#it’s like my name. it’s jacqueline. i hate being called jackie but people say it anyways. it’s been years so *sigh* anyway it’s kinda | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writethehousedown · 4 years

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And the Livin’s Easy Chapter One (Multi) - Zyan

a/n: me? doing yet another multi-chapter for the challenge? how original. this idea came to me while i was watching hawaii five-0 and i just ran with it. i have no actual knowledge of how the surfing world works, i’m a simple kick boxing fighter, so please bear with me and the in-accuracies you’ll find. the rest of the characters mentioned in the summary will appear in the next chapter :D my sideblog is @chachkisalpaca - oh, and also, frey is an absolute angel for beta-ing this. hope you enjoy!

Summary: The surfing season in Honolulu is at its peak, with every surfer, old and new, having their eyes on the big prize of the Hawaii Surf Association annual competition. As the day of the competition comes closer, Crystal tries to not get distracted with a certain Californian girl, Vanessa swears she’s over Brooke, Yvie tries to seduce the hotel’s lifeguard and Jaida is just witnessing everything go down as she sips on her piña colada.

It’s summertime and the beach is packed.

Crystal doesn’t expect any less, honestly; the summer season is at its peak, plus Honolulu is always a famous tourist spot. No wonder there’s barely a spot to stand in O’Ahu.

The waves are good today and Crystal engages in a playful banter when she encounters some of her fellow surfers while training. There’s a surfing competition next week, a very important one at that, and every surfer and their grandma wants that prize. To think of what she could do with the money — Crystal might just layback for the rest of the season and enjoy some very well deserved vacations before going back to Missouri for yet another college year.

She finds it sad that the waves last only during the summer, because she’s capable of surfing them even when the water temperature is below 0 and would catch a cold for the mere act of standing too close to the water (“Colds start with the feet,” her mother has been telling her since she was a child, and it just stuck.)

But she doesn’t have to worry for the winter that’s still months away; right now she just lets the Sun burn her skin as the water soaks her entire body.

She feels lightheaded, like she’s capable of doing anything while she’s on her surfing board.

“You getting’ better, Glass,” Vanjie shouts, while riding the same wave as her.

Crystal laughs loudly, the nickname ‘Glass’ still sounding so wild to her, she sometimes wonders why and how did Vanjie ever come up with that one.

“What do ya wanna bet that I’ll beat your ass next week,” Crystal yells back, and Vanjie cocks a brow, focused on keeping her balance.

“Fuck off, I bet you won’t even last the rest of training without falling.”

“If I make it through training without falling you’re buying me a drink at Sal’s.”

Vanjie meets her gaze for a brief second and laughs shortly.

“Es más fácil decirlo que hacerlo, but you got a deal, bitch.” She winks at her and Crystal takes it upon herself to win that bet.

“Veamos si puedes conmigo, perra.”

Gigi is, decidedly, not a beach person.

She gets it; the water looks pretty under the Sun, the palms make a good background for an Instagram picture, and her bathing suit fits her like a glove, drawing attention from both men and women, but despite all this — she just can’t take how crowded it is, the children running around and yelling like banshees, how cold the water is, the dirty people that leave their trash behind, and a long etcetera.

Brita’s been so kind to invite them to their family’s house in Honolulu for a few weeks, Gigi is very much aware of it, which is why she tries not to be a gigantic bitch while they’re on the beach; she doesn’t want Brita to kick her out, basically.

Besides, Honolulu is very pretty. One of the most beautiful cities she’s ever visited, actually. She doesn’t mind the rest of it; it’s this specific part of the city that she dreads. She’s also very aware of the irony of agreeing to go to a place that’s famous for its beaches while hating beaches, thank you very much.

She applies a generous amount of sunscreen to every inch of her body, still sitting under the umbrella and ignoring her friends’ pleas for her to join them in the water. Gigi merely says that she’ll meet them in a moment, and though they’re not very convinced by it, they still run towards the sparkly blue water.

Gigi clearly lied; as soon as they’re out of sight, she pulls out her phone and thinks for a moment about taking photos for her Instagram — if she’s going to spend most of this trip at the beach, she might as well take advantage of it and take some cute pictures for her feed. She didn’t pack so many bathing suits for nothing.

She’s scrolling through her DM requests —deleting the men, replying to the women— when there’s a sudden uproar from the people sitting around her. They’re cheering for something or someone. Gigi looks around, confused, until she lays eyes on the sea in front of her and the waves crashing against the shore; there are surfers in the waves, naturally, but these seem like the skilled type.

Gigi decides to film it for her Instagram Stories, because why not, they are talented, and Gigi can barely float around in her parents’ pool in a donut floatie without rolling over and drowning.

One of them falls, and the crowd gasps, though Gigi isn’t all that interested in it. Her friends wave at her from the sea and Gigi scrambles to find an excuse not to join them.

Crystal can’t stop laughing, even when they arrive at the shore and all Vanjie does is shout at her, saying that she bewitched her or something, because there’s no way she fell instead of her.

“Get over it, Vanj. You owe me now.”

She sticks her board into the sand, taking her hair tie off and rearranging her hair in a ponytail. Her hair is soaked, clearly, and Crystal’s hands are already tired at the thought of having to shampoo the sea water off it.

Crystal doesn’t mind though, it’s worth it.

Vanjie shots Crystal a deadly glare and rearranges her own hair, groaning slightly as she does so.

“I’m only paying you because a bitch keeps her promises,” she says. “Also, on the note of having drinks, you wanna grab a smoothie before going on with training? But you’re paying for your own drink, ho.”

Crystal laughs wholeheartedly with a nod. She goes to look between the pockets of her bag for money and asks one of her friends to watch her board for her; it’ll just be a moment.

They’re talking about their plans once the competition is done and what would they do if they get the prize money. Vanessa says she’ll pack up her stuff and go back to Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer even if she loses, and will chase waves on her hometown beach. Maybe teach a few of the little ones in her family to surf, if she has the time and patience for it.

“Y’know, the little shits are getting bigger and bigger, and they barely remember their aunt Vanessa! My girl Julia, bless that one, still remembers me — but, bitch, she did her first communion already! Damn, last time I checked she was still five,” Vanjie rambles, and Crystal definitely feels her on a spiritual level.

This is the part she likes about being friends with Vanjie, the fact they both have similar experiences with their Latin families and understand each other in a way most people wouldn’t. Her favourite part of summer is getting to spend it with her.

Crystal says something about her little nephew Mateo —who Vanessa adores, despite having not met him yet, just because his name matches with her surname— and how he’s gotten so big in the blink of an eye, already reaching Crystal’s hip, when she bumps into something.

Or rather, someone.

There’s a gasp and Crystal is wet yet again, though this time it’s sticky and it smells fruity.

“Well, there goes ten dollars,” a voice snarls, and Crystal finally pulls up her gaze to meet the asshole that just spilled their drink all over her.

She finds a woman with long auburn hair, skin pale as snow, think as a rail, with pink plump lips and a pair of icy blue eyes staring right back at her. Crystal thinks it’s a shame that she’s an asshole, because she is really pretty.

“Watch where you walk, pendeja,” Crystal bites back and the woman rolls her eyes, avoiding her as she goes on with her way. Vanjie and Crystal briefly look at her before proceeding with what they were doing. “At least I can wash the stickiness off once we hit the waves again,” she consoles herself, resigned to smell like fruit until she gives her bathing suit a proper wash.

“I hate the beach,” Gigi declares, settling at Jackie’s side with a huff and her arms folded. Jackie quirks an amused eyebrow, barely stifling a laugh, and Nicky casts a side glance at her.

“Why’s that?” Nicky asks, her gaze still glued to her phone.

“Some idiot cost me ten dollars, can you believe? I didn’t even have a sip of that smoothie!” Gigi complains with a whine that’s rather childish. Jackie just laughs, patting her friend’s back.

“If you join us now, I’ll buy you another smoothie later.”

“Fuck off with that motherly tone, Jacqueline,” Gigi says with a laugh, Jackie gasps offended and swats her arm playfully.

“That’s not the way to talk to your friends, baby Geeg!” Jackie scolds her, only making Gigi laugh louder.

Jackie is the eldest of them all (though, to be fair, she’s only a couple months older than Brita) and she’s naturally the mom friend. She’s pulled them out of the bar, called cabs, helped them through heartbreaks, more than Gigi can count (though Gigi isn’t good at counting). It’s only fair she gets to do these jokes.

Gigi pouts and puts on her puppy eyes, locking her hands. “Do you promise to buy me a smoothie, though?” She asks, in a tone so high-pitched she annoys herself.

But never Jackie, she’s got the patience none of them have, so she just nods with an over the top sigh and forcefully drags her to the water.

Gigi hates what the salty water does to her hair, though to be fair — Jackie did buy her a smoothie once they came back to their spot.

Sal’s Shack has grown to be Crystal’s favourite place on the island.

She discovered it when she was a little girl and came to Honolulu for the first time, after her parents saved up for a whole year and her father pushed as much as he could for a promotion at his job. It isn’t just a restaurant or a bar; Sal doesn’t like labels, so he never put one on his establishment.

It’s whatever you want it to be, though it does become a bar after midnight, that title going away once the Sun is up.

When Crystal met Vanjie, almost five summers ago, she took her to Sal’s Shack, and Vanjie was so in love with the place they kept on coming back, with or without the other.

Sal immediately smiles upon seeing them enter, even if the place is already getting crowded, Sal tells them he’d be able to hear Vanjie’s voice from a mile away.

“What can I get you tonight, girls?” He asks, with that warm, kind smile that reminds Crystal of her childhood years.

“I’m in the mood for your spicy meatballs sandwich,” Vanjie says dreamily, prompting Sal to laugh wholeheartedly. Crystal follows her suit by saying she wants a burger, and tells Sal not to be shy with the sauce.

They get settled while they wait, talking about how their college careers are going and how much they want the summer to be endless.

There’s just something about this city that makes it magical, Crystal likes to think. She’s had a few summer flings there, never seeing them again once she packed up her things and came back to Missouri, but each one of them had something special that made Crystal feel as if it wasn’t just a summer fling.

She wonders if she’ll find someone new this time around too, though it isn’t high up in her priority list.

Brita takes them to her uncle’s restaurant-bar-whatever, saying they have to visit it, not only because they serve pretty good cocktails, but also because there are always some hotties hanging around.

Though the idea of a summer hook up is attractive to Gigi, this isn’t Los Angeles; she doesn’t have any cab numbers, she still can’t properly manage herself around, and would consequently get lost trying to come back to the house. She tells herself that she’ll wait a few days until she’s a little more familiar with the place, just in case.

They arrive to the bar —Gigi’s decided to call it a bar for her own sanity—, and much like at the beach, the place is full, and she can’t see a free table.

“Don’t worry, girls,” Brita says, “I called my uncle and told him to save us a table, follow me.” So follow they do. They absentmindedly link hands and elbow their way through the place. The music is blasting through the speakers, there’s a couple of people dancing, and a lot of others just standing with their drinks and nudging on them.

Gigi has to admit Brita was right; there are some attractive people around, and it takes all of Gigi’s willpower not to stare. Perhaps sticking to the rules she’s just imposed on herself won’t be that easy.

They make it to the end of the bar and Brita smiles widely upon seeing her uncle, breaking the chain of hands and launching herself into his arms. The girls stand there awkwardly until they finish their conversation.

“He looks like Brita, but as a man,” Jan comments in a whisper, making Gigi and Nicky laugh. Jackie shushes them, though she agrees under her breath.

Brita introduces them one by one with a wide smile, and Gigi has to admit the resemblance between them is scary. Brita’s uncle gives them a warm welcome and tells them to call him Sal before guiding them to their table. It’s in a corner of the place and they can see everyone and everything, plus, they’re a few feet away from the bar. It’s a nice spot overall.

They get settled and Sal leaves them a few menus with the drinks options, including non-alcoholic drinks, and leaves to go back to work, telling them to look for him if they need anything.

Gigi briefly looks at the menu before setting it aside and looking around the bar, trying to find a face that stands out from the rest — instead, she hears a voice that breaks through the noise and makes a few heads turn around.

They voice comes from a few tables away, right in front of them. There’s a woman with dark, curly hair waving her arms around and talking with her friend, while the other woman sitting in front of her and facing Gigi is dying with laughter.

Gigi squints, finding her face oddly familiar, until it clicks.

Crystal throws her head back as she laughs, bracing her stomach as Vanjie grows louder and louder during her speech.

“And the fucking bitch had the AUDACITY to call me a fucking liar! Can you believe?” Vanjie slams her fist on the table and Crystal is hollering with laughter. She knows she shouldn’t have brought up the fact that her ex is also coming to the competition, but right now Vanjie is too worked up to back down.

For the longest time, Crystal thought Canada didn’t have any surfers — with such a cold weather, how could someone even want to enter the water? But it turns out that Vanjie’s ex, Brooke, is Canadian and a surfer, and she’s going to be competing alongside them. She found out, because she follows Yvie Bridges’ socials, and she posted a picture with Brooke, captioning it with “Excited to be reunited with my sister in Honolulu!” Except with a lot more exclamation marks.

Vanjie quickly tries to backpedal her entire rant by saying she’s not bothered at all by Brooke’s presence, because she’s over her and she’s seeing this girl, Kameron, who she met in a competition in Puerto Rico and is a sports photographer.

Crystal cocks a brow and before Vanjie can further prove to Crystal that she’s not over Brooke at all, she asks her if she wants another round of destornilladores. Vanjie nods effusively, tossing bills to her.

She heads to the bar and perches herself on it, waving at the barman. She places her order and when there’s a seat available, she takes it without hesitation.

Crystal is watching the barman as he mixes her drink, when someone slides into the empty seat next to her. She casts a quick glance over them and has to do a double take when the woman’s face is familiar.

She blinks repeatedly; this is the woman that threw her smoothie at her earlier that day.

It seems that Smoothie Girl recognizes her too, because she stares at her for a moment too long, and somehow Crystal finds the courage to speak up.

“You’re the asshole that threw their smoothie in my bathing suit,” Crystal finally speaks up.

“And you’re the asshole that threw herself into my smoothie,” she shots back, cocking one of her perfectly painted eyebrows, and Crystal has to admit that was a good one.

The barman places her orders in front of her; Crystal quickly pays him and Smoothie Girl takes advantage of his presence to place her own order. Crystal searches for Vanjie’s eyes among the crowd, and she finds her with her stare glued on her. She smiles when she sees their drinks, but frowns when Crystal points at the woman sitting beside her.

It’s her, she mouths, but Vanjie tilts her head, confused. Smoothie Girl, she mouths this time, and Vanjie looks surprised. She starts to mouth things Crystal can’t catch, but she guesses it’s a combination of get your ass over here, and that bitch.

“I’ve been thinking all day about what you called me,” she says, attracting Crystal’s attention again. She frowns, confused.

“What? Pendeja?” She asks, and Smoothie Girl nods. “Oh, that’s Spanish for asshole.”

Smoothie Girls snorts, cocking a brow. “What’s the Spanish word for ‘you owe me ten bucks’?”

“That would be ‘in your dreams,’” Crystal retorts, the brunette rolls her eyes.

She knows Vanjie is watching them closely, her stare burning a hole in Crystal’s neck, in case hands need to be thrown. But she has a feeling she won’t be needing Vanjie’s hands — not that she can say the same about this woman.

The barman leaves a drink in front of Smoothie Girl and she pays with a coquettish smile, Crystal thinks her drink smells way too fruity.

“That smoothie left my bathing suit smelling like fruit even when I washed it three times,” Crystal comments, trying to sound nonchalant. The woman cocks a brow as she sips on her drink. “What flavor was it, anyway?”

She seems surprised by the question, though she’s quick to answer.

“Uh, mango and peach, I think,” she replies and Crystal scrunches up her nose.

“Ugh, that sounds hideous.”

“It’s not! Had you licked your bathing suit you would know it’s very tasty.” She laughs at her own joke, and Crystal finds herself laughing too.

It’s weird how just moments ago they were calling each other assholes and now they’re laughing like nothing happened.

Crystal scoots herself closer in the chair, their knees practically brushing as she tries to catch her gaze.

“You got a name, Smoothie Girl?” She inquires in a casual tone. Smoothie Girl finally meets her gaze, and her blue eyes aren’t as icy as the first time they ran into each other.

“Genevieve, but everyone calls me Gigi.” She offers her hand to shake and Crystal gladly takes it. “And you?”

“I’m Crystal. Some people call me Crys, others Cryssie — and that dumbass over there,” she discreetly points at Vanjie, who’s typing away in her phone, trying to act as if she hasn’t been staring at them for a long minute now, “calls me Glass. Don’t ask me why, she just does.” Crystal shrugs, and Gigi laughs.

She feels some sort of pride blooming in her chest at making Gigi laugh.

“So, Crystal,” Gigi begins. “Do I have to assume you’re a surfer? I mean, what you were wearing when you ran into my smoothie looks like something a surfer would wear.”

Crystal nods enthusiastically, proceeding to tell her that she’s been surfing on and off since she was just thirteen and how she comes to Honolulu every year, rarely shifting her destination for the summer.

In return, Gigi confides her that she’s from California and it’s her first time in Honolulu, saying that her friend —Sal’s niece, apparently— invited them and she just couldn’t say no, even when she isn’t that much of a beach enthusiast. She hates them, in fact.

Upon hearing this, Crystal lets an over the top gasp that makes Gigi go into a fit of giggles, apparently already expecting that reaction.

“What the fuck? Dude, you can’t be serious,” she exclaims, and Gigi continues giggling.

“I’m deadly serious,” she assures her, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.

“You don’t even like the food or ice cream?”

“I do, I hate the dirty people that leave their trash behind, though.”

“What about the kids? They’re always so cute — running around with their water guns and getting excited over everything. Some remind me of my own little cousins.”

Gigi visibly scrunches up her nose, doing a disgusted face.

“I hate kids, actually.”

Crystal folds her arms in a huff, intently staring at Gigi.

“No, there’s no way you’re that much of a… Beach Grinch,” she blurts out, the embarrassment flooding over her as soon as the words come out from her mouth. Gigi cocks a brow.

“Beach Grinch? Now that’s original,” Gigi says, leaning in closer to Crystal, a wicked smile painted in her lips. “Y’know, though I find the beach extremely boring, I can’t say the same for the people that like it.”

Crystal grins; she’s played this game far too many times, but something in Gigi makes her think this time it won’t be as easy as with the other ones.

Just when she’s lining up a witty reply, Gigi suddenly scoots back, a bashful smile where there used to be a wicked one.

“Sadly, I don’t have the time to think too much about it, ‘cause I’m here to have a good time with my friends. Later!”

She hops off from her chair, bringing her drink with her, and makes her way back to her friends, swaying her hips as she walks and making her skirt fly with the movement.

Crystal takes a moment to realize what Gigi just did, and when she finally pulls herself back together to walk over to Vanjie with their drinks, she tries to convince herself that maybe Gigi is another one of those straight girls wanting to “experiment.” It’s what she says to herself to make her cheeks cool down several degrees.

Vanjie says they can cash the bitch outside if she wants to fight, but Crystal just dismisses her with a wave of her hand.

After they finish their drinks, they hang around at Sal’s for a little longer, dancing when there is a good song playing and talking with strangers, and just before they leave, Crystal looks through the crowd for Gigi’s eyes, and she finds her staring right back. What she sees in her eyes makes her stomach twist.

‘If she’s playing hard to get, then it’s on,’ she thinks, and the next thing she thinks is that Gigi can read her mind, because the wicked smile is back into her face before Crystal withdraws her gaze.

#rpdr fanfiction #past branjie #crygi #brita filter #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jackie cox #jan sport #nicky doll #vanessa vanjie mateo #zyan #and the livin's easy #lesbian au #surfer au #summer lovin' 2020 #day 1: bathing suit #submission

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vagabcnds · 4 years

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i have tossed around making this post for months now, gone back and forth with myself and my friends about if it would even be worth posting this. honestly, i don’t know if telling my side of this is going to do any good, but i think it’s time that i added some more information to this whole situation so that even more people can see that our friends (and i use that term with as much sarcasm as possible) @seattlehqrpg , as well as her other rp @canterlotislandhq , have not changed, and will not change. this is indeed another psa about this woman, but with some more information and one on one conversations with the woman.

hey hi, hello, so, my name is maig, i’ve been around the rpc for over a decade, and right now you might recognize my multifandom : @hiddenwashington . we’re an appless multifandom that i started up two years ago. and over those two years, we have dealt with jasmine, jazzy, jackie, jacqueline, whatever j name she wants to call herself this time, on and off, for that duration.

and just to clear up some information from other psas, i do not believe this is the same nova/jazzy that was terrorizing groups last year with attacking and fighting admins. we’ve spoken with j multiple times, as well as jazzy/nova, and honestly i can tell for sure these are not the same people. unfortunately, there is more than one bad egg in the rpc.

i have a ton of screenshots, so forgive me for not using them all. a link to a google drive will be at the end of this, for all of the screenshots i have of stolen asks, interactions, etc. but i’ll just be using key information for this specific post. or else we’ll be here all day.

when we first encountered j (we’ll just use “j” for now since she focuses on whatever name we call her more than the content of the psas. and all her aliases start with it idk), we thought she was just another person who wanted to join but sort of went about it the wrong way. we first got an anon on the main, asking if our current ginny (that being me) would be willing to give her up. because j wanted to play her.

we had gotten an anon asking about if we were welcoming towards people with social anxiety (or something like that. it’s been two years now since this all happened so specifics are a little fuzzy. like i said we’ve been dealing with her for so long.) i pretty much hit her with “i’m not willing to drop her because i still want to play her but hmu on my character account and we can chat about other characters for you to play”. i had no idea that answering it would lead us down this rabbit hole i’m writing about today. we sorta chatted, she kinda just rambled to me about how she wanted to write someone not like her so she could have a challenge. valid. i tried helping out, i didn’t really know what fandoms she was into so i said what i could and then went onto the main. when i got back onto my account, she had taken it upon herself to critique my portrayal of ginny, asking if she would ever say ‘dick’. she kept messaging me, sandwiching that comment between other questions. i told her i didn’t appreciate unsolicited critiques. i tried to move past it but she kept at me about it. telling me she hadn’t read the books in 10 years. and only read one. the last one, in 3 hours. idk overall it was a weird conversation and i sort of thought that was the end of it.

honestly, i’m not gonna spend a TON of time on this already too long psa going on about every interaction we had with her, every crazy thing she said. most importantly, we accepted her in, thinking she was just a little wild but us talking to her covered it. she ended up going in active over easter or spring break or something, wanted to take up another character, we told her to wait to pick her activity up. ya know, standard admin business. and then she started attacking us. telling us we didn’t care about her, about what she went through not having a computer or whatever. she started sending us anons about how her friend stole her money and we don’t care about her and we all hate her so why should she stay. it was kinda insane. again, check the google doc for all that. she ended up leaving, we got some anons about how she never joined other rps because of admins like us. just random things here and there, some anons about how dare we talk to people like we did. just random shit that really only she could come up with. but we had an rp to run, lives to get on with, tv shows to binge, idk fam. life goes on.

honestly, we sort of forgot about this whole mess for like close to a year? that was when we started getting ims. from her. we knew bc it was the same accounts as before. she uses the same ones over and over, it’s easy to keep track of her. it’s sort of why we never felt the need to bring anything up, we always thought she was just stealing from us and we knew when it was her and when to refuse to accept the questions. this is where we enter phase two of hidden’s journey with “j” : the thief.

this is one of our earliest encounters. before she started sending them on anon.

(for some quick context, she would send us questions for fcs, ask if a character was open and then go around trying to poach our members for her group)

tw suicidal thoughts for this next picture

honestly this goes on for like 10 more pictures, so instead of spamming here, the full conversation is in the google drive under the folder : a fight that almost was

she eventually goes on to call me out as the admin talking to her, i tell her again to message me off the main so that we could get back to actually admining our group. she hits me up, calls me “a cute ginny mun”, and then proceeds to ask me to help her fill out Her Own Application for ginny for her own group!!

the tiktok video of “did a full one eightyyy” is all that is going through my head from this specific encounter.

anyways. this is when the stealing really amped up, for not just us, but for the entire rpc. around this time, we had stupidly let her back into the group, i had wanted to keep my eye on her personally. see what she was stealing from the inside. idk i was dumb. this is also around the time the first psa about her came around.

enter, phase three. it’s similar to phase two, but this time, “j” must tell everyone she is in fact Not A Thief™

so, during this time, it was around may of last year? while she was in the group, she started stealing more, we were catching her in the act, and we eventually had to kick her out of hidden. it’s not really a shock but ya know. gotta do what you gotta do.

she was going by jasmine at the time. anyways. this is also before her current group @seattlehqrpg , when she still had @manilahq and @forgottenfriendshiphq or whatever she changed that too. she was getting a ton of “hate” over there. mainly anons telling her to stop stealing from other creators. valid.

anyways, she would blame us for all of the stealing, that we were the true thieves. idk we were her scapegoats for a long time. i can confirm to you all now, i have never, nor have any of my admins, sent her any messages to steal fcs or anything to “attack” her. honestly we try to forget she exists but she just makes it so hard to ignore her with all of this.

anyways, this has been our song and dance with “j” for a while now. we get an anon, we answer, she steals from us in a matter of hours. i’m sure everyone can attest to that similar situation. i mean, here’s just like a couple instances. i have hundreds in the google docs, dating back years. this behavior doesn’t change.

i mean, she has even gone as far as to steal our plot. sure, it’s not exactly original. every multifandom somehow brings all these characters to a city by magic or something. but the mention of the witch, the alternate universe city, the memories. it just all around reads plagiarism.

so, check the google doc for more evidence i guess if you really need to!

but, some things we’ve noticed, beyond her just stealing asks and plots and EVENTS ??? AND NOW TASKS ??? check out this post for the tasks, and this other psa for the event. because that shit is so fucked.

she has also straight up stolen replies and claimed them as her own. my friend and fellow admin, was in her rp for a hot minute, and played pacifica northwest. (some information is crossed out for privacy) this was from us talking about the plagiarism, of her stealing from my friend while “j” was in hidden, which we both admin.

this is her post

and this is "j”’s, while she was in hidden.

i mean, same gif and everything friends.

she constantly goes on about how she doesn’t look at other rps, how she doesn’t have time, that she’s running five other groups, but honey, we’re running those groups for you with all the stealing!! i mean, just as further proof that she is constantly looking at other groups, including hidden, to an obsessive amount. a member left her group (who then went and joined us we believe), and this was her unfollow for them. (i feel so sorry for that member to be called out like this?? how uncomfortable do you have to make your former and current members???)

and hidden’s character count that same day ??? coincidence, i think not.

listen, this isn’t meant to stir up more drama, i know it will and that’s kinda why i put this off. everyone had sort of said what needed to be said? it didn’t feel necessary to repeat the same shit we all knew. but with more of this happening, with her stealing plots, tasks and events. it felt like this was the time to strike, to get this awareness back up. she needs to stop, and if we all ban together, maybe we can stop it? i don’t know. but i have hope that this can all change if we have each other’s backs.

this has been hiddenwashington’s side of the story, i’m sure there are still more groups out there with stories or stolen asks. and i am sorry to anyone who has had to deal with her. but just, do yourselves a favor and look out for anyone with a j alias, 21+. she/her, from pst. who also uses “RPG” a lot.

a lot of this stuff is old, but she’s still doing this in @seattlehqrpg i just grabbed these screenshots because it’s what i had on hand. but anyways. here is the link to the google drive with all of our screenshots we have complied.

if you have any questions, comments, concerns, what have you: my inbox (including anons), ims and everything are open and i am more than happy to chat!! please come talk with me about anything!!!

stay safe, and thanks for joining me on this season of To Catch a Plagiarizer.

#psa #rpc #rpt #multifandom rp #fandom rp #rph #rpc psa #personal.#about hidden #long post tw #this is literally so long i pray for all of you who read it #seattlehqrpg

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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All I’ve Got To Keep Myself Sane, 4/8 (Jackie/Widow) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Night is falling in Atlantic City, and Jackie and Widow are no closer to going in separate directions. Unless it relates to Star Trek.

A/N: This chapter is almost entirely fluff with some Star Trek references thrown in for good measure. I hope you enjoy part four!

Jackie’s head swirled in memories once more. Or maybe it was swirling in alcohol. Two pina coladas? After pizza? And she was already tipsy? She almost felt ashamed of herself. Her college persona could drink more than that in a night and still walk home!

On the other side of the table, Widow had nursed her own cocktail for the evening, while Jackie was on her third. Widow mentioned she didn’t really drink very often and only wanted one, which Jackie didn’t mind; but it hadn’t stopped Jackie wanting to shove as much alcohol as she could down her own throat.

“… Jackie?”

“What? Oh. Sorry.”

It was starting to feel more comfortable. Widow was becoming less of a stranger, more of a friend; their heart-to-hearts on the beach feeling like a release of tension. They were freer to just be in each others’ company.

Jackie was enjoying watching Widow relaxing more; the ready smile which lit up her face, the cheeky glint in her brown eyes, which shone with the colourful lights on the boardwalk. She was even cracking jokes, a dry sense of humour emerging, along with a contagious laugh.

There was a fun woman under the introverted mask she wore. A fun, interesting woman.

“Hello? USS Enterprise calling Jackie Cox?” Widow laughed. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?”

Jackie was already regretting confessing her love for the original Star Trek after just one cocktail. She felt herself flush, and put a hand to her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just thinking. And in fact …” Jackie giggled, leaning nearer to Widow, “I just realised something.”

“Come on then, spill!” Widow leaned in too, her face alight with mischief, obviously thinking of something funny.

Jackie opened her mouth, but then closed it. More alcohol was needed for this.

She lifted the straw of the third pina colada to her mouth and drank, drank and drank until the brain freeze started to take over and she dropped the straw to pinch the bridge of her nose until it went away.

She put the now almost-empty glass down, maybe a little harder than intended, and set her hands crossed, facing Widow straight on, letting a grin spread across her face, although she didn’t know why – there was no humour in this.

“Oh, this is gonna be juicy,” Widow shuffled gleefully, mimicking Jackie’s pose. “I’m getting comfy for this!”

“Right,” Jackie chuckled, biting her lip. “It’s juicy.”

“Come on, then, tell!”

“There’s no family here in Jersey at all! No visit to grandma! There was just a dirty weekend road trip planned, for me and Jan. For me to forget about my life. And maybe, Jan would tell me why she ran away from New York, from me! Why she didn’t want to come and live with me when she left her flat, and instead went and got a transfer with her job to Pittsburgh! Except, I found out she didn’t get a transfer! She moved jobs completely within about a month!”

Jackie leaned back on the chair and tittered, the alcohol making the boardwalk and the lights blur before her eyes.

By contrast, Widow’s smile was slowly fading from her face as she watched Jackie silently.

Jackie opened her mouth again, more thoughts spilling out to fill the space between them. “It makes sense now, she was talking to that – that bitch before she even left! Oh God; that’s why she left New York, not for a fucking work transfer like she told me, for some other girl! And I never had so much as a fucking one-night stand while she was gone, and she’s been screwing some girl behind my back in Pittsburgh! I wasted nearly two years of my life on –“

But Jackie felt Widow grasp her hand tightly on the table, silencing her tittering immediately.

“Maybe you’ve had enough. You know alcohol makes you depressed, right?”

Jackie nodded, biting her lip. “I’m a loser.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m a fucking loser.”

“Jackie, stop it.” Widow was glaring at her now.

“It was all going on under my nose and I didn’t see a thing!” Jackie whispered, her hands still shivering. “I’m so naïve.”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Widow’s eyes bored into Jackie, seeming to speak to her very soul. “You don’t deserve that.”

Jackie took a shaky breath, feeling herself calm on the exhale. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Let’s get out of here, then.”

They paid their bill and left, back onto the boardwalk. Jackie felt a little unstable on her feet, but Widow was pretty much sober, and Jackie felt her link an arm through hers to keep her steady.

Night had now fallen, the expanse of sky above them in deep indigo, with stars appearing above them as they walked. The colourful lights on the boardwalk, once entrancing and exciting, were making Jackie feel a bit nauseous, and she insisted on heading down to the beach. They traipsed down the path to the sand, the tide right out now, the sea in shades of black and coal-grey before them.

“I like the stars,” Jackie murmured to Widow, looking up wistfully, “because they’re always there. Even when you can’t see them.”

Widow laughed. “Cheesy bullshit.”

They lay on the sand on the towel again, Jackie feeling the alcohol start to fade off a little, her mouth becoming a little dry. She reached into her bag for a bottle of water, drank some, and lay back down, reaching for Widow’s hand to interlace her fingers.

“What are you doing?” Widow murmured.

“Sorry,” Jackie started to pull away, but Widow held onto her.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind; I just wasn’t sure you knew you were doing it.”

“It’s because it’s my love language. I like to be tactile with people if I like them.”

Jackie felt her face flush again as the words left her mouth. Where the hell had that come from?

But Widow just squeezed her hand back. “Oh, me too.”

“I’m a hugger. All my friends hate it,” Jackie giggled tentatively.

“Same, girl.” Widow’s laugh had a tinge of nervousness to it.

The alcohol was definitely fading, thank god. Jackie felt a bit more clarity than she had during her earlier tipsy outburst. The night air was cool and clear, the breeze stronger than in the day, and Widow’s warm skin next to hers was comforting. The stars above them started to become more and more distinct. Jackie felt her eyes chasing the stars as they started to appear above her.

“Do you know which constellations these are?”

Widow scoffed at Jackie’s question. “Of course! Astronomy is my specialist subject.”

“It is?”

“Sure.”

“How did you get into astronomy? Did you study it at college?”

“Jackie, we just spent ten minutes arguing about how many episodes of the original Star Trek there were, right, because you can’t deal with The Menagerie being two episodes, and not one?” Widow laughed. “Let’s just say that being a Trekkie got me into it. I can tell you anything you wanna know about the stars.”

“Which star is that one then?” Jackie pointed to the brightest star she could see near the Atlantic horizon.

“That’s not a star. That’s Venus. Just a planet, pretending to be a star. Shady bitch.”

Jackie snorted with laughter.

“And also, I don’t know the name of every single fucking star in the sky, Jackie. But I know a few things about the stars, and the planets and shit.”

“Alright, well, which planet has the most moons?”

“That’s easy. Saturn. Saturn has, like, forty. And one of them, Titan, has a similar atmosphere to the planet Mars. Which only has two moons, Phobos and Deimos.”

“Oh really?” Jackie asked.

Widow nodded fervently, sitting up. “In fact, which way is south? I think you can see Mars on the horizon right now.”

Jackie sat up and pointed to the sky behind the arcade on their right. Widow nodded, and pointed out a star there.

“Yeah, see that one which is a little bit red to look at? And not, like, twinkling?”

“I see it!” Jackie gasped.

“That’s Mars. Mars only appears in the sky for a couple of months, every two years. But you can see it, if you look for the one that looks red, if you know what I mean. Planets don’t twinkle, like stars do.”

“How come?”

“They don’t generate light. They just reflect it.”

“Oh.”

Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Widow’s face had lit up as she spoke about the stars, and Jackie wanted her to keep talking to see the radiant smile that had spread to her cheeks, but Widow licked her lips nervously and looked away, laying back onto the towel.

Jackie mentally kicked herself. She’d made Widow feel self-conscious about something she was evidently passionate about.

“So, what’s the best star sign?”

Jackie had meant it as a joke, and she didn’t even need to look at Widow to know she was rolling her eyes. “That’s astrology, not astronomy. Completely different. Load of bullshit.”

“Says the woman who only came to Atlantic City based on a Tarot reading!” Jackie teased, squeezing her hand.

Widow squeezed back, cackling beside her. “Alright, you win that one! One-nothing to Jacqueline Cox of the USS Enterprise!”

“Shush!” Jackie kicked at Widow’s foot, missed, and then let her bare ankle come to rest on top of Widow’s.

“Are you gonna share the whole reading with me?” Jackie asked.

“Yeah, alright, hang on.”

Jackie hadn’t expected her to do it, but now that Widow had sat up and was reaching into her bag, Jackie was more than a little curious. Jackie sat up and looked over her shoulder, shuffling a little nearer.

“Here,” Widow held open the page, and Jackie cast her eyes across it, resting her chin on Widow’s shoulder from her side. Jackie was finding she was losing herself in the floral perfume that Widow wore, blinking to keep her eyes on the page of the notebook.

“Queen of Wands – Fire – feisty woman, confidence, passion

The Tower – upheaval, disgrace, liberation

Five of Cups – Water – loss, abandonment, forgiveness.”

“Well, it’s obvious,” Jackie said, “it’s about you meeting me!”

It was Widow’s turn to aim a playful kick at Jackie, but Jackie just shuffled nearer still to her, wrapping her arm in front of her to point at each line.

“No, see? Feisty woman? All I’ve done is be angry since you’ve met me! And the upheaval, liberation bit, that’s me being freed from the cheating bitch in Pittsburgh!”

She chanced a look at Widow, her face inches from hers, but Widow wasn’t looking at her, but down at the notebook, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

The warmth of her skin, the glow of her cheeks – Jackie’s head was starting to spin a little. She let her hand come to rest on Widow’s lap.

“What about the last bit?” Widow murmured.

Was it Dutch courage? Jackie wasn’t sure. But she found herself leaning nearer still, her lips millimetres from Widow’s ear.

“That will be when we have to say goodbye tomorrow,” she whispered.

Widow just turned her head slowly to look at Jackie silently out of the corners of her eyes, the small smile still there. Jackie couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but the intensity of her stare made Jackie’s stomach twist in a knot. She suddenly felt a twinge of shyness, and moved away again, letting Widow lay back down on the towel.

Jackie followed her, not saying a word, just letting the sounds of the ocean roar around her. The alcohol was still wearing off, and she felt like she might need more water soon.

Maybe she’d been a little too brave.

But before that thought had fully formed itself, she felt Widow’s hand creep over her own, slip her fingers between Jackie’s, and Jackie’s mind sang once more with the sensation. The stars above them, the sand beneath them, was all Jackie felt she needed at this moment.

“Widow?”

“Yeah?”

“The Menagerie was definitely only one episode,” Jackie smirked.

Widow spluttered with laughter at her question, waving her free hand in protest. “No way, I’m not getting into the Star Trek debate again. Nope! I’m too sober for that!”

“Maybe we should fix that!”

An excited scream came from the arcade next to them. Jackie watched Widow turn her head to the boardwalk, to the arcade, and then back to Jackie, mischief shining in her eyes as she squeezed Jackie’s hand.

“I have a better idea.”

They packed the towel up again and walked back to the boardwalk, Jackie watching the colourful lights pass her by, suddenly full of energy rather than nauseous. Widow tugged her along, a hand linked in hers.

Once they got to the entrance, they stopped, Jackie watching Widow’s face as the bright, easy smile spread from one cheek to the other.

There was no harm in a little … competition.

Jackie leaned to Widow’s ear again. “You’re going down!”

Widow threw back her head and laughed to the heavens.

“You’re on, Jacqueline!”

And suddenly they were both running inside.

High on adrenaline, drunk on the fight for dominance, they ran after each other like teenagers round the arcade – shivering on the electric chairs, racing around the tracks in the Super Mario chases in the racing chairs, shooting up zombies in their VR headsets, jumping and shrieking as the zombies appeared right in front of their vision. Always trying to outdo the other.

When Widow won a game, Jackie felt her body pulsing, her heart racing, wanting to come out victorious next time.

When Jackie won something, Widow’s eyes would flash with a dangerous glint. One that said game on.

Jackie craved more of feeling this alive.

They finally stumbled out of the arcade, Widow clutching Jackie’s hand, both of them in fits of excited laughter. They strode along the boardwalk, heading back in the direction of the hotel, both of them still floating on the adrenaline pumping through them, slowly dissipating, leaving them shivering, each only having to glance at the other before starting to giggle again.

“I have to give it to you,” Widow said finally, smirking smugly, “you’re actually not bad.”

“Just not bad?” Jackie spluttered, “I was on fire, what are you talking about!”

Widow gave an unimpressed shrug. “You said you were the queen of that air hockey machine, and you lost to the air hockey virgin!” She cocked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call that fire. Maybe a match at best, I guess!”

Jackie put her face in her hands. “Stop! That was actually embarrassing.”

The hotel was only ten minutes’ walk from the arcade, and Jackie looked out to the sea on their right as they walked. They both swayed, Jackie’s balance still off and Widow leaning with her.

“Hey,” Jackie said, an idea coming to her mind.

“What?”

“You want a decider round?”

“What?” Widow followed Jackie’s gaze to the sea, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she realised.

“Come on! Race you in!”

Before Widow could protest, Jackie let her go and sprinted down the walkway, kicking off her shoes. She hitched up her skirt from her knees to her mid-thighs, and ran towards the rapidly-receding tide.

“Jackie!” Widow was calling after her, her voice faint, but Jackie was powered by her adrenaline once more, and before she knew it her feet were wet, then her shins, then her knees and the waves around her curled around her thighs. Hitching her purse over her shoulder, she slammed her fists into the water, sending splashes around her.

“Jackie, I’m not going in there!” Jackie heard Widow shriek at the edge of the water, pulling a bare foot from the foam and sprinting away, crying “Shit that’s cold! Oh, shit!”

“What do you expect? It’s the north!” Jackie squealed with laughter and bounced as the waves rushed to shore around her, not caring that her shirt would be likely to be soaked by now.

“I am not getting in that fucking sea! No way!”

Jackie waded back out and grabbed Widow’s hand, but Widow was far stronger than Jackie was, and she didn’t budge an inch.

“You can’t make me!”

“Come on! Just a few steps!”

“Jackie – “

“Come on!”

“Let go!” But Widow was starting to laugh now, and her strength fading as she did; Jackie tugged her reluctantly into the water and after a few more protests, managed to get her to calf-depth, where she refused to budge any further.

“Shit, shit, shit what is wrong with you Canadians? This is fucking freezing!” Widow protested, but Jackie simply gave her a gentle shove, and Widow took two steps backwards before finally defeating the pull of gravity and catching her balance without falling.

“Ha! Nice try, Jacqueline!”

Jackie responded by splashing her.

“Stop that!”

“No!”

Widow came nearer to her, grasping both her hands. “Stop splashing!”

“Make me!”

Jackie saw Widow’s eyes darken as the words left her mouth, before she pulled her forwards by her hands, until their bodies were suddenly pressed together, putting her own mouth to Jackie’s ear, the guttural words setting her mind alight –

“Do you really want me to make you?”

Before she knew what she was doing Jackie turned her face and suddenly, her lips were on Widow’s, both of them frantic with need, devouring each other. Widow’s hands snaked up to her shoulders and neck, while Jackie gripped Widow’s hips, slipping her hands to the small of her back, all her senses spinning with desire, pulling Widow close, but just never close enough –

It was Jackie who disconnected, after what must have been hours; but Jackie’s hands refused to move, seemingly fused in place; Widow also still, holding Jackie to her.

Forehead to forehead, they stood perfectly still as reality like the waves rushed back in, centimetres apart. She could see every eyelash that Widow studied her through. Could smell Widow’s vague scent of coconut and tobacco, and that light floral perfume, mingling with the salt in the sea air. Jackie was starting to lose herself, intoxicated with her lust, this current of anticipation threatening to pull her under.

“So, what’s the next round?”

Widow’s half-smile told Jackie that the games weren’t quite up yet.

The thumping of Jackie’s own heart in her chest told Jackie that she didn’t want them to be.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #widow von du #jackie x widow #fluff #lesbian au #all i’ve got to keep myself sane #aigtkms #juno #submission #s12 #rare pair

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drjohnsvn · 4 years

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hi everyone and this is my new / not so new oc , jillian , who has been adapted for the group considering i love greys & private practice.

╰ ❛ 💉 — › jennifer aniston. cis female. she/her. . ╯ have you met jillian johnson yet ? this forty eight year old capricorn has been living in the seattle area for three months. she makes a living as an oncologist, which is best suited for their insightful, determined, erratic, and sensitive personality. unstoppable by sia is one of their favorite songs, and they're written by elle, 22, bst, she/her, n/a.

mentions of kidnap, murder, divorce,

jillian’s the second child and formally part of the dynamic duo that was jack and jill (a horrible combo, i know). she doesn’t remember much from her younger years when jack was actually around. her parents were conservative folk, valuing discipline and religion.

when she was two, jack was kidnapped and later turned up dead. deep down she knows that she has no memories of him but this caused her parents to force memories onto her throughout her childhood, no matter whether they were truth or a lie, just so his memory lived on. as a child, she had no understanding of the concept of death but she would grow up with it as a part of her life.

nothing felt unusual about her childhood until someone would whisper at school about her brother or call her out for apparently lying about memories she had of her brother. jill was conditioned to talk about him, to recite what her parents had told her and take it as gospel truth. she was respectful and was never going to question them, not in her youth anyway.

a few years after jack’s death, her parents had another child, named jacqueline - a replacement child. jill found herself in an unknown position, she had to act like a sister, the older one and her parents ut a lot of pressure on her to keep jackie safe. she does remember her mother screaming at her out in the yard because she stopped to talk to some friends passing by instead of playing with her sister. things like that stuck and slowly but surely, she started to resent both her parents and her sister.

it wasn’t until she started visiting the houses of friends that her eyes were opened to how abnormal her family’s living situation was. it became even more apparent when her friends used to push her buttons and they would sneak into jack’s old room to tell ghost stories. she would panic every time knowing full well her mother would lose it if she ever saw them. the room would stay as it was - it was like having a crypt next door. that’s what it felt like to her.

jill wasn’t easily influenced but she was the first one to be encouraged to act a certain way if she saw others doing it. there was always so many rules and she wanted to break free. however, responsibility always came knocking and it was always the time to watch her sister. ever since the ordeal with jack, they were paranoid and had no problem projecting that onto jill and jackie if it would save their life.

jack and jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water jack fell down and broke his crown and jill came tumbling after …

that was a trigger point of hers and still is. whenever she heard it, her reaction would be different every time. why on earth did her parents have to be unimaginative about naming and pick a gruesome rhyme? first came jack’s fall and if it were true, she wouldn’t be close behind.

jill was confident in high school, others would have said arrogant but she always felt the need to protect herself. she was passionate, knew she wanted to do something with her life, to get out of the house that was supposed to be her home. it was not going to feel like it. she had to get jobs (behind her parents’ back as they were way too protective) in order to make sure she could attend medical school.

she was slightly rude (still is) but went after what she wanted so that evened out her chances when her superiors were evaluating her. jillian was made for medicine and it kept her concentrated, her sister would have said distracted so she didn’t have to deal with anything back home. yes, she was living out of her car as her earlier years went on but she did what she had to do - she wasn’t a legacy and couldn’t get the money from anywhere.

twenty years on, she was living in what could be considered a mansion in los angeles, as an oncologist - something she’d never seen coming... at first it was a good choice for her as she wanted to make a big impact, to help families, but that enthusiasm drifted away as she got over.

twenty years later she also found herself as a mother in the midst of an amicable divorce, if there was such a thing. jill loves her daughter but doesn’t nearly show it enough. she panics but tries to come across as calm and collected and this is seen as disinterest. jill had too many skeletons in the closet to fully commit to the relationship and admit to herself that she still hadn’t dealt with all the abnormal happenings in her childhood as well as being on bad terms with her sister. she did blame herself and that was part of the problem.

she was shocked when she got the call that her mother had passed and she was expected to go and clean everything up so that others could move in after. she really didn’t want to go, she made a point of it but her ex suggested that it may be good for her to work things over with her sister and deal with whatever was going on in her head hoping that it would make her more emotionally available as a mother. that and he’d give her a large sum of money to help her rent or buy a house up there. she didn’t need the money but was sick of arguing with him about it so just took it.

jill was good at what she did, her success rate is excellent. however, it’s when she’s not successful that she’s hit particularly hard. she doesn’t simply move on, she spends time looking over her notes to try to work out if there was another way she could have saved them so she has that outlook for next time. she’s always worked in private - never made the active choice to do that because of the money but it certainly acted as a bonus

she managed to get a job at seattle grace health & wellness centre and plans to grow her own sector (but hasn’t told addison this). despite being there for two months, she hasn’t really opened up to her colleagues and has been keeping it strictly business. she’s not contacted her sister at all and has only visited her childhood home once so is no further to sorting it and selling it (why her parents left it in her name is beyond her understanding)...

people describe her to be very work centric, some would go as far to say intense. she hasn’t resolved much and is walking around as a ticking time bomb, in my opinion. she’s lying to her ex saying she’shashing out things with her sister, she’s back in the city she wanted to forget and hating her job more than ever (secretly)...

despite being a logical person at work, she’s become more and more erratic now she’s in seattle as old fake memories resurface and she’s keeping it all to herself. she’s bound to break at some point...

she’s bisexual

#traumaintro #murder tw #kidnap tw #divorce tw

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monicalorandavis · 4 years

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Teresa Giudice: surprisingly insecure.

Oh you don’t think this deserves an entire blog post? Well fuck right the fuck off because I’m going in bitch...

Mrs. Giudice. You know, the table-flipping, forehead-challenged, bikini clad, ex-con, mother of four - her. She’s not doing great. This season has offered an insight into the woman who made The Real Housewives of New Jersey the best of all Housewives franchises. And, I hate to say it, especially since she’s acting like a total asshole, she deserves our sympathy.

Let’s, for a moment, remember the early days of the Real Housewives. The women in Orange County were rather polite in retrospect. No violence anywhere. It was all name-calling and mean tweets. Every one in a while, the passive-aggressive forgotten invitation to a birthday party. You know the sort of social kamikaze’s that women launch on their most hated enemies. “Oh, I didn’t know you’d like to come. There weren’t anyone’s husbands around for you to steal”...You get the picture.

But then Teresa came along with her huge wads of cash and ditzy/tough girl Jersey thing and the American public gobbled it up. She was unlike the others on the cast. There was Caroline Manzo, the maternal, good-natured lioness. Then Dina, Caroline’s younger, hotter sister with a cool demeanor and distant husband who was always traveling. (Didn’t work out *spoiler alert*). Then, there was Jacqueline who was all fake smiles and puppy dogs and rainbows and...someone should check on Jacqueline because she always seemed one glass of Sauvignon Blanc shy from losing her mind in the middle of a Cheesecake Factory. But Teresa was the surprise hit. She had all those daughters with their bright blue eyes and sassy, ready-for-camera one-liners. It was too insane to be written. And then, fast forward and Teresa’s husband, Joe Giudice aka “Juicy” (I hate myself for knowing this) gets indicted on several felony counts of fraud. Then to make matters worse, he takes Teresa down with him. Her signature is on everything. It looks like Teresa was a co-conspirator in the fraud. Could she have been a sinister mastermind? Was all the flashiness a big ‘fuck you’ to Uncle Sam?

She certainly didn’t seem like she had the brains to pull it off. No shade. But, she was more concerned with Gia’s dance recitals and keeping Milania off the banisters and alive. She didn’t have time to scam people with phony contracts. Nor, did it seem, that she’d ever risk anything that would tear her away from her kids. No, this was the work of her husband and for whatever reason he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to legally protect his wife. It was a sad day for RHONJ fans. Teresa and Joe were charged with 39 counts of fraud. She would serve her time first and then Joe would do his. The judge seemed to grant them some leniency by allowing them to serve their terms back to back as opposed to stripping their daughters of both parents simultaneously. A small victory in light of the sad events.

But it wouldn’t be a typical Hollywood sentencing for Tre. She had to do 15 hard months at a Federal Corrections Facility in Danbury, Connecticut. But, and this is the best part, she came out looking like a million bucks. She was shredded out, buff, and in fabulous spirits. Truly, it was inspiring. She came out ready to work and make up for lost time. Despite some pushback from the girls, she was back in the swing of things. All looked promising for Joe too. He had watched over all four of the girls with aplomb. Doing hair, packing lunches, getting everyone to practices, study groups, games and play dates and seeming to really dig it. They seemed to be doing just fine.

And yet, this season of RHONJ has been devastating for the Giudice family. Joe went in to serve his 41 month sentence. Then, right on cue, Teresa started acting like a raving bitch to everyone on the cast. She was picking fights with Melissa, Jackie, then Margaret, then Jennifer, then her brother and back again. It’s horrible to watch. She uses her anger to diffuse any of her wrongdoing. It’s an old trick of hers but this season it’s more vicious. It’s cruel. She seems to be liking making everyone sad and scared. Then, all of a sudden, word on the street is, Joe is being held in an I.C.E. facility because he’s not a U.S. citizen. But how???

Wouldn’t he have filed for that when he got married? They’ve been married for over 20 years. Surely, he would’ve taken care of that by now. Surely!

Except, not. Turns out, when pushed on the issue, Joe had no valid reason as to why he hadn’t taken care of his citizenship. He simply never got around to getting his US passport. He hadn’t filled out the necessary paperwork just because...he didn’t.

And that, my friends, is Joe Giudice in a nutshell. A scrub. The kind of man who doesn’t do the things he’s supposed to. Not for any good reason but because...he just didn’t. The worst kind of man. Shiftless, arrogant, “things couldn’t possibly go wrong for me”-ass man. Sure he can flip a few houses and use the profits to invest in another shady business deal but are all the contracts legal? No. Are his papers in order? Nope! Does he have a new Range Rover? A duhhhh.

Now, here is the larger issue. Teresa is a slamming piece of ass (to quote Marge Jr.) and she’s the star of the family. A human being could not be in better shape. She could (and, rumor has it, has) snag any old thing she wanted to. Joe sure couldn’t. I remember a few seasons back when it seemed painfully obvious he was sneaking phone calls to a little girlfriend that the show was kind enough to hide (sort of). Nobody cares about him. I think even Joe’s family would admit, he’s been riding Teresa’s coattails through this whole thing. Luckily, Gia seems down to help her mother (though she’s understandably very loyal to her father). So, it’s most likely only a matter of time until mother and daughter start their own fitness brand and, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll sign the fuck up.

Now, how is it that Teresa is still stuck with this man? (I just got word that they are separated but still...)

I was under the impression that if no one else knew how much of a scrub her husband was, Teresa sure as shit knew. But in the most recent episode of RHONJ, Teresa, who’s had her fair share of red wine, is almost in tears lamenting that no one is going to want her now following a fight with Joe in which he told her that she was basically a washed up dirty dish rag. She, like anyone with common sense, should’ve shut that shit down immediately. She should’ve driven her ass to the ICE facility and broke her husband out for the sole purpose of sending him on a one-way flight to Italy to never return. Arrivederci!

I almost don’t want to watch the show any longer if I have to watch Joe Giudice’s miserable toxis ass! I watch Real Housewives for the fun, positive messages of female independence and friendship. Yes, there’s fights every one in a while that I selfishly enjoy. But I don’t like seeing men try and destroy their wives’ self-esteem. It’s a remnant of a bygone era. And I should be compassionate to Joe’s circumstance. Yes, he’s in an ICE facility and that’s very traumatizing. But I hate this narrative that his experience in ICE is somehow a vendetta against him by the federal government. I also hate that his experience in ICE is just as horrible as everyone else’s. Sir, you are not in the same boat as these Honduran children you are being housed with. These are people running for their lives and you, you are someone who didn’t do the paperwork you were supposed to do 20 years ago when your wife brought it up to you the first time. You are a man who was convicted of 39 counts of fraud serving a felony sentence. You ain’t innocent.

The saddest part, besides the horrible wreckage it has done to their daughters, is the toll it’s taken on Teresa’s self-esteem. It’s corroding her. It’s as if her self-esteem is so blown to shit that she’s punishing herself with this terrible friendship to Danielle. She is almost unrecognizable. The very same woman who Teresa very famously flipped a table over, is now the friend she refuses to part with. And while Danielle is very good at picking out vulnerable prey, there seems to be a larger issue at hand. Teresa seems not quite right. The decisions are not adding up. Obviously, Teresa has demonstrated shitty taste in men (Joe) and the occasional screw-up with friends (never-ending Jacqueline drama!). But this business with Danielle is disconcerting. Danielle is just another toxic leech trying to suck you dry, Tre! Break the cycle! Your girls need you!

#real housewives #RHONJ #new jersey #giudice #teresa #teresa giudice #joe giudice #bravo #bravo tv #real housewives of new jersey #andy cohen #WWHL #watch what happens live

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southboundhq · 4 years

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MEET LILITH,

FULL NAME › Jacqueline “Lilith Adkins” Miller AGE › twenty seven GENDER › Cis woman (She/Her/Hers) FROM › New York City, New York LODGING › Silk Bonnet Hotel PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Actress NOW PLAYING › Come Wander With Me by Bonnie Beecher

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: parental abandonment, emotional abuse/exploitation, substance abuse, brief mention of non-fatal overdose

“The only thing you’ve ever been good for,” Jacqueline’s mother used to say, “is zipping up my dress.” And, to Jacqueline, that seemed ever so true. A constant scapegoat for all of the worst parts of her mother’s life, it was gospel: “You’re the reason your father left.” “You’re the reason I can’t fit in my good dress anymore.” “You’re the reason we’re barely scraping by.” “You’re the reason for x, for y, and for z.” As the only constant in Jacqueline’s life, her mother certainly spoke nothing but the truth! Yes, yes – all Jacqueline would ever be good for were her genetics. Yes, yes – one day, she would be paying her bills using the money she received from pornography. Yes, yes – it was true! It had to be true!

Or, perhaps, there was another possibility for Jacqueline – a possibility her mother had not considered until the casting of an elementary/middle-school play. As with all elementary/middle-school plays of the day, it was no cut – it was, therefore, something to be brushed off when Jacqueline received the lead role… up until her mother witnessed the standing ovation she received, witnessed the secret talent she upheld. Ever the secret idealist, her mother took it as a sign.

She sent for various agencies, various managers, various anybodies-who-could-get-the-child-famous. It was originally a recording, originally a voice her mother exploited, but when the child’s new ego was born… oh, she could capitalize off of anything.

When an agency finally agreed to take her, there was one deal that needed to be struck: she was no longer ‘Jacqueline Miller.’ Nobody ever knew who Jacqueline Miller was. Nobody associated the name ‘Jacqueline’ with anything deeper than itself. Nobody thought ‘Jacqueline’ was the name of a big star. Nobody thought anything of ‘Jacqueline.’ Sure, there were Jackies to be associated with, but there was a different, much more unique name in mind: Lilith Adkins. It was for the shock value, you see – the shock value of a twelve-year-old becoming one of the most sinful characters of them all. As for the last name? Why, there simply had to be disconnect between herself and herself!

From there on out, it was a whirl-wind. Jacqueline – forgive me, Lilith – had not signed up for the life she was now being put through. She had not signed up for the surrounding of old men in suits at all hours of the day (some much stranger than others); she hadn’t longed to take amphetamines in the morning and barbiturates at night; she had never wanted to sit in a chair for four hours while strangers touched her face, then spend the next ten filming something that would be worth nothing… to her. To her mother, to the studio, to the agency – oh, it would be worth millions, quite possibly! – but, to her… nothing.

- She was always smiling, though. She was always getting good press throughout the discomfort of it all! -

However, with age brought tolerance, and tolerance brought taste. Sixteen and she had developed a taste for this lifestyle – a taste for some of these old men, for all of these strangers, for filming all day and all night. Perhaps it was because there were times she was not filming at all – she had hit New York City, she had hit Broadway. Cast alongside veterans, she received the blessing of playing a secondary role. While the pressure was still there, still looming, she was no longer the top-billed actress. It was a different lifestyle, that she was sure of, but nothing would ever become more different, yet stay so very similar, than it did when she earned the ability to drop her mother from any and all projects two years later.

It was now Arthur Sher, her agent, who was largely in charge of what she did and didn’t do. The flipside of it all was that she actually had input. She had a name now, a name all her own, a name not attached to her mother’s, a name not unknown, and that name would only be seen when and where she wanted it to be seen. She and Arthur ventured back to Los Angeles and time began slipping away. Why it slipped away, she could not say. He fed her so many scripts, so many she wanted her name on, that it became harder and harder to keep track of what day it was, where she was meant to be, what the time was, who she was supposed to be at that moment in time. Why, she got married and hardly remembered it.

For as stressed as she had become, juggling so many projects (albeit, by her own volition), the papers only ever said kind things about her. She was an actress, after all – she had acted in plenty of scenes that required feigned happiness. She was praised in the papers for doing so much and keeping it all together. She was praised for her marriage – apparently it had been expected for a long time, although she had never even thought of this man – this ‘George’ – as a boyfriend. She was praised for her patience with the paparazzi. She was praised for her generosity when she was seen giving a man on the side of the street a bottle of (half-drunk, mind you) water. Oh, she was praised!

So it can easily be said that it had started out perfectly innocent. She would take one pill, as needed, as per her psychiatrist’s instructions. But she began ‘needing’ them more and more, you see. Oh, but just taking a handful of pills was far too simple, wasn’t it? Of course, they always paired best with alcohol. Oh, and the nights her mother rang? Well, she just needed extra then! Oh, and the days she’d have to spend filming something for over ten hours? One, two, three, four, more! To say it had truly shocked Arthur that she had still managed to make it on set every day – on time and fully able to cooperate – was an understatement.

Of course, it was a shock for a reason! At home, things had not been quite as nice. She and George, this man she would now claim she loved (although she was not sure what that was at this point), had gotten into more than their fair share of wars with one another. She would accuse him of infidelity, he would point out the liquor and pills, she would say the latter was prescribed, he would say that maybe someone else was just what the doctor would prescribe for him. It all seemed very over-the-top and dramatic, all very hyperbolic and unrealistic, to Lilith… up until she came home late one night, hoping to make some form of amends, just to find George and another woman on their couch.

He was forced out that night. The couch was cleansed using alcohol and a lighter. She took some extra pills that night, then some more the next morning – I mean, why not? Then she began messing up the shoots. Then she took some more. Then she blamed the best boy, of all people, on why she was doing so horribly (he was distracting her!, so she’d claim). Then she would be let go from her projects, replaced with someone younger as a cycle began to repeat itself. Then the press would turn against her. Then she would overdose. Then she would be forced into rehab by Arthur. Then she would fight it. Then she would get sober. Then she would return to New York City.

There was a show on – a musical – that they figured she was best for. It was all but tailored for her – the songs in her range, the designs perfect for her. ‘Oh, Honey!’ was her grand reintroduction before she had even said yes… but publicity that required forgiveness and sympathy – there was nothing better. Now that opening night… it was impressive! It was almost as though Lilith wanted everyone to hate her, to leave her. Months of perfect rehearsal, months of friendly mingling with her co-stars and understudy, months of learning tragedies she’d missed and still powering through, months of avoiding pills and alcohol, months of perfect preparation and perfect sobriety… all to collapse the night the curtain was meant to go up.

You see, some weeks before, she had found a new psychiatrist, had gotten a ‘different’ medication! …but had made the ever-so-wise decision to abuse it that night. It was to calm her nerves!, she would lie – lie to herself. The second they knocked on the door to her dressing room, telling her the curtain was about to go up – the second she opened it to reveal she hadn’t changed outfits since she’d gotten there – that was the second they gave up on her. George had left her. Arthur left her. Her co-stars left her. She had left her mother. Every bridge she had built, she burned. All she had left was the world, and even they began praising her understudy, beginning to forget it was her name in big letters above the title.

She gave up that night. She gave up the first night. She didn’t have anyone or anything left. She had no reason to be there. She had no reason to be anywhere. So she drove. She took pills and drank liquor and drove, just like the clown she’d always been under that false identity of hers. She drove, high out of her mind, and did not die – was not pulled over… some sort of miracle, yes? She drove, high out of her mind, until she simply couldn’t anymore. She drove, high out of her mind, until she reached some small western town called Boot Hill. She had nowhere else to be. Maybe there, nobody would know her. Maybe there, she wouldn’t have to see what papers said about her (oh, she hoped they were asking ‘Where Is Lilith Adkins?’ as opposed to praising the musical tailored to her that she was not in).

Three months. She has not cared to leave. She has not cared to try. She has not cared to reach out to the outside world. Only when she got fame-sick would she try to see if she could leave and find out just how trapped she was. She had not yet gotten fame-sick. She had to know they were looking for her to become fame-sick.

And they were looking for her. They had to be. They loved her, did they not?

❝ everyone has an identity. one of their own, and one for show. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Elizabeth Gillies AUTHOR › Lucky

#elizabeth gillies #rp #rpg #oc rp #bio rp #town rp #emotional abuse tw #substance abuse tw #parental abandonment tw #overdose mention tw

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jackieswift · 5 years

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Hey guys! I’ve gotten a lot of new followers recently. If that is because you like my weird posts, thinks my love story right now is hilarious and cute or if it is because you hope it will give you a bigger chance of meeting Taylor, I don’t care about. I’m just really happy you all have decided to follow me here where I freak out about Taylor things the whole time, write about my boring life that mostly involves working way too much, spending time with my family and writing songs about my pathetic love life.

I just thought it would be fun to write a little about myself since there are so many new people that might read my blog nowadays. My name is Jacqueline, but everyone calls me Jackie. Although I really hope Taylor call me Jacqueline if I ever meet her again. I’m 20 years old and live in Sweden...you know that country everyone thought Nils Sjöberg came from (lol). And that Max Martin and Shellback actually come from. Yeah, we have some great songwriters in Sweden, but most Swedish music sucks tbh. But I really do hope I can be one of them one day. I started writing songs when I was 15 and got more serious about it when I was 16. That was when I started dreaming about moving to Nashville and performing at the Grand Ole Opry. And another thing that happened when I was 15 was that I got the biggest crush on Taylor's little brother Austin (which I’m pretty sure she knows about since I wrote way too much about it during the time Taylor supposedly stalked this blog, hehe).

In less than two weeks (August 19th) I start university since I decided to take one year after high school to work which is something that most people do in Sweden. I’m not really sure of what I’m gonna end up working with, but studying at a great university is always a great start, right? Although I’m pretty scared of schools tbh. I mean I LOVE studying...maybe a bit too much. But I feel like I’m way too different. I never fit in and it’s always been a problem for me in school. I’ve therefore been bullied pretty much my entire life. For a bit more than two years, I’ve worked at a restaurant in Stockholm. It started out as a summer job, then it became a weekend job when I went back to school and the last year I’ve worked there maybe a bit too much. Anyways, I’m a waitress and I both love and hate the job. Since I work at the most crowded restaurant in the city and maybe even in the country it’s really stressful. But I’ve fallen in love with the people I work with.

And I’ve literally fallen in love with one of the guys I work with. But he’s already taken (which I found out about MONTHS after I started liking him). Anyways, he’s moving away in September/October so welcome to my life when it’s like this big rollercoaster. I’ve never been in love before so this is something new to me. Although back when I was 17 I had this horrible relationship that I’m so happy I run away from before it destroyed me even more. Because of that relationship Better Man and All Too Well became really important in my life so when I met Taylor I bought her a light blue scarf since she left one at his place. And even though my ex didn’t make me his own, he still did in a way and I hate him for it. When Taylor stood up for herself in her trial I laid in my bed crying. And when I heard her words I knew I had to speak up! So I told my friends and parents. I’ve never in my life seen my parents so destroyed before. Or maybe I have, back when I was 12. But we’ll come to that part later. Taylor was the reason I dared saying “me too”. And the fact that I got to meet her around that time meant THE WORLD TO ME.

When I was 12 I was deathly ill and it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced, but I still think it gets a second place after sitting in the same room as my ex that I was afraid of for over a year. Not knowing if you’re gonna survive a sickness when you’re just a little kid is hard and kids being really mean about it just made it even worse. I only had A FEW friends that actually gave me a hand and said: “hey we’re here for you”. Most people bullied me instead. The worst words I think I’ve ever gotten to hear in my life is “You should have just died when you were so sick. The world would have been a much better place without you in it. It’s not like anyone would miss you. Do you really think that? No the reason you’re parents cried at night wasn’t because they were afraid you might die, it’s because they were afraid you might live. So just go and kill yourself. The world would be better without you. We don’t want you here. No one’s ever gonna want you here” because even though I knew they were wrong it was so hard having to listen to that time after time.

Okay, let’s be a bit more positive. I’m a last kiss baby which y’all will notice by following me. July 9th is a freaking party in my world. Not because it’s my birthday and I get older, but because Taylor Swift wrote my favorite song and mentioned my birthday in it. PLUS I did have my last kiss December 13th, 2017 which is pretty funny considering that’s her birthday.

I have named my future children so my future husband won’t have that much to say about it, lol. Okay, we can talk about it but Heavenly it is...because when I was 16 I heard the word and was like “Wow that’s the most gorgeous word I’ve ever heard. Could I name my future daughter that? Well, why not people name their kids weirder things in society today.” So when Taylor said Heavenly today I kind of jumped up and down and screamed and got a bit too excited about it.

Sometimes people say I look like Taylor. I don’t really see it, but I like wearing red lipstick and write country songs so hey that’s always something. But if we’re looking at Taylor personality I truly feel like I’ve found a sister although like a better version of me. So because of Taylor I every day try to be a better human being.

I’m SOOOOO excited about Lover and even though it’s my first school week I will totally care more about the album than school because hello it’s not like the first week will decide more than which people I will hang out with for the next three and a half years anyway. But yeah otherwise school is my life. I’m that kind of person that gets way too annoyed if she misses one point on a test. I’m a perfectionist and that’s probably why I love Tumblr so much because here’s the only place I don’t feel like I have to be perfect because you guys will accept me no matter what.

Anyways, have a great day/evening/night or whatever. I think I*m going to sleep pretty soon. So see y’all tomorrow ❤️

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southboundhqarchive · 5 years

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MEET OPHELIA,

FULL NAME › Jacqueline “Ophelia” Miller AGE › twenty seven GENDER › Cis woman (She/Her/Hers) FROM › New York City, New York LODGING › Old Boot Hill PRIOR EMPLOYMENT › Actress NOW PLAYING › Come Wander With Me by Bonnie Beecher

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: absent father, emotional abuse/exploitation, drug/alcohol addiction, (non-fatal) overdose

“The only thing you’ve ever been good for,” Jacqueline’s mother used to say, “is zipping up my dress.” To Jacqueline, never lovingly called ‘Jackie,’ it seemed true. Her mother often used her as a scapegoat as a means to explain the worst parts of her life: “You’re the reason your father left, you know.” “You’re the reason I can’t fit in my good dress anymore.” “You’re the reason we’re hardly making any pull.” “You’re the reason for x, for y, and for z.” Jacqueline took her mother’s word as gospel, her mother being the only consistent presence in her life.

However, her mother’s borderline inhumane treatment didn’t last long – it soon turned into exploitation when she made a discovery: Jacqueline had one talent, one honest-to-god talent. That meant she wouldn’t have to make pay undressing when she grew up, as her mother always told her – her, still a child. “We have good genes, you know. That’s all you’re going to have,” her mother would say, but the script was flipped entirely when Jacqueline’s chorus teacher suggested she try out for the spring musical. At first, her mother brushed it off – talentless kids were always in school musicals, cuts didn’t exist in elementary and middle – but the ovation Jacqueline got… Ever the capitalist, her mother took it as a sign that she could make money off of this kid.

She sent for various agencies, various managers, various anyone-who-could-get-the-child-famous. It was originally a recording, originally a voice her mother exploited, but when the child’s new ego was born… oh, she could capitalize off of anything.

An agency took her in under one term: She was no longer ‘Jacqueline,’ she was ‘Ophelia.’ Nobody ever knew who Jacqueline Miller was. Nobody associated the name ‘Jacqueline’ with anything deeper than itself. Nobody thought ‘Jacqueline’ was the name of a big star. Nobody thought anything of ‘Jacqueline.’ Sure, there were Jackies to be associated with, but nothing spoke ‘just-original-enough-to-sound-original-while-also-making-you-think-of-something-famous’ like her given middle name. The shock value of it, too – a girl, twelve years of age, named after one of the most tragic characters.

From there on out, it was a whirl-wind. Jacqueline – forgive me, Ophelia – had never signed up for the life she was now being put through. She hadn’t signed up to be surrounded by old men in suits at all hours of the day, some stranger than others; she hadn’t longed to throw a competition, and she certainly hadn’t longed to testify about it later; she had never wanted to sit in a chair for four hours while strangers touched her face, then spend the next ten filming something that would be worth nothing to her.

- She was always smiling, though. She was always getting good press, even when testifying! -

It wasn’t until she was sixteen, until she chose something to do on her own, that she began developing a taste for old men, strangers, and filming all day and all night, for she wasn’t filming at all. At sixteen, she found herself in New York City, cast in a musical alongside big names, playing a secondary role. The pressure was still there, sure, but she was now doing something she chose to do, and she was now not top-billed. It was a different lifestyle, but nothing would become more different, yet so very similar, than when she completely dropped her mother from any and all projects at eighteen.

It was now Arthur Sher, her agent, who was largely in charge of what she did and didn’t do. The flipside of it was that she actually had input. She had a name now, a name all her own, a name not attached to her mother’s, a name not unknown, and that name would only be seen where she wanted it seen. She and Arthur ventured back to Los Angeles and time began slipping away. He fed her so many scripts, so many she wanted her name on, that it became hard to keep track of what day it was, where she was meant to be, what the time was, who she was supposed to be at that moment in time. She married an acquaintance named George Stevens and hardly remembered it.

For as stressed as she had become on the inside, juggling so many projects (albeit, by her own volition), the papers only ever said kind things about her. She was an actress – she had acted in plenty of scenes that required feigned happiness. She was praised in the papers for doing so much and keeping it all together. She was praised for her marriage – apparently it had been expected for a long time, although she had never even thought of George as a boyfriend. She was praised for her patience with the paparazzi. She was praised for her generosity when she was seen giving a man on the side of the street a bottle of (half-drunk) water. Oh, she was praised!

That said, it had started out perfectly innocent. She would take one pill, as needed, as per her psychiatrist’s instructions. But she began ‘needing’ them more and more. But just taking a handful of pills was far too simple, wasn’t it? You see, they always paired best with alcohol. Oh, and the nights her mother rang? Well, she just needed extra then! Oh, and the days she’d have to spend filming something for over ten hours? One, two, three, four, more! It had truly shocked Arthur that she had still managed to make it to set every day, on time, and cooperate.

Of course, it was a shock for a reason! At home, things had not been quite as nice. She and George had gotten into more than their fair share of wars with one another. She would accuse him of infidelity, he would point out the liquor and pills, she would say the latter was prescribed, he would say that maybe someone else was just what the doctor would prescribe for him. It all seemed very over-the-top and dramatic, all very hyperbolic and unrealistic, to Ophelia… up until she came home late one night, hoping to make some form of amends, just to find George and another woman on their couch.

He was forced out that night. The couch was cleansed using alcohol. She took some extra pills that night, then some more the next morning. Then she began messing up the shoots. Then she took some more. Then she blamed the best boy, of all people, on why she was doing so horribly (he was distracting her!, so she’d claim). Then she would be let go from her projects, replaced with someone younger as a cycle began to repeat itself. Then the press would turn against her. Then she would overdose. Then she would be forced into rehab by Arthur. Then she would fight it. Then she would get sober. Then she would return to New York City.

There was a show on – a musical – that they figured she was best for. They had centered the majority of the pieces around her range. They had come up with designs that would best fit her. This was all before she had said yes, but publicity that required forgiveness and sympathy – there was nothing better. But that opening night… it was impressive. It was almost as though Ophelia wanted everyone to hate her, to leave her. Months of perfect rehearsal, months of friendly mingling with her co-stars and understudy, months of learning tragedies she’d missed and still powering through, months of avoiding pills and alcohol, months of perfect preparation and perfect sobriety… all to collapse the night the curtain was meant to go up.

She had found a new psychiatrist, had gotten a ‘different’ medication, and had made the decision to abuse it that night. It was to calm her nerves!, she pretended. The second they knocked on the door to her dressing room, telling her the curtain was about to go up – the second she opened it to reveal she hadn’t changed outfits since she’d gotten there – that was the second they gave up on her. George had left her. Arthur left her. Her co-stars left her. She had left her mother. Every bridge she had built, she burned. All she had left was the world, and even they began praising her understudy, beginning to forget it was her name in big letters above the title.

She gave up that night. She gave up opening night. She didn’t have anyone or anything left. She had no reason to be there. She had no reason to be anywhere. So she drove. She took pills and drank liquor and drove, just like the clown she’d always been under that false identity of hers. She drove, high out of her mind, until she simply couldn’t anymore. She drove, high out of her mind, until she reached some small western town called Boot Hill. She had nowhere else to be. Maybe there, nobody would know her. Maybe there, she wouldn’t have to see what papers said about her (oh, she hoped they were asking ‘Where Is Ophelia Miller?’ as opposed to praising the musical tailored to her that she was not in).

She has not cared to leave. She has not cared to try. She has not cared to reach out to the outside world. Only when she got fame-sick would she try to see if she could leave and find out just how trapped she was. She had not yet gotten fame-sick.

But she knew – oh, she knew – the world still loved her…

❝ everyone has an identity. one of their own, and one for show. ❞

CENSUS,

FACECLAIM › Elizabeth Gillies AUTHOR › Lucky

#elizabeth gillies #rp #rpg #town rp #new rp #{ all. }#{ newcomer. }#{ f. }#{ over twenty. }#emotional abuse tw #drug addiction tw

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ekel-a · 3 years

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20 Something Random Things About Me

I got this tag from @Bongozfinest on Instagram and turned it into a post because its soooo long! And i failed to make it just 20.

So here goes nothing...20 Something random things about Jackie

I started grade one when I was 4 years old, making me the shortest youngest individual in every grade I advanced. Gee thanks mom and dad!(iKid) The only time I was in a class where I wasn't the shortest was in Grade 6. I prayed every night that year...thanking God for his kindness... and then it happened, my teachers advanced me from 6th grade to form 1, more tall people. I believe God has a good sense of humor. They called me Timmy all the way to form 4, if your a 90s kid you probably know who Timmy is..

I'm melodramatic, I over express emotion. My cat died when I was 7, I had a funeral at home and demanded everyone in the family attend and say something nice about Gasper the cat. I cried for 2 hours when it was my turn. Non stop.

I am the king of exaggeration when I need to spare people's emotions.

I'm sarcastic, all the time. A little too much, some people don’t get it and think I'm serious and I don’t know how to tell em I'm being sarcastic, once I told someone I was an actual princes 'in Africa' in a sarcastic tone after they asked me if we still have Kings down there... got free food drinks VIP service and got kicked out the next time I stopped by that restaurant. Sigh. Liars must have good memory.

I have only 3 Trophies...and they're the only thing you will see once you enter our living room at home. Yes, I am a shameless show off. And God understands, he limits my moments. lol

I'm an old soul. I watch more movies and listen to more music from the 40s 50s 60s and 80s.

I have a diary for every year since 1999. I just love writing

I can say hello in 15 different languages.... without blinking ( My Whole clan in the village is very proud of this, I feel so accomplished)

I'm a typical Tanzanian who has 5 different accents. When I talk British to you I Consider you very high on the food chain consider yourself special, French accent; I want to annoy you so you can leave me alone.

I'm a loud thinker. this got me in trouble twice during national exams form 4 and form 6. My principal had a lot of explaining to do to the external invigilators, they didn't understand why I was mumbling things while thinking , they even tried to disqualify me, I cried and said it was an illness passed on from my great grandfather who was insane (please read the first 6 letters of number 3.)

I can’t whisper. My biggest weakness, I just found out this year.

I love animals, once I had 20 dogs 2 cats. They mysteriously disappeared one by one. I hate to believe someone in the family was selling them, I recall one of my Sisters having a new pair of shoes every month after a dog disappearance. But I hate to speculate.

Shopping melts away all feelings of sadness for me. There is something about spending money that cures me...

When I fail to win an argument with you I will correct your grammar. In public. Yes, I'm very brutal.

I don’t eat anything that needs me to use my hands and not a knife and fork in public or at ceremonies, I’m very clumsy, I had a chicken neck land on a bride’s dress at a wedding where I was a flower girl, I disappeared almost instantly.

I can’t ride a bicycle.

I've taken French classes since Grade four. I still cant speak French (Dimwit)

I'm a neat freak...and I turned my 7 year old niece to a neat freak, as soon as she became a neat freak I laid back and became messy...she now scolds me on how I put my purses and my messy closet, once, she threatened to cane me.

I write poems and songs... when I was 12 I recorded a whole a whole album on my computer and just when I set the release date for my family, the computer crashed, I still believe it was my parents sabotaging my music career

I don’t watch television at home no reason in particular. I listen to all the latest music on radio and watch my favorite shows and news online. So whenever I go out to a restaurant and they have a TV for some reason I glare at the Television like I've never seen one. It’s so embarrassing, once I blurted out so loud 'Look, TBC is on DSTV,’ ‘wow, what channel is that one' on a date with my then boyfriend, he was so embarrassed he gave me money to buy myself a TV two weeks later. Till date, I never bought that much shoes....at one go.

I’m a terrible liar, my tone changes, my eyes flicker, I fidget and If I’m holding something, I will drop it.

I’m a history and cartoon Junkie.

My Name is Ekela/Ekel/ in the village, You will never find a Jacqueline Lawrence when you’re in Mbeya, I had a friend who came to visit and searched for my house a whole day…because no one knew who Jackie Lawrence was in the neighborhood, my next door neighbor even asked her ‘This Jackie Lawrence, is she white?’…I always use my village name in the countryside

When I’m alone , I put on a British accent, cook and pretend I’m on the food channel. I call myself Jackie Oliver. I’ve been secretly filmed doing this twice by a friend in college, making noodles and eggs. She is still blackmailing me with those videos.

0 notes

theforgottengn · 6 years

Text

Just Sleep, Just Dream

Characters: India, Delta, X-Ray, Uniform, Zulu, Golf and Jacqueline Forbes

Word Count: 3,685

Trigger Warning: Swearing, Violence, Blood, Death

A/N: The end. It’s pretty long too and I am sorry about that. I tried my best with this little India Company adventure and there are a few things I wish I changed but I hope whoever reads this like it.

Parts: X, X, X, X, X, X

Summary: The gang heads to New York to track down a bank CEO suspected of running an underground gambling ring. But surprises come in all shapes and sizes. And the truth is always what you least expect it to be. Click that read more if you want.

XXXXX

When she came for him he didn’t know what to expect. He hadn’t been in a situation like this one since he was young. He had spent every waking moment trying to prevent this exact thing from happening. Feeling like a helpless young boy was the last thing he wanted. The door opened slowly, letting in a small portion of light, and she walked down the stairs.

She crossed the floor in silence and stood less than a foot away.

The woman said nothing as she grabbed his hand and pulled him to a standing position. Quickly wrapping a black cloth over his eyes and ears; she blocked out his sight and muffled his hearing. She told him to be quiet and not to worry. He nodded and let her take his hand. Remaining as silent as a stone he let her guide him up the stairs and out of the basement.

Just like that Uniform was that little kid he tried so hard to stop being.

Helpless, afraid, and alone.

Memories of years before, of things he wished he could forget, flooded his brain. The situation was all too familiar. Every single detail was almost the exact same; from the blindfold to the cuffs on his wrists. He hated how he felt at that moment. He hated it back then and hated it even more now. He wasn’t supposed to be in this position.

It was supposed to be the opposite.

He heard a door open and was shoved inside a room. Hearing the door shut, and lock, behind him sent a nervous shiver down his spine. Forbes sent him falling onto the bed with a hard shove. Uniform did not like anything about this. He felt the mattress sink as she climbed on top.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

He didn’t know what to do so he just nodded silently.

He could feel the bed move as she moved closer to him. She unlocked the handcuffs and removed them from his wrists. Then she did the same to the cuffs around his ankles. He let out a small sigh. Sexual kinks were one thing but he had a line and he drew it at cuffs. She reached behind his ears and undid the blindfold. It delicately fell on to the bed without a sound. Then with no warning or ask for permission she started to kiss him. Her hands grabbed his and put them on her body.

“Let me,” he said.

Then he took control of the situation. Turning her on her back he got on top of her and started to run his hands down her arms. Grabbing the end of the shirt she wore he pulled it over her head. Uniform threw the shirt behind him and it landed on the floor silently. With her shirt off he moved to unbutton her pants.

“I’m not going to have to worry about you getting clients pregnant am I?” she asked grabbing his wrists violently.

“You won’t need to worry about that from either of us,” he said.

Forbes cocked an eyebrow; silently urging him to reveal more. Uniform was unsure of how much he could actually say. And how was he supposed to say it so that she wouldn’t catch on to the reality of things. If she found out the truth then his plan would fall flat. If that happened there was a high possibility that neither of them would survive the night. After a minute or two he sighed and summed it up for her.

“Mom and dad, they, were conservative and strict to put it lightly. When they saw that Zo and I were growing up they felt the need to put a stop to it. But that wasn’t the end of it. They took it upon themselves to make sure none of us could have children.”

“Your parents did that to you? Oh my gosh, how awful!”

Uniform said nothing.

“So… Zoe and Urban are your real names then? And you two are actual brother and sister?”

“Adoptive siblings, so to speak, yes. But we are lovers off and on as well. To be quite frank I love her more than anything in the world and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe.”

“Sentiment,” he said with a shrug.

She started to say something else but he shut her up with a deep kiss. He knew exactly what he was doing. Forbes would not be getting the upper hand this time. Uniform just got it and was not about to give it back. Moving to kiss her neck he reached down and unbuttoned her pants; pulling them off her legs. As he ran his hands up her thigh, to remove her underwear, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. Then he threw her panties to the floor as she tossed her bra to the side of the bed.

Only then did he take his boxers off.

When they finished Jacqueline got up and started to redress herself.

“That was good,” she said. “Not the best but good.”

“Trust me, ma’am, I can do better.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With that she left and closed the door behind her; locking it.

XXXXX

Zulu came to with a splitting headache and the feeling like she was about to hurl. Blinking the nausea away she surveyed her surroundings. The room she was in was not the basement. That much was clear. But the room was dark and she couldn’t see much.

What is it with this woman and drugging people?

She reached around and tried to get a feel for her surroundings. Her hand hit something that felt like a foot and she jerked back in shock.

“Hello, little one.”

“I get that I’m short but you have got to stop calling me that. What do you want anyway? Come to beat on me some more?”

“I know I bite but I mean well. Trust me, I really do.”

Zulu scoffed; “You expect me to believe you?”

Forbes nodded.

She laughed loudly; throwing her head back.

“Is something funny?”

“Yes. You, you thinking that you have some power over us. Newsflash, lady. You know nothing about us and we know everything about you.”

“Oh, really?”

“You really think we’d come at you half-assed? Seriously? Boy do I have news for you! I had been listening to your phone calls, and he had been tailing you, for an entire week before we met you.”

“You think you’re so smart but you had no fucking idea about us until we wanted you to.”

“And who has the power now?”

She had wanted to hit this woman before but she wanted to do it even more now. She didn’t care about what would happen after. None of that mattered. And besides this woman kidnapped people and forced them to be sex workers. There was no reason for her to stay alive.

“I promise I will bury you alive.”

Jacqueline smacked her across the face.

But Zulu was done with this bullshit. She had enough of this woman and her stupid little games. She wanted more than anything to put a bullet between this woman’s eyes. It was bad enough that she had sex with Uniform. But if she was being honest with herself Zulu wasn’t upset about that. The thing that pissed her off the most was that Forbes got the upper hand on them. That she abducted them, kept them in fucking basement, and ripped a nail off her finger just to break them down.

Unbeknownst to Forbes they had been broken down years ago and could not be broken any further.

“You are so dead for that.”

Forbes ignored her comment and turned her back; started to walk out of the small room. But she stopped short in the doorway. Then she turned back around and stepped back inside. Closing the door behind her she locked the two of them inside. She ripped a piece of cloth from the dress Zulu wore; it was already dirty and slightly tattered thanks to spending hours cuffed in the basement. Shoving the cloth into Zulu’s mouth she wrapped a section of tape around her mouth.

Zulu blocked out the rest when she blacked out from the pain.

XXXXX

With Jacqueline gone Uniform got up and began looking around. He started with the bedroom first as he was still there. It was nothing special as bedrooms went. Nothing fancy or elegant was inside the room. There had to be something that was an indication as to where they were being held. Forbes was a smart woman, that much was clear, but there was no way she was that smart.

He started with the bed; removing the blankets and mattress cover. But the mattress was not hiding anything as far as he could tell. Then he moved on to the nightstand. Opening the small drawer revealed absolutely nothing. Not even a speck of dust.

Squeaky clean, he thought. What else are you hiding, Wacky Jacky?

As he searched the rest of the bedroom he tapped his ear comm. to life and sent out a call.

“X, Del, India, Golf? Anyone listening?”

A chorus of worried replies filled his ear. He let out a relived sigh; hearing their voices. Uniform patiently waited until they calmed down a bit to say anything. Besides he didn’t have much to say in the first place. Knowing only that the building had a basement and a ground floor didn’t help matters much.

“Zee-Bee and I are fine. Well, so to speak. Forbes abducted us, which you probably already know, but we’re both fine.”

Oh, thank god, Delta said relieved.

Where are you guys? X-Ray asked.

“Not sure. I was sort of locked up in a basement for the past few hours.”

How did you get out? India asked; curious.

“Simple. Coitus.”

Do you have to be so pretentious that you can’t even say sex? Seriously? X-Ray asked with obvious annoyance.

Un. Is Zulu with you?

“No, Del. She’s still in the basement.” Uniform said with a sad sigh.

Just keep your comm. on so we can find you.

How are we going to do that without Zulu? Golf asked the others.

Silence fell over the conversation. No one realized how important Zulu was to their operations until that moment. She did everything that had to do with the comm. system. Fixing them when they broke, catching interference from power lines or cell phone calls, and preventing others from listening in on their conversations. So naturally this job would have fallen to her.

I don’t know, Golf, but we’re going to have to figure something out, Delta said.

XXXXX

The team had regrouped at the safe house. And they all sat around the living room deciding what to do. They had enough information to get Forbes and pin her. But the problem was they still had no idea where she was. And where she was keeping their teammates. Or if they were all in the same place.

They just got off the comm. after a conversation with Uniform. But it had not brought them any closer to finding him and Zulu.

“How are we supposed to find them anyway?” Golf asked.

“Same way we always have,” X-Ray said. “We do have two solutions to this problem, after all. The triple tap and the trackers. So we pick one and run with it.”

“Exactly what I was going to say,” Delta replied.

After a short deliberation the team decided to use the trackers. They were rather old and somewhat unreliable but they had more advantages than the triple tap. For instance the trackers would pinpoint the exact location. There was too much possible interference on the comm. link without Zulu there to monitor it.

Golf got his laptop out and opened up the tracking program.

Golf decided to start off big with an entire map of New York state. He hoped it would be easier that way. He typed in both Zulu and Uniform’s serial numbers. There was the possibility that Forbes was keeping them in separate locations. They did not have room for error at the moment. Which was asking quite a lot from Golf.

“You okay?” Delta asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a nod.

He was lying to both himself and to the others. He was not okay in any sense of the word. The pressure was too much and his heart was beating way faster than normal. He could feel it. Golf knew he wasn’t skilled enough to do his job on a normal day. But all the pressure and time strains made it so much worse.

“I’m fine. I swear.”

Staring at the screen he waited for the blips to appear on the city map.

“How long is this gonna take you think?” India asked him after a few minutes.

Golf didn’t answer.

“Let him work, Indy,” Delta said.

“I’m just asking him a question, babe.”

“Why don’t we go get something to eat?” X-Ray suggested.

“Good idea, X,” Delta said with a smile.

None of them had eaten since the others went missing. And almost an entire day had passed. There was too much going on to even think about eating. They all were getting irritable and tired. Food was needed and it was needed now.

X-Ray and Delta got up and started to leave.

India stared at Golf; waiting.

“C’mon, Indy. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

“You want to come with us, Golf?”

He shook his head and focused on the screen. Delta promised to bring him back something. He didn’t pay her any attention. His mind barely registered the sound of the back door as it closed. Once again he was alone in the safe house. But this time he was far too focused to be bothered by it.

“I found them, Delta. I found them.”

“We’re on our way.”

XXXXX

Zulu got up and took a fighting stance. She was not going down this time. Not again. Forbes had gotten the better of them far too many times that night. Her hands were curled into fists and raised; ready to strike. Suddenly the door of the closet burst open with a bang. Zulu swung a harsh left hook at whoever was there.

“Ow!”

Wait a minute…

X? How in the hell?

X-Ray stepped further into the room and ripped the tape off Zulu’s mouth. She spit the fabric out with a disgusted gag.

“Holy shit, X! I didn’t think that was you! Sorry!”

“You’re fine, Zulu,” he said; holding his nose in pain.

“Did you guys find Un?”

He nodded; giving her a once over. She was hurt a lot worse than he thought she would have been. Her dress was torn and dirty, both her shoes and jewelry were missing, and holes were in her tights. Blood was caked around the pointer finger on her right hand. Scuff marks were all over her palms and knees. It looked like there was some blood on her legs.

“Del, Zulu needs first aid,” he said into his comm.

You’re right there.

“I… I think it might be better if you do it,” he said quietly.

Alright I’m coming.

“No!” Zulu yelled. “I can do it myself. Just give your aid kit, X.”

X-Ray nodded and slung his duffle off his shoulder. Kneeling down he opened the second to last zipper pocket. Reaching inside he grabbed hold of the first aid kit. He held it out to Zulu and felt her grab it harshly. He zipped the pocket back up and readjusted the bag to his shoulder.

“You hear that, Delta? She’s going to give herself first aid.”

Copy that.

“I’ll give you privacy,” he said before leaving.

Meanwhile the others were about the small house. India was in the living room with Forbes; keeping an eye on her. She was tied up and currently unconscious. Golf and Delta were searching the place for any other evidence they could use. X-Ray walked into the living room and relieved India of her post.

“Where’s Uniform?”

“In the shower,” India replied. “He needed to wash the stink of this garbage off of him.”

She nudged her head in Forbes’ direction when she said this garbage. X-Ray was just glad that Uniform was safe. That Zulu was as safe as okay as she was. But he was even gladder that India was leaving. He was going to give this disgusting excuse of a human being what she deserved. When Jacqueline Forbes came back around she was going to wish she was dead.

Luckily for him the Ketamine was almost through her system.

It was bad enough that she played them.

They weren’t the best so that happened a lot. So that wasn’t that bad actually. Everything else she did was what angered him. He hated what he did with every fiber of his being. But at the moment he was glad he had knowledge he did.

Forbes stirred and slowly came to.

He took a knife out of his side pocket. Gripping it tightly X-Ray clenched his teeth. He knew that Zulu would have wanted to kill this woman. But he did as well. He stabbed the knife into her thigh and she screamed in pain. She fully came to and started crying for him to stop. X-Ray just smiled. Reaching into the front pocket of his duffle he took out a pair of pliers.

"You took her nail. I'm going to take all of yours."

A few minutes after he took her left hand pinky finger nail everyone came back to the room. Uniform was clean and showered. Zulu was still messy but as cleaned up as she could have been. She had done a pretty good job giving herself first aid after all. India, Delta and Golf had found a couple boxes full of paper evidence. And there was still the Macbook and Forbes' email. They had enough to justify anything.

“Are we going to let her live?” Zulu asked.

The others did not know exactly what had happened to her but they could tell that Zulu really wanted Forbes to die. Or to spend the rest of her life in pain. And that she deserved the worst possible punishment. Whatever they chose the punishment would not be enough.

“Do it,” India said.

“She deserves it.”

Zulu took a gun from X-Ray and cocked it. She put the muzzle against Forbes’ head. Her finger slowly closed around the trigger. Forbes stared at her with pleading eyes. Tears ran down the woman’s face as she pleaded with them to let her go. Just as she was about to full pull the trigger Zulu stopped.

Zulu dropped her gun hand to her side.

She turned to Delta and whispered something in her ear. The others looked at her with confused expressions. She just brought a finger to her lips. She was not going to give the secret away just yet. After a few minutes Delta came back inside with a couple of shovels in her hands.

Forbes’ eyes went wide in shock; “No! Please! Don’t!”

“Just shoot me, please,” she cried.

Zulu pulled her head back by a clump of hair. Pained tears rolled down the woman’s face. Zulu just smiled down at her.

“I made a promise and I tend to keep them.”

XXXXX

A few hours later Zulu dumped the last shovel of dirt on to the makeshift grave. They had dug it in the backyard of the safe house. It had taken them a few hours to dig the grave and to refill it with the woman inside. No one would have gone looking for Ms. Jacqueline Forbes in such a bad area. No one would find her for years. Even if they cared to look.

They all sat around the yard; tired and ready to go home.

Zulu spit on the pile of dirt. Uniform got up from the rock he was sitting on and walked over to her. Pulling her into an embrace he kissed her on the top of her head. Tears pricked at her eyes once again. But this time they were tears of joy. She was just happy to finally be out of that hell of a night. Uniform reached up and wiped them away with a finger.

X-Ray had stated gathering the shovels. With a two to a hand he walked them to the car. It was a bit too much seeing Zulu and Uniform like that giving the circumstances of things. And given the things he felt.

“You two will be okay, right?” Golf asked. “I mean you can’t have sunshine without having rain. Right?”

Delta, who sat next to India on the back porch, started singing;

I don't mind, no I don't mind, I don't mind the rain The simple things and subtleties they always stay the same I don't mind, that I don't mind, no I don't mind the rain Like a widow's heart We fall apart But never fade away

They all sat around watching the sun rise and once they were finished India called Stevens for an extraction.

“Does he know what happened?” Golf asked; worried.

“No. And I intend to keep it that way.”

The gang walked around to the front of the house. Piling inside the car they were all tired and covered in dirt. Delta and India were in the front seats. X-Ray and Golf were in the middle two seats; on opposite sides of the car. Uniform and Zulu sat all the way in the back; intending on getting some much needed sleep. This mission had taken a tool on the both of them and they needed much more than a nap.

Zulu leaned her head on Uniform’s shoulder.

“Smells like someone needs a shower,” Uniform said curling up his nose.

She laughed lightly and nodded. It was true. She had to admit that she smell pretty bad; blood, urine and dirt. Not a very good combo.

“I don’t want to ever fucking do that again,” Zulu whispered quietly.

“Don’t worry. You won’t.”

#oc story #oc short story #oc short #india company #agent india #agent delta #agent xray #agent uniform #agent zulu #agent golf #zuni #inta #tw violence #tw death #tw blood #tw swearing

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thefantasysuite · 6 years

Text

Arie’s Bachelor Preview

Finally. Maybe it just seems longer because I didn’t post much during ette or paradise, but it’s about time we got some new info on the OG of dating shows. The cast has finally been released. I’m going to assume that like me, your heart skipped a beat when you got that google alert stating as much. I glanced at a few pictures, but have held off reading anything about any of the ladies to make sure I captured first impression. You wouldn’t stand out there greeting each as she comes out of the limo and then get black out drunk and not remember what you first thought the next morning. Unless of course you are a contestant on this show and have already stalked the bachelor for months on end. In that case, pass the alcohol.

If you’ve followed this blog at all you know I like to stay away from off season drama. You had your 15 mins of fame. As Mr. Wonderful eloquently puts it:

But since it’s the season of giving I’ll give you a quick update on last year’s bachelor, Nick. Him and Vanessa broke up. The end. But seriously, this is what they looked like right after they were able to make their ‘arrangement’ public:

Yeah. Good job convincing everyone that was going to last.

Alright Moving right along. The bachelor this year is Arie Luyendyk:

I don’t remember feeling strongly about Arie one way or another when he was on. I do remember feeling strongly about the bachelorette that he was chasing after however:

Back to Arie. He comes from a family that likes to race cars. The F1 circuit to be precise. For all intents and purposes I’m going to group that in with NASCAR because the jokes are easier. Matt and Trey got 22 minutes out of making fun of NASCAR:

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I can do a season of the bachelor.

Arie’s bachelor announcement doesn’t come without some controversy. He may have broken up with girlfriend right before he became the bachelor:

http://www.etonline.com/exclusive-arie-luyendyk-jrs-ex-girlfriend-says-she-was-blindsided-bachelor-casting-their-breakup

It also appears Arie has a type when you look at his ex compared to the former bachelorette:

Enough about Arie. Let’s see the skanks that will be racing after his heart (get used to a bunch corny puns relating to his former profession)

Ali

Ali is a personal stylist. Got a quick tip for Ali. Next time ABC offers to have their professional stylist help you out before your headshot, don’t say “I got this”. The most embarrassing thing she listens to is Nickelback. While unrelated, please check out this clip of another Chad Kroeger fighting his local government to keep house parties a god given right:

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The Beastie Boys would be proud

Amber

3 people dead or alive you’d like to have lunch with. You can tell a lot about a person in how they answer. Starting your list off with Kim Kardashian says more than enough. What can you possibly ask her in which the honest answer isn’t “sex tape”? How did you get so famous? Sex tape. How did you break into the industry? Sex tape. What drove your step dad to become a woman? Sex tape

Annaliese

I feel like Annaliese misunderstood the question 5 things you can’t live without. She listed 3 different types of food and 2 emotions. I think the producers are looking for you to say something like wi-fi and your favorite hoody. She also listed Miley Cyrus and Chrissy Tiegan as people she would want to be. Guessing there isn’t much going on upstairs with this one

Ashley

Ashley looks super boring. Doubt she makes it past night 1. She hates doing laundry because it takes her a week to go from washing her clothes, to folding, to putting them away. Pft. I leave that shit in the dryer and go grab a pair of socks and underwear as needed. Amateur

Becca K

Becca has quite the jawline on her. Hopefully she has a smokin hot body. Becca is a publicist. You know who was also a publicist? Fucking Shauna:

Something tell me Becca is publicizing people more like Johnny Drama and less like Vincent Chase

Bekah M

Bekah is very intriguing. This might be a first, but her age isn’t listed in her bio. And I really want to know what it is. Her profession is nanny so I would assume she’s pretty young. But past contestant Corrine also had a nanny and she was pretty old. I know it’s because of the hair, but I’m getting a Morena Baccarin vibe:

I’ve got my eye on this one

Bibiana

I’m guessing Bibiana has quite a bit of personality. This has to be the girl other girls hate, right? She’s an executive assistant and former NFL cheerleader. I vote Bibi as most likely to tell everyone that she isn’t there to make friends and to start calling Arie her man

Bri

Bri is a sports reporter. I needed to look it up to be sure:

Now I’m not saying someone that’s already been on TV can’t fall in love with someone else on TV. But if she gets to the final 3 this season, fans like her, and a sideline job happens to open up with ABC she may have her eyes on a prize other than Arie

Brittane J

At the risk of making an off(on)-color joke, I’m going to guess that is a new way to spell Brittany. And is she winking? Lunch with 3 people dead or alive she went with Whitney Houston, Bernie Sanders, Beyonce. When the bill came Bernie made sure that Whitney Houston’s estate paid for her meal before the new tax bill gets rid of the death tax. (Hey. She got political, not me)

Brittany T

Seeing her listed as Brittany T confirms that the previous girl does pronounce it as Brittany. This Brittany would like to have lunch with Chris Evans, Hillary Clinton (shudder), and Beyonce. When Chris Evans goes on a coke binge he better hope he stays away from the bathtub to relax afterwards (See Whitney Houston above). Also, do you think Hillary ordered a side of beef at lunch? I remember when she got chucked into a van like a side of beef at a 9/11 memorial ceremony:

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#neverforget

Caroline

I’m out on Caroline. She doesn’t have a dog yet, but can’t wait to find someone to “co-parent” a dog with. You would be a dog owner, not a parent. I bet she also can’t wait to “play house” with Arie. She’s going to be that girl that Arie tries to have a serious conversation with and can’t stop giggling while talking about how much fun they have together

Chelsea

Chelsea is boring and generic. Sticks out in no way. Not pretty. Not ugly. Thinks France is the most romantic city. Listed grade school sports as something she did competitively (read: unathletic). Likes warm weather, but not too warm. I don’t see anything here. I suspect an early pass (racing jokes) from Arie

Jacqueline

I’m trying to figure out who Jackie looks like. Right now I’m stuck on a poor (very poor) man’s Winnie Cooper:

I don’t think that’s the right answer, so I am open to suggestions. I also kind of wanted to look up Danica McKellar so I’m not mad. This will never work out though. She keeps talking about her career and how important it is to her. Career first women don’t win. They usually become the bachelorette. Not that I’m suggesting that will happen. Just that she has no chance

Jenna

Jenna is a social media manager from Indiana. Speaking of, I need to fire mine. When she eventually reads this post I expect https://twitter.com/thebachtweets to be updated with the new season flair. Jenna’s favorite show is Friends. I’m going to diagnose her as Monica. Looks like she is bubbly, can provide some comic relief when necessary, and probably has a nerdy brother named Ross that keeps finding ways to screw up everything with his much hotter girlfriend. How you doin’??

Jenny

Jenny’s most afraid of picking the wrong person to marry. I guess you can’t make that mistake if the bachelor picks you. She probably has nightmares about being the bachelorette. Many of her answers indicate that she’s outdoorsy and loves adventure. She looks just the opposite. Maybe her idea of camping is hanging out in a motor home watching netflix while a fire burns outside

Jessica

Jessica’s occupation is television host and I immediately couldn’t wait to look up which show. Then I saw she was from Canada, which isn’t real tv. Is Degrasi still on? But then I looked her up and it’s worse than Canadian tv host. She has a youtube channel called Jessica Carroll TV.......(So what if I watched the video ‘Get Pool Party Ready). So we have smoking hot girl living in LA that’s used to the camera. Guess who might get called out first for not being there for the right reasons

Kendall

I feel like Kendall has a drink in one or both hands of this picture. This chick is weird. If she could be any animal she went with bat. Most romantic gift was an alligator hand holding an iron heart in a jar because she collects taxidermy. As long as it wasn’t an alligator holding a human hand. Carl Weathers would have been pissed:

Krystal

Krystal is one of those fitness nuts. I feel like that’s a profession/hobby that never does well on this show either. She says she is most afraid of unused potential. Lol. She must moonlight as a life coach. Trying to remember back to when Arie was on the bachelorette he didn’t strike me as a real go getter. I feel like Krystal is going to push him to be better and Arie will end up channeling his brother in name and hit her with:

Lauren B

I think Lauren B goes far. Pretty girl. No weird answers. What is my first rule about going on this show? Don’t be weird. She has a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do. By the way, whatever happened to Billy Blanks?

Lauren G

Lauren has the real descriptive occupation of executive recruiter. Her favorite tv show is ‘This is Us’. I’ve never seen an episode, but based on the people that watch it and from what I’ve heard it sounds like one long ass chick flick. It’s like tv networks needed to try and scoop up the ‘Parenthood’ audience that loves mushy feel good/make you cry stories and we ended up here. Those shows are the worst (And no, the bachelor is not the scripted reality version of those shows).

Lauren J

Lauren is honest. Asked if she’s neat or messy, she concedes to being messy. Doesn’t like playing games with guys, just tells them how she feels. Eats full meals in bed. Can’t live without mascara. She’s also 33 so no time to beat around the bush. I think she’ll end up getting super jelly when she sees Arie making out with other girls. I’m gonna say she ends up in the top 5. Arie wants a young girl to parade around for a little while. Lauren is probably trying to have kids tomorrow

Lauren S

The run on Lauren’s continues. We’ve got another social media manager on our hands. It’s funny thinking back to the first season of the bachelor and knowing how that job wouldn’t have even existed. When asked if she could be anyone in the world she went with ‘anyone in Taylor Swift’s girl squad’. You wouldn’t want to be....I don’t know....Taylor Swift instead? Not very lofty girls for this one. She’s an early out

Maquel

Maquel? Whatever. Guess we are just making names up at this point. Her favorite holiday is Halloween. She loves dressing up and creepy/scary stuff. I’m guessing she is more Cady and less Regina:

Marikh

Maybe the weirdest answer to a question that I’ve seen:

What? So you don’t want to accidentally confirm an incorrect assumption? Keep in mind that she was asked this question, had time to think it over, decided to go with that. I think Marikh might break down if asked where she wants to go to eat. “I love Olive Garden but I hate their breadsticks and salad and pasta so let’s go there”

Nysha

Nysha looks like she’s embarrassed to take this photo and have an official Bachelor headshot that will live forever. I don’t see Nysha doing real well this season. Her answer on favorite tv show and fictional character comes off as a bit “I don’t need no man”. Try not to make a scene when you don’t get a rose

Olivia

Olivia is 23. She looks even younger than that. Favorite book is 50 shades of grey. Not sure she was old enough to read that when it first came out. Do you think she secretly hopes Arie has a sex dungeon? Probably would have been a good intern for Matt Lauer.

Seinne

I’m going to guess that Seinne is this year’s Rachel (you know what I’m getting at). Favorite tv show is Game of Thrones. I don’t care for the show. Watched the first season and couldn’t believe I wasted that much time. Don’t get the appeal at all. If I hear Dilly Dilly one more time I’m going to fucking lose it

Tia

Tia could win this year, be the girl that everyone hates, or be the next bachelorette. I’ll know by the end of the first episode, but right now I have no clue. I’m looking for key things in her answers and she says ‘sassy’ as well as having gone to a swingers resort. I’m going to go with the one everyone loves to hate. But I reserve the right to change my mind

Valerie

Valerie is a server in Nashville (failed country music artist). She’s 25 and has over 50 Halloween costumes. Maybe she celebrates it multiple times a year. I just hope she doesn’t have that thick twang when she talks. That’s so annoying

There they are. The desperate fame whores looking to make their mark January 1st. I do wonder about airing the premiere on the 1st. I know there isn’t a ton of crossover between individuals when it comes to the bachelor and college football, but I can imagine a fight or two between couples when it’s the football semi-finals vs bach premiere. The game airs on ESPN which is of course owned by ABC’s parent company of Disney. I would suggest holding off a week but the national championship game is played that next Monday.

See ya after the premiere

- Nick

#The Bachelor #arie

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rockyrunrun · 7 years

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The Decision.

Beginning of 2017, I was in Sacramento, still looking forwards for a chance to chase a dream and working hard and looking for a promotion. In early March, I took my talents back to the Bay Area and got hired for the new job. Then 2 months of licensing and another month of training, July 24, 2017. I made a decision. I'm leaving a job that I've had since April 13th, 2001 and I'm going to leave it all out on this blog. Reason being? I loved it for a lot of years and I want to remember what I can remember. So if there were anyone and anything that you can blame me for, then, here's my side of the story. 16 years at a company, I think I have the rights to say whatever I want to say. '''Twas was the day that was senior year in high school. I went and started looking for a job because I chose to go to Chabot College, a community college local to most of the East Bay. I went in, first one I met was the General Manager, Eric Martin. When anyone ever talks about first impression, that guy impressed me. I was a 17 year old, looking for a job with no resume in hand. He professionally told me to fill out an application and asked if I wanted to be interviewed immediately. "Sure, let's do it." Two days later I was sitting in the middle of a store front inside Bayfair Mall going through orientation with a bunch of other future co-workers. First person I met, Nam Huynh. We eventually even served popcorn and trained together in Union City. We took over the A side and we had tons of fun. If you want to teach your employees to upsell, just say "managers said if we don't make enough profit, they won't give us raises". Never not upsold ever since then. I met a lot of people like Yolanda, and later on "Army" (yeah I graced him that name) and also Soap, his friends, his family. Hell, we even joked and called ourselves a race team, "Century B16" as in Bayfair 16. The chance came around August, Rush Hour 2 weekend. One of the managers asked if I was interested in working in the booth, turned out to be one of my future best friends, Marvin Capistrano. On to the booth I went. Talking about building up movies, breaking down movies, hanging out with Duane talking about Pootie Tang. Man, crazy days. First time I ever built a movie was, Zoolander. Dry runs after dry runs, hot print break downs on Thursday. I slowly but surely deterred from going to school. Then, a GM put me on probation and wanted to fire me. I will never forget this, simply because I wasn't properly trained and this 30 day probation, I lasted longer than the GM and his crew. I learned one important thing, training. Which is also another thing that I've learned, to be a people's person. Next GM came, Charles, I breezed through it and apparently we were doing a bad job. Let me remind you, at the time, the ATM at Bayfair was stolen!!!! Then, during that time I met my little big sister Erica. Although we didn't exactly work together all the time but we were always close. I love Erica to death. She's definitely bff status. Meanwhile, supposedly the theater wasn't doing good, so this Latino dude name Lazaro came along, and this other Asian ricerocket driving dude name Anthony Tan came about... with Brian Pacquing.... The rest was history. Rios, if you ever get to read this, I still hate you for making me cry. But it was definitely tough love. I learned the most from him. I learned how to be tough on someone, but real. You can't yell at someone that consistently yell, nags and bitch about things. You MUST teach. For that, Rios, I forever owe you. To Anthony Tan, you taught a young kid what's right and what wrong. You taught me how to grow up and be a man. I might not always understand you at the time, but boy I sure received the message. Rios did good and took over and taught me how to be good, but when it was his time to leave, here comes Julius. David Wilson-Scott bka Julius Pirie Scott, you are way beyond a father figure to me and even more as a brother. You taught me how to trust my skills and be great. We went to see Usher, we saw Kanye, and we saw riots at the theater, but you taught me everything and you did not hold back any knowledge. I learned from you to give your knowledge out unconditionally. Thank you. Then, it was time for me to leave. Cinedome 8 East Fremont. Ben Lin, Montry Souvanthong, Ashley Perreira. You three were more than what I can ask for from a new GM, Ben knowing me the most by working with me at Bayfair but the other two kept me sane. Jeff Herzstein, thank you for trusting a 21 year old kid to tell you to spread your wings and trust your skills, thank you for helping me become a fair and smart GM. Adam Bebee and Adam Bauer, you guys were good and ya two taught me how to be a fair GM and I love the fact that you guys gave me respect. To the late Jane Benjamin, may you Rest In Peace, or well, keep going to forever create havoc! I love you Jane, I love the fact that you wanted to work and you love me and respected me. When everyone told me to avoid you, I didn't, I got close to you. Thank you for the countless meals of country way, Disneyland Mickey ears and the bottle of champagne for the holidays. I love you. I hope you look after me. Two years later, when Cinemark came running and bought out Century. I took my talents to Union Landing. Jacqueline Brooks, for the record, I hate you as a co-worker, but I love you as a brother. We never get along not because we have differences, but we don't get along because we all want to look out for each other. Two years at 25 made me love you like you're the big sister I never had. To Leticia Gonzalez Solis, you, you're a beast. Hug hug, kiss kiss, little hug big kiss little kiss. I taught you everything I got and you gave me all your effort every day. Out of all people that followed me, you were not the smartest but I know 100% you worked the hardest. Baby boy Ali, I know you got my back and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me, but trust me, if you ever need anything, you know I for damn sure wish that was me that took that bottle to the head instead of you. The two years of 25 was so good, it exhibited my skills. Then I earned a promotion to open my own theater. For the fucking record. These years at Hayward, forever let me say what I feel, because I am, and still am very angry about the process on how and what happened. First, when the audit program happened, I was opening the theater. Second, my self destruction and choice of going back to school was directly affected by Cinemark. I opened the theater, the shopping complex and the recession hit hard, so the projected attendance was short by almost 40%. It was 2008. Then Cinemark gave all the managers in the Bay Area reduction in geographical allowance. Mind you, all managers in the Bay Area were "century" pat while I was "Cinemark" pay but the cut was all across, so I got less money. Not to mention, the first day the paycut happened was at a Cinemark conference, that's not encouraging to me. Not to mention, my superior discouraged me for getting higher education, simply telling me to focus more at work and talk about how great advancement is. Then came the budgeting process, I was compared to a 8 screen cinedome on payroll, to reduce payroll at a new location, I was told to also act as the MR guy and the GM 5 days a week during slow season. Then I was blamed for lack of production, bad audit scores, no bonus and also more paycuts. 1600 bi-weekly check to 1200 when I decided to leave. So I'm tired of people saying "you were never there" or "you fucked up the payroll", because I didn't. Snitches gets stitches and even if I blamed my regional manager or higher ups, the small potato in me would never win. The Cinemark algorithm on reduce cost of living in 2009, made us, the managers get a pay cut. I have yet seen the facts and studies. And the small potato in me never mattered. Cinemark, century pay grade, they didn't care. For the second time I'm mentioning it, you take 1/4 of my paycheck and decrease my pay within 3 years, trust me, you would be as mad as me. I did have a good time at Hayward because it was challenging, look at it now, not too shabby, but I hate it. While I was working at this location. I lost my girlfriend. I never get to see her and I was stressed all the time. Don't like Hayward. The city hall wanted the theater to play at least 2-4 art films every week, so they can "attract" people. I was invited to the city hall meeting to have almost 2 hours to answer the fine citizens of Hayward on how a movie theater should be ran. Same people that discouraged me to be around and just wanted things their way. Not a happy place. Then due to poor mid 80s audit scores, I was told that I would have no chance to survive as a general manager, for the third time, let me remind you that you lost 1/4 of your pay at the same time since the beginning. I chose to go to Fremont. I will end this chapter like this. Fremont. It was a time for me to leave the moment I got there. Jason Cardosa, I gave you my all. I don't like to belittle people and it doesn't make me feel good. Countless times I was reminded how poorly I ran Hayward and how much I wasn't trustworthy enough to run a department, while every single department I ran was the best that you ever got when I was there. Strange. Apparently because I have GM experience then it's expected. I know I got skills, but you never really cared and tried to find a solution to solve the issue. You provide patchwork and I provide solutions. We had our differences, but it was much like Jackie and I, because we care. You stuck with me for 2 more years and how ungrateful am I but to leave you so shortly and with pretty close to no notice. I popped my last batch of popcorn, sold my last ticket and used my last set of movie theater broom. I don't care what anyone says, you out of every one that I know have the best potential and you're definitely not too young for a regional leader role, but be personable. That's what Farley taught me. Be there for your people and understand how they feel. I got to know you so much more when we went to watch Oblivion in LA and that was a good trip. I was happy we made that trip because I feel like you actually do care about people, but try that on some other people, they respect you more that way. To every single person I've trained, thank you for listening. To everyone that I screwed over. 16 years later, I am 100% proud to say that I don't have any. So, boom. Cinemark, Century, thanks for the memories. Notice I put all the memories on people? The people made it for me. The lives that I made better and taught, I'm proud of that. I always said I'll go back to Bayfair and kiss the floor before I quit. Well, I'll officially do that on Friday, but 100%, my theater life is done and thank you all.

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thesilasgrimm · 7 years

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Second Chances | Script

[A woman (ELENA) in business attire stands on top of a roof alone. It is raining, and no one else is in sight. She is recording a video of herself on her phone as the rain washes the reminiscence of makeup off of her face.]

ELENA: My name is Elena Taylor. If you’re watching this video, that means you’re amongst the last to ever see me alive. Today was officially my last day of working. You devote three years of your life to a business firm, then suddenly a younger, hotter girl comes along and you’re disregarded like an old newspaper. “We’re overstaffed and you’re just not performing to our standards.” Bullshit! I was the most qualified person in that firm! You’ll see, once I’m gone. You’ll be sorry, you’ll all be sorry!

[She stops recording and is ready to jump. A bolt of lightning comes down and the screen blacks out. ELENA is then seen laying down on the roof. It is no longer raining, but her hair and clothes are still wet. As she opens her eyes, the feint sound of a guitar can be heard.]

ELENA: Wha-- Where is that coming from? [sits up and looks around until she finds the source of the noise]

[The camera pans to a man (JIM). He appears to be around the same age as ELENA with long blond hair sitting on the same roof, playing “All Apologies” by Nirvana.]

ELENA: What the...

JIM: [stops playing and looks up at her] Well it’s about time you woke up.

ELENA: About time I woke up? Who are you?

JIM: My name’s Jim Hulsen. I was sent here, from [points up at the sky] up there. You catch my drift?

ELENA: That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I’m supposed to believe you’re some sort of angel?

JIM: I was told you weren’t a believer in the supernatural. [he stands up and snaps his fingers; the guitar he was holding vanishes into smoke]

ELENA: How the hell did you do that? [jumps back]

JIM: That’s not important. [snaps again and disappears, reappearing next to her; he grabs her hand] Now it’s time to go.

ELENA: [tries to retract her arm, struggling to get away from him] Let go of me!

[As she speaks her last word, a white light flashes and the two are transported to a funeral parlor full of people. There’s a dull roar of chatter amongst the people. An older woman in all black is sitting right in front of the closed casket bawling her eyes out as a man, presumably her husband, comforts her.]

JIM: Well, here we are.

ELENA: [hyperventilating] What... the fuck... was that? Where the fuck are we?!

JIM: You’ll get used to it. Anyways, this is your wake.

ELENA: My... wake?

JIM: Yes, you know, the thing that typically happens before a funeral. Loved ones gather to say their goodbyes before the dead person’s buried underground. You do know that’s what happens when people die, right?

ELENA: [looks at the people around her] I didn’t think that this many people would show up... Coworkers, friends from college, my cousins from Alabama... and my parents are here too?

JIM: Just because you never call them doesn’t mean they stopped loving you.

ELENA: Wait, who’s that guy? [points a tall blond man]

JIM: His name is Brian. He’s the EMT who found you. He felt bad he couldn’t save you so he came here to pay respects.

ELENA: Hmm, he kind of looks like you... Exactly like you, now that I really look at him...

[The mystery man disappears. Chatter becomes clearer, and low mumbles of things such as “I can’t believe she would do something like this,” “I wish I could’ve done something,” and “She died too young” can be heard. ELENA is frozen in place, but she looks around at all of the people talking about her. JIM is nowhere to be found. The camera zooms in on the older couple sitting in front of the casket.]

MRS. TAYLOR: [through sobs] How could we let this happen?!

MR. TAYLOR: [rubbing MRS. TAYLOR’s back, not saying a word]

ELENA: [in a whisper] Shit... [rushes over to her parents, frantically waving her arms in their faces] Mom, Dad, I’m here! I’m not dead! This is all some weird hallucination! Please, just look up at me [face falls] No... I... I’m sorry. I love you, I really do. [sniffles] I’m sorry. [falls to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest, tears falling out of her eyes] So this is it? [starts looking around the room, still no sight of JIM] You bring me here to watch my own wake pan out and then you disappear? [her words become angrier in tone] The fuck kind of sick, twisted game are you playing here, huh?

[The attendees of the wake all vanish and ELENA is left alone in the funeral parlor, staring at a closed wooden casket. The lights dim and the only thing in view is the casket. She mutters, “this must be a fucking joke,” then approaches the casket and slowly pulls it open. A white light flashes and she’s laying on the roof once more. Her eyes open and she immediately sits up, gasping for air]

ELENA: Fuck you, Jim!

[A woman in a pantsuit (DEATH) steps out of the shadows. Her hair is in a tight bun and she’s carrying a clipboard.]

DEATH: Hello, Elena.

ELENA: Jackie?

DEATH: No, not quite. I have many names, but to make it simple, you can refer to me as Death. I’ve taken the form of the person you were last thinking about before you died, who, in your case, was--

ELENA: [interrupting] -- Was the girl who stole my job. Fucking--

DEATH: [interrupts her] Jacqueline Marshall, yes. You know, it’s rude to interrupt people.

ELENA: Jeez, sorry. But can you tell me why I keep coming back to this roof? Is this supposed to be Purgatory?

DEATH: It’s the place where you died, smart one.

ELENA: Are you always this sarcastic?

DEATH: You would be too if you had my job. But let’s discuss the matter at hand.

ELENA: Right, me, being dead. Also what about that guy? Jim? Is he an angel? Because if so, he’s a pretty shitty one.

DEATH: Jim Hulsen is one of my assistants. Not an angel, but a ghost. He was once a person like you, but then he passed. Death by hanging. He didn’t quite fit in Heaven or Hell so he was assigned to me, as someone to bring people into the afterlife.

ELENA: And you bring people into the afterlife through psychological torture?

DEATH: The reason you saw what you saw was not by chance, Elena Taylor.

ELENA: You know, you can just call me Elena. You don’t have to pull out the last name too.

DEATH: I will use whatever form of your name I please, Elena Jessica Taylor.

ELENA: And now we’ve got the middle name too. You might as well shape-shift into my mother while you’re at it.

DEATH: ... Can I continue?

ELENA: Sure. Sorry...

DEATH: You are in a unique situation, Elena. You’ve died, but not fully.

ELENA: What do you mean not fully?

DEATH: I’m getting to that. What I’m trying to say is that you can have another chance at life.

ELENA: Wait... I can? You really mean that?

DEATH: Yes, but not without a price. I’m going to give you a riddle. If you answer the riddle correctly, your soul shall return to your body and you will live on for however many more years. But if you get it wrong, your soul is mine right now.

ELENA: Fuck, I hate riddles. I guess it’s worth a shot though.

DEATH: That’s the spirit. Now, answer me this. You will always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, But the future can never taint me. What am I?

ELENA: What?

DEATH: Do you need me to repeat myself?

ELENA: No, no... I just... don’t get it... find me in the past, created in the present, but the future can never-- wait. I think I got it.

DEATH: Well?

ELENA: A memory.

DEATH: Is that your final answer?

ELENA: [takes a deep breath] Yes.

DEATH: Very well.

[DEATH snaps her fingers, and ELENA is instantly transported into a bedroom, hers. ELENA wakes up to the sound of an alarm clock]

ELENA: [rubs her eyes] That was such a weird dream... I should call my mom later... [gets out of bed and walks into the bathroom]

[JIM appears in the bedroom, standing by the window, he begins talking, as if he’s talking to someone but no one is in sight]

JIM: So that’s it? She’s just going to go about her life as if nothing ever happened?

[A tall, short-haired figure stands in the shadows]

JIM: What kind of a game are you playing here, Death?

DEATH: [with a new, masculine voice that sounds nearly identical to JIM’s] I don’t need any more assistants, Jim.

JIM: But she got the riddle wrong. “You will always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, But the future can never taint me. What am I?” It’s history, not memories.

DEATH: Exactly. She’ll go about her day, thinking our encounter was nothing more than a dream, then it’ll all happen again, and again, and again. [steps out of the shadows, this new body exactly resembling Jim but with a shorter haircut and an EMT jacket with the name “Brian” stitched onto it] That’s Hell, after all.

#Scripts by Silas #depression tw #suicide tw #film stuff #second chances

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azems-familiar · 7 years

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Starlight on her Lips Part One

Victorian/regency era AU (three parts) for femslash February which is now in March but shhh whatever. Rose Tyler x Idris, with Eleven and a modified Melody Pond and Jenny--other characters to come in later (Jackie and Pete are here of course). A bit strange, but I hope you enjoy!

Idris Smythe is a rather… odd young woman. Everyone, no matter their opinions regarding other, more controversial, matters, agrees with such a statement. And where to start? With the curly dark hair she simply refuses to tame, her wide and wild eyes, and that almost palpable wrongness about her, as though something in her mind doesn’t work quite correctly. Really, it is through no fault of the Lady Smythe that her daughter runs with her skirts at her knees and climbs trees and follows her elder brother around like a puppy. Idris doesn’t care about everyone. She has her brother and she has her Rose, and that is all that matters.

The first time they meet is on Rose’s eighteenth birthday. Lord Peter Tyler of the Powell Estate hosted (at the... request of his wife) a lavish celebration upon the occasion of his only daughter’s coming-of-age--the perfect excuse for the Lady Jacqueline to invite the other two most powerful families with of-age sons: the Saxons and the Smythes. Lord Jonathon Smythe of the Gallifrey Estate is the second-richest man in the entire kingdom, second only to Lord Tyler himself. According to the Lady Tyler, twenty-three year-old Matthew Smythe is an excellent match.

Rose has been listening to Lady Jacqueline natter on about this Matthew all day, and she is about ready to refuse to attend the ball at all. But that would upset her mother, and when Jacqueline Tyler is upset the entire household is upset--and that is not a thing Rose would wish upon her dear father. It would be absolutely horrid of her to cause Peter such trouble on her birthday. And Rose really does hate causing her father trouble. So she sits in silence as the maid pins her golden hair in place and effectively ignores Jackie’s babble. The party has been in full swing for nearly an hour when Jackie finally stops chattering about Matthew Smythe’s suitability (apparently he’s quite handsome as well as being wealthy) and tells Rose she’s ready. “Come, my dear, you look stunning,” Jackie exclaims, hovering around Rose. “Oh, they’ll love you. Peter thinks you should be introduced to that young politician, Harold Saxon, but his family doesn’t even own a proper estate,” she prattles on, straightening her powder-pink and cream gown. “I don’t understand the allure of a politician, in any case. They’re slimy liars, each and every one of them.” “Mother!” Rose reprimands, horrified--she hardly knows Harold Saxon, it’s entirely improper to accuse him of being a liar. “Well, it’s true,” Jackie defends. “Come on, let’s go.” The rest of the night is mostly a blur; a haze of dances and wine and laughter with a few clear moments. Rose meets Harold Saxon, a young blonde with a smile dripping with lies and laughter like shattered glass and something dark and twisted in his eyes, first. He takes her hand and turns it over and kisses her wrist, lingers there for a moment, and she yanks her hand away and resists the urge to slap him. “I will not court Harold Saxon,” Rose tells her father immediately after. “And I never wish to see him again.” “It will be so,” Pete says with a nod. She dances with others, her friends Martha and Mickey and even posh Reinette, and then Jackie comes up to her and pulls her aside and there are two people waiting for her. Jackie vanishes. The well-dressed young man with floppy dark hair and blue-green eyes grins lopsidedly at her, and she returns it with a smile of her own, extending her hand for the stranger to kiss. “Lord Matthew Smythe of the Gallifrey Estate, at your service,” he says properly as he lifts her fingers gently to his lips and kisses them. “‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is my younger sister Idris.” Rose’s eyes slide over to the younger girl with the wild dark hair and pale skin and fey eyes in the patchwork gown of pale blue and cream; Idris smiles a shy smile and wiggles her fingertips in a wave. “Goodbye--no. Hello,” she murmurs. “Hello,” she says more clearly. “Is that the right one, Brother?” she asks, eyes drifting to Matthew. He smiles at her, a sweet-sad-wistful smile. “Yes, you’ve got it right.” “Hello,” Idris says directly to Rose, stepping forward and dipping into a rough curtsy--she has black boots on beneath her layered skirts, Rose notices. “Hello, Rose. It’s so very, very nice to meet you.” “Hello, Idris,” Rose says, and she smiles a tongue-touched grin, and something warm-bright-airy bubbles up in her chest, golden and fragile and precious. The next morning, it’s still there.

They ride out to a lake, just the three of them--Matthew and Rose and Idris and a picnic in a basket. It’s warm, the springtime sun coating everything in liquid gold, Idris’s dark hair frosted in a halo of sunbeams. (Rose has to fight off a sudden, strange urge to run her fingers through it, to see what sunbeams feel like) Matthew brings a book and sits a little ways away after they eat the picnic, becoming absorbed by the book almost as soon as he opens it. Idris picks wildflowers and weaves them into Rose’s hair, and Rose teaches her to knot the blue and pink and yellow blooms into a crown. It’s a little too big for Idris, and keeps slipping down over her eyes, but Idris beams and laughs and the pure and utter joy on her face is infectious. Addictive, even. Matthew glances over the edge of the book he’s only pretending to read and smiles ever-so-slightly.

Matthew spends a great deal of his time out in a small cottage deep in the forest that covers much of the land on the Gallifrey Estate. A few months into his and Rose’s courtship--and her and Idris’s slowly-blooming relationship--she finds out why. They take Idris’s horse down the dirt path. Idris, shockingly (to the rest of society), rides astride. Rose does not--Rose hardly rides at all, and when she does it’s sidesaddle, like any proper lady. So they ride double, Rose’s bare arms twined around Idris’s slender waist, clinging tightly to the younger woman as the dapple-grey mare canters easily through the woods. The small cottage comes into view far too soon for Rose’s taste, and she reluctantly slides off the back of the mare, smoothing her pink-and-gold dress. Idris dismounts, a single fluid motion, and ties the mare to the post next to the sorrel gelding Rose recognizes as Matthew’s. “Matthew’s here?” Rose confirms, nodding at the gelding. Idris nods. “Of course brother is here.” She never calls him Matthew. Just ‘brother’. Rose can’t help but find the habit adorable. “I didn’t know we were meeting him today,” she says through a smile. “Thought it was jus’ us.” “It was,” Idris answers, a glimmer of a shy smile on her face (her smiles are so very quiet and shy; it takes lots of convincing and coaxing to draw them out). “And it will be. But now, it is us plus brother plus… you’ll see.” Rose frowns a little, curious and confused, and follows Idris into the little house. Whatever she was expecting, it was most certainly not what she saw. Matthew kneels on the rough wooden floor near the fireplace, a handful of small dolls scattered in front of him.. And playing with those dolls is a young blonde girl with wide blue-green eyes. “Daddy who that?” she asks, smiling sweetly. “This must be Rose,” another voice responds, as Rose spins to see a younger woman with curly dark-gold hair leaning against the wall. “It truly is a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Melody. I’m Matthew’s wife.” Rose blinks. “Wife,” she repeats, almost dumbly, finally turning to look at Idris. Idris is positively beaming. “Brother can never tell, but he has his Melody and his Jenny. You must not tell. If you tell about brother, they’ll find out about us.” Her dark eyes suddenly flash scared-nervous-wary-serious. “You wouldn’t, would you?” Rose rushes to reassure. “No, Idris. I swear. ‘M not like that, promise.” She looks from Matthew to Melody, and when she speaks her voice is grave and solemn. “I swear on my life I will never reveal you.” They explain more. Melody is the daughter of Rory and Amelia Williams; Amelia is the only seamstress in town, and Rory is a tailor. They own a small shop, and Melody grew up aiding them. Then Matthew came into town to purchase a birthday gift for his mother--a dress, he’d decided--at seventeen and discovered the beautiful, shy sixteen-year-old girl. They were married, in secret by a trustworthy old priest named Wilf, just a few months later; however, Jenny wasn’t born until nearly two and a half years into their marriage. Somehow, though it’s been basically six years, the Lord and Lady Smythe have yet to discover the truth lying within the walls of the small cottage Matthew loves. Rose silently wonders how much longer the peace will last.

Two years pass. Rose is twenty, Idris finally turning eighteen. Little Jenny loves her Aunt Rose. They are a family. Idris tells Rose she loves her for the first time, and Rose leans in and kisses Idris, soft and sweet and chaste, full of love and hope and promise. “I love you too, Idris Smythe,” Rose murmurs, and kisses Idris again. Then Idris’s eighteenth birthday comes, and Rose is invited to the ball--of course she is, given that Matthew is courting her. It’s a masquerade, but Rose is still fairly certain she sees Melody among the crowd, dancing with Matthew during one of the waltzes; Rose manages to steal a single dance with Idris. It’s the best part of her evening. The worst part of her evening comes when she overhears a quiet conversation-- “Finally eighteen. Can we marry her off now?” “Who would wish for the idiot younger daughter as a match for their son?” “You raise a fine point, love, but the sooner we’re rid of her the better. I do love our Idris, but if I’m perfectly honest she’s little more than a liability and she terrifies half the servants.” “Mmm. You know, I’ve heard rumors of…” The voices trail off as the Lord and Lady of Gallifrey Estate walk away, arms linked, and Rose grits her teeth and clenches her fists in an effort to contain her fury. Idris, her Idris, is not a thing to be given away when she’s lost her value. Idris is worth infinitely more than that--worth more than her parents can comprehend. Practically vibrating with rage, Rose stalks through the grand ballroom and slips outside into the endless gardens. No one will notice her absence, not now that the wine’s been flowing freely for a few hours. It’s only a few minutes later, however, that she meets someone else. “Rose?” Idris asks softly, appearing from the shadows--maskless and uncharacteristically vulnerable, hair glowing softly in the liquid silver moonlight. “That you?” “Yeah,” Rose answers, turning quietly, removing her mask. “‘S me. Had to get away from everyone.” “As did I.” They stand in silence for a long moment, then Rose sighs. “Happy birthday, Idris.” A smile blossoms on Idris’s face, the young woman radiating joy and warmth. “Oh, my Rose. I love you,” she murmurs. “Quite right,” Rose whispers with a faint laugh. “Would you like your gift now? I’ve been waiting to give it to you all evening.” Idris nods, and Rose steps closer. “Here it is, then,” she breathes, and closing the last of the gap between them she kisses Idris and she can taste the starlight on her lips.

#doctor who #idris x rose #eleven #Jackie tyler #rose tyler #idris #the tardis #pete tyler #a bunch of other characters #Victorian au #regency au #part one #of three #not sure what this is #or how to tag it #but here enjoy #femslash #femslash february #i hope it's good

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childrenofhypnos · 7 years

Text

Chapter 4: Sandman

“Pick up your feet, Ashworth!”

“I’m half a lap ahead of everyone else, Marcia! My feet are up.”

“That’s Professor Montgomery!”

“You’re only three years older than us!”

“Practically an old lady, and I’d still run faster than you.”

Marcia Montgomery, weapons expert, annoyed Emery on good days and made her homicidal on bad ones. Marcia had planted herself at the center of the gym, burly and tall as an Amazon, to watch the students run laps. Her orange hair shone bright beneath the gym lights.

Emery rounded the turn of the track and looked back. The rest of the class labored on behind her. None of them were slower than her, they just paced themselves in the beginning while Emery sprinted ahead. Wes floated in the middle of the pack, absolutely invisible unless she was looking for him.

Average. He was so average. He had the frame and muscle to support both speed and strength, so Emery wasn’t sure if he hadn’t realized it yet or if he just didn’t know how to make his body work the way it should.

They finished the lap. Marcia barked, “No resting! Weapons out, five more laps! I’m tacking on three every time someone slouches!”

The group rippled silver and gold as dreamform weapons appeared from pockets and pieces of jewelry. Swords, knives, whips, bows. Emery pulled her Peacemakers from her bracelet and they grew to their full size. She looked back again after the next corner. A bubble had formed around Wes to make room for his war hammer.

The thing was honestly the most ridiculous weapon Emery had ever seen. The head of it, a blunt smashing face on both sides, was as big as Wes’s chest. Had it been a real weapon, it wouldn’t have stayed in one piece, much less been weighted correctly.

Their dreamform weapons were supposed to come from a subconscious place, the type of weapon chosen from some deep well of human history inside them. At fifteen, forming their weapons for the first time, it was a game to see if they could guess from what time and place the weapon had originated. Emery’s had been easy: late 1800s America, maybe the most contemporary weapons formed by a dreamhunter.

Wes’s though…the only conclusion their classmates could come to about that hammer was “compromising for something.”

Marcia yelled, “Everyone get on pace with their partner for the last two laps, or it’s ten more for everyone!”

A groan erupted behind Emery. She glanced over her shoulder to meet Wes’s eye without slowing down. Frustration flickered in his face, and anger in everyone else’s. Wes gripped the hammer in both hands and shouldered his way to the front of the group, then sprinted to catch up with Emery. The hammer shouldn’t have been much of an issue, since they’d been trained to alter weapon weight the same as weapon size, but Marcia had crushed them into the ground with the morning’s workout, and the run was the last stretch before the end of class.

Wes reached Emery and slowed to her pace. Sweat dripped from his hair.

“Way to be a team player, Ashworth,” Marcia sniped. Emery ignored her.

“Don’t collapse,” Emery said to Wes.

“I might collapse, but at least I didn’t run ahead to make myself look better than everyone else,” he replied between breaths.

Emery’s nose prickled. “Have they given us a new assignment yet?”

“It’s only been three days since the last one, and we were just assigned partners. They’re not going to load us up with missions right away.”

“I’m sure Terms and Recs has plenty. I’ll ask.”

He glared at her. “Stop trying to get rid of me.”

“Stop making it so tempting.”

Marcia’s glare drilled into Emery’s side for the rest of the period, until Marcia dismissed them with a look of disgust, despite that they’d all completed her workout to perfection. Then, when they didn’t get out of the gym fast enough, she threatened them with a hundred suicides during their weapons training later that day.

Emery waited until the other girls had cycled through the locker room before she took her shower. The few there still gave her looks as she passed through. They were fleeting glances, not meant as accusatory but coming off like that anyway, and Emery ran through her usual list of wonderings if they hated her, or resented her, or just wanted her gone.

Poor Emery, top of the class, superstar parents and granddaughter of the dean, guaranteed to pass her Insanity Prime.

They didn’t have to say it. She didn’t blame them; she’d hate her, too, if she was in their position.

She took her shower and walked across the quad with her hair coiled in a towel. The Crossing buzzed with day division students recently woken up for breakfast, and Emery slipped in with the crowd to climb to the cozy second-floor balcony that looked down on the atrium food court. Doors to the student council offices lined the wall opposite the railing, marked beginning at XV and ending at XX. A council for every grade of weapon-wielding dreamhunters, fifteen to twenty.

Emery pushed her way through door XVIII. Inside, dusy paintings of old Ward members lined the walls, velvet curtains draped from the tall window, and a stout round table sat in the center of the room, decorated today by a very explicit ice carving of Fabian Fenhallow and a dolphin.

Emery jarred to a halt. “What the hell is that.”

Three heads popped up around the table. The first was Emery’s boyfriend, Joel Cullweather: bright-eyed, dimple-cheeked, a smile lighting his face as soon as he saw her. The second, Lewis Kowalski, was looking familiarly disgruntled, still wearing a backpack loaded with pins that said things like Fenhallow Theatre Society and Ask me about my accents. And the third, the bushy-tailed to Joel’s bright-eyed, was Kris Arevalo, who was small and round and always smelled like a mixture of chemicals from the research labs and some kind of lemon body spray.

“Isn’t it great?” Joel leaped to his full height, spreading his arms toward the sculpture. “Yael in the kitchens is an ice sculptor! She made this for me.”

“But why?”

“He asked for it.” Lewis rocked back onto the carpet instead of standing. “Please tell him to get rid of it.”

“I think it’s…um…charming.” Kris stood next to Joel, wearing a look of apprehensive support.

“Why a dolphin?” Emery asked.

“I thought the Fenhallows were into dolphins,” Joel said. “Jacqueline talks about them all the time.”

“I think Jacqueline is into dolphins, Jojo. And not…like that.” Emery pulled the towel out of her hair and tossed it over the back of the nearest chair, then examined the sculpture from another angle while she fluffed out her roots. “Speaking of Jacqueline, she’s going to be pissed when she sees this. What’s it for?”

“I want to mount it on top of the atrium fountain. No warning, no explanation.” Joel’s smile was radiant.

“A prank.”

“Yes.”

“And when, exactly, do you plan on mounting it?”

“No idea. Suggestions?”

Lewis grumbled something that sounded like Hypnos’s balls. Kris kept smiling, but passed a quick hand over her eyes when the smile turned hysterical. The sculpture was dripping.

“Three AM,” Emery said. “When they lock the food court for an hour for morning prep.”

Joel beamed.

The door behind Emery swung open. Jacqueline Fenhallow strode in, her phone pressed to her ear.

“No, I told him if he put his name down on the project, I was going straight to Professor Min to—” Jacqueline’s gaze landed on the sculpture. She paused mid-stride and mid-word, mouth gaping open. “Ver, I have to call you back.”

She snapped her thumb down on her phone screen.

The string of expletives that left her mouth had even Emery’s ears burning.

“In what world is this okay? Who did this? Joel? Emery?”

“You really think I did this, Jackie?” Emery spat, falling into a chair. Lewis shot her a look like, You didn’t start it, but you were definitely helping Joel make it worse.

Jacqueline’s lip curled in signature Jacqueline disgust. Emery admired that lip curl—it was an art form. “I shouldn’t be surprised. No one here respects the Fenhallows anymore anyway. It’s not like the school is named after us, or anything.”

Jacqueline took the seat next to Emery with a scoff, looking anywhere but at the sculpture. Emery motioned to Joel, who hustled to move the sculpture to a table in the corner. Then he, Kris, and Lewis joined them at the table.

Once a week, the class eighteen student council met during their free periods to go over student council business. The five of them had been their student council since they were fifteen, reelected over the years for various reasons. Jacqueline, Kris, and Lewis actually did a good job and campaigned well; Joel and Jacqueline were both among the popular elite of Fenhallow’s day class; and for Emery, being constantly reelected student council president was a bit of a joke among her night division classmates. The more unpopular she became, the funnier the joke was.

Emery was the only dreamhunter among them, so for them, the politics of the night division students was just gossip.

Jacqueline pulled a neat purple planner and sleek purple pen from her bag and scooted her chair up tight to the table. She flipped her straight black hair over her shoulder and primly cleared her throat.

“Why aren’t you the president, Jackie?” Emery asked, slinging her legs over the arm of her chair. “You’re so prepared.”

Jacqueline picked through the pages of her planner, carefully keeping her head up and her eyes down. “Because the people wanted you, Queen Emery. God forbid we have a non-dreamhunter student council president.”

“It’s really not that bad—” Kris began.

Both Emery and Jacqueline silenced her with stares.

The truth was, at fifteen years old, Emery was the only dreamhunter student to run for a position on her class’s student council, and the dreamhunter students didn’t dislike her enough at the time to suffer a council without one of their own representing.

“Can we start?” Lewis said.

Emery met Joel’s gaze across the table. He was watching her, his gaze attentive but not worried. He smiled a little, shook his head. They both knew that when Jacqueline said Queen Emery, she meant it with affection. They’d been friends for too long for it to mean anything else.

“First order of business.” Jacqueline marked something in her planner and turned curtly to Emery. “You get that hot piece of meat Jager as a partner and you want to give him up?”

Emery choked. “Since when are you interested in men?”

“Since never, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate.”

“And since when does being partners with someone mean I want to do with them—whatever Fabian is doing with that dolphin? Also thank you for implying in front of my boyfriend that I want to sleep with another guy.”

“I dunno, Em,” Joel said, “if you wanna do a polyamorous sort of thing…”

“That sounds great, Jojo, but I am not interested in Wes.”

“Well, I thought we were going to do actual business this morning,” Lewis said, reaching into his backpack for his homework. “How naive I am.”

“So did I!” Emery cried. “Why does everyone want to talk about this? I went on one mission without him, and everyone’s acting like it’s the most INTERESTING NEWS EVER.”

“That whale was pretty big,” Kris said. “And I saw Ridley Jager earlier today. She told me to tell you to watch your back.”

“Ridley—now Ridley Jager is threatening me? Because I stiffed her brother? She’s a pipe cleaner with arms, and she’s nicer than you, Kris. What’s she going to do, beat me with her smile?”

“I also have it on good authority that your downswing in popularity among the night division has caused an upswing for Wes.” Jacqueline’s straight, neat eyebrows rose. “He’s being invited to parties.”

“Who told you that? Veronica?”

Jacqueline shrugged.

“Okay, let’s get some things straight.” Emery held up her hand, one finger raised. “One: I am not interested in Wesley Jager.” Another finger. “Two: I never will be. Three: Any rumors you hear are false and not to be believed.”

“So you didn’t get flattened to a roof by nightmare whale vomit?” Lewis said.

“I’m gonna stuff that notebook down your throat, Lewis,” Emery replied. “Four: I only have to be his partner for another month, so if we could get through that time without any more questions, I would really appreciate it.”

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. I’m just saying, it’s a way more interesting topic than the Ward Review.”

Lewis shoved his notebook away. “Yes! Real work!”

“The review isn’t for like three weeks.” Joel sank into his chair until his long legs straddled the center column of the table. He tapped his shoe against Emery’s ankle. “What do we even have to do? Decorate the student center? Play a little song when the rep comes in?” He did a jig in his chair. “Oh please Mr. Representative, don’t close down our schoooooool…”

Emery snorted.

“No one’s closing down Fenhallow,” Jacqueline said. “And don’t act like we haven’t gone through this before. Class Eighteen’s job is to make sure the campus is informed that the representative is visiting so that we project the best image possible—Emery, care to stop buzzing?”

Emery’s phone vibrated against her leg. She’d planned to ignore it, but at Jacqueline’s stare she finally glanced at the screen.

“Huh. It’s my grandpa.”

“What’s he calling you for in the middle of the day?” Joel asked.

“No idea.” The call ended before Emery could answer. A moment later, Grandpa Al sent a text.

“‘Meet in my office as soon as possible,’” Emery read. She stood and reached for her bag. “He never texts me.”

“We just started,” Lewis said.

“Sorry—send me notes or something. We should meet again later this week. Dinner! Let’s get dinner on Thursday. Cool? Cool.”

“I hope everything’s okay!” Kris called as Emery hurried out the door, at the same time Jacqueline said, “Effing Ashworths.”

Emery spotted Wes heading toward the front doors of the administration building as she strode past the statues of Fabian Fenhallow—clothed and dolphinless—and Iltani. Wes came from the other direction, and he saw her when they reached the bottom of the admin building steps at the same time.

His face fell. Emery started up the steps two at a time. Wes picked up the pace bethind her. Emery reached the first landing and pushed herself faster.

“Are you serious?” Wes hissed.

Emery reached the front doors first. She pulled one open, and Wes’s hand caught it over her head, holding it while she ducked inside.

“Hi, David!” Emery darted past the receptionist with Wes on her heels. David watched them pass with a nonplussed look. They raced up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway, walking as fast as they could without running, Wes’s hands clenched at his sides, Emery’s damp hair swishing behind her.

She stopped just before the dean’s door so that Wes was the one who grabbed the handle and tore it open. He froze, framed in the doorway with an angry red face, and looked over at Emery.

“You are a child,” he muttered.

Emery smiled and slipped into the room past him.

Inside, Grandpa Al stood at the window behind his desk, wearing a smart tweed suit and tie. The only other person there was Marcia, her wild hair clipped back and her arms bare despite the chill in the weather. She looked at them with a fierceness that sent a shiver down Emery’s spine, worsened by the fact that Emery rarely found herself put off by Marcia’s looks, especially after a morning of Marcia running the students into the ground.

“Is this about class today?” Emery said. “Because I didn’t do anything—”

Grandpa Al turned from the window. “No, it’s not about class, Em. Wes, sit—would you like some tea? Marcia chose a nice Oolong.”

Marcia’s teacup sat, steaming and untouched, on top of the bureau beside her.

Wes sank into one of the chairs before the desk. “No, thank you.”

“Do you have any of the Krasnodar left?” Emery stretched over the desk to peer through the glass-front cabinet by the window, at the many assorted tea packets and containers inside.

“I’m afraid you finished it off last month, and your mother hasn’t been back to bring more.”

“Well, never mind then.”

Wes’s cheeks slowly returned to their normal color. “If this isn’t about class, then why is Marcia here?”

“Professor Montgomery,” Marcia grumbled, side-eyeing him.

“Well.” Grandpa Al clapped his hands together. “I have a mission for the two of you.”

Emery lowered herself into the second chair. “A mission? Why didn’t it come through Terms and Recs?”

“It didn’t come through Terminations and Request Fulfillments because this isn’t a nightmare hunt or a checkup. This is something I’m hoping the two of you will be uniquely equipped to handle. I called Professor Montgomery in because I wanted her report on your progress in class. She agrees with me that a…remedial lesson might be what we need to get the two of you on the same page.”

Emery narrowed her eyes. “You just said two different things. Is it a special mission only the two of us can handle, or is it a remedial lesson because we don’t work well together?”

“Both,” Marcia growled.

“Why are you so angry?” Emery asked.

“I’m always angry.” Marcia grabbed her teacup, downed it in one quick swig, and set it atop the bureau before marching out of the room. Emery and Wes watched her go, then glanced at each other.

“Do you know what that was about?” Emery said.

Wes shrugged.

“So.” Grandpa Al settled behind his desk and wrapped his long fingers appreciatively around his own steaming teacup. “As I said, this isn’t a hunt for nightmares. This is a search. For a person. Another hunter, actually.”

The clock ticked on the wall.

“We’re hunting a dreamhunter?” Wes said.

“You’re searching for a dreamhunter,” said Grandpa Al. “We have reason to believe he’s here, in the Sleeping City. If you do find him, under no circumstances are you to engage him. If you find him, you are to report your location and circumstances immediately and vacate the area. Searching for him isn’t dangerous per se, but we are going to leave his confrontation to our full-time dreamhunters.”

“So who is he?” Emery said. “Why aren’t full-time crews already looking for him?”

“They are. Which is why I’m not worried about you two joining them. I hope you might be able to see something they might miss. This is an ongoing night mission. After your classes, you’ll be expected to enter the city and follow any leads you might find.”

Wes looked hesitant. “You still haven’t said who he is.”

Grandpa Al sipped at his tea. “We’re calling him ‘the Sandman.’”

Emery snorted. “The guy who throws dust in your face and makes you go to sleep?”

“There’s a bit more to the story of the Sandman than that, but he’s along those lines, yes. He went rogue several years ago and disappeared, but he was trained here at Fenhallow. That’s a large part of the reason we need to find him. We believe he is tampering with the Dream in relation to the citizens of the Sleeping City, causing trouble that could raise the rate of escaped nightmares exponentially.”

“Why are we only hearing about him now?” Emery asked. “That’s not a small thing—shouldn’t the whole school know? As the ones who’ll have to fight those nightmares if it does happen?”

“It hasn’t happened yet, Em,” Grandpa Al said calmly, “and we’d like to keep everyone from panicking while we remedy the situation. If it comes to a point where the administration believes the school needs to be involved, the campus will be informed.”

“Dangerous rogue dreamhunter, possible nightmare parade through the city, can’t tell anyone…sounds fun. So what does this guy look like? How are we supposed to find him?”

“You won’t catch him walking along the street in broad daylight. Even with a disguise, he wouldn’t risk anyone who knows him seeing him out and about. He’s a skilled hunter, but he radiates the Dream the same way an escaped nightmare does. That part of himself he can’t disguise, not the way a dreamkiller can. As for how you find him, that’s part of your mission. Let’s see how resourceful you can be.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you. Together.”

“We get it, Grandpa.”

“You have today to prepare. Tomorrow night, I expect you on the streets. This has already been filed in your mission logs, so don’t worry about the paperwork.” Grandpa Al smiled over his teacup. “You can return to your schedules.”

They got up to leave.

“Don’t forget,” Grandpa Al said, going back to his paperwork, “he’s not a nightmare. He’s not a dreamkiller, either. If he were either of those things, he wouldn’t be as much of a problem as he is.”

“A dreamkiller would be less of a problem than a dreamhunter?” Emery stopped with her hand on the door handle. “How? Dreamhunters aren’t as strong.”

“No, they aren’t. Not before their Insanity Primes.” Grandpa Al glanced up at them over the rims of his glasses. “But a dreamkiller has stability. A dreamhunter cresting into their Prime does not.”

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> Stumbling Into A B-Horror Movie Plot)

#children of hypnos #nightmare hunters #ya #yalit #ya books #books

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