#literally tiny

▸jasmine ‘jas’ lin 

october 1989, 43 women who were not pregnant earlier that day gave birth. that week reginald hargreeves bought adopted seven of them. jasmine lin was not one of them; though he probably could have gotten her if he’d bothered to wait 3 months longer. her ‘parents’ were quick to give her up when it became obvious she would be a challenging child. after too much loud wailing and shattered glass - windows and glassware alike - the young couple abandoned the mysterious babe outside the local firehouse.

if they’d left her with a name, she didn’t care to use it and the orphanage matron didn’t either. they called her ‘anne’ until she was old enough to choose her own name. 

jasmine, or ‘jas’ as she often preferred, was a peculiar child. a bit of a crybaby with a glass-shattering wail that earned her the punishment of being raised in a lightbulb-less room with a single unglazed window and only allowed plastic crockery for her meals. in the winter, she was granted more blankets, though sometimes she wondered if the matron simply hoped she would perish to the cold. she didn’t, instead persevering and growing. she had no chance of adoption, not with her strange abilities and her mostly lacking social relations - unaided by the matron’s isolation of her. on the dawning of her 18th birthday, she was kicked to the curb with little more than chump change to her name. she took up the surname ‘lin’, shattered every window in the orphanage, and that was that.

it was no easy beginning to her life. she lived in homeless shelters and slept where she could, even on trains or buses until the end of their lines. it was a stroke of luck paired with agnes rofa’s kindness that got her a job at griddy’s. she had a surprising talent for baking and was kindly enough to be favoured by patrons. putting aside much of her pay checks, she eventually managed to get herself a decent enough apartment and was looking into opening her own cafe by her late 20s.

that was the simple part though. less simple were klaus and diego hargreeves. klaus was a friendly face who somehow managed to show up any night jas went out, no matter the bar or club. he called her ‘jazzy’ and bought - well, stole - her shots and brought a kind of fun to her life that she seldom had ever had. diego was a friend of her neighbour, eudora patch’s — and a mask-donning vigilante that tumbled through the wrong window one night, bloody and bruised. diego brought an excitement she didn’t exactly want, but refused to let slip away, if only because she was worried one night he’d end up too injured and with nobody to help him. as stubborn as he was, there was a softness underneath that she gently urged out of him. there was a humorous side that she only saw when he was alone with her and eudora. it took longer than she’d ever admit to to realise the connection between the two men.