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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

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How to Train Your Dragonblood 3: The Dragonblood Alpha Ch2

An indisputable shriek filled the air of the boundless sky over the calm ocean that was empty of boats as a bright red Fire Dragonblood soared across the water, causing waves, and rocketed across the horizon. The image of unbridled freedom. Tucked into his riding position, Jay appeared to be part of Kai. They dipped, rolled, and dived over a sea teeming with whales, dolphins, and a few Water Dragonbloods. They pulled off daring maneuvers with honed refinement, making them seem effortless.

"Yeah!" Jay yelled in adrenaline. They heading skyward, rolled, and tumbled through the ethereal cloud-scapes and joining high-flying Speed Dragonbloods as they soar in a formation. Jay was bound head-to-toe in a snug, dark blue, aerodynamic flight suit. An asymmetrical, functional design of leather and articulated plates. "So what do you think, baby? Wanna give this another shot?" He asked his dragonblood boyfriend.

"You've gotta be kidding!" Kai grumbled in protest.

"Come on Kai! It'll be fine." He reassured and with a click of a lever, he locked the pedals in the flared tailfin position so Kai could fly stably. Jay then unhooked himself from the saddle. "Ready?"

"Fine." Kai snorted unenthusiastically. Suddenly, Jay slid off his back, peeling away from him like a skydiver from a plane, yelling as he plummeted. Kai dove after him. They spiraled through the air, face-to-face. Kai was having fun, despite himself. When he saw the ocean, Jay slipped his forearms through a pair of tucked leather flaps and pulled, unfurling sheets of leather as he extended his arms. They caught the wind, snapping like wings, and sent him gliding.

Kai unfolded his wings, too, catching up with his human boyfriend.

The freedom was palpable. Jay and Kai were, for the moment, the same. Feeling the same rush of adrenaline. Independently together. They plunged past cloud formations, splitting apart then crossing paths again.

"This is amazing!" Jay shouted, overjoyed at these feelings. All of a sudden, a cloud layer washed past, exposing a towering rock formation dead ahead. "No longer amazing! KAI!" He screamed as he tried to steer himself away, to no avail. Kai poured on the speed, trying to catch Jay as he hurtled toward the collision. His locked tail made maneuvering difficult. He was unable to pull up at a steep enough angle. At the last second, Kai blasted the jagged rocks just ahead of them, then wrapped Jay in his wings as they flew through it.

The obliterated peak rained down around them.

Kai emerged through the cloud of debris and hurtled into the trees of a neighboring peak. They tumbled down the uneven terrain, coming to rest on a small plateau. Jay emerged from the cocoon of Kai's wings. He switched his prosthetic riding foot to his walking foot and stowed his leather wings. As Kai transformed into his human form, the sea stack cracked and fell.

"That really came out of nowhere." The brunette grumbled as he rubbed his sore muscles.

"We gotta work on your solo flying there, baby; that locked-up tail makes for some pretty sloppy rescue maneuvers, eh?" Jay chuckled as removed his helmet. He walked to the edge of the cliff, taking in the new land. "Looks like we found another one." He beamed and an annoyed Kai threw a small pebble at Jay's head. Jay looked at him, but Kai frowned and avoided his gaze.

"Oh, what? Do you want an apology? Is that why you're pouting, big baby boo? Well, try this on!" He teased as he hugged him and tried to wrestle with him. Kai's frowns melted to a smile at his boyfriend's attempt to overpower him. Despite growing in muscles and confidence to the last five years, they both knew Jay could never face Kai in hand-to-hand combat, with or without fire powers. All of a sudden, the brunette grabbed Jay's wrists, pinned him to the floor, and started kissing his face and neck.

"What's that you were saying?" Kai smirked.

"You're right! You're right! You win! You win!" Jay shrieked in roars of laughter. Satisfied, Kai got off him and let him get up. After catching his breath and with a big smile on his face, Jay got to his feet and looked around at the new island, and pulled out his map. "Whaddya reckon, baby? Think we might find a few Gravity Dragonbloods in those woods? The odd Light Dragonblood or two in the rocks? Who knows... maybe we'll finally track down another Fire Dragonblood; wouldn't that be something?" He sighed sadly as he stopped drawing on the map and looked out at the new horizon. "So, whaddya say baby? Should we just keep going?"

"When did you get so soppy?" Kai teased at his boyfriend's serious face. Jay rolled his eyes and lightly elbowed the dragonblood.

"Gotta make up for what you lack." He smirked back.

"Hey, I don't lack in anything! Especially where it counts, as you know." He purred seductively as he wrapped his arms around the ginger-haired man's neck before he burst out laughing at Jay's scarlet face. A dragonblood screech caught their attention. They turned just as they saw Cole and Rocky landed on the island. Kai gave Jay a quick kiss on the cheek he ran over excitedly to greet Rocky as Cole went to talk to the other rider.

"'Sup Rock?" The brunette smirked as the Earth Dragonblood sneaked him a cigarette while pulling out his own and he used his fire powers to light them. He had promised Jay he would cut down on his smoking, but it was hard to kick a habit like this.

"Not much, Grant almost set the town on fire with a lava ball... again, and Tes and Bolt are trying to tear each other to shreds." He sighed. He loved Adam and the triplets, but sometimes the kids, who were five now, drove them both mad.

"The offsprings of a Lightning and Earth Dragonblood couple are bound to cause chaos." Kai shrugged with a smirk.

"True, but I better the kids of a human and a Fire Dragonblood would be worse." He counted and Kai almost choked on his cigarette.

"What the fuck dude!"

"Oh come on hothead! Everyone's wondering when you two are gonna tie the knot and then have a little junior running around town." Rocky grinned at the bright crimson blush on Kai's tanned cheeks. Kai felt his temper flare up at this statement. They had talked about having children a few weeks ago, but both decided that they weren't ready for that yet, despite dating for five years now. Sadly, this hadn't sat well with Cliff. As soon as he caught wind of his son and Kai talking about having their own children, he began dropping hints about grandchildren or children, in general, every chance he got.

It didn't matter where or when.

Every morning, noon and night, no matter what activities Cliff caught them doing, like fishing or cooking, he would say how he used to do that with Jay, how he did it with his dad, and how great it would be for Jay to do it with his own child. Eventually, the couple had to sit Cliff down and explain to him that they weren't having children anytime soon. They thought that was the end of it. That is until Cliff decided to drop a bombshell on them this morning.

Without warning, Kai suddenly tackled Rocky to the ground and the dragonbloods started wrestling and chasing each other through the trees.

Their human riders glanced at the two dragonbloods, but shrugged it off and returned to their own conversation.

"Hey Cole, where have you been?" Jay asked as he returned to his map.

"Well, winning races, but what else?" He shrugged. "The real question is where have YOU been?"

"Avoiding my dad."

"Oh, no, what happened now?" He smirked.

"Oh, you're gonna love this." He groaned as he handed the pen to Cole. "I wake up, the sun's shining, crows are singing on the rooftop, I saunter down to breakfast with Kai, thinking all is right with the world and I get: Son, we need to talk." He said, imitating Cliff.

"Not now, Dad, Kai, and I have a whole day of goofing off to get started," Cole replied, imitating Jay, which the ginger didn't look impressed with.

"Okay, first of all, I don't sound like that! What is this character?!" He cried, but the light giggles showed Cole that he wasn't actually offended.

"A truly flattering impersonation." He said as he rolled his eyes. "Anyway he goes: you're the pride of Ninjago, and I couldn't be more proud of you; you're all grown up, and since no chief could ask for a better successor, I've decided-"

"To make you chief! Oh, my Gods!" Cole suddenly gasped as he stood up, doing a complete turnaround in the mood. It was clear, however, that Jay didn't share his eagerness though. "Jay, that's amazing!" He exclaimed and to settle his joy he punched him in the stomach. Jay cried out in surprise and stepped back, holding the injured side as the dorsal fin sprung up.

"You-You're gonna wear out the spring coil, the calibration is very sensitive." He scolded and Cole chuckled as he adjusted his armor. Suddenly they both are thrown down by the still fighting dragonbloods when they pass by them. Cole stood up with a huff from where he landed, kneeling over Jay.

"Yeah... so..." Jay sighed as he accepted the offered hand and pulled himself up as well. "This is what I'm dealing with."

"What did you tell him?"

"I- I didn't, by the time he turned around we were gone." He replied as Cole bent down to pick up the map.

"Well, that's a lot of responsibility, for sure; the map will have to wait for sure and I'll need to fly Kai since you'll be too busy, but I'm sure he understands." The noirette hummed as he walked away, pressing the map in Jay's chest. When he turned around, Jay looked at him so miserably.

"It's not me, Cole." He admitted. "All those speeches and planning and running the village, that's his thing."

"I think you're missing the point." He replied. "I mean... Chief! What an honor, I'd be pretty excited!"

"I... I'm not like you; you know exactly who you are, you've always had, but... I'm still looking." He sighed sadly as he stepped away from the noirette and towards the edge dejected while further behind Rocky and Kai started fighting over a fallen tree trunk. "I know that I'm not my father, and I've never met my mother so… what does that make me?"

"I get where you're coming from," Cole replied. "I might not have been as young as you when I lost my Mom, but when she died Dad and I kinda drifted apart, and as I grew older I felt like I didn't know who I was; my Dad barely talked to me and I felt like my Mom was a stranger to me because we never talked about her." He explained. "But after you and Kai changed everything, Rocky helped me reconnect with Dad and I finally realized who I was.

"It's not the same Cole." He muttered as he flopped down on the ground. Cole came from behind and sat next to him.

"What I'm saying is that what you're searching for isn't out there, Jay." He smiled as he placed his hand on Jay's chest. "It's in here, and maybe you just don't see it yet." He added but Jay ignored him and focused on the sky.

"Maybe... But you know... there is something out there." He muttered as he got up on his knees and watched attentively something off-screen.

"Ugh! Jay..." He groaned as he shook his head. Jay reached blindly with his hand and grasped his chin, turning his face to what he saw and Cole gasped. In the distance, over the cliffs, there was a trail of smoke climbing up into the morning sky...

#How to Train Your Dragonblood #ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago jay #ninjago cole #ninjago nya #ninjago zane #plasmashipping

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gvnbreaker · 5 years

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CHARACTER SURVEY || Aja Hyskaris

@yascaret edited/removed some of the questions to make this more FFXIV-friendly. I made a few of my own changes as well.

RULES. Repost, don’t reblog! Tag 10! Good luck!

TAGGED BY. @yascaret and @wood-warder

TAGGING. If you’re reading this, you’re tagged!

BASICS. FULL NAME : Aja Hyskaris

NICKNAME : None (yet?)

AGE : Appears around late 20s/30 by hyur standards

BIRTHDAY : Midsummer

GENDER : Non-binary; she/they

ETHNIC GROUP : Viera (Rava)

NATIONALITY : Ivalician (?)

LANGUAGE / S : Common

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Homosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Homoromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : In a relationship with Lofn Yascaret & Pjel Qoet

HOME TOWN / AREA : The Hyskarian Deepwood, Golmore

CURRENT HOME : A small house in Shirogane.

PROFESSION : Mercenary. Bounty/monster hunter & occasional bodyguard.

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Vibrant red, wild, curly, falling to mid-back; undercut. Sideburns and widow’s peak.

EYES : Amber.

FACE : Square with a sharp jawline. High cheekbones, thick, arched eyebrows, and a prominent, aquiline nose. Often smirking insufferably or flirtatiously, prone to great expressiveness and wide smiles but just as easily brooding. Sharp teeth.

LIPS : Full. Her smiles are crooked to begin with and deadened nerves on the left side of her mouth add to the effect.

COMPLEXION : Deep brown with warm undertones, lighter palms and soles of her feet, a lighter smudge underneath her nose and around her nostrils. Freckling around her shoulders, arm, the tops of her thighs and her lower back.

BLEMISHES : None of note.

SCARS : Covered in scattered scars of varying age, depth, and severity, particularly on her left side and near her prosthetic arm. Ceruleum burns on torso; old, ringed scar around throat; vertical scar on left corner of mouth; small scar across nose; edge of left eyebrow; three scars beneath right eye.

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS : Blackwork tattoos around forearm and legs, among others (design with art to come); white tattoos (curve, three dots) beneath eyes; Several gold rings along outer shells of ears; gold septum ring

HEIGHT : Just under six fulms, not counting her ears.

WEIGHT : Average.

BUILD : Muscular and stocky, with broad shoulders tapering to a strong waist and thighs. [body type reference]

FEATURES : Her left arm, from the start of the bicep, is a mechanical prosthetic, appearing to be of magitek-or-close make.

ALLERGIES : None that she knows of.

USUAL HAIR STYLE : Worn loose and wild, not so much a style as a thick mane.

USUAL FACE LOOK : Bare-faced, wearing tinted red pince nez. Smirking, grinning, flirting--generally looking like a complete asshole.

USUAL CLOTHING : Loose, open shirts, trousers, long coats, heavy, knee-high boots, leather jackets.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Imprisonment, isolation, drowning, Garlean war machina.

ASPIRATION / S : Stability, helping others, belonging. In her younger years, she had romantic visions of knighthood, but those have since quieted with the years.

POSITIVE TRAITS : Adventurous, Passionate, Brave, Charismatic, Strong, Empathic

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Cocky, Bull-headed, Self-destructive, Reckless, Impulsive

MBTI : ESFP

ZODIAC : Leo

TEMPERAMENT : Sanguine

SOUL TYPE / S : Warrior

ANIMALS : Wolf

VICE HABIT / S : Brooding, drinking to excess, recklessness, impulsive decisions, using sex as validation.

FAITH : She spares it little thought.

GHOSTS ? : Yes.

AFTERLIFE ? : Maybe.

REINCARNATION ? : Hopefully.

ALIENS ? : When she met her first hyur man, she knew aliens were real.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Garlemald bad, fuck cops.

EDUCATION LEVEL : Average for a viera of her village. She's taught herself to read between the lines better after being conned out of a full hunt reward once or twice in her early days in Rabanastre.

FAMILY. FATHER : Fleeting contact a lifetime ago.

MOTHERS : Still in the Wood.

SIBLINGS : Several, no contact. She was close with one, but has made peace with never seeing any of them again.

EXTENDED FAMILY : Still in the Wood--as far as she knows.

NAME MEANING / S : Aja, from the Hyskarian Deepwood

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : She was born in Golmore, but as far as she knows her name has little meaning.

FAVORITES. BOOK : Adventure stories and romance novels. She’d never admit it, but they can be found hidden in her satchel or underneath or inside other things.

DEITY : She tries not to think about them.

HOLIDAY : Moonfire Faire, ????

MONTH : Summer

SEASON : Summer & Fall

PLACE : A grassy field. The back of a cycle. On top of someone or between someone's legs.

WEATHER : Thunderstorms, rain showers, clear skies and bright sun overhead.

SOUND / S: Rain, thunder in the distance, the soft breathing of a woman asleep.

SCENT / S : Metal, cedar, rain, leather, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

TASTE / S : Meat, whiskey, curry, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

FEEL / S : Furs, leather, grass, rain, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

ANIMAL / S : Cats, coeurls, dogs.

NUMBER : 7

COLORS : Red, browns, black, gunmetal

EXTRA. TALENTS : She's a blunt instrument, so beating the shit out of things. Flirting. Fixing things, usually the mechanical variety. Making friends. Diffusing social conflicts as often as she creates them. She's a good cook, but it's suitable really nowhere else but over a fire with a beast's flank in one hand and a metal spit in the other.

BAD AT : Love. Understanding and accepting her feelings. Has a chronic case of Foot-in-Mouth Disease. Has a long fuse, but her temper can spin out of control when pressed. Terrible at restraint and not being reckless and impulsive.

TURN ONS : Stockings, especially with the seam up the back. The nape of a woman's neck. Banter. Compliments. Smiles. Give her a smile and a coquettish eyelash flutter or make her feel strong and she's useless putty in your hands.

TURN OFFS : Flirtatious men, cowards, cruelty, Garleans.

HOBBIES : Fishing, tinkering, gambling, trying new foods, sparring and training, exercise.

TROPES : You Can’t Go Home Again, Badass Longcoat, Dark-Skinned Readhead, Cannot Spit It Out, Hot-Blooded, Scars Are Forever, Everyone Can See It, Artificial Limbs, Berserk Button, Unusual Eyebrows, Dark and Troubled Past, Rage Breaking Point, Cool Bike, Hot-Blooded Sideburns, Fiery Redhead, Red Oni Blue Oni, Gun Blade, La Résistance, Spell Blade, Love Epiphany, Bruiser with a Soft Center, Didn’t Think This Through (Gonna stop now or I’ll be here all night)

QUOTES : “Ah, fuck.”

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : John Wick mixed with Final Fantasy VIII mixed with Drive but with Garlean soldiers, turncoats, gay bro content, a sorceress, and also heaps of gay in general.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Chromatic rock, Nightrun, hair metal, a lot of Deftones, Tool, the Weeknd, indie and acoustic rock for angst.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : When viera were teased at Fanfest, I lost my mind and have been unable to concentrate on any other character since. Aja was actually going to be a hrothgar, but when they genderlocked them and the model and general design didn’t fit her body type, well… plans changed.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Much like @yascaret’s answer, getting my gay hands on viera in FFTA and being obsessed since then. I wanted to write a warrior, a little battered but unbroken despite everything. She came out differently than originally planned, but in a good way. She’s just an even bigger himbo now.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I worry about Flanderizing her too hard, because while she is a big flirtatious himbo idiot I also want it to come across that she has depth.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Not a lot. I guess we're both stubborn idiots with very long fuses that nonetheless eventually explode and/or destroy whatever is on the receiving end. Also what's gender precious

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : She probably wouldn’t acknowledge me at all, but we might bond over spicy noodles.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : Lofn and Pjel are the obvious choice, but… Lofn and Pjel. I really love writing her alongside and against them because their personality traits both complement and chafe against one another, often in the same scene. Also I love their chemistry and look forward to how that plays out. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9 : B u n y d e a t h s q u a d. Just in general seeing my RP partners and roleplayers I haven’t interacted with yet writing and posting content for their characters really inspires me. As far as writing Aja, I take a handful of aesthetics, design elements, and themes and smash them together until something clicks. Listening to music and rolling through a prompt generator usually kick starts me into writing a drabble or developing something, and the FFXIV Write challenge has been great for that this month.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?

A10 : About an afternoon and part of an evening. I fell into TV Tropes a little too hard near the end.

#about #character building #memes #ffxiv crystal #ffxiv rp #balmung #furiously formatting this before the oncoming storm knocks out our power and yeets my draft into oblivion #rava viera #viera

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bugaboowritings · 5 years

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On Mother’s Lap - Adrien Misses his Mom

Adrien talks to his (Maybe-Dead) Mother

I swear I’m okay, just freaking out about the last episodessssss. Enjoy this piece inspired by this angst-thread.

Don’t forget to reblog my and other writers’ and artists’ works. Gonna spread that good stuff as this fandom reaches a crisis.

People will never remember the day they were first held in their parent’s arms, but they will feel and recognize their mother’s embrace or the throbbing of her heartbeat drumming against their ear when she comforts them. Learning to cherish the warmth of her meals or the cool drives to school in the early, winter mornings. Appreciating the home-diagnosis of illnesses as a fresh hand presses against one’s forehead. Or the shouting that beckons one downstairs to help with groceries or memorizing the script their parents repeat when they get a scolding for rolling their eyes.

All the little niches of home-life and the precious recollections are embedded between the pages in fragile photo albums. Moments in reality that the boy with everything will never have again.

His family isn't together.

His mother is gone.

Period.

In the beginning, Adrien Agreste still needs to step back and process how great his loss is. How this will change the rest of his years and the house he confidently called home once.

Settling for the sun-baked stone left out in the garden of roses for a mom. Nuzzling his face in the crook of his arms before setting his head on her solid lap. His sleeves pulled over his fists. Nervously picking at the seams and yarn. Distressing it as much as his heartstrings were.

“Mother,” He said before his voice quivered ever so slightly.

“Do you think I should forgive him?”

In the western shows that plagued late-night television or movie screens, they often aired high school stories or coming-of-age tales. Living the most normal or diverse lives as they did their homework the night before it was due. Sitting around with friends or plugging themselves to their phone until something interesting happened (which was usually around ten minutes into the flim).

Nevertheless, they all have something to go home to. From the neat trailer parks to the dusty suburbs. From the close-knit ghettos or cluttered apartments. There was always something to come back too. A family waiting to come together. A stove with something cooking or a fridge waiting to be plundered.

Adrien watched millions of titles in his childhood, eating them up as if they were goodies after Halloween night. Watching them long enough to identify the actors and their love interests, memorizing the plots of some, certain scenes from another or a single line that could define the movie altogether. Sometimes his flat screen tv played the movies on repeat on certain nights or didn’t stop playing till the sun peaked over the horizon the next morning.

Buying more with his allowance and replaying them since they were the only snippet of 'real' life he had in his possession. Exposing him to different lives and points of view as the characters went out to find themselves. All as Adrien found himself in the same spot every Friday night.

Each movie presented a new experience that Adrien would engulf himself in. He was a spy helping lost aliens, a nerd looking for a date to the dance, a lawyer that finally had the advantage after years of being the underdog, a writer trying to make it big or even a free man exploring the everlasting sunset of the open ocean. He became so involved with their lives and stories that those characters became a part of him, reinforcing certain wishes and hopes in him. Making him realize what he really wanted.

Not another bike or pinball machine or world-wide trip or a silver watch to wear to those elaborate dinner parties he constantly felt anxious and sweaty in or another fountain pen that had his name engraved. No, not that. What he really wanted were simple and cheap joys of life.

However, if they were really that simple in the end, he wouldn’t have to go to bed starving for them.

Sniffing up his tears when he grew more frustrated with each reject or light ‘maybe’. Burying his face in his pillow before he could calm down. Each year was more difficult than the last since asking for permission felt like presenting a case to an inflexible court. Determining to say guilty without hearing his suit.

In the beginning, refusal was reasoned out with duties and values.

“Adrian, I- Your father is a busy man. He can’t always be with us for dinner.”

“Adrien, son. You have to focus on your studies. I heard from your tutor that your Chinese isn’t as fluid as it once was. How can I let you out there if you’re not taking care of your responsibilities here?”

“Oh, Adrien. I would prefer if you watch the movie here, really. Movie theaters aren’t the cleanest and it’s flu season. The family has connections with the director so we work something out-”

“Adrien, please. Your mother sick and needs to rest. Go to your room before you wake her up.”

“Adrien, your father is not in the best . . . -mindset. He needs time alone.”

“Adrien. Get ready before the car picks you up for your fencing class.”

Those dismissals just seem plain offensive as time passed. Hushed without another word, being told to finish his meal before it got cold.

It wasn’t until the disappearance of a beloved blonde that triggered an awful period in the Agreste Mansion. As reporters were flooding Nathalie’s line, his father (if we should even call him that) locked himself in his office under lock and key. Never speaking to his son, unless the business needed him too.

Eating dinner wasn't as enjoyable as it was before. The dull atmosphere made Adrien lose his appetite more times than the chief could count.

Adrien went out to fencing class more often. The only time he was really out of the dark house was spent being sweaty and tired, but it all better than sitting in his room waiting for a miracle to happen.

Fencing as gracefully as it can be- was driven by action. Letting the young teen relieve that anger pinching his shoulders. Making his back too stiff to get a good-night sleep.

Chinese and piano lessons were time-consuming and grew to be a bit irritating when he didn't get the keys or pronunciation right. While the newly added photoshoots felt 'artificial' and strange. Making him feel more disconnected than he already was.

The only thing that seemed to bring him back from that limbo state was his old DVDs in his cabinets and drawers. Rediscovering them after shuffling around his room for a distraction. By 7 pm, he had organized his shelves and surrounded himself with a circle of movie classics and old favorites that hopefully aged as well as the wine in the house’s cellar.

Slowly, he went down his old system of watching and repeating, watching and ejecting one to put in another DVD. In a way, it helped him mourn. The comedy let him smile for a moment, the plot made him forget everything, and the emotional bits made it easier for him to cry. Comfort him when Nathalie’s schedules and his father’s silent couldn’t.

However, they hurt more at times then relief.

It made it more apparent that he was missing something in his life.

Starving for any air outside of the huge mansion that was shut with security systems, gates, and bodyguards. Not helping the aching in his heart for a friend his age or a day out in the mall or REAL teachers to teach and correct him on his classwork or socks with funky designs that his father wouldn't approve of or a group of friends to sit and talk to while eating the not-so-pleasant cafeteria food in a public school or and the thing he knew he may never get, a nagging mother.

Not one to tell him to clean his room, no one to give him a heart-to-heart talk he's heartbroken, no one to tell him to look at this and that when they're out shopping and no one to push away when they beg to pick at his acne when he’s grown used to it.

Even as the idea mellowed in his head, it still managed to give him a heart attack.

Adrien squeezed his arms tighter. Feeling his eyes get squshed against his forearms, knowing that it would add to the redness on his face.

Instead of his mother’s butter-like tone, he was left with a stone statue that spoke more than the snake surrounded by silks and threads inside.

Adrien came to the terms and conditions of his position. He was the son of the rich, famous, and had everything he required. Yet, this life wasn’t what he wanted. Adrien had to get out of here before he became crazy. All as his father, on the other hand, thought otherwise. Rejecting his son's pled to go to public school all in the harsh way possible.

By grounding him.

“I just don’t agree with this. And I already know what you’re going to say.” Giving a chuckle that sounded more like the rough wheeze or his deflating lungs gripping for air. As if they would preparing to get drowned out by another set of sobs. Lifting his head up while his eyes squinted at the sun. Adjusting to the brightness as his eyelashes fluttered.

“-'Your father shows his love in a distinctive and subtle way.' But mother, this isn’t about love.” Biting his lip as if that sentence made his mouth bitter. Not sure if he wanted to hide his pain or spill it out in the open much like how the morning sun shined over the garden of roses.

“It’s not concern or affection or a sense of protection." Adrien sniffed.

"It’s plain right dissociation.”

“ And . . . That’s not a family.” He hushed, afraid of the conclusion he came to. Delivering it as a whisper, not wanting to break his mother on the reality that played out without her near.

Adrien held himself tightly, rubbing circles on his shoulders. Closing his eyes as he prayed for a sign to tell him what she felt. Something to show him that she's there. Holding him even if he's the only one there. Whispering in his ear that it's okay, everything will be fine. Time will pass. Things will heal.

Swiftly, the cool breeze around him warmed up. A sunray managed to weave its way around the rosebushes to hit his shiny hair. Lifting the boy's head to glance at his mother's smile down on him. The sunlight caught his mom’s eyes, glimmering the bits of crystal in them. Reminding him of the real thing.

“Thanks, Mom.” Adrien beamed. Biting his lip before he let out another sob. “I knew I could count on you.”

Dropping his head down back to his mother’s lap.

#ml #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous the tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrien agreste #emilie agreste #fic #my fic #My writing #my writings #light ice angst #inspired by that one post

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phantom-soldat · 5 years

Photo

Meeting Sebastian Stan.

This is not an opportunity I ever expected to have, at least not anytime soon. When he was first announced to be a guest at MCM Comic Con (London, May 2019) I had a bunch of people tagging me in the announcement post. Sebastian is an actor that means a lot to me - He’s caring and has struggled with a lot of the same things that I struggle with; from anxiety to depression, and generally being a bit lost in the world. We’ve all seen the posts of him commenting on fan’s posts, giving them advice while simultaneously putting more positivity and support into the world. For this reason, and more, he is incredibly inspiring and important to me. I aspire to be as supportive, caring, loving, goofy and giving as this man.

So, when he was announced, I knew I had to meet him. For me, it wasn’t an option: I had to. It was simply too important for me not to.

One thing I had wanted to do before I met him was get a tattoo of the Winter Soldier, however, due to money issues and time, etc, I had never had the opportunity to get one before comic con. Until comic-con. Another opportunity came up when MCM announced that they were having tattoo artists at the convention, and so I booked in with a lovely lady by the name of Laura, from Empire INK in Edinburgh. Thankfully, I managed to save up enough money for the tattoo - Through both selling possessions and saving up money from my day-job.

She was absolutely lovely and great with communicating the design I had in mind. I wanted something to match the other tattoos on the opposite arm; a portrait, with his signature at the bottom (on my opposite arm I have a Hela portrait). The Bucky tattoo would be on my left inner forearm, covering self-harm scars with something - someone/a character - that means so much to me. Bucky, much like myself, has been through a lot of mental issues. He’s lost, finding his way, but despite all of the issues he’s had? He’s made it through it all, he’s continued fighting despite all of the challenges he’s faced... and that’s something I can remind myself: I can fight and get through the challenges I face. I will survive, and have survived. The significance of this tattoo, and getting Sebastian to sign it, was and is extremely important to me.

Which leads to the first picture.

First picture. So, on the first day of comic-con (the Friday) Sebastian wasn't there. This was the day I booked in for a full-day session for my tattoo. Laura, my artist, was absolutely ecstatic as she’s also a fan of the guy, and was super pumped to find out that Sebastian would be seeing her work. The session lasted for, roughly, seven hours with only one five-minute break for both my artist and I to have something to eat. During the course of the tattoo, the MCM staff came up to view the process of the tattoo; the security were very excited about it, and got the media team to come down to the section of the hall where all of the tattoo artists were. It was all very exciting, talking to them was lovely - They were all so supportive, kind and frequently returned throughout the course of the day to see the process. Alas, the media team turned up and took a few photos: One of which winded up on the MCM social media sites: Instagram, Facebook, Twitter. Both Laura and I freaked out, it was getting a lot of attention.

Second/third picture. Saturday came around fairly quickly. This was the day where I would try to get my autograph - The day I HAD to get it, as to not disturb the healing process of my tattoo. I was dressed as Wakanda Bucky that day, deciding to cosplay something more comfortable due to both the pain from my arm, the hot weather, and the fact that I couldn’t restrict my arm in tight costumes.

Before the convention, I had put together a little gift-box for Sebastian to give back to him the love, care and gratitude he gives to his fans. Inside, there was a Winter Soldier book (Civil War) that I had made him; personalised on the inside to, firstly, look like it held Winter Soldier documents which lead on to messages I had collected from fans. All stories about how he had changed their lives for the better, how he had made a positive impact on the world. I included other gifts, too, like a t-shirt (that says ‘Straight Outta Cryo’, much like his ‘Straight Outta Romania’ shirt), some drawings of mine, a Bucky, Nat and Sam tsum-tsum and a little lego figurine of Bucky.

So, with the box in my arms, I waited for about an hour and a half in the autograph queue. Although I missed his panel, it was worth it, because I knew that if I had attended that I would only spend more time waiting, and less time with my friends later on.

While waiting in the queue, I was alone and full of anxiety. This was a big moment for me. I’d actually see him. Meet him. Something I’d been waiting for years and years to have the opportunity for. People were trying to snag sneaky pictures of him: going on their friends shoulders just to get a peak of the infamous Seb Stan.

Eventually, it was my turn to walk up to the table where he was signing. Due to the sheer amount of people that were there, it was very rushed, for they wanted to get through as many people as possible: I knew this going in, and so I’d been going over and over what I’d say to him in my head. With a smile, he greeted me; it was clear that he was tired, having flown in the previous morning and hadn’t stopped working since. Rumour has it he worked through his breaks to continue meeting fans - between the photo-ops, the panels and the signings he must have been really exhausted, with jet-lag on top of that, and so I felt really bad for the guy.

In brief words I explained my gift to him, and he smiled and let out a laugh upon hearing what the t-shirt said. At the time he didn’t open the box, because it was simply too busy to do so and the convention staff were pushing him to continue going through as many people as he could. In the panel I had missed, or the panel the next day (I can’t remember which one) I believe he referenced this and said how he wished he could spend more time with us all, and talk to us all properly. I still treasure every second I got to spend with him, though, because as previously stated, it was a moment that is extremely close to heart, and I know a lot of people wouldn’t have had this opportunity (this was also why I gathered fan messages, so that I could give him something from them in-case they never do have this opportunity).

The convention staff got me to show him what I wanted signed: Most people brought posters, or pop-vinyls, but I showed him my arm and said I’d like my wrist tattooed. He delicately held my hand and arm as he signed it, and then I was on my way once I had thanked him.

Afterwards, I immediately called up my bestfriend and burst into tears. I had met him. I had thanked him. I had given him a gift and, now, I would have his autograph on me forever, knowing that I have a very personal reminder to myself: I can do this. Whatever ‘this’ is, I can do it.

Due to the overwhelming emotions I was having, the busy crowds, the heat, and the pain and toll the tattoo session the previous day had caused me, I did have quite a big panic-attack. During this time, I had to go outside and get some fresh air, but my best-friend stayed on the phone with me and calmed me down - I am eternally grateful for his friendship and support, and for moments like these when he helps ground me back to reality.

This leads on to the next photo; where, once I’d had some fresh air, a drink and some food, I went back inside to get the signature tattooed. Once again, Laura and I freaked out over it, and I told her all about it excitedly as she finished up tattooing the autograph and shading around it. She even went back over the little red star at the top of my wrist, which Seb had signed over. Laura did an amazing job with the tattoo, and worked the signature into it flawlessly. I can’t thank her enough.

Sunday. This was the day that my photo-op was booked (that was an entire process of its own. Tickets sold out within 2-3 minutes - I am so, SO thankful that I managed to snag one). Much like the autograph process, the MCM staff were trying to get through as many people as possible, and so the entire thing was very ‘click and go’. Generally, this is the case with photo-ops at conventions - It’s less personal, more of a ‘capture the moment’ type of thing.

On this day, I was dressed as Black Widow from The Winter Soldier. It wasn’t the best costume I have ever worn, admittedly, but I was excited for my photo-op none the less. My costume broke on the way to the con, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me, and once again I was waiting in a long line for one last moment with Sebastian.

I knew that he likes Bucky and Natasha’s relationship in the comics, and that he would’ve liked them to be together in the movies. This is a ship that I also sail, along with Stucky, but I thought that being Nat would be a lot better as it’s also something that he enjoys. I actually managed to capture a sneaky video on my phone of me approaching him during the photo-op. They were very strict about no-photos apart from the one you paid for, which I understand, but at the same time, this was too important for me not to try and grab sneaky videos, etc. So I did. Sue me. (Please don’t, I’m going to be a poor student soon).

As I approached him during the photo-op, he looked a lot less tired, which I was thankful to see. He greeted me with a smile once more, and I showed him my finished tattoo - I kind of stood my ground and spoke to him very briefly before the photo-op was taken. Most people were conveyor belted through their sessions with him, but I was determined to show him the finished product. With a smile and an expression somewhat akin to awe, he said that it was amazing. We soon moved onto talking about what I wanted for the photo-op, and it took a split second for us both to get into position.

I wanted to look as if we were dancing romantically, as Natasha has a history of ballet. The final photo in the post was my photo-op, and I couldn’t be happier with it. It was a very full-on weekend, but I enjoyed every second of it.

Thank you MCM for giving me, and others, the opportunity to meet such an amazing man. Thank you Sebastian for flying all the way to London to take the time to meet your fans in England. Thank you Laura, for being an amazing tattoo-artist and for the nerdy talks we had during my tattoo session, and for giving me a piece of work on my art that is very, very treasured to me; and, finally, thank you to all of my friends for supporting and loving me, for continuously encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone and to keep on fighting.

And continue fighting on I will, just like Bucky.

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soulofatiny · 5 years

Text

No fear, I’m here...Ch.4: “Gremlin”

-warning(s): minor mentions of symptoms of anxiety

-word count: 4k

-a|n: here is the 4th chapter! there’s finally some signs of character development beginning and i’m super excited! i’m honestly a hoe for character development

happy reading!

Ch.5

masterlist

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“Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Hongjoong.”

You finally opened the door to your guest bedroom, fighting off the unsettling feeling that resided deep within you as you entered. Shutting the door behind you, you clutched onto your chest along with the silky fabric of the dress. What was this uncomfortable sensation you were feeling? Were you ill? No, you’ve felt this way before in the past many years ago, the same displeasing nostalgia that has been haunting you throughout your lifetime. You felt your heart beating faster as your chest was getting tighter and tighter.

“Breathe…just breathe.”

You spoke these words often… even though breathing was supposed to be an automatic maneuver for the human body, you still felt the need to remind yourself as soon as you felt your heart rate picking up, restricting the space in your chest.

After inhaling and exhaling for a couple of minutes, the weighty pounding of your heart managed to subside as it gradually went back to its normal rate. Dropping the hand that was clutching onto your dress, you switched the light switch on as the brightness illuminated throughout the room, finally taking in your surroundings. The first thing that caught your attention besides the spacious room was the window that engulfed the farthest wall of the room completely. Something that was an ongoing theme for this entire mansion, large windows. Whoever designed this mansion must’ve admired the view that the world had to offer. You continued to trail your eyes, examining the room. A bed that was rather expansive in size laid on the center of the right wall. It was definitely way too big compared to what you were used to back in your small studio apartment. The floors had the same marble tiles that were used in the hallway and simplistic art was hanged on several areas of the wall. All in all, it was minimalistic and chic except for the sheer vast amount of space that differed from your usual lifestyle.

Suddenly, you were startled out of your thoughts as someone knocked on the door behind you. You peaked through the peephole on the door and saw Seonghwa standing there with a bag in his hand, patiently waiting for you to open the door.

What did he want…? You checked your forearms, making sure you still had your blades on you, the tip of the sharp weapon ready to make its appearance if necessary before you opened the door.

“Hey, y/n! I’m glad you’re still awake. I wanted to give you this,” he extended the arm that held the bag in front of you, “it’s a set of pajamas. I didn’t think you would want to sleep in what you were wearing now.”

You retracted the blades further back into your leather sleeves, seeing the coast was clear, and reached to grab the bag but something within you wanted to poke fun at him, “what’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

Seonghwa widened his eyes and waved his hands speedily, “Oh no! No, nothing’s wrong. It’s a really nice dress. I just wanted to make sure you were comforta–“

You chuckled quietly as he continued to banter and a blush began to spread across his cheeks. His cute behavior contrasted greatly from the flirtatious mature demeanor he portrayed back at Fellaz. You finally grabbed the bag from him, being content with teasing him, “I’m just kidding, Seonghwa. Thank you. I appreciate it,” you smiled up at him. Seonghwa smiled back, as the pink tint still briefly remained on his cheeks. “It’s no problem at all. Goodnight, y/n. I hope you’ll sleep well, yeah?”

“Yeah, you too. Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you replied as you both shared one last look at each other and closed the door. You changed into the pajamas that was given to you and head to bed, feeling the much needed rest hitting you deeply. As soon as you laid your head onto the soft fluffy pillow, sleep engulfed you entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nana……Nana…….”

What’s going on?

“Nana…”

Who’s calling me..?

“Nana! Are you paying attention?”

You looked up to your new teacher, “Miss…”

“Professor! Just call me Professor. Now, come on! Let’s go meet your brother.”

You nodded and followed your Professor back out to the hallway. Her heels clacked loudly and you looked to notice that it was a peculiar color that contrasted from her white lab coat immensely. You tried to inspect it closer but still found it strange no matter how much you examined it.

“Professor…”

The taller woman looked down at you and brought her pen to her clipboard, getting ready to write something down, “Yes, Nana?”

“Your shoes…what color is it?”

She looked down at her shoes and nodded in understanding, “Ah, I see. They probably didn’t show you what ‘colors’ were back at the phase-one training, I’m assuming.”

You nodded, “Yes, but I am familiar with the vocabulary. Please teach me.”

Your teacher smiled widely at you, “Yes of course! My shoes are blue. For example, the ocean is usually portrayed by this color as well.”

“Blue…” you whispered to yourself as you looked at her heels, trying to memorize the newfound color you’ve learned.

The Professor finished jotting down her notes and looked back at you, “Yes, now come on. We’re almost there!”

You both continued to walk down the hallway until she stopped at one of the doors, “Set is in here. He should already know that you’re coming and he’ll fill you in on how things work around here, okay?”

She looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“Yes, thank you, Professor,” you bowed at the older woman.

“Great! I will see you around Nana!” At that, the professor walked away, the clacking of her heels growing quieter and quieter as the distance between the two of you increased.

You turned to the big metal door in front of you, reached for the knob, and entered.

You walked inside without making a single sound, something you grew in habit of during your phase one training. The room was average size with a bunk bed on the left corner of the room. On the bottom bunk, you saw a boy around your age that was laying down on his back, reading a book. He looked so absorbed in it that you bet he wouldn’t even notice you even if you made a sound. The book was covering his face from your point of view so you moved a little closer.

“You must be Nana,” the boy suddenly uttered without moving from his current position.  “Y-Yes. You’re Set?” you mumbled softly.

The boy finally sat up, setting his book to the side, and answered, “Yeah, nice to finally meet you, Nana.”

You examined Set’s features. He had dark, slightly wavy locks that covered his forehead and had big brown eyes. But what caught your attention the most was the soft pink-hued birthmark that settled next to his left eye. You realized that you were staring for too long and looked down.

Set noticed your nervousness and reassured you, “You don’t have to be nervous. I know this is new, but we’ve been assigned as siblings so if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask.” Set smiled at you softly, hoping it would encourage you to be more comfortable but instead you were confused.

“Nervous..? Afraid…? Is this what I am feeling?” You questioned out loud but more towards for your own self. You were beginning to learn all types of emotions and label them to match your current feelings. Set knew that you wouldn’t understand at first. After all, he also went through the same exact thing when he first arrived at the phase-two institution.

“Yeah, that’s most likely what you’re feeling. It’s okay you’ll get used to it soon.”

You looked at the boy in front of you, “Set…how long have you been here?”

“Two years, so I was eight-years-old when I got here.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “How could anyone be able to finish all of their training at age eight?”

Set laughed at your reaction, “I’m only the third person who got here. I think the two before me came here at age seven.”

You whispered, “Wow,” again, more to yourself but Set still managed to hear it and continued, “I would’ve been able to graduate earlier but I sort of struggled with combat training. They actually let me graduate because my academic score was the highest they’ve ever received.”

You saw his cheesy grin and you knew he was proud of himself. Suddenly, your voice came out in a rhythm pattern without your control. Your eyes grew wide as you covered your mouth as Set laughed even harder, “You just laughed for the first time!”

You laughed again…you were laughing. You clutched onto your stomach, as you continued to laugh. You couldn’t really breathe as comfortably but you didn’t dislike the feeling.

You smiled wide, “Set! I think I like laughing!”

To that, Set stared at you for some time before replying, “I think I like it when you laugh too,” sharing your happiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jumped awake.

The sunlight that entered from the large window reflected onto your newly opened eyes from resting. You brought your arm up, letting the sleeve of your pajamas cover your eyes so you could have your momentary darkness again. You knew it was roughly 7:00 am because you have an internal alarm clock that woke you up automatically every morning. You’ve always cursed this function, especially this morning since you dreamt about your first meeting with Set. It may have been a dream, but you knew deep inside that it was actually your memories.

Where could Set have gone…? Why isn’t he in your life anymore…? You truly wished you didn’t wake up so you could’ve continued your dream, desperate to find the answers to your many questions.

“How could I have forgotten you…” your voice struggling to rasp out due to your dry throat.

After debating if you should leave the guest bedroom, you eventually decided to so you could observe the mansion more.

You swiftly exited out of the room without making a single sound, the same habit that stuck around with you since you were ten-years-old.

The mansion was quiet, everyone was probably still asleep. Honestly, you didn’t know where to go or what you’re exactly looking for. You just needed to find something to report to your boss at least once a week. You kept walking, hoping that you’ll end up somewhere until a door you just passed by opened suddenly.

“Y/n? You’re up already?”

You turned around to see the owner of the voice. It’s Jongho.

“Hey, Jongho. Yeah, I always wake up around this time. I wanted something to drink but I think I’m lost,” you silently hoped that you didn’t seem suspicious but Jongho chuckled, indicating that you’re probably safe.

“Yeah, it’s a big place. I’ll show you where the kitchen is at.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Jongho nodded and led you towards the way. You both walked in silence, maybe this was a good time for you to gather information. Just when you were about to speak, Jongho beat you to it instead, “Were you able to sleep well?”

You nodded, you didn’t really know what to say about your rest. Sleeping is just…sleeping. Something that’s a necessity for the human body.

“Are the others awake too?” you questioned, not knowing what to expect.

Jongho laughed, “If you’re wondering if you have to see Yunho’s dumb face, then no. That guy doesn’t wake up until almost noon so you’re safe.”

You stifled a chuckle, “Thank goodness… but what about the others? For real this time.”

You both arrived at the kitchen. Jongho reached towards the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for you before answering, “Hmm let’s see. Seonghwa, Yeosang, Hongjoong and Mingi are usually the first ones awake. Seonghwa goes to the market every morning and buys groceries to cook breakfast for us so he should be back anytime by now. Yeosang on the other hand, wakes up early but stays in his room until breakfast is ready. Hongjoong stays in his office to sort out missions and Mingi usually follows him to help him. Wooyoung actually sleeps even later than Yunho, usually past noon. No one really complains though because we save money on breakfast. And San, it really depends for him. He could either be sleeping the entire day away or wake up around this time like me to go work out in the training room. Which, I’m sure he must be waiting for me down at the basement.”

As if on cue, Seonghwa enters the kitchen with his arms full of grocery bags.

“Ah, see I was right,” Jongho nudged your arm lightly, “Morning, hyung. That’s a lot of bags you got there.”

Seonghwa placed all of the bags on the island counter, slightly out of breath, “Morning, guys! There was a sale! Oh and y/n, I got some clothes that you can change into for when you go back to your place to pack your things.”

You stood there astonished. This was not what you’ve expected from a crew of deadly members… Joking around is one thing but their lifestyles seemed…normal.

Were they pulling an act so you won’t find out about their true selves?

What were they hiding?

Seonghwa and Jongho exchanged eye contact, not knowing why you fell silent. “Y/n…are you okay?” Seonghwa asked as both he and Jongho looked ‘genuinely’ concerned.

They must be good actors…

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just… you all seem really close and.. normal.”

“It’s because we’re like family. No, we are family,” Jongho stated confidently. Hongjoong said the same exact thing last night. How could their leader and their maknae be able to sync so well together despite the major difference in levels of authority…? You truly couldn’t comprehend how it was possible.

Seonghwa added on, “Y/n, we’re really close because we’ve all been through tough times together. We were lucky to be able to build that relationship to where it’s standing today. Hongjoong and I didn’t get along at all at first…but now I can’t imagine life without him.”

“Ew, hyung, sappy much?~” Jongho joked with his older member, earning him a smack on his nape.

“Well, I really gotta go now. San is going to kill me. I’ll see you guys at breakfast!” Jongho fleed, leaving you and Seonghwa alone.

With the absence of the maknae’s energetic presence, you and Seonghwa felt some sort of silence that was a little awkward but you both didn’t dislike it.

“Can I help you make breakfast? It must be tough to cook for the entire group.”

Seonghwa smiled, appreciating your offer, “I love cooking since it’s a hobby of mine so I really don’t mind, but I would love the help! I’m thinking about making omelettes and french toast.”

You nodded, “Sounds goo-“

“What are you two doing here?”

Oh no…it’s that voice. His voice. You and Seonghwa both turned around, seeing that Yunho standing there.

“Yunho! You woke up early today and you’re not half asleep either~” Seonghwa joked with his younger member but Yunho’s eyes remained on you. Seonghwa immediately felt the tension taking over the kitchen and continued, “Y/n is here to help me make breakfast! Isn’t that nice of her?” he emphasized every word of the last sentence, almost threatening Yunho to agree. You expected Yunho to say some sarcastic remark but you thought wrong.

“Sure. Can I help too?”

“What?” you and Seonghwa both blurted out at the same time. It would’ve been a comical moment but you two were seriously confused at his unexpected answer.

“I want to help too. Make breakfast, that is.”

You stayed silent, not knowing what to say this time but Seonghwa was quick to agree, almost too enthusiastically.

“Great! Then Yunho, will you crack the eggs? Y/n you can begin cooking it on the frying pan when Yunho is done. I’ll work on the french toasts.”

Yunho nodded, but you still stared at him. Honestly not knowing what he’s thinking. When Seonghwa turned to work on the toasts, Yunho moved to the counter where the eggs and the bowl were, ignoring your stare. Really, just what was he thinking? He didn’t even apologize for his rude remark last night. Seriously, this boy didn’t have a single drop of mannerism within him.

“Hey, gremlin. Are you going to help or are you going to keep staring?”

Oh no…you sensed the cheekiness in his voice.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer~”

And there it was. Honestly, it was way too early to fight back. Yunho looked at you with a cocky grin, the stupid grin that you wanted to smack off of his face. Obviously content, he turned back to the bowl with an egg in his hand. You expected him to crack an egg like a normal person, but then you remembered that Yunho wasn’t normal and he smashed the egg on the corner of the bowl with full force, causing the egg shells to fly all over the counter and into the bowl. Even then, you decided to be nice and stayed quiet, giving Yunho a chance to redeem himself because after all, every single human being could crack an eg—

*CRACK*

You stared at Yunho, appalled. He broke the bowl….

You could tell Yunho was flustered by the way his shoulders tensed, “Don’t say a single wor-“

A laugh escaped from you, quick to cover your mouth but you still couldn’t help yourself as you continued to laugh despite doing your best to block it. Yunho watched you in shock as you laughed, arm propped against the counter for support. This was the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. Not the fake chuckles you let out occasionally that he really dislikes, but a true, authentic laugh.

“Gremlin, you-“

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa bursts in observing the situation. He was about to ask what you were laughing about until his eyes laid on the broken bowl on the counter next to Yunho.

“You broke my favorite bowl!” Seonghwa picked up the shards, clearly upset over his fine china.

“Sorry, hyung. I’ll buy you a new one. Um...I’m gonna go before I break anything else.” Yunho walked out, leaving Seonghwa distressed and with you finally collecting yourself.

When Yunho left the kitchen, he leaned against the wall of the hallway as his hand was covering his deeply flushed cheeks.

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The members all began gathering at the dining table one by one, a tradition that they liked to at least attempt to keep, to eat breakfast together. According to Seonghwa, it didn’t always work out because some of the members slept in so you were surprised to see that everyone was present this morning, even Wooyoung who supposedly usually slept past noon. You made eye contact with Yeosang and he pulled the seat next to him and you sat down.

“Hyung, I thought today was omelette day?” Wooyoung announced.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Seonghwa replied bluntly as Yunho twitched a little in his seat. Wooyoung nodded, happy even with just french toast, “Let’s dig in!”

Everyone hummed in agreement until Hongjoong stood up, a glass of orange juice in his hand, “Let’s make a toast to our new member, y/n!” The rest of the members collectively joined with their respective drinks of coffee, tea, and orange juice, all cheering. Wooyoung grabbed Yunho’s arm and lifted it for him along with his own drink, “Cheers!”

After the members finished eating and carried their plates to the sink, they all dispersed back to their individual activities or missions. You saw Hongjoong placing his plate into the sink so you walked up to him.

“Hey, Hongjoong. Can I go get my stuff at my place? It shouldn’t take long…”

“Of course,” he smiled at you until he spoke again, voice softer this time, “You don’t have to ask to go out, you know? I trust every single one of my members. I just expect them to stick with their responsibilities but other than that, they all have complete freedom. They’re not robots…”

You nodded, things were definitely different here. It’s strange how something fluttered in your stomach at the thought of that.

“Y/n, I’ll send someone that’s available to help you. Just wait at the entrance, okay?”

“Okay, thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, y/n.”

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You’ve been waiting at the entrance for almost 20 minutes now… You were fixing to leave without any help until you heard him.

“Gremlin, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You turned to look at Yunho, of course…the help was him.

“I’ve been waiting at the entrance like Hongjoong told me to for the past 20 minutes,” you hated wasting time more than anything.

“That’s the guest entrance. No one showed you the member’s entrance?”

“No…”

“Fine, I’ll show you,” Yunho reached to hold your wrist but you yanked it back a little too harsh to the point that it even surprised you.

“It’s fine… let’s go,” you walked past him as he retracted his hand.

The “member’s entrance” was actually a garage, you noted. Yunho opened the garage door and you were about to walk out until he stopped you, “What are you doing? We’re not walking there,” he tilted his head over to the cars that were aligned perfectly. Each car was spotless and looked brand new. It was luxurious and normal people definitely would’ve loved to ride the lavish cars but when you thought about having to get in the car, you suddenly felt nauseous. The negative memories of you being transported to different training institutions flashed across your mind, the only times you’ve ever ridden a car.

Yunho noticed you not following him, “Gremlin, come on. The sooner we finish this the better-“

“I can’t.”

“What?” Yunho turned back at you to complain but he noticed your complexion being paler than usual with a weary expression on your face.

“Nothing, let’s go,” you swallowed your anxiousness, opened the door, and sat on the passenger’s side, buckling yourself in with shaky hands.

‘Breathe…just breathe…You’re not going to another training base…’ you reminded yourself in your head. Yunho followed and switched the key in ignition. He drove out of the garage and head for your apartment, asking you directions every now and then as you mumbled back.

Only ten more minutes to go until you reach there, it’ll be okay…

Two minutes have passed and you were holding your breath at this point so Yunho wouldn’t notice your uneasy breathing. Little did you know, Yunho kept stealing glances at you, observing your condition. He suddenly swerved to the side of the road, putting the car in break and parked it.

Fear began to creep up as you expected the worse.

“W-What are you doin-“

“Get out.”

He was going to try to kill you. Of course, he would. He hated you and now is the perfect opportunity to do so.

You got out, getting ready to fight for your life. But Yunho simply got out of the car, locked it, and placed the car keys in his pocket.

“Which way now?” he asked looking around everywhere and at everything except for you.

“What?”

“Your place. Which way should we go?” he said as he looked down, finally connecting his eyes with yours.

You meekly pointed at the direction, “Um...left.”

Yunho began walking towards left without a second later, hands in his pocket.

“What about the car?” you asked.

“Leave it. We don’t need it.”

You chased after him, struggling to keep up with his long legs, and confused as to why he would suddenly want to walk.

∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘

-e|n: my heart may or may not have fluttered while writing this... I hope you enjoyed this chapter! let me know what you think, thank you for reading :)

(p.s. the next chapter should be out soon since I’ve already written half of it...)

#ateez #a-tothe-z masterlist #atzwriters #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez scenarios #assassin au

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emjenenla · 7 years

Text

What You Don’t Know... [A White Cat Fanfiction]

Title: What You Don’t Know…

Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjen_enla (Wattpad)/emjenenla (Tumblr)

Teaser: …will probably come back and get you at some point. Or an AU where Philip and Barron are trying to protect Cassel not use him, because that’s all I wanted from this book. Written without reading Red Glove and Black Heart.

Rating: PG-13/T

Canon/Timeline: AU, probably set earlier than White Cat is in mainstream canon

Dominant Characters: Philip Sharpe, Barron Sharpe, Cassel Sharpe, Anton Zacharov, mentions of various other characters

Pairings: Philip/Maura, perhaps VERY subtle undertones of Cassel/Lila if you squint

Warnings: some violence; pretty much everyone is intentionally OOC because this AU wouldn’t work if they were all in character

Notes:

-Two questions: 1. Does anyone remember what the name of Philip and Maura’s son is? 2. What kind of worker is Anton?

Disclaimer: I don’t own White Cat by Holly Black or Advil.

“Excuse me,” the teenage boy said to the guard. “Is this the way to the bathroom?”

Philip Sharpe peaked around a corner to get a better look. His younger brother, Cassel, stood before the guard, his posture rumpled and anxious, his gloved hands picking at his sleeves. He was almost unrecognizable, and Philip couldn’t help but be impressed. Since Cassel wasn’t a worker, it was too easy to write him off as useless, but Cassel was one of the best con-artists Philip had ever met. It was almost terrifying.

“How did you get back here, kid?” the guard asked. “This is a restricted area.”

“He’s going to blow it,” Anton Zacharov grumbled from behind Philip. “We should have had Barron do this part. He’s the luck worker.”

“Cassel can do it just fine,” Barron spoke up from the back of the group.

“I’m looking for the bathroom,” Cassel was saying to the guard. There was a touch of a childish whine in his voice that didn’t sound anything like Philip’s brother. The kid was an amazing actor. “My stomach doesn’t feel good. I must have eaten something bad.” He wrapped his arms around his middle and hunched over, looking decidedly pathetic.

“Oh,” the guard said eyes darting around nervously. He cared more about not having to clean up vomit than the rules, just as Cassel had said he would. There was a reason they’d picked this particular guard. “Well, there’s a men’s room this way. Come on.” His arms twitched like he was considering put a hand on Cassel’s back to guide him and then stopped for fear that Cassel had the stomach flu or something.

The guard lead Cassel down the hall. Philip watched as they stepped into one of the poorly designed hall’s many security camera blind spots. The instant they were out of sight of the cameras, Cassel straightened up and lunged at the guard, slamming him into the door of a janitor’s closet and holding him in place with a forearm across the throat.

Philip was moving instantly. He darted down the hall, sticking to the blind spots and reached Cassel and the guard. The guard’s eyes got big when he saw Philip’s fake guard uniform. Philip grinned at him in a very specific, creepy “worker-ish” way he’d learned from Mom and pressed an index finger against the guard’s cheek. He felt skin through the slit he’d cut in the fingertips of his gloves and sent a pulse through the man’s nervous system that overloaded it and dropped him into instant unconsciousness.

Cassel stepped back and let the guard drop to the floor. “How long will he be out?” he asked.

“Two hours, maybe three,” Philip knelt down next to the guard and began removing his security clearance card, ID and keys from the various loops and pockets of the uniform. “Depends on a number of factors: age, health, family history. Plus, some people are just more resilient than others.”

Cassel shook his head. “Just asked for a number, Philip; didn’t need the lesson.”

Philip couldn’t keep from smiling. “Whatever.”

He and Cassel quickly tied the man up and stuffed him into the janitor’s closet. They made their way back to Anton and Barron by way of the blind spots. Then Cassel stripped off the hoodie and sweatpants he’d been wearing to reveal the guard’s uniform underneath. They stuffed his old clothes into the small backpack Barron was carrying. Now all three Sharpe brothers were in guard uniforms. Anton was in a suit.

“You actually didn’t mess that up,” Anton said, condescending. “Amazing.”

Cassel’s face turned red and he opened his mouth to retort, but Barron broke in, “We should get moving. We are on a schedule here.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed. “We don’t have time for this squabbling.”

“You’re not in charge here, Sharpe,” Anton growled, and Philip was once again left wondering why he’d bothered putting up with Anton all these years. His life would have considerably less condescension if he’d simply found a way to separate himself from Anton when they’d been ten.

“We should get moving,” Anton went on like Philip and Barron hadn’t just suggested that. “Turner won’t be here all night.”

Abraham Turner was a physicality worker who had recently tried to get out of his contract with the Zacharovs by appealing to the government for a full pardon in return for all the information he had on the Zacharovs. Tonight, was the night that Turner was supposed to meet with several members of the Licensed Minority Division to hand over the information. Obviously, that meeting couldn’t be allowed to happen so Philip, Barron, Cassel and Anton had been sent to make sure Turner wouldn’t be talking to anyone.

Cassel normally wouldn’t be helping on a job like this. Because he wasn’t a worker he couldn’t be a part of Zacharov’s gang in all real capacity, but Philip and Barron sometimes let him help on smaller jobs. The trick had always been keeping Zacharov’s daughter, Lila, from finding out, especially as it became increasingly difficult to convince Cassel not to tell her about it.

Still, Cassel was here tonight with Zacharov’s blessing. Because Turner had been a longtime member of the gang, he knew the faces of just about any agent who could be sent after him. That was where Cassel came in handy. Since Cassel wasn’t a worker and not a member, no one besides Anton, Lila, Zacharov and a few others had ever seen him. Most people weren’t even aware that Mom had three sons. Cassel’s face was unknown to Turner, but he was still close enough to the Zacharov family that his loyalty was ensured. He was the perfect person to lead Turner into the trap Anton was setting for him.

They walked quickly but not too quickly through the halls of the convention center. The LMD had set Turner up with a ticket to the evening gala being held here tonight. The Sharpe brothers and Anton didn’t have tickets at all, but the guard’s ID and security cards quickly got them through locked doors and into the part of the building where the gala was being held. They marched through the halls until they reached a small conference room without any observation windows that they’d picked as the perfect place for the job.

“Get on your part of the mission,” Anton told Cassel. “And if you mess up; I’ll have your hide.”

Cassel rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

He walked away leaving Anton visibly fuming at the implication that he was worried. Barron snorted, and Anton whirled on him. “What are you laughing at?”

Barron held up his hands. “Nothing. Just clearing my throat.”

Anton looked like he wanted to strange Barron, but Philip stepped in. “Let’s get inside before someone starts wondering why we’re just standing out here,” he suggested.

Anton nodded sharply and pushed his way into the conference room. Philip and Barron followed. The room was had boring beige walls decorated with pristine whiteboards on three walls. A potted plant that came up to Philip’s shoulders stood next to the door and a modern table filled the room surrounded by chairs. Anton strode across the room and settled himself into the chair at the head of the table. He arranged himself in the chair in a way so much like a villain in a movie that it was somewhere between funny and pathetic. “Barron, stand in that corner,” he motioned to his left. “Philip, over there,” another gesture to the right corner.

It was infuriating to be bossed around by Anton like Philip and Barron were just hired muscle with no brains of their own, but there wasn’t a whole lot that could be done about it. Philip took his place in the corner and glanced across the room at Barron who rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face, all in all looking considerably more good-natured about the whole situation.

They waited for almost ten minutes for Cassel to return with Turner. Anton drummed his fingers on the tabletop, Philip fought to keep his foot from tapping. “That kid’s going to blow it,” Anton announced.

“He’ll be fine,” Barron soothed. “Just give him a few more minutes before you start panicking.”

Before Anton could get angry the doorknob rattled and they had half a second to pull themselves together before the door opened and Cassel ushered Turner inside.

Turner took two steps into the room before he caught sight of Anton. He jumped and turned towards the door to escape, but Cassel had already entered the room and closed the door. He stood against it with his hand on the handle, staring impassively at Turner.

“You-” Turner spat. “You-You-” he didn’t have time to come up with something to something to say because Anton cleared his throat.

“Well, Turner, it appears this is the end of the line,” Anton said. “You really should have realized the LMD couldn’t protect you from us.”

“I’m-” Turner stammered, Philip could see him struggling to find an out. “This is all for a job. I’m going to infiltrate the LMD and-”

Anton held up a hand. “Please,” he said. “Save your breath. No one’s going to believe that.”

Turner began to say something, but Anton spoke over him, “I really don’t feel like drawing this out. Abraham Turner, you’re found guilty of treason to the Zacharov family, your execution will happen immediately. Philip.”

Philip took a quiet breath and stepped forward. Turner’s eyes went wide. He tried to back away, but almost instantly Barron and Cassel where on either side of him holding his arms, careful not to touch any skin. Turner writhed trying to escape, but they held his fast as Philip crossed the room. He moved slowly; part of the punishment was in the waiting.

“Please…” Turner begged, a quiet, pathetic whimper from a man who had once been a worker for Zacharov.

Philip didn’t even bother responding. He wrapped his fingers around Turner’s neck, pressing down until their skin came into contact through the slits of his gloves. He didn’t wait to act; Turner could work Philip right now too, skin on skin contact didn’t only run one way. Philip reached out with his power; it only took a second to overload and burn out Turner’s nervous system until it couldn’t possibly recover. Turner slumped in Barron and Cassel’s arms. Dead.

Philip took a step backward, and Barron and Cassel let Turner’s body collapse to the floor. Anton rose to his feet and crossed the room. The four of them stood over Turner’s body looking down. “Are you sure he’s dead?” Anton asked.

“No one can survive their entire nervous system getting burnt out,” Philip said.

“Then we should get out of here,” Anton said heading towards the door. “We’ll leave the body here to send a message to the-” He trailed off because he’d opened the door and an unfamiliar man in a suit was standing outside.

Anton’s mouth dropped open. He started to step back and began raising his hands, but the newcomer produced a nightstick and swung before Anton had a chance to defend himself. He dropped like a stone, either unconscious or close enough.

The suited man nudged Anton’s body with his foot and looked up. “Well, I assume this is Anton Zacharov,” he said. “And you two are Philip and Barron Sharpe,” he eyes focused on Cassel. “But who are you?”

Cassel didn’t respond, he just lunged at the man fists clenched. His attack got nowhere, because the suited man was much bigger than he was. Within seconds the man had Cassel in a headlock.

“Alright, enough of that,” the man said. “This will go so much more smoothly if you all just hand yourselves in.”

“You’re the LMD agent Turner was supposed to meet,” Philip said.

“Correct,” the agent said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him since he arrived, and I couldn’t just let someone walk off with him without following.”

“Sorry,” Cassel croaked. The bare skin of the agent’s wrist was digging into Cassel’s bare throat and cutting off his air supply.

“It’s a pity you already managed to finish him off,” the agent continued, ignoring Cassel. “He had information that would be valuable to the LMD.”

“People don’t betray the Zacharov family and get away with it,” Philip replied. His eyes kept darting to the doorway behind the agent. That was the only way out of the conference room. They had to get past him.

The agent must have noticed his frantic planning because he smiled. “There’s no way out. The four of you will pay for your c-” his voice broke out into a panicked shriek.

Philip followed the man’s gaze and gasped. Where the agent’s bare skin had been touching Cassel, his wrist had turned into melted wax. Cassel pulled away and darted towards Philip and Barron. The agent dropped to the ground screaming and cradling the melty stump of his left arm.

There was only one type of worker who could what had just happened, but transformation workers were so rare they practically didn’t exist. Besides, Cassel wasn’t a worker at all, how had he…

Cassel looked up at Philip, a look a petrified shock on his face. He looked almost as scared as the agent did. Philip and Cassel stared at each other for one moment that lasted an eternity then Cassel’s face contorted and he dropped to the ground with a shriek, fingers digging to his scalp.

“Cassel?” Philip dropped down next to him. “Cassel, what’s wrong?”

Barron knelt as well, “Must be the blowback.”

“Are you sure?” Philip looked at him.

“Do I look like an expert on transformation workers to you?” Barron snapped.

They both looked back to the writhing form of their baby brother on the ground. A transformation worker. Philip tried to wrap his mind around the knowledge. Cassel couldn’t be a transformation worker. He was too old to develop powers. They would have known. Philip felt a little like he was going to pass out.

Cassel twisted on the ground and let out a horrible, animal-sounding moan. Barron jabbed Philip with his elbow. “Philip, do something.”

Philip shook himself and touched Cassel’s neck, feeling his brother’s skin through the slits in his gloves. He pulsed Cassel’s nervous system the same way he had to the guard he’d taken down in the hall and his little brother went still.

Philip sat back on his heels, ignoring the needle-like pains that were starting to the shoot through his bones—the beginning of his own blowback. It wasn’t bad now—sort of like growing pains, maybe—but he knew it would get worse, especially if he had to do more working today. “We need to get out of here,” he said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Barron said. “I’ll carry Cassel, you take this.” He took off the backpack and handed it over. “We might need you to have your hands free to work someone else.”

Philip pulled the backpack on and stood up. Barron maneuvered Cassel over his shoulders and stood as well. “Let’s move,” he said.

They stepped of the agent’s moaning body and out into the hallway. There were footsteps coming towards them. Philip turned his head to see a squad of security guards heading towards them. “What happened?” the lead guard asked. “We heard screaming.”

Philip took a steadying breath and sized the men up. There were a lot of them, but they didn’t appear armed with anything but nightsticks and tasers. No lethal weapons, which put them at a distinct disadvantage to Philip who had carried a lethal weapon inside of himself since the day he was born.

“A couple meetings didn’t go as planned,” he said in a careful voice. He probably didn’t sound as calm as Cassel could have in this situation, but it would have to be enough. As he spoke, he slowly, carefully peeled off his gloves; he’d need more than a couple slits of bare skin for this. “I think it’s mostly taken care of now.”

“We heard screaming,” the lead guard said. “Is someone hurt?”

“Nothing life threatening,” Philip finished pulling off the gloves and moved to put them in his pants pocket. “You don’t need to worry.”

The sudden bending of Philip’s arm caught the guard’s attention. He looked down to see Philip’s bare hands and his eyes widened. He looked back up. “Please put the gloves back on, sir,” he said shakily. “There’s other ways to solve this.” The rest of the guards began drawing their tasers and nightsticks.

Philip glanced at Barron who was standing just off his right shoulder. “Stay right behind me,” he ordered in an undertone. “Don’t fall behind.”

Barron nodded.

“Put the gloves back on and get on your knees!” the lead guard ordered leveling his taser at them.

Philip gave his best “I’m an evil worker” grin and charged across the space between him and the guards. He brushed his fingers along the lead guard’s neck and dropped him with a surge of bone melting pain. Two more guards were behind, and Philip took them down as well. He plowed through their midst, hands outstretched, fingers reaching for skin. He didn’t try to kill; that would take too much focus. He just needed to slow them down.

He burst through the guards with Barron hot on his heels. They pounded down the hall and skidded around a corner. They retraced their steps to the quieter parts of the building with the poorly placed security cameras. Once there they tried to stay to the blind spots as much as possible. Philip wasn’t sure how long they had before even more security was sent after them. They needed to vanish before that could happen.

They skidded around a corner into a long hallway. Philip clung to the wall under the security cameras until they were halfway down the hall. Then he slid to a stop and bent down next to a specific floor tile. The tiles were a little wider than Philip’s shoulders and this one had a little ridge in it to make it easier to lift. It still took Philip several precious seconds to pry it up because his hands were shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenalin. He finally got it up to reveal and access hatch underneath. This hatch swung downwards to reveal a dimly lit passage; one of the building’s many maintenance hallways.

“You first,” he told Barron.

Barron nodded and set Cassel on the floor. He climbed partway down the ladder attached to the hatch, then grabbed Cassel again and dragged him down as well.

Philip looked back. He could hear sounds of pursuit now. They only had seconds to finish vanishing. He scrambled partway down the ladder and dragged the tile back over the hole, blocking out the light from above and leaving only the dull orange light of the maintenance hallway. He closed the hatch and dropped down the rest of the way to the floor.

The maintenance hallway stretched on in either direction. This was the way they’d gotten into the building. “Let’s move,” Philip panted to Barron.

Barron nodded and took off down the hall. Philip moved to follow, but he only got two steps before the blowback that had been threatening since he’d knocked out Cassel hit with full force. Philip’s bones turned to fire, his muscled went limp. He sagged against the wall gasping in airless breaths through clenched teeth. You don’t have time for this! Get up!

“Philip?” he heard Barron’s voice as if from very far away. “Philip, we need to go.”

“Go ahead without me,” Philip said around a thick tongue and numb lips. “I’ll catch up.”

“No way,” a hand grabbed his elbow and dragged him upright. “Come on, Phil. You can do it. Let’s go.”

Philip didn’t remember much of the rest of the escape, only that Barron’s white-knuckle grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him upright and moving. He didn’t remember transferring from the maintained hallways to the sewer system. He didn’t remember trekking through the sewer for blocks and then climbing out into the parking garage where the car they’d driven here was parked. He didn’t come back to himself until Barron practically poured him into the passenger seat of the car.

Philip leaned against the seat painting from pain and the nausea that came with it. He heard other doors opening and closing as Barron dumped Cassel’s limp body onto the back seat and got behind the wheel.

“Pull your feet in and close your door,” Barron ordered as the car hummed to life. “We need to get out of here.”

Philip hadn’t even realized that his legs were still hanging out of the car. He pulled them in and managed to close the door even though his arms felt like overheated lead. Something was digging into his back and he realized that it was the backpack. He worked the straps off and let it fall to the floor by his feet. He squinted blurrily up at his brother as Barron leaned over and began undoing the buttons on Philip’s guard uniform shirt. “Don’t want to draw attention to us,” Philip muttered. “We don’t want them to make the connection between this car and us.”

“I know,” Barron said. He worked Philip’s arms out of the shirt and tossed it onto the floor in the back. Philip was wearing a normal tee-shirt under it for precisely this eventuality. He realized that Barron had already removed his shirt and a quick glance back confirmed that he’d done the same for Cassel.

Barron buckled Philip in and patted his shoulder. “We’ll be fine, Phil.”

Philip didn’t quite believe him. After all, they had just attacked a member of the LMD and a bunch of security guards. Plus, Anton…

Philip’s aching, struggling heart nearly stopped when he realized what they’d overlooked. The mistake they’d made that would make any trouble they’d have from the police look like a picnic. A mistake that might spell their bloody, painful deaths.

“Barron,” he breathed. “We left Anton.”

~~~~

The highway stretched on before them. Barron tried to keep his hands steady on the wheel and his mind focused. There were not words to describe how badly this job had gone, and that was even without thinking about Cassel…

Philip shifted in the passenger seat. “Barron,” he grunted. “Pull over. I’m going to be sick.”

Barron glanced over. Philip had the back of one hand pressed to his mouth. He’d actually managed to turn green, which Barron hadn’t known was possible. “One second,” Barron pulled over on the side of the highway probably a bit more dangerously than he should have and slammed on the brakes.

Philip swung the passenger door open and leaned out, puking into the gravel. Barron winced and looked away trying to give his brother some privacy. Philip’s blowbacks normally made him nauseous, so it wasn’t like Barron wasn’t used to waiting for his older brother to get ahold of the contents of his stomach, but it was still awkward.

Philip continued emptying his stomach for what seemed like forever. Finally, he wiped his mouth on the back of a hand and leaned back into his seat with an audible moan. His face was completely bloodless and soaked with sweat that plastered his hair to his forehead. The hand that he brought up to pinch the bridge of his nose was shaking, his other arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach.

“Phil?” Barron ventured.

“I feel horrible,” Philip said, his voice rough and acidy from vomiting. “This might be the worst blowback I’ve ever had.”

Barron’s stomach sank. Philip’s blowbacks gave him the symptoms of a bad flu mixed with chronic pain and could last anywhere from a couple hours to days. While Barron knew he shouldn’t exactly be surprised that this blowback was bad—he had never seen a physicality worker work their way through as many people at once as Philip had with those guards—they were going to have to deal with the fallout of all this, and it was looking like Barron would be the only one capable of doing so.

Barron dug around on the floor of the backseat and found a half empty water bottle. “Here,” he said offering it to Philip. “Rinse out your mouth.”

He waited while Philip swished the water around in his mouth and spat it onto the gravel outside. When he pulled back into the car and closed the door, Barron asked, “Are you okay to keep going?”

Philip sunk lower in his seat and his eyes closed. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“Okay,” Barron turned off the hazards and put the car back into drive. “If you need to throw up again let me know.”

He drove for twenty or thirty minutes before he saw signs for a rest stop. He turned onto the ramp and slowed down. Philip—who Barron had hoped had dozed off—shifted and opened his eyes, squinting at the gas pumps and convenience store. “Why are we stopping?” he asked.

“We need some supplies,” Barron said. “We’ll get some Z-Up for your stomach and some Advil.”

Philip smiled vaguely. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “That sounds good.”

Barron pulled up into a parking spot a little way from everyone else and turned off the car. “I’ll go in,” he said. “You can wait here.”

“No, I’ll come in,” Philip said swallowing heavily. “I need to use the bathroom. Besides we need to decide what to do about-” he jerked his head at Cassel’s still, unconscious form in the backseat.

Barron looked back at his little brother. “How long is he going to be out?” he asked.

“Maybe another hour or so,” Philip said. “We’ll need to have a plan of action when he wakes up.”

Barron nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

Before they left the car, they had to change pants and shoes because they couldn’t just walk into a convenience store in the pants and shoes of a security guard when their descriptions were probably going to be all over the news in the next couple hours. After changing into jeans and tennis shoes they got out of the car and headed into the convenience store. Barron gathered up Z-Up, Gatorade, granola bars, sandwiches, water and Advil while Philip used the bathroom. Barron had just finished paying (in cash, obviously) when Philip staggered back paler and shakier than before.

“You okay, bro?” Barron asked, and Philip gave him a look that told him to drop it.

They stepped outside and commandeered a picnic table within sight of the car. Barron sat on the tabletop facing the car with his boots on the table’s bench seat. Philip also faced the car, only he sat on the seat and draped his upper body across the tabletop.

They sat in silence for several minutes then Philip spoke, his voice muffled by the cocoon of his arms, “So, Cassel’s a transformation worker.”

“Yeah,” Barron said tightly.

“I didn’t know that,” Philip said. “He must have used his powers before now; why don’t I remember it?” He lifted his head and gave Barron a look that didn’t make sense for a couple seconds before he made the connection.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t work you.”

Officially, Barron was a luck worker; only Philip, Grandad and Mom knew that he was actually a memory worker. If Barron had told the Zacharovs he could have gotten more work than just being the insurance to Philip’s jobs, but the blowback made that a bad idea. Every time Barron used his powers he was trading away some of his own memories. If he wasn’t careful, he would work himself into premature Alzheimer’s.

“Are you sure you didn’t and then forgot?” Philip asked.

“Yes,” Barron said. “That’s something I would have written down in my journals.”

Philip accepted that with a nod. “Still,” he said. “He’s seventeen. This can’t be the first time he’s displayed powers. It would have started when he was younger, which means…”

“Someone did work us to make us forgot,” Barron finished. “All three of us.”

“You’re sure he didn’t know?” Philip asked.

“You saw his face,” Barron replied. “He didn’t have a clue.”

There was a long pause. “Do you think the Zacharovs knew?” Barron asked, cursing the unsteadiness in his tone.

“No,” Philip said. “If they knew Cassel’s a worker this powerful, we’d never have had to work so hard to convince Anton he wasn’t a deadweight. Mom and Grandad on the other hand…”

Barron’s stomach clenched. “They can’t know. They would have told us.”

“They must know,” Philip used his elbows to lever his body into a mostly upright position. “Someone decided we’d be best off not knowing and had us worked; probably multiple times. They’re the only options; they’re the only ones close enough to us.”

“But why?” Barron asked.

“I don’t know,” Philip said, then looked up at Barron, face serious. “But until we understand it, we can’t trust them.”

“We can’t go home either,” Barron said. “Even if we could trust Mom and Grandad either the LMD or the Zacharovs are going to be after us. We’re going to need to go under the radar. Especially if we’re going to protect Cassel,” he paused and realized the assumption he’d made. “We are going to protect Cassel, right?”

“Of course, we are,” Philip said in a tone of voice that suggested that he couldn’t believe Barron had asked. “He’s our baby brother, just because he’s suddenly one of the rarest workers in the world doesn’t change anything.”

“Good,” Barron heaved a sigh of relief. “Then we probably should get moving. We need to put as much distance between us and that conference center as possible before the police have time to really mobilize against us. Even more once Anton inevitably gets bailed out of prison.”

“Yeah,” Philip agreed and began to try to heave himself to his feet. “Might be a good idea to make sure Cassel doesn’t have the option to run before hearing us out when he wakes up too.”

Barron ended up needing to help Philip to the car, but they were still back on the highway within minutes. Philip shifted in the seat then leaned forward to rummage through the pockets of the backpack. “What are you looking for?” Barron asked.

“We have a burner phone in here, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Barron said. “Why do you need it?”

“I’m going to call Maura and tell her to get out,” he said. “The house is under her name, so someone’s bound to show up there eventually.”

“Should we call Grandad?” Barron asked.

“You can if you want,” Philip said. “I’m not.”

Barron knew he wouldn’t either. If they involved Grandad in this, it would be too difficult to keep their new knowledge about Cassel secret. “I’m not calling him either,” Barron said.

Philip straightened up and nodded in something that was either approval or simple acknowledgment. He was holding one of the cheap, prepaid burner flip phones they’d bought for the job. Barron watched out of the corner of his eye as Philip dialed Maura’s number from memory and raised the phone to his ear.

“Maura?” he asked after a minute. “Are you alone?”

There was a pause as Maura answered, then Philip went on, “The job went bad. Catastrophically bad. You need to leave. Chances are either the police or the Zacharovs will be showing up at the house in the next couple hours and I don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re there when that happens.”

Another pause. “I’m fine, just a bad blowback. Barron and Cassel are fine too, but we let Anton get arrested which is why the Zacharovs might be after us soon.”

Pause. “I don’t think Zacharov will have much trouble there,” Philip answered. “Regardless of what the politicians say about cracking down on the crime families, there isn’t a prison in the country that will hold Anton Zacharov for more than a couple days. So, it’s not like this is much of a setback for Zacharov; it’s more that we left Anton to get arrested in favor of saving our nonworker little brother.”

Maura responded, then Philip said, “That’s why you need to get all the essentials into the car and get out of the state. Remember to change the plates before you leave and whatever you do don’t tell Grandad or Mom that you’re leaving.”

Philip listened to Maura’s question, then said, “I can’t explain over the phone. I’ll tell you when we meet in person. Speaking of which, there’s a burner phone in my sock drawer; take it with you, and I’ll call you on it in a couple days so we can find a place to meet.”

Maura spoke some more. “We’re all fine,” Philip said. “No sign of pursuit thus far, but we aren’t going to take any chances. I’ll talk to you in a couple days?” A pause. “I love you too. Stay safe. Goodbye.”

Philip hung up and leaned back in the seat. Barron looked over at his brother’s pale, sweaty face, lax mouth and drooping eyes. “There’s Z-Up and Advil,” he said. “Then you should try to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Philip agreed tiredly. “That’s probably a good idea.”

~~~~

They drove and drove and drove. Barron kept his hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, his eyes glued on the road, ears tuned to the radio which was playing news, listening for every mention of the incident. So far, their names and descriptions had not been released, but it was only a matter of time. Barron considered where they could go that would be safe and what they would need to do to foil the police descriptions of them. They couldn’t go anywhere Mom and Grandad knew about or anywhere Zacharov, Anton or even Lila knew about. It had to be somewhere entirely knew, and Barron was grasping at straws.

In the passenger seat, Philip slipped in and out of fitful sleep. He shifted restlessly and grunted whenever he was jarred by a bump in the road. Barron wanted desperately to get them a hotel room so Philip could rest in an actual bed, but doing that would be like asking to be found and arrested. Since they’d abandoned Anton, Zacharov wouldn’t bail them out and the Sharpe family didn’t have the money or connections. They needed to stay free or everything was over.

The sun was beginning to rise when Cassel finally stirred in the backseat. Barron’s stomach twisted into knots as he listened to his little brother work his way back to consciousness.

“Wha’ happen’?” Cassel muttered thickly. “Wh’ ‘re we…” Barron gritted his teeth and waited for the explosion.

He didn’t have to wait long. Cassel jerked upright in the backseat. “Wait! I-I-” He sat up straight and Barron saw his angry glare in the rearview mirror. “You lied to me!”

“Cassel?” Philip shifted awake and turned to look at their little brother. “Good, you’re awake.”

“You’re a liar!” Cassel snarled. “You’re both liars! You told me I didn’t have any powers, but I do! What happened to that agent; I did that!”

“We didn’t lie to you,” Philip said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of strain, either from stress or from the blowback. “We didn’t know. We thought you weren’t a worker too. We would never keep something like that from you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cassel snapped.

“I’m not lying,” Philip said. “I didn’t know you were a worker. I swear it on my life.”

“I swear it too,” Barron said. “We’re on your side, Cassel.”

“If you two didn’t know anything,” Cassel said. “Why is this the first time it’s ever happened? That’s not how working works.”

“We might have all been worked by a memory worker,” Barron said. A quick glance at Philip confirmed that they were going to keep Barron’s true identity as a memory worker quiet for the time being. “Someone must have decided that we were better off not knowing you were a worker.”

There was a pause while Cassel thought that over. “Mom and Grandad,” he said.

The kid was even quicker to that assumption than they had been, Barron wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried. “We’re not sure,” he said. “But it’s a definite possibility.”

He watched in the rearview mirror as Cassel thought it all over. “I’ll trust you two for now,” Cassel finally said, “but if I discover even one little thing that could imply you’re lying to me, well…” he lifted a hand and his eyes narrowed. “I’m know that I’m not defenseless now.”

“A logical strategy,” Philip agreed.

They lapsed back into silence, the radio droning commercials in the background, until Cassel spoke again, “Where are we?”

“On the fast track to the middle of nowhere,” Barron said. “Things only went farther south after Philip knocked you out. We ended up attacking a number of security guards and then running to evade arrest. We’re kind of hot news right now, and we’ll need to go underground until this all blows over.”

“Okay…” Cassel said slowly, thinking it over. “Where’s Anton?”

“Arrested,” Philip said. “We…may have panicked and forgotten about him.”

Cassel snorted. “Bet he’s happy about that.”

“It’s going to be a real problem,” Philip said. “He won’t be happy when he gets out, and the whole Zacharov family will be after us.” He finished by shifting in his seat and moaning out loud.

Barron freed one hand from the steering wheel and patted Philip’s shoulder. “You’ve got about forty-five minutes before you can take more Advil,” he said. “Just hang in there.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Cassel asked, sounding just a little scared.

“Blowback,” Philip grunted. “I’ll be fine.”

Cassel frowned, deep in thought. “We’re in deep trouble,” he said, then his voice became quiet and a little scared. “What happens if the Zacharovs figure out I’m a worker? What happens if the people who worked our memories figure out we know?”

Barron and Philip looked at each other, each trying to come up with something soothing and reassuring to say. In truth, neither of them knew what would happen in either of those situations. “Nothing bad will happen to you,” Philip finally promised, perhaps a bit rashly.

“We’re your brothers,” Barron agreed anyway. “It’s our job to keep you safe.”

That’s probably not the best ending in the world, but I’m running on four hours of sleep, so you’ll have to forgive my lack of creative brain cells. I suppose this could be the start of a bigger story, but I’m nearly 100% positive I’m not going to continue, so I suggest you don’t hold your breath.

I’m almost done with part three of the Angsty Kaz FanfictionTM, so hopefully you’ll get that soon. I have a couple other ideas too, so we’ll see what happens. The one thing I will say is that I’m sort of in the process of shifting fandoms, so expect a lot of variety, but probably not a lot of Star Wars.

Anyway, if you’ve read this, thank you! I’m honestly not sure if anyone will see this.

Please favorite, follow and review!

Emjen

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translationandbetrayals · 4 years

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The horror within: Silent Hill

In this post i wanted to continue inquiring about japanese horror genre related to its multiple expressions in media. Just as i told you before, Japan’s handling on the topic can be tracked a long way ever since the Edo and Meiji era, where it found its roots in orally transmitted folks tales. These stories at a great extent have influenced to a great extent genre's works storylines; specially with some sub genres like the yokai (ghost) stories, as well as an increasing interest regarding its production.

Even though the development of some media on the matter had a relatively slow start compared to western culture (i.e: horror cinema didn’t see the light until the mid 60s), nowadays it is a vastly spread and consolidated genre within Japan’s major industries. Specifically, not for nothing most of the more prominent franchises of horror video games come from Japan with titles such as Resident Evil (1996), Fatal Frame (2001) and Silent Hill (1998), to name a few. These type of video games constitute a big portion of the gaming commercial activity, for instance one of the genre’s pioneers “Resident Evil” amassed, only in North America, nearly three millions sales on its release and accounts for almost twenty releases at the moment, spin-offs included. As a matter of fact, in contrasts to western horror video games, more japanese installments have been published every year since 1995, which lead us to believe in a certain predilection towards horror video games by this country. For such reason, i wished to introduce about a game that really peaked my interest when i was a child that at the time i didn‘t even know it was nipponese, that is Silent Hill.

As i anticipated previously, Silent Hill stands for a franchise of survival horror video games published by Konami and more specifically, developed by an internal group called Team Silent. It is considered one of the founders of the genre, distinguishing itself for establishing a precedent regarding survival horror by turning the focus to an “everyman”, instead of the prototypical incarnations of forearmed special forces used until then. Despite each entry revolves around their own plot; being only the first and third installments direct sequels, all of them share the same setting, which takes place in the rather isolated town of Silent Hill. Simultaneously, there’s a common universe among them that binds each subplot between one another through particular lores and symbolisms, in addition to the gameplay elements characteristic of the series. Therefore, the imaginary about hellish scenarios or occultism are constant throughout the games, taking this motif further by physically depicting at least three different worlds or versions of reality: The “fog world,” which just like the names states it is surrounded by fog, appears as the most alike to reality. This one gives way to the “dark world” , a night time version of the former, found only in the first Silent Hill and finally the “otherworld,” the demoniac incarnation of the town.

One of the interesting main aspects which i underwent the first time i played this game, was that it conveys a feeling of no “solid ground” where to stand or hold on to. Each game has just a small cast of characters that the protagonist usually encounters, who are pretty ambiguous in their statements and tend to leave us with more questions concerning what’s going on. Aside from that, everywhere else is filled with monsters persistently chasing the player, each of them designed as a representation of a certain psychological feature or concept that; and this is a cool notion of the franchise, are derived from the main characters hassles themselves. Because of these elements, it creates an unnerving atmosphere within the player‘s experience. We never actually know what’s happening, where the frontiers between what’s real and what’s not stand. Furthermore, rather than relying on individual frightening moments, the horror extends in such a way that there’s almost no place to feel safe. This can be deeper elaborated considering the change of the threat inside de series. Even though there are tangible physical perils such as monsters or determined antagonists, if we delve thoroughly one might find that it isn’t as straightforward as it seems. In each entry the characters psyche plays a major role in the constitution of their material world like, i.e: how Alessa’s character and her torments shift the town expressions in the first installment. The above is taken beyond in Silent Hill 2, where it is hinted that each character’s perception of the town stems from their inner tribulations. In that way an inflection point is established as for the motif frequently implemented in this genre, which is the inclination to place an external hazard to overcome. On the contrary, the game sweeps this narrative by turning the menace into an internal one: your own self might be the actual danger.

Not wanting to go into any more details respecting the plot, i invite you play this horror classic masterpiece, which i’m sure it will emanate a lot of sensations in you.

-s4chxx

#Japan #essay #submission

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s1ngsweet · 6 years

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THE BACKSTORY

“ once upon a time, there lived a young girl who loved her father very much. ”

( content warnings ): death, cancer, abuse (emotional and physical), bullying, emotional manipulation, unhealthy mother-daughter relationship, obsession of an older man to a younger woman (briefly stated, no description).

up til age 8

ella lived with her mother and father in a big old house, passed down from generation to generation.

her father went on and on about how important the house was, that it was living history, and his plan was to always restore it to its former glory

he was a college professor, ‘old money’

her mother was a painter, a high-school teacher, who devoted her time to caring for her students

both her parents went above and beyond to take care of their students

ella’s mother developed cancer, and died of it when ella was 8

age 10 to 18

ella’s father remarried when ella was 10

her step-mother was...terrible

step-siblings too

but ella stuck it out bc she had her father

they stayed in the big old house because there was nowhere else to go, and ella’s father still promised to restore and renovate it himself. it was to be his huge project and one that make their house a historical jewel of the city

just when it seemed like a sure thing, and just when he started making plans for a brighter future -- ella’s father died

( of what who knows, maybe mysterious circumstances ?? *EYES EMOJI* )

they couldn’t find a will ( *MORE EYES* ), so the estate and the money was left to the step-mother

the step-mother forced ella to do chores and begin renovating the house herself to prove that she was still worthy of staying

she always threatened to kick ella out, told her she was worthless if she wasn’t contributing something, and kept her out of school activities and social events to bring her own children forward and leave ella behind

school was ella’s only reprieve and she studied hard to keep her grades up

her teachers were her saving grace, and there were those who noticed her potential. her drama teacher even insisted that she participated in the school musicals -- which the step-mother only agreed to when the teacher went ahead and ensured ella was allowed to participate

from then on, ella wanted to be a teacher. to work in education somehow, to have the chance to help kids like her teachers had helped her, and how her parents had helped others

she aimed to attend stanford, and gain a scholarship

she got a part-time job working at mcdonald’s to begin planning to move out

close to graduating, she began to apply for her scholarship to stanford but when her step-mother discovered this, she sat her down to talk. she told her that without ella here, she would surely have to sell the house. that the house was worthless without her here, and she didn’t know how to take care of its value like ella did.

ella saw it as a rare moment of genuine worry, that her stepmother was reaching out to her for help ( she was not )

ella conceded. she withdrew her application to stanford and applied for an undergraduate degree in education in a college closer to her family home.

ella graduated with top marks <3

age 18-22

ella received her scholarship !

but her stepmother further convinced her to live at home, making it a 2 hour commute each way to college

but in the 4 years she studied, she actually began to restore the house. she spoke with historians, designers, architects -- people she’d met at university. the house became her beloved side project

then it became clear that they were losing money

her stepmother’s ‘niceness’ gave way to stress and an anger that only lashed out at ella. more threats were made. that if things weren’t done on time, then she’d have to sell more things. she’d sell her mother’s paintings. she’d sell her father’s books. she’d yell and be angry and then fall back into a frail, pathetic state that ella couldn’t help but feel pity for.

ella graduated after 4 years, aged 21

but she still felt stuck and tied to her stepmother, who made her feel that without ella, no one would take care of her

things took a turn for the worse when their belongings suddenly began to go missing. her mother’s jewellery, previously kept away in the attic, were gone. her father’s valuable antiques, too. every week, things went missing.

ella began to notice her stepmother meeting with a man in private

it was eventually revealed that her stepmother had been selling the missing items to the man, and their family began to entertain him like he was part of them

the man paid particular attention to ella, developing an obsession with her, much to the stepmother’s chagrin, but a plan hatched between them

the stepmother was to convince ella to be with him, and that way, he would pay off their debts, bring back the belongings, and let them keep the house

ella was frightened. she didn’t want to marry him, but she didn’t want to lose anymore of the house. she didn’t want to disappoint her stepmother, who she felt she was just getting close to and was surely only acting out of desperation. she didn’t really mean to make her marry that horrible man, did she?

when she tried to talk to her stepmother, to help her see reason, that they could still keep afloat and keep their things without the man’s help -- her stepmother lashed out at her once more, even taking a firepoker and attempting to hit her with it -- ella lifted her arm to shield herself, and the assault left a scar on her left forearm.

it was then that she decided to leave

on her way out, with few belongings, the man confronted her on the driveway and, terrified, she began to run.

age 22-25

ella stayed with friends for a few months before deciding to travel with what little money she had

she developed a love for new york and how busy and full of life it was. sometimes, she even felt at home in the dirty parts of the city, reminding her of the roughness of her old house

she found apple peak on her way to a different city, where a friend had offered to let her stay to find a job. her hitch-hiking left her at the gate of cornblue farms, and she entered the place in the hopes of at least a decent meal

but upon speaking the old couple who owned the farm, she eventually broke down from physical and emotional exhaustion. compassionate and truly kind, they understood her plight and let her stay with them for a couple of days to rest and rejuvenate.

she offered to help around the place while she was there, and when they found she wouldn’t take no for an answer, they let her.

after a few weeks, they saw that she had a green thumb and a flair for farming. ella, too, found a sort of peace in the fields and in the hard labour that produced things that brought joy and sustenance to people. it was labour that didn’t just get the job done, but created something worthwhile.

after two months, they offered her a permanent job and to stay in the bungalow that was their old home ( the couple had already been building a newer house in a different part of the farm ).

ella stayed in cornblue and in apple peak ever since, and is eternally indebted to the old kindly couple

now

ella is.....scarred and shaken from her experience with her stepmother. she still believes in kindness, she still believes in being selfless. she’s met more kind people than terrible people, so she knows there is more good in the world than bad. she’s forever indebted to the people who believed in her, and she wants to pass this good energy on. ella will always be kind, even to those who may not deserve it. but to have given so much of herself and to be used so ruthlessly broke her a little

she has no social media presence, and doesn’t even have her name on the cornblue farms website, so no one can find her

she has a few regrets

the first: leaving her old house. she has no idea what’s happened to it. she has no idea what happened to the belongings the man had bought thanks to her stepmother. she hesitates to even look up her stepfamily online, or anyone from her past, lest they come back to haunt her when she can’t handle it.

the second: not going to stanford

the third: not pursuing more with the degree she did have

one day, she wants to return. to be strong enough to take what was rightfully hers. until then, she wishes and hopes and dreams that she’ll be able to do that, to have the strength to go back, and the courage to move on.

ELLA DOESN’T KNOW THAT THE STEPMOTHER KEPT THE WILL. THE WILL WAS MEANT TO GIVE ELLA EVERYTHING.

bonus, the things ella managed to take with her before she left: her diplomas, her birth certificate, other identification, her mother’s favourite necklace, the last book her father gave her, and a journal with her mother’s drawings

( ooc note ): i think for now, the tremaine characters ,, aren’t her family here ?? i feel like the beings that moved the fairytale characters from their stories would at least separate them -- but ella still drew the short end of the stick here. maybe some things just have to stay the same, to make them the person they have to be. this is so sad tho i cant believe i did this

#I ALMOST FORGOT THE PART ABOUT THE WILL #there's a lot to tag #abuse tw #cancer tw #death tw #assault tw #// i didnt realise i could ... do so much here #i usually try not to get so detailed to leave room for change btu ??? This Happened #its so long im so sorry #like holy shit #( info )#( misc )

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jonathanbelloblog · 6 years

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First Drive: 2019 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE

SHELTON, Washington — Chevrolet in the early autumn of 1966 introduced the Camaro for the 1967 model year, and even an 11-year-old like me at the time could see it was the response, better late than never, to the Ford Mustang.

The first Camaro had a meaningless name and house cat looks. By 1969 it became a more palatable and formidable car. Had anyone back then told me that 50 years hence I would be avid to drive a four-cylinder version called the Camaro Turbo 1LE, and to drive it on a racetrack at that, I would have disbelieved them. Big V-8s were paramount in those days.

Today’s sixth-generation Camaro, introduced in 2016, included the choice of a turbocharged 2.0-liter four making 275 hp and 295 lb-ft of torque. It has accounted for about 35 percent of sales. You could also get the 1LE performance package that was first developed in the late-1980s to provide greater track capability—but only with the 3.6-liter V-6. (Chevy also already offers the 1LE for the SS V-8 model and the bad-boy ZL1.) The 2019 Camaro Turbo 1LE brings all the good bits together with the smaller engine to entice about 2,000 buyers per year who might otherwise want a Honda Civic Type R, Subaru WRX STI, or Hyundai Veloster N.

As if to smother us with alphanumerics, the Turbo 1LE incorporates the FE3 suspension. That means larger-diameter stabilizer bars, upgraded dampers, and stiffer bushings. Four-piston Brembo front brakes (single-piston rear) and heavy-duty engine oil, transmission, and differential cooling are part of the deal, too. Forged 20-inch wheels carry Goodyear Eagle F1 run-flat tires, there’s a unique front splitter and rear spoiler, and the black hood and mirror caps add a striking signature. Recaro seats, a head-up display, and a nifty Performance Data Recorder are options worth having.

Forewarned is forearmed, and on a recent sunny afternoon I was in the pits at Ridge Motorsports Park, buckling into a Simpson helmet and HANS device and taking my place behind the suede-wrapped, flat-bottom wheel. Instructor J.D. spoke over the car-to-car radio. J.D., whose home track is the Mid-Ohio Sports Car Course, was here to guide journalists around Ridge’s precipitous 16-turn, 2.47-mile layout.

I started the engine, plugged an SD card into the PDR, plonked the six-speed manual gearbox into first, and launched behind J.D. After a feisty warm-up lap we hammered down the front straight, hitting 115 mph before scrubbing off 35 mph for Turn One, a left-hander. Entering Turn Two, which is tighter, J.D. said, “Hard on the brakes, down to third gear.” The car set up like a begging terrier.

Linking the next three turns together with subtle steering inputs, I kept the revs above 3,000 rpm, at which peak torque is delivered. The direct-injection DOHC four with variable-valve timing impressed with its smoothness. It issues a robust hum through the mid-range, but nearing peak horsepower at 5,600 rpm it wailed like Eddie Vedder. We entered one of the track’s trickiest parts, a 180-degree right followed by a plunge into the two-part Turn Eight.

“Let the car compress. Now hard on the brakes,” J.D. said. Here we had further evidence of the composed chassis. There was no squirming. Turn-in was sharp for Nine. When I induced a wiggle by opening the throttle too early, the Camaro Turbo’s weight of 3,354 pounds came to mind. “If you do go beyond the limit, it’s easy to catch,” performance engineer Michael Tung had said. “It’s a joy to drive.” Breathing the throttle straightened out the car, and we headed for more linked bends, another hairpin, a hard right, and the Ridge’s version of WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca’s corkscrew.

The track session highlighted the car’s beautiful balance and nonchalant attitude. The shifter and clutch require only light inputs, steering is quick and precise, and braking response is like being handed a bag full of $100 bills. Body roll is nonexistent thanks to those beefy FE3 suspension components.

With 90 percent of the engine’s torque available at less than 2,000 rpm, a strong run-up is guaranteed. Ridge’s ups and downs made me realize that a bonobo can make a fast lap in a 455-hp Camaro SS, but the Camaro Turbo rewards artistry. Maintaining momentum got me around there quick enough to be rather entertained. The rear axle ratio of 3.27:1 helps, and third gear suited most occasions.

For $30,995, the Camaro Turbo represents a nice value. Besides everything already mentioned, the buyer obtains a driving mode selector that includes a track setting with readouts. The optional head-up display’s shift-light was useful. And with the PDR, the Camaro Turbo has the coolest media device since Chrysler’s Highway Hi-Fi. At the end of the run, the SD card had a hero video (the camera was by the rear-view mirror) with superimposed data on speed, RPMs, lateral g forces, and track location—everything but a General Motors stock reading. “What sort of camera was that?” a friend asked. “I want one! Very cool!”

For 2019, all Camaro models benefit from a light freshening, with new fascias front and rear and distinct grilles. “The face is the most dramatic part of this new look,” designer John Mack said, walking around the Camaro Turbo. New dual-element LED headlamps squint like a cyborg under a reshaped hood. And the LED taillamps represent the latest evolution of Chevy’s dual-element design.

Chevy’s warranty extends to the track, too, as long as the car is unmodified. When it was time to leave, I summoned OnStar for turn-by-turn directions to the hotel in Renton. The OnStar person thought I said “Retina.” The Camaro Turbo will go from 0 to 60 mph in 5.4 blinks, but it won’t budge in the direction of Retina.

On-road performance can irritate. The high hood over the instrument cluster impedes the driver’s view. The tires’ howling exceeds even a bonobo’s decibel limit. The suspension is stiff. Buying this car for everyday use is a big commitment, and the in-laws may question one’s character. But the Camaro Turbo’s wicked blacked-out looks kill, the car is good off the stoplight, and visits to the track are more fun than an 11-year-old boy ever dreamed.

2018 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE Specifications

ON SALE Late summer 2018 PRICE $26,000 (est) ENGINE 2.0L turbocharged DOHC 16-valve I-4/275 hp @ 5,600 rpm, 295 lb-ft @ 3,000 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual LAYOUT F-door, 4-passenger, front-engine, RWD coupe EPA MILEAGE 20/30 mpg L x W x H 188.3 x 74.7 x 53.1 in WHEELBASE 110.7 in WEIGHT 3,354 lb 0-60 MPH 5.4 sec TOP SPEED 148 mph

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eddiejpoplar · 6 years

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First Drive: 2019 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE

2018 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE Specifications

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jesusvasser · 6 years

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First Drive: 2019 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE

2018 Chevrolet Camaro Turbo 1LE Specifications

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coollouisefranklin96-blog · 6 years

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POSE OF THE MONTH: BHUJANGASANA

For most folks, the image of a snake can elicit robust feelings. whether or not or not it's disgust or concern, fascination or adoration, snakes build us feel things. If we tend to were to encounter a slipping creature on our path, it might stop most folks in our tracks. we'd take it in, maybe deepen our breath, and slim our focus. we would feel anticipation or maybe dread, however we'd abate before moving forward. In yoga teacher training in India, we tend to encounter the snake within the style of elapid create, the powerful religious snake of yoga. we regularly meet it with a similar feelings that arise in US at the thought of a snake, either excitement or dread. once we observe Bhujangasana, or Cobra, it’s smart to approach this prone acrobatic feat with a similar sentiment of meeting a snake on the path—slow down and heighten our awareness.

The resistance to the observe of elapid is commonly a sensational one.

Students dread the compression and pain they feel once trying to carry the chest and bend the rear. clearly therefore, our fashionable culture is riddled with back pain, particularly within the body part spine. we've lifestyles that keep North American country compressed, bent over and contracted; we’ve lost our freedom of movement and ease. We’ve lost the natural length of our spine. increase this lifestyles steeped in demand, action, worry, and exhaustion, that increase our overall spinal tension, and you have got the instruction for pain and disconnection. Luckily, we tend to ar awakening to the actual fact that yoga will facilitate. a lot of and a lot of, health professionals ar encouraging their patients to hunt out a YTTC in India to assist with their low back problems and therefore the associated stress. such a big amount of yogis i do know say that yoga has helped them alleviate pain within the base of the spine and hips. Yet, once these yogis ar told to roll over onto their bellies to carry and lengthen the spine into the vary of potentialities that comprehend our observe of elapid create, they groan with dread.

Because we've lost the liberty of full linear unit and movement that the mobile spine permits, we tend to feel unsafe and even vulnerable once asked to bend our backs. And this false belief of bending is probably the largest limiting think about what the observe of elapid needs to supply North American country. Imagine the movement of snake: wiggly, wriggling, fluid and syncopated facet to facet, continuance and condensation while not resistance. actually the movement of a snake is an expression of being unbound. Once we constrict our bodies and brace against the natural movement of the spine in elapid create, we will expertise extreme discomfort. Instead, if we will consider the unbound and continuance movement that the create represents, 200 hour YTTC really use Bhujangasana to unlock the liberty and house in our spines that's a lot of nearer to the method it absolutely was designed.

Be aware that the elapid is not any standard snake because the elapid lengthens and rises from the bottom, it will expand its hood and broaden its presence. Once we approach the observe of this kind, we tend to look for to search out similar length and wideness of expression. Snakes in religious ikon have a picture of country and represent twin expression of fine and evil. In yoga, the snake is thought as nāgá.

According to Wikipedia, the Kamarupan primarily represents rebirth, and death and mortality, thanks to its casting of its skin and being symbolically ‘reborn.’ Brahmins associated Kamarupan with Shiva and with Hindu deity, World Health Organization unweary on a several thousand-headed Kamarupan convoluted around Shiva’s neck. In Hindu mythology, the snake diagrammatical freedom as a result of they can't be tamed.

In yoga certification courses in India practices, our observe of elapid create includes a similar purpose. Once we take the shape of a snake, we will embody the duality of discomfort and delight. Once we grip and guard ourselves, the posture will seem out of stock and even painful, however once we surrender and trust, Bhujangasana are often the entryway to the gap and freedom that's the supply of our own growth.

Only recently have I found an area of true understanding of elapid. In my supple and versatile youth, I might carry my chest with straight elbows and throw my head back in delight, however once a jiffy, I began to feel the method that this lack of awareness had compromised the integrity of my low back. I had been active only 1 half the equation, endeavor for openness while not giving equal effort to stability and length. I went from intrepidly regardless length in an endeavor to deepen my flexibility to bashfully and bolt returning to elapid with barely any movement within the create. This concern prevented me from actually experiencing the complete potential of Bhujangasana in my yoga observation at 300 hour yoga teacher training in India.

Understanding the character of the attitude galvanized me to approach it otherwise. beginning with having respect for the discomfort, i ended rejection. I created a acutely aware option to stick with the intensity of the create and my perceived limits till I might assess what to try to to next. What I discovered was however in my concern and caution, i used to be making my very own discomfort by making supererogatory limitations that were neither useful nor validating of the shape. i used to be therefore immune to the feeling that my goal was to avoid feeling altogether instead of hear the messages that my body was causation. after I stopped rejection from the method and commenced listening and deepening my breath, i started to comprehend that I might realize the liberty and length in Bhujangasana by granting the duality of feeling in my create. rather than simply bending my back, I might produce house between my vertebrae to elongate my spine. I might broaden my chest and collar bones and realize the growth of chance. I might strengthen my shoulders and core muscles in support of my spacious lifting and therefore the “bend” would near disappear, however the complete expression of elapid would take its place at Yoga teacher training in Goa.

The foundation of elapid create is found within the robust anchor of the front of the legs and first-rate of the feet pressing into the ground in prone position. With hands on either facet of the ribcage and powerful engagement of musculus abdominis and obliques within the abdomen, the serratus muscles activates to keep up the neutral placement of the shoulder blades on the rear. The pronators of and supinators of the forearms support the elbows drawing into the perimeters of the body. The posterior deltoids work to support the gap and carry of the breastbone and therefore the pectoral muscle cluster lengthens to support the lifting chest and therefore the correct placement of the shoulders. The core strengthens by participating lowest fibers of the skeletal muscle and iliacus. this enables the continuance of the waist and ribcage and creates house and runniness between the spinal vertebrae. the complete spinal cluster works to increase and lengthen the spine. All of the deeper intrinsic back muscles add coaxal contraction to empower spinal extension, and therefore the latissimus dorsi and a lot of superficial muscles lengthen to permit the movement of the breastbone, chest and head from the ground.

To access the spinal extension, the bone is in counternutation, the hips ar fully extension, and therefore the higher legs ar in internal rotation and movement, that permits the tailbone to root down. Legs and feet still move into the ground. The spinal extension ought to continue all of the method into the cervical vertebrae. Bhujangasana needs an excellent deal of strength to guide to the liberty of lifting and continuance the spine.

The snake isn’t simply representative of ease and freedom, though. For a snake to grow, it should shed its skin. Yoga alliance certification expertise the challenge of the discomfort of outgrowing itself, so decide to making the self-inflicted friction that's needed to unleash the constriction and realize freedom. i spotted that I might not observe with a similar lack of awareness that I wont to, and that i gave abreast of making an attempt to recreate the create that I had once famed. Slowly I enraptured toward discovering a completely new approach. One that may support expression of each the challenge and therefore the freedom of the create.

This exploration light-emitting diode me to exploring a lot of front linear unit than back body bend. i might carry my legs, one at a time, off the ground slightly and stretch back through my thighs the maximum amount as I might. I might feel the front of my body gap and after I free my legs back to the bottom, I really found it. rather than pull faraway from the support to a lower place me, I opened thereto. I allowed a lot of breath within the girdle bowl and belly rather than hardening in protection of my sensitivity. These ostensibly little shifts detached a window of chance within the create, and after I inhaled and upraised my chest faraway from the ground, I worked to respect the convenience I had found within the surrender instead of railroad it with the peak of the carry. Then, I began to feel it. The “dual expression” of anchor and carry, the potential of experiencing nice strength and nice ease at the same time. it absolutely was a challenge to outgrow my recent ways in which of making an attempt to realize elapid, however as I found the strength and confidence in my shoulders to support the tenderness of my chest to open fully, my elapid enraptured from tough and inaccessible to free and empowering.

Through the work of surrender as well as effort, I even have found the unity of opposites. In Yoga Mystica, Yoga teacher training in Dharamsala, the observation of Bhujangasana has become the observe of yoga by difficult me to grow on the far side what i assumed was potential and see a replacement path to freedom by retardation down, turning inward, and being gift within the expertise.

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