s it.” Upon hearing this Steve’s jaw ticks. The way you said it roused some frustration. But by the next second you were already out of the guest room and in the cold abyss of your own bedroom. You exhale loud and long, shutting the door right behind you.

Steve was presumed dead. Trouble was assailing. Your father would definitely catch wind of the ordeal and call upon a sermon. You couldn’t face him or the fact that you had to answer to Steve’s attorney, suppliers, his father and family who were going to be at your neck once you made your requests on his behalf.

The underworld was now your surrendering. Every timely plight became something more undetermined. Dangerous enough to keep you on edge, let alone alive.

You truly couldn’t scathe past this.

🩸

The kitchen was spotless. The windows were sprung open. Everything was back in its original place like a pristine IKEA catalogue. You’ve salvaged your couch cushions whereas your favourite pearl satin dress was bloodied and slung over in a body bag. You’ve fallen into another day's routine. There’s a grave look on your face that replays your contemplation. Rush hour traffic and now a lurking presence keeps you a foot.

“Would you like some coffee?” You ask while absently stirring some Christmas creamer in your mug.

“If it’s on you then sure.”

“Nothing is on me.” You grit and boy did Steve wish that statement held some water. He grins as you turn around and flail an arm towards the kitchenette. “Please help yourself.”

“Are you always going to fight me?” He humours, looking lascivious in a plain white tee and sweats while limping towards you. Even in his wounded state he somehow looked affably fuckable. Don’t go there Y/N.

“Yes.” You say into your mug.

“Good to know.” He stands before you at an astonishing height. He’s close, crooning with high strung arrogance and expectancy. You were in the way, so very intoxicated by his emblematic scent that his inquest ambushes you. “Do you mind?”

Fuck me.

“No! Not at all, please have at it.” You recomposed and scurried away. He grins, watching your every move as a sign of bridled grace.

You found a niche little corner to awkwardly occupy. The proctored silence is overwhelming. Steve looks through each cabinet and grabs himself a mug to inspect. He’s making himself right at home as you pander business.

“Bucky called.”

Steve looks over his broad shoulder, brows raised while simultaneously pouring coffee into a Mickey Mouse shaped mug. “There’s a safe house down in Port Hope. You’ll be there and I’ll come to you.”

“That’s not how it’s gonna work.” He rebuts, taking his coffee black and choosing to be an authoritative piece of shit.

“What?”

“I’ll get you, wait on you if there’s counsel. Be a so-called gentleman on the lookout.” He mutters. You prime him with a disapproving look. “I need you to be on your own and as unassuming as possible.”

Steve was trying to protect you at best even though other circumstances led him to believe that you were his ride or die.

“Okay fine.” You concur. “What else?”

“You’ll be in touch with Alfie shortly. He’s got a slew of paperwork to go over with you before the press catches wind.” Alfie Ross, a disbarred lawyer who’s been doing shoddy charitable work on Steve’s payroll since the turn of a new decade. Your interactions with him have always been liminal and now your hands pushed paper just for them.

“Sure.” Steve continued to talk at you, foreseeing every partial detail on a grander scheme. You had about 30 minutes of listening capacity before you left for work. 28 minutes were up.

“This is all on me, Y/N.” He concludes with a seldom promise. Your gaze narrows while gathering your purse strings, initially adamant on leaving but then keen on his saviour like vocation. “My father will want answers and he’ll be conniving at that. But you’re my girl. You’re right here with me and so your safety is my top priority.”

“Right from the horse's mouth...” You deadpan while reaching for your phone. “Work calls. Do you think you’ll be OK on your own?”

“I’ll be fine.” He assesses your urgency with coyness, taking another large sip of coffee that deepens his tone. “Now go on. Be a ‘girl boss.’ Or a finance bro, I’m sure they’re a type.”

“Not mine.” You scoff already halfway out the door.

He continues to muse. “I’m sure there’s a rerun of Growing Pains on channel 6.”

“No visitors.” You stop to remind him.

“Oh yeah?” He quips while plopping himself on the chaise. The pain swelters a bit before he grunts, driving another hypothetical wedge. “What ‘bout that Andy fella?”

Steve knew everything there is to know about you and how you were waned into random impromptu date nights with men that were not him.

“He’s long gone. Not that it’s any of your business.” You sass and Steve is happy with himself, aimlessly flipping through the channels as you locked up to his soundly farewell.

“Have a good day, Angel.” He’d get to you some day and you’d be right there with him. Timing meant waiting. But it also meant everything.

#mob!steve x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans

[arcanemoody]

Emotions are a lot tonight. I got my second new work schedule in less than two months and this one includes three ten-hour shifts, two of them back-to-back. Effective Monday.

I just finished my lesson plan for the infant room I've been working in. No idea if I'm going to get to implement it or if it will be implemented by the lead teacher -- because there's a good chance I won't be assigned to the room as a shared assistant teacher with any consistency that week.

The plan has always been to quit once my debt was zeroed out. It's all but zeroed out -- I sandbagged it with my last three cheques and payed both credit cards down to less than $50. The approval of my ADA request meant I didn't give two weeks notice on Wednesday. Now, I'm facing down the possibility of hanging on a bit longer -- padding out my savings, but exhausting myself further. And, when I do quit, leaving behind a lot of kids who I've forged good relationships with.

So. I'm stressed, feeling melancholy, feeling a bit trapped. Feeling like I can’t talk to ANYONE.

#R's depression journal

[this-boy-reporter]

What is the situation with your mortal family, if that isn't too personal of a question? Have you kept an eye on any of them to see how their lives play out? What do they think happened to you?

Look it's, uh, a hugely personal question. But I don't mind answering it. It's probably good for me to talk about it every now and again. It's just... the answer isn't all that interesting, I don't think.

What I like to think is there was a place kept at the table for me, and it wasn't too painful for the ones I left behind. Something like what's written in this fanfic: Radio Silence.

But, to be honest with you anonymous? I don't honestly know.

I never told any of them what happened to me, of course. And I've already outlined just how easy it was for me to fall off the face of the (human) earth the way I was living back in the 70s & 80s. Can you imagine them actually meeting Armand? No, I don't mean Armand the blood drinker, and sociopath. Not the guy who didn't allow any humans to live who knew his name.

I mean, Armand the male person I was dating, when being gay was both a criminal offence and a psychological illness. I know what I was doing in bars in the 70s wouldn't have filled my family with joy, even before the whole vampire part of it. I think anything they could guess happened to me would be better than what they'd think of the truth.

There was a short period, after my writing and my name got out there, when my mother did find and get back into contact with me. But it was also a period I was so mired in shame, so filled with imposter syndrome, that I couldn’t forge more than a superficial kind of connection with anyone. Let alone the woman who gave birth to me.

What I do know is: Armand's made sure my family have remained very comfortable since... around Pompeii? Knowing that has been good, knowing my parents lived out their twilight years in comfort. That's all I needed to know. It wasn't always easy for them to put food on the table for me and my siblings.

Maybe Armand even puts my names on the cheques. I don't know. Again, I haven't asked and don't want to.

#ask daniel #ask game #send me asks #Daniel Molloy: existential on tumblr #correspondence

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“CHEQUE FORGER PLEADS GUILTY ON 11 COUNTS,” Winnipeg Tribune. December 8, 1932. Page 1. ---- Edward Lawler, former life insurance agent, pleaded guilty to 11 charges of forgery and uttering involving about $600, when he appeared in city police court today and was remanded until Dec. 12 for sentence.

Lawler committed these offences while employed by the London Life Insurance Co. eight months ago, but was only arrested recently at Toronto.  He obtained most of the money by forging endorsements and cheques issued by the company in payment for claims made by police-holders.

#winnipeg #police court #insurance agent #forgery #uttering #insurance fraud #stealing from the company #forged documents #forged cheques #defrauding clients #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

[bastardblvd]

hear me out, bank teller!Nanami being the only employee (besides security on a good day) at the Grimetown Bank. the poor guy has stories for days because the shit he has witnessed is otherworldly. from forged cheques by landlord!Sakuna, to attempted robbery. customers (drug dealer!Naoya) fist fighting security, to slimeball!Denji trying to deposit Monopoly money into his saving’s account. it’s a miracle he has survived these past six months at this job; he’s yet to find an outlet. bank teller!Nanami has been considering taking up smoking, but feels like he needs something stronger. this job has truly aged him.

POOR NANAMI 😭 his shift just started and he’s already having to explain to a very disgruntled denji that monopoly money doesn’t actually have monetary value. when he isn’t a bank teller, he’s a financial advisor and his 12pm meeting gojo satoru tells him he opened a tj maxx (toji maxx) credit card since his other eight are maxed out.

#one of these days he’ll take slimeball barista dabi up on his offer and get something stronger in his coffee #stepdaddy merc #bank teller!nanami #fairykiins #repeat offenders

[alsoaless]

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊   ,

full name: alessandro lombardi. alias(es): aless. birth date: october 27th birth place: milan, italy. age: twenty three years old. pronoun(s): he , him. gender: cis male. orientation: bisexual. occupation: model, actor & musician.  languages spoken: english & italian . 

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊𝒊   ,  tw: death , terminal illness .

you  come  into  the  world  ,  silent  and  slippy  .  your  father  is  a  globe  away  but  your  mother  waits  with  baited  breath  for  them  to  give  you  yours  ;  your  first  cry  is  her  favourite  melody  for  her  entire  life  .  in  that  moment  ,  a  promise  is  forged  between  mother  and  son  -  you  will  never  be  alone  .  

each  year  passes  with  calendar  marked  dates  and  birthday  cards  from  the  american  man  .  your  mother  makes  you  cupcakes  every  birthday  ,  asks  you  what  your  wishes  are  and  holds  you  in  her  lap  when  she  sings  her  sweet  songs  .  you  lean  your  head  against  her  chest  and  your  wish  is  silent  but  never  changes  …  you  want  to  stay  like  this  forever  .  loved  .  safe  .  content  .

your  mothers parents call  you  fatherless  in  the  english  language  ,  slanted  american  accents  and  much  laughter  over  a  punnet  of  grapes  .  you  laugh  too  ,  you  think  yourself  better  without  the  birthday  cards  and  cheques  ;  tell  your  mother  that  you  will  never  need  money  because  you  are  to  be  a  self  made  man  .  your  grandparents  laugh  but  love  you  anyway  ,  no  matter  how  pig  headed  you  can  be  .

it  all  starts  with  a  cough  but  even  the  smallest  cough  cannot  be  concealed  ,  lungs  full  of  darkness  discovered  on  a  scan  .  your  mother  becomes  sicker  by  the  day  but  you  know  she  will  never  be  alone  …  it’s  hard  to  fit  in  the  catalogue  jobs  ,  commercial  modelling  without  her  to  chaperone  but  at  only  thirteen  ,  you  still  succeed  .  your  grandparents  become  too  frail  to  help  out  ,  you  as  a  son  ,  a  carer  ,  a  provider  .  your  mother  hires  nurses  and  nannies  but  you  refuse  to  give  up  your  responsibility  .  you  have  to  be  the  best  son  else  you  have  failed  .

the  night  she  takes  her  final  breath  ,  you  are  by  her  side  .  the  nurses  have  to  pull  you  off  of  her  for  all  the  crying  you  are  doing  ,  denial  stronger  than  any  love  .  you  promise  you  will  be  the  best  son  if  she  will  just  open  her  eyes  but  deep  down  ,  you  know  that  isn’t  real  .

there  is  nobody  to  take  custody  ,  your  grandparents  unable  so  late  in  their  life  with  so  much  left  of  yours  …  international  enquiries  and  the  american  man  steps  forward  .  you  don’t  need  any  white  knight  ,  any  father  ... so  late  but  he  comes  to  collect  and  like  a  belonging  ,  you  are  in  transit  to  the  united  states  and  to  a  family  you  have  never  known  .  you  loathe  him  for  it  .

settled  in  the  united  states  then  you  have  a  new  step  mother  ,  new  step  siblings  …  perfect  in  every  way  …  you  wonder  what  made  them  worth  fathering  and  you  quite  the  opposite  .  it  doesn't  matter  how  present  he  is  now  ,  how  he  tries  to  fulfil  your  very  whim  …  you  will  never  forgive  him  enough  to  admit  to  that  growing  hole  in  your  soul  where  the  support  of  a  parent  is  meant  to  be  .  the  lullabies  are  sung  under  your  breath  ,  recordings  played  under  covers  and  resentment  growing  and  taking  root  in  every  corner  of  your  body  as  you  reach  full  maturation  .

the  world  of  nepotism  ,  your  fathers  money  about  as  close  to  blue  blooded  as  you  will  ever  be  ⎯  green  blooded  ,  green  eyed  …  like  you  .  you  have  a  serious  case  of  the  green  eyed  monster  ,  all  the  work  you  pour  into  being  the  best  at  everything  ,  a  war  waged  against  nobody  but  yourself  because  the  bitterness  took  root  long  ago  .  growing  into  an  adult  with  a  temperament  for  demands  that  can  never  be  met  ,  a  need  and  desire  for  attention  that  can  never  be  fulfilled  .  you  need  to  be  gratified  .  you  need  to  be  a  shining  star  …  a  great  showman  .  you  have  to  be  somebody  .  you  are  somebody  ,  aren't  you  ?

✼  ʾ   𝑎𝑐𝑡.   𝒊𝒊𝒊   ,   

tristan carvalho. cousin . bitterness and envy rooted in nothing other than having no other space for your resentments .

alexandra fairchild. subplot / enemies , you are trying to get back in her favour , you need her .

#tw death #tw loss of a loved one #intro

[perregrinstudiessometimes]

Spoiler Free Book review of:

Catch Me If You Can: The True Story of a Real Fake by Frank W. Abagnale with Stan Redding

Good reads synopsis/summary: 

“Frank W. Abagnale, alias Frank Williams, Robert Conrad, Frank Adams and Robert Monjo, was one of the most daring con men, forgers, impostors and escape artists in history. In his brief but notorious career, Abagnale donned a pilot's uniform and co-piloted a Pan Am jet, masqueraded as the supervising resident of a hospital, practised law without a licence, passed himself off as a college sociology professor and cashed over $2.5 million in forged cheques, all before he was 21 years old. Known by the police of 26 foreign countries and all 50 US states as 'The Skywayman', Abagnale lived a sumptuous life on the run - until the law finally caught up with him. Now recognised as America's leading authority on financial foul play, Abagnale is a charming rogue whose hilarious, stranger-than=fiction international escapes - including one from an aeroplane - make Catch Me if You Can an irresistible tale of deceit.”

Format: audio book read by Barrett Whitener (an amazing reader 10/10 for performance) 

Source: Libby (app that my local library partners with)

Book started on: Jan 8th

Book finished on: Jan 8th

Book Grade (out of 100): 95

Book emojis: 🧑🏻‍✈️🪪🕵🏻🧠🧑🏻‍⚖️🚓💶🧳👮🏻‍♂️

Spoiler free thoughts: While the accompanying movie that was based off this book is far more popular, and far more talked about. The book is, in my opinion, better. The true story of frank Abagnale is far more interesting than the fictionalized version of his story portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks. I will say, I would love to read a book from the perspective of the FBI regarding this case.

This is the first time I have read this book, and frankly, I am upset that I waited this long to read it. I have seen the movie countless times over the years as it is one of my favorite movies and I think I may return to the book as well. I don’t know what it is about the story of Frank Abagnale maybe it’s the confidence, maybe it’s the stupidity, Maybe it’s the skill. Maybe, and most likely it is that you rarely hear of such serious crimes where the number of individual victims is low, while the severity of the crime is high. Frank Abagnale rarely prayed on individual people. Instead, his targets were big businesses, big banks, and large hotel chains. Even with his crimes did pray on specific people, he was so charming that the people rarely upset (except for that one model/se worker) whatever it is about his story, there is some thing, both terrifying and comforting about it.

Warnings: I suppose it would be fair to warn you that this book contains large amounts of crime. Frank focuses mainly on check fraud what does also delve into regular old fraud. There are also mentions of horrible treatments within prisons Specifically his time in a French prison is one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever read. There is also briefly a sex worker though she is not discussed much.

Do I recommend this book? Absolutely! This book is fabulous and while it doesn’t quite put the movie to shame, it does certainly top it. Regardless of whether you watch the movie or read the book I implore you to look into Frank Abagnale’s story as he is deeply interesting. It’s probably weird to say and think this, but I believe Frank may be my favorite criminal. (I am well aware that I should not have a favorite criminal.)

If you enjoyed this book and are looking for other recommendations: if you haven’t seen the movie, I would recommend the movie. If you haven’t read the book, I would recommend the book. I wish I had more things to recommend you, but I’ve simply not come across anything that affects me the way frank story does. If you have any suggestions for me, please leave them in the replies or the tags. :)

#Rosie’s book reviews 2023 #book reviews #true crime #crime #booklr #bookblr #studyblr #reading #read #reader #bookish #booksbooksbooks #bookworm #booksofinstagram #bookstagram

[serenafainx]

!! hello 2023 !! this is just a thing to help remember and summarise what my kids have done this year, and potential plans for the new year but pls note — the code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules ... (hehe pirates)

content warnings: mentions of depression, brutal injury, homelessness

༶ ⋆ SERENA 

in 2022:

moved into elias, with sorrel as her roommate

continued her diploma of costume design with walt university

still working at the drycleaner’s/laundromat

regular stall-holder in the maker’s market

assisted with 2 productions by walt uni, in the costume dept

now lead costume designer for romeo & juliet 

reunited with jasper skellington and twas cathartic

maybe falling for ….. a blonde 👀

for 2023:

wants to learn how to drive !!

will focus more on her visions-ability ; she’ll start to take this part of herself more seriously, and offer more help with it. so far, she’s kept it a very close secret.

may get more confrontational if villains keep making her friends miserable >:((

where will her costume design hobby take her ? she may start to take commissions from her friends, if they would like certain outfits ?

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- BELLE 

in 2022:

moved to elias, living with adam

worked at the public library for a few months

now works full-time as the executive assistant to sulley, in sullivan inc.

plays fortnightly d&d games !!

joined a bookclub

( kept her depressive episodes a secret from her friends, and also her concerns about her father’s health - to date, she’s only told penelope )

for 2023:

...she should probably take care of her mental health more

should open up to her friends more :((

will pursue her degrees in archaeology, history, and/or library sciences ? and then go on to do her master’s degree in archaeology? and then her pHD ?!?!?!? this will take years

she’s going to start realising that perhaps elias is not so much an adventure when all she pursues is work. she’ll start to be a bit more self-focused this year. ( “ i want adventure in the great wide somewhere !! ” )

⍋*:･ﾟ NICK     ( aka. money money money - abba.mp3 )

in 2022:

stole watches and sold them smh

got to know what little there is of elias’ criminal underground (mainly NPCs and decha and beck, he avoids the big guns)

making friends! wdym he actually likes it here in elias ?? :/

didn’t really care for his studies, he’s just passing rn, i think he’s doing business or communications ?

in 2023:

starting to work with some sketchy ppl - namely, selling counterfeit items when he can (not much though)

working with a forger; he can now help make fake IDs, forge documents, birth certificates. does not deal with money though, won’t forge cheques or anything like that.

just wants money !!!! 

nick on christmas day 2022: “i should probably date someone ://” and he’ll be a menace, a slut, you might say-

✫⌒ BEATRIX

in 2022:

regularly attended therapy in elias after she was kind of traumatised from brutalising a criminal back in townsville (still has told NO ONE about it, except her sisters, who only know because of the professor)

still has not found a ‘hobby’ to counteract her love for fighting

...instead, she has been partying and going clubbing a lot wee-woo

MADE FRIEENDSS and bothers them all the time ://

started working at bueno nacho, come thru for the free food guys

for 2023:

.... i’m not actually sure, but i know that she’s going to need to work on opening up to her friends. this might be her focus-on-emotions year.

she may end up quitting university to work full-time and do something else (sorry professor)

♛･*˚ KIT    

in 2022:

god what hasn’t this man done

lots of community service, still doing things for ulstead too

hired beverly as an assistant in december 2022, to assist with elias plans and business. he currently is thinking of starting a foundation in elias, but TBA and still quite up in the air

reunited with his oldest friend elsa and i cried

mourning the curse on his brother ... struggling a lot internally rip

for 2023:

working on building the foundation

LIFTING THE CURSE OF PIP ??

idk he just needs to feel normal and not work all the time, so any friend who can do that is a golden friend indeed

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MEG

in 2022 (mainly off the dash bc she arrived in december hehe):

was pawning off the last of hades’ things

lived in a homeless shelter for a month or two before the goddess hestia gifted her an apartment 

got a job at sk8es and the movie theater

had a short friendship/relationship with roxas reyes, and it did not go well

wherever hercules is, she avoids it

for 2023: 

more friends, more connections, because it’s her connections with people that keep her grounded and not like a lost spirit

want her to explore her hobbies more: being a movie and food critic, and also a gentle interest in architecture

she’ll probably buy a new pair of headphones. and a new phone ://

#creations. #about. #!!! i tHINK im done idk just wanted this out there #not me almost forgetting about the romeo & juliet play #this is why i need this post #ill ........ do smth with that eventually GVJHgvjHGVJHGV #i mean im sure the theatre dept is disrupted all the time bc shit keeps happening in elias #we got this !!! - fantasia theatre motto

[orchardisland]

━━   𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧

Let me tell you the story of one of our unfortunate residents who seems to be a NURSE on the island. Fate has assigned this individual guidance from the STRENGTH card. But they needn’t worry, their secrets are safe with me.

DOB: april 19th, 1997 DEFINING TRAITS: dauntless, intelligent, quick-witted, impulsive, cunning, short-tempered RESEMBLES: loona ha sooyoung (yves)

YOU ARE PRESENTED WITH A PRISTINE DECK OF TAROT CARDS. TAKE YOUR PICK.

(choose for me!) 

the bed creaks loudly as she falls on her back, energy drained after a long day of job searching. it has been almost a week since she stayed over at her friend's place. ryeon does not stay home all day and does nothing. she needs action, something that does not require her to sit at her desk from 9 to 5 or faking a smile in front of customers.

arm shielding her eyes from the glaring ceiling light, ryeon lets out a groan as her phone vibrates beside her. she gathers every ounce of energy left and turns to lie on her tummy. a notification. with a few taps on her phone, her screen opens up a message from the clinic. a life-saving job. with all that was going on, she could earn some good karma for better luck. a smirk slowly forms on her lips as she reads the message. gwasuwon has got themselves a new nurse. with this good news, she lets her heavy lid fall as she dives into a well-deserved nap.

in her dream, she is still in her room. although it was misty, what made ryeon slightly wary was the negative energy in the air. her grip around her emergency knife tightens as she navigates around the mist cautiously. in front of her was a deck of cards on a table. this causes her to let out a scoff, thinking it was one of her friend's tricks. the other was adamant about finding ryeon a match these few days, asking her all sorts of questions to gain more insights on her birth chart and compatability with her friends. she must have laid the cards for her to pick one so she could read about ryeon's luck in the love department. unfortunately, she has no intention of reading her fortune or know about her love life.

with that, she left the cards untouched.

THE CARD FLUTTERS TO YOUR FEET. WHO WERE YOU BEFORE THIS STORY BEGAN?

breaking news: a student was murdered in gwangju high. police investigations are still ongoing.

age seventeen, her first murder and unfortunate enough, it was also the first time she wore handcuffs. after her return from the juvenile center, the first thing she did was to barge into her father's night club and smash everything her eyes set on. the staff tried to hold her down but for those with no experience in fighting, it was a losing battle. the sound of glass shattering were music to her ears. every time one hits the ground, ryeon was encouraged to do more. it was her stress reliever. by the time seol jongil arrive, his club was forced to close down for a week.

"you fucked my life. how are you going to compensate it?"

"no darling, you fucked it up on your own. i simply supported you like any other father would."

yeah, with his stinking money.

if only her mother was not greedy. if only she brought her along to live a comfortable life. but the past is the past.

ryeon was desperate. she wanted to get out of the hell hole she was forced to call home. so she did what a desperate person would do. the following day, she slipped into her father's room and wrote herself a cheque worth a few thousands, forged his signature and fled.

it would take a few hours before he realized the money vanished from his account. with nowhere to hide, ryeon seeked her former juvie friend, joohee for help as she was the only person the girl was on good terms with. joohee resides in gwasuwon, specifically seomyeon. on her way to the island the next day, the news reported that the police deemed her to be innocent. someone else had taken the fall for her. it was obvious who helped her behind the scenes. however, she knows what her father's actual motive was - to clear his name so his business will not be affected. those that knew of this would say he doted on her and yet ryeon's being a spoiled, unappreciative delinquent. but they have no idea how he did not give a single damn about her life. the only thing he gave her was money so she could get the hell out of his face.

so she did, off to gwasuwon with her bank temporary full.

#gsw:accepted #oc krp #krp