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buck-buck-boose · 3 years

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

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Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Big things are happening y'all

Chapter Twenty-One: The Super Soldier

March 19, 1943

Dawn crept up on Camp Lehigh in a thick haze of fog, the chirp of crickets its only whispered greeting. A late-winter frost bloomed across what little grass remained, the majority having been trampled underfoot by platoon after platoon of soldiers. Winter was quickly fading, giving way to a promising spring, but the bitter chill still latched onto those dewy mornings to remind Camp Lehigh’s inhabitants of the cold season they’d just nearly escaped.

Although sessions of training were not due to begin for hours, warm bodies were stirred from slumber in their barracks, meeting the cold, stale air of their poorly-insulated lodgings. The nurse’s barracks was lit by a lamp's dim glow, which splayed a flush of golden light across the room. Five women quietly and nimbly dressed, none of them wishing to break the silence that balanced among them; the early morning was sacred to them, as it seemed to be the only time apart from nighttime in which one could be alone with one’s thoughts.

Lottie deftly pinned her mousy curls beneath her white cap, caring little for their arrangement or appearance. Once upon a time, she’d tamed her curls with gentle finger waves and carefully pinned back strands, desperate to look the part of a fair woman like Ginger Rogers. It was a quieter, more joyful time in which she had the time and desire to put ample effort into her appearance. How simpler life in Brooklyn seemed, in retrospect. She only had to care for Steve or Bucky’s wounds, usually from some street brawl instigated by Steve and ended by Bucky; now she had soldiers to care for. Soldiers who would one day be covered in great, gaping wounds, some so deeply ingrained within their souls that neither the highest of morphine dosages nor the strongest suture could soothe them.

Lottie made swift work of fastening her blue cape around her neck, situating it so that the inner red lining wasn’t peeking out. In her peripherals, Mary smoothed a hand down her white skirt in a weak attempt at combatting its wrinkles while Betty gave her face a once-over in a battered compact that she always seemed to have on her person. Lottie was downright envious of her ever-red lip and sultry gaze, they seemed to turn the heads of all the young privates on base, which earned them more than a few reprimands. It was only a few weeks ago that Betty had explained her reasoning for putting such effort into her physical charm, even in the middle of the war.

“Nurses are supposed to provide comfort, care, right?” She sat across from Lottie at their table in the mess hall, smoke curling from a freshly lit cigarette resting between her fingers. She puffed on the cigarette for a moment and slowly exhaled the smoke, “Well these boys have been stuck in a war for over a year now and they probably haven’t seen a pretty face in a while. They’re probably missing their sweethearts, fiancées, you name it. Either way, they’ve gotta be awful lonely out there, so what’s the harm in being that girl with the pretty face that can make them a little less lonesome?”

Before anyone could raise a question, she continued, “I’m not talking affairs or anything illicit, sometimes they just need a pretty face and a nice voice to remind ‘em of home, to ease that loneliness.”

Betty’s little sermon drew Lottie’s thoughts to Bucky. He was a fiercely loyal man who would stop at nothing to protect or care for his closest companions. For his own sake, Lottie hoped that he’d found a sort of comradery with his fellow soldiers, a bond to strengthen him while they were separated by an ocean. He’d always had a habit of flashing her his trademark grin and ruffling her hair, all while declaring something silly like “You ‘n Steve are all I need, Little Lottie. It’s always gonna be the three of us, ‘til the end of the line.” Lottie could only hope that Bucky had found a bond like theirs with his fellow soldiers as a source of comfort and a respite from loneliness.

“Lottie dear, Dr. Erskine’s waiting for us.”

It seemed that the other nurses had filtered out of the barracks as Lottie was lost in thought. Only Gladys remained, waiting for her expectantly at the doorway. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with her white cap nestled daintily atop her head, held in place with a handful of pins.

“Apologies, Gladys, I’m coming.” Gladys gave her a small smile as she caught up, nerves keeping her from forming her true toothy grin. All the nurses were nervous, to be truthful, as it was a significant day. Their serum was finally being put to use; they had found their first Super Soldier in Steve Rogers.

When Lottie had received the news of his selection to receive the serum, she’d nearly fainted with shock. Steve was a man with a heart of gold, she’d always known that, but it only served to heighten her self-doubt with regards to the serum’s efficacy. If the serum went awry as it did with Schmidt, Lottie wasn’t sure how she would be able to live with herself.

Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips’ debriefing as to why Steve had been chosen to become America’s first Super Soldier was a source of comfort, though. The two men had cornered the five nurses outside their barracks right as they were heading inside to turn in for the night.

The scientist had been the first to speak, “Ladies, we wanted to catch you as soon as possible. Colonel Phillips and I have decided upon our candidate for the serum. Private Steve Rogers will report to our facility in Brooklyn promptly at ten hundred hours tomorrow. We will need to depart camp at six hundred hours so we have abundant time to become accustomed to the equipment that will be in use. Mr. Stark will be joining us there.”

Lottie was sure there’d been spots in her vision, the announcement had nearly knocked all the wind out of her.

“I expect you ladies to uphold the same sense of secrecy and vigilance that you’ve had up until this point,” Colonel Phillips interjected, “This is only the beginning of our mission. We must continue to protect Project Rebirth, no matter how hopeless it may seem.” His voice was laced with bitterness, obviously doubtful of Steve’s abilities.

Nancy furrowed her brow, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Private Rogers the ninety-pound asthmatic? Why him and not someone more… reliable, like Private Hodge?”

Lottie bristled slightly, as she did not take kindly to critical remarks regarding her friends.

“Need I remind you that the serum is not focused only on the physical?” Dr. Erskine fixed Nancy with a level gaze, “He is not the most well-built soldier, I admit that. But as you have seen yourself, the serum is capable of incredible cellular change that will only strengthen him. It will also amplify the qualities that he already has inside of himself. He has proven himself to be a good soldier and a worthy recipient of the serum.” Lottie glanced at Colonel Phillips, whose face was twisted into an awkward grimace, though he did not comment.

“During training today, he exhibited qualities of strength and humility that I have yet to see in any other soldiers thus far. Would Private Hodge throw himself over a grenade to protect his fellow soldiers? He showed me today that he would not, but Private Rogers would.”

Colonel Phillips muttered something along the lines of, “Still skinny,” though the bitterness seemed to fade. All of the nurses came to accept the news, trading in their expressions of shock and concern for ones of uncertainty and anxiety. It seemed that reality had hit for all five of the nurses at once; their work had finally come to fruition, making the road ahead even more daunting than before.

There was little conversation in the nurse’s compartment on the train to Brooklyn. There were moments of brief chatter among the women, but they were all too lost in their thoughts to carry on a proper conversation. Lottie shifted in her seat every few minutes, the poorly-cushioned seat providing little comfort during the duration of the train ride. Beside her, Gladys flicked through a stack of paper, which she’d pulled out of a manila folder that had been stamped with the word “Confidential” in large red letters. Ever the levelheaded academic of the group, she’d decided to look over their notes on the serum and its activation procedure one last time.

Across from her, Mary and Nancy were busying themselves with embroidery, an activity that a few of the nurses had picked up to improve their abilities with stitching. Lottie pictured a frayed handkerchief in her mind’s eye, a tattered old thing covered in clumsy pink flowers with a “JBB” monogram stitched carefully onto its corner. She wondered if Bucky had taken it with him overseas. He’d always kept it on his person back in Brooklyn, “Never know when a dame’s gonna go all misty eyed on me,” he’d say, humor in his eyes. There wouldn’t be many women for him to comfort overseas, but maybe he’d need it for his tears someday.

Betty sat to the right of Gladys, scanning the pages of a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. She’d never struck Lottie as a bookworm, but more often than not, she was the last of the women to fall asleep at night, usually engrossed in a novel for an hour or two past lights-out.

Two hours passed uneventfully; its monotony was only interrupted by the transferring from one train to another. Lottie’s heart seemed to pound in her ears as they approached Brooklyn, the tall buildings in her window becoming more and more familiar to her. Her heart swelled at the sight of it; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the city until she returned after all that time. Of course, she’d been gone from the city for longer while she was in nursing school, but it tugged at her heartstrings even more than before because a damn war was what kept her from her beloved borough.

It wasn’t long before the train had arrived, initiating a flurry of movement out of the train car and toward a car that sat at the curb, waiting for them. All five nurses clambered inside, with Dr. Erskine following behind in his car. The car ride was a short one, though Lottie took the time to observe her surroundings; she wanted so desperately to drink in the familiar alleys and side streets before she had to return to Camp Lehigh, to war.

Their car stopped abruptly in front of a cozy antique shop; one she’d never paid much attention to. Dr. Erskine’s car had arrived just a few moments before theirs, so they followed him inside. Once inside, they were faced with an aged woman, who greeted them with a casual question, though her eyes betrayed a deeper glimmer of suspicion, “Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?”

Dr. Erskine responded promptly, “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

They were quickly led through a false bookcase, which hid a vast laboratory full of all that was needed to complete the transformation that would occur in a few hours. There were dozens of monitors and gauges, all for measuring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Rays that were intended to activate the serum within his cells. In the center of it all, there was a bed on which Steve would lie, and when injected with the serum, the bed would be surrounded by a chamber while the Vita-Rays were projected into him.

Lottie and her peers stood at the top of the stairs, taking it all in, while Dr. Erskine descended the steps toward a control panel. He glanced back at them briefly, “Shall we all get accustomed to this now, ladies?”

Over the past few hours, Lottie had tired herself by calibrating various instruments, readying the equipment, and arranging several vials of serum within the transformation chamber. Throughout that time, doctors, higher-ranking soldiers, and members of the SSR slowly filtered into the room, some even gathering in the observation booth that looked down on them from above. She knew that Steve was due to arrive with Agent Carter at any moment. Frankly, she was terrified— mortified, even.

Howard Stark flitted about the laboratory, checking up on the various devices that would be used throughout the process. The Vita-Ray chamber was his brainchild, so a majority of his morning was spent double and triple-checking its minute parts and its stability.

At precisely 10 o’clock in the morning, Agent Carter and Steve stepped into the laboratory, two metal doors held open by guards for their entrance. Silence quickly descended upon the scientists and personnel who had been moving about the room in a sort of organized chaos. Lottie knew that most of them were looking at Steve in confusion, and in some cases dismay, but she made sure to send her best friend a reassuring smile. Even if the bullheaded scientists in the room were doubtful of his abilities, Lottie was with him. She believed in him. Her only doubts were in her abilities.

The staff quickly returned to their business as Agent Carter and Steve descended the steps and approached the center of the laboratory to meet with Dr. Erskine. They shared a brief greeting before Steve was ordered to remove his hat, tie, and shirt; Mary waited beside him with a kind smile, accepting his shed clothing. Agent Carter stood a few feet behind Steve, respectfully averting her gaze as he partially disrobed. Lottie took a special interest in their interactions, examining the way in which she treated Steve. She didn’t ignore or belittle him as some women did, she treated him with more dignity and respect. For that, Lottie was grateful.

Lottie busied herself with sterilizing several glass syringes as she impatiently awaited the initiation of the transformation. She could just barely make out a conversation that Dr. Erskine and Steve had shared about schnapps, but before she could quite figure out what was said, the scientist turned to the inventor beside him, “Mr. Stark, how are your levels?”

“Levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready as we’ll ever be.” Mr. Stark stood in front of the chamber where Steve now lay, projecting an air of confidence despite an uncomfortable look in his eye.

Agent Carter was dismissed to the booth to join Colonel Phillips, who was seated with several other seemingly important men that Lottie didn’t care to know. Dr. Erskine addressed the crowd in the booth using a microphone, explaining the purpose of Project Rebirth. Meanwhile, Lottie and her fellow nurses prepared the Vita-Ray chamber; she’d just situated the paddles on his chest when his gaze met hers. They’d been in a similar position so many times before. There were countless times over the past decade when she and Bucky had shown up at his apartment, soup and medicine in hand, to make him feel better during his latest bout of sickness. Bucky would always sit on one side of the bed, leaning on the mattress as he tried to distract Steve with idle conversation. She always kept vigil on the opposite side of the bed from Bucky, pulling Steve’s sheets up to his chin no matter how much he complained of the heat. She would never have to do that again, Lottie realized, as the serum would (hopefully) strengthen his immune system to the point that it would nearly be impossible to get sick. He wouldn’t need her or Bucky to look after him anymore. It pained her only slightly; she was overjoyed that he would be strengthened and healed by the serum, but it felt like the end of an era for her. She wasn’t truly needed anymore.

When the scientist’s speech to the booth had concluded, Lottie disinfected Steve’s shoulder and injected a syringe of penicillin into it; beforehand, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, warning him for the pain of the jab. She felt him sigh in relief, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Lottie bit back a giggle while Dr. Erskine looked down at Steve with a furrowed brow, “That was penicillin.” The scientist gave her a look and without missing a beat, began the countdown.

Five

The doctors and scientists that were scattered around the laboratory rushed to their control panels, monitoring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Ray levels that would soon be harnessed for the serum’s activation.

Four

Those that were observing from the booth looked at the scene below with bated breath; they either anticipated either a predictable failure or an unlikely success.

Three

The five nurses gathered around the Vita-Ray chamber, monitoring the serum infusion. Two mechanical arms latched onto Steve’s biceps and embedded several syringes deep into his muscle.

Two

Dr. Erskine placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Lottie met Steve’s gaze once more, she was that little girl at his bedside, sitting her vigil for one last time.

One

A switch was flipped and several syringes of the serum were injected into Steve’s system. Lottie could already see the strain it was putting on his body, his face contorted and he grunted in pain as he felt the serum begin its work in his body.

When given his signal, Mr. Stark flipped a lever to encase Steve in the Vita-Ray chamber, which maneuvered Steve into a vertical position before he was completely locked into the machine. Dr. Erskine knocked on the metal, “Steven? Can you hear me?”

A muffled response came from within the metal, “It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Lottie snorted, only Steve would make a terrible joke at a time like that.

The scientist faced Mr. Stark, “We will proceed.” Below him, Mr. Stark slowly turned a dial and donned a pair of goggles. Lottie and her peers followed suit, as the luminosity of the Vita-Rays would cause vision damage if their eyes were left uncovered.

Lottie worried her lip as Mr. Stark slowly increased the radiation levels by turning a wheel that was mounted on the control panel. Next to him, a doctor carefully monitored Steve’s vitals; he reported that they were all normal, which calmed Lottie a tad.

At around the seventy percent mark, cries began to ring out from within the Vita-Ray chamber. It was as if screams were being torn from Steve’s throat, they were so hoarse and raw. Dr. Erskine rushed to the chamber while Peggy quickly descended from the booth, urging the personnel to cease the radiation. Lottie stood in shock, stuck in an internal impasse. She worried deeply for Steve’s safety, she always had and always would. Simultaneously, she needed to trust in the years’ worth of work she’d put into Project Rebirth. She and her fellow nurses had worked day after day, slaving over the Super Soldier Serum and Vita-Ray theories to develop the perfect transformation method. If she couldn’t trust her abilities and research, what could she trust?

But when Steve’s cries seemed to echo throughout the laboratory, she knew that his safety superseded whatever pride she had in her research. Lottie had just opened her mouth to call for an end to it when Steve insisted from within the Vita-Ray chamber, “Don’t! I can do this!”

A burst of warmth bloomed in Lottie’s chest; Steve trusted their work and he was fighting to see it through. Mr. Stark continued to raise the radiation levels until they had reached one hundred percent. The staff and observers from the booth could only look on in shock and wonder as the light from within the chamber continued to glow brighter and it began to give off a steady humming noise.

Without warning, sparks began to spray out from the control panels as a result of the copious amounts of electricity being funneled into the transformation. Lottie cried out, ducking down with Mary to avoid the sparks that showered down on them from overhead. Across from them, Nancy, Gladys, and Betty assumed similar positions, clutching their white caps as they attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught.

As quickly as it started, the sparks ceased, as did the humming of the Vita-Ray chamber. The laboratory was far dimmer than it was earlier, with the light from the radiation gone, and nearly half the bulbs in the laboratory having been blown out.

All eyes were on the Vita-Ray chamber as they all awaited the final result of Project Rebirth. The chamber hissed open and released a gust of air, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve.

Lottie could barely believe it, not only was he exhausted-looking, but it seemed as if he’d gained nearly 8 inches of height and a few dozen pounds of muscle. Gone was that scrawny blond boy who’d gotten lost in crowds far too easily, here was a man— a Super Soldier —who was perfectly enhanced on a cellular level.

The SSR agents and politicians who were previously gathered in the booth rushed to meet with Steve, barely able to contain their excitement. They clambered over each other, all of them desperate to be the first one to speak with America’s first Super Soldier.

In all the chaos, Betty had sidled up to her, her jaw nearly touching the floor, “Hot damn, Lottie Green. Hot damn.” She ogled at Steve as she took in his new physique. Lottie rolled her eyes, “Just because he’s got more muscle doesn’t mean he’ll be able to talk to you any better. Or that he won’t step on your toes if you get him to dance.”

Steve stood in the middle of a crowd of men, though Agent Carter stood in front of him, attempting to look at anything but his chest.

“I think you might want this, Stevie,” Lottie moved in to stand beside Agent Carter and offered him a shirt, which he accepted gratefully. He smiled down at her gratefully, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Lottie.”

How odd it was to be looking up at him. It was certainly something that Lottie wasn’t used to, she’d gotten quite used to looking down at him, in fact. By age sixteen, she’d gained about two inches on him, and though he was loath to admit it, she knew it pained him to be the shortest of the three of them. Luckily for him, his new height delegated her as the most diminutive of the Brooklyn trio by far.

Amid the jubilation following Project Rebirth’s success, grave mistakes were made. Gladys had left her manila folder of notes— all the notes that the nurses had ever taken during their research —on one of the control panels closest to the stairway, just close enough to the exit to be snatched up by a discreet hand. An extra vial of Super Soldier serum sat in its case, at the ready for its eventual use; it stood unguarded and unwatched.

The once-unassuming Fred Clemson hung back from the crowd, a lighter in hand. Dr. Erskine was the first to notice his position apart from everyone else; the scientist opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could form a sentence, Clemson had flicked open the lighter and triggered an explosion from the observation booth.

Screams rang out from the middle of the laboratory as glass rained down on them. Sparks even worse than before began assaulting them and left stinging burns in their wake. Lottie grunted as she felt minuscule shards of glass tear at and become embedded in her skin; it would surely be a pain to treat such small cuts and remove the pieces of glass later on. It was shocking, really, how quickly the mood of the room had shifted. Just moments before, she’d been looking at Steve in awe, fully processing all that the serum had accomplished. Her sentiments of excitement and pride quickly evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of panic and dread.

The force of the explosion had thrown Lottie and some of the other nurses to the ground, so she scrambled to her feet in an attempt to take action against the man. It was all in vain, for as soon as she regained her footing, all she saw was the bespectacled man diving through the crowd to grab the last vial of Super Soldier serum and the thick manila envelope that Gladys had brought with her. Lottie’s stomach dropped in terror; she opened her mouth to cry out for backup, but Dr. Erskine was one step ahead of her. He commanded the man to stop, but the only response he received was several gunshots in the chest.

Deep red stains formed across the front of his shirt and seeped into his lab coat, his vibrant blood was a sickening contrast to the crisp white color of his lab coat. The scientist fell to the ground, his legs sprawled out before him and his arms at his side. Lottie knew that there was no hope for him— there were no exit wounds and she was more than certain that at least one of his lungs had been punctured. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Lottie didn’t need to perform an examination to know that the wounds would be fatal. There was no time for an examination anyway, gunshots continued to ring out across the laboratory, and Agent Carter was in hot pursuit of the offender.

Mary looked at Lottie for some sort of reassurance of direction, her mouth agape, “Lottie, he's— he’s gonna die if we don’t do somethin’. C’mon, we’ve gotta help him.” Her voice came out in a whimper and her hands shook as she searched the floor for any fallen bandages. She took Mary’s trembling hands into her clammy ones, “Mary, look at his breathing. You know there’s nothing we can do for him now.”

She knew it was a heartbreaking thing to say, but Mary was a brilliant nurse; she already knew all the signs of a punctured lung. Lottie knew that she was having a hard time processing the information due to the shock that was no doubt obscuring her senses and rational thought. What Mary needed was a calm voice to guide her back from the brink of hysteria, a friend to bring her back to reality.

The nurses learned a jarring lesson about reality’s harsh nature that day; they learned of its cycle of gains and losses, successes and failures. The five nurses of Project Rebirth had achieved all that they’d been dreaming of for more than a year, they’d proven themselves to be reliable and even stellar researchers in their field. It had all been ripped away from them in a matter of moments, with the loss of their notes and serum, as well as the brutal death of Dr. Erskine. All they could do was clutch each other helplessly as they watched Steve follow the man in hot pursuit— the man who had stolen everything from them. Lottie, Mary, Betty, Nancy, and Gladys had certainly entered a new era in their careers as nurses, an era of uncertainty. With nothing left from Project Rebirth besides the Super Soldier himself, their futures were left in limbo until the Strategic Scientific Reserve could figure out what to do with them next.

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latristereina · 3 years

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In the last days of 1474 Isabella prepared an elaborate reception for her husband's entrance to Segovia—so elaborate, in fact, that she sent messages to Turegano asking him to delay his arrival for three days. This reunion would be a dramatic contrast to Ferdinand's earlier arrivals into his wife's arms and would set the precedent for all greetings between the new king and queen for the next thirty years as public celebrations heralded with trumpets, and drums, with rich clothes, and festivals.

In contrast to Enrique's disdain for ceremony, both Isabella and Ferdinand embraced courtly ritual, indeed, exploited it to its fullest measure, if for no other reason than to assert symbolically their sovereignty over a torn kingdom. From her first days as queen, Isabella also recognized the importance of costume. Already her gowns had been admired by ambassadors from the courts of Burgundy for they were made from satin, velvet, gold cloth, or fine spun silk, often embellished with handsome brocades sewn with silver and gold thread. Gradually, as the wealth of her kingdom increased, Isabella would adorn herself with jewels, both on her person and sewn into her clothes.

King Ferdinand cut an equally impressive figure in ropas, or long robes, and sayos, or knee-length jerkins, of finely woven silk, satin, gold cloth, and velvet, and often trimmed with golden embroidery or in rare furs, including ermine and sable. Upon his neck Ferdinand wore stiff velvet collars from which were hung thick gold necklaces and pendants of state; on his feet finely cured leather buskins, or half boots; upon his hands perfumed gloves. The cumulative effect unequivocally marked him as the king.

When Ferdinand approached Segovia at sunset on January 2, 1475, he was greeted by Cardinal Mendoza, the Archbishop Carrillo, and other grandees under a brocade canopy of state. As the new king drew close to the city, its suburbs were hung with banners. Music floated through the air, and the village streets were filled with singers, jugglers, and fiestas. Just before the new king approached the hills of Segovia, he was helped out of his dark mourning clothes into a rich ropa woven with gold threads and trimmed with martas, or sables.

At twilight the new king passed through Segovia's Gate of San Martin, as dignitaries carrying lighted torches stepped forward and knelt in homage. Ferdinand, in turn, swore his allegiance to the city and promised to honor the laws of Castile as its new king. Afterward the large body of assembled grandees and prelates entered the cathedral for a thanksgiving mass.

In the alcazar Isabella waited with "deep affection" for her husband. When she saw the torchlit procession approaching the plaza, she descended to the first floor of the castle. Finally the new king walked through the entrance way and was reunited with Isabella.

Despite the public warmth of their reunion, it was soon obvious that Ferdinand and Isabella were quarreling. The new king bitterly resented the role he had been assigned as king-consort while Isabella, as queen, held the reins.

- Nancy Rubin Stuart, Isabella of Castile: The First Renaissance Queen

#perioddramaedit #historyedit #women in history #men in history #isabella i of castile #ferdinand ii of aragon #isabel tve #2x01 #michelle jenner #rodolfo sancho

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thatmeddlingsleuth · 3 years

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I've been really into embroidery lately, and I think my dream project would be to make a tapestry-style remake of the "listen my child to this story of dreams" poem from message in the haunted mansion. It was my first Nancy Drew game and I loved that poem so much as a kid that I literally had it memorized for years lol

#HAU #ND games #Her interactive

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perpetuallylocked · 4 years

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Tag Yourself: Nancy Drew Game Aesthetics Edition

SCK: opening a new book for the first time, the nostalgia of VHS tapes, coca cola in a glass, remembering your locker combo, letterman jackets, watching true crime documentaries, empty high school hallways, 1950s diners, cramming before an exam

STFD: boxes of chocolates, tape recorders, the click-clack of typewriter keys, catching a taxi, shadows on the wall, stained coffee cups, sitting down to rewatch a tv show, perfume bottles, 1990s fashions

MHM: the sight of dust mixing with light, sightreading old sheet music, crystal chandeliers, old floral teacups, crystal balls, old rotary phones, grand staircases, intricate wooden floors, never-ending house projects

TRT: the glitter of diamonds, worn chessboards, snow-covered gardens, ink-covered hands, butterfly collections, cold tile floors, dull suits of armor, dusty history tomes, footsteps muffled by carpets

FIN: plush red velvet, the scent of popcorn, drawing art deco designs in the margins, worn carpets, old playing cards, the feeling there is still magic everywhere, meeting a childhood idol, movie posters on the wall, catching up with a childhood friend

SSH: jade carvings, steep stone steps, chocolate bars, being the only person in a museum gallery, clean lab coats, amazing sights through a microscope, visiting the hospital, remembering facts you've only heard once, checking the mail for your package

DOG: log cabins, the flapping of bird wings, the distant howling of dogs, the odd sensation when you can see the moon during the day, the scent of pine trees, old glass bottles, strolls along the lake shore, admiring 1920s fashion, long walks in the woods

CAR: antique roller coasters, old postcards, the golden light at dusk, loud band organ music, sounds of a carnival at night, ice cream sundaes for dessert, the delight of riding the carousel for the first time, paint-stained clothes, winning a prize from a carnival game

DDI: a steaming mug of tea on a foggy day, sea caves, light from a lighthouse piercing the fog, messages in bottles, approaching deep water, the sound of seagulls, vintage blue bicycles, spotting a whale on the horizon, crumb-topped blueberry muffins

SHA: worn plaid shirts, sunsets on the horizon, the clip-clopping of hooves, antique blanket chests, forbidden romance, mason jars of flowers, brown and blue eggs, playing piano by ear, faded rugs

CUR: leather-bound books, small potted succulents, curving staircases, old portraits, family secrets, four-poster beds, hearing strange sounds at night, food cravings, spending all day on your laptop

CLK: the ticking of an old clock, pearl and cameo jewelry, the scent of a pie baking, the whir of a sewing machine, reading in a window seat, flouncy dresses, bridges over creeks, driving around a small town, reading Shakespeare for your own enjoyment

TRN: ballet slippers, snow mixed with smoke, faded pastel embroidery, the far-off sound of train whistles, old parchment and wax seals, unwrapping a piece of salt water taffy, quirky local museums, organizing your collections and belongings, light shining through tiffany lamps

DAN: light streaming through stained glass windows, bold red lipstick, freshly baked cookies, tales from your grandparents' youth, long-lost love, twirling in a tulle skirt, the overwhelming desire to visit paris, planning out your outfit for the next day, park benches

CRE: wind in the palm trees, footprints in the sand, rustling in the jungle, small seashells, rope bridges, fruity shave ice, waves tickling your toes, the tangy taste of pineapple, watching surfers from the beach

ICE: frozen lakes, sitting by a crackling fire, snow-covered piles of logs, worn leather ice skates, paw prints, staying in bed after you've woken up, seeing your breath in the cold air, unexpected snowball fights, leather-bound journals

CRY: shadows emphasized by candlelight, dirt-caked fingernails, exploring a cemetery at night, wrought iron fences, the smell after it rains, shelves lined with tchotchkes, going back for second helpings at dinner, moonlight streaming through the window, a grandfather clock at the end of the hall

VEN: gelato cones, orange and brown buildings, soft italian songs, gold lockets, buying flowers for yourself, cobblestone courtyards, leaning over the balcony rail, the overwhelming desire to reinvent yourself, dancing like no one is watching

HAU: ocean waves hitting cliffs, hanging herb bundles, old stone fortresses, white lace and promises, wilting flower bouquets, whistling to keep yourself company, distant celtic music, simple diamond rings, sitting in a peaceful garden

RAN: old gold coins, wading in the cold ocean, a slow-moving hourglass, seeing where the sky meets the sea, old pirate legends, sand between your toes, looking down through clear water, buying yourself new clothes for vacation, eating fruit salad for breakfast

WAC: exploring a college campus, old trophies, distant cello music, milk and cookies, cardigan sweaters, texting your friends, bare tree branches, anthologies of stories, school supply shopping

TOT: wind rustling through wheat fields, creaking wooden staircases, white curtains on the window, golden hay bales, old fences lining the road, watching a storm from the porch, buying a new camera, hanging out in your favorite professor's office, sitting on a tire swing

SAW: the faint scent of cherry blossoms, origami cranes, taking a bath, hearing a new language for the first time, shards of glass, seeing your reflection in the water, buying a new stuffed animal, trying a new food on vacation, listening to your grandmother's stories

CAP: rereading favorite fairy tales, blood-red garnets, red hair in braids, mist in the forest, local legends, playing board games on rainy days, remembering your make-believe games of childhood, puffy-sleeved blouses, watching glassblowers make magic

ASH: blue roadsters, rapidly melting ice cream cones, white picket fences, pastel shop awnings, hand-lettered signs in front of shops, the act of simply being with your friends, revisiting your childhood bedroom, spending all day in an antique shop, visiting your friend's house for the first time

TMB: wind-blown sand, straw sun hats, the warmth of the afternoon, chipped statues, well-used research books, having an egypt phase as a kid, planning your next adventure, drinking cold water on a hot day, pushing your hair out of your face

DED: pencil-covered hands, well-oiled gears, the crackling of electricity, eating your favorite flavor of gummy bears, group projects, keeping to yourself at work, unironically wearing ugly sweaters, publishing your research, organizing your messy desk

GTH: peeling paint on a once-grand house, angel statues, sheet-covered furniture, porch swings, lit matches, lace masquerade masks, grand ball gowns, drinking a hot cup of tea and lemon, looking for treasures in the basement

SPY: old leather suitcases, distant memories, the lingering touch of your true love, piano keys, adrenaline rushes, popped trench coat collars, hugging your mom after not seeing her for ages, looking out the window on a train ride, hearing movie soundtracks in your head

MED: the view from the top of a mountain, the rushing sound of waterfalls, freshly dyed hair, shooting stars, wandering off the trail, vintage comic books, philosophical thoughts, binge-watching reality tv, feeling the sense of deja vu

LIE: hands coated with clay and paint, laurel wreaths, pomegranate juice, books of Greek myths, gold sandals, memorizing a monologue, flowing white gowns, spending all day in a museum gallery, exploring ancient ruins

SEA: the twinkling sound of old music boxes, a night shining with stars, cozy knit sweaters, curling up with your dog, model ships, old barrels, learning your town's history, watching gently falling snow, the beauty of the aurora borealis

MID: the dark colors of herbs, edison bulbs, copper kettles, slowly changing leaves, road trips with friends, carving a jack-o'-lantern, exploring cemeteries at night, small shops surrounding a courtyard, thinking you saw a ghost out of the corner of your eye

#I'm definitely CLK and ASH with a touch of WAC and a little SPY #Nancy Drew #Tag Yourself #**general

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Tagged

Tagged by @onereyofstarlight ::hugs you::

1. Would you rather accessorise with scarves or necklaces?

I adore scarves. I has a collection and wear them every day. Gives me an excuse to splatter vibrant colour all over myself. Having said that, I actually make necklaces and pendants.

2. How old were you when you first saw mountains? (Or if you haven’t seen mountains, what do you imagine they’re like?)

I have seen Mount Kosciuszko (yes, I had to look it up to spell it), the highest mountain in Australia. It is only 2228 metres high and it was summer so there was no snow. I look forward to seeing New Zealand’s mountains one day.

3. Do you make your bed in the morning?

I neaten the quilt sometimes :D

4. What type of stories did you like as a child?

Would it be strange if I admitted to liking hurt/comfort as a kid? I also read everything from Trixie Beldon and Nancy Drew through to Stephen Donaldson and Lord of the Rings. I read a lot. I adored eighties TV with shows like The A-Team and Knight Rider, and of course some of the previous decades’ shows including Thunderbirds. I love a good and valiant herotype, always have. I discovered Star Trek through the James Blish novelisations.

5. What was the most exhilarating experience of your life?

Exhilarating? I’m not much of an extreme experience type of person. I tend to be frightened of pretty much everything. The first time I flew in a plane was pretty cool. I remember it taking off and my jaw dropping through the floor - I was 22. But then I do remember standing in the rain and wind at the top of a cliff on the bottom of the Eyre Peninsula feeling the planet around me, the waves beneath me and just existing. I thought that was pretty amazing and it has stuck with me a long time. Standing on deserted beaches washed clean of anyone’s footprints is totally cool, knowing that the coastline is 6000 years old, that the waves have travelled thousands of miles and that despite everything, they will continue to crash onto some coastline somewhere long before and long after I’m gone.

6. Do you agree with the concept of exotic pets?

Do you mean imported pets? If so, these are a challenge in Australia. Also, I’m not a fan of cages. I’d much rather see an animal in the wild (except the ones that might eat or kill me, they can exist by themselves without interacting with me, thank you very much - though I do love to read about them). I think seeing an animal int he wild is so much more an honour. also, I like to respect them and not disturb them. I’m a little neurotic about it. I’ve even taught my kids to respect all living sea life on the shore and not torture it or disturb it unless necessary. So yeah, I don’t think I would keep pets much.

7. Describe your feelings about maths.

Maths is fairly easy for me, but boring without a purpose. I can work numbers, no real problem. But if you give the numbers names like in accounting or physics, I get lost easily due to interpretation problems and sometimes the need to visualise everything works against me.

8. When was the last time you finished a book?

Reading or writing? I finished writing Gentle Rain last year, but We’ll be Home For Christmas is about to over take it as my longest fic. I recently reread both of these? Does that count? Even though I’m a librarian, it has been quite some time since I read an entire book. I think it might have been a book on Geology that I last completed reading. Not sure, either way, I haven’t read any fiction that wasn’t fanfic for quite some time.

9. What’s a small way that you’ve been kind recently?

I haven’t maimed any of my workmates? I don’t know about kind, but I like to contribute. I’m not much of a people person, so I have a tendency to lean on what I can do to integrate with a group. Usually this is some kind of creativity. I like to think I contribute a bit to fandom, help a few peeps with their creativity, maybe inspire a little. Other than that, I like to think I’m kind to the people I serve at work (except those who aren’t kind to me, in which case they get stern Nutty). I don’t think kindness comes to me naturally as I’m quite a self centred loner at times, so I have to work at it and remember to do things for people. Often working out what people would like is a challenge, but eh, I do what I can.

10. What new hobby/activity have you always wanted to try?

I’ve kinda banned myself from accumulating more hobbies. I have far too many already. But I would like to play with embroidery one day and I’ve had a thing for mosaics for some time too. They are really just new mediums for my creativity. The problem is I need to outlay the cost for setting them up and that is expensive. I guess I’ll have to stick with the $10,000 odd dollars worth of bead stash I already have. (It sounds like alot, but trust me it is not).

Oooh, and now I have to ask questions...

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?

Favourite pasta shape?

What do you need to do everyday to keep your mind and body working well?

First ever fandom and why? How old were you?

Deserted beach or snazzy night club?

Do you find it easier to talk to people online or offline?

What do you think is the aim in your life? What do you ultimately want to achieve?

Coolest Thunderbird?

What is your absolute favourite topic to talk about?

Do you have an embarrassing story to share?

Hmm, some of those questions are evil, sorry. Tagging @scribbles97 @vegetacide @plantmuffin @i-am-chidorixblossom @willow-salix and anyone else who feels like jumping in :D

#meme

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henrikvanderhussy · 13 days

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Last call to get a copy of the Clue Crew Zine Done Cheap mailed to you!

UPDATE 4-19-24: The mailing address form is now closed!

---

The zine is finished and ready to go! All that's left is printing and distributing. In order to know how many to print and where to send them, I need mailing addresses!

To get a physical copy mailed to you (for free!), fill out this form. The form will stay open through Thursday April 18th, and zines will be mailed out by the end of April.

To get a digital copy emailed to you, fill out this form. The zines will also be available for direct download, but sometimes it’s more fun to get something sent to you. It’s like a special present that arrives in your inbox.

If you want to read more about this project, you can go to my initial post here, but the gist is that this is a fun, low-key and low-cost zine centered around the Nancy Drew games. Contributions were open to anyone, and I’m printing them out at home and mailing them to anyone who wants them.

FAQs:

This is free?

Yes, 100%. If mailing costs exceed the stamps I already have, then I might make a post asking people to chip in if they can, but that will be fully optional.

I’m a little uncomfortable giving my address to a tumblr stranger.

Totally understandable! That’s why the mailing address form doesn’t ask for your username, and providing an email address is not required. The goal is to be unable to link your name and address to who you are online.

If you’re still not sure about providing your address, you can always get a digital copy and then print it out for yourself!

How long is the zine? What’s in it?

It's 16 half-size pages, with recipes, meta analysis, podfic, a quiz, embroidery art, fanfic, and a puzzle. Everything is delightful and I’m so so so excited.

Here's the first test print! I promise the actual contents are better than my photography :)

#clue crew zine done cheap #clue crew #nancy drew games #her interactive

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curls-cat · 4 years

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I was tagged ages ago by @nojohi for a 5 things meme and I am using clearing out my email as a way to procrastinate on doing Important Homework That Is Due Tonight

5 things you’ll find in my bag:

a book

LOTS of pills

a pen

coffee candy

excema lotion

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom:

a pile of laundry

my embroidery supplies

The Great Wall of Books

softe(tm) blankets

stuffed animals

5 things I want to do with my life:

make a living writing

adopt a child

live close enough to the ocean to just kinda... drop by for an hour or two

find out how to do that gender presentation in a way that feels comfortable

learn more handicrafts

5 things that make me happy:

cats

middle grade fiction

hiking

baking

bragging about my siblings

5 things I’m currently into:

The Magnus Archives

linguistics

Good Omens (aren’t we all)

Nancy Drew Video Games

Did You Know There Is A Pasta Named God’s Wool And Wikipedia Says It Is Extremely Rare I Want To Eat That Pasta Very Much

5 things on my to-do list:

Write my FUCKING final essay for my FUCKING class tonight where I have to do a FUCKING presentation what am I doing on tumblr

wrap Christmas presents

actually submit a Thing to a Literary Journal

put together my portfolio for a different class

make a needle case

5 things people may not know about me:

I MAYBE had a brain aneurysm a few years ago but we’re like. Not sure? SOMETHING happened but nobody can tell me what and it fucked up my head real bad

when I got my wisdom teeth out they had to do it in two sessions because it turns out I’m Resistant To Anesthesia

i’ve published three entire poems!

I can make a really weird noise if I squeeze air through the back of my teeth and cheeks and it freaks dogs out

I’m allergic to coconut

5 people I’m tagging:

@advisortotheadvisor @callmekate08 @the-lunar-lorkhan @mazberrypie @gayunclejake

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figuerockfaeth · 5 years

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8 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER

tagged by: @maevns thank you!!!

tagging: @ahoylesbians @mrsskinnypenis @freedomninety @inejgayfa @zeniksnina @sunshineneils @auraragalli @troopscoops

ONE / name / alias. haley TWO / birthday. july 18 THREE / zodiac sign. cancer FOUR / height. 5′7″ FIVE / hobbies. reading, theatre, board games, watching old jeopardy episodes w/ my mom and playing along lmao, and i just started learning embroidery! SIX / favorite color. a light purple like lavender SEVEN / favorite books. percy jackson!!!, six of crows, narnia, and if we’re getting nostalgic nancy drew EIGHT / last song listened to. dog days are over by florence + the machine NINE / last film watched. it was either kingsman the secret service, mamma mia!, or into the spiderverse (i watched all of them like a week ago and i dont remember which one was most recent :/) TEN / inspiration for muse. poems, art, songs, things that happen in real life idk aklfhskdgh ELEVEN / dream job. theatre teacher but if we’re being ambitious like... id love to be in a play on broadway........... anyways... TWELVE / meaning behind your url. im probably gonna change it soon but essentially its characters from shadowhunters bc madzie is so precious and i love alec and magnus (update i answered these and put it in my drafts but now im posting it and i just changed my url to spidermanisbi and the meaning behind it is uhhhh bc he is) ((also it used to be madzielightbane)) THIRTEEN / top three ships. changes daily and also depending on what im obsessed with at the moment but currently quentin and eliot from the magicians (and YES im still bitter), both chris x joana from skam espana and matteo x david from druck, OH and david and patrick from schitt’s creek, also i know this is over three.... but syd and elena from one day at a time FOURTEEN / lipstick or chapstick. chapstick FIFTEEN / currently reading. vengeful by v e schwab

#prev. madzielightbane #tag thing #i LOVE these bc i love talking about myself but then i get nervous so this has been sitting in my drafts for like five days lmao #or whenever u tagged me in it #sometimes i answer these and then just.. never post them but like #........

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aikainkauna · 5 years

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“OC asks that reveal more than you think”

...part the first. From here. I decided I will do this for everybody, so I will not get too carried awa--oh, what am I saying? I mean that I did want to do Laura after all, but I also want to do some others, and doing them all at once should help deter depression that might result from analysing the darkficcier-than-darkfic stuff. And since this will be long, I’ll just post a few answers at a time. So, here we go.

***

1. Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who's the favorite?

-Laura: She sleeps with a living sex panther. I expect she had LOADS of toys as a kid (Lars-Erik in the movie is drowning in tons of fancy, expensive toys, the pampered little nipper he is). But I don't see her being that much into playing with traditional dolls--except for those fucked-up bondage/dark ritual games she bonded over with Birgitte.

-Fadl: I bet he slept with several as a child. And gave them swords made of stix. His favourite was a stuffed horse. When he has to spend nights in tents, he sleeps next to his horse, in true nomadic Arab warrior fashion. (The reason they kept the horses in their tents were because tribal raids were rampant, JYSK. All those "oh, those curious foreign customs!" anecdotes never tell you that bit.)

-Zainab: she sleeps with several soft, warm living lesbians she has been stuffing with dildos beforehand. If it's too hot to share a bed, she just hugs a big pillow so she won't suffocate on her own tits and stomach during the night. The pillow quite likely has embroideries of naked ladies, too.

2. Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

-Laura sucks at plants. Torsten is an avid gardener and faps over his orchids (probably literally. Improves the alkalinity of the soil). Pets? I don't think she really is a pet person, even if she probs had the token pony all little rich girls have. But she had stable hands to take care of it. Torsten, weirdly, would get along with animals, I think, and would be all cuddly and not at all evil in his interactions with them. He strikes me as the sort of person who hates most humans but loves animals, and that pet-owning is one of the few things about him that he does "normally," when the rest of him is batshit insane. It's not an unusual pattern with mental people (the cat lady said somewhat defensively). A child?! Well. If you've read the fic, you know how they deal with children. Don't ever let them near them... please. Especially Uncle Torsten.

-Fadl: I suspect he's actually a really good gardener when he puts his mind to it! Perhaps, in his old age, that's what he starts to fill his days with at Thousand Suns--after all, the house was named after the orange trees growing in its gardens and courtyard. So maybe he decides to make it a matter of personal pride that the oranges turn out as smashing as possible. (Omg, I need to use this in a fic! Jaffar shows up and juggles with the oranges; Salsabil and her mother develop a press, Anwar glugs the juice to fuel his dance practice :3) Animals-wise, he is really, really, really big on those horses, as previously established. As a youth and in his early adulthood in Raqqa and Baghdad, he would go to the horse races with Jaffar and cheer at the Barmakid horses he had himself brought up and co-trained. And kick everybody's arses at polo, likewise with horses he'd helped bring up. Children? Don't bring it up with him if you value your life (cf. The Earth's Turning--you'll have to read that one to know why).

-Zainab: sucks at plants, abhors kids, only just gets along with animals, but doesn't really form particularly deep bonds with them. She only has domestic/work animals like horses and camels and donkeys and chickens and hounds and cattle, and has, at some point, had at least one elephant to show off with.

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

-Laura: “My Daddy is mad, bad and dangerous to know. And I love him; I don't know what I would do without him. And he most certainly wouldn't know what to do without me, either, the aimlessly drifting cad that he is.”

-Fadl: “Zainab is a heathen goddess. And just as capricious and cruel. But I cannot help it--the marvels of her soft, ample curves, golden hair and Hyperborean blue eyes hold me captive. This Viking bitch has well and truly conquered me, and I might as well admit it. But not to other men besides my brother; God, no. A man has to retain at least a façade of dignity, even if in his mistress's bed, he may be as a slave.”

-Zainab: “Lina? She is my little mouse-mouse, my little golden pearl, my everything! She completes me, in possessing all that I lack: a calm and steady temperament and a head for numbers and books. She keeps me sane, cheers me up, is a good conversationalist and on top of that, she is insatiable in bed. I never grow tired of lapping at that delicious little cunny of hers until my mouse-mouse squeaks--what's that? Oh, you wanted to know about *Fadl.* Well, he has his uses, does my bold stallion. But he needs a fair amount of training still. But I am nothing if not an expert at the art of breaking in unruly colts...” *cracks bejewelled, plump little knuckles*

4. Do they look good in red?

You know, at first I thought I'd Photoshop these, but then I realised it'd take me an entire week. So you just get quick and dirty (literally) doodles doodles I ended up fixing in Potatochop for two fucking hours because fuck the messiness coloured pencils engender :P

Laura:

(She doesn‘t wear her hair like that for most of the time in the fics, but I still love drawing her with Bunny’s ginormous Nancy Drew/The Beloved Brat-era cloud of golden curls. And unlike Bunny, she has Torsten’s nose.)

Fadl:

I... kind of got carried away by what Clone Brush/Burn Tool could do, there. He ended up looking as colourful as a medieval European jester. Well, he is a fucking clown, though, so... what the hell.

Zainab:

Glorious red frock over sapphire-blue, diaphanous shalwars! I reckon the belt and the trim on the sleeves is actual gold. Because she could afford it.

But, yeah. I think the girls win this round. Maybe I’ll ‘shop Fadl in red if I find a good bodyshot of the right kind of chap in the right kind of red sherwani or something. But now, I’ve definitely done my arms and hands and back in for the day as far as Photoshop goes, so that’s it for tonight, folks!

#meme #doodles #ocs #fadl #zainab #laura erika barring #of roses unfurling #devilry #writing #meta #sort of #laura'd be ravishing in that jessica rabbit getup wouldn't she?#bonita granville #basil rathbone

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mybukz · 6 years

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Fiction: To Where He Belongs by Peter Soh

Photo by Drew Graham on Unsplash To Where He Belongs By Peter Soh

Someone blared his horns twice at the front gate. I knew it must be the postman. Only he would do that—honking twice to alert someone that he had a letter. On some days he would pass me a letter and, sometimes, a wad of letters. They were usually nothing but updates about my pathetic account balances or the tiny growth of my retirement pension. The number didn’t make me feel any better or hopeful; the figures were all too small to remind me of the many more decades I must endure and suffer before I could even shrug off my responsibilities of being a decent and productive human being and to die with dignity.

And if the letters were to be delivered nearing the end of a month, I knew they were the mandatory bills to be paid and probably some speeding tickets to be cleared before being issued a summon from the local court the next month.

Life was never easy since my parents passed away in an accident. I was left with a memorial tablet in the house, a younger sister who was still studying, and a mountain of debts. I was forced to quit school and work as a waiter at a high-end Japanese restaurant because I knew how to speak English. Despite the long hours standing and bruising my knees constantly having to kneel on the tatami mat while serving the food, I got to take home tips and leftover food.

“Mr Tan, you have a parcel today!” The postman gave me his usual breezy smile. I loathed hearing the honks from him, but all I could do was put on my practiced smile and quickly jostled the key into the padlock as if I was looking forward to receiving the letters from him.

“Yes, coming. Here I come.” I couldn’t find the right key whenever I was antsy. I didn’t like to keep people waiting and definitely detested receiving another ominous missive.

“It’s all right. Take your time,” the postman replied me politely while holding the big grey parcel in his hand.

“Urgh. Finally!” I opened the gate and was wondering what the game was this time. I didn’t welcome the parcel.

There was a note with it. It read:

Dear Thomas, I hope this cheers you up and brightens your gloomy days. Have faith that things will eventually be alright. Good things will come to those who have patience and perseverance. Best of luck.

It was from her. Nancy. She had stayed in New Zealand ever since she dated her then course mate, who was, now, her husband. She had always been the lucky girl, the one with a silver spoon in her mouth, and who travelled around the world as her leisure activity.

The teachers liked her because she was a brilliant and respectful student, but I conjectured that the teachers did so partly because her father was the chairman of the Parent-Teacher Association in our school. Who doesn’t like to be spotted with the rich, I always thought.

That day in school, I waited for her.

“Hey Nancy, I am Thomas. Can I speak to you for a while?” Never had I thought that one day I would talk to a highbrow person. It had been during recess, and she was sitting under the yellow flame trees with her friends.

“Sure!” She smiled warmly. She looked at her friends before going over to where I was standing. I was shocked by her friendly persona because I thought she was a snob and would say no to my request.

“I am the president of the modern dance club—"

She interrupted me. “I know. Who doesn’t know the hip-hop star in our school.”

“Thanks.” I became shy when a girl praised me.

“What’s the matter?” Nancy asked.

“Oh yeah. You know the principal is retiring soon and we are going to perform some dances as usual.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you guys practising diligently almost every day at the hall.”

“Thank you. But I need your help.” I started to be serious and looked into her eyes.

“What can I do? You don’t expect me to dance with you guys, do you? I can’t dance at all.” Nancy knitted her brows.

“No,no. Of course not. Our dance club is preparing a nyonya dance this year as the principal is a baba. Not that we are preparing one. You know, we only know how to spin our heads on the floor, but the teachers asked us to do one.”

“So, you want me to dance the nyonya dance?” Nancy winced.

“No, no. We managed to find some girls to learn the steps from the internet. But we couldn’t get the costumes because none of the elders want to loan their costumes to us. I heard that you are a nyonya.”

“I see. I suppose no one will lend you their costumes. They are expensive, and they will bury you alive if they find just a dash of stain from your chicken curry rice. You know, the food we always get after the performance. That watery curry. Urgh, I loathe it.” Nancy rolled her eyes and I started laughing at her drama.

“You should join the drama club.”

“Anyway, how many sets of sarong kebaya you want? My family inherits quite a handsome number of them. Not that anyone in my family is wearing them. I can loan it to your girls.”

“I need six sets! Oh my, thank you so much for your help, Nancy!” I exclaimed in delight and heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, the arduous task of getting those archaic costumes was settled.

Everything went smooth on that day, and Nancy and I became good friends. I picked up more English words from her, and I began to know more about her. She was not that icy and cocky as I would think. She was vivacious and helpful.

I lifted a yellow kebaya out of the parcel. Nancy’s favourite colour. She said yellow represented hope and she loved the yellow flame trees. It was a magnificent view whenever the wind lifted the yellow flowers and laid them on the school compound. I had seen it. Our school had a stretch of those trees. It was, indeed, breathtaking.

She still remembered me. The guy who danced hip-hop. The guy who looked for her help to settle the costumes. The guy who learnt English from her. The guy who lost his parents at the age of 16. The guy who avoided people ever since he dropped out of school. The guy with depression and needed medication.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I wanted to die,” I remembered texting Nancy a few days before she left for New Zealand.

“Why aren’t you on medication? Do you know it brings pain to people who love you? Stop wallowing in the darkness again. Stand up!” I could feel that she was starting to get impatient this time.

“You know I can’t control it! Do you think I choose to be in pain?” I blasted my anger at Nancy. I was impulsive and easily annoyed ever since depression had me.

“Then take your medicine!”

“I hate the side effect of the drug! It makes me thirsty all the time!”

“Stop giving excuses. I can only do so much. It tires me out whenever you try to gain sympathy. I can’t be supportive 24/7.”

“I don’t need your sympathy. I never wanted it. Take care!”

“Take care too.”

We never texted each other since then. She flew to The Land of the Kiwis while I tried to survive each day. I was obstinate, refusing to take my medicine. I wanted to face the fear and outgrow the pain. I wanted to accept the fact that my parents were now gone even though it was a gruelling effort. I wanted to train my mind not to give in to the devils. I wanted to survive without the medicine—the one that gave me mediated euphoria. I wanted to be genuinely happy once again.

But I failed. I was drained, again and again. I was exhausted from the battles. I cried every night whenever my mind flashed the image of my parents dying in the most unexpected way. The act of pretending to be strong in front of my little sister was taking a toll on my fragile mind. I was reluctant to be a waiter. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to attend the best dancing school in London. I wanted to be like everyone else.

And sadly, this time she was not there for me anymore. She got exhausted. She got drained like me. I had no one to unload my repetitive stories and pains. I was told to take my medicine. I was told to stand on my own. I was told that I was a burden and no one liked it. I was sidelined in this happy-is-the-way-society. And I got kicked out by my only good friend.

And I never saw her again.

I carefully folded the kebaya and put it back into the box. I could tell that it was a masterpiece from the extensive embroideries. It featured the sunflower, a plant that means strength and positivity.

I drove to the nearest post office and requested a postal form. I copied down her address and submitted the parcel to the post.

I enclosed a note for her:

Dear Nancy, thank you for remembering me. I appreciate your kindness and support, but I would need a new start. One without you.

I left the post office with serenity because I knew that one day, I would meet a person who would never give up on me. And I know that I would overcome this battle with victory.

Peter Soh is an ambitious Malaysian writer whose stories are about darkness, pain, struggles, identity searching and what makes us a human.

#Peter Soh #To Where He Belongs #short story #fiction #Malaysian fiction #Malaysian literature #Peranakan

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