two faces

TO BE FAIR, he really didn’t expect anyone to talk to him at all, let alone use him as a stress relief colouring book, so there’s not much eagerness and compassion in the man’s eyes. He’s been told not one time that he has… a certain type of face, to put it lightly. The type that doesn’t usually prompt people to open up to him, sometimes even those who know him — let alone strangers at train stations. So the woman’s reaction and the awkward silence that follows doesn’t come as a surprise, although deep down in his heart of hearts he wishes it wasn’t always like this.

“ Well, tha’- ” Finally, using a moment of peace and quiet after a lengthy and frankly completely unprofessional discussion with a client, Moran tucks away his phone and even turns to the woman, trying ineptly to show his solicitude. He doesn’t usually care about appearing nice and polite, nor does he plan to start now, so it probably looks half-hearted from her perspective, but there’s no need to be rude to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Emma wouldn’t have liked that. ( She wouldn’t have liked many other things. )   “ Tha’ depends on how long ye’ve been doin’ it. Pro'ly no’ gonna help for good long while. First… couple o’ months yer jus’ gonna have t’ push and hope for some results. ” 

THERE’S  A  LARGE  LUMP  OF  GUILT  BUILDS  UP  IN  HER  THROAT,  BUBBLING   up  slowly  with  every  breath.     She  couldn’t  do  anything  right,  could  she?     Her  eyes  slip  shut  as  Alistair’s  voice  shouts  at  her,  a  phantom  only  she  could  hear.     Why  couldn’t  he  just   DIE ?     Die  like  he  killed  their  son...  without  a  word,  in             s i l e n c e ?     But  he  lingered,  haunting  her  as  deeply  as  Noah’s  cries.    How  could  she  bother  this  stranger  with  her  ramblings,  even  her  well  thought  out  ones?     No  one  can  help  her...  no  one  would   c a r e   to.

spice : vanilla and cardamon

weather : early spring, where the weather teeters between the chill and ice and warm sunlight and breezes

primary  color :  red

magical  power :  healing

shoe :  burnished brown low heeled oxfords

plant :  foxglove

weapon :   M1911 .45 pistol

school  subject :   biology

social  media :   instagram

makeup  product :  regulation red lipstick

tangible  fear :   drowning

ice  cube  shape :   chips off an ice block

method  of  long – distance  travel : streamliner train, curled up in a third-class window seat, watching the united states whirl by

art  style :   female impressionists of the 1800s

historical  period :  the war of roses

mythological  creature :   guardian angel

piece  of  stationary :  v-mail forms and a black fountain pen

three  emojis :      🍑 🩸  🩺

rom – com  archetype :  the cool girl/the one who's too "uptight" for her own good

            the damn hippocratic oath was getting on his nerves. he felt more at ease around the nurse raggedy ann and doctor visine than this loathsome straggler. not that he trusted the former with amicable feelings, but they made sense. the entity’s realm was chaos, but even chaos needed equilibrium. violence begat violence. if he wronged them he could expect a severed artery in return.

            but the look on this survivor’s face was a painful reminder that humans were sanctimonious creatures.

            ghostface flinched as the weight of her jacket dropped on his shoulders. he’d seen a handful just like it photographed in his grandfather’s wartime mementos. the memories burned through his battered leathers and stamped his skin with a molten cold.

            he cursed her, cursed her damn oath or whatever specious bullshit she told herself as she eyed his mangled form, and cursed the entity for crossing their paths as his body visibly spasmed. with a maddened chuckle, ghostface caved in on himself, betrayed by the body he swore he had absolute control over.

            the ghost didn’t take kindly to acts of kindness. they were an invitation to slip up and ruin all he’d achieved. too many memories wriggled past the mountain of bodies he’d buried them under. the faces of the fools who wanted better for him, the ones who mistook his youthful acts of altruism as something more.

            faces stained with veins of gore pursued him through the haze of blood loss. he struggled to keep his head up as he tried to shake away the visions of sightless eyes staring at him from the mantel of his knife. he was trapped. caught like a gutted rat between the hope he betrayed and too friendly of a face.

            ❝ don’t waste your time playing doctor with me, nurse. death doesn’t last. It’s just a feature. ❞ if he faded, the entity would just stitch his consciousness back into his lifeless limbs. he’d wake up, cold and limb, like a nap in the snow. it’d take a second for his lungs to breathe warm air again and he’d be grateful for his garment’s heat retention.

            ❝ you’ve seen enough guts and glory. take your jacket before i bleed all over it. there’s no dry cleaning in hell. ❞

          NO  PITY  COLORED  her mild gaze as she searched his slumped form for more wounds, hands clasped over her upwards pointed knee.  even if he’d been the rare person to desire it, he far from deserved it.  she knew too exactly who he was to ever feel that emotion for him, though their paths had never crossed in a trial.  the stories of his brutality, his morbid fascination with recording his terrors were often a source of disgusted conversation around the campfire.

          but none of that made him beyond her care, clearly to his displeasure.

          dark brows arched at his sodden words, awash in what seemed like a thin veil of apathy over depths of almost self loathing.  but what she thought and what might be reality could be two entirely different things.  still.          ❝  you went awfully fast from ‘i might kill you’ to ‘i’m not worth the effort’.  ❞        the slightest tinge of amusement colored her tone as she met the shadowed holes that masked his eyes, unable to keep from poking at what she might’ve correctly surmised.  no, perhaps he wasn’t worth her time and effort, but never once had that of any sort determined her choices in the field.  lips that likely almost matched the life spilling out of him twitched into a smile to match her voice.          ❝  but luckily for you, in this condition, playing doctor is absolutely out of the question.  ❞          the same soft half flirtation came too easily to her; he was hardly cursing and swinging, and so she slipped into old routine.

          those now warm eyes glanced down to where his blood began to tinge the collar’s edge, dampness soaking her knee pressed to the dirt.          ❝  too late for that.  ❞           but for all her ease, it was still only a facade, a tense nurse too used to caring for the enemy beneath.  but that false tranquility was as much her natural state before the wounded as an easy and gentle tone.          ❝  but knowing how to get it out is kinda a side effect of my job, no dry cleaners necessary.  ❞        there are the evenings sat beside the fire with blood soaked fabric swishing in an icy helmet, rinsing rinsing rinsing until the water than numbed her fingers ran clear as the girls not on duty passed around some bottle of spirits lifted with fluttering lashes from some gi.

          yes, she’d seen more than enough guts, both before and here, but would that really stop her from helping him?  though it was only a phrase he’d lobbed at her, she still flashed a grimace at his addition of ‘glory’.  nothing about war, about this, was ever glorious.          ❝  but do you really want to die right now?  ❞          now, as if attempting to warm him to her presence by degrees, she risked setting a light hand on the shoulder closest for a heartbeat, hoping even if he reacted with violence, it might... briefly bring some comfort.         ❝  ‘cause you don’t have to... even if yes, you’re gonna wake up all black eyed and bushy strapped.  ❞          she ached to help him, put the taunting medical kit the entity supplied her with to some good use.  to save someone from slipping into the dark and lose something more in the process.

@unwcrldly​ sent:           ❛  talk  to  me .  ❜ Scott to Connie

          STARING  BLANKLY  AT  a point somewhere beside his feet, she simply didn’t react, not to his words, not to a touch.  it wasn’t the same as her jerking away in flurry of movement, but instead she felt as if she were stuck in a pool of molasses, thick and frigid and sticky against her skin and every limb, weighing her down.  somehow, she kept her breathing calm, clinging onto her training as if she were out in the field instead of safely back stateside with someone who cared for her.  but didn’t that make sense when for the briefest of moments she thought she might be back in the sandbox again?

THE  FACT  THAT  THE  MELANCHOLIC  WOMAN  DIDN’T  PLAN  ON  HAVING  COMPANY  and  would  much  prefer  to  indulge  in  whatever  grief  was  so  clearly  eating  her  from  the  inside  wasn’t  lost  on  her,  of  course.     despite  having  to  play  into  the  foolish  little  blonde  stereotype  when  needed,  emma  wasn’t  actually  as  daft  as  she  would  sometimes  allow  herself  to  appear.     considering  her  looks,  most  people  found  it  charming,  but  then  there  were  also  those  who  thought  it  thoroughly  aggravating.     this  woman,  emma  thought  to  herself,  may  have  been  of  the  latter.     and  yet,  she  gladly  took  the  opportunity  to  sit  down  and  strike  up  a  simple  conversation  about  nothing  in  particular  to  hopefully  help  the  stranger  take  her  mind  off  any  troubles  she  was  having  at  the  moment. 

“ i  really  hope  i’m  not  being  a  nuisance. ”      with  a  slight  shake  of  her  head,  her  hair  a  dandelion  fluff  shimmering  in  the  midday  sun,  emma  soundlessly  settled  down  opposite  the  woman  and  took  a  tiny  sip  from  her  cup.     her  gaze  wandering  around  the  table,  she  stopped,  of  course,  on  the  lonely  bottle  of  water  her  inadvertent  companion  was  having.      “ you  don’t  have  to  juice  it,  you  know,  just  open  it. ”      she  smiled  softly,  finally  looking  up  at  the  stranger  in  front  of  her  in  hopes  of  getting  at  least  a  look  of  recognition.     she  had  a  victorian  sort  of  look  about  her,  the  one  of  lifelong  silent  despair  hidden  beneath  a  tightly  laced  corset  and  a  dozen  layers  of  silks,  linens  or,  perhaps,  self-doubt.     her  face  was  pale,  almost  sickly,  her  eyes  —  red  with  barely-tears,  but  even  so  she  was  very  evidently  beautiful.     the  kind  of  beautiful  emma  might’ve  even  called  “ her  type ”  ( whatever  that  meant )  if  it  wasn’t  for  the  patently  awful  timing.      “ are  you  sure  you  don’t  want  to  try  the  tea?     i  might  be  a  bit  biased  but  it’s  really  good. ”

           BROW  KNITTING  EVER  so slightly as her new seatmate chattered on, joanna steadfastly kept her gaze on the edge of the table, memorizing the grooves made by wear into its otherwise perfectly square edge.  there’s a fear of meeting the other’s eyes again welling up beneath her lungs, afraid to see that strange mix of comprehension and what she’d thought was pity, or something as awfully close.  there was something angelic there, but nothing she could bring herself to recognize as the sort brimming with safety.  no, few places held that for her any longer, if any at all.  all she could see were the avengers, the ever so slightly worried looks that dissolved into disgust and anger.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: constance ‘connie’ rose kincaid 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑: dark, warm toned brown 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 / 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑:  dark brown, shoulder length and almost always curled so it doesn’t touch her color or rolled up up off her neck and away from her face 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓:  5′1″ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄: rich, jewel colors accented with white and earth tones, or vice versa.  clean and classic, with a very 1940s look for anything beyond her main verse.  it’s practical but incredibly feminine, with military pieces thrown in. 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: her large, expressive eyes

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 002:   THE INSIDE.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒: loss of what little family she has, of never gaining more, of being trapped, of drowning, of dying with no one beside her 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄: a big cup of vanilla ice cream with hot fudge 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄: casual cruelty 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: to figure out healing from her grief, to maybe reassemble her life and still find someone to live it with

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 003:   THOUGHTS.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏: getting up and throwing herself through her routine 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓: medical issues and problems, making others comfortable 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃: sometimes the day ahead, sometimes she slips into memories about bucky.  those are sad nights 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒: she thinks its her problem solving skills

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 004:    WHAT’S BETTER ?

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒: single, though she adores group dates with the right people 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃: loved, as nothing is better 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: in people, brains, though she has a deep love for all things beautiful 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐒: cats, but she loves both

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 005:   DO THEY  …

𝐋𝐈𝐄: more than she’s ever wanted to, but how do you tell a frightened boy he’s dying? 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒:  if she didn’t, she’d be dead 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: with all her heart, as painful as it has been 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄:  yes, but she’ll never have him again

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 006:    HAVE THEY EVER  …

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄: yes, but only for her music recitals 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐒: no, not without medical reason 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐍: never.  she always found somewhere that would accept her as she is

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 007:   FAVOURITES.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑: reds and pinks 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋: the chipmunk 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊: for whom the bell tolls by earnest hemingway 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄: tag

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 008:   AGE.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄: august third 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐄: verse dependent

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 009:    FINISH THE SENTENCE .

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: too deeply, or maybe i wouldn’t feel this pain. 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋: heavy with the memories i carry. 𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄: the trauma because no one needs this burden. 𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒: him.  just him.  no, all of them.  but most of all him. 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇: i could go back, if only for a second, if only for a kiss.

@owedbcttcr​ asked:    ❝ i won’t be on my own. i’m never on my own. ❞ (joanna)

“ I’M  AFRAID  I’M  NOT  EXACTLY  THE  PERSON  you  were  looking  for,  miss… ”      elias  lifted  his  eyes  with  an  imperceptible  flash,  a  spark  of  curiousity,  when  the  woman  announced  her  presence  in  a  soft,  lost  kind  of  tone.     a  loving  mother  turned  a  merciless  killer.     though  the  murder  wasn’t  committed  in  cold  blood,  far  from  it,  there  was  a  certain  coldness  to  her.     has  it  slithered  its  way  into  her  being  from  the  outside,  from  the  faceless  cameras  and  microphones,  from  uncaring  strangers  with  their  teeth  so  sharp,  always  ready  to  throw  accusations  and  bite  her  where  she  couldn’t  heal?     or  was  it  always  in  her,  from  the  moment  she  was  born,  blooming  painfully  slowly,  meticulously  spreading  its  poisonous  vines  through  every  part  of  her?     perhaps  both. 

he  knew  right  then  and  there  she  was  perfect.     a  perfect  liar.     her  face  turned  into  a  mask  throughout  the  years,  her  body  —  into  armour.     but  beneath  the  hard  protective  shell  there  was  a  beating  heart,  warm,  gentle,  alive,  though  sore  from  the  spikes  surrounding  it.  and  the  spikes  were  those  of  fear.     of  being  known,  revealed,  seen  in  her  horrible  entirety  and  truth.     she  even  developed  a  sort  of  paranoia  about  being  followed.     oh,  she  was  a  special  little  morsel.     he  couldn’t  just  give  her  to  john  right  away,  although  there  might’ve  been  enough  for  both  of  them. 

“ but  i’m  willing  to  listen,  of  course.     are  you  here  to  make  a  statement? ”

           AS  THE  MAN’S  eyes set on her, joanna struggled again the rising urge to back away, to turn and leave and bury herself under the blankets of her bed.  as if that ever helped her feel safe anymore.  no where felt safe, to the point that she almost associated being alone with it, but even completely isolated from everyone else, it still followed her.  it’d not always been this way.  once she only needed to pull the covers over her head and curl under their warm embrace with a torch and a book and she’d slip away to safety.  then there were friends and warm arms and soft kisses that soothed away any fears in their own ways.  but how long had it been since she held any of those close?

           instead, every muscle ached with an exhaustion she just couldn’t shake and for the longest time, she simply attributed it to her anxiety and insomnia, the night terrors that beset her even when she managed to fall into sleep.  that same sensation that forced out words she barely realized she spoke until they’d escaped, apparently heard by mr. bouchard, or so he was titled by the one that led her here.  a death grip of one hand on the opposite wrist until the both smarted under the pressure, she softly nodded, free hand wrapping about the top of a chair with equal force, white knuckles easily on display.  her fear thundered in her ears, and yet, as so often she had in the last few years, she felt she had no other choice that remain planted, trembling beneath the mask, in the face of it.           ❝  i... i suppose?  ❞            no, she really didn’t want to give any sort of statement.  that reeked of the hours spent in an uncomfortable chair, a pair of police officers staring at her, first with pity, the second with disgust.         ❝  i came... more for some... advice.  ❞

NAME :  joanna lindsay EYE  COLOUR : chocolate brown HAIR  STYLE   /   COLOUR : straight shoulder blade length dyed blonde hair HEIGHT :  5′2″ / 1.5m CLOTHING  STYLE : soft fabrics and cool colors: creams and browns and blues and greys, blending into the background of a city on the edge of the highlands.  fitted underlayers and loose over, chunky sweaters and thin knitted leggings, skinny trousers.  the occasional expression of pure femininity but more likely a more minimalist take on her clothes.  if not at work or for going out, it’s a haphazard casualness the flows through all her clothing choices PHYSICAL  FEATURE : fine boned and delicate, with wide, dark, almost deep set eyes that seem to swell with her pain.  thick dark brows that compliment her large eyes.  a button nose that offsets her medium mouth, perfectly formed full lips, all on a round face.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  002 : THE INSIDE .

FEARS :  that everyone can peer beneath her skin and see exactly who she is, or rather, find the evidence to prove their views of her, that she’s a horrible person, a horrible mother, that the beat of her heart will never be painless again, that the hole will never fill and she’ll be left to wander this world alone, always wrapped in pain.... but to her, that’s all she also deserves GUILTY  PLEASURE  : a sweet, scalding cup of mocha cappuccino AMBITIONS  FOR  THE  FUTURE : it used to be to form a family where she had none, to raise her child with all the love she could give, to be a good teacher and instill hope and a love for learning.  now, she has none... other than to survive the day

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  003 : THOUGHTS .

FIRST  THOUGHTS  WAKING  UP : her heart clenching in her chest in a vice like it was about to burst, whether from the almost ever present nightmares or the realization that every thing isn’t a dream, that it was real.  that everything she ever loved is dead WHAT  THEY  THINK  ABOUT  MOST :  straining to remember every detail of her little boy, clinging to every visceral memory in a desperate attempt to keep those clear and not have them fade away or turn into some fuzzy mess.  she aches to hold him again, to smell him, to even hear him cry.  she’d take his sobs forever if she could just have him back WHAT  THEY  THINK  ABOUT  BEFORE  BED : just wanting it all to stop, to just not wake up, but never believing she has a right to try to end it all again WHAT  THEY  THINK  THEIR  BEST  QUALITY  IS :  her quick mind and her trust, but now, who knows

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  004 : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE  OR  GROUP  DATES : single, but groups are fun TO  BE  LOVED  OR  RESPECTED :   to be loved. she’s always pursued love, not only the romantic but the platonic, filling the void of all her losses with the care of friends and lovers.  and even now, as she feels she can never again deserve it, let alone find it, it’s all she ever wants to have again BEAUTY  OR  BRAINS :  brains.  she’d spent too much time on education to not prefer it over anything else.  beauty is just the icing on the cake of life, something to look for but never expect to find DOGS  OR  CATS :  she’s never had a pet, but she thinks she might like a dog

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  005 :     DO THEY …

LIE :  to herself, to others, the lies fall easily but not without each placing another stab wound in her heart.  even twisting the truth to hide reality hurts her, but she’s had to learn to bury it all behind the shield of herself, the mask, the other joanna in an attempt to survive.  it doesn’t always work BELIEVE  IN  THEMSELVES : she used to think she could do anything she put her mind to, help anyone.  but she barely rescued herself and lost everything in the attempt.  what is there to believe in? BELIEVE  IN  LOVE :  despite it all, yes, yes, she does.  it’s the most powerful thing in her world, love and anger and hate, the cycle goes on and on without end WANT  SOMEONE :  yes, her baby and no one else

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  006 :    HAVE THEY EVER …

BEEN  ON  STAGE :  once, a school play as some minor character DONE  DRUGS : yes, a bit of weed in uni and now, well, some of what she takes definitely fits that description... when she takes it CHANGED  WHO  THEY  WERE  TO  FIT  IN : if she’s had to, but never quite willingly except for who she loves.  for them, she’d be almost anything

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  007 : FAVOURITES .

FAVOURITE  COLOUR : pink, either the palest of tones or the richest of burgandy FAVOURITE  ANIMAL :  lions FAVOURITE  BOOK :   dead souls by nikoli gogol FAVOURITE  GAME :  snakes and ladders

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  008 : AGE .

DAY  THEIR  NEXT  BIRTHDAY  WILL  BE : december 12 HOW  OLD  WILL  THEY  BE :   thirty-five

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍  009 : FINISH THE SENTENCE .

I  LOVE : but they’re beyond my reach I  FEEL : until it cracks open my chest I HIDE :  everything i can but it bleeds from my eyes I MISS :  everything about him I WISH : that the world would stop turning... or that i could get the courage to step off

AND  THERE  IT  WAS,  the  firm  belief  in  the  uniqueness  and  importance  of  one’s  own  suffering  so  inherent  among  the  ordinary  crowd.     even  with  his  ability  to  look  into  people’s  heads  richard  could  never  fully  grasp  the  need  for  this  virtually  empty  bravado,  although  in  her  case  it  was  most  likely  an  attempt  to  conceal  her  fear  and  confusion.     in  any  case,  he  could  elucidate  to  the  poor  girl  that  she  was  gravely  mistaken  but  that  would’ve  been  entirely  too  boring.    perhaps,  the  sheer  pleasure  of  playing  cat  and  mouse  made  him  an  even  more  insufferable  opponent  in  her  eyes  but  he  didn’t  care  in  the  slightest. 

“ well,  i’m  a  little  older  than  i  might  appear,  miss  kincaid,  so  don’t  rush  to  judge  a  book  by  its  cover. ”      lips  slightly  curved  in  a  viperous  smirk,  mendelson  looked  right  through  connie  as  if  her  physical  presence  was  completely  insignificant.     she  obviously  had  no  clue  but  he  still  found  her  seeming  boldness  amusing.     he  knew  people  better  than  she  could  ever  comprehend.     he  knew  them  to  their  core,  knew  their  deepest  fears  and  most  terrifying  secrets,  things  they  didn’t  even  know  themselves.     he  could  live  their  entire  existences  in  mere  seconds,  flipping  through  them  as  if  they  were  tedious  tomes,  cherry-picking  the  moments  he  considered  to  be  ripe.     he  wore  them  like  disguises,  though,  unlike  the  stranger,  he  much  prefered  to  leave  the  carcass  breathing  and  dreaming  of  being  free  from  the  all-seeing  eye  in  the  night.     or  was  it  not  enough  for  her?     did  he  have  to  hold  some  dying  blood-soaked  soldier  in  the  middle  of  a  battlefield  to  be  considered  understanding?

           CHOCOLATE  EYES  NARROWED  sharply at his dismissal.  she hadn’t ‘judged him by his cover’, but instead by his attitude, his actions up to this point.  and he, despite his verbal protest of her reckoning, at the same time, appeared to have no desire to disprove it.  the ant under the boot was a feeling she was all too used to growing up, only for bucky and steve to swoop in and...

           none of it mattered.  neither of them would ever have her back again, and certainly not against this prick.

           scarlet lips pressed into a thin line as a rarely released temper smoldered under her skin.          ❝  my opinion has nothing to do with your appearance, mr. mendelson.  ❞          hardly, unless he simply meant first impressions, but even then, when someone acted as he did, there was little she could do.          ❝  you’ve been impossible since i’ve sat down, why i haven’t the faintest, so please, don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.  i highly doubt you’re that oblivious.  ❞          her quietly contained, for the moment, fury was far from an act, her anger only fueled by her discomfort with the entire situation, second guessing her decision to come at all, let alone sit in the chair.  perhaps the idea that she might get any answers at all for something so seemingly beyond the understandable was as foolish as she’d originally thought it.

          ❝  so, do you want my account or do you want me to leave?  ❞